The sound of the galloping hoofs of Victor Lamont's steed had scarcely died away in the distance ere Bernardine opened her eyes and looked wonderingly about her. For an instant she believed that her strange surroundings – the bare room, with its curtainless windows, and the strange women bending over her – were but the vagaries of a too realistic dream from which she was awakening. But even while this impression was strong upon her, the woman said, sneeringly:

"So you have regained consciousness – that's bad;" and she looked crossly at the girl.

"Where am I – and who are you?" asked Bernardine, amazedly, sitting bolt upright on the wooden settee, and staring in wonder up at the hard face looking down into her own. But before she could answer, a wave of memory swept over Bernardine, and she cried out in terror: "Oh, I remember standing by the brook, and the dark-faced man that appeared – how he caught hold of my arms in a grasp of steel, and I fainted. Did he bring me away from Gardiner Castle?" she demanded, indignantly – "dared he do such a thing?"

"Do not get excited," replied the woman, coolly. "Always take everything cool – that's the best way."

"But why did he bring me here?" insisted Bernardine.

"You will have to ask him when he comes back. He is the only one who can answer that," returned the woman.

Bernardine sprung quickly to her feet; but it was not until she attempted to take a step forward that she realized how weak she was.

"What are you intending to do?" asked the woman, sneeringly.

"Leave this place," replied Bernardine, sharply. "I have no idea as to why I was brought here; but I do not intend to stop for explanations. Step out of my way, please, and allow me to pass."

The woman laughed, and that laugh was not pleasant to hear.

"That is contrary to my orders. You are to remain here, in my charge, under my eye, until – well, until the person who brought you here says you may go."

Bernardine's dark eyes flashed; she looked amazed.

"Do you mean to infer that I am to be detained here – against my will?" demanded the girl.

"That is as you choose to look at it, miss. I am to coax you to keep me company here, and, if you refuse, to insist upon your doing so; and finally, if it becomes necessary, to make you accede to my wishes, or, rather, the wishes of the one who brought you here."

Bernardine drew herself up to her full height, and looked at the woman with unflinching eyes, saying, slowly:

"You have lent yourself to a most cruel scheme to entrap an innocent girl; but know this: I would die by my own hand sooner than marry the villain who had me conveyed in this most despicable way to this isolated place. I have no doubt you know the whole story; but I say this: When my poor father died, I was freed forever from the power of my mortal foe. His sword fell from over my head, where he had held it suspended. He can not pursue my hapless father beyond the gates of death."

"What you are talking about is an enigma to me," returned the woman, grimly.

"If he has not told you the truth about this matter, listen to me, and let me tell it," cried Bernardine, trembling with excitement. "I – I have known this man who had me brought here for long years, and I know him only to fear and distrust him – more than words can express.

"One day, quite by accident, he met me on the street – right before my own door – and he stopped short, looking at me with evident admiration expressed in his coarse face and glittering black eyes."

"'Ah, ha! you turn up your little nose at me, eh?' he cried. 'Well, you shall be sorry for that, and in a fortnight, too, I'll warrant.'

"I would have passed him by without deigning him a reply; but he caught me by the shoulder, and held me fast.

"'No, you don't move on like that!' he yelled in my ear, a great flush rising to his already florid, wine-stained features. 'You shall kiss me, my pretty, here and now!'

"I endeavored to pass him, but he still clutched me tightly, fiercely in his strong grasp, and I – I dealt him a stinging blow across the face with the palm of my hand.

"The action surprised him so that he released me from his grasp for a single instant, and in that instant I darted away from him like a startled hare.

"'You shall pay for this!' he cried, looking after me. 'He laughs best who laughs last!'

"It was within a fortnight after that most unfortunate event that the crisis came. My father sent for me, and told me he had had a proposal for my hand.

"'The man who wants to marry you will make a great lady of you, my girl,' said my father, eagerly. 'You are lucky! I repeat you are very lucky! Why are you looking at me with troubled eyes,' he demanded, 'when you ought to be clapping your hands in delight and asking me who it is?'

"'I am silent because I fear to inquire the name,' I replied, slowly, 'lest you should utter a name which I loathe.'

"'The man is rich,' he said, leaning forward eagerly.

"'Riches do not bring happiness,' I replied. 'I know of a man whom the world calls rich, and yet I would not marry him if he had all the wealth of the world to pour at my feet. But who is this man who has come to you without even the formality of finding out if it was worth his while – without deigning to take the trouble to find out if I could care for him to the extent of becoming his wife?'

"'The son of our landlord,' replied my father, his voice a little husky.

