Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth “What wit so sharp is found in youth or age That can distinguish truth from treachery? Falsehood puts on the face of simple truth, And masks i’ th’ habit of plain honesty, When she in heart intends most villany.”

“Sit down, Mr. Judson; sit down, and tell us all about this matter; and if we can aid either you or your distressed lodger in any way, we shall be glad to do so,” said Mr. Berners, earnestly.

“Yes, indeed,” added Sybil, throwing herself down in her easy-chair, with a deep breath of relief and anticipation.

“Well, sir, and madam,” commenced the landlord, frankly accepting the offered seat, “the case is this: About ten days ago there arrived in this city, by the ship Banshee, from Cork, a lady, gentleman, and child, with two servants, who came directly to this house. The gentleman registered his party as Mr. and Mrs. Horace Blondelle, child, nurse, and valet, and he engaged the very best rooms in the house—the rooms corresponding to these on the opposite side of the passage, you know, madam.”

“Yes,” assented Mrs. Berners.

“Well, sir, and Mr. Horace Blondelle ordered, besides the best rooms, everything else that was best in the house, and, indeed, better than the house contained; for, for his supper that very night, I had to send by his directions, and procure Johanesberg, Moselle, and other rare and costly wines, such as are seldom or never called for here. But then you know, sir, he was a foreign gentleman.”

“Certainly,” agreed Lyon, with a smile.

“Next day, the finest horses and carriages from the livery stables. And so on in the highest scale of expense, until his week’s bill ran up to seven hundred dollars. As a good deal of this was money paid out of my pocket for costly wines and costly horses, I sent in my account on the Saturday night. It is the usual thing, however, madam.”

“I know,” answered Mrs. Berners.

“Well, Mr. Horace Blondelle very promptly settled it by handing me a check on the local bank for the amount. It was too late then to cash my check, as the bank had been for some hours closed. But I resolved to take it to the bank the first thing on Monday morning to get the money; and I left Mr. Horace Blondelle’s apartments with a secret feeling of commendation for his prudence in putting his ready money in the local bank, instead of keeping it about him in a crowded hotel like this. For, you know, sir, that the recent daring robbery at the Monroe House has proved to us that even the office safe is not always ‘safe.’”

“Not always,” echoed Mr. Berners.

“Well, sir, and madam, I was so well pleased with my guest’s promptitude in settling his bill, that I redoubled my attentions to his comfort and that of his party. On the Sunday he commenced the week’s account by giving a large dinner-party, for he had made acquaintances in the town. And again the most expensive delicacies and the mostly costly wines were ordered, with the most lavish extravagance. And they kept up the festivities in rather a noisy manner through the whole night, which was painful to me, I being a Churchman. But then, you know, madam, a landlord can not interfere with his guests to that extent.”

“Certainly not,” admitted Mrs. Berners.

“Well, sir, the next morning after such a carousal, I naturally expected my guests to sleep late, so I was not surprised that the stillness of their rooms remained unbroken by any sound even up to ten o’clock. At that hour however, the bank opened, and I went myself to get my check cashed. There, sir, I got another check. Judge of my astonishment when the cashier, after examining Mr. Horace Blondelle’s paper, declared that he knew no such person, and that there was no money deposited in that bank to the credit of that name.”

“It was a swindle!” exclaimed Mr. Berners, impulsively.

“It was a swindle,” admitted the landlord. “Yes, sir, a swindle of the basest sort, though I did not know it even then. I was inclined to be angry with the cashier, but I reflected that there was probably a mistake of some sort; so I hurried back home and inquired if Mr. Horace Blondelle had shown himself yet. I was told that he had not yet even rung his bell. Then I went to his private parlor, which had been the scene of last night’s dinner giving and Sabbath breaking. The servants of the house had removed all signs of the carousal, and were moving noiselessly about the room while restoring it to order, so as not to disturb the rest of Mr. and Mrs. Horace Blondelle in the bedroom adjoining. I told my people that, as soon as Mr. Blondelle should awake, they must tell him that I begged leave to wait on him on a matter of business. It is as well to say, that while I lingered in the room, the nurse came in with the child, a pretty, fair-haired boy of five years old. They occupied a little chamber at the end of the passage, in easy reach of the child’s mother. The nurse came in, hushing and cautioning the child not to make a noise, lest he should wake up poor mamma and papa, who were so tired. I mention this little domestic incident because, in some strange way that I cannot begin to understand, it quieted my misgivings, so that I went below and waited patiently for the rising of Mr. Horace Blondelle. Madam, I might have waited till this time!” said the landlord, pausing solemnly.

