COMING TO A CRISIS
Look forward what’s to come, and back what’s past;
Thy life will be with praise and prudence graced;
What loss or gain may follow thou mayst guess;
Then wilt thou be secure of the success.
For on their life no grievous burden lies
Who are well natured, temperate and wise;
But an inhuman and ill-tempered mind
Not any easy part in life can find.
Lords of the world have but of life their lease,
And this, too, if the lessor please, must cease.
The youngest, in the morning, are not sure
That till the night their life they can secure.
_Sir I. Denham._
After reading that strange confession, Lilith sat in a trance of delight
so rapt that in it she forgot every source of trouble to herself.
Now the guiltless was vindicated. Now the secret that had weighed her
young life almost down to death might be told. Now the sorely persecuted
yet withal light-hearted and joyous exile and wanderer might return to
his own a free and justified man.
But where was he?
Lilith did not know. She could not even conjecture. He might not be
living. He was young, indeed, but life is uncertain at all ages, and his
was a very careless and adventurous life.
It was now more than eighteen months since Lilith had heard from him.
On that fatal March 21st, when her husband had driven her away, she had
received a letter from the wanderer, saying that he was en route for
Chicago, and appointing the Personal column of the _Pursuivant_ as the
medium of their correspondence.
But after having been banished by her husband on account of this very
wanderer, whose sacred claim on her he could not understand, Lilith had
conscientiously abstained from using the Personal column of the
_Pursuivant_ for opening any communication with the banned exile.
Indeed, as it will be remembered, Lilith had never sought intercourse by
letter or otherwise with the mysterious stranger who laid so much stress
upon his natural right to her duty. In every case it was he who had
sought her, often to her great peril, and always to her distressing
embarrassment.
But, though Lilith had abstained from all attempts to open a
correspondence with him, yet she had regularly searched the papers for
any possible news of the poor stroller, but without success.
At first she had wondered much at his utter silence, but since hearing
the report of her own death she understood that silence; she knew that
he believed in the truth of that report. Yet still she had not sought to
communicate with him, even for the purpose of announcing her continued
existence, though she knew what joy such news must bring to his lonely
heart. Her fidelity to the husband who had repudiated her was so
perfect!
Yet now that the fugitive from justice (or from injustice) was fully
vindicated—now that the secret might be told, the mystery cleared up—she
must seek to communicate with the wanderer, and immediately.
Two courses were very urgent—the first to get that published confession
into the hands of the wanderer; the second to get an interview with her
husband. Yet, no! She dared not seek the latter. If it had only been the
fatal secret which had parted them, then, indeed, she might have written
to him or sought his presence, and said:
“The mystery that raised a cloud between us has been cleared away, and I
shall be justified in your sight.”
But it was not only the secret which had divided them.
It was his antipathy to her—his incurable antipathy—expressed in his
words—bitter, burning words—that had branded themselves upon her soul:
“I never loved you. I married you only to please my dying father.... In
a few hours I shall leave this house, never to return while you
desecrate it with your presence.”
No! In the face of such a sentence she could not seek to see Tudor
Hereward. All womanly delicacy forbade the step.
But she must bring this published, vindicatory confession to the
attention of the exile, who had for more than eighteen years lived under
a false charge and false conviction, an outcast from society, a wanderer
over the face of the earth.
Lilith roused from her trance and acted promptly.
She cut the slip containing the confession from the paper, and then sat
down at the little side table on which her traveling portfolio lay, and
wrote this personal for the _Pursuivant_:
“MAZEPPA—J. W.—J. W.—A. A.—A. M. L. Z.—Send your address to E. W. H.,
Poste Restante, Paris, Search _Pursuivant_ for news.”
Having written this, she took another sheet of paper, and wrote a letter
to the editor of the _Pursuivant_, inclosing the slip of paper
containing the confession of Thomas Estel, and asking him, in the name
of justice and humanity, to give it a place in his columns; or if he
thought it a matter of not sufficient interest for the reading public,
at least to put its purport in a few lines that might meet the eyes of
an unhappy fugitive, suffering under the blight of a false conviction.
