The man whom Julia Webber addressed by the French appellation, Monsieur, returned that evening, true to his word. He was received with smiles by the mistress of the house, who told him, in all sincerity, of Stella's still unconscious condition, and urged him to wait a little before presenting himself to the bewildered girl. Steeped in the ways of evil and deceit as he was, still he discovered no treachery in Julia Webber's words, and departed somewhat reluctantly, but in perfect faith as to his ultimate success.
Julia Webber's desire for revenge was being fulfilled almost upon the hour of its conception.
It was now nearly noon of the day following Stella's entrance to her house, and yet the fascination of her new guest's presence was still strong upon her. She had decided upon her course of action during that period of outward calm and inward perturbation, while she stood beside the sleeper's unconscious form.
The silver clock in her private dressing-room was still tinkling the hour of noon when a maid entered and handed her a large parcel which had just arrived.
"Wait a moment, Jennie," her mistress said, and the extremely attractive maid, nothing loth to view the contents of the box, waited while the wrappings were removed and the magnificent robe of crimson velvet held admiringly to the light.
"Ask the young ladies to come in," was the next extraordinary command, and while she donned the exquisite garment, some seven or eight young women, strikingly beautiful in face and figure, filed noisily into the room, and threw themselves in graceful, negligent positions, upon the numerous couches and divans.
The robe was beautiful, and fitted her voluptuous form to perfection. After it had been duly admired and removed, the enthusiastic young women were horrified to see Julia Webber hold it from her at arms length while she lighted in succession a half dozen waxen matches and applied them in spots to the costly fabric. The velvet writhed and twisted, beneath the flame-like human flesh, whilst almost suffocating fumes pervaded every inch of the apartment. She held it thus in her hands, until it was completely ruined, leaving only enough uninjured, to show the original shape and beauty, then refolding it as best she could, she tied the wrappings again with her own hands and writing in large, clear letters across the package, "The Pledge of a Broken Contract," ordered her maid to return it at once, to Captain Carlisle, Hotel Victoria. Then she dismissed the wondering women and went once more to the room that had become so strangely interesting.
A moment later she stood beside the couch holding in her hand a cluster of delicious grapes, while Stella listened and ate with the expression of bewilderment gradually fading from her features.
"I wish you would tell me of yourself, freely and unreservedly," Julia Webber said, and Stella, realizing at last some degree of truth regarding this woman and her surroundings, was clever enough to know that innocence and helplessness were by far the best weapons with which to fight her cause.
In treachery and deceit, Stella was little versed, but as an intelligent and observing member of society, she knew only too well that they existed, and feeling altogether unequal to such a combat, she chose ignorance as the surest safeguard from further trouble.
It was Julia Webber's request, that she would not ask to leave this particular apartment, that first opened her eyes to the nature of her surroundings. She shuddered involuntarily as the knowledge forced itself upon her, but she noted, sadly, that in spite of that promise, the key was softly turned on the outside whenever her hostess left the room.
After a little thought, Stella concluded to tell her name, and the circumstances of her abduction as nearly as she could recall them, but it was only when she identified her abductor as Maurice Sinclair, and mentioned her relations towards himself and his lovely mother, that Julia Webber's face in any way betrayed her interest in the narrative.
"You say that you reside in this Maurice Sinclair's home," she repeated, excitedly.
"Yes," Stella answered.
"And he will inherit great wealth, unless you stand between him and his mother's affection, I infer," she continued more quietly.
"Ah, I had not thought of that," exclaimed Stella suddenly. "You must be right, that only could have been his motive for this awful deed. But I fear, so great is her love for me, that his plans will fail, unless I am safely restored to her."
"You shall return in safety," was the decided answer, while her listener's eyes blazed with the excitement of a new ambition. Here was her chance, and almost instantly her mode of action was decided. She had become sick and weary of her sinful life ever since that strange infatuation sprang up within her heart, and for one man's honest love, she would gladly have forsworn the admiration and homage of the world, but too late, she realized that man would never credit such as she, with honest love, and the scorn her tender sentiments evoked, filled her whole soul with bitterness and longing for revenge.
