Whatever may be the prejudice existing against the customary shams, deceptions and hypocrisies of society, certainly the sugar coating which good breeding and etiquette throw over the many bitter and disagreeable ingredients that go to make up our daily lives, is very palatable and pleasing. Suspicions may be aroused; curiosity be on the qui vive, anxiety and interest waging violent warfare in the human heart, yet the restrictions and obligations of courtesy demand self-control and affable manners, while gentle words make smooth many sharp and jagged corners in life's mental conflict, that uncovered would oftentimes cause friction and discomfort.
In vain the gossips looked and listened for some fragment of food for their customary menu, but neither Mrs. Sinclair or Stella showed by look or word that this particular reception was fraught with more than the usual interest, and as to the long lost son, his sojourn among the heathen nations of the earth, seemed to both foster and expand his naturally courteous disposition. His meeting with his mother had been cordial in the extreme. There was no time for lavish demonstration of affection, as he only arrived a brief ten minutes before the earliest guest. His presentation to his adopted sister, however, was marked by a change of demeanor that was plainly observed by all, yet, no person present, so far overcame the feeling of wonder that his manner generated, as to even boast of an approximate guess regarding its cause. The look that came into his wide, gray eyes when they first fell upon the beautiful girl, was one of amazement, and the gossips instantly concluded that beautiful women had been rare in his experience. Then a lurid light gleamed in his eyeballs; the lines of his face became drawn and tense, and hatred, and envy, were instantly ascribed to him. But as he touched her hand in greeting, a look so plainly indicative of carnal passion gleamed in every feature of his now diabolical face, that cold shivers and sensations of horror, swept through the sympathetic natures present, and doubtless, the maids and matrons, would have risen en-masse and called for their carriages, had not the sudden withdrawal of Stella's hand, brought back, as if by magic, the winning smile to the young man's countenance and transformed him again, in an instant, into the hero of the evening.
The dowagers reasoned that their lorgnettes were dimmed and their visions contorted thereby, while the maidens, serene in their innocence, forgot in a brief time the glimpse they had, or fancied they had, into man's inmost nature, and vied with each other in their efforts to win the approval of so distinguished and withal so mysterious a parti. Possibly a vague thought of this young scion's probable inheritance brought favorable influence to bear upon the stricter morals of the scheming mammas, as social position and wealth have heretofore and probably always will weigh successfully in the balance against questionable character and immorality.
Nevertheless, so strong was the momentary resemblance between this fascinating young man and the numerous likenesses of the mythical Beelzebub, that the Lady Van Tyne assured her family physician, in a strictly confidential interview the next morning, that, "for an instant it seemed as if the very curls of auburn hair stood up on his temples like horns, and she was sure that almost countless numbers of hooked and venomous claws protruded from his dainty patent leather boots, while as to his face,"—here she shuddered with a convulsive, reminiscent spasm, "it was the face of Satan himself!"
The good Doctor listened and sympathized; prescribed a pleasing tonic and rendered a modest bill, but he was afterward heard to say to his assistant, quite unprofessionally, of course. "It's wonderful what champagne will do. If the ladies would only stick to Bass, now!"
The Lady Van Tyne and her family physician were on the very best of terms, however.
It had been remarked by many that Dr. Seward was the only human being whom the wilful lady feared or felt disposed in any particular to obey.
But both the physician and his proud patron still bore in undying remembrance a little episode of early days, and for reasons of mutual interest, their friendship remained firm and unimpeachable.
Thirty years before, Lady Van Tyne was a plump, pretty brunette of eighteen, or rather, such was the charming Isabel Montfort, for the wealthy Sir Casper Van Tyne had not as yet secured her for his bride, and Dr. Seward was but a beginner in the fascinating science which later brought him fame and fortune.
Now, whenever he saw the Lady Van Tyne, his thoughts involuntarily wandered back to the summer day when, with consternation in her face, Lady Montfort had called upon him with the vivacious Isabel to secure his immediate and most careful services.
The good lady readily accepted his verdict and in all innocence prepared her daughter for the immediate journey to America, which the imperative physician prescribed.
Little did the good woman realize that all her elaborate preparations were smiled at, more or less sadly, by her daughter and the clever physician.
For, instead of the extended trip across the ocean, Miss Isabel betook herself quietly to the private residence of the physician, and there for three months she remained under the careful surveillance of doctor and nurse.
