The Lost Lady of Lone. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

nor stopped until she had reached her own room, rushed in, and shut and bolted the door. Then she sank down into the nearest chair, feeling cold as ice, and trembling from head to foot.

      Her maid had over-acted her instructions, and had not only turned the lights low, but had turned them out entirely.

      There was no need of artificial light, however; for the windows were open and the room was flooded with the brilliant moonshine of these northern latitudes.

      Salome did not know or care how the room was lighted. She sat there thrilled with awe of what she had just experienced.

      Had she really seen the marquis?—or his spirit? Or had she been the victim of an optical illusion?

      If she had seen the marquis, what could have brought him secretly into the house and up into the hall of the bed-rooms, at that hour of the night? And why did he not answer her, when she called him?

      It surely could not have been the marquis whom she saw! He never would have crept into the house and up to their private-rooms, at that hour of the night, or fled from her, when she called him?

      What was it then that she had seen in the likeness of her lover?

      Was it the disembodied spirit of Arondelle? Could the spirit of a living man appear in one place, while the body of the man was present in another? She had heard and read of such wonders, yet she could not accept them as facts.

      No, this was no spirit.

      What then? Had she been the subject of an optical illusion? She had heard of those wonders also!

      But no! This was too real, too solid, too substantial for an optical illusion!

      Was the form she had seen possibly that of some other person, some guest of the house, who had lost his way.

      No, and a thousand noes! She knew every guest staying at the castle, and knew that not one of them bore the slightest resemblance to the Marquis of Arondelle.

      No, the form that she had seen in the murky hall seemed that of her betrothed husband, or it was his spirit.

      She could not tell which, nor could she test the question now. The house was full of wedding guests, who were now most probably sound asleep in their beds. And the household all had long since retired. She could not rouse them only to satisfy her own doubts without any other practical result. For what if the intruder were Lord Arondelle? He was not in the least an objectional guest. And in the morning he would explain his strange presence.

      By this time Salome had reasoned herself into some degree of calmness. But she was still too much excited to feel sleepy or to think of retiring to bed.

      The mid-summer night was warm and close, even there in the Highlands—or in her nervous condition it seemed to her to be so. She wanted more air. She went to the window, and seated herself in an easy-chair, and looked out.

      A heavenly night!

      The deep-blue sky was spangled with myriads of sparkling stars. The full harvest moon was at the zenith and pouring down a flood of silvery radiance over mountain, lake and island.

      Right opposite the window was the elegant little bridge that spanned the lake between the island and the mountain, at the base of which stood the little Gothic church with the cottages of the hamlet clustered around it.

      A beautiful scene!

      This morning it had been gay and noisy with a rejoicing crowd come to inspect the decorated grounds, and to triumph over the approaching marriage of their disinherited young lord, with the present heiress of his lost estate.

      To-morrow this scene would be even more gay and more noisy, with a greater and more rejoicing crowd. For all the Clan Scott were to gather here to do honor to the nuptials of their hereditary chieftain.

      But to-night the beautiful scene was holy in its solitude and stillness.

      Hark!

      A sound of voices beneath the window.

      Salome started, and drew back. And the next moment, paralyzed by consternation and despair, she overheard the following conversation:

      "Hist! are you there, Rose?" inquired a dear familiar voice.

      "Ay, I'm here, me laird! After being turnit frae the castle like a thief, or a beggar, or a dog! after being threatened wi' a constable and a prison if I ever showed my face here; but once mair I hae come agen, in obedience to your bidding! Come creeping, creeping, creeping ander the castle wa', by night, like ony puir cat afeared o' scauding water! Ay, me laird, I'm here, mair fule I!" replied a woman's voice.

      "Hush, Rose! Do not say so, my girl. And do not call me 'lord;' I am your slave and not your 'lord,' my lady queen! You know I love you—you only of all women."

      "Luve me? Ou, ay, sae ye tell me. But this gran' wedding is coming unco near to be naething but a jest. How far will ye carry the jest? Up till the altar railings? Into the bridal chamber? It's deceiving and fuling me, ye are, me laird! But I'll tell ye weel! Ye sail no marry yon girl, I say! Gin ye gae sae far as to lead her to the kirk mesel' will meet you at the altar and forbid the marriage. And then see wha will put me out!"

      "Hush, hush, you wild Highland witch, and listen to me. I shall not marry that girl! How can I, when I am married to you? I have had an object in letting this thing go on thus far. My plans could not all be accomplished until to-night. But to-night something will happen that will put all thoughts of marrying and giving in marriage effectually out of the heads of all parties concerned, I will warrant. And to-morrow, you and I will be far away from this place—together, and never to part again. Wait here for me, my love; I shall not be long away. But on your life, do not stir, or speak, or scarcely breathe until you see me again."

      "How long will you be gone?"

      "Perhaps an hour. Perhaps two hours. You can be patient?"

      "Ay, I can be patient."

      Here the low, whispering voice ceased. And Salome?

      Before that conversation was half through, Salome had fallen back in her chair in a deadly swoon.

CHAPTER VII.

       Table of Contents

THE MORNING'S DISCOVERY.

       Table of Contents

      When Miss Levison recovered her consciousness it was broad daylight. The rising sun glancing over the top of the Eastern mountain sent arrows of golden light in through the window at which she sat.

      Music filled the morning air!

      Salome passed her hands over her eyes, and gazed around. So long and deep had been her swoon that, for the time, she had utterly lost her memory, and now found difficulty in trying to recover it. Bewildered, she looked about, and listened to the strange, wild music sounding under her window—a sort of morning serenade or reveille, it seemed.

      Next her eyes fell upon her magnificent bridal array, displayed on stands near the elegant dressing-table.

      Then she remembered that this was her wedding-day, and a flush of joy lighted up her face.

      But it passed in a moment.

      What was this that lay so heavy at her heart! Was it the remnant of an evil dream?

      What had happened? Something must have happened! Else why should she find herself seated in that easy-chair at the open window, and see that her bed had not been occupied?

      Then, slowly, she recollected the events of the previous night—her retirement to her chamber; her talk there with the housekeeper about Rose Cameron, the "handsome hizzie," who had