THE SECRET VICE REVEALED
On the day preceding Christmas, late in the afternoon, Roger Atwood
boarded a steamer which had just arrived from a Southern city.
His uncle, the commission merchant, was expecting a consignment of
tropical fruits, and as the young man stood among others waiting
to see the freight clerk, he overheard one of the vessel's officers
remark, "His name is Jocelyn--so papers on his person indicate--and
he must be sent to a hospital as soon as possible."
Advancing promptly to the speaker, Roger said, "I overheard your
remark, sir, and think I know the gentleman to whom you refer. If
I am right, I will take him to his family immediately."
The officer acted with such alacrity as to prove that he was very
glad to get the sick man off his hands, and Roger noted the fact.
A moment later he saw Martin Jocelyn, sadly changed for the worse,
and lying unconscious in a berth.
"I am right, I am very sorry to say," Roger said, after a moment,
with a long, deep breath. "This will be a terrible shock to his
family."
"Do you think he is dying?" the officer asked.
"I don't know. I will bring a physician and take Mr. Jocelyn home
on one condition--that our consignment of produce is delivered at
once. I must be absent, and my employer's interests must not suffer
in consequence. I am doing you a favor, and you must return it just
as promptly."
The freight clerk was summoned, and Roger was assured that
his uncle's consignment should take the precedence as fast as it
could be reached. The young man then hastened to find the nearest
physician, stopping a moment at his place of business to give a
hurried explanation of his course. Mr. Atwood listened in silence,
and nodded merely; but, as Roger hastened away, he muttered, "This
mixing himself up with other people's troubles isn't very shrewd,
but his making capital out of it so that my consignment will all
be delivered to-night is--well, we'll call it even. He's no fool."
The physician was rather young and inexperienced, and he pronounced
Mr. Jocelyn's trouble to be congestion of the brain. He agreed
to go with Roger to the old mansion and do what he could for the
patient, although holding out slight hope of recovery.
"She is learning to associate me with misfortune, and will dread my
presence as if I were a bird of ill-omen," Roger groaned mentally,
as he recalled the several miserable occasions which, in the mind
of Mildred, were inseparably connected with himself; "but some
day--SOME DAY, if I have to strive for a lifetime--she shall also
learn that it is not I who bring the trouble."
Christmas comes at the darkest and dreariest season of the year,
making short, cold days, and longer, colder nights the holiday
season, just as He, whose birth the day commemorates, comes to
human hearts in the darkest and coldest hours of desolation. Even
in the great city there were few homes so shadowed by poverty and
sorrow that they were not brightened by some indications of the
hallowed time. The old mansion, that once may have been embowered
in evergreens, was again filled with the aromatic breath of the
forest, for Roger had commissioned a friend in the country to send
so large a supply to Belle that she was embarrassed with riches of
hemlock, laurel, and pine, which, although given away prodigally,
left enough to transform their rooms into the aspect of bowers. Since
they had not money for toys, they could make the Christmas-tide a
time of wonder and delight to Fred and Minnie in this inexpensive
way, and Mildred, who would naturally shrink from the wild mountain
home of the evergreen boughs, found in weaving and arranging them
into tasteful decorations a pleasure alloyed by only one thought--she
was indebted for it to Roger Atwood, the silent yet determined
rival of the man she loved. Though he buried his feeling in such
profound silence, and hid all manifestation so carefully that even
her intuition could not lay hold of any one thing, and say, "This
proves it," she nevertheless felt the presence of his love, and
sometimes thought she felt it all the more because of its strong
repression. It almost vexed her that he made no advances, and gave
her nothing to resent, while all the time he was seeking her with
the whole force of his will, or at least waiting for some possibility
of the future. When Belle proposed that he should help decorate their
living-room, since they, at this season, had only the remnants of
evenings to give, and were wearied, too, almost beyond the power
for extra effort, she felt that for Belle's sake she ought not
to object, and that for her own sake she could not, so scrupulous
had been the quiet, distant respect with which he had treated her.
When he came he seemed to anticipate her thoughts and to obey her
wishes in the arrangement of the greenery, even before she spoke,
so keen was his observation and quick his sympathy with her mind.
