Azalia Brooke was touched by the devotion of the pretty maid to whom she was thus a second time indebted for the preservation of her life. She believed that the girl was really fond of her and true to her, and in spite of her lowly position she regarded her as a valued friend.
She had rewarded her handsomely for rescuing her from the terrible cellar to which Jewel had cruelly consigned her, and the grateful girl had been eager to quit the service of the mistress she feared for that of the beautiful, gentle English girl.
Little by little she had become acquainted with much of the history of the two girls, and now it crossed the mind of Azalia to confide all to her, under a pledge of secrecy.
"Marie is so bright and clever that perhaps she may suggest something that will throw light on my dark fate," she thought.
So the piteous story of her girlhood was told with bitter sobs and raining tears to the good Marie, who listened with pity and sympathy for the lovely young victim, and deep indignation against the foes who had wronged her so heartlessly.
"And you were his wife—Mr. Meredith's wife? Howdare he then think of making Miss Fielding his bride?" she demanded, in her excitablemélangeof French and English so impossible to reproduce on paper, pieced out as it was with expressive gestures.
"I believed myself his wife," Azalia said, with burning cheeks; "but Jewel declares that he deceived me, that the marriage ceremony was a sham. Perhaps it was, else how dare he betroth himself to Jewel beneath my very eyes?"
Marie's twinkling dark eyes looked up with a strange gleam.
"He may not recognize you under this new name—he may believe you dead," she said.
"But Jewel has told me that he did recognize me, Marie."
"Pouf! Miss Fielding's statements are not to be taken for the truth," Marie answered at once, contemptuously; then she added, thoughtfully: "But the marriage paper he gave you—I should like to know who stole that."
Azalia could not help owning that she had always suspected Jewel, and almost ere the words left her lips Marie sprung to her feet, excitedly.
"Oh, why didn't I think of it before?" she exclaimed.
"Of course she has them, for she has some papers that I have seen her gloating over several times, with such a happy face, that I thought they were love letters! But now I do not doubt that they were the papers you speak of—your marriage-certificate, and perhaps the diary of your dead father that she stole from the cabin of the mulatto Sam."
Azalia's beautiful, despairing face flushed suddenly with hope.
"Oh, Marie, if we could only get possession of those papers!" she exclaimed, eagerly.
"And why not?" answered Marie, radiant.
Azalia flung her beautiful white arms about the maid's neck.
"Oh, Marie, you are a darling! You will try to get them, I know it by your face."
"Of course I shall," said the maid.
She laughed outright at the thought of outwitting wicked Jewel. The maid really enjoyed putting her clever powers to use, and she at once began to devise schemes for obtaining the papers she had seen Jewel exult over on several occasions.
"But I shall have to leave your service for awhile," she said.
"I will manage without you, for I am sure that Lady Ivon will let her maid help me sometimes," said Azalia.
"Then I shall go back to Miss Fielding and pretend that I am heartily disgusted with the English aristocracy, and ask to be taken into her service again."
Azalia looked very grave.
"One hates to be underhand and deceitful," she said; but Marie laughed her objections away.
"One must fight the devil with fire," she said, coolly; and went on disclosing her plans. "If I get taken into her service again it will not be long before I shall go through her baggage," she said. "If I find that she has not got the papers with her, I shall disappear and go immediately to Boston. Mrs. Wellings is not with her this time, so I know she has left her to keep the house and the servants in order. It will be no trouble for me to get into the house to visit my friend the chamber-maid, and no trouble for me to get something I forgot when I left there. You understand?"
"Yes. Oh, Marie, I will make you rich for this! I am heiress to a great fortune, and you will see that I shall reward you generously," Azalia exclaimed, gratefully.
Marie's face beamed with delight.
"Then I will send for the oldpèreandmèrefrom Paris. I will set them up in a little shop on the boulevard—whatyou call it, the avenue?Bon!" she cried, jubilantly.
Early the next morning Marie made her appearance at the grand hotel where the Merediths were staying, and by an artful story contrived to ingratiate herself again into the favor of Jewel.
"I will tell you a secret, but pray do not breathe it to any one. I am but a poor maid, and no one might believe me," she said, "but, Miss Fielding, I am afraid that Miss Brooke has designs on my life. Last night I found a little box of dynamite upon the door, and when I flung it out of the window there was a loud explosion. I do not know what I have done to her to incur her anger, but it certainly looked as if she had attempted my life."
