TALE SEVEN. MY LOVER’S BEQUEST.

“You ask me why my house is so gorgeously furnished, why the music, why the beautiful young women lounging about? You say the oriental splendor reminds you of what your ideas have always been as to the making of a typical harem. I do not blame you. Men are very apt to make more serious mistakes than you have made in this instance. Would you like to see my girls? You would, eh?”

As this tall, dignified woman completed her monologue, she touched an ivory button on the side of the mahogany secretary in front of which she was seated. The silence which followed the closing of her remarks was broken only by the sounds of sweet strains of music, which floated through this spacious house on one of the notable streets of the “Tenderloin” district of Chicago.

I sat and quietly waited for the response, which I knew would come at the touch of that bell. A description of the interior of that palace is beyond my power, and had I tried to take mental notes, I would have failed completely, for I felt the steady gaze of her blue eyes upon me so strong that I could not center my mind on anything but the woman. In spite of the fact that she was not more than thirty-five years old, her hair was silvery gray; her eyes were bright, her skin soft and fair; a smile of natural sincerity helped to light the sweet face, adding an expression to the pink and white that would cause any man to become a close observer, if not an admirer, of the woman, even without making a more scrutinizing survey of her many other charms. The poise of her head, the full, round neck, the broad, yet plump shoulders, the long, beautifully moulded arm and tapering fingers, served to attract a reasonable share of attention from the heaving bosom and slender waist of my hostess. My going over process was interrupted by a merry laugh, which caused my fair entertainer to rise, then with the grace and dignity of a queen, she presented to me the entire coterie of new comers, who constituted the bevy of young ladies which came into the room.

I was at once convinced that all the income of this house was not spent on the furnishings, for each young woman was gowned in a manner befitting the occasion. Some music and a few songs occupied the next fifteen or twenty minutes, during which time I used my eyes with as much of a critical air as was possible. Presently I told the lady of the house that I wished to talk with her in person before I made further acquaintance with any of the inmates of her rendezvous. The hint was sufficient, and we were soon alone.

“Well,” said she pleasantly.

“Yes, I want to talk privately with you.”

“Proceed.”

“But, had we not better retire to some private room where we will not be in danger of being disturbed?”

“This house is mine; we will not be interrupted here,” she said sweetly.

“Thank you. Then I will tell you what I want. I am looking for facts and wish you to give me the entire history of your life.”

The smile of anticipation faded into a look of remorse, that expression in turn was followed by an inquisitive look which told me that the woman was feigning misunderstanding.

“Yes,” I continued, “I want to know how you happened to be here.” The fair cheeks flushed, the intelligent brow wrinkled, while hard lines were plainly visible around her mouth, as I finished the sentence.

“It may be a long story,” said the woman, as she gazed at the bright buckles on the dainty slippers which encased her feet.

“I am willing to listen if you will be kind enough to tell me all,” said I.

“My early life was devoid of anything more than most girls are called upon to endure. At the age of twelve I lost my mother, at fifteen death claimed my father, then I went to live with a maiden aunt in Columbus, Ind. I was poor, very poor. As I now look back and view the past, I wonder that I was able to continue my studies until I graduated with high honors, but I did and the day I was seventeen my greatest heights of happiness were scaled, for it was on that eventful day that my youthful lover, Jamie Harris and I became engaged with the consent of my auntie, provided, however, we would not think of marriage until Jamie had finished his course at college, which he was taking at the State University, located at Bloomington, Ind. We two young lovers, eager in our happiness, consented to the plans which my spinster relative laid for us. Jamie was twenty; he had two more years in the regular collegiate course, then a professional course of some sort and we would be ready to take up life’s journey.

“Meanwhile, I bided my time, looking forward to the longed for event with anticipation in every way worthy of the reward. One long year dragged along; I cared for no one, thought of nothing but to dream of Jamie. All the little details of ‘love in a cottage’ had been thoroughly gone over, and directed, I, in my own mind, trying to find some method of improvement on the time worn ethics of a wife’s duty.

“When morning came I busied myself with the affairs of my aunt’s humble home, which I, too, had known as my only shelter for years. I moved with the spirit of love. I became mechanical in doing things while I drew on my imagination to such an extent, that at times I almost fancied that it was our home (Jamie’s and mine), and that I was serving him. I planned and thought so much of how I would always have his slippers ready, and papers and cigars, for he smoked. Oh, all the dreams made me so happy and contented.

