A STARTLING DISCOVERY.

In one of his novels Balzac makes the pertinent remark that "It is impossible for man to understand the heart of woman, seeing that her Creator himself does not understand it." These are not the precise words, but the sentiment is the same. And who, indeed, can understand a woman's heart; who can aver that he has a complete comprehension of her character? Very young men lay claim to such knowledge, but as they grow older, and the vanity of youth gives way to the modesty begotten by experience, they no longer pretend to such omniscience, and humbly admit their inability to solve the riddle of femininity. Had the Sphinx proposed such an enigma to Œdipus he would not have been able to guess it, and so, meeting the fate of other victims, would have deprived Thebes of a king and Sophicles of a tragedy.

Yet, if we bear in mind that women work rather from impulse than from motive, we may arrive at some knowledge of the organ in question. If a woman is impulsive, and most women are, she acts directly on those impulses; and so startles men by paradoxical actions. As a rule, the male intellect has logical reasons wherefrom it deduces motives upon which to act. Not so with women. They obey the impulse of the moment, reckless of the consequence to themselves or to anyone else. Consequently, it is impossible to foretell how a woman will act in a given circumstance, but it may be asserted that she will obey the latest thought in her mind. Even from this point of view, the feminine mind is still a riddle; but one which is more capable of explanation.

For example, Mrs. Bezel read "A Whim of Fate," and thus, after five-and-twenty years, the Horriston tragedy was freshly impressed on her brain. Seized with remorse, terrified by the memory of the crime, she, acting on the impulse, wrote to Hilliston stating that she intended to see Claude Larcher and reveal all. The dismay of the lawyer at this mad proposal, and his steady opposition thereto, turned what was originally a mere whim into a fixed idea. She saw a way of punishing the man for the withdrawal of his love ten years before, when she lost her beauty and became paralyzed. Delighted at learning that she had still some power to wound him, she persisted in her project, and so wrote the letter to Larcher, which he received the day after his arrival in London.

To baffle Hilliston, and prevent him from intercepting the letter, she was obliged to use all her wits, and so hit on the idea of learning the name of the young man's club. How she managed to obtain it is best known to herself; but Hilliston, never dreaming of this pertinacity, was unable to thwart her schemes, and, beyond writing to Claude, telling him to call, could do nothing. Had he guessed that she would address her invitation to the club, he might have called and obtained it in the character of Larcher's guardian; but, knowing her helpless condition, the thought that it might be there never entered his mind. So the letter arrived, was duly answered, and Claude was coming to-day at three o'clock to hear what Mrs. Bezel had to say.

The visit, though due to her own action, was a source of considerable anxiety; for she was not at all certain of what she would say. It was impossible to tell all without inculpating Hilliston, and this, for reasons of her own, Mrs. Bezel was unwilling to do. All her talk of the previous night had been so much rodomontade to frighten the man she hated, but she was too well aware of her dependent position to think of doing him an injury. Her impulse had led her into deep water, as she knew instinctively.

She was a woman who had lived every moment of her life, but now, stretched on a bed of sickness, she missed her former triumphs and excitements. This visit promised a great deal of amusement, and the use of much diplomacy, therefore she was unwilling to abandon her plans. At the same time she determined to give the young man as little information as she possibly could. It would not be through her agency that the mask would be torn from Hilliston's face. She was resolved on that point.

Yet the matter, starting originally from an impulse, had now gone too far for her to draw back. Claude had seen the papers, and therefrom must have guessed that she desired to impart certain information with regard to the crime which had cost him a father. Mrs. Bezel therefore compromised the matter, and settled in her own mind to tell him half the truth, or, at all events, only sufficient to interest him without aiding him. Had she been a man, and had taken this decision, all would have gone well, but being a woman she reckoned without her impulse, and it betrayed her.

Moreover, she had a revelation to make which would effectively tie Larcher's hands should he learn too much; but this she did not intend to make unless driven into a corner. She was in that corner before the interview was finished, though she little expected to get there. Hilliston, clever as he was, could not understand her present actions; she did not understand them herself, else she would not have ventured to receive Claude Larcher.

He duly arrived at three o'clock, and Mrs. Bezel glanced approvingly at his stalwart figure and handsome face. Claude had one of those sympathetic, yet manly, natures, to which women are instinctively drawn by the law of sex, and Mrs. Bezel proved no exception to this rule. She was too thoroughly a woman not to relish masculine society, and, despite her perplexity, was glad she had sent the invitation, if only for the sake of talking to this splendid looking young man. There was another reason, which she revealed in a moment of impulse. But that was later on.

