The chain goes on in endless round,Its motions slow or fast—But every link is firmly boundTwixt present and the past.
The chain goes on in endless round,Its motions slow or fast—But every link is firmly boundTwixt present and the past.
The chain goes on in endless round,Its motions slow or fast—But every link is firmly boundTwixt present and the past.
The chain goes on in endless round,
Its motions slow or fast—
But every link is firmly bound
Twixt present and the past.
For several days after his experiment with that little vial Dr. Seward was too ill to more than raise his head from the pillow. He was a large, portly man and the continued nausea from that sickish odor completely prostrated him.
He would not disclose the cause of his illness to any one, consequently the wildest rumors floated about among his friends and patients and almost every affliction in the calendar, from apoplexy to measles, was ascribed to him. Weeks passed and, although fully restored to health, the sensations he had experienced could never be quiteerased from his memory, and although he frequently awoke in the morning with the grim determination to again examine that brownish powder, night invariably found him as ignorant of its constituents as a good, wholesome fear could make him.
In a moment of almost unprecedented mischief he labeled the bottle with the words "Death to the Inquisitive" and laid it carefully away in a private drawer.
But now that Stella and Sir Frederic was married and they and Mrs. Sinclair were so happily settled over across the water, his desire to penetrate the mystery of Maurice Sinclair's identity returned with all its force.
The bottle was his only clue and that a very unsatisfactory one, as the one found in Stella's room was empty when discovered. He could not compare the contents, so what was the use of risking another journey to the land of spirits, he argued.
But at last science prevailed, and determined not to again defy the enemy alone, he put the vial in his pocket and ordering his carriage droveswiftly to Guy's Hospital to ask the assistance of his friend, the Superintendent of that Institution, in his perilous undertaking. Dr. Seward related to his friend the particulars of his first experiment and with the unassuming vial between them, they consulted long and earnestly on the best method of attack.
The powder was inflammable in air and must therefore be protected. The first step was to test its solubility, so drawing a small quantity of water from the Burette into an Erhlenmeyer flask, Dr. Seward carefully removed the cork and placing the necks of the two bottles together succeeded in shaking a small quantity of the powder into the water. Then the vial was recorked and set carefully away. The powder did not dissolve and the experimenter waved the flask gently back and forth over the flame of a Bunsen burner while his friend retired to another room to complete a little experiment that he was working on when Dr. Seward arrived.
A moment after, he reentered holding a smoking tube in each hand.
"Well how is it?" he enquired, interestedly, ashe looked about anxiously for a stand to place his test tubes in.
"Insoluble in water," was the answer as Dr. Seward held the flask to the light and scrutinized the particles which were floating, apparently uninjured, in the almost boiling water.
"See here, Doctor," said the Superintendent desperately, "You have more hands than I, just now; Do you mind stepping into the office and bringing me that paper on reactions? You will find it right in my desk."
Dr. Seward rose immediately and passed into the office. Standing by the open desk with the flask raised high in one hand, with the other he turned over a pile of papers in the somewhat disordered receptacle.
At last he saw one, wrinkled and stained, and feeling sure that its demoralized condition was received through the spatters from an evaporating dish or the careless handling of re-agents, only, he unfolded it, and shaking his glasses down upon his nose by a clever movement of the head, glanced carefully over its contents.
"Can't you find it?" called his friend from the Laboratory.
But Dr. Seward did not answer.
The Superintendent found his tube stand, and depositing his work in safety, started for the office to assist in the search for the required paper. The two men met in the doorway. For an instant the amazed Superintendent thought his staid and venerable friend had taken leave of his senses, or that the unknown substance he was analyzing had developed some heretofore undiscovered ingredient and the excitement of Dr. Seward's face was promptly reflected on his own.
"What is it?" he asked excitedly,—"What has happened?"
"Where did you get that?" was the doctor's extraordinary reply as he held before his eyes a stained and wrinkled Marriage Certificate.
"That?" said the Superintendent, "let's see, where did I get that?" and he took the paper in his hand and glanced thoughtfully over its contents.
"Ah,—I remember, the Gardener found it by the front gate a year or two ago and I saved itthinking I would try and find the owner, but some way, it has slipped my mind altogether. But why are you so interested?" he asked, suddenly. "Do you know the parties?"
"I think I do," was Dr. Seward's reply. "Let me take this for a day or two, Doctor," he said, "and I may be able to clear up a sad mystery by means of it."
