to Jamie, I was just in time to see him place a pistol to his heart and
fire. He died without a word. The spot over which you see the urn full of
roses is the exact location where Jamie fell. The other girls had left
me. There, bending over him, frantically tearing his garments to see if
I might render him some assistance, the white rose dropped from my dress
where I had carelessly replaced it and became stained with Jamie’s life
blood, making a fitting semblance to the tragedy which had been enacted
in this same house a few months prior, where the spotless character of an
innocent girl had been transformed from pure white to a charred remnant.
“They took him away. I saw him once more at the morgue; then the officers
took me to a cell; then there was a trial. I was accused of murdering
Jamie and almost convicted, when the thought struck me to send for the
packet which he had placed in my hand. It contained, besides this letter,
which you may read, other things which the letter will make plain:
“‘My Poor Dear Lillian: As I write this letter I know not what
your fate is, but I fear that something terrible has befallen
you. I start out to find you, if on earth. Since leaving your
old home I have come into a large inheritance, which will
afford me ample means with which to pursue my aim. May God
grant that I may find you pure and unstained, and that I shall
be able to take you to my bosom; that we may be allowed to
enjoy the fruits which have fallen to us as two lovers should
enjoy life.
“‘Yours lovingly,
‘JAMIE.’
“‘Later.—I have discovered you. My love is buried in sorrow;
I have nothing to live for, no ambition, no soul, no heart.
I have but one request, which is as follows: You will find
enclosed negotiable papers to all the wealth which I possess.
It is yours; the same as my life has been yours. I want you
to take it and spend it in saving the blossoms of this earth.
I have yet enough confidence in you to cause me to believe
that if the circumstances were conducive to honor and purity
that you would court the same with the ambition and zeal which
is a part of your nature. I leave the method of restitution
entirely in your hands; only asking you in closing to put
forth your every effort to snatch the burning brands from the
fiery furnace which is ever ready to engulf the innocent,
unsophisticated representative of purity.
“‘As ever yours,
JAMIE.’
“Well,” said I, as I handed the letters back to the woman, “do you make
much money here? I suppose you had a good time while Jamie’s cash lasted?”
“Jamie’s cash is still lasting,” said she.
“You don’t mean to tell me that you have the heart to support this place
as a house of ill-repute by spending poor Jamie’s money in that way?”
“Bless your heart, no. I own this property, a monument to Jamie’s pure
devotion and good intentions. It not only serves to remind me of where
I last looked upon him alive, thereby making the associations more
pleasant, but also keeps fresh in my mind the night that I leaped in the
darkness and landed into the mire of debauchery.”
“Do your girls know your story?”
“In part, yes.”
“Do they enjoy the existence of soiled doves?”
“But, my dear sir, they are not soiled doves; they are brands which I
have snatched from the burning.”
“Then this is not a house of⸺”
“No, sir! This is an harbor of restitution, where souls may be anchored
to hope, where hope fills the heart with a longing for better and purer
things; a home where I am trying to atone for my own misdeeds.”
TALE EIGHT.
THE VICTIM OF A DRUG.
“Blank the mind, sad the heart,
Supple the form, sweet the face;
Pure the soul, sold on the mart,
To suffer ever in vile disgrace.
“Neither bended knees,
Pure hands held out,
Sad sighs, deep groans, nor
Silvery-shedding tears,
Could penetrate the uncompassionate shout
That, in spite of all, fell on her bloodless ears.”
“I am sorry,” said the girl, “that you have concluded to abandon the
detective business, for I am sure that you accomplished much good while
thus engaged.”
If I had not been attracted by the strong personality of the speaker I
should have been favorably impressed with the sincerity of her tone. She
was pale, very pale; her eyes were large and brown. As she spoke she
gazed on me with the languid expression so in keeping with one of great
volume of earnestness. Her nose was thin; I might say drawn and pinched;
her lips as red as cherries, parted slightly as the soft words left them,
showing a mouth full of regular, well-kept teeth. The forehead was not
higher than the ordinary, but it made a fitting support for the crown
of dark brown hair, which was artistically dressed in a manner to form a
frame about the face, which seemingly did not end at the chin, as most
faces do, but it was possessed of a broadness and deepness of nature
which illumined the pallid cheeks on either side back as far as the
little, thin ears.
