A TERRIBLE REVELATION.

Rosamond Lee stared hard at the lovely girl as she advanced toward where she sat.

“Where have I seen that face before?” she asked herself, in wonder. “Come and sit down beside me,” she said, with a winning smile, as she made room for her on the divan. “I would like so much to talk with you.

“I have heard all of your story,” she continued, “and I feel so sorry for you! I sent for you to tell you if there is any way that I can aid you in searching for your sister, I shall be only too happy to do so.”

“The young girl you speak of is not my sister,” corrected Margaret; “but I love her quite as dearly as though she were.”

“Not your sister?” repeated Rosamond.

“No,” was the answer; “but I love her quite as much as though she were.”

“Tell me about her.”

Margaret leaned forward, thoughtful for a moment, looking with dreamy eyes into the fire.

“I have very little to tell,” she said. “I have not known the young girl as long as people imagine. Her uncle saved me from a wrecked steamboat, and she nursed me back to health and strength. Who I am or what I was before that accident, I can not remember; everything seems a blank to me. There are whole days even now when the darkness of death creeps over my mind, and I do not realize what is taking place about me. This sweet, young girl has been my faithful friend, even after her uncle died, sharing her every penny with me. Now she is lost to me forever. She went away, and I can not trace her. There is another feeling which sometimes steals over me,” murmured Margaret, “a thought which is cruel, and which I can not shake off, that sometimes impresses me strangely, that somehow we have met in some other world, and that she was my enemy.”

“What a strange notion!” said Rosamond.

“Oh, that thought has grieved me so!” continued Margaret, in a low, sad voice.

“I hear that she left you to go on the stage,” said Rosamond.

“Yes; that is quite true,” was the reply. “She went with a manager who was stopping at this house.”

“Supposing that I should put you on the track of your friend, would you—”

“Do you know where she is?”

“I think I do,” was Rosamond’s guarded answer. “But what I was going to say is, if I take you to a gentleman who knows her whereabouts, will you tell him, as you have told me, that she went off with a strange man to be an actress?”

“Yes, indeed; why not?” returned Margaret.

“We will take the afternoon train,” suggested Rosamond.

The landlady made no objection to this, and the first act in the great tragedy was begun as the Boston express moved slowly out of the depot, bearing with it Rosamond Lee and her companion.

On their journey Rosamond talked incessantly of Jessie Bain, plying the girl beside her with every conceivable question concerning her, until at last Margaret grew quite restless under the ceaseless cross-examination. All unconsciously, her manner grew haughty, and Rosamond noticed it.

At a way-station, some twenty miles this side of Boston, a tall, dark-bearded man boarded the train. The only seat vacant was the one across the aisle from the two girls. This he took, and was soon immersed in the columns of the paper which he had taken from his pocket.

“Are we almost there?” exclaimed Margaret.

The stranger across the aisle started violently and looked around.

“That voice!” he muttered.

There was but one being in this world with accents like it, and that was
Gerelda Northrup, who lay in her watery grave somewhere in the St.
Lawrence River.

Captain Frazier—for it was he—gave another quick glance at the two girls opposite him, and bent forward in his seat, that he might catch a better view of the one nearest him, whose face was averted.

Again she spoke, and this time the accents were more startlingly familiar than ever. Frazier sprang to his feet, walked down to the end of the car, then turned and slowly retraced his steps, watching the girl intently the while.

“I could almost swear that I am getting the tremens again, or that my eyes deceive me,” he muttered. “If ever I saw Gerelda Northrup in the flesh, that is she!”

He stopped short, and touched her on the shoulder, his eyes almost bulging from their sockets.

“Miss Northrup— I— I mean Mrs. Varrick—is this you? In the name of Heaven, speak to me!”

She looked at him, her great dark eyes studying his face with a troubled expression.

“Varrick!” she muttered below her breath. “Where have I heard that name before? And your face too! Where have I seen it? It recalls something out of my past life,” she muttered.

With a low cry he bent forward.

“Then it is you, Gerelda— Mrs. Varrick?”

Rosamond Lee, whose face had grown from red to white, sprung excitedly to her feet.

“What mystery is this?” she cried. “What do you mean by calling this girl Mrs. Varrick? There is a friend of mine—a Mr. Hubert Varrick—who is soon to be married to a Jessie Bain. You haven’t the two mixed, have you, sir?”

Frazier turned impatiently to her.

“I have seen the announcement of Hubert Varrick’s marriage to Jessie Bain,” he returned, his face darkening. “But the question is: how dare he attempt to marry another girl while he has a wife living. I do not know who you may be, madame,” facing Rosamond impatiently. “You say that you know Hubert Varrick well, yet you do not appear conversant with his history. He married this young girl sitting beside you, who was then Miss Gerelda Northrup. On their wedding journey the steamer ’St. Lawrence’ was lost, and she was supposed by all her friends to have perished in the frightful accident.”