Now, through Stella's innocent and unsuspecting friendship, she felt the way was open for a more subtle and satisfying vengeance, and subduing her excitement with marvelous control, she continued seriously, "Miss Sinclair, the subject of my life and surroundings is not one that I should broach to you, but you have given me your confidence in a measure, and, believe me, you shall never regret it. Now it may be a bold thing for me to do, but I am going to ask you a question, and upon your answer will depend much more than you imagine. Have I your permission?"
"Certainly," was Stella's wondering reply.
"I wish to ask, Miss Sinclair, if I were to leave this place; abandon the life that I have led for ten years past and obey in future every regulation and restriction of respectable society, would you call me your friend and allow me to visit you at your home?"
For a moment only, Stella hesitated, then holding out her hand to this extraordinary woman, she responded sincerely, "forgive me for thinking of myself, but come with me from this terrible place and so long as your conscience can honestly claim my sisterly regard, it shall be yours."
The tears trembled on her long, dark lashes as she raised her eyes to Julia's face, but at that instant a rap sounded on the outer door and without replying, her companion rose and passed swiftly out into the hall.
The man whom she had known for several months only as "Monsieur" was standing in the wide, crimson draped hall, but the hangings were so thick that it was impossible to have overheard the conversation that had been carried on in low tones between the two.
Placing her hand upon his arm, Julia Webber led him without a word into the spacious parlor which was also draped, even more luxuriously than the other apartments, in costly fabrics of vivid scarlet.
Here she paused before him, looking into his eyes with orbs that blazed with anger, and through her tight drawn lips she fairly hissed the words, "Maurice Sinclair, your adopted sister has told me all. This is my house and beneath its roof you and she will never meet again."
Then, while he stood apparently amused at this new freak of a peculiar woman, she moved to a dainty desk, and filling out a check for many thousand pounds, signed it, and once more stepping before him, thrust it into his hand, saying calmly, "there is the amount which I have received from you. Now, go! and believe me, if you escape punishment at all other hands for your cowardly sins, the revenge of a woman's scorned devotion will at some time find you out."
Then, before he could utter a word of protest or amazement, he was left alone in the fiery glow of the blood-red parlor. He looked mechanically at the paper in his hand, tore it in half, and dropping it upon the rug at his feet, turned like one in a trance, and slowly left the house.
CHAPTER XIV. IN CENTRAL PARK.
For two months Sir Frederic Atherton had hardly eaten or slept, so great was his grief at Stella's disappearance. No stone had been left unturned by him in the search for Maurice Sinclair and his beautiful victim.
No shadow of doubt as to Stella's unspotted purity, crossed his noble soul, and in despair he sat down to a hasty breakfast at the Club, while he ransacked his brain to find, if possible, some untried scheme for Maurice's capture.
His eyes roved absently about the richly appointed place, and almost instantly, associated in his mind with these very surroundings, came the recollection of a former breakfast, at the same place some months previous.
He was breakfasting with a friend who had just returned from America, and in relating the news of their mutual acquaintances, mentioned the approaching reception of Mrs. Sinclair's adopted daughter.
Almost simultaneous with the mention of her name, a young man rose from another table and took a seat nearer the ones occupied by his friend and himself.
The young man was slight, but athlete in build, and his face, although dark and sunburned, would have been extremely pleasing, but for a suspiciously unnatural moustache, that drooped heavily over his mouth, completely hiding that feature and thereby seriously injuring the amiability of his expression.
The young man was evidently interested in their conversation, but Sir Frederic at the time gave it little thought, and the matter slipped from his mind a moment after. The occurrence returning to his memory so vividly at just this time, impressed him strangely.
Could this young man have been Maurice Sinclair, disguised and under an assumed name, masquerading about London, in search of information regarding his mother's household before returning thereto?
