Without a Home

E >> E. P. Roe >> Without a Home

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Then musingly she added, "How can my friends have gained any
information that would prove me innocent? Mother and Belle cannot
know anything definite, nor can Mr. Wentworth. He promised in that
brief whisper when he passed me in the street that he would prove
it. Can he have learned anything in his strange vigilance? It seems
impossible. Alas, I fear that their best hope is to show that I
have hitherto borne a good character, and yet if my present home
and our poverty are described, if--worse than all--papa appears in
the court-room, I fear they will think the worst," and something of
her old despair began to return when she heard approaching footsteps.

"Millie!" cried a loved and familiar voice. The key grated in the
lock, and in another moment she was sobbing on her mother's breast,
and her bruised heart was healed by the unutterable tenderness
of a mother's love. It filled the dark cell with the abounding,
undoubting, unquestioning spirit of unselfish devotion, which was
akin to the fragrance diffused from the broken box of alabaster.

When sufficiently calm, Mildred told her mother what had happened,
and she in turn whispered that Roger had strong hopes that he could
prove her innocence on the following day, though how she did not
know. "And yet, Millie," she concluded, "for some reason he inspires
me with confidence, for while he feels so deeply, he is quiet and
thoughtful about the least thing. Nothing seems to escape his mind,
and he says he has some information of which he does not think it
best to speak at present. He entreats you to take courage, and says
that if you will 'keep up and be your brave, true self, gentle and
strong,' you can do much to aid him. We will all stand by you,
and Mr. Wentworth will be with us."

"Where--where is papa?" faltered Mildred, with a slight flush. "I
don't know," responded the wife, with a deep sob.

"Alas, mother, it's cruel to say it, but it will be best that he
should not appear at all. Keep him away if possible. I hope he may
never know anything about it, unless you think this terrible result
of his course may awaken him to a final struggle to do right. I
would gladly suffer anything to save him."

"No, Millie, he would not be his old self if he came into court,"
said her mother dejectedly, "and his appearance and manner might
turn the scale against you. Our best hope is to let Roger manage
everything. And now, good-by, my darling. God sustain you. Do not
fear anything to night. Roger says you are safe, and that his only
dread is that you may become nervously prostrated, and he relies on
your help to-morrow. I can't stay any longer. Oh, God, how glad I
would be if I could hold you in my arms all night! Belle is strongly
excited, and says she will never believe a word against you, nor
will any of your true friends--alas! I wish we had more."

"Time is up," warned the doorman.

"Tell Mr. Atwood that I am deeply grateful for his aid, and more
grateful for his trust," said Mildred.

"Courage, Millie; you can sustain me by keeping up yourself. You
will find us in the court-room waiting for you."

With an embrace in which heart throbbed against heart they separated, and
the poor girl was comforted and more hopeful in spite of herself,
for while she would shrink from Roger, her confidence in his
shrewdness and intelligence had made such growth that she half
believed he would find some way of proving her innocent, although
how he had obtained any evidence in her favor she could not imagine.
The bedding brought by her mother transformed the cellbunk into
a comfortable couch, and she lay down and tried to rest, so as
to be ready to do her part, and her overtaxed nature soon brought
something like sleep. She was startled out of her half-consciousness
by a shrill cry, and sprang to her feet. There was a confused sound
of steps on the stairs, and then again the same wild cry that almost
made her heart stand still. A moment later two policemen appeared,
dragging a woman who was resisting and shrieking with demoniacal
fury.

The sight was a horrible one. The faces of the great, stalwart
men were reddened by exertion, for the woman seemed to possess
supernatural strength, and their familiarity with crime was not so
great as to prevent strong expressions of disgust. Little wonder,
for if a fiend could embody itself in a woman, this demented creature
would leave nothing for the imagination. Her dress was wet, torn,
and bedraggled; her long black hair hung dishevelled around a white,
bloated face, from which her eyes gleamed with a fierceness like
that of insanity.

With no little difficulty they thrust her into a cell opposite the
one in which Mildred was incarcerated, and as one of the men turned
the key upon her he said roughly, "Stay there now, you drunken
she-devil, till you are sober," and breathing heavily from their
efforts they left the poor wretch to the care of the jailer.

