"No."

"Then some day I'll show you his face. Ross will tell you all sorts of stories, and so will the old folks--that is what he called them--but you need not believe one word they say, you must not believe any one but me. They try to make you think you are crazy, don't they? I never heard of such nonsense. Why, you are no more crazy than I am, and it just makes me mad--mad."

Bessie's eyes fairly blazed with excitement, and her hands worked nervously together.

"Bessie," said Blanche, "you wished me to come up here and tell you all about what I had seen, and now you are doing all the talking, and you will not give me a chance."

"Oh, yes; where did you go?"

"To New York."

"New York!" screamed Bessie, "that is just where he told me we would live."

"Who told you?"

"Oh, you would like to know his name, wouldn't you? But that is my secret; some day I will show you his face. He will come some day, but I can't tell you his name, because Ross will not let me mention it.

Ross is a great bald eagle, and I couldn't kill him as I could kill a robin."

"I am sure you would not kill your brother."

"Hush, he ain't my brother."

"Yes he is, Bessie."

"No, he is not. He thinks you are an angel, but you are only a robin, a poor, weak little robin, but you want to look out; I believed every word he said to me until I found out he lied, then everybody went mad; but I ain't afraid of you, Miss Robin, if you are mad; but you see, I'll have to hold you fast, Miss Robin--for, you know, you tried to kill me."

She sprang like a tiger toward Blanche, and fastened her small fingers around her throat. Her eyes had almost grown black in their fierce light, and a wild laugh rang out through the room, which was terrible to hear.

"You went to New York," she screamed, "you went to meet him. He loves you, and he has forgotten all about the little dove; he loves the robin, and the dove will kill the robin."

Blanche knew that to cope with a maniac, although she was a slender girl, required all her strength and presence of mind, and with one mighty effort she hurled Bessie from her, and placed her on the bed, holding both her hands firmly in her own. The wild laugh and the commotion attracted the attention of those below, and in a moment Ross stood in the doorway.

"Bessie."

"Oh, Ross," she said, as Blanche released her, "don't lock me up, I'll be good. I won't kill the robin."

"Come, Bessie," and Ross took her gently by the hand and led her away.

Eliza Graves called to see Blanche Elsworth the following day, and then it was she told her the story of Bessie's misfortune.

"I would not want you to think hard of poor Bessie, but I feel that you must know the truth, and I am sure you will have charity for her.

It must be that she has told you something of her history."

"She has told me enough to arouse my suspicion and excite an interest, but I cannot determine the cause of her insanity, through anything that she has said."

"The facts are these," said Eliza. "It was about four years ago that we sent Bessie away to school. Bessie was our baby, you know, and was at that time but sixteen years of age. We almost worshipped the child, she was so beautiful, and possessed such a keen intellect, and though we always let her have her way, she was never spoiled. She had a sweet voice, and we were anxious that she should have it cultivated, so we sent her where we thought she would receive the best instruction. She progressed rapidly in her studies, and, oh how proud we were of her when she came home on her vacation, and we listened to her sweet voice, and watched the little fingers dance over the keys of the piano. We thought there never was in all the world another like her, and Bessie never had a wish that was not granted.

Everybody loved her; even the horses ran to meet her, and would eat from her hand, and they knew her voice when she called their names."

Eliza wiped away the tears that shone on her lashes, as she continued:

"Bessie went back to school, and when she came again at the end of the term she told us she was going to be married. We laughed at her, and called her a silly little thing, but she stoutly affirmed that it was true, and that the man she loved would be here in a few weeks. She talked of nothing but his coming, and she would fairly go into ecstacies over his beauty, and his fine ways. He was to be here in one month, she said, to ask her father if he could not have her, and she knew he would come, for he had promised her. A month went by and he did not come, and Bessie watched, saying that something must have happened, for she knew he would come yet."

Miss Elsworth sighed.

