CHAPTER XXXIX.
A STOLEN INTERVIEW.
“I must not go any farther, and I cannot stay out long, for I must not be missed. Let us stop here under the trees and talk a little while, but it was wrong and foolish for you to come, Adrian,” said Rosalind.
“But I could not stay away. I love you too well!” cried the passionate lover, and before she could reply, he continued:
“I was wild to see you and to hear how old Moneybags, as you call him, looks since he had the smallpox. I am hoping he is so badly pitted and ugly that you are disgusted and ready to throw him over.”
Berenice held her breath; she knew it was wrong to listen, but curiosity got the better of courtesy.
“He is homely enough, I assure you, to disgust any squeamish person,” answered Rosalind, with a laugh, “but I would marry him if he were the Old Boy himself, with all that money.”
“How I hate him and envy him!” complained the man bitterly. “If I had only half that money, would you marry me?”
“Yes, for only half of it, and be thankful!” cried Rosalind. “For, after all, I shall not get more than half, anyway. There are his two daughters to inherit, and, besides, he has made up with Charley; and unless I play my cards very cleverly he will revoke that disinheritance and leave him a million or so, very likely.”
“But I thought his son was going to die?”
“Nothing of the kind. He is recovering very fast, and so is his wife, the low actress, and they think I have forgiven them and will have them whining around me after I marry the father. But nothing of the kind, I can assure you, for I have sworn they shall never cross the senator’s threshold when once it is mine.”
“It is hard lines on you, Rosalind, after thinking them both dead.”
“Yes, is it not? I am almost tempted to give him an overdose of something when no one is looking. It would soon finish him in his weak state, eh?”
It almost seemed to Berenice that the man’s shuddering shook the branches where he leaned, or was it only a light wind?
He said quickly:
“Ugh! Rosalind, you make me shudder, you say jesting things so seriously. No, don’t poison the poor fellow. Murder will out, you know. Oh, I say, darling, cut it all and come away with me and be married in Paris. We love each other, and we can be happy somehow. As for money, there’s the gambling table. I never told you I broke the bank at Monte Carlo once. I did, and I can do it again.”
“You’ve been over all that before, Adrian, to no good. Why repeat it? I love you as well as I once loved Charley, but I will never marry any but a rich man, I swear. But I have promised you, and I mean it, that you shall be my true lover, while old Moneybags lives, and when he dies, my second husband,” Rosalind answered frankly, and the man sighed:
“Do you think he will live long, Rosalind?”
“No, not very long, my own Adrian, for there are many easy ways to hurry an old man into his grave. But it is too soon to talk of that, now. Wait till I’m safely his wife and get his will made in my favor, then you and I can plot the finish, see?”
“Yes, I see, and I am with you to the end—and afterward. Ah, Rosalind, what a woman you are! If you did not love me I should be afraid of you!” Adrian Vance muttered huskily.
Rosalind gave one of her harsh, grating laughs, and said:
“Love can turn to hate.”
“You mean that I should beware of you. But I cannot, my queen, for I worship you. And—and—I shall be so jealous of that old man when he owns you that I shall be tempted to thrust a knife into his heart!”
“Pray don’t, Adrian! Poison in his winecup would be safer, you know. But I must leave you, for I have much to do. I am to be married to-morrow.”
“Heavens—to-morrow!” gasped her lover wildly, jealously.
She answered lightly:
“To-morrow, for the senator proposed it and insists upon it.”
“Ah! how shall I bear my jealous agony? One kiss, Rosalind!”
Berenice turned hot and cold, hearing repeated kisses and ardent caresses that made the leaves rustle as they leaned against them, then they sprang apart.
“We must go back, Adrian; I really cannot stay another minute. Do not grieve so. You will not be banished, you know. I shall soon introduce you as a friend of the family. Ha! ha!”
They passed out of sight, still talking, leaving Berenice crouched beneath the tree, with hot cheeks and a wildly beating heart.
Suddenly she got upon her knees on the dewy grass and lifted her wide, horrified dark eyes to the heavens, where myriad stars began to sparkle through the blue.
With clasped hands she prayed piteously:
“Oh, what shall I do? Can I let this fiend impose on this good, honorable old man and shame the name he will give her by a liaison with this unworthy lover, who will help her to murder him at last for his money? Oh, it is too horrible that I should keep her terrible secrets and let the sacrifice go on! I must save him, I must expose her in all her hideous depravity to those who love and trust her now. Oh, show me the way, show me the way to-morrow, to unmask this fiend!”