CHAPTER XXI.
IN THE EAST CHAMBER.
For a moment Violet stood irresolute. It seemed wrong for her to obey the instructions of Mrs. Yorke’s servant and visit the mysterious chamber all alone; but then she knew that old Betty was a confidential servant, that she had served Mrs. Yorke faithfully for years, and that she knew much concerning the private history of the Yorkes. But that Betty had some object in impressing upon Violet the desirability of visiting the east chamber, was only too apparent.
Violet stood turning the question over in her mind for some moments. A strange desire to visit the east chamber began to take possession of her heart—a desire augmented by the unusual circumstances and surroundings of the case.
“After all, Mrs. Yorke can have no objection,” she said to herself, decisively; “and it is an understood thing that we are all to make a visit to this historic room while we are at the Towers, and if I choose to go there by myself, I do not know that I am doing anything very improper. And if old Betty Harwood had not been intrusted with the key, how could she have it in her possession? Therefore, she must have some authority in the matter. On the whole, I believe that I will go.”
It seemed quite like visiting a modern Bluebeard’s chamber. There was a spice of adventure in the affair, and the hour, too, was propitious for such an adventure; for it was twilight now. The long, narrow passage which led to the east chamber lay in darkness. Violet felt a little thrill of terror creep slowly over her as she passed through the deepening gloom.
“Well, if I intend to go at all I had better make a start,” she exclaimed, half aloud, with a sudden movement in the direction of the long, gloomy passage, “or I shall be compelled to get a light to find my way.”
She moved on hastily down the long, dark, narrow passage—on, on! Surely never was a corridor so long and gloomy before. On, on! Her outstretched hands came in contact with the great oaken door of the mysterious chamber at last, and Violet came to an abrupt halt as her hands touched the stout panel. Then she guided the key to the lock, inserted it, and turned it swiftly. She felt a nervous desire to get the visit to this chamber of horrors over with. Now that she had begun the adventure, she would not give up or retreat.
Slowly the heavy door creaked upon its rusty hinges, and a great dusty space lay revealed beyond her—the east chamber. Trembling in spite of herself, Violet crossed the threshold and stood within the room. A damp, musty odor greeted her; the vault-like atmosphere of a room shut up from fresh air for years, only opened at long intervals to gratify some one’s curiosity. Violet drew a long breath, and stood gazing about her with fear-dilated eyes. A large, bare room containing absolutely no furniture—nothing, only over in one corner upon the dusty floor a small heap of ashes, which had blown from the empty fireplace, and lay piled up there suggestively. Violet thought involuntarily of the dead man, the poor sinner who had met his awful fate, the lingering, dreadful death from slow starvation, within this dreary room, and for just a moment she half believed that the little heap of feathery gray ashes lying before her at her very feet were the ashes of the dead—all that remained of that which had been Wayne Arleigh, her ancestor. But second thoughts assured her of the impossibility of such a thing. Surely, neither the Yorkes nor Arleighs were such heathens as to leave the ashes of the dead unburied, no matter what the crime of the dead man might have been.
With slow, reluctant steps, and trembling all over like a leaf, Violet stole softly to the furthest corner of the room and gazed eagerly about her. Where could she search for papers hidden away in this bare, utterly unfurnished apartment?
All at once a sound broke the awful silence of the place, the sound of a stealthy footstep creeping slowly near.
Her heart beat so loudly that she could hear it distinctly; the cold perspiration stood in clammy drops upon her forehead. She stood still and listened.
It was enough to terrify a stouter heart than Violet Arleigh’s; for she knew well that this portion of the great house was deserted, and no one knew of her visit to the east chamber, save old Betty. The footsteps must be those of some marauder, or else could it be something supernatural?
A vague and undefined terror of she knew not what took possession of the girl. Pale and trembling she stood there, not knowing which way to turn; and slowly but surely the footsteps drew near and nearer. They did not seem to come from the same direction from which she had come; they sounded apparently from the left side; yet Violet knew that there was nothing there but the wall of the house.
What should she do? Here in the darkness—for it was nearly dark now within the ghostly chamber—she would be compelled to face an unknown presence. It was enough to terrify a stronger heart than hers.
On, on, came the ghostly footsteps. Violet turned to fly. She could not stand quietly within that horrible chamber to face this unknown terror. She would meet it half-way.
Pale and panting, she darted to the door. It was pushed softly open wide, and a man stood before her. One glance into his face, and Violet recoiled with a low cry of terror. Ah! this was worse than ghosts or supernatural visions, for the man before her was Gilbert Warrington!
With an inarticulate cry Violet fell back. Warrington put his arms about her and drew her to his breast.
“I have come to you here in this ghostly room,” he said, in a low, impressive voice. “I have been waiting and watching for this hour to come; and now that it is here, Violet Arleigh, you shall go with me this very night!”
Violet drew back and faced the villain before her with pale face and kindling eyes. Well, at least this was something tangible to combat. Better to face a real danger than to fear some dreadful visitant from another world.
“How came you here?” she demanded, harshly. “Who has betrayed me to you?”
He laughed.
“Ah! so you come here alone, at dark, to search for certain documents which you fondly believe concern your welfare?” he sneered. “But between you and me, Violet, you will never get your hands upon them. When you are my wife, then and then only will you come into possession of the papers and secure your rights. You had better yield to me and become my wife at once, Violet. I do not love you, but I intend to have the Arleigh fortune.”
She waited to hear no more. With a stifled cry she darted past him so swiftly that he had no time to detain her—on through the darkness, down the outer staircase, out into the grounds, and straight into the arms of a man coming swiftly up the walk from the opposite direction. It was Will Venners. And just then, at the library window, a few feet away, Leonard Yorke appeared, his moody eyes fixed upon the scene, taking it all in.
