A revulsion took place within her which, for a few moments, imbued her with strength. Upon a piece of blank paper she wrote the words, "I am innocent, as Heaven is my judge. God bless you for your kindness to me--Emilia Braham." Dark as it was she managed to form the letters fairly well, and she laid the paper upon the dressing-table. Then despair overtook her again. What had Mrs. Seaton said? "The whole town is talking of it. When the creature shows her face she will meet with a proper reception." But she would not give her revilers the opportunity of publicly hounding her down.
With stealthy steps she crept into the passage. No one was near. Softly she glided to the door. The next moment she was in the street, flying she knew not whither. All that she was conscious of was that the direction she was taking led her away from the town. It was her wish; no person who knew her must ever look upon her face again. First solitude, then death--that was her prayer. She reached the outskirts of the town and plunged into a wood. A part of her desire was accomplished. In her flight no one had recognized or noticed her, and now she was alone with her shame and her despair. For the consciousness of her innocence did not sustain her. Judgment had been pronounced; she was condemned.
Meanwhile the maiden ladies, believing that Emilia was asleep, sat in their room overcome with grief. The revelation which Mrs. Seaton had made to them was a great shock to these simple ladies, who were almost as ignorant of the world's bad ways and of the worst side of human nature as Emilia herself. They did not hear the young girl's footfall in the passage, and Emilia had made no noise in opening the street door, which she left open, fearing that the sound of its closing would betray her. They were silent for many minutes after Emilia's departure, and when they spoke it was in whispers.
"It is a frightful story," said the younger lady. "Can it be true?"
Her sister did not reply immediately; she was thinking of the sweet and innocent face of the hapless girl, and of the impossibility that it could be a mask to depravity. Presently she clasped her sister's hand and said:
"We will not judge, dear, till we hear what she has to say."
"You are always right," said the younger sister, and both experienced a feeling of relief. "Let us go to her; she may be awake."
They stole into the adjoining room, and one said gently, "Are you awake?" Then, presently, "We do not wish to disturb you."
They listened in the darkness and heard no sound of breathing.
"I will get a candle," whispered the elder sister. Returning with it they looked around in alarm. "She is gone! Poor child, poor child! She must have heard what the lady said, and would not wait to be thrust forth. Oh, sister, is it innocence or guilt?"
"Innocence, dear sister, innocence!" replied the younger lady, snatching up the paper upon which Emilia had written. "See sister; 'I am innocent, as Heaven is my judge. God bless you for your kindness to me.--Emilia Braham.' She speaks the truth. She is innocent, she is innocent!"
"Yes," said the elder sister, solemnly. "She is innocent. Thank God!"
Tears ran down their cheeks; their faith in goodness was restored.
"But where has she gone? Oh, sister, so young, so sweet, so helpless!"
They threw shawls over their shoulders, and ran to the street door, observing that Emilia in her flight had left it open. As they stood there, looking anxiously up and down the dark street, two gentlemen approached and accosted them. They were Gerald and his half-brother Leonard.
In explanation of their presence a retrospect of a few hours is necessary.
Leonard, having been absent upon his selfish pleasures for the better part of a year, had returned home upon the morning of the fire. It was a startling reception for the wanderer; regarding Gerald's money as his own his first concern was whether the house and furniture were insured. Ascertaining that they were, and that there would be no pecuniary loss, his next business was to find Gerald. But in his quest he heard something more; "slander, whose edge is sharper than the sword," was already doing its horrible work, and from one and another he heard for the first time of the existence of Emilia and of her having been found in Gerald's house in the middle of the night. "So," thought he, "Gerald is no saint. Well, that sort of thing is better than marrying. I must keep him from that, at all hazards. It seems I have come home just in time." Soon afterward he met with Gerald, who was striving vainly to discover where Emilia was. Despite Gerald's agitation he greeted Leonard with much affection.
"It is a stroke of good fortune," he cried, "that you have arrived to-day. I need a friend. You will help me to find Emilia."
"Emilia!" echoed Leonard, pretending not to have heard her name before.
Then Gerald began to confide in him, but his story threatened to be long, and Leonard drew him away from the curious people who thronged about them. They went to an hotel, Leonard insisting that it would be best, for Gerald wished to continue his inquiries for Emilia in the streets.
