VI
DOROTHY SPEAKS
I shall not subject you to the ordeal from which I suffered. You shallfollow my three friends into the room. According to Sinclair'sdescription, the interview proceeded thus:
As soon as the door had closed upon them, and before either of the girlshad a chance to speak, he remarked to Gilbertine:
"I have brought you here because I wish to express to you, in thepresence of your cousin, my sympathy for the bereavement which in aninstant has robbed you both of a lifelong guardian. I also wish to sayin the light of this sad event, that I am ready, if propriety so exacts,to postpone the ceremony which I hoped would unite our lives to-day.Your wish shall be my wish, Gilbertine; though I would suggest thatpossibly you never more needed the sympathy and protection which only ahusband can give than you do to-day."
He told me afterward that he was so taken up with the effect of thissuggestion on Gilbertine that he forgot to look at Dorothy, though thehint he strove to convey of impending trouble was meant as much for heras for his affianced bride. In another moment he regretted this,especially when he saw that Dorothy had changed her attitude and was nowlooking away from them both.
"What do you say, Gilbertine?" he asked earnestly, as she sat flushingand paling before him.
"Nothing. I have not thought--it is a question for others todecide--others who know what is right better than I. I appreciate yourconsideration," she suddenly burst out--"and should be glad to tell youat this moment what to expect; but--give me a little time--let me seeyou later--in the morning, Mr. Sinclair, after we are all somewhatrested and when I can see you quite alone."
Dorothy rose.
"Shall I go?" she asked.
Sinclair advanced and with quiet protest, touched her on the shoulder.Quietly she sank back into her seat.
"I want to say a half-dozen words to you, Miss Camerden. Gilbertine willpardon us; it is about matters which must be settled to-night. There aredecisions to arrive at and arrangements to be made. Mrs. Armstrong hasinstructed me to question you in regard to these, as the one bestacquainted with Mrs. Lansing's affairs and general tastes. We will nottrouble Gilbertine. She has her own decisions to reach. Dear, will youlet me make you comfortable in the conservatory while I talk for fiveminutes with Dorothy?"
He said she met this question with a look so blank and uncomprehendingthat he just lifted her and carried her in among the palms.
"I must speak to Dorothy," he pleaded, placing her in the chair where hehad often seen her sit of her own accord. "Be a good girl; I will notkeep you here long."
"But why can not I go to my room? I do not understand--I amfrightened--what have you to say to Dorothy you can not say to me?"
She seemed so excited that for a minute, just a minute, he faltered inhis purpose. Then he took her gravely by the hand.
"I have told you," said he. Then he kissed her softly on the forehead."Be quiet, dear, and rest. See! here are roses."
He plucked and flung a handful into her lap. Then he crossed back to thelibrary and shut the conservatory door behind him. I am not surprisedthat Gilbertine wondered at her peremptory bridegroom.
When Sinclair reentered the library, he found Dorothy standing with herhand on the knob of the door leading into the hall. Her head was bentand thoughtful, as though she were inwardly debating whether to standher ground or fly. Sinclair gave her no further opportunity forhesitation. Advancing rapidly, he laid his hand quietly on hers, andwith a gravity which must have impressed her, quietly remarked:
"I must ask you to stay and hear what I have to say. I wished to spareGilbertine; would that I could spare you. But circumstances forbid. Youknow and I know that your aunt did not die of apoplexy."
She gave a violent start and her lips parted. If the hand under hisclasp had been cold, it was now icy. He let his own slip from thecontact.
"You know!" she echoed, trembling and pallid, her released hand flyinginstinctively to her hair.
"Yes; you need not feel about for the little box. I took it from itshiding-place when I laid you fainting on the bed. Here it is."
He drew it from his pocket and showed it to her. She hardly glanced atit; her eyes were fixed in terror on his face and her lips seemed to betrying in vain to formulate some inquiry.
He tried to be merciful.
"I missed it many hours ago, from the shelf yonder where you all saw meplace it. Had I known that you had taken it, I would have repeated toyou how deadly were the contents, and how dangerous it was to handle thevial or to let others handle it, much less to put it to the lips."
She started and instinctively her form rose to its full height.
"Have you looked in that little box since you took it from my hair?" sheasked.
"Yes."
"Then you know it to be empty."
For answer he pressed the spring, and the little lid flew open.
"It is not empty now, you see." Then more slowly and with infinitemeaning, "But the little flask is."
She brought her hands together and faced him with a noble dignity whichat once put the interview on a different footing.
"Where was this vial found?" she demanded.
He found it difficult to answer. They seemed to have exchangedpositions. When he did speak it was in a low tone and with lessconfidence than he had shown before.
