"Holy saints, Mademoiselle! What is this that you are telling me?"

exclaimed the astonished abbess. "Surely, surely she is growing delirious with fever," she muttered to herself.

"I am telling you a terrible truth, my mother! Listen, and I will tell you everything, even as I know it myself!" said Salome, earnestly.

The abbess no longer opposed her speaking, although it was evident that her illness was hourly increasing.

And Salome told the terrible story of her sorrows, commencing with the first appointed wedding-day at Castle Lone, and ending with the second wedding-day at Elmhurst House, and her own secret flight from her false bridegroom, just as it is known to our readers.

The deeply shocked abbess heard and believed, and frequently crossed herself during the recital.

As Salome proceeded with what she called her confession, her fever and excitement increased rapidly. Toward the end of her recital her thoughts grew confused and wandered into the ravings of a brain fever.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE BRIDEGROOM.

According to his promise given to Lady Belgrade, the Duke of Hereward returned to Elmthorpe House to make his report.

He found the dowager waiting for him where he had left her, in the back drawing-room.

He greeted her only by a silent bow, and she questioned him only by a mute look.

"I have placed the case in the hands of Setter, confidentially, of course. He will commence secret investigations to-night," he said.

"This morning, you mean, Duke. It is now two o'clock," remarked the dowager.

"Is it, indeed, so late?"

"So early you should say. Yes, it is. But what thinks the detective of this affair?"

"He is inclined to think as we do, that our dear Salome has been decoyed away by some tale of extreme distress, and for purposes of robbery,"

answered the young duke, pressing his white lips firmly together in his effort to control all expression of the anguish that was secretly wringing his heart.

"And what does he think of the chances of finding her soon and finding her safe?" inquired the dowager.

The duke slowly shook his head.

"Well, and what does that mean?" asked the lady.

"It means that Detective Setter cannot form an opinion, or will not commit himself to the expression of one at present. And now, dear Lady Belgrade, as it is after two o'clock, I must bid you good-night--"

"Good-morning, rather," interrupted the dowager.

"And return to my lodgings," continued the duke, pa.s.sing his hand across his forehead, like one "dazed" with trouble.

"I beg you will do nothing of the sort, Duke," said Lady Belgrade, hastily interposing. "You have left your lodgings for a wedding tour. You are not expected back there. Your people think that you are far from London with your bride. In the name of propriety, let them think so still. Do not go back there to-night, and wake them all up, and start a nine days' wonder of scandal. Stay where you are, Duke, quietly, until we recover our Salome. When we do, you can both leave for Paris.

All the world will know nothing of this distressing affair, which, if it were to come to their knowledge, would be exaggerated, perverted, turned and twisted out of all its original shape, into some horrid story of scandal. Remember now, how few people know anything about it--only you, I, the detective necessarily taken into your confidence, and the servants, for whose discretion I can answer. Remain quietly here, therefore, that all gossip may be stopped."

The duke resumed his seat, but did not immediately answer.

"Do you not think my counsel good?" inquired the lady.

"Very good. Thanks, Lady Belgrade. I will follow your advice. There is another reason why I should do so, but with which you are not acquainted.

In the absorption of my thoughts with the subject of our Salome, I totally forgot to tell you that I have just been subpoenaed as a witness for the crown, in the approaching trial of John Potts and Rose Cameron for the murder of Sir Lemuel Levison. The case will come on at the a.s.sizes at Banff on Thursday next. I must leave for Scotland to-morrow,"

said the young duke.

"Why--you surprise me very much! When was the subpoena served upon you?"

inquired the dowager.

"In a chance recounter at the police-office, where I went to find the detective, and where I also found a sheriff's officer holding a subpoena for me, which he was about to send across the channel by a special messenger--supposing me to be in Paris. So you see, my dear Lady Belgrade, my wedding tour would have been stopped at Paris, if not nearer."

"That is well; for now, if the wedding tour is delayed, it will be known to be a legal necessity, which in no way reflects upon the wedding party.

And now, my dear Duke, since you consent to stay all night, let me advise you to retire to rest. You will find your valet waiting your orders in the cedar suite of rooms, to which I had your dressing case and boxes taken."

"Thanks, Lady Belgrade. Your ladyship antic.i.p.ates everything."

"I certainly antic.i.p.ated the necessity of your remaining here all night, as soon as I found that you could not leave London. And now, Duke, I must really send you to bed. I am exhausted. I must lie down, even if I do not sleep," said the dowager, as she arose and touched the bell.

The Duke of Hereward raised her hand to his lips, bowed, and left the room.

Lady Belgrade followed his example.

And the weary groom of the chambers entered, in answer to the bell, to turn off the gas and fasten up the rooms.

The young duke knew where to find the cedar suite--a sumptuous set of apartments finished and fitted up in the costly and fragrant wood which gave them their name.

He found his servant waiting in the dressing-room.

His grace's valet was no fine gentleman from Paris, as full of accomplishments as of vices; but a simple and honest young man from the estate. The extra gravity which young James Kerr put into his manner of waiting, alone testified of the reverential sympathy he felt for his beloved master.

The duke threw off the travelling coat that he had a.s.sumed for his journey and had worn up to this moment; and he took the wadded silk dressing gown, handed him by his valet, and having put it on, he dropped into an easy resting-chair, and ordered Kerr to lower the gas and then leave the room for the night.

The young Duke of Hereward did not retire to bed that night. As soon as he found himself alone in the half-darkened rooms, he arose from his chair and began to walk restlessly up and down the floor, relieving the pent-up anguish of his bosom by such deep groans as had required all his self-control to suppress while he was in the presence of others.

Thus walking and groaning in great agony of mind, he pa.s.sed the few remaining dark hours of the morning.

At daylight he sank exhausted into his easy-chair. But even then he neither "slumbered nor slept," but pa.s.sed the time in waiting and longing for the rising sun, that he might go out and renew his search for his lost bride.

The sun had scarcely risen when he rang for his valet.

The young man appeared promptly.

The duke made a hasty toilet, and then called his servant to attend him down stairs.