University of Virginia Library

41. CHAPTER XLI.
THE BURGLAR.

IT was the 19th; the very day before the bridal.
All the city guests had arrived, and there was a
grand dinner at Oakwood, where the three long
tables were set upon the lawn beneath the maples, the
bright silver, and the gay flowers showing well through the
surrounding shrubbery, and seeming to curious passers-by,
who stopped a moment to look on, more like a fairy scene
than a reality. And Georgie, in her elegant white dress, was
queen of the banquet, and quite overshadowed Maude in
her simple muslin, with a few flowers in her hair. As some
beautiful rose, which has drooped and pined beneath the
fervid heat of a hot summer day, revives again after a refreshing
rain, and seems fairer than ever; so Georgie, with
her mind at ease, blossomed with new grace and beauty,
looking so well and appearing so well that none ever forgot
her as she was on that afternoon, the last she was to know
in peace.

Anticipating the festivities of the next night, the guests
did not tarry late, but dispersed soon after dinner was over,
each making some pleasant remark to the brides-elect, and
wishing them as bright a to-morrow as to-day had been.
Roy was not feeling well, and he, too, went early, telling
Georgie that he should not come again until he came to
claim her.

There was a moon that night, but occasionally a rift of
fleecy clouds obscured its brightness, and it was just as it
had passed into one of these misty ridges that Roy met in
the avenue with two men, one carrying a bundle, a little in
advance of the other, who was walking slowly toward Oakwood.

Without a thought as to who they were, Roy bade
them a civil good-evening, as was his custom with every
one, and then went on his way, while the two men did the
same. One was a man sent with some work which had
been done for Georgie in town, the other a stranger, who
eyed the house curiously as he approached it, and who hesitated
a moment when he saw his neighbor go round to a side
door and ring the bell. Standing in the shadow, he waited
until the ring was answered, and he heard the man say:
“A bundle for Miss Burton, from Slosson's, and the bill.”

Taking them both, the servant bade the young man wait
a moment while he carried them to Miss Burton, who had
gone to her room. The bill was paid, and the messenger
from Slosson's departed, while the stranger stepped to
the door, and asked for “Miss Georgie Burton.”

“Gone to her room,” was the reply, as had been anticipated,
while the stranger added: “Please hand her this—
other bill,” and he held out a sealed envelope, addressed to
Miss Georgie Burton, adding, when the servant asked if an
answer was required: “Not to-night; to-morrow will do as
well.”

The next moment the stranger had disappeared under the
dense shadow of the trees; and the servant was on her way
to Georgie's room.

Georgie was very tired, and had signified to Maude her
intention of retiring early. The arrival of the Slosson bill
had retarded her movements somewhat, and she had just
locked her door and let down her long flowing hair, when a
second knock interrupted her, and she looked out a little impatiently
to see what was wanted.

“Another bill, which the man said could wait till to-morrow,”
was the girl's laconic remark, as she handed her mistress
the note, and then walked away.

“Another bill? I did not know there was another,” Georgie

thought, as she relocked her door, and went back beneath
the gas to open the envelope.

But what was it which made her turn so white, and reel
like a drunken creature, while her heart gave such violent
bounds that she felt as if it were forcing itself into her throat.
There could be but one handwriting like that, and she stood
for a moment perfectly rigid, with her eyes glued to the
name, “Miss Georgie Burton;” then with fingers from which
all the blood had receded, leaving no feeling in them, she
tore open her letter and read:

There was a gurgling sound in Georgie's throat, as her
first impulse was to scream, while a prickly sensation ran
like lightning all through her right side, and she felt as if her
mouth was twitching and turning toward her right ear; but
she did not stop to question the meaning of these strange
symptoms. She only thought of the fatal letter and its signature,
and how she was ruined forever. The evil she had
so much dreaded, and from which she had thought to escape,
had come upon her at last. He was not dead; he still
walked the earth; he lived and breathed not very far away,
and had summoned her to meet him, and she must go. She

had no thought of doing otherwise, and with the fearful
agony gnawing at her heart, she consulted her watch to see
how long before twelve. Nearly one hour and a half, and
she clasped her hands together so tightly that the nails broke
the skin in more than one place. But she did not feel it, or
know that the blood was trickling from her nose until she
saw the stains upon her white dressing-gown and on her long
black hair. Mechanically she walked to the marble basin
and washed and bathed her face until the flow had ceased;
then she took up the letter again and read it a second time,
while every fibre quivered and throbbed, and her eyes felt as
if protruding from their sockets. And all this time she had
uttered no sound; but when by chance she saw upon her
table Roy's picture, which, since her engagement she had
kept in her room, the magnitude of the calamity which had
overtaken her, burst upon her at once, and with a low moan
she fell prostrate upon her face, whispering to herself, “Roy
is lost,—lost,—and so am I.”

