The Gambler's Confession.
"You have asked me two or three times lately, my dear Rathbeal," wrote
Robert Grantham, "to relate to you the story of my life, and you have
mysteriously hinted that it might be in your power to render me a
valuable service, and perhaps to restore the happiness which it was
evident to you I had lost. I did not respond to your friendly
advances, in which there was a note of affection which touched me
deeply; but it seems to me now churlish to refuse the confidence you
ask for. It was not because I doubt you that I remained silent. I have
long known that I possess in you a friend whose feelings for me are
truly sincere, and who would be only too willing to make any personal
sacrifice in his power to console and comfort me in my misery. That,
indeed, you have already done; and although I can never repay the debt
of gratitude I owe you, rest assured, dear friend, that I am deeply
sensible of your sympathetic offices. But you can go no farther than
this. All your wisdom and goodness would not avail to fulfill the
hopes you entertain for my future. So far as I am personally and
selfishly concerned I have no earthly future. I shaped my course, and
marched straight on--deaf to the dictates of conscience, blind to
virtue and suffering--so steeped in the vice that enslaved me, that it
was only when the fell destroyer Death took from me the treasures
which should have been my redemption, that the consciousness of my
wrong-doing rushed upon me, and stabbed me to the heart. It was then
too late for repentance, too late to fall upon my knees and pray for
mercy and forgiveness. I deserved my punishment, and I bowed my head
to it, not with meekness and resignation, but with a bitterness and
scorn for myself which words are powerless to portray.
"I cannot recall when it was that I first became a gamester, but it
was during my school-days that my evil genius obtained a mastery over
me that I did not shake off until it had compassed my ruin and the
ruin of innocent beings I should have cherished and protected. In the
school I went to I had a friend and comrade, a lad of amiable parts
and qualities, with whom I chiefly associated; and somehow it happened
that he and I fell into the habit of playing cards for our
pocket-money. I was not even then a fortunate player, but the loss of
my few shillings was amply repaid by the delight I took in these games
of chance. There were occasions when my friend reproved me for my
infatuation, but I would not listen to him, and I made it a point of
honor with him that he should give me opportunities of regaining the
money I had lost. Not that I had any great desire to win my money
back; it was play I craved for. He was much more concerned at my
losses than myself; and I remember once that he offered to return all
he had won, which, of course, I would not listen to.
"When, school-days over, I commenced to live the life of a man, I
sought places and opportunities for pursuing my favorite pastime. I
became a member of private clubs established for the gratification of
enthusiasts like myself, and there I lost my money and enjoyed myself
to my heart's content. I never questioned myself as to the morality of
my passion, and whether I won or lost was almost a matter of
indifference to me, so far as the actual value of the money I left
behind me, or took away with me, was concerned. I had ample means, for
more than one fortune was bequeathed to me; and I continued on the
fatal road I had entered with so much zeal, and never once thought of
turning back. At this period of my life the vice harmed no one but
myself. If it had, I might have reflected; but how dare I make this
lame excuse for my sinful conduct when I know that in after times it
did affect others, and that even then I did not turn back?
"My friendship and intimacy with my schoolmate continued, and he often
accompanied me to my favorite haunts, and gambled a little, but not to
the same extent as I did, and with better luck. He accompanied me to
France and Italy, where I found ample scope for indulgence in my
besetting vice. By this time my schoolmate and I were bosom friends
and inseparable; and when he remonstrated with me on my last night's
losses, I used to laugh at him, and to challenge him there and then to
sit down with me to a game of chance, saying, 'Someone must win my
money, why not you?' And our intimacy was of such a nature that he
could not refuse, though his compliance was not too readily given. At
the Continental gaming-tables he would be my banker when I was cleaned
out, and one day he suggested that he should act as a kind of steward
of my fortune, which was still considerable. I consented gladly
enough, for I had no head for figures, and he saved me a world of
trouble. Then something took place which ought to have saved me, had
not my besetting vice taken such absolute possession of me as to
deprive me completely of moral control. I met a young and beautiful
girl, and fell in love with her. My love was returned, and in a few
months afterward she became my wife.
"Surely that should have opened my eyes to my folly, if anything
could. A sweet and pure influence was by my side; and it is true that
for a little while my mad course was checked. I was happy in my wife's
society, as no man could fail to be who enjoyed the heaven of her
love. A sweeter, nobler lady never drew breath. I tremble with shame
as I write of her; I shudder with remorse as I think of the fate to
which I brought her. For we had not been married many months before my
evil genius began to haunt and tempt me. Understand that I should not
then have spoken of my vice as an evil genius. I saw no evil in it,
and I thought I had a right to pursue my pleasure; and so I began
gradually to neglect my home, and to resume my old pursuit.
