“Let me look into your eyes and see. I can tell by your eyes whether you speak the truth or not.”
Miss Elsworth allowed the girl to step close to her, and standing there her wild eyes were fastened on her with a deep and searching gaze.
“No,” she said as she turned away, while her head dropped, “no, I know you won’t tell a lie. I can see it in your eyes.”
“And now you will look at the pretty pictures; there it is, all ready. Now, look, there is a beautiful picture.”
The girl did as requested, and at least three minutes elapsed before she lowered the stereoscope. During that time Blanche had turned the pistol around, and taken each cartridge from its pocket; and quickly springing it back to place, she laid it upon the table, saying:
“There, you see I have not harmed your pistol at all, and when you have looked at the pictures you may have it.”
“Give it to me,” said the girl, as she grasped it and placed it in her pocket. “I would not lose it for the world. You see I must use it as sure as can be. I’d tell you, but I am afraid you would tell.”
“No, I would not.”
“But you would laugh at me, and call me silly just as they all did.”
“No, I would not.”
“Well, then, some time I will tell you all about it, but not now.”
“Bessie, Bessie,” called a voice outside.
“Oh, there’s Ross. Now, if I just knew where to hide. Can’t you hide me some place?”
“No. I would not dare; but who is Ross?”
“Why, Ross is my brother; don’t you know him? At least they say he is.”
Before Miss Elsworth had time to reply, a shadow darkened the doorway, and looking up she saw Ross Graves standing there, looking straight into the girl’s face.
“Bessie.”
A shrill scream burst from the girl’s lips, and the wild light in her eyes grew deeper.
“I won’t go, I won’t go, and you can’t take me. I have promised to stay here and live with this beautiful lady.”
“Pardon me, Miss Elsworth, if I have troubled you, but you see we dare not let Bessie go where she will, for we do not know what will happen her. She is very reckless sometimes, and, beside, we have had a double fright this morning, for when we discovered that she had gone we looked around for a little revolver, that she delights in handling, and could not find it.”
“Oh, you need not look at me, Ross, you can’t have it. Go away.”
“No, Bessie, I will ask him to let you keep it.”
“Miss Elsworth,” said Ross, “I am sorry if Bessie has frightened you very badly.”
“Oh, she has not frightened me in the least.”
“I am very sorry she has troubled you, but it is almost impossible to keep her at home, unless we keep her in close confinement, and that seems very hard, as she is fond of roving.”
“You need not keep her in confinement on my account, for I assure you I am not afraid of her.”
“There, now, Ross, you see she is not afraid of me, and I am sure I would not hurt her ma out there, would I?” she said, bursting into a loud laugh, then quickly checking herself as Ross frowned and spoke her name.
“Come, Bessie, let us go home.”
“I won’t go one step until I have looked at all these pretty pictures, so, Ross, you can wait.”
Ross accepted the chair Miss Elsworth offered him, and a full hour passed before Bessie consented to go home.
“Let me tell you something before I go,” she said, going to Blanche’s side, and placing her arm about her neck. “You are not afraid of me, and when I come to see you again,” here she bent close and whispered, “I’ll tell you if you’ll never tell. I only tell it to people who are not crazy.”
Blanche promised that Bessie should come again some day after tea, and to make Ross sure that Bessie had done no harm, she very slyly slipped the cartridges into his hand. He looked his surprise as well as his thanks, and, taking Bessie’s hand, he led her home.
A chilly, drizzling October rain. How the wind whistled about the old house, leaping around the corners, and driving against the shutters, which creaked as they flew back and forth. The night was coming on, and the darkness was intense. The hickory wood fire in the sitting-room stove sent out its inviting warmth, and Miss Elsworth sat down beside it with a feeling of extreme satisfaction.
Suddenly a wild, shrill laugh rang out through the storm, and as Blanche was about to raise the window, a white face, and a heavy mass of hair, dripping with rain, arose before her. It was enough to make a strong heart quail, and for a moment Blanche stood speechless, for the mournful wail of the wind and the dashing of the gusts of rain gave a still more frightful sound to the weird laugh, and the tapping of the white fingers on the panes.
“Oh, Miss Robin, let me in; it’s so cold out here,” said a voice outside.
The second glance told Miss Elsworth who the strange visitor was.
“Come to the door,” she said, “and I will let you in.”
“La me, you ain’t a-goin’ to take that crazy girl in, are you?” Mrs. Morris asked in a frightened tone.