"Be guided by me," said Leonard; "I can do what you want in half the time that you would do it yourself. Can you not trust me?"
"Yes, with my life, Len," replied the warm-hearted young fellow, and allowed himself to be persuaded. In a private room in the hotel Leonard heard the whole story, and saw that Gerald was very much in earnest. This did not please him, but he said not a word to Emilia's disadvantage; he was a cunning worker, and he knew which roads were the best to compass any designs he had in view. He no more believed in Emilia's innocence and purity than the worst of her detractors, but he was not going to tell Gerald this. Gerald was trying to throw dust into his eyes, but that was a game that two could play at. With his own cynical disbelief in womanly purity he laughed at the idea of Emilia innocently occupying Gerald's house for a whole night.
"You must not be too angry with people," he said, "for speaking against the young lady. We live in a frightfully ill-natured world."
"I know, I know," groaned Gerald, "and it makes it all the harder for my poor girl. It was I who thrust her into the position; she was insensible when I took her into the house. Can you not see there was nothing else to be done?"
"I see it of course, my boy, and I am sincerely sorry for the pair of you."
"She must be suffering agonies"----
"Be reasonable, Gerald," said Leonard with affectionate insistance; "it's a hundred to one she knows nothing of it. I must exercise my authority as an elder brother over you, and as more of a man of the world than you are. Now, what is it you want to do?"
"To find out where she has been taken to, and to insist upon her marrying me at once. That is the surest way to silence the slanderer. I have done her a wrong--not wilfully, Len, you know me too well for that--and I must repair it at the very earliest moment. Thank God she believes in me, and knows that I am faithful and true. Oh, Len, she is an angel, the sweetest, dearest woman that ever breathed! No man could help loving her."
"From what you tell me of her, Gerald, we must proceed carefully. A nature so sensitive as hers must be dealt with delicately. You see, my boy, there is no disguising that if people are speaking against her, you are the cause of it. I was wrong in saying that it's a hundred to one she knows nothing of it; I ought to have put it the other way. Very well, then. Your Emilia is an angel--granted; I believe every word you say of her. But she is a woman, nevertheless, and you are responsible for dragging her name through the mud."
"Good God!" exclaimed Gerald. "You put it strongly."
"I am bound to do so, as the sincerest friend you have. I hope you give me credit for being that, Gerald."
"Len, if you were not here I should go distracted."
"I am only too glad I have come in good time to assist you. To continue about Emilia. What does such a woman as she value most in the world? Her good name. You have jeopardized hers, Gerald, with the best intentions I admit, but jeopardized it is. Hearing the scandal she will naturally ask herself, 'Why did Gerald take me into his house when I was in a fainting condition, and unable to have a voice in the matter? Could he not have waited till I recovered? And now see what people are saying of me? He has degraded me; I shall never be able to look honest people in the face again.' Is it entirely unnatural, my boy, that she should not rush into your arms when you present yourself? Just think a bit."
"I have not thought of it in that light," said Gerald ruefully.
"Because you have considered it from your point of view, not from hers. Answer me candidly. If she had been in possession of her senses would she have consented to enter your house clandestinely with you at such an hour last night--you, a single man, and her lover?"
"No, I see it now. Wretch that I am! I deserved to be pilloried for it."
"Don't rush into the other extreme. You acted unwisely, but honestly." (Leonard had no more belief in the professions he was making than Mrs. Seaton would have had, but he knew the nature of the man he was playing upon.) "Now, what you want in this crisis is a friend like myself, who, a stranger to your Emilia, can explain everything to her in a considerate, sensible way. Otherwise she may refuse to have anything more to say to you."
This suggestion frightened Gerald. "What do you advise me to do?" he asked.
"To place yourself entirely in my hands, and let me bring this unfortunate matter to a satisfactory conclusion."
"I will do so, Len. Thank you a thousand, thousand times. I am eternally grateful to you."
"Nonsense. I love you, Gerald; our interests are one. Look at yourself in the glass; you are a perfect scarecrow."
"I have had no sleep since the night before last.
