John Wilkie was the son of Scotch parents residing in Toronto, Ontario. He was possessed of considerable literary ability, and when a lad had entered Toronto University with the intention of pursuing a professional career; but his father shrewdly reasoned that, although fame might be acquired more readily by clergymen and lawyers, money was an important consideration, and might be acquired with, comparative ease in a well managed business. He accordingly placed his son in the wholesale house of Messrs. Campbell & Castle, and in due course of time the lad secured an interest in the business.
The young man was not long a member of the firm when he became enamoured of a young lady named Collins, whom he had met at the house of a mutual friend. For a longtime he paid attention to this young lady, taking her to balls, concerts and operas, and finally he proposed for her hand and was accepted.
Miss Collins was scarcely what one would call a beautiful girl, yet there was an attractiveness of manner peculiar to her which caused her to be much, sought after and admired in social circles, and many were the sad and heavy when it became known that she was about to marry John Wilkie.
At this juncture Wilkie the elder was carried off with an attack of pneumonia, leaving John, his only son, heir to his house and property. This occurrence of course caused the wedding to be deferred for a time, and the bridegroom elect went into deep mourning; in a few months, however, he doffed his sable garments, and, having caused the family mansion to be refurnished and renovated, began to make preparations for his wedding.
The affair came off with greatéclat, the bride being driven home from church behind four dapple-grey horses, several carriages following with bridesmaids, groomsmen, and invited guests, among the latter being many rejected suitors, who took a kind of melancholy pleasure in seeing the matter through. Mrs. Wilkie was in excellent spirits, as was also the dowager, her mother-in-law, and after thedéjeunerthey wept together and kissed each other at parting as if they were blood relations. Mrs. Collins was not so much affected; she was so much entranced at the rich prize she had secured for her daughter that grief was altogether out of the question.
What a sweet time is that when two loving hearts, throwing commercial and domestic cares to the winds, devote themselves to the agreeable pursuit of entertaining each other. Shutting their eyes and ears to the outer world they fancy that the sun, moon and stars shine for them, alone; that nature’s smiles are specially prepared for them; that the birds carol bridal chansonettes only for their benefit; and that the whole world is contained in the small area which immediately surrounds them.
Mr. and Mrs. Wilkie had a long, pleasant honeymoon. They spent a couple of weeks at Niagara Falls; then, having visited Boston and New York, they spent a few weeks at Saratoga, returning to Toronto about six weeks from their wedding-day. Everything had been prepared for their reception, and Mrs. Wilkie, senior, sat in state to welcome them to a cosy meal which had been prepared in the dining-room. Having eaten sparingly, Mrs. Wilkie retired to her room, for she was fatigued by travel, and John with his mother went on a tour of inspection over the house.
It must be hard for a mother to give up the care of her son to a stranger; to think that he whom she has nursed so tenderly, and whose every want was so long supplied by her gentle hand should be left to the care of another must be fraught with pain and bitter recollections. Mrs. Wilkie sighed deeply as she showed her son the many improvements which had been made in the old house, and thought that her reign was at an end and that a new Caesar had taken the reins of government. The Lord of the Manor failed to observe the trepidation with which his mother handed him the keys, and showed him the various details connected with the management of the house, and with a cool “good night, mother,” he retired to rest, at peace with his mother, himself, and the world.
For several months things went smoothly enough with the parties to my narrative. The dowager accepted her position, though, it must be confessed, with a bad grace, and the new mistress gave a life to the place to which it was unaccustomed. At length Mrs. Wilkie gave birth to a son, and great were the rejoicing and festivities. The dowager was promoted to the title of grandmamma, John boasted the proud title of father, and the mother’s joy knew no bounds. The child was in due time christened with appropriate solemnity, and in a few months after his birth he became a very important member of the Wilkie family.
Mr. Wilkie wanted the boy called William after his late father, but Mrs. Wilkie would not have what she was pleased to term a plebeian designation, and insisted on calling him Alexander. The dowager opposed this with all her might, but “her usefulness was gone,” and her feeble remonstrances were of little or no avail. This slight sank deep into her heart, and she waited, calmly and patiently, for an opportunity of retaliating on her daughter-in-law.
In due time the opportunity presented itself. Mrs. Wilkie was in the habit of going to the skating-rink accompanied by some of her fashionable acquaintances; her husband did not care for skating, but was proud to hear his wife’s graceful performances eulogized. The dowager, however, had no heart for “the grape-vine” and other foolish devices; she thought it high time for her daughter-in-law to take on herself the serious duties of matrimonial life, and deprecated the fondness of the lady in question for rinks, balls, and festivities.
