This is all true as it is strange;Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truthTo the end of reckoning.—Shakespeare.
This is all true as it is strange;Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truthTo the end of reckoning.—Shakespeare.
This is all true as it is strange;Nay, it is ten times true; for truth is truthTo the end of reckoning.
—Shakespeare.
Every one arose and looked around to catch sight of the expected witness.
But no one was so much affected as the accused. He started to his feet on first hearing the name of Craven Kyte, and then dropped back into his chair, pale as marble.
Evidently he had not expected to hear this man called.
In the meantime a little bustle was heard in the bottom of the hall, as of some one pushing his way through the crowd.
And presently Craven Kyte, pale, calm, handsome and well-dressed in clerical black, came forward and entered the witness-box.
He bowed to the presiding judge and stood ready to give in his testimony.
All eyes within range of them turned constantly from the witness on the stand to the prisoner at the bar.
The two men were perfect duplicates of each other.
The oath was administered to the witness.
Mr. Berners conducted the examination.
"Please to state your name and age, the place of your nativity, and all you know of the marriage performed at the Church of St. ——, in the city of Philadelphia, on the fifteenth day of September last, between the hours of twelve and one p.m.," said the counsel.
"My name is Craven Kyte. I am a native of this town. I am twenty-three years of age. I know Mrs. Mary Grey, one of the parties to this marriage. I was engaged to be married to her. On the evening of the fourteenth of September I arrived in Philadelphia, having followed her there at her request. On the morning of the fifteenth I met her by appointment at the art gallery of Bertue Brothers. It was arranged that we should be married on that day. I took a cab and we entered it. At her suggestion I directed the driver to take us to the rectory of the Reverend Mr. Borden. As we drove along she proposed that I should marry her under the name of Alden Lytton."
At these words of the witness there was an immense sensation in the court, breaking forth into murmurs of astonishment and indignation, so that the judge arose in his place and said that order must be observed or he should be obliged to command the clearing of the court-room.
His words produced the proper effect, and the spectators became "as still as mice."
The examination of the witness was resumed.
"You say that Mrs. Mary Grey proposed that you should marry her in the name of Mr. Alden Lytton?"
"Yes. I was very much astonished at the proposal, and expostulated with her about it; but she was in earnest, and at last she made it an absolute condition of my ever getting her at all that I should marry her under the name of Alden Lytton."
"What reason did she give for this singular request?"
"She said she only wanted to play a harmless practical joke upon Miss Cavendish, the betrothed of Mr. Lytton."
"But her joke was so deep and earnest that she made it the only condition upon which she would marry you at all, you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"And did you comply with that condition?"
"Yes, sir. Sooner than lose her I complied with that wicked condition. It did not seem wicked to me then. It only seemed foolish and purposeless. And, besides, I firmly believe I was half crazy at that time."
"Quite likely," said Mr. Berners, dryly. "What followed?"
"Well, sir, and gentlemen, we drove to the rectory. She took a blank card out of her pocket and with a pencil wrote Mr. Alden Lytton's name on it, and told me to send that in to the rector as if it were my own. When I looked at the name on the card, I exclaimed how much it looked like Mr. Lytton's own handwriting; and she said so much the better."
Again, at these words, a murmur of indignation ran through the court-room, which was, however, instantly suppressed, as every one wished to hear every word uttered by this witness.
He continued:
"I rang the bell at the rectory, and sent the card in by the servant who came to open the door. Presently I was invited into the rector's study. He addressed me as Mr. Lytton, and wanted to know how he could serve me. Then I told him what I had come for. And he consented to perform the marriage ceremony, but said that he must do it in the church, which was just next door to the rectory. I went back to the carriage for Mary—"
"Meaning Mrs. Grey?"
"Yes. But I called her 'Mary' then. I went back for her, and brought her into the church, where, under the name of Alden Lytton, I was married to Mary Grey by the Reverend Mr. Borden, in the presence of John Martin, sexton of the parish, and of Sarah Martin, his daughter. A marriage certificate, signed by the minister and witnesses, was then given to Mrs. Grey."
"What happened next?"