Mildred shrank away. Not for the world would she encounter the
woman's frenzied eyes. Then she stopped her ears that she might
not hear the horrid din and shameful language, which made the place
tenfold more revolting. The man in charge of the cells sat dozing
stolidly by the stove, some distance away. His repose was not to
be disturbed by such familiar sounds.

At last the woman became quiet, and Mildred breathed more freely,
until some mysterious sounds, suggesting that her terrible neighbor
was trying to open her door, awakened her fears, for even the
thought of her coming any nearer made her tremble. She therefore
sprang up and looked between the iron bars. At first she was perplexed
by what she saw, and then her heart stood still, for she soon made
out that the woman was hanging by the neck, from the highest bar
of her cell door. "Help," Mildred shrieked; "quick, if you would
save life."

The man by the stove sprang up and rushed forward.

"There, see--oh, be quick!"

The jailer comprehended the situation at once, unlocked the door,
and cut the parts of her clothing which the woman had improvised
into a halter. She soon revived, and cursed him for his interference.
He now watched her carefully, paying no heed to her horrible tongue,
until the crazed stage of her intoxication passed into stupor.
[Footnote: The writer saw the cell in which, on the evening before,
the woman described tried twice to destroy herself. He also saw
the woman herself, when brought before the police justice. She had
seen twenty-five years, but in evil she seemed old indeed. According
to her story, she was a daughter of the uritans.] To Mildred he
said, reassuringly, "Don't be afraid; you're as safe as if you were
at home."

"Home, home, home!" moaned the poor girl. "Oh, what a mockery that
word has become! My best hope may soon be to find one in heaven."

CHAPTER XXXIV

"A WISE JUDGE"

When the interminable night would end Mildred could not guess, for
no dawning was visible from her basement cell. The woman opposite
gradually became stupid and silent. Other prisoners were brought
in from time to time, but they were comparatively quiet. A young
girl was placed in a cell not far away, and her passionate weeping
was pitiful to hear. The other prisoners were generally intoxicated
or stolidly indifferent, and were soon making the night hideous
with their discordant respiration.

The place had become so terrible to Mildred that she even welcomed
the presence of the policeman who had arrested her, and who at
last came to take her to the police court. Must she walk with him
through the streets in the open light of day? She feared she would
faint on what, in her weakness, would be a long journey, and her
heart gave a great throb of gratitude as she saw Eoger awaiting
her in the large general room, or entrance, to the station-house.
Nor was her appreciation of his kindness diminished when she saw
a man in attendance--evidently a waiter from a restaurant--with a
plate of sandwiches and a pot of coffee. Roger came forward, eagerly
grasping her hand, and there was so much solicitude and sympathy
in his dark eyes that her tears began to gather, and a faint color
to suffuse the pallor that at first had startled him.

"Mr. Atwood," she murmured, "you are kindness itself, and I have
not deserved it. Forgive me. I will try not to fail you to-day,
for your respect sustains me, and I would not lose it."

"I knew your brave spirit would second all our efforts," he
said in like low tones, and with a bright, grateful look. "Here,
waiter--come, Miss Jocelyn, it's by just such prosaic means that
soldiers sustain the fight. You'll dine at home."

"Yes, hurry up," added the officer; "we have no time now for words
or ceremony."

She ate a few mouthfuls, and drank some coffee. "I cannot take any
more now," she said to Roger.

Oh, how plainly her womanly instinct divined his unbounded loyalty;
and, with bitter protest at her weakness, she knew with equal
certainty that she shrank from his love with her old, unconquerable
repugnance. With a dissimulation which even he did not penetrate,
she looked her thanks as the officer led the way to the street,
and said, "Since your friends provide the carriage, you can ride,
miss; only we can't part company."

She stepped into the coach, the policeman taking the opposite seat.

"Oh, God, how pale and wan she is! This will kill her," Roger
groaned, as she sprang up on the box with the driver.

It was so early that few were abroad, and yet Mildred would not look
up. How could she ever look up again! The leaden clouds seemed to
rest upon the steeples of the churches. Churches! and such scenes
as she had witnessed, and such a wrong as hers, were taking place
under the shadow of their spires!