"Yes, you may well sigh for the story that is to come. Another month went by, and then Bessie began to grow uneasy. Oh, how it made our hearts ache to see her watching at the gate, looking away down the road, and then turn with such a sad look in her blue eyes, and a face growing thinner and paler each day, and at last the truth burst upon us. Bessie had brought disgrace upon us. If we had loved her less we could have borne it better, but she was our idol, the pet of the house, and how could we bear it. It was the saddest house I ever saw when we came to know the truth. Mother was so broken down with grief that for days and nights she neither slept nor ate, and then it was that Bessie, overcome with remorse, gave herself up to the bitterest grief, and one day I found her up on the hill out there weeping so wildly that it frightened me. I tried to pacify her, but she only called the louder for mother to come and forgive her, and help her to find her darling who she knew would come some time. It was with a great deal of persuasion that I succeeded in getting her home, and then we found that a still greater grief had darkened our lives--_our Bessie was mad_. Oh, I cannot tell you how we all mourned, or how my brother grew white with rage and despair, and vowed that if ever he could find the fiend who had ruined our Bessie that he would slay him on the spot. Ross has tried to persuade Bessie to tell him the name of the man who wronged her, but she will not."

"And have you never seen him?"

"No, Bessie has a photograph which she says is her husband. She has let us all look at it; but she will never let it go out of her possession. It is a very handsome face, and since it seems to be such a comfort to her we allow her to keep it. Bessie said that he tried to get her to return it to him, but she would not do so. The reason of his wishing to get possession of it is now perfectly plain. Bessie's baby lived but a few months, but it was beautiful, and oh how Bessie loved it, and after it died she seemed to grow worse, and at times became violent. We laid her baby under the roses on the hillside. We thought it might be the means of bringing her back to reason, but though we have tried every means, she is incurably insane."

"Poor girl!" said Miss Elsworth, "the man who wronged her should never be allowed to go unpunished."

"He never would go unpunished if we knew where to find him; but there is a punishment awaits him for that act; and it is the one which will be accorded him by a wiser one than man. I hope Ross will never meet him, for I am sure he will show him no mercy, though I myself feel that there is no punishment too severe for him."

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

REPENTING AT LEISURE.

It _was_ just three years since Irene had left her husband's home. She lay upon her couch in her home at San Francisco. She had grown much older in appearance than she would have done had she led a different life, for late hours and careless exposure had brought on a hacking cough that not even the healthful climate of California could stay.

She was so often left to pa.s.s her evenings alone when she did not feel able to go out, and while Max was enjoying himself at a game of billiards or cards. She grew very much dissatisfied, and often would express herself in tones of deepest disgust, when Max entered the house, and seldom in a very pleasant mood. At such times he would incivilly reply, quite unlike former days.

She had coughed so incessantly all through the evening that she was quite exhausted, and two bright spots were burning on her cheeks. The clock struck two, and still she waited.

"I wonder how he can enjoy staying away so late," she said; "he is getting awfully selfish. He does not seem to care whether I live or die. They say all men are that way; but I don't know, I don't believe Scott would ever have been like that. I wonder what made me think of him, I haven't thought of him in so long. I suppose he has another wife before this. I wonder if he has. I wish I knew. Oh, dear, how my head aches, and that pain in my side is terrible. I wonder if Scott would have left me alone."

She checked herself suddenly. What it was that had brought Scott to her mind she could not tell; but for some cause unknown to herself, he was continually coming before her, and his hazel eyes seemed to look in scornful pity on her in her loneliness. She heard Max enter the hall door, and the next moment he stood before her in a state of intoxication.

"Well," he said, "you lazy thing, why don't you go to bed?"

"I waited for you," she said.

"What the deuce did you want to wait for me? You know I come when I get ready," he said, dropping into a chair.

"Yes, I know you do, and I have no idea of wearing my life out watching for you, night after night."

"Why don't you go out yourself, then?"

"I don't feel like it."

"But you see I do, so there is the difference between you and me."

"I am ill and I can't go out and enjoy myself as you do."

"So am I," he said, with a sneering laugh.