From the ruined walls no sound is heard,
But a cry of terror is in his ears,
And, lo, the ghost of his sin appears.
Restless and ill at ease, Maurice proved but a poor companion for those fun loving tourists. They had invited him, a chance acquaintance, on the strength of his gentlemanly exterior2 and genial3 bearing, but the change in his manner after they were fairly off, not only disappointed them, but in great measure dampened the ardor5 of what would otherwise have been a joyfully6, hilarious9 party.
Therefore, it was with a feeling of positive relief that the unsuspecting youths saw him embark10 a little later, via Halifax, for his native shore.
They had visited the quaint1 little ports of[Pg 113] Carbonear and Harbor Grace; crossed the turbulent waters of the Gulf11, and after a brief stop at Prince Edward's Island continued their quest for pleasure through that most picturesque12 of all sections, the Brasd'or Lakes and Historic Arcadia, where the original home of Evangeline was pointed4 out to them by the ever patriotic13 natives.
Yet the oppression of an opposing influence was upon them and although Maurice's was but the sin of taciturnity and indifference14, still it clouded their perfect enjoyment15 and threw a feeling of restraint over all their merriment.
For how can one be gay and joyful7 when one's companions are seemingly prostrate16 beneath the weight of unspoken anxieties?
It was a risky17 thing to do, to walk almost into the trap as Maurice was doing, but his was a nature that courted dangers and risks, a brief season of caution was always followed by some deed of extraordinary daring. Still, in this instance, Maurice had laid his plans with more than ordinary precaution.
It was now nearly eight months since the abduction, and Maurice knew well that even crime[Pg 114] received but a brief share of attention in so vice18 laden19 a city as London. Nevertheless, he landed at Queenstown, and spent some time wandering about Ireland before he dared to brave the scrutiny20 of the lynx-eyed Scotland Yard detectives.
His first step on leaving Queenstown, was to secure a suitable disguise, and as his skin was tanned by exposure, and he now wore a heavy beard in place of the well shaven chin, he felt that he had little to fear. He reached London early in the evening, and proceeded at once to secure modest quarters in a quiet street.
From thence he sauntered out and was soon rattling21 over the stones in a hired hansom on his way to the well remembered house in Surrey. Whether he expected to find Stella and Julia still there, would be hard to guess, for his was a nature uninfluenced by surprises, but when he found, instead of the dark, unassuming house, nothing but a hideous22 pile of burnt and blackened timbers, a look of consternation23 did show itself upon his usually unruffled features.
What had been the fate of the beautiful girl whom he had left in perfect health and strength[Pg 115] within these walls? Had she escaped, or were her ashes now mingling24 with the gruesome mass upon which the moon was casting such a melancholy25 light? He hardly knew what had prompted him to take this dismal26 drive, for he had not even dreamed of again entering Julia Webber's door. He knew, too well, that crimes committed beneath her roof were never allowed further circulation, and within Julia Webber's veins27 ran the blood of that hot-headed nation, where the Vendetta28 is perpetuated29 with true, religious zeal30.
No, he had not dreamed of entering those forbidden precincts, and now, contempt for his own morbid31 curiosity filled his mind, and with a hasty order to the driver, he sank back once more upon the cushions of the comfortable conveyance32.
Back to London he drove, looking out idly over the water as he crossed the bridge, but little dreaming that but for accidental aid, a human being would now be sleeping in the cold embrace of the sluggish33 river, and that crime, like many others, would be charged to his account in the day of divine reckoning. It is probable that if he had known and fully8 realized that fact, its realization[Pg 116] would have made his expression none the less confident, or his indifference to his ultimate fate no whit34 less thorough.
Men like Maurice Sinclair, who chance the gravest issues of life, are more than glad to "trust to luck" their final venture into the great unknown, and the "fear and trembling" with which we are told "each to work out his own salvation," are conditions totally unknown to natures like theirs.
If he argued the matter at all, it was merely to say that the power that created the "inclinations35 of a man's heart evil from his youth" was also the power upon which all responsibility consequent upon those evil inclinations, should rest. Probably, he added, moreover, that a power capable of implanting evil in the heart of man could as readily have sown the seeds of good, and if evil was the seed, evil must have been the harvest sought. Thus, leaving out the human labor36 decreed for the gaining of salvations, he, like many others, shifted all responsibility and the possibilities of a mistaken theory never occurred to him.
