The Unseen Bridgegroom, May Agnes Fleming [ebook reader for surface pro .TXT] 📗

the marriage--brought me. Sarah bound me, although there was no occasion, and the man led me down and put me in. Sarah accompanied me, and I was driven to the very corner here. They let me out, and, before I had time to catch my breath, were off and away."

"And that is all?" said Miriam, wonderingly.

"All! I should think it was enough. It sounds more like a chapter out of the 'Castle of Otranto,' or the 'Mysteries of Udolpho,' than an incident in the life of a modern New York belle. For, of course, you know, Madame Miriam," concluded the pretty coquette, tossing back airily all her bright curls, "I am a belle--a reigning belle--the beauty of the season!"

"A little conceited, goosey girl--that's what you are, Mollie Dane, whom ever this terrible event can not make serious and sensible."

"Terrible event! Now, Miriam, I'm not so sure about that. If I liked the hero of the adventure--and I have liked some of my rejected flirtees, poor fellows!--I should admire his pluck, and fall straightway in love with him for his romantic daring. It is so like what those old fellows--knights and barons and things--used to do, you know. And if I didn't like him--if it were Sardonyx or Oleander--sure, there would be the fun and fame of having my name in all the papers in the country as the heroine of the most romantic adventure of modern times. There would be sensation novels and high-pressure melodramas manufactured out of it, and I would figure in the Divorce Court, and wake up some day, like Lord Byron, and find myself famous."

Miriam listened to this rattle with a face of infinite contempt.

"Silly child! It will ruin your prospects for life. Sir Roger will never marry you now."

"No," said Mollie, composedly, "I don't think he will; for the simple reason that I wouldn't have him."

"Wouldn't have him? What do you mean?" "What I say, auntie. I wouldn't marry him, or anybody else, just now. I mean to find out who is my husband first."

"Do they know this extraordinary story?"

Mollie laughed.

"No, poor things! And he and guardy are dying by inches of curiosity. Guardy has concocted a story, and tells it with his blandest air to everybody; and everybody smiles, and bows, and listens, and nobody believes a word of it. And that odious Mrs. Carl--there's no keeping her in the dark. She has the cunning of a serpent, that woman. She has an inkling of the truth, already."

"How?"

"Well, Mr. Rashleigh--the clergyman, you know, who was abducted to marry us--was at a dinner-party this very day--or, rather, yesterday, for it's two in the morning now--and at dinner he related his whole wonderful adventure. Of course, he didn't see my face or know me; but he described the bride--small, slender, with a profusion of golden ringlets. You should have seen Mrs. Carl look across the table at me--you should have heard her hiss in my ear, in her venomous, serpent-like way: 'I think I know where you spent that fortnight.' I couldn't sleep to-night for thinking of it, and that's how I came to be awake so late, and to see you from the window. I'm not afraid of her; but I know she means me mischief, if she can."

Miriam gazed thoughtfully at her. She looked a very helpless, childish little creature, sitting there--the youthful face looking out of that sunshiny cloud of curls.

"She is your deadly enemy, then, Mollie. Why does she dislike you so much?"

"Because I dislike her, I suppose, and always did, and she knew it. It is a case of mutual repulsion. We were enemies at first sight. Then she is jealous of me--of my influence with her husband. She is provoked that she can not fathom the mystery of my belongings, and she thinks, I know, I am Mr. Walraven's daughter, _sub rosa_; and, to cap the climax, I won't marry her cousin, Doctor Oleander."

"You seem to dislike Doctor Oleander very much?"

"I do," said Mollie, pithily. "I'd give him and the handsome Blanche a dose of strychnine each, with all the pleasure in life, if it wasn't a hanging matter. I don't care about being hanged. It's bad enough to be married and not know who your husband is."

"It may be this Doctor Oleander."

Mollie's eyes blazed up.

"If it is!"--she caught her breath and stopped--"if it is, Miriam, I vow I would blow his brains out first, and my own afterward! No, no, no! Such a horrible thing couldn't be!"

"Do you know, Mollie," said Miriam, slowly, "I think you are in love?"

"Ah! do you really? Well, Miriam, you used to spae fortunes for a living. Look into my palm now, and tell me who is the unhappy man."

"Is this artist you speak of handsome and young?"

"Handsome and young, and tolerably rich, and remarkably clever. Is it he?"

"I think it is."

Mollie smiled softly, and looked into the glowing mask of coals.

"You forget I refused him, Miriam."

"Bah! a girl's caprice. If you discovered he was your mysterious husband, would you blow out his brains and your own?"

