“Now, Carriston,” I said, as firmly as I could, “look up, and tell me what all this means. Look up, I say, man, and speak to me.”
He raised his eyes to mine, and kept them there, whilst a ghastly smile—a humor—flickered across his white face. No doubt his native quickness told him what I suspected, so he looked me full and in the face.
“No,” he said, “not as you think. But let there be no mistake. Question me. Talk to me. Put me to any test. Satisfy yourself, once for all, that I am as as you are.”
He so rationally, his eyes met mine so unflinchingly, that I was rejoiced to know that my fears were as yet ungrounded. There was grief, excitement, want of rest in his appearance, but his general manner told me he was, as he said, as sane as I was.
“Thank heaven you can speak to me and look at me like this,” I exclaimed.
“You are satisfied then?” he said.
“On this point, yes. Now tell me what is wrong?”
Now that he had set my doubts at rest his and excitement seemed to return. He grasped my hand convulsively.
“Madeline!” he whispered; “Madeline—my love—she is gone.”
“Gone!” I repeated. “Gone where?”
“She is gone, I say—stolen from me by some black-hearted traitor—perhaps forever. Who can tell?”
“But, Carriston, surely, in so short a time her love cannot have been won by another. If so, all I can say is—”
“What!” he shouted. “You have seen her! You in your wildest dreams to imagine that Madeline Rowan would leave me of her own free-will! No, sir; she has been stolen from me—entrapped—carried away—hidden. But I will find her, or I will kill the black-hearted who has done this.”
He rose and paced the room. His face was distorted with rage. He and unclinched his long slender hands.
“My dear fellow,” I said; “you are talking . Sit down and tell me calmly what has happened. But, first of all, as you look worn out, I will ring for my man to get you some food.”
“No,” he said; “I want nothing. Weary I am, for I have been to Scotland and back as fast as man can travel. I reached London a short time ago, and after seeing one man have come straight to you, my only friend, for help—it may be for protection. But I have eaten and I have drank, knowing I must keep my health and strength.”
However, I insisted on some wine being brought. He drank a glass, and then with a strange enforced calm, told me what had taken place. His tale was this:
After we had parted company on our return from[229] Scotland, Carriston went down to the family seat in Oxfordshire, and informed his uncle of the change in his life. The baronet, an extremely old man, infirm and all but childish, troubled little about the matter. Every acre of his large property was , so his pleasure or displeasure could make but little in his nephew’s . Still, he was the head of the family, and Carriston was in duty bound to make the important news known to him. The young man made no secret of his approaching marriage, so in a very short time every member of the family was aware that the heir and future head was about to ally himself to a nobody. Knowing nothing of Madeline Rowan’s rare beauty and sweet nature Carriston’s and kinswomen were sparing with their congratulations. Indeed, Mr. Ralph Carriston, the cousin whose name was coupled with such absurd suspicions, went so far as to write a bitter, letter, full of felicitations. This, and Charles Carriston’s reply, did not make the affection between the cousins any stronger. Moreover, shortly the younger man heard that were being made in the neighborhood of Madeline’s home as to her position and parentage. Feeling sure that only his cousin Ralph could have had the curiosity to institute such inquiries, he wrote and thanked him for the keen interest he was manifesting in his future welfare, but begged that hereafter Mr. Carriston would apply to him direct for any information he wanted. The two men were now no longer on speaking terms.
Charles Carriston in his present frame of mind cared little whether his relatives wished to bless or forbid the banns. He was in love, and at once set[230] about making arrangements for a speedy marriage. Although Madeline was still ignorant of the position held by her lover—although she came to him absolutely penniless—he was resolved in the matter of money to treat her as generously as he would have treated the most damsel in the country. There were several legal questions to be set at rest concerning certain property he wished to settle upon her. This of course caused delay. As soon as they were adjusted to his own, or rather to his lawyer’s satisfaction, he purposed going to Scotland and carrying away his beautiful bride. In the meantime he cast about for a residence.
Somewhat Bohemian in his nature, Carriston had no intention of settling down just yet to live the life of an ordinary moneyed Englishman. His intention was to take Madeline abroad for some months. He had upon Cannes as a desirable place at which to winter, but having grown somewhat tired of hotel life, wished to rent a furnished house. He had received from an agent to whom he had been advised to apply the refusal of a house, which, from the glowing description given, seemed the one above all others he wanted. As an early decision was insisted upon, my young friend thought nothing of crossing the Channel and running down to the south of France to see, with his own eyes, that the much-lauded place was
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