The Masked Bridal

by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  A SAD STORY DISCLOSED TO AN EAGER LISTENER.

  Royal Bryant was not very much surprised by this abrupt informationand interference with their movements.

  What Edith had said to him, just before getting out of the train, hadsuggested the possibility of such an incident, consequently he was notthrown off his guard, as he might otherwise have been.

  At the same time he flushed up hotly, and, confronting the officerwith flashing eyes, remarked, with freezing hauteur:

  "I do not understand you, sir. I think you have made a mistake; thislady is under my protection."

  "But I have orders to intercept a person answering to this lady'sdescription," returned the policeman, but speaking with not quite hisprevious assurance.

  "By whose orders are you acting, if I may inquire?" demanded the youngman.

  "A Boston party."

  "And the lady's name, if you please?"

  "No name is given, sir; but she is described as a girl of abouttwenty, pure blonde, very pretty, slight and graceful in figure,wearing a dark-brown dress and jacket and a brown hat with blackfeathers. She will be alone and has no baggage," said the policeman,reading from the telegram which he had received some two hoursprevious.

  Mr. Bryant smiled loftily.

  "Your description hits the case in some respects, I admit," heobserved, with an appreciative glance at Edith, who stood beside himoutwardly calm and collected, though the hand that rested upon his armwas tense with repressed emotion, "but in others it is wide of itsmark. You have her personal appearance, in a general way, and thedress happens to correspond in everything but the hat. You willobserve that the lady wears a black hat with a scarlet wing instead ofa brown one with black feathers. She did not arrive alone, either, asyou perceive, we got off the train together."

  The officer looked perplexed.

  "What may your name be, sir, if you please?" he inquired, with morecivility than he had yet shown.

  "Royal Bryant, of the firm of Bryant & Co., Attorneys. Here is mycard, and you can find me at my office between the hours of nine andfour any day you may wish," the young man frankly returned, as heslipped the bit of pasteboard into the man's hand.

  "And will you swear that you are not aiding and abetting this younglady in trying to escape the legal authority of friends in Boston?"questioned the policeman, as he sharply scanned the faces before him.

  "Ahem! I was not aware that I was being examined under oath,"responded the young lawyer, with quiet irony. "However, I am willingto give you my word of honor, as a gentleman, that this lady isaccountable to no one in Boston for her movements."

  "Well, I reckon I have made a mistake; but where in thunder, then, isthe girl I'm after?" muttered the officer, with an anxious air.

  "Does your telegram authorize you to arrest a runaway from Boston?"Mr. Bryant inquired, with every appearance of innocence.

  "Yes, a girl from the smart set, who don't want any scandal over thematter," replied the man, referring again to the yellow slip in hishand.

  "But she may not have come by the Boston and Albany line," objectedMr. Bryant. "There are several trains that leave the city fromdifferent stations about the same time; you may find your bird on alater train, Mr. Officer," he concluded, in a reassuring tone.

  "That is so," was the thoughtful response.

  "Then I suppose you will not care to detain us any longer," Mr. Bryantcourteously remarked. "Come, Edith," he added, turning with a smile tohis companion, and then he started to move on.

  "Hold on! I'm blamed if I don't think I'm right after all," said thepoliceman, in a tone of conviction, as he again placed himself intheir path.

  Royal Bryant flashed a look of fire at him.

  "Have you a warrant for the lady's arrest?" he sternly demanded.

  "No; I am simply ordered to detain her until her friends can come onand take charge of her," the man reluctantly admitted, while he heaveda sigh for the fat plum that had been promised him in the event of his"bagging his game."

  "Then, if you are not legally authorized in this matter, I wouldadvise you, as a friend, to make no mistake," gravely returned theyoung lawyer. "You might heap up wrath for yourself; while, if yourpatrons are anxious to avoid a scandal, you are taking the surest wayto create one by interfering with the movements of myself and mycompanion. This young lady is my friend, and, as I have already toldyou, under my protection; as her attorney, also, I shall stand nononsense, I assure you."

  "Beg pardon, sir; but I'm only trying to obey orders," apologized theofficial. "But would you have the goodness to tell me this younglady's name."

  At any other time and under any other circumstances Mr. Bryant wouldhave resented this inquiry as an impertinence; but it occurred to himthat an appearance of frankness and compliance might save them furtherinconvenience.

  "Certainly," he responded, with the utmost cheerfulness, "this lady'sname is Miss Edith Allandale and she is the daughter of the lateAlbert Allandale, of Allandale & Capen, bankers."