“Certainly,” Miss Elsworth said, opening the door. “The way is very long to her home, on such a night as this especially.”
“Oh, I won’t hurt you,” Bessie said, as she stepped into the room, her garments dripping with rain. “You are a coward. I couldn’t hurt you, for I am only a dove, a dear little dove. Oh, you do not know how sweet he used to say it to me. I can hear him now. Hark! Don’t you hear his voice? I do, out there in the storm.”
“You must come and let me give you some dry clothing,” said Miss Elsworth.
“Oh, I must tell you all about it first.”
“No, let me change your clothing, and then you may tell me.”
“Sure.”
“Yes.”
“Because it is so nice to talk to you, for you do not scold me like the rest. They say they have to, but you don’t have to.”
“No, I will not scold you if you will let me make you comfortable, and when you are dressed you may tell me all about it.”
“May I? I knew you would let me tell you. They won’t let me for fear I will go mad. You are not mad, are you?”
Blanche hastened to make Bessie comfortable, then persuaded her to sit beside the fire to warm her shivering 210 limbs, thinking more than likely some member of the family would soon be in search of the truant. She really hoped they would be, for the thought of staying through that stormy night with a maniac was not a very pleasant one. But she was determined to make the best of the situation, unpleasant though it was.
“You promised you would not tell any one, and you must not let that old woman know.”
“I will promise, too,” said Mrs. Morris, with a shiver.
“Sure?”
“Yes, as sure as there is a heaven.”
“Oh, oh,” screamed Bessie, “those were the very words he said, and I would not believe you now, anyway. If you say she shall not tell, I will let her listen if she wants to,” she said, turning to Blanche.
“Very well, go on then, I will make her keep the secret.”
“Well; let me see if Ross is listening.”
“No, no; he is sound asleep, and the wind is blowing, oh so hard. How it shrieks as it goes down the old well-curb. Did you ever hear it?”
“Yes, I can hear it. Don’t it sound nice?”
“Sounds nice? You are mad. They have to kill mad people or lock them up. And you say it sounds nice. Why, it sounds just like the wail my poor baby gave the night it died. That wail comes right from the grave. You never saw my baby’s grave, did you?”
“Your baby,” Blanche repeated, her curiosity aroused.
“Why, yes, my own little baby. You think I am telling you a crazy story, but you must come some day, when the sun shines, and see where she sleeps. Oh, she was 211 beautiful—a little angel, and she was all my own till God took her, and now she is out there under the ground. But I don’t believe the storm can get down where she is, do you, Miss Robin?”
“Oh, no,” Blanche answered, wondering why Bessie had given her such a name. “No, your baby is safe, I am sure; but you did not tell me your baby’s name.”
“No, no. I can’t tell you her name, but I will tell you all about him. You see I went away to boarding school, and it was while I was there I met him. I can’t begin to tell you how handsome he was.”
Miss Elsworth fancied she saw tears on Bessie’s long dark lashes, and the deep, fiery look in the eyes had given place to one of extreme sadness.
“Oh, you would not blame me if you knew—he was handsome—he said he loved me. He called me his little dove, and, oh, how happy I was to think that such a grand man should love me, a little schoolgirl. Hark, listen to the wind, how it moans, moans, moans, in such a sad, sad way, over my baby’s grave. Don’t you hear it?” she asked, coming closer to Blanche, and grasping her hand. “Don’t you hear it call my name? No, you do not hear my baby, for she is down deep under the ground, with the little dark rings of hair lying all about her little white face. You can’t see her, but I can, and I shall see her till I go there too.”
Miss Elsworth stroked the damp hair that clung around Bessie’s forehead.
“Poor girl,” she said.
“You pity me, don’t you?” Bessie said, looking up in 212 Blanche’s face, as though she could read her answer there. “I know you will not lock me up.”
“Yes, Bessie, I do pity you, and I wish you would tell me what made you——”
“There, don’t you say it, too, I’m not crazy. I am just tired of waiting. He told me he would come back, but he never came, and when I found that I was left alone, then I began to grow so tired, so tired of waiting. But I will not tell you his name, because—when Ross sees him he will kill him.”
“But I will not kill him.”
“Yes, you will, and then they will all be glad, but the wind must not know it, for it might fly away and tell him, and then I cannot have my revenge. Now, if you tell I will take your head right off, too.”