These very facts increased her prejudice and dislike. He was too
clever, too keen-sighted and appreciative. Had he been indifferent
toward her, and not so observant, she would have soon learned to
like him and enjoy his society, for he had a bright, piquant way of
talking, and was seldom at a loss for words. In fact, he had plenty
of ideas, and was fast gaining more. One reason why Mildred shrank
from him in strengthening repulsion was because, in his absorbing
interest and his quick comprehension of her thought and feeling,
he came too near. Without intending it, and in spite of himself,
he intruded on her woman's privacy; for no matter how careful he
might be, or how guarded she was in words or manner, she felt that
he understood what was in her mind. Her natural impulse, therefore,
was to shun his presence and suppress her own individuality when
she could not escape him, for only an answering affection on her
part could make such understanding appreciation acceptable.
Roger was not long in guessing quite accurately how he stood in
her thoughts, and he was often much depressed. As he had said to
Clara Bute, he had a downright dislike to contend against, and this
might not change with his success. And now it was his misfortune to
become associated in her mind with another painful event--perhaps
a fatal one. She might thank him sincerely for his kindness and
the trouble he had taken in their behalf, but, all the same, deep
in her heart, the old aversion would be strengthened.
"That invertebrate, Arnold," he muttered, "represents to her
the old, happy life; I, her present life, and it's my luck always
to appear when things are at their worst. After to-night she will
shudder with apprehension whenever she sees me. What WILL become
of them if Mr. Jocelyn dies!"
Full of forebodings and distress at the shock and sorrow impending
over those in whom he was so deeply interested, he and the physician
placed Mr. Jocelyn in a covered express wagon that was improvised
into an ambulance, and drove up town as rapidly as they dared.
In response to a low knock Mrs. Jocelyn opened the door, and the
white, troubled face of Roger announced evil tidings before a word
was spoken.
"My husband!" she gasped, sinking into a chair.
The young man knelt beside her and said, "Mrs. Jocelyn, his life
may depend on your courage and fortitude."
He had touched the right chord, and, after a momentary and
half-convulsive sob, she rose quietly, and said, "Tell me what to
do--tell me the worst."
"I have brought him with me, and I have a physician also. I found
him on a steamer, by accident. They were about to send him to a
hospital, but I was sure you would want him brought home."
"Oh, yes--God bless you--bring him, bring him quick."
"Courage. Good nursing will prevent the worst."
Roger hastened back to the patient, stopping on the way only long
enough to ask Mrs. Wheaton to go to Mrs. Jocelyn's room instantly,
and then, with the physician's aid, he carried the unconscious man
to his room, and laid him on his bed.
"Oh, Martin! Martin!" moaned the wife, "how changed, how changed!
Oh, God! he's dying."
"I hope not, madam," said the physician; "at any rate we must all
keep our self-possession and do our best. While there is life there
is hope."
With dilated eyes, and almost fierce repression of all aid from
other hands, she took the clothing from the limp and wasted form.
"He IS dying," she moaned; "see how unnatural his eyes are; the
pupils are almost gone. Oh, God! why did I let him go from me when
he was so ill!"
"Would you not like Belle and Miss Mildred summoned at once?" Roger
asked.
"Yes, yes, they ought to be here now; every moment may be precious,
and he may become conscious."
"At the same time I would like you to call on Dr. Benton in
Twenty-third Street," added the physician. "He is a friend of mine,
and has had much experience. In so serious a case I would like to
consult him."
Roger, while on his way to Dr. Benton's office, passed a livery-stable
with a coach standing just within the door, and he at once resolved
that the weary girls should not be exhausted by flying home in
terror-stricken haste. He took the carriage, obtained the physician,
and explained to him what had happened while on the way to the shop
in which Belle was employed. It was Christmas-eve, and the store
was still crowded with eleventh-hour purchasers, on whom the weary
child was waiting in a jaded, mechanical way. Her vacant look and
the dark lines under her eyes proved how exhausted she was; but
at the sight of Roger a flash of light and pleasure came into her
face, and then his expression caused it to fade into extreme pallor.
"What is it?" she asked, turning from a garrulous customer.
"Don't be alarmed; get your things and come with me. I will make
it all right with your employer."
"Belle," he said, when they were by the carriage door, "you must
be a brave woman to-night. Your father is home, and he is very ill.
