Zula Part 64

Mrs. Wilmer looked her surprise when she saw the ill-looking persons before her, but she made no inquiries.

Old Meg threw off the coa.r.s.e shawl which she wore, and looking around the room she said, in a creaking voice:

"It seems to me you got a good many to keep your secret, but I'm sure I don't care. You promised me gold, and so you let me go with that I don't care."

"Meg," said Scott, "you have promised to tell me all you know of Irene, and when you have done so I will give you the price you have asked, and remember that nothing but the truth will satisfy; for, bear in mind that I have _some_ facts."

Meg took a deep breath, and clasping her long bony hands together, she began:

"I was born in France. My father was a gypsy and my mother was an Irish servant girl. When my father married my mother she had a son, whose father was a handsome Irishman. I went to live with a wealthy French gentleman, and I took my boy with me. My man was dead and I had to work out, so I went to do scrub work. I had a great way of curing little folks, and as my mistress had a beautiful little baby, she soon began to think she couldn't get along without me. After a while my mistress took it into her head to go to America, and all the servants but me was afraid to go, so I took my boy and came along. The cholera broke out on board the ship, and my master and mistress were both buried in the sea. My half-brother was on board the ship, and when the baby's father and mother went down into the water it gave me a cunning idea. He was a handsome man, and I told him that there was a way that he might become rich. The baby's grandpa in America had sent it many costly presents, and I told my half-brother that if he would consent we might have gold. He was an idle fellow and he fell in with the plan at once. I told him that he must dress up and pretend to be the baby's father. It was a good idea, he said, and he would do it. When we reached New York the old gentleman had come on from San Francisco, and had everything in grand style for his daughter and her husband, but when I got there and told him of his daughter's death, he was almost killed, and nothing would convince him that it was his daughter's baby, until we showed him a necklace that he had sent it; then he just give right up and it was awful the way he took on. He couldn't bear to have the baby out of his sight. After a while he took sick, then he sent for a lawyer to make his will. He said he wanted me to stay and take care of him 'cause I had been with the baby's mother. He had the lawyer come and make the will. He gave me a little. All the rest he left to the baby."

Scott arose and handed Meg a gla.s.s of water.

"You're a gentleman, anyhow," she said; then continued her story.

"The old man didn't seem to feel jest right about the choice his daughter had made, for he would look at John and say that he was so different from the man he thought his daughter had married. My mistress had a strange idea. She thought her husband was the handsomest man in all the world. He was a beauty, and when her father wrote to her to send his picture, she wrote back that he must wait, for her husband could not get a picture half as handsome as he was. So that old man waited, but never saw him, but he wasn't real suited with her choice. After a while the old man died, suddenly, and it was then I got possession of the will. My half-brother and I made an agreement that he should furnish me with money and I should take care of the baby. Soon after we went to New York my brother got acquainted with a girl with a wonderful handsome face, but she was a devil. She was just out of the hospital where her illegitimate child was born, and after a while John married her. They hadn't been married very long till she run away with a gambler, and left the child with him. It was agreed that John should take his wife's child and go west, and I should take the other and go some place away for fear we might get found out. That child, sir, the child of shame," said old Meg, arising and turning to Scott, "was Irene Mapleton, your wife."

Mrs. Wilmer groaned aloud, and said:

"Oh, Scott, my n.o.ble boy, what a world of disgrace I brought upon you."

"Mother, do not reproach yourself," said Scott.

"I took the other child," continued Meg, "and a good supply of money, and going away from the city joined a band of gypsies and have since led a roving life."

Mr. Le Moyne had grown strangely excited as he listened to old Meg's story, and stepping toward her asked hurriedly:

"What was the old man's name?"

"Weston."

"And the name of the daughter's husband?"

"Le Moyne."

"Ah, old Meg, I have seen you before."

Meg turned fiercely toward Mr. Le Moyne as she said:

"I don't believe it."

"What was the name of the child you took away with you?"

"She never had a name till we named her. We called her Zula."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Ah! Old Meg! I have seen you before."]

Scott's face grew pale. He neither moved nor spoke, but his keen eyes were fastened on Meg's face, with a gaze that seemed to read every act of her past life.

Mr. Le Moyne, turning toward Scott, said, in a voice trembling with excitement:

"Let me speak for a moment, and perhaps I can help to prove the story which Meg has told. Years ago a very beautiful young lady went from here to France for the purpose of gaining a knowledge of the country.

She was in the company of a number of friends and their stay being of short duration, they returned leaving her in Paris. She was a writer of some note and her father being deeply engaged in business at the time, she was allowed to go without him. While there she met my brother Gustavo, and the result was a marriage."

Crisp moved uneasily.

"She wrote to her father," continued Mr. Le Moyne, "and, of course, he was displeased, and sent her a very harsh letter, upbraiding her for her disrespect; but the next letter she received was full of love and a plea for forgiveness. In a year's time a child was born, and the joy of the old gentleman knew no bounds. He was growing old, and if his daughter could gain her husband's consent to come to America, to live he would will all his property to the little one. My brother was very indulgent to his fair wife, and together they started for America.

Cholera broke out on board the ship and my brother and his wife were both buried in the sea. The servant who had been very faithful to my brother's wife sailed with them, and now, Meg, I ask you where is the child you took away with you--my brother's child?"

"I don't know," Meg answered in a husky voice.

"You do know," said Le Moyne, while his dark eyes flashed with keen excitement.

"No, on my soul I don't know," said Meg, dropping on her knees, "before heaven, I don't know."

"How is it that you don't know?"

"She is dead," said Crisp.

"Dead! How do you know?" asked Scott.

"Because Irene told me she died in a madhouse."

"What drove her to a madhouse?" asked Le Moyne.

Old Meg, still kneeling before him, was trembling like a leaf shaken by the wind.

"I don't know," she said. "The last time I saw her she was asleep in the tent, and she went away in a thunder storm, at night, for when we got up in the morning she was gone."

"And you know nothing of her at all?"

"No, I have never heard from her since."

"Then I am as much in the dark as ever," said Le Moyne, in a despairing tone.

"Perhaps," said a voice close by him, "I can throw some light on the subject."

All eyes were turned as the beautiful gypsy girl stepped from behind the folds of the curtain. She advanced toward old Meg, and pa.s.sing her hand over her own purple black hair, she said:

"Meg, would you know Zula if you were to see her?"

"Yes, yes."

"Then I will tell you where to go. You will tire in this position,"

she said, a.s.sisting Meg to rise. "Take this chair while I, too, tell a story."

Old Meg took the chair, but kept her eyes fixed on Zula's face.