"'Were I not so angry I should be amused,' I answered. 'If there was not another man on the face of the earth, I would not marry Jasper Wilde. I – '"

The woman had been listening to Bernardine's story indifferently enough until she uttered that name. At the sound of it, she caught her breath sharply, and sprung suddenly forward.

"What name did you say? What is the name of the man who wanted to marry you?" she gasped. "Did I understand you to say Jasper Wilde?"

"Yes," replied Bernardine, wonderingly; and her wonder grew into the utmost consternation when the woman fell at her feet shrieking with rage.

CHAPTER LVII

Bernardine was tender of heart. She saw that the woman who was groveling at her feet was suffering mental pain, and she realized that in some vague way the name Jasper Wilde, which she had just uttered, had occasioned it.

She forgot her surroundings, forgot the woman had declared it her intention to detain her there even against her will; she remembered only that a human being was suffering, and she must aid her if she could.

Suddenly the woman struggled to her feet.

"I did not know who you were talking about until you mentioned that name!" she cried, excitedly and almost incoherently; "for it was not Jasper Wilde who brought you here. It never occurred to me that Jasper Wilde had a hand in it – that he had anything to do with it. I am Jasper Wilde's wife, girl, and the story you have told is a revelation to me. He must have got the other man to bring you here, and he means to fly with you and desert me! Ha, ha, ha! I always find out everything he attempts to do in some way!"

"He went off on his horse just as you were brought in. Before he comes, I will set you free."

"Oh, I thank you more than words can express!" said Bernardine, fervently.

"You can take the horse and buggy that they always have hitched and ready for an emergency. If they took you from Gardiner mansion, you will find it a good hour's drive; but if you start at once you will get there by sunrise. You may meet some of them on the road; but you seem to be a brave girl. You have a horse that not one of them could overtake in a five-mile race, if you lay on the whip. Now go!"

"But you?" cried Bernardine. "I can not go and leave you suffering here. You are very ill – I see it in your face. You are white as death. Let me take you to the nearest doctor – there are several hereabouts – "

But the woman shook her head sadly.

"I feel that it is of no use," she whispered, hoarsely. "I feel that I am doomed – that my hour has come. Your startling news has done it," she gasped. "Jasper once dealt me a terrible blow over the heart. I – I did not die then, but my heart has been weak ever since. Go – go, girl, while the opportunity is yours. You can not escape him, if he returns and finds you here! Leave me to my fate. It is better so."

As she uttered the last word, she fell back with a dull thud, and Bernardine saw – ah, she knew – that the patient heart of this poor creature who had loved faithless, cruel Jasper Wilde to the bitter end had slowly broken at last.

Reverently covering the white, staring face with her apron, and breathing a sobbing prayer for her, Bernardine fled from the room.

A faint belt of light over the eastern hills told her that dawn was not far off.

She found the horse and buggy where the woman had indicated, and with hands trembling with nervous excitement untied the bridle.

The animal scarcely gave her time to climb into the vehicle, ere he was off with the speed of the wind through the stubble fields of the old deserted farm and on to the high-road.

It was all that Bernardine could do to cling to the reins, let alone attempt to guide the animal, whose speed was increasing perceptibly at every step he took.

The trees, the wild flowers by the road-side, the dark pines and mile-posts, seemed to whirl past her, and she realized, with a terrible quaking of the heart, that the horse was getting beyond her control and was running away.

The light buggy seemed to fairly spin over the road without touching it. From a run, the horse had broken into a mad gallop, which the small white hands clinging to the reins was powerless to stop.

Suddenly from a bend in the road, as she reached it, she saw a horseman riding leisurely toward her on a chestnut mare which she recognized at once as belonging to the Gardiner stables. He could not be one of the grooms, nor could he be one of the guests astir at that hour; still, there was something familiar in the form of the man advancing toward her at an easy canter.

He seemed to take in the situation at a glance, and quickly drew back into the bushes to give the runaway horse full swing in the narrow road.

But as Bernardine advanced at that mad, flying pace, she heard the man shout:

"My horse, by all that is wonderful! But that isn't Mag in the buggy. Who in thunder can it be in that wagon, anyhow?"

That loud, harsh voice! No wonder Bernardine's heart almost ceased beating as she heard it. It was the voice of Jasper Wilde.

Only Heaven's mercy kept her from swooning outright, for she knew Jasper Wilde would recognize her as soon as he came abreast of her.

This proved to be the case.

"Bernardine Moore!" he shouted, hardly believing he had seen aright.

For one moment of time he was taken so completely by surprise that he was quite incapable of action, and in that moment Bernardine's horse was many rods past him.

"Yes, it is Bernardine Moore!" he cried out, excitedly.