“Why? go on and tell me!” impulsively exclaimed Mrs. Berners.

“Why? I will soon let you know. I waited until long after noon. And still no sound from the bedroom. I walked in and out of the sitting-room, where the table was set for breakfast, and still no sound from the bedroom. And in the sitting-room no sound of occupation but the waiting breakfast-table in the middle of the floor, and the nurse seated at one of the windows with the impatient child at her knee.

“‘Your master and mistress sleep late,’ I said.

“‘Yes, sir, they were up late last night,’ she replied while twisting the child’s golden ringlets around her fingers, in pure idleness, for they did not need curling.

“I went away and staid away for about an hour, and then returned to the sitting-room. No sound from the bedroom yet. No change in the sitting-room, except that the nurse had taken a seat at the corner of the table with the child on her lap, and was feeding him from a bowl of milk and bread.

“‘Your master and mistress not up yet?’ I ventured to say.

“‘No, sir, and no sign of them; I am giving little Crowy his supper, and am going to put him to bed. And if the bell don’t ring by that time, I shall make bold to knock at the door and wake them up. Because, sir, I’m getting uneasy. Something might be the matter, though I don’t know what,’ said the girl, anxiously.

“‘So am I, I wish you would. And when your master has breakfasted, tell him I wish to be permitted to wait on him,’ I said to the girl, and I left the room for the tenth time, I do suppose, that day.”

“Well!” eagerly exclaimed Sybil.

“Well, madam, in less than an hour from that time, one of the waiters came to me with looks of alarm, and said that something must have happened in number 90, for that the lady’s maid had been knocking and calling loudly at the door for the last ten minutes without being able to make herself heard within.”“Oh!” breathed Sybil, clasping her hands.

“Madam, I hurried to the spot. I joined my efforts to those of the terrified maid to arouse the sleepers within the chamber, but with no effect. The maid was almost crazy by this time, ma’am.”

“‘Oh, sir, are they murdered in their bed?’ she cried to me.

“‘Murdered? No, but something has happened, and we must force open the door, my good girl,’ I said by way of calming her. You may well judge, sir, that I did not send for a locksmith; but with a crowbar, hastily procured from below, I hoisted the door from its hangings and effected an entrance.”

“And then? And then?” breathlessly inquired Sybil, perceiving that the landlord paused for a moment.

“We found the room in the utmost confusion. Chests of drawers, clothes-presses, boxes, and so forth, stood wide open, with their contents scattered over the floor. We glanced at the bed, and the maid uttered a wild scream, and even I felt my blood run cold; for there lay the form of the lady, still, cold, pallid, livid, like that of a corpse many hours dead. No sign of Blondelle was to be seen about the chamber.”

“Oh! had he murdered her and fled?” gasped Sybil, with a half-suppressed hysterical sob.

Mr. Berners passed his arm around her shoulders and drew her head down upon his breast, and signed for the landlord to proceed with his story.

“Sir,” continued Mr. Judson, “I went up to that bedside in the worst panic I ever felt in all my life. My heart was hammering at my ribs like a trip-hammer. First I took up the white hand that was hanging helplessly down by the side of the bed; and I was glad to find that it was limber, though cold as ice. Life might not be extinct. I ran down and dispatched several servants in different directions for physicians, being determined to insure the attendance of one, even at the risk of bringing a dozen, and having all their fees to pay.”

“You never thought of fees, I’ll guarantee,” said Mr. Berners.

“Indeed I did not. I thought only of the lady. I sent my old mother to her bedside, with a request that she would keep everybody else out of the room until the arrival of a physician, and to let nothing be touched; for you see, sir, I did not know but what the attendance of a coroner would be called for as well.”

“Oh, how terrible!” murmured Sybil, from her shelter on her husband’s breast.

“Yes, madam, but not so terrible as we feared. Not to tire you with too long an account of this bad business, I will tell you at once the result of the physician’s examination. It was, that this death-like sleep or coma of the lady was produced by some powerful narcotic, but by what or for what purpose administered, he could not discover. The maid was questioned as to whether her mistress was in the habit of using any form of opium, and answered that she certainly was not. Well, madam, the doctor left the lady under the care of my mother, with directions to watch her pulse, and on any indication of its failure, to summon him immediately.”

