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Updated: May 8, 2025
He always locked his rooms, and the door into the tower. Even the servants were not allowed to enter his den! What you seek must be there! May the curse of God reach him! And now is my hour of vengeance. He betrayed this poor victim, the man who died through a noble love for me!" Only Leah Einstein and the resolute Atwater remained at Irma's side as McNerney ran upstairs alone.
The long weeks of Clayton's complete self-surrender had brought about no forward step in Irma Gluyas' intimacy. The still silent Madame Raffoni was the careful guardian of the veiled beauty, and Clayton, loyal to a frenzy of romantic faith, had never broken his promise. For he lived only now in Irma's whispered promise, "Wait, and trust to me. You shall come to me as soon as I can break my bonds.
She dared not betray the tiger-like Fritz Braun, whose veiled scheme of plunder or blackmail she could not fathom. Hitherto all had gone well with them, in their merry will-o'-the-wisp game with Irma's jealous unknown guardians, with his concealed enemies. But Clayton well knew that no mere pretense would baffle Arthur Ferris' thorough knowledge of all of his past social habits.
Randall Clayton drew a new courage from Fräulein Irma's murmured remark, "Madame Raffoni, unfortunately, speaks no English," and the young enthusiast only noted that the ex-professional still possessed splendid eyes, and showed the remains of a considerable personal beauty. His whole cares fell away from him as Clayton joined in the merry mood of his beautiful enchantress.
But the boy Bernhard, on Irma's knee, folded by her soft arm, grew restless as the story lengthened, and began to prattle softly at his mother's ear. "Mother," whispered the child, "why did you cry out so loud, when the priest was going to send me to Valhalla?" "Oh, hush, my child," answered the mother, and pressed him closer to her side.
It had been for her sake as well as his own that the veiled star, Irma Gluyas, had laughingly searched the map of New York and vicinity to find places of safe meeting. To avoid Robert Wade's spies, to preserve Irma's incognito, they had exhausted the "lions" of every Long Island, Staten Island, and New Jersey village. They had canvassed every place of resort within fifty miles of New York City.
They sipped their currant wine as if it were medicine and moved uneasily on the edges of their chairs. They had excellent manners stowed away somewhere the natural well-bredness of the hill and the heather, but in a place like that, with so many folk, it seemed as if they had somehow mislaid them. Then was Irma's time.
I had been kneeling at the bedside, kneeling and, well perhaps sobbing. But at that moment I felt a hand on my collar. The next I was on my feet, and so, with only one glimpse of Irma's smile at my fate, I found myself outside the room. "What was it I telled ye? Not to excite her! Was it no?"
Be on your guard!" Seizing his hat, Randall Clayton hurried away to the nearest telegraph office, where he felt safe from Robert Wade's spies. "Thank God for Irma's wit," he said, in his heart, as he sent the veiled words which would bring her to that quiet hotel on Staten Island, where, among Richmond's leafy bowers, they now defied all possible detection. It had been her own plan.
But the boy Bernhard, on Irma's knee, folded by her soft arm, grew restless as the story lengthened, and began to prattle softly at his mother's ear. "Mother," whispered the child, "why did you cry out so loud, when the priest was going to send me to Valhalla?" "Oh, hush, my child," answered the mother, and pressed him closer to her side.
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