The Mysterious Key and What It Opened Read online

  Chapter VII

  THE SECRET KEY

  "Is Lady Trevlyn at home, Bedford?" asked Paul, as he presented himselfat an early hour next day, wearing the keen, stern expression which madehim look ten years older than he was.

  "No, sir, my lady and Miss Lillian went down to the Hall last night."

  "No ill news, I hope?" And the young man's eye kindled as if he felt acrisis at hand.

  "Not that I heard, sir. Miss Lillian took one of her sudden whims andwould have gone alone, if my lady hadn't given in much against her will,this being a time when she is better away from the place."

  "Did they leave no message for me?"

  "Yes, sir. Will you step in and read the note at your ease. We are insad confusion, but this room is in order."

  Leading the way to Lillian's boudoir, the man presented the note andretired. A few hasty lines from my lady, regretting the necessity ofthis abrupt departure, yet giving no reason for it, hoping they mightmeet next season, but making no allusion to seeing him at the Hall,desiring Lillian's thanks and regards, but closing with no hint ofHelen, except compliments. Paul smiled as he threw it into the fire,saying to himself, "Poor lady, she thinks she has escaped the danger byflying, and Lillian tries to hide her trouble from me. Tender littleheart! I'll comfort it without delay."

  He sat looking about the dainty room still full of tokens of herpresence. The piano stood open with a song he liked upon the rack; a bitof embroidery, whose progress he had often watched, lay in her basketwith the little thimble near it; there was a strew of papers on thewriting table, torn notes, scraps of drawing, and ball cards; apearl-colored glove lay on the floor; and in the grate the faded flowershe had brought two days before. As his eye roved to and fro, he seemedto enjoy some happy dream, broken too soon by the sound of servantsshutting up the house. He arose but lingered near the table, as iflonging to search for some forgotten hint of himself.

  "No, there has been enough lock picking and stealthy work; I'll do nomore for her sake. This theft will harm no one and tell no tales." Andsnatching up the glove, Paul departed.

  "Helen, the time has come. Are you ready?" he asked, entering her rooman hour later.

  "I am ready." And rising, she stretched her hand to him with a proudexpression, contrasting painfully with her helpless gesture.

  "They have gone to the Hall, and we must follow. It is useless to waitlonger; we gain nothing by it, and the claim must stand on such proof aswe have, or fall for want of that one link. I am tired of disguise. Iwant to be myself and enjoy what I have won, unless I lose it all."

  "Paul, whatever happens, remember we cling together and share good orevil fortune as we always have done. I am a burden, but I cannot livewithout you, for you are my world. Do not desert me."

  She groped her way to him and clung to his strong arm as if it was heronly stay. Paul drew her close, saying wistfully, as he caressed thebeautiful sightless face leaning on his shoulder, "_Mia cara_, would itbreak your heart, if at the last hour I gave up all and let the wordremain unspoken? My courage fails me, and in spite of the hard past Iwould gladly leave them in peace."

  "No, no, you shall not give it up!" cried Helen almost fiercely, whilethe slumbering fire of her southern nature flashed into her face. "Youhave waited so long, worked so hard, suffered so much, you must not loseyour reward. You promised, and you must keep the promise."

  "But it is so beautiful, so noble to forgive, and return a blessing fora curse. Let us bury the old feud, and right the old wrong in a new way.Those two are so blameless, it is cruel to visit the sins of the dead ontheir innocent heads. My lady has suffered enough already, and Lillianis so young, so happy, so unfit to meet a storm like this. Oh, Helen,mercy is more divine than justice."

  Something moved Paul deeply, and Helen seemed about to yield, when thename of Lillian wrought a subtle change in her. The color died out ofher face, her black eyes burned with a gloomy fire, and her voice wasrelentless as she answered, while her frail hands held him fast, "I willnot let you give it up. We are as innocent as they; we have sufferedmore; and we deserve our rights, for we have no sin to expiate. Go on,Paul, and forget the sentimental folly that unmans you."

