THE WAGES OF SIN.
On the next day Percy Seabright’s trial was continued. The reading of
the diary was resumed by Mr. Gardner. Surely no one but a madman would
have criminated himself like this, by writing down the details of all
his wicked deeds.
Everything was written there--the murder of Ronald Vale, the hasty
flight to New York, the hurried return, the attendance on Mrs. Vale’s
trial for murder, the dastardly persecution of the hapless widow that
he had begun by telling Francis Murray a slanderous story, pretending
that she was in love with himself.
With ghoulish glee he exulted over the misery of the woman who had come
between himself and Ronald Vale, explaining how his base anonymous
letters had hounded her from place to place and made her life a torture.
Then the coming of Italy Vale to Winthrop was dwelt on. Foiled for
once by the girl’s plans, he believed Mrs. Vale dead at last, and
transferred his hatred to her daughter.
The discovery that Italy was on the track of her father’s murderer
filled him with rage and dismay. He felt certain that unless he could
compass her death she would track him down, for the soul of a heroine
beat in her breast, and he instinctively recognized the force of her
strong character.
Then began his attempts to murder her, beginning with the cunning
plot the day of the yachting-party when he had adroitly pushed her
overboard. Furious was his rage at the failure of this attempt, but
other schemes were tried soon, and Providence defeated his malignity
until it seemed to him as if the girl bore a charmed life.
All the time he was pretending the greatest friendship for her,
although secretly thirsting for her fair young life. It was in vain
that he tried to throw suspicions on Francis Murray; she scorned
them all, and he realized that her life was a constant menace to his
liberty. She would never give up the battle until she had won it, but
if she were only dead the matter would rest, where she had been advised
to leave it--with the long-ago given verdict of the jury and the world.
Suddenly came the tragic happening of the moonlight party, and Percy
Seabright raved with fury because the winds and waves had spared Italy
Vale again, but in the supposed death of Francis Murray he saw his
opportunity.
It was no wonder that the sailor who had carried to Mrs. Murray the
news of her son’s death could never be found. With the preternatural
cunning of insanity, Percy Seabright had prepared the confession and,
disguised as a rough sailor, delivered it himself. He now believed that
Italy would believe Francis Murray guilty, and give up the search.
Following upon these events came the return of Mrs. Vale to Boston,
reawakening all his sleepless hatred. His call on Mrs. Vale when she
had declined to see him was only a blind to hide his wicked intentions.
He had already plotted to burn her house that night and destroy both
herself and daughter.
But for Professor Doepkin’s heroism, he would have succeeded in his
malignant designs.
It was a most revolting record of crime that the man had written in the
stolen diary, little dreaming that it would ever see the light of day
until after his death, when, in his love of sensation, it is probable
he would have left it to the public.
The remaining few paragraphs related to his approaching marriage with
his detested fiancée, and were not of interest to the general public.
It scarcely needed the testimony of the medical experts who had been
summoned in the case to prove Percy Seabright a maniac whose liberty
menaced all. An insane asylum would be his prison, and his career of
crime was over, but the general public declared that his punishment was
too light. They declared that hanging was too good for him, and that he
ought to be burned at the stake.
But the prisoner’s brother, his only living relative, was very glad
to be spared the disgrace of having a brother hanged for murder. He
hurried Percy at once into a lunatic asylum. And none too soon, for the
defeat of all his plans, and the tragic death of Elizabeth, the good
soul who had so tenderly cared for him in his periods of dementia,
so preyed on his mind that he soon became violently insane, and the
paroxysms lasted so long that every remnant of reason left him. A
padded cell became his permanent abode, and in the summer following his
conviction he committed suicide, during a furious spell, by strangling
himself to death with his bedclothes.
And what of his widowed bride, who all this time had been enjoying
herself abroad to the utmost extent that a lacerated heart and very
slim purse would permit?
Her humiliation at the hands of her beloved Percy had turned her
love to hate, so she was rather glad than otherwise to learn of his
disasters at home.
“Had he sailed with me he would have escaped them all. He is well
punished!” she thought maliciously.
But while she lingered abroad a great cholera scare seized upon the
Old World. The cholera broke out, and among the victims that were
chronicled duly in the New York papers was Mrs. Seabright.
* * * * *
But in our haste to relate the end of the wicked characters of our
story we have somewhat anticipated events.