Jewel agreed with her, and took her into her employ again, while her heart sunk with disappointment at Azalia Brooke's escape from her clever snare.
"She seems to bear a charmed life. Three times she has escaped my vengeance!" she thought, uneasily.
But she consoled herself with the thought that yesterday's work had at least accomplished one good turn, as it had brought the clever Marie back into her service. She would have to contrive still another plan to get rid of her dangerous rival.
Azalia spent a very restless day and night after Marie had left her to go upon her secret quest. Her mind was busy, and her lover, Lord Clive, was nearly all the time in her thoughts.
She knew that she had done him a cruel injustice in promising to become his wife. She would never have done so had not Laurie Meredith been so close by that she was tempted to answer "yes" in order to provoke his wrath and jealousy.
She had failed most ignobly. Laurie had remained cold, unmoved, indifferent, and there remained to her nothing but the consciousness of having made a fatal mistake, of having wronged the heart of another man by accepting him only for a purpose that now recoiled upon her own head.
She could never marry Lord Clive, even if she loved him, for look which way she would she saw only the impossibility of such a marriage.
If Marie found the marriage-certificate, and it proved her legally Laurie Meredith's wife, she, the unacknowledged wife of an indifferent husband, could not wed Lord Clive. On the other hand, if the marriage had been only a sham, how could she, with that cruel stain upon her, dare to enter one of the proudest homes of old England? Even if she could have been dishonest enough to keep the secret, it might be found out some day—and then?
Azalia sunk her head in her hands and sobbed aloud:
"No, no, I could not bear that! I must break with him even though he curse me!"
She kept her room for several days, feigning illness, but in reality too wretched to meet the lover whose anger she feared and dreaded so much. Her timid heart ached with pain because of the pain she must inflict on Lord Clive.
But she could not feign illness always. Lady Ivon grew impatient of her seclusion, declaring that she was only moping, that she would be better if she would come into their private parlor and see Lord Clive, who was always hanging about, sending messages and flowers to his invisible lady-love.
"I will come down presently. Tell him so for me, please," the girl said, patiently; and when the door had closed upon Lady Ivon's silken trailing skirts, she fell down upon her knees and begged God to forgive her for the wrong she had done to Lord Clive, and to help her to bear his anger when she told him the truth.
He was waiting in the handsome private parlor belonging to Lord Ivon's elegant suite of rooms at Willard's Hotel, and when she came gliding in, softly as a spirit in her long gown of rich black velvet, he came eagerly to meet her, exclaiming:
"My darling, I am glad you are well enough to come out again, for I have missed you very much."
"Thank you, Lord Clive," she said, in a constrained voice; and evading the arms outstretched to embrace her, she sunk wearily into a chair.
He followed, and sat down by her side.
"Oh, you have been ill—you are pale and wan indeed, Azalia. I see now that I did you an injustice, for I half believed, like Lady Ivon, that it was a fit ofennuior thedismals."
The blue eyes turned eagerly to his face, and he could see that she was trembling very much.
"Poor child!" he said, compassionately, attempting to press her hand; but she drew it quickly away, and exclaimed:
"You were right, Lord Clive. It was not that I was sick, only dismal and wretched. Yes, I will tell you the truth now. I was not ill, only frightened—ofyou!"
The low voice faltered, and she stole a pleading glance at him that mystified him even more than her words.
"Frightened of me! I do not understand you, Azalia," he said, inquiringly.
"I had—something—to tell you," faltered the frightened voice. "Oh, Lord Clive, do not look at me so kindly for presently you will hate me! I—I—want to take back my promise! I can not learn to love you, so I can never marry you!"
When he recovered from the severe shock she had given him he attempted to expostulate with her, to reason with her, but all to no purpose, for she would only reiterateher declaration that she could never marry him, and beg him to forgive her for what she had done.
His handsome blonde face grew pale with emotion.
"Your reasons for this strange step, Azalia?" he said at last, haughtily, indignation beginning to work in his breast.
"I do not love you," she faltered, faintly.
"You told me that before, yet you did me the honor to accept my offer; so there must be some newer reason," said Lord Clive.
She began to sob bitterly, and he said, impatiently:
"I am waiting for your answer, Miss Brooke."
Driven to bay, she answered, sobbingly:
"I can give you no reason; for, although one exists, I am too great a coward to confess it. I can only throw myself on your pity and your mercy, Lord Clive."