  Something in her words seemed to sting or wound him. His face darkened,and he put her away, saying briefly, "Let it be so then. In an hour wemust go."

  On the evening of the same day, Lady Trevlyn and her daughter sattogether in the octagon room at the Hall. Twilight was falling andcandles were not yet brought, but a cheery fire blazed in the widechimney, filling the apartment with a ruddy glow, turning Lillian'sbright hair to gold and lending a tinge of color to my lady's pallidcheeks. The girl sat on a low lounging chair before the fire, her headon her hand, her eyes on the red embers, her thoughts--where? My ladylay on her couch, a little in the shadow, regarding her daughter with ananxious air, for over the young face a somber change had passed whichfilled her with disquiet.

  "You are out of spirits, love," she said at last, breaking the longsilence, as Lillian gave an unconscious sigh and leaned wearily into thedepths of her chair.

  "Yes, Mamma, a little."

  "What is it? Are you ill?"

  "No, Mamma; I think London gaiety is rather too much for me. I'm tooyoung for it, as you often say, and I've found it out."

  "Then it is only weariness that makes you so pale and grave, and so benton coming back here?"

  Lillian was the soul of truth, and with a moment's hesitation answeredslowly, "Not that alone, Mamma. I'm worried about other things. Don'task me what, please."

  "But I must ask. Tell me, child, what things? Have you seen any one? Hadletters, or been annoyed in any way about--anything?"

  My lady spoke with sudden energy and rose on her arm, eyeing the girlwith unmistakable suspicion and excitement.

  "No, Mamma, it's only a foolish trouble of my own," answered Lillian,with a glance of surprise and a shamefaced look as the words reluctantlyleft her lips.

  "Ah, a love trouble, nothing more? Thank God for that!" And my lady sankback as if a load was off her mind. "Tell me all, my darling; there isno confidante like a mother."

  "You are very kind, and perhaps you can cure my folly if I tell it, andyet I am ashamed," murmured the girl. Then yielding to an irresistibleimpulse to ask help and sympathy, she added, in an almost inaudibletone, "I came away to escape from Paul."

  "Because he loves you, Lillian?" asked my lady, with a frown and a halfsmile.

  "Because he does _not_ love me, Mamma." And the poor girl hid herburning cheeks in her hands, as if overwhelmed with maidenly shame atthe implied confession of her own affection.

  "My child, how is this? I cannot but be glad that he does _not_ loveyou; yet it fills me with grief to see that this pains you. He is not amate for you, Lillian. Remember this, and forget the transient regardthat has sprung up from that early intimacy of yours."

  "He is wellborn, and now my equal in fortune, and oh, so much mysuperior in all gifts of mind and heart," sighed the girl, still withhidden face, for tears were dropping through her slender fingers.

  "It may be, but there is a mystery about him; and I have a vague disliketo him in spite of all that has passed. But, darling, are you sure hedoes not care for you? I fancied I read a different story in his face,and when you begged to leave town so suddenly, I believed that you hadseen this also, and kindly wished to spare him any pain."

  "It was to spare myself. Oh, Mamma, he loves Helen, and will marry heralthough she is blind. He told me this, with a look I could not doubt,and so I came away to hide my sorrow," sobbed poor Lillian in despair.

  Lady Trevlyn went to her and, laying the bright head on her motherlybosom, said soothingly as she caressed it, "My little girl, it is toosoon for you to know these troubles, and I am punished for yielding toyour entreaties for a peep at the gay world. It is now too late to spareyou this; you have had your wish and must pay its price, dear. But,Lillian, call pride to aid you, and conquer this fruitless love. Itcannot be very deep as yet, for you have
known Paul, the man, too shorta time to be hopelessly enamored. Remember, there are others, better,braver, more worthy of you; that life is long, and full of pleasure yetuntried."

