University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
MISTRESS ANNE.

“The truth is,” resumed Harley,
seating himself near the damsel, “we
have some very fine jewelry in our boxes,
and learning from Pierre that there
is a young and beautiful lady within the
mansion, who is about to become the
wife of his lordship, we felt a great desire
to see her, and lay before her our
fine assortment of gold and diamonds.”

“And is this your business with me?”
cried Anne, her pale features again flushing,
and her black eyes flashing.

“Pray do not get angry, ma'm'selle;
we are not the persons to forget what is
due to one in your station,” pursued
Harley. “If we see the lady herself,
it will be through the kindness of one
who has no reason, perhaps, to be envious
of her beauty; and for this kindness,
we shall pray you to accept a
slight token of our regard.” While
speaking, Harley opened his box, and
selecting a gold ring of exquisite workmanship,
and presenting it to Anne,
continued; “Pray honor us by placing
this on your beautiful finger.”

Anne took the ring, and fixing her
eyes on it, and turning it over and over,

said, in pursuance of her thoughts as it
were:

“And so that gossiping porter told
you this lady, whom I condescend to
wait upon, just to please my lord, is
about to become his lordship's wife?”

“He either said or intimated as much,
ma'm'selle—or, at all events, I inferred
that from what he did say.”

“Pierre is a fool!” cried Mistress
Anne, indignantly, stamping her little
foot upon the soft carpet. “A fool! a
gossiping fool! that he is; and this meddling
with affairs that do not concern
him, will cost him dear, or I know not
Count D'Estang.”

“But I beg you will not get him into
trouble on our account,” returned Harley,
soothingly. “I assure you that
what he said to us, will go no farther;
and whether true or not, I can see no
harm in his lordship's wishing to be
wedded to a suitable personage.”

“But I can,” cried Anne, starting to
her feet, and beginning to pace the room
with hurried steps. “But I can see
harm in it;” and her eyes displayed a
glare of fierceness that denoted the
workings of a dark, vindictive spirit.
“Besides,” she continued, “this girl is
not a fit personage for his lordship; and
by all the powers that be, good or evil,
he shall never wed her!” and the words
rang out with a wild, startling vehemence.

“Who will prevent it?” ventured
Harley.

“I will!” cried Anne, suddenly confronting
my friend; “do you doubt it?”

“Why should I?” he answered, evasively.
“But come tell us more of your
mistress.”

“She is not my mistress—the proud,
scornful upstart—nor shall ever be.”

“Then she is proud and scornful?”

“Ay; but I will humble her; she had
better not put on too many airs with me.”

“And does she fancy his lordship?”

“Who cares whether she does or not?
what is that to you?”

“Oh, I merely asked the question, as
our conversation led to it.”

“Our conversation has led too far,”
returned Anne, coldly, the idea apparently
striking her that she had been too
communicative to utter strangers. “I
should not have said so much,” she pursued,
“but I forgot myself.”

“Well, since you have said so much,
suppose you go on and give us the whole
story,” suggested Harley.

“Umph! that you may retail the
gossip as you do your wares.”

“No, upon my honor, if you will
state the whole case to me, I will tell
you how best you may rid yourself of
this lady—since I see, from your remarks,
that such is your desire.”

“And who are you, that are so ready
to interfere in other people's affairs?”
said Anne, a slight shade of suspicion
apparently crossing her mind, that we
might be other than we seemed.

“Do you not see who we are?” returned
Harley, pointing to our boxes.

“I see what you profess to be; but
why do you take so much interest in
this matter?”

“Could we do otherwise, after what
you have said?”

“I see—I have said too much.”

“But cannot unsay it now, ma'm'selle.”

“Heavens!” exclaimed Anne, in some
trepidation; “perhaps you are friends
of his lordship!”

Harley saw he had gained an advantage
over the girl, through her own suspicions
and imprudent admissions, and
he determined on making the most of it,
by working on her fears.

“Well, whatever we are,” he answered,
“one thing is certain—you are in
our power.”

“Heavens! what have I done?” cried
the damsel, sinking upon a seat, pale
and trembling.

“I will tell you what you have done,”
returned Harley, sternly; “you have
spoken words that, if reported to his
lordship, may cost you dear.”

“Do you know him?” gasped Anne.