One night Mrs. Wilkie was invited to a skating-party. Her husband, having some letters to write, declined to go, and she went in company with a Mr. Smithers, an old acquaintance of hers, and one of the finest fancy skaters in Toronto. During her daughter-in-law’s absence at the rink, Mrs. Wilkie the elder took upon herself to lecture her son on his wife’s giddy behaviour, and so worked upon his feelings that he regularly gave way, and allowed his mother to remain mistress of the position.
When the fashionable Mrs. Wilkie returned to her abode late in the evening she found the door closed on her, repeated pulls at the door-bell eliciting no response. With her skates the lady then hammered violently on the door, waking the echoes of the quiet street, and finally, in her frenzy, she smashed every window within reach, and departed to her mother’s residence.
Mrs. Collins was very much surprised to receive a visit from her daughter at such an unseasonable hour, and when she was made aware of the cause she became proportionately indignant. She suggested the propriety of taking legal proceedings for the restitution of her daughter’s rights, but the latter would not listen to any such suggestion, and vowed she would never live with Wilkie or his wretch of a mother again.
Mrs. Collins expected daily to receive a message from Mr. Wilkie, requesting his wife to return to him, but he, being completely under the influence of his mother, failed to do anything of the kind, imagining that his wife would come as a suppliant to him. In this he reckoned without his host, for Mrs. Wilkie was as proud as Lucifer, and would not bend her haughty head to be made Empress of Canada. One thing, however, caused her great uneasiness: her child, Alexander, was all the world to her, and she set her wits to work to devise some means of obtaining him.
Without recourse to unpleasant legal proceedings or equally unpleasant negotiations with her mother-in-law, Mrs. Wilkie could not hit on any plan by which she could obtain the control of her child’s nurture and education. At length she resolved on the simple and practical plan of taking forcible possession of the boy. Once resolved, she speedily put her plans in execution.
The child’s nurse was in the habit of driving him in a baby carriage to the Queen’s Park for an airing, and one afternoon the mother lay in wait for the appearance of the infantile equipage. She was afraid to approach the servant with a bribe, as, in the event of her refusal, the Wilkies would be placed on their guard, and would set a strict watch over all the child’s movements. She accordingly sat down at a distance, closely veiled, and waited till an opportunity presented itself.
She did not have long to wait. The nurse on entering the park fell in with a tribe of professional acquaintances, one of whom, drawing a love-letter which she had received from her pocket, commenced to read it for the edification of her companions. Not content with listening to the gushing effusion, the auditors crowded around the proud recipient of the epistle, reading with eager eyes such portions as they could see over the shoulder of their friend. While the representative of the dowager was busily engaged in scanning the amorous lines penned by the lovesick swain (the child left to her care being at some distance in his carriage, sleeping under the shade of some trees), Mrs. Wilkie cautiously approached, and, lifting the unconscious child with the tenderness peculiar to mothers, walked quietly and swiftly away towards the gate, when, coolly hailing a passing cab, she drove to her mother’s house, proudly depositing her baby in a richly adorned cradle which had been purposely prepared for his reception.
It was a long time before the nurse missed the boy; in fact, not till she prepared to start for home did she give him a thought, except to congratulate herself that he slept so long and gave her so little trouble. When she at length turned towards the place where she had left the carriage and learned the true state of affairs her face grew deadly-pale, and, beckoning her companions towards her, she pointed to the carriage and uttered several piercing shrieks. Many were the suggestions as to what had become of the boy. Some thought he might have got out of the carriage alone and fallen into the pond, but, as he could not yet walk, this was highly improbable, another suggested that he had been stolen by gypsies, but could not say that she had ever heard of gypsies in connection with the Queen’s Park. Many other theories, some wild, a few reasonable, were advanced, but yet no clue to the whereabouts of the child could be discovered, nor could any light be thrown upon the mystery.
The poor nurse was in a terrible state of mind. She had in her fancy a picture of the baby’s grandmother threatening to tear her limb from limb, while the frantic father went for the police; but return she must, and so, with a different step from that with which she entered the park, she set out for home, arriving there just as the bell rang for dinner.