"My angel wife did not complain; she bore my neglect with sweetness
and patience--smiling upon me when I left her side, smiling upon me
when I returned. She had no knowledge of my secret; she did not see
her fatal rival at my elbow wooing me away from her pure
companionship. Some unrecognized feeling of shame kept me from
exposing my degrading weakness to her. She devoted herself to her
child, and by a thousand innocent arts--they make my heart bleed as I
think of them--strove to win me more constantly to her side.
"Yes, Rathbeal, we had a child, a sweet flower from heaven, whose
grace and beauty should have opened my eyes to my sin. Do not think
that I did not love them. When I was with them, when I held my sweet
little girl on my lap and felt her little hands upon my face, I
thanked God for giving me a treasure so lovely and fair. Then my wife
would timidly ask me whether I would not remain at home that night,
and my evil genius would tempt me so sorely that I had not the
strength to resist. It is a shameful confession, but having commenced
I will go through with it to the bitter end; and if it lose me your
friendship, if you turn from me in scorn for my folly and weakness, I
must accept it as a part of my punishment.
"My angel wife suffered, and her sufferings increased as time went on.
I did not see it then; I do now. She grew thin and pale, believing
that I no longer loved her, believing that I repented my union with
her. What else could she believe as she saw the ties of home weakening
day by day? There are women who, in such a strait, would have
challenged the man boldly, but she was not one of these. Her nature
was too pliant and gentle, and terrible must have been her grief as
she felt the rock she depended upon for protection and support
crumbling away at her touch.
"My luck never varied. Occasionally, it is true, I won small sums, but
these were invariably counterbalanced shortly afterward by heavier
losses. The consequence was that the inroads upon my fortune became
too serious to be overlooked. I asked my friend and steward for a
large sum of money to pay a gambling debt; he looked grave. I inquired
why he was so serious, and he invited me to look over the accounts. I
did so; and though I could not understand the array of figures he
placed before me, I saw clearly that my large fortune was almost
entirely gone.
"'I have warned you,' said my friend, 'time after time; I could do no
more.'
"'Spare me your reproaches,' I said. 'You have been a good friend, and
I have paid no heed to your warnings. Wind up my affairs, and tell me
how much I have left.'
"The following day he informed me that I still had three thousand
pounds I could call my own.
"'Would you like a check for it?' he asked.
"I answered, 'Yes,' and he gave it to me.
"'And here,' he said, 'my stewardship ends. You must give me a full
quittance of all accounts between us.'
"I drew up the paper at his dictation. He preferred, he said, that the
quittance should be in my own handwriting; and when he had done I
added words of thanks for the services he had rendered me, and signed
the document.
"That night he accompanied me to a club, and watched my play. I won
five hundred pounds, and we walked away together, late in the morning,
in the highest spirits. He parted from me at the door of my house.
"'Will you play to-morrow night?' he asked.
"'Of course I shall play to-morrow night," I replied, 'and every night
after that. I will get back every shilling I have lost. Look at what I
have done already; I have won five hundred pounds.'
"'It is your only chance of saving your wife and child from beggary,'
he said.
"I thought of his words as I stepped softly into the house: 'My only
chance of saving my wife and child from beggary.' It was true. It was
a duty I owed to them to continue to play and win back the fortune I
had lost. It was not my money; it was theirs. I was their only
dependence. Yes, they should not say in the future that I had ruined
their lives. Luck must change; it had commenced to smile upon me.
There entered into my soul that night, Rathbeal, the spirit of greed.
I had been too careless hitherto, too unmindful as to whether I won or
lost. Hereafter I would be more careful; I would be cunning, as the
men I played with were. I would invent a system which would break them
and every man I played with. Tired as I was, I sat down and began to
calculate chances. A newspaper was on the table, and when I had jotted
down some columns of figures, and, aided by my recollection of certain
bets I had made a night or two before, proved that had I played wisely
I ought to have won instead of lost, I took up the newspaper, and
carelessly ran my eyes down its columns. They stopped at an account of
an Englishman's marvelous winnings at Monte Carlo--forty thousand
pounds in three days. I pondered over it. If he, why not I? I would go
and get my money back there. Sometimes in the haunts I frequented
money ran short; men, winning, would leave with their gains, and there
was no one left to play with except the losers, and I knew from
experience how desperate that chance was. At Monte Carlo there was
unlimited money. You could continue playing as long as you liked, and
go away with your winnings in your pockets in hard cash. Witness this
Englishman with his forty thousand pounds in three days. But it would
be as well to take a large sum of money with me. I had over three
thousand pounds; I would make it into ten here, and then would go to
Monte Carlo to wrest back my fortune. My mind made up, I crept to my
bedroom. My wife was there, sleeping as I thought. In an adjoining
room slept my little girl, Clair. Standing at the bedside of my wife I
observed--shame upon me! for the first time with any consciousness
that I was the cause of the change--how white and thin she had become.