The ruse was more than successful, inasmuch as Miss Isabel was restored to her mother, and Sir Casper's eager arms, in rapidly improving health, while the young physician's somewhat astounding fee was quietly paid by a gentleman of excellent social standing who was, moreover, the husband of one of the most charming and estimable ladies of Dr. Seward's acquaintance.
The secret had been well guarded. Now and then a dull pang of self-reproach was experienced by the physician when he remembered how indifferent he had been to the fate of the child after he had secured a home and guardianship for it. He watched it more or less interestedly for about ten years, as he also watched that other boy so singularly alike in feature but so widely different in parentage and social prospects.
The boys, at ten and eleven respectively, were as near alike as brothers, but from that time on there were changes in the adopted parents mode of life, and the child of unsanctified love vanished from his gaze forever.
Into the lives of all physicians there come many and varied episodes of private nature, but probably of all the secret games indulged in by unscrupulous human beings, that one is best remembered wherein they hold so prominent a hand.
It was little wonder, in the light of such reflections, that Dr. Seward evinced not only a slight irritability regarding his patient's hallucination, but also a most extraordinary desire to see this young man whose personal appearance was so suggestive of the Infernal Regions.
Unfortunately for the fate of her future, Stella did not see the extraordinary expression on the young man's face that caused such mental consternation among her guests.
The thrill which vibrated through her entire being at the touch of his firm hand rendered her incapable for the moment of meeting his eyes.
So strong was the current of magnetism that passed between them that the mingled sensations of fear and bewilderment forced her to withdraw her hand with so much vehemence that she was obliged, from an innate sense of courtesy, to make a trifling remark to cover the seeming rudeness of her action.
So swift was the transformation in his face, that, when her eyes were finally raised to his, only the sweetest of smiles wreathed his proud, passionate lips, and the glance he bent upon her, was one of mingled reverence and admiration.
In vain the dowagers angled and the maidens blushed and simpered.
Maurice Sinclair moved about among the guests, always charming and attentive, but his expressive eyes followed Stella in her every motion and seemed to devour her beauty with an intensity so deep as to render him unconscious even to his own enchantment.
Only one of the gentlemen present had noticed particularly the greeting between Maurice and Stella, or if they had, man-like, they had attached no significance to the expression whatsoever, and would undoubtedly have reasoned, had their opinions been asked on the subject, that a man's face often expresses sentiments foreign to his nature, and that a fellow could hardly be called to account for the idiosyncrasies and caprices of unruly features.
But Sir Frederic Atherton had, for reasons of his own, been a keen observer of Maurice's face, and a look of loathing crossed his own noble countenance as he muttered, almost audibly, a word that sounded singularly like "cur." But as he noted the magical effect on Stella, he drew a long sigh which was as promptly checked with a firm closing of the lips, and stepping quickly forward actually stood between the two, then offering his arm to Stella with a laughing remark, he led her away, from a glance, which in his honorable soul, seemed like desecration.
Sir Frederic was nearly forty years of age; a man marvelously blessed by nature, in that he possessed not only a magnificent bearing; a face grand in its determination and strength; but a mental calibre as well, unequaled by another of his associates. To these he had added integrity and justice; winning the confidence of all by his honorable dealings both in social and business relations.
Women worshiped and followed him; Yea, they even flung themselves at his very feet, but thus far in life Sir Frederic had remained "heart whole and fancy free," while the memory of a good mother and a faithful sister saved him from being, like the majority of men whom women flatter, a chronic disbeliever in the chastity of their sex. Always courteous and gentle, it was no wonder that women and children loved and trusted him. Strong and honorable, it was only natural for men to give him confidence and respect, and he whom his fellow-men regard is sure to be of all men the most trustworthy.
The love of woman may be but the consequence of perfect features, manly proportions or a musical voice, but the regard of man for man comes only as the result of sterling worth.
For some time Sir Frederic had been questioning himself regarding the quality of his affection for Mrs. Sinclair's beautiful adopted daughter, but not until he saw her, a delicate flower, exposed if only for a second to the baneful light of an evil eye, did he realize how deeply and dearly he loved Stella. The truth stabbed him like a knife, but after the first sharp pain, and as he felt her hand upon his arm, a joy surged through his being that the forty well spent years of his life had hitherto failed to bring him.
