Irene Iddesleigh

Hastening to fulfil her master’s order, Rachel returned with the mighty key, and handed it to Sir John, who moved to the door, and thrusting the rusty key into its aperture, succeeded with great difficulty in effecting an entrance. Rachel followed, and both entered, locking the heavy-panelled oak door from within. “This,” said Sir John, “is the room of mycorr, the room of death. It defies escape or secretion. It has been so long as I remember held in abhorrence by my late lamented parents, and, so far as I can understand, by many of my ancestors.

“First of all, the lady who shared its midst was a born imbecile, the eldest daughter of my great great grandfather—Sir Sydney Dunfern. She was nursed and tenderly cared for within these walls for a period of thirty-six years, and through the instantaneous insanity of her ward, was marked a victim for his murderous hand. Yes, it has been related that during midnight, when she was fast asleep, he drew from that drawer” here Sir John pointed to the wardrobe, “a weapon of warlike design, and severed her head almost from her body, causing instant death.

“It was not known until next day about noon that anything extraordinary had happened. It was first detected by Sir Sydney himself, who became alarmed at not having seen Wade—the ward’s name was Hector Wade—as usual at ten o’clock, and tapping at the door, was surprised to hear some noise issue from within. Being of a hasty temper, he became indignant at the ward’s indifference, and calling loudly, finally gained admittance.

“The murderer had her stretched on this floor, and every article capable of being removed piled upon her corpse. Horrified at such a sight, Sir Sydney became wild with grief, and at once handed the pitiful lunatic over to those in authority.

“The next inhabitant doomed to share in its dull delight was Kathleen, wife of my beloved grandfather, a beautiful woman, whose portrait you now see. She, I am sorry to relate, proved more an accomplice than the honoured wife of him who added so much to the welfare of those who now benefit by his great economy. The hand of death visited her here likewise with its separating touch.

“The last person inhabiting its cheerless enclosure was a distant relative of my mother, a gentleman named Rodney Rupert, who fell from the path of virtue and trod the field of vice, until confined within this prison of pathetic account, and who, in a moment of passion, ended his days with that pistol which hangs on yonder hook, and on that bed all these lay, and which shall again be made use of by a traitoress of no mean account either.”

Sir John then proceeded to give orders to “have the room made as comfortable as its scanty furniture permitted,” which consisted only of one small table, one chair, and an old-fashioned wardrobe, with several small drawers attached, one dressing-table and wash-stand, all of which were magnificently carved oak and richly panelled.

There was only one large window, made up of iron bars and a multitude of small panes of glass not larger than three inches square, all of equal dimensions, and inside this window were strong bars of iron looped on every side and firmly fastened.

The cocoa matting which served as a carpet, parts of which were grim with gore, was almost worn past recognition. These were all the articles this badly-lighted room contained, save several oil-paintings of enormous size. On the whole, it presented the appearance of a private prison.

An icy atmosphere pervaded throughout the room, damped with an odour of something inert, which Sir John believed would be rendered extinct in the presence of a fire.

Rachel, after receiving orders in confidence from her master, set matters to right by lighting a fire, dusting the old and much-worn furniture, airing the bed-clothes, etc., being strictly charged to admit, on no pretence whatever, now or at any time, any member of the household or visitor to the mansion.

When everything was in perfect readiness for the reception of its guest, Sir John directed Rachel to “bring her Ladyship into his presence.” What could have astonished Lady Dunfern more on being ushered into a room which never before was open for her inspection? Nothing save the information her husband eagerly awaited her to receive. On being informed of her vast deception, which was proved beyond doubt, and to which she felt wholly incompetent to reply, she was absolutely dumb-stricken.

It required no further questioning now concerning her husband’s recent strangeness of manner and rigid coolness with which he was forced to treat her whom he scorned to call wife.

“You, madam,” said he, “have by your conduct, both before and after marriage, forced me to keep you a prisoner within these walls so long as you live or I exist.