"Certainly, but come, tell me about it. You have aroused my curiosity."
Thinking there could be no harm, the physician told him the entire story only leaving out his suspicions and Lady Van Tyne's name from the narrative altogether.
The Superintendent was greatly interested, and as the same Gardener was still employed on the premises, he sent for him and requested the particulars of the discovery and the date as near as he could recall it.
Fortunately, as another matter of more importance to the Gardener occurred on the very day of his finding the paper, he was able to readily supply the exact date, and reference to the Hospital books showed plainly that a young women,enceinte and unconscious, had been found by Dr. Jennings and admitted to the wards that same morning.
One of the nurses recalled her perfectly and mentioned the fact of her being drenched to the skin when found. Her description of the young woman tallied exactly with the picture of Elizabeth Merril which the Doctor had seen at the house in G—— St. Remembering that the only clue upon which the supposed suicide had been identified, was the finding of her shawl upon the bridge, he questioned the nurse further and ascertained the fact that the suffering woman was without a shawl and that the nurse had herself provided one on the afternoon of the patient's departure.
Satisfied that Elizabeth Merril was not only an injured wife and mother, but a living, suffering woman, the now thoroughly interested physician took possession of the paper, and after ascertaining the whereabouts of the officiating clergyman by means of a directory, drove immediately to his address.
The analysis of the brownish powder was for the time forgotten.
Dr. Seward had little difficulty in finding the reverend gentleman of his search, and as briefly as possible he explained his errand, then laying the water stained paper before him, he waited with almost bated breath for the proof of its validity.
Too late—their sorrow now is o'er—Their trusting hearts have ceased to beat;Beyond the clouds their spirits soarTo Heaven's beautiful retreat.
Too late—their sorrow now is o'er—Their trusting hearts have ceased to beat;Beyond the clouds their spirits soarTo Heaven's beautiful retreat.
Too late—their sorrow now is o'er—Their trusting hearts have ceased to beat;Beyond the clouds their spirits soarTo Heaven's beautiful retreat.
Too late—their sorrow now is o'er—
Their trusting hearts have ceased to beat;
Beyond the clouds their spirits soar
To Heaven's beautiful retreat.
The clergyman was gray and bent with age, and it was some time before his feeble sight could discover a corresponding entry in his private memorandum book of marriages. At last he found it, and Dr. Seward stooped and read, in the old rector's handwriting, the brief statement of a marriage contract between one Lawrence Maynard and Elizabeth Louisa Merril, the date corresponding to the one on the wrinkled certificate.
To make matters even surer, the two walked slowly across the street and entering the gloomydoorway of a small, stone paved Chapel, passed on into the vestry and carefully examined the record of events occurring within its walls.
Again their search was successful.
Elizabeth Merril had been a lawful, wedded wife for nearly three years, and deep in thought as to what course it was best to pursue, Dr. Seward took leave of the venerable churchman and proceeded slowly on his way to the home of the aged couple in G—— St.
He was as undecided how to act when he at last stood before the quiet house as he had been when he left the Chapel, but as he ascended the steps an exclamation of dismay escaped his lips.
From the old fashioned brass knocker on the door there fell an ominous fold of black crepe, and before he could fairly recover from the shock of its appearance, the door was opened from the inside and a prominent lawyer of his acquaintance extended his hand and drew him into the narrow hall.
"Just in time, Dr. Seward," said the lawyer in a subdued voice. "I was about to send for you; Mrs. Merril has passed away and her husband isfast following her. I have just drawn up his will and appointed you joint administrator with myself in the settlement of his small estate. He begged me to suggest some one and you were the first to enter my mind. Don't refuse, old fellow, for the man is dying and there is no time to look further if the matter is to be arranged before his death."
Confused, regarding his duty in the matter, Dr. Seward entered the chamber of death, but his practiced eye saw plainly that the information regarding Elizabeth came too late to be understood by the suffering man.
The will was rapidly signed and sealed, and as if only waiting to complete this final act, the grey haired man turned feebly on his pillow and closing his eyes, passed painlessly from life to death, as had his devoted companion a few short hours before.
The funeral service was ended, and with uncovered heads, both Dr. Seward and the friendly lawyer stood beside the new made graves in the little cemetery.
Their duty to the dead was over, and now, asarm in arm they retraced their steps to the silent house, Dr. Seward again related the particulars of Elizabeth Merril's disappearance and his subsequent discoveries, while the astute lawyer, bristling with legal eagerness, listened and drew silent conclusions from the physician's limited stock of information.