  "Have no fears for me, Mamma. I'll not disgrace you or myself by anysentimental folly. I do love Paul, but I can conquer it, and I will.Give me a little time, and you shall see me quite myself again."

  Lillian lifted her head with an air of proud resolve that satisfied hermother, and with a grateful kiss stole away to ease her full heartalone. As she disappeared Lady Trevlyn drew a long breath and, claspingher hands with a gesture of thanksgiving, murmured to herself in anaccent of relief, "Only a love sorrow! I feared it was some new terrorlike the old one. Seventeen years of silence, seventeen years of secretdread and remorse for me," she said, pacing the room with tightly lockedhands and eyes full of unspeakable anguish. "Oh, Richard, Richard! Iforgave you long ago, and surely I have expiated my innocent offense bythese years of suffering! For her sake I did it, and for her sake Istill keep dumb. God knows I ask nothing for myself but rest andoblivion by your side."

  Half an hour later, Paul stood at the hall door. It was ajar, for thefamily had returned unexpectedly, as was evident from the open doors andempty halls. Entering unseen, he ascended to the room my lady usuallyoccupied. The fire burned low, Lillian's chair was empty, and my ladylay asleep, as if lulled by the sighing winds without and the deepsilence that reigned within. Paul stood regarding her with a great pitysoftening his face as he marked the sunken eyes, pallid cheeks, lockstoo early gray, and restless lips muttering in dreams.

  "I wish I could spare her this," he sighed, stooping to wake her with aword. But he did not speak, for, suddenly clutching the chain about herneck, she seemed to struggle with some invisible foe and beat it off,muttering audibly as she clenched her thin hands on the golden case.Paul leaned and listened as if the first word had turned him to stone,till the paroxysm had passed, and with a heavy sigh my lady sank into acalmer sleep. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder, Paulskillfully opened the locket, drew out the silver key, replaced it withone from the piano close by, and stole from the house noiselessly as hehad entered it.

  That night, in the darkest hour before the dawn, a figure went glidingthrough the shadowy Park to its most solitary corner. Here stood thetomb of the Trevlyns, and here the figure paused. A dull spark of lightwoke in its hand, there was a clank of bars, the creak of rusty hinges,then light and figure both seemed swallowed up.

  Standing in the tomb where the air was close and heavy, the pale glimmerof the lantern showed piles of moldering coffins in the niches, andeverywhere lay tokens of decay and death. The man drew his hat lowerover his eyes, pulled the muffler closer about his mouth, and surveyedthe spot with an undaunted aspect, though the beating of his heart washeard in the deep silence. Nearest the door stood a long casket coveredwith black velvet and richly decorated with silver ornaments, tarnishednow. The Trevlyns had been a stalwart race, and the last sleeper broughtthere had evidently been of goodly stature, for the modern coffin was asponderous as the great oaken beds where lay the bones of generations.Lifting the lantern, the intruder brushed the dust from theshield-shaped plate, read the name RICHARD TREVLYN and a date, and, asif satisfied, placed a key in the lock, half-raised the lid, and,averting his head that he might not see the ruin seventeen long yearshad made, he laid his hand on the dead breast and from the folded shrouddrew a mildewed paper. One glance sufficed, the casket was relocked, thedoor rebarred, the light extinguished, and the man vanished like a ghostin the darkness of the wild October night.

  Chapter VIII

  WHICH?

  "A Gentleman, my lady."

  Taking a card from the silver salver on which the servant offered it,Lady Trevlyn read, "Paul Talbot," and below the name these penciledwords, "I beseech you to see me." Lillian stood beside her and saw theline. Their eyes met, and in the girl's face was such a sudden glow ofhope, and love, and longing, that the mother could not doubt ordisappoint her wish.

  "I will see him," she said.

  "Oh, Mamma, how kind you are!" cried the girl with a passionate embrace,adding breathlessly, "He did not ask for me. I cannot see him yet. I'llhide in the alcove, and can appear or run away as I like when we knowwhy he comes."

