The Mystery of M. Felix

by B. L. Farjeon

"We ought to hear it."

"You shall. After her father's death she came to me and begged me to give her a situation. I took her out of pity. 'I will give you a trial,' I said to her. So she came into my house, and I treated her as a daughter. After a time I had my suspicions, and I do not mind confessing that I set a watch upon her. Then I discovered that she was carrying on a disgraceful intimacy with Mr. Gerald Paget, meeting him regularly and secretly, and keeping out at all hours. When she found that all was known she told her gentleman friend, who came to me and bullied me. In return for his insults I showed him the door, and forbade his ever entering my house again. Then in the evening I sent for the creature and informed her that she must leave my service the following morning--that is, to-day. The language she used to me was dreadful, and she said she would go at once. I told her I would not allow it; badly as she had behaved, I felt that it was not right for her, a single girl, to leave the house at night. However, she insisted, and I had to give way. To protect myself from her malicious slanders, I wrote out a paper which she signed in the presence of another servant, who is ready to testify that the creature knew perfectly well what she was doing. Here it is; you can read it. The other servant witnessed her signature, as you see. Then she left the house, and I soon found out why. She had arranged a clandestine meeting with Mr. Paget that very night--I saw her with my own eyes in his embrace. An hour or two afterward they got into a cab--I can give you the number of the cab and the name of the driver--and drove to Mr. Paget's residence, he being a bachelor, mind you, and living alone with only two female servants in his employ. When he took the creature home he knew quite well that his domestics were abed and asleep, and that there was no risk of his scandalous doings being discovered. But he reckoned without his host. There is a Providence--yes, happily there is a Providence. The fire occurred, and the creature you are harboring rushed out of Mr. Paget's house. Ask her how she got into it. In the middle of the night, too. I ask you, as ladies of common-sense, what construction does it bear? No artfully-invented tale can explain it away. You should be thankful to me for putting you on your guard. Oh, you don't know these creatures!"

"It is a dreadful story," said the lady.

"I hope you will do your duty, as I have done mine. Have I put it too strongly in saying that her presence here is a disgrace?"

"No. We are obliged to you for the unpleasant task you have performed. To-morrow, if she is strong enough, I will request her to take her departure."

"Too lenient by far. In your place I should bundle her out, neck and crop. If you wait till she says she is well enough to go you will wait a precious long time. I shall take care, for my part, that everybody knows the truth."

"Is it not strange," asked the lady, "that Mr. Paget has not called to inquire after her?"

"Not at all; he wishes to keep his name out of the disgraceful affair if he can. It is perfectly clear that he is ashamed of the connection, and wants to be rid of it. So long as it could be kept quiet he didn't mind, but now that it is made public--I can't help repeating, in the most providential manner--it is another pair of shoes. Why, the whole town is talking of it. When the creature shows her face, if she has the hardihood to do it, she will meet with a proper reception. I shouldn't at all wonder if it gets into the papers. Good-night."

Then there was a rustling of skirts, and Emilia knew that her cruel persecutor had taken her leave. She pressed her hands upon her eyes, and the scalding tears ran down her fingers. The horror of the situation was almost more than she could bear. She could not think clearly, but through her aching brain one conviction forced itself. She was disgraced, irretrievably disgraced. Her good name was lost forever. Nothing could restore it, nothing. If an angel from heaven were to declare it, no man or woman would hereafter believe in her purity and innocence. What should she do? Wait till the morning to be turned from the hospitable house of these kind sisters? Go forth into the broad light of day, and be pointed at and publicly shamed? No, she would fly at once, secretly and alone, into the hard, cold world, far, far from the merciless men and women who were ready to defame her. The story which Mrs. Seaton had related to the maiden sisters was false and malignant, but it was built upon a foundation of truth. If she herself had to give evidence in her own defence she would be pronounced guilty. She had been turned from Mrs. Seaton's house late in the night, but she had signed a paper saying that she went of her own free will. She and Gerald had been together in the streets--for how long? She could not remember, but it seemed to be hours. And as if that were not shame enough she had taken refuge in his house and had accepted his hospitality at an hour that would make virtuous women blush. He had pledged his faith to her, he had asked her to be his wife, and now, when she most needed a defender, he was absent. It was true, then, that he had deserted her. Had it been otherwise would he not have sought her long before this, would he not have been present to cast the malignant lie in Mrs. Seaton's face? She had believed so fully in his faith and honor, in his professions of love! But he was false, like all the rest of the world, from which sweetness and life had forever fled.

"Oh, God!" she moaned. "In your Divine mercy, let me die to-night!"