CHAPTER LX.
CONCLUSION.
As the motor car containing Iris and the officers rolled away from Oscar Hilton’s home, Peter, the servant who had admitted Iris on the preceding evening, stood in the area looking after the vehicle with a perplexed and sorrowful expression on his good-natured face.
A stranger came up excitedly, threw a hasty glance at the departing machine, and with a nervous gesture turned toward the servant.
“I say, my man,” said the stranger, addressing Peter, “is this the residence of Mr. Hilton? I have been sent to see the sick lady—his wife.”
Peter’s thoughts were traveling after Iris, and he readily believed that the man was a new physician engaged by Mr. Hilton.
“If you will step this way, sir, I will escort you to Mrs. Hilton’s chamber.”
In less than five minutes the stranger was at the bedside of the stricken woman.
Mrs. Hilton opened her eyes, and shivered slightly as she met the man’s gaze. At first she did not recognize him. Then with a low moan she gasped:
“You? What do you want?”
“I see you recognize me, my dear wife,” replied the stranger, who was none other than Carleton Tresilian, alias Charles Broughton. “You are sick unto death, and I have come to torture you, to cause you some little bit of suffering in your dying moments to repay you for the intense suffering that you have caused me all these years. I am going to have my revenge. Listen while I tell you of my plans for vengeance.”
Before the wretched woman could reply, Tresilian unfolded the story of his meeting with Iris, his pursuit of her until she had been arrested charged with the theft of two hundred dollars from Madam Ward. From time to time during the recital of his cold-blooded plan of revenge a spasm of pain crossed the features of the unhappy woman.
“You have one chance to save your daughter, and that is by signing a confession to the crime for which I assumed the blame. If you refuse to do this, then I will publish to the world not only your shame, but your daughter’s shame as well. Will you sign?”
For a brief moment there was a terrific mental struggle on the part of Mrs. Hilton. She was still proud, and she was almost willing to sacrifice her daughter in order to save, if possible, her own connection with Carleton Tresilian. She realized that she was on the brink of death, and the fear of punishment hereafter was evidently strong upon her.
“Yes,” she finally faltered, “I will sign the confession, but only to save my daughter’s honor.”
Tresilian quickly wrote out the confession and summoned a couple of servants to witness the signing of the document. His business completed, he quickly left the house, but he had hardly passed from the portals of the palatial home when Mrs. Hilton breathed her last.
He hurried to the home of Mrs. Neville, where, after a stormy scene, the woman promised to return the money to Madam Ward and thus clear Iris of the terrible charge hanging over her. When a messenger had been called and dispatched with the money, Tresilian, before Mrs. Neville could interfere, jerked a revolver from his pocket and committed suicide.
When the effects of the dead man were examined, Mrs. Hilton’s confession was found in his pocket.
With the astounding discovery that the girl whom he loved most in all the world was guiltless of any wrongdoing, Chester St. John pleaded with Isabel for the release from his irksome engagement. She, with a woman’s quick intuition, realized that she could never hold his affections, and reluctantly gave him up.
Eventually Iris married the man whom she loved, and shortly after the wedding Mr. and Mrs. Frank Laurier gave a large reception in honor of the newlyweds. All during the succeeding years the affection between Iris and Jessie grew, and they became the dearest and most affectionate friends, both realizing the terrible experiences through which each had passed.
THE END.
“She Could Not Tell” will be the title of the next volume, No 944, of the New Eagle Series. The forthcoming story is from the pen of Ida Reade Allen, and it is a most delightful tale of love, romance, hate, and intrigue. It is the kind of novel that you will not put down until you have finished it.