Roger had passed as sleepless a night as had fallen to Mildred's
lot, and bitterly he regretted that he had been able to accomplish
so little. Mr. Wentworth was out of town, and would not be back for
a day or two. Then he sought the judge before whom Mildred would
appear the following morning, and learned, with dismay, that he,
too, had gone to a neighboring city, and would return barely in
time to open court at the usual hour! He had hoped that, by telling
his story beforehand, the judge would adopt his plan of discovering
the real culprit. This was still his hope, for, after long thought,
he determined not to employ counsel, fearing it would lead to a
prolongation of the case. His strong characteristic of self-reliance
led him to believe that he could manage the affair best alone, and
he was confident from his own inexperience. The rain had ceased,
and for hours he paced the wet pavement near the station-house,
finding a kind of satisfaction in being as near as possible to the
one he loved, though utterly unable to say a reassuring word.

Having learned that the prisoners might ride to court if the means
were provided, he had a carriage ready long before the appointed
time, and his presence did much to nerve Mildred for the ordeal
she so much dreaded.

On reaching the entrance at which the prisoners were admitted,
he sprang down to assist Mildred to alight; but the officer said
gruffly, "Stand back, young man; you must have your say in the
court-room. You are a little too officious."

"No, sir; I'm only most friendly."

"Well, well, we have our rules," and he led the trembling girl
within the stony portals, and she was locked up in what is termed
"the box," with the other female prisoners, who were now arriving
on foot.

This was, perhaps, the worst experience she had yet endured, and
she longed for the privacy of her cell again. Never before had
she come in contact with such debased wrecks of humanity, and she
blushed for womanhood as she cowered in the furthest corner and
looked upon her companions--brutal women, with every vice stamped
on their bloated features. The majority were habitual drunkards,
filthy in person and foul of tongue. True to their depraved instincts,
they soon began to ridicule and revile one who, by contrast, proved
how fallen and degraded they were. And yet, not even from these
did the girl recoil with such horror as from some brazen harpies
who said words in her ear that made her hide her face with shame.
The officer in charge saw that she was persecuted, and sternly
interfered in her behalf, but from their hideous presence and
contact she could not escape.

By some affinity not yet wholly obliterated, the girl she had heard
weeping in the night shrank to her side, and her swollen eyes and
forlorn appearance could not hide the fact that she was very young,
and might be very pretty. Mildred knew not what to say to her, but
she took her hand and held it. This silent expression of sympathy
provoked another outburst of grief, and the poor young creature
sobbed on Mildred's shoulder as if her heart were breaking. Mildred
placed a sustaining arm around her, but her own sustaining truth
and purity she could not impart.

A partition only separated her from the "box"--which was simply a
large wooden pen with round iron bars facing the corridor--to which
the male prisoners were brought, one after another, by the policemen
who had arrested them. The arrival of the judge was somewhat delayed,
and may the reader never listen to such language as profaned her
ears during the long hour and a half before the opening of the
court.

Fortunately her turn came rather early, and she at last was ushered
to the doorway which looked upon the crowded court-room, and her
heart throbbed with hope as she singled out her mother, Belle, Mrs.
Wheaton, and Roger, from among long lines of curious and repulsive
faces. The former kissed their hands to her, and tried to give wan,
reassuring smiles, which their tears belied. Roger merely bowed
gravely, and then, with an expression that was singularly alert and
resolute, gave his whole attention to all that was passing. After
recognizing her friends, Mildred turned to the judge, feeling that
she would discover her fate in his expression and manner. Was he
a kindly, sympathetic man, unhardened by the duties of his office?
She could learn but little from his grave, impassive face. She soon
feared that she had slight cause for hope, for after what seemed
to her an absurdly brief, superficial trial, she saw two of her
companions of the "box" sentenced to three months' imprisonment.
The decision, which to her had such an awful import, was pronounced
in an off-hand manner, and in the matter-of-fact tone with which
one would dispose of bales of merchandise, and the floods of tears
and passionate appeals seemingly had no more effect on the arbiter
of their fates than if he had been a stony image. She could not
know that they were old offenders, whose character was well known
to the judge and the officers that had arrested them. Such apparent
haphazard justice or injustice had a most depressing effect upon
her and the weeping girl who stood a little in advance.

The next prisoner who appeared before the bar received very different
treatment. He was a middle-aged man, and had the appearance and
was clothed in the garb of a gentleman. With nervously trembling
hands and bowed head, he stood before the judge, who eyed him
keenly, after reading the charge of intoxication in the streets.