"Is that a fit condition in which to set about a task so delicate? It would be inviting failure. First, you must have some breakfast."
"I can't eat, Len."
"You must. A devilled bone and a glass or two of champagne." He rang the bell, and gave the order, and ordered also a warm bath to be prepared. "Now, Gerald. The bath first, the devilled bone and a pint of champagne next, and then to bed for two or three hours. When you awake, refreshed and with a clear mind, I will tell you all about Emilia."
"You will find out where she is?"
"I will--if it is to be found out."
"And you will explain everything to her?"
"I will."
"And you will tell her I love her more devotedly than ever?"
"I will; and that your only wish is to hear the wedding bells ring."
"You're a good fellow, Len. I can never repay you. You are my good angel. But what a selfish brute I am, to talk only of myself and my troubles. You cabled for money, Len, and it was sent to you. How's the exchequer?"
"Thank you for the inquiry, dear boy. It never was lower. I have been deucedly unfortunate; plunged into a land speculation which I thought was going to make my fortune, but which cleaned me out to the last sovereign. How on earth I made my way home I don't know. I was consoled by one reflection, that I was coming home to the dearest brother an unfortunate devil ever had."
Gerald took out his check-book and put his name to a check.
"Here is a blank check, Len. Fill it in for what you like."
"Good boy. I am in debt, Gerald."
"Never mind; there's a balance of over two thousand in the bank."
"May I fill in for a thou----?
"And welcome. I've a lot of money in securities."
"I won't thank you, Gerald," said Leonard, handing the pen to his step-brother; "you know what my feelings are toward you. Write the sum in yourself."
Gerald wrote, and gave the check back. Leonard just glanced at it, and saw that it was drawn out for twelve hundred pounds, payable to bearer. He passed his hand over his tearless eyes, and turned his head. A very skilful actor indeed was Leonard Paget; he knew to a nicety the value of a light touch. The waiter entered and said the bath was ready.
"Don't bring up breakfast till I ring for it," said Leonard to the man. "Off with you, Gerald. I give you just twenty minutes."
Gerald gone, he looked at the check again. "It is only an instalment," he murmured. "Every shilling he has belongs to me; and I mean to have it. As for this girl--bah! They must never come together again."
Upon Gerald's appearance from the bath he greeted him with a smile. "You look twice the man you were. Now for breakfast. Tuck in, Gerald."
In any other circumstances Gerald would not have been able to eat, but with such a friend and counsellor by his side he made a tolerably good meal. Then Leonard saw him to his bedroom, and did not leave it till the honest fellow was in bed, and had drank another glass of champagne into which Leonard had secretly poured a dozen drops Of a tasteless narcotic which he was in the habit of carrying about with him to insure sleep.
"That will keep him quiet for six or seven hours," he said. "I must have a little time to myself to settle my plans."
The first thing he did when he went from the hotel was to cash the check. He was a man again, his pockets well lined, and he was ready for any villainy. He had little difficulty in discovering where Emilia was, and in ascertaining the character of the ladies who had given her shelter. This knowledge conveyed with it a difficulty; the character for kind-heartedness which he received of the maiden sisters was not favorable to his schemes, and he deemed it best to take no definite step on this day. But he was not idle; he learned all there was to be learned of Emilia, and, reading between the lines, found himself confronted with fresh difficulties. It would not be easy to deceive such a girl--a girl who might have committed an imprudence, but who was not the artful creature he had supposed her to be. He came to the conclusion that the love which existed between her and Gerald was a genuine, honest love. "I must trust a little to chance," he thought. In the afternoon he returned to the hotel. Gerald was still asleep; he waited till the evening, and then heard Gerald moving. He went into the bedroom as Gerald jumped out of bed.
"At last!" he exclaimed, before the young man could utter a word. "I have been trying these last three hours to rouse you. How thoroughly dead beat you must have been to have slept so long!"
Gerald looked round in dismay; evening was fast deepening into night.
"What time is it, Len?"
"Nearly eight o'clock. Do you feel refreshed?"
"I'm a new man. How about Emilia? Have you seen her? Can I go to her?" He dressed rapidly as he spoke.
