Mrs. Brookes was a middle-aged lady of a retiring disposition. Her husband had died at an early age, leaving her to take care of three young children. Her temporal wants however, were provided for, her husband having been possessed of a handsome income independently of his small salary. Dr. Tuffnell made inquiries concerning Miss Wilson's habits, and was informed that her actions were at times very peculiar, that she had not gone to bed all the past night, but had stamped up and down her room, talking as if to a second party. Mrs. Brookes was shocked to hear that she had unwittingly engaged a mad woman to take charge of her children, and suddenly recollected several extraordinary episodes which, until that time, had never struck her forcibly.

It was arranged that the Doctor should see Miss Wilson and satisfy himself concerning her affliction before any further steps were taken.

Accordingly Mrs. Brookes rang the bell and told the servant to summon the governess.

Miss Wilson had not slept all night, and her eyes had a wild expression, which heightened when she beheld Mr. D'Alton. The doctor, having previously taken all that was told him for granted, made up his mind at once that she was insane, and never reflected for a moment on the possibility of some scheme being on foot to injure her. On entering the room she laughed wildly and said--"So you have come back with your bag of gold. I tell you it's _trash_, sordid trash, not half so sweet as REVENGE!"

Now as the doctor had heard nothing from either D'Alton or Mrs. Brookes which he could in any way connect with this wild utterance; moreover, as the young lady looked like a tigress, and walked fiercely up and down the room, he became more than ever convinced that he had got a bad case in hand and acted accordingly. Looking at D'Alton he shook his head, which Mrs. Brookes perceiving, she shook her head in turn, and, taking out her handkerchief, wept copiously. Dr. Tuffnell tried to soothe the patient with gentle words, but she (mistaking him for a pettifogging lawyer, whom D'Alton had engaged to bind her over to keep the peace) cried out:

"Ah, yes! you want to quiet me, but _you can't_ quiet me. I am like the surging cataract, which, suppressed in one place bursts out again with more fury in another. I have suffered too much to be tamed down by soft and gilded promises. No, Robert D'Alton, you have started the mighty avalanche and it is too late now to stop its progress."

The doctor began to feel he had a desperate case in hand and tried to quiet her, but the more he did so the worse she got till at last all persons began to talk to her, receiving from the poor girl replies altogether removed from the point at issue coupled with threats and oaths and furious gesticulations. At length the doctor suggested, in a whisper, the propriety of their departure, when they might consider what was best to be done, but, on Mrs. Brookes protesting that she was afraid to stay alone in the house with the maniac, Dr. Tuffnell dispatched a note to the asylum, and in a short time two keepers arrived, and proceeded to take Miss Wilson into their care till she should become possessed of a sound mind.

There is no time at which a sane person looks so much like a maniac as when trying to convince people of his sanity. The real lunatic will cunningly hide his affliction from the most watchful, and is frequently able to deceive those unaccustomed to deal with persons of unsound mind, but the victim of persecution becomes wild with honest indignation, and generally manages to convince even those who might be inclined to believe him to be sane.

When the truth of her position began to dawn on Miss Wilson, she became more frantic than ever. She raved at D'Alton and the doctor, tore with her hands at the keepers, and abused Mrs. Brookes for standing tamely by to see one of her own s.e.x so ill-used. She roared so that two policemen came rushing up to the steps to inquire what was the matter, but, seeing Dr. Tuffnell, with whom they were well acquainted, they saluted him respectfully and withdrew.

Miss Wilson was accordingly driven to the asylum and incarcerated till she should come to her senses, and Mr. D'Alton, having made arrangements for her safe-keeping returned to Montreal.

Shortly after her father's return Lillian D'Alton was married to Captain Trevelyan in Christ Church Cathedral. The wealth, beauty and fashion of Montreal attended the wedding, and the costliest presents were displayed on her father's sideboard. The young couple departed for England immediately, Trevelyan's regiment having been ordered home, and the bride was received into the first London circles.

Mr. D'Alton remained in Montreal where he still lives and moves in the best society. What his private feelings are I cannot tell, but outwardly all is serene, the only one besides myself who knows his family history having long since pa.s.sed away in solitary confinement.

CHAPTER IX.

