Part 47 (1/2)
If your intentions are not honorable, and you do not cease your attentions, I'll break every bone in your body--I swear it by the G.o.d who made me.”
”Go to the devil!” muttered the fellow.
”No, sir, nor shall I permit you to take one dear to me to the devil, but I pledge my word to send you straight to him if you harm Belle Jocelyn. Here, stop and look me in the eyes under this lamp. You kissed her twice to-night. Do you intend to make her your wife?”
There was no answer, but the sullen, half-frightened face was an unmistakable response. ”I understand you now,” said Roger savagely, taking the fellow by the throat, ”and I'll send you swiftly to perdition if you don't promise to let that girl alone,” and his gleaming eyes and iron grasp awed the incipient roue so completely that he quavered out:
”Oh, let go. If you feel the girl is your property, I'll let her alone.”
Roger gave him a wrathful push which precipitated his limp form into the gutter, and growled as he walked of, ”If you value your life, keep your promise.”
An evening or two later Roger said to Belle, whom he had taken out for a stroll, ”I kept my word--I cowhided that fellow Bissel, who played such a dastardly part toward your sister. Of course I did not want to get myself into trouble, or give him any power over me, so I found out his haunts and followed him. One night, as he was returning rather late from a drinking saloon, I spoiled his good looks with a dozen savage cuts. He was too confused to see who it was in the dark, and to mislead him more thoroughly I said, with the last blow, 'Take that for lying and causing a poor girl to be sent to prison.' He thinks, no doubt, that some friend of the thief was the one who punished him. What's more, he won't forget the las.h.i.+ng I gave him till his dying day, and if I mistake not his smooth face will long bear my marks.”
Belle gave but a languid approval, for she had missed her lover for the last two evenings. ”Belle,” he continued, gravely but gently, ”I was tempted to choke the life out of a fellow the other night, and it was the life of one who kissed you twice.”
She dropped her hand from his arm, but he replaced it and held it tightly as he resumed, ”I'm no make-believe brother, you know. I'm just such a brother as I would be if I had been born with you on a Southern plantation. Though the young man was not to my mind, I told him that if his intentions were honorable I would not interfere, but I soon learned that he was an out-and-out scoundrel, and I said words to him that will make him shun you as he would death. Belle, I would kill him as I used to club rattlesnakes in the country, if he harmed a hair of your head, and he knows it.”
”You misjudge him utterly,” cried Belle in a pa.s.sion, ”and you have just driven away the one friend that I had in all the world.
I won't stand it. I'm not a baby, and I won't be treated like one.”
Roger let her storm on without a word, but at last, when she concluded, ”I've no father worthy of the name, and so I'll take care of myself,” he asked quietly:
”How about your mother, Belle?”
In strong revulsion the impulsive girl gave way to an equally pa.s.sionate outburst of grief. ”Oh,” she cried, ”I wish I were dead!”
”Belle,” said Roger, very gently now, ”if you listened to that fellow you would soon make that wish in earnest. Now in your heart you don't mean it at all. You don't love such a man, and you know it. Why should you throw your young, beautiful life into the gutter?
It is a mere reckless protest against your unhappy life. Belle, you are not seventeen, and you may live till you are seventy if you take care of yourself. Think of the changes for the better that may come in that time. They shall come, too. I shall share with you all my fortunes, and you have told me many a time that I was sure to succeed. I pledge you my word that before many years you shall have good honest men at your feet,” and he reasoned with her so sensibly, and petted and soothed her so kindly, that at last she clung to his arm as if it were a defence indeed, and said, with tearful eyes, ”You ARE a brother in the best sense of the word, and I wonder you have patience with such a reckless, pa.s.sionate fool as I am. I'm not fit for you to speak to.”
”No, Belle, you are not bad at heart--far from it. You are half desperate from your present misfortunes, and in your blind impulse to escape you would make matters infinitely worse. Be patient, dear. It's a long lane that has no turning. To one so young as you are life promises very much, if it is not spoiled at the beginning, and Mr. Wentworth would tell us that there is a heaven beyond it all.”