“The wind shall not know it,” said Blanche, stroking Bessie’s hair, and speaking in a kindly way.
“Hark,” said Bessie, as the old wild light came back to her eyes. “They are trying to get in; they want to hear what I am telling you, but they shall not; now listen. When I find him I am going to shoot his head right off. You see all the ghosts from the graveyard away out there on the hill came down one night when it rained just like this, only the thunder rolled away over the hills, and made me laugh, ha, ha, ha! Oh, how I laughed to hear the big thunder crash right down on my head, and then all the ghosts stood around, clapping their bony hands, and laughed too.”
“La me, I don’t believe I can stand this another minute,” said Mrs. Morris.
“Oh, I just wish you had seen what a wild, wild time 213 we had out there in the storm,” said Bessie, with another burst of laughter. “How the rain came down, and beat upon our heads, and the thunder crashed among the hills, and the lightning danced, keeping time to the music we made with our laughter, and the skull of every ghost was nodding and grinning in the darkness, and then it was they gathered about me, and made me swear, by all the spirits of the dead who were lying in their graves—swear by the spirit of my little dead baby that I would take the stain from my name; that I would take away the heartaches that I had made, and make my mother smile again. Oh, I was glad that they told me I must swear, but you can’t guess how.”
“No,” said Blanche, growing more and more interested.
“Why, you see they carried me in their long, bony arms, away up through the storm, up to the graveyard, and they put me on a grave, and gathered all about me, and they made me swear that I would shoot him until he was dead, and if you take my pistol away the ghosts will stay right by you till you give it up. I will kill him. Let me show you how.”
“Never mind to-night,” said Blanche, growing a little uneasy.
“But I will shoot.”
“Dear, dear, I never was no coward, but I can’t stand all this, and I’d rather be out in the biggest kind of a storm than to be pestered in this way, and if you ain’t afraid I’ll go somewhere, you know,” said Mrs. Morris.
“Oh, let her go and find the ghosts,” said Bessie. “I’m not afraid of you, Miss Robin, for I know you are 214 not crazy, even if they do say you are; but, you see, robins never hurt any one; just let her go. She is a coward anyway.”
Mrs. Morris wrapped herself in a thick shawl and hood, and, starting by the way of a path that led through the meadow, she hurried along as fast as the darkness would allow, until she reached the house of Mr. Graves, when she informed them of Bessie’s visit.
“Why,” said Eliza, “I was in her room not two hours ago, and left her fast asleep. She must have gone out of the window, and down the porch, but I do not see how she could do it on such a night as this.”
“Crazy lunatics will think of plenty of cunning things,” said Mrs. Morris; “you jest ought to hear the stuff she’s been a-tellin’. Of course we don’t believe a word of it; ’cause it’s likely she don’t know what she’s a-talkin’ about.”
“No,” Mrs. Graves said, in a trembling voice, and wiping the tears from her eyes; “no, she does not know what she is saying.”
“It makes it dreadful bad for you folks ’cause I s’pose it keeps you a-worryin’.”
There was no reply to the last remark made by Mrs. Morris, and seeing that Ross was about to start after Bessie, she availed herself of his company back home. Ross was the one of all the household who could manage Bessie with the least trouble. If she became wilful Ross was the one who could control her in a quiet way. If she became sullen or sad Ross alone could cheer her, and thus when there was anything wrong with Bessie Ross knew his duty, and never waited to be called upon 215 to perform it, so he hurried out in the chilling storm.
“Now, Miss Robin,” said Bessie, as the door closed after Mrs. Morris, “I am glad she is gone, for there is one thing I don’t want her to know. Ross would kill me if I should tell of it, but you see he tries to make folks think he is my brother. But he is not my brother, and you need not let him make you think he is.”
“Who is he then?” Blanche asked, her brain fairly throbbing with the thoughts of the whole affair.
“Oh, I will never tell even you. You cannot make me tell that, but some day when God calls all the wicked people to account, then maybe He will tell you all about it. But, hush, don’t let Ross know I told you about my baby. If you do he will kill me; he will tell you he is my brother, too, but don’t you believe him.”
In vain Blanche tried to induce Bessie to tell her more of Ross. She firmly refused, and after several moments of stolid silence, she buried her face in her hands, and, laying her head in Miss Elsworth’s lap, she fell into a passionate fit of weeping, calling in the most pitiful tones for her two beautiful darlings, who were out in the storm, and not until Ross entered to take her away, did she cease her wild weeping, but at the first sound of his voice she arose, and quickly drying her eyes, she said in a hurried manner:
“Yes, Ross, I’ll go. I won’t run away again. Don’t lock me up, I did not tell all about it.”