"At her request I drove her back to the Blank House, where she had been stopping. She got out at the corner of the street, however, and walked to the house, while I waited in a neighboring reading-room for her return. After an hour's absence she came back, and we drove to the Asterick, where I had engaged rooms for us both. But she declined staying in town any time, and expressed a wish to go to Havre-de-Grace. So we only stopped at the Asterick long enough to pay my bill and gather up my effects, and then we took the train for Havre-de-Grace, where we arrived the same afternoon."
Here the witness suddenly became so much agitated that he could not go on for some moments.
Mr. Denham brought him a glass of water.
He drank and seemed somewhat revived.
"Tell us what occurred at Havre-de-Grace."
"We took rooms at the Star, had tea there, and after tea she proposed to take a walk down by the water-side, as the evening was so delightful. When we had walked a while she proposed that we should hire a boat and go rowing. I objected, being but an indifferent oarsman. But she insisted, declaring that she had been brought up on the water-side and could row like a squaw and swim like a fish. I was her slave, and I obeyed her. We hired the boat of her choice—a mere shell of a boat—"
Here the judge, who had been growing a little impatient, inquired of the counsel for the defense:
"Pray, Mr. Berners, what has all this about the boat to do with the case on trial?"
"It has a great deal to do with it, your honor, as tending to prove that this woman had a deep design upon the peace and honor of the gentleman whom she claims as her husband, and that she did not hesitate at any crime to carry out that design to a successful issue," respectfully replied the counsel.
"Let the witness proceed then," said the judge.
"What happened next?" inquired Mr. Denham.
"Murder happened next—at least, an attempt at murder. We got into the little shell of a boat, and I took the oars and rowed out into the river and down with the tide. We rowed about for more than two hours. It grew very dark and I then wished to come in; but she objected, and asked me to row around a certain point that I saw dimly down the river. I rowed to the point and around it, when suddenly she made an exclamation that her hat had fallen into the water, and she begged me to get it for her. It floated about three feet from the side of the boat. I drew in my oars and secured them, and then leaned over the side of the boat and reached out my hand to get the hat, which was floating further off. I had to lean so far over, and stretch my hand so far out, that it was as much as ever I could do to keep my balance. But just as I touched the hat she gave me a sudden and violent push from behind and sent me into the water."
At this a murmur of horror and indignation passed through the court-room. And on this occasion no one attempted to enforce silence.
But soon the deep interest of the audience in the story of the witness closed their lips and opened their ears again, and they became silent and attentive.
"Do you mean to say that Mrs. Grey pushed you into the water purposely?" inquired Mr. Denham.
"Yes, sir. She could not have done it accidentally. She waited until I had leaned so far over that the least jar might have made me lose my balance; and then suddenly, with all her strength, she pushed me, and I dropped into the water and sunk like so much lead. I could not swim at all. Twice, in my struggles for life, I rose to the surface and cried for help. Both times I saw her boat whirling round and round from the impetus given it by the violence with which she had pushed me over. The second time I sank I lost my senses. When I recovered them I found myself stretched out on the deck of a collier, with several people rubbing and rolling me.But I was weak in all my limbs and sorely confused in my head."
"Witness, can you not shorten this?" inquired the judge.
"Yes, your honor, I can shorten it, if they will permit me. The schooner that picked me up was the 'Sally Ann,' trading from Havre-de-Grace, and other coal depots, to Washington and Georgetown. They were outward bound then, and, as I could give no account of myself, being so nearly dead, they took me along with them. They carried me to Washington, where I lay ill in the free ward of the Samaritan Hospital, under the care of the good Sisters of Mercy, for two months. When I recovered sufficiently to know where I was I found out that I had been registered there under the name of Albert Little. I don't know how that happened, but I suppose somebody must have found in my pocket the card with Alden Lytton written upon it, and perhaps blotted with the river water, and had misread it Albert Little. But that is only a conjecture."
"Confine yourself to facts, witness, and leave conjectures," said the judge.
