The Two Orphans
One evening, about a dozen years before the introduction of the present
system of fire alarms into Montreal, crowds might be seen hurrying along
that part of the city known as Little St. James street, towards the
scene of an immense conflagration. Several fire engines were throwing
strong streams of water on the burning mass, but, the evening being
windy, the fire swept all before it, and soon reduced several buildings
to ashes.
In one of these resided Mr. Wilson, Notary Public, and his two
daughters, the eldest a beautiful girl about 9 years old, the other
aged nearly 8. When the fire commenced they were seated calmly at the
tea-table, partaking of their evening meal, but, so sudden was the
holocaust which burst with tremendous fury around them that they had not
the slightest warning till they were surrounded with dense volumes
of smoke The two girls rushed forward to the window, and screamed for
assistance, while the old man endeavored to gather some of his most
valuable papers together and throw them into the street.
Amongst the crowd who assembled were two young men, clerks, named
Wilgress and D’Alton respectively. Taking in the situation at a glance,
they sought hastily for ladders, and placing them against the burning
windows, mounted bravely through the flames, each seizing a girl round
the waist, and carrying her in safety to the ground. Their clothes were
almost completely destroyed, while their faces were grimed and scorched,
still, nothing daunted, they looked up to see if anything more could be
done; they espied the old man at one of the windows with a parcel in
his arms. Quick as thought Dalton mounted the ladder once more, going
through the flames like a salamander, and, taking the parcel from the
old gentleman, tried to induce him to descend the ladder. Poor old
Wilson, however, could not bear to leave so much that was valuable while
a chance of saving it remained, and so, rushing wildly back into the
burning building, he was soon lost to sight. A cry arose from the crowd
as they saw him disappear once more, and several hardy youths sprang up
the ladders, determined to bring him out by force, but, ere they could
enter the flaming pile, a loud shriek met their ears as the floor gave
way, hurling the poor old notary into the dreadful pit of fire. All
efforts to do anything further were now unavailing, and the firemen
directed their energies to protecting the neighboring buildings, and
preventing the fire from spreading.
The young men were at first puzzled what to do with the two girls whom
they had rescued, and who were now orphans, without parents, money, or
even clothes, but some Sisters of Charity, who had witnessed the heroic
action, came forward and offered to take them in charge. The good
sisters took the children to the convent, and provided them with both
food and clothes, intending to educate them and bring them up in the
Catholic faith, but some Protestant ladies, members of the congregation
to which Mr. Wilson had belonged, having heard of the affair, induced
the clergyman to call and obtain possession of the orphans, they
undertaking to provide the cost of their maintenance, or to find them
homes in Protestant families.
By the time the Rev. Mr. Flood called at the nunnery the children had
dried their tears, and were beginning to feel quite at home. The Sister
in charge, however, saw at once the correctness of the Clergyman’s
action, and agreed to give the girls up as soon as he had made
arrangements for their reception elsewhere. In a few days they were sent
for, and each was adopted by a different family; Cissie, the elder, was
taken in charge by a childless minister, residing in St. Albans, in
the State of Vermont, while Lillie, the younger sister was adopted by a
farmer from the neighborhood of Varennes.
Many years passed away and the two girls were grown up, and were both
uncommonly good looking, Lillie being then just seventeen, and as
handsome a girl as one could wish to see. Then circumstances, however,
were not the same, for while Cissie had received a good education, and
had in every way the manners of a lady, Lillie could not even read with
facility, and writing was with her and utter impossibility. The people
who had adopted her were Irish settlers, who, though comfortably off,
knew little beyond the cultivation of potatoes and the care of pigs.
About this tame Cissie Wilson, tired of the monotony of life at St.
Albans, determined to make an effort to “see the world,” as she called
it, and earn her own living; and, as her adopted father remonstrated
with her in rather a hasty manner, she collected her effects together,
and, one day while the old man was out, started for Montreal. She left
a note for him, informing him of her destination, and warning him not to
attempt to stop her, as she had determined, at all hazards, to carry out
her intention. Miss Wilson had been several times in Montreal, and had
several acquaintances there, among them a Miss Wood, whose father had
a position in the Telegraph Office. To Miss Wood’s, therefore, she
repaired, and, being welcomed with the usual number of kisses, she
requested the young lady to persuade her father to procure a situation
as telegraph operator or something of the kind, as she was determined to
earn her own living. This the young lady promised to do and succeeded so
well that Miss Wilson was soon installed in a tolerably good position,
earning enough money to maintain and clothe herself respectably.
Things went on smoothly enough for a time, Miss Wilson spending most of
her leisure time with her friend, Miss Wood, or sitting quietly at home
arranging such dresses and finery as her scanty income permitted her to
indulge in. After some months, however, she began to make more friends,
and being invited frequently out, and made much of because of her
beauty and accomplishments, she soon became madly eager for the means
of dressing herself like the rest, and making the conquests she knew she
could make, were she only to have equal terms with her rivals.
