"Can you look me in the eye--so--and say that you never put this key in yonder lock? Edna! more hangs on your words than you dream of. Be truthful! as if you were indeed in the presence of the G.o.d you worship. I can forgive you for prying into my affairs, but I can not and will not pardon you for trifling with me now."

"I never unlocked the vault; I never had the key near it but once-- about a week ago--when I found the tomb covered with cobwebs, and twisted the key partly into the hole to drive out the spider. I give you my most solemn a.s.surance that I never unlocked it, never saw the interior. Your suspicions are ungenerous and unjust--derogatory to you and insulting to me."

"The proof is at hand, and if I have indeed unjustly suspected you, atonement full and ample shall be made."

Clasping one of her hands so firmly that she could not extricate it, he drew her before the Taj Mahal, and stooping, fitted the key to the lock. There was a dull click as he turned it, but even then he paused and scrutinized her face. It was flushed, and wore a proud, defiant, grieved look; his own was colorless as the marble that reflected it, and she felt the heavy, rapid beating of his blood, and saw the cords thickening on his brow.

"If you have faithfully kept your promise, there will be an explosion when I open the vault."

Slowly he turned the key a second time; and as the arched door opened and swung back on its golden hinges, there was a flash and sharp report from a pistol within.

Edna started involuntarily notwithstanding the warning, and clung to his arm an instant, but he took no notice of her whatever. His fingers relaxed their iron grasp of hers, his hand dropped to his side, and leaning forward, he bowed his head on the marble dome of the little temple. How long he stood there she knew not; but the few moments seemed to her interminable as she silently watched his motionless figure.

He was so still, that finally she conjectured he might possibly have fainted from some cause unknown to her; and averse though she was to addressing him, she said timidly:

"Mr. Murray, are you ill? Give me the key of the door and I will bring you some wine."

There was no answer, and in alarm she put her hand on his.

Tightly he clasped it, and drawing her suddenly close to his side, said without raising his face:

"Edna Earl, I have been ill--for years--but I shall be better henceforth. O child! child! your calm, pure, guileless soul can not comprehend the blackness and dreariness of mine. Better that you should lie down now in death, with all the unfolded freshness of your life gathered in your grave, than live to know the world as I have proved it. For many years I have lived without hope or trust or faith in anything--in anybody. To-night I stand here lacking sympathy with or respect for my race, and my confidence in human nature was dead; but, child, you have galvanized the corpse."

Again the mournful music of his voice touched her heart, and she felt her tears rising as she answered in a low, hesitating tone:

"It was not death, Mr. Murray, it was merely syncope and this is a healthful reaction from disease."

"No, it will not last. It is but an ignis fatuus that will decoy to deeper gloom and darker mora.s.ses. I have swept and garnished, and the seven other devils will dwell with me forever! My child, I have tempted you, and you stood firm. Forgive my suspicions. Twenty years hence, if you are so luckless as to live that long, you will not wonder that I doubted you, but that my doubt proved unjust. This little vault contains no skeleton, no state secrets; only a picture and a few jewels, my will, and the history of a wrecked, worthless, utterly ruined life. Perhaps if you continue true, and make my mother happy. I may put all in your hands some day, when I die; and then you will not wonder at my aimless, hopeless, useless life. One thing I wish to say now, if at any time you need a.s.sistance of any kind--if you are troubled--come to me. I am not quite so selfish as the world paints me, and even if I seem rude and harsh, do not fear to come to me. You have conferred a favor on me, and I do not like to remain in anybody's debt. Make me repay you as soon as possible."

"I am afraid, sir, we never can be friends."

"Why not?"

"Because you have no confidence in me, and I would much sooner go for sympathy to one of your bronze monsters yonder on the doorsteps, than to you. Neither of us likes the other, and consequently a sham cordiality would be intolerably irksome. I shall not be here much longer; but while we are in the same house, I trust no bitter or unkind feelings will be entertained. I thank you, sir, for your polite offer of a.s.sistance, but hope I shall soon be able to maintain myself without burdening your mother any longer."

"How long have you burdened her?"

"Ever since that night when I was picked up lame and helpless, and placed in her kind hands."

"I should like to know whether you really love my mother?"

"Next to the memory of my grandfather, I love her and Mr. Hammond; and I feel that my grat.i.tude is beyond expression. There, your mother is coming! I hear the carriage. Shall I tell her you are here?"

Without raising his face, he took the key of the door from his pocket, and held it toward her. "No; I will meet her in her own room."

