IN THE TOILS.
Captain Frazier had seen all that had transpired.
He was just about to spring into the apartment and tear the paper from
Jessie Bain's hands, when he saw her fall lifeless by the couch. Quickly
he flung the _portieres_ aside and sprang into the apartment. It was but
the work of a moment to secure the document, and to thrust it in his
vest-pocket. Then, without an instant's loss of time, he caught up the
insensible form of Jessie, throwing a dark, heavy shawl about her, he
shot hurriedly out of the room and down the corridor, making for the
drawing-room, whose long French windows opened on the porch. He had
scarcely crossed the threshold ere he heard the sound of hurrying
footsteps.
"Ha! they heard the sound of her fall," he muttered, dashing open the
window and springing through it with his burden, landing knee-deep in
the white, soft snow-drift.
It took but a moment more to gain the road, and then he well knew the
dark, waving pines would screen him from the sight of any one who might
attempt to pursue him. As he stopped to take breath for a moment, he
glanced back at the mansion, and saw lights moving to and fro in the
upper windows.
Dashing breathlessly onward, he threaded his way up one deserted street
and down another, dodging into hall-ways if he saw a lone pedestrian
quite a distance off, approaching, remaining there until their footsteps
had passed and died away. To add to his annoyance Jessie began to show
signs of returning consciousness.
"This will never do at this crisis of affairs," he cried to himself.
He had come well equipped for the emergency, and drawing a small vial
from an inner pocket, he dashed half of its contents over the shawl
which enveloped the girl's head. Its pungent odors soon quieted Jessie's
struggles.
Hailing a passing coupe, he soon deposited his burden therein, jumping
in himself after giving instructions to the driver to make all possible
haste. They were jostled along the road with lightning-like rapidity,
and half an hour afterward had made the distance, and the cab drew up in
the loneliest part of the wharf.
"Here we are, sir," the driver said, springing down from his box and
opening the door.
The gentleman within did not respond.
"What is the matter with the man?" he muttered, striking a match and
thrusting it into the strange customer's face. He drew back with a great
cry. The man's face was as white as death, and at that instant he
became aware of the strong odor of chloroform, which filled the vehicle
to suffocation.
"Here's a pretty go," muttered the cabman, "and in my coach too.
"The best thing to do would be to dash a cup of water over him and
restore him to consciousness."
The cabman hurried to a watering-trough a few feet distant. Snatching up
one of the tin cups which was fastened to it by a chain, he soon
wrenched it free. But before he had advanced a single step with its
contents, a great cry of horror broke from his lips; the horses dashed
suddenly forward and were galloping madly down the same street which
they had so lately traversed.
He reported his loss to the nearest station, not daring to mention the
serious condition of the occupants of the cab. But up to noon the
following day not even a trace of the vehicle could be discovered.
Old Mrs. Varrick was fairly paralyzed over the disappearance of little
Jessie, whom she had learned to love as a daughter. She would not
believe that she had left the house of her own accord--wandered away
from it.
"There has been foul play here," she cried.
And immediately old Stephen, the servant, said to himself:
"It all comes from the stranger who was loitering about the place about
a week ago;" and he made up his mind to do a little detective work on
his own account. "If he is in the city, I will find him," he muttered.
"I will tramp night and day up and down the streets until I meet him.
Then I will openly accuse him of abducting poor pretty Miss Jessie."
He went to his old mistress and asked for leave of absence for a few
days. Mrs. Varrick shook her head mournfully.
"I should not think you would want to leave me, when you see me in all
this trouble, Stephen," she said. "You should stand by me, though every
one else fails me. Only this morning the butler gave notice that he
intended to leave here on the morrow, and he, like yourself, has been
with me for years."
"I am not surprised to hear that, ma'am," returned Stephen, laconically,
"for ever since that fatal night in the library the butler has had a
very horror of the place. He's as tender-hearted as a little child,
ma'am, the butler is. Why, he takes Master Hubert's trials to heart
terribly. He walks the floor night and day, muttering excitedly: 'Heaven
save poor Master Hubert!'"
Although every precaution was taken to keep the news of Jessie's
disappearance from Hubert Varrick, the knowledge soon reached him.
"My God! did I not have enough to bear before," he murmured, "that this
new weight of woe has fallen upon me?"
In his sorrow he was thankful that at least one person besides his
mother seemed to believe so utterly in his innocence--and that was the
butler. He came to see him daily and wept over him, muttering strangely
incoherent words, declaring over and over again that he must be proven
innocent, though the heavens fell.
"As near as I can see, it will end in a prison cell for life or the
gallows," said Hubert, gulping down a sob.