Then another idea, relative to the flight of Maurice and Stella, occurred to him, and suddenly springing to his feet he exclaimed excitedly, "I'll try it. It can do no harm." A week later he embarked incog. on a transatlantic steamer bound for New York.
Something seemed to tell him that Maurice Sinclair, hunted as he was by every police officer and detective in London, was sure, sooner or later, to fly to America for protection. Of course, the usual information had been cabled to American ports, but detection could be so easily avoided, that Sir Frederic felt that Maurice would take the risk as a choice between two evils. Then again he reasoned, that a man familiar, as Maurice was, with the ports of Hong Kong and Calcutta (and his blood ran cold at the very thought), would naturally return thereto if circumstances forced his departure from London. But obeying the whisper that had so plainly suggested America to his mind, he found himself, after a rapid passage, safely landed in New York, and shortly after, comfortably situated in the Brunswick, one of its most spacious hotels.
To a man like Sir Frederic, the encumbrance of an assumed name was a never ceasing annoyance. His was a nature wholly antagonistic to deception of any sort, but he knew that in this manner only could he outwit so clever a rascal as the one he was pursuing.
Fortunately, he found one true and tried friend before he had been in the city long, and together they worked and waited for clues that should lead to his loved one's speedy recovery. Weeks went by while he patiently searched, and four months after the disappearance of Stella, Sir Frederic, disgusted with his foolish chase across the water, was sadly preparing to return. On the last Sunday afternoon of his stay he went with his friend for a farewell drive through the magnificent boulevards of Central Park.
The day was perfect, and carriages of every description, from the private liveried turnout to the hired cab and rustic country wagon, were ambling along, filled with men, women and children, all bent on securing as much pure air and sunshine as was obtainable during the short afternoon. Suddenly, at a sharp turn of the carriage-road, the vehicle containing the two men came side to side with a light phaeton, whose diminutive pony was ably guided by an extremely stylish young lady, and there, sitting by her side in evident favor, was the man for whom Sir Frederic was searching and for whose apprehension all London was desirous.
CHAPTER XV. DEATH.
The two men recognized each other instantly, for Maurice, in his fancied security, had neglected the habitual disguise.
Quick as flash he snatched the lines from his companion's hands and struck the spirited pony a sharp blow with the slender whip.
Moments elapsed, however, before Sir Frederic could explain the situation to his friend and their stupid driver. Vehicles were constantly passing and when they were finally in readiness to pursue, the pony phaeton had vanished.
The necessary papers were secured after much trouble and expense and a description of Maurice Sinclair, as he now appeared, furnished the Detective Bureau, but all to no purpose. Maurice had again evaded capture.
The lady was readily found in one of the most fashionable homes on Fifth Avenue, but her information was limited. She denied that her companion was Maurice Sinclair, but that was of little consequence as it was more than probable he had adhered to the precaution of an assumed name, if nothing more.
For fear of further publicity, the parents of the young lady removed her promptly from the city, and another two months passed while Chicago, St. Louis and even the Pacific slope were thoroughly searched for the missing man.
At the end of that time Sir Frederic was forced to return to London by family matters and the search for his loved one was extended at every spare moment of his time.
Meanwhile, Stella was still a prisoner in that quiet house with its scarlet furnishings. In the entire time of her confinement she had never passed the threshold of her door or seen the faces of the other inmates whose voices reached her so indistinctly through the heavy hangings.
Julia Webber gave her every care and attention, but every entreaty for liberty was met with the same gentle but decided answer, "Wait, Miss Sinclair,—You and I will leave this place together, but my house must be empty, first."
Tired of questions that received no answers and prayers that were unavailing, Stella waited patiently and sadly for the hour of her release.
At last it came.