She enclosed the whole in one envelope, but did not seal it, for it was
necessary that she should get a letter of credit to send with it to pay
for the advertisement.
She had scarcely finished her work when the baroness entered the parlor.
“Writing so early in the morning, mignonne? The mail must have brought
you important news,” said the lady, as she sank languidly into an easy
chair.
“It has, madame! News that will oblige me to go to Chester to-day, if
you can spare me,” said Lilith.
“Why, of course. I must spare you, petite, if you have affairs. You can
take Monsieur Le Grange to escort you, if you please,” said the
baroness, kindly.
“If monsieur would be so good I should be very grateful,” began Lilith.
“Bonjour, mesdames! In what manner can I be so happy as to serve you?”
inquired the gallant old Frenchman, who entered at this point of the
conversation.
“Mrs. Wyvil has business in Chester to-day, and would be glad of your
escort, if you could find it convenient to attend her,” said Madame Von
Bruyin.
“I shall find myself most happy, most honored,” replied Monsieur Le
Grange, with a bow.
“Touch the bell, if you please, monsieur; it is within your reach,” said
the baroness.
The Frenchman rang, and breakfast was immediately served.
A messenger was dispatched to bring a carriage from the “Llewellyn
Arms,” the only hotel in the village.
And as soon as the morning meal was over Lilith prepared for her
journey.
Madame Von Bruyin was not without her share of feminine curiosity; but
she refrained from asking questions, and occupied herself with opening
and reading her letters—there were seven from her princely lover, and
one from an eminent Paris man-milliner or ladies’ tailor, whichever you
please, with whom she was in correspondence on the subject of her
trousseau.
Lilith and Monsieur Le Grange appeared in the parlor equipped for their
journey at the same moment that the fly from the hotel drew up at the
door.
“I shall return as soon as possible, madame, and I hope our absence will
not inconvenience you,” said Lilith.
“Enjoy yourselves, mes enfans!” said the baroness, gayly. “I shall
occupy myself with answering letters.”
The two travelers took leave and departed on their journey.
Llandorf was distant five miles from the nearest railway station; and it
took the one-horse fly from the Llewellyn Arms a full hour to get there.
Fortunately, they were in time for the eleven o’clock express.
Monsieur Le Grange made a bargain with the fly to meet them again on the
arrival of the seven o’clock train, and then took tickets and put his
companion into a coupé, which he shared with her.
A two hours’ rapid ride through the most picturesque part of Wales
brought them into the ancient city of Chester.
At Lilith’s request, they went first to the Bank of Wales, where she
obtained her bill of exchange, which she enclosed with her letter,
advertisement, and so on, in the large envelope, directed to the editor
of the _Pursuivant_. This done, they went to the post-office, posted the
letter and then drove to the Grosvenor Hotel, where they took lunch.
At five o’clock they took the express train back to the station, where
on their arrival they found the fly from the Llewellyn Arms waiting for
them.
In another hour they had reached the farm-house where it pleased the
Baroness Von Bruyin to rusticate for a season.
The lady, who affected rural hours, had dined early, and was waiting tea
for them.
She asked no questions, though still very curious to know what was the
nature of that business which had taken her young friend off so
suddenly.
Lilith, totally unconscious of madame’s silent curiosity, gave no sign.
After tea the professor read to the two ladies for some hours. Then the
party separated and retired to rest.
Lilith, having done all that lay in her power to do, under the
circumstances, impatiently waited for results.
Weeks passed away, and the baroness began to weary of the rural life
that at first had pleased her so much.
It was now late in October, and the weather was growing cool. Pony rides
among the mountains and rowings on the lake were not such delightful
recreations as she had found them earlier in the season.
In a word, Madame Von Bruyin was tired of Llandorf, and longing for
Paris—weary of the world of nature, and sighing for the world of
society.
One morning she suddenly announced her intentions:
“We will go to Paris on the first of November. A proper trousseau cannot
be arranged entirely by correspondence. If we get settled by the first
week we shall have a clear month before the gay season begins. What do
you say, mignonne?”