"Well, your honor, the fact then was that my name was registered Albert Little, however it came to be done. I did not care to set the good Sisters right about my name, and so I let the matter go. As soon as I was able to write, and before I was able to walk, I wrote to my senior partner, Mr. Bastiennello, a private and confidential letter, asking him to come and visit me at the hospital, and to inquire there for one Albert Little. Mr. Bastiennello, who had suffered great anxiety on the subject of my long protracted and unaccountable absence, came at once to see me. I told him of everything that had befallen me, especially as to Mary Grey's insisting on my marrying her under the name of Alden Lytton, and afterward attempting to get rid of me by murder. He was dreadfully shocked, of course, but in a subsequent conversation with me suggested that Mrs. Grey had some ultimate purpose in the perpetration of these crimes, and he advised me to lie perdue for a while until we should see what her purpose was and foil her in it. Some days afterward he proposed that I should take a commission from him to go and purchase goods for him in Europe. As soon as I was able to travel I left the country on this business. I was absent several months, and only arrived in my native country five days ago. On the day after my landing at New York, in looking over some files of newspapers, I read the advertisements for me. I guessed at once that I was wanted for business connected with the secret of my own life, and so I packed up and took the first train to Washington, and the next boat to Richmond, and the train to Wendover, without stopping an hour on my journey. I reached this place at noon to-day; found the town full of people, as if a fair or a festival was going on; asked what was the matter, and was told about this trial. Of course then I had the key to Mary Grey's mysterious crime, and I knew where I was wanted. I came at once to the court, wrote my name on a card and sent it in to Mr. Lytton's junior counsel, who came out to meet me and brought me here."
"That will do, Mr. Kyte. Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard the testimony of our witness, the only and all-sufficient witness for the defense; but we will recall one who appeared here as the most important witness for the prosecution. The Reverend Mr. Borden will please to take the stand once more," said Mr. Berners.
The rector of St. —— came forward and took his place in the witness box.
"Mr. Borden, will you be so good as to look at these two gentlemen and tell me, upon your oath, which of them you married to Mrs. Mary Grey?" politely requested Mr. Berners.
The rector looked from Alden Lytton to Craven Kyte, and from Craven Kyte back to Alden Lytton. And his face paled and flushed as he exclaimed:
"May the Lord of heaven forgive me, for I have made an awful mistake! It wasthatgentleman whom I married to Mrs. Grey;" and he pointed straight to Craven Kyte.
A murmur of great excitement passed through the court-room.
"A while ago you swore it was the other man," said Mr. Desmond, with an ugly sneer.
"So I did! May Heaven forgive me for the awful, though unconscious perjury; for so I thought, with all my judgment, until I saw this last man! And certainly they are perfect duplicates of each other. Any one, under the same circumstances, might have made the same mistake," meekly replied the minister.
And certainly every one who saw and compared the two men agreed with the last speaker.
"Will you be so good, reverend sir, as to explain by what test you now know these perfect duplicates, the one from the other, and are enabled to identify the particular one whom you married to Mrs. Grey on the fifteenth of the last September?"
"Certainly, sir. I can distinguish them by a certain indefinable difference which I can perceive while I see them together, but which I might fail to perceive if they were apart from each other. Also I can identify this last man, who calls himself Craven Kyte, by that small mark or scar that he bears on his temple near the corner of his left eye. I noticed it at the time I performed the marriage ceremony, but I thought it was a fresh scar. And I never remembered it at all when called upon to identify Mr. Alden Lytton, or indeed until I saw it again upon Mr. Craven Kyte."
"That will do," said Mr. Desmond; and the minister was allowed to retire.
John and Sarah Martin were recalled in succession, and each, when confronted with the two men, recanted from their late testimony, and swore pointedly to the person of Craven Kyte as the man whom they saw married to Mary Grey.
At this point the foreman of the jury arose in his place and asked permission of the bench to render their verdict at once, as they had all quite made up their minds upon the case.
After a few moments' consultation, the requested permission was given, and the jury, without leaving their seats, rendered their verdict of—
"Not guilty!"
The accused was formally discharged from custody. And then the judge did an almost unprecedented thing. He adjourned the court, came down from the bench and warmly shook hands with Mr. Lytton, congratulating him upon his complete vindication.
And friends crowded around him, rejoicing with him in hearty sympathy.
Among them came Craven Kyte, saying, as soon as he got a chance to speak:
"Mr. Lytton, I have come to implore your pardon for the great wrong I unconsciously did you. Heaven knows I never meant it!"
"I do not believe that you ever did," said Alden Lytton, kindly, taking his hand.
