The curse of gold

by Ann S. Stephens

“When the lady was gone, I went up to my room, and throwing myself on the bed, almost prayed to die. It was wicked, I know; but I am afraid! Oh, if you were only here, my husband—if you were only here! I have been lying still as death, thinking and planning until thought tortured me. A thousand wild prospects of concealment till you came, presented themselves; but they were all vague and impracticable. About midnight I arose softly, and finding a lamp, searched through my drawers for money and trinkets. A few dollars, and a more costly supply of jewelry than most girls of my age are allowed to possess, was all that I could depend upon. These, with a few valuable laces, I tied up and locked in my wardrobe; for I must go—I must go! Once more I will steal to the post-office. God may have mercy upon me and send the letter I have asked for so often—oh, so often. I have been—I have been—nothing there. Over and over again I read the printed list through my blinding tears. My name was not there. Nothing for me—nothing for me! Then my last hope went out, and I wandered off anywhere in search of a hiding-place, where death might find me undisgraced. In a narrow, uncleanly street, I saw a sign on which ‘Boarding’ was written in great yellow letters. I knocked timidly at the door, shuddering at the sound my own hands made. I will not describe the interior of this house. It would make you wretched; for you have not intended to be cruel.

“The woman who received me was kind enough, but uncouth and slatternly. She asked no questions, and I was too tired and wretched for any question about her prices. They seemed reasonable for a small chamber in the back of the house, with decent food,—a garret almost, and very gloomy. So much the better; it was the more removed from notice.

“The next day I told the servants that I had received a letter from Mrs. Judson and must go away at once. I took the precaution to send for a carriage, and in all things leave the house as I should have done had Mrs. Judson really expected me.

“I let the man drive me to a railroad depot, then discharged him and took another carriage which left me and my trunk at the house which was to be my home. Just at night I stole away to this desolate shelter, and here, Louis, I remain utterly alone, never going out, even for a breath of air....

“At last, everything is gone, money, trinkets, clothing, piece by piece. I have given them to the woman who supplied me with food and shelter, and now my destitution is complete.

CHAPTER LIX.
AT BELLEVUE HOSPITAL.

“Let me do this woman no injustice. She was not wantonly cruel, but a life of hard poverty had made her cautious. She did not turn me away absolutely friendless, but took me to this, my last shelter, Bellevue Hospital. Perhaps it was all that she could do. The poor are sometimes forced to be cruel, and she was very poor.

“Oh! my husband, God forbid that you should ever see the rooms and the people with whom I have spent this last miserable week—the last of my life, I am certain it will be the last of my life. They have given me a narrow straw bed and a wooden chair, on which I sit all the day long with my face to the wall, dreaming such leaden, gloomy dreams. Now and then an oath or a coarse laugh makes me shudder to think where I am.

“Sometimes when a strange step comes along the floor, my poor heart gives a struggle, and I think it is you come to look after your poor little wife. Then I fancy in a desperate way that my brother will come to the hospital in search of me; and I feel a dreary satisfaction that with this dress, this thin face, and great wild eyes, he would go away and never dream it was me. Besides, I have never used either his name or yours; when you come to look for the register of my death, ‘Mary Barton is the name.’ Next to it you will find written the brand of infamy which I do not deserve: but my promise was given.

“I have told no one of our marriage; but the angels will know it, and you will know it. And now I wish to write of something else, but cannot. My eyes fill with tears, my cheek burns, and my pen wanders to and fro on the paper. I charge you, Louis De Marke—I charge you with my dying breath, sweep the disgrace I am willing to bear myself from the name of your child!...