He did not ask himself how she happened to be there; he had no time for that.

Cursing himself for the time he had lost through his astonishment at the discovery, he wheeled his horse about with so sharp a jerk that it almost brought the animal upon its haunches; then started in mad pursuit of the girl, shouting at the top of his voice to Bernardine to saw hard on both lines, and jerk quickly backward.

To his intense rage, he saw Bernardine take out the whip and lay it on the back of the runaway horse, and it flashed across his mind what that meant.

She had seen and recognized him as she flew past him. She knew he was hurrying after her, and she preferred death rather than that he should overtake her.

Curses loud and deep broke from his lips. He yelled to her to draw rein; but she only urged the horse on the faster.

He had searched the world over to find Bernardine Moore, and now that he had come across her by chance, she should not escape him like this.

A mere chit of a girl should not outwit him in that fashion.

A mad thought occurred to him.

There was but one way of stopping that horse and overtaking Bernardine, and that was to draw his revolver and shoot the animal dead in its tracks.

He liked the horse; but nothing on earth should prevent him from capturing the girl he still loved to desperation.

To think, with him, was to act; and quick as a flash, he drew a weapon from his hip-pocket, and the loud report of a shot instantly followed.

CHAPTER LVIII

The shot which rang out so clearly on the early morning air missed its mark, and the noise only succeeded in sending Bernardine's horse along the faster. Taking one terrified glance backward, Bernardine saw Jasper Wilde's horse suddenly swerve, unseating her rider, and the next instant he was measuring his length in the dusty road-side.

The girl did not pause to look again, nor did she draw rein upon the panting steed, until, covered with foam, and panting for breath, he drew up of his own accord at the gate of Gardiner mansion.

One of the grooms came running forward, and Bernardine saw that he was greatly excited.

"The maids missed you, and feared something had happened to you, Miss Moore," he said; "but we were all so alarmed about young master, it caused us to forget everything else, we all love Master Jay so well."

A sharp pain, like that caused by a dagger's thrust, seemed to flash through Bernardine's heart as those words fell upon her startled ear.

"What has happened to your master, John?" she asked, huskily; and her voice sounded terribly unnatural.

In a voice husky with emotion the groom explained to her what was occurring – how young Mrs. Gardiner stood guard over her husband, refusing to allow the doctor to perform an operation which might save their young master, who was dying by inches with each passing moment of time – how she had caught up a thin, sharp-bladed knife which the doctor had just taken from his surgical case, and, brandishing it before her with the fury of a fiend incarnate, defied any one to dare approach.

Both Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Margaret had gone into hysterics, and had to be removed from the apartment to an adjoining room.

"Oh, Miss Moore, surely your services were never so much needed as now, you seem so clever! Oh, if you could, by any means in earthly power, coax young Mrs. Gardiner from her husband's bedside, the operation would be performed, whether she consented or not! In God's name, see what you can do!"

Bernardine waited to hear no more, but, like a storm-driven swallow, fairly flew across the lawn to the house, without even stopping a moment to give the least explanation concerning the strange horse and buggy which she had left in the groom's hands.

As the man had said, the greatest excitement pervaded the mansion. Servants were running about hither and thither, wringing their hands, expecting to hear each moment – they knew not what.

Like one fairly dazed, Bernardine flew along the corridor toward the blue and gold room which she knew had been set apart for Jay Gardiner's use.

She could hear the murmur of excited voices as she reached the door.

She saw that it was ajar. A draught of wind blew it open as she approached.

As she reached the threshold, Bernardine stood rooted to the spot at the spectacle that met her gaze.

Young Mrs. Gardiner was bending over her hapless husband with a face so transformed by hate – yes, hate – there was no mistaking the expression – that it nearly took Bernardine's breath away. In her right hand she held the gleaming blade, the end of which rested against Jay's bared breast.

The doctor had sunk into the nearest seat, and in that unfortunate moment had taken his eyes off the sufferer, whose life was ebbing so swiftly, and had dropped his face in his trembling hands to think out what he had best do in this dire moment of horror.

All this Bernardine took in at a single glance.

Jay Gardiner's life hung in the balance. She forgot her surroundings, forgot everything, but that she must save him even though at the risk of her own life. She would have gladly given a hundred lives, if she had them, to save him.

She did not stop an instant to formulate any plan, but with a cry of the most intense horror, born of acute agony, she had cleared the space which divided her from young Mrs. Gardiner at a single bound, and in a twinkling had hurled the blade from her hands.

Sally Gardiner was taken so entirely by surprise for an instant that she did not stoop to recover the gleaming knife which had fallen between her assailant and herself.

