“I told you that I followed him for a long time. I knew he must have stolen it, for I had never opened the casket which contained it except in your presence. I felt assured, too, that he would either keep it about his person, or else destroy it, and I resolved to satisfy myself, feeling it was well worthy an effort. In my disguise I went to the inn where he and Ralph put up, and while the maids were getting their supper the night they arrived, I went into the kitchen and slyly drugged their coffee. My room was directly back of theirs, with only a closet between, and after they were asleep (sound asleep, too, I assure you they were, for it was a powerful drug I used) I removed a board from the partition in the closet, entered their apartment, and searched until I found this precious bit of paper.”
He put it in her hand as he ceased speaking, and she clutched it eagerly, while her eyes flew swiftly over it, devouring every word; then, with a smile and a sigh of intense relief, she hid it within her bosom.
“I concealed myself several times in that closet,” continued her husband, “and in that way learned much of the treachery that was afloat.”
The squire gave a howl of rage at this disclosure, and muttered a horrible oath, while Ralph hung his head in shame and confusion.
“Now, my precious wife,” said Alfred Ellerton, without heeding the interruption, “I believe I have told you everything you care to know, unless I repeat that I have an abundance of this world’s goods, and that your future life shall be one bright dream of happiness, if my devotion and love can make it such. We will improve every moment, and strive to forget in the joy of the present the bitterness and suffering of the past. But,” he added, quickly turning and glancing around, “I have a couple of friends here who have, also, something against this peace-destroying wretch; and when they have settled with him we will leave this place for more agreeable quarters.
He turned away, as he spoke, to see the Italians before mentioned, while the squire, with an uneasy, and anxious expression upon his yellow face, remained waiting and watching, not without cause, for further painful developments.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
UNBROKEN FAITH.
We left poor Enid Chichester in a faint in the arm-chair, into which she had fallen on discovering who the bridegroom was; and there she had remained unnoticed and uncared for until the excitement had somewhat subsided—until every smuggler was firmly bound and put under close and watchful guard.
Then some of her fair sisters had discovered her and immediately set about her restoration. For a long time the efforts of her friends were unsuccessful, but, at last, with a heavy sigh, she opened her eyes and gazed wonderingly around her.
Soon she remembered where she was—why she was there, and what had happened—that he—he who had promised to devote himself to the work of liberating her—he upon whom she had placed her whole dependence, her whole faith and trust, was married to another; worse than that! was the wretch who had heartlessly forced the bonds of wedlock upon an unwilling bride; and with a moan of pain she covered her beautiful face with her hands.