262CHAPTER XXXIII.STILL AT WORK.
It was in the Spring, after the death of Irene, that Scott one day sought the abode of old Meg. He had some very important business to transact and she was the one who could, and must help him in the matter. He found Meg and Crisp within, and entering the dingy room, Meg greeted him with eager expectation, and her black eyes sparkled as she offered him an old wooden chair. She looked more repulsive than ever, for her broad nose looked still broader, and her wide mouth seemed to grin more fiercely. Scott’s searching eyes took in, at a glance, the filthiness of the place, and the odor of whiskey was offensive in the extreme.
“Sit down,” said Meg. “You want your fortune told again?”
“No. You are in possession of a few facts of which I wish you to inform me, and I will pay you well if you will answer the questions which I ask you.”
“What are they?”
“Will you answer me all you know in regard to a certain matter if I pay you well for it?”
263
Meg looked at Crisp in a way that said plainly: “Shall I, Crisp?”
Crisp, who seemed to understand the look, said:
“You might as well tell it if you get paid for it.”
“What will you give me?” said Meg.
“I will pay you according to the amount of information I receive.”
“Go on,” she said, seating herself and lighting an old, blackened clay pipe.
“I wish you first to tell me when you think of leaving the city.”
“I don’t know that part,” she said, turning uneasily around.
“You certainly have some idea of the time.”
“I s’pose when the weather is warmer.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. You know folks like us go everywhere.”
“Very well,” said Scott, “you will then be unable to get the money which I shall bring, or send you.”
“Maybe we won’t go away at all.”
“Then I shall, of course, find you here.”
“Yes, but there is something that I could tell you now if I thought you would pay me for it.”
“I will, if it is worth anything.”
“It is about your wife.”
“What of her?”
“I can tell you something that would make you curse her. You don’t know her.”
“What do you know of her?”
“I know her well.”
264
“You do?”
“I know her, too,” said Crisp.
“You would be surprised to know that I know more of her past life than you do,” said Meg.
“Yes, and you would be surprised to know that she was a devil,” said Crisp, fiercely.
“Take care,” said Scott, “you must be more careful in your speech.”
“Do you know who Irene Mapleton was before you married her?”
“I know nothing of her past life.”
“I know things that you would like to know.”
Scott was really in possession of more facts than Meg supposed, but he had no idea of allowing her to know it. He had an object in gaining all the information he could from her, but he was very careful to withhold the knowledge which he possessed. It was quite evident that Meg had not heard of Irene’s death, and Scott resolved to keep the knowledge from her until he had heard her story.
“Tell me what you know of her,” he said.
“I knew her years ago.”
“How could you know her?”
“That’s the mystery.”
“But you claim to be a gypsy.”
“So I am, but I knew Irene Mapleton years ago. You can’t guess, if you are the smartest lawyer in all the land, where I found her. Oh, you thought you was marrying a lady, but you was only getting a—devil.”
“Hush!”
“No, I won’t hush. I know what I am talking about.265She was a devil and I owe her a grudge yet, and mean some day to pay it back, good and strong.”
“How did she offend you?”
“Some day I may tell you.”
“Why not now?”
“I ain’t quite ready.”
“Will you tell me where you knew her first?”
“I knew her first when she was a baby, and I knew her father, too.”
Scott was puzzled. He looked steadily at Meg as she continued:
“Yes, and I knew her mother, too.”
“Who was her mother?”
“Oh, a rich, proud man like you would blush to know your mother-in-law.”
“Meg,” said Scott, “I do not believe you know anything about my wife.”
“Oh, yes, I do, and some day I can convince you. Do you remember of a letter that an old woman gave you, one day, when you was leaving your office?”
“Yes, but it was not you.”
“Never mind.”
“Can you tell what the letter contained?”
“Yes, your fortune.”
“That was only a piece of nonsense.”
“Don’t you see I know.”
“Tell me how you know.”
“Perhaps I won’t; unless you pay me well for it.”
“That I have promised to do if you give me the required information.”
“Come one week from to-day and I will tell you266the whole story. I can’t to-day,” she said, looking at Crisp.
Scott returned to his office, where he found a letter from Paul. He read the contents with seeming satisfaction.
