"I went on to the Chain Pier. I had kissed the little face for the last
time; I had wrapped the pretty white body in the black-and-gray shawl. I
said all the prayers I could remember as I walked along the pier; it was
the most solemn of burial services to me.
"I went to the side of the pier--I cannot understand how it was that I
did not see you--I stood there some few minutes, and then I took the
little bundle; I raised it gently and let it fall into the sea. But my
baby was dead--I swear to that. Oh, Heaven! if I dared--if I dared fling
myself in the same green, briny waves!
"I was mad with anguish. I went back to my lodging; the landlady asked
me if I had left the baby in Brighton, and I answered 'Yes.' I do not
know how the days went on--I could not tell you; I was never myself, nor
do I remember much until some weeks afterward I went home to my
grandmother, who died soon after I reached her. I need not tell you that
afterwards I met Lance, and learned to love him with all my heart.
"Do not tell him; promise me, I beseech you, for mercy's sake, do not
tell him!"
"What you have told me," I said, "certainly gives a different aspect to
the whole affair. I will make no promise--I will think it over. I must
have time to decide what is best."
"You will spare me," she went on. "You see I did no one any harm, wrong
or injury. If I hurt another, then you might deprive me of my husband
and my home; as it is, Lance loves me and I love him. You will not tell
him?"
"I will think about it," I replied.
"But I cannot live in this suspense," she cried. "If you will tell him,
tell him this day, this hour."
"He might forgive you," I said.
"No, he would not be angry, he would not reproach me, but he would never
look upon my face again."
"Would it not be better for you to tell him yourself?" I suggested.
"Oh, no!" she cried, with a shudder. "No, I shall never tell him."
"I do not say that I shall," I said. "Give me a few days--only a few
days--and I will decide in my mind all about it."
Then we saw Lance in the distance.
"There is my husband," she said. "Do I look very ill, Mr. Ford?"
"You do, indeed; you look ghastly," I said.
"I will go and meet him," she said.
The exercise and the fresh air brought some little color to her face
before they met. Still he cried out that I had not taken care of her;
that she was overtired.
"That is it," she replied. "I have been over-tired all day: I think my
head aches; I have had a strange sensation of dizziness in it, I am
tired--oh, Lance, I am so tired!"
"I shall not leave you again," said Lance to her, and I fancied he was
not quite pleased with me, and thought I had neglected her. We all three
went home together. Mrs. Fleming did not say much, but she kept up
better than I thought she could have done. I heard her that same evening
express a wish to be driven to Vale Royal on the day following; a young
girl, whom she had been instrumental in saving from ruin, had been
suddenly taken ill, and wanted to see her.
"My darling," Lance said, "you do not seem to me strong enough. Let me
persuade you to rest tomorrow."
"I should like to see Rose Winter again before--before I"--then she
stopped abruptly.
"Before you--what, Frances?" he asked.
"I mean," she said, "that I should like to see Rose before she grows
worse."
"I think you ought to rest, but you shall do as you like, Frances; you
always do. I will drive you over myself."
I saw them start on the following morning, and then I tried to think
over in solitude what it would be best to do. Her story certainly
altered facts very considerably. She was not a murderess, as I had
believed her to be. If the death of the little hapless child was
attributable to an overdose of the cordial, she had certainly not given
it purposely. Could I judge her?
Yet, an honest, loyal man like Lance ought not to be so cruelly
deceived. I felt sure myself that if she spoke to him--if she told him
her story with the same pathos with which she had told it to me, he
would forgive her--he must forgive her. I could not reconcile it with my
conscience to keep silence, I could not, and I believed that the truth
might be told with safety. So, after long thinking and deliberation, I
came to the conclusion that Lance must know, and that she must tell him
herself.
It was in the middle of a bright, sunshiny afternoon when they returned.
When Lance brought his wife into the drawing-room he seemed very anxious
over her.
"Frances does not seem well," he said to me. "Ring the bell, John, and
order some hot tea; she is as cold as death."
Her eyes met mine, and in them I read the question--"What are you going
to do?" I was struck by her dreadful pallor.
"Is your head bad again today?" I asked.
"Yes, it aches very much," she replied.
The hot tea came, and it seemed to revive her; but after a few minutes
the dreadful shivering came over her again. She stood up.
"Lance," she said, "I will go to my room, and you must lead me; my head
aches so that I am blind."
She left her pretty drawing-room, never to re-enter it. The next day at
noon Lance came to me with a sad face.
"John, my wife is very ill, and I have just heard bad news."
"What is it, Lance?" I asked.
"Why, that the girl she went yesterday to see, Rose Winter, is ill with
the most malignant type of small-pox."
I looked at him in horror.
"Do you think," I gasped, "that the--that Mrs. Fleming has caught it?"
"I am quite sure," he replied. "I have just sent for the doctor, and
have telegraphed to the hospital for two nurses. And my old friend," he
added, "I am afraid it is going to be a bad case."
It was a bad case. I never left him while the suspense lasted; but it
was soon over. She suffered intensely, for the disease was of the most
virulent type. It was soon over. Lance came to me one afternoon, and I
read the verdict in his face.
"She will die," he said, hoarsely. "They cannot save her," and the day
after that he came to me again with wistful eyes.
"John," he said, slowly, "my wife is dying, and she wants to see you.
Will you see her?"
"Most certainly," I replied.
She smiled when she saw me, and beckoned me to her. Ah, poor soul! her
judgment had indeed been taken from me. She whispered to me:
"Promise me that you will never tell him. I am dying! he need never know
now. Will you promise me?"
I promised, and she died! I have kept my promise--Lance Fleming knows
nothing of what I have told you.
Only Heaven knows how far she sinned or was sinned against. I never see
the sunset, or hear the waves come rolling in, without thinking of the
tragedy on the pier.
THE END.
[Transcriber's Note: Several typographical errors from the original
edition have been corrected.
<i>white, slivery foam</i> has been changed to <i>white, silvery foam</i>.
<i>an entensive park</i> has been changed to <i>an extensive park</i>.
<i>the magnificent retriver</i> has been changed to <i>the magnificent
retriever</i>.
<i>a ring of such clear, music</i> has been changed to <i>a ring of such clear
music</i>.
<i>the breat boughs</i> has been changed to <i>the great boughs</i>.
<i>come to your own room, John and</i> has been changed to <i>come to your own
room, John, and</i>.
<i>a supberb picture</i> has been changed to <i>a superb picture</i>.
<i>it was utterably impossible that my suspicious could be correct</i> has
been changed to <i>it was utterly impossible that my suspicions could be
correct</i>.
<i>seeming unconciousness</i> has been changed to <i>seeming unconsciousness</i>.
A missing quotation mark has been added at the end of the line <i>I do not
like thee, Doctor Fell!'</i>
An extraneous quotation mark has been removed from the sentence
beginning <i>I meant nothing by the words</i>.
A missing quotation mark has been added to the sentence <i>I will go into
the house."</i>
A missing quotation has been added to the sentence <i>I am not tired, Mrs.
Fleming, I am interested," I said.</i>
In the sentence <i>He heard her as plainly as I here the river here</i>
"here" has been changed to "hear".
An extra comma has been removed from the line <i>my old friend," he
added,, "I am afraid</i>.]