CHAPTER XXXIII.
A SECOND ATTEMPT.
Half dazed with the strange occurrences of the day, Leonard Yorke rode like a madman back to Yorke Towers to procure assistance and bring poor Will Venners to its hospitable shelter. Galloping up the avenue which led to the house, Leonard threw his bridle to the servant who met him there, and springing from the horse, ordered that the low phaeton be brought around at once to convey Captain Venners to York Towers, with a hurried explanation of the finding of the poor fellow, badly hurt, in the swamp a half mile away.
While the man hastened away to obey his commands, Leonard ran into the house. He was met in the hall by Hilda. Her face wore a look of triumph; her glorious dark eyes sparkled; she was wondrously beautiful—the subtle, seductive beauty of a sleek tigress of the jungle, with its shining eyes and satiny skin; its cruel claws hidden by the velvety skin, but there, all the same, and ready for use at the least provocation.
Hilda was perfectly happy, for she saw that Leonard was returning alone. Violet had not been found, therefore Leonard must still believe her false. False she must be, or she would never have gone away from Yorke Towers as she had done.
But, all the same, Hilda knew that Violet had not eloped with Will Venners. She laid one white hand lightly upon Leonard’s arm, and lifted her lovely dark eyes to his pale, anxious face.
“Dear Leonard,” she began in a soft, sweet, purring voice, the little hand grasping his coat-sleeve tighter, “I am so sorry—so sorry! She is my cousin, and I am deeply attached to her; but I can not close my eyes to her glaring faults, her many imperfections. And now this fearful disgrace! Poor, misguided Violet! she has gone away with handsome Will Venners, and we shall never see her again.”
With an impatient movement which he could not repress, Leonard released the clinging hand. He was thoroughly aroused, and had no patience with Hilda’s nonsense now.
“You are mistaken, Miss Rutledge,” he said, sternly. “Violet may have faults—we are all of us only human, and liable to err—but if she has, I have never perceived them. To me she is blameless—and she has not eloped with Will Venners or any other man. She has been abducted; and Will Venners lies down in the swamp below Yorke Towers, badly wounded—perhaps dying.”
A low cry fell upon the silence, and turning swiftly, Leonard saw coming down the stairs, just at his side, Jessie Glyndon, pale as death, and looking as though she had received her death-blow. Her eyes were dark as night, and dilated wildly, her hands were tightly clasped together, and she was trembling like an aspen.
“Oh, no, Mr. Yorke!” she cried, wildly; “it can not be true! He is not dying—not dying, surely! Let me go to him—let me go! Perhaps I can do something to relieve him. Oh, do not refuse me!”
Leonard turned coldly away from Hilda, and took Miss Glyndon’s hand.
“Be brave,” he said in a gentle, reassuring tone. “I am about to have him brought here. You will nurse him, Jessie? He has told me all,” he added in a low tone, which brought the red blood to Jessie’s pale cheeks.
“Will I?” she cried. “Indeed—indeed I will, Mr. Yorke! I will do anything in my power for Captain Venners.”
“Order the red room prepared for him,” said Leonard. “I will have him here in half an hour;” and as he turned away to enter the phaeton, which was now ready, he said to himself: “Please Heaven, all their troubles are at an end now.”
But Hilda Rutledge had no intention of allowing Leonard to escape so easily. She darted down the steps, and as he was about to enter the phaeton she detained him once more.
“Leonard,” she whispered, softly, “tell me that you forgive me for my rash judgment of Violet! I meant no wrong, only—I have seen more of her than you have, you know.”
His eyes rested coldly upon her beautiful face.
“I forgive you, of course,” he returned; “but I warn you, in the future, if you wish to retain my respect, to be more charitable in your judgment of as pure a woman as ever lived!”
He stepped into the phaeton, and it drove rapidly away. He had taken one of the servants with him, while another followed on horseback, that they might be enabled to lift the wounded man into the phaeton without difficulty.
In a brief time they had reached the spot where Will Venners lay. He was quite unconscious now, and Leonard felt his heart sink, as they lifted the tall, soldierly figure into the phaeton and arranged him as comfortable as possible.
The drive would be of only a few moments’ duration, and a physician had already been summoned. They reached Yorke Towers at last, and the short drive, which had seemed endless to Leonard, was accomplished.
The still unconscious man was borne into the house to a sleeping-room upon the first floor. The physician took possession of him, and a long examination followed.
After a time Leonard came to where Jessie Glyndon was standing beside a window, gazing forth with sad gray eyes which saw nothing of the fair scene without.
“Jessie,” he said in a low tone—it was quite wonderful what good friends these two had suddenly become—“the doctor says that he is more seriously injured than we thought. Only the best of care and nursing will save him, if he can be saved at all.”
“He shall have that, Mr. Yorke, if you will permit me to act as his nurse,” she said in a trembling voice. “I can get the housekeeper to assist me; and I am willing to lay my life down in his service!”
Leonard pressed her hand.
“I understand,” he said, softly; “and I pray God that you and he will be united yet.”
But there seemed little prospect of his recovery, or any explanation being adjusted between the two lovers suffering through a strange misunderstanding.
For Will Venners was delirious now, his dark eyes full of a wild, unnatural light as they rested upon the pale, sorrow-stricken face of the woman who loved him so, yet whom he did not recognize, as he raved on in a vacant, meaningless fashion, which filled the hearts of his listeners with consternation and nearly drove Jessie distracted.
That night a strange occurrence took place. Chancing to pass his mother’s door at a late hour, Leonard saw something which nearly drove the life-blood from his heart and deprived him of his senses.
The door of his mother’s chamber stood partly open, and Mrs. Yorke lay quietly resting, but over her stooped old Betty Harwood, and as Leonard involuntarily hesitated he saw her drop some drops from a small vial in her hand, swiftly and deftly, as though accustomed to the task, between Mrs. Yorke’s pale lips.
The invalid stirred uneasily.
“No, no, Betty!” she moaned. “Take it away. It makes me feel faint. It is killing me!”
With a stifled cry, Betty Harwood’s claw-like fingers closed upon the sick woman’s throat. But Leonard darted into the room, and caught the would-be murderess in a vise-like grip.
