Project Gutenberg's Death to the Inquisitive!, by Lurana Waterhouse Sheldon This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license Title: Death to the Inquisitive! A story of sinful love Author: Lurana Waterhouse Sheldon Release Date: December 1, 2018 [EBook #58387] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE! *** Produced by MWS, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) Transcriber's Note: Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN. DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE! A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE. BY LURANA W. SHELDON, [Pg 1] "Nay, do not ask— In pity from the task forbear: Smile on—nor venture to unmask Man's heart, and view the Hell that's there." NEW YORK W. D. ROWLAND, PUBLISHER 23 Chambers Street 1892 Copyright, 1892 BY W. D. ROWLAND. CONTENTS CHAP. PAGE. I. THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY 5 II. A SUICIDAL ATTEMPT 12 III. RESCUED BY THIEVES 20 IV. THE SHAME-BORN CHILD 26 V. MAURICE SINCLAIR 33 VI. A PAINFUL REMINISCENCE 40 VII. THE BREATH OF PASSION 47 VIII. A MIDNIGHT CRIME 54 IX. MAURICE SINCLAIR ESCAPES WITH HIS VICTIM 61 X. THE SCARLET HOUSE OF SIN 65 XI. JULIA WEBBER LAYS PLANS FOR REVENGE 73 XII. A SINFUL LOVE 77 XIII. THE CONTRACT BROKEN 85 XIV. IN CENTRAL PARK 93 XV. DEATH 98 XVI. A DEER HUNT IN NEWFOUNDLAND 104 XVII. BY THE ASHES OF A GUILTY HOUSE 112 XVIII. STELLA IS RESTORED TO HER LOVER 120 XIX. SAFE IN THE ARMS OF LOVE 126 XX. DR. SEWARD'S EXPERIMENT 133 XXI. A PERFECT UNION 140 XXII. "QUEEN LIZ" 145 XXIII. ELIZABETH FINDS FRIENDS 149 XXIV. STELLA CONFIDES IN HER HUSBAND 153 XXV. THE CAPTAIN'S STORY 159 XXVI. SORROW AND REJOICING 163 XXVII. THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE 168 XXVIII. TOO LATE 176 XXIX. THE HOME IN NEW YORK 181 XXX. SAM LEE DISCOVERS A FARO GAME 188 XXXI. CLEVERLY CAUGHT 194 XXXII. FACE TO FACE 200 XXXIII. "I HAVE NO NAME" 205 XXXIV. THE LADY VAN TYNE WILL FIGHT FOR HER HONOR 211 [Pg 2] [Pg 3] [Pg 4] XXXV. STELLA AND ELIZABETH 218 XXXVI. A LAST ESCAPE 226 XXXVII. FIVE YEARS AFTER 229 MISS LURANA W. SHELDON. DEATH TO THE INQUISITIVE. A STORY OF SINFUL LOVE. CHAPTER I. THE WHITECHAPEL MYSTERY. Hark! It is a woman's cry Echoing thro' the unhallowed place:— Forward, to her rescue, fly— See the suffering in her face. A piercing shriek echoed throughout the entire length and breadth of the gloomy passage, hushed as it was in the brief hour of repose that usually intervened between the vice-rampant hour of midnight and the ever reluctant dawn. It seemed as if the very light shrank from penetrating the loathsome windings of that wretched quarter of London, and as to pure air, it simply refused to enter such illy ventilated nooks and crevices, while the poisoned vapors that filled the narrow precincts were always trying to escape and failing through their own over-weight of reeking odors. The scream of the dying woman was carried indistinctly to the ears of the sleeping inmates simply because the air was too heavy with vile tobacco and whiskey, stale beer fumes, and the exhalations of festering garbage heaps to transmit anything in other than a confused and indistinct manner. Nevertheless there was something so extraordinarily frightful in the shriek that it did succeed in reaching the ears of nearly every habitue of the place, who, shrieking in their turn aroused the others, and one by one frowzeled heads and wrinkled faces issued from broken windows and rapidly, with shuffling footsteps, men and women crawled from innumerable dark passages and darker doorways, and with suspicious glances at each other, sneaked in and out through the slime and rubbish, in a half curious, half frightened search for a glimpse of that horrible tragedy. I say sneaked about, and I use the word advisedly as the lawyers say, inasmuch as these degraded members of the human family,—these de-humanized fag ends of the genius Homo, did not walk, run, or perform any other specified motion in their perambulations. On the contrary, they hugged the walls and the gutters; they were distrustful of the laws of gravitation and equilibrium, preferring to lean more or less heavily on walls and other supports, with bodies bent and faces averted, while the rapidity with which they appeared and disappeared was best appreciated by the Police who were supposed to guard this particular section of Whitechapel, but who religiously confined their guardianship to the outer walls, while the denizens of the multitudinous alleys or passages were free to perpetrate their murders, ply their nefarious trades and revel and rot in the stench of their own degradations. One by one these creatures crawled from their hiding places. Men were seen clutching the rags of their scanty clothing while their bleared eyes scanned every inch of the broken pavements. Women, with odd garments thrown carelessly about their shoulders, joined in the search, and for a brief time no word was spoken. Finally an old creature, dirtier if possible than the rest, bent in form, and with one long brown fang extending down over her shrunken chin, hobbled from a gloomy doorway and in a strident, nasal tone gave her opinion to these searchers of iniquity. [Pg 5] [Pg 6] [Pg 7] [Pg 8] "Hit's Queen Liz thet's done fer, HI knowed 'er yell; You'll find 'er somewheres down by the Chinaman's shanty. HI spects 'e's knifed 'er." "Good enough for 'er, the stuck hup 'uzzy," exclaimed one of the wretched beings that followed closely at the woman's heels. "To think of 'er livin' 'ere for two years hand not speakin' to no one but that greasy yaller-skin. HI knowed 'e'd get sick of 'er 'fore long." "S'pose you think hit's your turn next," snapped up another bedraggled female, whereupon a vicious battle ensued between the two while the men and women halted in their search to watch, what to them was the very essence of life,— a fight. But the old crone who had first spoken crawled on until she reached the Chinaman's quarters, and there sure enough, a Mongolian, swarthy and greasy, his beady eyes blazing with excitement, was bending over and trying with poor success to withdraw a villainous