Julia Webber entered her room just at dusk one cold, foggy day and seating herself by her side, said seriously, "Miss Sinclair, I shall take you home to-night. We are alone now and I can close the house forever. Do not be surprised at my change in costume when I leave this place for it will never do for you to be seen in public with such as I. Your honor has been saved, now you must let me guard appearances as well."
Leaving Stella overcome with gratitude and happiness she left the room and going at once to her own boudoir, selected the poorest and plainest of her clothing and dressed herself modestly in a quiet grey gown, laying out at the same time another unassuming but far more costly robe for Stella's use. This she took to Stella's room.
After Stella was dressed for her long anticipated journey, she waited quietly in the spacious parlor while Julia Webber passed, for the last time, through the apartments of this magnificent, but extraordinary abode.
Everything was in perfect order.
Opening a secret drawer in her dressing-case, she took therefrom a folded paper and thrust it carelessly into a small leather bag that was suspended from her waist by a delicate silver chain.
Her money and jewels had been safely placed in the Bank some days before, and now she opened the wardrobe door and glanced curiously at the row of silken and velvet gowns, all costly and elaborately made, but each of some startling shade of lurid red.
For a moment only, she hesitated, then she closed and locked the door, turning her back resolutely upon it while she muttered bitterly, "I am done forever with that cursed color. What care I for man's homage, while my heart is breaking with the shame of unrequited love?" Then, as her eyes roved restlessly about the rooms, old associations arose within her, and obeying a sudden impulse of her reckless nature, she again had recourse to the waxen matches. This time it was the heavy hangings that she touched with the blazing tapers, and when she felt confident that the deed was safely done, she closed the door behind her and returning to Stella with a curious smile upon her lips, led her hastily from the house without a backward glance.
"Let us walk a little," she said to Stella. "It will do you good and we can take a hansom at the square," and so saying the two women walked rapidly along the foggy street while Stella's heart beat joyfully with this long desired accession to liberty and friends.
They had only gone a few blocks when an engine dashed wildly past them, its bell clanging frightfully, while the cry of "fire" was echoed frantically from every side.
Julia Webber smiled sadly and hurried on, almost dragging Stella in her haste to leave the excitement of whose origin she alone was cognizant, but as they rushed thus heedlessly, across the slippery street, a span of powerful black horses, frenzied by the clanging bell, rushed upon them in the darkness, and before the sturdy driver could control their maddened fury, both women were lying prostrate beneath the heavy hoofs.
CHAPTER XVI. A DEER HUNT IN NEWFOUNDLAND.
Away up on the northern coast of Newfoundland, in the month of September, a group of pleasure seeking tourists were idly lounging about a roaring fire, smoking and telling pleasing stories, while the aroma of good coffee, and an occasional whiff of savory venison steak wetted their appetites, and made them well pleased with themselves, the world in general and Newfoundland in particular. Only a short distance across the water they could see the smoke from the mining village of Pilley's Island, and hear the shrill whistle that called the swarthy miners to and from their labors in the cavernous drifts of an enormous mine of iron ore.
Sharks swam recklessly near their anchored craft, and seals protruded their shiny heads within easy vision.
Three pairs of enormous antlers spoke of their two days' sport, thus far, and enthusiasm was at its wildest among the merry hunters.
Only one man of the six who composed the party, seemed indifferent to the wild, untrammeled country; the possibilities of boundless wealth in the forbidden rocks, and the abundance of trout, seals, otter and deer that was to be had with little labor.
This man was Maurice Sinclair.
He had left London to save his liberty;—he had fled from New York on this pretext of pleasure for the same purpose, and now, while the others planned with great volubility the modus operandi of the day's sport, he was moodily thinking of the possibilities of life for him in the wilds of this half explored country.
Mining villages he dreaded, inasmuch as there was always danger of encountering some delegate from civilization—as the mining fraternity are of a nomadic tendency—and there was also the fear of the periodical steamer that conveyed the products of their labor to the States or Canadian markets. True, his sin had been that of abduction only, so far as the world knew, but "a guilty conscience needs no accusing," and Maurice Sinclair, although cleverly disguised, lived in daily fear of another and a worse crime being laid at his sinful door.
