Victor's Triumph Part 56

It came to her bedside in the dead of night and laid its clammy wet hand upon her sleeping brow. And when she woke in wild affright it met her transfixed and horrified gaze.

Her only relief was in opium. She would stupefy herself every night with opium, and wake every morning pale, haggard, dull and heavy.

She must have sunk under her mental suffering and material malpractices but for the one purpose that had once carried her into crime and now kept her alive through the terror and remorse that were the natural consequences of that crime. She lived only for revenge--

"Like lightning fire, To speed one bolt of ruin and expire!"

"I will live and keep sane until I degrade and destroy both Alden Lytton and Emma Cavendish, and then--I must die or go mad," she said to herself.

Such was her inner life.

Her outer life was very different from this.

She was still, to all appearance, a zealous church woman, never missing a service either on Sundays or on week-days; never neglecting the sewing-circles, the missionary meetings, the Sunday-schools, or any other of the parish works or charities, and always contributing liberally to every benevolent enterprise from the munificent income paid her quarterly by Miss Cavendish.

Since her return from Philadelphia she had not resumed her acquaintance with Alden Lytton.

They did not attend the same church, and were not in the same circle. It was a very reserved "circle" in which Mary Grey "circulated;" while Alden Lytton sought the company of professional and scholarly men.

Thus for months after their return to Richmond they did not meet.

Alden Lytton in the meanwhile supposed her to be still in Philadelphia, filling a position as drawing-mistress in the ladies' college.

It was early in the winter when they accidentally encountered each other on Main Street.

On seeing her form approach, Alden Lytton stepped quickly to meet her, with an extended hand and a bright smile; but the next instant he started in sorrowful surprise, as his eyes fell on her pallid face, so changed since he had seen it last.

"My dear Mrs. Grey, I am so glad to see you! I hope I see you well," he added, as he took her hand, but his looks belied his "hope."

"I am not well, thank you," she answered plaintively, and her looks did not belie her words.

"I am very sorry to hear it. How long have you been in the city?" he next inquired, holding her hand and looking at her with eyes full of pity.

"I have been back some time," she answered, vaguely. "I was forced to leave my situation from failing health."

"I did not know that you had returned or I should have called on you before this. But," he added, perceiving her physical weakness, "I am wrong to keep you standing here. I will turn about and walk with you while we talk. Which way are you going? Will you take my arm?"

"Thanks, no, Mr. Lytton. I can not take your arm; and neither, if you will forgive me for saying it, can I receive a visit from you. The world is censorious, Alden Lytton. And in my lonely and unprotected position I dare not receive the visits of gentlemen," she answered, pensively.

"That seems hard, but doubtless it is discreet. However, that will all be changed, I hope, in a little while. In a very few months, I trust, your home will be with my beloved wife and myself. I know it is Emma's desire that you should live with us," he said, still kindly holding her thin hand.

"Is your wedding to come off so soon?" she inquired.

"Yes, in a few weeks, and then we are to go to Europe for a short holiday, and afterward take a house in the city here," said Alden, smiling.

"I wish you every joy in your wedded life. And now, Mr. Lytton, you must let me go," she said, wearily.

"One moment. You do not write to Emma often, do you? I ask because only a week ago, in one of her letters to me, Miss Cavendish wrote that she had not heard from you for nearly three months, and requested me to find out your address, if possible. I wrote back in reply that I believed you to be at the Ladies' College, in Philadelphia," he said, still detaining her hand.

"I am a bad correspondent. My hand is still lame. Just before I left here for Philadelphia I sent Miss Cavendish an acknowledgment of the last quarterly sum she sent me. I told her then that I was about to go to Philadelphia on particular business. I have not written to her since."

"And that was nearly three months ago. That is just what the matter is.

She wishes to find out your address, so as to know where to send the next quarterly instalment of your income, which will soon be due."

"Tell her that I have returned to this city, and that my address is the same as that to which she last wrote."

"I will; but do you write to her also. I know she is anxious to hear directly from you."

"I will do so," she replied; "though I am the worst possible correspondent. Now good-day, Mr. Lytton."

"If I may not call to see you, at least I hope that you will let me know if ever I can serve you in any manner," he said, gently, as he pressed the pale hand he had held so long and relinquished it.

They parted then, and saw no more of each other for some days.

Alden went on his office, full of pity for the failing woman, who, he said to himself, could not possibly have many months to live.

But his feelings of painful compa.s.sion were soon forgotten in his happiness in finding a letter from Emma Cavendish lying with his business correspondence on his desk.

There was really nothing more in it than appeared in just such letters that he received two or three times a week; only she told him that she had written to Mrs. Grey at the Ladies' College, Philadelphia, and had not received any answer to her letter.

Before doing any other business, Alden Lytton took a half-quire of note-paper and dashed off an exuberant letter to his lady-love, in which, after repeating the oft-told story of her peerless loveliness and his deathless devotion, he came down to practical matters, and spoke of their mutual friend Mary Grey. He told Emma that Mrs. Grey was in the city again, where she had been for some weeks, although he had not been aware of the fact until he had met her that morning on Main Street while on the way to his office.

He told her of "poor Mary Grey's" failing health and spirits and ghastly appearance, and suggested those circ.u.mstances as probable reasons why she had not written to her friends during the last three months.

Then he went back to the old everlasting theme of his infinite, eternal love, etc., etc., etc., and closed with fervent prayers and blessings and joyful antic.i.p.ations.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

THE MASK THROWN OFF.

As a consequence of this, two days afterward Mary Grey received a tender, affectionate, sympathetic letter from Emma Cavendish pressing her to come down to Blue Cliffs at once and let them love her and nurse her back to health and happiness. And this letter inclosed a check for double the amount of the usual quarterly stipend.

Miss Cavendish, for some coy reason or other, did not allude to her approaching marriage. Perhaps she deferred the communication purposely, with the friendly hope that Mary Grey would visit her at Blue Cliffs, where she could make it to her in person.

Mrs. Grey, who did not dare to let her true handwriting go to Blue Cliffs, lest it should be seen and recognized by Mrs. Fanning, and who could not disguise it safely either, without some fair excuse to Emma Cavendish for doing so, put on a tight glove, and took a hard stiff pen and wrote a short note, full of grat.i.tude and affection for Emma and all the family, and of complaints about her wretched crippled finger, that made it so painful for her to write, and prevented her from doing so as often as she wished; and of her still more wretched health, that hindered her from accepting her dear friend's kind invitation.

In reply to this letter, she got another, and a still kinder one, in which Miss Cavendish spoke of her own speedily approaching marriage, and pressed Mrs. Grey to come and be present on the occasion, adding:

"My dearest, you _must_ make an effort and come. Alden himself will escort you on the journey, and take such good care of you that you shall suffer no inconvenience from the journey. You must come, for my happiness will not be complete without the presence of my dear father's dearest friend--of her who was to have been his bride."

This loving and confiding letter was never answered or even acknowledged by Mrs. Grey. It was entirely ignored, its contents were never mentioned to any one, and itself was torn to fragments and burned to ashes.

Two more letters of precisely the same character were written to her by Miss Cavendish; but they suffered the same fate at the hands of Mrs.

Grey.