CHAPTER XXV.
THE CRUEL LETTER.
George Alden, with satchel in hand, stepped from a train just arrivedfrom the East, at Chicago; his pale face, blood-shot eyes, and wholemanner betokening a nervous condition. A stranger in a strange city,scarcely knowing which way to go, he felt almost like a guilty wretchfleeing from justice. The events of the past three days passing beforehis mind like a row of spectres, his haggard face told plainly of hisanguish.
The sun was sinking beneath the western plains as the fugitive walkedthe streets of the strange city, not knowing whither to turn. He wasfaint from lack of nourishment, for he had not taken sufficient foodto preserve his strength; while severe pains in his back recalled tohis mind the fearful experience in the burning factory, when he lay inthe hallway held down by the firebrand. He entered a restaurant, andseating himself at a small table in a recess, ordered food. Then, takinga photograph from his pocket, he imprinted many kisses upon the picturedface of his wife.
"Poor child!" he murmured. "She has already received my letter--God helpher! I am sure, though, she will bid me return, as soon as she reads theletter."
The waiter soon returned, and Alden said:
"Can you direct me to an inexpensive, respectable privateboarding-house, where I can find comfort? I am not well."
"Yes, sir," replied the waiter, "I can direct you to just such a placeas you desire."
His supper finished, he paid his bill, and with directions from thewaiter he started in search of the boarding-house, which he soon found.Making known his wants, the good lady, after asking a few questionsand looking into his honest face, decided to take him as a boarder. Itwas fortunate for him that she did, for Mrs. Nash afterward proved avaluable friend at a time when Alden stood in need of care and attention.
In the solitude of his room he threw himself into a chair and gave wayto a paroxysm of mental anguish, reproaching himself for deserting hishome and friends, for the act was an acknowledgment of guilt. Retiringat an early hour, exhaustion made him sleep soundly. In dreamland heforgot his troubles, again living over those happy days passed with hisloving wife and sister.
Sancho Panza uttered the sentiments of every living creature, when heinvoked God's blessing upon the man who invented sleep.
As the morning sun crept into Alden's apartment its rays fell upon thesleeper's face and caused him to move his head upon the pillow. In amoment he opened his eyes, gazing about the room as if in doubt of hiswhereabouts; gradually the painful realities of life drove the happydreams from his mind, filling his heart with sad thoughts, his onlycompanions the past few days. Quitting his bed, he dressed himself, andinvoluntarily glancing into the mirror he started back in affright, andsaid:
"My God! is that haggard-looking face mine? Here I am, far away fromhome and kindred, hiding in Chicago. For what? Because I was a coward.Yes; having braved the dangers of fire, I did not have courage to facemy false accuser. Oh, why did I run away like a thief?"
Overcoming his agitation, he bathed, dressed, and was soon ready todescend to the breakfast-room. At the table he met others, to whom hewas introduced, but his heavy heart usurping the whole space within him,he talked little and ate less.
His meal finished, he returned to his room to wait for expected letters.Two long days passed, and the suspense was straining his nerves totheir utmost tension; unable to divert his mind by reading, he watchedthe passage of time, which never moved so slowly. Saturday evening hesent Mrs. Nash's son to the post-office, instructing him to inquire forletters for George Howard, the latter his mother's maiden name, assumedby him on leaving Cleverdale; but the lad returned without tidings fromeither wife or sister.
On Sunday, leaving his room for a walk, he cared nothing for the sightsthat another time and under different circumstances would have pleasedand interested him. Attending morning service at church, his thoughtswere far away, an eloquent discourse failing to arouse him from hisabstraction. The service over, he sought his boarding-house, and wasgoing directly to his room, when Mrs. Nash accosted him, and said:
"Mr. Howard, you seem ill; can I do anything for you?"
Halting to see whom she was addressing, he recalled his assumed name,and replied:
"No, I am weary, that is all. Thank you for your interest in me."
"But, sir, you do not look strong. Pardon me, but have you been ill?"
"Yes, I have been very ill for many months, but am getting stronger now,and will soon be well again."
The sigh that escaped him convinced the good woman his sufferings weremental. Observing the paleness overspreading his face, her heart wastouched, but not wishing to appear impertinent, she said:
"I have a son about your age, far away in a foreign clime, and you mustforgive me, if I, a mother, take an interest in you. If I could onlyknow the whereabouts of my own boy, I could close my eyes in peaceinstead of lying upon my pillow each night imagining him surrounded byall kinds of danger and temptations," and she raised her handkerchief toher eyes.
"I pity any person in trouble," Alden said, "for I have had my share ofsorrow and suffering." He would have said more, but at that moment thedoor-bell rang, and Mrs. Nash said:
"If you are in trouble confide in me, and I will try and give you theconsolation I hope some good person will give my own poor boy."
George Howard--we must for the present call him by that name--passed onto his room, while the good woman went to answer the door-bell. At thesupper table she spoke kindly to the new boarder, who ate but little,and soon re-entered his room.
The following day, sending again to the post-office, the boy returnedbearing in his hand a letter addressed to George Howard, Chicago, Ill.
Seizing it with trembling hands, Alden hastily tore open the envelope,looked at the few lines it contained, and holding the sheet before hiseyes, with a trembling voice read aloud:
"CLEVERDALE, 187-.
"SIR: On receipt of your letter, I immediately returned to Cleverdale. When I thought you an honest man, I respected and loved you, but your crime has aroused me from this dream. Never dare address me again, for I abhor a villain. BELLE HAMBLIN."
He crushed the letter and tore it into shreds. As the pieces fell fromhis hand his pale face became suffused with scarlet, and large cordsrose on his temples and brow as he said:
"My God!--And she too believes it? I did not think that--Oh, my head isbursting--_I am dying--God, have mercy--I--I_--"
He staggered and fell heavily to the floor. Mrs. Nash hastily enteringthe room beheld him lying senseless upon the carpet. The good woman,seeing the scattered pieces of paper, at once comprehended thesituation, for she knew her young son had brought a letter which musthave contained bad news.
"Poor fellow! I am afraid he is gone." Stooping, she placed her handover his heart. "No, he is not dead," she continued.
She stepped into the hall and summoned help; and two women liftedthe insensible form to the bed. A physician was called at once, andattempted to resuscitate him. Remaining in a partial stupor all day,toward night Alden began to show signs of returning consciousness.The following day, as he lay upon his bed looking at the kind-heartedwoman watching over him, his mind seemed utterly broken down, for hisappearance was that of listless disinterestedness. His face was pale,with the exception of a bright-red spot on either cheek.
For three long weary months he kept his room, yet never murmured atfate's decrees. His hostess constantly watched her patient, and nevertroubled him with questions; her only desire being for his recovery.The physician gave orders that he must be kept perfectly quiet, and allletters withheld from him, unless containing cheering news. No letterscame, however, and the good woman wondered; but had she known of thescenes taking place elsewhere, she would have been filled with greaterwonder.