"Yes, so it seems," said the housekeeper.

"Aweel then, see here. This letter begins--'_My ain dear Wifie_,' ye mind?--'_My ain dear Wifie_'--and gaes on wi' a lot o' luve, and a'

that, whilk I need na read, till ye. And it ends, look here--'_Your devoted husband_--ARONDELLE.' There! what do ye think o'

that?"

"I'm so astonished, ma'am, I don't know what to think."

"But ye ken weel noo, that my gude mon wha ca'ed himsel' John Scott, was the Markiss o' Arondelle, and is noo the Dooke of Harewood?"

"Yes, ma'am, I know that!--that is, if I'm awake and not dreaming," added the woman.

"And ye ken weel that the Dooke of Harewood hae get me lappet up here in prison sae I canna get out to prevent him ha'eing his wicked will, in marrying the heiress o' Lone?"

"I know that, too, ma'am--that is, if I'm not dreaming, as I said before," answered the bewildered old woman.

"Aweel, noo, I canna get out to forestal this graund wickedness. The shamefu' villain took gude care to prevent that, but I can circ.u.mvent him, for a' that, gin ye will help me, Mrs. Brown. Will ye?"

"You may be sure o' that, my poor young lady; for if things be as they seem, you have suffered much wrong," earnestly answered the woman.

"Aweel, then, tak' my marritge lines, my letter, and this likeness o' my laird--and may the black de'il burn him in--"

"Oh, my dear child, don't say that. It is dreadful. Tell me what I am to do with these papers and this picture."

"First of a', ye'll be very carefu' o' 'em, and be sure to bring them back safe to me."

"Yes, surely, my dear; but what am I to do with them?"

"Ye'll get a cab, and tak' the papers and the picture to the bride's house, and ask to see the bride alone, on a matter o' life and death. And ye maun tak' nae denial. Ye maun see her, and tell her anent mysel' here, betrayed into prison sae I canna come to warn her. And show her my marritge lines, and my letter, and my laird's pictur'--the foul fien' fly awa' wi' him!--and tell her, gin she dinna believe them, to gae to the auld kirk o' St. Margaret's, Wes'minster, and look at the register, and see the minister, Mr. Smith, and the clerk, Mr. Jones, and the auld bodie, Mrs. Gray, and she'll find out anent it! Will ye do this for me?"

"Yes, I will, my dear child."

"Here is a half-sovereign then to pay for the cab hire. And, oh! be sure ye tak' unco gude care o' my papers! They's a' my fortun', ye ken."

"Yes, indeed, I know how important they are to you, and I will bring them back safe," said the housekeeper, as she put the marriage certificate, the letter, the portrait, and the money in her pocket, and arose to leave the cell.

"And noo, we'll see, an' I dinna bring ye to open shame, ye graund de'il!" exclaimed Rose.

"I don't blame your anger, my poor dear, but don't use bad words. And now I am off. Good-day to you until I see you again," said the woman, as she left the cell.

Mrs. Brown was a good woman, but she did delight in hearing and retailing gossip, and in making and seeing a sensation; so she rather enjoyed her errand to Westbourne Terrace. She was also a brave woman, so she did not shrink from meeting the high-born bridegroom and the bride with her overwhelming revelations.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE SECOND BRIDAL MORN.

We must return to Elmhurst House and take up the thread of Salome's destiny, where we left it on the morning on which the young Duke of Hereward had called on Lady Belgrade and informed her ladyship of the arrest of the mysterious, vailed pa.s.senger, and implored her to keep all the papers announcing that arrest, or in any manner referring to the tragedy at Castle Lone, from the sight of the bereaved daughter and betrothed bride.

"And so the mysterious vailed woman had been discovered, and she turns out to be Rose Cameron!" repeated Lady Belgrade, reflectively. Then, after a pause, she said: "I wonder who was her confederate in that atrocious crime--or, rather, who was her master in it? for she is too weak and simple to have been anything but a blind tool, poor creature!"