Mr. Le Moyne was holding an interview with Scott. He had gradually acquired the belief that what Scott Wilmer could not accomplish, could not be done by anyone, and since the desired end had not been brought about he had nearly given up in despair.
“I am about discouraged,” he said, “for I can see no possible way out, can you, Mr. Wilmer?”
“Have a little more patience, and as a last resort we will advertise. I have reason for wishing to keep the affair quiet for the present; for I have some very peculiar suspicions, and I may be incorrect, but I think we shall find out presently how the matter stands. I have just had an interview with my former valet, who thinks he can help me out.”
“What, that boy?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot see what a boy can do.”
“That boy is a great calculator, and he is as faithful as Noah’s dove.”
“He shall be repaid if he accomplishes anything at all.”
“He needs it. The boy is ambitious and works very hard.”
“Well,” said Le Moyne, “I have decided to search as long as there is the least shadow of a hope. There is a mystery about it that must be cleared up.”
“I have an idea that Paul has some good ground on which to base his hopes of success, for the boy is never over-sanguine, and he must have at least some foundation.”
“I really hope he has,” said Le Moyne.
It was a whole year since Paul had left Scott, and he had seen him but twice during that time. He did not know where he was at present, but he believed he would return if he lived.
June entered his room. She was still June Wilmer. Guy had urged her to take the name of Horton, but she told him in a decided way that she was not quite ready, and he was obliged to content himself with a promise. The fact was that June was testing his loyalty, but he would wait a lifetime for her, he said, rather than to marry another.
Guy was conversing with June on this very afternoon that Mr. Le Moyne had been consulting Scott. A servant had called June to come to the kitchen and have her fortune told by an old gypsy woman who was selling bead work. June went down asking Guy and Scott to follow her. Sitting down, they looked at the old dame who was handling her bead work, but did not raise her head, when they entered.
“I think I have seen you before,” Scott said.
She shook her head.
“You are going to tell my fortune,” he said; “tell me, then, if I shall ever be wealthy.”
“You are more wealthy now than you need to be. Oh, you need not question me, I can tell you all.”
“Very well, go on.”
“Your mother is living, but your father is dead.”
“Very true.”
“You have been married.”
June started.
“You married a beautiful woman, but she is gone.”
“Dead?” Scott asked.
“No, she loves another.”
“Is she happy?”
“As happy as she knows how to be. She is far from here. You are not happy, and you are trying to work out a great mystery.”
“Will I accomplish it?”
“If you let me help you.”
“I think I shall get through without help.”
“You are afraid of the old gypsy, but let me tell you there is the stain of blood on your hands within another year.”
Scott frowned, and June looked serious. It was the same words that the old gypsy had told some years before.
“There are tears for you, too. Do you believe me?”
“Hardly.”
“I can tell you something that will make you believe. Away back in the past I can see you lying asleep, and a huge knife drawn over your head. If you will let me I 219 can save you from another scene like that, which would be your death blow.”
“How?”
“I can’t tell you now.”
“Then you cannot help me.”
“I can if you will tell me a secret.”
“I prefer to keep my own secrets,” said Scott; “here is your money.”
“Then you will not let me help you?”
“Not at present.”
“Some day you will grind your teeth in rage because you did not accept what I offered.”
“Very well,” said Scott, as he arose to leave the room, “when I want help I will let you know.”
“Then I may be far away.”
Scott made no reply, but left the room, followed by Guy and June.
“I cannot see how she can tell,” said June.
“Why, June,” said Scott, smiling, “are you foolish enough to think she knows?”
“Why, Scott, she did tell the truth.”
“It is all guess work.”
“It is very good guess work, then,” she said, thoughtfully.
The old gypsy went her way. It was at least three miles away that she entered a building which stood in a row of worn tenement houses. Up two flights of stairs she went, and through a hall that received but a small amount of light from the outer world. She entered a dingy and scantily furnished room.
“There, Crisp, I have found him at last,” she said, 220 to a slovenly dressed man who lay at full length on a shabby, worn out couch.
“You have, do you say? Where?”
“Oh, about three miles away. I found out all I wanted to for the present. I told his fortune and made him believe that I knew all about it. I told him about his wife being gone and his father being dead.”