He had not seen Elizabeth since the night when[Pg 117] she and her child—her child and his—had fallen so unceremoniously into his arms on a windy street corner.
He remembered, without a blush, how he had cursed her when she begged for shelter, but finally, fearing she would follow and annoy him, he had taken her away down into Whitechapel, with whose vilest37 passages he was marvelously well acquainted, and there secured for her a miserable38 room, which she, being weary and sick at heart and having no alternative, was only too thankful to accept.
Another reason for this choice of location for Elizabeth's future home was due to the fact that a certain Mongolian, whose friendship he valued, was living in that particular vicinity.
This person he had known during his stay in China, but whether it was love or fear that bound them in such close alliance, would have been hard to determine from their conversation. At any rate the doings of each seemed well known to the other and each was equally pleased that it should so continue.
The mention of Whitechapel brought no terror to Elizabeth's heart, for, in the bitterness of her[Pg 118] misery39, uncongenial surroundings were of little consequence.
Strangely enough, the erring40 woman fears friends rather than strangers in the hour of her degradation41. Whether it is that friendship rarely stands the test of sorrow and shame or any blow to its so-called pride, or whether the desperate courage which self abasement42 wakens in a woman's heart is a better safeguard for her broken spirit than the pity of her associates, I know not, but in nearly every instance an unfortunate woman will choose poverty and complete estrangement43 from the friends of her happier days rather than bear the scorn or their self righteous censure44.
To the man who had so irretrievably wronged her, she clung with the pitiful persistency45 so frequently seen in those of her sex and now, as a passing thought of her fate entered Maurice's wandering mind, he suddenly became desirous of seeing her again.
Just then the hansom, which had been rolling along briskly over the smoother streets, came to a stop and "Cabby" leaning over, said briefly46, "'Ere's the 'ouse you was haskin' for, Sir."
Maurice bent47 forward and once more found himself gazing upon Mrs. Sinclair's home in Portland Place. The windows were dark and not a sign of life was visible. "Strange," he muttered; "She would certainly have returned here if she had escaped." But during the full ten minutes that he remained before the house no sound within reached his ears, or no ray of light from its many windows told him of a living presence.
Convinced now that Stella's body rested beneath that hideous mass of blackened timbers and voiceless ashes, he sank back nervelessly upon the cushions and in a trembling, husky whisper, ordered the thoroughly48 puzzled driver to hurry on.
His last determination was to visit Elizabeth and to Whitechapel he was carried, with all the speed the overworked horses were capable of affording.
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1
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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exterior
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| adj.外部的，外在的；表面的 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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7
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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8
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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hilarious
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| adj.充满笑声的，欢闹的；[反]depressed | |
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10
embark
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| vi.乘船，着手，从事，上飞机 | |
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11
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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picturesque
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| adj.美丽如画的，（语言）生动的，绘声绘色的 | |
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13
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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15
enjoyment
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| n.乐趣；享有；享用 | |
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16
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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17
risky
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| adj.有风险的，冒险的 | |
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18
vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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19
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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20
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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21
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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22
hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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24
mingling
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| adj.混合的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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dismal
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| adj.阴沉的，凄凉的，令人忧郁的，差劲的 | |
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27
veins
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| n.纹理；矿脉( vein的名词复数 )；静脉；叶脉；纹理 | |
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28
vendetta
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| n.世仇，宿怨 | |
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29
perpetuated
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| vt.使永存（perpetuate的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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30
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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31
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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32
conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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33
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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34
whit
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| n.一点，丝毫 | |
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inclinations
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| 倾向( inclination的名词复数 )； 倾斜； 爱好； 斜坡 | |
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36
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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37
vilest
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| adj.卑鄙的( vile的最高级 )；可耻的；极坏的；非常讨厌的 | |
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38
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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39
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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40
erring
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| 做错事的，错误的 | |
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41
degradation
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| n.降级；低落；退化；陵削；降解；衰变 | |
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42
abasement
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| n.滥用 | |
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43
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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44
censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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45
persistency
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| n. 坚持(余辉, 时间常数) | |
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46
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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47
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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48
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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