“‘Good Heavens! did you hear that groan? That was Viola—come, quick!’
“I followed her into the room, and at a glance perceived that we had come too late—the mischief had been done. That Harry was absolutely crazy for the time being was as plain as could be. Viola was leaning against the bed-post, pale and trembling, while Harry was passing across the room like an angry tiger in its cage. Lottie was by Viola’s side in an instant.
“‘What is it?’ she inquired, as she took hold of her arm. ‘Tell me what has happened, I beseech you!’
“‘Your gallant brother there I think could tell you better than I could,’ replied Viola, as she drew herself up to her full height. She looked like a queen who had received an insult from one of her subjects. Such a look of scorn as she cast upon Harry as she spoke I never had seen flash from a woman’s eyes before. Her cheeks were red with anger, and her frame seemed to grow taller. ‘Yes, Lottie, your gallant brother can enlighten you as to what has happened.’ Then addressing herself to Harry, she said: ‘Why, Mr. Wallingford, didn’t you tell your sister how you sat quietly in your chair and heard those two penitentiary birds say that I was the mistress of a blackleg gambler, and didn’t kill them? You saved my life when I was a child, and I thought you were a brave hero. Every story I read where a hero was described I coupled your name with, and my childish mind pictured you as greater and braver than all of them. I loved you for your courage; I thought of you by day—I dreamed about you at night. My love grew as I grew, until my poor heart was full to overflowing. The followers in Mohammed never had stronger faith in him than I had in you. Your image floated before my young mind as my beau ideal of all that was brave, noble, generous and kind. I studied by day and by night, in order to make myself worthy of such a hero. My love grew into worship, and if every man, woman and child on earth had told me you were not a brave, generous hero, I would not have believed it. I wore your image next to my heart, and no heathen ever worshiped his idol with half the devotion that I worshiped you. My love was my life—it was my happiness—it was my religion—it was my all! You told me you loved me—you took me to your heart and whispered sweet words of love into my ear—you almost killed me with joy. Then you cast me off and declared that you were joking, and that you never could think of marrying me. I was crazed with grief; and as soon as I got so I could bear the awful affliction, you came and renewed the protestations of love. You offered excuses for your former conduct. I believed you. You swore in the most solemn language that you always had loved me. I credited it, and you asked me to be your wife. I yielded because I loved—nay, the word love is too weak a term to be used—I worshiped you—I adored you. I thought my love was returned—I thought you were perfection itself. In view of all these things, how could you sit and hear my name blackened by a pair of penitentiary convicts, and not kill them? You heard them say I was the mistress of a common blackleg gambler, and did not resent it. Is this the brave hero whose picture I have worn on my heart for ten long years? How could I have been so blinded as to worship such an object? And then, to cap the climax, you come here and ask me to explain why I was in the habit of visiting the apartments of Mr. Bowles continually. Leave me and my affairs in the hands of God—to Him I will render an account of my conduct in this business, but to you never! I have no fears as to my fate. Death to me now would be welcome—why should I wish to live where no one will befriend me? Let them hang me high as Haman—let my name be bandied about the streets as the vilest of the vile. Why should I care, since the only one I loved or cared for thinks me guilty? Let them hang me first and then throw my body in a felon’s grave. God, who knows the secrets of all hearts, will take care of my soul. You may go now, Mr. Wallingford; I have no more to say, only to demand that you desist from any further interference in my affairs. Make out an account of all expenses you have incurred and present them to my guardian, and I will see that they are paid. You may go, now, as I wish to be left alone.’
“If Harry heard what she had been saying, he paid but little attention to it; but when she ceased, instead of leaving the room as she had ordered him to do, he stood like a statue, gazing vacantly before him.
“‘Mr. Wallingford, again I tell you I wish to be left alone.’ As she spoke she pointed toward the door, and her manner was such as to convince me that it would be better for Harry to leave. Acting upon that conclusion, I led him from the room, and went with him to his office. He spoke not, nor did he make any objections to being taken away—in fact, I didn’t think he exactly comprehended what had been said, though he afterward spoke of it as if it were a painful dream. I had often seen him under the influence of excitement, but I had never beheld him in such a state as he was then, and I was afraid to leave him alone, for I imagined that he would seek Bowles immediately. Mr. Rockland came into the office soon after we arrived, and I sought a private interview with him, and in as few words as possible informed him what had happened, and requested him to try to get Harry home as soon as he could. Mr. Rockland was deeply moved when he began to realize the situation. He loved Harry devotedly, and was as much alarmed at his condition as I was; he at once requested him to accompany him home. Harry followed Mr. Rockland without objection, and I went back to the jail at once to see Lottie. I wanted to have a talk with her about the new turn matters were taking, for I had more confidence in her cool judgment than all the rest. She was the only one of us who could look at both sides of a case with an impartial eye. The fact is, she had more sound, practical judgment than Harry and I put together. Nothing could throw her temper off its guard, and I knew that I must look to her for help, because Harry was no longer to be depended on. As soon as I entered the gate in front of the jail, Lottie came out of Viola’s room and beckoned me to her side.
“‘Don’t go in there—I wish to have a private chat with you. Viola is asleep now; I had to send for Doctor Dodson soon after you and Harry left. The doctor was obliged to give her an opiate before he could get her to sleep. He fears there is danger of brain fever, but thinks it may be avoided by proper treatment. Why did you let Harry come here to-day when you knew what a condition his mind was in?’
“‘I did my very best to keep him away, but he wouldn’t listen to me. I think he is mad. I told him above all things not to tell Viola what he had heard.’
“‘But what is it you have heard? You must remember that I am totally ignorant as to the cause of all this trouble.’
“I then gave her a full statement of the facts as detailed to us by Dabbs and Tadpoddle. I saw a strange light flash from her beautiful eyes, and her cheeks flushed instantly with a rush of red blood to them. Her pretty little mouth was at once drawn down at both corners.