CHAPTER II. LUDLOW STREET JAIL 22
CHAPTER III. "FATHOM HER MOTIVES, PHILIP" 33
CHAPTER IV. MIXED MOTIVES 54
CHAPTER V. A WOMAN'S LOGIC 74
CHAPTER VI. A QUESTION OF COMITY 86
CHAPTER VII. NON-COMMITTAL 104
CHAPTER VIII. A DAMAGING PROMISE 117
CHAPTER IX. CONFLICTING IDENTITIES 134
CHAPTER X. A GLEAM OF LIGHT 153
CHAPTER XI. CHECKMATE 169
CHAPTER XII. OUR LADY OF KAZAN 183
CHAPTER XIII. NO EXPLANATION 205
CHAPTER XIV. "FORGIVE HER" 218
CHAPTER XV. VLADIMIR'S WELCOME 233
CHAPTER XVI. AN ETERNAL FAREWELL 251
CHAPTER XVII. AFTER TEN YEARS 268
MISS HILDRETH.
CHAPTER I.
A VIGIL.
The news of Patricia Hildreth's arrest on a criminal warrant had flown
like wild-fire throughout society. Mr. Tremain found himself almost the
only one of his world not cognisant of the facts from the beginning; and
as he listened to one garbled statement after another, coloured
according to the narrator's fancy, he cursed the evil fortune and his
own selfishness, that had kept him so effectually out of the way, and
made him play so blindly into the enemies' hands.
He knew very well that had he been at home, or allowed his letters and
papers to be forwarded to him, matters would never have reached so
serious a pass; but shutting himself away as he had done from all
outside communication, there had been no one at hand to avert the blow
as it fell, or to force a more definite showing from the attacking
parties, before the extreme measure of arrest was put into execution.
Esther Newbold's absence, and the uncertain movements of the
_Deerhound_, had proved an additional disaster for Patricia. It was only
on the yacht putting in at New London, that Esther heard of her friend's
trouble. A flaming poster outside the hotel had caught Mrs. Newbold's
attention as she sauntered along the planked side-walk with Miss
Darling, and the next moment they were both reading with horrified
comprehension the bold sensational headings:
"Arrest of Miss Hildreth. Further developments expected shortly. Miss
Hildreth's appearance in Ludlow Street, etc., etc."
These were the lines, in staring red letters, that first greeted Esther
on her landing, after a three weeks' cruise; and their effect upon her
can better be imagined than described. She was, however, essentially a
person of action, and not an hour had passed before she, her husband,
and Dick Darling, were on their way to New York, leaving the yacht and
its guests to dispose of themselves.
That Patricia should be in such dire trouble, and alone, struck Esther
as something so preposterous as to be almost incredible. Patricia, who
counted her lovers and admirers by the score; who was always triumphant
and victorious and worshipped wherever she appeared; whose smile was a
reward highly coveted; whose favour was a prize eagerly courted--to be
in prison, arrested on some crime too horrible even to be named. Alone;
subjected to indignities and privations whose very meaning had been
hitherto unknown to her easy, luxurious existence.
"Ah, do let us get to her at once," Esther had cried, imploringly, after
she had poured out all the horrible story in George Newbold's
astonished ears. "Only to think of her in that dreadful place; how she
must suffer! And in this weather too, so hot and breathless as it is;
and we never knowing all the time, but enjoying ourselves like brutes
and heathens! Oh, Patricia, Patricia, is this what your wilfulness has
brought you to? Oh, George, do make haste; and to think what a viper we
entertained in that dreadful Count Mellikoff!"
"Well, he certainly hasn't turned out an angel," answered George, in his
slow fashion. "For once, my dear Esther, the scripture has gone back on
itself, for he _was_ a stranger, and we made him very welcome; in return
for which he took us in most neatly."
"Don't be profane," retorted his wife, "I'm sure this is no time for
such joking. Isn't poor Patty a lesson to us all, and the evil that has
overtaken her a judgment on our folly? But will you make haste? We shall
lose the train if you are so deliberate. There's the gig along-side at
last; good-bye, my Mimi, be very good and you shall come to Mumsey in a
day or two."
She put her little daughter out of her arms, drew down her veil, and
hurried off her husband and Miss Darling, without further leave-takings.
