"Say an encouraging word to the weary,They to whom life seems all darksome and dreary;One kindly sentence the sad heart will lighten,One smile of love the existence will brighten."Say an encouraging word to the erring;Sin-blasted, hunted down, crushed, and despairing;Even when vice his worst form is revealing,One word in season may wake better feeling."
"Say an encouraging word to the weary,They to whom life seems all darksome and dreary;One kindly sentence the sad heart will lighten,One smile of love the existence will brighten.
"Say an encouraging word to the erring;Sin-blasted, hunted down, crushed, and despairing;Even when vice his worst form is revealing,One word in season may wake better feeling."
Francis S. Smith.
Cameron Clemens had indeed gazed with longing eyes after the carriage that bore Miss Carroll away from his sight.
The old love, stifled so long by hopeless pain and absence, had leaped to life again full-grown within his fond heart.
And although Cissy had been painfully shy, seldom speaking to him, and then only in her role of a new acquaintance, he had read in her glance that she did not despise him now. Something had come over her that looked almost like forgiveness of his fault. He began to have a little hope of winning her after all.
"I will try my fate once more, if she is as gentle when we meet again as she was to-night," he resolved, joyously.
He could not sleep that night for thinking of Cissy's looks and words, and wondering if he should see her to-morrow when he called on Geraldine.
"I shall ask for her also, and then she can have no excuse for not seeing me," he resolved, firmly.
The next afternoon, at the earliest permissible hour, he presented himself at the door of Mrs. Fitzgerald's magnificent house, and sent in his cards for the two young ladies.
He was ushered into a dainty reception-room, fitted in blue, and waited with what patience he could for their appearance.
Presently the heavy portieres were swept aside by a plump, dimpled white hand, and Miss Carroll entered the room alone.
Cameron Clemens sprang to meet her, thinking that shehad never looked more lovely in her becoming house gown of delicate blue, with lace and ribbons fluttering about it.
He offered his hand, and as she placed hers in it he saw a delicate pinkness about her eyelids that betrayed recent tears.
Pointing to a seat, she exclaimed:
"Isn't it surprising? Or—have you not heard?"
"I have heard nothing, Miss Carroll. Pray enlighten me."
"It is about Geraldine, you know."
"You do not mean that she is ill?"
"Oh, no, no—not ill. You remember how well she was last night. Well, after we came home Geraldine eloped," and the last word was almost a sob, for Cissy was terribly agitated.
A terrible fear came to him, and he faltered:
"Not with Standish?"
Cissy flashed her adorer a reproachful glance, exclaiming:
"Certainly not. Didn't Geraldine tell you last night how she hated and despised that wretch? She ran away to marry Harry Hawthorne, her betrothed, you know."
"Oh, yes, I've heard of him—fine fellow, they say. Tell me all about it."
"There isn't much to tell. Geraldine's mother was opposed to the match, because Mr. Hawthorne was poor. So this morning Geraldine was missing, and there was a note on her pillow, saying that she had gone away with her darling Harry, and they would be married right away. She hoped her mother would forgive her, as she (Geraldine) could not live without her dear boy."
"Plucky girl!" was Mr. Clemens' comment, and Cissy continued:
"Mrs. Fitzgerald is almost heart-broken, and very angry, too. She declares that she will never forgive her daughter."
"Is she so proud?" he asked, drawing his chair a little closer.
Cissy noticed the movement, and blushed prettily as she replied:
"As proud as a queen. But yet she is a magnificent woman, and I sympathize with her in her sorrow."
Before he could reply, there was an interruption, the cause of which we must explain.
Little Miss Claire, the pet and darling of the household, had run away from her governess in a willful mood andhidden herself where she could not be found. Miss Erroll, searching every room in turn for her naughty pupil, blundered suddenly upon the pair of lovers in the blue reception-room.
Cameron Clemens heard the sweep of her robe, and glanced hurriedly up.
The next moment he was upon his feet.
"You! You!" he burst out, with instant recognition, and in a tone of defiant hate.
It seemed to him in that startling moment, that Azuba Aylesford, the imperious actress, had come again, as she did years ago, to part him from his love, sweet Cissy.
She, on her own part, was so dazed by this unexpected rencontre, that for a moment she stood motionless, rooted to the ground by fear.
Cameron Clemens, gazing at her with eyes full of loathing, continued:
"How dared you follow me here? You have no claim on me now, nor ever can have again. I loathe you!"
His words assured both listeners that he thought the woman had followed him here to work evil to him, and with this explanation Miss Erroll's trance of terror gave way. She sprang to Cissy's side, pleading:
"Oh, for Heaven's sake! explain it all to him! He would not listen to me, I know, but he loves you. He will listen if you tell him the truth, and beg him not to betray me."
Cissy was paling and flushing alternately, as she sprang up, and said, tremblingly, to her lover:
"She did not follow you here. She is a member of this household—governess to Miss Fitzgerald's children. She is living an honest life, and would not wish her antecedents to be brought up against her now."