Under such mental strain it was not unnatural that the wondrous handiwork of nature, and the limitless possibilities for human advancement in this grandly beautiful region failed to excite his admiration or interest. The beauty of landscape; the sublimity of sky and ocean, inspired no sentiments of awe or appreciation in his debased and guilty soul.
At last all was in readiness for the anticipated sail up the picturesque bays, and Tommy Tully, a native hunter, whose services they had secured as guide and general entertainer, tapped him lightly on the arm while he stared with undisguised astonishment at so unenthusiastic a sportsman.
"It be your turn to-day, Sir," Tommy was saying, and taking the extended rifle, Maurice sprang lightly into the boat and with a smile accepted his position of honor in the prow.
According to Newfoundland game laws each stranger was allowed to shoot eight deer for the trifling sum of two hundred dollars, and as this amount, per capita, had been conscientiously paid down at the Crown Office in St. Johns, each sportsman took his turn at whatever game presented itself.
Tommy Tully was in himself a character typical of Newfoundland's choicest hunters. Tommy's experience dated back to the days when coraling deer was no unusual circumstance, and Tommy, in his own peculiar dialect, told them of once meeting an unusually large Buck, face to face, in a woodland path, unarmed and unexpectedly.
"He were too skeert to run an' so were I," said Tommy in conclusion. Knowing the Newfoundlander's adherence to superstitious faiths, the young men asked him with all gravity to relate some of the time honored traditions and prevailing beliefs regarding the uncanny "Fetch" and his nocturnal antics, and Tommy, nothing loth, regaled them with blood curdling recitals of white robed figures, half fish, half human, that skimmed the surface of the bay at midnight, searching with spirit lanterns for belated victims, and dropping his voice to a husky whisper, he continued, "jest over dis very spot, Sir, one night last summer, I stopped rowin' fer a bit to light my pipe and somet'in' riz my feet right up an' turned me clare roun' in de punt, jest hind side afore, Sir, never knowed what did it."
Just at that instant Tommy's eyes, which had, all through his narrative, been carefully scanning the opposite bank, glowed with excitement: His nostrils quivered and expanded like those of a keen scented animal, while with hardly a perceptible movement of the body he slackened the speed of the dainty craft, and then in a short, sharp, but carefully modulated voice, exclaimed "See him? Straight ahead,—Now! Fire!" But no report followed the order.
The huge antlers of the deer that had been plainly seen protruding from the dense thicket on the neighboring bank, trembled for a second as if their owner was undecided what course to pursue, then suddenly disappeared, and only the sound of crackling underbrush told of his enormous bounds through the apparently impenetrable forest.
The young men looked savagely at Maurice, as by an effort he threw off the spell that so completely enthralled him, and laughing pleasantly he passed the rifle to the next in turn, saying brightly, "Don't scold, Boys. The truth is, that fellow rattled me. I've lost my turn."
"And we've lost our supper, perhaps," they growled, rather savagely. But another look at Tommy's face silenced them.
Every muscle was alert with expectancy.
With skilful hand he guided the boat along, through narrow passes and wider openings, scanning the overgrown bank, and soon again his low toned order sent the excited blood tingling through their veins. "Now! Fire!"
This time a shot rang out sharp and clear upon the frosty air. A crash was heard in the thicket and rapidly bringing the boat as near an open space in the bank as possible, Tommy sprang ashore and dragged to the water's edge the most magnificent specimen of Caribeau they had thus far encountered.
"I knowed he'd hanker fer anudder look at us," muttered Tommy, gleefully. "Dere's a lot of springs in dem bushes and dose boys always knows where dere's good water."
Having acquired much expertness in their previous experiences, the post mortem operations were rapidly performed, and stowing away the desirable portions of the carcass in the "cuddy" the young men, now in thoroughly jovial mood, proceeded on their delightful excursion.