  They were in the library, for, knowing Lillian's fondness for the roomwhich held no dark memories for her, my lady conquered her dislike andoften sat there. As she spoke, the girl glided into the deep recess of abay window and drew the heavy curtains just as Paul's step sounded atthe door.

  Hiding her agitation with a woman's skill, my lady rose withoutstretched hand to welcome him. He bowed but did not take the hand,saying, in a voice of grave respect in which was audible an undertone ofstrong emotion, "Pardon me, Lady Trevlyn. Hear what I have to say; andthen if you offer me your hand, I shall gratefully receive it."

  She glanced at him, and saw that he was very pale, that his eyeglittered with suppressed excitement, and his whole manner was that of aman who had nerved himself up to the performance of a difficult butintensely interesting task. Fancying these signs of agitation onlynatural in a young lover coming to woo, my lady smiled, reseatedherself, and calmly answered, "I will listen patiently. Speak freely,Paul, and remember I am an old friend."

  "I wish I could forget it. Then my task would be easier," he murmured ina voice of mingled regret and resolution, as he leaned on a tall chairopposite and wiped his damp forehead, with a look of such deepcompassion that her heart sank with a nameless fear.

  "I must tell you a long story, and ask your forgiveness for the offensesI committed against you when a boy. A mistaken sense of duty guided me,and I obeyed it blindly. Now I see my error and regret it," he saidearnestly.

  "Go on," replied my lady, while the vague dread grew stronger, and shebraced her nerves as for some approaching shock. She forgot Lillian,forgot everything but the strange aspect of the man before her, and thewords to which she listened like a statue. Still standing pale andsteady, Paul spoke rapidly, while his eyes were full of mingledsternness, pity, and remorse.

  "Twenty years ago, an English gentleman met a friend in a little Italiantown, where he had married a beautiful wife. The wife had a sister aslovely as herself, and the young man, during that brief stay, loved andmarried her--in a very private manner, lest his father should disinherithim. A few months passed, and the Englishman was called home to takepossession of his title and estates, the father being dead. He wentalone, promising to send for the wife when all was ready. He told no oneof his marriage, meaning to surprise his English friends by producingthe lovely woman unexpectedly. He had been in England but a short timewhen he received a letter from the old priest of the Italian town,saying the cholera had swept through it, carrying off half itsinhabitants, his wife and friend among others. This blow prostrated theyoung man, and when he recovered he hid his grief, shut himself up inhis country house, and tried to forget. Accident threw in his wayanother lovely woman, and he married again. Before the first year wasout, the friend whom he supposed was dead appeared, and told him thathis wife still lived, and had borne him a child. In the terror andconfusion of the plague, the priest had mistaken one sister for theother, as the elder did die."

  "Yes, yes, I know; go on!" gasped my lady, with white lips, and eyesthat never left the narrator's face.

  "This friend had met with misfortune after flying from the doomedvillage with the surviving sister. They had waited long for letters, hadwritten, and, when no answer came, had been delayed by illness andpoverty from reaching England. At this time the child was born, and thefriend, urged by the wife and his own interest, came here, learned thatSir Richard was married, and hurried to him in much distress. We canimagine the grief and horror of the unhappy man. In that interview thefriend promised to leave all to Sir Richard, to preserve the secret tillsome means of relief could be found; and with this promise he returned,to guard and comfort the forsaken wife. Sir Richard wrote the truth toLady Trevlyn, meaning to kill himself, as the only way of escape fro
mthe terrible situation between two women, both so beloved, both soinnocently wronged. The pistol lay ready, but death came without itsaid, and Sir Richard was spared the sin of suicide."

  Paul paused for breath, but Lady Trevlyn motioned him to go on, stillsitting rigid and white as the marble image near her.