He answered, angrily:
"Why should either of us spare her now? She wronged us both, most bitterly, in the past, and did not scruple afterward to throw a blighting disgrace on my life."
"But I left you free to seek happiness with the woman you loved, so I did you a good turn after all, Cameron Clemens. You never loved me, and you did not grieve for me. You have even been friendly with the man who lured me from you!" Miss Erroll cried, eagerly.
He knew that much of her charge was true. He could deny only the last of it.
"Not friendly," he said, "for we had a bitter quarrel once. But he told me you had fled from him, refusing to become his wife, after I obtained my divorce. You wereuntrue to both of us. So why should we become enemies for the sake of a worthless woman?"
How she shivered with shame under the stinging contempt of his tones, for some womanhood lurked in her still, and she knew that she was not quite so black as she was painted.
But as she quailed before his righteous wrath, Cissy came generously to the rescue, her gray eyes dark with emotion, her cheeks suffused with blushes.
"Hush! do not utterly crush her with your scorn!" she cried. "Clifford Standish lied to you, the perjured villain! She did not refuse to marry him. He told her he had a wife already, and was tired of his liaison, so she fled from him in horror at her terrible position. She has been trying to lead a good life ever since, and we must not throw her back into temptation. I have forgiven her, and promised to keep her secret, and so must you."
FOR CISSY'S SAKE.
"The burden of my heart, dear,There's little need to tell;There's little need to say, dear,I've loved you long and well."And you will be my wife, dear,So may you ever blessThrough all your sunny life, dear,The day you answered yes."
"The burden of my heart, dear,There's little need to tell;There's little need to say, dear,I've loved you long and well.
"And you will be my wife, dear,So may you ever blessThrough all your sunny life, dear,The day you answered yes."
Cissy paused for breath, and her lover looked at her adoringly.
Never had she looked so beautiful, never had she seemed so truly noble as at this moment when so generously pleading the cause of the woman who had brought such bitter sorrow into her life.
He forgot for a moment the tall, fair, beautiful woman who hung breathlessly on his fiat of fate, and exclaimed, rapturously:
"Cissy, you are an angel!"
"Yes, she is an angel!" cried the governess, eagerly. "She is an angel, and she will forgive you all your faults and make you happy yet—so happy that you might affordto spare the poor wretch whose sins have all recoiled upon her own head with crushing weight!"
"Spare her!" pleaded Cissy, with humid eyes.
He looked back at her tenderly, and answered:
"For your sake!"
With a sob of joy, the governess fled from the room.
And with her going the last shadow that her wicked influence had cast upon their lives faded into the past.
He moved closer to Cissy, catching both her trembling hands in his, and looking deep into her tearful eyes, saying, tremulously:
"My darling, the events of to-day have thrown down the last barriers of restraint between us, and we are back again where we left off that bitter day when you cast me off for the sake of the woman who declared she had a better claim to me. Cannot we go back to that past?"
Her face was downcast, her eyes drooped from his, she trembled, and did not speak.
But he was not repulsed, for she let him keep the little trembling hands in his, and he was thus encouraged to go on in a low voice, hoarse from passionate love:
"Cissy, I love you more devotedly than ever, and I should have sought you long ago but that I feared a repulse. I knew so well your willful pride, you see. But now fate has thrown us together again, and it will break my heart to lose this new sweet hope. Darling, will you forgive the past, and let the future make amends?"
Cissy had not thought last night that she would be won so quickly as this. She had resolved in her heart to be quite cold at first, and make her lover's second wooing very difficult.
But as Cameron said, the events of the day had made reserve impossible. They had come face to face with the past in all its love and pain.
So she could not steel her responsive heart to her lover's impetuous wooing. With a great burst of tears that revealed all her heart, she threw herself into his eager arms that clasped and held her with boundless delight.
And the woman whom Cissy had saved from exposure by her generous prayer for mercy, crept away to her room, muttering, in a fearful way:
"How strangely fate pursues me in this house! I thought I was done with my bitter past, but three of its ghosts have risen here to confront me with my sins! What a terrible blunder I made going into that room! But I did not dream of meeting my divorced husband there! Still, Imight have guessed he would follow that girl, the one love of his life. She is indeed an angel, but alas! she would not intercede for me if she knew the thing I had done last night!"
"I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER!"
"Oh, loved one! where art thou?
"Oh, loved one! where art thou?
Doubt whispers in my earMany and many a fear,And tells me thou art gay while I despair,Yet be the bright hours thine,If only thou art mine,I all the dark ones am content to bear."
Doubt whispers in my earMany and many a fear,And tells me thou art gay while I despair,Yet be the bright hours thine,If only thou art mine,I all the dark ones am content to bear."
The strange disappearance of her daughter had come to Mrs. Fitzgerald with the suddenness of a thunderbolt.
