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Page 19
Something had occurred to stir the composure of this usually cool, and
self-possessed woman fearfully. But what it was Margie could not guess.
Mr. Trevlyn burst into the room, pale and exhausted.
"It is no use!" he said, throwing himself into a chair, "no use to try
to disguise the truth! There will be no wedding to-night, Margie! The
bridegroom has failed to come! The scoundrel! If I were ten years
younger, I would call him out for this insult!"
Margie laid her hand on his arm, a strange, new feeling of vague relief
pervading her. It was as if some great weight, under which her slender
strength had wearied and sank, were rolled off from her.
"Compose yourself, dear guardian, he may have been unavoidably detained.
Some business--"
"Business on his wedding-day! No, Margie! there is something wrong
somewhere. He is either playing us false--confound him!--or he has met
with some accident! By George! who knows but he has been waylaid and
murdered! The road from here to the depot, though short, is a lonely one,
with woods on either side! And Mr. Linmere carries always about his
person enough valuables to tempt a desperate character."
"I beg you not to suppose such a dreadful thing!" exclaimed Margie,
shuddering; "he will come in the morning, and--"
"But Hays was positive that he saw him leave the six o'clock train. He
described him accurately, even to the saying that he had a bouquet of
white camelias in his hand. Margie, what flowers was he to bring?"
She shook her head.
"Mrs. Weldon knows. I do not."
Alexandrine spoke.
"White camelias. I heard Mrs. Weldon ask him to fetch them."
Mr. Trevlyn started up.
"I will have out the whole household, at once, and search, the whole
estate! For I feel as if some terrible crime may have been done upon our
very threshold. Margie, dear, take heart, he may be alive and well!"
He went out to alarm the already excited guests, and in half an hour the
place was alive with lanterns, carried by those who sought for the
missing bridegroom.
Pale and silent, the women gathered themselves together in the chamber of
the bride, and waited. Margie sat among them in her white robes, mute and
motionless as a statue.
"It must be terrible to fall by the hand of an assassin!" said Mrs.
Weldon, with a shudder. "Good heavens! what a dreadful thing it would be
if Mr. Linmere has been murdered!"
"An assassin! My God!" cried Margie, a terrible thought stealing across
her mind. Who had touched her in the cypress grove? What hand had woke in
her a thrill that changed her from ice to fire! What if it were the hand
of her betrothed husband's murderer?
Alexandrine started forward at Margie's exclamation. Her cheek was white
as marble, her breath came quick and struggling.
"Margie! Margie Harrison!" she cried, "what do you mean?"
"Nothing," answered Margie, recovering herself, and relapsing into her
usual self-composure.
They searched all that night, and found nothing. Absolutely nothing. With
the early train, both Mr. Trevlyn and Mr. Weldon went to the city. They
hurried to Mr. Linmere's room, only to have their worst fears confirmed.
Pietro informed them that his master had left there on the six o'clock
train; he had seen him to the depot, and into the car, receiving some
orders from him relative to his rooms, after he had taken his seat.
There could be no longer any doubt but that there had been foul play
somewhere. The proper authorities were notified, and the search began
afresh. Harrison Park and its environs were thoroughly ransacked; the
river was searched, the pond at the foot of the garden drained, but
nothing was discovered. There was no clue by which the fate of the
missing man could be guessed at, ever so vaguely.
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