“You have not failed to act the infamous by kissing me with the lips of a Judas! You have at last plunged me into deepest disgrace, not alone me, but him whom you should have been liberated to succour and chastise. Mocking wretch! your foul deeds shall have plenty of scope here for improvement, and a prisoner you shall be during the remainder of your life.”

Sir John, without another word, glided from before the presence of her who once was treated as a goddess by him, and turning the great key that locked her for ever from his view, handed it to Rachel, who was to have sole admittance to, and full charge of, his wife.

When left to herself in the ghostly and spacious closet of crippled right, which until now she never dare approach, Lady Dunfern, instead of shewing signs of grief, which Sir John felt assured must burst from its midst, gloried in being aloof from the occasional rebukes to which she was subject whilst occupying the rooms free to her access. She would now have full opportunity of guiding her thoughts to self-advantage or disadvantage. She felt free to try and act as she in any case would have done, regarding very little the shame brought on her husband by her intrigue with the tutor, whom she simply idolized, never once casting a thought on her infant, knowing well it would be passionately cared for.

Oceans of thought took hold on her as she vacantly viewed the damp and darkened walls of her monstrous cell, now and then moving forward to inspect the many paintings of great and historic worth which hung from their lofty support, mostly all more or less resembling him who probably should ere long add to their number.

Lady Dunfern allowed the weeks and months to pass unheeded until afforded ample opportunity of resorting to some means that might not alone free her from such death-like surroundings, but snap the chain of obligation in two which presently connected her with a husband she cared not for.

She longed for the hour of flight from the dismal shelter under which she was doomed to dwell. She yearned for the days that had fled, and more so for her who had shared in their pleasure. She pined for him whom she so long lived to adore, and hesitated not to do so still.

Could she only acquaint him of her husband’s cruelty, how he might assist her in effecting her release. What could be done, she frequently asked herself, to brighten her future only a little?

Could she possibly escape? She feared not.

Every two hours that villainous woman entered during the day since first she was snared in the net of revenge and compelled to remain within its enclosures of shivering fear. Still, she never lost hope of flight, and cheered with the thought of future stratagem, she tried to remain somewhat consoled.

CHAPTER XI.

The trickling tide of fortune sometimes ebbs slowly. It meets with occasional barriers of boisterous worth, and reaches its haven of intent too often with obstruction. Its waters drip on the proud and humble, the mighty and pitiful, the meek and unholy, and refuse to overlook even the weary and careworn confined in the cell. It ceases not to store within its waters of wonder intricate windings of wealth and poverty, triumph and torture, joy and misery, and does not hesitate at any time to safely deposit its various burthens on the numerous beaches along which it must pass.

When almost a year of Lady Dunfern’s private imprisonment was about drawing to a close, she was beginning to partly believe the truth of her husband’s dogmatic remarks. She had strongly been endeavouring during this time to arrive at some possible means of communication with Marjory Mason, her much-loved maid, whose services Sir John still retained; but every endeavour she yet formed proved absolutely vain. She often thought had she been attended by any of the household staff, only her on whom she never could dream to rely, she might have made good her escape long since; but being watched and visited so regularly by Rachel Hyde, she felt her task much more difficult of performance than at first imagined. Sometimes she would bring her table close to the window and mount on its shaky leaf, then step into the great window-sill, pull out her handkerchief and rub the puny panes to try and catch a glimpse of nature and probably chance to see some of the servants pass.

This heavily-barred window stood considerably high, and if viewed from a distance, or even from the ground adjacent, seemed small in consequence. It was, therefore, very difficult for her to recognise one menial from another, yet she often imagined she could not be mistaken in perceiving a form in the garden, right opposite, that surely strongly resembled her favourite maid.

What course was she, then, to adopt in order to discover the accuracy of her thoughts? How could she manage to be positive regarding Marjory’s appearance? She felt it almost miraculous to identify her who trod so far beneath her heightened gaze. Each day she resolved to mount the window at the same hour, believing her constant watching might through time convince her who the object of her anxiety might be.

But the distance between them still remained the same, and ended with the same disappointing result. A thought at last crowned her precious efforts. She fancied if she could succeed in breaking one of the small window panes she could, with the aid of a telescope found in one of the drawers, define exactly who the maid might chance to be.