looking weapon, half knife, half dagger, from the breast of an apparently dying woman. The victim was a familiar figure in the Alley, and her clean, handsome face with its "hands-off" expression had long since won her the name of "Queen Liz." While her failure to mingle with the other women or receive the beastly attentions of the men had made her an object of hatred to all concerned, still she had won their respect by her evident ability to defend herself at all times and in all circumstances, while the love she plainly bore her beautiful babe, a child of about two years, was a never ceasing source of wonderment and ridicule to these hardened mortals. It was true that Queen Liz spent much time in the quarters of this particular Mongolian while there were many more eligible parties of her own nationality in the passage, but Queen Liz was evidently above her station, and as the Mongolian in question was possessed of more worldly goods than were his neighbors, it was reasonably supposed that she sought the comforts and luxuries of Chinese fans and Oolong in preference to the other shanties with their ever prevalent aroma of stale beer. Nevertheless Queen Liz was not wholly overwhelmed by the wealth of Sam Hop Lee, because it was rumored that at certain intervals a gentleman from the outside world; a member of actual London society was seen going in and out of the narrow passage, Liz always accompanying him on these exits and entrances, for protection, it was generally supposed. The sight of the stranger in their own lawful precincts brought always a mixture of sentiments to the thieves and sharpers who infested these gloomy byways. Here was an excellent opportunity for operations in their own particular line of business, but here also was a woman armed with the usual weapons of the alley, ready and anxious to meet in mortal combat any and all that should dare lay hands upon herself or guest. Thus Queen Liz was let pretty severely alone by all, and her life past and present was a mystery too obscure to be in any danger of being solved by the beer muddled brains of her neighbors. But now Queen Liz was lying in the slime and mud of the alley with the deadly knife sticking firmly in her side, and as this uncanny assemblage of human scavengers drew nearer, Sam Lee gave one more vigorous pull at the weapon, and withdrawing it, turned its blade to the light of a flickering tallow dip, and instantly, in the eyes of each and every one present, he was acquitted of the horrible deed. The knife was of a make unknown in the alley and only to be found in the possession of a man to whom money is no object and who could well afford to follow his own fancies in the design of his favorite paper cutter, for such the weapon evidently was. Long, narrow and sharply pointed, the blade was of finest silver, handsomely engraved, and the ebony handle shone resplendent with gems, so placed as to form on the polished surface the initials M. S. in dazzling characters. CHAPTER II. A SUICIDAL ATTEMPT. Have pity, Reader,'twas the fire Of human passion in her brain,— First, youth's impulsive, mad desire, Then love, and love's devouring pain. Some two years previous to the incidents of our opening chapter, in a quiet house situated on G—St., in the vicinity of [Pg 9] [Pg 10] [Pg 11] [Pg 12] Belmont Square, an aged couple sat quietly talking, while the shadows fell longer and darker about the room, and the increased tread of passing feet spoke plainly of the end of another day of that weary labor that fell to the lot of the large number of tradespeople who lived in this row of modest houses. The aged couple mentioned were occupying the two narrow windows that faced the crowded thoroughfare, and the two faces were pressed anxiously against the glass, while the old eyes peered eagerly up and down, over and across in a careful search for the one of whom they had been quietly speaking. There was silence for a little while and then the old man leaned back in his chair and, while wiping the moisture from his glasses with a generous square of cambric, said querulously: "It is mighty strange, Marthy, where Lizzie is. She ought to be home before this." "I know it, father," responded his wife meekly. "She's been acting very strange of late, staying away from home and coming in at all hours as dragged out as if she had been walking the streets for miles." "Maybe that's what she does," snapped the old man, and then, as if ashamed of his hasty words, he added in a softer tone: "Though why she should do that I can't see. She's got a good home here with us and has had ever since our poor Mary died and left us our grandchild in the place of our child to care for and protect." "And we've done both, father," said the old lady, gently. "Lizzie has no need to seek pleasure outside her own home, what, with the rooms to look after, her books, her piano and her needle work, she ought to be pretty well contented." "That's so, Marthy, but she evidently is not. Now ever since that young man rented our two back rooms and began to spend his evenings here—" "You don't think she is in love with him, do you father?" interrupted his wife quickly. "Can't say, Marthy, you women can judge better of that. I only know she acts uncommonly unhappy lately. Let's see, the young fellow has been gone a week now, hasn't he?" "Yes, that is so, and Lizzie has seemed all broke down ever since. I was asking her yesterday to see Mr. Jeller, but she turned as white as anything. "'No, no, Grandma,' she said, 'I'll not see any doctors. There's nothing the matter with me, nothing!' "But there was a hard look came into her eyes, and the idea went through my mind that perhaps that gentlemanly looking fellow was just playing with her after all, and she had only found it out after her heart was gone from her." Here the old lady stopped to wipe the tears from her faded eyes, while the blood of his youth flushed her husband's face and, with cane uplifted, he muttered fiercely: "If I thought that, I'd cane him, old as I am! Lizzie's a good girl and has been as well raised and as well educated as the best of them, and if her father and grandfather