CONCLUSION
At sight of his friend Joe held out his hand warmly.
“Eric, old man, I have wondered where you have been. Everything has gone
wrong. She is still here, and yet the hour is long past—that villain
must have backed out.”
“No, he carried out his plans to the letter; he had his carriage waiting,
ran off with a lady at ten o’clock, at eleven was married to her in a
cottage beyond the Harlem, and is now a Benedict as well as yourself,
Joe—but it was not your wife he was after.”
“Not my wife?” slowly, as though the wonderful news almost paralyzed his
brain—“not Lillian he sought?”
“Joe, it was all a terrible, a cruel mistake which fortune put upon you.”
“Good heavens! do you mean it?”
“Lillian, your sweet wife, is as innocent as you ever believed her in
your most charitable moods. That I will swear to—you will learn all
before this night is over, and I believe the mystery of the locked trunk
will be revealed. Just now I am famished for a bite to eat and a cup of
the coffee I get a scent of. Suppose you invite me in—I am not in
evening dress, but a few minutes in your room will arrange my toilet and
make me presentable. I want to see this thing out—to rejoice with you,
old boy, over the wife you thought you had lost but who is found again.
Besides, you know, I want to meet Marian, and I know she is here.”
What could Joe do?
He dragged his friend upstairs and himself assisted to brush him into
presentable shape.
Ten minutes were consumed thus, and then Eric was ready to go down.
All this while Joe had plied him with questions and the detective told a
good deal of what had happened to him.
There were some things of which he would not speak, however, and hence
Joe found himself in a state bordering on bewilderment when he finally
went downstairs.
By this time the guests had finished supper and were again flocking into
the parlors.
There were between twenty-five and thirty in all.
Eric was introduced all around.
He noticed that there was some little secret among a number of those
present—Lillian, all blushes and confusion, was being consulted by an old
gentleman with a white beard.
Although Eric had declared he was almost famished he would not leave the
rooms now for supper—something was on the _tapis_, and he was bound to
see it out.
Supper could wait.
Ah! it came at last.
The elderly gentleman rapped on a table. Silence ensued.
All eyes were bent on him, all but those of Joe Leslie, and his blazing
orbs rested on the blushing face of Lillian—before he learned all he
wanted to prove that he no longer entertained the slightest suspicion
regarding her.
“Friends, we have spent a very pleasant evening at the house of our
neighbor—we all cherish Joe Leslie and his charming wife as among those
whose names will never leave the tablets of our memory—a devoted couple,
loving, kind and gentle, whom it is an honor to know.
“Before we part to-night, it is my pleasure to officiate at a little
surprise—I am going to let our friend Leslie see himself as others see
him—in brief, I shall introduce him to himself.
“My grandchild Barbara and Mrs. Leslie have always possessed an artistic
temperament. They consulted with me about it, and I took some of their
amateur work to a friend who is a well-known artist.
“The upshot of it all is that for a month past Barbara has been flitting
over here at ten o’clock every morning through the gate we have in our
back fence, and the two have been taking lessons in painting with
astonishing success.
“This evening I was astonished to find a fine oil painting of myself,
true to nature, on my drawing-room wall—I had not dreamed my grandchild
was so gifted.
“And now for our fair Lillian’s birthday gift to her husband—bring them
forth, friends.”
Out from the mysterious closet came two gold-framed paintings—they were
placed on easels prepared for them, in front of the astonished Joe.
The faces were those of himself and his wife, astonishingly well done.
He hardly glanced at his own, but his eyes were glued upon the
counterfeit resemblance of his dear wife—done by her hand too.
Eric was amazed.
He looked from the painting to the original—the work was no amateurish
daub, but worthy of a master.
Could it be possible she had painted it? She was a genius.
At first delighted expressions arose, and then, as the old gentleman
raised his hand, these died away again.
All eyes were turned upon Joe.
He stood there as if petrified—his eyes were glued upon the picture of
his wife, and he hardly seemed to breathe.
Then he slowly turned his gaze upon the same face in flesh and blood.
She looked at him, still blushing—tears were in her sweet eyes—she smiled
through them.
Joe forgot where he was—he only remembered that he had wronged that dear
little woman by harboring thoughts that reflected on her love and purity
of heart.
Another instant he was at her side, had clasped her hand, and falling on
his knees before her, kissed the little member whose cunning had wrought
such wonders upon the canvas.
The others believed it was mute adoration that took him to her
feet—regard for genius—and they thought all the more of Joe Leslie
because he could appreciate a gift as well as a good wife.
There was one present who knew what was in Joe’s mind as he bent his head
before his wife, unable to speak, though his lips moved as they formed
the word “forgive.”
