All this time Mr. Clarkson was quietly seated in the breakfast-room, taking light repast after his long journey. That the persons he sought were in the hotel he felt confident; but there were so many gentlemen with their wives real or pretended, from all parts, that he was puzzled to conjecture which of the names in the register was that a.s.sumed by the Count. At length he resolved to take the boy into his confidence; and, handing him a gold piece, he began to question him concerning the guests now quartered in the hotel. When he had described the pair he wanted, the boy said: "W'y these ere must be the pair wat's just gone to the Toronto boat!" Clarkson said not a word; but, handing a card to the cashier, rushed out of the hotel, and, jumping into a cab, bade the driver to go with all speed to the Upper Canada boat. Had he thought for a moment he would have recollected that the boat leaves the wharf early in the morning, and proceeding slowly through the ca.n.a.l, stops to take on pa.s.sengers at the head of the Lachine Rapids. In his blind haste, however, he had forgotten this; and lost so much time in going to the wharf that, when he eventually learnt the truth and got to the depot, the train was just leaving the platform.

There was nothing for it now but to wait for the train for the west, and to get on board the steamer at Kingston. He had at least the satisfaction of knowing that they were on the boat like rats in a trap, and that, except the delay in confronting the villain Von Alba and his wretched companion, he was as successful as possible in his pursuit of the fugitives. Returning to the city, he procured the a.s.sistance of a detective, who undertook to accompany him to Kingston, and a.s.sist him in apprehending and arresting the fugitives.

By this time the steamship "Hungarian," on which the wretched pair had embarked, was ploughing the waters of Lake St. Louis. After a time they pa.s.sed through the Beauharnois and Cornwall ca.n.a.ls, and entered the labyrinth of beautiful patches known as the "Thousands Islands." As they emerged from this lovely spot the saloon became suddenly filled with smoke, and in a few minutes cries of "Fire! Fire!" were heard on every hand. A rush was made for life preservers, while the crew of five or six men vainly endeavored to extinguish the flames. The captain ordered boats to be lowered, but, the men being excited, and badly drilled at best, the boats were successively swamped, leaving the poor terrified creatures only a choice of two fearful deaths.

One of the sailors handed Mrs. Clarkson a life preserver, which she requested Von Alba to fasten round her waist, but the cowardly fellow _s.n.a.t.c.hed it from her_, and, hastily securing it round his own waist, swung himself overboard, leaving her to perish in the flames! He was not to escape so easily, however; with a bitter yell of mingled rage and despair the wretched woman mounted the taffrail, and plunging straight for the spot where he rose to the surface dragged him under again and again with fearful maledictions. The pa.s.sengers who still remained on deck could do nothing to separate them, and although the life preserver would have sustained both of them easily in the water, so great was the woman's bate on the discovery of Von Alba's cowardly treachery, that she did not even give a thought to her own escape, so intent was she on dragging him to the bottom. The expression of her face, lit up as it was by the blaze of the burning; steamer, was terrible to behold: the veins in her head and neck were swollen almost to bursting, and she died cursing with bitter malediction the man for whom she had sacrificed not only herself, but her husband and her children.

The steamer burned to the water's edge, only a few of those who had jumped overboard escaping. The bodies of the guilty pair were discovered at some distance from the wreck, Mrs. Clarkson's hand being tightly clutched round her companion's throat, while his tongue and eyes protruded fearfully.

With sad and heavy heart Clarkson returned to Detroit, and, having gathered together what remained of his former property, prepared to return to Canada. He took with him the children of his late wife, placing them both as boarders at the College at Lennoiville till they were old enough to be apprenticed to some trade or profession. He never quite recovered from the shock received on hearing of the manner of Mrs.

Clarkson's death and that of her paramour, but became prematurely aged when he realized that, instead of the sweet angelic creature whom he thought he had married, he found that he had wedded a regular disciple of Satan.

CHAPTER VII.

The Frail Shop Girl.

The many fine ladies who patronize the fashionable emporiums of Montreal little think (as they sit comfortably at the counter, leisurely examining dozens of articles they never intend to purchase) of the sufferings undergone by those who minister to their wants, and, it may be, their caprices. Dozens of these poor creatures stand day after day, from morn till night, without a moment's rest except at meal-times; even then the short period allowed them barely suffices to permit of a hasty meal, when they have to hurry back again to undergo another term of misery.

It is strange that we should be so careful of brute beasts that we form ourselves into societies for their protection, prosecuting rigorously any one who shall have the temerity to ill-treat or abuse them, and yet allow our fellow-creatures (and those, too, of the weaker s.e.x) to be treated with the most barbarous cruelty. A bruise or a blow may be brutal and severe, yet neither is so hurtful, so systematically cruel, as the forcing young girls to stand erect for lengthened periods, without change of posture. I am sure if the members of the House of Commons were deprived of their seats even for one session, we would, without further ado have a Bill enacted making it criminal for shopkeepers to make slaves of their employees, or individuals to patronize such establishments.