“It was the beginning of the second year that I received an invitation to visit a friend in Franklin, Ind., a near-by town. During my stay there I met many and made scores of friends; it was then that I realized how closely my life and Jamie’s had become cemented together. I saw the world as I had never before known it to exist; I was the recipient of many favors at the hands of my new friends. If I failed to write to Jamie as often as I had done, he excused me by saying in his letters that he was glad I was having a good time. Theaters, drives, parties, dinners, etc., to the fulfillment of my fondest hopes. More excitement than I had ever expected to know.

“The friend whom I was visiting was a few years my senior, and when I explained to her that I was engaged and suggested that it might not be good form for me to receive the attentions of a certain young man, who insisted on occupying most of my time, she only laughed and said I had lots to learn. She then gave me much information along the lines of society conventionalities. She was my best friend. I heard all she said and allowed myself to put too broad a construction on her words. I allowed words to be poured into my ears that changed the feeling which I had had for poor Jamie. My new admirer was rich, handsome and gallant and much admired by all the girls of ‘the set.’

“True to the expectation of those girls, I seemed to win Francis Winslow. He had no eyes for any but me. Things drifted along until the time came for my home going, then all on account of his persuasions, I remained a week longer than my allotted time. When I arrived home I received several letters from Jamie and a severe scolding from my aunt. The letters dated back ten days; the tone of the oldest one was the same sweet, endearing sentiment, which had always made his messages so precious, but as I sat reading through the many pages, I perceived as I thought a coldness (though I know now it was love’s anxiety). The last two hurt me; they referred to things which I could not account for his knowing. Finally the closing of the last letter said, ‘If not too busy flirting with your friend, Winslow, please answer.’

“It was more than my young heart could bear. I did not know then that I was just looking for some excuse for stinging him and now it had come. I had never flirted; I had met Mr. Winslow under proper conditions and circumstances. He had always been courteous to me. I had been true to Jamie, though my love had faltered. Next day’s mail brought a letter to my aunt and one to me; the one to aunt was from Jamie. I do not know what it contained, but it was of such a nature that she heaped a tirade of abuse on me.

“‘Just to think!’ said she. ‘I’ve worked and done for you all these years and tried to raise you decent, and done all this for my poor dead sister’s sake, and when I’ve got you fit to marry a good man, you go and spoil it all by takin’ up with a fop you nor the Lord don’t know nothin’ about.’

“The letter which I had tucked away in my bosom was from Mr. Winslow. It stated that he was going to visit in this city and he would be glad to have me join him. ‘I know,’ it said, ‘that you will have to invent some excuse for your absence from home, but that can be arranged by your saying you met my cousin, while in Franklin, and she will write you soon, asking you to spend a week with her in Chicago. She is the wife of a railroad man and will send you transportation.’

“My mind was quickly made up; I would not stand my aunt’s abuse and Jamie’s insults. If Mr. Winslow liked me, as he said, he would probably propose to me and we would get married, ‘so there now.’ That letter was followed two days later by one from Mr. Winslow’s cousin, enclosing a ticket, which auntie did not know from a pass. The invitation was pressing and I came here.”

“But go on,” said I, as the long pause seemed to add solemnity to the stillness. “Tell me more of Jamie, of Winslow and of this,” said I, with a wave of my hand, indicating the interior of the spacious house.

“Be patient,” she said, and then continued.

“Winslow met me at the station, then it was a ceaseless round of theaters, dinners and other amusements, which were new to my unsophisticated mind. His cousin was a myth. The woman who claimed to be his relative was none other than a hireling, who did all in her power to assist him in entrapping me. The speed with which I fell was something terrific; the bottomless pit of Hell was not very far away and I was an easy victim to the seductive plans of my pretended friend. The scene of my defamation is still fresh in my mind. It seems but yesterday, since he called for me at the home of the supposed cousin. Oh, the blackness of that night as it now appears to me, is only intensified and made more dismal, when I think of the lights, the gay music, the finely arrayed women and the entrancing wine; it was a long night of song and revelry, only to end in the beginning of a long day of miserable, torturing, painful existence. That fortress of purity, which is all a girl has upon which she can rely at all times, was stormed. The excitement, the glittering lights, and the enchanting environment added such argument as the man lacked in his make up. I suppose I was an easy victim, wine dulled my senses to such an extent that, as God is my judge, I was not wholly responsible for my acts; when morning came I awoke and knew that the great white star of virginity, which I had heretofore followed, had been transformed into a dull leaden aspect, which would only bespeak for me sullen misery and degradation.”

“Where did it all happen?”

“Right here in this house,” sighed the woman.

“Here, and you have lived here ever since?”