While he had been speaking, Gerelda—for it was indeed she—had been watching him intently.

As he proceeded with his story, a great tremor shook her frame.

With a low cry she sprung to her feet.

“Oh, I remember— I remember all now!” shrieked Gerelda. “I— I was on the train with Hubert whom I had just married. Then we went on the steamer. We had a quarrel, and he told me that he did not love me, even though he had wedded me, and I— Oh, the words drove me mad! There was a great rumbling of the boiler, a crashing of timbers, and I felt myself plunged in the water. But my head—it pains so terribly! I scarcely felt the chill of the water. The next I remember I was lying in a cottage, with a young girl bending over me. My God! it was Jessie Bain, my enemy. I remember it all now. I wonder that memory did not come back to me when I heard the name Jessie Bain. She did not know that it was I who was Hubert Varrick’s wife, or she would have let me die.”

The effect of Gerelda’s words was startling upon Rosamond.

“What are you going to do about it?” she asked, eagerly.

“Do?” echoed Gerelda. “I am going to claim my husband. He is mine, and all the powers on earth can never take him from me!”

“I suppose,” said Rosamond, “now, from the way this amazing affair has culminated, you will not want me to go with you to Hubert— Mr. Varrick, I mean.”

Gerelda turned haughtily on her.

“No,” she said. “Why should you wish to go with me to my husband? What interest have you in him?”

Rosamond shrunk back abashed, though she stammered:

“I— I should like to see how he takes it.”

“I would like to accompany you for the same reason,” interposed Captain Frazier. “He will be angry enough at you coming back to frustrate his marriage with the girl whom he idolizes so madly.”

Gerelda’s face grew stormy as she listened. There was an expression in her eyes not good to see, and which Captain Frazier knew boded no good to the object of her wrath.

At this juncture the express rolled into the Boston depot. Bidding Rosamond Lee and Captain Frazier a hasty good-bye, and insisting that under no circumstances should they accompany her, Gerelda hailed a cab, and gave the order: “To the Varrick mansion.”

Captain Frazier stepped suddenly forward and hailed a passing cab, saying to himself that he must be present, at all hazards, at that meeting which was to take place between Gerelda and Hubert Varrick.

“Keep yonder carriage in sight,” he said, pointing out the vehicle just ahead of them, and producing, as he spoke, a bank-note, which he thrust into the cab-man’s hand.

The man did his duty well.

Pausing suddenly, and bending low, he whispered to the occupant of his vehicle that the carriage ahead had stopped short.

“All right,” said Captain Frazier, sharply. “Spring out—here is your fee, my good man.”

The captain drew back into the shadow of the tall pines as his carriage drove away, lest the occupant of the vehicle ahead should discover his presence there. He saw Gerelda alight and pause involuntarily before the arched entrance gate that led around to the rear of the Varrick mansion.

Captain Frazier watched her keenly as she stood there for a moment, quite irresolute. His heart was all in a whirl, as he glanced up at the grand old mansion whose huge chimneys confronted him from over the tops of the trees.

“From the very beginning, Varrick has always had the best of me,” he muttered. “I never loved but one thing in all my life,” he cried, hoarsely; “and that was Gerelda Northrup, and he won her from me. From that moment on I have cursed him with all the passionate hatred of my nature. Since that time life has held but one aim for me—and that was, to crush him—and that opportunity will soon be mine—that hour is now at hand. He will shortly be wedded to another, if Gerelda does not interfere, and then—ah!—and then—”

His soliloquy was suddenly cut short, for the sound of approaching footsteps was heard on the snow.

He would have drawn back into the shadow of the interlacing pines, but that he saw he was observed by a minister who stepped eagerly forward.

“You are a stranger in our midst,” he said, holding out his hand to him; “I do not recollect having seen your face before. I— I have a favor to ask of you. Would you mind lending me your assistance as far as the house yonder—the Varrick mansion—which you can see over the trees? I— I am not very well—have just recovered from a spell of sickness. I— I wish to visit the inmates of the mansion to perfect some arrangements concerning a happy event that is to take place on the morrow, within those walls. I find myself overtaken by a sudden faintness. I repeat, would you object to giving me your arm as far as the entrance gate yonder?”

Captain Frazier complied, with a profound bow.

“I shall be only too happy to render you any assistance in my power,” he murmured. “I used to know the family at Varrick mansion a few years ago,” he went on. “I am not so well acquainted, however, with the present heir. Pardon me, but may I ask if the event to which you allude, that is to take place to-morrow, is a marriage ceremony?”