"I was mad and blind. She told me it was only to be a practical joke, and made it the only condition of our marriage, and I complied because I was her slave," continued Craven Kyte, not very clearly.
"Say no more about it. Forget it all as fast as you can. I shall," answered Alden, gently pressing and relinquishing the hand that he had held.
"Your carriage waits, my dear Lytton. And I am sureyou are anxious to get back to Blue Cliffs and be the first to convey this good news to your wife," said Mr. Lyle, with a view to help Alden to get rid of his well-meaning but troublesome friends, who, in the earnestness of their sympathy with his triumph, forgot they were keeping him from her whom his soul most longed to meet.
Friends took the gentle hint, shook hands with him and released him.
And very soon Alden Lytton, with Mr. Lyle and Laura, were on their way to Blue Cliffs.
As the carriage rolled into the yard, Emma ran down the steps, her face radiant with joy, to meet the beloved husband from whom she had been separated for so many weeks under such trying circumstances, and whose face she had been the first to see through the glass windows of the carriage.
A moment more and they were locked in each other's arms, fervently thanking Heaven for their happy reunion.
Later that evening the six friends were all assembled together in the drawing-room.
John Lytton and Charley, who were the guests of the house for the night, had just bid them good-night and retired to their room.
And then and there two little confessions were made.
Alden Lytton related the whole history of his foolish boyish love for the fascinating and unprincipled widow who had so nearly effected his destruction.
Emma listened in full sympathy, with his hand clasped in hers; and no retrospective jealousy disturbed the serenity of her loving and trusting spirit.
And at the close of the story she silently raised his hand and pressed it to her heart. That was her only comment. And the subject was never afterward mentioned between the two.
Then it was that Joseph Brent made his identity known to Alden Lytton, Emma and Laura, as it had long been known to Mr. Lyle, his friend, and to Electra, his wife. And Emma and Laura wept anew over the long past sorrows of poor Victor Hartman.
Alden grasped his hand in earnest gratitude and friendship.
"And it is toyou," he said, "that my sister and myself owe all our present happiness. You thought for us, planned for us, toiled for us, made us even as your own children, simply because you were falsely accused of having made us fatherless!" he said, as the generous tears filled his eyes.
"I did all this because, but for the mercy of Heaven, amad blow of minemighthave made you fatherless, as it nearly did," answered Victor Hartman.
"Do you know who really struck the fatal blow and why it was struck?"
"No; I know neither one nor the other."
"Then you shall learn, for now is the time to speak," said Alden Lytton.
In pursuance of his promise to tell who killed his father, Alden Lytton said:
"One hardly knows how to begin so painful a story. But here it is. You may have heard of a wild, handsome ne'er-do-weel who kept the White Perch Point hotel and married a relative of the Cavendish family?"
"Oh, yes, of course! He was the husband of this widow lady who lives here."
"The same. They had one child, a daughter, said to have been as beautiful as the mother, and as wild and reckless as the father. Out of pure deviltry, as it would seem, this girl ran away from her boarding-school in company with an unprincipled young play-actor, who afterward abandoned her. Soon after this my dear father, who had known her parents and herself, too, met and recognized her under the most painful circumstances. He was deeply shocked, and almost with a father's authority he insisted on taking her home to his own house and sending for her friends. She was but a child. She knew, also, that, being a minor, she was liable to be taken in custody, upon complaint made, and forcibly restored to her family. But she was full of duplicity. She affected to consent to return to her parents, and allowed my father to bring her back as far as his own house, whence he wrote a letter to her father telling him of the whereabouts of his daughter, and asking him to come and receive herathis hands. But the very day upon which this letter was mailed two events occurred to frustrate the good intentions of the writer. Ivy Fanning ran away from Fairview, my father's villa. And Mr. Fanning, having heard from the principal of the school from which his daughter had eloped, came furiously to town in search of the fugitive. Most unfortunately, he ascertained beyond a doubt that his daughter was living at Fairview, whither she had been taken by the master of the house, Mr.Henry Lytton. Mistaking altogether the situation, believing my dear father to have been the first abductor of the girl, he waylaid him and struck that fatal blow which caused his death, and which had so nearly cost you, also, your life.
"After committing this dreadful deed, the guilty man fled to his own home, where he found awaiting him the letter from Mr. Lytton explaining everything.