“Bless the boy,” he said, “he is true to the last. I wish every heart in the world was as honest as that of my boy Paul. He is coming back. How I shall enjoy his presence once more. He must have changed by this time. But he is Paul still and always will be; nothing can change him. If he ever comes back, I shall never let him go again,” and this he wrote to Paul, “that he never need think of leaving him again; that his salary should be raised to any sum which he might name.”
When Scott reached his home he found Guy and June in the family parlor, engaged in a very earnest conversation.
“You are just the one to settle this argument of ours,” Guy said.
“What is it?” Scott asked.
“It is in regard to having a home of our own. Please tell us what you think of it,” said Guy.
“If you leave it to me,” said Scott, “it will take very little time to come to a conclusion. Certainly it is your right to act your own pleasure in the matter, and perhaps every person enjoys himself best in his own home, but unless you really object, it is my desire that you and June remain with us for the present, at least, for I do not see how we can live without her.”
Guy would not be selfish enough, he said, to take her267away, and so it was decided that June should still remain at home.
Spring came and brought the wedding, which was an elaborate affair, because June’s friends, both real and pretended, were numerous, and it was quite natural that Mr. Horton, of the publishing house of Horton & Co., should be married in grand style. The wedding gifts were costly and numerous, and among them all the one that June prized most was a beautifully bound book of poems by “Auralia,” and on the fly-leaf was written, in a bold, beautiful hand, the words, “From Paul.” There were no elaborate wishes for her of a cloudless life in the uncertain future, but June knew that Paul wished in his heart it might be so.
Scott had called on Meg and found her dangerously ill. He spared neither time nor money to procure the best of medical aid and the greatest comforts that she needed to restore her to health. He waited patiently to see her pass through a severe sickness of many weeks, and it was with a feeling of relief that he learned of her convalescence. Not until early summer did he have the satisfaction of hearing her say that she would soon be able to talk to him. She dared not refuse to answer his questions, and even if she were compelled to frame a falsehood, she would not refuse to hold an interview, especially when there was money at stake.
268CHAPTER XXXIV.A GAME OF HEARTS.
Miss Elsworth had returned to Roxbury. She had an amount of work which would keep her busy for a number of weeks, and then she expected to pass the remainder of the summer in traveling, partly for business and partly for pleasure. She always visited the family of Mr. Graves as soon as she returned, and she was much pleased to find Bessie improving in health and appearance. “I think you are getting well, Bessie,” she said as Bessie sprang toward her.
Bessie smiled as she whispered:
“Why, Miss Robin, I’m not sick, but you just come with me,” she said, taking Blanche’s hand and trying to draw her toward the door.
“Wait until I am ready to go home, and then you may go with me, and tell me all you wish.”
Bessie waited very impatiently and as soon as Blanche was ready to leave the house, she clapped her hands joyously.
“Now I will tell you all about it,” she said, as they walked away together, “but you must not be scared, will you?”
“No, I guess not.”
269
“Well, you know Ross?”
“Yes.”
“But you haven’t seen him yet since you came?”
“No.”
“Well, you will see him, for he is coming to see you, I know.”
“How do you know?”
“You see I know, because every day when the sun goes down, Ross would come out and sit on the steps, or the well-curb, or somewhere down by the old house.”
“Why, Bessie, how you talk!”
“Oh, it’s as true as can be; as true as the stars.”
“How do you know that the stars are true?”
“Why, they are always there, looking down on us, ain’t they? They never fail, unless there is a cloud comes between, and then their bright eyes are gone. Don’t you know that is true?”
“Perhaps it is.”
“And what I tell you is true, and when Ross comes you will know it.”
“What do you mean, Bessie?”
“I mean that Ross will come some time after the sun has gone to bed, and he will tell you all about love.”
“Hush, Bessie.”
“No, I will not hush, for I know he will come. Oh, but he will,” she said, pointing her finger at Blanche. “Now you are ashamed; you think it is foolish to love, but I can tell you it is beautiful; there is always a story goes with it, too, that you can’t help believing, and you just let Ross tell it to you and see if I did not tell you true.”
270
“Bessie, why do you think this?”
“Why, I know he will; but don’t you believe a word—not if you can help it. You see I believed so long, and then at last I found he lied; so don’t you believe Ross, will you?”
“I guess not.”
“You must be sure. Now I’m going away because he wants you to be all alone when he tells you that story.”
“Bessie, you have a very foolish idea in your head,” Miss Elsworth said, as they entered the old house.
“But don’t you call me crazy.”