before him were tradespeople, they were honest and respectable, and I don't know what better dowry a woman can need than her own virtues and accomplishments and a record behind her of generations of honorable people." Here the old man again sank back in his chair, overcome by the violence of his emotions, while his wife, re-adjusting her glasses, moved aside the curtain and again peered out into the fast darkening street. There was silence for a few moments and then her husband resumed his position at the other window, while the ticking of the clock echoed, painfully distinct, through the silent room, and the sound of passing feet grew fainter and fainter, and darkness, mingling with the impenetrable vapors of a London fog, settled heavily down upon the earth. Certainly no girl could have a more happy home or two more tender, loving companions than had Elizabeth Merril. But discontent is bred in the bone and needs no outward influence or surroundings to foster its soul destroying germs. Elizabeth had grown into womanhood, beautiful in form and feature, loyal in heart and spotless in her maidenly purity, but the seeds of discontent, inherited or otherwise, sprang up in her heart and took from every pleasure that fullness of joy which is so necessary to perfect happiness. It was her suggestion to rent the superfluous rooms thereby adding to the family exchequer and at the same time increasing her household duties. The logic was excellent, but the impulse of a dissatisfied mind prompted the suggestion and evil impulses, however logical, are rarely productive of good results. This particular instance was a most conclusive proof of the veracity of such reasoning. For a few brief weeks Elizabeth's heart was filled with content and peace. With her additional labor came renewed ambition and the results seemed highly satisfactory to all concerned. Then, as time passed on and the young man who occupied the rooms found many and varied excuses for seeking her presence, the roses on Elizabeth's cheeks deepened into carnation, her eyes flashed with a new born glory, and from [Pg 13] [Pg 14] [Pg 15] [Pg 16] [Pg 17] morn till night the tender song of the nightingale burst joyously from her lips. The young man had occupied the rooms for nearly a year and his devotion to their grandchild had been constantly growing more marked. But for the past few months the song had ceased on Elizabeth's lips and the rosy cheeks were growing steadily paler. In vain the aged couple watched and questioned, but Elizabeth's feminine tact and spirit outwitted them. She fulfilled her duties patiently, as of yore, but would seize upon every possible pretext for remaining away from home, and now, during the week that her lover failed to appear at his cosy apartments, they had hardly seen her for more than a few moments each day. Thus it was no wonder that to-night they watched and waited at their narrow windows while the hours stole by and still the wandering girl returned not to her pleasant home. Back and forth over the great London Bridge she was walking; her head bent low; her blue eyes fixed and glaring; her pale lips compressed in bitter agony, while over and over again she paused and looked eagerly down into the sluggish water. The bridge was jammed as usual with hurrying pedestrians and jostling carts, and few turned to look at the solitary figure. Now and then a watchful "Bobby" stopped and stared into her face and more than one of these experienced officers read the signs of coming trouble in her pallid features. But it was not their duty to ask her business or order her away. She was doing no harm and surely it would be but a meddlesome act on their part to try and avert the danger which they so plainly foresaw. Still she walked on and on until the crowd was lessened and fewer officers remained on duty. Just as the fog, rising from the river below and the smoke falling from the chimneys above, met and mingled in a pall of gloom and obscurity, she turned again, paused, looked once more into the darkness below, then vaulting suddenly to the massive rail, sprang lightly forward through the mists and down into the awful waters. CHAPTER III. RESCUED BY THIEVES. And these are men,—these creatures bold, Who live to plunder and to kill; Formed in the Great Creator's mold But subject to the Devil's will. If all committers of this deed of questionable cowardice would choose so opportune a moment for their rashness as did Elizabeth, they would probably live to see the error of their ways and to realize that the things we know are better than the things we know not of, but it is rarely that one so determined as she to terminate a wretched existence is thwarted in that desire by the presence of rescuers, but such was the case in this instance. Two men of the type commonly known in London as wharf "rats" or dock and river thieves, were slowly sculling along under cover of the intense fog on the lookout for plunder of any and every sort. Naturally, when Elizabeth's body struck the water not ten feet from their craft, they stopped sculling and quickly investigated the nature of the prey that had so literally fallen into their hands. Elizabeth was pulled into the boat apparently lifeless, and in less time than it takes to chronicle the event, was shorn of her pretty rings, purse and outer garments. A folded paper pinned securely to the lining of her waist was also promptly removed by the thief and thrust carelessly into the outer pocket of his coat as he doubtless thought it of little consequence, and only confiscated it through a natural impulse of greed and robbery. Then the younger of the two proceeded to fasten a heavy lead around her waist, and lifting her carefully in his arms was about to lower the body once more into the silent river whose waters had already swallowed up and forever concealed innumerable secrets of like nature, when a flash from his partner's lantern falling upon Elizabeth's upturned face revealed to him her exceeding loveliness and awoke within him an instinct, whether brutal or humane, we shall shortly determine. "Oh, Oiy soiy, Bill, this 'ere lass is too bloomin' 'ansome tew