The minister bowed gravely.

“Between young Mr. Varrick and a Miss Bain?”

Again the reverend gentleman inclined his head in the affirmative, remarking that the bride-to-be was as sweet and gracious as she was beautiful.

Captain Frazier looked narrowly at his companion for an instant, then he asked, quickly:

“Again I ask your pardon for the questions I wish to put to you, but are you not the same minister who was sent to perform the marriage ceremony up at the Thousand Islands? and, again, the same minister who, later on, united Mr. Varrick in marriage to the beautiful Gerelda Northrup?”

The reverend gentleman bowed, wondering vaguely why the stranger should catechise him after this fashion.

“You seem well acquainted with the family history, my friend,” he remarked, slowly.

“Yes,” Frazier answered, shortly, adding, in a low, smooth voice: “It was a fatal accident which robbed Hubert Varrick, some time since, of the bride whom he had just wedded. Her death has never been clearly proven, has it?”

“Oh, yes, it has,” returned the minister. “Her body was among the unfortunates who were afterward recovered.”

“Ah!” said Frazier, sotto voice, adding: “It is so very strange, my good sir, that after this thrilling experience, Varrick should take it upon himself to secure another wife.”

The good minister looked at him, quite embarrassed. He did not care to discuss the subject with one who was an entire stranger to him, wondering that he should introduce such a personal subject, and at such a time and place.

“Excuse me, my friend, but I feel a little delicacy in discussing so personal a matter,” he said, gently.

But this did not in the least abash Captain Frazier.

“It seems to me that I should insist upon proof positive—ay, proof beyond any possibility of doubt—that my first wife was dead ere I contracted a second alliance,” remarked Frazier, quite significantly.

“Mr. Varrick believes that he has this, I understand,” said the minister, gravely.

Frazier shrugged his shoulders, turned and looked at the man from under his lowering brows—a look which the minister did not relish.

“But, then, Varrick has always believed in second marriages,” remarked Frazier, flippantly.

The minister started, giving an uncomfortable glance at the other.

“I believe the girl to whom he is about to be united is Varrick’s first love?” Frazier went on, nonchalantly.

“Indeed you are mistaken,” retorted his companion earnestly. “I have known Hubert Varrick for long years, and to my certain knowledge he never had a fancy for any of the fair sex previous to the time he met beautiful Miss Northrup. She was his first love. Of that I am quite positive.”

By this time they had reached the bend in the road hard by the entrance gate.

The reverend gentleman could not help but notice that his companion seemed unduly excited over the questions which he had propounded and the answers which he had received thereto, and he felt not a little relieved at bidding him good-afternoon and thanking him for the service which he had rendered him; and he wondered greatly that he excused himself at the entrance gate, instead of accompanying him to the house, if he was as intimate a friend of the family as he claimed to be.

The minister proceeded slowly up the wide stone walk, from which the snow had been carefully brushed, with a very thoughtful expression on his face.

Mrs. Varrick stood at the drawing-room window, and, noticing his approach, hurriedly rang for a servant to admit him at once.

He found himself ushered into the wide corridor before he could even touch the bell. Mrs. Varrick was on the threshold of the drawing-room, waiting to greet him as he stepped forward.

“I thought I observed some one with you at the gate?” she said, as she held out her white hand, sparkling with jewels, to welcome him. “Why did you not bring your friend in with you?”

The minister bowed low over the extended white hand.

“You are very kind to accord me such a privilege,” he declared, gratefully; “but the person to whom you allude is an entire stranger to me—a gentleman whom I met by the road-side, and whom I was obliged to call upon for assistance, being suddenly attacked with my old enemy, faintness. I may add, however, that he seemed to have been an acquaintance of the family.”

“Perhaps he is an acquaintance of my son; his friends are so numerous that it is very hard for me to keep track of them,” added Mrs. Varrick, asking: “Why did he not come into the house with you?”

“He declined, stating no reason,” was the reply.

Looking through the drawing-room window a few moments later, the minister espied the stranger leaning against the gate, looking eagerly toward the house, and he called Mrs. Varrick’s attention to the fact at once.

She touched the bell quickly, and to the servant who appeared, she gave hurried instructions concerning the man.

“I have sent out to invite the gentleman to come into the house,” she explained. “Hubert will be in directly, and I know that this will meet with his approval. He has very little time to spare to any one just now,” she explained, with a smile, “he is so wrapped up in his fiancee, and will be, I suppose, from now on.”

“Naturally,” responded the minister, with a twinkle in his grave eyes.