"When I saw that, I went mad," she raved on. "I saw everything through a black mist, and out of it the devil came and tempted me. He put the means in my hands to destroy my enemy, and I have done it--oh, I have done it! You said it was the Devil"s Garden, and it is! Oh, it is his--I know it! I know it!"
The girl was fairly beside herself--almost incoherent--but there was enough in her words and fierce excitement to fill Frank with sudden apprehension.
"What is it you have done?" he demanded. "Tell me what you mean by the devil tempting you to destroy your enemy. What have you done?"
A wave of pa.s.sion, anguish, remorse broke over her, and she clung to him heavily. She could not find voice at first. When she did, it had become a shuddering whisper.
"I have killed her!" she managed to gasp. "I have killed her! I did it with the Yellow Danger--you remember--the Yellow Danger--that day in the Devil"s Garden--that poison one--that deadly one with the cup--there were some among those she brought to-night. She must have left them there by mistake. I knew them--I remembered that day--and, oh, I have been there since. But I was about to throw them away when the devil came from his garden and tempted me. He said no one could ever suspect or blame me. I put one of the deadly ones among those that went to her place at dinner. When it was too late I was sorry. I realized, all at once, that I was a murderer and must not live. So I ran down here to throw myself in the lake. Then I remembered that you were here, and that perhaps you could do something to save her. Oh, she doesn"t know! She is happy up there, but she is doomed. You must help her! You must! Oh, I do not want to die a murderer! I cannot do that--I cannot!"
The girl"s raving had been in part almost inaudible, but out of it the truth came clearly. Constance had brought some mushrooms to the Lodge, and these, as usual, had been sent in to Edith to prepare. Among them Edith had found some which she recognized as those declared by Constance to be deadly, and these she had allowed to go to Constance"s plate.
Later, stricken with remorse, she had rushed out to destroy herself, and was now as eager to save her victim.
All this rushed through Frank"s brain in an instant, and for a moment he remembered only that day in the Devil"s Garden, and the fact that a deadly fungus which Constance had called the Yellow Danger was about to destroy her life. But then, in a flash, came back the letter, written from Lake Placid, in which Constance had confessed a mistake, and referred to a certain Amanita which she had thought poisonous as a choice edible mushroom, called by the ancients "food of the G.o.ds." He remembered now that this was the Orange Amanita or "Yellow Danger," and a flood of hope swept over him; but he must be certain of the truth.
"Miss Morrison," he said, in a voice that was at once gentle and grave, "this is a bitter time for us all. But you must be calm, and show me, if you can, one of those yellow mushrooms you did not use. I have reason to hope that they are not the deadly ones after all. But take me where I can see them, at once."
His words and tone seemed to give the girl new strength and courage.
"Oh, don"t tell me that unless it is true!" she pleaded. "Don"t tell me that just to get me to go back to the Lodge! Oh, I will do anything to save her! Come--yes--come, and I will show them to you!"
She started hurriedly in the direction of the Lodge, Frank keeping by her side. As they neared the lights she seized his arm and detained him an instant.
"You will not let her die?" She trembled, her fear returning. "She is so young and beautiful--you will not let her die? I will give up Robin, but she must not die."
He spoke to her rea.s.suringly, and they pushed on, making a wide detour which brought them to the rear of the Lodge. Through the window they saw the servants still pa.s.sing to and fro into the dining-room serving a few belated guests. From it a square of light penetrated the woods behind, and on the edge of this they paused--the girl"s eyes eagerly scanning the ground.
"I hid them here," she said. "I did not put them in the waste, for fear some one would see them."
Presently she knelt and brushed aside the leaves. Something like gold gleamed before her and she seized upon it. A moment later she had uncovered another similar object.
"There," she said chokingly; "there they are! Tell me--tell me quick!
Are they the deadly ones?"
He gave them a quick glance in the light, then he said:
"I think not, but I cannot be sure here. Come with me to the guide"s cabin. It was dark as we came up, but it was open. I will strike a light."
They hurried across to the little detached cabin and pushed in. Frank struck a match and lit a kerosene bracket lamp. Then he laid the two yellow mushrooms on the table beneath it, and from an inner pocket drew a small and rather mussed letter and opened it--his companion watching every movement with burning eager eyes.
"This is a letter from Miss Deane," he said, "written me from Lake Placid. In it she says that she made a mistake about the Orange Amanita that she called the Yellow Danger. These are her words--a rule taken from the book:
""_If the cup of the Yellow Amanita is present, the plant is harmless.
If the cup is absent, it is poisonous._""
He bent forward and looked closely at the specimens before him.
"That is surely the cup," he said. "She gathered these and put them among the others by intention, knowing them to be harmless. She is safe, and you have committed no crime."
His last words fell on insensate ears. Edith drew a quick breath that was half a cry, and an instant later Frank saw that she was reeling. He caught her and half lifted her to a bench by the door, where she lay insensible. An approaching step caught Frank"s ear and, as he stepped to the door, Robin Farnham, who had seen the light in the cabin, was at the entrance. A startled look came into his eyes as he saw Edith"s white face, but Frank said quietly:
"Miss Morrison has had a severe shock--a fright. She has fainted, but I think there is no danger. I will remain while you bring a cup of water."