feed de fishes wid," he said, "and she ben't derd, nurther," he added, as he noticed Elizabeth's breath returning in short, faint gasps. "Ben't hoften we picks hup such fine goods as [Pg 18] [Pg 19] [Pg 20] [Pg 21] [Pg 22] dese," he continued, while a fiendish expression passed over his swarthy face. "Blowed if Oiy doesn't think Oiy'll confiscate dis fer m' hown use," and he drew Elizabeth's still senseless form across his knee. "Put'er down, Jemmy! Cawn't you wait till you gets to de dock or does yer want ter stay hout 'n dis 'ere fog hall night?" said the older man gruffly, adding authoritatively: "Cover de gal hup in de bottom, she'll keep! Oiy'm wet tew de' ide. Come, scull along hor we wont get 'ome till midnight." Whether it was the fragments of original humanity that made him refuse to witness the desecration of helplessness, or whether he possessed sufficient of the brute instinct to enjoy with keener relish the struggles of a frenzied woman in the hands of an unprincipled and determined villain, we can not tell;— At any rate Elizabeth was allowed to lie quietly under an old sail in the bottom of the boat, returning slowly, but with such perfect control to acute consciousness that she allowed no sound of either fear or suffering to escape her lips. She overheard enough of their conversation, during the row down the river to show her who her rescuers were and what her ultimate fate would be unless she could escape from their clutches. She realized that even her unfortunate condition would give her no mercy in their hands and might rather be a source of more intense gratification to their fiendish and inhuman desires. Reason told her to remain perfectly passive, as it was evident they only awaited her return to consciousness for the furtherance of their diabolical plans. Even when the boat bumped heavily against the wharf, turned back and veered about in a most extraordinary manner and the damp fog of the river was exchanged for the foul stench of sewer gas and garbage floats, and she realized, with a feeling of horror, that they were gliding, not by, but under the dock, still she made no sound. At last they stopped by a rotten ladder; the boat was tied and the younger man sprang hastily up the slippery steps and thrust open, with his shoulder, a heavy trap door. Then the older of the two raised Elizabeth from the boat and passed her up through the narrow opening to the man above. He then followed and after a hasty consultation between the two she was left, as the young "rat" expressed it, "soif fer de present," on a pile of rags in the corner of the cellar. Then, apparently regardless whether she lived or died, they ascended another rickety ladder and the sullen gleam of their lantern was soon lost to sight in the darkness above. Elizabeth waited until the sound of their footsteps had passed away, then rising hastily, she began groping about in the darkness for the ladder which she had so dimly discerned by the light of the smoking lantern. Now every thing was dark, and the knowledge of that yawning trap-door and perhaps more just like it under her very feet, made her almost insane with fear. All desire for a watery death had vanished from her mind. Her lungs were so filled with nauseous gases that it was with a feeling of almost frantic joy she touched the rungs of the worm-eaten ladder and prepared to climb to the landing above. The upper Hall was narrow, dirty and perfectly dark. Elizabeth groped her way carefully along, holding firmly to the wall, but could see no outlet or glimmer of light either before her or above, but knowing that to turn back would be but rushing to a fate far worse than death, she pressed eagerly forward, peering into the impenetrable darkness, while occasionally a great, slimy rat scampered across her foot, or a loathsome bat, with a sudden rush, passed so near her face that she turned sick with horror and held to the heavy walls with all her strength. CHAPTER IV. THE SHAME-BORN CHILD. Calm Death,—Thou comest not to such as these,— Their griefs affright thee,—their sad faces fail to please. Probably the length of time that elapsed (which seemed like an eternity to Elizabeth,) was, in reality, not more than half an hour before a ray of light greeted her eyes, coming through a ragged chink in the crumbling masonry of the heavy walls. Creeping cautiously forward she put her eye to the crevice and looked eagerly into the inner room. The scene she witnessed was well calculated to chill the blood of an able bodied man, but to a delicate woman, still trembling from the effects of her awful plunge into the river;—hampered by dripping garments and nearly frantic with the fear of momentary violence, the sight was more than doubly horrible. The room was nothing more than a large vault or closet built into the solid walls, probably for no definite purpose, but so well adapted to its present use that one would think its designer must have foreseen its ultimate fate. [Pg 23] [Pg 24] [Pg 25] [Pg 26] [Pg 27] Several battered and smoking lanterns hung on nails, which had been wedged firmly between loose bricks in the decaying walls, their outlines appearing to her excited imagination not unlike the red eye balls and smoke begrimed faces of the score of beings upon whom their dismal glimmer fell. This score of individuals, representing a class of monsters, born in the slime of cellars; nourished on the odors of decomposition and trained to accomplishments of vice and evil, were busy at the ghoulish work of robbing two human bodies, whose swollen and livid members plainly proclaimed them trophies from the river's unfailing supply. Ragged females with bloated faces and keen eyes were squabbling like cats over the articles which had been removed from the dead woman's body, while the males cursed and struck at each other in a frantic struggle for the watch and jewels which the other water-soaked victim had worn. The scene was horrible, pile upon pile of rubbish was heaped about the room, and one and all seemed interested in claiming and getting possession of as much plunder as they could, by fair means or foul. Elizabeth plainly identified