“I am ready, madame,” answered Lilith, so cheerfully that the lady could
not doubt the sincerity of the girl’s assent. Lilith was also anxious to
be in the French capital in time for any answer that might come to her
advertisement for the wanderer, whom she had notified to address all
communications for her to the Poste Restante, Paris.
Monsieur Le Grange, who added to his duties of secretary those of
courier and general utility, was instructed to make immediate
preparations for their journey.
On the thirty-first of October, being All-Hallow Eve, the party left
Llandorf for Southampton, and on the evening of the first of November
they reached Paris.
Madame Von Bruyin’s house on the Champs Elysées had been put in order
for her reception, in obedience to a telegram from Monsieur Le Grange,
so that the travelers at once found themselves at home in comfortable
and luxurious quarters.
The day after their arrival Lilith went to the post-office to inquire if
any letters had arrived directed to E. W. H.
She received an answer that there were none.
Disappointed, she returned home, and spent the remainder of the day in
driving about with Madame Von Bruyin among the most fashionable shops.
The woman of vast wealth displayed, perhaps, more extravagance than
taste in the selection of her costumes. She carried in her hand a slip
cut from a newspaper, describing at great length, and very minutely, the
dresses and jewels of some “royal highness,” who had just married an
imperial prince, and she was resolved to have fac-similes of each dress,
with additional dresses of, if possible, still more beautiful styles and
more expensive materials.
Her interviews with Worth, Pingen and other “celebrated” man-milliners
or ladies’ tailors (as you please) occupied her the whole day, so that
late in the evening she returned with Lilith, almost exhausted with
fatigue.
As that day passed, so passed many others.
Lilith, on going early in the morning to the post-office to inquire for
letters directed to E. W. H., would meet nothing but heart-wearying
disappointment, and on returning home would be required to attend Madame
Von Bruyin on her round among jewelers, milliners and modistes.
Madame Von Bruyin, with the most amiable intentions, embarrassed Lilith
very much by forcing upon her costly presents in jewelry, Indian shawls,
dress patterns, and so forth; for how could the wealthy and good-natured
baroness make such magnificent purchases for herself, and before the
eyes of her pretty young companion, and not give her beautiful
adornings? And though Lilith shrank from these offerings, and declared
that such splendors were not suited to her condition, the baroness
persisted in pressing them upon her, declaring that they were all most
peculiarly fitted for her, having been designed and manufactured to
adorn youth and beauty just such as hers.
As day after day passed with the disappointment of the morning, and the
wearying round of the afternoon, Lilith grew heart-sick and brain-sick
over it all. The splendors of the preparations for the approaching
wedding were in such dissonance to her anxious and despairing mood that,
young and beautiful as she was, she began to take a strong distaste to
finery, and to wish herself among the plain Methodists of Aunt Sophie’s
humble boarding-house.
Lilith longed for sobriety and repose, while her life seemed to pass in
whirlwind and lightning.
She had formed her resolution, however, and it was this:
If she should hear from the wanderer she would send him to Mr. Hereward
to divulge his secret, now no longer needing to be kept, to justify her
conduct, and leave it to her husband to seek her if it should please him
to do so.
Or—if she should hear nothing from the wanderer up to the time of Madame
Von Bruyin’s marriage, she would, on that occasion, only wait until the
bride and bridegroom should have left Paris, and then she would run down
to Havre by rail and take the first homeward bound steamer to New York.
Sometimes she wondered why the baroness never seemed to take any
interest or to care to ask any questions in regard to her young
companion’s future plans. But she supposed that Madame Von Bruyin was
too much absorbed in her own interesting prospects to think of anybody
else’s.
In this supposition, however, Lilith did her friend but scant justice.
The baroness—in her secret heart—had quite settled the question of her
companion’s future, and had no suspicion that Lilith would raise any
objection to her plan or that it was even necessary at present to allude
to it.
The day of explanation soon came, however.