"But they mustn't hang--you shan't hang!" cried the butler, excitedly.
"I will--"
The sentence was never finished. He sat back, trembling in every limb,
in his seat, his face ashy white, his features working convulsively.
At last the butler came no more to see him, and Hubert heard that he,
too, had suddenly disappeared.
The day of the trial dawned clear and bright, without one cloud in the
blue azure sky to mar the perfect day. It was a morn dark enough in the
history of Hubert Varrick, as he paced up and down the narrow limits of
his lonely cell, looking through the grating on the gay, bright world
outside.
It did not matter much to him if he left it, he told himself. Suddenly
there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and glancing up,
Varrick beheld the old butler standing before him.
He greeted the old servant with a wistful smile, and for a moment
neither could speak, so great was their emotion.
"I have been a long way off, Master Hubert," he said, huskily; "but I
couldn't stay away when I thought how near it was to--to the time."
"Thank you for your devotion," said Hubert, gratefully. "I am glad you
came to see me; and, whatever betides," he continued, huskily, "I hope
you will think none the worse of me. Believe that I am innocent; and,
dear friend, if the time should ever come when you could clear my
stained name from the awful cloud which darkens it, I pray you promise
me that you will do it. I can never rest in my grave until this horrible
mystery has been cleared." The old butler trembled like a leaf. "I shall
haunt the scene of that terrible tragedy, and--"
A great shriek burst from the butler's white lips, and he fell to the
floor in a terrible spasm.
The attendant pacing back and forth in the corridor without, hastily
removed him. They spoke of it with pity, how devoted he was to his young
master.
At noon the case was called, and the greatest of excitement prevailed
from one end of the city to the other, for there were few men as popular
there as Hubert Varrick. The spacious room was crowded to overflowing.
There was a great flutter of excitement when the handsome prisoner was
led into the court-room. Those who had known him from childhood were
touched with the deepest pity for him. They could not believe him
guilty.
In that hour quite as exciting an event was taking place in another part
of the great city.
To explain it we must go back to the thrilling runaway that took place a
few days before, when Jessie Bain, powerless to aid herself lay back
among the cushions of the coach, all unconscious that the mad horses
were whirling her on to death and destruction. They careened wildly
around first one corner and then another, making straight for the river.
At one of the crossings a man stood, his head bent on his breast, and
his eyes looking wistfully toward the dark water beyond.
"If I had the courage," he muttered, "I would drown myself. I can not
rest night or day with this load on my mind. It almost seems to me that
I am going mad! How terrible to me is the thought that I--whom all the
world has always regarded as an honest man--am an unconfessed murderer!"
The very air seemed to repeat his words--"a murderer!"--and the old
butler--for it was he--shuddered, as he muttered half aloud:
"I never meant to do it, God knows!"
Suddenly the sound of wheels smote his startled ear.
"A runaway!" he cried.
Without an instant's hesitation he threw himself forward. What mattered
it if he lost his life in the attempt? He would save the occupants of
the carriage, or give his wretched life in the attempt.
Nearer, nearer came the galloping horses, and just as he was about to
throw himself forward to seize them by the bits, they collided with the
street lamp. In an instant of time the vehicle was smashed into a
thousand pieces.
One of the occupants, a woman, was hurled headlong to the pavement; her
companion, half in and half out of the coach, was caught in the jam of
the door, while his coat was fairly torn from his body, the papers that
had been in his breast packet strewing the street. The butler sprang
forward to seize the man and save him, but fate willed it otherwise.
He was too late. And as he stood there paralyzed with horror, the team
plunged from the dock down, down into the dark waves. In an instant only
a few white bubbles remained to mark the spot where horses, vehicle, and
the unfortunate man had gone down.
The butler, who had witnessed all the terrible catastrophe, turned his
immediate attention to the poor creature whom he believed must be dead,
she lay so white and still, face downward, in the snow-drift.
"Great God! It is Jessie Bain!"
He gathered her up quickly in his arms, together with a few papers that
lay under his feet, and carried her to his own lodgings, which were but
a few yards distant. He meant to convey her, as soon as it was fairly
light, back to the Varrick Mansion.
In the meantime, he would do his best toward restoring her. After
pouring a glass of brandy down her throat, he sought to bring back
warmth to the ice-cold hands by rubbing them vigorously; but it seemed
all useless, useless. Wrapping her in warm blankets, he drew the settle
upon which he had placed her, closer to the coal fire and waited to see
if the warmth would not soon revive her.