The purport of the simple will was as follows:—
The sum of five thousand pounds, together with the house in G—— St., with its furnishings, were to be kept in trust for their missing granddaughter, Elizabeth Merril, in case the reports of her death should prove unfounded, but if at the end of ten years no trace of her could be discovered, both house and money were subject to the wills and dispositions of the worthy lawyer and physician who were made joint administrators by this last will and testament of the deceased.
Almost certain that Elizabeth Merril or Maynard still lived, the lawyer promptly undertook the difficult matter of finding and restoring her, as rightful heir, to the modest possessions of her lamented grandparents.
Meanwhile, Dr. Seward, acting upon a muchdesired plan, made prompt arrangements for an extended vacation, and great was the surprise in his mechanical household when he announced his intention of visiting America.
He felt that Sir Frederic and Mrs. Sinclair should be consulted at once regarding the secret marriage, so placing the valuable paper in his steamer trunk, he boarded the fleetest greyhound and was soon far away upon his long anticipated journey across the Atlantic.
'Tis woman's best and sweetest claimTo bear the honored name of Wife—But oh, how often is that nameHer bitterest trial throughout life.
'Tis woman's best and sweetest claimTo bear the honored name of Wife—But oh, how often is that nameHer bitterest trial throughout life.
'Tis woman's best and sweetest claimTo bear the honored name of Wife—But oh, how often is that nameHer bitterest trial throughout life.
'Tis woman's best and sweetest claim
To bear the honored name of Wife—
But oh, how often is that name
Her bitterest trial throughout life.
It was evening, and the cosy parlor was bathed in rosy light, the curtains were drawn, and true to their old time customs Mrs. Sinclair and Stella were seated in easy chairs before a glowing fire.
Stella did not sit at Mrs. Sinclair's feet as she did a few months ago; oh, no, now she sat in the matronly dignity of her months of wifehood in the rocker by Mrs. Sinclair's side, while her husband, quite forgetful of his newly acquired position, was well content to lie at her feet on the heavy rug and look admiringly up at her lovely face, whilelittle Elsa romped and tumbled about the room and turned things generally topsy-turvy in the exuberance of her spirits.
Mrs. Morris, little Elsa's sweet faced mother, seldom sat with the family during these peaceful evenings, although both Stella and Mrs. Sinclair had frequently urged her to do so.
She had insisted on performing the lighter duties of the house, and Mrs. Sinclair, appreciating her sensitiveness on the subject, persuaded Stella to allow her this as the surest means of keeping her beneath their care and influence.
Not a question had been asked her regarding the past, as in Mrs. Sinclair's just opinions, the sin of inquisitiveness overbalances in nearly every instance the blessing of charity.
With tears in her eyes she had requested them to call her Mrs. Morris, admitting that it was not her name, but before she could say more, Stella had placed her arm about her and whispered encouragingly, "You need tell us nothing; trust in us as we shall in you, and try and feel happy in our home and I know there will be better days to come. I, too, have suffered, but you see howradiantly happy I am now," and laughing from the very overflowing of her joyous heart, Stella kissed her tenderly and bade her speak no more on the subject.
Dr. Seward's arrival surprised them greatly, and now, as they sat around the blazing fire they listened eagerly for the news which he hastened to relate. He told them of his visit to G—— St. and his examination of the powder, describing his feelings as nearly as possible while under the control of that peculiar drug; and now that Stella had so thoroughly overcome her horror of the subject, she also described her experience and corroborated the physician's vivid description in every particular. Not until he told them of Lawrence Maynard's secret marriage, did they relate in turn, the details of Maurice Sinclair's death as revealed to them by the story of the old Commander.
The physician was completely overwhelmed for a moment at this seeming verification of his own suspicions. He had felt instinctively from the first that the man who so completely upset the Lady Van Tyne's composure on the evening of his first appearance, was not the son of Mrs. ArchibaldSinclair, yet now, in the presence of the unsuspecting woman, the bewildered Doctor was speechless and disturbed.
At last he felt it necessary to continue the recital, and rallying his wits he congratulated them sincerely on their fortunate information and the proof that had so stubbornly denied all possibility of error.
With sorrow for the misguided girl, they glanced curiously over the certificate and Stella, rising a moment later to adjust the shade, laid the paper carefully upon the nearest table.
While they were still talking, the portieres dividing the double parlors were pulled gently aside and Mrs. Morris entered in search of the little one, as it was long after her usual hour for retiring.