The same hour each day found the eager mistress and anxious maid in their respective places, the former mounted on the window-sill, the latter gazing pitifully towards the window of her mistress’s hateful cell. But discernment was altogether impossible for Lady Dunfern, who was resolved not to be baffled much longer in ascertaining who the constant visitor was. Snapping from her finger an exquisite diamond ring, and studying which pane of glass would be least noticed, she arrived at the wise conclusion of extracting the lowest corner pane, which she cleverly and effectually succeeded in doing. Wondering, first of all, how she would hide the opening from the cute eye of her who proved her only visitor, she placed her fleecy wrap carelessly against it, and resuming her seat, was persuaded fully to believe she had successfully accomplished the first step to her freedom.

Rachel, arriving now with luncheon, failed to notice, or if noticed, to mention the article in the window. Next day, with great confidence, Lady Dunfern was found in her usual recess, and drawing forth the telescope, viewed keenly the object of her constant search, and to her wild delight she at once beheld Marjory Mason with grave face staring, she fancied, at her. At last, her Ladyship had achieved a mighty work, indeed, which she hoped would yet prove of more practical importance.

It may be mentioned that Marjory Mason visited the same plot of ground at the same hour every available morning since she was robbed of the pleasure of waiting on her mistress, merely to get a glimpse of the window she knew must belong to her Ladyship’s haunt of hardship; and could honest Marjory have only seen the handkerchief that every day was pointed to its little transparent enclosures, how she would so gladly have waved hers in return. But other means had to be resorted to, through Lady Dunfern’s great perspicacity, to try and establish a line of communication with one she could trust. This being now arrived at cast a world of grief from the mind of her who, under such a roof of suspense as that beneath which she existed, felt if aid were not forthcoming, she would shortly have to yield to the imperative command of the King of Conquering Divines.

Who could now recognise the “Southern Beauty” of Dilworth Castle? Who could visit the once beautiful bride of Dunfern Mansion without naturally betraying signs of heartfelt sorrow? She who so often graced the assemblies of the proud and famous; she who adorned society with her majestic presence; she who, by her charming manner and elegant bearing, failed not to steal the affection of him who treated her so, was an object of abject commiseration where her conduct wasn’t questioned. She was no longer the cheerful associate, the bright converser, the lively, robust Irene Iddesleigh. She, the pride of her guardians, the once adored of her husband, the envied object of socialism, must bear to exist, though by any means within her power, not where she existed presently. The next part to be enacted was to attract Marjory’s attention. This could easily be tried, and tying her cambric square firmly round the top of a small poker, she timidly sent it through the cavity, at the same time viewing Marjory by means of her telescope. At first Marjory was seen to shade her eyes with her hand, and move a little forward, then suddenly stop. She would again move slightly nearer to the wafting emblem of despair, and quickly advancing, until she neared the spot where best the snowy sign could be seen, instantly concluded that she must be observed by her ladyship.

When Lady Dunfern perceived that Marjory could by no means be closer to her, she pulled the flag of victory back, leaving her maid in breathless confusion, never for an instant flinching until she might again have an opportunity of rendering her assistance whom she worshipped.

In less than five minutes another signal appeared through the open space in the form of a small piece of paper, the meaning of which Marjory knew well. It appeared to be making its way with wonderful alacrity towards her, who now was in nervous despair lest she should be detected by her master, or some of the other members of his staff. At last the missive reached its destination, and, wildly grasping it, Marjory loosed the cord, that was swiftly drawn back, and plainly written by her mistress’s hand were the words, “To Marjory, my trusted maid.” Shrieking with delight, she pushed the note into her pocket, and, speedily hastening to the mansion, entered her own room. Securing the door from within, she instantly tore asunder the cover, and read with tearful eyes as follows:—

This note was ample explanation of the confidence Lady Dunfern had in her maid. She well knew from previous experience how she could trust her, and felt assured she was not a victim to misplaced confidence. Marjory would sooner have suffered death than betray her whom she had served so long at Dilworth Castle, and so short a time at Dunfern Mansion, and, carefully folding the note she held in her hand, proceeded to reply.