The old lady was just commencing to lecture her for keeping the child out in the evening air, when she saw, from the expression of the girl’s face, that something unusual had occurred, and rushing out, she threw up her hands in astonishment at the empty perambulator, giving a mute look of inquiry which spoke volumes. In a moment Mr. Wilkie joined the throng, just as the frightened domestic sobbed out, as well as she could, an account of the child’s disappearance. He was about to rush at once to the police office, but the old lady, shoving him aside, hastily put on her bonnet and shawl, and, ordering the girl to summon a cab, peremptorily forbade Mr. Wilkie to leave the house till she had made a reconnaissance of the quarters of her daughter-in-law.
Mrs. Collins lived at the extreme west end of King street, and, as Mr. Wilkie’s residence was in the North-East, in the neighborhood of the Horticultural Garden, it was some time before the wily mother-in-law approached her base of operations; she accordingly leaned back in the carriage, and, closing her eyes, meditated on her plan of action. Bidding the coachman pull up at the corner of Brock street, she alighted, and proceeded on foot towards the house: it was a semi-detached cottage, with a small garden in front, the dwelling being only a few feet from the street. Inside all was, apparently, quiet as usual, but Mrs. Wilkie thought she heard a soft, measured song, as if some one were singing a child to sleep. Approaching the window she caught a glimpse of her daughter-in-law pacing the room to and fro with the child pillowed in her arms; so, quickly receding into the darkness, she made her way back to the carriage, satisfied that her calculations, in one particular at least, had been correct.
Entering the cab, she bade the driver return with all speed to Mr. Wilkie’s house, setting her mind, during her transit on the frustration of the hopes of her daughter-in-law, against whom she in her heart registered a vow of vengeance. She found her son pacing the dining-room like a madman, and she at once gave him all the particulars concerning her reconnaissance, adding, at the same time, that he must take legal measures to obtain possession of his child, no matter what the cost. In spite, however, of his mother’s importunity, Wilkie steadily refused to give the matter publicity by taking legal proceedings, so the old lady was obliged to content herself with concocting plans for retaking the child from the hands of the enemy.
Mrs. Wilkie watched long for an opportunity, and at last she was successful. She found out where her daughter-in-law went to church, and one Sunday having learnt from one of her emissaries that both of the ladies had gone to church together, leaving the child in charge of the maid-of-all-work, she hurriedly set out for the house, and boldly ringing the door-bell inquired for Mrs. Wilkie. On being told that the lady was at church and would not return for some time she requested permission to sit down and wait, as she was fatigued with her long journey. Entering the drawing-room, she sank on one of the lounges and appeared to faint. The poor domestic did not know what to do, but ran wildly to and fro exclaiming, “Och, wirrasthru, what’ll I do at all at all’” The invalid gradually came round, and gasped out, “Dr. Metcalfe, go for Dr. Metcalfe!” This gentleman lived a few blocks distant, and the girl at once rushed off, without waiting even to put her bonnet on.
Quick as thought Mrs. Wilkie ascended the staircase to where her infant grand-child lay wrapped in slumber: hastily wrapping him in a shawl she descended to the door, and coolly hailing a passing cab was soon far from the scene which had so wrought upon the feelings of poor Bridget Moriarty.
When Bridget arrived with the doctor she found that the old lady had disappeared leaving, however, a card for Mrs. Wilkie. On the latter’s return Bridget told her the whole story, adding that she supposed the old lady had come to herself and got tired waiting; in time, however, the baby was missed, and that threw a new light on affairs. Mrs. Wilkie was frantic; she denounced Bridget as a good-for-nothing, refused to sit down to dinner, and set off with her mother in the direction of Mrs. Wilkie’s house.
This time, however, the dowager was on her guard. The child was carefully looked after, being under the care of a faithful ally of the old lady, whose instructions were never to leave him for a moment out of her sight. Mrs. Wilkie and her mother might walk up and down and look at the lighted windows; they might also watch at a distance the youthful hope of the house of Wilkie as he took his daily airing in the park, but the trick once tried could not be repeated, and the fond mother (for whatever her faults were she loved her child) was obliged to pine in weary loneliness.
During all these sieges and reprisals the little fellow waxed strong and healthy, in sublime unconsciousness of the importance attached to the possession of his person: he was by no means neglected, the only risk he ran was that of being hugged to death, as each party, more through joy at the success of its schemes than from love of the youth in question, caressed him lavishly if not fondly.
