The Betrayal of John Fordham
CHAPTER I.
JOHN FORDHAM'S CONFESSION
My name is John Fordham, and I am thirty-four years of age. So far as I can judge I am at present of sound mind, though sadly distraught, and my memory is fairly clear, except as to the occurrences of a certain terrible night in December two years ago, which are obscured by a black cloud which I have striven in vain to pierce. These occurrences, and the base use to which they have been turned by an enemy who has made my life a torture, have brought me to a pass which will cause me presently to stand before the world as a murderer. No man accuses me. It is I who accuse myself of the horrible crime, though I call God to witness that I know not how I came to do it, save that it must have been done in self-defense. But who will believe me in the face of the damning evidence which I afterwards found in my possession – and who will believe that when the fatal deed was done I did not see the features of the man I killed, and did not know who he was? My protestations will be regarded as weak inventions, and will be received with incredulity – as probably I should receive them were another man in my place, and I his judge. It is the guiltiest persons who most loudly proclaim their innocence, and I shall be classed among them.
Am I, then, weary of life that I deliberately place myself in deadly peril, and invite the last dread sentence of the law to be passed upon me? In one sense, yes. Not a day passes that my torturer does not present himself to sting and threaten me and aggravate my sufferings. My nights are sleepless; even when exhausted nature drives me into a brief stupor my fevered brain is crowded with frightful images and visions. So appalling are these fancies that there is a danger of my being driven mad. Death is preferable.
And yet, but a few moments before I committed the crime, I was looking forward hopefully to a life of peace and love with a dear and noble woman who sacrificed her good name for me, and whom I promised to marry when I was freed from a curse which had clung to me for years. The night was cold, the snow was falling, but there was joy in my heart, and I walked along singing. Great God! my heart throbs with anguish as I think of the heaven which might been mine had not cruel fate suddenly dashed the cup of happiness from my lips. But it is useless to repine; I yield because it is forced upon me. One consoling thought is mine. The dear woman I love with a love as true and sincere as ever beat in the heart of man, will turn to me with pity, will visit me in the prison to which I go of my own accord, and in the solemn farewell we shall bid one another will extend her hands and forgive me for the wrong I have done her and our child.
These last words cause me to waver in my purpose.
Our child! Hers – mine. I am the sweet little fellow's father. I saw him yesterday with his mother, though neither he nor my dear Ellen knew that I was near them, for I was careful they should not see my face. How he has grown! Yesterday was his fourth 'birthday, and to-day Ellen is wondering who left the toy horse and cart at her lodgings. His sturdy little limbs, his lovely hair, his large brown eyes with their wonderful lashes, the music of his voice! What bliss, what torture I endured as I followed and listened to his prattle.
"Oh, mother!" he cried, dragging at her hand. "Look – look! Do look!"
His excitement was caused by a display of toys in a window, and they stood together – Ellen and my boy – gazing at the treasures there displayed. He liked this, he liked that, and wasn't this grand, and wasn't that beautiful? and, oh! look here, mother, and here, and here! He was especially fascinated by the horse and cart. Very tenderly did Ellen coax his attention to a box of white lambs, which was to be obtained for sixpence, and they went into the shop, where it Was placed in his arms, for his little hands could not grasp it firmly, and he wanted to carry it home himself. As he and his mother walked away I observed him look longingly over his shoulder at the horse and cart, and doubtless there was in his young mind a hope that one of these fine days when he was a big, big man such a treasure might also be in his possession, and that he would be able to ride off in it straight to fairyland. I am sure Ellen would have given it to him could she have afforded it, but she is obliged to be economical and sparing with her pennies. She earns a trifle by needlework, and, through a solicitor, she receives a pound a week from me, whom she believes to be thousands of miles away. Upon this she lives in modest comfort, saving every penny she can, and looking forward cheerfully to the future. The future! Alas for her – for Reggie – for me!
Reggie's father hanged for murder! But he need never know. He does not bear my name, for Ellen would not have it so. "Not till the laws of God and man sanction it," she said, and I let her have her way. Spirit of truth and justice! Show me the path wherein my duty lies.
More than one path is open to me. I could disappear at sea beneath the waters, and my enemy would never discover how and by what means I had severed the cord of life. He would hunt for me, and gnash his teeth at the escape of his prey. Some satisfaction in that. Oh, miserable fool, to express such a sentiment! But let it stand. I have no desire to conceal my weaknesses. Being gone, Ellen would still receive her pound a week. This is secured to her, and it is this my enemy would snatch from her. "You have money left," he cried. "I will have my share of it, or I will denounce you." He shall not succeed. He shall not rob Ellen, nor shall he denounce me. No man except myself shall bring me to the bar of justice.
I could kill him, and the world would be rid of a monster. I am strong; he is weak. I have held him with one hand, so that he could not move a step from the spot upon which he stood. Dead, he could do no more mischief. Wretch that I am! Add murder to murder? No. I will not burden my soul with conscious guilt.
I will do what I resolved to do, and this confession, when it is completed, shall be sent to Ellen. Condemn me, world. Ellen, in my last hours I look to you for one blessed ray of light. There was a dread crisis in my life when you were my guardian angel, and saved me from destruction. You will not fail me now. Receiving consolation at your dear hands, from your pure heart, I shall lay down my load, and with sobs of thankfulness shall bid the world farewell. In heaven, where the truth is known, we shall meet again.
CHAPTER II
Were it not necessary I would make no mention of my child-life, but this record would be incomplete were I to pass it over in silence. All that I can do is to dwell upon it as briefly as possible.
My mother died a few weeks after I was born; my father waited but twelve months before he married again, and in less than two years his second wife was a widow. Thus I lost both my parents at too early an age to retain the slightest recollection of them. By his second marriage my father had one child, a boy; my half-brother's name was Louis, and by him and my stepmother I was regarded with aversion – by her, indeed, with a much stronger feeling, for when I was old enough to reason out things for myself I learned that she hated me.
My father had made a fortune by commerce, and in his will he behaved justly to those who had a claim upon him. Half of his fortune was left to his widow, without restriction of any kind except that she was to rear and educate me, and that her home was to be mine until I was twenty-one years of age; then I was to become entitled to my share, one-fourth, which was so securely invested and protected that she could not touch it. The remaining one-fourth was left to Louis in the same way. Two of my father's friends were appointed trustees, to see to the proper disposition of his children's inheritance.
In the conditions of this will my stepmother found a double cause for resentment. She was angry in the first place that the whole of the fortune was not bequeathed to her, and in the second place that she was not appointed trustee; and she visited her anger upon me, an unoffending child, who could have had no hand in what she conceived to be a plot against her. Upon her son she lavished a full measure of passionate love, while I was allowed to roam about, neglected and uncared for. Nothing was too good for Louis, nothing too bad for me. He had the best room in the house to sleep in, I the worst; he was always beautifully dressed, and I was made to wear his cast-off clothes. It was the breast of the fowl for Louis, the drumstick for me, and dainty dishes were prepared for him which I was not allowed to taste; my meals were measured out, and if I asked for more I was refused. He was taken to theatres and entertainments, I was left at home. His Christmas trees were at once a delight and a torture to me. They could not prevent me from looking and longing, but not a toy fell to my share. The heartless woman told me that I had