"In the bed with the old lady. I saw it there myself. Mr. Worthingtonwas with me. Nobody else knows anything about it. I wished to give youan opportunity to explain. I begin to think you can--but how, God onlyknows. The box was hidden in your hair from early evening. I saw yourhand continually fluttering toward it all the time we were dancing inthe parlor."
She did not lose an iota of her dignity or pride.
"You are right," she said. "I put it there as soon as I took it from thecabinet. I could think of no safer hiding-place. Yes, I took it," sheacknowledged as she saw the flush rise to his cheek. "I took it; butwith no worse motive than the dishonest one of having for my own anobject which bewitched me; I was hardly myself when I snatched it fromthe shelf and thrust it into my hair."
He stared at her in amazement, her confession and her attitude socompletely contradicted each other.
"But I had nothing to do with the vial," she went on. And with thisdeclaration her whole manner, even her voice changed, as if with theutterance of these few words she had satisfied some inner demand ofself-respect and could now enter into the sufferings of those about her."This I think it right to make plain to you. I supposed the vial to bein the box when I took it, but when I got to my room and had anopportunity to examine the deadly trinket, I found it empty, just as youfound it when you took it from my hair. Some one had taken the vial outbefore my hand had ever touched the box."
Like a man who feels himself suddenly seized by the throat, yet whostruggles for the life slowly but inexorably leaving him, Sinclair castone heartrending look toward the conservatory, then heavily demanded:
"Why were you out of your room? Why did they have to look for you? _Andwho was the person who uttered that scream?_"
She confronted him sadly, but with an earnestness he could not butrespect.
"I was not in the room because I was troubled by my discovery. I think Ihad some idea of returning the box to the shelf from which I had takenit. At all events, I found myself on the little staircase in the rearwhen that cry rang through the house. I do not know who uttered it; Ionly know that it did not spring from my lips."
In a rush of renewed hope he seized her by the hand.
"It was your aunt!" he whispered. "It was she who took the vial out ofthe box; who put it to her own lips; who shrieked when she felt hervitals gripped. Had you stayed you would have known this. Can't you sayso? Don't you think so? Why do you look at me with those incredulouseyes?"
"Because you must not believe a lie. Because you are too good a man tobe sacrificed. It was a younger throat than my aunt's which gaveutterance to that shriek. Mr. Sinclair, be advised; _do not be marriedto-morrow_!"
Meanwhile I was pacing the hall without in a delirium of suspense. Itried hard to keep within the bounds of silence. I had turned for thefiftieth time to face that library door, when suddenly I heard a hoarsecry break from within and saw the door fly open and Dorothy comehurrying out. She shrank when she saw me, but seemed grateful that I didnot attempt to stop her, and soon was up the stairs and out of sight. Irushed at once into the library.
I found Sinclair sitting before a table with his head buried in hishands. In an instant I knew that our positions were again reversed and,without stopping to give heed to my own sensations, I approached him asnear as I dared and laid my hand on his shoulder.
He shuddered but did not look up, and it was minutes before he spoke.Then it all came in a rush.
"Fool! fool that I was! And I saw that she was consumed by fright themoment it became plain that I was intent upon having some conversationwith Dorothy. Her fingers where they gripped my arm must have leftmarks behind them. But I saw only womanly nervousness where a man lessblind would have detected guilt. Walter, I wish that the mere scent ofthis empty flask would kill. Then I should not have to reenter thatconservatory door--or look again in her face, or--"
He had taken out the cursed jewel and was fingering it in a nervous waywhich went to my heart of hearts. Gently removing it from his hand, Iasked with all the calmness possible:
"What is all this mystery? Why have your suspicions returned toGilbertine? I thought you had entirely dissociated her with this matterand that you blamed Dorothy and Dorothy only, for the amethyst's loss?"
"Dorothy had the empty box; but the vial! the vial!--that had been takenby a previous hand. Do you remember the white silk train which Mr.Armstrong saw slipping from this room? I can not talk, Walter; my dutyleads me _there_."
He pointed toward the conservatory. I drew back and asked if I shouldtake up my watch again outside the door.
He shook his head.
"It makes no difference; nothing makes any difference. But if you wantto please me, stay here."
I at once sank into a chair. He made a great effort and advanced to theconservatory door. I studiously looked another way; my heart wasbreaking with sympathy for him.
But in another instant I was on my feet. I could hear him rushing aboutamong the palms. Presently I heard his voice shout out the wild cry:
"She is gone! I forgot there was another door communicating with thehall."
