"Do you really wish me to come back so soon?" exclaimed the lover, his face flushing all over with pleasure.
"Yes; but don"t cry out so loud--that"s a dear! I repeat, there are people in the next room. But you have not yet answered my question."
"Oh, yes, I can return here as soon as my partner gets back! He promised that I should take a week"s holiday then. So, if he gets back on Sat.u.r.day evening, expect to see me here on Sunday morning, in time to wait on you to church."
"Stop; not so fast, my dear! You can take your week"s holiday at any time, I suppose?"
"At any time this month or next."
"Very well. Now, dear boy, I want you to promise me two or three things."
"I will promise you anything in the world you wish."
"Then listen. Every time I write to you I will inclose within my letter another letter, sealed and directed to me, which you must stamp and post at the Wendover post-office. Will you do that for me?"
While she spoke the young man gazed at her in unqualified amazement.
"Will you do that for me?" she repeated.
"I solemnly promise to do that for you, although I am all in the dark as to what you would be at," earnestly answered Craven Kyte.
"I thank you, dearest dear," cooed the siren, caressing him tenderly.
"I would do anything in the world for you," he answered fervently. "I would die for you or live for you!"
"Well, secondly, I want you, when you go back, to keep an eye on Mr.
Alden Lytton. Find out, if possible, the day that he comes to this city.
And precede him here yourself by one train. Or, if that is not possible, if you can not find out beforehand the day that he is to come, at least you can certainly know when he actually does start, for every pa.s.senger from Wendover is noticed. And then follow him by the next train, and come directly from the depot to me, before going to a hotel or showing yourself at any other place. Will you do that for me?"
"I promise, on my sacred word and honor, that I will, although I have not the slightest idea why you wish me to do this," said Craven.
"You are a true knight, worthy of any lady"s love! Well, thirdly, and lastly, as the preachers say, I wish you to promise me never to divulge to a human being anything that has been said between us during this interview."
"I not only promise, but I solemnly vow, in the sight of Heaven and all the holy angels, sacredly to observe the silence you require of me, although I feel more and more deeply mystified by all this."
"You must trust in me, my dear, blindly trust in me for the present, and in time you shall know why I require these things of you," she said, very sweetly.
"I trust in you blindly, utterly, eternally!" answered the lover.
"And now, do you know what your reward shall be?"
"Your smile of approval will be my all-sufficient reward!" exclaimed the young man, earnestly.
"Ah, but you shall hear! When you have done these little favors for me, and _one more_, which I will tell you about when you come back from Wendover, then--" she said, pausing and looking at him with a bewildering smile.
"Then? Yes! Then?" eagerly aspirated the young man, gazing at her in rapt admiration and expectancy.
"Then I will give you my hand in marriage. I solemnly promise it."
"Oh, you angel--you angel! You have made me so happy!" fervently breathed the infatuated lover, as he drew her, unresisting, and pressed her to his heart.
At this point there was heard the sound of light footsteps approaching.
And the moment after, several of the lady boarders opened the door and entered the room.
Craven Kyte, always shy of strangers, arose to take leave.
As he did so, he seemed suddenly to recollect something.
He put his hand in his breast-pocket and drew forth a little box, which he handed to Mrs. Grey, saying:
"It is your brooch that you requested me to get from the jeweler."
And then, with a bow, he left her.
Mary Grey went back to her room.
"I shall succeed in ruining them all now!" she said, her dark eyes on fire with antic.i.p.ated triumph.
CHAPTER XXV.
A VERY DESPERATE GAME.
I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die.
--SHAKESPEARE.
Craven Kyte, the infatuated and doomed instrument and victim of a cruel and remorseless woman, returned to Wendover and resumed his place in Bastiennello"s establishment, where he culpably neglected his business, and lived only on the thought of receiving her daily letters and of soon returning to Richmond to be blessed by her promised hand in marriage.
Every morning he was the first man at the post-office, waiting eagerly, impatiently, for the arrival and opening of the mail.
And he was never disappointed of receiving her letter, and--never satisfied with its contents.
Every letter was in itself something of a mortification to him, containing no expression of confidence or affection, no word by which any one might suspect that the correspondent was writing to one she loved and trusted, much less to her betrothed husband.
Every letter began and ended in the most polite and formal manner; never alluded to the matrimonial intentions between the correspondents, but treated only of church services, Sunday-schools, sewing circles and missionary matters, until the young man, famishing for a word of affection, with pardonable selfishness, sighed forth:
"She is a saint; but oh, I wish she was a little less devoted to the heathen, and all that, and a little more affectionate to me!"
But the instant afterward he blamed himself for egotism, and consoled himself by saying:
"She always told me that, however much she loved, she would never write love-letters, as they might possibly fall into the hands of irreverent and scoffing people who would make a mockery of the writer. It is a far-fetched idea; but still it is _her_ idea and I must submit. It will be all right when I go to Richmond and claim her darling hand."
And the thought of this would fill him with such ecstasy that he would long to tell some one, his partner especially, that he was the happiest man on earth, for he was to be married in a week to the loveliest woman in the world. But he was bound by his promise to keep his engagement, as well as all other of his relations with the beautiful widow, a profound secret. And though the poor fellow _was_ a fool, he was an _honorable_ fool, and held his pledged word sacred.
Every letter that came to him also contained another letter, to which it never referred by written word. This inclosed letter was sealed in an envelope bearing the initial "L" embossed upon its flap. And it was directed to "Mrs. Mary Grey, Old Crane Manor House, Richmond."