We must return therefore to the moment when Mr. Gardner, having
finished the reading of the diary, stood looking around in silence on
the interested throng. He had a dramatic surprise in store for them,
and was preparing to unfold it.
Looking around upon the judge and jury he observed:
“Referring to the fiendish plot to ruin the good name of the
supposed-to-be-dead Francis Murray, I have a very interesting story to
relate.”
And he told in a graphic manner the story of Francis Murray’s rescue
at sea, and the interest taken in him by young Doctor Loring, his
recognition by Emmett Harlow, and the surgical operation that had
raised the patient from a living death to full life and consciousness
again.
How the great crowd hung on his words, how eagerly Mrs. Murray and
Italy Vale bent forward to listen. Emmett Harlow and Professor Doepkin
seemed quite nervous, too. The story sounded like a romance.
Mr. Gardner paused for a few impressive moments, then continued:
“Francis Murray, whose mother and friends mourned him as dead, was
alive and well, and eager to go home. But think of his position!
“By the story of the mysterious sailor he was proved dead and guilty of
a great crime. The public had accepted the story, and cleared Mrs. Vale
of the shadow of suspicion that had rested on her for years. She, too,
believed in his guilt. What if he came back now and denied the sailor’s
story, and proved his own innocence?
“It would--unless the real murderer could be unmasked--again throw
upon Mrs. Vale the blight of that dark suspicion, again darken the
brightness of her life. There might even be people cruel enough to
believe that the woman herself had originated the scheme to blacken
Francis Murray’s memory.
“No, Francis Murray could not risk these disasters even for the sake
of returning to his widowed mother’s arms. He must sacrifice her and
himself to the good of another--to the woman whose life, so long a
martyrdom, had just blossomed into peace and pleasure--Mrs. Vale’s
equanimity must not be disturbed.
“Francis Murray remained abroad several months. He grew a luxuriant
blond beard and long hair. He donned blue glasses, a slouching gait,
and careless costume. He returned with Emmett Harlow to his native
land; but he came as a stranger--a German student, Professor Doepkin.”
It was dramatic--that swelling hum of surprise and delight that
followed his words. Over it all rose a wild cry of joy--the outburst of
a mother’s heart.
Professor Doepkin had been sitting very close to Mrs. Murray--perhaps
by design--and he turned very quietly and took her in his arms. The
proud, stately woman broke down utterly, and sobbed joyfully:
“Frank, Frank, my son!”
It was a touch of nature that went home to every heart.
Women were sobbing all over the house, and men were moved beyond
expression. The prisoner, as much surprised as any one, looked on with
a smile like one at a play. He knew now that everything had failed,
that his clever game was up, the play played out. Yet he could _smile_!
To his bizarre nature, full of paradoxical moods, perhaps it seemed
gratifying to know that he had played so well the villain’s part.
The confusion in the court-room could not be quelled for some moments,
but the old judge, who had tears in his own eyes, was very lenient.
At length Mrs. Murray, suddenly becoming conscious that she was the
cynosure of all eyes, drew back from her son’s clasp and pulled her
veil over her tearful face. Then Francis Murray leaned across her and
held out his hand to Italy, who was very pale and quiet.
“Have you no word of welcome for me?” he whispered pleadingly.
She gave him her hand with a very pensive smile, and said:
“I thank Heaven that you are restored to your mother, but I am not
surprised. I knew you all the while.”
Mrs. Vale interrupted them at this point, and he could not reply. Her
mother’s heart was overflowing with gratitude to the man she had so
cruelly misjudged.
“How can I thank you?” she whispered fervently.
“I will tell you some day,” he replied, with a kindly glance at her
daughter that told her his whole story.
The trial ended the next day, and no one was surprised at the verdict
of insanity. The public had confidently expected it, for the story
of the padded chamber and Mrs. Smith’s confession of her master’s
insanity had been published in all the newspapers.
Percy Seabright received sentence of confinement for life with the
unvarying smile he had worn through the whole trial. He made one single
request. It was that he might be permitted to pay a farewell visit
to the grave of Ronald Vale, whom he had murdered in revenge for his
slighted love.
The wish was granted. By that quiet grave his bright smile faded, his
dazzling dark eyes grew dim, and he wept bitterly for the friend whom
he had loved with that strange, morbid passion. It was the only touch
of feeling he had betrayed.