"But you are not showing me any mercy or pity," he replied, in a deeply offended tone.
"Am I not, Lord Clive? Then I will show no mercy to myself. Listen, then: I am an arrant coquette. When I accepted your offer I knew quite well that I could never marry you. But it was to pique another, whom I cared for, into a confession of his love that I played with your heart. There; have I lowered myself sufficiently in your eyes?"
The handsome nobleman arose, pale with passion.
"You have made me quite willing to relinquish all claims upon you, Miss Brooke," he said, with haughty sarcasm, adding, still more bitterly: "I trust your clever ruse brought him to your feet."
"Ah, no, no!" she cried, in a broken voice; but at that moment the door opened, admitting Lord and Lady Ivon and some visitors—Mrs. Meredith, her two daughters, and Jewel Fielding.
Azalia rose quietly and greeted the visitors, trembling when the hateful glance of Jewel met her own.
"She is regretting that I was not killed by the dynamite bomb she left in my room," she thought, nervously. "Ah, with what a deadly hatred she regards me! She will never relax in her deadly purpose until I am dead and out of her way."
Mrs. Meredith came and sat down by her side, almost furtively, in her fear of offending jealous Jewel.
"You are not looking well, my dear," she said, almost tenderly, for she had taken a serious fancy to the lovely girl.
Azalia knew that Lord Clive was listening angrily for her reply, and answered, truthfully:
"I have been unhappy over something, Mrs. Meredith, and it has made me feel almost ill!"
"Unhappy! What, my dear girl, with all your blessings!" exclaimed the astonished matron; and she could not help letting her glance fall on Lord Clive, who frowned and moved restlessly in his seat.
"Ah, it is only a lover's quarrel!" she thought, astutely; and hastily led the conversation to something less personal than Miss Brooke's looks.
There was a slight break in the conversation, and to her horror Azalia heard Jewel saying:
"I know you have often wondered, Lady Ivon, why I fainted the night when I first met your beautiful niece, Miss Brooke."
Lady Ivon coughed slightly, and answered, with cool politeness:
"I merely supposed the rooms were too warm for you, Miss Fielding."
"Ah, no, it was not that!" said Jewel. Her handsome head, in its plumed bonnet of ruby plush, was thrown backward, and her eyes had a malicious light, her mouth a wicked, defiant smile, as if some secret, exultant thought moved her to speech.
"I am going to tell you the reason," continued Jewel, looking straight into Lady Ivon's face.
Lord and Lady Ivon knew from Azalia's own confession that Jewel Fielding was the cruel half-sister whose machinations had driven her from home, but they did not intend that Jewel should find out her despised half-sister in this proud, lovely young great-granddaughter.
So they united in bestowing upon her glances of freezing hauteur, which did not in the least deter her from her purpose.
"I am going to tell you why I fainted," said Jewel. "It was because Miss Brooke was the living image of a sister I had lost, and it startled me so that I lost my senses."
No one answered, no one moved, and Jewel continued, smoothly:
"It is so remarkable a likeness that it shocks me even yet whenever I see Miss Brooke, and more than ever to-night, for she looks pale and sad, and that was how poor Flower looked for many days before she ran away and was lost in the wide world, or drowned in the great sea, perhaps, for I have never been able to learn whether she's alive or dead."
Azalia made a slight movement as if to rise to her feet, then sunk back, too weak to obey the longing that urged her to fly from the disgraceful revelation trembling on the lips of her fiendish half-sister. She leaned her golden head back against the velvet chair and watched Jewel with pleading, piteous eyes.
The pitiless voice went on, cruelly:
"I am sure that Miss Brooke there would not be disobedient or deceitful to her guardians; but, alas, my sister Flower was very different in spite of her angelic expression. She had a lover of whom mamma disapproved sostrongly that she forbid Flower ever to speak to him. But, willful child that she was, Flower would not listen. She met her lover in secret until he wearied of his plaything and deserted her to the fate she had brought upon herself. When mamma found out the truth, and realized that disgrace had come to the proud name of Fielding, she went mad and had to be removed to an insane asylum. Flower ran away, and many believed that she drowned herself. I always hoped that she had, for I preferred death for my beautiful, willful young sister rather than that she should have followed her false-hearted lover into the world."
She paused, and every one in the room drew a long breath, then waited for her further speech.