Some months after these occurrences Mr. Wilkie removed to Montreal, where he soon became permanently established, and, as he was always fond of politics, he was in a short time recognised as one of the leaders of the liberal party. When the reaction consequent on the famous “Pacific Scandal” set in, Mr. Wilkie, M. P., took his seat for K——, a small town below Montreal, rising in Parliament, as he did everywhere else by his ability, far above the common level. His son was placed at the Montreal High school, and gave promise of becoming in time even more distinguished than his father.
They had not been long resident in Montreal before the poor old dowager was seized with acute rheumatism, to which she finally succumbed, and Mr. Wilkie was obliged to engage a housekeeper to look after his household affairs and his son’s education. It was a sad time for poor little Aleck; his grandmother fairly doted on him, and indulged his every whim, but Mrs. Riddell, the new housekeeper, cared not whether he was happy or miserable so long as she drew her monthly pay.
All this time Mrs. Wilkie had been living with her mother in Toronto, and, as soon as she heard of her mother-in-law’s death, she persuaded her mother to remove to Montreal, so that she might secretly keep watch over her boy, whom she now loved, if possible, more than ever. Assuming the name of Mrs. Johnson, she took lodgings in a house nearly opposite the residence of Mr. Wilkie, and thus was enabled to observe closely all the proceedings of his household; she longed to throw herself at her husband’s feet and implore his forgiveness, but her proud spirit rebelled against such an act, and she sat at her window day after day in moody silence watching her darling boy going and returning from school.
Shortly after his wife’s arrival in Montreal, Mr. Wilkie was summoned to England on business of importance, a fact with which Mrs. Wilkie became easily acquainted through theGazette, which heralded all his movements, the fond mother now became more anxious than ever about her boy, and indeed not without reason, for, being monarch of all she surveyed, the easy-going housekeeper laid herself out for “a good time,” and, although in her way she was kind enough to the child, she left him to take care of himself as well as he could, being content if she prepared a bed for him to sleep in, and ordered his three meals a day with unfailing regularity. The house Mr. Wilkie lived in was situated in one of the newest and most fashionable localities, having what are generally designated “modern improvements,” and one of these latter so improved the internal arrangements of Master Aleck, that he was soon confined to bed with enteric fever. Mrs. Johnson, missing the boy from the street, called to enquire after him, and had her fears confirmed by the housekeeper, who said she did not know what to do for his father was away, and she had never in her life nursed a fevered patient. The wily mother seized the opportunity with avidity, and with unblushing effrontery perpetrated the atrocious falsehood that she was a professional nurse of large experience, and that such an interest did she feel in the little fellow that she would if permitted undertake to nurse him free of charge. Mrs. Riddell was delighted, and at her neighbor’s suggestion sent for Dr. Brownie, who had, she said great experience in such cases. A cablegram was despatched to Mr. Wilkie, and everything that science could devise was done for the poor little sufferer. For many days he seemed to get worse and worse and his devoted mother was nearly worn out as she sat up night after night wiping his fevered brow, or moistening his parched lips, at length the crisis came, and the doctor pronounced him on the way to recovery, adding that the slightest neglect on the part of those who tended him would permit a relapse, which would in all probability prove fatal. In this case, however, the latter caution was altogether unnecessary, what Mrs. Johnson lacked in experience she more than made up for in care and solicitude, and, as every direction of the physician was carried out to the letter, the little fellow began perceptibly to mend before the telegram came announcing Mr. Wilkie’s arrival in Quebec. On the receipt of the missive Mrs. Johnson made preparations for her departure, saying that her services were now scarcely needed, and that she needed rest; Mrs. Riddell at first tried hard to induce her to remain, but when she looked at the pale thin face, and thought how many weary nights the lady had voluntarily sat up with the raving child, she ceased to urge the request, and at once set out for a mercenary to replace her.
What a difference there is between him who enters on a labor of love and the hireling who works for pay! In this case, then, it may easily be supposed with a mother’s ardent affection on the one hand, how different was the cold professional service rendered by the nurse who replaced Mrs. Johnson: although kind and attentive, she had not the same soothing power, nor could she sing the sweet lullaby which so often in his fevered moments had calmed poor little Aleck’s soul, and the little fellow became at once very low indeed. At this juncture his father arrived, and when he saw his boy he was completely overcome; he learned from the housekeeper all the particulars of the kind neighbor’s attention, and resolved to go personally to her residence and implore her not to desert his boy till he was out of all danger. Waiting only to partake of a morsel of food, he set out for the house indicated by his housekeeper, and inquired for Mrs. Johnson. The girl who opened the door told him that Mrs. Johnson had been out nursing a sick child for several nights, and had just fallen into a deep sleep, the first she had had for days, and urged him to call round again in the afternoon, when her mistress would probably be able to see him. In the afternoon he returned in great haste, saying that he must see Mrs. Johnson at all hazards, that his boy was worse, and raved incessantly for her. While he was speaking the lady he inquired for suddenly came down stairs, and as their eyes met both uttered an exclamation of surprise. Forgetting everything in her anxiety for her boy’s safety the poor mother’s face became suffused with tears as she anxiously cried with bated breath, “Is he dead?” “No; thanks be to God and his mother’s care he still lives, but you must not let him die now.”
