WAS BELLE MURDERED?
Mrs. Wheaton, Mr. Wentworth, and Roger did what they could for
the afflicted family, and Roger spent the greater part of several
nights in a vain search for the absent man, but he had hidden
himself too securely, and was drowning reason, conscience, his
entire manhood, in one long debauch. The young man grew more haggard
than ever in his deep sympathy for his friends, for they clung to
him with the feeling that he only could help them effectually. He
begged them to move elsewhere, since the odors of the place were
often sickening, but they all said No, for the husband and father
might return, and this now was their one hope concerning him.
In the second fall of her husband Mrs. Jocelyn seemed to have
received her death-wound, for she failed visibly every day.
One night Belle was taken with a severe chill, and then fever and
delirium followed. When Roger came the ensuing evening, Mildred
sobbed on his shoulder.
"Oh, Roger, my heart is paralyzed with dread. The skies you were
making so bright for us have become black with ruin. You are the
only one who brings me any hope or comfort. Come with me. Look
at Belle there. She doesn't know any of us. For the last hour her
mind has wandered. Half the time she is thanking you for all that
you have done for us; then she calls for papa, or is away in the
country. The doctor has been here, and he looked very grave. He
says it's all due to the bad sanitary condition of this part of the
city, and that there are other cases just like it, and that they
are hard to manage. Why didn't we move before? Oh, oh, oh!" and
she cried as if her heart would break.
"Don't grieve so, Millie," Roger faltered. "I never could stand
it to see tears in your eyes. Belle is young and vigorous; she'll
pull through."
"I hope so. Oh, what should we do if she should--But the doctor
says the fever takes a stronger hold on persons of full habit like
Belle, and now that I've made inquiries I find that it has been
fatal in several instances. We have been so troubled about papa
that we thought of nothing else, and did not realize our danger.
There are two cases like Belle's across the way, and one in this
house, and none of them are expected to live."
"Millie," said Roger resolutely, "I won't even entertain the
thought of Belle's dying. I'm going to stay with you every night
until she is out of danger. I can doze here in this chair, and
I should be sleepless with anxiety anywhere else. You must let me
become a brother now in very truth."
"No, Roger, we can't permit it. You might catch the fever."
"Millie, I will stay. Do you think I could leave you to meet this
trouble alone? I can relieve you in many ways, and give you and
your mother a chance for a little rest. Besides, what is the fever
to me?" he added, with a touch of recklessness which she understood
too well.
"Roger," she said gravely, "think what your life and health are to
me. If you should fail me I should despair."
"I won't fail you," he replied, with a little confident nod. "You
will always find me on hand like a good-natured dragon whenever
you are in trouble. The first thing to do is to send these children
to the country, and out of this poisoned air," and he sat down at
once and wrote to his mother and Clara Wilson, formerly Clara Bute.
Then, true to his word, he watched with Mildred and Mrs. Jocelyn
every night. Frequently his hand upon the brow of the delirious
girl would quiet her when nothing else could, and Mildred often
saw his tears falling fast on the unconscious face.
Mrs. Wilson answered his letter in person. "I couldn't wait
a minute," she said. "I went right over to Mrs. Atwood's and told
her that no one could have the children but me, and my husband
says they can stay until you want them back. He is so good to me!
Dear little Belle!" she sobbed, bending over the sufferer, "to
think that I once so misjudged you! A better-hearted girl never
breathed. As soon as she's able to be moved you must bring her
right to me, and I'll take care of her till she's her old rosy,
beautiful self. No, I'll come for her. I wish I could take her in
my arms and carry her home now."
"She often speaks of you," faltered Mildred. "Indeed she seems to
be living all her old life over again."
The doctor looked graver every day, and at last held out no hope.
Late one night they saw that the crisis was near. Belle was almost
inanimate from weakness, and Mrs. Jocelyn, Mildred, and Roger sat
beside her in the large living-room, into which they had moved her
bed, so that if possible she might get a little air--air that was
laden with vile, stifling odors. At last the feeble tossings of
the poor sufferer ceased, and she looked around intelligently. Her
mother kissed her, and said soothingly, "Sleep, dear, and you'll
soon be better."
She shook her head, and continued to look as if in search of some
one, and then whispered,
"Where is papa?"
"You are not strong enough to see him now," her mother replied
with pallid lips, while Mildred put her hand to her side from the
intolerable pain in her heart.
Belle lay still a few moments, and they breathed low in their
suspense. Her mother kept her soothing touch upon her brow, while
Mildred held her hand. At last two great tears rolled down the poor
girl's face, and she said faintly, "I remember now."
"Oh, Belle, darling, sleep," murmured her mother, "and you will soon
get well." Again she slowly shook her head. "Dear little mother,"
she whispered, "forgive naughty Belle for all her wild ways. You
were always patient with me. Pray God to forgive me, for I'm going
fast. If He's like you--I won't fear Him."
Mrs. Jocelyn would have fallen on her child if Roger had not caught
her and placed her gently on the lounge, where she lay with dry,
tearless eyes and all the yearnings of the mother-heart in her wan
face. Belle's eyes followed her wistfully, then turned to Mildred.
"Good-by, Millie darling, best of sisters. You will have a long--happy
life--in spite of all." Mildred clung to her passionately, but at
Belle's faint call for Roger she knelt at the bedside and looked
with streaming eyes on the near approach of death.
"Roger," Belle whispered, "lift me up. I want to die on your
breast--you saved me--you KNOW. Take care Millie--mamma--little
ones. Don't wake them. Now--tell me--some--thing--comforting out
of--the Bible."
"'God is not willing that one of His little ones should perish,'"
said the young fellow brokenly, thankful that he could recall the
words.
"That's sweet--I'm--one of His--littlest ones. It's--getting--very
I know--what it-means. Good--by. We'll--have--good--times--together--yet."
Then came that absolute stillness which he understood too well.
He bowed his head upon the cold brow of the dead girl, and wept as
only strong men weep in their first great sorrow. Mildred almost
forgot her own grief in trying to lead him away and to comfort
him, but he clung convulsively to Belle's lifeless form. At last
he broke almost frantically away.
"Roger, Roger," cried Mildred, "where are you going? What are you
going to do?"
"I don't know--I must have air or my heart will break; I'll go mad.
She's just been murdered, MURDERED," and he rushed out.
After a little while he returned, and said, "There, Millie, I'm
better. I won't give way again," and he took her in his arms and
let her cry away some of the pain in her heart.
Mrs. Jocelyn still lay upon the sofa, white as marble, and with
dry, dilated eyes. She was far beyond tears.
On the day following Belle's death the Hon.------sat down to
a sumptuous dinner in one of the most fashionable of the Saratoga
hotels. A costly bottle of wine added its ruddy hue to his florid
complexion. The waiters were obsequious, the smiling nods of recognition
from other distinguished guests of the house were flattering, and
as the different courses were brought on, the man became the picture
of corpulent complacence. His aspect might have changed could he
have looked upon the still form of the once frolicsome, beautiful
girl, who had been slain because he had failed so criminally in
fidelity to his oath of office. It would not have been a pleasant
task for him to estimate how much of the money that should have
brought cleanliness and health among the tenements of the poor was
being worse than wasted on his own gross personality.