A Tale of Two Cities

Among the many friends we made during our stay in Montreal, none were so thoroughly beloved by myself and family as the Sinclairs. Mr. Sinclair was an English artist who had settled in Canada some time previous to our arrival, and, being generally well informed, as well as a shining light in his own profession, he was made much of by the English residents here, and had as pupils many of the wives and daughters of the officers of the garrison, besides some of the more cultivated Canadians.

Mrs. Sinclair was a refined English lady of good family, and had several children, mostly girls, who were greatly admired not only for their beauty, but also for their many and various accomplishments. The Sinclair girls were frequently at our house, being, in fact, looked upon as members of our family, and no social gathering of ours was considered complete without them.

In time Mr. Sinclair became tired of Montreal. Many of his patrons left with their regiments for England, and he became weary of the dull routine and scanty income which he saw was all he could ever look forward to in Canada, so, breaking up his household, he departed for the United States, and, having lived for a time in various cities, finally settled in Boston, where he became quite successful, and soon obtained an enviable reputation as a portrait painter.

Lulu Sinclair, the eldest of the girls, was a sprightly blonde of about sixteen when her father left Montreal, and the family had not been long in Boston before she became engaged as a teacher at one of the conservatories, and a mutual attachment sprang up between the pair.

Miss Sinclair had already made her _debut_ in Boston Music Hall as a vocalist, and the pair were frequently engaged at the same concerts and entertainments, so that the natural sequence was that they in time became engaged, and afterwards--_married_!

"Nothing very mysterious in that," I think I hear my fair reader say, a little disappointed that I have not prepared a spicy bit of scandal for her delectation; but as Balaam the Prophet could only speak as he was impelled by the spirit, so likewise must I confine myself to _the realities_ of the case, and I therefore make no apology for this commonplace bit of history, but proceed with my story.

One evening Lulu made her appearance at our house, in Montreal, accompanied by Mr. Hill, her husband. It seems that they were on a concert tour, and were to give two concerts in Saint Patrick's Hall, which at that time stood on the corner of Craig street and Victoria square, and, as we had often invited them to do so, they promised to avail themselves of our hospitality during their stay, as their engagement terminated with these concerts and they were anxious to take a little rest before returning to Boston.

The children were delighted to have Mr. and Mrs. Hill in the house with them; they had never met a _real live prima donna_ in private life before, and they flaunted "Professor Hill" and "Mademoiselle Lulu Sinclair" in the faces of their juvenile acquaintances, as if they had been entertaining the Emperor of all the Russias and Her Imperial Majesty the Empress.

Since the Sinclairs had left Montreal, the princ.i.p.al playmates of our children had been the Bennetts, who lived in the adjoining street. Mr.

Bennett was a French-Canadian, with (as usual) a large family, and was in comfortable circ.u.mstances, having a large retail grocery on Notre Dame street. One evening, shortly after the arrival of Mr. Hill and his wife, the former drew me aside and asked me if I knew a family in Montreal named Bennett. I told him that I knew them intimately, that they lived close at hand, and taking him to the window (it was late in the spring) I showed him the children walking opposite hand in hand with our own. He then intimated that he had something to tell me, and, taking me aside into the adjoining room, he told me something which astonished me as much as it will doubtless astonish the reader of these pages.

It seems that Mr. Bennett's father was an American, who, in early life, being settled in Montreal, became enamoured of a Canadian girl named Beauchamp. Miss Beauchamp was young, pretty, and a Catholic. The first two of these qualifications rather suited Mr. Bennett, and the third did not in any way annoy him, he being (although a Protestant) a liberal-minded man, and having the idea that thoughts and opinions could not be forced, like sheep, to go in a particular track, but that every one should be free to hold what convictions his reason dictated, untrammelled by conventionality or creed of any kind. Miss Beauchamp professed to be of a like mind, and agreed to allow him to educate the boys (if any), while she would look after the female issue of their marriage. With this ridiculous understanding they got married, and for a time things went pleasantly along, Mrs. Bennett attending L'Eglise St. Jacques regularly, not only without opposition from her husband but sometimes even accompanied by him. He did not believe in the efficacy of the service to save his soul, but he had sufficient common sense to know that it could not harm him, or turn him one whit aside from what his reason dictated; and neither did it, for at the end of two years he was as greatly opposed to what he considered the errors of the Church of Rome as ever he was, and though he attended L'Eglise St. Jacques almost as regularly as St. George's Church, of which he was a member, he went there simply because he liked the society of his wife, and she believed it to be necessary for her salvation.

