CHAPTER XXVI.
A DARK SUSPICION.
All was confusion at Yorke Towers. Betty was soon restored to consciousness, only to tell a wild and incoherent tale which astonished her listeners.
She had been standing at the bedside of her mistress—Miss Arleigh was present also—and Betty was about to administer Mrs. Yorke’s sleeping-draught at her request, when all at once a man rushed into the room. At the same instant the lights were extinguished, and Mrs. Yorke uttered a piercing shriek, for she was fearfully alarmed.
After that there was the sound of retreating footsteps in the darkness, and then Betty had lost consciousness and knew no more.
Leonard Yorke listened to the old woman’s absurd story with a pale, stern face and dark, wrathful eyes. Jessie and Mrs. Rutledge had begun to resuscitate Mrs. Yorke, while Hilda flew to summon the servants and send for a physician.
All was excitement and confusion in the house, and a pale, terrified group gathered around Mrs. Yorke’s bedside.
In the midst of it all Leonard stole away and went out into the open air for a time, to collect his thoughts and try and arrange some plan of action.
Where was Violet? Surely it was time that she was found! He sought eagerly, anxiously, through all the lower rooms of the house, then slowly and dejectedly ascended the staircase to return to his mother’s apartment.
At the head of the stairs he encountered Hilda. She was pale as death, and her dusky eyes gleamed with a curious, brassy light.
Leonard laid his hand upon her arm with a force that made her wince.
“Hilda”—his eyes burned into hers as he gazed full into their depths—“we must find Violet—find her at once! Do you hear me?”
She was trembling like a leaf; her hands were as cold as ice.
“Of course we will do all in our power to find her, Leonard,” she returned, sweetly; “but is it not foolish to insinuate that she is lost?”
“True.” He looked relieved. “She may be in her own room all this time. Go and see, Hilda, will you not?”
She smiled a cold smile, which chilled him somehow.
“I do not mean that she is still here,” she returned, slowly; “though of course I will go to her room and see if she is there. I mean this, Leonard: You know that she and—and Captain Venners were in the grounds together to-night, do you not?”
Leonard Yorke’s face grew white as death. Across his memory there flashed the scene in the shrubbery, where he had seen Violet—his Violet—in Will Venners’ arms.
“I—know!” he gasped, hoarsely.
Hilda’s face wore a look of triumph.
“Well, since you know that he was here to-night, does it not strike you as a little odd that he should not have entered the house, but should meet Violet (of course by appointment) out in the grounds? They were out there together ever so long. Leonard, it is my belief—you need not say anything to anybody, of course, until we are sure—but it is my belief that they have gone away together.”
“Hilda!”
“I can not help it; I can not help believing this to be the case. Of course, you will say that no elopement would be carried out under such circumstances; but I believe that old Betty Harwood knows or suspects more than she cares to tell.”
“But, Hilda, I thought, I fancied that I saw Captain Venners with Miss Glyndon when the alarm was given.”
Hilda looked blank.
“That is easily proven,” she returned. “I will see Jessie and ask her.”
By this time the physician had arrived and had taken charge of Mrs. Yorke.
Jessie was standing alone in a deserted corner. Hilda hastened to her side.
“Miss Glyndon,” she began in a low tone, “was not Captain Venners here a little while ago?”
Jessie’s face grew crimson, then went white as marble.
“Yes; he was here,” she returned, quietly; “but he has gone. He left some time ago; in fact, just after the alarm was raised. I advised him to go, for he could be of no assistance here.”
“Well”—Hilda’s dusky eyes were fixed full upon Jessie Glyndon’s honest gray ones—“has it not occurred to you that he and—and Violet have gone away together?”
“Impossible! preposterous! Captain Venners would never think of such a thing—nor Violet, either,” she added, swiftly.
Hilda suppressed a smile.
“Dear me, what touching confidence, especially in Will Venners!” she cried. “Why, Jessie, did you never hear of his escapade with Mrs. Montford, the wife of a certain New Orleans merchant? He actually eloped with her. Why, you must have heard of it; all New Orleans was ringing with the scandal at the time. No? Well, that is strange; but it is true, nevertheless. I tell you, Will Venners is a seasoned flirt—a wild fellow who will never get done sowing his crop of oats.”
“But, Miss Rutledge,” Jessie’s voice rang out in indignant protest, “if you are convinced of Captain Venners’ baseness, at least you ought to spare your cousin. Violet Arleigh would never be guilty of such an act as running away with any man. And why, in the name of Heaven, should she run away? She is virtually her own mistress, and will be legally so in three years’ time, when she will come into a handsome fortune. She need not elope with any man, for she can marry the man of her choice, and no one has a right to object. Besides, she is engaged to Mr. Yorke.”
“It is not true!” cried Hilda, wrathfully. “I do not believe it.”
“Very well,” returned Jessie, quietly, “that is as you please. But at all events, Mr. Yorke loves her—I am convinced of that.”
Hilda flounced angrily away, and went over to where Leonard was standing pale and stern.
“The whole affair is shrouded in mystery,” she said in a low tone. “It is only clear that Violet and Captain Venners were together a little while before the alarm, and now they are both gone. That is all that I can discover. You had better go over to town, Leonard, and make inquiries.”
But Leonard shook his head.
“If she has gone away with Captain Venners, I have no right to interfere,” he returned, coldly; “such interference on my part would be absurd. If it is really true—that dreadful surmise of yours, Hilda—she will probably become the wife of this man at once and return to The Oaks. But why, in Heaven’s name, should she have chosen to take such a strange course, she who could have married as she pleased? I do not understand it at all, and it is that which makes me doubt appearances. But we have not yet searched the whole house. Go at once, Hilda, and see if you can find her in her room, while I search the rest of the building.”
Somewhat sullenly, Hilda obeyed. No, Violet was not in her own room or any other. Leonard procured a lamp and went swiftly, silently through every room in the unused portion of the great, old-fashioned mansion, ending at last with a visit to the east chamber. There was nothing to be found, no trace, no clew; only as Leonard retraced his footsteps down the long, narrow passage which led from the east chamber his eyes fell upon a small object which lay upon the dusty floor. He stooped and picked up a gentleman’s handkerchief of fine soft cambric; in one corner was an elaborately embroidered letter W.
“W—for Will,” he muttered, harshly; and Leonard Yorke’s jealous heart gave a fierce mad bound, and then stood still at this corroboration of his unpleasant fears.
In truth, the handkerchief belonged to Gilbert Warrington, and the initial was intended for the first letter of his last name; but, of course, Leonard knew nothing of Warrington and his visits to Yorke Towers, consequently, he could not suspect anything even near the truth.
Mrs. Yorke was now restored to a rational state once more, but quite unable to converse, so nothing could be learned from her, though in response to Leonard’s eager questions in regard to Violet, she would shake her head mournfully and look very sad.
At last, in the early dawn, Leonard Yorke rode away from Yorke Towers, his mind made up, in spite of pride, to ride over to the town and make inquiries. But first he rode to The Oaks, and astonished and terrified the servants there by asking for Miss Violet. No, indeed, she had not been home; they one and all agreed upon that point. So, after his fruitless search there, Leonard went on to the town. Here he found food for reflection. Yes, Miss Arleigh had been in town late the night before, accompanied by a tall, dark gentleman, with a military air, and they had taken the midnight train for New Orleans.
The station agent, who was an old acquaintance of the Arleighs, had wondered at the late trip, but had concluded that she had important business which had called her to New Orleans at that late hour.