She was not large, neither could she be considered under size, not
altogether on account of her stature, which might have seemed diminutive
to the eye in search of physical development, but rather because the
intelligence which this creature possessed seemed to reach out and
permeate every nook and corner of the lavishly furnished parlor.
“I thank you for your kindly allusion and feel that if I have been the
cause of good that there must have been some good enveloped in the
subjects with which I had to deal during my professional career. In
pursuance of the fact that good may come from good, I have retired from
the secret service business and am now preparing a work which will be
largely based upon the experience of former days. I find it necessary for
me to glean from others some of the facts of their lives in order that
I may not digress from the truth and that the twenty stories that will
compose my book may be hinged upon different modes of existence, hence my
call upon you to-day.
“I well remember the last words you uttered when I left you in a
convalescent condition in the hospital: ‘If I can ever serve you, command
me.’ I am not here to command you, but to ask you for your life’s story.”
“And did you know, Mr. Spencer, that if you are put in possession of the
facts as they exist, that you will have something which the world knows
nothing of?”
“I trust, however, that you will place in me the confidence of your
history.”
“But what time in life do you desire that I begin?”
“I want you to tell me how you happened to come to Chicago before I ever
met you.”
At this request the woman seemed to draw herself together and with a
movement of her figure that impressed me as a straightening out process,
she began by saying:
“I came to Chicago when I was sixteen. I came to visit my aunt. It was
during my last year in high school. I don’t believe I had ever known
what love was. I had lost my mother when an infant. My father was a
stereotyped business man, with so many affairs to keep his mind employed
that he evidently did not have the time nor inclination to take me in
his arms and show me any devotion whatever. I had two brothers, both
of them several years my senior, and by the time I was old enough to
appreciate the brotherly protection and love which their existence might
have afforded me they were married. True, I had my school day episodes of
note writing and had indulged in the blissful pastime of a few kissing
parties, but never the full realization of loving caresses.
“I had been in the city three days when I met a young man. I was quick
to listen to his avowal of love. It seemed to bring to me new joys; it
directed my feet into newer and brighter paths of life and all wound
up with an elopement and a marriage, after which I wrote to my father
for his blessing and, as I have since learned through the influence of
my step-mother, received his curse. His cold letter informing me that
if I wished to return to the old home and continue in my studies as I
had suggested, that he would certainly offer no objection, as I was now
mistress of my own affairs, and if I chose to continue in school he could
see no reason why I should not do so, as the school house still remained.
Of course, I didn’t go. I fell ill and this necessitated the absence of
my husband from his duties for such a long time that he lost his position.
“When I regained my health I set out to find employment, and met with
partial success. That is, I could have the position on conditions, one
of them being that I was not married and that I would not marry while in
their employ. I was compelled to sign an affidavit to that effect.
“The position which I obtained seemed to me of little importance.
I was reception lady in the office of a coterie of physicians, who
announced themselves on gayly printed circulars as the medical staff of
a certain institution, each one being a specialist in treating different
afflictions. My duties required me to report at the office at 10 in the
morning and remain there until 4 in the afternoon. I went along in the
even tenor of my way for six months, during which time my husband was
searching for employment. He came to me one day, the first time that he
had been in the office since my entrance there, to tell me that he had a
position offered him, but that he must acknowledge that he was married,
as the gentleman who wished to employ him could not engage a single man.
“Our work was to consist of caring for an invalid who was kept in a
beautiful cottage in the outskirts of the city.
“We fully considered the conditions, terms, etc., and decided to accept
the trust. I gave notice to my employers that I should leave, but agreed
to remain one week through courtesy. Three days before I was to leave a
gentleman of middle age, one who often came to the office and held long
consultations with one or two members of the staff and frequently went
away with them, came out of the private office of one of the physicians
and approached me, saying: ‘Much to my regret, I have just learned that
you are about to leave the establishment. I have a little gift here which
I wish to give you in consideration of your kind treatment of me during
my many calls.’”
As the girl’s voice fell and ended in a soft monotone she drew from
her bosom a little chamois pouch and took from that a ring set with a
beautiful diamond.