She gave a little laugh that jarred painfully on every heart.
"Is it any wonder that I fainted on beholding Miss Brooke?" she continued, thrillingly. "I had hoped, even prayed, that my erring sister was dead, and yet she seemed, all in a minute, to start up before me, living and smiling as in the happy days ere she went astray. Of course, I knew that it was nothing but a resemblance, yet it startled, unnerved me—"
The dark eyes were looking with strange intentness into the white face over yonder. They saw Azalia's white lips part, then close without a sound.
Then—
"Miss Fielding, you have told your story with such realism that the horror of it seems to weigh me down," said Lady Ivon. "I am sure we all sympathize with you in your trouble over your erring sister. No wonder the sight of Azalia moves you so much. I could wish she did not bear any resemblance to your unfortunate relative."
Jewel sneered contemptuously into her face.
"You are proud. You would not fancy such a disgrace in the family," she said.
"No," said the old lady, spiritedly, "I should not likeit, Miss Fielding, and if I had to endure it, I should try to keep it hidden like a skeleton in a closet; I should not babble of my disgrace as you have had the bad taste to do!"
Jewel laughed insolently, and answered:
"Yes, I knew all your pride, and that made me all the more determined to expose my deceitful sister."
Every one rose simultaneously, and Mrs. Meredith exclaimed, in a shocked tone:
"Jewel!"
Mrs. Meredith knew nothing of Azalia Brooke's sad history. She believed that Jewel's fierce jealousy had driven her mad, hence her startled cry.
But the vindictive girl took no notice of the lady. She turned to Lord Clive, and said, with a smile of cruel exultation:
"Perhaps I might not have spoken, only for the sake of saving you from a union with one so wicked and sin-stained. I recognized my sister that night when I fainted; but I did not intend to betray her, and would not have done so now only that she might not deceive an honest man into making her his wife."
Azalia Brooke, drooping in her chair like a broken lily, realized then that she had made a fatal mistake in admitting her identity and trusting faithless Jewel with her story.
Her half-sister's cruel aim flashed over her mind like lightning.
She hoped that her hapless victim's lover and relatives would turn against her when they heard that disgraceful story, and that they would cast her forth in disgrace, so that she would be thrown friendless and helpless on the world.
This, indeed, was Jewel's cruel intention, and she said to herself that if her plan succeeded poor Flower should never live to see Laurie Meredith again.
Everyone looked at Flower, hoping that she would deny Jewel's dreadful charge.
Alas! that beautiful bowed head told its own story of bitter shame and sorrow. There was nothing for her to say. The bitter secret, kept so long, was dragged to the light of day at last.
"Azalia!" Lady Ivon exclaimed, imploringly.
But the golden head only sunk lower in its terrible despair.
Lord Clive looked from the dark, vindictive face of Jewel Fielding to that downcast, despairing one of her persecuted half-sister. All his manhood rose to the surface, the nobility inherited from a long line of stainless ancestry shone in his clear blue eyes. Looking into Jewel's face, with scorn in his eyes, he said, distinctly:
"Your solicitude for me was a wasted effort, Miss Fielding, as Miss Brooke had already taken back her promise to me. I understand her reasons now, but it only increases my respect for her, as I am sure she was deceived, else such an angel had not fallen."
At those kindly words Flower's pale face was raised, and she said, in a faltering voice:
"Lord Clive, I thank you for those kind words in my defense. You only do me justice in your belief, for I was deceived by a mock marriage—deceived by one who might have remained true to me only that she—my sister there—lured him from me."
An exultant laugh came from those beautiful red lips of Jewel.
"I warned you that I would punish you for trying to take him from me," she said, in a hissing voice, like a serpent's. "He belonged to me first, and you came between us. He turned to you for a little while, but it wasa mere fancy, as I told you, and I had my revenge when he deserted you to your fate."
Every one remained silent, too shocked to speak, and the vindictive Jewel stood in the center of the room, mistress of the situation, evilly beautiful in her glowing crimson robe, and with that fire of hate on her dusky face.
Mrs. Meredith, with an impulse of strong womanly pity, let her gloved hand fall softly on Flower's, and rest there, clasping it with tender pity. Her two handsome daughters stood gazing with infinite pity on the lovely girl thus crushed beneath the weight of a sister's vengeance.
