CHAPTER XXX.
FREE TO CHOOSE.
Suddenly Vivien started forward, and gliding quickly up to Fredrich Weimher’s side, said sweetly, while her face flushed crimson beneath his gaze of admiration:
“Will you allow me to leave this place for a few minutes? Nay,” she added, quickly, as she saw him hesitate and glance suspiciously at her, “it is only good that I would do. I would liberate one who has mourned in vain for freedom, and if I mistake not, one whom you came to release to-day.”
“His name?” eagerly cried the young man.
“Robert Ellerton!” she answered.
“Yes, lady, yes, you shall be allowed to go wherever you choose; and if you will allow me I will accompany you, for he is the dearest friend I have.”
She smiled an assent, and offering her his arm, they proceeded from the room.
She led him through several passages and rooms, he gazing with wonder as he went at everything he saw, until at length they stopped before the glass door through which Robert had gazed down upon the six lovely girls.
She took a tiny key from her pocket and unlocked the door; leading him within, she asked him to be seated while she went to summon his friend.
He took the seat indicated, but said, as she was turning away:
“Stay, lady, one moment, and tell me, first, if I am, indeed, too late to prevent that sacrilegious ceremony, as that old villain said?”
“You are, indeed!” she said, sadly. “The fatal words were but just spoken as you entered; the shriek you heard was one of despair, that she was too truly the wife of a man whom she detested and loathed.”
“I am grieved,” he replied, “for I would have saved Miss Dupont the suffering of being compelled to go through with such a trial. But it will never be recognized as a legal marriage; she is as free as ever, and can choose for herself whom she will marry; and I have not much doubt what that choice will be,” he added, with a smile.
Vivien’s fair face glowed with joy, as she replied:
“I am rejoiced more than I can express to hear you say this, for my heart has been filled with sorrow at the young lady’s fate, and I dared not tell Mr. Ellerton lest it should drive him to some act of desperation.”
“How is it that you are allowed to associate with one who is held so close a prisoner as my friend?”
“I am not allowed. He by accident discovered a secret passage leading from his room into this. Since then we have passed many pleasant hours in each other’s society.
“He has told me his history, and the reason why he was enticed here. Though he never imagined that his lovely bride was to be brought here to be sacrificed.”
The lovely eyes filled with tears of sympathy, while her cheeks were crimson, with the excitement which she had undergone that day.
He gazed upon her with profound admiration, and every time the sweet tones fell upon his ear his heart quickened its pulsations, and he felt the blood leap madly in his veins.
At last he said, respectfully:
“Will you tell me your name, lady? I am grateful for the consolation which I know your society must have been to my deeply tried friend.”
Her lips quivered painfully, and the hot blood swept over cheek, neck, and brow, as she replied:
“My true name is Vivien Moulton, but——”
“Ah!” he exclaimed, springing quickly to his feet. “And that vil—I beg your pardon, Miss Moulton.”
He stopped in confusion, for his mind instantly reverted to the story which Ronald Edgerton had related to him that morning, and he saw at once that he was reviling one who was intimately connected with the fair girl before him.
“Yes, that wicked man is my father, and though my heart almost breaks with the knowledge, yet it is none the less true,” she returned, sadly.
“And did you know that he was present to witness the ceremony this evening?”
“What! here?” she almost shrieked, starting toward him with clasped hands and pale face.
“Yes, my friend, here. Did you not notice that bent, gray-haired man, who came forward as I entered the place? That was Ralph Moulton.”
She shuddered, and covered her white face with her hands. She had noticed that ugly, sinister face, and in her heart she had hated him, though she could not have told why had she been asked.
Fredrich Weimher arose, and taking her by the hand, led her gently to a seat.
“Pardon me,” he said, “for arousing such unpleasant feelings; he may indeed be unfortunately allied to you by blood, but surely the sacred name of ‘father’ can never be breathed by your pure lips to one such as he. You cannot recognize him by any such tie when he has willfully forfeited all such claim.
“Never,” she replied. “Though it is deeply humiliating to me to know that I am indeed the child of one who is so base.”
The tears burst passionately from her beautiful eyes as she finished.
“Do not weep; he is not worthy that you should shed a tear for him. Believe me, you have my deepest sympathy. I know your history, and before I saw you my heart bled for your sufferings and your wrongs.”
His voice had softened to its tenderest accents, and its tones were very sweet and pleasant to the young and almost friendless girl’s ears.
She raised her head, and gazed with gratitude for a moment into his expressive eyes; and she saw within them that which made her own droop instantly, while the rich crimson tide again rushed upward, suffusing her whole face. He could not resist giving the delicate hand he held just the least little bit of a pressure, then hastened to relieve her confusion by asking:
“Did you not know the young man who officiated as bridegroom in the heartless mockery you have just witnessed? Your words lead me to infer as much.”
