THE PRICE OF A SECRET.
"As roses when the warm west blows
Break to full flower and sweeten spring,
My soul would break to a glorious rose,
In such wise at his whispering;
In vain I listen; well away!
My love says nothing any day!"--SWINBURNE.
Although Congress was not to convene until the usual time in December,
the Winans family went to Washington in October's last bright days
ere the golden autumn haze was dimmed by the gray mists and fogs of
November.
Among the series of fashionable entertainments with which the gay world
opened the social season the coming out of Precious Winans marked a
brilliant event.
Since her mother's first appearance in Washington society years ago as
the senator's bride no such wonderful beauty had carried society by
storm.
Society raved over the girl, to whose wondrous charms was added the
sensation of last March, when, after her kidnaping at the Inauguration
Ball, she had been so romantically rescued by Lord Chester. Her
admirers were legion. She had a social triumph so splendid that it
might have turned any young girl's head.
But Precious did not enjoy it as she would have done last winter, when
all her artless heart had been set on long dresses and social pleasures.
The beautiful girl was strangely changed from six months ago.
Her pretty childishness had dropped from her like a garment, and in its
place was a new, sweet dignity almost womanly. Much of her willfulness
had left her, and instead of opposing Ethel as she had done in the old
days Precious yielded passively to her sister's wishes, often saying,
with a pensive shade on her brow:
"We must let Ethel have her own way about everything, because we are
going to lose her so soon."
Ethel was radiant in those days. She did not envy her sister's social
triumphs, she rejoiced in her success, and was always watching closely
to see if any lover ever touched the girl's heart.
And surely, she thought, there were so many to choose from that
Precious must yield her heart to one.
In the list of conquests were numbered a millionaire senator,
middle-aged but handsome; a member of the French Legation, a German
baron with his breast covered with jeweled orders of honor, two
Southern colonels, a noted Northern general, and several score of
"gilded" youths. No girl in her senses could reject all these brilliant
opportunities.
But Precious had the same cheerful smile, the same kindly word for all,
and if twitted in the domestic circle about her adorers she always
cried out that she never intended to marry any one. She loved papa and
mamma so well that she would never go away and leave them. Earle and
Ethel would marry, of course--but as for her, no indeed, never!
And then she would nestle in her father's clasp, and stroke his dark
whiskers with her dimpled white hands, and smile up at him with those
dazzling dark-blue eyes in fondest affection, while he would answer
that he wanted her to stay with him always, always, that it would break
his heart if she ever married and went away.
"You needn't be afraid, papa, for I will always love you best," she
laughed, but Ethel heard these promises with secret pain. They made
her feel sure that Precious still loved Lord Chester with a hopeless
passion that would make her go unwedded to her grave.
So the days fled fast, and very soon Lord Chester would arrive to bear
away his dark-eyed bride. They would not await the conclusion of the
lawsuit that still dragged wearily through the English courts. Ethel
was anxious to prove the disinterestedness of her love. And in any case
she would not be poor. Her father had promised her a magnificent dowry.
The trousseau had arrived from Paris, and was all that a woman's heart
could crave. Ethel thrilled with delight over the beautiful creations,
fancying how fair they would make her appear in Arthur's eyes. Ah,
surely, surely, she would win back his truant heart that for a little
while had strayed from its allegiance. And Precious was so young, so
much admired, she would soon forget, and console herself with another
lover.
These thoughts ran through her mind as she stood alone in her
dressing-room, admiring the bridal veil as it lay upon a table for
inspection.
"She is so young she will soon forget," she repeated again, and just
then some one entered the room and stood by her side.
"Oh, Miss Ethel, how do you do? Norah said I might come right up and
see you. She knew you wouldn't mind."
It was Hetty Wilkins, the deposed maid; but the girl was a mere wreck
of her former blooming self, her cheeks all wan, her eyes heavy as if
with unshed tears, her clothing sloven.
"Oh, Hetty, what have you been doing to yourself? You look ill, my poor
girl."
"Oh, Miss Ethel, I am ill--heart-sick, too. Oh, please forgive me for
coming, but you said if I ever needed help--and so I came."
"And quite right, Hetty," cried Ethel, dragging out her purse. She
selected a ten-dollar gold piece, and held it out, saying generously:
"I have more if that is not enough, Hetty."
Hetty looked at the gold piece, but she did not offer to take it,
and when Ethel doubled it with another piece she shook her head and
whimpered reproachfully:
"It is too little; you must pay me more than that for keeping
your dangerous secret! You were with your sister, miss, at the
fortune-teller's when the fire broke out in the house. How was it you
escaped and left her there? Why have you and she always kept the secret
of your presence there--tell me that?"
The Parthian shaft told on Ethel. She recoiled with a gasp of terror
from her accuser, and before she could speak Hetty followed up the
advantage by adding:
"I think you'll own that a secret like that is worth more than a
twenty-dollar gold piece, Miss Ethel, won't you? And I'm poor, and so
is my young man. We want money to get married and start in life. A
thousand dollars ain't much to you, with such a rich pa, but it'll be a
mint of money to me."
"A thousand dollars!" gasped Ethel, then she whispered:
"Hetty, who has been telling you these falsehoods about me?"
"'Tain't false, Miss Ethel, it's God's own truth, no matter how I found
it out. And unless you want me to out with it all to your pa and ma you
must fork over a thousand dollars by to-morrow. I know you can do it.
Mr. Winans will give you the money for your wedding fixings if you say
the word. And I will come back to-morrow afternoon and get it."
The girl paused and looked at Ethel with a pleading air strangely at
variance with her defiant tone, and in truth there was something of
abject shame in her eyes as she waited cringingly for Ethel's answer.
"What if I refuse?" at length asked the young girl proudly.
"Oh, Miss Ethel, please don't," and Hetty's voice was almost a sob.
"I--I--am almost ashamed of myself, but look, how poor I am, and these
shabby clothes, too; I've not been in service since I left you, and I'm
out of money, and I've gone hungry many a time. Oh, please, please,
give me a thousand dollars," and Hetty suddenly fell on her knees
and plucked piteously at Ethel's gown, adding: "It looks ungrateful
in me I know, but I love you, and I never would have come only they
made me--No, no, I don't mean that--my poor head is dazed. It was the
dreadful poverty made me come."
"A hundred dollars would relieve your poverty, Hetty," the young girl
said, coldly and suspiciously.
"Oh, no, Miss Ethel, not a cent less than one thousand. It's the
price of your safety. Only give me that, and no one shall bother you
afterward. You needn't fear the secret any more after that price is
paid."
"But, Hetty, there's nothing to fear in that secret," cried Ethel,
frantically explaining how the rope had broken. "I was half crazed
with grief at first, and after my sister was saved we agreed between
us that nothing need be said. I was ashamed of having gone to the old
fortune-teller," she said, remembering with a keen pang the old hag's
prediction: "You will sin and you will suffer."
But Hetty remained sullenly unconvinced, and answered boldly:
"You were certainly afraid of something, Miss Ethel, or you would not
be keeping it so dark. And, anyway, you wouldn't like to be exposed
after all these months, would you?"
"No, no," admitted Ethel miserably, and in the end she agreed to pay
the price demanded for the keeping of her secret.