"After this his remorse knew no bounds. But ah, he was a coward! He dared not meet the penalty of his crime. He saw another mancondemnedto die for his offense, yet he dared not confess and save the guiltless. He tried indirect ways. He wrote anonymous letters to the governor. And when at last he found that these had no effect, and the day of execution drew very near, he came by night to this house, and in a private interview with Governor Cavendish, after binding him to a temporary secrecy, he confessed himself the murdererofHenry Lytton and related all the circumstances that led to the tragedy.
"This confession, made as it was under the seal of temporary secrecy, placed the late Governor Cavendish in a false position.
"He could not permit an innocent man to be executed for the crime of a guilty one. Nor could he, being bound to secrecy, expose the guilty. He was, therefore, compelled to pardon the supposed murderer, without giving any explanation to outraged public sentiment for the strangeness of his action. Such was the explanation made to me by the late Governor Cavendish, with the stipulation that I should keep the secret during the natural life of Frederick Fanning—which he felt sure could not be of long duration—and also that afterward I should reveal it to you, if ever I should happen to meet you. That is all, my dear friend and benefactor. And some day, when the poor old lady upstairs shall have passed away to her heavenly home, this story, which is your vindication, shall be published to the world. And the name of Victor Hartman, which you have renounced and declared to be dead and buried, shall be rescued from unmerited reproach and crowned with merited honor."
While yet they spoke together, there was heard a loud knocking at the hall door. And the next moment Jerome, the hall footman, who had immediately opened the door, entered the drawing-room, saying that there was a messenger from the Reindeer with a note for Mrs. Fanning on a matter of life and death.
Mr. Lytton immediately went out to see the messenger, whoproved to be no other than Mithridates, or Taters, once the slave of Frederick Fanning, some time the hired servant of John Lytton, and now the hostler at the Reindeer.
"Well, Taters, what is it? Mrs. Fanning has gone to bed, and we don't like to disturb her at this hour of the night," said Mr. Lytton.
"Oh, marster, you'll have to 'sturb her nebbertheless and notwivstandin'," said the weeping boy, "because my young missis, which wasn't a ghost after all, but was a libbin' 'oman when I see her here, is a-dyin' now, at the Reindeer, and wants to see her mudder."
"What on earth are you talking about, boy?" inquired the bewildered man.
"Miss Iby Fannin', sir! My young mist'ess as used to was! She be a-dyin' at de Reindeer and wants to see her mudder, Missis Fannin', my ole missis, wot libs here," explained the boy, bursting into fresh sobs and tears.
"Ivy Fanning, the long missing girl, supposed to be dead—dying now at the Reindeer?"
"Yes, sir—yes, sir! And if you don't make haste and tell my ole missis she'll be dead before her mudder can get to her," sobbed the faithful boy.
"Sit down here and wait," said Mr. Lytton, who now understood the emergency.
And, leaving the boy seated in the hall, he went into the drawing-room and told Emma the surprising news that Ivy Fanning, the long-lost, erring daughter of Frederick and Katharine Fanning, and the unworthy cousin of Emma Cavendish—Ivy Fanning, whose faults had caused so much misery to all connected with her—Ivy Fanning, supposed to be dead long ago, was now lying at the point of death at the Reindeer Hotel, and begging to see her poor, wronged mother!
"What a terrible thing to tell Aunt Katharine, when we rouse her up at the dead of night!" exclaimed Emma, with a shudder.
"And yet, my dear one, it is your duty to do that very terrible thing. Go bravely and do it, my love, while I go and order the most comfortable carriage in the stable to convey the poor lady to Wendover," said Alden Lytton, encouragingly.
Emma went to Mrs. Fanning's room and waked her up, telling her at first, very gently, that she was wanted.
The poor woman, jumping to the conclusion that some one of the household servants was ill and in need of her ministrations, got up at once and inquired who it was.
"It is a friend of yours who is ill at the Reindeer Hotel at Wendover, and desires to see you," said Emma, beginning gently to break to the poor mother the news that it was her dying daughter who had sent for her.
"Friend? I am sure I have no friend who is near enough to send for me, at dead of night, to come sixteen miles to see him, or her, as the case may be," said the widow, looking very much perplexed, as she hastened to put on her clothes.