“Bessie, your brother will not talk to me of love; he has never mentioned it to me.”
“Well, you see, he was afraid; he says you are a famous woman.”
“No, I am not famous, and if I were, what of it?”
“That’s what I say. I ain’t a bit afraid of you if you are crazy. Ross is a coward to be afraid of a robin,” Bessie said, as she sat down beside Blanche and looked into her face with a sweet smile. “I’d let him tell, just to hear how lovely it sounds, because, you see, you don’t know; you never loved anybody, did you?”
“Oh, yes, I have loved a great many people.”
“But you never loved only one so much that you could just die for him, did you?”
Blanche Elsworth was looking steadily out of the window, and she made no reply to Bessie’s random talk.
“Say, did you, now?” Bessie asked again. “Then you need not answer. I know, I know!”
271
“What do you know?”
“I know you love Ross, but you must not believe him.”
“Let us talk about something else, Bessie.”
“No, I won’t. I mean to talk about love—but I’m going now.”
“May I go with you?”
“No, you want to see Ross.”
“I think you can go alone, Bessie.”
“I will,” she said. “Now watch me run,” and away she sped ere Blanche had time to think what she was doing.
The sun had gone down, and Blanche was sitting on an old tree that had fallen by the side of the little stream that ran through the ravine. She was watching the bright colors which blended so beautifully above the tall tree tops, and she was thinking that with a world so full of beauty all around there should be more happiness. Blanche looked up at the richly glowing sky, then down at the clear little stream at her feet.
“Well, upon my word.”
“What is the matter, Mrs. Morris?”
“Well, if you ain’t the funniest woman, settin’ out here on a tree among the birds and the bugs.”
“Is there anything you want?” asked Blanche.
“Why, I thought if there wasn’t anything to do I’d run up to the other house.”
“You may go,” said Blanche, who was in a thinking mood, and glad to be left alone.
Mrs. Morris walked away, and Blanche had just fallen272into a deep study when she looked up and saw Ross Graves coming toward her.
“May I take a seat here?” he asked, pointing to the old log where she sat.
“Certainly,” she said, pleasantly.
“You have chosen a very quiet spot for visiting yourself, Miss Elsworth.”
“It is a lovely one,” she replied. “I enjoy this extreme quiet.”
“I suppose,” he said, smiling, “that you are never alone.”
“No,” she said, looking up and returning the smile. “I am usually surrounded with those who are holding an imaginary conversation with me.”
“And perhaps not always friendly.”
“Oh, no, my people are as varied as those in real life, and possess the warmest love and the most bitter hatred.”
“But there is a charming feature about the surrounding objects. You have them completely under your control.”
“Yes, for though they are extremely ill-disposed, they dare not be rebellious.”
“Miss Elsworth, I have often thought that it must be a very happy life that you lead.”
“Why?”
“You always look happy.”
“Do you always judge from appearances?”
“No, for I know that there are those who can cover an aching heart with a smiling face.”
273
“That is true, and I believe there is a skeleton in every closet, either great or small.”
Ross looked at the lovely face, and wondered where there could be a skeleton for her. She had never appeared to have a heartache, but he noticed that at times there was a longing look in her beautiful eyes, as if she were not quite satisfied with life, though she had never uttered the word that said she was not entirely happy.
“There are those who can keep the skeleton so securely hidden that you would never know it existed, and I often think of what a vast amount of self-control it must require to bury the secrets of some heart-sorrow,” said Ross.
“Yes,” she answered, “self-control and patient endurance. I have known those whom I would give the world to be like, just because they possessed the fortitude to crush down and bury their heartaches.”
“I should judge that you possessed that faculty, if you had any to bury.”
“I? No, I wish I did. There is a hungry feeling so often comes up in my heart that I almost cry out in despair, though my sorrows are nothing compared to many another.”
“There are some sorrows that never can be crushed—that will exist while life lasts.”
“Yes,” she answered, looking up at the soft twilight sky, with a face full of tender emotion, “and God pity those who are helpless.”
“There is a skeleton in our home that can never be removed, a disgrace which can never be blotted out,274and I have sworn to have revenge on the villain who threw the dark shadow over our lives.”
“Revenge can avail you nothing, and might bring still greater misery upon you,” said Miss Elsworth.
“That is true, but you cannot realize how hard it is to crush down a bitter feeling toward one who has injured you.”
“Perhaps not, but this I know, that the hardest battles are fought with our own hearts.”