In the course of time Mrs. Bennett gave birth to a boy, then two girls, and afterwards another boy, all of whom, as children will, made enquiries concerning whence they were and whither they were going, etc.

Mr. Bennett now began to see the folly he had been guilty of in making the agreement mentioned above. If the Catholic religion were the true and only faith, all his sons were on the high road to perdition; if, as he was inclined to think, the Protestant religion were nearer the mark, then what was to become of the girls? What a pleasant prospect was there before him! His family torn and divided by the most bitter of all dissentions, religious disputes (or rather _irreligious_ disputes about matters of doctrine), and his life and those of all his family rendered miserable. This was certainly bad enough in its way, but something more annoying was in store for him. He one day discovered that not only were the girls baptized in the Romish faith, but that the _boys also_ were surrept.i.tiously baptized by the parish priest, so that he alone of all the family remained a Protestant, and a poor one at that. Every day things got more and more complicated, and his wife at last openly avowed that _all_ the children were to be Roman Catholics, and advised him also to flee from the wrath to come and take refuge in the arms of the true church.

Bennett was not exactly a bigot, but, if not a Protestant, he was certainly not going to become a Roman Catholic. Cursing himself bitterly for his folly, he sought to make matters better; but that, so far as changing the religion or creed of his family went, was altogether beyond his power. He had his choice between living an alien and a heretic, despised by his own family; and joining a church whose teachings he considered puerile and inefficacious, and the atmosphere of which was now exceedingly disagreeable to him. His wife showed herself so much more devoted to the church than to her husband, that his love for her soon faded away, and he made a fearful resolve to leave Montreal, and never see his wife or children more. Accordingly one evening, instead of returning as usual from his store, he left for parts unknown, leaving his wife and children almost penniless behind.

Mrs. Bennett, though acting as she did, loved her husband dearly. It was this very love for him which made her so anxious for him to leave what she considered the false religion of the Church of England for the pure and unadulterated system of the Church of Rome. She cried after him as if her heart would break, and sent after him in all directions. All her efforts, however, were in vain, no trace of her husband being found.

The children were left at school till they were in time old enough to be apprenticed to a trade or business, Mrs. Bennett struggling bravely, as only a woman can do, to keep their heads above water. When William, the eldest boy, was about fourteen, he was placed in the well-known house of Messrs. Mockridge & Co., dry goods merchants, and in course of time became thoroughly conversant with the business. He had not only been able to help his mother to maintain the family, but had put by sufficient to start a small business for himself. Before deciding on the latter, however, he determined to visit Boston, to get a few ideas connected with the business, and, while there, came across his father, who had married again under the name of Hill, his wife being a young American of good family, and the mother of the gentleman from whom I learnt this story.

William Bennett reproached his father with his misconduct, and insisted on his leaving his American wife. Bennett the elder was very much averse to doing so, but his son would leave him no alternative, threatening him with exposure and criminal action should he decline. The old man tried to temporize, and persuaded William to visit and dine with his family, introducing him as a business friend from Montreal.

Whatever Anti-Spiritualists may say to the contrary, there are undoubtedly influences other than material which affect us at times, and give us mysterious intimations of events happening or about to happen.

Both Mrs. Hill and her children had a presentiment of some impending calamity, and, although they had not the faintest suspicion of the real state of affairs, they did not look on William Bennett as they would have done on any other person casually introduced into their household.

A damper seemed to have been placed on all their spirits, and the flow of conversation was sluggish and dull.

After dinner they endeavored to organize an impromptu card-party, but that, also, was a failure; and, although, as a rule, they had a little music after dinner, on this particular evening each one seemed indisposed to break the monotony.

About ten o'clock William left for his hotel, having first made an appointment with his father for the following morning. When they met William returned to the subject of their previous discourse, and insisted on his father returning with him to Montreal. The old man vowed that, come what might, he would never go back to his "priest-ridden family" as he chose to designate his wife and children. The battle waxed fast and furious, till at last William exclaimed with an oath: "By ---- you shall leave your Yankee mistress, then; _she_ shall suffer what _my mother_ suffered;" and with oaths and threatenings he hounded his father out of Boston, determined that Mrs. Hill should not (innocent though she was) enjoy the happy home which was denied to his mother.