Lord Clive looked at old Lord Ivon who had sunk back into his chair ghastly pale, and muttering incoherently to himself, dazed by the shock he had received in learning of the brand of deep disgrace that lay on his great-granddaughter. The hearers shuddered, for the sound of curses on those aged lips was something unseemly and unfitting.
Lord Clive saw that the old man, bowed so low beneath age and sorrow, was in no fit state to defend the outraged honor of the house of Ivon. His decision was at once taken, and crossing the room with a princely mien, he took Azalia Brooke's hand in his, and said, bravely:
"Azalia, I lay down the rôle of lover to take up that of a brother. The honor of one of England's proudest names has been outraged by a dastard too mean to live, and his life shall pay the forfeit."
"Lord Clive!" she exclaimed, in a startled voice.
"Yes, I take up your quarrel," he said, sternly, and with a deep glow on his handsome cheek. "I, your brother, will avenge the wrong that has been done you! I will not let an hour pass ere I seek him, the cowardly betrayer of innocence! Quick, tell me his name, his home!"
As he held her little hand he felt a quick shudder run through her frame, and she gasped in horror:
"Oh, my God! you would murder him!"
"Yes, like a dog!" the young earl exclaimed, bitterly. "What, shall the earth be cumbered longer with such a wretch? His name, my unhappy sister!"
"No, no!" she answered, with a shudder, and her blue eyes sought Jewel's, that had suddenly grown wild and terrified.
All at once the vindictive girl had realized that the vengeance she was taking on unhappy Flower was beginning to recoil upon her own head.
"Revenge is a naked sword—It hath neither hilt nor guard.Wouldst thou wield this brand of the Lord?Is thy grasp, then, firm and hard?"But the closer thy clutch of the blade.The deadlier blow thou wouldst deal,Deeper wound in thy hand is made,It isthyblood reddens the steel."And when thou hast dealt the blow—When the blade from thy hand has flown—Instead of the heart of thy foeThou mayst find it sheathed in thine own!"
"Revenge is a naked sword—It hath neither hilt nor guard.Wouldst thou wield this brand of the Lord?Is thy grasp, then, firm and hard?
"But the closer thy clutch of the blade.The deadlier blow thou wouldst deal,Deeper wound in thy hand is made,It isthyblood reddens the steel.
"And when thou hast dealt the blow—When the blade from thy hand has flown—Instead of the heart of thy foeThou mayst find it sheathed in thine own!"
Jewel met the glance of those despairing eyes, and her brain reeled with horror; she said to herself:
"She will speak presently, she will betray him that she may be revenged for what she deems his treachery and mine! Oh, God, this is the end of all my schemes! He will be murdered through my folly, and I shall have lost him after all I have done for the sake of his love!"
Suddenly Lord Clive flung the hand of Flower from him and strode up to Jewel.
"Your sister will not speak. She has a mawkish pity for that villain," he said, sternly. "But you, Miss Fielding, have no tender scruples. Pity was left out of your make-up, I think. So you will be glad for poor Flower's betrayer to pay the penalty of his sin. Speak! Tell me the dastard's name!"
"Never!" she shrieked, wildly, throwing up her arms and gazing at him with an appalled face. At the same time Flower plucked timidly at his sleeve.
"Oh, Lord Clive, let it go. Do not seek to avenge me!" she murmured, excitedly. "She will not tell you his name! Alas! he is dear to her, too! We will never speak!"
In her eagerness she forgot that by her own words she was betraying the secret she sought to guard so jealously.
Who in that room but knew that Jewel's heart was set on handsome Laurie Meredith?
A dismayed exclamation went up from every throat, and Lord Clive's voice rang loudest of all:
"Laurie Meredith!"
He sprung toward the door, opened it, and before any one could stay him passed beyond arrest, though Jewel's voice called wildly, frantically on his name.
In the room which he had left there ensued a wild, excited scene. Flower and the younger Meredith girl had fallen fainting on the floor, Jewel Fielding was raving in the wildest hysterics, Lord and Lady Ivon lay back in their chairs, incapable of anything but incoherent ravings, Mrs. Meredith and stately Io had to restrain the agony that ached at their hearts in order to care for the others. Lady Ivon's maid was hastily summoned, and then a physician was called in to administer a sedative to the raving Jewel, who in her while forebodings of her lover's death was realizing so vividly that revenge is a two-edged sword.
"Instead of the heart of thy foeThou mayst find it sheathed in thine own!"