This passion for dress and jewellery soon became deep-seated; were she
only well dressed, what could she not achieve. She had, in her anxious
endeavors to make a good impression in society, deprived herself even
of necessaries sin order to procure a fashionable ball-dress and outfit,
and these were now no longer fit for active service. While musing over
this circumstance one evening, as she walked home to supper, she chanced
to meet Anna Smith, who had been the belle at the last ball, her fine
dress and showy jewellery having completely eclipsed the more solid and
modest beauty of the poor telegraph girl. Miss Smith inquired casually
if Cissie were going to the Oddfellows’ ball, an affair which was then
on the _tapis_, and when the latter answered in the negative, explaining
that her small salary would not allow her to purchase the necessary
finery, Miss Smith laughed and called her a silly little goose. Taking
her by the arm, Anna then let her into a secret, and explained how she
obtained all she required, and indeed could, out of the abundance of her
stores, fit out Miss Cissie, whom she chose to consider her protégée.
She urged Cissie not to miss the ball on any account, and reminded her
that she had already obtained a decided advantage over Miss Williams,
Miss Hunt and Miss Jones, and that with such an outfit as she would lend
her the victory would be complete.
Cissie was for a moment shocked. She had been several times offered
presents by gentlemen of her acquaintance, but had always resolutely
declined to take them, having an instinctive feeling which warned her
against their acceptance. She could not bear now to wear the dresses
proffered by Miss Smith, and momentarily made up her mind not to go to
the ball at all. Then again her heart failed her as her companion glibly
ran over the names of those who were to attend, and Cissie thought how
she would like to enter the room on Horace Gibson’s arm in the presence
of Miss Williams and the rest. Horace Gibson was a clerk in the Bank of
Montreal who had invited Miss Wilson to the ball, and was to receive
her answer that evening. As luck would have it, that young gentleman
approached just as the girls were rounding the corner of the street,
and, raising his hat in salute, inquired if he was to have the pleasure
of taking Miss Wilson to the ball. Cissie hung her head, and was just
about to offer some excuse, when Miss Smith answered for her:
“Oh, yes, _of course_ she’ll go, and be the best dressed and best
looking lady in the room too.”
“If you have taken her up, I am sure she will be at least the _second_
best as regards get up,” responded Mr. Gibson, conveying an indirect
compliment to Miss Smith herself, who was celebrated for the elegance of
her attire. Cissie could not utter a word. After all, she thought, there
can be no harm in borrowing a dress from a young lady! It was not for
her to inquire how that lady was able to purchase so many dresses; and
then, as she looked at the handsome young man before her, and thought
how her rivals would bite their lips with envy to see her in her elegant
out-fit, the blood rushed into her temples, and with an impetuous bound
she burst away from both her companions and entered the house, saying to
Mr. Gibson: “Yes, I’ll go; call for me at nine to-morrow.”
Till late night Cissie sat in her rocking-chair, her hands pressed over
her throbbing temples; at length wearied nature came to her relief,
and compelled her to retire to bed. Being fatigued, she soon fell
fast asleep, and on the morrow when she awoke, although she remembered
clearly all that had passed on the previous evening, she had not the
same sensitive feelings, or the same sharp prickings of conscience, and,
as she walked towards the office, she began to anticipate the ball with
the greatest pleasure.
As Miss Smith had said, Cissie, beautiful before, was ten times as
beautiful now that she was adorned with all that art could do in the
matters of dress and jewellery. Miss Williams fairly gnashed her teeth
with envy, and left the hall shortly after ten o’clock, disgusted with
_that thing_ from the telegraph office, while the gentlemen eagerly
sought for an introduction to the acknowledged belle of the ball-room.
Miss Smith was as proud of Cissie’s success as if it had been her own.
With all her faults the girl possessed a good heart, and in doing as
she did fancied she was doing the innocent country girl a kindness in
opening to her the highway to fame and fortune, even though it were
reached by the gate of dishonor.
It is needless to give in detail the particulars of Cissie Wilson’s
career; suffice it to say, that the brilliant triumph at the Oddfellows’
ball was too much for her weak nature. She plunged headlong into the
vortex of worldly pleasure and excitement, and, having little time or
inclination for reflection, became in time quite habituated to this
peculiar mode of life, always maintaining outwardly, however, a moral
and respected appearance.
All this time, the reader may well ask, what had become of Lillie, the
younger sister? She had been remarkably successful in her country home,
having at her feet the hands and hearts of all the most eligible young
men for miles round. This at one time would have gratified her utmost
ambition; but her sister’s letters from Montreal made her dreadfully
anxious to join her in her whirl of exciting pleasures, and, with the
understanding that her sister would obtain her employment in Montreal,
Lillie, at the age of eighteen, came to the city.