“No,” she answered. “We were so excited over Miss Dupont’s sufferings, that we never thought to ask who her persecutor was. Our thoughts and sympathies were only for her. Do you know him?”
“Yes, I know him well. I met him in New York, where we both first met Miss Dupont.”
“And his name?” she asked.
“Shall I tell you—can you bear to know it?”
“Why not? Oh, yes—quick—your face tells me that it is one in whom I am interested,” she said, breathlessly.
“Nay, do not be alarmed; he can never do you harm. His name is also Ralph Moulton, his——”
“His son—oh, no—do not tell me that I have a brother, too, who is steeped in crime,” she moaned, in a voice of anguish.
“Forgive me, my friend, for thus causing you to suffer. He is no brother of yours, but a nephew of the elder Moulton.”
“Thank Heaven that he is no nearer to me than a cousin!” she said, with a sigh of relief, then added: “And I thank Heaven too, sir, that you have come here to-day; for of course all these unfortunate captives will be restored to their homes and friends. But—please—will you not tell me who their deliverer is?”
“I do not claim to be their deliverer; I am only working in unison with others. But my name is Fredrich Weimher.”
“Oh, yes! I know you now. Mr. Ellerton has told me all about you,” she returned, with a brilliant smile. “But come, we have nearly forgotten him; let us hasten to impart to him the glad tidings that he is once more free!”
“In one moment. But tell me that when we leave this place to-night you will accompany us,” he asked, with an expression of his eyes that revealed much more of meaning than his words conveyed.
“I would gladly do so, but my uncles, who will probably remain here for the present, must decide my destiny. They are all the friends I have,” she replied.
“I know they are all the relatives you have, but I cannot leave this place until you are free. If I can gain their consent, will you make one of Miss Dupont’s party, until other arrangements can be made for you? This is no fitting place for a lady!”
“Willingly, with Miss Dupont’s leave,” she smiled.
“Thanks,” he returned, fervently.
“And now I am ready to go to my friend.”
She turned, and sweeping aside the drapery, pressed upon a spring, and the heavy stone before mentioned swung back.
She then blew a tiny silver whistle which hung at her girdle, and stood waiting.
Almost instantly Robert Ellerton parted the hangings in his room and appeared.
“Mr. Ellerton, come quick!” she exclaimed, her beautiful face all aglow with glad triumph.
There was a joyous ring in her voice that made him quicken his steps, and he had hardly entered her boudoir when his hand was warmly grasped, and the word “Robert!” was uttered in familiar and welcome tones.
“Fredrich! Heaven bless you, my boy, how came you here?”
Gently as they could they told him the whole story, and notwithstanding that he was somewhat prepared to learn that harm had happened to his darling, still his suffering was pitiful when he learned the extent to which the villains had carried their vile plottings.
Dora herself was not paler than he at this moment, and they had hardly finished their account, when he sprang wildly to his feet and begged them to take him to her.
Vivien went up to him and said, gently:
“My dear friend, I beg that you will be calm. Miss Dupont had fainted when we came for you, and it would unnerve her again to see you thus moved, if she should be recovered.”
“Thanks, my sweet sister, for your kindly warning; I will be calm, but I beg you will not keep me longer here.”
He dashed through the entrance of the room as he spoke, in direct contradiction of his previous assertion that he would be calm; but he soon stopped and waited for Vivien to come up with him, for he did not know one step of the way through those intricate passages.
At last they entered the spacious room.
Wholly unmindful of the conquered chief, who gazed at him with black and threatening looks, passing over with one swift glance of his eye every inmate of the place, until his gaze fell upon the group at the altar, when with one bound and a wild cry of joy, Robert sprang to Dora’s side, and seizing her in his arms, pressed kiss after kiss upon her cold lips, while he murmured tenderest words of endearment in her dull ears.
As if in answer to his beseeching eyes, and the earnest, touching appeals which fell from his lips, she revived there in his arms.
A faint tinge of color crept into the death-white lips, the heavy eyelids fluttered, unclosed, and closed again, then flew wide open, revealing the blue orbs beneath, which fixed their astonished gaze full upon the loving, tender face bending above her.
A smile of rapture overspread her features, and nestling closer in his arms, she murmured:
“Oh, Robbie, am I dead—and is this heaven? When did you die? I thought you did not love me, but you do!”
“No, darling, you are not dead, but, thank Heaven, living, breathing still, and my own little wife once again.”
“Where am I?” she asked, glancing above at the brilliant, sparkling vault, with a perplexed look.