Then his eyes fell upon the papers he had picked up. One of them lay
slightly open, and by chance his eyes lighted upon the contents. What
was there about it that caught and held his gaze spell-bound? The second
and third he scanned. Then, clutching it closely, his hands trembling
like aspen leaves, he read on and on until the last word was reached.
"Great God!" he muttered, half dazed and crazed, "it is the confession
of Hubert Varrick's wife that he did not do the deed of which she
accused him. No one must ever see this!" he cried. "I will burn this
confession, and no one will ever know of it."
Cautiously he made his way to the glowing fire. What was that strange,
sharp, rustling sound? He glanced fearfully over his shoulder. Jessie
Bain was sitting upon the settle, gazing at him with terror-distended
eyes. For an instant the girl was bewildered at her strange
surroundings, then she recognized the butler who had left the Varrick
mansion a few days before. What was she doing here in his presence?
The last thing she remembered was standing over unconscious Gerelda, and
guiding her hand to write the words that would save Hubert Varrick's
life. As she looked she saw that same confession in the butler's hands.
What was he doing with it? Great Gad! how came he by it? As she gazed
she saw him carefully approach the grate, and hold the paper over the
flames.
With one bound Jessie Bain had reached his side and torn it from his
grasp, just as the flames had caught at it.
"What would you do?" she screamed.
He looked at her with cunning eyes.
"How came you by this?" he cried, in an awful voice, as he struggled
with her desperately to gain the paper.
No word answered him.
"You shall not have it!" he cried, wrenching it from her by main force.
"You shall not show this up to the world until it is too late to affect
Hubert Varrick."
A cry of agony burst from Jessie's death-white lips. She saw, in her
terror, that the old butler had lost his reason, and yet withal he was
so cunning.
She pleaded with him on her knees, but it was useless. He muttered over
and over again that she should not have the paper, that he would keep
her there a prisoner until all was over.
Despite her entreaties, to her great horror the man kept his word, and
Jessie found herself a prisoner in the isolated place. She was too weak
to make any effort to escape; there was none to hear her faint cries.
It must be said for the man that he tended her as faithfully as a woman
might have done; but he was deaf to her pitiful and desperate appeal. He
taunted her from day to day with the knowledge that it wanted but one
day more to Hubert Varrick's trial. At last the terrible time dawned. It
seemed to Jessie that she would go mad with the horror of it.
She tried with all her weak strength to break the firm old locks that
held her a prisoner there, but it was useless, useless. The sun slowly
climbed the heavens, and she knew, oh God! she knew what was to happen
to Hubert Varrick within those hours.
She sunk on her knees, crying out that if she could not aid the man she
loved, that the same sun would set upon her lifeless form--she would
kill herself.
Hardly had this resolve become a fixed purpose with her, ere she became
conscious of a loud knock at the door.
"I-- I am a prisoner here!" she cried. "I beg you, whoever you are,
break the lock of the door!"
This was hastily complied with, and she saw standing before her two
officers of the law.
"Oh, sir!" she gasped, "take me to Hubert Varrick at once, or it will be
too late to save him!"
"We are here for that very purpose," answered one of them. "We know all.
The late butler of the Varrick mansion has just breathed his last, and
confessed all--that it was he who committed the murder, and just how it
happened, begging us to come after you, and to liberate you at once, and
tell you that Hubert Varrick is now free. A carriage is in waiting. Come
at once. Mrs. Varrick awaits you there," he adding, noting how stunned
the girl looked, as though she could hardly believe what she heard.
There was one thing that Jessie never quite fully understood: how she
reached the lonely cottage of the old butler. She believed his mind must
have been wandering when he gave such a singular account of a runaway,
and a gentleman being with her in the coupe. She firmly insisted that
the butler must have chloroformed her, abducted her, and brought her to
that place, in the hope that she would then be powerless to aid Hubert
Varrick.
Who could describe the meeting between Hubert and Jessie and Mrs.
Varrick which occurred an hour later at the Varrick mansion.
Hubert would have taken the girl he loved so madly, in his arms on sight
and covered her face with kisses, but she held him off at arm's-length,
though she longed to rest in his strong arms and weep on the broad bosom
that she knew beat for her alone.
"No, you must not touch me, Hubert," she whispered. "It would not seem
right so--so soon after--after poor Gerelda's untimely death."
"Forgive me--pardon me, Jessie," he answered, brokenly. "For the moment
I had--_forgotten_, my love for you was so great!"
Here Mrs. Varrick quickly interposed:
"Jessie is quite right, my boy," she said. "You must not mention one
word of love to her for many a day yet. Perhaps your troubles will be
over before many months."
"If you both think that, it will not do for me to remain beneath this
roof where Jessie is," he declared, huskily. "I am only human, you know,
and we both love each other so!"