“We do.”

“Oh! mercy on me! then I am ruined!”

“That depends upon how you conduct
yourself hereafter.”

“Who are you?”

“Do you not see?”

“But you are not what you seem!”

“So much the worse for you.”

“Oh! gracious Heaven? what shall I
do?”

“First tell us all you know of this
lady, and what treatment she has received
at your hand.”

“Do you know her, too?”

“I can answer best when I have heard
the name.”

“Oh, gentlemen, if you are really
friends of his lordship, promise not to
get me into trouble.”

“I will only promise, that if you do
not answer my questions, it shall be the
worse for you. Come! give us this
lady's name!”

“I only know her as Ma'm'selle Viola,”
replied the now really frightened
damsel; “but oh! gentlemen—”

“Hush!” interrupted Harley, sternly
—“and confine yourself to straightforward
answers! How came she here?”

“She was brought here by his lordship.
But if you are sent by him, you
knew this before.”

“No matter what we know, but mind
you give direct answers. Did she come
here alone with Count D'Estang?”

“No, a gentleman came with her,
that I have heard was her father.”

“Where is he now?”

“I do not know.”

“Nay, speak the truth!”

“Upon my soul, I do not know! I
have not seen him since the morning
after.”

“Well, why is this lady kept within
this tower, and not allowed to leave?”

“My lord so commanded—and who
dare disobey him?”

“And you, I suppose, are her keeper?”

“I am forbidden to let her leave her
apartment.”

“And where is that?”

“Overhead.”

“And does the count really intend to
marry her?”

“So he says.”

“Well, has she consented to wed the
Count?”

“No, and that is why she is confined
—he has told her she shall only go forth
as his bride.”

“But you say she shall never wed
him!”

“Ah! sir, I was only jesting; how
could a poor girl like me oppose so
powerful a gentleman as my lord?”

“Girl!” said Harley, sternly, fixing
his keen eyes searchingly upon her—
“you have been meditating harm to this
lady!”

Anne shrank back, terrified.

“Oh! sir—”

“The truth:” interrupted Harley—
“and nothing but the truth?”

“Oh! sir, how could you for a moment
think that I—”

“The truth, I say!” stamped Harley.
“I tell you, girl, you have meditated
harm to her!—perhaps you have thought
to poison her!”

Anne uttered a faint cry of terror, and
covered her face with her hands.

“Confess the fact!” pursued Harley:
“it will be better for you, I assure you!”

“I could not bear that she should
wed the Count,” sobbed Anne.

“And why? what is it to you whom
she weds?”

“I care not whom she weds, so it
is not my lord.”

“And why do you object to him?”

“Because I love him!” cried Anne,
hysterically.

“And so you have looked to become
mistress of D'Estang Villé yourself, eh?”

“I have been mistress—I was mistress
till she came,” cried the other,
with a passionate burst.

“And so you have aspired to be the
wife of his lordship?”

“He promised me I should be,”
pursued the excited damsel, “and why
has he broken his promise?”

“Come, come—softly, now—calm
yourself.”

“Calm myself!” echoed Anne, looking
up with a strange, wild, peculiar
expression; “yes, I will calm myself—
in the grave.”

“What mean you by those words?”

“Do you think I'll live disgraced,
and out of favor with my lord? No!
never! never!” she cried, with wild
vehemence. “I have told so much,
I will now tell all,” she continued.
“I did intend to kill this lady, if she

consented to wed my lord, and then
myself. My plan was well laid; and
here (producing a small vial) I have a
poison, as quick as lightning in its operations.
Since I am detected through
my own foolishness, I will not live disgraced
and degraded both. Sir! Count
D'Estang deceived me with false promises—but
notwithstanding, I have ever
loved him; and, strange as it may seem,
I do so still. Tell him this, and say
I died with his name upon my tongue,
blessing him in my heart.”

As she ceased speaking, she raised
the vial to her lips; but with a cry of
horror, Harley sprang forward, just in
time to dash it to the ground. The
next moment a dagger, hitherto concealed,
was gleaming in her hand, and
would instantly have been buried in
her heart—for Harley's eyes had followed
the vial, and were not observing
her—had I not rushed forward and
caught the uplifted arm. She struggled
violently to free herself; but I succeeded
in wrenching the weapon from
her grasp, when she sank back hysterically
upon the sofa.

