Chapter XLVIII: Can It Be True?

We left Arley, after her meeting with Wil before the druggist’s store, in Lady Elaine’s boudoir, whither she had been led by the gentle girl, agitated and almost unnerved in view of the astonishing news which she was about to communicate.

But with a resolute effort of her will, she suddenly rallied her sinking heart and bent herself to her task.

She would not allow Elaine to wait upon her, even though she appeared anxious to do so.

“I am perfectly able to take care of myself,” she said, gayly, as she threw aside her wraps and took off her hat; “you must not make yourself too useful to me, for you know I do not expect I can have you all the time, now that my liege lord has claimed me. But, dear, I have a particular request to make of you to-night.”

“A request,” Lady Elaine repeated, smiling, and relieved to see Arley’s color coming back, “surely you would ask nothing amiss, and I may safely promise to grant it even before I know what it is.”

“That is a dear--now mind, you have promised, and I shall not allow you to retreat,” Arley returned, archly.

“Well, I met a very dear friend, a gentleman, to-day, and he said that he should call at Mordaunt House to-night----”

“Philip?” interrupted Lady Elaine, with a merry glance at Arley’s cheeks, which were fast becoming crimson with excitement.

“I am not going to tell you who just yet,” Arley answered, with a wise look; “but I want you to let me turn dressing-maid just for once, and to array you as I like, then I will go and put on something bright and pretty to keep you company.”

Lady Elaine grew pale, and a quiver ran through her whole body.

“Arley,” she cried, in a voice of pain, “you are asking something very hard of me, for--I have worn nothing but this,” with a pathetic glance down at the black dress, “since--since----”

“Yes, darling, I know; ever since those dreadful tidings of Wil came to you,” Arley said, tenderly. “But,” she continued, “do you suppose he would like to see you in such sombre robes all the time?”

“No,” was the low reply, made with tremulous lips, “but----”

Arley would not allow her to go on.

“Neither do I, and as I am going to assume gay attire to-night, in honor of our visitor, I ask, as an especial favor, that you will do the same.”

“But will it not appear very strange?” objected Lady Elaine, regarding Arley wonderingly.

“You will not think so when you know who is coming; and never mind if it does just for once, and it will please me so much. Do you remember the ball at Hazelmere, and have you the dress that you wore then?”

“Yes.”

“Where is it?”

“In a trunk in my wardrobe; but, Arley, I cannot wear that,” Lady Elaine said, looking like a statue of snow, for the thought of it brought a flood of tender memories surging over her.

“Please, dear,” Arley pleaded, earnestly, “I would not be cruel or wound you for the world, but I feel as if I must see you in it just once more--I will never ask you again to do anything of this kind, only grant me my request to-night.”

Lady Elaine sighed, but she made no further objection, for she was always ready to sacrifice her own feelings for the sake of others. She thought it a strange caprice of Arley’s, but she imagined that Philip must be the visitor whom she expected, and that in her joy at his home-coming she wished everybody to be gay.

Without further words Arley found and brought the lovely dress, and, with nervous fingers, helped her sister to put it on. Then she brought some soft, creamy lace from her own treasures and arranged it just as she remembered she had worn it about her neck at Hazelmere. She brought a cluster of small, pure lilies to fasten at her throat, when Lady Elaine started, and put them from her with a bitter sob.

“Lilies!” she cried, sharply; “Wil’s own flowers, which you know are so sacred to me! Surely, Arley, this is not kind.”

Arley bent and kissed her with trembling lips--her task was growing harder every moment; but Wil must not see her in black.

“Dear,” she whispered, “would it not be a joy to you to dress thus for him, if you could only imagine for once that you are dressing for Wil----”

“How could that be possible when I know he is dead; how can you have the heart to ask me to imagine anything like that?” she cried, in a voice of agony.

“I know that they wrote that he was dead,” Arley returned, with brilliant eyes, “but, you know, they never found him; and I have sometimes thought that there was a possibility that they were mistaken, after all.”

“Oh, Arley! what strange spirit possesses you to-night? Are you so happy in the prospect of Philip’s arrival that you forget how bruised, and sore and desolate my poor heart is?” Lady Elaine cried, with something of passion in her voice.