“And this,” she said, as she touched it with her lips, while the tears
which gleamed in her eyes outshone the gem itself, “this I have kept.”
“I suppose there must be some little sentiment clinging to the bitter
cruelty which makes it as precious to you as the sweet violets are to the
lover of dainty flowers.”
“Yes,” she said, “the fact that I have kept this ring is, in part, the
reason of my long suffering, but as it was given to me, according to my
belief, in purity, I kept it in memory of the thoughts which emanated
from my heart when I took it. My mind was as pure then as the gem itself.
If I have become contaminated by adversity I can proudly say that this
gleaming white stone, on account of its flinty hardness, has escaped the
fire of degradation.
“It was five days subsequent to our going to the cottage that my husband
and I were seated on the veranda of our little cottage, congratulating
ourselves on having secured such an easy position and liberal
compensation for the light services rendered.
“‘I wonder,’ said Dan, ‘why the old gentleman doesn’t take her to some
private hospital, where she could receive proper medical attention, as
well as the benefit of trained nurses?’
“‘But you know, dear,’ said I, ‘that a rich man does not like to have
his daughter in an asylum; and besides I don’t think we should complain,
because the care of this poor girl is not a great burden and her
unbalanced condition serves for us to be together all the time.’
“‘Yes, I know,’ said Dannie; ‘but I can’t stand it to hear her moan and
weep the way she does. Sometimes in the night when I am but half asleep
her screams and groans disturb me so that I get to dreaming somehow or
other that it is you who are locked up in that horrible but softly padded
room. It is so real that it is like a nightmare, and finally, as I fancy
myself struggling against a wall trying to free you, with a mighty lunge
I awake, and while I then know it is only a dream I am dripping with cold
perspiration. My nerves are all unstrung, and I feel just like reaching
over and taking you in my arms and running away, leaving the old man and
his crazy daughter far behind.’”
“Then it really was a crazy girl you had to care for?”
“Oh, yes. You see, this old gentleman had married years ago. I remember
how he told us all about it. How his sweet young wife had been killed
in a railroad accident and his little daughter went raving mad when her
mother’s mangled form was brought home to her. And he seemed to be doing
all he could to make the poor demented creature happy.”
At this she laughed discordantly. It seemed so out of place to me, for to
look at her and hear her voice was to be inspired with a sense of harmony.
“I left my chair and went over to him. I crawled up into his lap and
nestled my face against his. ‘You mustn’t dream that way, dear,’ said I.
‘It is bad for you, and besides you know I am always by your side.’
“One day when I had gone to the city to do some shopping the man who had
engaged my husband came out to the cottage to have a talk with him. When
I came home I found my husband all excitement.
“‘What in the world is the matter with you?’ said I. ‘Mr. Leighton was
here to-day and he wants me to leave you in direct charge of things here
while I go out West and look after his interests in the oil fields.’ He
had given him a week in which to decide whether or not he would go, but I
could see that Dannie feared to refuse. I cried and clung to him, for I
couldn’t bear to be separated from him; so he decided not to go.
“When he went to the city to meet Mr. Leighton and give him his decision
Mr. Leighton was quite haughty and seemed offended. He as good as told
Dan that if he did not go he would have to find some one else to go to
the cottage and take care of the invalid.
“Dan came home thoroughly disheartened. I tried to cheer him and said
maybe I could go with him, but he said no, he had asked Mr. Leighton
about that and he had very decidedly said that it would not do. We talked
it all over quietly and the question resolved itself into a matter of
dollars and cents. If Dan refused to go we must give up the cottage, and
that meant all our income. If he went he would be well paid in addition
to the amount we received for the care of the cottage. So we decided that
it was best for him to go and we would try and save enough money to start
in business.
“After Dannie left I took up the duties of nurse, for which I was not
altogether unfitted, being patient and persevering.
“Mr. Leighton’s daughter was as frail as a lily, and when I took her
meals in to her I used to sit and watch her and wonder how she lived, for
she ate almost nothing.
“I concluded it must be the medicine which she took in the wine that gave
her the little vitality she possessed.
“She rarely noticed me and I am sure my coming and going was of no
interest to her. She was not often violent these days; on the contrary,
she was very tractable.
