CHAPTER XXVIII.
A MOTHER'S PLEA.
"Hubert, my boy!" she murmured, tremulously.
"Mother!" he answered, embracing her; then, flinging himself on a lowhassock by her side, he caught both of her hands in his and kissed them.
"I am so glad you are come, my son," she breathed--"I am so ill!"
He tried to cheer her with his brave, bright words; but she only smiledat him faintly, wistfully.
She brought round the subject uppermost in her mind.
"I wonder what has became of Jessie Bain?" she asked, abruptly.
"Why do you ask me, mother?" he replied, evasively, flushing to theroots of his curling hair--and that blush betrayed to her keen eyes thathe had not as yet lost interest in the girl.
"I want you to promise me, Hubert," she whispered, "that if anythingshould ever happen to me, you will not think of even searching forJessie Bain, in order to marry her."
He dropped the white, jeweled hands he held, and looked at her in graveapprehension, a troubled look in his earnest eyes.
"I wish I could promise what you ask, mother," he said; "butunfortunately, I-- I can not; it is too late! I have already searchedfor Jessie Bain, and found her, and have offered her my heart and hand."
A low cry from his mother arrested the words on his lips.
"I knew it-- I feared it!" cried Mrs. Varrick, beating the airdistressedly with her jeweled hands. "But it must not be, Hubert."
"It is too late for interference now, mother; the fiat has gone forth."
Still she looked at him with dilated eyes.
"Would you marry her against my will?" she gasped, looking at him with agaze which he never liked to remember in the years that followed.
"Do not force me to answer at such a time, mother," he said,distressedly. "I could not tell you a falsehood, and the truth might beunpleasant for you to hear."
"She will not marry you!" cried Mrs. Varrick. "I know a very good reasonwhy she will not."
A smile curved the corners of her son's mobile lips, and he drew fromhis pocket the precious missive and held it up before her.
"I do not know of any reason why I should keep anything from you,mother," he said. "This letter is Jessie's acceptance."
A grayish pallor stole over Mrs. Varrick's face.
Even in death--for she supposed herself to be dying--the ruling passionthat had taken possession of her life, was still strong within her.
Her idolized son must never make such a _mes-alliance_ as to marryJessie Bain--a girl so far beneath him.
"I have not as yet read its contents," continued Hubert. "If you like,mother, I will read it aloud to you, and upon reflection, when you seehow well we love each other, you will realize how cruel it would be toattempt to tear our lives asunder. I am pledged to her, mother, by themost solemn vows a man can make; and though I love you dearly, mother,not even for your sake will I give her up. Only a craven lover wouldstoop to that. A man's deepest and truest love is given to the womanwhom he would make his wife. His affection for his mother comes next."
Mrs. Varrick was too overcome for speech by the angry tempest that ragedin her soul.
By this time Hubert Varrick had broken the seal, drawn forth the letter,and commenced reading its contents aloud. He had scarcely reached thesecond page ere he stopped short, dumfounded; for there the wordsconfronted him which made the blood turn to ice in his veins, and hisheart to almost stop beating.
He sprung to his feet and looked at his mother.
"Mother," he cried, hoarsely, "what can this mean? Jessie refuses me,and she says you know the reason why she must do so. What is thatreason, mother? I beg you to tell me."
"She has given me her solemn promise not to marry you. That much I maytell you, nothing more," returned Mrs. Varrick, huskily.
"But it is my right to know, mother," he cried, sharply. "You must notkeep it from me. I tell you that my whole life lies in the issue."
"Step to my desk in the corner--the key is in it--and you will find inthe right-hand drawer a folded paper; bring it to me. This will tell youwhat you want to know," she said, unsteadily, as he placed the paper inher hand. "Open it, and read it for yourself."
This he did with trembling hands; but when his eye had traversed halfthe page, he flung the note from him as though it were a viper that hadstung and mortally wounded him.
"You see it is a confession from Jessie Bain that she stole my bracelet;it is her written acknowledgment, with her name affixed. That is thereason why she feels there is a barrier between you. Our ancestors,Hubert, have always been noted for being proud, high-bred men and women.No stain has ever darkened their fair names. If you wedded this girl,you would be the first to bring shame upon the name of Varrick."
"Not so, mother," he cried. "Despite the evidence of my own eyes, I cannot, I will not believe my darling guilty. There is some terriblemistake--something which I do not understand. I will make it the work ofmy life to clear up this mystery, and to prove to you, despite all theevidence against my darling, that she is innocent."
"Will you make a vow to me that you will never marry her until herinnocence is proven?" she cried, seizing Hubert's hand and pressing itspasmodically in both of hers. "Remember that I, as your mother, have aright to demand this--you owe it to me."
For a moment Hubert Varrick hesitated.
"If you are so sure of her innocence, surely you need have nohesitation," his mother whispered.
Hubert Varrick did not speak for an instant; a thousand tumultuousthoughts surged through his brain.
