STELLA AND ELIZABETH.
How pure the passion of a woman's love--
How innocent the heart that bleeds;
The wretch is worshiped like the saints above
In spite of weaknesses and guilty deeds.
The news of Dr. Seward's mysterious death fell like a thunder bolt upon
the household he had left so recently across the water.
Mrs. Sinclair mourned sincerely for the loss of a life long friend, and
Stella, for a fatherly counsellor.
For hours after the arrival of the cablegram announcing the physician's
death, Sir Frederic paced the floor of his apartments, pondering deeply
on a secret which he felt must be shared by none. He was thinking of Dr.
Seward's suspicions as to the parentage of the young man now safely
guarded within the ponderous walls of the "Tombs." It had been only a
suspicion and now the one human being who knew aught of the matter was
silent in the sleep of death.
It was left for him to speak the words which should wound Mrs.
Sinclair's faithful heart and destroy forever the sacred memory which
was a part of her very being.
It was plain to him that the unhappy prisoner knew nothing of his birth
and only suspected Dr. Seward of knowledge on the subject through some
recollection of old associations. If this was the case there could be no
harm in remaining altogether silent on the subject, but then, when this
conclusion was reached, he thought of Lady Van Tyne and her probable
knowledge and realized how impossible it would be to conceal the
identity of her son from his mother when the question of his parentage
was raised, as it must be, during his trial by English law.
Whether Dr. Seward had succeeded in obtaining an interview with Lady Van
Tyne before his death, Sir Frederic did not know, and although greatly
distressed, he determined to defer the matter as long as possible as
Mrs. Sinclair and Stella were happier now than they had been for many
days, not only in their freedom from all supposed relationship to the
guilty man, but in the anticipation of a new joy that had recently crept
mysteriously within their hearts.
Elizabeth's sorrow was pitiful to behold, but the winds of grief were
tempered with kindness, in the fact of her lawful wifehood and the love
of her baby girl she found much happiness and comfort.
It was a pleasure to them all one chilly evening as they gathered about
the roaring fire, the butler entered and unceremoniously ushered into
their presence the jolly old Commander whose story of Maurice Sinclair's
death brought them sorrow and rejoicing, and the kindly young officer of
the Cunarder whose interest had been the means of so much prosperity to
Elizabeth and her child.
"Ha, Ha," laughed the bronzed old Captain as he tossed little Elsa high
in the air; "You don't look much as you did on the Steamer, little one.
I guess you've anchored in a pleasant port, Ay?"
"Indeed we have sir," responded Elizabeth, softly, as she gave her hand
to him in greeting.
"Well, well," he continued, looking appreciatively at her rounded
cheeks. "'Pon my soul, I never expected to see you looking like this.
Here, Mate, look at her red cheeks," he continued gaily, turning to the
young officer.
The young man blushed like a girl, for all his manly proportions, as he
took Elizabeth's timid hand and bent his head modestly as she said, "I
have _you_ to thank for my home and happiness, Mr. Moore. You were the
first to think of me when I was lying sick in that dreadful place."
"Indeed, Madam," he answered hurriedly, "it was the Chinaman that
mentioned the matter to me, you must not forget him."
"That is so, what became of the Ching Chong, Sir Frederic?" asked the
Captain as he lowered himself slowly into the massive rocker by Mrs.
Sinclair's side.
Sir Frederic told him briefly of his last interview with Sam Lee and the
capture of the imposter, touching as lightly as possible on the facts of
the case in deference to Elizabeth's presence, and both men sat
silently and listened with great interest to the recital.
When it was ended the Captain asked anxiously, "Did he give his name or
any clue to his identity?"
"He said that Jack Fenton was not his name, although he had been called
by that, and only knew himself as an illegitimate child, cast off by his
parents and reared by those who were equally ignorant of his birth with
himself.
"There is no doubt in my mind, Captain, but that he is the other lad in
your story, but you shall see him yourself to-morrow and that will
remove the last suspicion of doubt regarding his identity."
"And this Chinaman," continued the Captain, "you say he conversed with
him in that heathenish tongue, that in spite of a dozen stops in Chinese
ports, I could never make head or tail out of, does he give him a name
or know anything of his past?"
Here, Elizabeth rose quietly and making some trivial excuse, passed
hastily from the room, but not so quickly but that Stella, who had both
felt and seen her uneasiness, immediately joined her outside the door.
"Oh, Lady Atherton," Elizabeth cried as Stella drew her closely to her
side in mute sympathy when they were alone. "How dreadful it all is. To
think that the man I loved and trusted; the father of my darling child,
should be nameless, friendless and alone, with sin upon his soul and no
one to breathe a word of sympathy in his hour of need. Oh, Lawrie!" she
sobbed, "If I could only come to you."
"But, dear Lizzie," whispered Stella, "You must think of yourself and
Elsa first of all. You have suffered enough and it can do no possible
good for you to go to him. Wait, Lizzie, wait until he is penitent and
expresses a wish for his wife's forgiveness."
"Yes, I know that he does not care," cried Elizabeth, "but my heart
aches for him and I would gladly forgive all if he would only say that
he loved me. Oh, My Husband. You were merciful,--you spared my honor and
gave my child a stainless birth when, body and soul, I would have been
your slave. Yes, I too, will be merciful," she continued suddenly with a
determined voice as she raised her streaming eyes to Stella's face.
"Let me go to him, dear Lady Atherton, my place is at my husband's
side. Let me plead for him at his trial and bear with him the penalty of
his sins."
"Do you love him so dearly, Lizzie?" asked Stella sadly.
"I loved him once--Yes, yes I love him now," she added,--then facing
Stella she asked abruptly, "would you not do the same? Would you not
cling to him and work for him, if the man you loved was trembling on the
verge of awful danger?"
"I don't know," said Stella, doubtfully. Then a proud smile curved her
lips and her dark eyes flashed as she added, slowly, "I am afraid, dear,
that my love would never stand the test of sin and crime in one I loved.
Weakness and error I would shield; I would face danger and bear
humiliation, but I feel that I could never endure to blush with shame
for a loved one's infamy or drink the dregs of degradation, although
pressed to my lips by my husband, himself. No! Lizzie," she said
decidedly, "when my lover falls from his pedestal of honor and virtue
and descends to the crimes and vices of this earth, I shall cease to
love him, and though it tore the weak, fleshy heart from my bosom, I
would never voluntarily look upon his face again." There was silence for
several moments between the two when she finished speaking, but at last
Stella rose and said gently, "Wait here a little and compose yourself,
dear, while I return to our friends and when you join us again there
shall be nothing said to distress you, for I know," she added roguishly,
"the young officer has not come to see either mamma or me and you know
Elsa is hardly old enough to receive young gentlemen callers without her
mother to act as chaperone."
When Stella returned to the parlor it was as she thought. Her husband
had made his guests familiar with Elizabeth's story and she was a little
surprised to see the young officer holding Elsa carefully on his knee
while his eyes blazed and his features were set in a look of stern
resolve that boded no good for the villain of the narrative, should he
by any chance cross his path.