CHAPTER III.
THE CONFESSION.
In the afternoon we paid Miss Sullivan a visit. It was the first time Ihad met her since that strange night of watching at Moreland villa; andI confess that I could not meet her without an inward shudder ofabhorrence. Unbounded as was my respect and confidence for Mr. Burton,I did think that he had erred in his conclusions as to the character ofthis woman; or else that he concealed from me his real opinions, forsome purpose to be explained at the proper time. If he still hadsuspicions, it was evident that he had kept them from their object asskillfully as from me, for I saw, by her manner of receiving him, thatshe regarded him as a friend.
Notwithstanding I had been informed of her rapidly-failing health, Iwas shocked at the change in Miss Sullivan since I had seen her. It waswith an effort that she rose from her easy-chair at our approach; thefullness had all wasted from her naturally queenly figure; her cheekswere hollow, and aflame with the fire of fever; while those black eyes,which had ever seemed to smolder above unfathomable depths of volcanicpassion, now almost blazed with light. Something like a smile flittedacross her face when she saw my companion, but smiles were too strangethere to feel at home, and it vanished as soon as seen. I do not thinkshe liked me any better than I did her; each recoiled from the otherinstinctively; she would not have spoken to me had I come alone; butout of concession to the presence of her friend, she bowed to me andasked me to be seated. A little child in the room ran to Mr. Burton, asif expecting the package of bon-bons which he took from his pocket;but, as he became engaged in conversation with Leesy, I coaxed her overto me, where she was soon sitting on my knee. She was a pretty littlegirl, about three years old, in whose chubby little features I could nolonger trace any resemblance to her "aunt." She prattled after thefashion of children, and in listening to her, I lost a remark or two ofMr. Barton's; but soon had my attention aroused by hearing MissSullivan exclaim,
"Going away! For how long?"
"Three months, at least."
Her hands sunk in her lap, and she became pale and agitated.
"It is presumptuous in me to dare to be sorry; I am nothing to you; butyou are much to me. I don't know how we shall get along without you."
"Don't be uneasy about that, my child. I shall make arrangements withthis same person who boards you now to keep you until my return, and,if you should fall sick, to take good care of you."
"You are far too good," she responded, tremulously. "You will have theblessing of the friendless. I only wish it had the power to bring yougood luck on your journey."
"Perhaps it will," he said, with a smile. "I have a great deal of faithin such blessings. But, Leesy, I think you can assist my journey ineven a more tangible way than that."
She looked at him inquiringly.
"I want you to tell me all and every thing you know about the father oflittle Nora."
"Why, sir?" she quickly asked. "I hope you have not heard from him,"looking over toward the child, as if afraid it might be snatched fromher.
"Your health is very far gone, Leesy; I suppose you hardly hope ever torecover it. Would you not be glad to see Nora under her father'sprotection before you were taken away?"
She stretched out her arms for the child, who slid off my knee, ran andclimbed into her lap, where she held the curly head close to her bosomfor a moment; her attitude was as if she sheltered the little one fromthreatened danger.
"I know, much more surely than any one else, that my days are numbered.I believe I shall never see your face again, Mr. Burton; and that waswhat grieved me when you spoke of going away--it was not that I thoughtof my comfort so much. The winter snow will hide me before you comeback from your journey; and my darling will be left friendless. I knowit--it is my only care. But I would rather, far rather, leave her tothe cold charity of an orphan asylum--yes, I would rather turn her uponthe street, with her innocent face only for a protector--than that herfather should have aught to do with Nora."
"Why?"
"Because he is a bad man."
"I understand that he is in California; and as I am going to SanFrancisco, and perhaps shall visit the mining regions before my return,I thought you might wish to send him a message, telling him the child'scondition. He may have laid up money by this time, and be able to sendyou a sum sufficient to provide for little Nora until she is old enoughto take care of herself."
She only shook her head, drawing the child closer, with a shudder.
"I have forgotten his name," said Mr. Burton.
"I will not tell you," answered Miss Sullivan, with a return of the oldfierceness, like that of a hunted panther. "Why can I never, never,never be let alone?"
"Do you think I would do any thing for your injury or disadvantage?"asked the detective in that gentle yet penetrating voice which had suchpower to move people to his will.
"I do not know," she cried; "you have seemed to be my friend. But howdo I know that it is not all simply to compass my destruction at last?You have brought into my house that person," looking at me, "who haspersecuted me. You promised me that I should be free from him. And nowyou want to set a bloodhound on my track--as if I must be driven intomy grave, and not allowed to go in peace."