She knew that was so; knew there was no help, no escape
for her now, and again that prickly sensation ran through
her side, and a keen pain like a knife cut through her temples,
where the veins were swelling and growing purple with the
pressure of blood. Fortunately for her, unconsciousness
came at last to her relief, unconsciousness which lasted until
half-past eleven, and everything and everybody in the house
was still. Then she roused herself, looked at her watch
again, and prepared for action. He had written:

“Bring jewels if you have no money:” and knowing his
rapacious disposition, she took her costly diamonds, necklace
and all, her emeralds and pearls, and placing them
in a little box, hunted up her purse, and laughed a kind
of delirious laugh to find there were one hundred dollars in
it.

She had no hope of Roy; it was impossible now that she

should be his wife; there was a bar between them,—a living
bar,—raised, as it were, from the dead; and, though possibly,
nay, probably, silence with regard to the past could
easily be bought, and Roy need never know her secret even
now, she was not bad enough at heart to let him take her to
his arms while that man waiting for her outside lived and
roamed through the world.

She had given Roy up when she lay upon her face, with
the prickling sensation in her side, and the terrible pain in her
heart; had buried forever that dream of happiness, and
now the worst she would ever endure was past. No phase
of suffering could come to her like what she had already felt,
unless, indeed, Roy should hear the story of her shame, and
that he must never do. She could guard against that; she
knew the nature she had to deal with, and so she
took her richest jewels,—thousands of dollars in value,—and
throwing around her the same water-proof she had worn to
Annie's bedside, went noiselessly out into the hall, and
down the stairs, and on through another hall, the outer door
of which communicated with the garden, and was far removed
from the sleeping apartments of the family.

The night was a glorious one, and the moonlight lay like
waves of silver upon the green-sward, and the shrubs, and
the beds of bright June flowers, while the perfume of the roses
filled the air with sweetness. But Georgie saw nothing of
all this, and the night might have been one of thick darkness,
so little she recked of it, or knew of the beauty around
her. The woodbine arbor was all she thought about, and
she sped swiftly down the broad, gravelled path, uttering a
low scream as she saw the figure of a man rising to meet her.

One quick, searching glance she gave him to make sure
it was he, then with a gasp she staggered forward, and would
have fallen at his feet, had he not caught her by the arm
and held her firmly up.

“Sit down, Lu,” he said, not unkindly, and he drew a
chair for her. “Don't take it so hard,” he continued, as he
saw how white she was, and how rapidly her heart was
beating. “I do not mean to harm you; upon my word, I
do not; though I've no special reason for doing you a favor
except that you are a woman, and I once loved you too.”

Georgie shuddered then, and pushed her chair a little
farther from him, as if afraid he might touch her. But
he had no such intention. However much he might have
loved her once, he was well over the feeling now. He
had summoned her to a purely business interview, and
seating himself upon a stool not very far from her, he continued:

“I see I am to do all the talking. You do not even ask
me how I chance to be alive instead of dead.”

“It does not matter. I know you are alive, and that is
sufficient,” Georgie said, her words coming painfully, and her
black eyes flashing upon him a look of bitter scorn.

“It was a mean thing to do, I know,” he continued, without
heeding her indifference; “but it made you happier
thinking I was dead,—made you what you are, a grand
lady,—the finest I have ever seen. Had you thought yourself
tied to me, you could hardly have held your head so
high as Miss Georgie Burton. Confess, now, that I have
given you some years of happiness.”

She would not answer him save by a moan of pain, and he
went on:

When I wrote that letter to you, Will, my cousin, was
sick, and going to die, and I was taking care of him among
the mountains of Pennsylvania. By some chance, we had
changed names; he was Henry Morton, I was Will Delong;
and it occurred to me that here was a chance for my life.
I'd throw the hounds off my track, and breathe again a free
man; so I wrote that I was dying, and after Will was dead

I caused to be published in several papers the notice that
Henry Morton, the man who was arrested for burglary, and
tried as John Sand, and broke from his prison, had recently
died. I saw the notice copied into other papers, and felt
that I was safe so long as I staid away from those who knew
me, and would recognize my blind eye. To remedy this defect,
I took to wearing glasses, which answered very well.
I travelled West and South, and crossed finally to England,
then to Scotland, where I got me a little home among the
heather hills, and tried to be a decent man.”

