BESSIE'S SAD STORY.
Miss Elsworth flitted here and there like a shadow, and no one ever
knew where to find her. When called upon she was sure to have just
gone to the country, or was not to be disturbed. It was a year since
her removal to the old house at Roxbury, and her time was divided
between living quietly there and attending to business which required
her presence in the city. Mrs. Morris had declared that she never
could stay one night alone, but she was finally persuaded, when told
that Bessie would be kept in close confinement, and if she chose she
could sleep at the house of Mrs. Graves. "It was quite necessary,"
Miss Elsworth told Mrs. Morris, "she should be called to the city
occasionally, and she could not tell just how long she would remain,
but never," she said, "longer than was really necessary."
"Well," Mrs. Morris said, "I ain't no coward, but I don't relish the
idea of stayin' alone in such a ghostly hollow as this ere."
Miss Elsworth had returned to Roxbury, and there was general rejoicing
at the farm house. The entire family of Mr. Graves had grown to love
and respect her, and when she went away it was as though a member of
the family had left them. She was so bright, so brave, and, above all,
so kind to Bessie. Mrs. Morris could not find words to express her
delight, and Miss Elsworth was greatly relieved when she ceased
speaking of the wonderful loneliness she had experienced while Miss
Elsworth was away.
Bessie had heard of her return, and she tried every conceivable plan
to gain an interview with her, and not until Miss Elsworth interceded
did she accomplish her purpose.
"I'm not afraid of Miss Robin," she said, throwing her arms around
Blanche's neck. "She will not hurt me, and I don't believe she is
crazy, if they do say she is; and I want her to come to my room and
tell me about that place. Won't you come, Miss Robin?"
"Yes," Miss Elsworth said, as she followed her up the broad, easy
stairway, covered with its soft, bright carpet. Opening a door near
the top of the stairs, Bessie motioned Blanche to enter. It was a
pleasant room, well furnished, but the most disorderly place that
Blanche had ever seen. Bessie grasped her arm, and hurrying her to a
seat near the bed she sat down close beside her.
"Now, Miss Robin," she said, as she leaned over in Blanche's lap, and
clasped her little white hands together, "now you need not look around
at things, because you know just how it is when one is packing up; you
know they always get things in a mess. You see, I'm going back to
boarding school, and I can't keep things in order. Don't you believe
it?" she asked, with an angry look.
"Certainly," said Blanche, looking at Bessie, and thinking what a
lovely face it must have been before that strange light came to those
eyes--eyes of a wonderful blue, fringed with such heavy black lashes.
The long silken hair was floating about Bessie's shoulders, and,
lifting one thick lock, Blanche said:
"Your hair is wonderfully beautiful, Bessie."
"There, now, Miss Robin, don't you tell me that. I don't believe a
word of it. He used to just go wild over my hair, and for a long time
I believed it, but now I know he is a----"
"What?"
"A liar. There, you made me say it, and I didn't mean to. I know it
was wicked, but you made me say it. But, now, don't you tell Ross, for
if you do, Miss Robin--off goes your head."
Blanche smiled at Bessie's droll remark.
"Oh, you need not laugh. I can take your head off in a minute,
because, you see, you are only just a wee little robin, and one little
shot would kill you dead."
"But you would not kill a robin, would you?"
"Not if the robin kept still."
"Very well, I will keep still."
"And you'll not tell Ross?"
"No."
"Then some day I'll show you his face. Ross will tell you all sorts of
stories, and so will the old folks--that is what he called them--but
you need not believe one word they say, you must not believe any one
but me. They try to make you think you are crazy, don't they? I never
heard of such nonsense. Why, you are no more crazy than I am, and it
just makes me mad--mad."
Bessie's eyes fairly blazed with excitement, and her hands worked
nervously together.
"Bessie," said Blanche, "you wished me to come up here and tell you
all about what I had seen, and now you are doing all the talking, and
you will not give me a chance."
"Oh, yes; where did you go?"
"To New York."
"New York!" screamed Bessie, "that is just where he told me we would
live."
"Who told you?"
"Oh, you would like to know his name, wouldn't you? But that is my
secret; some day I will show you his face. He will come some day, but
I can't tell you his name, because Ross will not let me mention it.
Ross is a great bald eagle, and I couldn't kill him as I could kill a
robin."
"I am sure you would not kill your brother."
"Hush, he ain't my brother."
"Yes he is, Bessie."
"No, he is not. He thinks you are an angel, but you are only a robin,
a poor, weak little robin, but you want to look out; I believed every
word he said to me until I found out he lied, then everybody went mad;
but I ain't afraid of you, Miss Robin, if you are mad; but you see,
I'll have to hold you fast, Miss Robin--for, you know, you tried to
kill me."