  "The friend only lived to reach home and tell the story. It killed thewife, and she died, imploring the old priest to see her child rightedand its father's name secured to it. He promised; but he was poor, thechild was a frail baby, and he waited. Years passed, and when the childwas old enough to ask for its parents and demand its due, the proofs ofthe marriage were lost, and nothing remained but a ring, a bit ofwriting, and the name. The priest was very old, had neither friends,money, nor proofs to help him; but I was strong and hopeful, and thougha mere boy I resolved to do the work. I made my way to England, toTrevlyn Hall, and by various stratagems (among which, I am ashamed tosay, were false keys and feigned sleepwalking) I collected many proofs,but nothing which would satisfy a court, for no one but you knew whereSir Richard's confession was. I searched every nook and corner of theHall, but in vain, and began to despair, when news of the death ofFather Cosmo recalled me to Italy; for Helen was left to my care then.The old man had faithfully recorded the facts and left witnesses toprove the truth of his story; but for four years I never used it, nevermade any effort to secure the title or estates."

  "Why not?" breathed my lady in a faint whisper, as hope suddenlyrevived.

  "Because I was grateful," and for the first time Paul's voice faltered."I was a stranger, and you took me in. I never could forget that, nortie many kindnesses bestowed upon the friendless boy. This afflicted me,even while I was acting a false part, and when I was away my heartfailed me. But Helen gave me no peace; for my sake, she urged me to keepthe vow made to that poor mother, and threatened to tell the storyherself. Talbot's benefaction left me no excuse for delaying longer, andI came to finish the hardest task I can ever undertake. I feared that along dispute would follow any appeal to law, and meant to appeal firstto you, but fate befriended me, and the last proof was found."

  "Found! Where?" cried Lady Trevlyn, springing up aghast.

  "In Sir Richard's coffin, where you hid it, not daring to destroy, yetfearing to keep it."

  "Who has betrayed me?" And her eye glanced wildly about the room, as ifshe feared to see some spectral accuser.

  "Your own lips, my lady. Last night I came to speak of this. You layasleep, and in some troubled dream spoke of the paper, safe in itswriter's keeping, and your strange treasure here, the key of which youguarded day and night. I divined the truth. Remembering Hester'sstories, I took the key from your helpless hand, found the paper on SirRichard's dead breast, and now demand that you confess your part in thistragedy."

  "I do, I do! I confess, I yield, I relinquish everything, and ask pityonly for my child."

  Lady Trevlyn fell upon her knees before him, with a submissive gesture,but imploring eyes, for, amid the wreck of womanly pride and worldlyfortune, the mother's heart still clung to its idol.

  "Who should pity her, if not I? God knows I would have spared her thisblow if I could; but Helen would not keep silent, and I was driven tofinish what I had begun. Tell Lillian this, and do not let her hate me."

  As Paul spoke, tenderly, eagerly, the curtain parted, and Lillianappeared, trembling with the excitement of that interview, but consciousof only one emotion as she threw herself into his arms, crying in a toneof passionate delight, "Brother! Brother! Now I may love you!"

  Paul held her close, and for a moment forgot everything but the joy ofthat moment. Lillian spoke first, looking up through tears oftenderness, her little hand laid caressingly against his cheek, as shewhispered with sudden bloom in her own, "Now I know why I loved you sowell, and now I can see you marry Helen without breaking my heart. Oh,Paul, you are still mine, and I care for nothing else."

  "But, Lillian, I am not your brother."

  "Then, in heaven's name, who are you?" she cried, tearing herself fromhis arms.

  "Your lover, dear!"

  "Who, then, is the heir?" demanded Lady Trevlyn, springing up, asLillian turned to seek shelter with her mother.

  "I am."

  Helen spoke, and Helen stood on the threshold of the door, with a hard,haughty look upon her beautiful face.

  "You told your story badly, Paul," she said, in a bitter tone. "Youforgot me, forgot my affliction, my loneliness, my wrongs, and thenatural desire of a child to clear her mother's honor and claim herfather's name. I am Sir Richard's eldest daughter. I can prove my birth,and I demand my right with his own words to sustain me."