Stella immediately introduced them, but for a moment Dr. Stewart nearly forgot his manners in the piercing scrutiny of his glance. Somewhere he had seen that face before, or one resembling it closely, but ransack his memory as he would, he could not recall the circumstances.
Turning quickly from the physician's searching gaze, Mrs. Morris said softly, "come Elsa, cometo mamma; it is high time little girls were safely in bed!"
But Elsa was hiding beside Mrs. Sinclair's chair, and that good lady, with a face as demure as possible, was aiding the little culprit in her mischief by holding a fold of her gown about the tiny figure.
Mrs. Morris saw the playful ruse and stepped across the room to pull the little one from her hiding place, but in doing so she had to pass the table and quite accidentally her glance fell upon the paper which Stella had just laid down.
For a moment she stood and stared as if she could hardly believe her senses, then with a sudden bound, she seized the paper, crying, "Oh, my certificate, my certificate! Where did you find it?"
It was several seconds before any one spoke.
The little one crept from her hiding place and looked with wondering eyes upon her mother, while the woman, realizing that now all secrecy was over, turned pale and looked from one to the other with an expression of piteous pleading in her eyes.
It was Mrs. Sinclair who was first to recover from the painful surprise. Rising hastily, she placed her arm about the trembling woman, sayingin tones of sympathy and tenderness,—"My dear child, is it possible that you are Lawrence Maynard's wife?"
"No, no," almost screamed the woman, as she shrank from Mrs. Sinclair's gentle touch. "I was not his wife, but do pray believe me, I honestly thought I was!" and she fell upon the floor, cowering at Mrs. Sinclair's feet in the humiliation of her shame.
Not till her words of self immolation reached their ears, did any one present dream of the possibility of her ignorance regarding the validity of her marriage, but now Dr. Seward sprang to his feet and lifted her tenderly from the carpet to a sofa, while he explained as clearly as possible, the result of his investigations.
"My poor girl," he said gently, "why are you so distressed? Is it possible that you have been deceived in this matter? You are indeed the lawful wife of Lawrence Maynard. I have proven the validity of that marriage by the clergyman himself. There is no reason why you should not look us all in the face, and with your help we shall soon be able to probe this matter to the bottom."
For a few moments Elizabeth could hardly believe the welcome words. She looked eagerly from one to the other for confirmation of the blessed fact, then, as her eyes rested finally upon her baby's face, she fell upon her knees at Mrs. Sinclair's feet and sobbed for very happiness.
As quietly as possible, Stella rose, and taking little Elsa in her arms, carried her gently from the room and out of the sound of her mother's hysterical weeping.
A hard thing it is to recall to anotherThe seeds of wrong doing our brother has sownBut harder it is, our proud spirits to smotherAnd confess to a harvest so largely our own.
A hard thing it is to recall to anotherThe seeds of wrong doing our brother has sownBut harder it is, our proud spirits to smotherAnd confess to a harvest so largely our own.
A hard thing it is to recall to anotherThe seeds of wrong doing our brother has sownBut harder it is, our proud spirits to smotherAnd confess to a harvest so largely our own.
A hard thing it is to recall to another
The seeds of wrong doing our brother has sown
But harder it is, our proud spirits to smother
And confess to a harvest so largely our own.
It was long past midnight before the ladies thought of retiring, so great was the excitement consequent upon the evening's revelations. But at last the Doctor and Sir Frederic were left alone. The fire was growing dim, but neither of the gentlemen thought to have it replenished. The physician's mind was so intent upon the identity of Lawrence Maynard that it seemed at last to react with unconscious cerebration upon the thoughts of Sir Frederic, for he paced the room thoughtfully a few moments, then pausing directlybefore his companion, said anxiously, "Dr. Seward, have you any theory whatever regarding this man,—this imposter?"
Like one confronted by the utterance of his own private thoughts Dr. Seward started and was for a moment embarrassed, but controlling himself, he said briefly, "Yes, Sir Frederic, I have a theory, but it is so vague and so intensely disagreeable that I dread to give it utterance."
Then, as Sir Frederic turned away without further questioning, he too, rose excitedly and began pacing the floor.