Lady Dunfern, at the hour appointed, stood in agony behind the massive door, underneath which she soon felt sure of receiving news that would either increase or diminish her varied stock of fears. Nor was she disappointed. At the very hour referred to, the note appeared. Who could picture the ecstatic relief of Lady Dunfern as she paced her prison floor, whilst carefully scanning the contents of Marjory’s note. In it she stated that her husband received all letters direct, not alone for himself, but for all his servants, and delivered them personally to each, this only happening since she was subject to his cruel treatment.

Lady Dunfern was a little surprised at not receiving through Marjory some news of Oscar. But when informed of her husband being the recipient of all letters, she felt confident his were amongst the many for his inspection, and would not therefore aid his aspect of matters much. Safely depositing the prayed-for epistle of Marjory in her drawer, she seemed to suddenly grow quite cheerful and animated, so much so that Rachel, on entering some short time afterwards, was so struck with the change as to acknowledge that her ladyship must surely appreciate the book she held in her hand to an extraordinary extent, since it had altered her demeanour so.

Could this attendant only have known the true nature of Lady Dunfern’s much-changed manner, how, with a conquering air, she would so soon have conveyed the tidings to Sir John. This, however, was not to be. Lady Dunfern believed that such a line of intercourse as that which she had so artfully managed with one on whom she could ever place implicit confidence, must surely yet be the means of freeing her from the fetters of a fierce and prejudiced race.

Every morning, at the same hour, mistress and maid were at their respective posts, the former, with brightened eye, mounted on her favourite pedestal of triumphant account and gazing intently on the object of rescue; the latter, casting that grave and careworn look in the direction of the niched signboard of distress, stood firmly and faithfully until she received the watchword of action and warning.

CHAPTER XII.

Torture trifleth not. It manifests in many instances the deserving censure imposed upon its stinging touch. It acts like the poisonous fangs of the serpent, unless extracted from its burning crypt of chastisement by hands of wily witchcraft. So frightened did Lady Dunfern become lest the eye of the straggler might chance more than once to catch the meaning of Marjory’s loitering about the grounds immediately below her window, that she deemed it imperative to alter her arrangements, and, acquainting Marjory in the usual way, appointed an hour that would almost defy matters to be made conspicuous. This change made both of them more free to act, and proved a decided success.

Only some weeks elapsed since Lady Dunfern’s first missive reached Marjory until word was forthcoming from Oscar Otwell. Her heart beat wildly with joy on reading the following, slipped to her in the usual way:—

The mind of him who was in full possession of the facts regarding Lady Dunfern’s present position became perfectly distracted, and on entering College next morning, after receiving her note, was so overcome with grief as to cause grave alarm amongst the many students who benefitted so much by his strenuous efforts to insure success. Doctor O’Sullivan, the eminent President of the College, on seeing Oscar, whom he lately observed was labouring under some weight of sorrow, in such a state of despair, strongly advised a change of air, at the same time kindly offering him a substitute for four weeks, at the end of which time, if he still found himself unable to resume his tuitions, he would prolong his vacation by two weeks. This was the very thing Oscar wanted—absence from duty—and he gladly availed himself of the worthy president’s generous offer.

How Oscar quitted the college on receiving the news which liberated him, not only for four weeks, but for ever!—how he sped along to his room in Upper Joy Street, and there wrote a few words to her who longed for his presence and aid, wondering how the clever trick, so ably concocted by Lady Dunfern, would be accomplished, or if attempted, would succeed!—better leave it to her who had so well managed to even reach the length of liberty which marked her heroism already.

Lady Dunfern was busily engaged, during her hours of uninterruption, in marking notes, with great caution and clearness, on paper for Marjory’s use; and well guarded and guided must the steps be that should again lead her into the open field of freedom and health.

The heavy rain beat furiously against the darkened window of Lady Dunfern’s confined and much-detested abode as Rachel approached her with supper on the night of 24th December.

