San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1886-08-16
CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VII.
Ny feelings when | reached my room
that night were not to be envied. /
was as firmly convinced of the identity
of the woman as | was of the shining of
the sun. There could not be any mis-
take; had seen her face quite plainly
in the moonlight, and it had been too
deeply impressed on my mind for me to
forget it, or to mistake it for another.
Indeed, the horror of the discovery was
still upon me, my nerves were trem-
bling, my blood was cold. How could
it be that my old friend Lance had
made so terrible mistake? How could
/ bear to know that the wife whom he
wOrShipped was a murdereSS? What
else she had been did not care even to
| think; whose child it was, or why she
had drowned it, | could not, dare not
think:
could not sleep or rest; my mind
| and brain were at variance with them
selves. Frances Fleming seemed to me
a fair, kind-heaTted, loving woman,
/, graceful as fair; the woman had seen
on the Chain Pier was wild, desperate
creature, capable of anything. | could
| not rest; the soft bed of elder down, the
pure linen perfumed with lavender, the
| pillows, soft as though filled with down
| llOln IlIC Wings VI d bllu, IOulu uilhS ~
| rest to me.
If this woman were anything but
| what she seemed to be, If she were in
deed a murderess, how dare she de-
ceive Lance Fleming? Was it right,
| Just, or fair that he should give the love
| of his honest heart, the devotion of his
| life. to woman who ought to have
| been branded? | wished thousand
times over that | had never seen the
| Chain Pier, or that had never come to
| DuttOn Manor House; yet it might be
that | was the humble instrument in
tended by Providence to bring to light
great crime. 1t seemed strange that
of all nights in the year | should have
chosen that one; it seemed strange that
after keeping the woman's face living
in my memory for so long | should so
| suddenly meet it in life. There was
something more than mere coincidence
in this; yet it seemed horrible thing to
do, to come under the roof of my dear
est friend, and ruin his happiness for
ever.
Then the question Came-waS it not
better for him to know the truth than
to live in FOOLS paradise-tO take to
| his heart a mUrdereSS-tO live befOOled
| and to die deceived? My heart rose in
hot indignation against the woman who
| had blighted his life, who would bring
| home to him such shame and anguish
as must tear his heart and drive him
mad.
/ could not suppose, for one moment,
that | was the only one in the world
| who knew her Secret-there must be
others, and meeting her suddenly, one
| of these might betray her secret, might
| do her greater harm and more mischief
| than / could do. After hours of weary
| thought, | came to this conclusion, that
| must find out first of all whether my
| suspicious were correct or not. That
was evidently my first duty. | must
| know whether there was any truth in
my suspicious or not. | hated myself
| for the task that lay before me, to
watch woman. to seek to entrap her,
| to play the detective, to seek to dis
| cover the secret of one who had so cOrdi-
| ally and frankly offered me her friend
ship.
| Yet it was equally hateful to know
that bad and wicked woman, branded
with sin, stained with murder, had de-
Ceived an honest, loyal man like Lance
Fleming. Look which way | would, it
was most cruel dilemma-pity, indig-
| nation, wonder, fear, reluctance, all
| tore at my heart. Was Frances Flem-
| ing the good, pure, tender-hearted wOm-
| an she seemed to be, or was was she
| the woman branded with secret
brand? | must find out for Lance'S
sake. There were times when intense
| pity softened my heart, almost moved
me to tears: then the recollection of the
tiny white baby lying all night in the
sea, swaying TO and fro with the waves,
steeled me. could see again the pure
little waxen face, as the kindly woman
kissed it on the pier. | could see the
little green grave, with the white, shin.
| ing cross -"Marah, found drowned"
and here beside me. talking to me, tend
ing me with gentle sOlicitude, was the
very woman, feared, who had drown
ed the child. There were times-I re-
member one particularly - when she
held out a bunch of fine dollhouse
grapes to me, that | could have cried
QUIT is the hand of murderess,
| take 1t away" but | restrained myself.
| declare that, during a whole fort
night, L watched her necessarily; /
scrutiniZed every look every gesture, |
criticized every word, and in neither
one nor the other did | find shadow
of blame. She seemed to me pure in
heart, thought, and word. At times,
when she read or sang to us, there was
| llgnI Sucn as one fancleS the angels
wear. Then found also what Lance
said of her charity to the poor was per-
fectly true-they wOrshipped her. No
saint was greater saint to them than
the woman whom | believed had seen
drown little child.
1t seemed as though she could hardly
do enough for them; the minute she
heard that anyone was sick or in want
she went to their aid. | have known
this beautiful woman, whose husband
adored her, give up party or ball to sit
up with some poor woman whose child
was i'll, or was i'll herself And | must
speak, too, of her devotion-to see the
earnest, tender picty on that beautiful
face was marvellous.
Look, joint" Lance would whisper
to me; my wife looks like an angel. ,
was obliged to own that she did.
But what was the soul like that animat-
ed the beautiful bodyp
When we were talking-and we spent
many hours together in the garden-I
was struck with the beauty and nobility
of her ideas. She took the right side in
everything; her wisdom was full of ten
derness; she never once gave utterance
to a thought or a sentence but that |
was both pleased and struck with it.