"I assure you, Leesy, I had no idea that you regarded Nora's fatherwith so much dislike. I have no object in the world in troubling youwith him. I promise you that no word of mine shall give him the clue toyour present circumstances, nor to the fact that he has a child living,if he is ignorant of it. You shall be protected--you shall have peaceand comfort. What I would like is, that you shall give me a history ofhis life, his habits, character, where he lived, what was his business,etc.; and I will give you my reasons for wishing the information. Acircumstance has come to light which connects him with an affair whichI am investigating--that is, if he is the person I think he is--a sortof a doctor, I believe?"
Miss Sullivan did not answer the question so skillfully put; she stillwatched us with shining, half-sullen eyes, as if ready to put forth aclaw from the velvet, if we approached too near.
"Come, Leesy, you must tell me what I want to hear." Mr. Burton's airwas now that of a master. "Time is precious. I can not wait upon awoman's whim. I have promised you--and repeat it, upon my honor--thatno annoyance or injury shall come to _you_ through what you may tellme. If you prefer to answer me quietly to being compelled to answerbefore a court, all is right. I _must_ know what I desire about thisman."
"_Man_, Mr. Burton! Call him creature."
"Very well, creature, Leesy. You know him better than I do, and if yousay he is a creature, I suppose I may take it for granted. His nameis--"
"Or was, George Thorley."
When the name was spoken, I gave a start which attracted the attentionof both my companions.
"You probably know something about him, Mr. Redfield," remarked thegirl.
"George Thorley, of Blankville, who used to have an apothecary shop inthe lower part of the village, and who left the place some three yearsago, to escape the talk occasioned by a suspicious case of malpractice,in which he was reported to be concerned?"
"The same person, sir. Did you know him?"
"I can not say that I was acquainted with him. I do not remember that Iever spoke a word with him. But I knew him, by sight, very well. He hada face which made people look twice at him. I think I bought sometrifles in his shop once. And the gossip there was about him at thetime he ran away, fixed his name in my memory. I was almost a strangerthen in Blankville--had lived there only about a year."
"How did he come to have any connection with your family, Leesy?"
Miss Sullivan had grown pale during the agitation of our talk, but sheflushed again at the question, hesitated, and finally, looking thedetective full in the eyes, answered:
"Since you have promised, upon your honor, not to disturb me anyfurther about this matter, and since I am under obligations to you,sir, which I can not forget, I will tell you the rest of the story, apa
rt of which I told you that morning at Moreland villa. I confessed toyou, there, the secret of my own heart, as I never confessed it to anybut God, and I told you something of my cousin's history to satisfy youabout the child. I will now tell you all I know of George Thorley,which is more than I wish I knew. The first time I ever saw him wasover four years ago, a short time after he set up his little shop,which, you recollect, was not far from my aunt's in Blankville. My auntsent me, one evening, for something to relieve the toothache, and Iwent into the nearest place, which was the new one. There was no one inbut the owner. I was surprised by the great politeness with which hetreated me, and the interest he seemed to take in the case of my aunt.He was a long time putting up the medicine, pasting the label on, andmaking change, so that I thought my aunt would surely be out of temperbefore I could bring her the drops. He asked our name, and where welived, which was all, I thought, but a bit of his blarney, to get thegood will of his customers." (Miss Sullivan usually spoke with greatpropriety, but occasionally a touch of her mother's country, in accentor expression, betrayed her Irish origin.) "That was the beginning ofour acquaintance, but not the end of it. It was but a few days beforehe made an excuse to call at our house. I was a young girl, then, gayand healthy; and the plain truth of it is that George Thorley fell inlove with me. My aunt was very much flattered, telling me I would be afool not to encourage him--that he was a doctor and a gentleman--andwould keep his wife like a lady--that there would be no more going outto sew and slave for others, if I were once married to him; it was onlywhat she expected of me, that I would at least be a doctor's wife,after the schooling she had given me, and with the good looks I had. Itis no vanity in me, now, to say of this clay, so soon to be mingledwith the dust of the earth, that it was beautiful--too much so, alas,for my own peace of mind--for it made me despise the humble and honestsuitors who might have secured me a lowly, happy life. Yet it was notthat, either, and I'll not demean myself to say so--it was not becauseI was handsome that I held myself aloof from those in my own station;it was because I felt that I had thoughts and tastes they could notunderstand--that my life was above theirs in hope, in aspiration. I wasambitious, but only to develop the best that was in me. If I could onlybe a needle-woman all my days, then I would be so skillful and sofanciful with my work, as almost to paint pictures with my needle andthread. But this isn't telling you about George Thorley. From the firstI took a dislike to him. I'm not good at reading character, but Iunderstood his pretty thoroughly, and I was afraid of him. I was verycold to him, for I saw that he was of a quick temper, and I did notmean he should say that I had ever encouraged him. I told my aunt I didnot think he was a gentleman--I had seen plenty of real gentlemen inthe houses where I sewed, and they were not like him. I told her, too,that he had a violent temper, and a jealous disposition, and could notmake any woman happy. But she would not think of him in that light; herheart was set on the apothecary's shop, which, she said, would growinto a fine drug-store with the doctor's name in gilt letters on thedoor of his office.