To lose her like this—the child she had loved so dearly and mourned so unceasingly—over whom she had rejoiced with such yearning love when found; oh! it was inexpressibly bitter!
In the six weeks that Geraldine had been with her the glad mother had lavished on her daughter everything that could make a young girl happy, withholding nothing except her approval of her love for Harry Hawthorne. Wealth had been poured out with an unstinting hand, to surround her and clothe her with beautiful things; she had been praised, petted, and loved by the whole household, and the two children, her half-brother and sister, had vied with each other in lovely attentions to their new-found sister.
Nothing had been lacking to make Geraldine happy—nothing except the love she had been forbidden to cherish.
Alas! this love had ranked above everything else in her tender heart.
"The world is naught when one is goneWho was the world? then the heart breaksThat this is lost which was once won."
"The world is naught when one is goneWho was the world? then the heart breaksThat this is lost which was once won."
The mother's heart was cruelly wounded by the desertion of her daughter.
"I will never forgive her!" she cried in the first agonyof the shock. "She has proved herself the child of her wicked father by this heartless desertion of home and friends, and I can realize how little of my blood runs in the veins of the daughter I bore him."
In vain did Cissy intercede for her friend.
"Remember how young and loving she was, dear Mrs. Fitzgerald. Then, too, her lover was very charming—just the sort of a man to fascinate a young girl."
"He may have been as handsome as Apollo, and as fascinating, but he was not a good man, or he would never have persuaded a young girl to elope with him. Why did he not come frankly to me like a gentleman, and ask for my daughter's hand?"
"Dear Mrs. Fitzgerald, because he knew it would be hopeless. Of course our dear Geraldine must have acquainted him with your opposition to the marriage," said Cissy, gently, though in her heart she thought very strangely of Geraldine, asking herself over and over why the girl had chosen to deceive her so in asserting that she knew nothing of Hawthorne's whereabouts.
"She must have been in secret correspondence with him all the while, but I could not have believed it of Geraldine but for that note in her own writing," she said, sadly enough to the angry mother.
At first, Mrs. Fitzgerald had feared that Cissy was in the plot of Geraldine's elopement, but the young girl's surprise and grief were so genuine that she dismissed the doubt. "She has treated you shamefully, too, my dear," said the lady. "After inviting you here as a guest, and promising you such a charming time, it was abominable to go off that way and leave you in the lurch."
"Do not worry about me. My only concern is for you in your trouble. Geraldine acted willfully, I know, but there is one comfort. The man she has married is good and true, and cannot fail to make her happy."
"Ah, but, my dear girl, only think of what she has thrown away. Why, Geraldine was betrothed to a nobleman from her childhood, the owner of a vast estate in England."
"Perhaps that was why she ran away for fear of being forced into an unloving marriage, madame."
"Oh, no, that would never have happened, of course. I would not have wished her to marry unwillingly, nor would noble Lord Putnam have accepted an unloving bride. Perhaps, after all, he will wait for my Claire. She will be grown up in a few years, and bids fair to be aslovely as Geraldine," returned the lady, comforting herself with hopes of the future.
At that moment a servant entered the boudoir to announce the arrival of Cameron Clemens.
Cissy looked up with heightened color, saying:
"It is a gentleman we knew in New York. If you will excuse me, I will go down, and I will be glad to have you accompany me."
Mrs. Fitzgerald protested that she was not able to see any one, and excused herself to Cissy, who hurried down to the caller.
We have read in a former chapter of the result of that interview, so we will follow Cissy, after his departure, back to the presence of Mrs. Fitzgerald.
"I fear I shall have to return to New York in a few days," she remarked, feeling that delicacy would suggest her leaving after Geraldine's strange desertion.
But Mrs. Fitzgerald raised an indignant protest.
"No, Cissy, you must not go. I have grown very fond of you, and why should you not remain with me?"
Cissy thanked her for her cordiality, but said, blushingly, that she must go back to work. She was to be married in the spring, and she must earn her wedding clothes.
"Married? Oh, dear! And to the gentleman who was calling just now, I suppose?"
"Yes, madame," owned Cissy, with the loveliest rose glowing on her soft cheeks.
"Tell me all about it!" cried the lady, kindly.
Cissy thought that this would involve too long a story, so she said, simply, that she and Mr. Clemens had been engaged years before, and had quarreled and parted. Now they had made it up again, and she had promised to marry him in the spring.
"I have a charming thought," cried the lady. "You shall not return to New York. Stay with me as my companion and friend, and be married here."
"My dear lady, you are too kind—but it would be impossible. There is my trousseau to be thought of, you know."
"Certainly, child. I was thinking of that. Leave it to me to provide the trousseau as my wedding gift to you. What? Too proud? Why, aren't you to be my companion? And, of course, I shall owe you as much as you could earn at O'Neill's—and more," softly. "My dear girl, don't refuse. Think how unhappy I am, and what a comfort you can be to me."