There was a well at the end of the Lodge, and Robin returned almost immediately with a filled cup.
Already Edith showed signs of returning consciousness, and Frank left the two, taking his way to the veranda, where he heard the voices of Constance and her mother, mingled with that of Miss Carroway. He ascended the steps with a resolute tread and went directly to Constance, who came forward to meet him.
"And where did you come from?" she demanded gayly. "We looked for you all about. Mamma and I came over on purpose to dine with you, and I brought a very especial dish, which I had all to myself. Still, we did miss you, and Miss Carroway has been urging us to send out a searching party."
Frank shook hands with Mrs. Deane and Miss Carroway, apologizing for his absence and lateness. Then he turned to Constance, and together they pa.s.sed down to the further end of the long veranda. Neither spoke until they were out of earshot of the others. Then the girl laid her hand gently on her companion"s arm.
"I have something to tell you," she began. "I came over on purpose--something I have been wanting to say a long time, only----"
He interrupted her.
"I know," he said; "I can guess what it is. That was why I did not come sooner. I came now because I have something to say to you. I did not intend to come at all, but then something happened and--I have changed my mind. I will only keep you a moment."
His voice was not quite steady, but grave and determined, with a tone in it which the girl did not recognize. Her hand slipped from his arm.
"Tell me first," he went on, "if you are quite sure that the mushrooms you brought for dinner--all of them--the yellow ones--are entirely harmless."
Certainly this was an unexpected question. Something in the solemn manner and suddenness of it may have seemed farcical. For an instant she perhaps thought him jesting, for there was a note of laughter in her voice as she replied:
"Oh, yes; quite certain. Those are the Caesar mushrooms--food of the G.o.ds--I brought them especially for you. But how did you know of them?"
He did not respond to this question, nor to her light tone.
"Miss Deane," he went on, "I know perfectly well what you came here to say. I happened to be in the little grove of birches to-night when you landed with your mother and Robin Farnham, and I saw and heard what took place on the dock, almost before I realized that I was eavesdropping.
Unfortunately, though I did not know it then, another saw and heard, as well, and the shock of it was such that it not only crushed her spirit but upset her moral balance for the time. You will know, of course, that I refer to Edith Morrison. She had to know, and perhaps no one is to blame for her suffering--and mine; only it seems unfortunate that the revelation should have come just as it did rather than in the gentler way which you perhaps had planned."
He paused a moment to collect words for what he had to say next.
Constance was looking directly at him, though her expression was lost in the dusk. Her voice, however, was full of anxiety.
"There is a mistake," she began eagerly. "Oh, I will explain, but not now. Where is Edith? Tell me first what has happened to Edith."
"I will do that, presently. She is quite safe. The man she was to marry is with her. But first I have something to say--something that I wish to tell you before--before I go. I want to say to you in all honesty that I consider Robin Farnham a fine, manly fellow--more worthy of you than I--and that I honor you in your choice, regretting only that it must bring sorrow to other hearts. I want to confess to you that never until after that day upon the mountain did I realize the fullness of my love for you--that it was all in my life that was worth preserving--that it spoke to the best there was in me. I want you to know that it stirred old ambitions and restored old dreams, and that I awoke to renewed effort and to the hope of achievement only because of you and of your approval. The story I read to you that day on the mountain was my story.
I wrote it those days while you were away. It was the beginning of a work I hoped to make worth while. I believed that you cared, and that with worthy effort I could win you for my own. I had Robin Gray"s character in mind for my hero, not dreaming that I should be called upon to make a sacrifice on my own account, but now that the time is here I want you to know that I shall try not to make it grudgingly or cravenly, but as manfully as I can. I want to tell you from my heart and upon my honor that I wish you well--that if ever the day comes when I can be of service to you or to him, I will do whatever lies in my power and strength. It is not likely such a time will ever come, for in the matter of means you will have ample and he will have enough. Those bonds which poor old Robin Gray believed worthless all these years have been restored to their full value, and more; and, even if this were not true, Robin Farnham would make his way and command the recognition and the rewards of the world. What will become of my ambition I do not know. It awoke too late to mean anything to you, and the world does not need my effort. As a boy, I thought it did, and that my chances were all bright ahead. But once, a long time ago, in these same hills, I gave my lucky piece to a little mountain girl, and perhaps I gave away my opportunities with it, and my better strength. Now, there is no more to say except G.o.d bless you and love you, as I always will."
And a moment later he added:
"I left Miss Morrison with Robin Farnham in the guide"s cabin. If she is not there you will probably find her in her room. Be as kind to her as you can. She needs everything."
He held out his hand then, as if to leave her. But she took it and held it fast. He felt that hers trembled.
"You are brave and true," she said, "and you cannot go like this. You will not leave the Lodge without seeing me again. Promise me you will not. I have something to say to you--something it is necessary you should know. It is quite a long story and will take time. I cannot tell it now. Promise me that you will walk once more with me to-morrow morning. I will go now to Edith; but promise me what I ask. You must."
"It is not fair," he said slowly, "but I promise you."
"You need not come for me," she said. "Our walk will be in the other direction. I will meet you here quite early."