The obliging manner in which that particular deer had walked into rifle range was being joyfully discussed when an exclamation of delight broke from the lips of one of their number.
They were just crossing "Long Tickle," a narrow passage between two enormous hills of stone, and gazing outward the blue waters of the mighty ocean caught the eye, while far away on the very horizon there arose, seemingly to the azure heavens, a gigantic pyramid of ice, dazzling in its whiteness and reflecting with a thousand rays the glory of the morning sun.
The young men shivered involuntarily and drew their hunting jackets closer about them. They understood now the source of frosty breezes in the midst of genial sunlight and verdant foliage.
At "Hall's Bay Head" a wider glimpse of ocean was obtained, and Tommy noted with careful eye the "set" of the restless currents, while he told them of many instances where miners, rowing to their homes from the distant mining villages, had been caught in the treacherous tides at this place and carried far out to certain death upon the ocean, while the lights from their cottage homes were plainly visible on the rocky shore.
CHAPTER XVII. BY THE ASHES OF A GUILTY HOUSE.
Restless and ill at ease, Maurice proved but a poor companion for those fun loving tourists. They had invited him, a chance acquaintance, on the strength of his gentlemanly exterior and genial bearing, but the change in his manner after they were fairly off, not only disappointed them, but in great measure dampened the ardor of what would otherwise have been a joyfully, hilarious party.
Therefore, it was with a feeling of positive relief that the unsuspecting youths saw him embark a little later, via Halifax, for his native shore.
They had visited the quaint little ports of Carbonear and Harbor Grace; crossed the turbulent waters of the Gulf, and after a brief stop at Prince Edward's Island continued their quest for pleasure through that most picturesque of all sections, the Brasd'or Lakes and Historic Arcadia, where the original home of Evangeline was pointed out to them by the ever patriotic natives.
Yet the oppression of an opposing influence was upon them and although Maurice's was but the sin of taciturnity and indifference, still it clouded their perfect enjoyment and threw a feeling of restraint over all their merriment.
For how can one be gay and joyful when one's companions are seemingly prostrate beneath the weight of unspoken anxieties?
It was a risky thing to do, to walk almost into the trap as Maurice was doing, but his was a nature that courted dangers and risks, a brief season of caution was always followed by some deed of extraordinary daring. Still, in this instance, Maurice had laid his plans with more than ordinary precaution.
It was now nearly eight months since the abduction, and Maurice knew well that even crime received but a brief share of attention in so vice laden a city as London. Nevertheless, he landed at Queenstown, and spent some time wandering about Ireland before he dared to brave the scrutiny of the lynx-eyed Scotland Yard detectives.
His first step on leaving Queenstown, was to secure a suitable disguise, and as his skin was tanned by exposure, and he now wore a heavy beard in place of the well shaven chin, he felt that he had little to fear. He reached London early in the evening, and proceeded at once to secure modest quarters in a quiet street.
From thence he sauntered out and was soon rattling over the stones in a hired hansom on his way to the well remembered house in Surrey. Whether he expected to find Stella and Julia still there, would be hard to guess, for his was a nature uninfluenced by surprises, but when he found, instead of the dark, unassuming house, nothing but a hideous pile of burnt and blackened timbers, a look of consternation did show itself upon his usually unruffled features.
What had been the fate of the beautiful girl whom he had left in perfect health and strength within these walls? Had she escaped, or were her ashes now mingling with the gruesome mass upon which the moon was casting such a melancholy light? He hardly knew what had prompted him to take this dismal drive, for he had not even dreamed of again entering Julia Webber's door. He knew, too well, that crimes committed beneath her roof were never allowed further circulation, and within Julia Webber's veins ran the blood of that hot-headed nation, where the Vendetta is perpetuated with true, religious zeal.