"Sir Frederic Iwilltell you my suspicion," he said suddenly, after a short silence. "It may be but a foolish fancy, yet I cannot shake it off." Then he told him fully, but with deep remorse, of the episode in his early life in which the Lady Van Tyne figured so conspicuously, but with the determination to shield his patient to the last, he told the entire story without mentioning a name, still to make his theory well founded, he was obliged to state that the two boys were as alike as brothers, and Sir Frederic, with a sinking heart, gave a shrewd guess as to the children's parentage.
He was only a few years younger than the Lady Van Tyne and he now recalled many instances of her imprudent demeanor when a girl, but the reflection cast upon Archibald Sinclair's morality by the Doctor's story, was a source of deep regret when he thought of the patient, still worshiping, wife.
In another moment his mode of action was decided, and placing his hand upon Dr. Seward's shoulder, he said sadly, "Doctor, I will respect your story as I have no doubt as to the truth of the facts you have stated, but unless this matter can be handled without one word of her husband's treachery coming to Mrs. Sinclair's ears, I shall quietly withdraw from the search and allow that masquerading rascal to go 'scot free,' so far as I am personally concerned."
"And I will gladly close my lips," answered Dr. Seward, "if you so advise, but find him, we must, for it is more than possible that my suspicions are unfounded and I can never rest until the matter is settled."
Sir Frederic had no time to reply, for after a hurried rap upon the door, the portly butler, redwith excitement, entered, and beckoning Sir Frederic aside, said apologetically:
"There's a Chinaman down at the basement door that says 'e must see you hat once, Sir! I hordered 'im away, but 'twas no use. 'E says 'e's bound and determined to see you!"
Sir Frederic had not seen Sam Lee since the day of his arrival in the city, but he recalled him instantly, and feeling sure thathiswas an errand of importance, he dismissed the indignant butler and listened with great eagerness for what the Mongolian had to say.
Sam Lee had improved his time while in New York and could now communicate quite fluently in his funny, broken English, but now, in the intensity of his emotions, his newly acquired learning forsook him and for at least five minutes he poured forth a succession of abbreviated words and sentences that were positively maddening to a man so seriously interested as was Sir Frederic.
But at last he seemed to comprehend the situation, and ceasing his voluble chatter, repeated, over and over again the words, "Me find him!Me find him! Melican man come klick,—Chinaman show way!"
Sir Frederic, sure that the words were true, motioned for Sam Lee to wait and then ran back to the parlor where he hurriedly explained the news to the physician and requested him to act his pleasure about accompanying him on so disagreeable an errand.
Dr. Seward was eager to go, and in a few seconds both men were ready for the street.
Thinking Stella might be alarmed at his protracted absence, Sir Frederic mounted the stairs and turned the latch of her sleeping room as softly as possible.
The light was burning dimly, and as he surmised, his wife was far in the land of dreams. Her fair hair fell upon the pillow, while the coverlid, slipping from her shoulders, exposed her tender loveliness, and almost with tears in his eyes, Sir Frederic bent and touched his lips to a wandering curl while he covered the dimpled shoulders, and then with another look at the beautiful, childish face, turned and passed noiselessly from the room. The thought that his fair and innocent darlinghad once been held within the power of this unprincipled villain, sent his blood tingling through his veins, and with a sudden thirst for vengeance in his soul, he quickly rejoined the others, and following closely upon the heels of the excited Chinaman, was, an hour later, in the actual presence of the man who for nearly three years had succeeded in evading justice and escaping the penalty of his guilty deeds.
The game of chance is played by all—The rich, the poor, the great, the small;Fate's hand the wheel of fortune drives,And marks the epoch of our lives.
The game of chance is played by all—The rich, the poor, the great, the small;Fate's hand the wheel of fortune drives,And marks the epoch of our lives.
The game of chance is played by all—The rich, the poor, the great, the small;Fate's hand the wheel of fortune drives,And marks the epoch of our lives.
The game of chance is played by all—
The rich, the poor, the great, the small;
Fate's hand the wheel of fortune drives,
And marks the epoch of our lives.
The street was one of the shortest in the city, extending only the one block from Broadway to the Bowery, and the house itself was plain, dark and unattractive, but Sam Lee led the way with an ease that betokened much familiarity with the neighborhood.
Sir Frederic had thought it best to enlist the services of a detective and now the four men entered the narrow hall and ascended a flight of stairs as noiselessly as possible.
