LOTTIE LEAVES A LETTER AND A BOOK.
The departure of Lottie added to our trouble. We had learned to love the
girl very much, and this wild work, in a creature so utterly unused to
the world, distressed us greatly. Unconsciously even to ourselves, we
had begun to rely upon Lottie as a friend, and bright, if not safe
counsellor. Her untiring spirit amused us when nothing else could.
Indeed, she was like an April day in the house, half storm, half
sunshine, but interesting in any phase of her erratic life. It seemed as
if half the light had left our house, when the man came back from the
railroad and told us that she was absolutely gone. Jessie went off to
her own room with tears in her eyes. I would have given the world to
know where that strange young creature was going, and half my life could
I have followed her.
Sadness is sure to seek shelter in shadowy places. Mine carried me into
the chamber of my lost friend. It was dim and orderly, like a church
closed after service. The white bed on which she died, gleamed upon me
through the dim light like an altar. The blinds were closed, the sashes
down; a funereal stillness had settled on everything she once loved to
look upon. I sunk down upon my knees by the bed, weeping bitterly. Would
that woman ever dare to stand in Mrs. Lee's room, its mistress? Had she
ever yet been able to wipe the blood-stain from her own lips gathered
from the heart she had broken by a Judas kiss?
Upon my knees in that room, I felt and knew that a murder, so crafty
that the criminal herself could torture it into accident to her own
conscience, had been perpetrated there. The voice of my dead friend
seemed calling on me to avenge her, and save the man she had loved
better than her own soul, from a thraldom worse than death. In my
anguish I cried out, "What can I do? what can I do?"
Nothing answered me. I was alone, doubly alone, since that girl had left
us. Never before had my helplessness been so complete. Perhaps I had
indulged in some wild hope connected with Lottie, and that had been cut
from under my feet by her desertion. If so, I was unconscious of it; but
no lame man ever felt the loss of his staff, as I felt the cruel
ingratitude of this girl. Still I had a vague trust in her, a hope
changing and fantastic as the wind, but still a hope that she might not
prove the thoughtless creature her conduct seemed to bespeak her.
One end of the room was less gloomy than the rest, and a bar of light
cutting across it disturbed me. It came through the partially opened
door of Lottie's little chamber, in which a blind had been left
unclosed. I went into the room, and there, directly beneath the window,
saw the girl's writing-desk, on which lay a letter and a blank-book,
which I remembered to have given Lottie one day, when she had pressed me
earnestly for something of the kind. The letter was placed
ostentatiously on its edge, and I saw that it was addressed to me. I
opened it with some trepidation and read:--
MY DEAR, DEAR MISS HYDE:--Please do not think me a heathen and a
viper of ingratitude, because I have done what I couldn't help,
but remember me kindly, and make Miss Jessie do the same. It isn't
in me to be really bad, or anything like it, though I sometimes do
things out of the common, and make you angry, because you cannot
understand why I do them; not knowing everything, how should you?
There is one thing on my conscience, and I am going to own up to
it. You remember when Babylon went away, I was going in a hurry
into my room with something in my hand, when you wanted to know
what it was. I bluffed you off and wouldn't tell, thinking to get
the article back in good order before she went. But Babylon was
in a terrible hurry, and I had no chance to do anything before her
trunks were locked; so without meaning it at all, I was what some
people might call a--well, I won't use the name, it looks
dreadfully on paper, but her journal was left in my hand
promiscuously, as one may say. Still I meant to return it to her,
and mean to yet, if I ever get a good chance. I only thought at
the time to get Mr. Lee to read it, but before I could do that,
off he went, circumventing me in all respects, and making us
wretched. For my part, with that book on hand--of no use too--I
felt like a thief. If he had only waited till I could have seen
him; but he didn't, and that has made me so unhappy that I cannot
stay at home. I have copied off that she-Babylon's book, almost
the whole of it, and I leave the copy for you--read it, and then
say if Judas Iscariot wasn't a gentleman and philosopher, compared
to this woman. I have got her book in my trunk. You wondered what
I was writing so much about. Well, it was that. When she went out
to ride days, Cora was sure to be down-stairs, and I knew where
she kept her keys, so after awhile I had only to copy what Babylon
wrote over-night, having got the rest copied by hard work. Well,
at last everything was huddled up of a sudden, and I was
behind-hand three or four days--so I made a dash for the book and
hadn't time to put it back. I wonder if she's missed it? Mercy on
us! what a time there will be when she does. I wouldn't be in that
yellow girl's skin for something; but never mind, it will do her
good--the black snake!
Read the book, and then you will find out what a rattlesnake we
have had curled up in the bosom of our family.
Good-bye, Miss Hyde; don't think I'm crying because there is a
drop just here. It's something else, I don't just know what, but
crying is out of my--my--Oh, Miss Hyde! Miss Hyde! I do think my
heart is breaking. I can't stand it. Don't expect me to say
good-bye. Don't think hard of me for going. What else can I say.
Oh, do, do think well of me; I am not a bad girl, nor ungrateful,
believe that, and believe me your true LOTTIE till death.
I read the letter through more than once. Then I sat down and
deliberated with my eyes on the book. Had I a right to read it, after
all I had seen and heard of this woman; was I justified in searching out
her secrets in that way?
But for the suspicions that still haunted me regarding Mrs. Lee's death,
I should have decided against it, but I had learned too much for
continued hesitation. Still, my very soul recoiled from the task of
searching the life of this woman. When I reached forth my hand for the
book, it seemed as if my fingers were poisoned with the touch. I would
not take the volume to my own room, but sat down by the window and read
it through before I arose from my seat. The pages frenzied me.
Lottie wrote a bold, plain hand, copying anything before her clearly
enough. In places the writing gave evidence of hurry and nervousness,
but it was in no part really difficult to read. The journal began at the
marriage of Miss Wells with old Mr. Dennison, and seemed to have been
detached from the other portion of her life about that time. If anything
preceded it, Lottie had failed to take a copy.