"Instead of the heart of thy foeThou mayst find it sheathed in thine own!"
Laurie Meredith's trip South furnished him the desired clew.
Springville was such a small place that he had no difficultyin prosecuting his inquiries into the antecedents of Flower Fielding. Every one almost in the village could tell him something of ill-fated Daisy Forrest and the circumstances surrounding her sorrowful death. From that it was an easy transition to her lovely daughter, who, having come back for the purpose of visiting her mother's grave, had been so strangely discovered by the lawyer who had come over from England to seek an heir for the desolate house of Ivon.
It was from the old sexton himself that Laurie heard the touching story of all that had happened by Daisy Forrest's grave, and his heart thrilled with grief over the hapless girl, his adored wife, thus thrown upon the charity of the cold world.
"I thank Heaven that she found an asylum in her friendliness," he said, although it was painful to think that she had ceased to love him so long ago that now she could meet him and conceal her identity in the fear that he might claim her as his own.
"But I shall never do that, for I am as proud as Lord Ivon's heiress, and, though I love her to madness, I will never even see her again unless she recalls me to her side," he mused; and then he realized, with a start, that now he could not marry Jewel Fielding since he felt so sure that Azalia Brooke was no other than his lost wife, lovely, fickle, willful Flower.
"Poor Jewel! she will take it hard, losing me like this," he thought, remembering her mad love with manly pity.
He asked himself if he should tell Jewel what he had discovered, and decided that he would not do so.
"Let Azalia Brooke keep her secret. I love her too well to betray her even to the sister who mourns her as dead. She may even marry Lord Clive, and believe herself safe under the mask of Lord Ivon's heiress. If I was wrong in binding her to me ere she fully knew her ownheart, I will atone by 'silence to the death,'" he sighed, with loyal self-sacrifice.
He rewarded the old sexton most generously for his information; then, after some grave and thoughtful minutes spent by the grave of Daisy Forrest, he determined to return at once to Boston.
But while walking back to the little hotel, a startling thought came to him.
That dream of the mulatto man, Sam—what if it were no dream, but a reality?
Flower had not drowned herself that night, although Jewel had been so positive of the fact.
She had borne a child, his unhappy young girl-wife. What had become of the little one?
If it had died—his dear little child that he had never seen—he should like to stand beside its grave. If it had lived, and the young mother, in her desperation, had cast it off, he should like to have it—should like to carry it home to his mother, and, telling her some of the circumstances of his secret marriage, ask her to cherish it for the sake of its lovely young mother, who was dead.
Yes, he would tell her that the child's mother was dead. That would be best; no one should learn the secret of Lord Ivon's great-granddaughter.
"The child will be all mine, but that fair, proud beauty is not for me," he sighed, then pulled himself together with a start. "I am dreaming! Of course the child is dead. But I will go to Virginia all the same."
Few of us find our cherished dreams come true, but Laurie Meredith had that pleasure, for on Poky's cabin floor he found his own child playing—a dimpled tot of three years, with Flower's arch and lovely face lighted by his own brown eyes.
Poky did not attempt to deny the truth. She was only too happy to see Laurie Meredith and confide to him the whole story of her possession of the child.
"I lied about it before for Miss Flower's sake," she said. "She was so terribly 'fraid of Miss Jule dat she wouldn't 'low me to tell de trufe eben to Sam, and she stole away, leabing de baby for dead in my arms, and Lor', what a shock it gin me to feel, it move presently and open its big eyes at me! 'Twan't dead at all, only smothered like for a few minutes. Well, Miss Flower were gone den, so I concluded to take keer o' de little one till she come back. But, Lor', she never did come back, and I began to think she must be dead, when one day dere came a letter wid a money order for five hundred dollars from ober in Lon'on. I ain't got no friends in Lon'on, and says I to myself, 'tis from Miss Flower. She done got rich somehow, but dere warn't no 'dress in de letter, so what could I do to let her know dat little Douglas was alive arter all? Nuthin', Massa Meredith, and I wouldn't never send word to you 'cause I'se feard you wouldn't keer 'bout my sweet little Douglas. But bein' as you has found it out, I'se glad, 'cause how I've been worried nights thinkin' as how 'twan't right to raise that little w'ite chile along o' my black one!" for Poky had a two-year-old, a bright image of Sam, playing about the cabin floor.