  She paused, but no one spoke; and with a slight tremor in her proudvoice, she added, "Paul has done the work; he shall have the reward. Ionly want my father's name. Title and fortune are nothing to one likeme. I coveted and claimed them that I might give them to you, Paul, myone friend, always, so tender and so true."

  "I'll have none of it," he answered, almost fiercely. "I have kept mypromise, and am free. You chose to claim your own, although I offeredall I had to buy your silence. It is yours by right--take it, and enjoyit if you can. I'll have no reward for work like this."

  He turned from her with a look that would have stricken her to the heartcould she have seen it. She felt it, and it seemed to augment somesecret anguish, for she pressed her hands against her bosom with anexpression of deep suffering, exclaiming passionately, "Yes, I _will_keep it, since I am to lose all else. I am tired of pity. Power issweet, and I will use it. Go, Paul, and be happy if you can, with anameless wife, and the world's compassion or contempt to sting yourpride."

  "Oh, Lillian, where shall we go? This is no longer our home, but whowill receive us now?" cried Lady Trevlyn, in a tone of despair, for herspirit was utterly broken by the thought of the shame and sorrow instore for this beloved and innocent child.

  "I will." And Paul's face shone with a love and loyalty they could notdoubt. "My lady, you gave me a home when I was homeless; now let me paymy debt. Lillian, I have loved you from the time when, a romantic boy, Iwore your little picture in my breast, and vowed to win you if I lived.I dared not speak before, but now, when other hearts may be shut againstyou, mine stands wide open to welcome you. Come, both. Let me protectand cherish you, and so atone for the sorrow I have brought you."

  It was impossible to resist the sincere urgency of his voice, the tenderreverence of his manner, as he took the two forlorn yet innocentcreatures into the shelter of his strength and love. They clung to himinstinctively, feeling that there still remained to them one staunchfriend whom adversity could not estrange.

  An eloquent silence fell upon the room, broken only by sobs, gratefulwhispers, and the voiceless vows that lovers plight with eyes, andhands, and tender lips. Helen was forgotten, till Lillian, whose elasticspirit threw off sorrow as a flower sheds the rain, looked up to thankPaul, with smiles as well as tears, and saw the lonely figure in theshadow. Her attitude was full of pathetic significance; she still stoodon the threshold, for no one had welcomed her, and in the strange roomshe knew not where to go; her hands were clasped before her face, as ifthose sightless eyes had seen the joy she could not share, and at herfeet lay the time-stained paper that gave her a barren title, but nolove. Had Lillian known how sharp a conflict between passion and pride,jealousy and generosity, was going on in that young heart, she could nothave spoken in a tone of truer pity or sincerer goodwill than that inwhich she softly said, "Poor girl! We must not forget her, for, with allher wealth, she is poor compared to us. We both had one father, andshould love each other in spite of this misfortune. Helen, may I callyou sister?"

  "Not yet. Wait till I deserve it."

  As if that sweet voice had kindled an answering spark of nobleness inher own heart, Helen's face changed beautifully, as she tore the paperto shreds, saying in a glad, impetuous tone, while the white flakesfluttered from her hands, "I, too, can be generous. I, too, can forgive.I bury the sad past. See! I yield my claim, I
destroy my proofs, Ipromise eternal silence, and keep 'Paul's cousin' for my only title.Yes, you are happy, for you love one another!" she cried, with a suddenpassion of tears. "Oh, forgive me, pity me, and take me in, for I am allalone and in the dark!"

  There could be but one reply to an appeal like that, and they gave it,as they welcomed her with words that sealed a household league of mutualsecrecy and sacrifice.

  They _were_ happy, for the world never knew the hidden tie that boundthem so faithfully together, never learned how well the old prophecy hadbeen fulfilled, or guessed what a tragedy of life and death the silverkey unlocked.