Perhaps his life depends on quiet and freedom from all excitement.
Dr Benton, an experienced physician, is in the carriage, and will
go with us. You must tell your sister--I cannot."
If Belle had been herself she would not have failed him; but,
after the long strain of the day, she became completely unnerved at
his tidings, and sobbed almost hysterically. She could not control
herself sufficiently to enter the shop where Mildred stood, unconscious
of the approaching shadow, and so the heavy task of breaking the
news fell upon Roger. "If Belle, naturally so strong, was white
and faint from the long, toilsome day, how wan and ghost-like poor
Mildred will appear!" was his thought as he sprang to the sidewalk.
They were closing up, and the discipline of the shop was over.
Instead of pallor, there was an angry crimson in Mildred's cheeks,
and an indignant fire in her eyes. She evidently was deeply incensed,
and her companions apparently were as greatly amused. When she saw
Roger the crimson deepened in her face, her brow knitted in strong
vexation, and she went on with her task of putting the goods under
her charge in order, as if she had not seen him; but the thought
flashed through her mind: "Oh that he were to me what he is to
Belle! Then he might punish my insolent persecutor, but he's the
last one in the world to whom I can appeal. Oh, where's papa?"
"Miss Jocelyn--"
"Don't you see you have another beau?" whispered one of her companions
as she passed out. "You won't treat this one with words and manner
that are the same as a slap in the face, for he's too good-looking."
She paid no heed to the gibe, for the young man's tone was significant,
and she had lifted her eyes to his with eager questioning. His
grave, sad face banished the flush from hers instantly.
"Miss Jocelyn," Roger began again, in a low tone, "you have already
learned to associate me with painful experiences. I cannot help
it. But this, my misfortune, is nothing; you must nerve yourself
for anxiety that will test even your strength. Your father is home,
and ill. I will not explain further before strangers. Belle and a
physician are awaiting you in the carriage."
How quiet and measured were his words; but even in her distress
she was painfully conscious that the slight tremor in his voice
was the low vibration of a feeling whose repressed intensity would
sooner or later break forth. Beyond a momentary shrinking from what
seemed to her but well-mastered vehemence, she gave him no thought
in her overwhelming solicitude.
Scarcely a moment elapsed before she joined him at the door. As
he placed her in the carriage he said, "Dr. Benton will explain to
you what has happened."
"Roger--" sobbed Belle, but he sprang on the box with the driver,
and in a few moments they were at the door of the old mansion.
"Dr. Benton," said the young man, "will you please accompany Miss
Jocelyn? After the fatigue of the day and the shock of this evening
she will need your support," and he saw that she leaned heavily on
the physician's arm.
Having dismissed the carriage, he found Belle leaning against the
side of the house, faint and trembling. The young athlete lifted
her in his arms and bore her steadily and easily to the doorway,
and then again up the winding stairway. "Belle," he whispered, "if
you lose your father you shall at least have a brother."
She entwined her arm about his neck in mute acceptance of the
relationship. Her every breath was a low sob, and she could not
then tell him how his words reassured her, taking away, in part,
the almost overwhelming terror of being left unprotected in the
world.
During Mr. Jocelyn's absence his family had tried to banish from
their minds the memory of his weakness, and thus they had come to
think of him again as the strong, cheerful, genial man they had
known all their lives. The months preceding his departure were like
a hateful dream. It had been a dearly cherished hope that, after
breathing his native air for a few weeks, he would return the same
frank, clear-eyed, clear-brained man that had won his way, even
among strangers, after the wreck and ruin of the war. To him their
thoughts had turned daily, in the hope of release from toil that
was often torture, and from anxieties that filled every waking hour
with foreboding.
How bitter the disappointment then, and how terrible the shock,
as they now looked upon his prostrate form, meagre, shrunken, and
almost lifeless! Instead of the full, dark eyes that had beamed
mirthfully and lovingly for so many years, there was an unnatural
contraction of the pupils which rendered them almost invisible.
His once healthful complexion was now livid, or rather of a leaden,
bluish hue; his respirations stertorous and singularly deliberate.
"He is dying," Mildred moaned; "he is far, far away from us, even
now. Oh, if we could have but one look, one sign of farewell!"