"I am sorry to say," continued Leonard, "that I can obtain no news of her. Wait yet a little while; I will go out again and endeavor to find her."
"I cannot wait I will go with you."
"I forbid it, Gerald. You will spoil all if you don't mind. I should not be here now, but I was getting alarmed about you. I will return in an hour."
He hastened away before Gerald could reply. "What am I to do now?" he thought. "If Gerald makes inquiries himself he will be certain to learn where she is. I have twelve hundred pounds in my pocket. If the devil would range himself on my side I would give him half of it with pleasure."
He little knew how near he was to the accomplishment of his wishes. At that moment Mrs. Seaton was making her way to the house of the maiden sisters. He himself was wending his course toward the house, moodily debating how he could drive Emilia from it, and from the town forever. He knew all about Mrs. Seaton and her animosity against Emilia; the woman had been pointed out to him early in the day, and her face was familiar to him. He walked slowly, she quickly; thus she overtook and passed him, but he had seen and recognized her. He quickened his steps, and paused as she paused, before the house of the maiden sisters. With unerring intuition he guessed her errand.
"Are you going to see the ladies who live here, madam?" he asked in his most respectful tone.
"I am, sir," she replied with asperity. "Who are you, may I inquire?"
"I am a stranger in the town, madam," he said, speaking with the greatest deference. "Is it not to this place that the young person was taken who was found in Mr. Gerald Paget's house last night?"
"It is, and my business is to expose her. Have you any objections?"
"Not the slightest, madam. I think you are performing a Christian duty."
"I am not obliged to you, sir," said Mrs. Seaton, haughtily. "I am in the habit of doing my duty without being prompted. The creature who is harbored there shall be turned adrift before many hours are over. She is a disgrace to the neighborhood, and I will see that she is hunted out of it."
"Madam," said Leonard, "the whole town will be in your debt if you rid it of the person in question, and I myself shall be deeply grateful to you."
He raised his hat and walked away, thinking, with a blithe laugh, "The devil is on my side and I have the twelve hundred pounds safe in my pocket." After this agreeable reflection he idled an hour, singing little snatches of song to himself, and then returned to the hotel with a plausible tale which he had invented to put Gerald off the scent till the following day, by which time he hoped that Emilia would be gone and all traces of her lost. He was a keen judge of human nature, and knew what effect Mrs. Seaton's calumnies would have upon a young and sensitive girl. Her first impulse would be to fly from a spot where she was known--to hide her face anywhere so long as it was among strangers. With a strong, determined woman it would be different; she would brazen it out, and, give back scorn for scorn, and although she could not hope for victory she would have the satisfaction of saying bitter things to her revilers. Emilia was not this kind of woman; Gerald's descriptions of her had enabled Leonard to gauge her correctly, and to forecast how she would act in the face of an accusation so vile and degrading. Believing firmly in the judgments he formed of matters in which he was personally concerned, he had, therefore, reason to congratulate himself upon the course which events had taken, and he skipped up the steps of the hotel with a mind at ease. Its balance, however, was disturbed when he was informed that Gerald was gone.
"Did he say where he was going?" he asked.
"No, sir," was the reply.
"Nor when he would return?"
"No, sir."
"But he left a message for me?"
"No, sir."
"Can you tell me which direction he took?"
"No, sir."
These unsatisfactory iterations produced no outward effect upon Leonard; he was a man who never showed his hand. With a pleasant smile he left the hotel thinking, "Now where the devil has the young fool gone? To make inquiries for his goddess, no doubt. Does that indicate impatience merely, or that he cannot trust me? I must no lose my hold on him. If it is necessary to humor him, humored he shall be. There is more than one way out of a wood." As a measure of precaution he walked in the direction of the house of the maiden sisters, and reaching it, walked slowly back toward the hotel. This was done with the intention of intercepting Gerald, and learning whether the young man had discovered Emilia's refuge--in which event he was prepared to disclose that he himself had at length discovered it, and was hurrying to his dear brother to communicate the welcome intelligence. "By the Lord Harry," he muttered, as he stood at the corner of the street, "here comes the young fool! It is lucky I am prepared." He strode rapidly toward Gerald, and almost upset him in his haste.