Slowly, solemnly, he turned toward his mother.
"So sure am I that I can prove her innocence, that I will accede to yourrequest, mother dear," he answered, in a clear, firm voice, his eyesmeeting her own.
"I am content," murmured Mrs. Varrick, sinking back upon her pillow.
She said to herself that if he followed that condition he would neverwed Jessie Bain.
Hubert rose quickly to his feet.
"I will take you at your word, mother," he declared promptly, risingsuddenly to his feet. "You shall hear from me in regard to this withinthree days' time. I am going direct to Jessie. If your symptoms shouldchange for the worse, telegraph me."
Kissing his mother hurriedly, and before she could make any protest tothis arrangement, Hubert hurried out of the room and out of the house.
He was barely in time to catch the train for Albany, and arrived therejust as the dusk was creeping up and the golden-hearted stars werecoming out.
He made his way with all haste to the place where he had left Jessie. Hemust see her, and have a talk with her. He would not take "no" for ananswer.
The neat little maid who opened the door for him recognized thegentleman at once.
He had placed a bill in her hand at parting, and she was not likely toforget the handsome young man.
He was shown into the visitors' sitting-room.
"I should like to be permitted to see Miss Bain," he said. "Will youkindly take that message for me to the matron in charge?"
The girl looked at him with something very like astonishment in herface.
"Did you not know, sir--" she asked, somewhat curiously, as shehesitated on the threshold.
"Know what?" he demanded, brusquely. "What is there to know, my goodgirl?"
"Miss Bain has gone, sir," she replied. "She left the place for goodquite an hour ago!"
Varrick was completely astounded. He could scarcely believe the evidenceof his own senses; his ears must have deceived him.
At this juncture the matron entered. She corroborated the maid'sstatement-- Miss Bain had left the place quite an hour before.
"Could you tell me where she went?" he asked.
"She intended taking the train for New York. She was very weak, by nomeans able to leave here, sir. We tried to keep her; but it was of nouse; she had certainly made up her mind to go, and go she did!"
It seemed to Hubert Varrick that life was leaving his body.
How he made his way out of the place, he never afterward remembered.
There was but one other course to pursue, and that was, to go to NewYork by the first outgoing train, and try to find her.
Hailing a passing cab, he sprang into it, remembering just in time thatthe New York express left the depot at seven o'clock. If the man drovesharp he might make it, but it would be as much as he could do.
He gave the man a double fare, who, whipping up his horses, fairlywhirled down the snow-packed road in the direction of the depot.
"I am afraid that I can not make the train, sir," called the driver,hoarsely, as Hubert Varrick leaned out of the window, crying excitedlythat he would quadruple his fare if he would make the horses go faster.
Again he plied his whip to the flanks of the horses, but they could notincrease their speed, for they were doing their very best at thatmoment.
Nearer and nearer sounded the shrieking whistle of the far-off train.They reached the depot just as the train swept round the bend of theroad.
"Thank God, I am in time!" cried Hubert Varrick, as he rushed along theplatform. "If I had missed this train, I should have had to wait untilto-morrow morning. I shall have little enough time to purchase myticket. I--"
The rest of the sentence was never uttered. He stopped short. Standingon the platform, watching with wistful eyes the incoming train, wasJessie Bain!
A great cry broke from his lips. In an instant he was standing besideher, her hands in his, crying excitedly:
"Oh! Jessie, Jessie. Thank Heaven I am in time!"
"Mr. Varrick!" she gasped, faintly. At that instant the train stopped atthe station.
"You must not go on board!" he cried, excitedly. "Jessie, you mustlisten to what I have to say to you," he commanded. "You must not go toNew York."
There was a sternness in his voice that held her spell-bound for aninstant.
"Come into the waiting-room," he said. "I must speak with you."
Drawing her hand within his arm, he fairly compelled her to obey him;and as they crossed the threshold the train thundered on again.
The room was crowded. This certainly was not the time or place to utterthe burning words that were on his lips. An idea occurred to him. Hewould get a coach, drive about the city, through the park, and as theyrode, he could talk with her entirely free from interruption.
Hailing a coach that stood by the curbstone, he proceeded to assist hiscompanion into it. She was too overcome by emotion to exert any will ofher own.
He took his seat by her side, and a moment later they were bowlingslowly down the wide avenue through which he had driven so furiously buta little while before.
"Now, Jessie," he began, tremulously; "listen to me, I pray you. I havetraveled all the way back to Boston for your dear sake, to see you, tohold your hands, to speak with you, and to tell you I do not considerthe little tear-blotted note you sent me, a fitting answer to my letter.I can not take 'no,' for an answer, Jessie, dear. You could not mean it.When I read what you wrote me, in answer to my burning words of love, itnearly unmanned me. You said, in that little note, that you did care forme; you acknowledged it. Now, I ask you, why, if this be true, would youdoom me, as well as yourself, to a life of misery. You say there is amystery, deep and fathomless, which separates us from each other for alltime to come? This I must refuse to believe. You say it is somethingwhich my mother knows? Will you confess to me, Jessie, my darling, myprecious one, just what you mean? Remember that the happiness of twolives hangs upon your answer."