  "It is all right, sir," said the officer, at last convinced that hehad made a mistake, for Allandale & Capen had been a well-known firmto him. "You can go on," he added, touching his hat respectfully,"and I beg pardon for troubling you."

  Without more ado he turned away, while Edith and her escort passed on,but the frightened girl was now trembling in every limb.

  "Calm yourself, dear," whispered her companion, involuntarily usingthe affectionate term, as he hastened to lead her into the fresh air."You are safe, and I will soon have you in a place where your enemieswill never think of looking for you."

  He beckoned to the driver of a carriage as he spoke, and in anotherminute was assisting Edith into it; then, taking a seat beside her, hegave the man his order, and as the vehicle moved away in the darkness,the poor girl began to breathe freely for the first time sincealighting from the train.

  Mr. Bryant gave her a little time to recover herself, and then askedher to tell him all her trouble.

  This she was only too glad to do; and, beginning with the death of hermother, she poured out the whole story of the last three months tohim, dwelling mostly, however, upon the persecutions of Emil Correlliand the climax to which they had recently attained.

  He listened attentively throughout, but interrupting her, now andthen, to ask a pertinent question as it occurred to him.

  "I was in despair," Edith finally remarked in conclusion, "untilyesterday, when, by the merest chance, my eye fell upon thatadvertisement of yours and it flashed upon me that the best course forme to pursue would be to come directly to New York and seek your aid;I felt sure you would be as willing to help me as upon a previousoccasion."

  "Certainly I would--you judged me rightly," the young man responded,"but"--bending nearer to her and speaking in a slightly reproachfultone--"tell me, please, what was your object in leaving New York sounceremoniously?"

  He felt the slight shock which went quivering through her at thequestion, and smiled to himself at her hesitation before she replied:

  "I--I thought it was best," she faltered at last.

  "Why for the 'best'?--for you or for me? Tell me, please," he pleaded,gently.

  "For--both," she replied in a scarcely audible tone that thrilled himand made his face gleam with sudden tenderness.

  "I--you will pardon me if I speak plainly--I thought it very strange,"he remarked gravely. "It almost seemed to me as if you were fleeingfrom me, for I fully expected that you would return to the office onThursday morning, as I had appointed. Had I done anything to offendyou or drive you away--Edith?"

  "No--oh, no," she quickly returned.

  "I am very glad to know that," said her companion, a slighttremulousness in his tones, "for I have feared that I might havebetrayed my feelings in a way to wound or annoy you; for, Edith--I canno longer keep the secret--I had learned to love you with all my heartduring that week that you spent in my office, and I resolved, onparting with you at the carriage, the morning of your release, tocon
fess the fact to you as soon as you returned to the office, ask youto be my wife and thus let me stand between you and the world for alltime. Nay,"--as Edith here made a little gesture as if to checkhim--"I must make a full confession now, while I have the opportunity.I was almost in despair when I received your brief note telling methat you had left the city and without giving me the slightest clew toyour destination. All my plans, all my fond anticipations, were dashedto the earth, dear. I loved you so I felt that I could not bear theseparation. I love you still, my darling--my heart leaped for joy thisafternoon when I received your telegram. And now, while I have youhere all to myself, I have dared to tell you of it, and beg you totell me if there is any hope for me? Can you love me in return!--willyou be my wife--?"

  "Oh, hush! you forget the wretched tie that binds me to that villainin Boston," cried Edith, and there was such keen pain in her voicethat tears involuntarily started to her companion's eyes, while atthe same time both words and tone thrilled him with sweetest hope.

  "No tie binds you to him, dear," he whispered, tenderly. "Do you thinkI would have opened my heart to you thus if I had really believed youto be the wife of another?"

  "Oh, do you mean that the marriage was not legal? Oh, if I couldbelieve that!" Edith exclaimed, with a note of such eager hope in hertones that it almost amounted to the confession her lover hadsolicited from her.

  But he yearned to hear it in so many words from her lips.

  "Tell me, Edith, if I can prove it to you, will there be hope for me?"he whispered.

  Ought she to answer him as her heart dictated? Dare she confess herlove with that stigma of her mother's early mistake resting upon her?she asked herself, in anguish of spirit.

  She sat silent and miserable, undecided what to do.

  If she acknowledged her love for him, without telling him, and heshould afterward discover the story of her birth, might he not feelthat she had taken an unfair advantage of him.

  And yet, how could she ever bring herself to disclose the shamefulsecret of that sad, sad tragedy which had occurred twenty yearsprevious in Rome?