Laurie Meredith took the bright, neatly dressed Douglas in his arms and told him that he was his own papa, and that he was going to carry him a long ways off to live with his dear grandmamma in Boston.
Here Sam lounged in, and great was his delight at seeing Laurie Meredith again, and hearing that little Douglas was his own child.
"Dat's what I always thought, although Poky would insist dat she foun' it down in de ole barn one day, and didn't know whose chile 'twas, anyway," he said, with a grin of delight.
Then, having found out long ago, through mysterious hints of his clever wife, that it was Jewel who had abstracted his precious papers, he proceeded to gratify his spite against her by informing Laurie of the part he had played that night in taking that important letter to Flower and returning the answer that had so fatally changed the current of Flower Fielding's life.
"Arter things turned out so strange I was allays afeered, Massa Laurie, as how I done wrong a-giving her de letter, but co'se I didn't know den what a snake in de grass she was, anyway."
While Laurie gazed at him with dilated eyes, he continued:
"What makes me all de more sure dat she played me false dat night is dis: De young pos'-office clerk, he usen to be despret in love with Miss Flower, and last year, w'en he died wid de fever, he 'fessed to de preacher dat he usen to gib Miss Jewel all de letters you sent her sister through de pos'-office, likewise hers to you, Massa Laurie. Miss Jewel promised to marry him, but she went away to some big city, and he nebber heerd of her no more. Lord-a-massy, Poky, look at de man—he's a-dying!"
"No, I am not dying, Sam, although this shock has driven the blood from my face," faintly uttered Laurie Meredith. He struggled with his weakness a few moments, then added, "My good woman, get my child ready, for I must go at once to right the wrong that was begun by Sam's treachery to me that night, and by Jewel Fielding's sin. Out of my sight, man, for I feel tempted to rend you limb from limb! Nothing saves you except that your wife's beautiful humanity in this whole affair condones somewhat for your sin. For her noble sake I forego my revenge, and spare you!"
Laurie Meredith no longer thought of taking his child to his mother, now that he knew that Flower had been the victim of a cruel plot; for he began to believe that if all could be cleared up between them, she would gladly come back to his loyal heart.
He knew that Lord Ivon and his party were in Washington, and he determined to go there with the child and try his fate.
Curbing his impatience by awkward yet loving efforts to amuse the bright, intelligent little Douglas, who grieved after Poky and Sam, the only friends his young life had ever known, he journeyed to Washington, and on arriving there went at once to Willard's Hotel, where he secured a room for himself and his quaintly dressed little son.
He had heard nothing of his mother's being in Washington, and it was a startling event to him when he suddenly came face to face with her as he was going along a corridor to his room—a more startling event to her, for she flung her arms impetuously about his neck, exclaiming, wildly:
"Laurie! Oh, my son—alive, alive! Thank the good God for His mercies!"
He returned her embrace with interest; then drew her into his room, and seating her in an arm-chair, said tenderly:
"Dear mother, this is a pleasant surprise; I did not know you were in Washington."
"I came here almost two weeks ago with Jewel Fielding. She made me come. She thought you were here—that you had followed Miss Brooke. Oh, Laurie, dear, how glad I am that you escaped that terrible man! Hewould have killed you if he had found you. Oh, it has all been so dreadful, and we have suffered torments about you! But, oh, dear! my son, where did that strange-looking child come from? Is it a ghost? I never saw it till this minute."
Laurie turned to her with a serious, puzzled face, and answered:
"Mother, I've been tempted to believe you were crazy, the way you've been running on, and I fear you'll think the same of me when I tell you this boy is my own child. Forgive me for keeping a secret from you so long, but I've been married going upon four years, and this is Douglas Meredith, your own little grandson."
"Married?" she echoed, without half so much surprise as he had expected, and again winding her arms about his neck she kissed his brow, and said, solemnly:
"I knew it could not be true what Jewel said, that you had wronged her sister. I knew my boy was too noble to commit such a terrible sin!"
"When you have welcomed your grandson, mother, you shall explain all this mysterious talk," he said; for he comprehended that she had learned something of his and Flower's sad story.
"It is Flower's child?" she said; and when he answered yes she took little Douglas into her arms and fondly caressed him while hurriedly telling her son all that had happened since his hurried departure for the South.
He in his turn confided to her everything, and ended by asking anxiously if she thought it likely that Flower would ever care for him again when she learned the treachery by which they had been parted.
