Chapter XXX: Diana’s Advice

“In the struggle for power, or scramble for pelf,
Let this be your motto: ‘Rely on yourself!’”--JOHN G. SAXE.

Even in that dreadful moment Eve’s burning curiosity made her turn and look into the face of the woman who had come to claim her bridegroom.

It was no unfamiliar face into which Eve looked.

The deep, violet eyes, the delicate, clear-cut features, the sad white loveliness of that face belonged to Madame Orne and no other. She was not sleeping her last long sleep beneath the waves of the dark river, as Eve believed. She had returned to lift the veil of mystery that shrouded her fate, and to snatch from the new-made bride the golden fruit for which she had been shaking Fortune’s tree for years.

The fires of hatred flamed up in Eve’s heart into a destructive blaze, and her eyes flashed with joy as Madame Orne’s slight figure wavered and fell to the floor, fainting, but not dead, as Eve passionately wished.

And Essex? He looked down in a trance of horror at the man lying dead at his feet--his evil genius, the tempter who had led him on, who had baffled all his weak efforts at reform, taken his wealth at the gaming-table, tempted him to forgery, made him the weak, dissipated instrument of all his evil designs--lying dead now, gone to answer at the bar of a just God for all the evil he had wrought in his sinful life. Earle Essex, hardened sinner as he was, semi-intoxicated as he was, shuddered wildly as that solemn thought intruded itself on his mind. His voice broke out wildly, impetuously, in fierce disclaimer of the sin that had sent this unshriven soul before its outraged maker.

“I call you all to witness that this shooting was accidental. This man would have murdered me, unarmed as I was, and I struck up his arm because my own life was at stake. I but acted in self-defense.”

There was no dissent. It was true. They all knew it. A score of men gathered around Earle Essex, and there ensued a brief colloquy.

They advised him to give himself up to the authorities.

It would be a mere matter of form. At the inquest, in a few more hours, the evidence of all the witnesses would establish the accidental nature of the Frenchman’s death.

It was sound advice, and recognizing its value Essex immediately acted upon it.

And the widowed bride?

She was led to her room, where she cowered, speechless for once, beneath the magnitude of the blow that had stricken her fair prospects.

But she shed no tears over her dead bridegroom.

To her mind his death was the least part of the calamity.

She had not loved Monsieur Orne, and had she been left the undisputed claimant to his wealth she would have accepted her widowhood complacently. It was the money she had married, not the man.

“What shall I do, Di?” she asked, at last, lifting her heavy eyes to the face of Mrs. Shelton, who hung about her with voluble expressions of sympathy. “Must I go away and give up to this hateful impostor all my rights as Orne’s widow?”

“Certainly not,” replied Mrs. Shelton decidedly. “Do not yield one inch of ground to the enemy. Stay here as a wealthy young widow, and defy her to oust you. Make her prove her claim before you admit it. Don’t allow her to spend an hour beneath your roof. Were I in your place, Eve, I would go this instant and order her out of the house.”

“So I will,” cried Eve maliciously, springing to her feet. “Where is she, Di?”

“In the library on a sofa, with Charlton Leigh and two maids fussing over her, and pretending to rouse her out of a faint. All the company are gone except father and mother.”

They descended to the drawing-room, where Madame Orne lay helpless on a sofa, two maids chafing her cold, nerveless hands, while Charlton Leigh, standing close by, anxiously watched the white face whose fluttering eyelids and twitching lips heralded the slow return of consciousness.

“Charlton,” Eve cried out angrily, “tell that woman that she must leave here at once, or I will have a policeman put her out into the street. This is my house, and no impostor shall find a shelter beneath its roof.”

Charlton heard her out in amazed silence, then crossed over to her side where she stood just inside the door.

“Eve, my poor girl,” he said gently, “this shock has surely unsettled your mind. Let your mother take you home at once. This is no place for you.”

“It is my home,” she retorted.

“You mistake, Eve. This is Madame Orne’s house now. It is quite true that she was the wife of--of that man,” shuddering. “I talked with Earle a few minutes before he left here, and he assures me that not a proof is lacking to establish Madame Orne’s position as the dead man’s widow. Essex has known it for years, and Orne would not have dared to attempt a marriage with you, but that he held the secret of a forgery by Essex, and thought he could compel his silence over his first wife’s existence. You see, Eve, I am stating the truth to you plainly, that you may see more clearly how useless it is for you to contest this lady’s claim. An attempt to do so would only draw down defeat and notoriety on your head. Take my advice, give up the fight for a name and a ring that are not legally yours, and go home with your mother and sister. You are in a false position here.”

His well-meant advice only added fuel to the flame of her wrath.

“That remains to be proved,” she retorted. “I am mistress here now, and intend to remain so. I refuse to even consider the possibility of any justice in that woman’s claim. She is an impostor, I repeat, and she shall leave my house at once.”

“Mr. Leigh,” said a low, musical voice from the sofa, and he turned at the sound and went back to her, leaving the two angry women near the door. “Mr. Leigh,” and the words were distinctly audible to Eve and her sister, “I have nothing to say to Miss Kingsley, but I will explain to you that when Mr. Essex came and took me from my prison he told me nothing of the object he had in view. I understood I was to have my freedom at last, but nothing more. No inducement could have made me knowingly a participant in the scenes enacted here to-night, and no inducement could prompt me to remain here now without the sanction of legal authority.”

“You have every right to remain,” he replied.

“I shall prove that fact to Miss Kingsley soon,” she replied with gentle dignity. “But for the present I waive my privileges. I must find other shelter, late as it is, for my head to-night.”

“I can take you to Vivian,” he answered gently. “She will give you a shelter--a poor one, it is true, but you will find a loving welcome from my sister.”