A CRUSHING TROUBLE.
John Hubbard sat like one stunned, upon realizing the full import of what he had read of Allison’s probable fate, and at once he seemed to comprehend her object in going to Boston.
He also had heard of the Mannings’ return from Rome, and, knowing how fond of her cousins Allison had always been, he had not a doubt that she had fled to them for protection and assistance.
But the shock which he had at first experienced was almost immediately followed by a thrill of exultation.
“That settles everything,” he muttered; “I shall now have no fear of her contesting Mrs. Adam Brewster’s claims, on the ground that a will was made in her favor, and thus, perhaps, securing a division of the property. Everything will now naturally go to the new claimants, and the Brewster fortune is mine. I will marry the girl, Anna, thus making their interests identical with mine, take her abroad for a year or two, to polish her off, then I can come back to take my place with the other millionaires of the city. There need be no more scheming or plodding for you, John; your future is an assured success; henceforth, you can rest upon your oars and have a jolly good time,” he concluded, with a sigh of infinite content.
His once boasted affection for Allison—what had become of it? He had been momentarily shocked, but he did not appear to experience the slightest grief in view of her untimely end. “The high-spirited little minx” had dared to defy him, thus arousing his anger and malice, and since his greed for gold now bade fair to be fully gratified, she was apparently no more to him than a worm that had been crushed in his path.
Still, there were certain duties devolving upon him, certain observances to which he must conform, and he had no intention of being criticized for neglect of them. Consequently, he started directly for Boston, for the purpose of identifying his ward and properly attending to everything that might be necessary.
But when he went to the morgue, and made inquiries, he was appalled upon being told that the body of the young lady had already been identified and removed.
“It cannot be possible,” he exclaimed. “Are you sure it was Miss Brewster’s body which was taken away?”
“Certainly,” the official replied; “a Russia-leather card-case, containing cards bearing the name of Miss Brewster, had been found upon the person of the young lady, thus proving her to be the person the gentleman was inquiring for.”
Mr. Hubbard thought possibly the Mannings might have identified Allison and cared for her, and, with this idea in mind, he sought Mr. Manning at the Vendome.
But Mr. Manning was horrified upon being interviewed upon the subject. He had read an account of the accident, and had seen the name of Brewster among the list of killed, but had not once thought of Allison in connection with the event, supposing the person to belong to some other family of the same name.
Mr. Hubbard found it somewhat embarrassing to explain how his ward happened to be traveling to Boston alone; but, thinking that the truth might as well come out first as last, he related something of the circumstances connected with the appearance of Mrs. Adam Brewster and her daughter; said that Allison had become very angry upon learning the truth, and thus, he supposed, she had taken it into her head to come to her cousins in Boston.
A diligent search was instituted, and many inquiries made for the body of the missing girl; but all to no purpose—some one had taken care of it—every victim had been identified by friends and taken away.
The Mannings were overwhelmed with grief, and Mr. Hubbard was finally forced to return to New York, also very much disturbed by the mystery which seemed to shroud the fate of his late ward.
Two months passed, during which the plans of the wily schemer—the chief obstacles having been removed—progressed to his entire satisfaction.
His application to the courts for the recognition of Mrs. Adam Brewster and Miss Anna Brewster, as the only lawful heirs of the late banker, had been granted, and their claims established, notwithstanding the fact that Mr. Charles Manning had come forward to contest them, on behalf of his wife, who, he asserted, was the niece of Mr. Brewster, and his only living relative. He utterly repudiated the story regarding that gentleman’s early marriage and subsequent separation from the woman in question.
But his claim was overruled, in view of the preponderance of evidence upon the other side. The old love-letters, the marriage-certificate, the certified copy of the record of the transaction, together with quite a sensational story regarding the early married life of the couple, their occasional disputes, which finally ended in a violent quarrel and separation, all having been very cleverly arranged and sustained, were considered proof positive that the widow and her daughter were the only legal heirs, and the case was very shortly decided in their favor.
Of course, it created a great deal of sensation and gossip, but, like all other affairs of a similar nature, it had its “nine days’” run, and was then forgotten in the excitement pertaining to some newer scandal.