I crossed the floor and entered where he stood gazing down at an emptyseat and a trail of scattered roses. Never shall I forget his face. Thedimness of the spot could not hide his deep, unspeakable emotions. Tohim this flight bore but one interpretation--guilt.
I did not advocate Sinclair's pressing the matter further that night. Isaw that he was exhausted and that any further movement would tax himbeyond his strength. We therefore separated immediately after leavingthe library, and I found my way to my own room alone. It may seemcallous in me, but I fell asleep very soon after, and did not wake tillroused by a knock at my door. On opening it I confronted Sinclair,looking haggard and unkempt. As he entered, the first clear notes of thebreakfast-bell could be heard rising up from the lower hall.
"I have not slept," he said. "I have been walking the hall all night,listening by spells at her door, and at other times giving what counselI could to the Armstrongs. God forgive me, but I have said nothing toany one of what has made this affair an awful tragedy to me! Do youthink I did wrong? I waited to give Dorothy a chance. Why should I notshow the same consideration to Gilbertine?"
"You should." But our eyes did not meet, and neither voice expressed theleast hope.
"I shall not go to breakfast," he now declared. "I have written thisline to Gilbertine. Will you see that she gets it?"
For reply I held out my hand. He placed the note in it, and I wastouched to see that it was unsealed.
"Be sure, when you give it to her, that she will have an opportunity ofreading it alone. I shall request the use of one of the littlereception-rooms this morning. Let her come there if she is so impelled.She will find a friend as well as a judge."
I endeavored to express sympathy, urge patience and suggest hope. But hehad no ear for words, though he tried to listen, poor fellow! so I soonstopped and he presently left the room. I immediately made myself aspresentable as a night of unprecedented emotions would allow, and wentbelow to do him such service as opportunity offered and the exigenciesof the case permitted.
I found the lower hall alive with eager guests and a few outsiders. Newsof the sad event was slowly making its way through the avenue, and someof the Armstrongs' nearest neighbors had left their breakfast-tables toexpress their interest and to hear the particulars. Among these stoodthe lady of the house; but Mr. Armstrong was nowhere within sight. Forhim the breakfast waited. Not wishing to be caught in any little swirlof conventional comment, I remained near the staircase waiting for someone to descend who could give me news concerning Miss Murray. For I hadsmall expectation of her braving the eyes of these strangers, anddoubted if even Dorothy would be seen at the breakfast-table. But littleMiss Lane, if small, was gifted with a great appetite. She would be sureto appear prior to the last summons, and as we were good friends, shewould listen to my questions and give me the answer I needed for thecarrying out of Sinclair's wishes. But before her light footfall washeard descending I was lured from my plans by an unexpected series ofevents. Three men came down, one after the other, followed by Mr.Armstrong, looking even more grave and ponderous than usual. Two of themwere the physicians who had been called in the night and whom I hadmyself seen depart somewhere near three o'clock. The third I did notknow, but he looked like a doctor also. Why were they here again soearly? Had anything new come to light?
It was a question which seemed to strike others as well as myself. AsMr. Armstrong ushered them down the hall and out of the front door, manywere the curious glances which followed them, and it was with difficultythat the courteous host on his return escaped the questions anddetaining hands of some of his more inquisitive guests. A pleasant word,an amiable smile he had for all, but I was quite certain when I saw himdisappear into the little room he retained for his own use that he hadtold them nothing which could in any way relieve their curiosity.
This filled me with a vague alarm. Something must haveoccurred--something which Sinclair ought to know. I felt a great anxietyand was closely watching the door behind which Mr. Armstrong hadvanished when it suddenly opened and I perceived that he had beenwriting a telegram. As he gave it to one of the servants he made agesture to the man standing with extended hand by the Chinese gong, andthe summons rang out for breakfast. Instantly the hum of voices ceased,and young and old turned toward the dining-room, but the host did notenter with them. Before the younger and more active of his guests couldreach his side he had slid into the room which I have before describedas set apart for the display of Gilbertine's wedding-presents. InstantlyI lost all inclination for breakfast and lingered about in the halluntil every one had passed me, even little Miss Lane, who had come downunperceived while I was watching Mr. Armstrong's door. Not very wellpleased with myself for having missed the one opportunity which mighthave been of service to me, I was asking myself whether I should followher and make the best attempt I could at sociability if not at eating,when Mr. Armstrong approached from the side hall, and, accosting me,inquired if Mr. Sinclair had come down yet.
I assured him that I had not seen him and did not think he meant to cometo breakfast, adding that he had been very much affected by the affairsof the night, and had told me that he was going to shut himself up inhis room and rest.
"I am sorry, but there is a question I must ask him immediately. It isabout a little Italian trinket which I am told he displayed to theladies yesterday afternoon."