She was not long in her new home till her sister unbosomed to her many
things of which she had previously been in ignorance, and promised to
introduce her to the _créme de la créme_ of her worldly companions,
urging her to endeavor to acquire these graces and accomplishments which
she had failed to learn in her country home. Lillie soon became
more popular even than her sister; for, although she was not so well
educated, she was naturally clever and witty, and there was a vivacity
and freshness about her conversation, which, added to her beautiful face
and perfect figure, made her a charming and desirable companion.
One day Mr. D’Alton, one of the gentlemen who had rescued the two girls
from the fire, was walking along Notre Dame street, when he observed
a beautiful girl, rather showily dressed, promenading just in front of
him. Something in the girl’s manner attracted his attention, and, as he
passed her, he turned round, and carefully scanned her face. As he did
so the girl looked up and their eyes met; he, raising his hat, blurted
out an apology, saying he had mistaken her for another lady of his
acquaintance named Brown. “Oh,” said she, laughing, “my name is Lillie
Wilson.”
On hearing this name D’Alton started, and, having questioned her closely
concerning her antecedents, asked her if she remembered the fire, and
the two gentlemen who rescued herself and her sister; and, although she
had altogether forgotten his appearance, she remembered the circumstance
perfectly. They walked together for a little while, and then he asked
her permission to visit her at her address, and was astonished to
find that she objected, for some strange reason, to do so. At length,
bursting into tears, she confided to him her whole history, informing
him that she had been seduced and betrayed, and was at that moment
_enceinte_. This disclosure, as may well be supposed, staggered D’Alton
not a little, but at the same time he became more and more interested in
the girl, and offered, if she would promise to give up her corrupt
mode of life that he would do his best to see her through her present
difficulty. Calling on me, he consulted with me as to what was best
to be done under the circumstances, explaining that, although he
was willing to do all in his power for the girl for the sake of old
associations, yet that he did not wish to peril his own reputation.
I promised to do what I could for the girl, and calling on her was
informed that her paramour was an officer in the Rifle Brigade, who
had returned to England, leaving her to bear the burden of their crime.
Having procured suitable lodgings, I saw the girl comfortably housed,
and in due time she gave birth to a fine little boy, which, as usual
in these cases, was sent to the nunnery to be taken care of by the good
Sisters of Charity.
Mr. D’Alton did not come to visit Miss Wilson during her convalescence
but, after she was completely recovered he called frequently, taking her
to theatres and concerts, and sometimes in the winter to sleigh-rides.
What his intentions at first may have been I do not know; I certainly
think that but for his friends he would openly have married her; be
that as it may, in a short time it became apparent that they had both
overstepped the bounds of ordinary friendly intercourse, and that Mrs.
Rushton (as she now called herself) would soon require my services a
second time. This time she gave birth to a beautiful girl, and, before
many years were past, there followed another girl and boy. These
children were not, as in the former case, sent to the nunnery, but
were retained and brought up by their mother, she being smart enough to
perceive that by doing so she would maintain a hold on their father,
and secure for herself, if not a respectable, at least a comfortable
position, Mr. D’Alton having been successful in business, and being at
that time one of the leading brokers in Montreal.
For a time things went on this way, D’Alton visiting his mistress
frequently, and becoming passionately fond of the children, whom Mrs.
Rushton artfully used to influence him on all occasions. To do her
justice, it must be said that she never, either in thought or action,
was untrue to D’Alton, and that, whatever her past career might have
been, she lived at this time a quiet life, indeed, caring only for her
husband (as she called him) and her children. By the time the little
boy was two years old, both mother and children had so ingratiated
themselves in Mr. D’Alton’s affections, that he determined, come what
might, to marry his mistress, and so make their future offspring at
least legitimate.
He was weary of his irregular mode of life, and, being comparatively
wealthy, longed for some place which he could call his home. His wife
could hardly mix in society, even could she obtain an _entrée_ to that
realm of prudery and hypocrisy, but he cared for no society better than
that of herself and his children, and his bachelor friends, of whom
he had not a few, would, even if they did know or surmise the truth,
exercise a more liberal spirit, particularly while the wine in his
cellar maintained its reputation. Accordingly, he one day astonished and
delighted Mrs. Rushton with the proposal that he should marry her; and
that they should live together openly. As may be supposed, the lady
unhesitatingly accepted the proposal, and accordingly they were married,
formally and legally in St. George’s Church, which, at that time was
situated in St. Joseph street, on the site now occupied by Messrs.
Ligget & Hamilton’s large dry goods store. Mr. D’Alton took a house in
a new portion of the city, and as they lived very quietly, receiving no
calls, except from business friends of Mr. D’Alton, the neighbors did
not trouble themselves much about them, or inquire concerning their
antecedents.
Although her husband did not trouble himself whether his wife was or
was not received into society, Mrs. D’Alton felt it very keenly. She had
not, like him, drank the cup of life’s pleasures till it tasted insipid
or even nauseous; on the contrary, she looked on the pomps and vanities
of society as only a woman can look on them, and now that she was
legally respectable, and rich enough to keep pace with even the most
fashionable of her neighbors, it made her very heart ache to think
that these scenes of brightness were closed to her as much as ever. She
thought of what she might have been had she not in her ambitious haste
gone off the right track; and, pained with bitter reflections, and with
no one to speak to or converse with (for her husband spent most of his
time at the club) she solaced herself, as others in her predicament have
done, with the cup of forgetfulness, sinking deeper and deeper at every
step, till the habit became confirmed.