The sight of her wan face, and of her lovely lashes still moist with
the tears she had shed, cut me like a knife. I did not dare to kiss
her; I feared that she would awake and see my face, for I had looked
at it in the glass, and was shocked at my haggard appearance. I
stepped softly into the adjoining room where our little Clair was
sleeping. She was rosy with health and young life, her red lips
parted, showing her pearly teeth, her hair in clustering curls about
her brow. Her I did not fear that I should awake, her slumbers were so
profound, and I stooped and kissed her.
"'Robert!' said my wife.
"She had been awake when I entered her room, but had not opened her
eyes lest she should offend me. Hearing me go into our child's
bedroom, she had risen quietly and followed me.
"'Lucy!' I replied, my hands upon her shoulders.
"She fell into my arms, weeping, but no sound escaped her. Clair slept
and must not be disturbed.
"I drew her into our bedroom, and closed the door upon Clair.
"'What is the matter, Lucy?' I asked. 'Are you not well?'
"She lifted her wet eyes with a sad wonder in them.
"'Did you not know, Robert?'
"'Know! What?'
"'That the doctor has been attending me lately,' she answered. 'Do not
let it trouble you, dear. You also are not well. How changed you are!
how changed! There is something on your mind, my dear."
"She did not say this in reproach, but in loving entreaty and pity;
and though she did not directly ask me to confide in her, I understood
her appeal. But I did not dare to confess my folly and my shame. I had
kept my secret well, and she did not suspect it. No, I would not
expose my degradation to her and my child. Perhaps, when I had won
back the fortune I had lost, when I could say, 'I have not completely
ruined your future,' then I might find courage to tell her all. But
now, when I was nearly beggared and fortune was in my grasp, I must be
silent; my secret must be kept from her.
"'It is nothing, Lucy,' I said; 'nothing. What does the doctor say?'
"She withdrew from my embrace, and said, coldly I thought:
"'I am not very well; that is all, Robert.'
"Nothing more passed between us that night. I believed--because I
wished to believe--that there was nothing serious the matter with her;
and if I was right in my conjecture that she was cold to me, it sprang
probably because I would not confess what was weighing on my mind.
"How shall I describe the events of the next few weeks? Night after
night I went from my home and kept out, often till daylight,
endeavoring to wrest my losses from my fellow-gamesters. My wife did
not ask me now to remain with her; she did not complain, and no
further reference was made to the doctor. This was a comfort to me. If
there had been anything to be really alarmed at I should not have been
kept in ignorance of it. So I went blindly on, greedy now for money,
chafing at my losses, suspecting all around me, and yet continuing to
play till I had completely beggared myself. My companions did not
know. It was not likely I was going to confess to them that if I lost
I had not the means of paying. They continued to play with me, and I
got in their debt, inventing excuses for being short of money. It was
only temporary, I said; I should be in funds very soon. Do you see,
Rathbeal, how low I had fallen?
"A sharper experience was to be mine. I lost a large sum and my paper
was out for two thousand pounds. It was a debt of honor and must be
paid. The misery of it was that I had perfected a system at roulette,
which, with money at my command, could not possibly fail; and I had no
means at my disposal to go to Monte Carlo, where unlimited wealth was
awaiting me. It would be necessary to break up my home, but even that
would not supply me with sufficient funds to pay my debts of honor and
go to Monte Carlo. There was but one course open to me. My wife had a
small private fortune of her own; I would ask her to advance me a
portion of it as a loan which I would soon repay. I broached the
subject to her.
"'It is only temporary,' I said, annoyed with myself that they should
be the same words I had used to the men who held my paper.
"'You know how much I have, Robert,' she said, averting her eyes from
me. 'It is Clair's more than mine. She must not be left penniless. I
do not think you ought to ask me for so large a sum.'
"I mentioned a lower sum, and she said:
"'Yes, Robert, you can have that. Do not ask me for more.'
"I felt humiliated at this bargaining, and angry with her for her
coldness and want of sympathy with me. I summoned up a false courage,
and said it was likely that I should have to break up our home. She
expressed no surprise.
"'In a little while, Lucy,' I said,' I will provide you with a
better.'
"She did not wish for a better, she said; she could be happy in the
humblest cottage, if---- And then she paused and sighed, and I saw the
tears in her eyes. I took her hand; she gently withdrew it.
"'I intended to tell you something to-day,' she said. 'My health has
broken down. The doctor says I must leave England as soon as possible
if I wish to live. I do wish to live, for my dear Clair's sake.'
"'Not for mine, Lucy?'
"I saw a struggle going on within her, but she sighed heavily again,
and did not reply.
"'I am grieved to hear the doctor's report,' I said. 'May he not be
mistaken?'
"'He is not mistaken. If I remain here I shall die.'
"'Where does he tell you to go to?'
"'To some village in the south of France, near the sea, where there is
perfect quiet, where there are few people and no excitement.'
