"Dexter Ralston!" he cried. "Look, Harding! It is all explained! I know, now, why he haunted this house, and what the sharp cry meant when he crossed the hall this morning! Don't you see!"
They did see, as little by little, while the dinner-dishes were rattling in the dining-room adjoining, Tom Leslie explained to his wondering auditors (Harding only excepted—who yawned and was hungry) so much of the antecedents and character of the strange Virginian as could bear any relation to the abduction—though abduction it could not be properly called. That that singular and commanding man and that equally singular mere child had been friends, perhaps lovers, was evident; that they had fled away, with the girl's consent, beyond the hope of successful pursuit, was equally evident: and here the mystery for the time shut completely down, and they knew no more.
But what was it that Mazeppa said, through the lips of his self-appointed spokesman, Byron, of the impossibility of escaping the patient search and long vigil of the man seeking revenge for wrong? He might have cited another motive, less fierce but quite as powerful—curiosity! Job Thornberry may give up his search for the name of the destroyer of his daughter, and allow her to break her heart in quiet; but not so Paul Pry, who needs a full explanation of the scandal for retail purposes. John Crawford, in spite of the oath which he could now no longer keep, might possibly have allowed the mystery to rest here, had not Tom Leslie, who had sworn no oath whatever, been in his way. Balked in New York and mystified everywhere, the latter gentleman determined to know more—or less! John Crawford only needed this companionship; and an hour after the discovery of the abduction, the two once more whirled over into Canada, possibly on a longer ride than the one they had just concluded.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Sequel at West Falls—Colonel Crawford's Flight, and How it was Accounted For—Josephine Harris's Return to New York, and Her Disappointment—Another Conspiracy.
The length to which this narration, involving the fortunes of so many different persons, has already extended, renders it necessary that some of the succeeding incidents should be passed over with great rapidity and in some instances even grouped together without order or arrangement.
Were the opportunity otherwise, a forcible picture might be drawn of the events at West Falls, following the departure of Colonel Egbert Crawford and the discovery of his flight through the means of one of the farm-hands who had seen him driving rapidly away towards Utica. Nearly an hour after his departure had elapsed, before Mary Crawford was aware of it; and naturally her first step, on being informed that he had left the village, was to run up to his chamber. She knocked at the half-open door, her heart beating with as much anxiety for fear the knock should be answered, as many another heart has beaten in fear that such a signal would not meet a response. But there was no reply. She flung the door timidly open, and went in. Everything in the apartment remained as she had arranged it in the morning for (as she supposed) her own bridal chamber. The Colonel's valise and some portions of his clothing, had not been removed, and this seemed to render impossible the supposition that he had really left the village. But his sudden absence at all, after what had occurred, gave ground to believe that some extraordinary movement had really been made; and on the little table, after a moment, the young girl discovered the note to Josephine Harris, directed under her own care. It was sealed, and even had it not been, propriety would have prevented her ascertaining the contents; but the very fact of there being such a reply left, for her to deliver, told that the shot must have sped home, and that the expected bridegroom had indeed fled from his bridal.
How the young girl managed to walk to her own room and once more array herself for the street, with that dizzy sensation in her head, half of joy, half of fright—how she silently and swiftly quitted the house again, and made her way through the blazing afternoon sunshine, once more to the little house of Mrs. Halstead,—she will probably never know. People have walked in dreams, and others have done acts while under the influence of waking sleep, for which they were scarcely responsible. It is enough to say that at three o'clock that afternoon Josephine Harris was aroused from the sound slumber by which her sick-headache was being rapidly cured—once more to receive the young girl, whom she had little expected to see so soon.
When she descended the stairs, she found Mary Crawford standing alone within the door of the sitting-room, Susan, who had admitted her, having shown the innate delicacy of the good by retiring with only a kind word and a sisterly kiss. The moment Josephine entered the room and saw Mary standing there, her eyes full of unnatural brightness, her cheeks all aglow with excitement like that of fever, and her glorious auburn hair rudely dishevelled under her gipsy hat,—she knew that her own effort had not failed—that surprise, and not disappointment, was the feeling written upon that speaking face.