As the next day brought many touching remembrances with it, Rachel, this iron-willed attendant, spoke in rather soothing strains to her whom more than once she tried to betray. Lady Dunfern, being so fully charged with thoughts edging on her flight, remained in perfect indifference to all her cunning remarks, never betraying the least outward symptom of the excitement that then raged so terribly within her; she was resolved that no word of any description whatever should be conveyed to him who so eagerly awaited Rachel’s retracing footsteps outside the cell.

Prompted strongly by Sir John before entering, Rachel carried with her messages of a rather condoling character, to be delivered to her ladyship in such pitiful phrases as to twist from her remarks for the use of him who feared that something dreadful was about to happen owing to a miserable dream he had only a couple of nights before.

But Lady Dunfern was too watchful to allow even one word to escape her lips that might innocently convict her; and steadfastly guarding against the tongue of the treacherous maiden, remained in silence. The evil-intended Rachel lingered around the room fully fifteen minutes, thus affording Lady Dunfern every opportunity of saying something, but all of no avail; and angrily snatching up the large silver tray, bounced out of the room, banging the great door after her, probably in order to frighten her mistress, but not a nerve did the rude and audacious act disturb.

Turning the light very low, the confined woman slipped on tip-toe behind the defiant door, and heard faint sounds proceed from the adjoining corridor, the voices she well knew to be those of both her husband and Rachel. Her heart sank somewhat at the discourse that followed Rachel’s recent visit, lest it might be concerning either herself or Marjory; or, worse still, she thought, relative to her intended flight within five hours, which she earnestly implored should not be prevented.

The voices, however, after a lengthy conversation, suddenly ceased, and gently moving to the fire, she sat quietly down to heat her icy limbs, that were almost benumbed with cold.

The thoughts which she allowed to disturb her anxious mind she found were very numerous, the principal one being that of flight, which she trusted strenuously should be fully accomplished within the time specified. The first hour slipped in, the second moved round too, likewise the third; and, gazing in wild despair in the direction of her dainty-jewelled watch, which she kept suspended from a trivial hook above the mantelpiece of richly carved oak, could scarcely refrain from tears.

The smallest hand of her little timekeeper could not fail to show that the hour of eleven had just been reached; this was precisely the time all the household retired, including Sir John, on whose part it was not a case of command, but option.

On this particular night the staff of servants was not so fully represented as usual. Marjory Mason had not been amongst the number who sought sleep, neither was it known by any one whether or not she was in her own room.

Immediately adjoining Marjory’s room was Rachel Hyde’s, both of which it was Marjory’s duty always to keep in perfect order, thus affording the great friend of Lady Dunfern a daily opportunity of viewing the drawer in which the great key of her ladyship’s room was at rest.

It was a habit with Rachel to sleep with her bedroom door ajar, by order of her master, lest a fire might originate during the hours of repose, or burglars enter and carry with them some valuables of no slight worth or interest.

About ten o’clock, an hour before Marjory’s usual time to retire, she ably feigned a very severe attack of indigestion, and, trying to look as dejected and sick as she could in consequence, requested that she might be permitted to go to her own room for the night; a request which Rachel readily granted, as Marjory and she always travelled by the express train of friendship. Rachel added that she would act in her stead by clearing her master’s supper table herself.

No sooner had Rachel granted Marjory’s request than she dashed up the many and winding steps of ascent until she reached the object of her premeditated scheme by boldly entering the housekeeper’s room and taking therefrom the choicest treasure it contained—namely, the key which was so soon to prove the nature of the severe illness she so capitally assumed.

Rachel, on entering the room in which Sir John sat, was quickly asked where Marjory was; and after satisfying him as to her illness, she hastily removed the articles used at supper, and repaired to rest. When passing Marjory’s door, Rachel tapped lightly, and failing to gain admission, called on her to admit her with a cup of hot milk. Still no reply came from within. Then, slowly turning the handle, she tried to admit herself without awaking Marjory, feeling sure that she must be sound asleep.