“She was in danger, then?”

“Apparently. My mother watched beside her bed all that night; the lady did not awake until the next morning—that was the Tuesday; and the poor soul thought it was Monday! You see twenty-four hours had been lost to her consciousness.”

“And her infamous husband?” inquired Mr. Berners.

“Neither he nor his valet were to be found. I had the police upon his track, you may be sure; though I did not, at the time of the lady’s awakening, know the full extent of his atrocious villainy. I knew he had swindled me, but I did not know that he had robbed and forsaken his lovely young wife.”

“Robbed and forsaken his wife?” echoed Sybil, piteously.

“Yes, madam, incredible as it seems. But I did not know this until the lady came to her senses. When she first awoke and found my mother seated by her bed, she expressed much surprise, at her presence and at her own husband’s absence. My mother, a plain spoken old lady, blurted out the truth—how Mr. Horace Blondelle, after imposing a worthless check upon me, in payment of my bill, had absconded with his valet, and been missing ever since the night of the dinner-party, and that she, Mrs. Blondelle, had slept profoundly through all these events.

“Oh, what a dreadful tale for the poor young wife to hear!” sighed Sybil.

“It was worse than anything I ever saw in my life, madam—her grief and shame and despair! She arose from her bed and began to examine her effects, to see what she might have left, and how far they would go towards settling my bill. She possessed some invaluable jewelry in diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. I know she did, for I had seen her wear them. She alluded to these, and said that they were worth many thousand dollars, and that she would sell some of them to satisfy my claims. She began to look for them, and then it was only by her broken exclamations of dismay that I came to know that he had robbed her.”

“The unnatural monster!” indignantly exclaimed Mr. Berners, while Sybil gazed in almost incredulous consternation.

“Yes, sir, and madam, the truth was now apparent, even to the poor lady; and it was this—that on the night of the dinner-party he had heavily drugged her wine, so that when she retired to bed she fell into that deep, death-like sleep. Then he took advantage of her state to get possession of her keys, and to rifle her boxes and caskets, and make off with her money and jewels.”

“Poor, poor woman!” sighed Sybil.

“This, madam,” continued the landlord, turning to Mrs. Burners, “occurred four days ago. Since that time her base husband has been traced to New York, and there lost sight of.”

“And she?” inquired Sybil.

“She, madam, has given herself up to the wildest grief and despair. She is as simple and as helpless as her own child. She has not the faintest notion of self-reliance. And here is where the trouble is with me. I have already lost several hundred dollars through this swindling villain. The wife and child he has left behind him are still occupying my best suite of apartments, for which, during their stay here, I shall not receive one penny of remuneration: therefore you see I cannot afford to keep this lady and her suite here, and neither can I find it in my heart to tell her to leave the house. For where, indeed, can she go? She has no friends or acquaintances in this country, no money, and no property that she can effectually turn into money.”

“Has she no one to pity her among the ladies in the house?” inquired Sybil.

“There are no ladies staying in the house at present, madam. Our patrons are usually travellers, who seldom remain over one night.”

“But—the women of your family?” suggested Sybil.

“There are no women in this family, except my old mother, who keeps house for me, and the female servants under her. I am a widower, madam, with half a dozen sons, but no daughters,” returned the landlord.

Sybil lifted her head from her husband’s shoulder, where it had rested so long, and looked wistfully in her husband’s eyes. He smiled, and nodded assent to what seemed to have been a silent interrogation. Then she took from her pocket a little gold-enamelled card-case, drew from it a card and a pencil, and wrote a few lines and handed it to the landlord, saying:

“Mr. Judson, will you do me the favor to take this in to the unhappy lady at once, and see if she will receive me this evening? I feel as if I would like to try to comfort and serve her,”

“I will with pleasure, madam; and I have no doubt that the mere expression of sympathy from another lady will be to her like a drop of water to a feverish palate,” said the landlord, as he left the room.

“Dear Lyon, I have a favor to ask of you,” said Sybil, as soon as she was alone with her husband.

“A favor! a right, my beloved! There is nothing that you can ask of me that is not your right to receive!”

