"YOUR FATHER IS GEORGE HARRISON, THE CONVICT!"
It is a common fate--a woman's lot--
To waste on one the riches of her soul,
Who takes the wealth she gives him, but can not
Repay the interest, and much less the whole.
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX.
"Another letter! Gad, they come thick and fast! Ta, ta, Fedora! sorry
I haven't time to read it; but a fellow must look out for his own
neck, and mine has felt deuced uncomfortable ever since I found out
that that devil Jack Wren is on my trail. How _did_ he strike it, I
wonder; for I thought we had covered up our tracks very cleverly. But
the fellow's a sleuth-hound, they tell me, and I've got to escape him.
Poor Fedora! it's a pity to leave you to your fate, but the sooner I
pack up and be afloat on the briny, the better for my neck," muttered
Ivan Belmont, airily, as he moved about his shabby apartment, in a very
unsavory quarter of Boston, gathering together his belongings, that
were scattered about on chairs and tables.
The letter from Fedora that he had found on coming in he tossed unread
into the fire, and as he ransacked the bureau drawers he hummed,
carelessly:
"'Long have I been true to you,
Now I'm true no longer.'"
It was long past midnight. The tempest had spent its force, and only
a fitful, soughing wind and gusty dashes of icy rain remained as
souvenirs of its terrific fury. Its worst force had not reached this
neighborhood, and Ivan little dreamed that the prison doors had been
hurled asunder by the blind force of nature, and that his partner in
wickedness had been released and was hastening to their rendezvous in
eager joy.
Recklessly he flung on the floor her dainty garments and pretty
trinkets, seeking the diamonds he had given her in the days when he
loved her first--love that had long ago tired, and had now grown
heedless, indifferent.
"But what the devil did she do with them? I'm positive she left them
here. Can they have been stolen? They are worth a pretty penny to me
now--they would help me to get away from this place that is getting too
hot to hold me."
"Help you to get away, you coward! Who helped me, I wonder? The devil,
I suppose. They say he takes care of his own!" said a mocking voice
behind him. He turned with a start. There stood Fedora!
Fedora or her ghost? The voice was there, the glittering, steel-blue
eyes; but where was all the prettiness, where the burnished golden
locks, the silk attire? This woman was drenched with rain, clothed
in rags, and the disheveled tresses that straggled over her brow and
shoulders had turned dead white, and their silver gleam was in awful
contrast with the drops of blood that trickled down her ashen face.
He stared like one turned to stone. He doubted the evidence of his own
eyes. That voice, those eyes--but could it be Fedora?
"Yes, it is I," she said, answering that mute, wondering look. "I am
here, escaped from the wreck of my prison to find you--you dastardly
thief--trying to steal my jewels, your own gift to me! You shall suffer
for this night's work! Villain! you tempted me to aid you in your
crimes, then left me to suffer the penalty alone. But I will betray
you, and you shall know how it feels to be shut within prison walls,
deserted by the one who swore fealty forever in happier days!"
He had been so disgusted, so enraged, that he was about to retort in
angry, sneering words that would drive her forever from him; but at her
threatening words his defiant mood changed to one of cringing, abject
fear. Though inwardly shrinking from her altered looks in keen disgust,
he dared not show his feelings. He must temporize; he must turn her
from her savage purpose.
He approached her; he held out his hand.
"Ta, ta, Dolly; we are not going to part in this fashion, are we?
Surely you did not mind if I sold the diamonds to get you out of
prison. It was a big bribe, I know; but the guard would not listen to
a penny less. To-morrow you should have been free; but how lucky that
you escaped, and we have the jewels still!" He slipped his arm around
her, and--in spite of her anger, in spite of her suspicions of his
falsity--the woman's head dropped against his breast.
She loved him with all the heart she had, this petted darling of the
foot-lights; she who had trifled with the hearts of nobler men had
found in this weak nature her ideal, and he led her on to lower and
lower depths until she was wrecked on the shoals of sin.
Nestling in the arms that were so reluctant to hold her, Fedora told
the man how she had escaped from her prison in the company of an aged
prisoner--a convict under a life-sentence for murder.
"You have often told me that your father was dead, Ivan," she said.
"Did you believe it, or was it a falsehood?"
"I--I--believed it," he replied, weakly.
"No, you did not," she replied, triumphantly. "Ah, my lord, how proud
you have been of your connection with the Carews! Yet your father is an
escaped convict under sentence for life! Have you forgotten his name?
Let me refresh your memory. George Harrison--alias Dutch Fred. Ah, you
start--you remember! Yes, he told me his whole history, and I gave him
the address of your mother--once his wife. He will go to her, he said,
and demand half her fortune!"
Ivan Belmont was silent a moment from chagrin. Then he rose superior to
the situation.
"Ha! ha! how the _mater_ will rave!" he laughed. "I wish papa success
in plucking the madame. The devil knows what a time I had coaxing and
wheedling pennies out of her pocket."
The vision rising in his mind of this proud mother and sister's
consternation roused his risibilities, and he laughed loud and long.
They had discarded him--flung him off like a dog. What a glorious
retribution!
But they turned presently from even this savory morsel to their own
affairs. Both were in peril, and it would not do to remain in reach of
the law. Yet Ivan was by no means ready to give up his cherished plans.
They sat far into the wintry dawn, exchanging confidences and plotting
new schemes, to be unraveled on Fate's dark loom.