"Miss Brooke is very ill, Laurie. It is a slow fever, the doctor says. She has been in bed ever since that dreadful scene three days ago when Lord Clive started out to kill you."
"I am very glad I escaped his blood-thirsty lordship,"he said, with a faint smile. "But, mother, are they going to let me see her soon?"
"I think they will, for that clever maid of Flower's got back from Boston yesterday with some papers she had stolen from Jewel's trunk, and among them was the long-missing marriage-certificate. Oh, my son, you can not think how glad those dear old people were to find out that Flower was really your wife—and, oh, by the way," with a start, "this little boy, with his funny dress, and solemn eyes, your son, dear, will inherit the title and estates after old Lord Ivon."
"I can not think of that yet, dear mother, my heart is full of my wife."
"Yes, dear boy, I know, and presently I will break it all to her, and let you go into her room. But I have so much to tell you, and you had better hear it first. Be patient a little while, please."
"I will listen, mother, because you insist on it; but I can not promise to be patient," he answered, gravely.
"But, Laurie, it is better I should tell you, for if I do not, Flower will insist on telling all herself, and she is too weak for that. It is only this: Among the papers that Jewel Fielding had hidden away was the diary of that poor, weak Charley Fielding—a book like himself, full of good and evil. And what do you think? Why, it was Flower's mother after all who was his legal wife."
"Mother!" radiantly.
"Yes," she said, hurrying on. "But he treated her badly, poor thing. It was a secret marriage, and when she begged to have it made public, to save her fair fame, he quarreled with her, and declared that the marriage ceremony had been a sham. Then he married the heiress for her money. But she was so jealous she made him repent of his sin. Oh, it would make you weep to read the poor, erring soul's diary, it is so full of grief and remorse, and—well he killed himself, you know."
"Yes," he said, then his splendidly handsome face grew dark with anger. "And to think," he said, bitterly, "that Jewel Fielding knew all this yet could be capable of such infamous cruelty!"
Mrs. Meredith's face grew solemn.
"Poor Jewel, you must not think too hardly of her, Laurie," she said, with womanly compassion. "Remember the jealous nature and the taint of madness that she inherited from her mother. Remember her fatal love for you that set into active motion the wickedest elements of her strange nature."
"I can remember all; but it will still be impossible for me to forgive her all that she made my darling suffer," he replied.
"But, Laurie, dear, she is raving mad, and has been so ever since Lord Clive went away declaring that he would kill you for the wrong you had done to Flower."
"It was very noble in Lord Clive. I should have deserved death if I had done as Jewel Fielding said I had," he replied.
"So Jewel is incurably insane," went on Mrs. Meredith. "She believes that Lord Clive killed you, and she hates Flower so terribly that she is always crying out for her sister's life. Is it not horrible? But she will be removed to an asylum to-morrow, and the physicians declare that she will never regain her senses. But, oh, Laurie, what do you think she did to cap the climax of her evil deeds?"
"I can not imagine what more horrible thing she could have committed," her son replied.
"Could you not? Well, that wretched mother of hers, who was sent to the lunatic asylum, you know, regained her senses more than two years ago, but Jewel, by the connivance of a wicked physician, would not permit her to return to the world again. Our sweet Flower found itout through a letter that Jewel dropped accidentally, and—"
"Hasten, mother," he interposes, imploringly.
"Yes," said Mrs. Meredith—"so we have got her out of the asylum. She is here with us, so changed, so penitent, and so fond of Flower, and grateful for getting out of her prison. She has forgiven Charley Fielding since she read his diary, and found out all that he suffered in his terrible remorse for his sin. But, Laurie, the only amusing thing of all that has happened was that Io fell in love with Lord Clive because he took Flower's part so bravely and was going to kill you. She declares he is the greatest hero in the world."
"I hope she will console him for Flower's loss; but, mother, how you gossip when you know—"
She did not wait to hear the sentence finished, but went out, and stayed fifteen minutes, that seemed like fifteen years to her son's impatient heart.
Then she came back and led him and little Douglas to a room a little lower down the corridor. She opened the door, and Laurie saw a lovely, pale face lying back upon a pillow, a smile of welcome on the tender lips. With a wildly throbbing heart he went in and closed the door.
Went in to find once more a love and happiness lost so long, but regained now for all time and all eternity.
THE END.
or How to Keep House and Order at Home