Part 20 (1/2)

Helmar rose also. ”Of course not,” he said, ”why didn't you say so sooner? Let's go right in.”

Half way down the hall, Henry Carleton's valet approached them, a letter in his outstretched hand. ”For you, Mr. Vaughan,” he said.

Vaughan, taking the letter, hastily opened it, and read its contents. A puzzled frown wrinkled his forehead. ”H'm,” he muttered, ”that's queer,”

and as they entered the parlor, he spoke at once to his fiancee. ”Rose,”

he said, ”I'm sorry, but everything about to-night seems to be fated.

First our guests disappoint us, and now I'm called away myself. But only for an hour. I'll be back just as soon as I can.”

The girl's face clouded. ”Oh, no, Arthur,” she cried, ”not to-night. You oughtn't to go to-night, no matter who it is. Tell them to wait--”

He broke in upon her. ”I'm sorry, my dear,” he said gravely, ”but this is something that can't be delayed. I must go at once.”

There was no misunderstanding his tone. ”All right, then, Arthur,” she said, ”but be back as soon as you can,” and nodding, he left the room.

The waiting motor made short work of the distance between The Birches and Colonel Graham's home; and a short half hour later Vaughan was ushered across the threshold of the big drawing-room. Marjory Graham came forward to meet him, and then, as she led the way across the room, he stared in surprise at the sight of the second figure that rose from the seat by the open fire. Yet Marjory Graham seemed to see nothing unusual in the situation. ”I think you know Mrs. Satterlee, Arthur,” she said, and Vaughan, his wonderment increasing every moment, bowed, and took his seat.

The lights were turned low; only the firelight flickered and gleamed about the room. Marjory Graham reached out and took the woman's hand in hers. ”Tell him, Jeanne,” she said.

There followed a pause, and then at last, slowly and with evident effort, Jeanne Satterlee began to speak. ”Mr. Vaughan,” she said, ”the fewer words the better. You've made up your mind to tell the story of that night. If it's going to be told, it must be the true one. I've promised Jack to tell what I know to Miss Graham and to you. I've already told her.”

She paused, while Vaughan sat waiting breathlessly, his eyes fixed upon her face. And then she spoke again. ”There's no need to ask you,” she went on, ”whether you remember all that happened on that night. You remember how you were all together at The Birches; how Jack said he was going to bed early; how you and Miss Rose sat out on the piazza; how Mr.

Carleton played billiards with Jim c.u.mmings, and then how he came down and told you he was going for a walk about the grounds. You remember every bit of that, of course?”

Vaughan a.s.sented silently. ”And then,” she went on, ”you went for a stroll yourself; you came to the rock opposite the cottage, and saw Tom when he came in. You heard the noise; you saw some one run out of the house, with Tom after him; and then you saw Tom fall, and a minute afterward you saw Jack bending over him, with Tom's head on his knee.”

Again she stopped for his a.s.sent; again Vaughan nodded; and once more she continued, ”You thought it was Jack who was in my room; you thought it was Jack who ran from the cottage. And no one could blame you, Mr.

Vaughan, for what you thought. But I'm going to tell you the true story of that night--to my shame. Jack Carleton wasn't in the cottage; there was never anything between Jack and me--though I tried--never mind, I've told Miss Graham--but there was some one in my room that night, and that man was the father of the girl whom you are going to marry.”

Vaughan's heart seemed to stop beating; there came a ringing in his ears; his voice, when he spoke, sounded faint and far-away. ”_Henry_ Carleton?” he gasped.

Jeanne Satterlee bowed her head. ”I said the fewer words the better,”

she went on. ”It wasn't the first time. Things had been--that way--for nearly two years.”

Vaughan's face flushed with anger. ”Henry Carleton!” he cried again, ”it's impossible. How dare you say it?”