"Have you ever been arrested before?" he asked.

"No indeed, sir," was the low, emphatic reply. "Come up here; I
wish to speak with you."

The officer in attendance took the half-comprehending man by the
elbow and led him up within the bar before the long desk which ran
the whole width of the court-room, and behind which the judge sat
with his clerks and assistants.

"Now tell me all about it," said the judge, and the man in a few
words told his story without any palliation. With a gleam of hope
Mildred saw the expression of the judge's face change as he listened,
and when at last he replied, in tones so low that none could hear
them save he to whom they were addressed, she saw that look which
wins all hearts--the benignant aspect of one who might condemn for
evil, but who would rather win and save from evil. The man slowly
lifted his eyes to the speaker's face, and hope and courage began
to show themselves in his bearing. The judge brought his extortation
to a practical conclusion, for he said, "Promise me that with God's
help you will never touch the vile stuff again."

The promise was evidently sincere and hearty. "Give me your hand
on it," said his Honor.

The man started as if he could scarcely believe his ears, then
wrung the judge's hand, while his eyes moistened with gratitude.
"You are at liberty. Good-morning, sir;" and the man turned and
walked through the crowded court-room, with the aspect of one to
whom manhood had been restored.

Hope sprang up in Mildred's heart, for she now saw that her fate
was not in the hands of a stony-hearted slave of routine. She looked
toward her relatives, and greeted their tearful smiles with a wan
glimmer of light on her own face, and then she turned to watch the
fortunes of the weeping girl who followed next in order. She did
not know the charge, but guessed it only too well from the judge's
face, as the officer who had arrested her made his low explanation.
She, too, was summoned within the rail, and the judge began to
question her. At first she was too greatly overcome by her emotions
to answer. As she cowered, trembled, and sobbed, she might well
have been regarded as the embodiment of that shame and remorse
which overwhelm fallen womanhood before the heart is hardened and
the face made brazen by years of vice. Patiently and kindly the
judge drew from her faltering lips some pitiful story, and then he
talked to her in low, impressive tones, that seemed to go straight
to her despairing soul. A kind, firm, protecting hand might then
have led her back to a life of virtue, for such had been her bitter
foretastes of the fruits of sin that surely she would have gladly
turned from them, could the chance have been given to her. The
judge mercifully remitted her punishment, and gave her freedom.
Who received her, as she turned her face toward the staring throng
that intervened between her and the street? Some large-hearted
woman, bent on rescuing an erring sister? Some agent of one of the
many costly charities of the city? No, in bitter shame, no. Only
the vile madam who traded on the price of her body and soul, and
who, with vulture-like eyes, had watched the scene. She only had
stood ready to pay the fine, if one had been imposed according to
the letter of the law. She only received the weak and friendless
creature, from whom she held as pledges all her small personal
effects, and to whom she promised immediate shelter from the
intolerable stare that follows such victims of society. The girl's
weak, pretty face, and soft, white hands were but too true an
index to her infirm will and character, and, although fluttering
and reluctant, she again fell helpless into the talons of the harpy.
Hapless girl! you will probably stand at this bar again, and full
sentence will then be given against you. The judge frowned heavily
as he saw the result of his clemency, and then, as if it were an
old story, he turned to the next culprit. Mildred had been much
encouraged as she watched the issue of the two cases just described;
but as her eyes followed the girl wistfully toward the door of
freedom she encountered the cold, malignant gaze of the man who
had charge of her department at the shop, and who she instinctively
felt was the cause of her shameful and dangerous position. By his side
sat the two women who had searched her and the leading foreman of
the store. Sick and faint from apprehension, she turned imploringly
toward Roger, who was regarding the floor-walker with such vindictive
sternness that she felt the wretch's hour of reckoning would soon
come, whatever might be her fate. This added to her trouble, for
she feared that she was involving Roger in danger.

No time was given for thoughts on such side issues, for the prisoner
preceding her in the line was sentenced, after a trial of three
minutes--a summary proceeding that was not hope-inspiring.