To cover Joe’s terrible confusion Eric made some remark appropriate to
the occasion, and of a nature to create a laugh.
This answered the purpose and presently the good people were chatting
gaily.
Joe soon found occasion to seek his friend Eric, and squeeze his hand
until the detective winced under the pressure.
“Thank heaven, Eric, for this blessing. All is bright again. I have the
dearest wife in all New York to-night. Tried and found true.”
“And she has a deuced fine sister too,” said Eric with a wink.
“That’s the way the land lies, eh? Try it, old fellow. Nothing would
suit me better; we would be brothers in truth then. And I declare, now
that I come to think of it, I believe you two would make a fine match.”
“Nonsense, Joe. When Miss Marian hears that I am a detective she will
shrink from me. People honor judges who sentence people to death,
sometimes innocently, and great lawyers, who are often on the side of
criminals, but at the same time pretend to look down on the officers of
the law whose sagacity leads them to arrest those who break the statutes
of the state.”
“I don’t know about that—she adores a hero in any type.”
“Come, don’t you go to making me out as such—I’m only an every-day chap
and never expect to do anything heroic.”
“Save your worry. If I tell her anything at all it will only be the
truth.”
As it turned out, Miss Marion was rather capricious—she heard Joe tell
long yarns of his friend’s bravery, she respected him as a man, even
while openly disliking his profession, but Eric soon saw she was giving
him no sort of encouragement.
This was hard because he was already deeply in love with the girl.
He went his way, taking his disappointment as best he could—they met
occasionally, but Eric did not pursue the game.
One night when Joe and the two ladies were on the way home in a street
car, it was suddenly halted—there was a fire ahead.
Marian had never seen a large fire and Joe, good-natured always, readily
agreed to take them where they could have a view.
The giant shouldered a way for them through the crowd, and soon they
stood in a doorway watching the flames play riot with the tenement near
by.
It was a terrible sight and a pitiful one to those who looked on—many
poor families were driven out, carrying what they could lay hands on, one
a trunk, another a feather bed, and a third some old gowns.
Fright made their faces wrinkled, and such looks the ladies had never
seen before. Suddenly a cry went up.
The flames were roaring, engines pumping and much noise sounding, but
this shriek pierced the hearts of all—it was a mother’s wail.
“My child! my child—save her!”
All eyes were fastened upon a window up in the third story where the face
of a flaxen-haired little girl appeared—blanched with fear, and yet
curious to see what was going on.
The ladder wagon had not arrived, and the flames were devouring the frail
tenement.
Surely the child was lost—no one could save her there. It was an awful
period of suspense to the thousands who looked on. Lillian and her
sister held their breath and leaned on Joe for support.
Then the child vanished.
“Heavens! she has gone—the floor has probably fallen in,” gasped Joe.
“No, no, look! there is a man at the window—he has seized the child and
is tying her to himself. Look! he climbs out of the windows. Ugh! if he
loses his grip both will be dashed to pieces.”
They gaze as if fascinated, both of the gentle ladies praying for the
daring man’s success.
He swings himself boldly along the ledge—none but a quick-witted man
could have seen the chance that existed, but he had.
Reaching a certain spot he took hold of the pipe that ran down the
building—it must have burned his hands, but he lowered himself by it to
the floor below.
Flames were beneath, but he had arranged his plan—a tall telegraph pole
slanted in here and a dexterous man could leap in among its numerous
arms—he coolly calculated his chances and sprang out.
There was a cry of horror.
“He is down—no, no, by Jove, he clings there with one hand. See how
bravely he exerts himself—as cool as a cucumber through all. Now he
seizes a new support; he will slide down the pole. Hurrah! both are
safe, thank heaven.”
Then Joe turned to Marian.
“What do you think of that man?” he asked.
“He is a hero—I love him,” she said impulsively.
“Good! I shall let him know that fact some day. Here he comes now with
the child on his shoulder, his face blackened, his hair scorched, but,
thank God, the same Eric as of old.”
The man passed them by—it was Eric Darrell!
Marian turned white and then rosy red.
“Joe,” she said almost fiercely, “if you ever repeat my words, I’ll—go
back to Chicago.”
Whether Joe repeated them or not no one ever knew, but Eric heard enough
to encourage him to renew his suit, and when Marian did return to Chicago
it was as Mrs. Darrell.
They are just as happy as Joe and Lillian—Eric is no longer a detective,
but has been studying for a doctor, as his wife believes he will make a
name in the profession. She will never forget watching him save the
widow’s child at the risk of his life—outwardly she loves him as a true
wife, but in secret she adores her Eric as a hero of heroes.
THE END