The girl was crying as though her heart would break, her lovely faceburied in her hands.
He sat by her side very gravely, waiting until the storm of tears shouldhave subsided.
He well knew that it was better that such grief, which seemed to rendher very soul, should waste itself in tears. At length, when her sobsgrew fainter and she became calmer, he ventured to speak once more.
"I beg you to tell me, Jessie," he went on, "just what it is that holdsour two lives asunder."
He longed with all his soul to take her in his arms, pillow the goldenhead on his breast, and let her weep her grief out there. But he mustnot; he must control the longing that was eating his heart away.
"Be candid with me, Jessie," he said, his voice trembling and husky. "Donot conceal anything from me. The hour has come when nothing butfrankness will answer, and I must know all, from beginning to end. Whatis it, I ask again, that my mother knows which you alluded to in yournote, saying that it had the power to part us? Dear little Jessie, sweetone, confide in me! I repeat, keep nothing from me."
Through the tears which lay trembling on her long lashes, Jessie raisedher lovely blue eyes and looked at him, her lips quivering piteously.
For an instant she could not speak, so great was her emotion; then by amighty effort she controlled herself, and answered in a broken voice:
"I-- I made a solemn pledge to your mother, the day I left your house,that I would never cross your path again, that I-- I should do my bestto avoid you and steal quietly away out of your life. I-- I signed thepaper and left it in your mother's hands. That, and that alone,satisfied her. Then I went away out of your life, though it almost brokemy heart to do so. I-- I have kept my promise to her. I meant to go awayand to never look upon your face, even though I knew that Heaven hadanswered my prayer and given me your love--which I prize more than lifeitself--when everything else in this world was taken from me."
As Varrick listened, a terrible whiteness had overspread his face.
"Answer me this, Jessie," he asked; in the greatest agitation: "Why didyou sign the other paper which you left with my mother that day? Answerme, Jessie--you must!"
"I signed no other paper than that which contained the promise I havejust spoken to you about," the girl returned earnestly, puzzled as towhat he could mean.
For answer, he drew forth the note which he had taken from his mother'swriting-desk and placed in his breast pocket, and put it in Jessie'shand.
"This note has been written by my mother," he said, "and this is yoursignature, which I would know anywhere in the world, my darling," hewent on, huskily. "Oh, my love, my love! explain it to me!"
She had taken the paper from his hands, and run her eyes rapidly overthe written words. They seemed to stand out in letters of fire. Herbrain whirled around; her very senses seemed leaving her.
"Oh, Hubert! Hubert! listen to me!" she cried, forgetful of hersurroundings, as she flung herself on her knees at his feet. "This isnot the paper I signed, although the signature is so startlingly like myown that I am bewildered. I signed a paper which said that I would nevercross your path again; but not this one--oh, not this one! I-- I neversaw this paper before. Oh, Hubert-- Mr. Varrick-- I plead with you notto believe that I could ever have signed a paper acknowledging that Itook your mother's diamond bracelet! I have never taken anything whichdid not belong to me in all my life. I would have died first--starved onthe street!"
Words can not describe what the thoughts were that coursed throughHubert Varrick's brain as he slowly raised her.
"Tell me, Jessie," he cried, "did you read over the paper which yousigned?"
"No," she sobbed; "I did not read it. Your mother wrote it, telling mewhat was in it--that I was never to cross your path again, because shewished it so, and I signed it without reading it. Indeed, I could nothave read a line to have saved my life, my eyes were so blinded withtears, just as they are now."
A grayish pallor spread over his face; a startling revelation had cometo him: his _mother_ had written the terrible document, every line ofwhich she knew to be false, relying upon the girl's agitation not todiscover its contents ere she signed it!
Yes, that was the solution of the mystery; he saw through the wholecontemptible affair.
Only his mother's illness prevented him from stopping at the firsttelegraph office and sending a dispatch to her to let her know that hehad discovered all.
"You do not believe it--you will not believe that I took the bracelet?"Jess
ie was sobbing out. "Speak to me, oh, I implore you, and tell methat you believe me innocent!"
He turned suddenly and took her in his arms.
"Believe in your innocence, my darling?" he answered, suddenly. "Yes,before Heaven I do! You are innocent--innocent as a little child. Iintend to take you directly to my mother, and this mystery shall then beunraveled."
Despite the girl's protestations, he insisted that it must be so, andthe first outgoing train bore them on their way back to Boston.
It so happened that he found a lady acquaintance on board, an old friendof his mother, who willingly took charge of Jessie on the journey.
"Keep up a brave heart, little Jessie," whispered Hubert, as he bid theladies good-night. "All will come out well. Nothing on earth shall takeyou from me again."