The name of Mildred Jocelyn was now called, and there was a murmur
of expectant interest in the court-room, for she was not by any
means an ordinary prisoner in appearance, and there were not a few
present who knew something of the case. The young girl was pushed
before the bar, and would gladly have clung to it, in order to
support her trembling form. But while she could not infuse vigor
into her overtaxed muscles, her brave spirit rallied to meet the
emergency, and she fixed her eyes unwaveringly upon the judge,
who now for the first time noticed her attentively, and it did not
escape her intensely quickened perceptions that his eyes at once
grew kindly and sympathetic. Sitting day after day, and year after
year, in his position, he had gained a wonderful insight into
character, and in Mildred's pure, sweet face he saw no evidence of
guilt or of criminal tendencies. It was, indeed, white with fear,
and thin from wearing toil and grief; but this very pallor made
it seem only more spiritual and free from earthliness, while every
feature, and the unconscious grace of her attitude, bespoke high
breeding and good blood.

First, the officer who arrested her told his story, and then the
elder of the two women who searched her was summoned as the first
witness. The judge looked grave, and he glanced uneasily at the
prisoner from time to time; but the same clear, steadfast eyes
met his gaze, unsullied by a trace of guilt. Then the second woman
corroborated the story of her associate, and the judge asked, "How
came you to suspect the prisoner so strongly as to search her?"
and at this point the floor-walker was summoned.

The vigilant magistrate did not fail to note the momentary glance
of aversion and horror which Mildred bestowed upon this man, and
then her eyes returned with so deep and pathetic an appeal to his
face that his heart responded, and his judgment led him also to
believe that there was error and perhaps wrong in the prosecution.
Still he was compelled to admit to himself that the case looked very
dark for the girl, who was gaining so strong a hold on his sympathy.

"I must inform your Honor," began the witness plausibly, after
having been sworn, "that laces had been missed from the department
in which this girl was employed, and I was keenly on the alert,
as it was my duty to be. Some suspicious circumstances led me to
think that the prisoner was the guilty party, and the search proved
my suspicions to be correct."

"What were the suspicious circumstances?"

The man seemed at a loss for a moment. "Well, your Honor, she went
to the cloak-room yesterday afternoon," he said.

"Do not all the girls go to the cloak-room occasionally?"

"Yes, but there was something in her face and manner that fastened
my suspicions upon her."

"What evidences of guilt did you detect?"

"I can scarcely explain--nothing very tangible. The evidences of
guilt were found on her person, your Honor."

"Yes, so much has been clearly shown."

"And she was very reluctant to be searched, which would not have
been the case had she been conscious of innocence."

The woman who searched her was now asked, "Did she shrink from
search, in such a manner as to betoken guilt?"

"I can't say that she did show any fear of being searched by us,"
was the reply. "She refused to be searched in the private office
of the firm."

"That is, in the presence of men? Quite naturally she did." Then to
the floor-walker, "Have your relations with this girl been entirely
friendly?"

"I am glad to say I have no relations with her whatever. My relations
are the same that I hold to the other girls--merely to see that
they do their duty."

"You are perfectly sure that you have never cherished any ill-will
toward her?"

"So far from it, I was at first inclined to be friendly."

"What do you mean by the term friendly?"

"Well, your Honor" (a little confusedly), "the term seems plain
enough."

"And she did not reciprocate your friendship?" was the keen query.

"After I came to know her better, I gave her no occasion to reciprocate
anything; and, pardon me, your Honor, I scarcely see what bearing
these questions have on the plain facts in the case."

A slight frown was the only evidence that the judge had noted the
impertinent suggestion that he did not know his business.

"Are you perfectly sure that you cherish no ill-will toward the
prisoner?"

"I simply wish to do my duty by my employers. I eventually learned
that her father was an opium-eater and a sot, and I don't fancy
that kind of people. That is my explanation," he concluded, with
a large attempt at dignity, and in a tone that he evidently meant
all should hear.

"Her father is not on trial, and that information was uncalled for.
Have you any further testimony?" the judge asked coldly.

"No, sir," and he stepped down amid a suppressed hiss in the
court-room, for the spectators evidently shared in the antipathy
with which he had inspired the keen-eyed but impassive and reticent
magistrate, who now beckoned Mildred to step up close to him, and
she came to him as if he were her friend instead of her judge.
He was touched by her trust; and her steadfast look of absolute
confidence made him all the more desirous of protecting her, if he
could find any warrant for doing so. She said to him unmistakably
by her manner, "I put myself in your hands."

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