"I should have said a relative—a very near relative—a long-lost—" began Emma, but her voice broke down in sobs.
"It is Ivy!" exclaimed Mrs. Fanning, as a swift intuition revealed to her the truth.
"Yes, it is Ivy," wept Emma, throwing her arms around the afflicted woman. "And oh, is it not better so—better at once to know her fate, even to know her safe in the peace of death, than to go on enduring this dreadful uncertainty about her?"
"Oh, my child, my child! Oh, my child, my child!" wept the poor mother, scarcely able, through sobs and tears, and failings of heart and frame, to complete her simple toilet.
Emma, with great sympathy and tenderness, assisted her to dress, pinned the shawl around her shoulders, tied the bonnet strings under her chin, and brought her her gloves and pocket-handkerchief.
"I will now run and get my hat and sack, Aunt Katharine. I will go with you to Wendover," she said.
"You go with me? My dear child, you have been so long parted from your husband, and only received him back to-night, and leave him to go with me? No, no! I can not permit you to do so, Emma," said the weeping lady.
"But you need me, Aunt Katharine, and I should be utterly unworthy of my dear Alden's love if I could fail you in your time of trouble. Besides, I think Alden, also, will go back with you to Wendover."
"Heaven bless you both! You are the solace of my sad old age," said the widow, earnestly.
Emma ran out, and soon returned prepared for her sudden night ride.
Then she took her poor aunt's arm within her own and supported her as they walked down-stairs together.
In the hall below they met Alden Lytton, also prepared for the journey.
He did not seem at all surprised to see Emma in her hat andpaletot. He understood her too well for that. He merely inquired if the ladies were both quite ready. And being answered in theaffirmative, he took them out and put them into the carriage, that was immediately started at a rate that astonished the usually steady-going horses.
The journey was made almost in silence. Mrs. Fanning wept quietly behind her pocket-handkerchief, and Alden and Emma sat with their hands clasped in each other's in mute sympathy.
It was some time after midnight when the carriage entered Wendover and drew up before the old Reindeer Hotel.
Lights about the house at that hour showed that something very unusual was transpiring within.
Hezekiah Greenfield himself came out to meet the party from Blue Cliffs.
With much gravity he greeted them, and to Mrs. Fanning's agonized inquiries about her daughter, he answered:
"I can't well tell you how she is, ma'am. But I will call Sukey, and she will take you to her."
He then conducted them into the parlor and went out in search of his wife.
Very soon good Mrs. Greenfield came waddling in.
Mrs. Fanning arose and hurried to meet her, eagerly inquiring:
"How is my child? How is she now? Does she still live?"
"Yes, ma'am, she is alive, and when she sent for you she was still in her right senses; but now she is wandering, poor girl, and imagines herself still to be living at Peerch P'int," answered the weeping woman, as she took the poor mother's hand to lead her to her daughter.
She led her to a spacious upper chamber, dimly lighted by a single taper, where on a white bed lay extended the form of the dying girl.
"Ivy, my darling! My darling Ivy, do you know me?" tenderly whispered the poor mother, taking her erring daughter's wasted hand and gazing into the fading face, nothing but love and sorrow and forgiveness in her heart.
"Is that you, mamma? Is it near morning? I'm so glad!" said the dying girl, panting as she spoke. "Oh, I've had such a dreadful dream, mamma—such a long, dreadful dream! I dreamed of doing such horrible and wicked things—that I never could have done in my waking hours. I have lived long years in last night's dreadful dream. I am glad it is morning. Kiss me, mamma."
These were her last words, panted forth with her last breath. The mother's kiss fell upon "unanswering clay."
Katharine Fanning was borne in a fainting condition fromthe death-bed of her daughter and conveyed to another chamber, where she received the most sympathetic and affectionate ministrations from Emma and Alden Lytton.
But it was not until Alden and Emma saw the face of that sinful child of passion in her coffin that they knew Ivy Fanning and Mary Grey to be one and the same person.
Her remains were laid in the family vault at Blue Cliffs, where, before many weeks had passed, the body of her brokenhearted mother was laid beside them.
Craven Kyte was never clearly certain whether he was himself a widower or a bachelor. But in either character he was free. And the first use he made of his freedom was to go to White Perch Point and propose to the brave little maiden of the light-house, who was his last love, as she had been his first.