“That is true, and the man who ruleth his own spirit is mightier than the one who taketh a city. Had the enemy captured us in any other way, I might have been more easily reconciled, but Bessie was our idol, the pride of our home, and she was the baby, too, you know.”
Blanche looked on the fine face of Ross with a heart full of pity, and the tears shone on her long, dark lashes, as she said:
“Mr. Graves, I sympathize with you, and I wish I might help to lift the dark shadow that is hanging over your life, and if there is any way that I can make Bessie, or any other member of your family happier, I am more than willing to do so, if you will only tell me how it may be done.”
“Oh, Miss Elsworth, how much happier you could make my home if you would. Your presence would make bright the shadows which lie around my door. Your presence would make a paradise where otherwise would be the loneliest, most barren desert.”
“Please, Mr. Graves, do not talk to me in that way. I275am not capable of brightening any life any further than to do my duty to mankind by helping where I can.”
“You may not quite understand me, my dear Miss Elsworth. I do not say that I dare hope for a return of love from you, but I do say that it would make my life brighter. I know that you can win a man far better than I am in every respect, but that does not make me love you less.”
“Hush, Mr. Graves, I cannot listen to you.”
“I do not blame you, but I have often wished that you were not as grand a woman as you are—that is, so far above me—there might be some hope for me.”
“I am not above you in any respect, but I cannot listen to such words from you.”
“Why not from me?”
“Because it is not right.”
“What can be wrong about my telling you that I love you?”
“I cannot tell you all the secrets of my life, but let this satisfy you: that it would be wrong for me to tell you that I loved you, and such a thing can never be.”
“I wonder why fate is so bitterly cruel to me,” said Ross, in a sad voice.
“Perhaps, Mr. Graves, if the veil were lifted that hides the life secrets of some of us there would be heartaches revealed even greater than our own, though God knows I do pity you, and will acknowledge that your sorrow is a great one and almost too hard to bear. I can sympathize with you, for my own life has its waste places, but I try to look over them and keep my eyes as much as I can on the flowery hills beyond. There are few276lives without clouds, and no cloud but that will at some time break and show the silver lining.”
Ross shook his head and turned sadly away.
“I know,” he said, looking toward the western sky, “I do not expect that you could love me or that you would stoop——”
“Stop,” she said, in a firm, low voice. “It is not that I would need to stoop. I am not above you in any respect.”
“But, tell me truly, Miss Elsworth,” Ross said, as he turned and grasped her hand, holding it firmly in his own, “tell me, is it because I am disgraced?”
“No, for in my eyes you are as free from sin as any man I know.”
“I thank you for those words,” he said, releasing her hand. “It is a great comfort to know that you respect me.”
“I have the greatest respect for you, and wish in my heart you might be happy.”
“Do not send me away without answering me one question. Do you love another?”
“Have you a right to know the secrets of my heart?”
“Perhaps not, but if it is so I shall give you up without another word.”
“Then be satisfied that it is so.”
“God help me,” said Ross, as he turned to leave her.
“Ross,” she said, in a low, soft voice, “do not be offended; be a brother to me, for as such I shall always care for you.”
“I will try,” he said, with a smile, as he looked into her eyes, ere he left the spot.
277
She watched his form as he walked up the slope, and her heart was filled with pity.
“Poor Ross,” she said, “oh, I am so sorry for him! A hopeless love is a sad thing indeed, but how useless to mourn for a lost hope. There is much brightness in life for him, if he will accept it. I hope he will.”
“Well, I jest do wonder if he will come,” said Mrs. Morris, looking down the road. “Dear me, I don’t hardly know how to act if he does come. I wonder what he’ll say to me first. Perhaps, after all, he don’t mean nothin’, but, la me, I don’t believe he’d ever looked at me that way if he hadn’t. I don’t see how Miss Elsworth can think they hain’t no use for a man about the house; why, la me, I don’t look no way, but what I see where a man would come handy. Oh, as sure as the world there he comes. Oh, oh, what’ll I ever say first? I wonder if he’ll talk the way Reuben did when he come a-courtin’ me. If he does I’ll know better what to say.”
278CHAPTER XXXV.A SAD EVENT.
Miss Elsworth stepped out of the door one afternoon and saw Bessie climbing cautiously along the ledge of rocks across the ravine. Her dark, luxuriant hair was floating like a dusky cloud about her shoulders, and there was a burning light in her dark blue eyes, and a crimson spot on either cheek.