No, he had not dreamed of entering those forbidden precincts, and now, contempt for his own morbid curiosity filled his mind, and with a hasty order to the driver, he sank back once more upon the cushions of the comfortable conveyance.
Back to London he drove, looking out idly over the water as he crossed the bridge, but little dreaming that but for accidental aid, a human being would now be sleeping in the cold embrace of the sluggish river, and that crime, like many others, would be charged to his account in the day of divine reckoning. It is probable that if he had known and fully realized that fact, its realization would have made his expression none the less confident, or his indifference to his ultimate fate no whit less thorough.
Men like Maurice Sinclair, who chance the gravest issues of life, are more than glad to "trust to luck" their final venture into the great unknown, and the "fear and trembling" with which we are told "each to work out his own salvation," are conditions totally unknown to natures like theirs.
If he argued the matter at all, it was merely to say that the power that created the "inclinations of a man's heart evil from his youth" was also the power upon which all responsibility consequent upon those evil inclinations, should rest. Probably, he added, moreover, that a power capable of implanting evil in the heart of man could as readily have sown the seeds of good, and if evil was the seed, evil must have been the harvest sought. Thus, leaving out the human labor decreed for the gaining of salvations, he, like many others, shifted all responsibility and the possibilities of a mistaken theory never occurred to him.
He had not seen Elizabeth since the night when she and her child—her child and his—had fallen so unceremoniously into his arms on a windy street corner.
He remembered, without a blush, how he had cursed her when she begged for shelter, but finally, fearing she would follow and annoy him, he had taken her away down into Whitechapel, with whose vilest passages he was marvelously well acquainted, and there secured for her a miserable room, which she, being weary and sick at heart and having no alternative, was only too thankful to accept.
Another reason for this choice of location for Elizabeth's future home was due to the fact that a certain Mongolian, whose friendship he valued, was living in that particular vicinity.
This person he had known during his stay in China, but whether it was love or fear that bound them in such close alliance, would have been hard to determine from their conversation. At any rate the doings of each seemed well known to the other and each was equally pleased that it should so continue.
The mention of Whitechapel brought no terror to Elizabeth's heart, for, in the bitterness of her misery, uncongenial surroundings were of little consequence.
Strangely enough, the erring woman fears friends rather than strangers in the hour of her degradation. Whether it is that friendship rarely stands the test of sorrow and shame or any blow to its so-called pride, or whether the desperate courage which self abasement wakens in a woman's heart is a better safeguard for her broken spirit than the pity of her associates, I know not, but in nearly every instance an unfortunate woman will choose poverty and complete estrangement from the friends of her happier days rather than bear the scorn or their self righteous censure.
To the man who had so irretrievably wronged her, she clung with the pitiful persistency so frequently seen in those of her sex and now, as a passing thought of her fate entered Maurice's wandering mind, he suddenly became desirous of seeing her again.
Just then the hansom, which had been rolling along briskly over the smoother streets, came to a stop and "Cabby" leaning over, said briefly, "'Ere's the 'ouse you was haskin' for, Sir."
Maurice bent forward and once more found himself gazing upon Mrs. Sinclair's home in Portland Place. The windows were dark and not a sign of life was visible. "Strange," he muttered; "She would certainly have returned here if she had escaped." But during the full ten minutes that he remained before the house no sound within reached his ears, or no ray of light from its many windows told him of a living presence.
Convinced now that Stella's body rested beneath that hideous mass of blackened timbers and voiceless ashes, he sank back nervelessly upon the cushions and in a trembling, husky whisper, ordered the thoroughly puzzled driver to hurry on.
His last determination was to visit Elizabeth and to Whitechapel he was carried, with all the speed the overworked horses were capable of affording.
CHAPTER XVIII. STELLA IS RESTORED TO HER LOVER.
During the brief moment that the sturdy English driver succeeded in holding back that span of frightened horses, Sir Frederic Atherton sprang from the carriage and by almost superhuman strength, drew from under the threatening hoofs, one of the prostrate women.