“No, at least not all of the time; after a few days of sobbing, longing for the old life and for Jamie returned to me. Then the horrible fact that I could never return to Jamie confronted me. Oh, what was I to do? With nothing in view and no aim in life, I returned to my aunt’s home only to be told that I could get out and ‘shift for myself.’ ‘This ain’t no home for no good for nuthin’ strumpet like you; clear out, I say! You ungrateful hussy.’

“If you will excuse me I will not detail to you the feelings of pain which I endured as stings from her lash. It is quite enough to be compelled to live through such periods without being called upon to recite them in after years.

“From there I went to the home of the friend in whose house I had met Mr. Winslow, then with that feeling of trust and confidence, I told her all; she blandly stated that she was sorry, but that I should have known better. Oh! that bitter sting, and from this woman, who could have taken me in her arms and heard my sobs, that act alone, I think, would have consoled me some; but no; she who could have replaced me upon the pedestal from which all women shine, said, ‘Well, run along now, I must dress for Mrs. ⸺’s reception. Maybe some day I will talk it all over with you.’

“‘But, oh, please hear me! just a little. Help me,’ I begged.

“‘I will see; I heard of some one who wanted a good girl, and I will try to find out, for you see, Lillian, you could do housework.’

“Bah! ruined, turned into the street, scorned, too miserable to live, afraid to die.

“I was not too good, nor too proud to work, but that was not what my heart yearned for; pity, love, sympathy, a kind look, a gentle touch would have done much to heal my troubled mind. I came back to Chicago. I went to Mr. Winslow’s cousin; she told me the cold, hard, cruel truth. I had been enticed to the city for the one purpose of gratifying the amorous desire of Mr. Winslow. The truth had long ago forced itself upon me, but the confession by the woman who had assisted in the plot made me desperate.

“What to do? Where to go, were the questions. Home I had none; true friends were far away and unknown things to me. The lake! Oh, at last a friend, who could receive me in all my sorrow and shame, a refuge which never failed to take suffering humanity into its safe retreat, giving solace to all pain. Yes, I would write to my aunt and Jamie; I would confess to them what I was afraid to confront God with. My plans were all completed; I had one dollar to my name, enough to pay for a night’s lodging at some fairly respectable hotel. There I could write to them, and then when all was quiet, steal out to the pier and * * * then.”

“Four o’clock next morning I was ready. I stole out of the hotel, wended my way to the nearest place where I could walk far out on the timbers which projected into the moaning water. No hesitancy on my part; I deliberately tied the cord which I had brought around my skirts, let my hair down, so that the long plaits hung below my waist, then pressing the locket, (this locket) which contained my father’s miniature, to my lips, I leaped as far out as I could.

“Down, down, below the gurgling waters, up to the surface, then down again, with just a faint dreamy view of the lights on Michigan avenue, then all was dark, all I could see was Jamie, as I felt myself being pulled along by some irresistible force. I only remember saying, ‘Good-bye, Jamie.’”

“‘Oh, I think she is alive yet, Capin’,’ was what I heard a voice say long before I was able to assure the speaker that he was correct.

“I had been picked up by a fisherman as the boat was starting out for the day’s haul. I recovered only to suffer more, too miserable to live, too unfortunate to die. A few days of privation and want brought me to this house, where I took up the routine life of the other members of the establishment, and vied with my associates for favors from the opposite sex. Success was the result of my efforts; I was soon known as a favorite of the frequenters of the resort; when wine held sway in my brain, I was glad the fisherman heard the splash of the water. Again, when my brain was dull from isolation and inactivity, my heart was sad. One evening the bell rang just as it did this evening; the signal was given for the ‘ladies’ to appear in the parlor, as was the custom when callers were announced. With ill-feigned pleasure I led the way, being followed by the other girls. I marched through the hall, across the back parlor, treading always on soft rugs, my white satin gown flowing in rhythmical time to the strains of the music; and there amid the scenes of splendor for which this luxurious establishment was noted I found myself standing face to face with Jamie. Yes, my own dear, true Jamie. Oh, forgive me, sir, for this expression of feeling, but again to live those moments of delirious joy, mingled with fear and anticipation, is more than I can bear. With one bound I left the other girls far behind me. Swiftly crossing the room I appealed to him as only a love maddened girl can appeal to the object of her devotion.