After a moment's conversation with Mrs. Sinclair, Stella was again led away by one of Her Majesty's officers for a sprightly polka, and Sir Frederic glad to commune for a moment with his somewhat excited heart, moved a heavy chair farther into the shadow and sat down, while his eyes also watched the graceful movements of Stella, but with very different emotions from those which were rushing through Maurice Sinclair's brain at the same time.
Stella had danced with one after another of her guests and was seated for a moment's rest on a wide turkish divan in a shaded corner of the room.
It was only a moment, but Maurice's restless glance sought her out, and smiling his excuses into the baby face of Lady Isabel Van Tyne's youngest daughter, he, much to her disappointment, strolled across the room and stood before Stella with the subdued light of a chandelier brightening his wavy hair into glittering rings about his well shaped head.
"May I call you Stella?" he whispered abruptly, as he bent slightly toward her and rested one shapely white hand on a pot of rare exotics that helped to shade the sofa on which she rested.
Mrs. Sinclair was passing at that moment and the ring on Maurice's finger caught her eye. With a tender smile she laid her hand upon his and whispered softly, "How well I remember that ring, Maurice."
It was puzzling to Stella that he should appear so confused at this simple remark of his mother and withdraw his hand so rudely from her gentle clasp, but Mrs. Sinclair had passed quietly on, and remembering that his question remained unanswered she controlled her thoughts and responded frankly, "Certainly, Maurice, I should feel awkward enough to call you Mr. Sinclair after hearing and speaking the name of Maurice so frequently for so many years. I think, really, I almost consider you my own brother," she continued shyly, although a passing blush and an almost imperceptible hesitancy in her speech gave the pretty avowal an appearance of untruthfulness.
To the many eager observers of this momentary by-play, the avowal, judged by the eye alone, seemed almost a confession of a dearer sentiment than the sisterly affection to which she had so frankly laid claim.
Notwithstanding her words of Platonic friendship Maurice smiled as if well pleased, not only with the words but their silent contradiction. He sank gracefully upon the divan by her side and in so doing his hand accidently touched hers and in an instant there came again that expression of consuming passion that had darkened his face at their first meeting. Again the mesmeric spell of his presence was upon her. A sensation, this time wholly indescribable, passed over her frame and as before she was powerless to raise her eyes until the cloud was lifted and once more the calm of a summer sky was mirrored on his exquisite face.
Just at that instant a slight crash was heard near by and both started involuntarily from their momentary forgetfulness to ascertain the cause.
The noise was merely the shivering to atoms of a small venetian vase which stood on a diminutive ebony table not far from the divan on which Stella was seated.
Mrs. Sinclair had accidently struck the table, and the gossips declared afterward, in the privacy of their own Boudoirs, that she was watching her son at the very time when his accidental touching of Stella's hand had wrought so fearful a change upon his features, and, quite naturally, they argued that an intuitive fear for her adopted daughter's future made her hand unsteady. At any rate, she had turned suddenly pale and grasped the slender table for support with the result already mentioned.
Maurice sprang promptly forward, and motioning to a servant to remove the fragments of glass, offered his arm gracefully to his mother and passed up the room to where the Countess Martinet was sitting with her angular daughter.
Stella took this opportunity to join the Misses Huntington on a neighboring sofa and again the strains of music floated through the spacious parlors and partners were soon whirling gaily about in the witcheries of a glorious waltz.
Never had Stella looked so superbly beautiful as to-night, with the graceful folds of her exquisite white satin draperies clinging about her charming figure. The gold of her hair scintillated in myriad iridescent rays about her broad forehead and snowy neck, while the gleaming diamond star that shown upon her bosom vied with the sparkling lustre of her eye, and in the opinions of the gentlemen, at least, paled woefully in the comparison.
Before this enjoyable ball was over it was no wonder that hearts, adoration and homes were silently or in hurried, eager whispers, laid humbly upon the altar of love, and many an ardent lover went home that night to dream of heavenly raptures or exactly the reverse.
To Stella, however, the sentiment of all absorbing passion was, as yet unknown. Life was at its best and brightest with her, and the brief, inexplicable sensation of fear which she had felt at Maurice's touch, was the only cloud, small and visionary as it was, that in any way darkened the skies of her perfect happiness.
The fog was still resting heavily upon the earth when the last carriage rolled away and Maurice walked with his mother up the broad stairs to spend his first night in ten years beneath the parental roof.
Some way Stella lingered longer than usual that night over her adieux to Sir Frederic Atherton, but the fault, if fault it was, could not be laid at her door.
His carriage was the last and if he held her hand a moment longer than usual, she reasoned that, it was only because he had known her from childhood and now, at her debut into the world of womanly duties and pleasures, it was only natural that he should feel a desire to congratulate and perhaps advise her for her future welfare.
It was with this idea in mind that she let her hand rest quietly in his and raised her eyes so confidently to his face.
What she saw there was neither the courteous smile of congratulation or the benign bearing of one about to offer sage admonition. Instead, she saw a look of such ineffable tenderness bent upon her, that to her inmost soul there came an instantaneous sense of security, protection and sacred confidence, and tears suffused her lovely eyes in a blinding flood of gratitude which she was powerless to control.
Another instant and his lips had touched her golden hair, and the sound of the departing carriage told her he was gone.
With a curious feeling of loneliness and amazement thereat, she followed, almost in a dream, to Mrs. Sinclair's door.
Stella said good night as soon as possible, thinking that in all probability mother and son would wish to converse on many topics of interest, but as she passed from the room she turned and smiling sweetly, said, "I am sorry to usurp your old quarters in the west wing, Maurice, but we thought I had better not change as the south room might be more grateful to your warm country tastes."
With this slightly saucy allusion to his mysterious past, Stella kissed her finger tips to Mrs. Sinclair and closed the door softly behind her.
After Stella had gone Maurice seemed suddenly fatigued. The light vanished from his eyes and his tones grew languid, while a certain nervousness of manner betrayed to Mrs. Sinclair's acute perceptions the fact that, for some reason, her son felt ill at ease in his mother's presence.
Kissing him fondly she made haste to say, "Now darling, you had better go right to your room. We shall have plenty of time to talk in the future, for I am an old woman now and I trust my son will never feel like leaving me again."
"How old is Stella, mother?" was his somewhat irrelevant remark when she had finished speaking.
"She is twenty-one to day, my son, and I think you will agree that a sweeter, truer woman could hardly be imagined," responded his mother warmly.
"She is very beautiful," Maurice began, but checking himself, he said abruptly, "I have spent the last three years of my life wandering about in the heart of the Great Desert of Shamo, and some times I fancy the sulphurous fumes and heat of its burning lakes have impregnated my blood and tainted my whole system with a substance, which, although capable of overcoming other impurities, is but a poor choice between the natural and the acquired evil."
Here, seeing his mother's look of complete mystification, he paused and added playfully, "Ah, mother, I have frightened and perplexed you all ready: I must retire and to-morrow you shall say whether I am brute or human, for in truth, some times I can hardly tell." With these words he laughed a low, musical and extraordinarily joyous laugh that had attracted her once before that evening, then touching his mother's cheek lightly with his lips, went hurriedly from the room, through the hall and up the wide staircase.
On reaching the hall above he paused for a moment as if in doubt and then turned abruptly toward the west wing and, notwithstanding Stella's parting words, passed swiftly on until he reached the door of his "old quarters," then he drew a small, odd looking vial from his pocket and with it still in his hand, turned the handle and without word or warning, quietly entered the room.
Mrs. Sinclair rose late the next morning. A sleepless night had been followed by hours of heavy slumber which extended far into the forenoon. She awoke as she had retired, burdened with a trouble for which she could find no tangible form.
Here was her only son, resembling his father in face and manner,—a young man exemplary to all appearances, the knowledge of whose safe return, after long years of sorrowful separation, had overflowed her heart with gratitude and mother love, but whose actual presence thrilled her, not with unspeakable affection, but with an indefinable sensation of perplexity and apprehension. She blamed herself for the restraint which so evidently existed between Maurice and herself, and in this self accusing mood she rose and prepared earnestly to explore the seemingly inaccessible paths to her son's estranged affections.
Breakfast, was the first suggestion of her sensible mind. She smiled, even in her perplexity, at this prompting of the flesh, but obeying the practical impulse, she rang for the butler and assured herself that everything in this particular department was in its customary, excellent condition.
She was indeed perplexed and the limit of her logical nature was reached when she undertook the Herculean task of lifting the cloud which hung so heavily over her son's individuality. She saw no inherited trait, neither could she account for the developing of those peculiarities which so early in life branded her only son with the marks of evil associations and morbid desires. True, his faults at fifteen years were but the outcome of boyish adventures and experiments, but a nature like his, impulsive and so prone to investigation, had caused her, even in his childhood days, to look forward to serious, inevitable results unless added years brought more than the average amount of judgment to balance the opposing inclinations.
Living, as he evidently had, in ignorant and brutal Mongolian habitations, the seeds of vice, she reasoned, could easily have been fostered, yet why she should so persistently associate vice with every thought of this almost faultless young man, was a mystery she could not solve with all her reasoning.
She feared him intuitively, and with this thought of fear there came, strangely enough, a thought of Stella, and obeying an impulse which she could not resist, she went to the young girl's room to awake her for the breakfast hour. She knocked repeatedly at Stella's door, but there was no response. She called her name excitedly, then trembling with torturing apprehension, pushed open the door and entered the apartment.
Stella was not there. The bed was undisturbed, so also was each and every article about the room. Almost unconsciously she bent and picked up a small vial from the floor, and thrusting it into her pocket, rushed wildly into the hall and straight on to the rooms designed for her son's occupancy, and turning the latch without ceremony, stepped breathlessly in, only to find that also vacant and everything in perfect order. Running frantically about the house, for a few moments the bewildered woman forgot all self control and in agonizing tones enlisted every member of her household in a search for the missing ones.
All in vain: Stella and Maurice had disappeared in the blackness of the night, and the impenetrable fog had swallowed up their footsteps and obliterated every trace by which the direction of their flight could be determined.
At the very hour in the morning when Mrs. Sinclair and her servants were searching every nook and corner of the elegant residence, away over on the Surrey side of the great bridge, in a large brick house, standing far back from the street, two people, a man and a woman, were bending over a delicate form, clad in an evening dress of pure white satin that looked strangely out of place in this scarlet hued Harem of unchastity. The very hangings blushed in rose red symphonies for the sins and impurities of the inmates. The heavy carpet was one unbroken stain of blood red coloring. The daylight peered through the rich window drapings and crimsoned the entire apartment with its guilty glances within. The exterior of the house was dull, dark and uninviting, but within, the glare of crimson, of dull red and deeper garnet, blended in every article of furniture and garnished walls, ceilings and windows in bewildering and feverish arrangement. Even the glasses on the small jasper table by the couch were red with the evil light of their intoxicating contents.
The woman's dress was opened low at the throat and her jet black hair and clear olive skin were in sombre contrast to the clinging, reddish garment.
That the man had carefully disguised both voice and raiment was plainly evident, but that he was no stranger to the house or its extraordinary mistress, was also a self evident fact.
There were few who knew of this curious habitation, whose only furnishings were draperies and divans, small jasper tables and luxuriant couches, but the few who did were well content to contribute most generously for its maintenance, and more for the occupants of its numerous apartments, whose only glimpse of daylight was that which fell through the shamefaced windows and rested, like the hands of a bashful lover, upon charms, half strange and half familiar to his touch.
Julia Webber the mistress of this peculiar mansion, bent for a moment over the silent form, then she raised her eyes and looked with a strange, unseeing expression, into the wall beyond, as was her habit when addressing any one.
The voice was low and distinct, but as cold and unsympathetic as steel, as she said with hardly a movement of the lips, "Well what are your orders, Monsieur?"
The man at her side turned his eyes from the quiet face upon the couch and looked haughtily down upon her as he answered sharply, "The same as usual. Why do you ask?"
For an instant he caught the gleam of fire through her half closed, panther like eyes as she gave him a searching side glance to note the effect of her brief question.
"You decline my offer, then," she asked, even more coldly, more distinctly than before.
"What do I want with you?" the man exclaimed fiercely in excellent English. "Have I not told you, Julia, that my brief infatuation ended the hour that it began? Ah, she awakes!" he exclaimed suddenly, and bent lower over the prostrate girl.
Over Julia Webber's face there crept an ominous, ashen pallor. Her eyes blazed with the fury of a woman scorned, while her slender, jeweled fingers clutched the folds of her lurid garments with the grasp of a dying agony. Another moment and her emotions were controlled. The vindictive gleam in her eyes was unnoticed by the man, for at that moment his whole thought and attention was given to the white robed figure.
Stella, for it was she, opened her eyes and looked around the unfamiliar room in utter bewilderment. Then her gaze rested upon the young man's face, but without a shadow of recognition in the face.
With a smile of astonishing sweetness he bent gently over her and whispered softly, "Do not be frightened, Stella. You are safe with me. Rest a little and I will explain all."
Then, as her eyes closed once more in response to the powerful drug which he had administered, he turned roughly upon the woman at his side and bade her watch and wait upon this girl, then adding with a significant expression, "I make you responsible for her; I shall be back this evening;" he abruptly left the house.
When the door closed upon her companion, Julia Webber stood beside the couch, immovable as marble.
Her flowing garments slipped from her sloping shoulders until one half her bosom was exposed. The lines of her face were rigid, but the swelling bosom rose and fell in gasps that were almost convulsive.
Hatred, envy and revenge gleamed in her scintillating eye balls while she gazed upon the pure and beautiful features of Stella.
At last, through her tightly closed teeth she muttered, hoarsely, "So this is why he scorns me! For this girl of twenty. It is not her pretty face or perfect form in which lies her attraction for Monsieur, for I am equally beautiful, but it is her very virtue, her purity, that draws his passions like a powerful magnet and holds him her slave until the smirch of his own contamination is branded on her brow. Pah! These inconstant fiends; They mold us to their own ideals, then scorn the creature of their own admiring handiwork. But enough of this! My revenge must be as sweet as my disappointment is bitter. I am mistress here, and perhaps my gallant Monsieur, some other more agreeable connoisseur may sip the dew from your budding rose before you again enhale its fragrance.
"Ah, Captain, you here," she exclaimed as a stranger unceremoniously entered the apartment.
"How could I remain from your presence, my beautiful Julia?" responded the newcomer gallantly, then catching sight of the couch and its occupant he added, hastily, "My God! how beautiful! who is she and where did you get her?"
"Not so fast, Captain," said Julia, laughing quietly.
Curiously enough the handsome Captain's evident admiration for Stella evoked no jealousy in her heart, but was a source of satisfaction on the contrary.
Here was the opportunity for revenge on the man she loved, and she was not the woman to lose it, through any such foolish sentiment as that of jealousy. Revenge and love go hand in hand in such natures as Julia Webber's. Her life had been one long succession of conquests, but to one man only had she offered constancy.
Only those who are caught in the whirlpool of lascivious temptations can realize or appreciate the difficulty in fulfiling such a promise, but, Julia Webber, in spite of her evil life, was truer to a given word than many of her more righteous sisters. Her love had been accepted with alacrity, and spurned with contempt and loathing almost from the hour of consummation.
Now, as this thought again flitted through her mind, she turned to the destingue individual by her side, and answered playfully, "you know we tell no secrets here, Captain; she is here, and here to stay, that should be sufficient. She is slightly indisposed just now," she added, with a meaning smile, "but if you wish to see her—"
"I certainly do, Julia," and he also smiled significantly, as he eagerly awaited her reply.
The woman hesitated a moment, and then, apparently changing the subject, said archly, "By the way, Captain, there is a lovely crimson, velvet robe in Robinson's window—"
"You shall have it to-morrow, and then?" asked the Captain, anxiously—
"Ah, thank you, and, come in again to-morrow, Captain, I think I can arrange this little matter for you." Then she closed the door upon him, and again the panther-like gleam of her eye balls crept stealthily out between her half closed lids, but the smile that parted the thin red lips melted away in a heavy sigh, as she turned once more to look long and earnestly upon Stella's sleeping face.
Stella remained unconscious throughout the night, but she was carefully watched by Julia Webber, who would allow no one to enter the room where she lay.
She was bewildered and frightened when she awoke the next morning in such strange surroundings. During the night her dress had been removed and she was amazed to find herself robed in a long, comfortable garment of soft red silk, and by her side a slender table with a tempting breakfast on a dainty silver tray awaiting her pleasure.
When Julia Webber entered the room she went immediately to Stella's side and bending gracefully over her, touched her lips to Stella's brow, saying with the sweetest of smiles, "my dear child, I am so glad you are feeling better. I beg of you not to talk or distress yourself by fears regarding your safety, for I have already notified your friends of your whereabouts and you may be sure I will take the best of care of you until they arrive."
This falsehood fell so smoothly from the woman's lips that Stella, innocent and unsuspicious, actually smiled up into the lying face and whispered gratefully, "I know you will, my dear Madam, and I shall trust you implicitly. I cannot understand what has happened but I throw myself wholly upon your mercy and protection, and I know that I shall be safe in your hands."
Julia Webber's face was turned from the couch as she answered in a strange unnatural voice, "Try and sleep now and I will come in again soon," and as Stella obediently closed her eyes she went hurriedly from the room.
Although far better acquainted with her own remarkable nature than are mortals ordinarily, still Julia Webber could hardly understand her own emotions at this instant. Was it possible that she was considering for a moment a withdrawal of her schemes for revenge? She had promised this girl protection just as she had promised scores before, but the word protection had suddenly assumed a new definition in her mind. Hitherto it had simply signified safety from personal violence, from starvation or physical discomfort. Now it was suddenly assuming a new condition,—safety for chastity and virtue. Had she promised this? No! That was purely a personal matter, and what was more, she only allowed the temptation, she insisted upon nothing. But then, again, her methods admitted of no alternative. Her guests, as she had told the Captain, came "to stay," and time, temptation and constant warfare will win the bravest battle and conquer the most stubborn resistance.
Communing thus, she again returned to Stella's room and, standing silently by the couch, looked earnestly upon the girlish face.
Shouts of coarse laughter and snatches of careless song, together with the chink of glasses, reached her ear at intervals as she stood immovable in the quiet room, and involuntarily, with minute distinctness, the details of other admissions to her household were paraded slowly before her mental vision. She recalled the innocence of those rioting voices when they first fell upon her ear,—in nearly every instance uttering a prayer for their speedy return to home and loved ones, or casting themselves in supplicating despair upon her mercy. Her brain was filled to bursting with questions before unanswered, with possibilities before unconsidered, and moments sped rapidly by while she remained, mute and motionless, by the sleeping girl. Not a quiver of the eyelids betrayed the storm that was raging in her breast, but after a time she turned and walked noiselessly from the room.
She had decided,—and with Julia Webber to decide meant to act.
To Mrs. Sinclair, Stella was lost indeed. Almost insane with grief, the good woman placed the matter in the competent hands of Scotland Yard, and closing her house to all visitors, gave herself up to a grief more bitter far than that which would be felt at death itself. She had at last discovered beyond dispute that her son had frequented the clubs and theatres of London for a year past, under different names and often in the company of a young girl, who, although evidently from the middle classes, was still sufficiently beautiful to attract the attention of casual observers and win the attention and preference of one so (presumably) fastidious as Maurice Sinclair.
This girl, she also learned, lived quietly with her grandparents on G—St., and was in all respects a most estimable young woman. Obtaining this information some two months after the disappearance of Maurice and Stella, Mrs. Sinclair went in person to the address given to ascertain, if possible, some further facts regarding her son's unrighteous past.
The house in G—St. looked deserted when Mrs. Sinclair's carriage stopped before its unpretending portals, but she was promptly admitted by a neat maid servant, to the presence of Elizabeth's aged grandparents. She found them mourning in pitiful grief the loss of their idolized grandchild, who they said had, according to newspaper accounts, committed suicide by jumping from the London Bridge on the very date corresponding to Maurice's appearance at his mother's home. They had identified the shawl which she had dropped from her shoulders, before taking the awful plunge into the river, and that was the only proof they had ever received, that their dear one's fate was the sleep that knows no waking.
Finding in Mrs. Sinclair a tearful, sympathetic listener, they gladly told her of Elizabeth's quiet, happy life with them; of her beauty and virtue, and from this emanated the story of Lawrence Maynard, the young lodger, and their belief that it was her unrequited love for him that drove her to the fatal act.
The young man was clever and handsome, the aged woman said. He wore a close cropped auburn beard, but his hair grew long, and lay in large, loose curls upon his forehead. He seemed quiet and steady, and seldom remained away from his rooms at night, particularly, after his apparent fondness for Elizabeth had been observed by them. No one had ever called upon him except a queer Chinese peddler who, he said, brought him rare and expensive substances for his chemical experiments. Between this man and himself, there was evidently a most satisfactory understanding. They had met first in China, and Elizabeth frequently stood and listened to their comical gibberish, while the Mongolian's beady eyes watched her with never failing interest.
There were times even when she fancied he looked anxiously at her, and once, when Mr. Maynard was absent, he tried with poor success to tell her something, but what that mysterious something was she could never ascertain.
Mr. Maynard had frequently warned them all against touching any of the test tubes, flasks, retorts and crucibles in his room, but evening after evening he called Elizabeth to watch the changing colors in the delicate fluids, or the crystillization of rare substances while he instructed her, so they honestly supposed, by many scientific and wonderful experiments.
This was all Mrs. Sinclair could learn from the aged mourners, and weary at heart she returned once more to her now cheerless home. She felt certain that this Lawrence Maynard and her son were one and the same person, but little did she dream of the actual facts that remained untold in the aged woman's innocent recital.
It was in this cleverly improvised laboratory that Elizabeth Merril, unknown to her feeble grandparents, passed the few deliriously happy hours of her otherwise unromantic life. She had entered in the full possession of her womanly dignity and virtue, only to become faint from the exhalations of tempting perfumes and intoxicated by the fascinations of the tempter's smile and passionate pleadings. Long and fiercely she struggled with her new born passion, but her lover's first, warm kiss drew her very heart from her bosom and almost insane with love and fear she twined her white arms around his neck and pleaded for his dear protection.
At last, in a moment of reckless passion, he consented to a private marriage only insisting on concealment of the same until he should give her permission to announce it.
A private marriage is but a compromise with virtue in every instance, but Elizabeth was young and inexperienced.
She trusted her lover implicitly, and although the affair was not as she in her girlish fancies desired, still it was a bondage of love and she would willingly have submitted to its chains until death if her lover had so commanded.
It was only the insurmountable difficulty of her condition that at last counteracted the mental and moral poison of his presence and broke completely the spell that his impassioned caresses had thrown so fatally about her.
When the truth burst upon her that concealment was no longer possible, she fled to his apartments and fell on her knees before him.
"Oh, Lawrie, Lawrie," she sobbed, "You must tell Grandma of our marriage, you must, or I am ruined!" and she wept as if her heart would break.
Then an awful fear seized upon her as she noticed the stern, defiant look that crept into his face at her words.
"Get up Lizzie" he answered, brutally. "You should have thought of this before. There," he exclaimed, throwing a paper at her feet, "there is your Marriage Certificate. It is false every word of it; our marriage was a mockery from beginning to end. Show the paper to your grandparents and clear yourself if you can,—I can do nothing for you."
White as death, Elizabeth staggered slowly to her feet, but no word escaped her lips.
For a moment man and woman looked into each other's eyes, then with a mocking smile Lawrence Maynard, her lover, her idol, her perjured husband, passed rapidly from the room.
Like one in a dream she bent and raised the paper from the ground, then with head erect and steady step she walked to her own small room and locking the door behind her, fell heavily upon the bed with the lying certificate clasped closely in her rigid hand. She awoke to the realization that he had wronged her, and before she could fairly endure that knowledge she realized that he had also deserted her, and from that time forth her misery was complete. Too proud to tell her weakness now in the hour of shame, she reasoned that death alone would erase the stain upon her character, and with this sole purpose forming in her half crazed brain she fled to the sluggish river and took the frightful plunge into its awful depths.
The fate of her supposed suicide had been chronicled, first by the descriptive reports of the bridge officers, at their respective stations, and secondly by the busy newspaper scribes who haunt police stations for the necessary matter to fill their allotted space in the columns of the various dailies.
Elizabeth, holding her babe on her arm, read the report of her supposed entrance to the great unknown world, on the very night of Mrs. Sinclair's visit to her grandparents and her own discharge from the Hospital, and smiling bitterly, she muttered to herself, "Yes, that is true. I am dead, dead and buried. Now nothing remains but the walking ghost of Lizzie Merril and"—here she looked sadly down upon the face of the sleeping child and added, "the mother of this innocent babe." Then she wrapped the shawl a nurse had given her, closer around the infant and hurried onward through the gloomy night:—whither she did not know.
Almost at that moment a young man turned the corner of the street and brushed past her, so near that his arm accidentally touched her shoulder. For a moment she stood perfectly still, then with a piercing cry, woman and child fell heavily forward and were caught in Maurice Sinclair's arms.