“Bessie, Bessie,” Miss Elsworth called, “come down.”
“Hush,” said Bessie, raising a warning finger. “If you make a loud noise I’ll kill you; you know, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know,” said Blanche, with a fear that something was wrong. Bessie crept cautiously up the rocks, and seating herself she drew from her pocket her little pistol, and fired at what Miss Elsworth supposed to be an imaginary object.
“Ha, ha,” laughed Bessie, as a shrill cry rent the air, followed by a deep groan as of some one in great distress.
Miss Elsworth stood for a moment as one frozen with terror.
“Oh, Bessie, Bessie, what have you done?” she asked, in a voice full of pity. “Have you killed your brother?”
279
“No, no,” said Bessie, stepping cautiously down, “but I told you I meant some day to take his head off, and now I have done it. You see you don’t understand all these things, but you can come with me if you want to see. He is just there behind that tree, that is where he fell. He did not see me, but I saw him just in time. Ha, ha, ha! Yes, yes, I’m coming; don’t you see me? Don’t you know Bessie?”
Miss Elsworth followed Bessie, and looking down by a cluster of bushes, saw a man, wounded and bleeding. Miss Elsworth stooped, and, lifting the hat which had fallen over his face, she uttered a cry almost as full of agony as those uttered by the man who had been wounded.
“Oh, Bessie, what have you done?” she asked, while her face grew deathly white. “Bessie, you have killed——”
“Yes, I know I killed him,” said Bessie, as she stooped down and smoothed back the silken hair, and pressed her lips to those of the suffering man.
“You know I told you I would.”
“You have done a very wicked act, Bessie.”
“Have I?”
“Yes, see the poor man can scarcely speak, and he wants to talk to you.”
“Well, he is my lover, and he can talk if he wants to; but I won’t believe him. But don’t you scold, for I told you I would take his head off. Didn’t he kill me once—me and my baby? Why, yes, he just ground me down to the dust.”
The man’s pale lips moved, and regaining consciousness,280he said: “I was just coming back to look at you once more; I wanted to find you again, and——”
“There, don’t lie any more. You know you swore that you loved me once, but I don’t believe a word you say.”
“Bessie,” said the man, raising his handsome head, “what made you do this if you loved me?”
Miss Elsworth looked at the man in surprise. It was now quite evident that he did not exactly understand the condition of Bessie’s mind.
“Why, sir,” she said, “do you not see that Bessie is insane.”
“Good God, is that so?” said the man.
“Yes, and she has been so since she was cruelly deserted by her lover.”
“Who was her lover?”
“Do you not know?” Blanche Elsworth asked, trying to stop the flow of blood that came from his side.
“Who did she say it was?” he asked, trying to appear unconcerned.
“Please do not talk any more,” said Blanche
“Why not?”
“Because you are badly wounded, and I must go and find some one to help me take you to the house.”
“To whose house—not Bessie’s?”
“No, to mine.”
“Who are you? Allow me to ask.”
“Never mind who I am. I shall try to help you; so be quiet.”
“You are not going to leave that crazy girl, are you? She will shoot me again,” he said, looking at Bessie.
281
“Bessie, will you come with me?” said Blanche.
“Indeed, I will not! You can just leave me with my darling. Oh, I knew he would come some day. What made you wait so long? Why didn’t you come and see—oh, well, never mind about that, you can never, never see it.”
“Bessie, will you come with me?”
“No, Miss Robin, I won’t—go on,” said Bessie, with a fierce look in her eyes.
Blanche knew that to urge Bessie would be useless, so she hurried away, although she feared that Bessie would repeat the action of a few moments before; but there was nothing to do but to leave her and trust to the result. Her first act was to find Ross and make him acquainted with the affair, and ask his assistance in removing him to her house. Mrs. Morris said that she “wan’t no coward, but she guessed she’d go up to t’other house, if Eliza and Eunice would take her place,” which they willingly consented to do.
The wounded man was carried to the old house and placed in a comfortable bed and a physician sent for. Ross stood for a moment looking at the wounded man, and then his own face became colorless and his lips white and trembling.
“My God!” he said. “It is—it is her betrayer. Bessie, poor Bessie! You have saved me the deed that I swore to perform.”