The rest of the story is soon told; the pride of both husband and wife was humbled by adversity, and in their heavy affliction each was made to feel what a strength and comfort it was to have a companion who could sympathize not only with the joys but with the sorrows of the other. The boy was several weeks before he was able to leave his room, during which time his mother told him the history of her troubles, and recounted how miserable she felt without him and his father, all of which was of course retailed to the latter gentleman, and effectually healed the breach between the man and his wife. The dowager’s name was for obvious reasons never mentioned by either Mr. or Mrs. Wilkie, and as for the youthful hope of the house, his memory was so elastic that he never even thought about the old lady.
Mrs. Riddell was astonished when she became acquainted with the true relations of the nurse and her patient, but, having become quite enamoured of the former (who by-the-by was now become both a discreet and amiable matron), she readily fell into a subordinate position in the household, taking her orders quite gladly, and having a special care for little Aleck. Mrs. Wilkie has now an assortment of boys and girls, Aleck being entered as a law student at McGill University and the others being still at school; she seldom thinks of the past, preferring to look forward to a bright and happy future. Still at times her mind will revert to scenes of yore, and she shudders as she thinks of the bitter experiences she has had, attributing most if not all of them, rightly or wrongly, to her mother-in-law.
One hot summer’s day I received a visit from a young and beautiful woman attired in fashionable costume. She told me she was desirous of obtaining accommodation for a couple of months as her husband was in England and the time of her accouchement was at hand. She was the bearer of a letter which ran as follows—
LONDON, England, August 6 18—To whoever is with myprecious wife in her hour of trial:MY DEAR MADAM—I cannot refrain, as the husband ofthe most lovable wife on earth from expressing my ardentwish and prayer that all may be well and that you willremind her that I am most tenderly loving and thinkingof her and shall pray hourly for her, but whatever be theissue, let all be done for her happiness and comfort.I will part with all I have rather than that she or herinfant shall want anything. Oh how I wish I were nearto love and comfort her. If her dear infant is spared allwell and boy or girl I shall be quite as pleased if my idolbe well.Let all give wayif need be for my preciouswife’s sake, and on no account let her life be endangered,even for the sake of the child, if such crisis should occur,which Heaven forbid.I can say no more, but I wish I could enclose my handand heart if I could comfort your patient. Of course Ishall be terribly anxious to know that all is well; will youkindly have a postal card ready just to say “all is well” ifso it be; never mind more till my poor wife can put herown name to a letter.God reward you for an act that I know the angels envyyou, for your charge is a “friend of Jesus,” and my onlyfriend on earth.Yours in intensity of anxious interest,P. MERRICK.
My address isSunny Hill Avenue,London, E.
Mrs. Merrick explained to me that her husband was a member of a wealthy English firm doing business in Montreal, and that he was at that time obliged to be in London on business, but would soon return, when she purposed setting up an establishment of her own. Her father and mother (both Scottish Canadians) had been dead many years, and she had been educated in a boarding school in Ottawa where she had first met Mr. Merrick.
Within a few days the lady became an inmate of my house, and in course of time became the mother of a beautiful little boy, news of which was at once despatched to London. For three weeks Mrs. Merrick waited patiently for a reply, and after that time, receiving none, she became uneasy, and wrote a long letter to her husband, beseeching him to send her an answer immediately, but neither to this letter did she obtain any response and days became weeks and the weeks began to spread themselves into months and yet not a line or even a word could be obtained to indicate the whereabouts of Mr. Merrick or whether he was alive or dead. At last the terrible truth began to dawn on the poor creature that she had been basely deserted by him who was sworn to be her friend and protector and she became almost demented, she tried to account for his silence in many ways but her intellectual acumen as too great and her reasoning always brought her to the one sad conclusion. However, as nothing better could be done the spirited creature made up her mind to earn her own living and that of her child, and setting her wits to work she soon obtained a situation as governess at the house of Mr. Mullaly, a retired merchant of considerable means whose wife and daughters were desirous of obtaining an entree into polite society. Placing her boy out to nurse, she set out for her new home, and soon began to feel the blessedness of working for her own living.
