He was obliged to tell her the pitiful story. Not one word did he say of the wedding costume destroyed, or the captain's suspicion—not one syllable; yet, strange to say, the same idea occurred to her. His wife had lain her head on his breast; she was weeping bitterly, and he clasped his arm round her. He said in a grave voice quite unlike his own:
"It must have been some beggar or tramp, who knew the secret of that spiral staircase, and had resolved upon breaking into the house by that means—some one who had learned, in all probability, that our daughter's jewels were kept in her chamber. Perhaps she carelessly left the outer door unlocked, and, while she was sitting dreaming, the burglar entered noiselessly; then, when she rose in her fright to give the alarm, he stabbed her."
She did not think just then of asking if the jewels were stolen or not; but, strange to say, she started up with a sudden cry.
"Oh, Ulric, Ulric! was it all right with her, do you think? I have always been afraid—just a little afraid—since I heard how she begged for secrecy over her wedding. Do you think she was frightened at any one? Perhaps some one else loved her, and was madly jealous of her."
He did not let her see how her words startled him—so like those used by Captain Ayrley. He tried to quiet her.
"No, my darling Estelle. Doris had many lovers—we knew them—men of high repute and fair renown; but there was not one among them who would have slain her because she loved Earle. Remember yet one thing more—no one know she was going to marry Earle; it had not even been whispered outside of our own house. It was a robbery, and nothing else, carefully planned by some one who knew the only weak spot in the house. I have no doubt of it."
Then she broke down again, and cried out with wild words and burning tears for her child—her only child, who had never known her as her mother.
They wondered again why the earl, with his own hand led Lady Linleigh to the silent death-chamber. He did not wish any one to be near, to see or to hear her.
He lived long after, but he never forgot that terrible scene; he never forgot how the mother flung herself by the side of that silent figure—how caressingly her hands lingered on the golden hair, on the sweet, dead face; he never forgot the passionate torrent of words—words that would have betrayed her secret over and over again a thousand times had any one been present to hear them. She laid her face on the pale lips.
"My darling," she cried, "come back to me, only for one hour: come back, while I tell you that I was your mother, darling—your own mother. My arms cradled you, my lips kissed you, my heart yearned over you. I am your own mother, darling. Come back and speak one word to me—only one word. Oh, Ulric, is it death? See, how beautiful she is! Her hair is like shining gold, and she is smiling! Oh, Heaven, she is smiling! She is not dead!"