Belle and Mrs. Jocelyn became almost helpless with grief, for it
did not seem possible to them that he could rally. "Oh, why did I
let him go--why did I let him go!" was the wife's remorseful and
often-repeated question.
The elderly and experienced physician whom Roger had brought ignored
with professional indifference the grief-stricken household, and
was giving his whole mind to the study of the case. After examining
the pupils of Mr. Jocelyn's eyes, taking his temperature, and
counting his pulse, he looked at his associate and shook his head
significantly. Roger, who stood in the background, saw that Dr.
Benton did not accept the young physician's diagnosis. A moment
later Dr. Benton bared the patient's arm and pointed to many small
scars, some old and scarcely visible, and others recent and slightly
inflamed. The young practitioner then apparently understood him,
for he said, "This is both worse and better than I feared."
"Worse, worse," growled Dr. Benton.
"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Jocelyn, more dead than alive.
"Madam," began Dr. Benton very gravely, "have you never seen your
husband using a little instrument like this?" and he produced from
his pocket a hypodermic syringe.
"Never," was the perplexed and troubled reply.
The physician smiled a little satirically, and remarked, in a low
aside, "I hope the drug has not affected the whole family. It's
next to impossible to get at the truth in these cases."
"Do you think he will die?" was her agonized query.
"No, madam, we can soon bring him around, I think, and indeed he
would probably have come out of this excess unaided; but he had
better die than continue his excessive use of morphia. I can scarcely
conceive how you could have remained ignorant of the habit."
Mildred bowed her head in her hands with a low, despairing cry, for
a flash of lurid light now revealed and explained all that had been
so strange and unaccountable. The terrible secret was now revealed,
as far as she was able to comprehend it--her father was an opium
inebriate, and this was but the stupor of a debauch! The thought
of his death had been terrible, but was not this worse? She lifted
her face in a swift glance at Roger, and saw him looking at her
with an expression, that was full of the strongest sympathy, and
something more. She coldly averted her eyes, and a slow, deep flush
of shame rose to her face, "Never shall I endure a humiliation but
he will witness it, and be a part of it," was her bitter thought.
The physicians meanwhile changed their treatment, and were busy with
professional nonchalance. Mrs. Jocelyn was at first too bewildered
by their words and manner to do more than look at them, with hands
clasping and unclasping in nervous apprehension, and with eyes full
of deep and troubled perplexity. Then, as the truth grew clearer,
that a reflection had been made upon her own and her husband's
truth, she rose unsteadily to her feet, and said, with a pathetic
attempt at dignity, "I scarcely understand you, and fear that you
as little understand my husband's condition. He never concealed
anything from me. He has been unfortunate and in failing health
for months, and that is all. I fear, from your cruel and unjust
surmises, that you do not know what you are doing, and that you
are destroying his slender chances for life."
"Do you wish to discharge us, then?" was Dr. Benton's brusque
response. He was a man of unusual skill, but blunt and unsympathetic,
especially in cases wherein he suspected deception--an element
almost inseparable from the morphia habit. The victim is almost
invariably untruthful, and the family not unfrequently hide the
whole truth in the desire to shield the disgraceful weakness. Dr.
Benton was too familiar with these facts to be easily moved, but
when the sad-hearted wife clasped her hands and cried, in tones
that would touch the coldest heart, "I wish him to live, for his
death would be far worse than death to us all," the physician said
kindly, "There, there, Mrs. Jocelyn, I have seen many cases like
this. Your husband will live, and will soon be able to speak to you.
If you then can induce him to leave morphia alone, he may become
as sound a man as ever."
Mildred put her arm around her mother and drew her into her room,
closing the door.
A few moments later Roger heard the wife's passionate protest, "I
do not believe it--I will never believe it." Then Dr. Benton said
to him, "Here, young man, run to my house for an electric battery."
When he returned Mr. Jocelyn was coming slowly out of his deep coma,
and his appearance was changing rapidly for the better. There was
a deep, indignant flush on Mrs. Jocelyn's face, and she took Roger
aside and said earnestly, "Never believe the lies you have heard
here to-night. I know that you will never repeat them."
"Never, Mrs. Jocelyn."
