It bade him return home at once, if he was able to travel; for his "uncle" had been stricken down, and lay at the point of death.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
A STRANGE COMMAND.
Life had seemed strange to Beatrix in that gloomy mansion in the Crescent City. From the night of her arrival she had scarcely seen old Bernard Dane—a circumstance which she could not regret; for, try as she might to shut her eyes to the truth, there was nothing pleasant or lovable about the old man. He was, indeed, everything repulsive; and his strange, wild outbursts of rage and malice against some evil which he could not prevent or forget—something hidden away in his own past—made Beatrix tremble with terror. She shrank from the gaze of his shifting dark eyes, preternaturally bright with some hidden fire which made them appear like fierce flames ready to burst forth and devour her. Since the evening of her arrival she had never again attempted any familiar or affectionate demonstrations. She had kept at a respectful distance, and comprehended fully that there was no possibility of any friendliness between them.
Why had he sent for her to come to his home, only to treat her with chilling coldness or outbursts of ungovernable rage? When she thought of the oath that he had extorted from her—her solemn promise to wed the man whom he had selected as her husband—Beatrix's heart grew faint and chill with horror. How did she know but that she had pledged herself to a fearful fate—a dark, an awful future, bound to a man whom she might hate at first sight? And then she thought of Keith Kenyon, and her heart grew warm and tender. Could she ever forget him, even though she might never see him again? Was it possible for her to shut her heart against the sweet thoughts which would intrude—the few tender words that he had spoken, and, above all, the light in his beautiful dark eyes, which had thrilled her to the heart?
"I can not forget him," she would say over and over, when the unpleasant recollection of the oath that she had so blindly taken would come back to her memory—"I can not forget him, and there will be no use in trying. Uncle Bernard may force me into a dreadful marriage if he sees fit—I suppose I shall have to obey him, the old tyrant!—but I shall never forget Keith Kenyon as long as I live—never!"
The great, gloomy old mansion was well worth exploring, for it was like the houses of which one reads in romances, where some dark mystery seems to be hidden away secure from the light of day and prying, curious eyes. There was one room called the tower-room. Beatrix went there every day, impelled by a strange and unaccountable fascination, to sit alone and wonder over and over again for what use the room had been originally intended. It was reached by a long spiral staircase, and was built in a circular shape, and known as the "round room." There was only one window, and that was merely a small square hole in the wall, and was covered with a strong iron grating.
For what purpose had this room been intended? In vain did Beatrix puzzle her brain over the vexed question. Mrs. Graves, the old housekeeper, looked cold and non-committal when Beatrix at last ventured to propound the question.