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Mansion of Mystery

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<h2 id="id02248" style="margin-top: 4em">CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> <h5 id="id02249">WHAT HAPPENED TO MARGARET</h5> It is said by specialists that the human brain can stand just so much, and no more. The tension becomes so great—something snaps—and then? The question is one, hard, if not impossible, to answer. So it was with poor Margaret, hounded by the well-meaning but ignorant officers of the law of the community in which the double crime had been committed. So searching had been the questions put, so strong the accusations, that the reasoning powers of the girl were completely shattered. She imagined herself guilty—imagined herself being taken to prison, to be hung or electrocuted, and in a hundred ways suffered the mental tortures of the eternally condemned. Then came a change, when she grew hysterical and laughed softly to herself. No! no! she must not let them hang or electrocute her! It would be too much of a disgrace! She must escape such a fearful fate! But how? There could be but one answer to that question. She must contrive in some way to outwit her enemies—she must escape—must fly to some place where they would never be able to find her. It is said that those who are insane are usually shrewd, and so it was in Margaret's case. She prepared to run away, but she did not allow the nurse or the doctor to become aware of what she was doing. She waited until the doctor had made another call, and then asked the nurse to fix her something special to eat. "Why, yes, I'll get whatever you wish, my dear!" said the nurse, and went below to prepare the food. No sooner had the woman disappeared than Margaret leaped from her bed and began to dress. All of her things, even to her hat, were in a closet of the bedroom, so this was easy. "How shall I go?" she asked herself. She knew, from the talk she had heard, that a policeman was somewhere around, watching the house. She looked out of a window and saw him, leaning against a fence, taking occasional sly puffs from a pipe he held in the hollow of his hand. She did not dare descend the stairs. She looked out of the window. It was not very far to the roof of a porch, and against the porch was a trellis, with a wealth of honeysuckle growing upon it. How she did it, Margaret could not afterwards remember. But she crawled forth from the window, and climbed down the trellis as if it were a ladder. The sweet scent of the honeysuckle made her sick, and she came close to falling in a faint at the foot of the vines. Reaching the ground, she stared around like a frightened fawn seeking to hide from the hunters. Then, without knowing why, she sped for the river bank. The water looked cool and inviting, and for several minutes the beautiful girl stood there, gazing steadily down into those depths. Should she make a leap and end it all? "It would be the easiest way out of it!" she moaned to herself. "The easiest way, and nobody would care!" But, as she bent lower, she seemed to see reflected, not her own face, but the face of Raymond. With a cry of despair, she shrank back as if struck a blow. "No! no! It will not do!" she moaned. "Not that! Not that!" She ran along the river bank until she came to where a rowboat was tied up. On the seats were the oars, and, scarcely knowing what she was doing, she leaped into the craft, untied the painter, and took up the oars. The fresh air seemed to give her strength, and she pulled on and on. She grew thirsty and stopped to drink some of the water and to bathe her face and hands. While doing this, her hat slipped overboard and drifted away, but she did not notice this. Presently she took up the oars once more, and rowed along the stream until she reached a spot where there was an island. Here she went ashore, hiding the rowboat in the bushes. It was only a small island, but in the center some boys had erected a hut where they had once camped out. Margaret dragged herself to this shelter. Her strength was almost gone now, and, as she dropped on a rude bench, her senses forsook her. She did not remain unconscious long, but during that time she had a dream or vision. She imagined that she was back home once more, and that her father and her stepmother were alive and well, and that the bitter quarrelling had come to an end. She sat up and brushed the tumbled hair from her forehead, "It—it must have been a dream!" she murmured. "It can't be true—that daddy is dead! I—I must go home and find out!" She was surprised to find herself on the island, but the sight of the rowboat brought with it a memory of how she had used the craft, and once again she got in and rowed away. This time she headed for the Langmore mansion, and it was not long before she came within sight of the well-known dock where her own tiny craft still rested. She looked around. Not a soul seemed to be in sight. With a cunningness far out of the ordinary, the poor girl crept along the shrubbery in the direction of