Time rolled on, the baby being baptized in due course and known by the name of Edith Quintin. As she grew older, both Mr. and Mrs. Quintin became passionately fond of her, the latter being as much attached to the little girl as if she were her own daughter. When the child was about twelve years old, Mrs. Quintin, who had gradually grown more and more delicate, began to feel that she must, ere many months had passed, finally succumb to the disease which was gradually gnawing at her vitals, and the deception she had practised on her husband was a source of great discomfort and annoyance to her. She called on me in great grief, and, having informed me concerning that of which (as the reader knows) I was well aware, implored me to give her counsel and advice. She was surprised to hear that I had already learnt all from Dr. P——; for, although she, of course, knew that I was not blinded by her subterfuge, she was not aware that I knew all concerning the method adopted by her, and when she learned that both the doctor and myself had forborne to inform on her, she was visibly affected, and thanked me on her knees.
I advised her to break the matter to her husband, and not to die with such a load on her conscience, but she avowed that she had neither the strength nor the courage to do so, and importunately besought me to undertake the painful task. When Mr. Quintin learnt the truth he was of course greatly shocked, and at first was bitter in his denunciations at his deceitful wife. His better judgment, however, was soon brought to bear in the matter, and he was moved rather to pity her misfortune than to punish her for her fault. He knew that her judgment erred solely in order to retain his affection, and when he looked at her pale face and emaciated form, and thought of the agony and suffering, both mental and bodily, which the poor creature had endured, he willingly forgave her, and, though sadly disappointed and sorely smitten, did what he could to reassure her.
Edith meanwhile had developed into a beautiful girl, and had she really been, as she believed herself, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Quintin, she could not have been more beloved by them. The former enjoined me never to reveal the secret of her birth to his daughter as he called her, and so her life, at least, was not darkened in the least by the knowledge of the truth.
When Edith was about seventeen years old Mrs. Quintin finally yielded to the ravages of that dread destroyer, consumption. The poor girl wept sadly and bitterly at the loss of her mother, the only one indeed the poor child had ever known, and poor Quintin wept sadly as he thought of his wife’s brief and unhappy career. He removed with his daughter into furnished lodgings, not wishing the child to be burdened too soon with the cares of house-keeping. What he would not allow her to do for him, however, she soon became very anxious to do for another, and the days of her mourning were not long passed when she became the happy wife of a young man named Wentworth, bookkeeper in one of the leading hardware firms in Montreal. She has now children of her own, and the youngsters’ greatest delight is to gather round their grandfather’s knee while he astonishes them with stories. To them nor to no one else, however, has he told, even as I have done, the story of the frail shop-girl, who from being young and handsome, and the belle of her circle of acquaintances, became a wretched and deceitful woman, diseased both in body and mind, and finally sank into a premature grave.
Out on this heartless, brutal system, and the thoughtlessness and ignorance which permit it! I hope the narrative given above may cause some of those at least who engage in this barbarous system to pause and give the great problem of life, capital and labor, a few moments thought that they may see the error of their way, and that poor Esther Quintin may not have died in vain.
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.