"I do not think; I am certain of it--where a pretty face is concerned,"

responded the woman, quickly and blandly.

"I shall make no promises," he said, rudely turning on his heel. "Attend to the girl; she is recovering consciousness. You _dare not_ permit her to escape, no matter what you say to the contrary. I must return to the Gardiner mansion to direct the movements of the boys. They will be waiting for me. Order a fresh horse saddled, and be quick about it. I've already wasted too much time listening to your recriminations."

Very reluctantly the woman turned to do his bidding. She saw that she had gone far enough. His mood had changed from a reflective to an angry one, and Victor Lamont was a man to fear when he was in a rage.

As soon as the woman had quitted the room, Lamont returned to his contemplation of the beautiful face of the girl lying so white and still on the wooden settee, as revealed to him by the light of the swinging oil lamp directly over her head.

The longer Victor Lamont gazed, the more infatuated he became with that pure, sweet face.

"You shall love me," he muttered; "I swear it! Victor Lamont has never yet wished for anything that he did not obtain, sooner or later, by fair means or foul; and I wish for your love, fair girl--wish, long, crave for it with all my heart, with all my soul, with all the depth and strength of my nature! I will win you, and we will go far away from the scenes that know me but too well, where a reward is offered for my capture, and where prison doors yawn to receive me. I will marry you, and then I will reform--I will do anything you ask of me; but I must, I _will_ have your love, or I--will--kill--you! I could never bear to see you the bride of another."

CHAPTER LV.

"Yes, you shall marry me, though Heaven and earth combine to take you from me!" muttered Victor Lamont, gazing down upon the pure, marble-white face of Bernardine. "It is said that some day, sooner or later, every man meets his fate, and when he does meet that one of all others, his whole life changes. The past, with all those whom he has met and fancied before, is as nothing to him now, and his dreams are only of the future and that elysium where he is to wander hand in hand with the one he loves.

"Hand in hand--will I ever _dare_ clasp in mine that little white hand that I know must be as pure and spotless as a lily leaf? Would not my own hand, dark and hardened in sin, ay, bathed in blood even, wither away at the contact?

"If I had lived a good, honorable, upright life, I might have won the love and the respect of this young girl. If she knew me as I am, as the police know me, she would recoil from me in horror; but _she must never know_--never! I do not think she saw my face--ay, I could swear that she did not. I will tell her that I was a traveler happening to pa.s.s and saw her at the mercy of a ruffian, and rescued her.

"I will have her thanks, her heartfelt grat.i.tude. I will tell her that I will see her safely back to her friends, as soon as my horse--which became lame in the encounter--is able to make the journey, which will not be later than a day or two at the furthest. In the meantime, I will comfort her, pity her, sympathize with her.

"I have always been successful in winning the hearts of women without scarcely any effort on my part whatever, and I vow that I will win this girl's.

"The _La Gascoigne_ sails in three days from now. I will sail away in her, and this beautiful treasure shall sail with me as my bride, my beauteous bride.

"I will turn everything into cash. I will see young Mrs. Gardiner, and at the point of a revolver, if need be, cause her to beg, borrow, or steal a few thousand more for me from that handsome, aristocratic husband of hers.

"Then I will desert this gang that hang like barnacles about me, that know too much about me, and would squeal on me any moment to save themselves if they got into a tight place. I will go so far away that they will never get money enough together to attempt to follow me."

The clock on the mantel of an inner room warned him that time was flying swift-winged past him.

He stooped to kiss the beautiful, marble-like lips, that could not utter a demur, locked as they were in unconsciousness; then he drew back.

Even in her utter helplessness there was something like an armor about her--even as the innocent bud is encompa.s.sed and protected by the sharpest thorns from the hand that would ruthlessly gather it.

"The kiss from those pure lips must be freely offered, not stolen," he muttered; and turning on his heel, he hurried quickly from the apartment while that worthy resolution was strong upon him and his good impulses in the ascendency.

Mrs. d.i.c.k was suspiciously near the door; in his own mind he felt sure that she had been spying upon him through the key-hole.

"Your horse is ready, Victor Lamont," she said.

"It took you a long time to go upon your errand," he replied, tauntingly. "No doubt you harnessed the horse yourself, to spare that lazy husband of yours the trouble of doing it," he added.

The woman muttered something between her teeth which he did not quite catch; nor did he take the trouble to listen.

Vaulting quickly into the saddle, his mettlesome horse was off quite as soon as he could grasp the reins, and in an instant he was lost to sight in the dense gloom which precedes the dawn.

It was quite light when Victor Lamont reached the spot by the brook-side--the spot where he had met the lovely young stranger but a short time before.

What a strange fate it was that caused him to discover a flask of brandy in the pocket of the saddle!

That was his failing--drink! He had always guarded against taking even a single draught when he had an important duty to perform; but on this occasion he told himself he must make an exception.

"I will drink to the health of my beautiful bride to be," he muttered, raising the flask to his lips; and he drank long and deep, the brandy leaping like fire through his veins.

He had not long to wait in his place of concealment ere he heard the sound of footsteps.

Looking through the heavy branches, he saw the figure of a woman--a familiar figure, it seemed to him--moving rapidly to and fro among the blooms.

He called to her, believing this time he was face to face with young Mrs. Gardiner, when he found to his keen disappointment it was only Antoinette, the clever French maid.

She should take a message to her mistress, he determined; and tearing a leaf from his memorandum-book, he hastily penciled a note to Sally Gardiner, which he felt sure would bring her with all possible haste to the place at which he awaited her.

"Give this to your mistress with dispatch, Antoinette," he said.

He knew the golden key that would be apt to unlock this French maid's interest to do his bidding. As he spoke, he took from his pocket-book a crisp bank-note, which he told the girl she was to spend for bon-bons or ribbons for herself.

He had always made it a point to fee the French maid well, that he might have a powerful ally in the home of his intended victim.

The money, together with a little judicious flattery now and then, had won Antoinette completely over.

As Victor Lamont sat on the mossy bowlder by the brook-side, watching and waiting, he observed, early as the hour was, that the servants of the mansion had begun to bestir themselves. One hour pa.s.sed after Antoinette had returned to the house; then another.

Young Mrs. Gardiner did not come to the rendezvous.

"Why is she not here?" he asked himself; and for the first time in his life he quite lost control of himself in a fit of terrible anger, and to calm himself he had recourse more than once to the silver flask which he carried in his breast-pocket.

Five, ten, fifteen minutes pa.s.sed; then slowly one, two, three, four--another five; then replacing his watch in his pocket, and quivering with rage, Victor Lamont started for the house.

CHAPTER LVI.

The sound of the galloping hoofs of Victor Lamont's steed had scarcely died away in the distance ere Bernardine opened her eyes and looked wonderingly about her. For an instant she believed that her strange surroundings--the bare room, with its curtainless windows, and the strange women bending over her--were but the vagaries of a too realistic dream from which she was awakening. But even while this impression was strong upon her, the woman said, sneeringly:

"So you have regained consciousness--that's bad;" and she looked crossly at the girl.

"Where am I--and who are you?" asked Bernardine, amazedly, sitting bolt upright on the wooden settee, and staring in wonder up at the hard face looking down into her own. But before she could answer, a wave of memory swept over Bernardine, and she cried out in terror: "Oh, I remember standing by the brook, and the dark-faced man that appeared--how he caught hold of my arms in a grasp of steel, and I fainted. Did he bring me away from Gardiner Castle?" she demanded, indignantly--"_dared_ he do such a thing?"

"Do not get excited," replied the woman, coolly. "Always take everything cool--that's the best way."