“Did you find out anything about the paper?”
“No.”
“Well, I can tell Miss Rene that if she don’t furnish the sum she promised to that night, I’ll settle her trouble in no time. I know well enough she’s got the paper, for I had it in my hand ready to give to her when I got the money, and I believe she was the one who done the shooting or hired some villain to do it for her, ’cause how the devil would anybody else know that I was there?”
“Oh, I’ve thought for a long time that it was her, and if I ever lay hands on her she will fare hard,” said Meg, clinching her fist.
“So she will,” said Crisp, with an oath.
“She thinks now she’s got the paper that it’s all right with her. The old man works it pretty cunning, too.”
“I s’pose that lawyer—that man of Rene’s, would give us a pretty good sum to tell him where Rene is, and I’ll hunt her up and tell him if it takes forty years to find her, if she don’t come to time,” said Crisp.
“Why don’t you start out and look her up? We can’t make nothing laying around here.”
“Can’t we?” said Meg. “Just you wait. I hain’t 221 got through with that rich lawyer, yet. Jest remember we can’t be all over at once.”
“No, but somebody’s got to keep a deuced sharp lookout to find just where this business will end. You see why, don’t you?” said Crisp.
“Yes, I see why; about the only hold we had is gone unless we come right out and tell all we know, and that would be putting us in a nice pickle, wouldn’t it?” said Meg.
“Well, I’m bound to get even with that fiend if it takes my own neck.”
“There’s no use losing your neck if you work the business right,” said Meg.
“She feels mighty fine since Zu is out of the way,” said Crisp, “and she don’t care whether she died in the asylum or not, so she’s gone. It’s a devilish good piece o’ luck, anyway.”
“Yes, we’ll never be troubled with her any more, and that’s mighty lucky.”
“It seems kinder queer, though, that a couple of little threshings like that should make her crazy,” said Crisp.
“Well, she never had any too good sense anyhow, but it’s a lucky thing for all hands that she’s dead. I wonder how it was that she dared go out in such a thunderstorm, when it was so awful dark, but you know if she turned crazy first, then it wasn’t any wonder, but there’s no tellin’ jest when she did get crazy. At any rate she’s dead and I’m glad of it.”
“And now the next thing is to bring that other jade to time, but, where to find her now is the question. She told me she was going away with that Brunswick, but 222 she didn’t tell me when she was going, she said she would let me know, but she’s a liar, a liar, but we’ve got to hunt her up, and make her hand over a good bunch o’ money.”
“Never mind, she don’t make nothin’ hangin’ off this way,” said Meg, lighting her pipe.
She took from her pocket a small amount of change, and, giving it to Crisp, told him to go out and buy some bread and cheese for their supper.
When Scott Wilmer went to his room, he closed the door and turned the key in the lock that no one might enter. Seating himself he took from his pocket several letters.
“Let me see,” he said; “it strikes me as being very peculiar, but I more than half believe I am right. I know very well that I have seen her before, and I do not believe that she comes here for nothing, but what can it be? Perhaps a sharp watch will give the desired information. Yes, this letter and the facts that have come before me arouse my suspicion. I’ll give her a good price if she will tell my fortune again. Her very actions, when I went in the room, were singular, and the more I think of it, the more I think I am right. At all events I will study up the matter and see what I can make of it. It is quite likely that she is here for no good at least.”
He found June, and said to her: “June, if that gypsy woman comes here again do not let her go until she tells my fortune.”
“Why, Scott, what is the matter?”
“Nothing, only that I wish to see her. You will not forget, will you?”
“No,” June replied, wondering at the time why Scott had suddenly grown so foolish.
Scott was preparing to leave the house one day when June entered his room and startled him with the intelligence that there was a fortune teller below.
“Is it the one who told my fortune before?” he asked, in a voice that caused June to wonder.
“Yes,” she answered.
“Send her here, please.”
June left him, wondering what could have come over Scott to cause him to be so deeply interested in fortune-telling. She conducted old Meg to Scott’s room, then left them alone.
“You have come to tell me more of my fortune, have you?” Scott asked, placing a chair for her.
“More,” she repeated. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that you told me a part of it, and now you will tell me the rest.”
“I? When?”
“Not many days ago.”