Little Marianne stood on the deck straining her blue eyes for a last
glimpse of the dancing boat, her white frock and golden hair fluttering
in the light breeze.
Mr. Tremain found himself embarked on a fruitless expedition when he
yielded to Dick Darling's entreaties and started off impetuously to
visit Miss Hildreth in prison, and, as Dick evidently expected, wrest
her there and then from its odious confines.
Indeed, had he been less overwhelmed by the calamity that had fallen
upon Patricia, he would have saved himself the needless journey; for,
although the evening was still young when they reached the gloomy
building, no amount of bribery or corruption could effect an entrance at
that hour. In vain Philip pleaded the exigencies of the case and his
own legal position; the not too polite official was adamant to all
entreaties. His instructions were decisive; any one wishing to see the
prisoner must come at the proper hours, and with a proper permit.
"But I am her counsel," urged Philip, with a reckless disregard of
truth.
The man looked at him disdainfully. "I guess that won't wash, Judge," he
said, and turned away determinately.
Mr. Tremain looked down at Dick, who stood crying openly beside him, not
even taking the trouble to wipe away the tears as they fell.
"It's no use, Miss Dick," he said, "we can do nothing until morning. You
must let me take you home."
"Oh, it's too horrible," cried Dick, sobbing. "It's brutal, it's wicked!
Only to think that poor Patricia is _somewhere_ in this awful place and
we can't get to her. Oh, Mr. Tremain, which one of those dreadful
windows with the iron bars belongs to her----?" she could not bring
herself to say "Cell," so choked down the final word in a fresh burst of
tears.
"Ah, which indeed!" answered Philip, sadly. The same thought had come to
him, as his eyes traversed quickly the long blank stone front of the
building, its monotony of outline only broken by the narrow barred
casements.
Behind which of those apertures lay Patricia, abandoned in her
extremity? Her beauty tarnished, her fair name tossed from lip to lip,
her character at the mercy of an unsympathetic human world.
"Oh, Patty, Patty," he cried to his own heart; "has it come to this, my
love? Have all your pride and loveliness brought you only to this?"
He turned away slowly, and, drawing Dick's hand within his arm, led her
to the carriage that stood some little distance down the street.
"Will you go back to Esther?" he asked as he helped her in.
"Yes," she answered; "and oh, Mr. Tremain, come with me; oh do, please
do."
He hesitated for a moment; then giving the address, stepped in and
seated himself beside her.
Neither Philip nor Miss Darling ever forgot that long night drive, or
the moving panorama made up of lights and shops and people, that seemed
for ever passing and repassing before them. It was as if they stood
still, while all this restless pageant went by them in brilliant
sequence.
As they turned into Broadway, and drove somewhat slowly up that narrow
thoroughfare, they met the stream of pleasure-seekers at its height; the
theatres were just over, and a crowd of brightly-dressed, gay-voiced
people were passing from the entrances into the streets. Now and then a
light laugh, or some careless jest, would reach the silent occupants of
the carriage, and wound them; as a blow wounds falling upon a hurt still
fresh and bleeding.
"Oh," cried Dick at one such moment, "how cruel the world is, how
unfeeling! Ah, Mr. Tremain, how can any one laugh and jest when _she_
lies in that awful place,--while Patricia is in prison?"
But Philip said nothing; the anguish of his own heart was too absorbing
to leave room for superfluous words of comfort. For no anguish is so
great and so overwhelming, as the knowledge of one's powerlessness to
help when one's best beloved is in dire need of aid.
Fifth Avenue was reached at last, heralded a long way off by the huge
electric transparency, which flaunts its advertisement high above the
heads of the pedestrians, and causes the very stars of heaven to pale
before its garish light.
Turning down a side street, well up among the "thirties," and then into
Madison Avenue, the coachman drew up before a large brown stone house,
across whose many-windowed front not a light was to be seen, save the
faint gas-jet of the ornamental brass sconce in the vestibule.
Miss Darling sprang out unassisted, and running quickly up the steps,
pulled out a latch-key and swung open the door as Philip came up behind
her.
"You will find Esther in her morning-room," she said briefly, and
leaving him to find his own way, turned towards the stairs. Philip
watched her as she mounted them wearily, step by step. There was
dejection and despondency in her movements, and in the tired droop of
the young shoulders beneath the long dark cloak.