"Such a place, I thought, would be death to me, with the plan I had in
my head of my projected venture at Monte Carlo.
"'Very well, Lucy,' I said; 'if it must be, it must be. I will join
you there.'
"'You cannot go with us?'
"'Not immediately. I have something of the utmost importance to attend
to elsewhere. It will not occupy me long, and then I will come to
you.'
"'I did not expect you would accompany us,' she said.
"Not once had she looked at me or turned toward me. The impression her
conduct made upon me was not so strong then as afterward, when I awoke
from my dream of wealth, and when Fate dealt me the fatal stroke.
"We parted. I received the money I asked her to lend me from her
little fortune, and we parted. I stood on the platform with her and
our Clair; my faithful friend and once steward stood a little apart
from us. He had offered to go with them to Dover, and his services had
been accepted. It was impossible for me to go even so far. My
creditors were clamoring, and I had arranged to meet a broker at my
house, to sell him everything in it, and to get the money immediately
from him. If my debts of honor were not paid that evening, I was
threatened with public exposure. Therefore it was imperative that I
should stay in London. It was then my intention to proceed immediately
to Monte Carlo, to commence operations; and, my fortune restored to
me, to join my dear wife, and commence a new life.
"Of all this she, of course, knew nothing. Ignorant of the real cause
of my downfall, how could she have divined the truth? Had there been
that confidence between us which should exist between man and wife, I
might at this moment be different from what I am. I should not be, as
I am, bowed down with a sense of guilt from which my soul can never be
cleansed. It was not she who was at fault, but I. Had I confided to
her, had she been really aware where and in what company I spent my
nights, she would have been spared the agony of a belief which, out of
charity to me, she would not shame me and herself by revealing. So we
two stood on the platform bidding a cold farewell to each other, each
tortured by a secret we dared not confess. I kissed her, and kissed my
sweet Clair.
"'Do come with us, papa!' said Clair, nestling in my arms.
"My wife looked up into my face appealingly. In that one moment, had I
seized the opportunity, there was still a chance of redemption.
"'Robert!' she said, involuntarily raising her hands and clasping
them.
"Ah, if I had met her appeal! If I had said: 'Do not go by this train;
I will confess everything to you!' But the prompting did not come to
me; if it had, I should have disregarded it.
"'I cannot come with you, Clair,' I said; 'I have such a deal to do
before I leave London.'
"'Poor papa!' she said. 'That is why you keep out so late at night.
Poor papa!'
"My wife turned her head from us, but I saw the scarlet blush on her
face, which I attributed to her displeasure at my refusal. Or was it
that she suspected my secret?
"'You have not betrayed me?' I said apart to my friend. 'She does not
know how I have lost my fortune, and what has brought me to this?'
"'On my honor, no,' he answered. 'She has not the least suspicion of
your stupid infatuation.'
"'You will not call it stupid in three or four weeks,' I said.
"'It is not possible for your system to fail?' he questioned.
"'There isn't the remotest possibility of it,' I replied. 'Clever
people think that everything has been found out about figures and
chances. I am going to show them something new.'
"The whistle sounded; the guard bade the passengers take their places.
I walked along the platform as the train moved away. Clair waved her
handkerchief to me; my friend nodded good-by; my wife did not raise
her head to look at me.
"I hastened back to my house, and found the broker there. He was a
wealthy dealer, and was going through the rooms when I entered,
appraising everything and putting down figures. I accompanied him from
one room to another, and we smoked as he made his calculations. I was
impatient and unhappy, but he would not be hurried. He opened the door
of my wife's morning-room; I pulled him back.
"'Not this room?' he asked.
"'Pshaw!' I said. 'Everything must go.'
"There were some small things in the room which seemed to me to have
so close a personal relation to my wife that I was angry to see him
handle them. Why had she not taken these things away with her? She
might have spared me the reproach. I walked out of the room while he
valued them.
"At length his catalogue was ended.
"'You want the money immediately?' he asked.
"'Immediately,' I replied.
"'A check will do, of course.'
"'No, I must have cash.'
"'That will make a slight difference,' he said, and he named the
amount he was willing to give me. It was less than I anticipated, but
the business worried me, and I agreed. Saying he would return in an
hour and complete the bargain, he left me.
"I was alone in the house to which I had brought my wife, a bride. All
the servants had been paid off, and had left. I had arranged this
because I could not endure that they should see the sacrifice I was
making. Memories of the past rushed upon me--of my young wife's
delight as I took her through the rooms, of the fond endearments at my
cleverness and forethought, of the happy evening we passed, sitting in
the gloaming and talking of the future. Alas, the future! How fearful
the contrast between my young bride's fond imaginings and the reality!