It was Sunday. They could not go out shopping. They attended church in
the forenoon, and, after an early dinner, lounged about in Madame Von
Bruyin’s boudoir. Letters had been left for the baroness on the previous
day, but she had returned from her shopping too tired to examine any of
them except those addressed in the handwriting of the prince, her
betrothed, which she had read with avidity; the others she had pushed
aside until a more convenient season.
Now, on this Sabbath afternoon, her languid eyes fell upon the little
heap of letters still lying upon her writing-table.
“Nothing more interesting than circulars from tradespeople, I fancy,”
she said, as she lazily picked them up and passed them through her
fingers as if they had been a pack of playing cards.
“Ah! but here is one for you, petite, directed to my care! I am sorry I
did not find it yesterday, when I should have given it to you. It bears
the New York postmark, and is perhaps from the good Aunt Sophie, who is,
I believe, your only correspondent in the world. Is it not so?” said the
baroness, as she held the letter out to Lilith, who came eagerly forward
to claim it.
Yes, it was from Aunt Sophie.
And while Madame Von Bruyin opened and glanced over her own hitherto
neglected correspondence, Lilith opened and read Aunt Sophie’s simple
epistle:
“NEW YORK, October 21, 18—.
“MY DARLING CHILD:—I take this favorable opportunity to rite to you to
inform you that we are all in good helth, thanks be to the gracious
Lord, and hoping that this letter may find you and the barreness
enjoying the same rich blessing.
“My dear child, I have not received any letter from you sence I rote to
you last September, which I think my letter must of miscarryed or else
the ship must of been shiprecked. Oh, do rite to me and tell me how you
are and when you are coming home, for you know this is your home, my
darling child and honey. There is an interesting young man here, who
have taken Mr. More’s room which he left when he got married, you know,
and he is a very hopeful young man, indeed, which I hope he will make a
powerful minister some of these days, though he says he is not worthy to
black a Christian minister’s boots. He saw your photograf on the
mantlepiece one day and took such an interest into it and read the
dedercation on the back, where you know you rote To my dear Aunt Sophie,
from her loving child, and he asked me most a hundred questions about
you and I tolde him all I knowd. He is a Perfeck Gentleman and his name
is a Mister Ansolong. I dont know as I spell it rite because I never saw
it rote but thats the way it sounds. Well honey we are all going on very
much in the same way as when you left. Mrs. Farquier I think is agoing
to be married to Elder perkins of our church. I don’t holde with second
marriages myself, but everybody must walk accordin’ to their own lites.
Brother More has done a good work for the Lord and brought a menny
wandering sheepe into the fold. But you know his term with us will soon
be out and I hope and pray as the Conference will send him back to us
but after all we mussent lean too much on the Arm of flesh knowing who
is Our Helper. I do wish as that dear Mister Ansolong would enter the
ministry. What a preacher he would make! He reads the Bible like an
Angel! It is enough to make one Cry to hear him. But he says he has not
studied and I tell him that Peter and John and James and their brethren
never studied because there want any collidges in their days but he up
and put it to me that John and James and they had the best of all
teaching in the pursonal presence and example and instruction of Our
Saviour. And there he got the better of me which only makes me feel
surer what a powerful preacher he would be if he only had the Holy
Spirit. But there, my darling child, I am running on until this shete of
paper though it is foolscap is almost full—so I must finish, with
praying that the Lord will bless you. Give my Love to the dear barreness
and tell her the money she giv me to spend on the poor Street children
is doing a good work and Brother More is drawing up a Report to send
her, with the names and histories of the children Benifitted. So no more
at present from your Affectionate Friend
SOPHIE DOWNIE.”
Lilith read this letter with a joy scarcely less profound and grateful
than that with which she had read the vindicatory confession of the
convict, Thomas Estel.
Ancillon was still living; he had not fallen a victim to any deadly
fever of the South, or to the knife of any border ruffian of the West;
he had not perished in any railroad collision or steamboat explosion;
and these were the only perils which, in Lilith’s opinion, could end a
life so young and sound as his was. He still lived, and in his
adventurous or drifting life had drifted into the calm haven of Aunt
Sophie’s home.
