The Lost Lady of LoneSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The Lost Lady of Lone
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
Fiction
An awe-struck group of persons was gathered around some object on the
floor; they made way in silence for the approach of the marquis.
He passed in and looked down.
HORROR UPON HORRORS! There lay the dead body of the banker,
full-dressed as on the evening before, but with his head crushed in and
surrounded by a pool of coagulated blood! The face was marble white; the
eyes were open and stony, the jaws had dropped and stiffened into death.
Across the body lay the swooning form of his daughter, with her bridal
vail and robes all dabbled in her father's blood.
"HEAVEN OF HEAVENS! Who has done this?" cried the marquis, a
cold sweat of horror bursting from his pallid brow as he stared upon this
ghastly sight!
A dozen voices answered him at once, to the effect that no one yet knew.
"Run! run! and fetch a doctor instantly! Some of you! any of you who can
go the quickest!" he cried, as he stooped and lifted the insensible form
of his bride and laid her on the bed--the bed that had not been occupied
during the night. Evidently from these appearances, the banker had been
murdered before his usual hour of retiring.
"Who has gone for a doctor?" inquired Lord Arondelle, in an agony of
anxiety, as he bent over the unconscious form of his beloved one.
"I have despatched Gilbert, yer lairdship. He will mak' unco guid haste,"
answered the steward, who stood overcome with grief as he gazed upon the
ghastly corpse of his unfortunate master.
"My lord," said Lady Belgrade, who stood by too deeply awed for tears,
and up to this moment for action either--"my lord, you had better go out
of the room for the present, and take all these men with you, and leave
Miss Levison to the care of myself and the women. This is all unspeakably
horrible! But our first care should be for her. We must loosen her dress,
and take other measures for her recovery."
"Yes, yes! Great Heaven! yes! Do all you can for her! This is maddening!"
groaned the marquis, smiting his forehead as he left the bedside,
yielding his place to the dowager.
"Do try to command yourself, Lord Arondelle. This is, indeed, a most
awful shock. It would have been awful at any time, but on your wedding
day it comes with double violence. But do summon all your strength of
mind, for _her_ sake. Think of her. She came to this room in her
bridal dress to call her father, that he might get ready to take her to
the altar, to give her to you, and she found him here murdered--weltering
in his blood. It was enough to have killed her, or unseated her reason
forever," said the lady, as she busied herself with unfastening the rich,
white, satin bodice of the wedding robe.
"Oh, Salome! Salome! that I could bear this sorrow for you! Oh, my
darling, that all my love should be powerless to save you from a sorrow
like this!" cried the young man, dropping his head upon his clenched
hands.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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