Although Mrs. D’Alton had taken her husband into her confidence, and
told him truthfully her history, she had not sufficient strength of mind
to tell him how ignorant she really was, and that she could not even
read and write with accuracy. Her letters to her husband had been
written by her nursery-governess, engaged ostensibly to instruct the
children; but in reality to act as amanuensis for the lady of the house.
The young lady thus engaged was at first rather averse to signing her
mistress’ name to her letters without adding her own initials, but the
present of a handsome broach and earrings soon quieted her sensitive
conscience and she soon fell into the plan, not being unwilling to make
use of such a powerful lever for obtaining largesses from Mrs. D’Alton.
In time this young lady became so overbearing that her mistress fully
made up her mind to discharge her, but a summer trip to Portland being
then on the tapis, she allowed her to have her own way, as Mr. D’Alton
remained in Montreal, and would naturally expect letters from his wife
during her absence. She would have dismissed the governess and engaged
another, trusting to her own pleadings and the powerful appeals of her
purse to win her over, but the handwriting would not be the same, and
she would not for worlds have allowed her husband to think she had
deceived him.
The day came for their departure for Orchard Beach, where Mr. D’Alton
had taken a cottage for their use. The children were in great glee as
they anticipated surf bathing and digging in the sand, but Mrs. D’Alton
was moody and down-hearted, the exhilarating effects of a large potion
of brandy having worn off and a reaction set in; her husband, however,
attributed it to sorrow at her separation from him, and was rather
gratified to think she was so deeply affected.
They arrived at her destination in due course, and were comfortably
ensconced in the cosy little cottage. Miss Watson, the governess,
dressed herself up, and with the children departed for the promenade,
and Mrs. D’Alton was left to her own reflections. The thought of her
past career, of the opportunities gone for ever, and lastly of the
predicament she was now in, shunned by all respectable people, and
despised by her own paid servant, who felt her power, and was disposed
to wield it unmercifully. The brandy-bottle, her never-failing
companion, was by her side, and as she mused mopingly over her sins,
she took from time to time copious draughts of the potent spirits,
regardless of its power to do otherwise than to rob her of these racking
memories of the past. In about two hours the promenaders returned and
found her lying back speechless in her chair, the bottle and glass by
her side; her eyes rolled wildly as she gazed vacantly on her children,
but she was unable to utter a word.
Miss Watson became alarmed and summoned a doctor immediately, who, on
entering the room, perceived at once the cause of Mrs. D’Alton’s malady,
and ordered her to be conveyed to bed. In the morning she was a little
better, being able to speak; but she was still very much shaken,
and raved incoherently. Mr. D’Alton was telegraphed for, and came
immediately; but, being merely informed that his wife had had a fit, he
imagined her to be afflicted with hysteria; indeed, although he knew she
was fond of a glass of wine, and often joined him in partaking of brandy
and water, he had no idea that she imbibed to such an extent.
In a few days Mrs. D’Alton was able to go out again, and, as during her
husband’s stay at Orchard Beach she was particularly abstemious, she
was able to associate with the ladies in the hotel, and made several
acquaintances, who, seeing that she had the dress and manners of a lady,
interchanged calls with her and invited her to visit them in Montreal.
On her return to her home, however, these ladies received her but
coldly, and when she gave a large party, inviting all those whom she had
met at the seaside, “they all, with one accord, began to make excuse,”
and at entertainment there was present, besides herself and the family,
only a sister of the governess, and one or two bachelor friends of Mr.
D’Alton. Dancing was of course out of the question, so they organized
two whist parties, and, with a little music, managed to drag along till
supper, which was served in Joyce’s best style, and looked unnecessarily
elaborate for the small number who were to partake of it.
Mrs. D’Alton was mortified; she had imagined that those people whom she
met at the seaside would have judged her on her merits, and would not
have taken the trouble to inquire concerning her antecedents. She did
not calculate that, what may be allowable at a summer resort, would not
be tolerated in Montreal society; moreover, that the tongue of slander
had been busily engaged in painting her even blacker than she really
was, so that these people, even if personally disposed to associate with
her, _dared_ not do so lest they might lose their own insecure foothold
on the ladder of social position. In moody silence she presided
throughout the entire evening; she was enraged at herself and at the
poor enslaved creatures who, though anxious to go and enjoy themselves
yet dared not infringe the rules laid down by society; and, as she drank
glass after glass of her husband’s famous Moselle, she became more and
more despondent.