A few days after the decision of the court was rendered, Miss Anna Brewster became Mrs. John Hubbard. Mrs. Adam Brewster was handsomely pensioned off, and luxuriously settled in an up-town apartment, where she was to live at her ease, while the newly wedded couple were traveling in Europe, and the “Brewster Case” was supposed to be finally settled.
Of all these happenings, however, Gerald, as yet, knew nothing, for, shortly after Allison’s departure for Newport, Mr. Lyttleton had been again suddenly summoned abroad, by his sister, to discuss some new feature which had unexpectedly arisen in connection with the lawsuit which he was conducting for her.
Gerald and Allison had agreed to continue their correspondence as heretofore, but he did not hear from her once before he left. This, although a disappointment to him, did not trouble him, especially as he attributed it to the confusion and many cares incident upon opening the villa and getting settled for the summer.
He had written to her once or twice, and, upon learning of his plans, wrote again, telling her the date of his sailing, giving, also, his London address, and begging her to write him immediately.
But John Hubbard had already intercepted all letters written by the lovers, and this shared the same fate as the others; and thus Allison did not know of Gerald’s departure until her guardian informed her of the fact.
Thus as weeks passed, after his arrival in London, and Gerald received no word from his betrothed, he began to grow very unhappy and anxious about her.
He sent letter after letter to her, only to have them fall into the hands of that arch-plotter, who did not hesitate to open and read them, then chuckle exultantly over the success of his scheme and the misery of his hated rival.
Finally, becoming almost distracted over this mysterious silence, our hero began to suspect that his correspondence was intercepted, and he realized that he must find some other way of communicating with Allison.
Accordingly, he wrote to one of the clerks in the New York office, telling him something of his trouble, and asking him to find some means of conveying the enclosed letter to Miss Brewster, and secure a reply to it, if possible.
But before he could get a response to this appeal, Mr. Lyttleton was obliged to make a trip to Berlin, to obtain some important data, and here they were detained two or three weeks.
Thus Gerald’s wild grief may be imagined when, upon his return to London, he found awaiting him a letter containing the announcement of Allison’s tragic death, and which, together with accompanying New York papers, gave a full account of the sad event, and of the subsequent litigation in connection with the Brewster estate, the result of which was the transfer of everything into the hands of the acknowledged widow and daughter of the late banker.
The latest paper announcing the marriage of John Hubbard to “the beautiful Miss Anna Brewster,” had not been forwarded; thus Gerald could not know that his old enemy was now virtually the possessor of the great fortune that had been willed to Allison.
Gerald was so prostrated by the terrible shock consequent upon this blighting news that he lay ill for nearly a fortnight at his hotel, and narrowly escaped having brain fever. When he was finally able to resume his business, he looked like the ghost of his former self; he seemed to be bereft of all courage and desire for life, and it was only by the persistent exercise of all the will-power he possessed that he was enabled to fulfill his duty to his employer.
Mr. Lyttleton, to whom he freely confided his trouble, sympathized deeply with him, and tried to induce him to take a rest—to go to Paris, or even to Rome, for a change. But Gerald only shuddered at this proposal.
“Oh, I do not want to rest. I do not want a chance to think. I shall lose my mind if I am left to myself!” he responded in a tone of despair that keenly smote the kind heart of his friend. “Give me work—piles of work,” he added nervously; “I do not care how hard you crowd me, if it will serve to occupy my thoughts and keep me from dwelling upon that railway horror and upon that knave who, I firmly believe, drove my darling to her death.”
So Mr. Lyttleton made work for him, realizing his need of employment, but the white, drawn face of the bereaved lover haunted him continually, until he began to feel as if he also had been personally afflicted.
Had it not been for the deep and absorbing interest which, previous to this, Gerald had begun to take in the wonderful case upon which his employer was engaged, it is doubtful if he would have been able to bear up during these first dark days of his crushing trouble.
Mr. Lyttleton’s sister had, when very young, married an Englishman, and under very peculiar circumstances.
The home of the lawyer, during his youth, had been in a small town in Illinois; and, educational advantages being at that time very meager in their vicinity, Mabel Lyttleton had been sent East to pursue her studies, at a noted seminary in one of the suburbs of Boston.