Cissy saw that the offer was affectionate and earnest, and came from the depths of a noble heart, so she accepted it most gladly.
The days came and went, until it was almost two weeks since Geraldine's elopement.
They had looked every day for a letter from her, telling them where she was, and perhaps pleading for pardon, and to be permitted to see her mother again.
But not a line was received from the truant.
"She is cruel, heartless! her father's child, not mine," cried poor Mrs. Fitzgerald, trying to steel her heart against the truant.
But one cold, snowy day toward the last of February—could they ever forget that day—a card was brought to the lady in her boudoir.
She glanced at it, and turned deadly pale.
The card bore a name she had reason to hate.
Harry Hawthorne.
It fell from her trembling hands, and Cissy, glancing at it, exclaimed, joyously:
"We shall hear of Geraldine at last!"
"I cannot see him!" moaned Mrs. Fitzgerald, tremblingly.
"Oh, yes, you will. Come! I will go down with you. Courage! You will fall in love with your son-in-law at sight, and forgive him for stealing your daughter!" cried Cissy, encouragingly, taking her hand to lead her down.
And in a few more moments they stood in the presence of a man so strikingly handsome and debonair that Mrs. Fitzgerald could not help from thawing toward him a little as Cissy presented him. He was well-dressed, princely in manners and appearance. As far as looks and culture went, her favorite, Lord Putnam, could not surpass the New York fireman.
He looked disappointed somehow, and after the first few words were passed, ventured straight to the point.
"Mrs. Fitzgerald, I think your daughter has told you of me. We are betrothed, you know, and I hope her heart has not turned against me with her accession to fortune. May I hope that you will also smile on my suit, and permit me to see Geraldine?"
They stared at him in amazement, the two startled women. Why, what could he mean, with those strange words and that confident air?
Cissy recovered from her trance of surprise first, and exclaimed:
"Mr. Hawthorne, what can you mean? Geraldine is not here. We supposed she was with you!"
"With me?—how strange! Why, Miss Carroll, I haven't seen her since Christmas Eve. Do not tell me that harm has come to my darling!"
"WILL YOU BID ME GODSPEED."
"I reach into the dark, O Love!I reach into the dark.I cannot find thee; and my groping handsTouch only memories and phantom shapes."I call into the dark, O Love!I call into the dark.There comes from out the hush above, below,No answer but my own quick-fluttered breath."
"I reach into the dark, O Love!I reach into the dark.I cannot find thee; and my groping handsTouch only memories and phantom shapes.
"I call into the dark, O Love!I call into the dark.There comes from out the hush above, below,No answer but my own quick-fluttered breath."
Harry Hawthorne had sprung to his feet, pale with emotion, as he stood before Cissy, repeating the words:
"With me? How strange! Why, I have not seen her since Christmas. Do not tell me that harm has come to my darling!"
With the utterance of his words a terrible comprehension dawned on Mrs. Fitzgerald.
She understood that she had been horribly deceived, that Geraldine had not gone away to marry her lover, but had been entrapped into some terrible fate.
The fear of Clifford Standish's vengeance for the scorn she had heaped on him pierced her heart like a knife-thrust.
For two weeks Geraldine had been missing.
And no search had been made, because it was believed that she was safe and happy with her heart's choice, Harry Hawthorne.
But, instead, she had become the victim of a terrible doom.
The horror of her apprehensions overcame the mother's heart, and she fell forward in a heavy swoon.
When consciousness returned, she found herself lying flat on a couch, with Cissy bathing her forehead, and Hawthorne her hands, witheau de cologne.
She felt very weak and helpless, but as consciousness returned to her she groaned despairingly.
Hawthorne gave her a look of tender sympathy, and said:
"Mrs. Fitzgerald, can you listen to me a few moments?"
His gentle voice and manly looks inclined her heart toward him in spite of her prejudices against him, so she bowed her head affirmatively.
He went on:
"While we were trying to restore you to consciousness, Miss Carroll has told me the circumstances of Geraldine's disappearance. That note purporting to be from Geraldine was no doubt a forgery, and I fear she has fallen into the power of Clifford Standish."
Mrs. Fitzgerald groaned. Cissy sobbed aloud, and although Hawthorne would not permit himself to break down like a woman, his voice was very husky as he proceeded:
"A few more words and I must leave you, to institute a search for our missing darling. Will you bid me Godspeed?"
"Yes, oh, yes," and she held out her hand to him voluntarily.
When he took it he felt a warm, kindly pressure, and realized that in their common loss and sorrow humanity had triumphed over pride, and he could count on her as a true friend. Lord Putnam was momentarily forgotten.