"George soon offered himself, and was terribly angry when I refusedhim. I believe he loved me, in his selfish way, better than he lovedany other human creature. He would not give me up, nor allow me anypeace from his persecutions. He dogged my steps whenever I went out,and if I spoke to any other man, it put him in a rage. I got to feelingthat I was watched all the time; for sometimes he would laugh in hishateful way, and tell me of things he had seen when I thought him milesaway.
"Twice, in particular, I remember of his being in a savage passion, andthreatening me. It was after"--here the speaker's voice, despite of herefforts to keep it steady, trembled and sunk--"he had seen me ridingout in the carriage with Mrs. Moreland. He said those people weremaking a fool of me--that I was so set up, by their attentions, as todespise him. I told him that if I despised him, it was not for any suchreason. It was because he behaved so ungentlemanly toward me, spyingaround me, when he had no business whatever with my affairs. That madehim madder than ever, and he muttered words which I did not like. Itold him I was not afraid of any mortal thing, and I didn't think hewould frighten me into marrying him. He said he would scare me yet, sothat I would never get over it. I think he liked the spirit I showed;it seemed the more I tried to make him hate me, the more determined hewas to pursue me. I don't know how it was that I understood him sowell, for in those days there had been nothing whispered against hischaracter. Indeed, people didn't know much about him; and he gothimself into the good graces of some of the leading citizens ofBlankville. He had told me something of his history; that is, that hisfamily were English; that he, like myself, was an orphan; that, by dintof good luck, he had got a place in a doctor's office in one of thetowns in this State--one of those humble situations where he wasexpected to take care of the physician's horse, drive the carriage, putup medicines, attend upon orders, and any thing and every thing. He wassmart and quick; he had many hours of leisure when waiting behind thelittle counter, and these hours he spent in studying the doctor'sbooks, which he managed to get hold of one at a time. By these means,and by observing keenly the physician's methods, his advice to patientswho called at the office, and by reading and putting up prescriptionsconstantly, he picked up a really surprising smattering of science.Making up his mind to be a doctor, and to keep a drug-store (aprofitable business, he knew) he had the energy to carry out his plans.How he finally obtained the capital to set up the little business inBlankville, I never understood, but I knew that he attended lectures onsurgery, one winter, in New York, and was in a hospital there a shorttime. All this was fair enough, and proved him ambitious and energetic;but I did not like or trust him. There was something dark and hidden inthe workings of his mind, from which I shrunk. I knew him, too, to becruel. I could see it in his manner of treating children and animals;there was nothing he liked so well as to practice his half-learned artof surgery upon some unfortunate sufferer. The more he insisted on myliking him, the more I grew to dread him.
"Affairs were at this crisis when my cousin came from New York to paymy aunt a visit. Coming to our rooms almost every evening, of course hemade her acquaintance immediately. For the purpose of making mejealous, he began to pay the most devoted attention to her. Nora was apretty girl, with blue eyes and fair hair; an innocent-minded thing,not very sharp, apprenticed to a milliner in the city; she believed allthat _Doctor_ Thorley told her, and fell in love with him, of course.When she went away, after her little holiday, George found that,instead of provoking me to jealousy, he had only roused my temper atthe way he had fooled Nora. I scolded him well for it, and ended bytelling him that I never would speak to him again.