Edna hastened to the library, and throwing herself into a chair, tried to collect her thoughts and reflect upon what had pa.s.sed in the "Egyptian Museum."

Very soon Mrs. Murray's cry of joyful surprise rang through the house, and tears of sympathy rose to Edna's eyes as fancy pictured the happy meeting in the neighboring room. Notwithstanding the strong antipathy to Mr. Murray which she had a.s.siduously cultivated, and despite her conviction that he held in derision the religious faith, to which she clung so tenaciously, she was now disquieted and pained to discover that his bronzed face possessed an attraction--an indescribable fascination--which she had found nowhere else. In striving to a.n.a.lyze the interest she was for the first time conscious of feeling, she soothed herself with the belief that it arose from curiosity concerning his past life, and sympathy for his evident misanthropy. It was in vain that she endeavored to fix her thoughts on a book; his eyes met hers on every page, and when the bell summoned her to a late supper, she was glad to escape from her own confused reflections.

Mrs. Murray and her son were standing on the rug before the grate, and as Edna entered, the former held out her hand.

"Have you seen my son? Come and congratulate me." She kissed the girl's forehead, and continued:

"St. Elmo, has she not changed astonishingly? Would you have known her had you met her away from home?"

"I should certainly have known her under all circ.u.mstances."

He did not look at her, but resumed the conversation with his mother which her entrance had interrupted, and during supper Edna could scarcely realize that the cold, distant man, who took no more notice of her than of one of the salt cellars, was the same whom she had left leaning over the Taj. Not the faintest trace of emotion lingered on the dark, stony features, over which occasionally flickered the light of a sarcastic smile, as he briefly outlined the course of his wanderings; and now that she could, without being observed, study his countenance, she saw that he looked much older, more worn and haggard and hopeless, than when last at home, and that the thick, curling hair that clung in glossy rings to his temples was turning grey.

When they arose from the table, Mrs. Murray took an exquisite bouquet from the mantelpiece and said:

"Edna, I was requested to place this in your hands, as a token of the regard and remembrance of your friend and admirer, Gordon Leigh, who charged me to a.s.sure you that your absence spoiled his enjoyment of the day. As he seemed quite inconsolable because of your non- attendance, I promised that you should ride with him to-morrow afternoon."

As Edna glanced up to receive the flowers, she met the merciless gaze she so much dreaded, and in her confusion let the bouquet fall on the carpet. Mr. Murray picked it up, inhaled the fragrance, rearranged some of the geranium leaves that had been crushed, and, smiling bitterly all the while, bowed, and put it securely in her hand.

"Edna, you have no other engagement for to-morrow?"

"Yes, madam, I have promised to spend it with Mr. Hammond."

"Then you must excuse yourself, for I will not have Gordon disappointed again."

Too much annoyed to answer, Edna left the room, but paused in the hall and beckoned to Mrs. Murray, who instantly joined her,

"Of course, you will not have prayers to-night, as Mr. Murray has returned?"

"For that very reason I want to have them, to make a public acknowledgment of my grat.i.tude that my son has been restored to me.

Oh! if he would only consent to be present!"

"It is late, and he will probably plead fatigue."

"Leave that with me, and when I ring the bell, come to the library."

The orphan went to her room and diligently copied an essay which she intended to submit to Mr. Hammond for criticism on the following day; and as the comparative merits of the Solonian and Lycurgan codes const.i.tuted her theme, she soon became absorbed by Grecian politics, and was only reminded of the events of the evening, when the muezzin bell sounded, calling the household to prayer.

She laid down her pen and hurried to the library, whither Mrs.

Murray had enticed her son, who was standing before one of the book- cases, looking over the table of contents of a new scientific work.

The servants came in and ranged themselves near the door, and suddenly Mrs. Murray said:

"You must take my place to-night, Edna; I can not read aloud."

The orphan looked up appealingly, but an imperative gesture silenced her, and she sat down before the table, bewildered and frightened.

Mr. Murray glanced around the room, and with a look of wrath and scorn threw down the book and turned toward the door; but his mother's hand seized his--

"My son, for my sake, do not go! Out of respect for me, remain the first evening of your return. For my sake, St. Elmo!"

He frowned, shook off her hands, and strode to the door; then reconsidered the matter, came back, and stood at the fireplace, leaning his elbow on the mantel, looking gloomily at the coals.

Although painfully embarra.s.sed as she took her seat and prepared to conduct the services in his presence, Edna felt a great calm steal over her spirit when she opened the Bible and read her favorite chapter, the fourteenth of St. John.