“It is not like you,” she went on, reproachfully. “I know that they never found his body,” and an icy chill seemed to seize her here as she remembered how they had explained that; “but, do you suppose, if he had been living, he would have remained away from me so long, without one word to relieve my suspense?”

“Not if he could have helped it, dear,” said Arley, gently.

“What would have hindered him?”

“I can imagine several things.”

“Such as what?”

“He might have been ill.”

“He would have written then; illness might have kept him from me, but it would never have kept him silent so long,” muttered Lady Elaine, with unwavering faith.

“No, it would not if he could have got a letter to you, but I can imagine circumstances which might render that impossible. I can imagine--shall I tell you what?” Arley asked, with a strangely earnest face.

“Yes, tell me if you wish; but get through with your freak as soon as possible for my sake; you are in a very unaccountable mood to-night, Arley,” was the weary reply.

Arley began, determined now to finish her story.

“Well, then, I can imagine that when Wil fell over that horrible precipice, he might not have been killed--that a tree or something might have broken his fall, and that instead of being dragged by some wild beast to his lair, some Indians--for we have read that portions of the United States are still inhabited by Indians--might have seen him fall, and, picking him up in their stealthy way, carried him away to their camp, where he might have been retained as a captive, in the hope of securing a reward or ransom for him----”

“Arley, Arley!” the sweet voice rang out very sharply. “You have heard something--you are trying to prepare me for something----”

She gasped for breath and could not go on, for the suddenness of the thought almost paralyzed her.

Arley gathered her close in her trembling arms, drew the golden head down upon her bosom, and, with her lips against her cheek, whispered:

“And if I were, could you bear it? Could you bear to have me tell you that good news has come to us from over the sea to-night and that some one is coming here to tell us all about it, and--and----

“Arley,” Lady Elaine said, a strange calm settling upon her, and lifting her white face to look at her sister. “You are going to tell me that Wil himself is here! That is why you have dressed me as you knew he would like to see me; that is why you wanted to put those lilies on my breast.”

“And if it were all true, could you bear it?” Arley interrupted, with shining eyes, yet trembling like a leaf; and the beautiful “Lily of Mordaunt” knew that it was true.

Without a word she fell back in her sister’s arms, limp and white, and Arley was dismayed.

She put out her hand toward the bellrope to summon aid, but Lady Elaine stopped her with a gesture.

“I shall not faint,” she whispered. “I shall be stronger soon, but, oh! tell me, can it be true?”

“That Wil was not killed; that he had a dreadful fall, but a blessed tree saved him; that Indians, instead of a wild beast, picked him up, bruised and broken, and carried him far away into the wilderness, where they have held him as a captive ever since? Yes, dear, it is all true, only I cannot stop to tell you half, for he is waiting to do that. But I am so glad that I was chosen to bring you these blessed tidings, for you have given me back so much of happiness, and I am nearly wild with joy to think that the shadows are about to be lifted from your life.”

“Wil here! my own noble-hearted Wil, safe, and waiting to see me! Oh, Arley, I feel almost as if earth and sense were slipping away from me! Hold me close, dear; let me feel your arms clasped tight about me, to assure me that it is not a vision of my imagination. Oh, thank Heaven!”

The gentle girl was utterly helpless for the time being; she could not move, she could scarcely think; yet she was conscious of the one transporting fact that her dear one was not dead, that he lived and loved her still, that he had returned, and was even then waiting to clasp her to his fond heart once more.

Arley was very much disturbed by her helplessness, and, laying her gently down upon the couch where they had been sitting, she brought a flask of eau de cologne and bathed her face and hands, after which she went for a glass of wine, and made her drink it.

This treatment seemed to have the desired effect, for Lady Elaine began immediately to recover her dormant energies. A realizing sense of the great joy that had come to her began to assert itself; impatience to see the returned loved one seized her; the pathetic look which had overwhelmed her beautiful face began to fade away; the light of a great happiness came back to her eyes, and her lips, though still tremulous, regained something of their usual brightness.

“I am better,” she said, sitting up; but she seized the flask of cologne which Arley still held, and, drenching her handkerchief, bathed her face and head, and eagerly inhaled its pleasant perfume; but she was still trembling in every limb.