the barn. This structure was locked up. From the barn she turned to the house, and, watching her chance, she entered by the cellar-way, which chanced to be standing open. It was dark and damp below stairs, and the girl shivered as she stood there, trying to make up her mind what to do next. Should she go right up and try to find her father? Supposing her stepmother was there, would she try to make more trouble? Margaret mounted the stairs and entered the lower hall of the house. The blinds were closed, and all was dark. She moved towards the room where the body of her father had been found. At that moment the woman who had been left at the mansion came from the kitchen. She caught one glimpse of the girl and set up a shriek. "It's a ghost!" she cried. "A ghost! Heaven help me!" The cry was so piercing and so genuine, it roused Margaret from the stupor in which she was moving. "My father! He is dead, after all! Oh, daddy!" she screamed, and then turned, brushed past the woman, and sped out of the back door of the mansion. "What's the matter?" came from the policeman who was on guard. "She—a ghost!" stammered Mrs. Morse. "I saw her!" "Her? Who?" "Margaret Langmore! Or else her ghost!" The woman had gone white, and was shaking from head to feet. "Where?" "Here." "When?" "Just now!" "It can't have been the girl. She is in bed, under the doctor's care." "But I saw her!" insisted the woman. "We'll take a look around," answered the guardian of the law. They commenced the search, but long before this was done Margaret had run back to the river. She dropped into the rowboat, and rowed off as swiftly as her failing strength would permit. "Daddy is dead, after all!" she moaned, over and over again. "And she is dead, too! I remember it all, now. And the blood! Oh, I must get away, or they will hang me, or electrocute me!" Five minutes more and the rowboat came to grief on some rocks close to the side of the stream. It commenced to fill with water, and Margaret had to wade ashore, which she did, slowly and deliberately, like one in a dream. Then she passed into the woods. Coming to a thick clump of bushes, she sank down exhausted, and there merciful sleep overtook her. How long she slept, she did not know. The low growl of a dog aroused her. She sat up, and the growl of the dog became a heavy bark. Looking from out of the clump of bushes, she saw a mastiff standing there, eying her suspiciously. "What is it, boy?" she heard a heavy voice ask. "A woodchuck? Never mind now, come on." But the mastiff continued to bark, and came close enough to sniff at Margaret's foot. She essayed to draw back, but was too weak to do so. "Won't come, eh?" cried the man. "What's the bloomin' reason, I'd like to know?" He came closer and then caught sight of Margaret. For a second he stared in amazement; then uttered an exclamation. "You! How did you get here?" "Oh!" she fairly screamed. She recognized Matlock Styles, and knew not what to say. For some reason she felt as does the bird in the net of the fowler. "This is bloomin' strange," went on the Englishman. "I thought you were down in the village, under the care of the doctors." "I was," she managed to falter. "How did you get here—run away?" "Yes." "Why?" "I—I do not know. I—they have found me out! They are going to hang me, or electrocute me! I—I couldn't stand it!" "How do you know that?" "Oh, I know only too well." "So you ran away, did you? 'Twas a bloody cute thing to do, Margaret. Say, your dress is wet," he went on wonderingly. "Yes, I was in a rowboat and had to wade ashore." She looked at him with a face full of wild misery. "Oh, please go away and leave me!" "Leave you?" "Yes! yes!" "I can't do that, Margaret." "You must!" "But you are not fit to be left alone. You're sick." "Never mind—only leave me!" "Better let me take care of you." And now, having stopped the barking of the mastiff, he came and sat down by her side. "No! no!" She tried to shrink away, but was too weak to succeed. "So you ran away, eh? Are they after you?" "I don't know. I—I suppose so." "How did you get out of the house?" "I climbed out of a window, when the nurse and the policeman were not looking." "Bloomin' clever, that," he murmured. His eyes were watching her closely, and to himself he was saying: "Gad, what a beauty she is, in spite of what she has suffered!" "I am going away—far away!" she went on, in a low voice. "Oh, I cannot, cannot stay here." "You can't travel in your condition, Margaret." He pulled thoughtfully at his mutton-chop whiskers. "You let me help you." "You?" "Yes. Come, give me your arm," and he caught hold of her, as if to assist her to arise. "No, no! Please leave me!" she begged. "I can take care of myself. Only give me the chance to get away!" "Margaret! You are out of your mind." "No, I am not." "I know better. And I am not going to let you go away. You shall go with me." "Oh, Mr. Styles! Please go away." "No," he answered firmly. "Come, you have got to go with me." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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