Bessie had followed closely behind Ross, and going toward him she said:
“Oh, Ross, ain’t you glad I killed him?”
282
“Yes—oh, I hardly know, Bessie, whether I am glad or not. Poor little sister, I am so sorry for you.”
“Oh, don’t pity me, Ross. I told the ghosts I’d kill him, and I’m so glad he came.”
“Hush, Bessie.”
“Ha! ha! ha! I don’t care, I can kill him again if I choose.”
She stepped softly toward the bed, and throwing back the heavy mass of dusky hair, she raised her white hands above her head, and with her wild eyes fixed upon the face of the man before her she said:
“It is too bad to lie there that way. But just wait; to-night the ghosts will come and they will stand all about your bed and you will hear them laugh, and oh, how they will shriek and groan, and they will take you in their long, bony arms, just the way they did me, and carry you away out in the storm, and then they will set you down on your baby’s grave.”
“Take her away,” said the wounded man.
“Ah, they can’t take me away. I mean to stay here just as long as I want to, and I will tell you such nice long stories about the ghosts.”
The man turned upon his pillow and tried to avoid the sight of Bessie’s face, but she leaned over the bed, and looking straight into his eyes, she said: “Don’t you think I am as beautiful as I was in those days—the days that you loved me so, and called me your darling Bessie? You remember, don’t you? It was long, long ago; long before my baby died.”
“Oh, Bessie, keep still.”
“No, I won’t; I’m going to tell you all about it.”
283
“Then I shall leave you.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed Bessie, “you see you can’t do that. You left me once, but you can’t get up now, and the ghosts are coming by and by to hold you down and then they will grin and nod their heads while I tell you all about a woman betrayed.”
“Bessie, come with me,” said Blanche.
“Miss Robin, keep still. I will not go.”
“Take her away,” said the wounded man impatiently.
“Let her remain,” said Ross, in a hard, cold voice. “The time has come for your coward heart to bow to the will of a weak woman. I would not take advantage of you in your helpless state, but Bessie has the right, if she but had the power to tear your heart from your body.”
“Who are you that dares to insult me?” said the man, trying to rise.
“I am her brother. Poor innocent Bessie; you would better have murdered her than to have flattered and deceived her the way you did.”
“He said he loved me,” said Bessie.
“Mr. Graves, are you not afraid you will injure the man?” Miss Elsworth asked.
“Injure him!” Ross repeated sneeringly. “Could I injure him enough to repay him for the ruin he has wrought in our home? No, his miserable soul is not worth a place in the world, and death is not half enough punishment for him.”
“Please, Mr. Graves, do not get so excited.”
Ross Graves looked down at the lovely face beside him, and the look of bitter hatred on his own melted284to one of extreme sadness, and as the physician entered he turned and left the room. A careful examination was made, but the ball which had entered the man’s side, could not be found, and the physician gave as his opinion that recovery was doubtful.
Mrs. Morris had summoned sufficient courage to enter the house, and stepping cautiously toward the bed, she looked steadily into the face of the wounded man, and then a pitiful cry escaped her lips.
“Oh, my boy! my boy!” she shrieked. “I have found you at last! Oh dear, oh dear, and you have come here to be shot by that crazy lunatic!”
“Come, old lady, don’t take on so; it’s bad enough to be shot without having such goings on as this about it.”
“Oh, my poor boy, after huntin’ all over the world for you, and to find you like this is the awfullest thing that ever was. What made you stay away so long? I was in hopes you’d come back and take care of me, but of course they ain’t so much need of it now, ’cause the deacon, he’ll do that; but oh dear, oh dear.”
“Mrs. Morris, you had better take Bessie and go away for a while,” said Miss Elsworth.
“Why, you don’t s’pose I could go out with that crazy lunatic, do you? Why, she’d be takin’ my head off, too.”
“Bessie, come.”
It was Ross calling her and she ran out of the door and skipped away over the meadow toward her home.
“Oh, Charley, my boy, tell me all about it. Where did you stay all the while, and did not come to your285poor mother that was jest layin’ awake o’ nights on account of you?”
“Now, say, old woman, what the deuce is the sense of you taking on so? You can’t do any good, and where’s the use of you making all that fuss?”
“La me, I never thought that o’ you, Charley.”
“You see there is lots of things you never thought of, and this is one of them.”
“But, Charley, s’pose you’d die! Oh dear! oh dear! Where do you s’pose you’d go to?”
