"_Bien!_" said the abbess. "I will attend his grace. Go, dear daughter, and await my return in my parlor. Sister Dominica, lead the way and announce me."
Salome, in obedience to the abbess" orders, went back to the lady-superior"s private parlor to await, with palpitating heart the issue of the lady"s interview with the duke.
Sister Dominica deferentially led the lady abbess to the wicket room, opened the door, and said:
"The lady-superior of the convent to see Monseigneur, the Duke," then closed the door after the abbess, and retired.
As Mother Genevieve entered the room, she saw standing there a tall, thin, distinguished-looking young man, with a pale complexion, blonde hair and beard, and blue eyes. His face bore traces of deep suffering bravely endured. The gentle abbess sympathized with him from the depths of her kind heart, and for the first time felt glad that he would regain his wife, although by his doing so the convent would lose her fortune.
"Monseigneur, the Duke, of Hereward?" she said graciously, advancing into the room.
"Yes, madam. I have the honor of saluting the Lady Abbess of St.
Rosalie?" returned the duke, with a bow.
"A poor nun, monseigneur; who, as the unworthy head of the house, begs leave to welcome you here," humbly returned the lady, bending her head.
"Thanks, madam."
"It is a sad event which has brought you under our roof, monseigneur."
"A very sad one, madam."
"And yet, for your sake, a very fortunate one."
"May I be permitted to ask you, madam, in what way this misfortune can be fortunate?"
"I had supposed that you already knew that, monseigneur."
"Perhaps I do. I am not sure. I do not clearly comprehend, madam. Will madam deign to make her meaning plainer?"
"Yes, monseigneur, and you will pardon me if I enter too abruptly upon a subject at once painful and delicate."
The abbess paused, and the duke inclined his head in the att.i.tude of an attentive listener.
"The young d.u.c.h.ess of Hereward, monseigneur?" said the abbess, in a low voice.
The duke started very slightly, but his pale face flushed crimson.
"Pardon, monseigneur. I am the more deeply interested in the young lady, for that she pa.s.sed her infancy, childhood and youth--being nearly the whole of her short life, indeed, under this roof--where I stood in the position of a mother to her orphanage."
"I knew, madam, that the motherless heiress was educated here," replied the duke, by way of saying something.
"You will, therefore, understand the interest I take in Madame la d.u.c.h.esse, and forgive my question when I ask: Have you heard from her grace since she left her home?"
"You knew that she had left her home, then?" exclaimed the duke, in painful astonishment.
The abbess bowed a.s.sent.
"I hoped and believed that no one knew of her flight except the members of our own household, and the single confidential agent I employed to find her, and on whose discretion I could implicitly rely," said the duke, in a tone of extreme mortification and sorrow.
"Be tranquil, monseigneur, no one does know of it out of the circle of her own devoted friends, who can never misinterpret it."
"You know something of the d.u.c.h.ess" movements, then? You know, perhaps, the cause of her flight--the place of her residence? You know--ah, madam, tell me _what_ you know, I beseech you!" implored the duke.
"I know the cause of her flight, and justify her action even though she acted under a false impression. I know the place of her residence, and will tell it to you after you shall have answered one or two questions that I shall put to you. First then, monseigneur, when did you last hear of the d.u.c.h.ess?"
"Some few weeks after her flight, I received the first and last news I have ever had of my lost bride. It came in a short and cautiously written note from herself. This note was without date or address. It was apparently written in kind consideration for me, but it contained no word of affection. It was signed by her maiden name and post-marked Rome."
The abbess smiled as she remembered that letter which had been written by Salome to put her husband out of suspense, and which had been sent by the mother superior, through a confidential agent who happened to be going there, to be mailed from Rome, to put the Duke of Hereward entirely off the track of his lost wife.
"I have the note in my pocketbook. You may read it, madam, if you please," continued the duke, as he opened his portmonnaie and handed her a tiny, folded paper.
The abbess took it and read as follows:
"DUKE OF HEREWARD: I have just arisen from a bed of illness which has lasted ever since my flight, and prevented me from writing to you up to this time.
"I write now only to relieve any anxiety that you may feel on account of one in whom you took too much interest; for I would not have you suffer needless pain.
"You know the reason of my flight; or if you do not, my maiden name, at the foot of this note, will tell you how surely I had learned that it was my bounden duty to leave you instantly.
"I left you without malice, trying to put the best construction on your motives and actions, if any such were possible; I left you with sorrow, praying the Lord to forgive and save you.
"I dare not write to you as I feel toward you, for that would be a sin.
"I have entered a religious house, where, by prayer and labor, I may live down all "inordinate and sinful affections," and where I shall henceforth be dead to the world and to you.
"This, then, is the very last you will hear of her who was once known as SALOME LEVISON."
"She says you knew the cause of her flight. _Did_ you know it, monseigneur?" inquired the abbess, when she had finished reading the note, and had returned it to the owner.
"I did not even suspect it, at first, madam. At the trial of John Scott, on the charge of murder of Sir Lemuel Levison, to which I was summoned as a witness for the crown, some facts were developed that first awoke my suspicions as to the cause of my wife"s flight. These suspicions were further strengthened by the tone of her letter, received three weeks afterwards, and they were absolutely confirmed by a revelation I have received this day."
"From John Scott?"
"Yes, madam."
"You know the cause of your bride"s flight, monseigneur. Do you blame her for it?"
"Under such circ.u.mstances, I honor her for it. She nearly broke her own heart and mine; but, as a pure woman, believing as she was forced to believe, she could do no less. Now, madam, I have answered all your questions. Now relieve my anxiety--tell me where she is."
"First tell me where you have been seeking her?" inquired the abbess, with a singular smile.
"In Italy, of course! Her letter was post-marked Rome, though without any other address," said the duke, lightly lifting his eyebrows.
"That letter was written in this house, and sent to Rome to be mailed thence, in order to put you off the true track of the d.u.c.h.ess, monseigneur," said the abbess, with a smile.
"What do you tell me, madam!" exclaimed the duke, in surprise.