Were shop-girls provided with even the commonest of seats, untold numbers of crimes and diseases would be heard of no more. I am confident that but for this most refined cruelty the circ.u.mstances which gave rise to this story would never have occurred, and that I would have been spared the narration of a history which, though painfully true, is none the less shocking.

M----'s dry goods store has long been known in Montreal as a well-started and well-appointed establishment. Carriages daily blocked the thoroughfare while waiting for their fashionable owners outside its door; and inside busy walkers and clerks could be seen running hither and thither, serving customers. Young women, also, some of them still bright and cheerful, many, alas, pale and heavy with sadness, might be seen grouped behind the counter, engaged in handing goods down from the shelves, and displaying them to the fashionable loungers behind the counter.

One of these girls, by name Esther Ryland, was noticed by many who frequented M----'s store on account of her unusually attractive person and elegance of manners; she was a little above the average height, yet graceful and well-formed, with remarkably handsome features, and eyes that sparkled like a pair of diamonds. Esther had not been long in Messrs. M----'s service, yet she had become so popular as a saleswoman that crowds frequented the particular counter at which she a.s.sisted, and she was known to many who were unacquainted with her name as the Pretty Shop-girl at M----'s.

Esther was very proud of her attractions, both professionally and otherwise; she did not calculate, however, that the more popular she became the more work she would have to do, and that she would, in time, pay for her popularity with her health, if not her life. She had, in and out of the store, a great many admirers amongst those of the opposite s.e.x, but there was one she prized above all others, a certain Mr.

Quintin, a merchant tailor, who had just started business for himself, and had persuaded Esther to promise that, after another year's service, she would give up business and become his wife.

It had been their custom to go for a stroll together on the long summer evenings, and together they might have been seen, fondly looking into each other's faces, as, arm-in-arm, they perambulated the more remote portions of Sherbrooke and St. Denis streets, which at that time were scarcely built upon.

One evening when Quintin called, as usual, to take his enamorata for a walk, she said she would prefer to stay at home, as she was quite fatigued with the day's work. Nothing disconcerted, her lover remained with her in the house, and they amused themselves with a pack of cards and a chessboard. The following evening, however, Miss Ryland was again indisposed, and, on questioning her closely, Quintin drew forth the avowal that she _had not sat down for a quarter of an hour_ during the whole day! It seems it was the busy season at M----'s, and, besides being engaged incessantly in serving customers, Miss Ryland was obliged to shorten her dinner hour, and to hurry back to meet the increased demand.

Quintin was quite shocked at this discovery. Although well aware of the brutal treatment of shopkeepers' a.s.sistants, he had never been an interested party, and so had the matter placed before him _in all its horrors_ for the first time. He resolved that, come what might, he would emanc.i.p.ate his intended wife from a life of such slavery, and so, having carefully arranged his business and purchased a neat little cottage in Cadieux street, he urged Miss Ryland to consent to marry him without delay, and so avoid her life of thraldom. She agreed to marry him during the ensuing month, pleading with feminine weakness that it would take at least that time to get her trousseau ready, and the day was finally arranged to their mutual satisfaction.

The excitement of preparation before marriage, and the change of scene during her wedding-tour, wrought such an effect on the woman that Mr.

Quintin became convinced that his wife's health was thoroughly restored, and he labored a.s.siduously at his business, looking forward cheerfully to the time when she should become a mother, and the merry laughter of his children should, in his hours of rest from worldly cares, gladden and enliven their home.

A year rolled by, and both Mr. and Mrs. Quintin looked hopefully towards the future; two years pa.s.sed and still they were childless. Mrs. Quintin would have given all the world, had she possessed it, for one of G.o.d's blessings; she loved children, even those of other children, and _one of her own_ would have been a priceless treasure. But she lamented more on her husband's account. She knew that he doted on children; and when she saw him take the neighbours' children on his knee, and, after looking wistfully in their faces, rise and dash his hand across his eyes, she knew what it meant. "Oh," she would cry, "if only these abandoned wretches who desert their offspring could realize what it is to desire them and yet live unblest! If they but knew the priceless treasures they were casting from them, they would turn and repent in sackcloth and ashes."

Mr. and Mrs. Quintin had been married about three years when one day the former called on me, his face beaming with joy, and informed me that his fondest hopes were about to be realized, and that he would like me to call and consult with his wife. I was a little surprised at this intimation, as, from what I knew of Mrs. Quintin, I had fully made up my mind that she would never become a patient of mine; however, I was glad to hear that I had been mistaken, and so, when next in the neighborhood I waited on that lady and congratulated her on her improved prospects.