Releasing her hand, he added:
"You may wonder at my delay in seeking Geraldine, so I will briefly explain: In the first place, when I found that the actor had abducted her on Christmas evening, I followed on the next train to Chicago. Four weary days I sought her, but all in vain. At length I met Standish one cold snowy evening on an obscure street, and demanded Geraldine at his hands. He assured me with such malice, that she was his willing companion, that I sprang at the dastard's throat in fury, and he stabbed me and ran off, leaving me for dead. Some kind Samaritans rescued and took care of me, but I kept the name of my would-be murderer a secret, for fear of drawing Geraldine's name into a scandal. Well, just as I became convalescent, I received news of the death of a very near relative that obliged my immediate return to New York. I sent for a detective, confided my secrets to him, and employed him to search for Geraldine in my absence. While I was away I received information that Geraldine had discovered her long-lost mother, and was safe with you. As this set mymind at rest about my betrothed, I paid and dismissed my detective, and determined that as soon as I had settled up some business matters I had on hand, I would return to Chicago and ascertain whether Geraldine's heart had remained true to me in her change of fortune, or if she would discard me for some richer lover. I arrived to-day, and came here full of hope and love to meet—this terrible tragedy of woe!"
He paused to steady his shaking voice, then added:
"But I believe I have a clew, and I shall follow it up. I go now to my detective. He is very clever, and I am very sorry I dismissed him. I feel sure he can help me to unravel this mystery."
The hope and courage in his voice inspired her to exclaim, eagerly:
"May Heaven help you—and bless you!"
"Thank you! Those words will inspire me to do my best."
He touched her hand with his lips, like a gallant knight, and bowing to Cissy, left the room.
But while Mrs. Fitzgerald lay unconscious, he had said to the young girl:
"Is there a governess in this house?"
"Yes, Miss Erroll."
"Has she ever carried on a flirtation with Standish?"
To his surprise, Cissy blushed, and stammered, replying:
"I should not like to answer that question unless you have very good cause for asking it."
She was generously eager to shield the woman's past if she could consistently do so.
But he answered, gravely:
"This must be considered a secret yet, but my detective wrote me that Mr. Standish was carrying on a flirtation with this Miss Erroll. Can she have been in collusion with him to kidnap Geraldine?"
"Good Heaven!" cried Cissy, paling at the awful suspicion that presented itself. She saw that she must tell all she knew.
But at that moment Mrs. Fitzgerald showed signs of reviving, and Cissy whispered, hurriedly:
"I can tell you all about Miss Erroll and Standish. They were lovers long ago, but I do not know if they have met recently."
Then the lady opened her eyes, and the subject dropped.
But when Hawthorne was gone, the horror of his suggestionstaid in Cissy's mind, and she admitted to herself that it might be plausible.
For what if Standish, by threatening the woman with betrayal to her employer, had forced her to help him in his nefarious plot?
Cissy was so excited and indignant that she was on the point of rushing to Miss Erroll and taxing her with the crime.
But sober second thought restrained her.
She might frighten the woman, and cause her to run away out of reach.
She decided to leave it all to Hawthorne and the detective.
Meanwhile, she had enough on her hands to soothe the agonized mother, who was almost frantic with grief over the mystery of her daughter's fate.
She kept wringing her hands and sobbing:
"It is two long weeks since she disappeared. Oh, it is too late! too late! for any one to save my poor child now!"
Cissy shuddered at all that the words implied, but she cried, bravely:
"Do not let us despair. Although Geraldine's whereabouts are unknown to us, she is in the keeping of God, as she has always been, and surely He will protect her. Let us hope and pray."
Gradually she infused some hope into the mother's heart, and presently they knelt and prayed to God to restore Geraldine to their arms again.
Meanwhile, Hawthorne, as we will continue to call him for a little while, hurried to the office of Norris, the wonderful Western detective.
He found the little man in, and after a hurried greeting, said:
"I have called again about that case of mine."
"Ah, you wish to begin another search for the girl; is that it? I thought it strange you dropped it so suddenly when you got my report. But perhaps you had received news some way of the girl?"
"I had; but, Norris, that was a terrible mistake of mine letting you drop the case when you did. You were on the right track, though you did not know it. I am almost hoping you kept on watching, out of curiosity, after I paid and dismissed you. It will be worth much to you if you did," anxiously.
"But I did not, I'm sorry to say; for directly after I got your check I went off on a chase down South after somegold-brick swindlers. Fact is, I just got back from Richmond yesterday, after a stay of three weeks. But I ran the rascals down, though, after a very exciting chase. Tell you all about it," bustled the little detective, importantly.
"No, I don't care about it now," Hawthorne cried, impatiently. "You must hear my story first, for you must never pause now till that missing girl is found—the girl who was right under your nose all the time while you were watching the governess—Miss Fitzgerald, formerly Geraldine Harding."
"You don't say! Tell me all about it, sir."
Hawthorne went rapidly over all he had to tell, and then Norris said:
"The governess helped him, as sure as you're born, Mr. Daly."
DETECTED.
"If you could go back to the forks of the road,Back the long miles you have carried the load;Back to the place where you had to decideBy this way or that all your life to abide;Back of the sorrow and back of the care,Back to the place where the future was fair—If you were there now, a decision to make,Oh! pilgrim of sorrow, which road would you take?"