About midnight Amy Watson, the sister of the nursery-governess, took
her departure, and Mr. D’Alton with his friends, went up to the billiard
room to enjoy themselves at their favorite game. It was near daylight
ere they grew tired of pocketing the ivory spheres, and left their host
to close the doors, and retire to his room. When he did so what a sight
met his gaze! There lay his wife in all the finery she had arrayed
herself to dazzle her fashionable acquaintances, _a speechless corpse_!
a brandy-bottle, nearly emptied, lay at her side, telling too plainly
what had been the cause of her untimely death. Her husband’s first
impulse was to ring the bell and send for a doctor, but, knowing the
scandal that would surely ensue, he quietly let himself out, and went
for Dr. Hickson, being determined not to give up hope till he had done
all that could possibly be done. The doctor on examining the body shook
his head ominously, confirming Mr. D’Alton in the belief that his wife
was no more; he considerately agreed to remain in the house, and not
to inform the servants for some time of the occurrence. The doctor’s
presence, of course, excited some alarm, and in a short time it was
known that Mrs. D’Alton was dangerously ill, the announcement of her
death being reserved for a time till all the traces of the recent
festivities were removed, and the house had resumed its normal
condition.
When the children heard of their mother’s death they rent the air
with their cries of anguish; even Miss Watson shed real tears, her
occupation, like that of Othello, being gone. Poor Mr. D’Alton was
almost beside himself. He had never loved another woman; and, though he
was not blind to his wife’s failings and shortcomings, he nevertheless
lamented the loss of one, who, whatever her faults, was true to him and
a good mother to his children.
In the meantime what had become of Cissie Wilson, Mrs. D’Alton’s elder
sister? She had endeavored to persuade Mrs. D’Alton to engage her as
governess to her children, but the latter, once married, refused to
hold any communication with her whatever. Miss Wilson then despairing
of finding a road to reform in Montreal, took her departure for Toronto,
taking a position as governess in one of the leading families there. On
hearing of her sister’s death she wrote to Mr. D’Alton, offering to take
charge of the children till he had time to make permanent arrangements
for their education. To this letter she received no reply, which nettled
her so much that she determined on a plot for wounding the pride of her
haughty brother-in-law. “Who is he,” she would exclaim, “that he should
dare to snub me?” “If I _have_ sinned, was _she_ not equally bad, and
is he not guilty _himself_?” “Never mind, Mr. D’Alton, I will have
my revenge some day.” She racked her brain to think of some means of
repaying him for his severity to her, but could think of nothing at the
time, and so resolved to wait and watch her opportunity.
It was some years before Miss Wilson had that opportunity for which her
heart so yearned, but come it did, surely enough, and she dealt to Mr.
D’Alton a blow so bitter that he never got over its effects.
Lillian, Mr. D’Alton’s eldest daughter had, after her mother’s death,
been sent to a fashionable school in Mansfield street, presided over by
the wife of one of our leading brokers. Here she made many friends, and
being known only as the beautiful and accomplished daughter of a rich
widower doing business in Montreal, and well known on the Exchange, she
was in time introduced into society, and became at one bound the belle
of the season.
At that time several British regiments occupied the Quebec Gate
barracks, and the officers were eagerly sought after by the party-giving
community, no ball being complete without at least two or three officers
in _full uniform_. Among the latter was a certain Captain Trevelyan, the
heir-apparent of an English nobleman, who was, of course _the_ eligible
young gentleman of the season. Most of the ladies openly courted Captain
Trevelyan and, figuratively speaking, laid themselves at his feet;
but Lillian D’Alton was too little versed in such matters to know the
triumph she had achieved in being sought after as a partner by the
much-admired Captain, and, when he asked her to dance although she
complied readily with his request, yet she carried herself with an air
so natural, and altogether so different from the time-worn belles he was
so accustomed to meet, that he engaged her for dance after dance, then
for supper, and, before the ball was concluded, he was deeply in love
with her, none the less because she was the only young lady in the room
who did not covet that distinction.
Although Lillian was but eighteen years of age, she could not but
perceive the marked attention paid to her by Captain Trevelyan, nor
was she blind to the glances of envious hatred darted at her from all
quarters. Her heart responded to the unspoken avowal of her partner, and
ere they parted that night they were one in heart and in thought, each
living only for and in the presence of the other.
Youthful love makes rapid progress. Ere many months had passed Lillian
D’Alton was the affianced bride of Captain Trevelyan, and their
approaching wedding was the one theme of conversation at balls, routes
or parties.
Here then was the opportunity longed for by Miss Wilson. She would
inform Captain Trevelyan and his friends concerning the D’Alton family,
and warn him to break off his engagement. With a refinement of cruelty
peculiar to women blinded with rage, she allowed the wedding day to be
fixed before she communicated with the bridegroom, and then sent him a
complete history of the family he was about to enter, informing him
that the lady he was about to marry was the illegitimate child of Mr.
D’Alton, and that in marrying her he would not only injure his own
prospects, but alienate himself completely from his family, bringing on
them both shame and discredit.
