"Do you recognize this handwriting?" asked Mr. Vaughn, after a few
moments desultory conversation, handing her a letter.
Clemence uttered an ejaculation of surprise, "Why, it looks like mine,
though I never saw it before. What a singular resemblance."
"What is more singular still, it has your signature," said the
gentleman; "read it."
The young girl obeyed, mechanically, and her companion watched her in
interested silence, while the blushes came and went on her pure face.
Her look deepened into one of anxiety and consternation as she read.
"What can it mean?" she asked, in distressed tones. "Who has sought thus
to injure me?"
"A jealous, wicked woman," he returned, sadly. "It was a cruel deed, and
brought its own bitter reward of remorse and shame. But I will give you
the whole story."
"You doubtless wondered at your abrupt dismissal from Mrs. Vaughn's
employment upon so slight a pretext as Gracia gave you. I never dreamed
of the possibility until you were gone, and, when I questioned her as to
the cause of the non-appearance of the face I had learned to watch for,
she gave me this, telling me to thank her for having saved me from a
dreadful fate.
"The letter seemed to explain itself. It opened my eyes to the state of
my own heart.
"This shock, for a time, nearly overwhelmed me. I never believed,
though, even in the darkest hour, that you could do anything really
wrong. I knew that you were tried by poverty, and only pitied your
sufferings, resolving to render whatever aid might lay in my power.
"In pursuance of this resolution, I therefore traced out your residence,
secretly, and in my efforts learned something of your former history. I
found that I had known Grosvenor Graystone in his days of prosperity,
and took new courage in finding that you were the daughter of that
upright man.
"Not wishing to make myself known at that time, I still hovered around
you, thinking that, if you needed a protector, I would become visible at
the right moment."
"And," interrupted Clemence, "you were the unknown friend who sent us,
at our time of greatest need, the means that defrayed the expenses of my
mother's last illness, and interment. How much I thank you, you can
never know."
"I did not intend to speak of that," continued Mr. Vaughn. "I did
nothing of what I had planned, on account of being called suddenly away
to the death-bed of a distant relative.
"As soon as I could do so with decency, I returned, and my first visit
was to your lodgings, where I had determined to present myself in person
and make the acquaintance of Mrs. Graystone.
"What was my grief to learn that that estimable lady was no more, and
that, after a long and dangerous illness, her I sought more
particularly, as the one whose happiness was most dear to me on earth,
had gone away with a lady whose name I could not learn.
"As I was turning away in despair, a voice called to me. I turned and
beheld a woman beckoning to me from an upper window. This person I
recognized immediately as having once seen, in your company, and
joyfully retraced my steps, in the hope of hearing something that would
give me a clue to your whereabouts.
"'I'm Mrs. Bailey,' said the woman, coming down and standing in the
doorway, 'and I kalkilate you're after some news of that young girl that
used to go out governessing.'
"I replied eagerly in the affirmative.
"'Well, there ain't much to tell,' she said, slowly. 'The mother took
sick and died, and the girl herself just managed to live through a
dreadful long illness. She was hardly able to sit up when she went away.
I hear she's gone travellin' for her health. If that's so, _somebody_
must have furnished the means, and it wasn't that widow, who was the
only friend they had in the whole wide city. More like it was a certain
handsome young gentleman I could tell you about.
"'I'll tell you what it is, Mr. Vaughn,' said the woman, eyeing me
closely, 'you are wasting valuable time that might be better employed
than in following up an adventuress. Take the advice of a disinterested
friend, and let this Miss Graystone alone.'
"Of course, I then and there indignantly resented this officiousness;
but she reiterated her caution in my unwilling ears, and, finally, when
I was about to leave her, took from her pocket a small slip of paper.
"'Read that, Mr. Vaughn,' she said.
"I did so. It was a marriage notice of a Mr. Legrange to a Miss C.
Elizabeth Graystone."
"A distant relative," said Clemence. "We were not intimately acquainted,
and this is the first intimation that I have gained of Cousin Lottie's
marriage."