Old Meg looked around the room in a sly way. Every article in the room passed under her gaze, and she evidently saw that it was useless to try to carry out the deception, which she had undertaken, for she said:
“Oh, I do remember I was here before.”
Scott had closely scrutinized every feature, not losing the slightest expression of the face, nor the light that now and then shot from her eyes when she looked quickly into his own.
“Do you know what you told me before?” Scott asked.
“Yes,” she said. “I know it all, and I told you you wanted to work out a mystery.”
“What is the mystery?”
“Ah!” she said, with a cunning twinkle in her snake-like eyes, “that is my secret.”
“If it is, I wish to know it. I will pay you according to the fortune you reveal, so proceed.”
“In the first place you would like to know where your wife is, and I can find her in a hurry, and the man she lives with will some day make her weep. You don’t know even why she married you, but I can tell you all about that and the mystery you are working on, too.”
Scott had laughed at the idea of fortune-telling, but he was quite sure that this old gypsy possessed the knowledge of some facts he wished to know.
“Did you tell me anything more when you were here?” Scott asked.
“I did tell you something you did not like to hear: that there was the stain of blood on your hands.”
“Anything more?”
“Yes, I see you lying asleep, with a long knife above your head in the hand of a man. If you will let me I will help you.”
Scott did not for a moment entertain the idea that Meg was wise from any supernatural power. He believed she knew something of his private affairs, and that she had a secret to sell. He had no idea what the secret was, or how she had gained possession of it, but what she had told him, together with some other facts 225 that he possessed, strongly convinced him that she was interested in his affairs in some way. But while Meg thought that Scott’s sole object was to find his wife, his ideas lay entirely in another direction.
“I can tell you something that you would like to know, a great secret, but you will have to pay me well.”
“Do you know where my wife is?”
“No, but I can find her.”
“Is this the secret you wish me to pay a big price for?”
“Oh, no, it is something that would make you wish you had never been born, if you knew it.”
“Well, here is your money,” said Scott, dropping three silver dollars in her hand. “Leave me your address, and when I want your assistance I will call on you.”
“Yes,” said Scott, as he was left again to himself, “I am sure she is the same, and she pretends to know all about Irene, and she thinks, no doubt, I will pay her a fabulous price for imparting the knowledge to me, but she is mistaken. It would do me no good to know. Poor, foolish girl,” he said, as he stood with folded arms, gazing out upon the street. “How easily she was flattered. God knows I pity her for her vanity. I wish she might have looked ahead, and seen the misery in store for her. She will soon be left alone again, for that villain will go in search of another weak-minded victim.”
At that moment a carriage, drawn by a pair of unruly horses, dashed down the street. An infirm old woman, who was at that moment crossing, screamed in affright. A score of hands went up to stay the fractious animals, 226 and in a measure checked their speed, but there was but one who had the courage to do more, and the old woman would have been trampled to death had it not been for the aid of a woman who, springing quickly forward, caught the bridle and held it firmly until stronger hands came to her rescue. Scott, seeing the danger, lost no time in going to offer assistance.
“Are you hurt?” the lady asked of the old woman, who stood trembling in every limb.
“No, but I’m so scared I can’t hardly stand,” she said.
“Are you unharmed?” Scott asked, addressing the young lady, who he noticed was plainly dressed, but had a very handsome face, surrounded by clustering curls of auburn hair.
“I am not hurt in the least,” she said, pulling her veil further over her face, and, turning around, she walked briskly away, though not until Scott had time to notice the graceful carriage of the full and well-developed form.
“Do you know that lady?” asked a gentleman bystander.
“I do not,” Scott replied, as he gave the reins into the hands of the driver of the spirited animals.
“That is Miss Elsworth, the authoress.”
“Is it possible?”
“Yes, you have, no doubt, read some of her works.”
“I do not know, but she possesses a great deal of courage.”
Miss Elsworth flitted here and there like a shadow, and no one ever knew where to find her. When called upon she was sure to have just gone to the country, or was not to be disturbed. It was a year since her removal to the old house at Roxbury, and her time was divided between living quietly there and attending to business which required her presence in the city. Mrs. Morris had declared that she never could stay one night alone, but she was finally persuaded, when told that Bessie would be kept in close confinement, and if she chose she could sleep at the house of Mrs. Graves. “It was quite necessary,” Miss Elsworth told Mrs. Morris, “she should be called to the city occasionally, and she could not tell just how long she would remain, but never,” she said, “longer than was really necessary.”