Sam Lee was still ahead, and arriving at thedoor above, he gave three short, sharp raps, following these with a peculiar double knock that could hardly be mistaken if once heard. Evidently the signal was so well given that the wary watchman within did not doubt the friendship of the executor and neglected to open the wicket as was his usual custom before admitting any one. Instead, he opened the door a tiny bit while he put his eye cautiously to the crack, but before he could get a satisfactory glimpse of the new comers, Sam Lee's heavy, cork soled shoe was forced into the narrow opening and four stalwart, determined shoulders were braced against the door with a force that sent the careless watchman spinning backward across the dimly lighted passage.
There were seven or eight men in the inner room when they entered, but in less time than it takes to tell they had all disappeared but one, and he, too, would have vanished had not Sam Lee darted into his very arms and screamed like a parrot in his unintelligible gibberish. As quick as flash, Sir Frederic and the detective grasped the rambler's arms, but after the first wild rush, he made no attempt to escape but stood silentlybefore them as if surprised, but in no way alarmed, at their somewhat extraordinary proceedings.
"This can not be the man," said Sir Frederic, doubtfully.
"Yes! Yes! Me know him!" yelled Sam Lee, over and over, while he held to the victim's coat tails with a grasp of vengeance.
"We will soon see," said the detective, grimly, as without ceremony he pulled both hat and hair from his prisoner's head.
With a movement as quick as lightning the man's hand flew back to his pistol pocket and in another moment the detective would, in all probability, have fallen, shot through the heart, had not Sam Lee, who was still holding fast to the coat observed the rapid movement and seized the would be murderer's arm with his wiry fingers. An awful struggle followed. As if knowing well it was his last chance for life and liberty, the man fought fiercely, with the strength of a lion, but he was finally held and the all conquering irons snapped upon his wrists. Then the false beard was removed and once more Sir Frederic looked upon the face of Maurice Sinclair as he had seenhim upon the evening of that memorable reception. Older and more haggard he looked beneath the light of the rusty chandelier, and rascal though he was, Sir Frederic felt a thrill of pity for the reckless nature that should bring its owner to such bitter degradation. Sir Frederic was the last to leave the room and, as he reached the door, he looked again to note more accurately the nature of the place.
Faro, seemed to be the inducement, and that the game was well patronized was evident by the quantity of bills and silver strewn recklessly about the floor during the precipitate retreat of the players.
Not a soul was visible when they descended the narrow stairs, and save for the perpetual chatter of Sam Lee, no word was spoken during the short walk that brought the prisoner within the protecting walls of Police Headquarters. Whether or no the Mongolian's chatter was understood by the silent prisoner could not be determined, for once only, did he betray the slightest interest in his talk. Sam Lee had evidently referred to some incident of the past, as the word "Calcutta" wasplainly recognized, and although the look accompanying his words was dark and threatening, the effect upon the handcuffed man was only to make him throw his head back and laugh long and heartily, as if well pleased at the untimely recollection.
Not until he heard that laugh did Sir Frederic really believe in his prisoner's identity. He had heard that musical, ringing laugh once before in Mrs. Sinclair's parlor and now he was certain there was no mistake. After seeing their charge safely guarded, Sir Frederic and Dr. Seward left their cards and promised to supply all further information the following day.
Sam Lee's dark face was still contorted with painful memories, and as the three men rode slowly homeward, Sir Frederic tried to ascertain the wrong which he felt positive the Chinaman had suffered at the hands of the man they had just left. He learned enough from the broken English to prove his vague surmise correct, for the words, "Calcutta Sister," and "Revenge" were only too suggestive of the nature of Sam Lee's grievance. "Sam Lee wait and wait," he said, "some timeget revenge," and then with the same warning shadow upon his face, he bade them set him down at a quiet corner, and the two friends, sympathizing deeply with his unmistakable sorrow, shook his taper fingers and drove rapidly homeward.
Is it cruel remorse that now palsies his members.And burns in his eye balls like fierce, glowing embers—Or is it the shadow of shame that falls o'er him?Ah, No! 'tis the spectre of vengeance, before him.
Is it cruel remorse that now palsies his members.And burns in his eye balls like fierce, glowing embers—Or is it the shadow of shame that falls o'er him?Ah, No! 'tis the spectre of vengeance, before him.
Is it cruel remorse that now palsies his members.And burns in his eye balls like fierce, glowing embers—Or is it the shadow of shame that falls o'er him?Ah, No! 'tis the spectre of vengeance, before him.
Is it cruel remorse that now palsies his members.
And burns in his eye balls like fierce, glowing embers—
Or is it the shadow of shame that falls o'er him?
Ah, No! 'tis the spectre of vengeance, before him.