It was only during her third attempt to seek entrance that she found the door locked. Moving into her own room, she muttered something that did not distinctly reach the ear of her who was safely secreted underneath the housekeeper’s bed. Divesting herself of her clothing, Rachel soon put herself in a position to guarantee slumber. She wrapped herself well within the fleecy folds of nature, and in less than ten minutes was safely sailing in the boat of dreamland.

Marjory, for it was she who lay stretched under the bed of her who never at any time doubted her word or actions, when fully convinced of Rachel’s safe retirement, crept along the carpeted floor on hands and knees, carrying with her the key to victory. Proudly and much agitated did Marjory steal her way along the many winding corridors of carpeted comfort, until at last she came to the bottom of the ghost-like marble steps which led to her mistress; and swiftly running up the icy heights, until reaching the door of danger and blood-thirsty revenge, she, with the caution of a murderess, thrust with great and exceptional care the key into its much-used opening, and heroically succeeded in gaining admittance.

Behind the door lay Lady Dunfern, as if dead. With great presence of mind Marjory locked the door from within, struck a match, and tried to light the lamp, which had been extinguished not long before; this with difficulty she nervously did. Then, turning to her mistress, whose changed countenance was a sight Marjory never forgot until her dying day, she tried every effort to arouse her who so soon was likely to track the path of powerful pursuit. It was fully some minutes until she saw the faintest glimpse of animation, and gently raising the shadowy form in her strong arms, used every means in her power to quickly prepare her for the most trying part of all.

At last Marjory’s efforts were completely baffled; and knowing it was approaching the time at which Oscar was to be in readiness at the gate farthest away from the mansion, that was seldom or never used, the poor trembling girl had now enough to bear. She believed the cup of sorrow had been drained to its last dregs; still she hoped on, never giving place to the remotest trace of doubt, being fully assured of achieving the topmost tier of triumph.

Lady Dunfern had, through pure fear of being caught in her adventure, stood an hour or so behind the door before Marjory’s welcome steps were heard, and momentarily on hearing her trusted maid’s nimble tread make such rapid strides towards her release was with overjoy so quickly stricken down, at a time when two-fold energy was most required, that she utterly failed to regain the slightest strength; and in this sad state her helper found her!

The moments were passing more quickly now than Marjory wished, and bestowing one final look at her ladyship’s watch so firmly clutched in her fingers, was about to break down in despair, when she was suddenly aroused by a dash of sandy pebble thrown against the window, which unmistakably announced the arrival of him who so soon was to shield the shaken form of her once lovely mistress from the snares of jealousy and intrigue.

Oscar, who stood at the gate appointed, was very uneasy, no doubt, as the hour slowly approached that should make him the recipient of the treasure he at first should have honestly secured, and fearing lest the escape might be detected in time for rescue, he was unable to remain any longer where he was. Mounting the iron gate, he soon flung himself over its speary top, and hurriedly making his way towards Lady Dunfern’s window, where he perceived the dim light, he announced his arrival in the manner described.

Wringing her hands in wild despair, Marjory touchingly prayed for speedy release from such cruel torture, and opening the door for the last time she carried her mistress into the corridor, and there deposited her until again locking the giant block of oak, then she lightly tripped down the ashen steps, along the corridors, until at last she reached the open door of Rachel’s room. Pausing for a moment lest the housekeeper might be awake, she satisfied herself this was not so. She then courageously entered and safely deposited the key in the exact spot whence she took it, retracing in a wonderfully quiet manner her shaking footsteps until arriving to convey her precious charge to a place of safety. Clasping Lady Dunfern once more in her arms, she crept down the chilly steps of fate along the well-padded paths of tapestry, down numerous flights of wiry-carpeted stairs, until finally reaching the lofty hall, where she paused for an instant, being a complete example of exhaustion, and dreading the least delay, approached the door with safety. She then deposited her ladyship on a lounge that lay right behind it until she secured the key which from previous observation she noted, in case of emergency, hung on a silver hook not eight feet distant.

