Chapter XXX

Marriages were not much in Mr. Lane’s line. He was forty and a confirmed old bachelor--at least that was what his friends said and what he said himself. He had never put his neck under the galling yoke of matrimony. He rather pitied Dr. Anthony’s weak-mindedness in that respect, but he considered that if there was any excuse for him it was Effie Rodney’s grace and beauty. These were certainly tempting enough to an ordinary, susceptible man.

But Mr. Lane did not feel sufficient romantic interest in the union of the lovers to make a point of witnessing the marriage. He was about to decline, on the plea of urgent business, when a sudden thought arrested him with the ink yet wet on the pen. Why not make an opportunity for seeing Aline Rodney by accepting Dr. Anthony’s cordial invitation?

He changed the contemplated No to Yes, adding a single proviso: he would come if Dr. Anthony would guarantee that Aline should not know that he was a detective, and that he had vainly tried to trace her in her mysterious absence. He fancied that the young lady might conceive an antipathy to him, and vaguely suspect ulterior designs from his presence at Chester.

Dr. Anthony replied on the part of himself and the Rodneys, that Aline should be kept in entire ignorance of Mr. Lane’s profession, and look on him merely as the friend of the physician.

Receiving this assurance, the detective decided to attend the nuptials of his friend, arriving in Chester on the day previous to the happy event.

Dr. Anthony took him that evening to call on the Rodneys.

“I have told Aline that I expect a friend from New York,” he said. “She is prepared to meet you and suspects nothing.”

Mr. Lane thanked his friend for respecting his scruples.

“I have a fancy to study the young lady, with the advantage on my side. Perhaps I may get at the bottom of the mystery yet. It has become more incomprehensible than ever since the story of the little fortune offered and refused.”

“It is most romantic,” answered Dr. Anthony, “and the strangest part of it all is that I believe Aline would be glad to confess the whole truth were she not restrained by her vow of silence.”

“How does she bear the suspicion and scorn of those who were once her friends?”

“She is crushed by it. One can see that she is almost heart-broken. She is pale and sad. She shrinks sensitively from observation. She can scarcely be persuaded to go outside the door.”

“Will she be present at the marriage ceremony in the church?”

“Yes, by Effie’s earnest wish and prayer. My darling has very solemn ideas connected with marriage. She believes that the sacred rite should always be celebrated in church wherever possible. Aline, by Effie’s earnest wish, will accompany her to the altar.”

“I am most curious to meet the young lady,” said the detective.

“You will be quite sure to admire her,” said Aline’s prospective brother-in-law. “She is very beautiful.”

Mr. Lane had heard this so often that he only smiled. It occurred to him, however, that if she were prettier than Effie she would have to be very pretty indeed.

“I shall take you to call at the cottage this evening,” said Dr. Anthony. “You will then have an opportunity of meeting Aline. The rest of the family you have met already.”

They went, and although Mr. Lane had expected to meet a very pretty girl indeed, he was surprised and amazed when he saw Aline Rodney.

He saw a tall, graceful figure, exquisitely molded in the delicate, symmetrical curves of early womanhood. She wore a simple dark-blue cashmere dress, and the round, white throat rose from it with a certain stately grace and pride that was very excusable, seeing what a beautiful face shone above it like a peerless flower upon its stem. She was pale, but her skin was like the cream-white petals of a tea-rose. Her hair was darkest brown and loosely curling; her features were exquisite; her eyes were large and of the rare violet tinge so much admired, so seldom met; her brows were slender and black, and the long, fringed lashes were black, too, and made her eyes appear black in their shadow.

Mr. Lane was as much struck by Aline’s bearing and manner as he was by her beauty. She had no ungraceful self-consciousness or awkwardness. Her bearing was easy, graceful, and even distinguished. It was natural, not acquired, for she had never mingled in society, and had had but few advantages of travel and culture. He wondered at that even more than at her beauty. It did not occur to him that the heavy cross that had fallen on her life had had the effect to intensify her natural grace into a grave, proud dignity, that in its silent way seemed like a mute protest against the wrongs she had sustained. The girl had budded into the woman, forced into untimely maturity and gravity by the refining power of sorrow.

She was very quiet. She did not speak to Mr. Lane unless he pointedly addressed her. She rarely met any strangers, and when she did, she supposed that they knew her strange story, and despised her. She remembered always that

“One venomed word,
That struck its coward, poisoned blow,
In craven whispers, hushed and low--
And yet the wide world heard.”

Mr. Lane could talk very well when he would. It pleased him to converse with Aline Rodney. He was very gracious and affable with her, giving her no smallest hint or sign that he knew her strange story. While Effie touched the piano-keys with soft, lingering chords of music, and her lover hung enraptured over her, the detective sat apart and bent himself to the task of amusing Aline.

He did not find it very easy at first. She was shy and cold; she seemed to take no interest in his words. She kept thinking, morbidly, to herself:

“He knows my story, and he accordingly despises me.”

But, as he continued to talk to her pleasantly, unmindful of her quiet reserve, a new thought came to her.

“This good-looking, agreeable friend of Dr. Anthony is from New York. It is not possible that the story of my trouble has reached the great city. Perhaps he does not _know_.”

There was inexpressible comfort and relief in the thought. Unconsciously the tense bands about her heart began to loosen. It was pleasant to meet any one, even a stranger, who did not distrust and suspect her. She ventured to lift her frank, blue eyes to his face, and when she saw how kindly he was regarding her with his attentive gray eyes, she took heart of grace to talk to him, because she believed that he did not know. Some of her old impulsiveness returned to her. She began to take an interest in his conversation.

He on his part began to see what a charming girl she might have been if this shadow of some unknown sin had not fallen on the whiteness of her life. Once or twice she even laughed aloud, and he said to himself, even though he was intensely practical and not in the least romantic, that her laughter was as sweet as a chime of music.

He talked to her of the world, of the gay cities, of the people he had met, of the places he had visited, and she listened with delight. She had never met any one like Mr. Lane before--any one who had seen the world and knew it thoroughly in both its good and bad phases. She became so interested that she forgot momently the brooding shadow of trouble that hung always over her. Her old love of life and the world returned to her. A soft color glowed on her cheeks, her eyes beamed as she cried out, vivaciously:

“Oh, how I envy you, Mr. Lane! You have traveled, you have seen the world, you have enjoyed life! There is nothing I should like better!”

He looked at her with a smile. Her beautiful face was momently radiant. She was full of eager anticipation and desire.

“You would like to travel?” he said.

“Oh, so much!” she cried, clasping her shapely white hands together in the earnestness of her feelings, and carried out of herself by excitement.

“Have you ever been in New York, Miss Rodney?” he inquired, with apparent carelessness.

A little laugh that was half pity and half self-scorn rippled sweetly over her lips. She was evidently amused at his entire ignorance of her traveling record.

“New York!” she exclaimed. “Why, Mr. Lane, would you believe that I have never been away from Chester in my life?”