"Being somewhat confused at the time," continued Mr. Vaughn, "I
supposed, of course, that this was the lady I sought, and that farther
search was fruitless. There seemed now no more to be done. Of my
feelings of disappointment and regret, I will speak hereafter.
"Having now nothing to occupy my attention, I mingled more in society,
at my sister-in-law's earnest solicitation, though I cared little for
the strangers whom I met. More than a year passed in this aimless way.
"One evening, however, at a brilliant soiree, I met an elderly lady,
with whom I got quite well acquainted in the course of an agreeable
conversation. She was a woman of keen intellect, and it seemed to me
rather a masculine mind. I was astonished to find such an one amid this
idle crowd of gay worldlings, and I spoke at some length of the pleasure
I had enjoyed. She told me, then, that we were not such entire strangers
as I seemed to suppose, but that we had a mutual friend, a young lady
who was then absent from the city.
"This, of course, piqued my curiosity, and, upon asking an explanation,
she told me all she knew of the one whom I had so long been vainly
seeking.
"In return, I gave her my whole confidence. She invited me to call at
her residence the following day, which I did. It was the home where you
had spent those long months of seclusion, and the lady was, as you must
have guessed, Mrs. Linden.
"I learned from her everything that I wished to know save your present
place of residence, which she refused to divulge.
"'I expect my pet will return to me, when she has wearied of her present
mode of life,' she said, 'and then you can renew your acquaintance under
more favorable auspices.'
"It was in vain I pleaded for farther confidences. She was inexorable. I
had, therefore, only to exercise patience, and, as I had now everything
to hope for, I was happier than I had been for many long months.
"To while away the time, which, in my present mood hung heavy on my
hands, I started, in company with my sister-in-law and a party of
friends, on a pleasure excursion. We took passage in a steamer bound for
Lake Superior, every one anticipating an unusual amount of enjoyment.
Alas! what a terrible ending to it all! Let me hasten over this
dreadful tragedy; although I can never hope to drive the awful scene
from my mind.
"We were in the height of our enjoyment; little groups, with bright,
animated faces scattered here and there, and apart from the rest, either
promenading the decks, or sheltered in some retired corner, happy
lovers, whispering softly of the future that would never come to them,
for already the sable wings of death hovered over our careless band.
"By some unforeseen accident, and owing to no carelessness on the part
of the officers, the boat had taken fire, and when discovered by the
passengers the flames were making such rapid headway that escape seemed
impossible for the greater portion. It was a wild and awful scene.
"In the tumult I had sought out the children, Grace and Alice, and
carried them with me to a position from which I intended to leap with
them into the water after it became impossible for us to remain longer
on the burning steamer. I was just securing the life preservers about
them, when a heart-rending cry reached my ears, and the next moment my
sister-in-law grasped my arm. She was nearly frantic with fear, and in
the agony of the moment thought of nothing but her own preservation. The
sight of her completely unnerved me. I pointed to the children,
beseeching her to calm herself, and I would save them all. We were not
far from land, and, being an expert swimmer, I believe I could have done
so, had not my movements been impeded as they were. As it was, I could
do nothing. Insane with fright, the instinct of the mother seemed to
have died out. There was but one way. The flames were rapidly nearing
us, and, giving instructions to the children--who seemed more like women
than the shrinking creature who cowered before them--I made one more
effort to impress upon Gracia's mind the necessity for implicit
obedience to my instructions.
"I succeeded in gaining her attention and approval of my plan, but with
the awful danger behind us, there were still precious moments wasted
before I could induce Gracia to venture into the water, of which she
seemed to have a horror. I made almost superhuman exertions to reach the
land, and depositing my almost insensible burden, turned again to
attempt the rescue of my darlings. But I was too late. Faint, and nearly
exhausted, I was making but slow progress, when a heavy beam, floating
in the water, struck and rendered me unconscious. A boat that had
hurried to the scene of the disaster picked me up, with others; but I
never saw again the two little beings whom I left, with their childish
hands clasped, waiting for me to return and save them."
