Now, therefore, besides the train of household servants, there remained at the castle but three inmates--Salome Levison, reduced by sorrow and illness to a state of infantile feebleness of mind and body; Lady Belgrade, nearly worn out with long watching, fatigue, and anxiety; and the young Marquis of Arondelle, whom we must henceforth designate as the Duke of Hereward, and whom even the stately dowager, who was "of the most straitest sect, a Pharisee" of conventional etiquette, nevertheless implored to remain a guest at the castle until after the recovery of the heiress, and the reading of the father"s will.
The young duke who wished nothing more than to be near his bride, readily consented to stay.
But Salome"s recovery was so slow, and her frame so feeble, that she seemed to have re-entered life through a new infancy of body and mind.
Strangely, however, through all her illness she seemed not to have lost the memory of its cause--her father"s shocking death. Thus she had no new grief or horror to experience.
No one spoke to her of the terrible tragedy. She herself was the first to allude to it.
The occasion was this:
On the first day on which she was permitted to leave her bedchamber and sit for awhile in an easy resting chair, beside the open window of her boudoir, to enjoy the fresh air from the mountain and the lake, she sent for the young duke to come to her.
He eagerly obeyed the summons, and hastened to her side.
He had not been permitted to see her since her illness, and now he was almost overwhelmed with sorrow to see into what a mere shadow of her former self she had faded.
As she reclined there in her soft white robes, with her long, dark hair flowing over her shoulders, so fair, so wan, so spiritual she looked, that it seemed as if the very breeze from the lake might have wafted her away.
He dropped on one knee beside her, and embraced and kissed her hands, and then sat down next her.
After the first gentle greetings were over, she amazed him by turning and asking:
"Has the murderer been discovered yet?"
"No, my beloved, but the detectives have a clue, that they feel sure will lead to the discovery and conviction of the wretch," answered the young duke, in a low voice.
"Where have they laid the body of my dear father?" she next inquired in a low hushed tone.
"In the family vault beside those of my own parents," gravely replied the young man.
"Your own--_parents_, my lord? I knew that your dear mother had gone before, but--your father--"
"My father has pa.s.sed to his eternal home. It is well with him as with yours. They are happy. And we--have a common sorrow, love!"
"I did not know--I did not know. No one told me," murmured Salome, as she dropped her face on her open hands, and cried like a child.
"Every one wished to spare you, my sweet girl, as long as possible. Yet I _did_ think, they had told you of my father"s departure, else I had not alluded to it so suddenly. There! weep no more, love! Viewed in the true light, those who have pa.s.sed higher are rather to be envied than mourned."
Then to change the current of her thoughts he said:
"Can you give your mind now to a little business, Salome?"
"Yes, if it concerns you," she sighed, wiping her eyes, and looking up.
"It concerns me only inasmuch as it affects your interests, my love. You are of age, my Salome?"
"Yes, I was twenty-one on my last birthday."
"Then you enter at once upon your great inheritance--an onerous and responsible position."
"But you will sustain it for me. I shall not feel its weight," she murmured.
"There are thousands in this realm, my love, good men and true, who would gladly relieve me of the dear trust," said the duke, with a smile. "We must, however, be guided by your father"s will, which I am happy to know is in entire harmony with your own wishes. And that brings me to what I wished to say. Kage, your late father"s solicitor, is in possession of his last will. He could not follow the custom, and read it immediately after the funeral, because your illness precluded the possibility of your presence at its perusal. But he only waits for your recovery and a summons from me to bring it. Whenever, therefore, you feel equal to the exertion of hearing it, I will send a telegram to Kage to come down,"
concluded the duke.
"My father"s last will!" softly murmured Salome. "Send the telegram to-day, please. To hear his last will read will be almost like hearing from him."
"There is beside the will a letter from your father, addressed to you, and left in the charge of Kage, to be delivered with the reading of the will, in the case of his, the writer"s, sudden death," gravely added the duke.
"A letter from my dear father to me? A letter from the grave! No, rather a letter from Heaven! Telegraph Mr. Kage to bring down the papers at once, dear John," said Salome, eagerly, as a warm flush arose on her pale, transparent cheek.
"I will do so at once, love; for to my mind, that letter is of equal importance with the will--though no lawyer would think so," said the duke.
"You know its purport then?"
"No, dearest, not certainly, but I surmise it, from some conversations that I held with the late Sir Lemuel Levison."
As he spoke the door opened and Lady Belgrade entered the room, saying softly, as she would have spoken beside the cradle of a sick baby:
"I am sorry to disturb your grace; but the fifteen minutes permitted by the doctor have pa.s.sed, and Salome must not sit up longer."
"I am going now, dear madam," said the duke, rising.
He took Salome"s hand, held it for a moment in his, while he gazed into her eyes, then pressed it to his lips, and so took his morning"s leave of her.
The same forenoon he rode over to the Lone Station, and dispatched a telegram to the family solicitor, Kage.
CHAPTER X.
THE LETTER AND ITS EFFECT.
Mr. Kage arrived at Lone, within twenty-four hours after having received the duke"s telegram. He reached the castle at noon and had a private interview with the duke in the library, when it was arranged that the will and the letter should be read the same afternoon in the presence of the a.s.sembled household.
"The letter also? Is not that a private one from the father to his daughter?" inquired the duke.
"No, your grace. There are reasons why it must be public, which you will recognize when you hear it read," answered the lawyer.
"Then I fear I have been mistaken in my private thoughts concerning it.
Pray, will it give us any clue to the perpetrators of the murder?"
"None whatever! It certainly was not a violent death that the banker antic.i.p.ated for himself when he prepared that letter to be delivered in the event of his sudden decease."
"Has any clue yet been found to the murderer?"