"You knew her, then?" said the duke.

"Only by report while I was staying at Castle Lone. But the report came from the tenantry, who had known her from childhood--a handsome, ignorant, vain and credulous fool of a peasant girl, more likely to become the victim of some G.o.dless man, than the confederate of murderers.

Did _you_ know her, duke?" meaningly inquired the lady, as she remembered the reports in circulation at Castle Lone, that connected the name of the handsome shepherdess with that of the young n.o.bleman.

"No, I never saw the girl in my life. I have heard her beauty highly praised by some of the late companions of my hunting expeditions at Ben Lone; but I had no opportunity of judging for myself; and, moreover, I always discouraged such conversation among my comrades. But there, that is quite enough of the unhappy girl. I mentioned her arrest not as a most important fact only, but in order to warn you not to let our dear Salome get a sight of the daily papers, until you have looked over them, and a.s.sured yourself that they contain no reference to this arrest."

"I see the wisdom of your warning, and I will endeavor to be guided by it; but it may be difficult to do so. My very sequestration of the papers may excite Salome's suspicions."

"Then lose them; tear them; but do not let her see any part of them which may contain any reference to this girl. I thank Heaven that to-morrow I shall be able to take her out of the country and guard her peace and safety with my own head and hand. I shall take care also to keep her away until the trial and conviction of the criminals shall be over and done with, so that she may not be in any way hara.s.sed or distressed by the proceedings."

"Yes, that will be very wise. If she were in England or Scotland during the time of the trial, she might be subpoenaed as a witness for the prosecution. She was the first, poor child, to discover the dead body of her father, you know," said Lady Belgrade.

"I do not forget that circ.u.mstance, or what distress it may yet cause her," replied the young duke.

And very soon after he took leave and went away.

Lady Belgrade's task in keeping the day's papers from the sight of Salome Levison was easier than she had antic.i.p.ated.

Salome, deeply interested and absorbed in the final preparations for her marriage, did not even think of the newspapers, much less ask for them.

The bridal day dawned, once more, for the heiress of Lone.

Salome, with her attendant, was up early. The young girl, since her departure from Lone Castle, the scene of her father's murder, and her arrival at Elmhurst House, and occupations with her wedding preparations, had wonderfully recovered her health and spirits.

Yet on this, her bridal day, she arose with a heavy heart. A vague dread of impending evil weighed upon her spirits.

This occasion might well have brought back vividly cruelly to her memory, that fatal bridal morn when, going to invoke her father's presence and blessing on her marriage, she found him lying stiff and stark in the crimson pool of his own curdled blood. She had no father here on earth, now, to give her to the man she loved, and to bless her union with him.

That, in itself might have been enough to account for the gloom that darkened her wedding day. But that was not all. For, though her father was not visibly present here on earth, she knew that he watched and blessed her from his eternal home. No! but her prophetic soul was darkened by the shadow of some approaching misfortune.

Margaret, her new maid, brought her a cup of coffee in her chamber. After she had drank it, she went sadly in her dressing-room, to make her toilet for the altar.

Margaret was her only attendant and dresser.

Salome was still in the deepest mourning for her murdered father. In leaving it off, for the marriage altar only, she had resolved to replace it only by such a simple dress as might have been worn by any portionless bride in the middle cla.s.s of society.

She wore a plain white tulle dress, over a l.u.s.treless white silk, an Illusion vail, a wreath of orange buds, and white kid gloves and gaiters.

She wore no jewels of any sort.

Her bridesmaids, only two in number, were dressed like herself, except that they wore no vails, and that their wreaths were of white rose buds.

At eleven o'clock in the morning, a handsome but very plain coach drew up before the gate of Elmhurst Terrace.

The bride, attended by her two bridesmaids and Lady Belgrade, entered it, and was driven off quietly to St. George's, Hanover square.