“Why didn't you stay there?” Georgie asked; and he
replied:

“I wanted to know if you were living or dead.”

“Me!” she exclaimed, and for the first time since
she had been there alone with him, a fear of him crossed her
mind.

“Did you think me dead?” she asked; and he replied:

“I dreamed so; dreamed it three times in succession,
and so I came to see, and found you surrounded with every
luxury that money can procure. Young still and beautiful,
a belle and an heiress, your old name of Louise Heyford
changed for Georgie Burton, your old self all put out of
sight, and you engaged to marry Mr. Leighton. Do you
know it was his house I robbed in New York that night?”

“No, no; oh, heaven, no! I never dreamed of that;
and I must have heard the name too, but forgot it again,
everything was so horrible. Roy's house, and I was to be
his wife to-morrow!”

She rocked to and fro in her anguish, while the man
confronting her began at last to pity her; to wish vaguely
that he had staid among the heather hills of Scotland, or
at least had not shown himself to her. But anon, another
woman's face arose before his mind, the woman for
whom he had risked this interview, and he ceased to care

so much for wounding Georgie, though his manner was
conciliatory, and he spoke kindly and respectfully as he
went on:

“I wondered at the engagement if you did know; and
wondered too if he had ever heard of me as connected with
you.”

“Never, never! and Henry, oh Henry!” she stretched
her hands toward him now, and the expression of her white
face was pitiful in the extreme; “whatever you do or make
me suffer, don't subject me to that; don't let him know. I
have lost him, but I cannot lose his esteem. Roy must not
despise me. I wronged you once; I know I wronged you
in the tenderest point where a woman can wrong a man, but
I meant to be a good wife, and would have been if you had
forgiven and tried me. You would not do that; you thrust
me from you, and though I have seen much of prosperity,
there has been a skeleton in every joy. I have been fearfully
punished every way. Annie is dead, did you know
that?”

She said the last humbly, beseechingly, and a flush of red
crept into her white face.

“I supposed she was. I saw the name of Annie Heyford
on a stone in Greenwood, close by Le Roy's grave. And
Mr. Leighton never knew of her either, I suppose?”

“Not what she was to me. Nobody knows but Jack and
you,” she answered mournfully, while a sudden flame of passion
leaped into the one sound eye of the man beside her, as
he said:

“Up to your old tricks again, I see; marrying with a
lie on your soul, just as you came to me.”

She did not resent the taunt at all. She was too thoroughly
crushed for that, and she answered gently, “Yes, I
was going to do the same thing again. I am everything
that is bad, I confess; but, oh, how could I tell, when all

these years nobody has known, and I was so different, and
the old life lay far behind, and I did love Roy. Oh, if I've
sinned deeply, I am cruelly punished at the last. Think,
Henry, to-morrow, ay, to-day, for it is to-morrow now, I was
to have been his wife; everything is in readiness, the guests
are here, and now it cannot be, and I,—oh, what reason can
I give to Roy for holding back at the very altar?”

“What reason? No reason. Why should you hold
back? Marry him just the same. I shall not interfere. I
did not come for that. I came for money, and took this
time in order to get what I want. I thought I hated you,
but upon my soul, I don't. I am sorry for you, to
see you feel so bad, but there's no cause for it. Swallow
your conscience a little lower down. Act a bigger lie,
and all will be right; for I tell you I am not here to
claim any right I may have had in you. I dreamed you
were dead. I'll be honest and say I hoped it was true, for
over the sea among the heather hills is a little blue-eyed,
brown-haired Scotch lassie whom I call Janet, and who
thinks she is my wife. There are also two children in the
home-nest; mine, too, as well as hers,” he added, and again
that red flush of shame crept into Georgie's face, while the
stranger continued; “I tried to reform over there for her
sake. She is pure and good, and she loves me, and the
fraud I practise upon her cuts me sometimes to the quick,
and when I dreamed you were dead so many times I got to
hoping you were, for then I'd do her justice. So I came to
see, and tracked you out, and found you on the topmost
pinnacle, and felt angry when I saw your silks and satins
and jewels and remembered Janet's two dresses, one for
every day and one for Sunday, and thought of my little
boy Johnnie, who might be cured if I had the money. We
are poor, very poor, and Janet thinks I am making my
fortune here in America, for I told her it was for her sake