"No," said Mollie, coolly. "I would much rather live with Hugh Ingelow than die with him. Handsome Hugh." Her eyes softened and grew humid. "You are right, Miriam. You can spae fortunes, I see. I do like Hugh, dearly. But he is not the man."

"No? Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. He is too chivalrous, for one thing, to force a lady's inclination."

"Don't trust any of them. Their motto is: 'All fair in love!' And then, you know, you played him a very shabby trick."

"I know I did."

Miss Dane laughed at the recollection.

"And he said he would not forget."

"So they all said. That's why I fear it may be one of the three."

"And it is one of the three; and you are not the clever girl I give you credit to be if you can not find it out."

"How?"

"Are they so much alike in height, and gait, and manner of speaking, and fifty other things, that you can't identify him in spite of his mask?"

"It is not so easy to recognize a masked man when he disguises himself in a long cloak and speaks French in a feigned voice. Those three men are very much of a height, and all are straight and slender. I tried and tried again, I tell you, during that last week, and always failed. Sometimes I thought it was one, and sometimes another."

"Try once more," said Miriam, pithily.

"How?"

"Are you afraid of this masked man?"

"Afraid? Certainly not. I have nothing to fear. Did he not keep his word and restore me to my friends at the expiration of the week? You should have heard him, Miriam, at that last interview--the eloquent, earnest, impassioned way in which he bid me good-bye. I declare, I felt tempted for an instant to say: 'Look here, Mr. Mask; if you love me like that, and if you're absolutely not a fright, take off that ugly, black death's-head you wear, and I'll stay with you always, since I am your wife.' But I didn't."

"You would not fear to meet him again, then?"

"On the contrary, I should like it, of all things. There is a halo of romance about this mysterious husband of mine that renders him intensely interesting. Girls love romance dearly; and I'm only a girl, you know."

"And the silliest girl I ever did know," said Miriam. "I believe you're more than half in love with this man in the mask; and if it turns out to be the artist, you will plump into his arms, forever and always."

"I shouldn't wonder in the least," responded the young, lady, coolly. "I never knew how much I liked poor dear Hugh until I gave him his _congé_. He's so very, very, very handsome, you see, Miriam; and I adore beauty."

"Very well. Find out if it's he--and find out at once."

"More easily said than done, isn't it?"

"Not at all. You don't suppose he has left the city?" "No. He told me that he would not leave--that he would remain and watch me, unseen and unknown."

"Then, if you advertise--if you address him through the medium of the daily papers--he will see and answer your advertisement."

"Very probably. But he isn't going to tell me who he is. If he had any intention of doing so, he would have done it last week."

Miriam shook her head.

"I'm not so sure about that. You never asked him to reveal himself. You gave him no reason to suppose you would do otherwise than scorn and flout him, let him be who he might. It is different now. If it is Hugh Ingelow, you will forgive him all?"

"Miriam, see here: why are you so anxious I should forgive this man?"

"Because I want to see you some respectable man's wife; because I want to see you safely settled in life, and no longer left to your own caprices, or those of Carl Walraven. If you love this Hugh Ingelow, and marry him, you may probably become a rational being and a sensible matron yet."

Mollie made a wry face.

"The last thing I ever want to be. And I don't believe half a dozen husbands would ever transform me into a 'sensible matron.' But go on, all the same. I'm open to suggestion. What do you want me to do?"

"Address this man. Ask him to appoint a meeting. Meet him. Tell him what you have told me, and make him reveal himself. He will be sure to do it, if he thinks there are grounds for hope."

"And if it turns out to be Sardonyx or Oleander--and I have a presentiment that it's the latter--what then?"

"'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.' I don't believe it is either. From what you tell me of them, I am sure neither would behave so honorably at the last--keeping his promise and fetching you home."

"There is something in that," said Mollie, thoughtfully. "Unless, indeed, they grew tired of me, or were afraid to imprison me longer. And my masked husband talked, at the parting, as neither of these reptiles could talk. It may be some one of whom I have never thought--who knows? I've had such a quantity of lovers that I couldn't possibly keep the run of them. However, as I'm dying to meet him again, whoever he is, I'll take your advice and address him."

Miriam rose.

"That is well. And now I must be going. It is past three, and New York streets will presently be astir. I have a long way to go, and no wish to be seen."

"Miriam, stop. Can't I do anything to assist you? You are half starved, I know: and so miserably clad. Do--do let me aid you?"

"Never!" the woman cried, "while you are beneath this roof. If ever you settle down in a house of your own, and your husband permits you to aid so disreputable a being as I am, I may listen to you. All you have now belongs to Carl Walraven; and to offer me a farthing of Carl Walraven's money is to offer me the deadliest of insults."

"How you hate him! how he must have wronged you!" Again that burning blaze leaped into the woman's