He bowed and left her, pa.s.sing into another room, and closing the door.

All in an agitated flutter, Mollie opened her door and entered. But on the threshold she paused, with a shrill cry of wonder, terror, and doubt; for the padded walls and floor, the blind windows, the lighted lamp, the bed, the furniture, were all recognized in a moment.

It was the room where she had been first imprisoned--where she had consented to marry the masked man.

A quiet figure rose from a chair under the lamp and faced her with a courtesy. It was the girl who had lured her from her home--Sarah Grant.

"Come in, miss," said this young person, as though they had just parted an hour ago. "Master told me to expect you. Sit down; he'll be here in a minute. You look fit to drop."

She felt "fit to drop." She sunk into the proffered seat, trembling through every limb in her body, overwhelmed with a stunning consciousness that the supreme moment of her life had come.

Sarah Grant left the room, and Mollie was alone. Her eyes turned to the door, and fixed themselves there as if fascinated. Her head was awhirl--her mind a blank. Something tremendous was about to happen--what, she could not think.

The door opened slowly--the man in the black mask strode in and stood, silent and awful, before her.

Without a word or cry, but white as death, she rose up and confronted him with wild, dilated eyes.

"You know me, Mollie," the masked man said, addressing her, as before, in French--"I am your husband."

"Yes," Mollie answered, her white lips scarce able to form the words.

"For G.o.d's sake, take off that mask and show me your face!"

Without a word, he unclasped the cloak and let it slip on the floor; he removed the flowing hair and beard, and with it the mask. And uttering a low, wailing cry, Mollie staggered back--for there before her, pale as herself, stood the man she loved--Hugh Ingelow!

CHAPTER XXIX.

WHICH WINDS UP THE BUSINESS.

He stood before her, pale and stern, his eyes fixed upon her, as a culprit before his judge waiting sentence of death.

But Mollie never looked. After that one brief, irrepressible cry, she had fallen back, her face bowed and hidden in her hands.

"You shrink from me, Mollie," Hugh Ingelow said; "you will not even look at me. I knew it would be so. I know I deserve it; but if I were never to see you again, I must tell you the truth all the same. Yes, Mollie, recoil from me, hate me, spurn me, for the base, unmanly part I have acted. It is not Doctor Oleander who is the dastard, the villain, the abductor of weak women--it is I!"

She did not speak, she did not move, she made no sign that she even heard him.

"It will avail me little, I know," he continued, "to tell you I have repented the dastardly deed in bitterness of spirit since. It will avail nothing to tell you how I have hated myself for that cruel and cowardly act that made me your husband. I think you maddened me, Mollie, with your heartless, your insulting rejection, and I did love you pa.s.sionately. I swore, in my heart of hearts, I would be avenged, and, Mollie, you know how I kept my vow."

Still no reply, still no movement on Mollie's part. She stood half bowed, her head averted, her face covered by her hands.

"It drove me into a sort of frenzy, the thought of your becoming Sir Roger Trajenna's wife. If he had been a young man, and you had loved him, I would have bowed my head, as before a shrine, and gone my way and tried to forgive you and wish you happiness. But I knew better. I knew you were selling yourself for an old man's rank, for an old man's gold, and I tried to despise and hate you. I tried to think that no base act I could commit would be baser than the marriage you were ready to make. A plan--mad, impracticable as my own mad love, flashed across my brain, and, like many other things impossible in theory, I did it! It seemed an impossiblity to tear you from the very altar, and make you my wife, all unknown, but I did it. I had this house here, uninhabited, furnished. I had a friend ready to help me to the death. I disguised myself like a hero of romance, I decoyed you here, forced you to consent, I married you!"

Still mute, still dropping, still averted, still motionless. There was a tremor in Hugh Ingelow's steady voice when he went on.

"How hard it was for me, what a cruel, cold-blooded monster I felt myself, how my very heart of hearts was touched by your suffering here, I can not tell. Besides, it would seem like mockery, since all my compa.s.sion did not make me spare you. But from the moment you set foot here I considered it too late; and then, besides, Mollie, I was mad with love of you. I could not let you go. You yielded--you consented to barter yourself for freedom, as once before you consented for gold. I brought the Reverend Raymond Rashleigh here--he married me under my second name of Ernest--as you know."

He paused again. Still no sign, and then he went on:

"I let you go. I did not dare reveal myself, but I kept my promise. Hate me, Mollie, as you will; despise me, as you must--but try and think how dearly I love you. I would lay down my life for you, my darling Mollie.

That would be an easy sacrifice; it remains for me to make a greater one. A divorce shall set you free. I myself will obtain that divorce. No one knows of our marriage--no one ever shall know. I will leave you free--free as the wind that blows--to go forth and make happy a more honorable and deserving man. Only, Mollie, no man ever will love you as I love you!" His voice failed. He turned abruptly away, and stood as if waiting for her to speak. But she never uttered a word.

He took her silence for a token of her utter scorn and hate.

"Farewell then, Mollie," he said. "I go, and I will never molest you more. The carriage that brought you here will fetch you home again. But before we part forever, let me say this--if you ever want a friend, and can so far forgive me the wrong I have done you as to call upon me for help, then, Mollie, I will try to repair my unpardonable offense."

He walked to the door, he turned the handle, he gave one last, despairing look--and what did he see? A little, white hand extended imploringly, and a pathetic little voice, tremulously speaking:

"Hugh, don't go!"

He stopped, turning ghastly white.

"Mollie! For G.o.d's sake--"

"Don't--don't go, Mr. Ingelow! Don't go, for I forgive you--I love you!"

Hugh Ingelow gave one amazed cry--it was more like a shout--and in the next ecstatic moment Miss Dane was in his arms, held there as if he never would let her go.

"Please don't!" Mollie said, pettishly. "What do you suppose a person's ribs are made of, to stand such bear's hugs as that? Besides, I didn't tell you to. I only asked you not to mind the divorce--to-day!"

"Mollie, Mollie! for Heaven's sake, don't trifle with me! I am nearly beside myself--what with remorse, despair, and now hope. Tell me--can you ever forgive me? But I am mad to ask it, to hope for it. I know what you said to Doctor Oleander."

"Do you?" said Mollie; "but then you're not Doctor Oleander."

"Mollie!"

"But still," said Mollie, solemnly, and disengaging herself, "when I have time to think about it, I am sure I shall hate you like poison. I do now, but I hate divorces more. Oh, Mr. Ingelow! how could you behave so disgracefully?"

And then all at once and without the slightest premonitory warning, the young lady broke out crying hysterically, and to do it the better laid her face on Mr. Ingelow's shoulder. And, that bold buccaneer of modern society gathered the little girl close to his heart, like the presumptuous scoundrel he was, and let her cry her fill; and the face he bent over her was glorified and ecstatic.

"Stop crying, Mollie," he said at last, putting back the yellow curls, and peeping at the flushed, wet, pretty face. "Stop crying, my dear little wife, and look up and say, 'Hugh, I forgive you.'"

"Never!" said Mollie. "You cruel, tyrannical wretch, I hate you!"

And saying it, Mollie put her arms round his neck, and laughed and cried wildly in the same breath.

"The hysterics will do you good, my dear," said Mr. Ingelow; "only don't keep them up too long, and redden your precious blue eyes, and swell your dear little nose. Mollie, is it possible you love me a little, after all?"

Mollie lifted her face again, and looked at him with solemn, shining eyes.

"Oh, Hugh! am I really and truly--your very wife?"

"My very own--my darling Mollie--my precious little bride, as fast as Church and State and Mr. Rashleigh can make you."

"Oh, Hugh, it was a shame!"