  "I--dare not tell you," she murmured at last.

  The young man started, then bent eagerly toward her.

  "You 'dare' not tell me!" he cried, joyfully. "Darling, I am answeredalready! But why do you hesitate to open your heart to me?"

  A sudden resolve took possession of her; she would tell him the wholetruth, let come what might.

  "I will not," she said. "I have a sad story to tell you; but first,explain to me what you meant when you said that no tie binds me tothat man?"

  "I meant that that marriage was simply a farce, in spite of thesacrilegious attempt of your enemies to legalize it," said the younglawyer, gravely.

  "Can that be possible?" sighed Edith, her voice tremulous with joy.

  "I will prove it to you. You have told me that this man Correlli livedwith that Italian woman here in New York for two years or more."

  "Yes."

  "Do you know whether he allowed her to be known by his name?"

  "No; but she told me that he allowed her to appear as his wife in thehouse where they lived."

  "Well, then, if that can be proven--and I have not much doubt aboutthe matter--the girl, by the laws of New York, which decree that if acouple live together in this State as husband and wife, they aresuch--this girl, I say, is the legal wife of Emil Correlli,consequently he can lay no claim to you without making himself liableto prosecution for the crime of bigamy."

  "Are you sure?" breathed Edith, and almost faint from joy, in view ofthis blessed release from a fate which to her would have been worsethan death.

  "So sure, dear, that I have nothing to fear for your future, regardingyour connection with this man, and everything to hope for regardingyour happiness and mine, if you will but tell me that you love me,"her lover returned, as he boldly captured the hand that lay alluringlynear him.

  She did not withdraw it from his clasp.

  It was so sweet to feel herself beloved and safe, under the protectionof this true-hearted man, that a feeling of restfulness and contentswept over her, and for the moment every other was absorbed by this.

  Still, Royal Bryant realized that she had some reason for hesitatingto acknowledge her affection for him, and after a moment of silence hesaid, gently:

  "Forgive my impatience, dear, and tell me the 'sad story' to which youreferred a little while ago."

  A heavy sigh escaped Edith.

  "You will be surprised to learn," she began, "that Mr. and Mrs.Allandale were not my own parents--that I was their adopted daughter."

  "Indeed! I am surprised!" exclaimed Mr. Bryant.

  "I did not discover the fact, however," the young girl pursued, "untilthe night after my mother's burial."

  And then she proceeded to relate all that had occurred in connectionwith the box of letters which Mrs. Allandale had desired, when dying,to be burned.

  She told of her subsequent examination of them, especially of thosesigned "Belle," and the story which they had revealed. How the younggirl had left her home and parents to flee to Italy with the man whomshe loved; how she had discovered, later, that her supposed marriagewith him was a sham; how, soon after the birth of her child--Edith--herhusband had deserted her for another, leaving her alone and unprotectedin that strange land.

  She related how, in her despair, her mother had resolved to die, andpleaded with her friend, Mrs. Allandale, to take her little one andrear it as her own, thus securing to her a happy home and life withoutthe possibility of ever discovering the stigma attached to her birthor the cruel fate of her mother.

  Royal Bryant listened to the pathetic tale without once interruptingthe fair narrator, and Edith's heart sank more and more in her bosomas she proceeded, and feared that she was so shocking him by theserevelations that his affection for her would die with this expose ofher secret.

  But he still held her hand clasped in his; and when, at the conclusionof her story, she gently tried to withdraw it, his fingers closed morefirmly over hers, when, bending still nearer to her, he questioned, infond, eager tones:

  "Was this the reason of your leaving New York so abruptly lastDecember?"

  "Yes."

  "Was it because you loved me and could not trust yourself to meet meday after day without betraying the fact when you feared that theknowledge of your birth might become a barrier between us? Tell me, mydarling, truly!"

  "Yes," Edith confessed; "but how could you guess it--how could youread my heart so like an open book?"

  The young man laughed out musically, and there was a ring of joyoustriumph in the sound.

  "'Tis said that 'love is blind,'" he said, "but mine was keen to readthe signs I coveted, and I believed, even when you were in yourdeepest trouble, that you were beginning to love me, and that I shouldeventually win you."

  "Why! did you begin to--" Edith began, and then checked herself insudden confusion.

  "Did I begin to plan to win you so far back as that?" he laughinglyexclaimed, and putting his own interpretation upon her half-finishedsentence. "My darling, I began to love you and to wish for you evenbefore your first day's work was done for me."