“Two weeks had passed since Dannie left and I had had three letters from
him, all of which breathed of his love and devotion to me and bade me
be cheerful, that the time would soon pass and we would be reunited. No
word had been received from Mr. Leighton yet, and I was just wondering
what had become of him when the bell rang. When I was called down to the
parlor whom should I meet but the kind gentleman who gave me the ring,
Mr. Price.
“‘I am ever so glad to see you,’ said I; but I don’t believe my tones
half expressed my feelings, for I was so lonely there, all alone with
that poor girl, with only the servants for companions. Our cottage was
built in the center of a large plot of ground, and there were no houses
very near us. Mr. Leighton told Dan that he had built the house that way
purposely, so Lita’s ravings would not disturb the neighbors.
“‘How in the world did you happen to come here, Mr. Price?’ said I.
“‘Well, you see—I—I am Lita’s father.’
“‘Why, what do you mean? Lita’s father’s name is Mr. Leighton.’
“‘Yes, I know; but I can explain it all to you in a few moments. It is
such a terrible thing, I could not endure to have it generally known that
my daughter was hopelessly insane, so when I arranged to have her brought
here I decided it was best to have her known as Lita Leighton.’
“‘Oh, yes,’ said I, ‘it must be very terrible to have such a misfortune
befall a member of one’s family; but you surely couldn’t call it a
disgrace.’
“‘Well, perhaps not; but, you know, it would injure my business if it
were known. But what are you doing here?’ he said.
“‘Why, I am Dannie’s wife.’
“He seemed to be greatly surprised, and asked me why I did not tell him
long before. I told him that I could not occupy the position which I
held when he first met me if it had become known that I was married. I
followed on with my whole life’s story, and he shed tears at my recital
of woes and my father’s unkind treatment.
“‘How I should have cherished such a beautiful daughter,’ said he, and
came over to my chair, bent over and kissed me. ‘Won’t you be a daughter
to me in place of my poor demented Lita?’
“My heart went out to him then and there, and I put my arms around his
neck and kissed him.
“By and by we went in to see Lita. At the sight of her father and me she
ran into the furthest corner and no amount of coaxing could induce her to
come out. Finally he asked me to leave him alone with her. Just as I was
leaving I saw him give her her medicine.
“‘Oh,’ I exclaimed, ‘it is not time to give her that yet.’
“‘It is harmless enough,’ he said, closing the door.
“He remained in her room an hour or more and left the house soon after.
At parting he said: ‘I shall come out often now, because I have two
daughters instead of one to visit.’
“That night Lita was very violent. She shrieked and moaned most
pitifully. My heart ached for her, but I did not dare to go to her while
she was in such a state.
“At last she fell asleep, I suppose, for she ceased her ravings. When I
took her breakfast to her the following morning I found her prone upon
the floor, with hands clinched together as if in mortal agony. I was
horror-stricken. I had never seen her like this before and had never
heard that she had spells like this.
“She looked like death, and without regard to the strict orders we had
had, never to call in a stranger, I fairly flew to the nearest doctor’s
office.
“He responded at once, and after heroic treatments revived her. He asked
to see the medicine we had been giving her. I showed it to him and he
examined it critically, then looked grave.
“‘This is a drug which should not be administered except in an extreme
case and then only in small doses,’ he said.
“Then I explained to him how her father had been there and how Lita had
acted, and that it must have been necessary or he would not have given
it. He told me I must not give her any more of it for three days and at
the end of that time he would call again.
“After he had gone I went in to see Lita and she seemed brighter than
I had ever seen her. On the evening of the second day she showed real
interest in things and had a good appetite. There was a faint tinge of
red in her cheeks and she was almost pretty.
“She asked me who I was and what my name was.
“‘I am your nurse, and you have been very ill, but are getting better
now,’ said I, ‘and my name is quite a little like yours; it is Anita.’
“I was so delighted at her apparent improvement that I determined to
write her father the good news, but on second thought concluded I would
not, as he had said he would come out often.
“On the third day the doctor called and was greatly pleased at his
patient’s progress. ‘Just continue to give her this tonic and keep the
other away from her,’ said he.