“Well,” Mrs. Morris said, “I ain’t no coward, but I don’t relish the idea of stayin’ alone in such a ghostly hollow as this ere.”
Miss Elsworth had returned to Roxbury, and there was general rejoicing at the farm house. The entire family of Mr. Graves had grown to love and respect her, 228 and when she went away it was as though a member of the family had left them. She was so bright, so brave, and, above all, so kind to Bessie. Mrs. Morris could not find words to express her delight, and Miss Elsworth was greatly relieved when she ceased speaking of the wonderful loneliness she had experienced while Miss Elsworth was away.
Bessie had heard of her return, and she tried every conceivable plan to gain an interview with her, and not until Miss Elsworth interceded did she accomplish her purpose.
“I’m not afraid of Miss Robin,” she said, throwing her arms around Blanche’s neck. “She will not hurt me, and I don’t believe she is crazy, if they do say she is; and I want her to come to my room and tell me about that place. Won’t you come, Miss Robin?”
“Yes,” Miss Elsworth said, as she followed her up the broad, easy stairway, covered with its soft, bright carpet. Opening a door near the top of the stairs, Bessie motioned Blanche to enter. It was a pleasant room, well furnished, but the most disorderly place that Blanche had ever seen. Bessie grasped her arm, and hurrying her to a seat near the bed she sat down close beside her.
“Now, Miss Robin,” she said, as she leaned over in Blanche’s lap, and clasped her little white hands together, “now you need not look around at things, because you know just how it is when one is packing up; you know they always get things in a mess. You see, I’m going back to boarding school, and I can’t keep things in order. Don’t you believe it?” she asked, with an angry look.
“Certainly,” said Blanche, looking at Bessie, and thinking what a lovely face it must have been before that strange light came to those eyes—eyes of a wonderful blue, fringed with such heavy black lashes.
The long silken hair was floating about Bessie’s shoulders, and, lifting one thick lock, Blanche said:
“Your hair is wonderfully beautiful, Bessie.”
“There, now, Miss Robin, don’t you tell me that. I don’t believe a word of it. He used to just go wild over my hair, and for a long time I believed it, but now I know he is a——”
“What?”
“A liar. There, you made me say it, and I didn’t mean to. I know it was wicked, but you made me say it. But, now, don’t you tell Ross, for if you do, Miss Robin—off goes your head.”
Blanche smiled at Bessie’s droll remark.
“Oh, you need not laugh. I can take your head off in a minute, because, you see, you are only just a wee little robin, and one little shot would kill you dead.”
“But you would not kill a robin, would you?”
“Not if the robin kept still.”
“Very well, I will keep still.”
“And you’ll not tell Ross?”
“No.”
“Then some day I’ll show you his face. Ross will tell you all sorts of stories, and so will the old folks—that is what he called them—but you need not believe one word they say, you must not believe any one but me. They try to make you think you are crazy, don’t they? 230 I never heard of such nonsense. Why, you are no more crazy than I am, and it just makes me mad—mad.”
Bessie’s eyes fairly blazed with excitement, and her hands worked nervously together.
“Bessie,” said Blanche, “you wished me to come up here and tell you all about what I had seen, and now you are doing all the talking, and you will not give me a chance.”
“Oh, yes; where did you go?”
“To New York.”
“New York!” screamed Bessie, “that is just where he told me we would live.”
“Who told you?”
“Oh, you would like to know his name, wouldn’t you? But that is my secret; some day I will show you his face. He will come some day, but I can’t tell you his name, because Ross will not let me mention it. Ross is a great bald eagle, and I couldn’t kill him as I could kill a robin.”
“I am sure you would not kill your brother.”
“Hush, he ain’t my brother.”
“Yes he is, Bessie.”
“No, he is not. He thinks you are an angel, but you are only a robin, a poor, weak little robin, but you want to look out; I believed every word he said to me until I found out he lied, then everybody went mad; but I ain’t afraid of you, Miss Robin, if you are mad; but you see, I’ll have to hold you fast, Miss Robin—for, you know, you tried to kill me.”
She sprang like a tiger toward Blanche, and fastened her small fingers around her throat. Her eyes had almost 231 grown black in their fierce light, and a wild laugh rang out through the room, which was terrible to hear.
“You went to New York,” she screamed, “you went to meet him. He loves you, and he has forgotten all about the little dove; he loves the robin, and the dove will kill the robin.”