When Mrs. Hill learned the truth (which she did from a letter sent her from Montreal) she nearly lost her reason. Her case was even worse than that of Bennett's first wife; because, whereas the latter could at least seek her husband, and live in the hope of one day finding him again, the former could not, even did she discover him, claim him as her own.

Mr. Hill's visit to Montreal, then, though ostensibly made for professional pursuits was, in reality to find out something concerning his father's whereabouts, and other matters connected with his quasi-relations. It was strange that he should have come to me for information without being at all aware of our intimacy with the Bennett family, indeed, while he was relating his story Amelia Bennett, his brother's eldest child, came running in for something or another, and I at once saw a resemblance between the two, not only in personal appearance, but also in manners and actions.

The next day Mr. Hill, leaving his wife to the care of our family (who had undertaken to show her "the lions") went forth on his expedition in search of his father. He had obtained from me his brother's business address, and going to the office unannounced was immediately recognized by him, although they had only met once before, and that a considerable time previously. On explaining the object of his visit, Hall was very coldly received and informed that Bennett the elder had left Montreal for New York some years previously and had not since been heard of. Mr.

Hill pretended to believe the story, but secretly determined to keep a watch on his half-brother as he felt certain that the latter was still in communication with his father. He accordingly made arrangements to stay at my house, and as the Bennetts were constantly coming and going he was sure that in a short time he would learn more concerning him of whom he was in search.

One afternoon we were seated round the parlor fire, discussing the usual after-dinner topics, when Mrs. William Bennett dropped in to have a friendly chat. She disclosed the fact that her husband was going to visit a superannuated employee in the nunnery, which he usually did on the first of each month, and that she did not see what reason her husband had to support forever all his broken-down employees. At the first word, Hill listened breathlessly, and when Mrs. Bennett said that she had just left her husband dressing, he quickly, but quietly, left the room. In an instant he was opposite Bennett's house, and as soon as he noticed the bedroom light extinguished (for it was already dark), he drew back into a shadowed corner till he saw Bennett emerge from the doorway and walk rapidly down the street. Hill followed at a safe distance, but soon he saw his brother hail a pa.s.sing sleigh, and, entering it, order the driver to take him somewhere; the name of the street, however, he failed to hear, and he felt chagrined to see the neighboring cab-stand completely deserted. "Now or never," he thought, "am I to attain the object of my visit," and he dashed madly along the street after the vehicle which was travelling at the rate of ten miles an hour; several times he pa.s.sed a cab-stand and would fain have taken a fresh horse in pursuit, but he was afraid that while doing so he might lose sight of the sleigh he had followed so far; or confound it with another vehicle, for they were now pa.s.sing through the centre of the city towards the west end of St. Antoine street.

Past terrace after terrace they flew, till Mr. Hill was nearly faint and breathless, when a sudden turn to the right brought them to the foot of a hill, now Guy street, up which the carter walked his horse, and gave the half dead pedestrian time to recover his breath. When they had proceeded about a quarter of a mile up the hill, the carter drew up at the Nunnery on the left side of the road, and Mr. Bennett, alighting, rang the bell. A sliding panel was immediately pushed aside, and a hooded sister held a few moments conversation with the visitor, on which the door was opened, and he was admitted. Hill, who had been standing in the shadow of the porch, entered unnoticed at his brother's heels, the janitor being under the impression that they had come in the sleigh together. Walking along a dark corridor they came to a stairway, down which their guide preceded them into the bas.e.m.e.nt; here Hill took a favorable opportunity to turn aside, still keeping his eye on the others till they arrived at the end of the pa.s.sage and entered a large room where several old men were congregated, some chatting in groups, others smoking or reading lazily. In one of these, with emotions which cannot be described, Hill recognized his father from whom he had so long been separated. His first impulse was to rush boldly in and make himself known, but, the first transport over, his American caution prevailed, and he slipped down another pa.s.sage which commanded a view of the staircase, and watched from his point of vantage the many persons returning from visiting their friends. He felt relieved when he saw Bennett take his departure, and with one bound he rushed into the middle of the room where the old man was, and, throwing himself round his father's neck, wept like a child. The old man did not recognize him at first, but when he did he went into hysterics, so great was the shock to his nervous system. Never was there such a commotion in the quiet Nunnery, and the inmates gathered round in excited groups to listen to Hill's story. He told them that his father had left Boston some years before, and, becoming unable to support himself, had been placed by a heartless elder brother in the cold confines of the Nunnery, although the younger members of the family were both willing and anxious to support their aged parent. There being no reason why the old man should not leave the inst.i.tution if so inclined, the Superior allowed him, after some hesitation, to take his departure, first receiving the grateful thanks both of himself and of his son for her kind and fostering care. Hill left a letter for his brother, informing him that, his father being willing, he had taken him away from the Nunnery, and that as they evidently did not want to keep him with their families, he was about to take him to live with _his_.