her rescuers who were among the most quarrelsome of the lot, but, even in her bewilderment, she noticed that there was no mention made of their evenings work or of her body, which, of course, they supposed was safe in the recesses of that loathsome cellar. At this instant a vague thought flitted through her mind as to what booty her body had afforded them. She felt for her rings, but they were gone. She thrust her hand into the bosom of her dress for her watch, and her lips grew white as ashes, while a new horror, passing through her brain, overcame for the moment all fear of personal violence. The paper which had been safe in her bosom when she sprang from the bridge was not there. She had determined that the secret which it held should die with her, but now that her plan for death had failed, the recovery of that treasured paper must be the whole aim and purpose of her life. Again the miserable creature who had rescued her from death became the unknowing instrument of her good fortune. The young thief, whom she recognized as "Bill," became violently angry over the unequal distribution of the jewels and, throwing off his coat, struck wildly at his partner, while the others proceeded with their individual bickerings, apparently unconscious of the pugilistic encounter. The coat in falling obscured, in a measure, Elizabeth's view of the inner room. She had lost all thought of fear in her wild determination to secure the missing paper. Pushing her hand cautiously into the hole in the masonry she dislodged a portion of brick with little trouble, then forcing her white arm carefully through the opening she touched the coat and pulled it gently aside. Her idea was simply to gain another unobstructed view of the room, but accidently her fingers touched the edge of a folded paper protruding from the pocket, and quick as flash Elizabeth closed her fingers upon it and drew it toward her through the hole. She could not see it, but the familiarity of touch and feeling convinced her that it was her bosom companion for the past ten months, and even in the excitement and danger of the situation she stood motionless for a moment while she pressed it fervently to her lips. Then, taking advantage of a particularly noisy scuffle, Elizabeth slipped softly by the door. The terrors of nightmare were upon her. She imagined she heard them pursuing her but could not run for fear of falling in the darkness; pitching down some hidden trap or making some accidental sound that would tell them of her presence. At last, after almost innumerable windings, a glimmer of electric light came down upon her through a cellar grating which opened directly upon the street. A little further on and another flight of worm eaten steps were before her. Up these she climbed, and raised, with all her strength a heavy grating, then, feeling once more the pure air upon her brow and the sense of freedom in her soul, she reeled and fell heavily forward, like an inanimate body, upon the damp, gray curb stone. How long she lay there she could not tell, but the bell of a distant cathedral, tolling the hour of midnight, aroused her, and she crawled along until her strength in a measure returned, then, rising, she walked as quickly as possible away from this terrible neighborhood. On and on she went, her strength failing her at every step, until once more exhausted she sank down before the gateway of a large building, which, fortunately for her, proved to be a Hospital. Here she was found by a resident physician on his return from the Opera in the early morning hours. Some time during the following day an employee of the Hospital discovered a soiled and water-stained Marriage Certificate, which the wind had evidently blown behind the massive gates. The Certificate was placed in the physician's private desk for safe keeping, but no connection between it and the suffering woman was ever suspected. Elizabeth was placed immediately in the ward, and every care given her, but for four weeks she hovered between life and death, raving of murder, robbery, suicide and all such frightful happenings, until the anxious physician feared for her reason as well as for her life. It was not until her child was born, a month after her entrance, that she gained, either mentally or physically, but after another four weeks of excellent nursing she was discharged from the Hospital as needing no further treatment. She had given the authorities a false name in an almost involuntary effort toward self-protection and the concealment of her degradation, receiving at their hands that disinterested and strictly impartial attention bestowed upon all their [Pg 28] [Pg 29] [Pg 30] [Pg 31] [Pg 32] patients. She was to them but one of thousands who drift on the shoals of sin and are left to perish, or are floated off by the tide of life to a longer struggle and a fiercer death on the ragged rocks of crime, therefore it was only natural that her case elicited no special comment from the busy officials. Thus, sick at heart, homeless, friendless, with no money, and with her shame-born child resting heavily upon her arm, Elizabeth went forth once more into the streets of London. CHAPTER V. MAURICE SINCLAIR. The storm that tears the human heart With deepest furrows, leaves its trace Like shadows from a passing cloud Upon the mirror of the face. Passing through Portland Place, at about the hour of eleven, on that damp, foggy night, it would have been impossible not to notice the most attractive of the many beautiful houses, for there emanated from its windows such a blaze of light that even the dense vapor that obscured all objects in its near vicinity was penetrated by the brilliancy for some distance. The carriages that stopped before its portals loomed up through the mist like phantoms, while the guests that entered the spacious door only lost their ghastliness as they emerged into the full glare of the inner hall during the brief moment of transit. It was very evident that a ball of more than ordinary magnificence was in progress, and one glance at the face of the hostess, Mrs. Archibald Sinclair, would have shown any intelligent observer that, to