A stalwart pedestrian ran to his assistance, but before the rescued woman could be placed out of harm's way, the other motionless form had been stamped upon and trodden into the earth by the infuriated brutes.
As soon as they could be controlled, Sir Frederic and the unknown man raised the slender form, but one glance into her quiet face showed plainly that her life was ended, and that death, even in so horrible a manner, had brought her peace and rest.
By this time, Lady Laura Trevor, Sir Frederic's sister, had alighted from the carriage, and learning the terrible circumstances, assisted her brother as best she could to place the two apparently lifeless forms within the carriage.
Not until Sir Frederic had taken the delicate form of Stella into his arms, did he receive any intimation of her identity. But as he laid her head carefully upon his shoulder, an indescribable feeling of fear and trembling passed over his manly form. It seemed as if the pain, the horror, and even the unconsciousness of the helpless girl was shared, by him. Her misfortune, for the instant racked his nerves with agony, and subsiding, dulled his senses almost to complete oblivion, and it was only with a vague feeling of amazement that he heard his sister's sudden exclamation.
The light of the carriage lamp had fallen on Stella's face, and although worn and pale from months of anxiety and imprisonment, it was readily recognized by Lady Trevor.
Her voice sounded afar off in Sir Frederic's ears, but pulling himself together with a great effort, he looked eagerly down into the pallid face. For a moment happiness overcame him and he held her to his heart in a perfect ecstasy of joy and gratitude, but in another instant, fear for the result of her injuries, usurped the place of joy and leaning from the window he ordered his man to drive directly to the home of his sister, which was near at hand.
The glow from the burning house reddened their way for some distance and fell with fitful glare upon the still, cold face that rested so heavily against Lady Trevor's arm.
Never was the sterling sense and philosophy of Mrs. Sinclair's nature put to severer test than when Sir Frederic led her, some hours later, into Lady Trevor's magnificent parlors, and she beheld, stretched upon ready sofas, the lifeless form of Julia Webber, and the apparently lifeless form of her long lost darling, Stella.
Controlling herself by a mighty will, Mrs. Sinclair watched and waited for the verdict of the famous physician, which should bring to her sorrowing heart renewed distress or unspeakable rejoicing. At last it came. Stella had raised her lustrous eyes to the physician's face, and then smiling faintly at Mrs. Sinclair, called her name, she nestled her hand in hers and fell back upon the pillow in a calm, recuperating sleep.
Meanwhile the dead girl had been laid with tender care in an adjoining room. In removing her tasteful garments Mrs. Sinclair unfastened the silver girdle and examined the contents of the leather bag to find, if possible, some clue to her identity.
The folded paper proved to be a memorandum of little consequence, but a brief statement of money deposited in a certain bank, gave them their only grain of information. This clue was acted upon at once, and both the body and the handwriting authentically identified thereby.
It was further ascertained that in this same bank the sum of one hundred thousand pounds, had been placed by her, and here also was found a will, drawn up and signed in perfectly valid form, bequeathing her entire property, in case of sudden death, to a prominent home for fallen women in the city.
With reverent hands they laid her in a velvet casket, and both Sir Frederic and Lady Trevor followed her to the tomb, while Mrs. Sinclair bent with joyful heart over the bedside of her cherished daughter.
Nothing was known at the bank of the character of Julia Webber's business.
The money had been deposited, little by little, for ten years, and left undisturbed until it reached a goodly figure, but during the ten years of her depositing they had never, in a single instance, cashed her check, and the eccentricity of their fair depositor, had caused much comment among the usually silent clerks.
It remained for Stella to reveal the evil of this woman's life and the source of her illgotten revenue. But woman's fame can never suffer in the hands of the innocent: only from evil thoughts, come evil speech, and in Stella's loving heart none but the kindest thoughts were ever entertained, and the sad death of Julia Webber, erased from her mind the last dark shadow of suspicion, and kept her memory forever faithful.