In solitary communing I strolled through the rooms and marked each
spot and each article hallowed by some cherished recollection. The
piano at which she used to sit and sing in the early days of our
marriage, the window from which we used to watch the sunset, the small
articles on her dressing-table--there seemed to be a living spirit in
them that greeted me reproachfully, and asked, 'Why have you done
this? Why have you blighted that fair young life?' Our Clair was born
in the house. The cot in which she slept was there, her favorite
child-pictures hung upon the wall. What pangs went through me as I
surveyed the wreck of bright hopes! 'But I will atone for it,' I said
inwardly. 'When fortune is mine once more I will confess all, and ask
my dear wife's forgiveness. Then, then for the happy future!' No
warning whispers reached me. No voice cried,' Sinner and fool! You
have done what can never be undone. Not only fortune, but love, is
lost forever!'
"If I dwell upon these small matters, Rathbeal, it is because the
impressions of that lonely hour are as strong within me now as then,
and because they are pregnant with an awful lesson.
"The hour over, the broker returned with wagons and men. As he paid me
the money his workmen commenced to remove the furniture. I left the
house to their mercies, and went to meet the men to whom I was
indebted. I paid them to the last shilling, and, honor satisfied, was
master of a sum sufficiently large, I thought, to carry on my
operations at Monte Carlo. I played at the club that night, and lost a
few pounds. It did not affect me; I was rather glad, indeed, for it
pointed to the road where wealth awaited me. I had taken a bed in a
hotel, but an impulse seized me to visit my house once more. It was
two in the morning when I turned the key and lit the hall gas. My
footsteps resounded on the dusky passages. The broker had been
expeditious; everything in the house was removed, and I seemed to be
walking through a hollow grave--but it was a grave, haunted by ghostly
shadows, eloquent with accusing voices. I shut my eyes, I put my hands
to my ears, but I still saw the ghostly shadows and heard the accusing
voices. I rushed from the house, conscience-stricken and appalled.
"The next morning my courage returned; the sun shone brightly, and I
had money, and my system, in my pocket. Away, then, to Monte Carlo, to
redeem the past!
"I did not commence immediately; I studied the tables, the croupiers,
the players, and I spent several hours in going over the figures and
combinations I had prepared. Then I took the plunge.
"As is frequently the case, I was successful at first; in four days I
doubled my capital. My friend came to see me, as I had requested him
to do, to give me news of my wife. She had not written to me, and I
asked him the reason; he said he was not acquainted with the reason,
and he asked me how I was progressing. I showed him, exultingly, what
I had done; he expressed surprise and satisfaction.
"'How long will it take you to accomplish your aim?' he asked.
"'If I play as I am playing now," I replied, 'some two or three weeks.
If I play more boldly, a week may accomplish it.'
"'Why not play boldly?' he suggested.
"I had half intended to do so, and his words encouraged me. We went to
the tables together, and I began to plunge. Before I left the rooms I
had lost all I had won, and some part of the money I had brought with
me. I pretended to make light of it.
"'These adverse combinations occasionally occur," I said, 'but they
right themselves infallibly if you hold on. It is only a temporary
repulse.'
"But though I spoke confidently my heart was fainting within me.
Theory is one thing, practice another. We can be very bold on paper,
but when we are fighting with the enemy we feel his blows.
"The next day my friend accompanied me again to the tables, With all
my boasting I had not the daring to risk my capital in half-a-dozen
bold coups; I put on much smaller sums, and I had the mortification of
learning that my want of courage prevented me from winning what I
ought to have done.
"'You see,' I said to my friend. 'Faint heart never succeeded yet. But
it is only a little time lost, and it proves the certainty of my
calculations.'
"He had to leave me that evening, and he made me promise that I would
write to him daily of my progress. As he was going to see my wife, I
gave him a letter to her, in which I begged her to write to me at
Monte Carlo. He said he would deliver the letter, and it was not until
some time afterward that I recalled his manner as being somewhat
strained.
"The story of the next few days is soon told. Hope, despair; hope
again, followed by despair. I came down to my last hundred pounds.
Over and over again, in the solitude of my room, I proved to myself
how weak I had been in not doing this or that at the right moment;
over and over again I proved to my own misery that it was due to my
own lack of courage that I had not won back my fortune. I conned the
numbers I had written down as they were called out. 'Fool, fool,
fool!' I cried, striking my forehead. 'Wretched, contemptible coward!'
I rose in the morning haggard and weary; I had not slept a moment all
the night. There was still a chance left: I had a hundred pounds; I
would play on a lower martingale, and as I won I would increase it. I
did so. That day I remained at the tables ten hours without rising
from the seat I had secured. I won, I lost, I won again, I lost again.
A few minutes before the rooms closed I had followed my system to a
point whereat, after a series of losses, it needed but a large amount
to be staked to get all back again. I had this amount before me. On
previous occasions I had drawn back at such a critical juncture, and
had suffered for it by hearing the number called which, in its various
winning chances, would have recouped, with large profit, all that had
been lost in the series. I would not be guilty of this cowardice
again. With a trembling hand I put every franc I had on the various
chances which were certain this time to win. The number was called.