With the air of a duchess, Marjory dashed open the outer door, at the left wing of the building, and, with her liberated load of love, swept for ever from its touch. Blowing faintly a whistle she bought for the purpose, she soon was released of her charge by him who instantly appeared to shield them both from the breezy blast which bitterly swept that night o’er hill and dale.

Taking Lady Dunfern in his arms, Oscar paced the broad and pebbled walks, speedily arriving at the spot where stood a vehicle in readiness to convey them to their destiny. Not a word was spoken by Oscar, neither did Lady Dunfern betray the slightest symptoms of recovery until safely driven to the pretty home Oscar had previously arranged for her rescue, some twenty miles distant from Dunfern Mansion.

It was situated nearly in the centre of Dilworth Park, and generously handed over to Oscar as a conditional gift from his uncle, the Marquis of Orland, who owned its many acres. Marjory’s joy at this stage fully balanced her previous hours of sorrowful and dangerous adventure. She could hardly refrain from tears as she viewed the weary night before through the telescope of trickery. She seemed confident of having performed a great and good work by liberating from the pangs of emotional imprisonment the weak and forlorn, who so soon would have been ordered to separate herself from a closet of chastisement to enter the home of joy everlasting, which ever has its door of gladness open to the ring of the repentant and contrite.

After leaving Lady Dunfern in the careful charge of Marjory, Oscar proceeded to handsomely reward his uncle’s coachman, who drove them so quickly from Dunfern Mansion to Audley Hall, requesting him at the same time to treat the matter with profound silence.

The rescued form now opened her eyes, and suddenly a convulsive twitch shook her feeble frame. Casting her heavily-laden orbs of blinded brilliancy around the cosy well-lighted room, had not to be informed by any one what had happened; she gasped, “Thank Heaven, I’m safe!”

Oscar, tenderly bidding Lady Dunfern “Good night,” instructed Marjory to carefully administer to her wants until daybreak.

CHAPTER XIII.

It is astounding to view the smallest article through a magnifying glass; how large and lustrous an atom of silver appears; how fat and fair the withered finger seems; how monstrously mighty an orange; how immeasurably great the football of youth; but these are as nought when the naked eye beholds the boulder of barred strength—a mountain of mystery.

The usual hour for arousing the inmates of Dunfern Mansion was designated by the ringing of a bell, constructed at the back part of the building, and connected by means of a wire with the room of the footman, whose duty it was to ring fully three minutes every morning at the hour of seven o’clock in winter and six in summer.

On Christmas morning, only a short time after Lady Dunfern’s escape was effected, it rang somewhat later, arousing from sleep all the servants, with the exception of Marjory Mason, who failed entirely to put in an appearance, even when called thrice by Rachel. However, believing that she was still fast asleep, Rachel ceased to further call on her until after serving her ladyship’s breakfast.

On this festive day the breakfast served in the servants’ spacious hall was a sumptuous repast, truly, and required longer time to prepare than was customary. This being so, evidently delayed the housekeeper a considerable time in attending to the wants of her mistress, whose breakfast was always punctually served at nine o’clock. This rule was violated to the extent of about half an hour on the memorable morning of Lady Dunfern’s flight.

Sir John breakfasted at fifteen minutes after nine, and looked both careworn and sad, intimating to Rachel his inability to sleep the previous night. Ordering her to prepare a dainty dish for Lady Dunfern, he proceeded to read the daily paper, that had been so customary for years. Rachel, hastily executing her master’s orders, and having all in readiness for her mistress, hurried to her room for the key. Sharply telling the usual maid to follow her with the tray, she wended her way towards the door that twice had been locked since her last visit. Unlocking it, turning the handle and pushing it open, she took from the servant the tray, as was her custom, by strict orders of her master, never allowing the maid further than the door.

Depositing it upon the table, she swiftly turned to the door, and locking it from within, began to gaze around for Lady Dunfern, who sometimes breakfasted in bed. Moving in its direction with tray in hand, no Lady Dunfern appeared! The bed remained unused since she settled it the previous day. Wildly shouting with momentary pain, Rachel let fall the tray, smashing the china, &c., and thickly spotting the matting in some places with its contents. In deep despair she cast one delirious stare around the room, but all to no effect. Heaven help me! has she fled? Oh, what!—what shall I do? Thinking that she might have hidden under the couch of rest, she threw herself on the floor to try and catch only a glance of her hidden form, but was disappointed once more.

