An Oregon Girl: A Tale of American Life in the New West. Rice Alfred Ernest
halted, turned to him, and continued in a low tone. “Yes, there is a better plan – that insult can be wiped out in a more effectual manner.”
“How?”
For one moment Virginia looked far off across the placid waters of the Willamette, over and beyond the rugged hills shrouded in gloomy repose. Was it the “still small voice within her crying in anguish ‘beware, beware’,” if so, it was unheeded, drowned in the impetuous desire for revenge.
Shocked and enraged by the discovery of what she considered Corway’s perfidy, a strain of virulent passion possessed her, and subdued her softer and otherwise most charming personality.
“Corway has done me a wrong I never will forget, and I shall not pause at any opportunity to avenge it. My cousin, Hazel, is betrothed to him. My brother has a rash, impetuous temper, and is exceedingly jealous of our family honor. By insinuating Corway’s insincere attachment to Hazel, his money-mad impecuniosity, and so forth, you will produce a coolness between John and Corway that may end in their complete estrangement. We are watched,” she whispered. “Let us move on.” Her alert eyes had discovered Sam standing alone on the piazza steps, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked at them.
She guessed his purpose, but was too far away to hear him say angrily: “If that lord attempts any fooling with that fair party, I’ll give him some eye-shutters, I guess so!”
Without heeding the episode, Rutley replied: “But you must know that your brother has not insulted me, and you must also be aware that the attempt to influence him may fail.”
“If you will follow my directions John will consider you his friend. If properly managed you need have no fear of its ultimate success. For several months last year John was in China. During that time Corway paid frequent visits to his home.”
“But” – interposed Rutley, quickly.
“Do not misunderstand my meaning,” responded Virginia, with an involuntary flash of indignation. “Corway is a man of great moral probity. But John may be brought to think him something the reverse. Do you understand?”
“I will have satisfaction!” exclaimed Rutley.
“Somebody is following us,” whispered Virginia.
“Where?” queried Rutley. “I fail to see anyone.”
“It may have been the shadow of the swinging light,” at length she remarked, reassured, and, dismissing the thought from her mind, continued: “I have already warned you of a duel. To prove how insincere Corway’s affection is for Hazel, you may call my brother’s attention to a ring that he wears on the little finger of his left hand. I let Hazel have it for a short time because she admired it, and begged it from me, and Corway took it from her.”
“Has the ring any peculiar feature by which it may be distinguished from others?”
“Yes, a single diamond set in a double heart of pearls.”
“Is it yours?” he asked, softly.
“No,” Virginia promptly answered, but she added in a hesitating manner, as though weighing the propriety of further explanation – “that is – well – it is mine for the purpose. I let Hazel have it unknown to Constance.”
And so it happened, a slip of the tongue, one inadvertent, indiscreet admission, gave him his cue. A vision opened to his mind and he immediately speculated on its possibilities.
“Then the ring belongs to Mrs. Thorpe?” he questioned, insidiously.
“Yes,” Virginia affirmed, in a halting way. “John gave it to Constance before they were married.”
“Oh, indeed!” Rutley exclaimed, and he muttered low and meaningly, while the whites of his eyes gleamed with sinister import. “Corway wears a ring given by John Thorpe to his wife.”
Soon as he had spoken Virginia heard and instinctively felt that she had been indiscreet in admitting the ring belonged to Constance, and said by way of caution: “Of course, I trust in the honor of your lordship to refrain from connecting Mrs. Thorpe’s name with the ring, or to, in any manner, let it be known that you know it is not mine.”
Evidently Rutley did not hear her, for he was absorbed in thought – thought that produced an evil gleam in his eyes.
A slight pause followed, and taking it for granted my lord would not betray the trust she reposed in him, she said, as looking in his eyes with significant daring: “Draw John’s notice to it as confirming Corway’s bold and deceitful attention to Hazel.”
Virginia was aware that John would recognize the ring as his wife’s, but she under-rated the violence of the storm it would precipitate, and she trusted too much in her own ability to control it in the direction she desired. She likewise rated Beauchamp as a weak, egotistical, effeminate sort of man. She was now to experience her great mistake.
Rutley in his turn fixed his gaze steadfastly upon her, and which became so intense, so mysteriously searching, as to cause her, strong-minded woman as she was, to feel she was but a weak thing beside him.
He spoke quietly and without the faintest tremor in his voice. “Do you know to whom you suggested this?”
“Lord Beauchamp,” she timidly responded. And then there suddenly sprang into her eyes a new light, accompanied by a slight start.
“Why do you start?” asked Rutley, not for a moment removing his eyes from hers.
“No, ’tis impossible. You cannot be Philip Rutley?” she gasped, as she drew back amazed. “For you have already denied him once to me.”
“Yes, I am he!” he exclaimed.
There followed a moment of profound silence. Rutley watching the effect of his disclosure upon her.
And she, at first astounded by his audacious nerve, at length grasped his position, and finally smiled, as though in admiration of his arch achievement. “You are a master imposter,” she broke in. “Be as clever with the material I have given you, and Corway will not long stand in your way.”
“Did Hazel tell you of my proposal to her three years ago?”
“Yes,” she answered promptly.
“I believe she rejected me at that time because of Corway,” he musingly added.
“Your opportunity is at hand,” she affirmed.
“I accept it;” and then he cautioned in a low tone: “Be careful never to breathe my real name.”
“And you – you will continue to be?” – and she smiled quizically as she put the question.
“My Lord Beauchamp.”
“A most consummate scoundrel!” she added pleasantly.
“The scoundrel begs to share the compliment with his colleague, Miss Virginia Thorpe,” he ironically replied, again bowing low.
That accentuated remark by Rutley revealed to her with sudden vividness the detestable character she was developing.
Acutely sensitive, the stigma smote her with a repugnance that stung and smarted as quivering flesh under the sharp cut of a lash; and being naturally of a fiery temper, she passionately retorted, “It’s false!”
The words had scarcely escaped her lips when she realized her indiscretion, and faltered, “I – I – mean – ” and then unable to recover from her sudden flight of passion, or to completely subdue her agitation, she burst out aloud, in utter disregard of her surroundings, “Oh! It is awful, awful!”
Rutley was alarmed, and hastily gripped her wrist, and in low tones cautioned, “For God’s sake, hush! Don’t shout it to the winds! Remember, you urged this damnable business upon me. Do you want me to give it to the world?”
His artifice succeeded, and under his influence she became quieter. “No! No! No!” she whispered. “Don’t, please!” Then again she stared at the ground as though dazed with some vague terror. Suddenly she covered her face with her hands and moaned, “What have I done?”
Then,