Chapter XVII: 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.