And soon he made her his wife, and brought her and her aged relative away from their bleak home and dangerous duties and settled them in a pretty rural cottage within easy walking distance of his own thriving place of business—the fashionable bazaar of "Bastiennello & Kyte."
The two young brides, Laura and Electra, were taken to Europe by their husbands, and reached Paris in time to be present at the great World's Fair. And before they returned Victor Hartman's story was published to the world, and his fame was fully vindicated.
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Gunter's Novels
Louisa May Alcott's Works
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings. Obvious typographical errors in punctuation (misplaced quotes and the like) have been fixed. Corrections [in brackets] in the text are noted below:throughout:Katherine/Katharine Fanning spelled with an "e" at the beginning of the novel and with an "a" at the end; it is the same person.page 8: typo corrected"Oh, the same sin ofhelplessnss[helplessness]and cowardice; the same fear of discovery and exposure; the same horror of being castpage 13: added missing "too. For see how easily she falls into error. She ought to marry some good, wise, elderly man, who could be her guide, philosopher and friend as well as husband.["]page 22: typo correctedin hand, stood with Emma Cavendish in the hall waiting for Mrs.Gray[Grey], to whom they had sent a message inviting her to come down and see the traveler off.page 41: added missing ""Yes; but, my dear, she must have this change now, immediately.["]page 45: added missing "["]I would restore to her all that she has lost, if I could. I would give her back husband, daughter, home and competence," said Emma.page 54: added missing "Jerome, if that's his name, very gravely, with a silent bow, put up the steps and closed the door and mounted his box and drove off.["]page 72: typo correctedShe proposed this plan to her hostess, who at first opposed the self-sacrifice, as she called it. But finally, beingpursuaded[persuaded]by Mary Grey, she yielded the point, and ferventlypage 76: added missing ""Yes, it is from your unknown guardian.["]page 104: corrected punctuation typoThe pastor expressed himself highly gratified, and added.[:]page 109: corrected and added missing punctuation"Maria Wheatfield,[."]page 111: corrected quoteM. Grey.'["]page 115: added missing ""Hush—hush!" she murmured.["]Be quiet! There are people in the next room. They may hear you. And I am sure they should do so they would take you for a lunatic."page 118: added missing punctuation"Yes; but don't cry out so loud—that's a dear! I repeat, there are people in the next room[.]But you have not yet answered my question."page 126: suggested possible missing word"I am tired of walking. And here is a vacant house placarded 'To Let,' with a nice long porch in front. Come, let[us]go in and sit down on one of the benches and rest."page 140: added missing "as I always get frightened and lose my presence of mind in the terrible uproar of a steamboat landing or a railway station.["]page 146: typo correctedHer devoted slave was waiting forhere[her]there. And on the table, in addition to the other comforts, there was a little silverpage break between 150-151: added missing end of wordhis companion, and the lovely youthful widow, who waslis-[tening][Page 163 in TIA copy of a different publisher/edition (www.archive.org/details/victorstriumphse00soutrich) shows only "-ening" is missing here.] to him with such rapt attention, were a pair of happy and devoted lovers.page 188: added missing "telegram from the agent, which he supposed to be a magical answer to your message.["]page 213: added missing ""I said that you were my prisoner, Mr. Alden Lytton," answered the deputy-sheriff, gravely. "I repeat that you are my prisoner.["]page 222: typos corrected"Gn[On]my sacred oath I most solemnly declare that you are the man and she is the woman I then and there united together," unflinchingly replied the minister.with fierce indignation, "all I have further to say is this—that you have baselypurjured[perjured]yourself to assist and support an infamous conspiracy!"page 238: added missing punctuationChurch of St. ——, in the city of Philadelphia, on the fifteenth day of September last, between the hours of twelve and one p. m[.]," said the counsel.page 246: duplicate word removedher father telling him of the whereabouts of his daughter, and asking him to come and receive herat [at]his hands. But the very day upon which this letter was mailed two events occurredpage 247: typo correcteda coward! He dared not meet the penalty of his crime. He saw another mancondemed[condemned]to die for his offense, yet he dared not confess and save the guiltless. He tried indirect ways.page 247: duplicate word removedsecrecy, he confessed himself the murdererof [of]Henry Lytton and related all the circumstances that led to the tragedy.page 250: typo correctedinquired if the ladies were both quite ready. And being answered in theaffimative[affirmative], he took them out and put them into the carriage, that was immediately started at a rate that astonished
