“Oh, madam, I cannot work any longer; something terrible has happened
to Maggie; I have felt so uneasy all day about her, and now, see, it is
almost night, and she has not yet returned. I must go and look for her;
my hands tremble so that I can no longer hold my needle.”
The speaker was Jenny Mason, and the time almost evening of the day on
which Iris had been sent to the bank by Madam Ward.
“I am beginning to grow the least bit uneasy myself,” exclaimed madam,
while Jenny waited for her permission to quit work. “I think it
probable that Mrs. Neville is detaining her; you know, Jenny, that Mrs.
Neville said she should probably meet Maggie at the bank and drive her
home. If this is the case I shall scold Maggie severely, for she should
certainly know better than to keep me in this suspense all this time.
You may go, Jenny, but I do not think there is any cause for alarm.
Maggie is certainly no baby; she is fully capable of taking care of
herself.”
Jenny did not wait to hear any further words from her employer. Her
heart was sick with forebodings and fears for the safety of the friend
she loved, and she left the shop in Forty-first Street looking like a
little ghost.
After Jenny’s departure, Madam Ward grew more uneasy with every passing
moment, and at last, when darkness began to settle over the city, and
the girls were making ready for departure, she called Emma Henry to
her, and asked the latter to go to Mrs. Neville’s residence and see if
the missing girl was still there.
Emma started upon the errand gladly, for she could hardly have slept
that night without being satisfied of Maggie’s safety.
She had not been gone ten minutes when madam, whose face was pressed
against the windowpane, uttered an exclamation of intense relief.
Mrs. Neville’s car was drawing up before the door.
“At last Maggie has come,” she said, half angrily, and hurried down to
open the door herself in her impatience; but Maggie had not come.
Mrs. Neville herself stood on the threshold, looking flushed and angry.
“I declare, madam,” this lady began, “I shall never interest myself
again in a shop girl. I took your pretty Maggie home with me to-day,
and treated her like a lady, and here I find the silk I gave her to
bring to you hidden behind my vestibule door. You know that I am in a
great hurry for my dress, so I thought I would ride down and give you
the silk, as I have other business in this direction. I do not quite
like your favorite, Maggie. She was laboring under intense excitement
to-day, and I confess her conduct displeased me. She refused to be
driven back here in my car, and I think she went to meet some lover. I
hope----”
But Mrs. Neville never finished her sentence, for madam was wringing
her hands, and weeping violently.
“It cuts me to the heart to believe that Maggie is a thief,” she was
sobbing, and Mrs. Neville smiled behind her embroidered handkerchief
at the success of her cruel plans, while she affected to sympathize
with the too trusting mistress of the unworthy girl.
* * * * *
During the short drive from the bank to the residence of Clara Neville,
Iris preserved an unbroken silence. The shock of the revelation to
which she had been an unwilling listener seemed to have deprived her of
thought or action.
Arriving at her home, Mrs. Neville requested Iris to follow her to a
room on the second floor--her own boudoir--a pretty little apartment
furnished in the gay, bright colors the widow loved.
“You had better be seated, girl, for I have a few words to say to you,
and it makes me nervous to see you standing.”
“If you have any message for madam,” replied Iris, “I beg you will tell
me at once, Mrs. Neville, as I am anxious to return with the money I
have in charge for her. I am afraid she will be anxious if I am delayed
a moment longer than is necessary.”
Mrs. Neville laughed mockingly at the girl’s impatience to be gone,
and, sinking languidly into the nearest chair, exclaimed:
“I am very much afraid madam will be forced to endure the pangs
of anxiety for some little time to come. Stay,” as Iris made an
involuntary movement toward the door, “I do not choose that you shall
leave this room until you have answered a few questions I desire to
put to you. In the first place--what are you to Charles Broughton, my
intended husband?”
Mrs. Neville had sprung to her feet as she uttered the last words, and
placed herself between Iris and the door, looking straight into the
girl’s wide, dilated eyes, and noting the look of horror that crept
into the blue depths at her sudden question.
She waited a moment for Iris’ answer, but the girl could not speak,
and Mrs. Neville was more than even convinced of the truth of her
suspicions.
We will spare the reader a repetition of the harsh, unwomanly language
now uttered by the jealous woman, and the cruel epithets she applied to
our unfortunate heroine.
For one moment only Iris stood listening, and shivering like a frail
flower in a winter gale, and then the faintness that had been growing
upon her all day overcame her, and she lost all knowledge of her
sufferings in a blessed unconsciousness, falling to the floor without a
moan or sigh, and lying at Clara Neville’s feet like one dead.
The widow knelt beside Iris and unfastened the bosom of her dress, and
Madam Ward’s two hundred dollars fell out upon the carpet. She picked
it up and placed it in her own pocket, smiling triumphantly as she did
so.
At this moment the sound as of some one breathing startled her, and
looking up quickly she encountered the astonished gaze of Charles
Broughton, who had entered the room unobserved, his footsteps making no
sound on the velvet pile of the carpet.
He was the first to break the embarrassing silence.
“What is the meaning of this scene, Clara, and what brought this girl
here?”