“To the devil, as likely as not.”
“Oh, don’t talk like that!”
“Max Brunswick,” said Miss Elsworth, as she stood by his bedside, “if you have no fear of a hereafter, I wish you would have respect enough for your poor mother to speak in milder terms. It is hard enough to see you in the condition that you are without making a bad matter worse by making light of the future.”
“How do you know my name is Brunswick?”
“It matters not how I know, but I know you have been called by that name.”
“Who are you?” he asked, in a careless way.
“I am just as you see me, a woman ready to help you in time of need, and it is my intention to do all in my power to add to your comfort.”
“Well, you are a devilish pretty one, at any rate.”
Blanche Elsworth’s face burned with a blush of insulted pride, and she was about to give an angry retort when her better judgment prevailed, and crushing down the anger she felt, she said in a quiet way:
286
“Mr. Brunswick, please do not speak so to me again.”
“Why not?”
“I am here to help supply your wants, that you may regain your health, if it is God’s will that you live, but I am not here to listen to any senseless flattery, and I strictly forbid a repetition of such words.”
“But if I fall in love with you I can’t help it, for you are a devilish handsome woman.”
“I would advise you not to throw away your love,” she said, coldly, “and as for me, I should prefer the love of a gentleman.”
“Well, since you are so wonderfully particular, let me ask you what they call you?”
“Miss Elsworth.”
“What, the authoress!”
“I suppose so.”
“I beg your pardon, I didn’t know I was falling in love with one so far above me.”
“You are quite excusable, but please bear in mind that it matters not what one’s name may be, every honest woman is worthy of at least common respect, which is less than you have shown me.”
“Charley, you must be civil to Miss Elsworth, for she’s so good, and she’ll do all she can for you.”
“Yes, they are all angels; at least I think so.”
A week later Blanche Elsworth sat by the bedside of Charley Morris. He had suffered intense pain, during the night, and the morning found him weak and fretful. He turned his handsome head on his pillow, and looking steadily at Miss Elsworth for the space of a moment, he said:
287
“How did you know that my name was Brunswick?”
“Because I have seen you before, and was told that your name was Brunswick.”
“Well, it’s devilish strange how things get out, anyway.”
“Was it a secret?”
“No, but I’d like to know where you ever saw me.”
“You once lived in San Francisco, and also in San Bernardino, did you not?”
“Yes, and I should have stayed there.”
“You came to see Bessie, did you not?”
“Yes, but I did not have the least idea that she had gone mad. I thought I’d come and take a look at her once more. She was a little beauty, and she would be yet if it was not for those wild-looking eyes of hers. I wonder what made her crazy?”
“Max Brunswick, you feign ignorance of Bessie’s trouble, but you know how you flattered her while at school, how you wrecked her young life and brought a dark cloud over one of the happiest of homes—a cloud which never can be lifted, for poor little Bessie’s disgrace and her love for you has made her incurably insane, and, one day your child and hers will confront you and show you the cause of all her heartaches.”
“I wish the girl had been in the asylum before she saw me and gave me that dose of lead.”
“You no doubt thought her still full of confidence and as easily flattered as ever.”
“Well, yes, I did think perhaps she was as lovable as ever, and to tell the truth I was a little homesick to see her and I thought perhaps she would overlook288my leaving her as I did, for she did love me to distraction.”
“Where have you left Irene Wilmer?”
Max started as though he would spring from his bed, but Miss Elsworth gently moved him back.
“What do you know of Irene Wilmer?” he asked.
“I know she is one of your victims, as is also Bessie Graves, and I ask you where you left her.”
“I left her out west, some time ago.”
“Do you know where she is now?”
“No, I can’t say that I do.”
“I can tell you.”
“Where is she?”
“Dead,” Miss Elsworth answered, in a low voice.
“Dead, Irene dead,” he repeated.
“Yes, she is dead.”
“Tell me, where did she die?”
“With her husband.”
“Scott Wilmer?”
“Yes.”
“Did he take her back to his home?”
“Yes, and cared for her during her sickness, as tenderly as though she had never disgraced him.”
“Well, I must say, he has a mighty sight softer head than ever I would have had. I don’t believe any woman could fool me that way.”
“Why did you entice her away from her home and a man who loved her?”
“Why, if you ever saw her you must know she was a mighty pretty woman, and if she fancied me more than she did Wilmer it was no fault of mine.”