"Oh, heavens!" ejaculated Clemence, "not dead!--my two little pupils."
"Yes, dead," said Wilfred Vaughn, hoarsely; "buried beneath the waves,
and their only requiem the moaning of an angry sea." He paused for a
while, with his face buried in his hands, and then resumed:
"This awful visitation seemed to change Gracia. She had been a proud,
ambitious, selfish woman. I never wanted my only brother to marry her,
but he was infatuated with her splendid beauty, and when I saw that his
happiness was at stake I ceased to oppose him. After he died I hovered
near to watch over the children. But I never liked Gracia Vaughn,
because I could not respect her. Now, on what proved to be her
death-bed, I felt for the first time an affection for her, born of pity.
I think if my sister-in-law could have lived she would have been a
better woman. But the fiat had gone forth, and her days were numbered.
Naturally delicate, the intense excitement and exposure so lately
endured, set her into a low fever that at length terminated her life. As
she neared the 'valley of the shadow of death' her vision seemed
clearer. The scales fell from her eyes, and the repentant woman knew
that her life had been a failure.
"'It is better so, Wilfred,' she said to me, just before she died. 'I
have been only 'an encumberer of the ground.' I can be better spared
than others, for my life has benefited nobody. There will be few to miss
me.'
"'Oh, Gracia!' I exclaimed, shocked at the thought.
"'Nay,' she answered me, 'but it is true, and right. I have been selfish
and unlovable, and more than that, sinful. Do you think God will pardon
me!'
"'Can you doubt that He who sent His Only Son to die for us, and to save
not the righteous but _sinners_, will hearken unto our supplications?' I
said, earnestly. 'My dear sister, you have been weak and perhaps wicked,
but surely none of us are perfect.'
"'But you do not know all,' said Gracia, averting her face. 'I have so
longed to tell you, but have lacked courage. There remains but little
for me to do in this world, but I cannot die until I have retrieved, by
the humblest confession and fullest reparation, the great sin of my
life.'
"She covered her face with her hands and wept softly, and then said, in
a voice shaken by emotion, 'You remember the young girl, Clemence
Graystone, who interested you so strangely, and whom I engaged as
governess, with your sanction. It was to destroy her happiness that this
wicked act was consummated. For a reason which her woman's heart will
too surely tell her, I conceived from the first a violent dislike to the
young teacher. She had not been long in my employ before I began
watching her closely, in the hope of detecting some fault that would
render a sufficient and plausible excuse for my discharging her. I knew
that in such straitened circumstances the position she held was a
lucrative one, and so great was my antipathy to one who had never
knowingly injured me, that I could not bear the thought of benefiting
this orphan girl in the smallest degree. At last, coming to the
conclusion that there was not the slightest hope of discovering anything
against her that would bear inspection, and discovering that she was
every day growing more and more in favor with the entire household, I
resolved quietly to resort to artifice to accomplish that which I could
not hope to bring about in any other way. It was very easy to steal into
the school-room after hours, unobserved, and, after some practice,
imitate her handwriting closely enough to have it pass for genuine with
any one not familiar with it. This I did, and then discharged her. When
you asked the reason, I placed in your hands that which was in itself
enough to blast the character of a young, unprotected girl. But I
repented,' she said, excitedly, watching my face, which at this
unlooked-for revelation must have expressed all the horror and
repugnance I felt. 'Wilfred, don't quite despise me. Forgive me, or I
cannot die in peace.'
"I remembered her condition, then, and soothed her as I would an infant.