There was nothing of tenderness in his eyes or his voice, as he
motioned carelessly toward the senseless girl, but Clara attributed his
pallor to anxiety for her--Iris--and this belief increased her rage and
jealousy tenfold.
She reproached him in bitter and cutting language for his supposed
infidelity, and told him the circumstance of her having seen Iris leave
his house on Lexington Avenue.
Her explanation of the scene Broughton had surprised her in was simple
and plausible.
“This girl came here to get a piece of silk from me for her employer.
I recognized her as your friend, and my temper got the better of my
reason.
“She fainted when I told her of the wrong she was doing me--your
promised wife--and as this fact in itself would have convinced me
of her friendship for you, I confess I was bitterly angry; and in
my desire to be revenged upon this little pauper who has succeeded
in destroying my happiness, I would have sent her out of this house
without one penny of the two hundred dollars she had just taken from
the bank for Madam Ward.
“Now you know all the truth, Charles, and here and now I want you to
choose between us--this pauper--this dressmaker’s apprentice--and
myself.”
The widow’s face was actually ablaze with anger, and Broughton, knowing
the need he had for her fortune, resolved to conciliate her at all
hazards, regardless of the injury he must do his own child.
“My dear Clara,” he began, encircling her form with one arm despite
her feeble effort to resist him, “you have caused yourself a world of
unnecessary trouble and heartache. So far from loving this girl am I,
that I may safely assure you the feeling I cherish for her is one more
closely approaching to hatred. I told you on the occasion of my first
meeting with her in the home of your seamstress, Jenny Mason, that her
face reminded me of a woman whom I considered my deadliest enemy.
“I have since discovered that she is the daughter of this enemy, and I
have to revenge myself on the mother through the child. Some day, my
own Clara, when you are my wife, and our interests are identical, I
shall tell you all the story of my past; but you have assured me over
and over again that you trusted me implicitly, and now is the time to
prove your sincerity. I shall test it to the utmost, Clara, and--but
see, the girl is reviving--keep the money in your own possession until
we can venture to send it to the owner anonymously, and deny all
knowledge of it should she,”--with a careless motion of his head toward
the figure on the floor--“discover its loss before leaving the house,
and----”
At this moment there was a hasty knock at the door, and the voice of a
servant outside begging the privilege of a few words with her mistress.
Mrs. Neville left the room to ascertain the cause of this interruption.
As she passed out of the room, Iris opened wide her blue eyes and
raised herself on her elbow, looking around her in bewilderment.
The instant her eyes fell on Broughton, who stood coolly looking down
upon her, she remembered the scene through which she had lately passed,
and arose to her feet as rapidly as her feeble strength would allow,
disdaining the aid of his proffered hand.
The man did not wait for her to speak, but placing a chair for her,
almost forced her to be seated.
“You must listen to me, my dear,” he began, in the cold, stern voice
she remembered so well. “I know all about the ordeal you have just gone
through, and I have taught Mrs. Neville her error. Are you not tired of
the life you have been living since we parted, Iris? Are you not ready
to accept the offer I made you on the occasion of our last meeting? I
have not interfered with you since then, trusting that time would show
you the folly of your conduct, and now I am ready to renew the offer I
then made you. Will you come with me to my home?”
Iris had by this time recovered the power of speech, and she would not
allow Broughton to proceed further.
“What does your offer mean for me--a life of even greater misery than I
have yet endured--a life I blush to name? Dear Heaven, do you know the
shame I have suffered this day, to hear myself branded as a creature
unfit for honest women to notice! You say you have been a convict,
and I know you are now a gambler and the associate of gamblers; yet
acknowledge me as your daughter and I will be your slave. I can bear
anything but----”
Broughton at this moment checked the speaker by a gesture so fierce and
determined that she shrank from him in actual fear.
“Cease, girl, and never dare to mention the word convict again in my
presence. What you ask of me is impossible for me to grant. Come with
me to my home. Let the world say of you what it will, you will at
least be secure from want. More than this I cannot do for you. Refuse
the offer, and before the dawn of another day the woman who now employs
you to work for her shall charge you with theft, and accuse you as a
thief before the world.”
Iris had thrown herself before him in a kneeling attitude, and was
clasping his knees in an agony of supplication.
At his last words the girl sprang quickly to her feet, repeating in
accents of supreme horror:
“A thief, a thief! Great Heaven, what can you mean?”
The footsteps of Mrs. Neville were heard returning along the hallway
now, and Broughton whispered hurriedly:
“I mean just what I have said. You shall be accused of theft unless
you do my bidding. The two hundred dollars you had in your possession
when you entered this house have been taken from you. If you go back
to Madam Ward without the money, do you think she will believe the
improbable story you would be obliged to tell to account for its loss?
Think over my offer. I shall return to you in a couple of hours, during
which time you shall remain in this room alone. Ah, Clara, my dear,” as
the widow appeared in the doorway, “I was just telling this young lady
you would permit her to remain here until she recovers from the effects
of her swoon,” and before Iris could open her lips to speak, Broughton
had drawn Mrs. Neville with him out of the room, and locked the door on
the outside, leaving Iris for the time a prisoner.