"If you could go back to the forks of the road,Back the long miles you have carried the load;Back to the place where you had to decideBy this way or that all your life to abide;Back of the sorrow and back of the care,Back to the place where the future was fair—If you were there now, a decision to make,Oh! pilgrim of sorrow, which road would you take?"
It would scarcely be believed that a young girl could be drugged and carried from her own room at midnight by a scoundrel, even in the great, wicked city of Chicago.
But such had been the fate of our pretty Geraldine, although only by the connivance of the governess had Standish been able to accomplish the daring abduction.
Having quieted her uneasy scruples by swearing that he meant to marry the girl—which, indeed, he was most anxious to do—Standish unfolded his nefarious plot, and by his threatenings forced her to consent to aid him.
He told her that the girl had flirted most outrageously with him once, then thrown him over for another, and he was determined to get even with the little jilt by making her his wife. He swore that nothing should turn him from his purpose of revenge, and unless Miss Erroll aided him in this he would send Mrs. Fitzgerald a letter on the followingday, acquainting her with the past history of her handsome governess.
It was absolutely fiendish, his threat, but she doubted not that he would keep his word; so, promising all he asked, she hurried away from him, eager to escape the nipping winter blasts and the flecks of snow that kissed her cheeks with icy lips, the forerunner of a snow-storm that wrapped the earth in a snowy mantle long before the dawn.
When the young ladies returned from the theatre, Miss Erroll was bending over her desk, where she had been busy for hours, counterfeiting Geraldine's handwriting from a bit of manuscript she had stolen from her room.
She was an adept at this work, and succeeded in her task so well that the note she pinned on Geraldine's pillow somewhat later, was so cleverly done it might have deceived an expert.
When Geraldine went into her own room that night she found Miss Erroll waiting for her, instead of the neat mulatto girl her mother had employed for her exclusive service.
"Martha was called home by the illness of her mother, and begged me to help you if she did not return in time," she explained, smilingly.
The truth was that Miss Erroll had given the girl some drugged wine that sent her into such a heavy sleep that she was enabled to steal into her place.
Geraldine protested that she could do without assistance, but Miss Erroll insisted on remaining; so at last she was hurried into bed, and then the woman said, solicitously:
"Now a sip of this spiced wine the maid told me to keep warm for you, to prevent a cold after being out such an inclement evening."
Geraldine did not care for the wine, and she was not at all chilly, but she drank a little from the cup, just to escape the woman's importunities.
Then she laid her fair head down to rest, and in a very few moments was soundly asleep; and no wonder, for the wine she had drank had contained enough opium to keep her in a stupor for many hours.
Not till she was sound asleep did the woman go out, and then she stole like a shadow of evil omen through the darkened house, where she undid all the door fastenings, that Clifford Standish might have no difficulty in entering.
Returning to Geraldine's room, she cautiously dressedthe sleeping girl in warm, thick shoes and stockings, and a thick blanket-wrapper, placing close at hand a heavy cloak and hood, evidently making her ready for a mysterious journey.
In the dressing-room beyond, she had already packed a hand-bag with clothing, which she now brought in and placed near the door.
While she was dressing her, Geraldine had stirred and moaned several times, but the influence of the drug held her senses bound too fast for her to awake; so Miss Erroll had everything ready, and was crouched in a chair waiting, when there came a low, soft scratching at the door, the signal agreed on between them.
She started, growing pale as ashes, her heart sinking in her breast. She had been hoping and praying that he would not come.
Stealing to the door, she admitted Standish, who was not a very pleasant object to see in his black crape mask.
Not a word passed between them, but she silently wrapped Geraldine in the cloak and hood ready for her journey.
The daring actor lifted the girl as though she had been a little child, and taking the hand-bag also, stole from the house undetected, and made his way to a sleigh that was in waiting around the nearest corner.
Then Miss Erroll, shivering like one in an ague fit, proceeded to finish her work.
She locked the door, and re-made the dainty bed, so that it had the appearance of not having been slept in that night.
Upon the pillow she pinned the note that she had written in Geraldine's hand, and to which she had signed Geraldine's name.
And, lastly, and just before leaving the room, she sank on her knees, and prayed with dramatic fervor:
"Oh, God, if Thou wilt hear the prayer of a wretch like me, I implore that Thou wilt watch over and protect from harm the poor girl whom I have betrayed into that wretch's hands!"
When the hue and cry arose the next morning over Geraldine's disappearance, she was as much excited as any, and her grief was as noisy as that of the others.
She was indeed grieved and remorseful over her evil deed, and she had only one comfort to offer herself:
"Self-preservation is the first law of nature."
She had saved herself, and, as the days dragged by, herfirst terror of discovery gave place to a conviction of safety. Not the least suspicion had pointed her out as the wretch she was. The children still remained devoted to her, Mrs. Fitzgerald was kind, Miss Carroll courteous, the servants respectful. She began to breathe freely again, saying, to herself:
"Why should I fret? Of course Standish has married the girl, and she ought to be glad to get such a handsome husband!"