While there she had become acquainted with Charles Bromley, an Englishman, who was making a tour of this country, and just at that time visiting some relatives who resided in the vicinity of the above-mentioned seminary.
The young man proceeded at once, upon their introduction, to fall violently in love with pretty Miss Lyttleton. His affection was most fervently reciprocated, and ere long both grew to feel that life apart from the other would be unendurable.
Mr. Bromley intended to remain in the United States some six months longer, but, just on the eve of the holiday recess of the seminary, he was suddenly recalled to England by the peremptory order of his father.
He was somewhat puzzled by this command, but, while discussing it with his betrothed, and arranging to return to her by the time her school-days were over, it suddenly struck him that it might have some connection with an old project of his father to consummate a union with a distant cousin, whose rent-roll amounted to some thousands of pounds per annum.
“I will fix things,” said this young man to himself; “I will marry my little ‘prairie flower’ here and now, and then all the fathers in creation cannot compel me to marry anybody else.”
Whereupon, he broached the subject to Miss Mabel, who—though she shrank from a secret marriage, as any pure-minded, conscientious girl would do—found that her affection for her handsome lover was stronger than her sense of filial duty, and she reluctantly yielded to young Bromley’s persuasions.
They were very quietly married on Christmas eve, and young Bromley sailed for Europe the first day of January, but promised faithfully that he would return in season to accompany his wife to her home, upon her graduation from school, the following summer, when he would bear all the responsibility of their union, and boldly claim her of her father; her mother was not living.
Letters passed between them every week, and they continued to be very happy in the knowledge of the secret tie that united them. Young Bromley found that ill health had prompted his father to summon him home, for the cares pertaining to Sir Charles Bromley’s estate had become too heavy for him, and he needed help.
The marriage with the distant cousin was broached, for the baronet earnestly wished to see his son settled in life, while, too, he had an eye to the welding of two fortunes, which would result from the union; but when he discovered his son’s opposition to such an alliance, he did not urge it, for he was no tyrant, and believed a man had the right to choose his own wife.
The old gentleman became so much better as the summer drew on apace, he consented to allow the young man to complete his interrupted tour in America, and the little wife so patiently awaiting him was finally made supremely happy by having the day fixed for his sailing.
But, alas! just the week previous to her graduation, there came a letter stating that Sir Charles had been prostrated by a stroke of paralysis, and the young husband could not leave until his father was declared out of danger.
This was a terrible blow, and at first it seemed as if she could not bear it; but her friend and confidante, Helen Atwood, wrote to Mr. Lyttleton, begging that Mabel might be allowed to remain with her during the remainder of the summer, as her parents were going abroad for three or four months, and she would be very lonely during their absence. This petition was granted, greatly to the delight of the two friends, who retired to Mr. Atwood’s country home, a few miles out of the city, to rusticate and enjoy each other’s companionship, and most earnestly hoping that Mr. Bromley would put in an appearance before the visit should come to an end.
The latter part of August there came a letter from Bromley Court, announcing the death of the baronet, after a second attack of paralysis; the next week the waiting wife received another letter, saying that, at last, her husband was free to come to her, and would sail five days later, and would be with her in a little more than a week afterward. But the steamer on which he sailed was the ill-fated Catalonia, which was wrecked the sixth day out, its few survivors being picked up the following morning by another vessel. But, alas! among the names of the passengers who were lost was that of Sir Charles Bromley.
The news of this terrible tragedy, coming, as it did, just at the moment when her cup of joy seemed full, was more than the waiting wife could bear. As her horrified glance fell upon the name of her idolized husband in the list of the dead, a shriek of agony burst from her lips, and she sank to the floor in strong convulsions, the fatal paper clutched in her rigid hands.
For several days she lay at the point of death, but mercifully unconscious of her own suffering, and her apparently blighted life. Then she slowly began to rally, coming back to life and consciousness, but so broken-hearted that it was painful to be in her presence.
But, three weeks afterward, her mourning was turned into joy by the sudden appearance of her husband, who, after various thrilling experiences, had been rescued, with two or three others, by a sailing-vessel which had arrived in port only that morning, when he immediately hastened to his wife.