In that instant, the doctor, who had witnessed the scene which had taken place with such lightning-like rapidity, sprung forward and grasped the furious woman, pinioning her hands behind her, and called loudly upon the servants to come to his aid and remove her from Jay Gardiner's bedside.

But there was little need of their assistance. Sally Gardiner stood regarding Bernardine, her hands hanging by her sides, her eyes staring eagerly at the intruder.

"You here!" she muttered, in an almost inaudible voice. "What are you doing in his sick-room, you whom he always loved instead of me? He married me from a sense of honor, but he loved you, and never ceased to let me understand that to be the case. What are you doing here now —you of all other women?"

"Come with me quietly into the other room and I will tell you how it happens that I am here – in his home," whispered Bernardine, huskily.

"No," she shrieked, laughing a hard, jeering, terrible laugh in Bernardine's white, pain-drawn face as she battled fiercely to shake off the doctor's hold of her pinioned arms. "I shall not go – I shall not leave my post until he is dead! Do you hear? – until he is dead! I shall not save him for you! I'd rather be his widow than his unloved wife!"

"Come!" whispered Bernardine, sternly. "A human life is at stake – he is dying. You must come with me and let the doctor be free to do his work. I command you to come!" she added, in a stern, ringing, sonorous voice that seemed to thrill the other to her very heart's core and fascinate her – ay, fairly paralyze her will-power. "Come!" repeated Bernardine, laying a hand on her shoulder – "come out into the grounds with me, Mrs. Gardiner – out into the fresh air. I have something to tell you. I had an encounter with Victor Lamont last night," she added in a whisper, her eyes fixed steadily on the young wife as she slowly uttered the words.

Their effect was magical on Sally Gardiner. She reeled forward like one about to faint.

"Let me go out into the grounds alone," she cried, hoarsely. "I must collect my scattered thoughts. Come to me there in half an hour, and tell me. I – I can listen to you then."

And with these words, the fiery creature left the room, staggering rather than walking through the open French window.

The doctor caught Bernardine's hand in his.

"If he lives, it will be to your strategy that he owes his life," he said, hurriedly. "Now leave the room quickly. In ten minutes I will call you, and you shall tell his mother and sister whether it be life or death."

True to his promise, within the prescribed time the doctor called Bernardine.

"It will be life," he said, joyously; "and in performing the operation, I also found a small piece of bone resting against the brain, which was the cause of the strange lapse of memory he complained to me about several months ago. His brain is perfectly clear now. I heard from his lips a startling story," continued the doctor, taking Bernardine aside. "Come to him."

She refused, saying she was just about to leave the house; but the doctor insisted, and at length, accompanied by Jay's mother and his sister, she went to his bedside.

Jay's joy at beholding Bernardine was so great they almost feared for his life. And then the truth came out: his marriage to Bernardine was legal and binding before God and man, and that, directly after he had left her on the day of the ceremony, he had met with an accident which completely obliterated the event from his mind; even all remembrance of Bernardine's existence.

"What, then, is poor Sally?" cried his mother, in horror. "She wedded you, knowing nothing of all this!"

Before he could answer, they heard a great commotion in the corridor below; and, forgetful of the sick man, Antoinette rushed in weeping wildly, crying out that her young mistress had just been found dead in the brook.

She died without knowing the truth, and they were all thankful for that – not even her family or Miss Rogers ever knew the sad truth.

Two men fled from the vicinity that day – Victor Lamont and Jasper Wilde.

When Jay Gardiner was able to travel, he and his mother and sister and Bernardine went abroad; but, out of respect to poor Sally's memory, it was a year before they took their places in the great world as – what they had been from the first – husband and wife.

In the sunshine of the happy years that followed, Bernardine never reproached her husband for that blotted page in their history which he would have given so much to efface.

Sally's father and mother and sister grieved many a long year over her death.

Antoinette stole quietly away, and was seen no more. Old Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Margaret are as happy as the day is long in the love of Jay's sweet, grave young wife, while her husband fairly adores her, though two others share his love as the sunny days flit by – a sturdy youngster whom they call Jay, and a dainty little maiden named Sally – named after Miss Rogers, and whom that lady declares is to be her heiress – a jolly little maiden, hoidenish and mischievous, strangely like that other one who came so near wrecking her father's and mother's life.

The little girl has but one fear – she never goes near the brook; perhaps its babbling waters could reveal a strange story – who can tell?

Over a grave on the sloping hill-side there is a marble shaft. The name engraved upon it is Sally Gardiner, that the world may not know the story of her who rests there.

The sun does not fall upon it, the shadow of the trees is so dense; but soft and pityingly falls the dew on the hearts of the flowers that cover the grave where Sally sleeps.