Is it cruel remorse that now palsies his members.
And burns in his eye balls like fierce, glowing embers—
Or is it the shadow of shame that falls o'er him?
Ah, No! 'tis the spectre of vengeance, before him.
It was a trying ordeal for all concerned, but full and undeniable identification was absolutely necessary before further proceedings could be made in this important case.
After their first surprise, the ladies, true to their sex, realized the necessity for self control and made ready for their disagreeable errand with all possible speed. They entered a private room at Police Headquarters and, one by one, were ushered into the presence of the prisoner and put through the category of questions necessary to his [Pg 201]identification, after which, they were allowed to sit and await the routine of examination until the last informer's signature was affixed to the information given.
Sir Frederic was the first, and as his stern glance rested upon the strangely attenuated form of the wretched young man, he felt that degree of sympathy which borders on contempt for one so weak—so dwarfed in soul and withal so miserable in his weakness,—and briefly stating what he knew of the prisoner and his crimes, he stepped aside and waited anxiously for the entrance of Mrs. Sinclair and Stella. When the former entered the room the man who had called himself her son, rose suddenly from his seat, drawing his still boyish form to its full height, while his fearless eyes looked boldly into hers as if trying hard to force into her mind the thoughts that were evidently at that moment surging through his own.
Slowly a look of bewilderment, perplexity and seeming recognition crept into her face as she gazed, and seeing Sir Frederic standing near, she turned appealingly to him as if requesting aid in the solving of this difficult mystery.
[Pg 202]
But Sir Frederic's expression only bewildered her more, for it was one of painful consternation.
It was only when the first question was asked regarding her knowledge of the man before her, that she regained composure, and not until some time later did she mention the extraordinary resemblance which she again detected between the prisoner and the husband she still so loved and mourned.
During the entire period of Stella's presence in the room, the accused man leaned jauntily back in his chair and bravely assumed an air of indifferent composure, while his eyes roved admiringly over her innocent face, and much of the old time passion flushed his cheek as he noted with greedy eye the grace and beauty of her finely developed figure.
While his senses vibrated with the magnetic thrill of her presence, the lustre returned to his wide, gray eyes and a smile of pleasure curved his flexible lips, and not even the words of condemnation in her quiet statement were sufficient to counteract the enjoyment which the simple witnessing of her beauty brought him. He had[Pg 203] thought her dead on that memorable night when he stood by the ashes of Julia Webber's ruined home, but her marriage to Sir Frederic brought her name so prominently before the public that the error of his supposition was promptly corrected and the few twinges of remorse which he had felt at that time were contemptuously laughed to scorn. Now he was living over again the few brief hours in which she had rested beneath his absolute control, and in the memory of that circumstance, the present was forgotten.
His eyes followed her as she hastened to her husband's side after affixing her signature to the imposing paper, but a moment later a gentle rustle at the door aroused him, and turning suddenly, he found himself face to face with the woman he had stabbed and left for dead, in the gloomy passage of Whitechapel so many months ago. Thoroughly surprised and with genuine alarm now stamped on every feature, he looked wildly about as if to fly, while his cheeks and lips grew white at this unlooked for apparition.
He had supposed Elizabeth dead, and thus far no knowledge of his being suspected of the murder had ever reached him, for he reasoned that the crimes committed in that wretched quarter of London were so numerous and so almost untraceable, that he, like many other red handed assassins, had escaped through a fortunate choice in the location of the deed. So great was the sudden revulsion of thought and theory, that his reason wavered for an instant as he gazed upon the delicate, black robed figure.
The words of Julia Webber's warning were ringing in his ears, and before he could fairly comprehend the terrible situation, the white faced woman extended her arms and with a piercing cry of "Lawrie! Lawrie! my darling, my husband!" threw herself upon his breast, and then for want of a supporting arm, sank helplessly upon the floor at her destroyer's feet.