She could not banish a little bitter jealousy of Geraldine, for once she had hoped to marry Standish herself, and the old passion still ached in her heart, though she had fled from him in horror when she learned that he had a living wife.
Now that two weeks had passed, she supposed they were married and happy, and some day there might be a reconciliation between the mother and daughter and the son-in-law who had so cleverly stolen his bride. Standish had promised that no matter what happened, his confederate's agency in the affair should never be known.
But she would not have begun to feel so confident of her position if she could have heard what the detective, Norris, was saying that day to Hawthorne.
"That governess helped him, as sure as you're born, Mr. Daly."
Hawthorne said, hurriedly:
"You may call me by another name henceforward—that of Hawthorne. I confess that Daly was an assumed one. And now, about this governess?"
"Yes, there's no time to lose, Mr. Hawthorne, in beating about the bush. That poor girl has been missing for two weeks, and God only knows what has come to her ere now. We must see this Erroll woman at once, and surprise her into confession by taxing her with the crime."
"A clever idea. Let us confront her at once," cried Hawthorne, with burning impatience.
"I'm with you to the death!" laughed the jovial little detective, springing to his feet, and within the hour they arrived at the mansion, and sent their cards to Miss Errol.
They had chosen Cissy Carroll to bear them, and the governess looked at her, pale with affright.
"I do not know these men, Hawthorne and Norris. I cannot see them," she declared at first.
But Cissy was firm.
"You must go down. They said their business was important,and they would not leave without seeing you," she said.
"I dare not see them! I am afraid!" faltered the guilty woman.
"Why should you be afraid? Have you done anything wrong?" demanded Cissy, sternly, for a terrible suspicion was troubling her mind.
The woman shot her a keen glance, and asked:
"Have you betrayed me?"
"No."
"Then I will see them, but they must have made a mistake. I am not the person they want."
Putting on an expression of bravado, she followed Cissy to the presence of the two men, who both rose and bowed profoundly, though they read the signs of guilt in her ghastly face. Then the detective said:
"Miss Erroll, will you kindly favor us with the address of your lover, Mr. Clifford Standish?"
A REPENTANT SINNER.
"How can the patient stars look downOn all their light discovers—The traitor's smile, the murderer's frown,The lips of lying lovers?"
"How can the patient stars look downOn all their light discovers—The traitor's smile, the murderer's frown,The lips of lying lovers?"
When that startling question fell on Miss Erroll's ears she gave a convulsive gasp, and sank limply into the nearest chair.
The skilled detective saw quickly that the woman was a coward at heart, and would not be able to sustain the air of bravado with which she had entered.
Advancing quickly to her side, he threw back the lapel of his overcoat, revealing to her frightened eyes his detective badge, and continuing:
"I am in search of Clifford Standish, and you must tell me where to find him."
She trembled like a leaf in a storm, and muttered, with weak defiance:
"How should I know?"
Norris answered, boldly:
"Because you have been in secret correspondence withthe man for weeks. Because you were his confederate in the kidnaping of Miss Geraldine Harding."
The cry of a beaten animal burst from the cowering woman's lips, and her form shook with fear.
"You cannot deny it," added Norris, following up his advantage, while Cissy and Hawthorne looked on in breathless interest.
She lifted her pallid face and groaned:
"Who is my accuser?"
"I am, and this gentleman here, Miss Harding's betrothed, the Harry Hawthorne whom it was pretended in that forged note the young lady had eloped with. I have been watching you and Standish for several weeks, Miss Erroll, and had I not been called away by other business, you had never succeeded in that nefarious abduction. But I have facts enough to warrant me in threatening you with arrest unless you make a full confession!"
"Arrest me?"
Almost hissing the words, she sprang to her feet, glaring fiercely at him, but the flash of bravado did not intimidate the fearless little detective.
"Yes, you," he answered, coolly. "But, after all, I do not like to war upon a woman, even a bad one; so tell me the truth now if you want to escape a prison-cell."
Quaking with fear, she dropped back into her chair, covering her writhing features with her trembling white hands.
After waiting a moment vainly for her to answer, he asked:
"Where is Clifford Standish now?"
"I do not know."
"How long since you saw him?"
"Two weeks ago to-night."
"At the time of the kidnaping of Miss Harding?"
"Yes."
Her answers were given as if dragged from her under stress of fear, but it was plain that she meant to make the confession he demanded.
He flashed Cissy and Hawthorne a triumphant look, then said, briskly:
"Tell us all about that night and your share in it, as quickly as you can, for our time is very precious."
So, with her head drooped in bitter shame, and eyes downcast, lest she should meet their glances of scorn and execration, the beautiful woman whose sins had followed her so relentlessly, poured out the story of that night'swrong-doing, her heart sinking in despair the while, for before her she saw the dark future opening like Hades, so awful in its gloom.