Captain Trevelyan read the letter with astonishment, but did not
believe one word it contained. His Lillian a bastard! why the thing was
preposterous. Her father was as well known on ‘Change as Rothschild
was in London. Her mother’s funeral had been attended by the wealth
and fashion of Montreal, and since that time Lillian had been the
acknowledged belle of the set commonly known as “the upper ten.” The
letter being written in rather extravagant terms, he imagined it to
contain the incoherent ravings of a maniac, and his first impulse was to
toss it aside. On the arrival of the English mail, however, he received
letters from his friends, couched in terms of the deepest anxiety,
urging him to sever all connection with the D’Alton family if he did
not wish to alienate himself completely from all his family and
friends. These letters led him to think more seriously concerning the
communication from Toronto, and being determined, come what might,
to know the worst at once, he started immediately for Mr. D’Alton’s
residence, only to find that the gentleman in question had just that
moment departed for his office.
Lillian was at home, however, and she rushed downstairs impetuously to
meet her affianced husband. He received her as usual, but there was
a cloud on his brow as he followed her into her boudoir, where they
frequently spent hours together. He questioned her concerning her aunt
and her relations generally, but Lillian knew little more than that
her aunt resided in Toronto, and was generally considered to be what is
called “flighty.”
This somewhat reassured Trevelyan, and he dismissed the subject for a
time from his mind. He determined, however, to clear the matter up, and
so in the evening he called to see Mr. D’Alton, requesting a few words
with him in private. The two men entered the study, and Trevelyan led
off by saying:--“I have received a strange communication from your
sister-in-law, Miss Wilson; from what Lillian has told me, I am aware
that she is a person of weak intellect, and her stories are not worthy
of credence, but I thought it due to you, nevertheless, to bring the
matter to your notice.”
At the mention of Miss Wilson’s name D’Alton turned deadly pale. He was
a bold man, and capable of carrying out a deep scheme, had he felt
so disposed; but this intimacy of Trevelyan with his daughter was the
result of no scheme, and he had for some years lived, with the rest of
his family, a blameless life, rejoicing in the fact that his neighbors
either did not know, or had forgotten, or overlooked his past career,
and were prepared to receive his children with open arms into society.
With bated breath he ran his eyes hastily over the letter held out to
him by Trevelyan, and in an instant he saw the whole situation. If he
could only have had time to consider the matter, he would probably have
taken the right course, come what might; but he had little time for
decision, as Trevelyan stood before him, eagerly expecting a reply. Mr.
D’Alton pictured to himself the state of affairs did he acknowledge the
truth of the accusation, and though loath to deceive the young man (whom
he already loved almost as dearly as his own son), he dared not ruin his
daughter’s prospects by an avowal. Pretending to read the letter once
more he gained a little time, and then, with consummate diplomacy,
endeavored to find out what Trevelyan thought. Looking up coolly, he
said--
“And do you believe all this, Trevelyan?”
Of course, Trevelyan _did not_ believe it, and was profuse in his
apologies, for having permitted himself to doubt for a moment that the
writer was bereft of reason. This confirmed Mr. D’Alton in his course
and he at once denounced his sister-in-law in no measured terms, vowing
to punish her for her irresponsible utterances. The news that Miss
Wilson had written to Captain Trevelyan’s friends in England made
D’Alton furious, and he swore a fearful oath that he would place her
where her ravings would harm no one but herself. All night long he
thought over schemes for getting rid of her, and at length he concocted
a plan which he speedily put into execution.
As was said before, Mrs. D’Alton and her sister were orphans and they
both left their adopted parents early in life, having lived under
assumed names for years, and severed all connection with their former
associates. During Mrs. D’Alton’s lifetime her sister was forbidden to
approach the house, and on the death of the former Miss Wilson was not
recognized by her brother-in-law. The children had never seen or known
their aunt, and the people with whom she had last resided in Montreal
(in the capacity of nursery-governess) had known her as Miss Rogers, and
had lately lost all trace of her whereabouts.
Taking the early train for Toronto, Mr. D’Alton took counsel of an
astute lawyer, and learned that, as events had been shapen, Miss Wilson
would have now great difficulty in proving her connection with the
D’Alton family, did he choose to deny it, and that the fact of her
having written such letters as those received by Trevelyan and his
family would be fair presumptive evidence that the woman was insane.
Carefully considering his position, D’Alton determined on his course of
proceeding. He was averse to a public prosecution, as many things, now
unknown or forgotten, might be brought to light, and yet he felt that
the woman must be effectually silenced by some means or other. Going to
her residence he boldly demanded an interview with her, and, producing
the letter to Trevelyan, asked if she had written it. Miss
Wilson laughed as she saw the effect of her shot, and exultantly
exclaimed:--“Of course I wrote it; who else _could_ have done it?”
“And are you aware that you are liable to be prosecuted for libel?”
pursued D’Alton.
“It is no libel,” retorted she, fiercely; “you know it is true, or you
would not be here now.”