“Safe, safe, my precious, and nothing shall ever part us again.”
She closed her eyes again wearily, and heaving a deep, satisfied sigh, as a tired child in its mother’s arms might have done, laid her soft cheek against his throbbing heart.
He watched her anxiously for a few moments, until suddenly he saw the crimson tide of life surge swiftly up, covering her fair face with its deepest hue.
Then an expression of keenest anguish settled around her quivering lips, and plowed deep furrows in the smooth white brow, and with a quick motion she slid from his clasping arms, covering her face with her hands.
“What is it, darling? Come back to me again,” he said, earnestly, while a pained look settled over his features.
But when he would have taken her to him, she motioned him away.
“No, no I cannot, I dare not—they have married me to—to—oh, heaven! it shall not be, I will not have it so!” she shudderingly answered, while she crouched in anguish at his feet.
He knelt beside her, and again drew her to him, saying:
“Darling, you are not that rascal’s wife, except by your sweet will. A forced marriage is no marriage. Look up, Brightie, you are mine yet, and I shall never let you go, until you bid me give you up.”
She looked up, a faint smile for a moment wreathing her pale lips; but it quickly faded, and again releasing herself from his clasp, she said, sorrowfully:
“No, I am not yours—you do not want me, else why did you send me that horrible paper to sign? And that cruel letter——”
“What paper? What letter? I know not what you mean!”
“Oh, don’t you!” she cried, wildly starting to her feet, then said, gravely, looking him full in the eye, “Robert Ellerton, do you indeed speak truly? Oh, I will bless you all the days of my life if you will tell me you did not write them.”
She stretched out her clasped hands to him with such an eager, wistful look, that his heart ached within him, for he knew that, like himself, she must have suffered untold agony, and that in some way she had been led to believe him untrue to her.
He took the little clasped hands tenderly in his own, and said, gazing earnestly in her eyes:
“Dora, my own, I do not understand what you mean; tell me what it is that has caused your love to turn from me?”
“Oh, not my love! That has always been yours; it is yours now and forever,” she sobbed, bowing her head, and resting it upon her clasped hands.
“Well, then, explain what has caused this mistrust in me.”
He drew her head to his bosom, and there she told him all. And he realized how near he had come to losing her, how cunningly the plot had been laid, and in his heart he blessed his friend, Fredrich Weimher, that he had come in time to save her. When she finished, he said:
“My darling, I never penned one word of what you have repeated to me; both the letter and the paper which you signed were gross forgeries. You remember the dainty little bouquet which you threw to me; for a moment after I read the note which you concealed in it, I was so overwhelmed with joy—with the knowledge that you of all others were there to congratulate me upon my honors, that I was fairly dizzy; my head began to swim, and a mist was before my eyes. When I had collected myself sufficiently to glance at you, intending to look the love and joy I could not speak, you were leaving the hall. I started up, and was hastening after you, when a boy handed me a note, purporting to be from my father. It proved, like what you received, to be a forgery—a decoy to lure me here, where I have been detained as a prisoner ever since. You can imagine something of my agony and indignation, especially when I heard of the foul wrong that was being meditated against you. I have mourned and prayed, but all was of no avail. Now that I have you safe once again, I cannot be thankful enough.” He smiled, fondly drawing her closer to him, then added, slyly: “And if you really feel that you have signed away your right in me, why, we can make it all right again, in a very short time.”
She hid her now radiant and blushing face upon his shoulder, and whispered:
“But am I really and truly free from that horrid man—free to choose for myself?”
“Yes, Brightie, you are free to give your own precious self to whom you will. Must I ask again for my wife?”
He raised her head and gazed earnestly in her happy eyes. They told him all he wished to know, but her answer filled his cup of joy full to overflowing.
“No, Robbie; I am blessed indeed if you will take me the second time.”
Joyous tears glittered upon the heavy fringes of her eyes, and as he stooped and kissed her now scarlet lips she returned the caress with a pressure that thrilled to his heart’s core.
“Come,” she then said, starting up; “let me take you to auntie. There she sits, looking as if she could not wait for us much longer.”
They went down from the altar with beaming, radiant faces, and hand in hand approached the happy old lady, who had drawn Nina away the moment her darling had revived, feeling in the delicate kindness of her heart that their meeting was too sacred to be gazed curiously upon.
When she saw by their happy looks that all was right, she wept and laughed by turns at her niece’s recovered joy, until they approached to ask her blessing.
She greeted the young man with a warmth which convinced him at once that he had nothing to fear for his future from her.
He had conversed with her only a few moments when these words fell upon his startled ear:
“Robert, my son!”
He turned and was clasped in a warm, fervent embrace, while the one word, “Father!” burst from his glad lips.