A deeper feeling than he had ever believed it possible for him to
entertain for gay, volatile Miss Dick, had been born within his heart
that evening; and, as he stood now and watched the girlish figure fade
into the shadows of the upper corridor, it was with a sense of sudden
loneliness that he turned and walked slowly across the wide entrance
hall.
Mrs. Newbold's town house wore that look of desolation and inhospitality
that is born of holland covers over the furniture, carpets rolled up
into corners, statues, ornaments, and chandeliers wrapped in protecting
winding-sheets. The advent of the mistress of the house had been sudden
and unexpected, and the mansion had not as yet thrown off the depressing
atmosphere of care-takers and board-wages.
In Esther's boudoir, however, matters were a little more homelike; the
cases had been taken off the chairs and couches, and various feminine
belongings, flowers and books, redeemed somewhat the forlornness of
shrouded pictures, and a fireless hearth.
Mr. Tremain knocked in a perfunctory way on the door, and immediately
Mrs. Newbold's voice bade him enter. He found her lying on a couch drawn
up to an open window, over which the Venetian blind had been lowered.
She had been crying bitterly, and the face she raised from the pillows
bore but a faint resemblance to its usual _insouciant_ blonde
prettiness, in the blurred lines, heavy eyes, pallid cheeks, and tumbled
golden hair.
She sprang up impetuously on seeing Mr. Tremain, and ran towards him
holding out her hands in welcome.
"Oh, Philip," she cried, "have you come at last? Oh, is it not all too
dreadful? Have you seen her, Philip? How is she? Is she brave and full
of courage? Oh, Patricia! poor, poor Patricia!"
Mr. Tremain took her hands in his as he answered:
"No, I have not seen her, Esther. We were too late."
She turned away from him and sank down again on the couch, looking up at
him with the tears gathering in her tired blue eyes.
"I made sure you would see her," she said, simply. "I never doubted
your power, I never thought _you_ could fail."
"Alas, I am not omnipotent," he answered, somewhat bitterly. "Even a
little brief authority, officially bestowed, can render me powerless. It
will not be for very long, however. I shall go back again at the
earliest possible hour in the morning."
"And you will help her, Philip, you will not let any foolish feeling of
pique come between you and her now? You will not remember her cruelties,
you will only think of her sufferings? Oh, Philip, you must take up this
matter for her, and you must plead for her, when the time comes, as you
have never done before. You will, Philip, promise me you will?"
"There is little need for that," he answered, sadly; "all my services
are at her disposal if she will accept them."
"Yes, I am sure of it," replied Esther. "Ah, Philip, I did not think
_this_ would be the service she was to require from you, when I begged
you, that last day at the Folly, to help her if occasion came."
"No, nor did I," answered Philip, quietly; then after a moment's pause
he continued: "Do you think, Esther, you can bear to tell me a little
more about this matter? So far I know nothing beyond the bald fact of
the arrest, and the nature of the charge lodged. Miss Darling was too
much overcome to enter into particulars. If I put a few plain questions,
will you answer them?"
"Oh, yes, I will try," replied Mrs. Newbold, clasping her hands closely
together, and looking earnestly up at him.
Philip drew forward a low chair, and placing it in front of her, sat
down wearily, and with a half sigh.
"Do you know when--she--she was arrested?" He avoided Patricia's name
with something of the same dread which makes us hesitate over that of
one but lately dead.
"I think it was only a few days ago, but I don't know exactly; I cannot
give you the precise date," answered Esther.
"Ah, that accounts for the delay that has occurred in their pushing on
the matter," said Philip, more to himself than to her. "August is the
legal holiday month, and Anstice, the District Judge, before whom the
examination, if there be one, would be made, is not due here for another
week. We have therefore seven clear days before us, in any event,
without counting on the chapter of accidents for further delays. Now
tell me, who was it brought the application for arrest?"
"Count Vladimir Mellikoff," replied Mrs. Newbold. "Oh, Philip," she
added, her eyes flashing, "is he not a coward, and does not his seem
coward's work, when one remembers how he was received and trusted?"
Mr. Tremain answered by a gesture of his hand.
"One would rather not think of that," he said; "let us try and put aside
personalities, and look at the case only from an outside point of view.