Mrs. Sinclair, at least, the necessity for making this particular entertainment a glorious success was so urgent that it destroyed, in a measure, her own enjoyment. Yet, with the innate tact of a woman born to receive, to entertain, and to genuinely please her guests, all trace of anxiety was carefully concealed, all nervousness overcome, and only affability and satisfaction were allowed reflection upon her expressive countenance. However, in spite of her complacent demeanor, there were few mothers present at that reception but could readily appreciate her feelings and who did not, in their inmost hearts, admire her diplomatic tact during so trying an ordeal. Not a few carefully modulated voices signified to each other their opinion and approval of her manner, for the gossips were out in full force that evening. They knew by long anticipation that food for their insatiable appetites would be furnished on this occasion in the person, manner and language of Maurice Sinclair, their hostess' enigmatical son, who had so lately returned from the Great Desert of Gobi or some other equally undesirable quarter of the earth's surface. True, rumor had it that this eccentric young man had been seen in and about the City at intervals during the past year, but as any allusion made to the widow, his mother, on this subject, met with unapproachable silence, the matter was prudently dropped, and the information derived from newspapers and casual observers accepted or rejected according to the minds of the hearers, in the absence of better authority. Many of the matrons present this evening recalled, only too accurately, the days when Maurice Sinclair's boyish pranks refused for him admission to one school after another. His wrong doings were always of a nature too delicate for public mention and, after a more than usually disgraceful affair while he was only fifteen years of age, he suddenly vanished, and, but a month later, Archibald Sinclair, his disappointed father, was laid to rest in the family plot, leaving behind a sorrowing wife and a nearly heart-broken mother. At last, after five years had elapsed, Mrs. Sinclair, tired of the great house, and the wealth and splendor which she could never enjoy in solitude, adopted a distant relative, a beautiful girl of sixteen, and upon her she lavished the love of her true womanly heart and the wealth that flowed so abundantly into her coffers from many sources. Stella Ives, or Stella Sinclair as she was afterwards called, was one of those peculiarly beautiful women, combining that which is most rarely seen, beauty of face and form, with great depth of character and unusual mental precocity. Now, at the age of twenty-one, Stella stood peerless among her companions. Her wavy yellow hair fell low over a broad white forehead. Her hazel eyes shone with the clear light of a brilliant intellect. Her mouth was large, but shapely and sweet, and, in laughing, disclosed a set of faultless teeth that were at once the envy and admiration of all. Stella was a little above medium height, plump and graceful, and withal a girl whom all could admire, but whose natural reserve held aloof from her shrine the many lovers who would gladly pay their homage to so fair a divinity. Ten years had passed since Maurice disappeared and now, like one risen from the dead, he had returned and, in a brief but affectionate note, stated his intention to assist in entertaining her guests on this particular evening. He explained his non-appearance since reaching London as due to sensitiveness about meeting the mother whom he had so deeply grieved, but having heard of his adopted sister's "coming out" reception, he could control himself no longer and would throw himself humbly and unreservedly upon her mercy. [Pg 33] [Pg 34] [Pg 35] [Pg 36] [Pg 37] Only an hour before the time for her guests to arrive Mrs. Sinclair called Stella to her luxurious dressing-room and, passing her arm around the young girl's form, said fondly: "Stella dear, look your best to-night. You know we expect a large contingent of lords and baronets, and nothing fills my old heart with more exquisite pleasure than to witness the admiration which they bestow upon my beautiful daughter." Stella laughed softly, but no blush of foolish vanity rose in her face at her foster-mother's tender words. She only pressed the matronly arm affectionately and replied, "All right, mamma, I will do my best. But you are sure it is because of the 'lords and baronets' that you wish me to look my best? Confess now," she continued archly, "is it not because you wish the first glimpse of his adopted sister to be a satisfactory one to Maurice that you take this violent interest?" A little disconcerted by the young girl's reading of her secret, Mrs. Sinclair could only laugh and push her gently from the room. After Stella had gone, Mrs. Sinclair sank down on the sofa by the heavily draped window to hold brief communion with herself as was her wont when questions or thoughts of more than usual importance arose in her mind. There was only a few moments in which to thus commune, but Mrs. Sinclair possessed that distinctly feminine ability to evolve various extraordinary theories on a given subject and yet deduct therefrom a logical conclusion in about half the time it would take a less intuitive brain to lose itself completely in an inextricable tangle of reasons and vagaries. "The past is past," was her conclusion. "My son will to-night be under my roof; I must begin at the beginning; there shall be no reproaches. I shall offer him love, money, home, influence and a fair chance of winning a beautiful wife. If he refuses these, there is nothing more." So saying, she rose, and with a hopeful look in her eyes, passed, in her own stately and gracious manner, down the wide staircase and on into the spacious parlors of her beautiful home, now doubly attractive to her by the anticipated happiness of her son's return. For, although there was little doubt but that the erratic Maurice had been in London for many months, yet he had not seen fit to gladden his mother's heart with the sight of his almost forgotten face until just in