Great God! I was beggared! Without a word I rose and went to my hotel.
"Can you imagine the torments of hell, Rathbeal? I suffered them then.
But there was worse in store for me.
"Figures, figures, figures, red and black, living figures that moved,
that spoke, that glared and mocked me--the voices of the croupiers,
the exclamations of the gamesters, the rattle of the money--curses and
benedictions--now surrounded by a blaze of light, now plunged into
black darkness--painted women, men with hideous faces, lips that
smiled and derided--these were the images that haunted me in the
night. I had drunk brandy, contrary to my usual habit, for I was never
fond of drink, and my brain was burning. From time to time I dozed,
and scarcely knew whether I was awake or asleep, whether what I saw
were phantoms or actual forms of things. Was that a knock at my door?
Was that the voice of a waiter speaking to me outside? I did not
answer; I did not move. What mattered anything now? If the door
opened, it could signify nothing to me; if some person entered and
went away, there was no interest in the movements to beguile me from
the tortures I was suffering. Ruin and I were company enough.
"The sun was streaming into my room long before I rose; when I got out
of bed I staggered like a drunken man, though, except for the delirium
of my senses, I was perfectly sober. It was not till I had washed and
dressed that I observed a letter upon my table. Taking it up, I saw
that it was in the handwriting of my wife.
"I hardly dared to open it; by my own act I had destroyed any claim to
her affection. I had brought deep unhappiness upon her; I had
systematically neglected her; I had lost the home which should have
been hers; I had taken our child's money, and could not return it. But
the letter must be read. With trembling hands I unfastened the
envelope, and drew forth the sheet.
"It bore neither date nor address. I have the letter by me now, and I
copy it word for word:
"I can bear my agony in silence no longer. I write to you, I speak to
you, for the last time. This is my last farewell to him I loved, to
the father of my child, to the husband who should have been my shield.
"Do you remember the words you addressed to me when we were married?
'I love you,' you said, 'I am your husband and lover. Nothing shall
ever harm or wound you. I am your shield--the shield of love.'
"With what fondness I used to repeat these words to myself! My shield!
My shield of love! Side by side with my worship of the Eternal did I
worship you, as the realization of a young girl's happiest dreams; my
joy, my hope, my shield of love!
"Slowly, slowly did I awake from my dream. I would not, I could not,
believe what you were showing me day by day, but the terrible truth
forced itself upon me with power so resistless, with conviction so
absolute, that I could no longer refuse to believe. How bitter was the
knowledge, how bitter, how bitter!
"I gave you all my love. But for your own actions it would never have
wavered. O Richard! if in a moment of temptation you had turned to me,
I might have been your shield, as you promised to be mine!
"I know your secret. I have known it for years--for long, bitter
years. I cannot blame myself that I did not satisfy your expectations.
All that a loving woman could do I did to retain your love. I hid
nothing from you; I strove with all my might to make your home
pleasant and attractive to you; what power lay within me to keep you
faithful to the vows we pledged was exercised by me to the utmost of
my abilities. I used to say to myself, 'What can I do to win my
husband's society and confidence? How can I act so that he shall not
continue to grow weary of me?' You will never know how hard I strove,
you will never know the tears I shed as I slowly recognized that my
shield of love was a mockery, and that there was as little loving
meaning in your declaration as if it had been uttered by a deadly
enemy.
"Yes, Richard, I know your secret; I know that you have not been
faithful to me; I know that for years your heart has been given to
another. I cannot say that I hope you will be happy with her who
occupies my place. At this solemn moment I will not be guilty of a
subterfuge. The issue lies in God's hand, not in mine, nor in yours.
"I should not address this farewell to you if it were not that I feel
I have not long to live. It is grief that is killing me, not a mortal
disease which doctors can minister to.
"It is with distinct purpose that I put no address to this farewell. I
have left the place I went to when you bade me good-by in London, and
it is my desire that you shall not know where I am, that you shall not
come to me. Remorse may touch your soul, and you may wish to come; but
it would not be a sincere wish, springing, as it must, from a sudden
false feeling of compassion in which there is no truth or depth. How
could I believe what you said, after all the years of suffering I have
gone through? And as a wife I must preserve my self-respect. Coming to
me from a woman for whom you deserted me, I would not receive you. It
is long since I bade farewell to happiness. I now bid farewell to you."
"That was all. Many times did I pause to question myself, and to read
again, in doubt whether I had mistaken the words. That the accusation
my wife brought against me was untrue you may believe, Rathbeal. No
woman had won me from her side, and I was so far innocent. That,
ignorant of the true cause of my neglect, she may have had grounds for
suspicion, I could well believe, but she seemed to speak with
something more than suspicion. Who had maligned me? Who had played me
false? And for what purpose?