You may be very sure Count Mellikoff wasted neither time, nor the
opportunities afforded him by your hospitality, to work out his
nefarious scheme. But what I wish to ask you, Esther, will, I know,
grieve you to answer; still I must clear up one or two points in my own
mind, before I see her. Who was the person murdered; and why is she
suspected of complicity in the crime?"
He spoke sternly, and the hard lines of his face appeared in greater
prominence. Esther looked at him half frightened.
"He believes her guilty," she thought, with quick and decisive
perception. "How terrible! But it is so, I see it in his face." Then she
said aloud, and with a slowness that was almost hesitancy: "The name of
the murdered man was Count Stevan Lallovich; but I can't tell you--that
is--at least I don't know, how it is that they prove Patricia to be
mixed up in the horrible affair."
Mr. Tremain noted her hesitancy and the sudden reserve that had come
over her; he put it down to the knowledge of some facts she was wilfully
withholding from him, and this suspicion added weight in the scale, that
balanced so evenly between Patricia's innocence and guilt.
When he next spoke, his voice was even colder and harder than before.
"There is something very mysterious in the whole affair," he said,
looking Esther straight in the eyes; "it seems inconceivable that an
American citizen should be arrested in her own country, on the charge of
a foreign agent, for a murder committed in a foreign land, on a foreign
subject. Of course Count Mellikoff has no power to arrest of himself; he
must therefore, have laid sufficiently compromising evidence before our
authorities to obtain a warrant, and an officer to execute it. As it
appears now the whole affair reads more like a midsummer madness than
anything else; but a madness pregnant with serious complications and
results. Who was this Stevan Lallovich, Esther, and did--she--know him?"
"He was a cousin, or a relation, or a near connection of the Russian
Tsar's," answered Mrs. Newbold, still avoiding Philip's eyes. "I heard
Patricia--I mean I believe she did once admit knowing him when she was
in St. Petersburg. He was a great swell there, I am told, and the
favourite of the Court society. I don't know anything more about it,
Philip, indeed I don't. And oh, it is all so horrible, and so dreadful,
how can you go on asking questions in that cold way? It's just as if you
admitted to yourself that there was a possibility of her--her knowing
something about the death of this miserable man. Oh, Philip, how can you
doubt her? How can you, when you think of her in prison, and remember it
is Patricia, our own Patricia, they accuse of this terrible crime?"
And Esther buried her face in her hands weeping passionately.
But Mr. Tremain was scarcely moved; he remained sitting, resting his
head on his hand, and apparently lost in close study of the carpet under
his feet. Esther's words rang in his ears.
"Oh, Philip, how can you doubt her?"
And yet he knew he did doubt her. He knew that when Mrs. Newbold
admitted Patricia's acquaintance with the murdered Stevan Lallovich, and
placed that acquaintance within the ten years of Miss Hildreth's
absence--those ten unexplained years--he felt all the old distrust and
suspicion leap into life again, and range themselves before him in mute
confirmation of Miss James's calculated insinuations.
"Ten years is a long time--long enough to plant and sow and reap--long
enough to sink one's self to the neck in intrigue, to bury one's self in
crime."
How could he declare her innocent when this terrible, impassable gulf
lay between them? Since she had known this Stevan Lallovich, might not
another of Miss James's suppositions prove true? Might she not also have
known Vladimir Mellikoff in that past, and have reason to fear him now?
How much could he believe even of what she, Patricia, might tell him?
Several long moments passed by in silence, during which Esther sobbed
hysterically, before he roused himself, and, getting up, said, very
quietly: "I will not trouble you further to-night, Esther; you had
better get to bed, little woman. You do not quite trust me, I know, but
you may, my dear; never fear, she shall not suffer or be overcome if I
can prevent it. I will come back to-morrow after--I have seen her--and
tell you of her."
"Oh, Philip, be gentle to her," pleaded Esther, "be very gentle;
remember you did love her--once."
"I am not likely to forget it," he replied, and then he turned away
abruptly and left her.
All night long he walked to and fro, up and down, across an open common
of waste land that skirted the railway at Manhattanville, and all night
long, as the hours crept by, and the stars faded, and the dawn drew on,
he fought the battle over and over against himself--the battle of his
love for her, against his doubt of her. And when the day broke in a
sunrise of golden splendour, it found him still uncertain, neither
victor nor vanquished; still loving her, and still doubting her.