Bad Hugh

"Eliza Worthington." That was what the convict read, a blur before his

eyes, and a strange sensation at his heart. "Eliza Worthington."

How came she there, and when? Suddenly he remembered the event of

yesterday, the woman who fainted, the tall man who carried her out, the

beautiful girl who had looked at him so pityingly, and then, while every

nerve quivered with intense excitement, he whispered: "That was my wife! I did not see her face, but she saw me, fainting at

the sight."

Hard, and villainous, and sinful as that man had been, there was a

tender chord beneath the villain exterior, and it quivered painfully as

he said "fainted at the sight." This was the keenest pang of the whole,

for as Densie Densmore had moaned the previous night, "I loved him

once," so he now, rocking to and fro on his narrow bed, with that

handkerchief pressed to his throbbing heart, murmured hoarsely: "I loved Eliza once, though she would not believe it."

Then the image of the young man and the girl came up before him, making

him start again, for he guessed that man was Hugh, his stepson, while

the girl--oh, could that beautiful creature--be--his--daughter!

"Not Adaline, assuredly," he whispered, "nor Adah, my poor darling Adah.

Oh, where is she this morning? I did love Adah," and the convict

moistened Eliza Worthington's handkerchief with the tears he shed for

sweet Adah Hastings.

Outwardly, that day the so-called Sullivan was the same, as he paced up

and down the walk, but never since first he began the weary march, had

his brain been the seat of thoughts so tumultuous as those stirring

within him, the day succeeding Mrs. Worthington's visit. Where were his

victims now? Were they all alive? And would he meet them yet? Would

Eliza Worthington ever come there again, or Hugh, and would he see them

if they did? Perhaps not, but some time, a few months hence, he would

find them, would find Hugh at least, and ask if he knew aught of

Adah--Adah, more terribly wronged than even the wife had been.

And while he thus resolved, poor Mrs. Worthington at home moved

nervously around the house, casting uneasy glances backward, forward,

and sideways, as if she were expecting some goblin shape to rise

suddenly before her and claim her for its own. They were wretched,

uneasy days which followed that visit to Frankfort--days of racking

headache to Mrs. Worthington, and days of anxious thought to Hugh, who

thus was led in a measure to forget the pain he would otherwise have

felt at the memory of Alice's refusal.