“Indeed! _can you prove it, then_?”
“I have no need to prove it to you. Your very facial expression
acknowledges it to be true.”
“Will that satisfy the jury?”
“What jury?”
“The jury who are to try you for a malicious libel!”
At this Cissie started, but recovering herself exclaimed: “_You_ dare
not sue me for libel. Your history would not stand repetition in court.”
“Who knows my history?”
“I do!”
“Indeed! WHO ARE YOU?”
The fierceness with which he said this made his sister-in-law quail. She
perceived that he was terribly in earnest as he repeated his question in
a tone very unusual with him, and she meekly replied:
“You know well enough who I am, your late wife’s sister.”
“My wife _had no sister_!”
The look he gave as he said this fairly frightened her. She had seen
a good deal of life, and had in her time met with all kinds of men and
women, but never till now did she fear either. She began to see that she
had roused a desperate man, and that, legally, she had no hold on him,
neither status in society; moreover that she had got entangled in the
meshes of her own net, and that only the dread of exposure would prevent
D’Alton from prosecuting her for libel. Not knowing what to do, she
remained mute, her eyes fixed firmly on the ground. At length Mr.
D’Alton broke the silence: “You have evidently had an object,” he said,
“in circulating these reports. If your object be to extort money out of
me, you will find it more to your interest to remain silent.” With these
words he drew from his pocket a roll of bank bills, and laid them on the
table near his companion; but she, growing livid with rage, refused to
touch them, promising to expose him and his family before all the world.
D’Alton had not calculated on this, and was for a time taken a little
aback. His last card, however, was not yet played; and, summoning all
his energies together, he braced himself for the enactment of that,
which under other circumstances, he would have suffered much rather than
become in any sense a party thereto. Addressing the lady once more he
said:--“What, then, was your object in writing these letters?”
“My object was _to disclose the truth_,” she cried, vehemently, “to
denounce you as a blackhearted villain, and to save an unsuspecting
youth from becoming the victim of your deep-laid schemes.”
D’Alton bit his lip with passion, but restrained himself. “And you do
all this solely from conscientious motives,” he said with a sneer.
“My conscience, like your own, Mr. D’Alton, is pretty well hardened. No;
I have no conscientious motives to impel me to show your true character
to the world; but revenge is sweet, and I have not forgotten the scorn
and contempt with which both you and your fashionable wife treated me
while I was in Montreal. _I_ was not good enough to touch the hem of
your garments, but _she_ was dressed up and paraded in the drawing-rooms
of those who did not know better than to admit her, and now her b----
daughter is to wed a scion of a noble house, while _I_ am not even
recognized. No, Robert D’Alton, you will not become respectable and
leave _me_ out in the cold, insulting and spurning me at every turn with
your petty offers of money. I have sworn to have my revenge, and by ----
now that the opportunity offers, I _will have it_, too!”
She had worked herself up to state of uncontrollable fury. Her eyes
rolled wildly, and she looked like one demented. This gave the devil
his opportunity, for D’Alton, who had been halting between two opinions,
came to a hasty conclusion, and bringing the interview to a close,
hurriedly left the house, his teeth firmly set, and a horrid glare in
his eyes. He walked rapidly down Yonge street and along the east end
of King street, then, hailing a cab, he directed the driver to travel
towards the west end, coming to a halt opposite the Lunatic Asylum.
Entering he enquired for Dr. Tuffnell, and was informed that he would
likely find that gentleman at his residence on Jarvis street. On
repairing thither he found the doctor at home, and, requesting a few
minutes’ private conversation, was soon closeted in the consultation
room. “I have long intended to see you,” Mr. D’Alton began, “about a
young lady who lived in our family some years ago in the capacity of
nursery-governess. She was always of a somewhat flighty disposition,
which we used to humour as best we could, and when she left us (at my
wife’s death) for Toronto, we fancied she had quite recovered, but it
seems she has been gradually growing worse, and she now continually
torments our friends and us with letters full of ridiculous flights of
fancy, which, though meaningless to those who understand how she has
been afflicted, might possibly cause serious trouble.”
“Has the young lady, then, no friends or relatives?”
“None, whatever. She was taken out of an orphan asylum by an aged
clergyman, now deceased, who adopted her, and since his death she has
supported herself by teaching. We consulted our physician about her
some time ago, when she imagined herself to be my wife, and ordered her
mistress down to the kitchen. He thought it would be advisable for her
to take another situation away from us till her health improved, as she
was continually fancying herself trampled upon by some member of the
family; we accordingly procured for her a situation in a friend’s house
in Montreal, but they in turn became frightened of her, and dismissed
her, which dismissal, strange to say, she attributed _to me_. She now
imagines herself to be my wife’s sister, and demands an entrance into my
house, denouncing me in the vilest terms, and writing scandalous letters
to all my acquaintances.”
“Are you sure she is insane?”