time to give Stella's birthday reception a double significance. CHAPTER VI. A PAINFUL REMINISCENCE. How few look back upon a past Of spotless purity,—and who Would dare absolve with prayer and fast The deeds they've done—the deeds they do; Whatever may be the prejudice existing against the customary shams, deceptions and hypocrisies of society, certainly the sugar coating which good breeding and etiquette throw over the many bitter and disagreeable ingredients that go to make up our daily lives, is very palatable and pleasing. Suspicions may be aroused; curiosity be on the qui vive, anxiety and interest waging violent warfare in the human heart, yet the restrictions and obligations of courtesy demand self- control and affable manners, while gentle words make smooth many sharp and jagged corners in life's mental conflict, that uncovered would oftentimes cause friction and discomfort. In vain the gossips looked and listened for some fragment of food for their customary menu, but neither Mrs. Sinclair or Stella showed by look or word that this particular reception was fraught with more than the usual interest, and as to the long lost son, his sojourn among the heathen nations of the earth, seemed to both foster and expand his naturally courteous disposition. His meeting with his mother had been cordial in the extreme. There was no time for lavish demonstration of affection, as he only arrived a brief ten minutes before the earliest guest. His presentation to his adopted sister, however, was marked by a change of demeanor that was plainly observed by all, yet, no person present, so far overcame the feeling of wonder that his manner generated, as to even boast of an approximate guess regarding its cause. The look that came into his wide, gray eyes when they first fell upon the beautiful girl, was one of amazement, and the gossips instantly concluded that beautiful women had been rare in his experience. Then a lurid light gleamed in his eyeballs; the lines of his face became drawn and tense, and hatred, and envy, were instantly ascribed to him. But as he touched her hand in greeting, a look so plainly indicative of carnal passion gleamed in every feature of his now diabolical face, that cold shivers and sensations of horror, swept through the sympathetic natures present, and doubtless, the maids and matrons, would have risen en-masse and called for their carriages, had not the sudden withdrawal of Stella's hand, brought back, as if by magic, the winning smile to the young man's countenance and transformed him again, in an instant, into the hero of the evening. The dowagers reasoned that their lorgnettes were dimmed and their visions contorted thereby, while the maidens, serene in their innocence, forgot in a brief time the glimpse they had, or fancied they had, into man's inmost nature, and [Pg 38] [Pg 39] [Pg 40] [Pg 41] [Pg 42] vied with each other in their efforts to win the approval of so distinguished and withal so mysterious a parti. Possibly a vague thought of this young scion's probable inheritance brought favorable influence to bear upon the stricter morals of the scheming mammas, as social position and wealth have heretofore and probably always will weigh successfully in the balance against questionable character and immorality. Nevertheless, so strong was the momentary resemblance between this fascinating young man and the numerous likenesses of the mythical Beelzebub, that the Lady Van Tyne assured her family physician, in a strictly confidential interview the next morning, that, "for an instant it seemed as if the very curls of auburn hair stood up on his temples like horns, and she was sure that almost countless numbers of hooked and venomous claws protruded from his dainty patent leather boots, while as to his face,"—here she shuddered with a convulsive, reminiscent spasm, "it was the face of Satan himself!" The good Doctor listened and sympathized; prescribed a pleasing tonic and rendered a modest bill, but he was afterward heard to say to his assistant, quite unprofessionally, of course. "It's wonderful what champagne will do. If the ladies would only stick to Bass, now!" The Lady Van Tyne and her family physician were on the very best of terms, however. It had been remarked by many that Dr. Seward was the only human being whom the wilful lady feared or felt disposed in any particular to obey. But both the physician and his proud patron still bore in undying remembrance a little episode of early days, and for reasons of mutual interest, their friendship remained firm and unimpeachable. Thirty years before, Lady Van Tyne was a plump, pretty brunette of eighteen, or rather, such was the charming Isabel Montfort, for the wealthy Sir Casper Van Tyne had not as yet secured her for his bride, and Dr. Seward was but a beginner in the fascinating science which later brought him fame and fortune. Now, whenever he saw the Lady Van Tyne, his thoughts involuntarily wandered back to the summer day when, with consternation in her face, Lady Montfort had called upon him with the vivacious Isabel to secure his immediate and most careful services. The good lady readily accepted his verdict and in all innocence prepared her daughter for the immediate journey to America, which the imperative physician prescribed. Little did the good woman realize that all her elaborate preparations were smiled at, more or less sadly, by her daughter and the clever physician. For, instead of the extended trip across the ocean, Miss Isabel betook herself quietly to the private residence of the physician, and there for three months she remained under the careful surveillance of doctor and nurse. The ruse was more than successful, inasmuch as Miss Isabel was restored to her mother, and Sir Casper's eager arms, in rapidly improving health, while the young physician's somewhat astounding fee was quietly paid by a gentleman of excellent social standing who was, moreover, the husband of one of the most charming and estimable ladies of Dr. Seward's acquaintance. The secret had been well guarded. Now and then a dull pang of self-reproach was experienced by the physician when he remembered