Bennett was furious when he received the letter, but, as Mrs. Hill was now no more, and no threats or exposures of any kind could induce young Hill and his father to separate, he allowed them to go their way in peace.

A few years after these occurrences Mr. Hill received an appointment in Montreal.

Bennett and he sometimes meet in the street, but give no signs of recognition. The old man is still living, seldom going beyond the portals of his son's house and pa.s.sing most of his time in moody meditation on the past. Let us hope that a heartfelt repentance may in some measure atone for his past weaknesses.

CHAPTER X.

A Blighted Life.

Amongst the many orthodox business men of Montreal, none were more highly esteemed than Mr. Rogers, Manager of the ---- Bank. He was what is generally considered a shrewd business man, methodical and precise in all his relations, whether commercial, domestic or ecclesiastical. I say ecclesiastical, because the worthy gentleman was one of the pillars of the church, having held the office of Elder for several years. Mr.

Rogers had several children, most of whom he trained in the way in which they should go, but Jack, his eldest son, was incorrigible, and resisted all attempts to keep him under control. On Sunday mornings the family were usually marshalled in the dining-room, and marched off to church, but Master Jack frequently put in an excuse,--he had a bad cold, or a sprained ankle, or some other ailment which precluded the possibility of his attending. No sooner were the family outside the garden gate, however, than the poor boy with the sprained ankle would perform a _pas seul_ on the hearthrug, or, in spite of a cold which prevented his going out of doors, would shout "The old log cabin" with an excellent tone and remarkable vigor of lung; then, returning to his room, he would take a French novel from its hiding place under his pillow, and, lighting a fragrant Havana, would devote the morning to "the improvement of his mind," as he called it.

Mrs. Rogers employed three servants besides a coachman: a cook, a housemaid, and a tablemaid. The latter was a young and attractive-looking girl from Glengarry, Ontario, named Ellen MacNee, who was about seventeen years old, and had never before been in service. For this damsel Jack Rogers conceived an attachment, and although at first the girl withstood his attentions, ere long she gave way to his importunities, and for months they lived on terms of the closest intimacy. Jack of course promised (as all men do) to marry her, and to do him justice I must say that he fully intended to do so, but his income as a bank clerk was only twenty dollars a month, and he knew he had no hope of receiving any a.s.sistance from his father. So things went on till Ellen felt she could keep her secret no longer from those around her, and she told her mistress she was going home to visit a sick aunt, and did not know whether she would return or not. Mrs. Rogers was very sorry indeed to part with her (for she had ingratiated herself with all the family, although not to the same extent), and told her if she would undertake to return she would only fill her place temporarily with another girl. With this understanding Ellen left her place and entered the Female Home, where shortly afterwards her baby (a girl) was born; she had the child baptized almost immediately, calling it Beatrice, after her young mistress, to whom she had been much attached, although it is doubtful if the young lady in question would, had she known it have appreciated the honor conferred upon her.

Ellen was scarcely recovered from her illness when her brother, a country farmer, who had by some means got wind of the state of affairs, came to Montreal, and had his misgivings confirmed. When he learnt the truth he was furious, and would, he vowed, shoot both her and her betrayer; but fraternal affection was so strong within him that he gradually became more calm, and exerted himself to make the best he could of a bad business. He requested me to take the child and place it in a nunnery in spite of the earnest protestations of its mother, and persuaded the latter to return to her home in Glengarry, promising to hide her shame from her mother and friends if she would bid farewell forever to the child and her betrayer. He persistently refused even to look at the baby, but, rough and uncultivated as he was, I could see a tear glisten in his eye as his manly heart quivered with emotion.