“‘I think you had better not tell her father what we have done if he
calls soon; better wait a couple of weeks and surprise him.’
“Then I thought of my orders not to call in a stranger and told the
doctor about it. He passed the matter by as a trifle, saying: ‘They
probably feared the excitement.’
“Two weeks passed and no Mr. Leighton and no word from Dannie. I was
getting desperate at Dannie’s neglect and telegraphed him. The telegram
came back, so I knew it had not found him. Mr. Leighton came the same
afternoon and found me a pitiful looking object. My eyes were red and
swollen with weeping.
“‘What is the matter with you, little daughter?’ said he, kissing me on
each cheek.
“I told him about Dannie and he begged me not to worry; that he was
probably out of town in the oil fields and too busy to write.
“We went in together to see Lita, and she acted as she had done on the
previous occasion when he called. He did not stay long with her, but
devoted most of his time to me, trying to cheer me up, which he certainly
knew how to do. He remained to dinner and brought out some of the wine
which we kept for Lita’s use.
“After dinner I felt so drowsy that I laid down and he covered me up
carefully and told me to take a good sleep; that he would take a late
train to the city.
“That was the last innocent sleep I had. When I awoke, in the night,
I was undressed and in bed. I could not think where I was, and when I
turned I thought Dannie was there and I put my arms about him.
“When morning came—ah! how can I tell it?” she said shuddering. “When
morning came—well, I knew I was no longer what I had been—a true wife.”
“Mr. Leighton was very tender to me and tried to soothe my feverish
unrest, and after awhile I passed into a quiet slumber. When I awoke I
was alone. It was late in the afternoon and I thought with a start of
Lita.
“When I entered her room she came toward me with outstretched arms.
“‘I am so glad to see you, Anita,’ she said. ‘Where have you been all
this time? If you had not locked me in so securely, I should have found
you before this time.’ She pulled me down on her cot and said: ‘I want to
tell you something.’
“I always indulged her whims, so I sat down beside her.
“‘You have been so good to me that I have learned to love you, Anita, and
I want you to love me, too; but I have much to tell you, and maybe you
will hate me when you have heard all,’ she said, her lips quivering.
“I was surprised at her rational manner, yet delighted. I put my arms
around her and said: ‘Tell me all, Lita. I shall not hate you, no matter
how bad it is.’
“‘You think I am crazy, but I am not,’ she said, ‘although I have had
enough to make me so in the past two years. My senses have been so
benumbed since I have been here that I don’t know all I have done. I
have had a terrible experience, and my mother is the cause of it all.
Several years ago my father began to speculate; he was a wealthy man
at that time, but with the speculation the trouble began. He became
deeply involved, and when one of his creditors fell on him and demanded
a settlement he collapsed. My mother met the man and he demanded me as
the price of liquidation. Rather than suffer the financial loss and the
disgrace of the penitentiary, which stared my father in the face, my
mother sold my honor, my virtue, my all to this scoundrel who poses as my
father. He took me abroad with him and traveled with me as my husband. He
was ideally kind to me for more than a year, or until he had worn me out
and my health began to fail. Little by little he began to neglect me, and
at last I was furious. One night when he did condescend to come home I
met him at my door with a revolver and told him to take another step at
his peril. This was the beginning of the end. As soon as we returned to
this country he brought me directly to Chicago, where he had me examined
and pronounced of unsound mind. After that he kept me under the influence
of some opiate and the next thing I knew I was here, in this cottage.
It is no wonder I have acted insane, no wonder they padded this room to
keep me from doing myself violence. Every time he came here he gave me
more medicine and then treated me with every indignity possible. I grew
to loathe him and feared the very sight of him. Since this doctor came I
feel so much better, and I am going to get well and punish that vile man.’
“I was so filled with dismay I could only gasp: ‘And this man isn’t your
father after all?’
“‘No, indeed,’ she said.
“Well, as you may imagine, my suspicions were aroused; yet I felt, too,
the whole story might be the vagary of her imagination.
“After thinking it over I resolved to tell Mr. Leighton all. While he
talked to me and I was under his mesmeric influence my suspicions were
lulled to rest and I felt that he was the best and kindest man I had ever
met.