“Calm yourself, lady,” I said; “we
will do you no harm; you mistake us,
and our purpose.”

She glared upon me fiercely, exclaiming:

“You triumph now; but I warn
you I will find a way to put an end
to myself before his lordship returns;
you shall not drag me living before
him.”

“You mistake us,” we both said, in
the same breath. “We are not spies
upon you,” I continued. “Our purpose
here is to liberate this lady; and
if you will assist us, his lordship shall
know of nothing that has passed between
us.”

“Are you friends of Ma'm'selle
Viola? and were you not sent here
by his lordship?” she cried, eagerly.

“We are friends of Ma'm'selle Viola,
and were not sent hither by his lordship,”
we both hastened to assure her.

“Oh, thanks!” she cried: “thanks!
double thanks for this news, and the
saving of my life!”

“Will you assist us to liberate Viola,
ere his lordship returns?” inquired
Harley.

“I will do what I can; but I fear it
cannot be done,” she answered.

“Will you follow our directions in
everything?” pursued Harley.

“So they do not lead to exposing
me to the Count, I will,” she replied.

“Swear it!”

“As I hope for the favor of my lord,
and one moment's happiness in this
world or the next, I swear!” she said,
solemnly.

“Enough! now tell us how many
servants there are about the mansion.”

“Ten here at present.”

“I have seen only the porter—how
is that?”

“They are probably out in the park,
or in the rear buildings,” she answered.

“Perhaps we have been overheard!”
suggested Harley, a new thought striking
him.

Anne cast her eyes hurriedly around
the circular apartment, to the four narrow
windows, which were placed in
the four points of compass, and rejoined:

“No, fortunately, the windows were
all closed—and the door being shut,
nothing short of a scream could reach
the ear of any without.”

“'Tis well; then you only know
our secret; and with your assistance,
if uninterrupted, we may accomplish
wonders in a very short time. Viola,
you say, is above us?”

“Yes.”

“Can she have heard any thing that
has passed between us?”

“No,” replied Anne; “for these
apartments are so constructed, that sound
will not pass from one to the other.”

“And for what purpose was this
tower built?” I inquired.

“That I do not know,” answered the
damsel; “it has an observatory on the
top; and his lordship, who is a gentleman
of science, often amuses himself
there, at night, looking at the heavens.”

“Is there any way to leave this tower
save by the bridge?” inquired Harley.

“I believe there is one other way—

but it is a secret only known to his lordship,”
replied the girl.

“That other way we must discover,”
said Harley, glancing round the apartment.
“But first we must see Viola.
Show us the way to her chamber, Anne!”

The damsel advanced to a large painting,
that came down near the ground,
touched a secret spring, when it swung
slowly back, disclosing a kind of closet,
with steep, narrow, winding stairs leading
to the story above. Harley pressed
my arm, made a significant gesture, and
said aloud:

“On further reflection, you shall go
first, Harry, and explain all to her—for
should she recognise me suddenly, it
might overcome her. I will remain here
with this lady till you return.”

I knew Harley less feared a recognition—for
he was still disguised, in the
manner previously described to the
reader—than that the girl might change
her mind, if left to herself, and manage
some way to secure us in a trap; but
I replied, carelessly:

“Ah, perhaps it would be better, for
me she has never seen.”

“When you reach the top stair,” said
Anne, who made no objection to this
arrangement, “if you place your hand
to the right, you will find an aperture
just large enough for your fingers, and
in there you will feel a spring—press
that hard, and a door will open.”

I ascended the narrow, winding stairs
in twilight darkness, with singular feelings,
as the reader will readily believe.
I was about to behold the fair being that
had so enraptured my friend, of whom
I had heard so much, and whose singular
history I knew was in itself a living
romance. At length I stood upon the
upper stair, in almost total darkness—
for the only light here was what had
struggled up through the half open door
below. I placed my hand against the
wall to the right, found the aperture, and
in it the secret spring. I pressed hard
against the spring, a portion of the wall
seemed slowly to give way, a bright
light shone in upon me, and taking a
step or two forward, I stood in the upper
chamber of the tower, and in the
prison of Viola St. Auburn.