But, alas! there comes a time into all lives when human love is powerless and human care can avail nothing. Such an hour had come to Violet Arleigh now.
“Wait here a moment,” the young man went on, eagerly, pityingly, all jealous distrust swallowed up in anxiety. “I will go and see.”
He left the conservatory hastily; but though he did not know it, Violet followed close behind him. It is so hard to be told that you must sit still, and wait in silent inaction, while others make all the effort, do all that we so long to do for our loved ones in extremity. And some unerring instinct warned Violet Arleigh that whatever had come upon her now, to darken her life forever, it was connected with her mother.
As she left the conservatory she chanced to glance in the direction of a glass door which opened into the grounds, and her quick eyes caught a glimpse of a vanishing figure, which disappeared in the shrubbery and was lost to sight—the tall, dark form of a man. It was Gilbert Warrington.
CHAPTER III.
THE TRAGEDY.
Violet hastened back to the drawing-room to be met by anxious friends with pale, frightened faces.
Some one tried to intercept her, but Violet’s eyes were riveted upon one figure—Mrs. Rutledge.
That lady had fallen helplessly upon a sofa, and was weeping hysterically, wringing her white hands in uncontrollable grief. The shriek which had resounded through the house, terrifying the guests, had issued from her lips. It was she who had first discovered the dread thing that had occurred.