Meanwhile Claude, seated by her couch in the window, was wondering who she was, and why she had sought this interview. He was certainly aware that she had some information to impart concerning the fate of his parents, but as he had not seen her name in the papers containing the account of the case, he was at a loss to fix her identity. His doubts were soon set at rest. Mrs. Bezel was a more prominent actor in the Horriston tragedy than he had any idea of.

"You were doubtless astonished to get my letter," said Mrs. Bezel, when the first greetings were over, "especially as you do not remember your parents, and my name is also unknown to you."

"Were you a friend of my parents, madam?" asked Claude, too anxious for information to reply directly to her remark.

"Yes. I—I knew them. That is, I lived at Horriston," stammered Mrs. Bezel, passing a handkerchief across her dry lips.

"You lived at Horriston? At the time of the murder?"

Mrs. Bezel nodded; she was not yet sufficiently self-controlled for speech.

"In that case," continued Claude eagerly, "you must know all the details of the crime."

"Only those that were reported in the papers."

"Still you must be acquainted with those concerned in the tragedy. With my father, with Jeringham, Denis Bantry, with Mona, his sister."

"Yes," said Mrs. Bezel calmly; "I knew them all."

"Have you any idea who committed the crime?"

"Not the slightest."

"But you must have some suspicions?"

"Oh, yes! But they may be wrong. I believe that Mr. Jeringham had something to do with it."

"Oh!" said Claude, remembering Hilliston's opinion, "some believe him to be guilty."

"I cannot say for certain," replied Mrs. Bezel, shaking her head. "The flight of Mr. Jeringham certainly showed that he had something to conceal."

"What kind of a man was Mr. Jeringham?"

"Tall and fair. Amiable as a rule, but liable to violent passions."

"Was he not in love with my mother before she married my father?"

Mrs. Bezel turned away her head, and the color rose to her face. The nervous movement of her hands plucking at her dress showed how profoundly she was moved by this question.

"I believe so. But she—Mrs. Larcher loved her husband."

"Then why was my father jealous of Jeringham?" said Claude, who could not reconcile this statement with the evidence given at the trial.

"How should I know?" cried Mrs. Bezel, turning on him with sudden passion. "If George Larcher had not been so blinded by jealousy he would have seen that there was nothing between them. Your mother knew Jeringham all his life; they were like brother and sister. It is true he wished to marry her, but when he saw that her heart was given to your father, he bowed to her decision. He came to Horriston as her friend, not as her lover."

"But he was constantly with her."

"Do you dare to speak thus of your mother, sir?"

"I—I cannot help doing so," stammered Claude, startled by the anger in her voice. "God knows I wish to revere the memory of my mother, but I cannot help seeing that she was morally responsible for the tragedy."

"She was not! She was not!" said Mrs. Bezel vehemently. "How dare you speak thus? Your father neglected her. He left her to the companionship of Mark Jeringham, while he indulged in his predilection for literary work. All day long he shut himself up in his study, and let his wife sit alone, and miserable. Was it any wonder, then, that she should turn to her old friend for consolation? There was nothing between them—nothing to which any Pharisee could have taken exception."

"But surely my father was sufficiently sensible to see all this?"

"He saw nothing, or what he did see was distorted by his jealousy. The police, in their endeavors to fix the crime on your mother, took the same view of the relations between her and Jeringham. Oh, I know what you read in those papers shown to you by Mr. Hilliston!"

So surprised was Claude by this unexpected introduction of his guardian's name that he could not suppress a start.

"How do you know that Mr. Hilliston showed me the papers?"

Mrs. Bezel saw that she had said too much, but, unable to go back on her words, rapidly resolved to make that revelation which she had hitherto intended to keep as a last resource.

"Mr. Hilliston told me that he had done so."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Bezel, seizing her opportunity to lead up to the revelation. "I know him as the best and kindest of men. I know him as one who has been a good friend to you—orphan as you thought yourself."

"Orphan as I thought myself," muttered Claude, turning pale. "Is it not true—am I not an orphan?"

"No!"

"Great Heavens! What is this you tell me? My father——"

"Your father is dead. He was murdered, as you know."

"Then my mother?"

Mrs. Bezel looked at the agonized face of the young man, and covered her own, with a quick indrawn breath.

"She lives!"

"My mother! She lives! Are you mad? She died in London shortly after her acquittal."

"So it was supposed, but it was not true. Could you expect that unhappy woman to face the scorn and contempt of the world after having been accused of her husband's murder? She did not die, save to the world. She fled from society and sought refuge here—here where she lies a helpless invalid."

"Mrs. Bezel!"

"I am not Mrs. Bezel. I am your mother."

"God! My mother!"