“Well, it was just after that the scandal arose about his causing the death of a person by malpractice. He found it was prudent to run away; so he sold his stock for what he could get, and hid himself in New York. I did not know, at first, where he was; but felt so relieved to be rid of him. I had made up my own mind to go to New York, and get employment in a fancy-store. You know, Mr. Burton, for I once laid my heart before you, what wild, mad, but sinless infatuation it was which drew me there. I am not ashamed of it. God is love. When I stand in his presence, I shall glory in that power of love, which in this bleak world has only fretted and wasted my life. In heaven our whole lives will be one adoration.” She clasped her thin hands together, and turned her dark eyes upward with an expression rapt to sublimity. I gazed upon her with renewed surprise and almost reverence. Never do I expect to meet another woman, the whole conformation of whose mind and heart so fitted her for blind, absolute devotion as Leesy Sullivan’s.
“When I went to the city to see about getting a place, I met my cousin, who told me that she was married to George Thorley, and had been for some weeks; that they were boarding in a nice, quiet place, and that George stayed at home a great deal—indeed, he hardly went out at all.
“It was evident that she had not heard of his reasons for leaving Blankville, and that she did not guess why he kept himself so quiet. Of course I hadn’t the heart to tell her; but I made up my mind that I’d be better to stay where I was, for the present—so I went back to my aunt, without trying to get a situation in New York.
“It was about six months after this I got word from Nora, begging me to come and see her. I loved my cousin, and I’d felt grieved that she was married to Dr. Thorley. I mistrusted something was wrong; so I went to the city, and found her out in the miserable tenement where she was now stopping, starving herself in a room with hardly a bit of furniture. She burst out a-crying when she saw me; and when I stopped her sobbing, she told me she had not seen George for more than three months; that either he had met with an accident, or he’d run away from her, leaving her without a cent of money, and she in such health that she could hardly earn enough to buy a bit of bread and pay the rent of this room.
“ ‘Do you really think he has left you?’ I asked her.
“ ‘Sure, how can I tell?’ she answered, looking at me so pitifully with her innocent blue eyes. ‘He was a fine gentleman, and it’s afraid I am that he’s grown tired of his poor Irish Nora.’
“ ‘I warned you, cousin,’ I said; ‘I knew George Thorley for a villain; but you were taken with his fine words, and wouldn’t heed. I’m sorry, sorry, sorry for you—but that won’t undo what’s done. Are you sure you are his wife, Nora dear?’
“ ‘As sure as I am of heaven,’ she cried, angry with me. ‘But it’s married we were by a Protestant clergyman, to please George—and I’ve got my certificate safe—ah, yes, indeed.’
“I could never ascertain whether the ceremony had been performed by a legalized minister; I always suspected my poor cousin had been deceived, and it was because my aunt thought so, too, and was sore on the subject, that she got so angry with you two gentlemen when you went to inquire. But, whether my suspicions were or were not correct, Nora was George’s wife as certainly, in the sight of the angels, as woman was ever the wife of man. Poor child! I no longer hesitated about coming to New York. She needed my protection, and my help, too. I paid her board till the day of her death, which was but a few days after her poor little baby was born; I saw her decently buried, and then I put out the infant to nurse, and I worked to keep that. It was a comfort to me, sir. My own heart was sad, and I took to the little creature almost as if it was my own. I had promised Nora that I would bring it up, and I have kept my word, thus far. I hated its father for the way he’d treated Nora, but I loved the child; I took pleasure in making its pretty garments and in seeing that it was well taken care of. I knew I should never marry; and I adopted Nora’s child as my own.
“Hardly was poor Nora cold in her grave when I was, one evening, surprised by a visit from George Thorley. Where he had been during his absence I did not know. He tried to excuse his conduct toward my cousin, by saying that he had married her in a fit of jealousy, to which I’d driven him by my coldness; that he’d been so tormented in mind he couldn’t stay with her, for he didn’t love her, and he’d gone out West, and been hard at work, to try and forget the past. But he couldn’t forget it; and when he saw his wife’s death in the papers, he had felt awfully; but now he hoped I’d forgive it all,