It was a trying ordeal for all concerned, but full and undeniable identification was absolutely necessary before further proceedings could be made in this important case.
After their first surprise, the ladies, true to their sex, realized the necessity for self control and made ready for their disagreeable errand with all possible speed. They entered a private room at Police Headquarters and, one by one, were ushered into the presence of the prisoner and put through the category of questions necessary to hisidentification, after which, they were allowed to sit and await the routine of examination until the last informer's signature was affixed to the information given.
Sir Frederic was the first, and as his stern glance rested upon the strangely attenuated form of the wretched young man, he felt that degree of sympathy which borders on contempt for one so weak—so dwarfed in soul and withal so miserable in his weakness,—and briefly stating what he knew of the prisoner and his crimes, he stepped aside and waited anxiously for the entrance of Mrs. Sinclair and Stella. When the former entered the room the man who had called himself her son, rose suddenly from his seat, drawing his still boyish form to its full height, while his fearless eyes looked boldly into hers as if trying hard to force into her mind the thoughts that were evidently at that moment surging through his own.
Slowly a look of bewilderment, perplexity and seeming recognition crept into her face as she gazed, and seeing Sir Frederic standing near, she turned appealingly to him as if requesting aid in the solving of this difficult mystery.
But Sir Frederic's expression only bewildered her more, for it was one of painful consternation.
It was only when the first question was asked regarding her knowledge of the man before her, that she regained composure, and not until some time later did she mention the extraordinary resemblance which she again detected between the prisoner and the husband she still so loved and mourned.
During the entire period of Stella's presence in the room, the accused man leaned jauntily back in his chair and bravely assumed an air of indifferent composure, while his eyes roved admiringly over her innocent face, and much of the old time passion flushed his cheek as he noted with greedy eye the grace and beauty of her finely developed figure.
While his senses vibrated with the magnetic thrill of her presence, the lustre returned to his wide, gray eyes and a smile of pleasure curved his flexible lips, and not even the words of condemnation in her quiet statement were sufficient to counteract the enjoyment which the simple witnessing of her beauty brought him. He hadthought her dead on that memorable night when he stood by the ashes of Julia Webber's ruined home, but her marriage to Sir Frederic brought her name so prominently before the public that the error of his supposition was promptly corrected and the few twinges of remorse which he had felt at that time were contemptuously laughed to scorn. Now he was living over again the few brief hours in which she had rested beneath his absolute control, and in the memory of that circumstance, the present was forgotten.
His eyes followed her as she hastened to her husband's side after affixing her signature to the imposing paper, but a moment later a gentle rustle at the door aroused him, and turning suddenly, he found himself face to face with the woman he had stabbed and left for dead, in the gloomy passage of Whitechapel so many months ago. Thoroughly surprised and with genuine alarm now stamped on every feature, he looked wildly about as if to fly, while his cheeks and lips grew white at this unlooked for apparition.
He had supposed Elizabeth dead, and thus far no knowledge of his being suspected of themurder had ever reached him, for he reasoned that the crimes committed in that wretched quarter of London were so numerous and so almost untraceable, that he, like many other red handed assassins, had escaped through a fortunate choice in the location of the deed. So great was the sudden revulsion of thought and theory, that his reason wavered for an instant as he gazed upon the delicate, black robed figure.
The words of Julia Webber's warning were ringing in his ears, and before he could fairly comprehend the terrible situation, the white faced woman extended her arms and with a piercing cry of "Lawrie! Lawrie! my darling, my husband!" threw herself upon his breast, and then for want of a supporting arm, sank helplessly upon the floor at her destroyer's feet.
What possession more awful that mortal can nameThan the stigma of passion—the birthright of shame—The cloud of abasement grows deep and more denseTill the soul is deformed in its darkness, intense.
What possession more awful that mortal can nameThan the stigma of passion—the birthright of shame—The cloud of abasement grows deep and more denseTill the soul is deformed in its darkness, intense.
What possession more awful that mortal can nameThan the stigma of passion—the birthright of shame—The cloud of abasement grows deep and more denseTill the soul is deformed in its darkness, intense.
What possession more awful that mortal can name
Than the stigma of passion—the birthright of shame—
The cloud of abasement grows deep and more dense
Till the soul is deformed in its darkness, intense.
