“I know I did,” the lady interrupted. “I promised you that I would never trouble you—would never even ask to see her. I pretended to give her to you unreservedly, although, you remember, I would not subscribe to any legal form of adoption. I allowed you and others to think me a heartless, unnatural monster for the sake of gaining for my little one a good home and loving care until I could see my way clear to demand her restoration. It was dishonorable—it was a wretched deception, but it was all a part of that terrible secret that had to be guarded at whatever cost. But I had to pay dearly for it, as you will soon realize.
“My sister and I left Boston, both of us in better spirits than we had been since leaving England, for we believed that everything had been so successfully concealed there was not the slightest danger of discovery. We came back to our home to find mamma more comfortable than when we left her, having had a bright, cheerful visit with her old friend, while she appeared delighted with the improvement which our trip had made in us. But she lived only one short month after that. She took a sudden cold, which brought on a hemorrhage that terminated her life in a few hours.
“More than this,” Mrs. Mapleson went on, hurriedly, while she pressed her clasped hands over her heart, as if to hold in check its painful throbbings, while she related the saddest event of her whole life, “on the very day that she was buried a bulky package was brought to me, postmarked ‘London.’ It contained considerable manuscript, a Bank of England note for one hundred and fifty pounds, my marriage certificate, and—a letter. The letter told me—oh, William!” she burst forth in a quavering voice, “you knew that your Annie must die. You had to face the dread fact before it really came, and you were somewhat prepared for it; but I—I had no warning; the shock fell like a thunderbolt to crush me! My Charlie was dead long before I knew it. He had been in his grave nearly a fortnight when the terrible news came to me. The letter was from a friend of my husband, and stated that he had met with an accident that must result fatally, having been—crushed—in a falling elevator.”
The poor woman appeared hardly capable of going on. It seemed as if all the agony of that dreadful time was revived by this recital.
“He had only a few hours to live,” she went on, at last, “and, though he could not hold a pen to write me one line, he made up that package with his own hands, telling his friend that it was to be forwarded to Miss Estelle Everet. You see, he kept my secret even while dying, and would not send me one of the fond messages of which I know his heart must have been full, for fear of betraying me. He said that I would take charge of the publishing of the manuscript, if I thought best to give it to the world, for the expenses of which he inclosed the Bank of England note. That, however, was only a blind, for the manuscript was in such a crude state it could not be published, and he had simply taken that way to send me, without exciting suspicion, the only existing proof of our marriage, and what little money he possessed.
“My fond, faithful Charlie! He deserved a better fate and a better wife. Of course, after that, there was no fear of discovery, even though I mourned with the bitterness of despair over my lost hopes. My mother’s death was excuse enough for my grief, though people said I laid it to heart more than they imagined I could. For a long time I felt as if life was little better than a mockery. Mine certainly thus far had been a miserable failure. My husband dead, my child lost to me forever—for, of course, I could never claim her now—what was there in the world for me to live for?
“After a time I grew bitter and reckless. I told myself if I could not have the blessings that usually crown a woman’s life, I would make the most of the fortune that I still possessed; I would travel—I would see the world—I would not deny myself a single wish or whim. My sister and I started off again. We went to England first, where I found my husband’s grave, but did not dare even to mark it with any expression of my love. We went to Egypt and Palestine, joining a party of travelers thither, and after spending another year in roving we came back once more to America.
“Three months after our return, Nellie, too, sickened and died, and I was left utterly alone in the world—alone with my ill-gotten wealth and splendor. What was my money to me then?—like the apples of Sodom; and yet I experienced a grim sort of satisfaction that the income of Uncle Jabez’s property was still mine, that I had outwitted the world and the lawyers or executors of Uncle Jabez’s will by my art and cunning. But only a little more than a year remained before I should be twenty-five, when, if my cousin and I were both unmarried, Robert Dale would have our fortune. I grew rebellious at the thought. I had nothing but my money to live for now, and my money I wanted to keep. I had sacrificed truth, principle, and all the noblest elements of my woman’s nature for it, and I was willing to make almost any sacrifice now to retain it.
“Just about this time you returned, William, and,” a burning blush now suffused the face of the proud woman, “I welcomed you with secret joy, and instantly made up my mind to marry you if you would have me. I made myself agreeable to you with that sole object in view. You know how well I succeeded, although you did not dream that I was scheming for that, and I did not experience a qualm, since I did not deceive you regarding the state of my heart toward you; my acceptance of you was as frank as your proposal for my hand. Neither of us professed any love for the other: we simply decided that it would be a wise union, and that we could be a very comfortable couple. A strange, heartless arrangement, I suppose the world would have said could it have read our motives, but it would have seemed even more strange if the experience of our lives had been revealed. I was hardened and reckless then, for I felt that fate had used me very badly. I have not deserved the quiet, peaceful years—quiet and peaceful but for the stings of conscience—that have been my lot since. I have been growing happier during all that time, growing to——”
She broke off suddenly, flashing a quick, pained glance at her husband, while the blood again mounted to her brow.