And in all the bitterness of that moment the cruelest thought of all was that Cissy was listening to her confession of sin, and would hate and despise her now for her ingratitude after all the kindness she had showered on her worthless head.
Somehow, she had coveted Cissy's respect and good-will, and to lose them was most bitter to her pride.
The cup of her humiliation was full, but she had to drink it to the bitter dregs.
When she drew breath in silence at last, after telling of the note she had pinned on the pillow, Harry Hawthorne cried, indignantly:
"Why did you lend yourself to this terrible deed?"
Miss Erroll looked at Cissy and faltered:
"You can tell him why."
Cissy answered:
"I think he knew some dark secret in her past that she was anxious to hide, now that she is leading a better life, and he threatened her with betrayal unless she helped him to carry out his plot. Is it not so?"
"It is the truth. I tried to keep from doing it, but I could not get out of his power. Oh, how hard it is for a woman who has once done wrong to lead a good life again! The avenging fates pursue her to death or madness!" groaned the detected governess.
"But, now," cried Norris, impatiently, "now tell us where that fiend was to take Miss Harding after he placed her in the sleigh that you say he had waiting at the corner."
"He told me he had engaged an old woman to take charge of her till she consented to marry him. He said she was a terrible old woman, who lived alone on a farm about five miles from the city, and kept a savage bull-dog on the place."
"By Heaven! I know the place, and the woman!" almost shouted the detective. Then, calming himself, he added:
"She is Jane Crabtree, an old woman as big as a giant, who has been in the criminal courts twice, once for beating almost to death a child she had taken from the poor-house and secondly for the murder of her husband. He died of arsenical poison, and the woman was accused of administering it, but they could not prove it and she got off by swearing he committed suicide. But I always felt surethat she did the deed, for it was proved they led a cat-and-dog life. Since this happened, three months ago, it is said that she never permits any person on the premises, and keeps a large bull-dog unchained all the time; so, if Miss Harding is in the clutches of that old wretch, it is time we were moving toward her delivery. Come," and he motioned Hawthorne away.
In their haste to be gone they paid no more attention to the governess, and with a hasty adieu to Cissy, left the room.
The two women were left alone, and Miss Erroll crouched wretchedly in her chair, not daring to look up and meet Cissy's glance of scorn.
She started when the girl's voice fell on her ear—clear, cold, disdainful.
"What shall you do now?"
The woman lifted her face, deadly pale, but grown suddenly calm with a great despair.
"I must go away—at once!" she answered.
Then she fell at Cissy's feet.
"You, who have been so good already—grant my last prayer," she faltered.
Cissy looked down in silent inquiry at the haggard face.
"Do not tell Mrs. Fitzgerald of this story until I am gone out of her house forever. I love her and the darling children; they have been good to me, and I could not bear their reproaches. I will go now and pack my trunk, and send for it later. Let me steal out of the house, like the wretched outcast I am, before you tell them my miserable story."
"Your wish is granted," answered Cissy, huskily.
She went away then to her own room and sat a while in earnest thought.
Then she went to Miss Erroll's door and tapped softly.
It was opened by the governess, who had made such speed that her hat and cloak were already on and her trunk strapped.
"You are going now?" asked Cissy.
"Yes."
"Where?"
"To seek some humble lodging-house, and begin again the horrible struggle of a lonely woman for an honest living," the poor wretch answered, bitterly.
"Have you any money?"
"Fifty dollars that I have saved in the few months thatI have been here—enough to starve on perhaps until I find another situation."
"Take this to help you," Cissy said, pressing a hundred-dollar bill into her hand.
"Oh, Miss Carroll, I cannot. You, too, are poor. It may be your little all."
"No, I have more. In fact, I received two hundred dollars yesterday from a lawyer in New York, who has been managing some lawsuits for me against a villain who brought a false claim against my grandfather's estate, and thus threw me penniless on the world. My lawyer has won the suit, and I shall have several thousand dollars of my own very soon."
"I congratulate you, Miss Carroll. You deserve all the good fortune that can fall to a noble woman. Heaven forever bless you. I accept your gift gratefully, because—because it—may save me, poor tempted wretch, from a life of sin."
"That was why I gave it to you. I hoped it might keep you in the right path."
"It shall! It shall! Oh, Miss Carroll, I am a repentant sinner, and since I am spared this time, I will never be tempted to do wrong again! I swear—I swear to you, in return for your angelic goodness—that I will repent my sins, seek God's forgiveness, try to lead a good life, and meet you—angel that you are—in heaven!"
She snatched Cissy's hand, pressed her burning lips upon it, and rushed from the house out into the blinding snow storm that darkened the air.
Then Cissy went to Mrs. Fitzgerald to tell her of all that had transpired, and to help her to bear the terrible suspense over Geraldine's fate.
A NIGHTMARE DREAM.