Against my entreaties, almost commands, she proceeded with the harrowing
story: 'I felt supremely wretched after I committed this wrong deed, and
at length, after some months, I traced the girl out in the hope of doing
something to aid her, and thus quiet my uneasy conscience. But she had
gone from her former place of residence. A woman who gave her name as
Bailey told me all I wished to know, and I felt quite relieved and
happy. She said the girl's mother had died, and that after a long
illness this Clemence Graystone had gone away with a gentleman, giving
me to understand that I need not feel troubled about her being in want,
for the girl was not friendless, but had those to aid her of the same
sort as herself. Of course, if this young governess were really unworthy
of all this anxiety, as the woman had intimated, then I had not done so
much mischief as I feared, and there was not so much to regret. I threw
off the recollection, and the whole circumstance had completely faded
from my memory, when I learned the truth of the matter from a
seamstress who had lodgings in the same building. This woman gave me an
entirely different version of the case, describing in eloquent terms the
girl's filial devotion to her mother in their dire necessity. I learned
now for the first time the real magnitude of the sin I had committed. I
wanted to tell you all then, but dared not. Now, however, with the grave
yawning beneath me, I have no longer anything to hope or fear in this
world. There is one thing yet which I can do to repair my error and show
that my repentance is sincere. My poor lost darlings had a fortune of
fifty thousand dollars left to them jointly by a deceased uncle. They
were to come into possession of this money when Alice had reached the
age of eighteen and Gracia twenty-one. In case of their death it was to
revert to me. I want to convey this sum to Clemence Graystone, because I
willfully and maliciously misrepresented her character to the man who
would have made her his loved and honored wife. It was a cowardly and
cruel act. I shudder to think what the consequences may have been. It
may be that want and grief have plunged her into crime. I could never
learn her fate, but the thought of her sweetness and purity has
comforted me when I have thought distractedly of her. I could never
connect anything but guileless innocence with those calm, clear eyes,
and that lofty brow, whereon intellect sat enthroned.'
"'But, Gracia,' I interrupted, 'are you aware of the import of your own
words?'
"'I am,' she said, 'and I mean to fulfill them. My mind is perfectly
clear upon the subject. There is no necessity for a lawyer. I will write
out my wishes in a few words, and sign my name without witnesses. I
shall give this into your charge, Wilfred. It is a sacred trust. Find
this girl, if you have to search the wide world over, and tell her of
this conversation by my dying bed.'
"I told her all then that I had learned in the last few months, and
promised faithfully to perform the sad office. It almost made her happy.
She died soon after.
"When the funeral obsequies were over I sought my late brother's lawyer,
intending to place the business in his hands before I sought you.
However, he laughed at the whole story as a piece of absurdity; told me
that the pretty governess was doubtless married to some honest fellow in
her own sphere in life, and advised me to destroy the unimportant slip
of paper, pocket the fifty thousand, and say nothing. I left in disgust,
resolving to keep the whole affair, for the future, in my own hands. I
immediately hurried to Mrs. Linden with the marvelous story, and she
gave me your address and a God speed. That is all that I have to tell,
except that I am here to congratulate you upon the change in your
fortune."
"Don't jest," she said, looking at him with tear-filled eyes. "It was
only over these graves, two of which hide those who were dear to me,
that I have gained this great good."
"Then I will stop jesting," he said, gravely, "and utter only the truth.
Clemence, I had another reason for seeking you. You have learned my
secret, and know, now, my deep love for you. Tell me if I may hope for
its return."
For answer, she extended her hand in silence, and across the grave of
the child who had worshipped her, he clasped and raised it reverently to
his lips.
Its pallid whiteness struck him mournfully. He kissed it again and
again. "A brave right hand to wield in one's own defense, and battle
with a cold and selfish world. It is like nothing in the world but a
snowflake, as light and as pure."
"Now, you are laughing at me," she said, the deep carnation blooms in
her cheeks making her beautiful.
He gave her a glance of adoration. "Here," he said, having disengaged
something from his watch-chain, "is a ring that belonged to an only and
beloved sister who died in early youth. I have a fancy it would fit your
finger, and I always intended it for my wife, as the most highly valued
gift I could bestow upon her. How would you fancy it for an engagement
ring?" slipping it upon her finger, where it hung loosely.
"I should prize it more than a Queen's diadem," said Clemence,
eloquently.
"You shall have the diamonds, by-and-by," giving her another glance that
riveted her own, and then he kissed her, as the seal of their
betrothal.