It was very curious that he should have done so, Lilith thought; but,
then, experience shows us many curious coincidences in life.
She wondered whether he had seen her advertisement in the _Pursuivant_,
or whether, since he had given her up for dead, he had not ceased to
search the Personal column, which was to have been their medium of
communication when far distant from each other. But even if he had
neglected that particular column in which her one advertisement was a
standing item, still he must have read other portions of the paper, and
so must have seen the account of the convict’s ante-mortem confession,
which cleared John Weston from all complicity in the crime for which
he—John Weston—alone had suffered; and yet, perhaps, he might have
missed that one paper, or even in reading it, he might have overlooked
that one article, so full of importance to him.
At all events it appeared that he had not seen either the standing
advertisement in the Personal column or the copied account of Thomas
Estel’s ante-mortem confession.
He was still lingering at Mrs. Downie’s quiet house in New York City.
And Lilith’s joy and gratitude at having a sure clew to the wanderer was
so great as to exceed her surprise and wonder at the manner in which it
was recovered.
She determined to write by the first mail to Mrs. Downie and to Alfred
Ancillon.
So absorbed was she in the subject of her thoughts that she did not
perceive that Madame Von Bruyin had been watching her attentively for
some moments, until at length that lady spoke.
“Lilith,” she said, “you must have received some very happy surprise in
your letter, to judge by the rapt delight of your face.”
“I have,” replied the young creature, in a joyous tone. “I have received
news of a long absent and very dear relative, from whom I had not heard
for nearly two years. I had feared he was dead; but he is living, in
good health, at Aunt Sophie’s house.”
“Ah! I congratulate you, my dear. So this letter is from Aunt Sophie, as
I supposed. How is the dear woman?” sympathetically inquired the
baroness.
“Well as ever, thank Heaven, always well. She sends you messages of love
and gratitude. Would you like to see her letter?” said Lilith, holding
out the paper.
“No, dear; I have seen letters enough for one evening. That good Aunt
Sophie! There she is, always confined to one narrow round of duties. I
wonder if she would not like to see more of the world? Could not she
come out to us, if I were to send her an excursion ticket? Could not she
leave the quiet, well-ordered little household in the hands of one of
those matronly widows who, having lived so long with her, seem to be of
the same family? What a delight it would be to show her Paris! What do
you think, Lilith?”
“It would indeed be most delightful! And, indeed, although it does not
seem so at first view, I think it would be quite practicable. Aunt
Sophie is such a brave, enterprising little woman. I even think she need
not cross alone. I think Mr. Ancillon, my relative, may be coming over
on business and may bring her.”
“Enchanting! And they can both stay here and take care of you while
Gherardini and myself are on our wedding tour. Ridiculous etiquette, a
wedding tour.”
“But, madame,” said Lilith, in a tone of surprise, “do you really wish
to keep me on after your marriage?”
“I wish, and with your consent I intend, to hold you, as a dear sister,
under my immediate protection as long as we both shall live, or until
you shall be claimed by Tudor Hereward, in the case of his repentance,
or by some better man in case of Hereward’s death.”
“But, madame——”
“There, there, mignonne, do not let us dispute to-night. It is time to
go to bed. Write to-morrow to your friend Mrs. Downie, and invite her
here in my name. To be present here at my marriage. And to take care of
you during my absence. Put the last-mentioned reason strongly, as—to be
of use would be a great inducement to that dear, unselfish soul! There
are people, Lilith, who must be convinced that they are doing something
of utility for somebody else before they can be persuaded to enjoy
themselves. Convince this dear Aunt Sophie that you will need her, and
she will come over and enjoy sightseeing in Paris with all the zest of
youth. I will get Le Grange to see about the ticket to-morrow, so that
you can inclose it in your letter.”
“But suppose, after all, she should not come? The ticket will be lost,”
said Lilith.
“Well, the steamship company will gain. That is all,” replied the
baroness, rising and putting her fair hand over her lips to conceal a
yawn.
At this unmistakable sign of weariness, Lilith took the hint and rang
the bell for the servants to close up the apartments.
In a few minutes the friends had retired.