Thus it was that it was arranged that it was best for Hubert to go away,
travel abroad, and return a year from that day to claim Jessie. But it
was with many misgivings that Hubert tore himself away.
"If anything comes of this enforced separation, always remember that I
pleaded hard against it, but in the end yielded to your wishes." On the
morrow Hubert Varrick left Boston.
During the months that followed Jessie lived quietly at the Varrick
mansion with Hubert's mother.
The year of probation had not yet waned, when, one lovely April morning,
while Jessie was walking through the grounds that surrounded the
mansion, she espied a bearded stranger standing at the gate, leaning on
it with folded arms, evidently lost in admiration of the early
blossoming buds and half-blown roses.
"Permit me to gather you some of the roses you seem to be admiring so
much, sir," she said, courteously.
"Pardon me, would you permit me to enter and gather for myself the one I
care for most?"
The request was an odd one, but she granted it with a smile.
He swung open the heavy gate, and in an instant was by her side, folding
her in his arms, and kissing her with all his soul on his lips.
"Am I changed so that Love can not recognise me?" he cried.
"Hubert--oh, Hubert! is it _you_--_really you_?" sobbed Jessie, laughing
and crying all in a breath.
And there Mrs. Varrick found them an hour later, planning for the
marriage, which Hubert declared should be solemnized before the sun set.
This time he had his own way, and when the stars came out, they shone on
sweet little Jessie Bain, a bride; and surely the sweetest and most
adorable one that ever a young husband worshiped.
And there we will leave them, dear reader, for when a girl marries, all
the ills of life should be left behind her, and she should dwell in
sunshine and love ever after.
Those who knew her as pretty, saucy, sweet Jessie Bain never forgot her.
And may I hope that this will be the case with you, my dear reader?
* * * * *
THE A. and L. SERIES
POPULAR CLOTH
BOUND BOOKS
Issued ONLY by
THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK COMPANY
The Arthur Westbrook Company, in furtherance of its policy to give the
reading public the best stories at the lowest price, now offers books by
the foremost writers not only of to-day but of the last decade.
These books are bound in cloth.
The covers are attractive.
Each book costs only TWENTY-FIVE CENTS.
Among the writers whose works are offered at this POPULAR PRICE are such
men and women as Rider Haggard, Guy Boothby, Charles Garvice, Marie
Corelli, Augusta Evans, Laura Jean Libbey, and many others whose names
are only a little less dear to the hearts of the reading public who like
to read real books, written about real people, who have real
experiences.
The A. and L. Series Popular Cloth Bound Books is on sale at all
newsdealers and booksellers, but it is only published by
THE ARTHUR WESTBROOK COMPANY,
Cleveland, Ohio, U.S.A.
If you wish to read entertaining, fascinating books, look for the name,
A. and L. SERIES.
These popular cloth bound books are issued only by The ARTHUR WESTBROOK
COMPANY.
The A. and L. SERIES will contain, among others, the following stories
by
GUY BOOTHBY
The Kidnapped President
A Prince of Swindlers
The Mystery of the Clasped Hands
H. RIDER HAGGARD
Cleopatra
King Solomon's Mines
She
The Witches' Head
The World's Desire
LOUIS TRACY
The Jewel of Death
A Japanese Revenge
FRED M. WHITE
Mystery of the Crimson Blind
J. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Mysterious Mr. Sabin
MAX PEMBERTON
The Shadow on the Sea
F. DU BOISGOBEY
The Severed Hand
LAURA JEAN LIBBEY
Kidnapped at the Altar
Gladiola's Two Lovers
A Bride for a Day
Aleta's Terrible Secret
The Romance of Enola
A Handsome Engineer's Flirtation
Was She Sweetheart or Wife
Della's Handsome Lover
Flora Garland's Courtship
My Sweetheart Idabell
Pretty Madcap Dorothy
The Loan of a Lover
A Fatal Elopement
The Girl He Forsook
Which Loved Her Best
A Dangerous Flirtation
Garnetta, the Silver King's Daughter
Flora Temple
Pretty Rose Hall
Cora, the Pet of the Regiment
Jolly Sally Pendleton
MARIE CORELLI
Vendetta
A Romance of Two Worlds
CHARLES GARVICE
She Loved Him
The Marquis
A Wasted Love
Her Ransom
AUGUSTA EVANS
St. Elmo
Inez
MRS. SOUTHWORTH
Ishmael
Self-Raised
The Missing Bride
India
CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME
Thorns and Orange Blossoms
A Dark Marriage Morn
Dora Thorne