It was only for a moment that Elizabeth crouched thus on the floor, for before Sir Frederic could reach her side she had staggered to her feet and confronting the trembling man with eyes grown suddenly haggard like his own, she exclaimed brokenly:—
"Oh, Lawrie! Lawrie! You won my love when my heart was innocent of sin; you deceived me and denied our marriage; you left your child to be born in dishonor and your lawful wife without protection,—but I will gladly forgive it all if you will only right the wrong that you have doneour little one by giving her, even at this late hour, her rightful name!"
Throughout her tearful, passionate appeal, the man she called her husband shrank back with lowered lids and hands upraised before his face as if to avert the torrent of reproaches that fell from her long silent lips; but now as she forgot her wrongs and only begged the rightful heritage of her child, the blood rushed violently to his face and rising, he bent unsteadily toward her as with blazing eyes and husky tones he exclaimed excitedly:—
"Name? My God! How can I give that which I never had?"
Then turning almost savagely to the wondering witnesses, he said bitterly, "Coward and cur I may be, but that is my only legacy,—my only inheritance from the parents who brought me into a world of sin and left me, nameless and alone,—an outcast upon society and a leper among those who boast their proud morality."
Then as his gaze rested once more upon his grief stricken wife, he lowered his tones to almost gentleness as he added: "I saved your honor bya legal marriage, but shame for the one honorable act of my life made me deny it:—
"I tried to kill you," he continued recklessly, but Elizabeth, realizing the awful consequences of the dreadful admission, sprang forward, crying sharply, "No! No! Lawrie,—not that! Do not say that!" but he thrust her wildly aside and went on as if no interruption had occurred:
"That was the second honorable impulse of my life. I knew the misery and shame of your surroundings was worse than death and as I had no name to offer you I tried to end your wretchedness"—
Before he could say more the hand of the law was upon him, and a stern but kindly intentioned voice, said briefly, "Hush, man,—you are closing the door of a prison cell upon yourself by your talking; come, answer me and be brief,—are you or are you not Maurice Sinclair?"
"I am not," was the husky answer.
"Are you or are you not, Lawrence Maynard?"
At this question Elizabeth leaned heavily forward on Mrs. Sinclair's arm, straining every nerve in her eagerness to catch his answer.
"I am not," was again the faint reply.
Then the officer turned to the excited group before him and with an attempt to shorten the trying scene, said curtly, "Do any of you know this man, and if so, by what name do you know him?"
There was a moment's silence, then a stranger stepped forward from behind the others and almost simultaneously the two men looked into each other's eyes and exclaimed:
"Dr. Seward!"
"Jack Fenton!"
Then the younger of the two, forgetful of his weaker frame, sprang angrily forward and grasping the physician's shoulder, hissed fiercely between his teeth, "You called me Jack Fenton, but you know that name is false. You, and you only, can tell my father's name; speak, man, and clear the mystery of my birth, or by the God above—"
But the effort was too much for his feeble strength and he sank helplessly to the floor. Worn out by months and years of intense excitement and threatened danger; dependent upon the uncertain issues of chance and speculation for his maintenanceand haunted by a morbid thirst for the avenging of that shame and secrecy that dwelt upon his birth, it was little wonder that the shock of present circumstances benumbed his senses.
When at last the room was cleared, Dr. Seward bent above the prostrate man and deep in his own heart the pain of a life's remorse sprang up and nearly overcame him.
How much the young man knew of his part in the awful tragedy, he did not know, but deep in his own heart he felt that the responsibility of this wretched mortal's sins and miseries rested in great measure upon his shrinking shoulders, and satisfied now, beyond a doubt, that this was the child whose parentage he had so long concealed, he turned over and over in his mind the possibilities of yet undoing the wrong which he assisted, so materially, to do, thereby removing from his own accusing conscience the secret that so long had been its burden. But for Mrs. Sinclair's sake the words must yet remain unspoken. The prisoner would be speedily returned to London, and upon Lady Van Tyne he depended for aid in securing for her son, not only all that could possibly be done to make his trial speedy andhis condemnation light, but the deathless silence which should save one noble woman from the knowledge of a loved one's treachery. Would Lady Van Tyne do this? Dr. Seward hardly knew, but he trusted that a mother's love would brave the scorn of public censure, and that human sympathy for a suffering sister would raise a shield of silence for the trusting wife's defence.
The Lady Van Tyne was vain and worldly, still it was his only hope, and win or fail, it was for him to put it to the test.
To Sir Frederic, only, he told his plans, then acting upon their mutual decision, he returned at once to England, leaving the unhappy young man safe in the custody of American law and justice.