The influence of this interview did not speedily pa.s.s from her mind, and by her gentler and more patient bearing Mildred was taught again how much she owed to one whom she had so long repelled.
Mr. Wentworth succeeded in interesting the lady to whom he had referred in Mildred, and a visit from the young girl confirmed her good impressions. As a result, sufficient work was found or made to give Mildred steady employment. Mr. Jocelyn was comparatively quiet and much at home. Often he was excessively irritable and exasperating in words and manner, but no longer violent from b.e.s.t.i.a.l excess. He put off the project of going to a curative inst.i.tution, with the true opium inertia and procrastination, and all efforts to lead him to definite action proved fruitless. His presence, however, and his quiet, haughty ways, with Roger's frequent visits, did much for a time to restrain the ill-disposed people around them, but the inevitable contact with so much depravity and coa.r.s.eness was almost unendurable.
Now that Mildred no longer went out to her work, she taxed her ingenuity to the utmost to amuse Fred and Minnie, that she might keep them from the horrible a.s.sociations beyond their door, but her father's irritability often rendered it impossible for them to remain in the room, and, childlike, they would a.s.similate somewhat with the little heathen among whom their lot was now cast.
Poor Mrs. Jocelyn was sinking under her sorrows. She did not complain: she blamed herself with a growing morbidness for the ruin of her husband and the hard lot of her children, and hope deferred was making her heart sick indeed. Her refined, gentle nature recoiled with an indescribable repugnance from her surroundings, and one day she received a shock from which she never fully recovered.
Her husband was out, and Mildred had gone to deliver some work.
The children, whom she tried to keep with her, broke away at last and left the door open. Before she could close it a drunken woman stumbled in, and, sinking into a chair, she let a bundle slip from her hands. It fell on the floor, unrolled, and a dead infant lay before Mrs. Jocelyn's horrified gaze. Her cries for help brought a stout, red-faced woman from across the hallway, and she seemed to understand what was such a fearful mystery to Mrs. Jocelyn, for she took the unwelcome intruder by the shoulder and tried to get her to go out hastily, but the inebriated wretch was beyond shame, fear, or prudence. Pulling out of her pocket a roll of bills, she exclaimed, in hideous exultation:
”Faix, I'oive had a big day's work. Trhree swell families on the Avenue guv me all this to burry the brat. Burry it? Divil a bit.
It's makin' me fortin'. Cud we ony git dead babbies enough we'd all be rich, Bridget, but here's enough to kape the pot bilin' for wakes to come, and guv us a good sup o' whiskey into the bargain.
Here, take a drap,” she said, pulling out a black bottle and holding it up to Mrs. Jocelyn. ”What yer glowrin' so ghostlike for? Ah, let me alone, ye ould hag,” she said angrily to the red-faced woman, who seemed in great trepidation, and tried to put her hand over the drunken creature's mouth. ”Who's afeard? Money'll buy judge and jury, an' if this woman peaches on us I'll bate her brains out wid the dead babby.”
Finding that words were of no avail, and that she could not move the great inert ma.s.s under which Mrs. Jocelyn's chair was creaking, the neighbor from across the way s.n.a.t.c.hed the money and retreated to her room. This stratagem had the desired effect, for the woman was not so intoxicated as to lose her greed, and she followed as hastily as her unsteady steps permitted. A moment later the red-faced woman dashed in, seized the dead child and its wrappings, and then shaking her huge fist in Mrs. Jocelyn's face, said, ”If yees ever spakes of what yer've sane, I'll be the death of ye--by the V'argin I will; so mum's the word, or it'll be worse for ye.”
When Mildred returned she found her mother nervously prostrated.
”I've had a bad turn,” was her only explanation. Her broken spirit was terrified by her awful neighbors, and not for the world would she add another feather's weight to the burdens under which her family faltered by involving them in a prosecution of the vile impostor who had sickened her with the exposure of a horrible trade. [Footnote: This character is not an imaginary one, and, on ample authority, I was told of an instance where the large sum of fifty dollars was obtained from some kindly family by this detestable method of imposition.]