"Well, it was just after that the scandal arose about his causing thedeath of a person by malpractice. He found it was prudent to run away;so he sold his stock for what he could get, and hid himself in NewYork. I did not know, at first, where he was; but felt so relieved tobe rid of him. I had made up my own mind to go to New York, and getemployment in a fancy-store. You know, Mr. Burton, for I once laid myheart before you, what wild, mad, but sinless infatuation it was whichdrew me there. I am not ashamed of it. God is love. When I stand in hispresence, I shall glory in that power of love, which in this bleakworld has only fretted and wasted my life. In heaven our whole liveswill be one adoration." She clasped her thin hands together, and turnedher dark eyes upward with an expression rapt to sublimity. I gazed uponher with renewed surprise and almost reverence. Never do I expect tomeet another woman, the whole conformation of whose mind and heart sofitted her for blind, absolute devotion as Leesy Sullivan's.
"When I went to the city to see about getting a place, I met my cousin,who told me that she was married to George Thorley, and had been forsome weeks; that they were boarding in a nice, quiet place, and thatGeorge staid at home a great deal--indeed, he hardly went out at all.
"It was evident that she had not heard of his reasons for leavingBlankville, and that she did not guess why he kept himself so quiet. Ofcourse I hadn't the heart to tell her; but I made up
my mind that I'dbe better to stay where I was, for the present--so I went back to myaunt, without trying to get a situation in New York.
"It was about six months after this I got word from Nora, begging me tocome and see her. I loved my cousin, and I'd felt grieved that she wasmarried to Dr. Thorley. I mistrusted something was wrong; so I went tothe city, and found her out in the miserable tenement where she was nowstopping, starving herself in a room with hardly a bit of furniture.She burst out a-crying when she saw me; and when I stopped her sobbing,she told me she had not seen George for more than three months; thateither he had met with an accident, or he'd run away from her, leavingher without a cent of money, and she in such health that she couldhardly earn enough to buy a bit of bread and pay the rent of this room.
"'Do you really think he has left you?' I asked her.
"'Sure, how can I tell?' she answered, looking at me so pitifully withher innocent blue eyes. 'He was a fine gentleman, and it's afraid I amthat he's grown tired of his poor Irish Nora.'
"'I warned you, cousin,' I said; 'I knew George Thorley for a villain;but you were taken with his fine words, and wouldn't heed. I'm sorry,sorry, sorry for you--but that won't undo what's done. Are you sure youare his wife, Nora dear?'
"'As sure as I am of heaven,' she cried, angry with me. 'But it'smarried we were by a Protestant clergyman, to please George--and I'vegot my certificate safe--ah, yes, indeed.'
"I could never ascertain whether the ceremony had been performed by alegalized minister; I always suspected my poor cousin had beendeceived, and it was because my aunt thought so, too, and was sore onthe subject, that she got so angry with you two gentlemen when you wentto inquire. But, whether my suspicions were or were not correct, Norawas George's wife as certainly, in the sight of the angels, as womanwas ever the wife of man. Poor child! I no longer hesitated aboutcoming to New York. She needed my protection, and my help, too. I paidher board till the day of her death, which was but a few days after herpoor little baby was born; I saw her decently buried, and then I putout the infant to nurse, and I worked to keep that. It was a comfort tome, sir. My own heart was sad, and I took to the little creature almostas if it was my own. I had promised Nora that I would bring it up, andI have kept my word, thus far. I hated its father for the way he'dtreated Nora, but I loved the child; I took pleasure in making itspretty garments and in seeing that it was well taken care of. I knew Ishould never marry; and I adopted Nora's child as my own.
"Hardly was poor Nora cold in her grave when I was, one evening,surprised by a visit from George Thorley. Where he had been during hisabsence I did not know. He tried to excuse his conduct toward mycousin, by saying that he had married her in a fit of jealousy, towhich I'd driven him by my coldness; that he'd been so tormented inmind he couldn't stay with her, for he didn't love her, and he'd goneout West, and been hard at work, to try and forget the past. But hecouldn't forget it; and when he saw his wife's death in the papers, hehad felt awfully; but now he hoped I'd forgive it all, and marry him.He said he had a good business started in Cincinnati, and I should wantfor nothing, and I _mustn't_ say no to him again. I stood up, I was soindignant, and faced him till he grew as white as a sheet. I called hima _murderer_--yes, Nora's murderer--and ordered him never to speak tome nor come near me again. I knew he was terribly angry; his eyesburned like fire; but he did not say much that time; as he took up hishat to go, he asked about his baby--if it was living? I would notanswer him. He had no right to the child, and I did not wish him to seeit, or have any thing to do with it.
