CHAPTER 19.
Back to The Divorced Wife
What Mr. Waverly saw, as he looked in through the windows upon his long lost child and her mother, wrought in his mind a great change. He went back to the city, and for a time, was purposeless as to the future. He could not wrest Ada from arms that were thrown around her so lovingly; nor from a bosom, where her head was pillowed quite as safely as if it had rested upon his own. If the mother's feet had strayed from right paths — she had evidently retraced her steps as far as that were possible, and was walking now, the straight and narrow way.
And now, as Mr. Waverly's mind turned to review the blasting evidence of his wife's infidelity which had once arrayed itself with such convincing exactness, doubts were suggested; a broken link here and there in the testimony appeared, and he sought in vain to find the connection.
"After all — what if she should be innocent!" Audibly did Mr. Waverly give utterance to these words; and then, fairly started to his feet in surprise at such a suggestion; while a low shudder ran through every nerve.
"Innocent? No — no!" He replied to the thought, still speaking aloud, and striving to push the idea from his mind. But having once found a voice — it was not to be silenced, nor forcibly thrust aside.
"The evidence was unequivocal," said he, as the argument went on.
"But who and what were the witnesses?"
Another chill went coldly along the nerves of the unhappy man; and other doubts came crowding into his mind. More and more troubled did he become; and more and more into confusion fell his thoughts.
"What motive could they have had? Who was there to offer them a bribe?"
But it availed not, and his mind came back broodingly, to the suggestion.
"After all — what if she should be innocent! I will let Ada remain with her," said Mr. Waverly, seeking a kind of compromise with himself. "She shall not be disturbed in the possession of her child."
Alas! How little did all this tend to allay the uneasiness of Mr. Waverly's mind, once disturbed by the thought that his wife might have suffered innocently. One doubt evolved another, and that gave birth to twenty.
The sworn testimony of two Irish servants had been sufficient to blast the reputation of a woman, whose life had hitherto, been considered spotless; and to drive from the community a man, as her companion in guilt, whose reputation till that time, had never been tainted by a breath of slander. Both had protested their innocence, but the swearing had been direct, and the relation of things incidental to the alleged criminal conduct, most minutely circumstantial. Not only had Mr. Waverly been completely satisfied; but, the whole public mind, ever too ready to believe charges of wrong-doing, was convinced of the wife's criminality. She was, therefore, adjudged and condemned; and her name mentioned only in scorn, contempt, and detestation. O, what a fall was there! A fall from the pinnacle of happiness — to the very bottomless pit of despair!
For days after Mr. Waverly returned from Mount Holly, his mind continued in a most troubled state. The more he pondered the past, and weighed the evidence which had once appeared so convincing — the less did he feel satisfied.
"After all — what if she should be innocent!"
How many, many times did his thoughts come back to this conclusion; and how bitter were his feelings, verging on towards self-reproach whenever this silent or audible exclamation was made.
As vivid as a picture before his vision, was the scene witnessed as he looked in at the window upon his wife and child. He saw it all the while, by night or by day, with open or shut eyes. Turn which way he would — he could not turn from that.
Mr. Waverly had come home from his store one evening, about a week after the occurrences mentioned in the last chapter — his mind more perplexed and disturbed than ever.
"Did you hear of that dreadful affair down in Sixth Street?" said his sister soon after his entrance.
"No, what is it?" returned Mr. Waverly, with little manifestation of interest in his voice. "There's an account of it in this afternoon's paper," said Edith. "You remember that Biddy Sharp?"
"I have cause to remember her." There was an instant manifestation of interest.
"She stabbed a man named Jim McCarty this morning, and it is said that he will not survive."
"Stabbed Jim McCarty?"
"Yes, so it is stated in the afternoon papers. They were living together, though not married, and this morning had a drunken quarrel, when Biddy caught up a large knife, and plunged it into the man's chest. She then attempted to destroy her own life, but was prevented by people who rushed into the room."
Before Mr. Waverly made any remark on this communication, a servant came in to say that a man was at the door who desired to speak a word to him. At another time he would have asked questions as to the man, and his business — but now he arose up quickly and went to see who it was that desired to communicate with him. The person at the door was a roughly dressed man, who said, without ceremony.
"Is your name Mr. Waverly?"
"It is," was answered.
"Then I am desired to say that a man down at Sixth Street, wishes to see you immediately. His name is McCarty."
"Jim McCarty?"
"Yes. He was stabbed by a woman this morning, and as the doctor says, cannot live but a few hours longer. The priest has just left him."