“Oh, God! what horrible retribution was about to be brought upon me; how much more was I to suffer and how long would my breath continue to come in sobbing gasps as I begged and prayed and pleaded with him to take me in his arms as of old. ‘Jamie, Jamie, my own dear Jamie!’ I cried. ‘Hear me, see me, touch me! Oh, I beg of you, Jamie, listen. Don’t you know it is I? It is your Lillian! What, Jamie, don’t you know me?’

“In spite of all my entreaties he stood like stone unmoved and unaffected by anything I said or did. Presently a new thought struck me. I thought of the cottage and of the roses which Jamie loved so well; then madly tearing a white rose which I wore on my breast I handed it to him, begging him to take it.

“‘Do take it, Jamie,’ I said; ‘it is as pure as I once was. Ah, but then you loved me, Jamie, and your love was pure, too, was it not? Tell me, Jamie, tell me, oh, even if you hate me now, tell me in that same soft voice that I know so well, that you loved me then. The memory of that love will make me pure again, Jamie, if you will only speak to me again. Jamie, take this rose; take it, Jamie, for the sake of the memory of that love which I had for you. I know, Jamie, it’s all my fault; it’s not your will that I am here; I wronged you cruelly. Don’t you think, Jamie, that I have suffered enough, or do you still insist on making my life death?’ All my supplication to him was in vain. He stood with that firm, determined air which I knew so well, with his hand extended with palm toward me, as if to push me away as he would some vile, loathsome creature. He did not speak to me; he seemed to know that he would find me here. When I had ceased pleading with him he handed me a large white envelope. With feverish delight I clutched it. As I did so I saw an inscription upon it. Forgetting my pain, misery and degradation, with a wild cry I ran to a position near a light. What was it I read? ‘To be opened after I am gone.’

“What, I thought, Jamie going? No! he must not. Then, turning to go back to Jamie, I was just in time to see him place a pistol to his heart and fire. He died without a word. The spot over which you see the urn full of roses is the exact location where Jamie fell. The other girls had left me. There, bending over him, frantically tearing his garments to see if I might render him some assistance, the white rose dropped from my dress where I had carelessly replaced it and became stained with Jamie’s life blood, making a fitting semblance to the tragedy which had been enacted in this same house a few months prior, where the spotless character of an innocent girl had been transformed from pure white to a charred remnant.

“They took him away. I saw him once more at the morgue; then the officers took me to a cell; then there was a trial. I was accused of murdering Jamie and almost convicted, when the thought struck me to send for the packet which he had placed in my hand. It contained, besides this letter, which you may read, other things which the letter will make plain:

“‘My Poor Dear Lillian: As I write this letter I know not what your fate is, but I fear that something terrible has befallen you. I start out to find you, if on earth. Since leaving your old home I have come into a large inheritance, which will afford me ample means with which to pursue my aim. May God grant that I may find you pure and unstained, and that I shall be able to take you to my bosom; that we may be allowed to enjoy the fruits which have fallen to us as two lovers should enjoy life.

“‘Yours lovingly,

‘Jamie.’

“‘Later.—I have discovered you. My love is buried in sorrow; I have nothing to live for, no ambition, no soul, no heart. I have but one request, which is as follows: You will find enclosed negotiable papers to all the wealth which I possess. It is yours; the same as my life has been yours. I want you to take it and spend it in saving the blossoms of this earth. I have yet enough confidence in you to cause me to believe that if the circumstances were conducive to honor and purity that you would court the same with the ambition and zeal which is a part of your nature. I leave the method of restitution entirely in your hands; only asking you in closing to put forth your every effort to snatch the burning brands from the fiery furnace which is ever ready to engulf the innocent, unsophisticated representative of purity.

“‘As ever yours,

Jamie.’

“Well,” said I, as I handed the letters back to the woman, “do you make much money here? I suppose you had a good time while Jamie’s cash lasted?”

“Jamie’s cash is still lasting,” said she.

“You don’t mean to tell me that you have the heart to support this place as a house of ill-repute by spending poor Jamie’s money in that way?”

“Bless your heart, no. I own this property, a monument to Jamie’s pure devotion and good intentions. It not only serves to remind me of where I last looked upon him alive, thereby making the associations more pleasant, but also keeps fresh in my mind the night that I leaped in the darkness and landed into the mire of debauchery.”

“Do your girls know your story?”

“In part, yes.”

“Do they enjoy the existence of soiled doves?”

“But, my dear sir, they are not soiled doves; they are brands which I have snatched from the burning.”

“Then this is not a house of⸺”

“No, sir! This is an harbor of restitution, where souls may be anchored to hope, where hope fills the heart with a longing for better and purer things; a home where I am trying to atone for my own misdeeds.”