“No, no; a favor. I like to ask and receive favors from you, dear Lyon.”

“Call my service what you will, dear love! a right or a favor, it is always yours! What, then, is this favor, sweet Sybil?”

“That you will give me a perfect carte blanche in my manner of dealing with this poor little lady, even though my manner should seem foolish or extravagant.”

At these words from his ardent, generous, romantic wife, Lyon Berners looked very grave. What, indeed might Sybil, with her magnanimity and munificence not think proper to do for this utter stranger—this possible adventuress? Lyon looked very solemn over this proposal from his wife. He hesitated for a moment; but her large, clear, honest eyes were fixed full upon him, waiting for his reply. Could he refuse her request? Did he not owe everything to her, and to that very high-flown spirit of generosity which was not only a fault (if it were a fault) of Sybil, but a trait common to all her race.“As you will, my darling wife! I should be a cur, and worse than a cur—a thankless wretch—to wish to restrain you in anything!” he answered, sealing his agreement on her velvet lips.

In another minute the landlord re-entered the room.

“Mrs. Blondelle’s thanks and compliments, and she will be very grateful for Mrs. Berners’ visit, as soon as Mrs. Berners pleases to come,” was the message that Mr. Judson brought.

Sybil arose with a smile, kissed her hand playfully to her husband, and passed out of the room.

The landlord went before her, rapped at the opposite door, then opened it, announced the visitor, and closed it behind her.

Sybil advanced a step into the stranger’s apartment, and then paused in involuntary admiration.

She had heard and read of celebrated beauties, whose charms had conquered the wisest statesmen and the bravest warriors, who had governed monarchs and ministers, and raised or ruined kingdoms and empires. And often in poetic fancy she had tried to figure to herself one of these fairy forms and faces. But never, in her most romantic moods, had she imagined a creature so perfectly beautiful as this one that she saw before her.

The stranger had a form of the just medium size, and of the most perfect proportions; a head of stately grace; features small, delicate, and clearly cut; a complexion at once fair and rosy, like the inside of an apple blossom; lips like opening rose-buds; eyes of dark azure blue, fringed with long dark eye-lashes, and over-arched by slender, dark eyebrows; and hair of a pale, glistening, golden hue that fell in soft, bright ringlets, like a halo around her angelic face. She wore a robe of soft, pale, blue silk, that opened over a white silk skirt.

She arose with an exquisite grace to welcome her visitor.“It is very good of you, madam, to come to see me in my misery,” she murmured, in a sweet, pathetic tone that went to her visitor’s heart, as she sat a chair, and, by a graceful gesture invited her to be seated.

Sybil was herself impulsive and confiding, as well as romantic and generous. She immediately drew her chair up to the side of the strange lady, took her hand affectionately, and tried to look up in her eyes, as she said:

“We are personal strangers to each other; but we are the children of one Father, and sisters who should care for each other.”

“Ah! who would care to claim sisterhood with such a wretch as I am?” sighed the unhappy young creature.

“I would; but you must not call yourself ill-names. Misfortunes are not sins. I came here to comfort and help you—to comfort and help you not in words merely, but in deeds; and I have both the power and the will to do it, if you will please to let me try,” said Sybil, gently.

The young creature looked up, her lovely, tearful, blue eyes expanded with astonishment.

“You offer to comfort and help me! Me—a perfect stranger, with a cloud of dishonor hanging over me! Oh, madam, if you knew all, you would certainly withdraw your kind offer,” she said.

“I will not withdraw it in any event. I do know all that your landlord could tell me, and that awakens my deepest sympathy for you. But I do not know all that you could tell me. Now, dear, I want you to confide in me as you could not confide either in your landlord, or even in his mother.”

“Oh, no, no! I could not tell either of them. They were kind; but—oh, so hard!”

“Now, dear, then, look in my face, look well, and tell me whether you can confide in me,” said Sybil, gently.

“If I had never seen your heavenly countenance—if I had only heard your heavenly voice, I could confide in you, as in the holy mother of Christ,” said the stranger fervently.

“Tell me then, dear; tell me all you wish to tell; relieve your heart; lay all your burdens on my bosom; and then you shall feel how well I can comfort and help you,” said Sybil, putting her hand around the fair neck and drawing the little golden-haired head upon her breast.

Then and there the friendless young stranger—friendless now, no more—told her piteous story.