“Well, I have long tried to persuade myself that she is not, but
latterly she has grown so violent that I am afraid that what I said
years ago to my late wife in fun about her being demented was only
painfully true. If you would kindly visit her and give me your opinion
concerning her case, you would oblige me very much.”
“What does her present mistress say about her?”
“Oh she has only been there a short time and has not yet given an
exhibition of her oratorical powers. Still the lady who is a clergyman’s
widow, told me that she walks about her room in the middle of the night,
talking wildly to herself.”
Dr. Tuffnell had not time to visit Miss Wilson that morning, but he made
an appointment with Mr. D’Alton for the following day, and together they
went to the unfortunate girl’s residence. Arrived at the house they rang
the bell, and inquired for Mrs. Brookes, the mistress.
Mrs. Brookes was a middle-aged lady of a retiring disposition. Her
husband had died at an early age, leaving her to take care of three
young children. Her temporal wants however, were provided for, her
husband having been possessed of a handsome income independently of
his small salary. Dr. Tuffnell made inquiries concerning Miss Wilson’s
habits, and was informed that her actions were at times very peculiar,
that she had not gone to bed all the past night, but had stamped up and
down her room, talking as if to a second party. Mrs. Brookes was shocked
to hear that she had unwittingly engaged a mad woman to take charge of
her children, and suddenly recollected several extraordinary episodes
which, until that time, had never struck her forcibly.
It was arranged that the Doctor should see Miss Wilson and satisfy
himself concerning her affliction before any further steps were taken.
Accordingly Mrs. Brookes rang the bell and told the servant to summon
the governess.
Miss Wilson had not slept all night, and her eyes had a wild expression,
which heightened when she beheld Mr. D’Alton. The doctor, having
previously taken all that was told him for granted, made up his mind
at once that she was insane, and never reflected for a moment on the
possibility of some scheme being on foot to injure her. On entering the
room she laughed wildly and said--“So you have come back with your bag
of gold. I tell you it’s _trash_, sordid trash, not half so sweet as
REVENGE!”
Now as the doctor had heard nothing from either D’Alton or Mrs. Brookes
which he could in any way connect with this wild utterance; moreover,
as the young lady looked like a tigress, and walked fiercely up and down
the room, he became more than ever convinced that he had got a bad case
in hand and acted accordingly. Looking at D’Alton he shook his head,
which Mrs. Brookes perceiving, she shook her head in turn, and, taking
out her handkerchief, wept copiously. Dr. Tuffnell tried to soothe the
patient with gentle words, but she (mistaking him for a pettifogging
lawyer, whom D’Alton had engaged to bind her over to keep the peace)
cried out:
“Ah, yes! you want to quiet me, but _you can’t_ quiet me. I am like the
surging cataract, which, suppressed in one place bursts out again with
more fury in another. I have suffered too much to be tamed down by soft
and gilded promises. No, Robert D’Alton, you have started the mighty
avalanche and it is too late now to stop its progress.”
The doctor began to feel he had a desperate case in hand and tried to
quiet her, but the more he did so the worse she got till at last all
persons began to talk to her, receiving from the poor girl replies
altogether removed from the point at issue coupled with threats and
oaths and furious gesticulations. At length the doctor suggested, in a
whisper, the propriety of their departure, when they might consider what
was best to be done, but, on Mrs. Brookes protesting that she was afraid
to stay alone in the house with the maniac, Dr. Tuffnell dispatched
a note to the asylum, and in a short time two keepers arrived, and
proceeded to take Miss Wilson into their care till she should become
possessed of a sound mind.
There is no time at which a sane person looks so much like a maniac
as when trying to convince people of his sanity. The real lunatic will
cunningly hide his affliction from the most watchful, and is frequently
able to deceive those unaccustomed to deal with persons of unsound mind,
but the victim of persecution becomes wild with honest indignation,
and generally manages to convince even those who might be inclined to
believe him to be sane.
When the truth of her position began to dawn on Miss Wilson, she became
more frantic than ever. She raved at D’Alton and the doctor, tore with
her hands at the keepers, and abused Mrs. Brookes for standing tamely by
to see one of her own sex so ill-used. She roared so that two policemen
came rushing up to the steps to inquire what was the matter, but, seeing
Dr. Tuffnell, with whom they were well acquainted, they saluted him
respectfully and withdrew.
Miss Wilson was accordingly driven to the asylum and incarcerated till
she should come to her senses, and Mr. D’Alton, having made arrangements
for her safe-keeping returned to Montreal.
Shortly after her father’s return Lillian D’Alton was married to Captain
Trevelyan in Christ Church Cathedral. The wealth, beauty and fashion of
Montreal attended the wedding, and the costliest presents were displayed
on her father’s sideboard. The young couple departed for England
immediately, Trevelyan’s regiment having been ordered home, and the
bride was received into the first London circles.
Mr. D’Alton remained in Montreal where he still lives and moves in the
best society. What his private feelings are I cannot tell, but outwardly
all is serene, the only one besides myself who knows his family history
having long since passed away in solitary confinement.