She sprang like a tiger toward Blanche, and fastened her small fingers
around her throat. Her eyes had almost grown black in their fierce
light, and a wild laugh rang out through the room, which was terrible
to hear.
"You went to New York," she screamed, "you went to meet him. He loves
you, and he has forgotten all about the little dove; he loves the
robin, and the dove will kill the robin."
Blanche knew that to cope with a maniac, although she was a slender
girl, required all her strength and presence of mind, and with one
mighty effort she hurled Bessie from her, and placed her on the bed,
holding both her hands firmly in her own. The wild laugh and the
commotion attracted the attention of those below, and in a moment Ross
stood in the doorway.
"Bessie."
"Oh, Ross," she said, as Blanche released her, "don't lock me up, I'll
be good. I won't kill the robin."
"Come, Bessie," and Ross took her gently by the hand and led her
away.
Eliza Graves called to see Blanche Elsworth the following day, and
then it was she told her the story of Bessie's misfortune.
"I would not want you to think hard of poor Bessie, but I feel that
you must know the truth, and I am sure you will have charity for her.
It must be that she has told you something of her history."
"She has told me enough to arouse my suspicion and excite an interest,
but I cannot determine the cause of her insanity, through anything
that she has said."
"The facts are these," said Eliza. "It was about four years ago that
we sent Bessie away to school. Bessie was our baby, you know, and was
at that time but sixteen years of age. We almost worshipped the
child, she was so beautiful, and possessed such a keen intellect,
and though we always let her have her way, she was never spoiled. She
had a sweet voice, and we were anxious that she should have it
cultivated, so we sent her where we thought she would receive the
best instruction. She progressed rapidly in her studies, and, oh how
proud we were of her when she came home on her vacation, and we
listened to her sweet voice, and watched the little fingers dance over
the keys of the piano. We thought there never was in all the world
another like her, and Bessie never had a wish that was not granted.
Everybody loved her; even the horses ran to meet her, and would
eat from her hand, and they knew her voice when she called their
names."
Eliza wiped away the tears that shone on her lashes, as she
continued:
"Bessie went back to school, and when she came again at the end of the
term she told us she was going to be married. We laughed at her, and
called her a silly little thing, but she stoutly affirmed that it was
true, and that the man she loved would be here in a few weeks. She
talked of nothing but his coming, and she would fairly go into
ecstacies over his beauty, and his fine ways. He was to be here in one
month, she said, to ask her father if he could not have her, and she
knew he would come, for he had promised her. A month went by and he
did not come, and Bessie watched, saying that something must have
happened, for she knew he would come yet."
Miss Elsworth sighed.
"Yes, you may well sigh for the story that is to come. Another month
went by, and then Bessie began to grow uneasy. Oh, how it made our
hearts ache to see her watching at the gate, looking away down the
road, and then turn with such a sad look in her blue eyes, and a face
growing thinner and paler each day, and at last the truth burst upon
us. Bessie had brought disgrace upon us. If we had loved her less we
could have borne it better, but she was our idol, the pet of the
house, and how could we bear it. It was the saddest house I ever saw
when we came to know the truth. Mother was so broken down with grief
that for days and nights she neither slept nor ate, and then it was
that Bessie, overcome with remorse, gave herself up to the bitterest
grief, and one day I found her up on the hill out there weeping so
wildly that it frightened me. I tried to pacify her, but she only
called the louder for mother to come and forgive her, and help her to
find her darling who she knew would come some time. It was with a
great deal of persuasion that I succeeded in getting her home, and
then we found that a still greater grief had darkened our lives--_our
Bessie was mad_. Oh, I cannot tell you how we all mourned, or how my
brother grew white with rage and despair, and vowed that if ever he
could find the fiend who had ruined our Bessie that he would slay him
on the spot. Ross has tried to persuade Bessie to tell him the name of
the man who wronged her, but she will not."
"And have you never seen him?"
"No, Bessie has a photograph which she says is her husband. She has
let us all look at it; but she will never let it go out of her
possession. It is a very handsome face, and since it seems to be such
a comfort to her we allow her to keep it. Bessie said that he tried to
get her to return it to him, but she would not do so. The reason of
his wishing to get possession of it is now perfectly plain. Bessie's
baby lived but a few months, but it was beautiful, and oh how Bessie
loved it, and after it died she seemed to grow worse, and at times
became violent. We laid her baby under the roses on the hillside. We
thought it might be the means of bringing her back to reason, but
though we have tried every means, she is incurably insane."
"Poor girl!" said Miss Elsworth, "the man who wronged her should never
be allowed to go unpunished."
"He never would go unpunished if we knew where to find him; but there
is a punishment awaits him for that act; and it is the one which will
be accorded him by a wiser one than man. I hope Ross will never meet
him, for I am sure he will show him no mercy, though I myself feel
that there is no punishment too severe for him."