“I am afraid that I have told you too suddenly,” Arley said, regarding her anxiously. “I know I made a bungle of it, and it was the hardest thing I ever did in my life; but Wil is waiting, and I was so eager for you to know. Darling, now you will forgive me for being so cruel as to ask you to dress so gayly; but I could not bear that Wil should see you in mourning for him.”

Lady Elaine caught her about the neck and gave her a little hug; then she laughed aloud--such a happy, though somewhat nervous laugh, as had not escaped her lips for many a long month.

“Bring me a glass, please,” she said, a beautiful color coming into her cheeks, “for I cannot trust to even your perfect taste now; no, indeed, I would not have had him see me in those dismal robes for anything. Ah!” she continued, looking into the hand-mirror which Arley had brought her. “I cannot improve upon your work, and I might have known it, for your taste is faultless.”

“My taste faultless?” Arley cried, gayly. “I have but made you look as nearly as possible like the ‘Lily of Mordaunt,’ who was the cynosure of all eyes at the ball at Hazelmere. Now, dear,” she added, more gently, “are you ready? Shall I go and bring Wil here to you, and then go to break the news to Sir Anthony and Lady Hamilton?”

“Yes; but--oh, Arley, can it be true?” Lady Elaine cried, brokenly, growing white again as the lilies upon her bosom.

“You must be calm or I shall not go for him,” Arley returned, almost sternly; “and just think of the suspense that he is enduring all this time.”

“True,” was the more composed response; “I was selfish not to think of that myself.”

Arley bent to kiss her sister, and then went to call the waiting lover.

Swiftly along the corridor, she ran down a side staircase to an entrance facing the stables.

Here she rang the coachmen’s bell, and then, opening the door, stood waiting for Wil.

Presently she saw him coming, but he staggered almost like a man intoxicated. He was deathly pale, and she saw that he was almost as unnerved as Lady Elaine had been in prospect of this reunion.

“Stop!” she said, firmly, as he would have rushed past her without even asking where he should find his loved one. “You must not go to her like this--it has been a fearful shock to her already, and if you are not calm she will be ill.”

“I know, but I thought you would never come,” Wil answered, putting his hand to his head in a dazed way; “and I can hardly believe that I am home after all--I am almost afraid that I am asleep and dreaming, and shall wake up to find myself in that wretched wigwam in that Western wilderness. But I will not be so weak,” he added, straightening himself resolutely; and Arley turned without another word and noiselessly led him up the stairs and toward her sister’s boudoir.

She softly turned the silver handle and opened the door, and there, standing in the middle of the floor in an eager, listening attitude, her scarlet lips parted, her blue eyes shining like stars, her spotless dress trailing about her, and the lilies on her breast quivering with every pulsation of her heart, was the loveliest vision that she had ever seen.

Pushing Wil gently within the room, she closed the door, the happy tears raining over her face and her heart full of wondrous joy.

She went to her own room, and, while dressing herself in festal robes for this glad occasion, gathered something of more composure, and then went to break the news to Sir Anthony and Lady Hamilton, which she succeeded in doing with less excitement and abruptness than when she had told her sister.

Who can describe the joy that reigned at Mordaunt House that night? No one could do justice to it, for the reunion was one of those blessed and perfect events which weak words are far too feeble to portray effectually.

When all had grown somewhat composed after the exciting meeting, Sir Anthony, in a broken and trembling voice, said:

“My boy, you know I used to say that I did not believe in a God--a personal being, who loved and cared for human beings as His children. I said and believed, or at least tried to satisfy myself that I believed, that the laws of nature were all the God there was, and that religion and the worship of a Supreme Being was but a mere sentiment. But the life of this dear girl,” taking the hand of Lady Elaine, who was sitting beside him, “during the past year, and now your wonderful preservation, with all the attending circumstances, and your return to us, have convinced me to the contrary. Henceforth,” he continued, reverently, “I shall confess my belief and trust in an All-Wise Ruler, and my future shall be spent in His service, to prove my gratitude for this supreme hour of my life.”

Lady Elaine lifted his trembling hand to her lips.

“Dear Sir Anthony,” she said, while grateful tears stood in her lovely eyes, for he had often grieved and wounded her by this skepticism, “this is the crowning joy of all!”