“What to do? Where to go, were the questions. Home I had none; true friends were far away and unknown things to me. The lake! Oh, at last a friend, who could receive me in all my sorrow and shame, a refuge which never failed to take suffering humanity into its safe retreat, giving solace to all pain. Yes, I would write to my aunt and Jamie; I would confess to them what I was afraid to confront God with. My plans were all completed; I had one dollar to my name, enough to pay for a night’s lodging at some fairly respectable hotel. There I could write to them, and then when all was quiet, steal out to the pier and * * * then.”
“Four o’clock next morning I was ready. I stole out of the hotel, wended my way to the nearest place where I could walk far out on the timbers which projected into the moaning water. No hesitancy on my part; I deliberately tied the cord which I had brought around my skirts, let my hair down, so that the long plaits hung below my waist, then pressing the locket, (this locket) which contained my father’s miniature, to my lips, I leaped as far out as I could.
“Down, down, below the gurgling waters, up to the surface, then down again, with just a faint dreamy view of the lights on Michigan avenue, then all was dark, all I could see was Jamie, as I felt myself being pulled along by some irresistible force. I only remember saying, ‘Good-bye, Jamie.’”
“‘Oh, I think she is alive yet, Capin’,’ was what I heard a voice say long before I was able to assure the speaker that he was correct.
“I had been picked up by a fisherman as the boat was starting out for the day’s haul. I recovered only to suffer more, too miserable to live, too unfortunate to die. A few days of privation and want brought me to this house, where I took up the routine life of the other members of the establishment, and vied with my associates for favors from the opposite sex. Success was the result of my efforts; I was soon known as a favorite of the frequenters of the resort; when wine held sway in my brain, I was glad the fisherman heard the splash of the water. Again, when my brain was dull from isolation and inactivity, my heart was sad. One evening the bell rang just as it did this evening; the signal was given for the ‘ladies’ to appear in the parlor, as was the custom when callers were announced. With ill-feigned pleasure I led the way, being followed by the other girls. I marched through the hall, across the back parlor, treading always on soft rugs, my white satin gown flowing in rhythmical time to the strains of the music; and there amid the scenes of splendor for which this luxurious establishment was noted I found myself standing face to face with Jamie. Yes, my own dear, true Jamie. Oh, forgive me, sir, for this expression of feeling, but again to live those moments of delirious joy, mingled with fear and anticipation, is more than I can bear. With one bound I left the other girls far behind me. Swiftly crossing the room I appealed to him as only a love maddened girl can appeal to the object of her devotion.
“Oh, God! what horrible retribution was about to be brought upon me; how much more was I to suffer and how long would my breath continue to come in sobbing gasps as I begged and prayed and pleaded with him to take me in his arms as of old. ‘Jamie, Jamie, my own dear Jamie!’ I cried. ‘Hear me, see me, touch me! Oh, I beg of you, Jamie, listen. Don’t you know it is I? It is your Lillian! What, Jamie, don’t you know me?’
“In spite of all my entreaties he stood like stone unmoved and unaffected by anything I said or did. Presently a new thought struck me. I thought of the cottage and of the roses which Jamie loved so well; then madly tearing a white rose which I wore on my breast I handed it to him, begging him to take it.
“‘Do take it, Jamie,’ I said; ‘it is as pure as I once was. Ah, but then you loved me, Jamie, and your love was pure, too, was it not? Tell me, Jamie, tell me, oh, even if you hate me now, tell me in that same soft voice that I know so well, that you loved me then. The memory of that love will make me pure again, Jamie, if you will only speak to me again. Jamie, take this rose; take it, Jamie, for the sake of the memory of that love which I had for you. I know, Jamie, it’s all my fault; it’s not your will that I am here; I wronged you cruelly. Don’t you think, Jamie, that I have suffered enough, or do you still insist on making my life death?’ All my supplication to him was in vain. He stood with that firm, determined air which I knew so well, with his hand extended with palm toward me, as if to push me away as he would some vile, loathsome creature. He did not speak to me; he seemed to know that he would find me here. When I had ceased pleading with him he handed me a large white envelope. With feverish delight I clutched it. As I did so I saw an inscription upon it. Forgetting my pain, misery and degradation, with a wild cry I ran to a position near a light. What was it I read? ‘To be opened after I am gone.’