"I could think of no one. At times during my degraded career in London
I had had disagreements with the men I played with, but I could not
convict one of them with any degree of certainty.
"The postmark on the envelope was Paris, and there was but one means
of ascertaining my wife's address--through the only friend I had in
the world. To go to her, beggared as I was, would be adding shame to
shame. Besides, I could not pay my hotel bill. But still it impressed
itself upon me as an imperative duty that I should find her and make
full confession; and then to bid her farewell forever.
"I wrote to my friend, to his address in London; I made a strong
appeal to him, and informed him of the position I was in. He wrote
back after a delay of two days; he said he had something of a very
grave nature to attend to that would take him from England, and he
could not, therefore, come to me at once. When he saw me he would
inform me why he could not come earlier. I was to remain where I was
till he arrived; he would be responsible for my hotel bill; I was not
to trouble myself about that. I learned from the landlord that he had
received a letter from my friend, making himself responsible for my
debt to him.
"'You have had a turn of ill luck at the tables,' said the landlord.
'It is the way with most gentlemen; but sometimes a turn comes the
other way.' He appeared perfectly satisfied, but I could not help
feeling that he regarded me as a personal hostage for the amount of
the bill.
"I wrote again to my friend, imploring him not to delay, and this time
I received no answer to my letter. I supposed he had left England on
the business he referred to, and in my helpless position I was
compelled to wait and eat my heart away.
"Ten days elapsed before he came; he was dressed in mourning, and was
sad and anxious, as though he had passed through some deep trouble.
"'It was impossible for me to get here before,' he said gravely.
"I nodded impatiently, and then, with an awkward, consciousness that
something was due to him, I touched his black coat.
"'You have had a loss," I said.
"'You will hear sad news presently,' he answered, 'and you must
prepare yourself for it. But tell me first of your troubles here. I
was so harassed and grieved at the time your letter arrived that I
hardly understood it; and then I laid it aside and could not find it
again.'
"Curbing my impatience, for he insisted upon my exposing the full
extent of my misfortunes, I related to him briefly the result of my
mad venture.
"'And you are utterly ruined?' he said.
"'Utterly, utterly ruined,' I replied. 'Enough of myself for the
present. Tell me of my wife.'
"His countenance fell. There was a significance in his manner which
profoundly agitated me. Eager for an answer, and dreading it, I asked
him why he did not speak.
"'It is cruel,' he murmured, his face still averted from me, 'at such
a time, when you have lost every hope in life, to say what I have come
to say. We will speak together to-morrow.'
"'We will speak together now!' I cried, seizing him by the arm, and
compelling him to turn toward me. 'Do you think that anything you can
say, any message you may bring from her, can add to the misery and
degradation of my position? Tell me of my wife!'
"'How can I speak?' he murmured. 'What can I say?'
"'Speak the truth,' I said, 'and do not spare me. I deserve no mercy.
I had none upon her; I cannot expect her to have any upon me. But an
imputation has been cast upon me, an infamous, revolting imputation,
and I must clear myself of it. That done, I shall not care what
becomes of me. I have not told you of the last letter I received from
her, the only letter she has written to me since we parted. In that
letter she brings a horrible charge against me, instigated by some
villain who bears me ill will, and I insist upon my right to defend
myself.'
"I would have said more, but my emotion overpowered me.
"'She will not hear you,' said my friend sadly.
"'She has told me so in her letter,' I replied; 'but you can give me
her address, and I will write to her.'
"'It will be useless,' he said, 'quite useless, I grieve to say.'
"'You mean that she will return the letter to me unopened; but I will
not rest until she receives my denial of the crime of which she
believes me guilty.'
"'She will never receive it,' he said in a solemn tone. 'Cannot you
guess the truth?'
"'Good God!' I cried, a despairing light breaking upon me.
"'I can keep it from you no longer,' said my friend; 'sooner or later
it must be spoken. She had been for a long time in bad health, as you
know; it was impossible to disguise it--her state was serious. The
only hope for her lay in a change of climate and in perfect freedom
from mental anxiety. In my answer to your letter informing me of your
misfortunes at this fatal place I told you I had something of a grave
nature to attend to. It concerned your wife. A secret sorrow which she
did not impart to me had aggravated her condition, which had become so
alarming that the doctor held out no hope of recovery. She had another
terrible grief to contend with. Your child--but I cannot go on.'
"'You must go on. My wife--my Clair!----'
"He assisted me to a seat; I was too weak to stand.
"'Go on,' I muttered. 'Go on. All must be told--all, all! Do not
spare me. Let me know the worst.'