and the bairns' I came, and she is waiting for me so
anxiously, and I am going to her soon; within a week at
the farthest, but cannot go empty-handed. I did not enter
that house on the mountain-road, as you probably think I
did. I know nothing of the robbers. I quit such things
after my escape from prison, and since I have known Janet
I have tried to be honest and decent. I have been hanging
about in this neighborhood for two weeks or more, trying to
make up my mind whether to seek an interview with you and
risk detection or not. I saved your life and Mr. Leighton's
too, but did not know when I seized the horses who was in
the carriage. If I had, I should have done the same,
though your death would make Janet an honest woman, for
by finding some flaw in our first marriage ceremony I should
coax her to go through with it again over the border in
England.”

“Oh, if you had let me die then,” Georgie moaned faintly,
and her companion rejoined, “Nonsense; you are making
too much of the matter. There's no reason in the world
why you should not marry just the same. I shall not trouble
you, provided you do the fair thing by me. I want money.
You want silence. It is a fair bargain. Did you bring anything
with you?”

“Ye-es,” Georgie said slowly, clasping her hands to her
head. “I brought my diamonds and emeralds, worth thousands
of dollars, but—don't—don't think they are to cover
my marriage. I am not so bad as that. I have given Roy
up, but I must keep his respect at any cost. Oh Henry, by
the love you bear this Janet and the little ones, I beseech
of you, leave the country at once, and never let my name be
on your lips again. I've brought the jewels, enough to
make you rich. Look at this—and this—and this!”

She opened the box, and held up one by one her diamond
pin, and earrings, and necklace; and the man's eyes sparkled

with eagerness as he saw them flash in the moonlight, and
thought how valuable they must be. He had not expected
so great a price, and he was generous enough to say so, and
gave her back her pearls and emerald pin.

“The diamonds will do,” he said, “and the hundred
dollars will take me home. Thank you, Lu; there is something
good about you after all; but how are you to get out
of the scrape if you refuse in toto to take the man, and how
will you account for the loss of your diamonds?”

“Leave that to me,” she said. “Only I warn you, that
you must not be found near here, or anywhere, when the
alarm is given.”

“Yes, I see; a burglar got into your room,” and he
nodded knowingly. “I shall cross the river in a little skiff
which is anchored just below here. Once on the other side
I fear no one. I know your room; its windows look out
on the river; watch for the boat, and when it is fairly across,
do what to you seems best! only screen me, as I will screen
you, now and forever.”

“You swear it,” Georgie asked, and he replied, “Yes, I
swear by the love I bear Janet, and the little ones, and the
hope I have of seeing them again, never to breathe a word
to any living being, that I ever heard of you save as the
belle and heiress.”

He offered her his hand, and loath as she was, she took it,
and the compact between them was sealed.

“One o'clock, and I must be off,” he said. “Good-by,
Lu. Take my advice; marry Roy, and be as happy as you
can.”

She did not reply, and he walked rapidly down the garden
across the road, and out into the field-path, which led to
the river. Slowly, as if all the life had gone from her body,
Georgie dragged herself back to her room, leaving the outer
door unfastened and open, the better to answer the end she

had in view. Her own door too was left ajar, and then
drawing a chair by the window overlooking the river, she
watched until a boat shot out into the stream, and by the
moonlight she recognized the form of her late visitor as he
bent to his oars and rowed the skiff swiftly across the water.

An hour went by; it was nearly half-past two, and before
very long the early summer morning would be breaking in
the east. What she did must be done quickly, and with a
calmness born of utter despair she made her preparations.
The box in which her diamonds were kept was laid empty
in her drawer, which stood open, its contents tossed up promiscuously,
and her empty purse lying upon the table. The
emeralds and pearls were put carefully away unharmed, as
were some smaller articles of jewelry. Then with trembling,
ice-cold hands she made herself ready for bed, and laid her
throbbing head upon her pillow just as the clock struck
three. She had taken from a shelf, and looked at a bottle
of laudanum, and thought how easy it would be to end it all,
but she dared not do it when she thought seriously about it.
She believed in a hereafter; in the Heaven where Annie
had gone, and she could not deliberately throw away all
chance of ever entering there.

“I may repent; the thief did at the last hour,” she said,
as she drew the bedclothes about her, and felt that she was
ready for the first scene in the strange drama about to be
acted.