But Mildred was pale and almost stony in her cold, calm aspect;
her heart, in her desperation, was hard toward every one. Belle had
not comprehended the truth at all, having been too much overwhelmed
by her emotions to heed the earlier remarks of the physicians, and
Mildred had said to them significantly and almost sternly, "There
is no need of giving your diagnosis any further publicity."
Dr. Benton had then looked at her more attentively, and muttered,
"An unusual girl; more's the pity."
"Mr. Atwood," Mildred began, a few moments after his entrance,
"we thank you for your aid in this painful emergency, but we need
trouble you no further. Papa is rallying fast. I will thank you to
inform me of all the expense which you have incurred in our behalf
at your earliest convenience."
"Mildred," interposed Mrs. Jocelyn, suddenly appearing from beside
her husband's couch, the unwonted fire still burning in her usually
gentle eyes, "I cannot permit Mr. Atwood to be dismissed so coldly.
He has been a true friend in the most terrible emergency of our
lives. I must have a strong, kind hand to sustain me now that my
husband, my life, has been foully slandered in his own home."
Belle, in even greater terror of being left alone, clung to his
arm, and said, "He cannot leave us--he has made me a promise this
night which will keep him here."
With a troubled and deprecating look at Mildred, Roger replied, "I
will not fail you, Mrs. Jocelyn, nor you, Belle; but there is no
further need of my intruding on your privacy. I shall be within
call all night."
"He can stay in my room," said Mrs. Wheaton, who, although aiding
the physicians, could not help overhearing the conversation.
"No, he shall stay here," cried Belle passionately; "I'm so unnerved
that I'm almost beside myself, and he quiets me and makes me feel
safer. Millie has no right to show her prejudice at such a time."
Mildred, white and faint, sank into a chair by the table and buried
her face in her arms, leaving the young fellow in sore perplexity
as to what course he ought to take. He believed the physicians were
right, and yet Mrs. Jocelyn had taken it for granted that he shared
her faith in her husband's truth, and he knew she would banish
him from her presence instantly should he betray a doubt as to the
correctness of her view. At the same time the expression of his face
had shown Mildred that he understood her father's condition even
better than she did. It seemed impossible to perform the difficult
and delicate part required of him, but with love's loyalty he
determined to do what he imagined the young girl would wish, and
he said firmly, "Belle, I again assure you that you can depend
upon my promise to the utmost. Mrs Jocelyn, my respect for you is
unbounded, and the privilege of serving you is the best reward I
crave. At the same time I feel that it is neither right nor delicate
for me to witness sorrows that are so sacred. My part is to help,
and not look on, and I can help just as well if within call all the
time. Belle," he whispered, "dear Belle, I know you are unnerved by
weeks of overwork as well as by this great trouble, but be a brave
little woman once more, and all may soon be well," and he was about
to withdraw when Dr. Benton appeared and said:
"Mrs. Jocelyn, your husband is now out of all immediate danger,
but everything depends upon his future treatment. I wish this young
man to remain a little longer, for you must now decide upon what
course you will take. We have been called in an emergency. There
is no need that I should remain any longer, for the physician who
accompanied him here is now amply competent to attend to the case.
You have, however, expressed lack of confidence in us, and may
wish to send for your own physician. If so, this young man can go
for him at once. I can prove to you in two minutes that I am right,
and I intend to do so; then my responsibility ceases. Everything
depends on your intelligent and firm co-operation with whatever
physician has charge of the case, and it is no kindness to leave
you under a delusion that does your heart more credit than your
head or eyes."
He stepped back through the curtained doorway, and returned with her
husband's vest, from an inner pocket of which he took a hypodermic
syringe, a bottle of Magendie's solution, and also another vial of
the sulphate of morphia.
"I am an old physician," he resumed, "and know your husband's
symptoms as well as you know his face. His possession of these
articles should confirm my words. The slight scars upon his arms
and elsewhere were made by this little instrument, as I can show
you if you will come and observe--"
His medical logic was interrupted by a low cry from the stricken
wife, and then she fainted dead away.
Mildred, on the contrary, stepped forward, with a pale, stern
face, and said, "I will take charge of these," and she, carried
the agents of their ruin to her own room. Instantly she returned,
and assisted Mrs. Wheaton in the restoration of her mother.
To Belle, who had looked on dazed, trembling, and bewildered, Roger
whispered, "I shall be within call all night."