"'Grave symptoms had developed themselves in Clair,' he continued,
'and it was feared that she would share the fate that awaited your
wife. In these distressing circumstances she called upon me, and I
went to her without delay. I was shocked at her appearance. Death was
in her face; death was in the face of your child! I begged her to let
me send for you. She would not hear of it; it terrified me to hear the
vehemence of her refusal. "He shall not look upon me again, dead or
alive!" she cried. "He shall not look upon my child! We are parted for
ever and ever!" The doctor, coming in at that moment, warned me that
opposition to anything upon which she had set her heart would snap the
frail cord that bound her to life. "She can survive but a short time,"
he said. "In mercy to her, let her last moments be peaceful." What
could I say--what could I do but obey?'
"My friend waited for my answer. 'You did what was right,' I murmured,
racked with anguish. 'Was she at this time in the village she went to
when we parted?'
"'She had removed from it without my knowledge, in order that you
should not find her. It grieves me to make these revelations to you,
but the time has gone by for concealment. Clair died first. Her death
was painless.'
"'Did she not speak? Did she not ask for me?'
"'She spoke no word that I could hear. She passed away with her lips
to her mother's face. "I am glad my Clair has gone first," your wife
said. "It would have pained me to leave her alone in this cruel world.
She is safe now; she has not lived to have her heart broken. She is
waiting for me, and I shall join her soon--very soon!" I remained with
her to the last. Believe me when I say I would have written to you had
she not bound me by a solemn obligation which I dared not break. She
demanded an oath from me, and to ease her aching heart I gave it. I
could not, I could not refuse her. She died on the following day. Your
wife and child lie in one grave.'
"'Where?' I found voice to ask.
"'I dare not tell you. Not for any worldly consideration will I be
false to the dead. Again she made me swear that absolute secrecy
should be preserved as to her last resting-place. "I should not rest
in my grave," she said, "if my husband stood above it." I implore you
not to press me, for I will not, I cannot be false to my trust. Alas,
that I should be compelled to say this to the friend of my youth! You
know the worst now. There is nothing more to tell.'
"It was just; it was what I had earned. Of what avail would tears have
been, shed over the cold earth that covered the forms of my wife and
child? I had tortured them for years, and I was justly punished.
"'She sent me no message?' I asked, after a long pause.
"'None; and she made no distinct complaint against you. All that she
said was that her heart was broken, and that she left the world
gladly. It is the saddest of news, but we reap as we sow.'
"I acknowledged it. As I had sown, so had I reaped. What better
harvest could I have expected? Desolate and alone I stood upon the
shore, without kith or kin. It was with a stern satisfaction that I
thought I should not remain long on earth. It was truly my impression
at that time; I had the firmest belief that my hours were numbered.
"'You will make no attempt,' said my friend, 'to discover where they
are laid?'
"'Her wishes shall be respected,' I said gloomily. 'I could have
brought no comfort to her or to my child had they lived. I will not
disturb them now they are gone.'
"'It is due from you, I think,' he said, and presently added, 'What
will you do now?'
"'With my life?' I asked; and then I told him what I believed, that I
had not long to live. 'But for the short time that yet remains to me I
cut myself entirely away from all personal associations with men and
women whom I have known. I renounce even the name I bear, to avoid
recognition, and shall assume another. I am as one who has died, and
who commences life anew. If by my actions during the days that yet may
be mine I can atone in some small measure for the guilt that lies upon
my soul, such atonements shall be made. It is likely I may not reside
in England; the recollections that would force themselves upon me
there would be too painful to bear.'
"He approved of my resolution, and offered to render me some small
regular assistance to assist me to live. I accepted it after some
hesitation; he had made money out of me while acting as my steward,
and I thought he could afford it. Should I find myself master of more
than would be requisite for the barest necessaries, I would devote it
to the children of misery in memory of my wife, who had a charitable
heart, and was always giving to the poor. But what sweet virtue could
be named that did not grace her soul?
"You know now, Rathbeal, how it was that I did not bear my own name
when you first became acquainted with me. It was by chance that you
made this discovery, and it was partly because I felt that there was a
cowardice in the subterfuge, and that I was practicing it to avoid the
moral punishment I had earned, that when we were together abroad I
resumed my own. There was no need to make my friend acquainted with
this, and it is probable that he is in ignorance of it to this day. It
does not in any way concern him. I have cut myself away from him as I
have done from every person who knew me during my wife's lifetime. The
motive that induced me to request you to inform him that he would be
troubled with me no more was this: I had to some extent bound myself
to him not to return to England, and when I resolved to do so in your
company I felt that I was partially violating that understanding.
Consequently I determined to sever all personal relations between him
and myself. He has not sought me, nor shall I ever seek him. Our ways
of life lie widely apart, and it is hardly likely we shall ever meet
again. He believes me probably to be dead; let him rest in this
belief.
"I have nothing to add, Rathbeal, to this lengthy confession. You know
the worst of me. If you condemn me be silent, it will be charitable.
If I am still allowed to retain your friendship, it will ease my
heart.
"Robert Grantham."