"He has made confession to his priest?" said Mr. Waverly, in an agitated voice.
"Yes, sir, and the priest, I believe, said that he must send for you."
"Do you live at the place where McCarty now is? Wait a moment, I will go with you."
Mr. Waverly stepped back into the house to say a word to his sister. In a few moments he returned and went with the man.
"What did he confess to the priest?" asked Mr. Waverly, in his impatience to know for what purpose McCarty had summoned him.
"How would I know that?" returned the man, a little rudely. "I rather think they don't tell them things."
"Then you don't know what he wants with me?"
"No, sir. I was sent for you, and that is all I have to do with the matter."
"Where is Biddy Sharp?"
"In prison."
"If McCarty dies, it will go hard with her," Mr. Waverly remarked.
"I would think it would, but no harder than she deserves — the fiend incarnate!"
"Was she a very bad woman?"
"Bad? Yes, the worst woman I ever saw! There is nothing too wicked for her to do. The only wonder is that she didn't murder Jim long ago. I only hope they will hang her!"
"She and McCarty lived together as man and wife?"
"They did — and the next thing after that, is generally murder. I've noticed this a good many times in my life. Men and women never grow better afterwards, but alwaysworse; and usually become cruel and bloody-minded."
Mr. Waverly made no reply, and they pursued their way rapidly and in silence.
The house to which Mr. Waverly was taken, was in Fourth Street, South of the city boundary. Below, a saloon for the lowest class of people was kept. Through this, was the entrance to the rooms above, and, through this, guided by the man who had called for him, Mr. Waverly passed. Ascending a dark and dirty flight of stairs to the third story — he paused at the door of a room to which his attendant pointed, as he said —
"You will find him in there."
A gentle tap at this door was answered immediately by a person within.
"Can I see McCarty?" asked Mr. Waverly in a whisper.
"Walk in, sir," and the attendant stepped back a pace or two.
Mr. Waverly entered the small, badly furnished room, and approached the bed upon which lay the man who had summoned him. How pale and ghastly was the face of the wretched being, who was about passing to his final account. At first, it was not recognized by Mr. Waverly; who stood, for some moments, in doubt as to the identity of the person before him.
"McCarty," he said, at length, "can this be you?"
"All that's left of me, sir," was answered in a feeble voice.
"And you wish to see me?" Mr. Waverly was so anxious to know what the man had to communicate, that he could not wait for a gradual approach to the subject.
A shadow of pain came over the man's face.
"Yes, Mr. Waverly, I wish to see you, and ease my conscience before I die. I have wronged you greatly — and another worse than you."
"McCarty! What do you mean?"
Mr. Waverly became instantly agitated. He laid his hand upon the bed post, and the tremor of his frame shook the bed upon which the dying man lay.
"I swore falsely against an innocent woman," continued McCarty, in a low, feeble voice. Biddy Sharp and I vowed to ruin her — and well did we do our work."
"Ruin who?" inquired Mr. Waverly, with a quivering lip, and pale, disturbed countenance.
"Ruin your wife, Mr. Waverly."
The merchant stood silent for some time, his eyes fixed, almost staring, upon the face of the wretched creature before him.
"Jim McCarty," he at length said, in a deliberate, solemn voice. "It is plain that you have but a short time to live."
"No one knows that better than myself, sir," was replied.
"And with death looking you in the face, you say deliberately, that, so far as you know to the contrary, my wife was innocent of the crime you charged against her?"
"As innocent as an angel," was the unhesitating answer.
"Mr. Waverly struck his hands suddenly together; then clasped them against his temples, and staggering back a few paces, sunk, with a heavy groan, upon a chair. Fully five minutes elapsed before he moved from his fixed position.
"Jim McCarty," said he, then, again approaching the bed side, and speaking in a stern voice, "What spirit from Hell prompted you to this evil work?"
The lips of McCarty moved, but no sound issued therefrom; and his eyes, fixed and glassy, stared at Mr. Waverly with a strange expression. Death's icy fingers were chilling the waters of life.
"Speak! Speak?" eagerly interrogated Mr. Waverly, who saw that the end had come. "Say that word again! Is she innocent?"
Again the lips moved, but there was no utterance.
"Lift your hand if you still say she is innocent."
A hand was raised feebly. Then followed quickly the death rattle, the constricted breathing, the convulsive motions and distortion of the countenance. A brief space, and Jim McCarty passed to his final destiny.
Back to The Divorced Wife