how indifferent he had been to the fate of the child after he had secured a home and guardianship for it. He watched it more or less interestedly for about ten years, as he also watched that other boy so singularly alike in feature but so widely different in parentage and social prospects. The boys, at ten and eleven respectively, were as near alike as brothers, but from that time on there were changes in the adopted parents mode of life, and the child of unsanctified love vanished from his gaze forever. Into the lives of all physicians there come many and varied episodes of private nature, but probably of all the secret games indulged in by unscrupulous human beings, that one is best remembered wherein they hold so prominent a hand. It was little wonder, in the light of such reflections, that Dr. Seward evinced not only a slight irritability regarding his patient's hallucination, but also a most extraordinary desire to see this young man whose personal appearance was so suggestive of the Infernal Regions. CHAPTER VII. THE BREATH OF PASSION. [Pg 43] [Pg 44] [Pg 45] [Pg 46] [Pg 47] The torch-light of Passion, how fierce is its power— It wakens, it burns, it consumes in an hour; Accursed is the mortal who feels its hot breath, For the end is destruction—destruction and death. Unfortunately for the fate of her future, Stella did not see the extraordinary expression on the young man's face that caused such mental consternation among her guests. The thrill which vibrated through her entire being at the touch of his firm hand rendered her incapable for the moment of meeting his eyes. So strong was the current of magnetism that passed between them that the mingled sensations of fear and bewilderment forced her to withdraw her hand with so much vehemence that she was obliged, from an innate sense of courtesy, to make a trifling remark to cover the seeming rudeness of her action. So swift was the transformation in his face, that, when her eyes were finally raised to his, only the sweetest of smiles wreathed his proud, passionate lips, and the glance he bent upon her, was one of mingled reverence and admiration. In vain the dowagers angled and the maidens blushed and simpered. Maurice Sinclair moved about among the guests, always charming and attentive, but his expressive eyes followed Stella in her every motion and seemed to devour her beauty with an intensity so deep as to render him unconscious even to his own enchantment. Only one of the gentlemen present had noticed particularly the greeting between Maurice and Stella, or if they had, man-like, they had attached no significance to the expression whatsoever, and would undoubtedly have reasoned, had their opinions been asked on the subject, that a man's face often expresses sentiments foreign to his nature, and that a fellow could hardly be called to account for the idiosyncrasies and caprices of unruly features. But Sir Frederic Atherton had, for reasons of his own, been a keen observer of Maurice's face, and a look of loathing crossed his own noble countenance as he muttered, almost audibly, a word that sounded singularly like "cur." But as he noted the magical effect on Stella, he drew a long sigh which was as promptly checked with a firm closing of the lips, and stepping quickly forward actually stood between the two, then offering his arm to Stella with a laughing remark, he led her away, from a glance, which in his honorable soul, seemed like desecration. Sir Frederic was nearly forty years of age; a man marvelously blessed by nature, in that he possessed not only a magnificent bearing; a face grand in its determination and strength; but a mental calibre as well, unequaled by another of his associates. To these he had added integrity and justice; winning the confidence of all by his honorable dealings both in social and business relations. Women worshiped and followed him; Yea, they even flung themselves at his very feet, but thus far in life Sir Frederic had remained "heart whole and fancy free," while the memory of a good mother and a faithful sister saved him from being, like the majority of men whom women flatter, a chronic disbeliever in the chastity of their sex. Always courteous and gentle, it was no wonder that women and children loved and trusted him. Strong and honorable, it was only natural for men to give him confidence and respect, and he whom his fellow-men regard is sure to be of all men the most trustworthy. The love of woman may be but the consequence of perfect features, manly proportions or a musical voice, but the regard of man for man comes only as the result of sterling worth. For some time Sir Frederic had been questioning himself regarding the quality of his affection for Mrs. Sinclair's beautiful adopted daughter, but not until he saw her, a delicate flower, exposed if only for a second to the baneful light of an evil eye, did he realize how deeply and dearly he loved Stella. The truth stabbed him like a knife, but after the first sharp pain, and as he felt her hand upon his arm, a joy surged through his being that the forty well spent years of his life had hitherto failed to bring him. After a moment's conversation with Mrs. Sinclair, Stella was again led away by one of Her Majesty's officers for a sprightly polka, and Sir Frederic glad to commune for a moment with his somewhat excited heart, moved a heavy chair farther into the shadow and sat down, while his eyes also watched the graceful movements of Stella, but with very different emotions from those which were rushing through Maurice Sinclair's brain at the same time. Stella had danced with one after another of her guests and was seated for a moment's rest on a wide turkish divan in a shaded corner of the room. It was only a moment, but Maurice's restless glance sought her out, and smiling his excuses into the baby face of Lady Isabel Van Tyne's youngest daughter, he, much to her disappointment, strolled across the room and stood before Stella with the subdued light of a chandelier brightening his wavy hair into glittering rings about his well shaped head. "May I call you Stella?" he whispered abruptly, as he bent slightl...