"What became of him, after that, for a long time, I don't know. He mayhave been in the city all the time, or he may have been in Cincinnati.At any rate, one day, as I was going from my boarding-house to thestore, I found him walking along by my side. Nora was nigh a year oldthen. He commenced talking to me on the street, asking me again tomarry him; and then, to frighten me, he said what a pretty baby Norahad got to be; and that he should have to find a wife to take care ofhis child. She was his, and he was going to have her, right away; andif I had any interest in her, I could show it by becoming herstep-mother. He said he had plenty of money, and pulled out a handfulof gold and showed me. But this only made me think the worse of him. Hefollowed me home, and into my room, against my will, and there I turnedupon him and told him that if he ever dared to force himself into mypresence again, I would summon the police, and he should be turned overto the Blankville authorities for the crime that had driven him out ofthe village.
"After he was gone, I sunk into a chair, trembling with weakness,though I had been so bold in his presence. He looked like an evilspirit, when he smiled at me as he shut the door. His smile was morethreatening than any scowl would have been. I was frightened for Nora.Every day I expected to hear that the little creature had been takenfrom her nurse; I trembled night and day; but nothing happened to thechild, and from that day to this I have not seen George Thorley. If heis in California, I am glad of it; for that is a good ways off, andperhaps he'll never get track of his daughter. I'd far rather she'd dieand be buried with her mother and myself, than to live to ever knowthat she had such a father.
"It seems a strange lot has been mine," concluded the sewing-girl, herdark eyes musing with a far-away look, "to have been followed by such aman as that, to have set my heart so high above me, and then to havefallen, by means of that love, into such a dreadful pit ofcircumstances--not only to be heart-broken, but so driven and huntedabout the world, with my poor little lambkin here."
The pathetic look and tone with which she said this touched me deeply.For the first time, I felt fully the exceeding cruelty I had beenguilty of toward her, if she were as innocent as her words averred ofthat nameless and awful crime which I had written down against her. Atthat moment, I did believe her innocent; I did pity her for her ownmelancholy sufferings, which had wasted the fountains of her life; andI did respect her for that humble and perfect devotion, giving all andasking nothing, with which she lavished her soul upon him whose memorycalled upon his friends for sleepless vigilance in behalf of justice. Idid not wonder that she shrunk from me as from one ready to wound her.But this was only when in her presence; as soon as I was away I feltdoubtful again.
"Have you any likeness of George Thorley?" asked Mr. Burton.
"No. Poor Nora had his ambrotype, but after her death I threw it intothe fire."
"Will you describe him to us?"
Miss Sullivan gave a description corresponding in all particulars withthat given by Mr. Burton, after reading the dead-letter; he asked herabout the third finger of the right hand, and she said--"Yes, it hadbeen injured by himself, in some of his surgical experiments."
We now proposed to take leave, the detective again assuring Leesy thathe should rather protect her against Thorley than allow him any chanceto annoy her; he assured her she should be cared for in his absence,and, what was more, that if little Nora should be left friendless, hewould keep an eye on the child and see that it was suitably brought up.This last assurance brightened the face of the consumptive with smilesand tears; but when he gave her his hand at parting, she burst intosobs.
"It is our last meeting, sir."
"Try to keep as well as you are now until I come back," he said,cheerfully. "I may want you very much then. And, by the way, Leesy--onequestion more. You once told me that you did not recognize the personyou saw upon the lawn, at Mr. Argyll's, that night--have you asuspicion who it might be?"
"None. I believe the man was a stranger to me. I only saw him by aflash of lightning at the instant he was descending from the tree; ifhe had been an acquaintance I do not know that I should have known him."
"That is all. Good-by, little Nora. Don't forget Burton."
We heard the girl's sobs after the door was shut.
"I'm her only friend," said my companion, as he walked away. "No wondershe is moved at letting me go. I think, with her, that it is doubtfulif she lasts until we get back. Still, her disease is a lingeringone--I hope I shall see her live to witness the sad tr
iumph of ourindustry."
"You speak as if the triumph were already secured."
"If he's on the face of the earth, we'll find Doctor George Thorley. Itis no longer possible that we should be on the wrong track. You know,Richard, that I have not confided all my secrets to you. There will beno one more astonished than yourself when I summon my witnesses and sumup my conclusions. Oh, that the hour were come! But I forget mymotto--'learn to labor and to wait.'"