But her happiness was not unmixed with pain. The Mullaly girls somehow or another heard that Miss Caldwell (she had given her maiden name) was the mother of a little child, and, although she admitted the fact and recounted to them her whole history, they gave no credence to her assertions, but began to treat her with the greatest contempt making her life miserable. The poor woman would fain have left her situation, but she recollected that it would be difficult to obtain another without referring to Mrs. Mullaly who would be sure to tell the whole story with several embellishments. On the whole she thought she had better remain where she was for a time, hoping that, as years went by, and the girls acquired more judgment and common sense, they would treat her with greater fairness. Accordingly she bore all the taunts of the young ladies with great meekness and patience, and made herself so agreeable and useful that, although they never could make up their minds to believe her story or to treat her as one of the family—the Mullalys came to regard Miss Caldwell as indispensable to their existence, and when Miss Mullaly the elder got married she took Miss Caldwell with her in the capacity of housekeeper the young sisters no longer requiring her in her capacity as governess, which situation she, however, did not long keep as the remuneration would not enable her to educate her boy as she desired. He was a fair-haired, bright little fellow, and the most loving little creature on earth. She consulted with me what best could be done to earn a larger salary. I advised her to become a professional nurse though hard she would think it at first, when once accustomed to its little drudgeries she would find it a noble calling, with God’s blessing attached to it. She consented, and I trained her in my hospital, she became in a very short time one of my most proficient nurses. From that time she had gained the battle, for, as soon as some of our medical men got acquainted with her, they gave her employment at the most serious of their cases, till at last it became very hard for me to procure her for some of my own patients, and through her abilities, patience, and refined feelings she gained a great many sincere friends. One of her patients, an old lady, left at her death $200 to her kind nurse, and this enabled poor Mrs. Merrick to give her boy that education which she had so long craved for him.
In the meanwhile Willie Merrick was placed at school at Lennoxville, where he evinced great talent. At twelve years of age he was noted as the finest classical scholar in the school, and his mother was induced to place him in training, with a view to his matriculating at the University of Bishop’s College. The fond mother lived only for her son, so she placed him under the care of a private tutor, at whose hands he made such progress that at the early age of fifteen he entered the University. Here he showed himself at once to be made of no ordinary metal, and he became quite a favorite with the Principal and professors, all of whom were ever ready to lend him a helping hand. His mother had intended him for the church but Willie did not (so he said) feel “good enough” for that high and holy calling, so he entered the Faculty of Law, determined, if possible, to distinguish himself in that profession so soon as he obtained the necessary qualifications for commencing practice. In process of time he obtained his degree, graduating with high honors, and he was not long in establishing a practice equal to that of many older advocates.
Although without any hope of ever taking her place again as Merrick’s wife, the poor woman whom he had so basely deserted instituted a thorough search for him in England, and was enabled to discover all his history, and also so gain an insight into his proceedings whilst away from her. It seems that he had married her under an assumed name, his real patronymic being Stephens, and that his people were purse-proud and overbearing. On his arrival in England his father, who had heard of the young man’s escapades in Canada peremptorily ordered him to have no more correspondence with his Canadian wife, but to marry a noble lady whom he had purchased (through money lent; to her father) for the ennobling of the Stephens family.
When the deserted woman became assured of the truth of these disclosures she made up her mind to give no more thought to the wretch who had left her in such a predicament, and determined to centre her hopes and her affections in her son, who had by this time become a distinguished lawyer, and was quite as proud of his mother as his mother was of him. He took a house for himself and only parent in the Western suburbs, and they lived in quiet comfort together, the young man going little into society, except on public occasions, on all of which he was invariably asked to take a prominent part in the proceedings.
