It seemed wrong, almost sacrilegious, to do this; but the two men believed that they were pursuing the right course, and had pledged themselves to leave no stone unturned in their pursuit of Rosamond, and to bring her would-be murderer to justice. And as long as Violet was not deceived, there was no real wrong done to anybody.
Early in the morning Mrs. Rutledge entered the drawing-room, prepared to take a long, last look at her dead sister; but as she entered the room and her eyes fell upon the closed coffin, her face grew ghastly white, and she trembled with anger.
“Doctor Danton,” she exclaimed, coldly, “you are inclined to be officious. I did not expect to find the coffin closed. Why, Violet and I, and Hilda also, have been deprived of a last look at our beloved dead. It is infamous! I order you to open the coffin at once!”
Doctor Danton had carefully weighed the question during the long, slow hours which had elapsed since the strange events of the night. He understood fully the responsibility that he was undertaking, but still he could see no other way open. It seemed cruel and unnatural to conceal the truth from Mrs. Rutledge, Rosamond’s own and only sister; but then, on the other hand, if she were told, if the strange news should be broken to her, would she not insist upon telling Hilda? And Doctor Danton, in his inmost heart, entertained doubts of Hilda Rutledge in some way; he did not trust her; and long ago he had observed Hilda’s jealousy of Violet, and her own ill-concealed penchant for Leonard Yorke, which Leonard himself never suspected. So, after conferring with Dunbar, the physician had decided not to confide in Constance Rutledge, nor in any one but Violet herself. She must be told; she must know of her mother’s strange disappearance, and that her fate was even now shrouded in mystery.
Doctor Danton looked grave as he listened to Mrs. Rutledge.
“My dear Mrs. Rutledge,” he began, deprecatingly, “I beg you to listen to my explanation. It is but natural, your desire to view your poor sister’s remains for the last time; but, my dear madame, you were not prepared for the consequences of Mrs. Arleigh’s sudden death, and the change in the weather, which, as you know, has turned very warm. It was—I grieve to say it—impossible to keep her.” (“Which I am sure, is perfectly true,” the doctor added when he afterward repeated the conversation to Dunbar.)
Mrs. Rutledge covered her face with her hands.
“Oh, this is dreadful!” she sobbed. “I—I beg your pardon, Doctor Danton, for my insolence just now. To tell the truth, I am half-demented over Rosamond’s sudden death, and the complications which I fear will follow.”
Doctor Danton bowed coldly.
“She is thinking only of herself and Hilda,” he said to himself. “She is alarmed for fear they will be set adrift. I will see that they remain for the present, and I have hopes of finding Rosamond yet.”