Blanche knew that to cope with a maniac, although she was a slender girl, required all her strength and presence of mind, and with one mighty effort she hurled Bessie from her, and placed her on the bed, holding both her hands firmly in her own. The wild laugh and the commotion attracted the attention of those below, and in a moment Ross stood in the doorway.
“Bessie.”
“Oh, Ross,” she said, as Blanche released her, “don’t lock me up, I’ll be good. I won’t kill the robin.”
“Come, Bessie,” and Ross took her gently by the hand and led her away.
Eliza Graves called to see Blanche Elsworth the following day, and then it was she told her the story of Bessie’s misfortune.
“I would not want you to think hard of poor Bessie, but I feel that you must know the truth, and I am sure you will have charity for her. It must be that she has told you something of her history.”
“She has told me enough to arouse my suspicion and excite an interest, but I cannot determine the cause of her insanity, through anything that she has said.”
“The facts are these,” said Eliza. “It was about four years ago that we sent Bessie away to school. Bessie was our baby, you know, and was at that time but sixteen 232 years of age. We almost worshipped the child, she was so beautiful, and possessed such a keen intellect, and though we always let her have her way, she was never spoiled. She had a sweet voice, and we were anxious that she should have it cultivated, so we sent her where we thought she would receive the best instruction. She progressed rapidly in her studies, and, oh how proud we were of her when she came home on her vacation, and we listened to her sweet voice, and watched the little fingers dance over the keys of the piano. We thought there never was in all the world another like her, and Bessie never had a wish that was not granted. Everybody loved her; even the horses ran to meet her, and would eat from her hand, and they knew her voice when she called their names.”
Eliza wiped away the tears that shone on her lashes, as she continued:
“Bessie went back to school, and when she came again at the end of the term she told us she was going to be married. We laughed at her, and called her a silly little thing, but she stoutly affirmed that it was true, and that the man she loved would be here in a few weeks. She talked of nothing but his coming, and she would fairly go into ecstacies over his beauty, and his fine ways. He was to be here in one month, she said, to ask her father if he could not have her, and she knew he would come, for he had promised her. A month went by and he did not come, and Bessie watched, saying that something must have happened, for she knew he would come yet.”
Miss Elsworth sighed.
“Yes, you may well sigh for the story that is to come. 233 Another month went by, and then Bessie began to grow uneasy. Oh, how it made our hearts ache to see her watching at the gate, looking away down the road, and then turn with such a sad look in her blue eyes, and a face growing thinner and paler each day, and at last the truth burst upon us. Bessie had brought disgrace upon us. If we had loved her less we could have borne it better, but she was our idol, the pet of the house, and how could we bear it. It was the saddest house I ever saw when we came to know the truth. Mother was so broken down with grief that for days and nights she neither slept nor ate, and then it was that Bessie, overcome with remorse, gave herself up to the bitterest grief, and one day I found her up on the hill out there weeping so wildly that it frightened me. I tried to pacify her, but she only called the louder for mother to come and forgive her, and help her to find her darling who she knew would come some time. It was with a great deal of persuasion that I succeeded in getting her home, and then we found that a still greater grief had darkened our lives—our Bessie was mad. Oh, I cannot tell you how we all mourned, or how my brother grew white with rage and despair, and vowed that if ever he could find the fiend who had ruined our Bessie that he would slay him on the spot. Ross has tried to persuade Bessie to tell him the name of the man who wronged her, but she will not.”
“And have you never seen him?”
“No, Bessie has a photograph which she says is her husband. She has let us all look at it; but she will never let it go out of her possession. It is a very handsome 234 face, and since it seems to be such a comfort to her we allow her to keep it. Bessie said that he tried to get her to return it to him, but she would not do so. The reason of his wishing to get possession of it is now perfectly plain. Bessie’s baby lived but a few months, but it was beautiful, and oh how Bessie loved it, and after it died she seemed to grow worse, and at times became violent. We laid her baby under the roses on the hillside. We thought it might be the means of bringing her back to reason, but though we have tried every means, she is incurably insane.”
“Poor girl!” said Miss Elsworth, “the man who wronged her should never be allowed to go unpunished.”
“He never would go unpunished if we knew where to find him; but there is a punishment awaits him for that act; and it is the one which will be accorded him by a wiser one than man. I hope Ross will never meet him, for I am sure he will show him no mercy, though I myself feel that there is no punishment too severe for him.”