When William Merrick had been in practice about two or three years he was entrusted with an important case connected with the endowment of some church in Lower Canada, which was appealed from one court to another, until, finally, it was decided to carry it to the House of Lords. Accordingly the young advocate made preparations for a trip to England, and, being unwilling to leave his mother alone for such a lengthened period, he decided to take her along with him. They sailed from Quebec one fine Saturday in June, arriving at Liverpool late on the following Saturday night, a strong westerly wind blowing them rapidly across the Atlantic! They stayed but a few days in Liverpool, and then went on to London, putting up temporarily at the Langham, at that time the most fashionable hotel in London. The morning after their arrival the young lawyer, having occasion to go to the Courts on business, Mrs. Merrick was left for a time to her own devices, she occupied a half-hour or so in reading the newspapers, and then made up her mind to go for a stroll before luncheon. Attiring herself rather gaily (she was still remarkably good-looking, only a little over 40 years then) she set out with a sprightly step down the main staircase, humming to herself a lively air which she used to sing in happier days. Just as she was descending the last flight of stairs, a gentleman having a delicate-looking lady on his arm began to ascend, and on hearing the melody, faint though it was, which the approaching lady, was unconsciously humming, glanced suddenly and swiftly upwards; then, as if a thunderbolt had struck him, he came to a sudden halt, having a dazed expression on his features and littering a half suppressed oath or imprecation. Mrs. Merrick had not noticed the approaching couple, her thoughts being far away, but the suddenness of the gentleman’s movement arrested her attention, and she looked him fully in the face for a moment; then, uttering a wild shriek, she fell backward and would have been probably severely injured, had not a gentleman, who happened to be close behind her, caught her as she fell, and carried her to the landing-place, where restoratives were applied, and the unfortunate woman speedily came to her senses.
It is scarcely necessary to say that the lady and gentleman whose advent so upset Mrs. Merrick were none other than Mr. and Mrs. Stephens who had come up to London for the operatic season and were staying at the Langham Hotel. Taking advantage of the confusion, Stephens hurried his wife along to her room, giving no further answer to her many and wondering enquiries than: “Oh, it’s only the heat; don’t mix yourself up with all these people,” and, without allowing time for remonstrance or further enquiry, he put a stop to all questioning by hurrying the delicate creature along till he deposited her, breath less, in an easy chair. Going out into the corridor he tried to discover how matters stood, but the woman he dreaded to meet had been borne to her room and medical attendance had been summoned. This Mr. Stephens learned from a waiter; so, determined to deport himself as if he knew nothing of the cause of the lady’s illness, and was as much puzzled at the occurrence as the rest of those who had either witnessed it or come on the scene soon afterwards, he returned to his wife, and, throwing himself into a chair, pretended to read. But his wife, obtuse though she possibly was with regard to the fainting lady, something had struck her about the manner her husband assumed. She could not get over it, and when at the table d’hote with her husband listened attentively to the conservation of two gentlemen who were sitting vis-à-vis. One enquired after the health of the lady who had taken so suddenly ill on the landing in the morning. The younger of the two gentlemen expressed his gratitude to the other for assisting his mother so kindly, who would have, but for his assistance, fallen down stairs, but was somewhat better now. He said the Doctor had not been able to ascertain the cause of her sudden illness, and, as his mother had always been blessed with such good health, he himself could not account for it. In the meantime Mr. and Mrs. Stephens had been listeners to the conversation when all of a sudden a curious, gurgling noise was heard, a chair was overturned, and Mr. Stephens was stretched on the floor in a dying condition, blood streaming from his mouth. There was a great commotion in the dining-room, and it was thought at first he had swallowed a bone and was choking; but the physicians who arrived, three in number, pronounced it a rupture of a blood-vessel and applied at once the necessary remedies, but gave little hope of his recovery. As soon as his condition permitted a removal, he was carried, by the advice of the doctor, to a private hospital near by, where his delicate wife also preferred to go, and nothing more was heard of the dying stranger, for a while anyhow.