Running to the door and frantically opening it, she ran to Marjory’s room. Failing to be admitted, she hurried down to acquaint some of the men, who attempted to open Marjory’s door, but all their masculine efforts to arouse her were futile. What was there left to be done, save to acquaint Sir John of the matter. Agitated did Rachel enter without signifying her approach to her master, who sat in silence. “Oh, sir,” cried she, drowned in tears, and uttered in broken accents the words, “Your wife has escaped—she is not in her room!” “What!” gasped Sir John. “It cannot be!”

Following Rachel to the room of terror he found her information too true. “How on earth has this happened?” asked the horrified husband. “Had you the key?” he fiercely asked of Rachel. Ever ready to substitute the truth with a lie, where the former especially would convict her, she replied, with a stamp of her foot, “that it never was out of her drawer of safe deposit.” Thinking probably she may have trifled with the window, Sir John moved forward, and the wrap never being removed, he thought it had not in any way been tampered with until Rachel espied the corner pane. “Ah!” said she, “this is the clue to her cursed craft. This must have had something to do with her escape.” Then the thought of Marjory’s room being still closed to view she fancied might have something also to do with the mysterious and marvellous mark of ingenious intrigue.

Both Sir John and Rachel tottered to Marjory’s door, and demanding it to be broken open, Sir John entered to be further astonished at her absence, to be sure. On her bed she cannot have lain the previous night, which was proof positive that she was an announced accomplice. But the mystery had yet to be solved as to the action of their flight. Guilt took strong hold on Rachel. She knew the key was always kept in a drawer in her own room, which drawer was constantly kept locked by her and the key hidden inside the little clock that ticked so gently on the mantel-piece in her room; but on second thought, she was so busily engaged during the Christmas season that actually she forgot to lock the drawer the whole week. Never dreaming that this overlook on her part was so cleverly taken notice of by her who not alone committed the ruffianous act, but caused all the blame to be thrown on the party in charge. The housekeeper, who felt sadly and very much annoyed about the affair, grasped the whole thing—first, she thought of Marjory’s professed illness the evening previous, then how she tried her door before going to bed, and in this attempt to enter was unsuccessful, and that very morning there was no answer, and, finally, she was missing as well as Lady Dunfern. The well-arranged plot pictured itself in a most vivid manner to her who in one respect, regarding the key’s safety, was entirely to blame.

Sir John, summoning all his men, ordered them to go at once and intimate to the officers of the law the sudden flight of the miscreants, and to try and find out their whereabouts; but no trace of them was as yet nigh at hand.

The deceived husband appeared greatly crushed under such a weight of sorrow, and wondering whether or not they could be found, or if Oscar Otwell, he who so often wrote to his wife during her period of imprisonment, had ought to do with her daring adventure, aided by Marjory Mason! It is no longer an unsolved problem that Oscar Otwell was from first to last the chief irritating item of Sir John Dunfern’s unhappiness, and whose supposed underhand communications with Lady Dunfern were the principal features depicted in this escape.

These letters of Otwell’s Sir John still retained, never reaching her for whom they were intended. Opening his large Davenport that stood close by, he extracted therefrom all the letters of the vaguish tutor, and coming to the one received lastly, found it bore the address, “Chitworth College, Hedley, Berks.” This was so much information regarding the rascal who was the sole means of separating Sir John Dunfern and his wife.

The husband, paralysed with sorrow, instantly wrote to Doctor O’Sullivan, the President of the College, who in youthful years was his most intimate acquaintance, and whose name appeared so often in Oscar’s letters, making the necessary inquiries relative to one of the teaching staff named “Oscar Otwell.”

This he sealed in an envelope, and walked to the village to post it himself. After two days’ rending agony and suspense, he received the following reply:—