Ahead of the Show; Or, The Adventures of Al Allston, Advance Agent

by Fred Thorpe

  CHAPTER XX.

  THE LOCKET.

  Al started. Could Miss March seriously mean what she said?

  "You surely do not think," the girl said, earnestly, "that I would jeston a subject so sacred?"

  "No, no," Al assured her, "but what ground have you for thinking that wemay be related?"

  "No logical ground, perhaps," the actress replied; "but from the momentI first saw you--and I have seen you when you were not aware of mypresence--I was strangely attracted to you. You may laugh at this, youmay think it only the foolish fancy of a foolish girl, but it is true."

  "And I, too," said Al, thoughtfully, "have had the same feeling towardyou. I remember I could think of nothing but your face all the way homeon the night of your first performance in Boomville. Can it really bethat you are my sister, restored to me in this strange way? If she isalive she must be about your age."

  "Tell me all you know about her," entreated the girl; "the circumstancesunder which she was lost--all. But no"--with sudden change of manner--"Iwill tell you my story first, if you will listen to it."

  "Go on, please, Miss March."

  "My first recollections are of a miserable home on the upper floor of atenement house in New York. I lived with a hard-featured woman whocalled herself my aunt. Her name was Ann Thompson. Did you ever hear ofher?"

  And Miss March gazed anxiously into the boy's face.

  Al shook his head.

  "Never!"

  "Aunt Ann, as I used to call her," went on the actress, "was always moreor less under the influence of liquor. Gin was her favorite drink. Shewould work until she had money enough for a debauch, and then--but Icannot bear to recall my unhappy childhood."

  Miss March paused and turned away her face; her trembling voice showedthe emotion she felt.

  "I can imagine it all," said Al, sympathetically. "Go on, please, andspare yourself unnecessary pain."

  "How kind you are!" the young girl said, gratefully. "I will, then, omitmany details which I am sure would be as painful for you to hear as forme to relate. When under the influence of alcohol Aunt Ann was sometimesvery cruel to me. She would beat and otherwise ill-treat me; and to-dayI bear scars inflicted by her. But I bore all as patiently as I could,and for what reason, do you suppose?"

  "I should think you would have left her," said Al, as the actresspaused.

  "I should have done so but for one thing."

  "And that was?"

  "Sometimes while intoxicated she would hint to me that in reality wewere not flesh and blood, that I was in no way akin to her, that therewas a secret in my life that she could reveal if she would, a secret thepublication of which would be greatly to my advantage. But she neverbecame so intoxicated that she told me the whole truth; I could onlyguess it. Sometimes during her sober intervals I would tax her with whatshe had said; but she would always reply by telling me that I must payno attention to anything she said when she was drunk--that she was atsuch times out of her mind, and did not know what she was saying. Once,when I persisted, she became greatly enraged, and gave me such a beatingthat I was taken to a hospital and she was arrested and sentenced to aterm of imprisonment."

  At this point in her story Miss March burst into tears.

  "Postpone telling the rest of it until another time," said Al, to whomthe recital was almost as painful as to the girl.

  "No," said the actress, "I must go on. I was discharged from thehospital on the day on which Aunt Ann was released from jail, and theold life was renewed."

  "You went back to live with the woman?" cried Al.

  "Yes. I had no other home. Besides, I still hoped that I might be ableto learn from her the secret of my birth--for that there was a secret Iwas now more firmly convinced than ever. At the time of which I havejust been telling you, I was about twelve years of age. Three yearslater Aunt Ann, while under the influence of liquor, met with anaccident which terminated her miserable life in two days. When she wastold that she was really dying, she sent for a priest and confessed tohim. When the clergyman was gone she summoned me to her bedside, andtold me that at the suggestion of the good father she was about to tellme at last the secret that I had been striving so long to learn."

  "And she said----" demanded the boy, breathlessly.

  "She began by telling me that she was not my aunt, that we were in noway related. Years before she had been my nurse. My poor mother had insome trivial way offended her, and under the influence of heranger--and, I suppose, of alcohol--she determined to revenge herself bykidnaping me. She carried this resolution into effect, and her guilt wasnever proven, although it was suspected. 'My name is not Ann Thompson,'she said to me, 'but you shall know now what it really is, and who yourparents are. Your father is dead, but your mother still lives. For yearsshe has mourned you unceasingly.' The woman then bade me unlock and opena certain drawer in her bureau. I did so, and took from it at herdirection a small package. 'That bundle,' she said, 'contains proof ofyour identity. Take it to your mother and show her what is in it. Tellher what I have said, give her my real name, and she will acknowledgeyou as her 'daughter.' 'What is your name?' I cried, breathlessly--'whatis mine?' The woman opened her lips to reply, but not a sound escapedthem. The next moment she fell back upon her pillow. I bent over her,crying in an agony of suspense: 'Speak, speak!' But she could not, shewas dead!"

  "What did the package contain?" asked Al.

  "Only a few articles of infant's clothing and two pieces of jewelry.Some time they may be of assistance to me in finding my parents, butthus far they have proved of no value as a clew. Well, after Aunt Ann'sdeath I was adopted by a family in moderate circumstances. They had nointerest in my personal affairs, all they wanted of me was my servicesas housemaid, and I served in that capacity for two years. Then came anopportunity to adopt a stage career, and I eagerly seized it, againstthe advice of all who were in any way interested. I must say that, sofar, I have had no reason to regret my decision in the matter. I findthat the stories of the temptations of stage life that I had heard weregross exaggerations, and that a woman can be as good and pure on thestage as off it. And now, my friend, you have heard my story; can youhelp me find my mother? Do you think it possible that I am the sisterfor whom you have been searching?"

  Al's voice trembled with emotion as he replied:

  "That question can very soon be decided. Have you the package ofinfant's clothing that you spoke of?"

  "Yes; I always have it with me wherever I go."

  "May I see it?"

  "I am very anxious to show it to you."

  And the actress rose and opened her trunk, from which she took a smallparcel.

  Her face was very pale, her hands trembled as she unfastened the littlepackage.

  "Look!" she said.

  Al took the garments, yellowed with time, in his hands.

  "I have heard my mother describe the clothing that my little sister worewhen she disappeared," he said, "a thousand times. She would be able totell you if these are the ones, but I cannot. But the jewelry--where isthat?"

  "Here."

  And the girl handed him a box.

  The lad took from it a baby's ring and a chain, to which was attached alocket.

  "My sister wore a chain and locket like these when she was lost," hesaid, "In a moment I will tell you if this is the locket."

  "How can you?" the actress cried.

  "Because the locket contains my father's picture."

  "There is no picture in this," said Miss March, with a look of deepdisappointment.

  "You do not know whether there is or not," said Al. "There is a secretspring and I can find it. Look!"

  As he spoke the locket flew open.