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings. Obvious typographical errors in punctuation (misplaced quotes and the like) have been fixed. Corrections [in brackets] in the text are noted below:
throughout:Katherine/Katharine Fanning spelled with an "e" at the beginning of the novel and with an "a" at the end; it is the same person.page 8: typo corrected"Oh, the same sin ofhelplessnss[helplessness]and cowardice; the same fear of discovery and exposure; the same horror of being castpage 13: added missing "too. For see how easily she falls into error. She ought to marry some good, wise, elderly man, who could be her guide, philosopher and friend as well as husband.["]page 22: typo correctedin hand, stood with Emma Cavendish in the hall waiting for Mrs.Gray[Grey], to whom they had sent a message inviting her to come down and see the traveler off.page 41: added missing ""Yes; but, my dear, she must have this change now, immediately.["]page 45: added missing "["]I would restore to her all that she has lost, if I could. I would give her back husband, daughter, home and competence," said Emma.page 54: added missing "Jerome, if that's his name, very gravely, with a silent bow, put up the steps and closed the door and mounted his box and drove off.["]page 72: typo correctedShe proposed this plan to her hostess, who at first opposed the self-sacrifice, as she called it. But finally, beingpursuaded[persuaded]by Mary Grey, she yielded the point, and ferventlypage 76: added missing ""Yes, it is from your unknown guardian.["]page 104: corrected punctuation typoThe pastor expressed himself highly gratified, and added.[:]page 109: corrected and added missing punctuation"Maria Wheatfield,[."]page 111: corrected quoteM. Grey.'["]page 115: added missing ""Hush—hush!" she murmured.["]Be quiet! There are people in the next room. They may hear you. And I am sure they should do so they would take you for a lunatic."page 118: added missing punctuation"Yes; but don't cry out so loud—that's a dear! I repeat, there are people in the next room[.]But you have not yet answered my question."page 126: suggested possible missing word"I am tired of walking. And here is a vacant house placarded 'To Let,' with a nice long porch in front. Come, let[us]go in and sit down on one of the benches and rest."page 140: added missing "as I always get frightened and lose my presence of mind in the terrible uproar of a steamboat landing or a railway station.["]page 146: typo correctedHer devoted slave was waiting forhere[her]there. And on the table, in addition to the other comforts, there was a little silverpage break between 150-151: added missing end of wordhis companion, and the lovely youthful widow, who waslis-[tening][Page 163 in TIA copy of a different publisher/edition (www.archive.org/details/victorstriumphse00soutrich) shows only "-ening" is missing here.] to him with such rapt attention, were a pair of happy and devoted lovers.page 188: added missing "telegram from the agent, which he supposed to be a magical answer to your message.["]page 213: added missing ""I said that you were my prisoner, Mr. Alden Lytton," answered the deputy-sheriff, gravely. "I repeat that you are my prisoner.["]page 222: typos corrected"Gn[On]my sacred oath I most solemnly declare that you are the man and she is the woman I then and there united together," unflinchingly replied the minister.with fierce indignation, "all I have further to say is this—that you have baselypurjured[perjured]yourself to assist and support an infamous conspiracy!"page 238: added missing punctuationChurch of St. ——, in the city of Philadelphia, on the fifteenth day of September last, between the hours of twelve and one p. m[.]," said the counsel.page 246: duplicate word removedher father telling him of the whereabouts of his daughter, and asking him to come and receive herat [at]his hands. But the very day upon which this letter was mailed two events occurredpage 247: typo correcteda coward! He dared not meet the penalty of his crime. He saw another mancondemed[condemned]to die for his offense, yet he dared not confess and save the guiltless. He tried indirect ways.page 247: duplicate word removedsecrecy, he confessed himself the murdererof [of]Henry Lytton and related all the circumstances that led to the tragedy.page 250: typo correctedinquired if the ladies were both quite ready. And being answered in theaffimative[affirmative], he took them out and put them into the carriage, that was immediately started at a rate that astonished