To my great surprise she burst into tears, and confessed that she was not _enceinte_, or likely ever to become so; that her career in M----'s store, and continued standing for hours together, had rendered her physically unable ever to become a mother. She added that her husband had so set his heart upon the one object (viz., the desire to have children), and had spent so much money for medicine and medical advice with a view to that end, that she could not bear him to think that all his efforts were unavailing, and her complaint having a.s.sumed a form to all outward appearances similar to pregnancy, she had permitted him to delude himself with the belief that the latter was the cause of her altered appearance, and that scientific skill had counteracted the effects of years of abuse.

I was greatly taken aback at this disclosure, but my surprise was as nothing compared to that in hearing the plot which the woman's now diseased mind had concocted. She said she was going to bear reproach no longer (for, though her husband never murmured, at least in words, his friends and her neighbors were ever ready to deepen her sorrow and humiliation by taunting her with her impotency), and her eyes rolled in frenzy as she almost shouted: I MUST AND SHALL HAVE A CHILD'! Why am I prohibited from having what many do not know how to value? Many of them cast their treasures from them; shall I, frantic with despair, _refuse to pick one up_!

As she walked up and down the room in her fury, she looked like one demented. Her hands were clenched till the nails entered her flesh, her eyes rolled wildly, and, were I more easily frightened, I would have felt impelled to call for help. Gradually becoming cooler, Mrs. Quintin unfolded to me her plan for deceiving her husband, and, with a coolness that I would not have pardoned but for her evidently unhinged condition, actually _requested me to a.s.sist her?_ She said she had been offered a child for adoption by a lady who was more guilty and unfeeling than herself, and that the person in question had promised to send her word when she was taken ill, so that she might send for me, and make her arrangements for the reception of the child, which was to be transported secretly into her bedroom.

I was so astonished that I was for a time unable to a speak. The deep plot itself, the proposition made to me to a.s.sist her, and the cool manner of the lady herself, fairly staggered me. At length, speaking as calmly as I could, I tried to convince Mrs. Quintin of the enormity of the crime she intended to commit, telling her that, if she wished to adopt a child, she would find it quite an easy matter to do so without taking any such course as she evidently intended; and, after arguing for some time, she seemed to yield a little to reason, and promised to do nothing rashly. She had already, however, committed herself to the first part of her programme, and told her husband a falsehood; how was she to undeceive him? I suggested that she should tell him on his return that she had been mistaken, and that on examination I had found nothing unusual the matter with her. This she positively refused to do, saying that her husband had so set his heart on this one object that, were his hopes suddenly dashed to the ground, he might do something desperate.

She said she would break it to him gently, and, imploring me to say nothing to him of what had pa.s.sed, she escorted me to the door, and, with tearful eyes, bade me farewell.

Several months elapsed, and I had, for the time, thought little of either Mr. and Mrs. Quintin, when one evening in glancing over the papers, my eye fell on the following announcement: "On the ----th inst., at ---- Cadieux street the wife of R. Quintin of a daughter." I let the paper drop as I gazed vacantly at the ceiling and tried to realize the whole affair. Undecided how to act, I mechanically put on my bonnet and cloak, and walked up Cadieux street, when, coming out of the house, I spied my friend, Dr. P----.

"Good evening, Doctor," said I.

"Oh, good evening, Mrs. Schroeder. I have just been attending a patient of yours; it seems they were not at all prepared, and had not time to notify you. Indeed, I was late myself, as I did not arrive till some minutes after the child was born."

Without saying a word I beckoned the Doctor aside, and made a sign that I wished to speak with him privately. He invited me to step into his carriage, and we drove in perfect silence to his residence in Beaver Hall Terrace. Alighting, he preceded me to his surgery, and closed the door; then, with a look full of meaning, he said:

"Well, what is there wrong here?"

"I said, Before I reply, will you permit me to ask you one or two questions."

"Who called you to attend Mrs. Quintin?"

"A carter came and requested me to come with all speed to attend a lady in Cadieux street. I went as quickly as possible, but the child was born before my arrival."

"Who, then, attended the lady?"

"The nurse did, and apparently very satisfactorily indeed. I found the bandages so well arranged, and the patient's pulse so strong and regular, that I left, perfectly satisfied that all was properly attended to till your arrival. They explained to me that the lady was your patient, but that being unexpectedly taken ill, she had ordered the carter to bring the first doctor he found at home."

"Was Mr. Quintin at home?"

"No; he is gone to England to purchase some goods."

"Ah! That accounts for it then."

"Accounts for what? Really you must not catechize me any further. What is there underneath all these questions?"

I drew my chair closer to him, as I said tragically:

"Mrs. Quintin _never had a child_."

"This rather staggered the good old doctor, who had just come from the house, where he had examined and weighed the infant. He started up from his chair, and, drawing back, exclaimed:

"What do you mean? Explain yourself."

I then at length narrated all I knew concerning the Quintin family, and, as I proceeded with my story, the old man's eyes opened wider and wider as he exclaimed:

"My G.o.d what a diabolical plot"!

"Yes, indeed, and I was invited to join in it."

"Well, well. _I_ certainly would never have suspected anything of the kind."