Our young lawyer, Willie Merrick, had been successful in his law affairs, and had arranged a trip to the continent with his mother, when a cablegram was sent to them from Canada, saying: “Don’t leave England; wait for letters; good news.” This was rather annoying to Mr. Merrick, as he had only a few weeks more at his disposal; and he anticipated this trip as so necessary to restore his mother’s cheerfulness. Mrs. Merrick was also puzzled as to what could possibly detain them any longer in London. At last the Canadian post arrived, and with it large documents and letters which had been sent from England to Canada and were now returned, informing Mrs. Merrick that a certain W. Merrick Stephens had died, leaving a large fortune, and that half of this estate was bequeathed to Mrs. Merrick in Canada, whose maiden name had been Emma Caldwell, or, in case of her death, to her heirs. Young Mr. Merrick being at this time a well-known young lawyer in Montreal it was not hard to find him. Both he and his mother could not imagine who had left them such a fortune. Well did Mrs. Merrick think of the man whom she had loved so dearly and truly and who had pretended to be so fond of her. But, she knew too well that she had been deceived, that he had married her under a false name, and had she not recognised him at the hotel with a lady who was his wife!—She had never told her son the cause of her sudden illness when first at the hotel; and her son had never mentioned the affair of the dying stranger at the dinner-table, thinking his mother still too weak to be disturbed by such shocking calamities. His partner from Montreal wrote; “You had better stay and see about this large fortune at once. Every one is not such a lucky fellow as you.” A Mr. Tidal was mentioned as executor of the estate of W. M. Stephens, and our hero prepared at once to call on that gentleman, who received him very friendly, but requested him to call the next day with his mother at the family residence of the deceased, which visit had been particularly desired by the deceased gentleman’s widow. Our young gentleman of coarse promised to comply with the wish, and was very much surprised when, on returning to his mother, he found her hesitating,—but for a moment only, a second thought, as she promised to accompany him, feeling in her heart that, whatever Mrs. Stephens might wish to see her for, she would certainly not blame her for anything, as all the wrong that had been committed had been committed towards her, but still her heart was heavy when at two o’clock they started in one of those stage coaches of which London has so many. After about two hours’ drive they alighted in front of an old-fashioned family mansion, surrounded by well cultivated grounds. The gentleman, Mr. Vidal, on whom young Mr. Merrick had called the day previous, came to the portal to greet them, and begged Mrs. Merrick to have the kindness to see Mrs. Stephens in her own apartments, as she was in delicate health and very much crushed down through the sudden loss of her husband. A maid who had appeared at the time was ordered to direct Mrs. Merrick to the boudoir of her mistress and, announcing the visitor, withdrew. Mrs. Stephens, attired in deep mourning, looked very pale. On seeing Mrs. Merrick enter, she rose from her chair and holding both hands out to greet the astonished lady, said: “Oh, you wronged, wronged woman,” but then tears smothered her words, and it was quite a while before she could speak again. “How can I atone for the wrongs committed on you, but I promised him. His last request was that I would see you and beg your forgiveness for him. He had recognised you at once at the hotel, and he felt his Conscience troubling him very much. But the sight of your son—his son—was too much for him. He felt he could not live to meet the son he had so wronged and the woman he had so loved and so betrayed. He told me all when the blood was streaming and smothered his words. He had married me by the command of his father for my money, but had afterwards learned to love me when he saw I was so devoted to him, but he had not the courage to tell me of you and his child. I often noticed him looking sad, and when I asked him to tell me what was troubling him he would say: ‘Don’t be so kind to me, I don’t deserve it, I am very, very wicked.’”
“We have no children, our first-born, a boy, only lived one hour; the second, a girl, only three days. Since then my health has never been good, but he was so kind, so indulgent with all my weaknesses, that I can hardly realize he was ever unkind to any one. But his father was a stern old man of iron will who made him leave you and marry me for my father’s money. All this I could not tell to your son nor to anybody else than to you. Will you tell me you forgive him? I know your heart is pure and good or you would have troubled him while alive. Don’t sit so mute, you frighten me; shall I call your son—the servants?”
“No, no, don’t call anybody,” was her response, “but speak of him, of him you loved, the only one I have ever loved save my child.” At the thought of her son she broke out into sobs, and the blessed tears brought balm to her heart. Silence prevailed for a long time, save the sobs of both. At length a knock was heard, and a servant inquired if the ladies wished to take refreshments with the gentlemen. Both would have declined but for appearance sake, and, after bathing their faces, descended to the room where the gentlemen had transacted their business.
On entering Mrs. Stephens approached Willie saying: “I hope you have consented to take, in addition to the name which you bear already, the name of Stephens, which was the last desire of my dear husband and also my sincere wish.”
“If my mother consents to assume that name also I shall, but otherwise I must decline, as I shall never bear any other name than my mother whom I love and honor, and who can, if she prefer, refuse this bequest and need never tell me why. I know she will do all for the best if it combine with honor.”
“She will not refuse,” was Mr. Vidal’s reply; “and now, ladies, I have to beg you to sign those deeds that we are able to congratulate the new lord of the estate.”—(All signed).
The end of this story is very short now. Mr. W. Merrick Stephens and mother never returned to Montreal, but are living with Mrs. Stephens (the widow) on the same estate and never has there existed a more perfect harmony and friendship—both trying to make each other happy and those around them. The last I heard from them was the following letter: