CHAPTER VIII. — The Two Orphans
One evening, about a dozen years before the introduction of the present system of fire alarms into Montreal, crowds might be seen hurrying along that part of the city known as Little St. James street, towards the scene of an immense conflagration. Several fire engines were throwing strong streams of water on the burning mass, but, the evening being windy, the fire swept all before it, and soon reduced several buildings to ashes.
In one of these resided Mr. Wilson, Notary Public, and his two daughters, the eldest a beautiful girl about 9 years old, the other aged nearly 8. When the fire commenced they were seated calmly at the tea-table, partaking of their evening meal, but, so sudden was the holocaust which burst with tremendous fury around them that they had not the slightest warning till they were surrounded with dense volumes of smoke The two girls rushed forward to the window, and screamed for assistance, while the old man endeavored to gather some of his most valuable papers together and throw them into the street.
Amongst the crowd who assembled were two young men, clerks, named Wilgress and D’Alton respectively. Taking in the situation at a glance, they sought hastily for ladders, and placing them against the burning windows, mounted bravely through the flames, each seizing a girl round the waist, and carrying her in safety to the ground. Their clothes were almost completely destroyed, while their faces were grimed and scorched, still, nothing daunted, they looked up to see if anything more could be done; they espied the old man at one of the windows with a parcel in his arms. Quick as thought Dalton mounted the ladder once more, going through the flames like a salamander, and, taking the parcel from the old gentleman, tried to induce him to descend the ladder. Poor old Wilson, however, could not bear to leave so much that was valuable while a chance of saving it remained, and so, rushing wildly back into the burning building, he was soon lost to sight. A cry arose from the crowd as they saw him disappear once more, and several hardy youths sprang up the ladders, determined to bring him out by force, but, ere they could enter the flaming pile, a loud shriek met their ears as the floor gave way, hurling the poor old notary into the dreadful pit of fire. All efforts to do anything further were now unavailing, and the firemen directed their energies to protecting the neighboring buildings, and preventing the fire from spreading.
The young men were at first puzzled what to do with the two girls whom they had rescued, and who were now orphans, without parents, money, or even clothes, but some Sisters of Charity, who had witnessed the heroic action, came forward and offered to take them in charge. The good sisters took the children to the convent, and provided them with both food and clothes, intending to educate them and bring them up in the Catholic faith, but some Protestant ladies, members of the congregation to which Mr. Wilson had belonged, having heard of the affair, induced the clergyman to call and obtain possession of the orphans, they undertaking to provide the cost of their maintenance, or to find them homes in Protestant families.
By the time the Rev. Mr. Flood called at the nunnery the children had dried their tears, and were beginning to feel quite at home. The Sister in charge, however, saw at once the correctness of the Clergyman’s action, and agreed to give the girls up as soon as he had made arrangements for their reception elsewhere. In a few days they were sent for, and each was adopted by a different family; Cissie, the elder, was taken in charge by a childless minister, residing in St. Albans, in the State of Vermont, while Lillie, the younger sister was adopted by a farmer from the neighborhood of Varennes.
Many years passed away and the two girls were grown up, and were both uncommonly good looking, Lillie being then just seventeen, and as handsome a girl as one could wish to see. Then circumstances, however, were not the same, for while Cissie had received a good education, and had in every way the manners of a lady, Lillie could not even read with facility, and writing was with her and utter impossibility. The people who had adopted her were Irish settlers, who, though comfortably off, knew little beyond the cultivation of potatoes and the care of pigs.
About this tame Cissie Wilson, tired of the monotony of life at St. Albans, determined to make an effort to “see the world,” as she called it, and earn her own living; and, as her adopted father remonstrated with her in rather a hasty manner, she collected her effects together, and, one day while the old man was out, started for Montreal. She left a note for him, informing him of her destination, and warning him not to attempt to stop her, as she had determined, at all hazards, to carry out her intention. Miss Wilson had been several times in Montreal, and had several acquaintances there, among them a Miss Wood, whose father had a position in the Telegraph Office. To Miss Wood’s, therefore, she repaired, and, being welcomed with the usual number of kisses, she requested the young lady to persuade her father to procure a situation as telegraph operator or something of the kind, as she was determined to earn her own living. This the young lady promised to do and succeeded so well that Miss Wilson was soon installed in a tolerably good position, earning enough money to maintain and clothe herself respectably.
Things went on smoothly enough for a time, Miss Wilson spending most of her leisure time with her friend, Miss Wood, or sitting quietly at home arranging such dresses and finery as her scanty income permitted her to indulge in. After some months, however, she began to make more friends, and being invited frequently out, and made much of because of her beauty and accomplishments, she soon became madly eager for the means of dressing herself like the rest, and making the conquests she knew she could make, were she only to have equal terms with her rivals.
This passion for dress and jewellery soon became deep-seated; were she only well dressed, what could she not achieve. She had, in her anxious endeavors to make a good impression in society, deprived herself even of necessaries sin order to procure a fashionable ball-dress and outfit, and these were now no longer fit for active service. While musing over this circumstance one evening, as she walked home to supper, she chanced to meet Anna Smith, who had been the belle at the last ball, her fine dress and showy jewellery having completely eclipsed the more solid and modest beauty of the poor telegraph girl. Miss Smith inquired casually if Cissie were going to the Oddfellows’ ball, an affair which was then on the tapis, and when the latter answered in the negative, explaining that her small salary would not allow her to purchase the necessary finery, Miss Smith laughed and called her a silly little goose. Taking her by the arm, Anna then let her into a secret, and explained how she obtained all she required, and indeed could, out of the abundance of her stores, fit out Miss Cissie, whom she chose to consider her protégée. She urged Cissie not to miss the ball on any account, and reminded her that she had already obtained a decided advantage over Miss Williams, Miss Hunt and Miss Jones, and that with such an outfit as she would lend her the victory would be complete.
Cissie was for a moment shocked. She had been several times offered presents by gentlemen of her acquaintance, but had always resolutely declined to take them, having an instinctive feeling which warned her against their acceptance. She could not bear now to wear the dresses proffered by Miss Smith, and momentarily made up her mind not to go to the ball at all. Then again her heart failed her as her companion glibly ran over the names of those who were to attend, and Cissie thought how she would like to enter the room on Horace Gibson’s arm in the presence of Miss Williams and the rest. Horace Gibson was a clerk in the Bank of Montreal who had invited Miss Wilson to the ball, and was to receive her answer that evening. As luck would have it, that young gentleman approached just as the girls were rounding the corner of the street, and, raising his hat in salute, inquired if he was to have the pleasure of taking Miss Wilson to the ball. Cissie hung her head, and was just about to offer some excuse, when Miss Smith answered for her:
“Oh, yes, of course she’ll go, and be the best dressed and best looking lady in the room too.”
“If you have taken her up, I am sure she will be at least the second best as regards get up,” responded Mr. Gibson, conveying an indirect compliment to Miss Smith herself, who was celebrated for the elegance of her attire. Cissie could not utter a word. After all, she thought, there can be no harm in borrowing a dress from a young lady! It was not for her to inquire how that lady was able to purchase so many dresses; and then, as she looked at the handsome young man before her, and thought how her rivals would bite their lips with envy to see her in her elegant out-fit, the blood rushed into her temples, and with an impetuous bound she burst away from both her companions and entered the house, saying to Mr. Gibson: “Yes, I’ll go; call for me at nine to-morrow.”
Till late night Cissie sat in her rocking-chair, her hands pressed over her throbbing temples; at length wearied nature came to her relief, and compelled her to retire to bed. Being fatigued, she soon fell fast asleep, and on the morrow when she awoke, although she remembered clearly all that had passed on the previous evening, she had not the same sensitive feelings, or the same sharp prickings of conscience, and, as she walked towards the office, she began to anticipate the ball with the greatest pleasure.
As Miss Smith had said, Cissie, beautiful before, was ten times as beautiful now that she was adorned with all that art could do in the matters of dress and jewellery. Miss Williams fairly gnashed her teeth with envy, and left the hall shortly after ten o’clock, disgusted with that thing from the telegraph office, while the gentlemen eagerly sought for an introduction to the acknowledged belle of the ball-room. Miss Smith was as proud of Cissie’s success as if it had been her own. With all her faults the girl possessed a good heart, and in doing as she did fancied she was doing the innocent country girl a kindness in opening to her the highway to fame and fortune, even though it were reached by the gate of dishonor.
It is needless to give in detail the particulars of Cissie Wilson’s career; suffice it to say, that the brilliant triumph at the Oddfellows’ ball was too much for her weak nature. She plunged headlong into the vortex of worldly pleasure and excitement, and, having little time or inclination for reflection, became in time quite habituated to this peculiar mode of life, always maintaining outwardly, however, a moral and respected appearance.
All this time, the reader may well ask, what had become of Lillie, the younger sister? She had been remarkably successful in her country home, having at her feet the hands and hearts of all the most eligible young men for miles round. This at one time would have gratified her utmost ambition; but her sister’s letters from Montreal made her dreadfully anxious to join her in her whirl of exciting pleasures, and, with the understanding that her sister would obtain her employment in Montreal, Lillie, at the age of eighteen, came to the city.
She was not long in her new home till her sister unbosomed to her many things of which she had previously been in ignorance, and promised to introduce her to the créme de la créme of her worldly companions, urging her to endeavor to acquire these graces and accomplishments which she had failed to learn in her country home. Lillie soon became more popular even than her sister; for, although she was not so well educated, she was naturally clever and witty, and there was a vivacity and freshness about her conversation, which, added to her beautiful face and perfect figure, made her a charming and desirable companion.
One day Mr. D’Alton, one of the gentlemen who had rescued the two girls from the fire, was walking along Notre Dame street, when he observed a beautiful girl, rather showily dressed, promenading just in front of him. Something in the girl’s manner attracted his attention, and, as he passed her, he turned round, and carefully scanned her face. As he did so the girl looked up and their eyes met; he, raising his hat, blurted out an apology, saying he had mistaken her for another lady of his acquaintance named Brown. “Oh,” said she, laughing, “my name is Lillie Wilson.”
On hearing this name D’Alton started, and, having questioned her closely concerning her antecedents, asked her if she remembered the fire, and the two gentlemen who rescued herself and her sister; and, although she had altogether forgotten his appearance, she remembered the circumstance perfectly. They walked together for a little while, and then he asked her permission to visit her at her address, and was astonished to find that she objected, for some strange reason, to do so. At length, bursting into tears, she confided to him her whole history, informing him that she had been seduced and betrayed, and was at that moment enceinte. This disclosure, as may well be supposed, staggered D’Alton not a little, but at the same time he became more and more interested in the girl, and offered, if she would promise to give up her corrupt mode of life that he would do his best to see her through her present difficulty. Calling on me, he consulted with me as to what was best to be done under the circumstances, explaining that, although he was willing to do all in his power for the girl for the sake of old associations, yet that he did not wish to peril his own reputation. I promised to do what I could for the girl, and calling on her was informed that her paramour was an officer in the Rifle Brigade, who had returned to England, leaving her to bear the burden of their crime. Having procured suitable lodgings, I saw the girl comfortably housed, and in due time she gave birth to a fine little boy, which, as usual in these cases, was sent to the nunnery to be taken care of by the good Sisters of Charity.
Mr. D’Alton did not come to visit Miss Wilson during her convalescence but, after she was completely recovered he called frequently, taking her to theatres and concerts, and sometimes in the winter to sleigh-rides. What his intentions at first may have been I do not know; I certainly think that but for his friends he would openly have married her; be that as it may, in a short time it became apparent that they had both overstepped the bounds of ordinary friendly intercourse, and that Mrs. Rushton (as she now called herself) would soon require my services a second time. This time she gave birth to a beautiful girl, and, before many years were past, there followed another girl and boy. These children were not, as in the former case, sent to the nunnery, but were retained and brought up by their mother, she being smart enough to perceive that by doing so she would maintain a hold on their father, and secure for herself, if not a respectable, at least a comfortable position, Mr. D’Alton having been successful in business, and being at that time one of the leading brokers in Montreal.
For a time things went on this way, D’Alton visiting his mistress frequently, and becoming passionately fond of the children, whom Mrs. Rushton artfully used to influence him on all occasions. To do her justice, it must be said that she never, either in thought or action, was untrue to D’Alton, and that, whatever her past career might have been, she lived at this time a quiet life, indeed, caring only for her husband (as she called him) and her children. By the time the little boy was two years old, both mother and children had so ingratiated themselves in Mr. D’Alton’s affections, that he determined, come what might, to marry his mistress, and so make their future offspring at least legitimate.
He was weary of his irregular mode of life, and, being comparatively wealthy, longed for some place which he could call his home. His wife could hardly mix in society, even could she obtain an entrée to that realm of prudery and hypocrisy, but he cared for no society better than that of herself and his children, and his bachelor friends, of whom he had not a few, would, even if they did know or surmise the truth, exercise a more liberal spirit, particularly while the wine in his cellar maintained its reputation. Accordingly, he one day astonished and delighted Mrs. Rushton with the proposal that he should marry her; and that they should live together openly. As may be supposed, the lady unhesitatingly accepted the proposal, and accordingly they were married, formally and legally in St. George’s Church, which, at that time was situated in St. Joseph street, on the site now occupied by Messrs. Ligget & Hamilton’s large dry goods store. Mr. D’Alton took a house in a new portion of the city, and as they lived very quietly, receiving no calls, except from business friends of Mr. D’Alton, the neighbors did not trouble themselves much about them, or inquire concerning their antecedents.
Although her husband did not trouble himself whether his wife was or was not received into society, Mrs. D’Alton felt it very keenly. She had not, like him, drank the cup of life’s pleasures till it tasted insipid or even nauseous; on the contrary, she looked on the pomps and vanities of society as only a woman can look on them, and now that she was legally respectable, and rich enough to keep pace with even the most fashionable of her neighbors, it made her very heart ache to think that these scenes of brightness were closed to her as much as ever. She thought of what she might have been had she not in her ambitious haste gone off the right track; and, pained with bitter reflections, and with no one to speak to or converse with (for her husband spent most of his time at the club) she solaced herself, as others in her predicament have done, with the cup of forgetfulness, sinking deeper and deeper at every step, till the habit became confirmed.
Although Mrs. D’Alton had taken her husband into her confidence, and told him truthfully her history, she had not sufficient strength of mind to tell him how ignorant she really was, and that she could not even read and write with accuracy. Her letters to her husband had been written by her nursery-governess, engaged ostensibly to instruct the children; but in reality to act as amanuensis for the lady of the house. The young lady thus engaged was at first rather averse to signing her mistress’ name to her letters without adding her own initials, but the present of a handsome broach and earrings soon quieted her sensitive conscience and she soon fell into the plan, not being unwilling to make use of such a powerful lever for obtaining largesses from Mrs. D’Alton. In time this young lady became so overbearing that her mistress fully made up her mind to discharge her, but a summer trip to Portland being then on the tapis, she allowed her to have her own way, as Mr. D’Alton remained in Montreal, and would naturally expect letters from his wife during her absence. She would have dismissed the governess and engaged another, trusting to her own pleadings and the powerful appeals of her purse to win her over, but the handwriting would not be the same, and she would not for worlds have allowed her husband to think she had deceived him.
The day came for their departure for Orchard Beach, where Mr. D’Alton had taken a cottage for their use. The children were in great glee as they anticipated surf bathing and digging in the sand, but Mrs. D’Alton was moody and down-hearted, the exhilarating effects of a large potion of brandy having worn off and a reaction set in; her husband, however, attributed it to sorrow at her separation from him, and was rather gratified to think she was so deeply affected.
They arrived at her destination in due course, and were comfortably ensconced in the cosy little cottage. Miss Watson, the governess, dressed herself up, and with the children departed for the promenade, and Mrs. D’Alton was left to her own reflections. The thought of her past career, of the opportunities gone for ever, and lastly of the predicament she was now in, shunned by all respectable people, and despised by her own paid servant, who felt her power, and was disposed to wield it unmercifully. The brandy-bottle, her never-failing companion, was by her side, and as she mused mopingly over her sins, she took from time to time copious draughts of the potent spirits, regardless of its power to do otherwise than to rob her of these racking memories of the past. In about two hours the promenaders returned and found her lying back speechless in her chair, the bottle and glass by her side; her eyes rolled wildly as she gazed vacantly on her children, but she was unable to utter a word.
Miss Watson became alarmed and summoned a doctor immediately, who, on entering the room, perceived at once the cause of Mrs. D’Alton’s malady, and ordered her to be conveyed to bed. In the morning she was a little better, being able to speak; but she was still very much shaken, and raved incoherently. Mr. D’Alton was telegraphed for, and came immediately; but, being merely informed that his wife had had a fit, he imagined her to be afflicted with hysteria; indeed, although he knew she was fond of a glass of wine, and often joined him in partaking of brandy and water, he had no idea that she imbibed to such an extent.
In a few days Mrs. D’Alton was able to go out again, and, as during her husband’s stay at Orchard Beach she was particularly abstemious, she was able to associate with the ladies in the hotel, and made several acquaintances, who, seeing that she had the dress and manners of a lady, interchanged calls with her and invited her to visit them in Montreal. On her return to her home, however, these ladies received her but coldly, and when she gave a large party, inviting all those whom she had met at the seaside, “they all, with one accord, began to make excuse,” and at entertainment there was present, besides herself and the family, only a sister of the governess, and one or two bachelor friends of Mr. D’Alton. Dancing was of course out of the question, so they organized two whist parties, and, with a little music, managed to drag along till supper, which was served in Joyce’s best style, and looked unnecessarily elaborate for the small number who were to partake of it.
Mrs. D’Alton was mortified; she had imagined that those people whom she met at the seaside would have judged her on her merits, and would not have taken the trouble to inquire concerning her antecedents. She did not calculate that, what may be allowable at a summer resort, would not be tolerated in Montreal society; moreover, that the tongue of slander had been busily engaged in painting her even blacker than she really was, so that these people, even if personally disposed to associate with her, dared not do so lest they might lose their own insecure foothold on the ladder of social position. In moody silence she presided throughout the entire evening; she was enraged at herself and at the poor enslaved creatures who, though anxious to go and enjoy themselves yet dared not infringe the rules laid down by society; and, as she drank glass after glass of her husband’s famous Moselle, she became more and more despondent.
About midnight Amy Watson, the sister of the nursery-governess, took her departure, and Mr. D’Alton with his friends, went up to the billiard room to enjoy themselves at their favorite game. It was near daylight ere they grew tired of pocketing the ivory spheres, and left their host to close the doors, and retire to his room. When he did so what a sight met his gaze! There lay his wife in all the finery she had arrayed herself to dazzle her fashionable acquaintances, a speechless corpse! a brandy-bottle, nearly emptied, lay at her side, telling too plainly what had been the cause of her untimely death. Her husband’s first impulse was to ring the bell and send for a doctor, but, knowing the scandal that would surely ensue, he quietly let himself out, and went for Dr. Hickson, being determined not to give up hope till he had done all that could possibly be done. The doctor on examining the body shook his head ominously, confirming Mr. D’Alton in the belief that his wife was no more; he considerately agreed to remain in the house, and not to inform the servants for some time of the occurrence. The doctor’s presence, of course, excited some alarm, and in a short time it was known that Mrs. D’Alton was dangerously ill, the announcement of her death being reserved for a time till all the traces of the recent festivities were removed, and the house had resumed its normal condition.
When the children heard of their mother’s death they rent the air with their cries of anguish; even Miss Watson shed real tears, her occupation, like that of Othello, being gone. Poor Mr. D’Alton was almost beside himself. He had never loved another woman; and, though he was not blind to his wife’s failings and shortcomings, he nevertheless lamented the loss of one, who, whatever her faults, was true to him and a good mother to his children.
In the meantime what had become of Cissie Wilson, Mrs. D’Alton’s elder sister? She had endeavored to persuade Mrs. D’Alton to engage her as governess to her children, but the latter, once married, refused to hold any communication with her whatever. Miss Wilson then despairing of finding a road to reform in Montreal, took her departure for Toronto, taking a position as governess in one of the leading families there. On hearing of her sister’s death she wrote to Mr. D’Alton, offering to take charge of the children till he had time to make permanent arrangements for their education. To this letter she received no reply, which nettled her so much that she determined on a plot for wounding the pride of her haughty brother-in-law. “Who is he,” she would exclaim, “that he should dare to snub me?” “If I have sinned, was she not equally bad, and is he not guilty himself?” “Never mind, Mr. D’Alton, I will have my revenge some day.” She racked her brain to think of some means of repaying him for his severity to her, but could think of nothing at the time, and so resolved to wait and watch her opportunity.
It was some years before Miss Wilson had that opportunity for which her heart so yearned, but come it did, surely enough, and she dealt to Mr. D’Alton a blow so bitter that he never got over its effects.
Lillian, Mr. D’Alton’s eldest daughter had, after her mother’s death, been sent to a fashionable school in Mansfield street, presided over by the wife of one of our leading brokers. Here she made many friends, and being known only as the beautiful and accomplished daughter of a rich widower doing business in Montreal, and well known on the Exchange, she was in time introduced into society, and became at one bound the belle of the season.
At that time several British regiments occupied the Quebec Gate barracks, and the officers were eagerly sought after by the party-giving community, no ball being complete without at least two or three officers in full uniform. Among the latter was a certain Captain Trevelyan, the heir-apparent of an English nobleman, who was, of course the eligible young gentleman of the season. Most of the ladies openly courted Captain Trevelyan and, figuratively speaking, laid themselves at his feet; but Lillian D’Alton was too little versed in such matters to know the triumph she had achieved in being sought after as a partner by the much-admired Captain, and, when he asked her to dance although she complied readily with his request, yet she carried herself with an air so natural, and altogether so different from the time-worn belles he was so accustomed to meet, that he engaged her for dance after dance, then for supper, and, before the ball was concluded, he was deeply in love with her, none the less because she was the only young lady in the room who did not covet that distinction.
Although Lillian was but eighteen years of age, she could not but perceive the marked attention paid to her by Captain Trevelyan, nor was she blind to the glances of envious hatred darted at her from all quarters. Her heart responded to the unspoken avowal of her partner, and ere they parted that night they were one in heart and in thought, each living only for and in the presence of the other.
Youthful love makes rapid progress. Ere many months had passed Lillian D’Alton was the affianced bride of Captain Trevelyan, and their approaching wedding was the one theme of conversation at balls, routes or parties.
Here then was the opportunity longed for by Miss Wilson. She would inform Captain Trevelyan and his friends concerning the D’Alton family, and warn him to break off his engagement. With a refinement of cruelty peculiar to women blinded with rage, she allowed the wedding day to be fixed before she communicated with the bridegroom, and then sent him a complete history of the family he was about to enter, informing him that the lady he was about to marry was the illegitimate child of Mr. D’Alton, and that in marrying her he would not only injure his own prospects, but alienate himself completely from his family, bringing on them both shame and discredit.
Captain Trevelyan read the letter with astonishment, but did not believe one word it contained. His Lillian a bastard! why the thing was preposterous. Her father was as well known on ‘Change as Rothschild was in London. Her mother’s funeral had been attended by the wealth and fashion of Montreal, and since that time Lillian had been the acknowledged belle of the set commonly known as “the upper ten.” The letter being written in rather extravagant terms, he imagined it to contain the incoherent ravings of a maniac, and his first impulse was to toss it aside. On the arrival of the English mail, however, he received letters from his friends, couched in terms of the deepest anxiety, urging him to sever all connection with the D’Alton family if he did not wish to alienate himself completely from all his family and friends. These letters led him to think more seriously concerning the communication from Toronto, and being determined, come what might, to know the worst at once, he started immediately for Mr. D’Alton’s residence, only to find that the gentleman in question had just that moment departed for his office.
Lillian was at home, however, and she rushed downstairs impetuously to meet her affianced husband. He received her as usual, but there was a cloud on his brow as he followed her into her boudoir, where they frequently spent hours together. He questioned her concerning her aunt and her relations generally, but Lillian knew little more than that her aunt resided in Toronto, and was generally considered to be what is called “flighty.”
This somewhat reassured Trevelyan, and he dismissed the subject for a time from his mind. He determined, however, to clear the matter up, and so in the evening he called to see Mr. D’Alton, requesting a few words with him in private. The two men entered the study, and Trevelyan led off by saying:—“I have received a strange communication from your sister-in-law, Miss Wilson; from what Lillian has told me, I am aware that she is a person of weak intellect, and her stories are not worthy of credence, but I thought it due to you, nevertheless, to bring the matter to your notice.”
At the mention of Miss Wilson’s name D’Alton turned deadly pale. He was a bold man, and capable of carrying out a deep scheme, had he felt so disposed; but this intimacy of Trevelyan with his daughter was the result of no scheme, and he had for some years lived, with the rest of his family, a blameless life, rejoicing in the fact that his neighbors either did not know, or had forgotten, or overlooked his past career, and were prepared to receive his children with open arms into society. With bated breath he ran his eyes hastily over the letter held out to him by Trevelyan, and in an instant he saw the whole situation. If he could only have had time to consider the matter, he would probably have taken the right course, come what might; but he had little time for decision, as Trevelyan stood before him, eagerly expecting a reply. Mr. D’Alton pictured to himself the state of affairs did he acknowledge the truth of the accusation, and though loath to deceive the young man (whom he already loved almost as dearly as his own son), he dared not ruin his daughter’s prospects by an avowal. Pretending to read the letter once more he gained a little time, and then, with consummate diplomacy, endeavored to find out what Trevelyan thought. Looking up coolly, he said—
“And do you believe all this, Trevelyan?”
Of course, Trevelyan did not believe it, and was profuse in his apologies, for having permitted himself to doubt for a moment that the writer was bereft of reason. This confirmed Mr. D’Alton in his course and he at once denounced his sister-in-law in no measured terms, vowing to punish her for her irresponsible utterances. The news that Miss Wilson had written to Captain Trevelyan’s friends in England made D’Alton furious, and he swore a fearful oath that he would place her where her ravings would harm no one but herself. All night long he thought over schemes for getting rid of her, and at length he concocted a plan which he speedily put into execution.
As was said before, Mrs. D’Alton and her sister were orphans and they both left their adopted parents early in life, having lived under assumed names for years, and severed all connection with their former associates. During Mrs. D’Alton’s lifetime her sister was forbidden to approach the house, and on the death of the former Miss Wilson was not recognized by her brother-in-law. The children had never seen or known their aunt, and the people with whom she had last resided in Montreal (in the capacity of nursery-governess) had known her as Miss Rogers, and had lately lost all trace of her whereabouts.
Taking the early train for Toronto, Mr. D’Alton took counsel of an astute lawyer, and learned that, as events had been shapen, Miss Wilson would have now great difficulty in proving her connection with the D’Alton family, did he choose to deny it, and that the fact of her having written such letters as those received by Trevelyan and his family would be fair presumptive evidence that the woman was insane.
Carefully considering his position, D’Alton determined on his course of proceeding. He was averse to a public prosecution, as many things, now unknown or forgotten, might be brought to light, and yet he felt that the woman must be effectually silenced by some means or other. Going to her residence he boldly demanded an interview with her, and, producing the letter to Trevelyan, asked if she had written it. Miss Wilson laughed as she saw the effect of her shot, and exultantly exclaimed:—“Of course I wrote it; who else could have done it?”
“And are you aware that you are liable to be prosecuted for libel?” pursued D’Alton.
“It is no libel,” retorted she, fiercely; “you know it is true, or you would not be here now.”
“Indeed! can you prove it, then?”
“I have no need to prove it to you. Your very facial expression acknowledges it to be true.”
“Will that satisfy the jury?”
“What jury?”
“The jury who are to try you for a malicious libel!”
At this Cissie started, but recovering herself exclaimed: “You dare not sue me for libel. Your history would not stand repetition in court.”
“Who knows my history?”
“I do!”
“Indeed! WHO ARE YOU?”
The fierceness with which he said this made his sister-in-law quail. She perceived that he was terribly in earnest as he repeated his question in a tone very unusual with him, and she meekly replied:
“You know well enough who I am, your late wife’s sister.”
“My wife had no sister!”
The look he gave as he said this fairly frightened her. She had seen a good deal of life, and had in her time met with all kinds of men and women, but never till now did she fear either. She began to see that she had roused a desperate man, and that, legally, she had no hold on him, neither status in society; moreover that she had got entangled in the meshes of her own net, and that only the dread of exposure would prevent D’Alton from prosecuting her for libel. Not knowing what to do, she remained mute, her eyes fixed firmly on the ground. At length Mr. D’Alton broke the silence: “You have evidently had an object,” he said, “in circulating these reports. If your object be to extort money out of me, you will find it more to your interest to remain silent.” With these words he drew from his pocket a roll of bank bills, and laid them on the table near his companion; but she, growing livid with rage, refused to touch them, promising to expose him and his family before all the world.
D’Alton had not calculated on this, and was for a time taken a little aback. His last card, however, was not yet played; and, summoning all his energies together, he braced himself for the enactment of that, which under other circumstances, he would have suffered much rather than become in any sense a party thereto. Addressing the lady once more he said:—“What, then, was your object in writing these letters?”
“My object was to disclose the truth,” she cried, vehemently, “to denounce you as a blackhearted villain, and to save an unsuspecting youth from becoming the victim of your deep-laid schemes.”
D’Alton bit his lip with passion, but restrained himself. “And you do all this solely from conscientious motives,” he said with a sneer.
“My conscience, like your own, Mr. D’Alton, is pretty well hardened. No; I have no conscientious motives to impel me to show your true character to the world; but revenge is sweet, and I have not forgotten the scorn and contempt with which both you and your fashionable wife treated me while I was in Montreal. I was not good enough to touch the hem of your garments, but she was dressed up and paraded in the drawing-rooms of those who did not know better than to admit her, and now her b—— daughter is to wed a scion of a noble house, while I am not even recognized. No, Robert D’Alton, you will not become respectable and leave me out in the cold, insulting and spurning me at every turn with your petty offers of money. I have sworn to have my revenge, and by —— now that the opportunity offers, I will have it, too!”
She had worked herself up to state of uncontrollable fury. Her eyes rolled wildly, and she looked like one demented. This gave the devil his opportunity, for D’Alton, who had been halting between two opinions, came to a hasty conclusion, and bringing the interview to a close, hurriedly left the house, his teeth firmly set, and a horrid glare in his eyes. He walked rapidly down Yonge street and along the east end of King street, then, hailing a cab, he directed the driver to travel towards the west end, coming to a halt opposite the Lunatic Asylum. Entering he enquired for Dr. Tuffnell, and was informed that he would likely find that gentleman at his residence on Jarvis street. On repairing thither he found the doctor at home, and, requesting a few minutes’ private conversation, was soon closeted in the consultation room. “I have long intended to see you,” Mr. D’Alton began, “about a young lady who lived in our family some years ago in the capacity of nursery-governess. She was always of a somewhat flighty disposition, which we used to humour as best we could, and when she left us (at my wife’s death) for Toronto, we fancied she had quite recovered, but it seems she has been gradually growing worse, and she now continually torments our friends and us with letters full of ridiculous flights of fancy, which, though meaningless to those who understand how she has been afflicted, might possibly cause serious trouble.”
“Has the young lady, then, no friends or relatives?”
“None, whatever. She was taken out of an orphan asylum by an aged clergyman, now deceased, who adopted her, and since his death she has supported herself by teaching. We consulted our physician about her some time ago, when she imagined herself to be my wife, and ordered her mistress down to the kitchen. He thought it would be advisable for her to take another situation away from us till her health improved, as she was continually fancying herself trampled upon by some member of the family; we accordingly procured for her a situation in a friend’s house in Montreal, but they in turn became frightened of her, and dismissed her, which dismissal, strange to say, she attributed to me. She now imagines herself to be my wife’s sister, and demands an entrance into my house, denouncing me in the vilest terms, and writing scandalous letters to all my acquaintances.”
“Are you sure she is insane?”
“Well, I have long tried to persuade myself that she is not, but latterly she has grown so violent that I am afraid that what I said years ago to my late wife in fun about her being demented was only painfully true. If you would kindly visit her and give me your opinion concerning her case, you would oblige me very much.”
“What does her present mistress say about her?”
“Oh she has only been there a short time and has not yet given an exhibition of her oratorical powers. Still the lady who is a clergyman’s widow, told me that she walks about her room in the middle of the night, talking wildly to herself.”
Dr. Tuffnell had not time to visit Miss Wilson that morning, but he made an appointment with Mr. D’Alton for the following day, and together they went to the unfortunate girl’s residence. Arrived at the house they rang the bell, and inquired for Mrs. Brookes, the mistress.
Mrs. Brookes was a middle-aged lady of a retiring disposition. Her husband had died at an early age, leaving her to take care of three young children. Her temporal wants however, were provided for, her husband having been possessed of a handsome income independently of his small salary. Dr. Tuffnell made inquiries concerning Miss Wilson’s habits, and was informed that her actions were at times very peculiar, that she had not gone to bed all the past night, but had stamped up and down her room, talking as if to a second party. Mrs. Brookes was shocked to hear that she had unwittingly engaged a mad woman to take charge of her children, and suddenly recollected several extraordinary episodes which, until that time, had never struck her forcibly.
It was arranged that the Doctor should see Miss Wilson and satisfy himself concerning her affliction before any further steps were taken. Accordingly Mrs. Brookes rang the bell and told the servant to summon the governess.
Miss Wilson had not slept all night, and her eyes had a wild expression, which heightened when she beheld Mr. D’Alton. The doctor, having previously taken all that was told him for granted, made up his mind at once that she was insane, and never reflected for a moment on the possibility of some scheme being on foot to injure her. On entering the room she laughed wildly and said—“So you have come back with your bag of gold. I tell you it’s trash, sordid trash, not half so sweet as REVENGE!”
Now as the doctor had heard nothing from either D’Alton or Mrs. Brookes which he could in any way connect with this wild utterance; moreover, as the young lady looked like a tigress, and walked fiercely up and down the room, he became more than ever convinced that he had got a bad case in hand and acted accordingly. Looking at D’Alton he shook his head, which Mrs. Brookes perceiving, she shook her head in turn, and, taking out her handkerchief, wept copiously. Dr. Tuffnell tried to soothe the patient with gentle words, but she (mistaking him for a pettifogging lawyer, whom D’Alton had engaged to bind her over to keep the peace) cried out:
“Ah, yes! you want to quiet me, but you can’t quiet me. I am like the surging cataract, which, suppressed in one place bursts out again with more fury in another. I have suffered too much to be tamed down by soft and gilded promises. No, Robert D’Alton, you have started the mighty avalanche and it is too late now to stop its progress.”
The doctor began to feel he had a desperate case in hand and tried to quiet her, but the more he did so the worse she got till at last all persons began to talk to her, receiving from the poor girl replies altogether removed from the point at issue coupled with threats and oaths and furious gesticulations. At length the doctor suggested, in a whisper, the propriety of their departure, when they might consider what was best to be done, but, on Mrs. Brookes protesting that she was afraid to stay alone in the house with the maniac, Dr. Tuffnell dispatched a note to the asylum, and in a short time two keepers arrived, and proceeded to take Miss Wilson into their care till she should become possessed of a sound mind.
There is no time at which a sane person looks so much like a maniac as when trying to convince people of his sanity. The real lunatic will cunningly hide his affliction from the most watchful, and is frequently able to deceive those unaccustomed to deal with persons of unsound mind, but the victim of persecution becomes wild with honest indignation, and generally manages to convince even those who might be inclined to believe him to be sane.
When the truth of her position began to dawn on Miss Wilson, she became more frantic than ever. She raved at D’Alton and the doctor, tore with her hands at the keepers, and abused Mrs. Brookes for standing tamely by to see one of her own sex so ill-used. She roared so that two policemen came rushing up to the steps to inquire what was the matter, but, seeing Dr. Tuffnell, with whom they were well acquainted, they saluted him respectfully and withdrew.
Miss Wilson was accordingly driven to the asylum and incarcerated till she should come to her senses, and Mr. D’Alton, having made arrangements for her safe-keeping returned to Montreal.
Shortly after her father’s return Lillian D’Alton was married to Captain Trevelyan in Christ Church Cathedral. The wealth, beauty and fashion of Montreal attended the wedding, and the costliest presents were displayed on her father’s sideboard. The young couple departed for England immediately, Trevelyan’s regiment having been ordered home, and the bride was received into the first London circles.
Mr. D’Alton remained in Montreal where he still lives and moves in the best society. What his private feelings are I cannot tell, but outwardly all is serene, the only one besides myself who knows his family history having long since passed away in solitary confinement.