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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:37:26 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:37:26 -0700 |
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diff --git a/28123-h/28123-h.htm b/28123-h/28123-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..042d792 --- /dev/null +++ b/28123-h/28123-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14923 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title> +The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Scarlet Feather, by Houghton Townley. +</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.ppg-pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.ppg-pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:0.9em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + hr.mini {width: 2em; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + .caption {font-size:0.8em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + hr.tb {width: 35%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + ins.trnote {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1.5px dotted #FF0000;} + hr.minor {width: 35%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black; clear:both;} + hr.silver {width: 100%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Scarlet Feather, by Houghton Townley + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Scarlet Feather + +Author: Houghton Townley + +Illustrator: Will Grefé + +Release Date: February 19, 2009 [EBook #28123] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCARLET FEATHER *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank, Darleen Dove and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<table summary="transcriber notes" style='margin:3em auto 0 auto; width:35em; border:1px solid; color:#778899; padding:10px;'> + +<tr><td> +<p style='font-size:small; color:#303030; text-align:left;'>Transcriber’s Notes: <br /><br /> + +Spelling and punctuation have been preserved as printed except as indicated in the text by a dotted line under the change. Hover the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins class="trnote" title="like this">appear</ins>. A list of these changes can be found <a href="#ATN">here.</a> +<br /><br /> + +The following words were found in variable forms in the original text and both versions have been retained: armchair/arm-chair; byword/by-word; hearthrug/hearth-rug; housekeeping/house-keeping; sky pilot/sky-pilot; stockbroker/stock-broker.<br /><br /> + +The illustration on Page 260 has been moved so that the illustration is not in the middle of a paragraph.<br /><br /></p> +</td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 2em'> +THE SCARLET FEATHER +</p> +<hr class='silver' /> + + +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 274px; height: 406px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 274px;'> +THERE WAS SOMETHING MAGNETIC ABOUT THIS MAN WHOM SHE FEARED AND TRIED TO HATE.—<a href="#P201">Page 201</a><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> + +<table style='margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; border: black 1px solid;' summary=""> + <tr><td> + + <table style='width:25em; margin: 0 auto 3px auto; border-collapse: collapse; border: black 1px solid;' summary=""> + <tr> + <td style="text-align:center; font-size:2em; padding:10px">THE<br />SCARLET FEATHER + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + <table style='width:25em; margin: 0 auto 3px auto; border-collapse: collapse; border: black 1px solid;' summary=""> + <tr> + <td style="text-align:center; padding-top:20px;"> <span style="font-variant:small-caps">by</span> + </td> + </tr> + +<tr> + <td style="text-align:center; font-size:1.4em; padding-bottom:5px;">HOUGHTON TOWNLEY + </td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td style="text-align:center; font-size:0.8em; padding-bottom:5px;">Author of<br /> + “The Bishop's Emeralds” + </td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td style="text-align:center; font-size:0.8em; padding-top:10px;"><span style="font-variant:small-caps">Illustrations by</span> +</td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td style="font-size:1.3em; text-align:center">WILL GREFÉ + </td> +</tr> + +<tr> + <td style='text-align:center; height: 9em;'><img src="images/feather-emb.png" alt='emblem' /> + </td> +</tr> +</table> + + <table style='width:25em; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; border-collapse: collapse; border: black 1px solid;' summary=""> + <tr> + <td style='text-align: center; padding:10px;'><span style='letter-spacing:0.1em; font-size:1.1em;'> + NEW YORK</span><br /><span style='letter-spacing:0.3em; font-size:1.3em;'>GROSSETT & DUNLAP</span><br /><span style='letter-spacing:0.1em; font-size:0.9em;'>PUBLISHERS</span> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + + </td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 0.9em'> +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Copyright, 1909 by</span> +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 0.9em; margin-bottom:1em'> +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>W. J. watt & company</span> +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 0.9em'> +</p> +<hr class='mini' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 0.9em'> +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 0.9em'> +<i>Published June, 1909</i> +</p> + +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.4em; margin-bottom:1em'> +Contents +</p> +<table border='0' width='400' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The Sheriff’s Writ </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#I_THE_SHERIFF_S_WRIT'>9</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The Check </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#II_THE_CHECK'>21</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The Dinner at the Club </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#III_THE_DINNER_AT_THE_CLUB'>33</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Dora Dundas </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IV_DORA_DUNDAS'>39</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Debts </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#V_DEBTS'>50</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A Kinship Something Less Than Kind </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VI_A_KINSHIP_SOMETHING_LESS_THAN_KIND'>66</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Good-bye </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VII_GOODBYE'>82</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A Tiresome Patient </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#VIII_A_TIRESOME_PATIENT'>89</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Herresford is Told </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#IX_HERRESFORD_IS_TOLD'>93</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Hearts Ache and Ache Yet Do Not Break </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#X_HEARTS_ACHE_AND_ACHE_YET_DO_NOT_BREAK'>102</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A House of Sorrow </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XI_A_HOUSE_OF_SORROW'>117</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A Difficult Position </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XII_A_DIFFICULT_POSITION'>125</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Dick’s Heroism </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIII_DICK_S_HEROISM'>135</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Mrs. Swinton Confesses </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIV_MRS_SWINTON_CONFESSES'>147</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Colonel Dundas Speaks His Mind </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XV_COLONEL_DUNDAS_SPEAKS_HIS_MIND'>168</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Mr. Trimmer Comes Home </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVI_MR_TRIMMER_COMES_HOME'>173</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Mrs. Swinton Goes Home </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVII_MRS_SWINTON_GOES_HOME'>190</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A Second Proposal </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XVIII_A_SECOND_PROPOSAL'>195</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>An Unexpected Telegram </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XIX_AN_UNEXPECTED_TELEGRAM'>204</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The Wedding Day Arranged </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XX_THE_WEDDING_DAY_ARRANGED'>221</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Dick’s Return </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXI_DICK_S_RETURN'>226</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The Blight of Fear </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXII_THE_BLIGHT_OF_FEAR'>237</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Dora Sees Herresford </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIII_DORA_SEES_HERRESFORD'>249</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Dick Explains to Dora </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIV_DICK_EXPLAINS_TO_DORA'>262</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Tracked </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXV_TRACKED'>280</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Mrs. Swinton Hears the Truth </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVI_MRS_SWINTON_HEARS_THE_TRUTH'>288</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Ormsby Refuses </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVII_ORMSBY_REFUSES'>297</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The Will </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXVIII_THE_WILL'>307</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>A Public Confession </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXIX_A_PUBLIC_CONFESSION'>320</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Flight </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXX_FLIGHT'>333</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Dora Decides </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXI_DORA_DECIDES'>340</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Home Again </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXII_HOME_AGAIN'>348</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XXXIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left'>The Scarlet Feather </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#XXXIII_THE_SCARLET_FEATHER'>353</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 2em'> +THE SCARLET FEATHER +</p> +<hr class='silver' /> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.4em'> +THE SCARLET FEATHER +</p> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='I_THE_SHERIFF_S_WRIT' id='I_THE_SHERIFF_S_WRIT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE SHERIFF’S WRIT</h3> +</div> + +<p> +The residence of the Reverend John Swinton was on +Riverside Drive, although the parish of which he +was the rector lay miles away, down in the heart of +the East Side. It was thus that he compromised +between his own burning desire to aid in the cleansing +of the city’s slums and the social aspirations of +his wife. The house stood on a corner, within +grounds of its own, at the back of which were the +stables and the carriage-house. A driveway and a +spacious walk led to the front of the mansion; from +the side street, a narrow path reached to the rear +entrance. +</p> +<p> +A visitor to-night chose this latter humble manner +of approach, for the simple reason that this part of +the grounds lay unlighted, and he hoped, therefore, +to pass unobserved through the shadows. The +warm, red light that streamed from an uncurtained +French window on the ground floor only deepened +the uncertainty of everything. The man stepped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +warily, closing the gate behind him with stealthy +care, and crept forward on tiptoe to lessen the sound +of the crunching gravel beneath his heavy shoes. It +was an undignified entry for an officer of the law who +carried his authorization in his hand; but courage +was not this man’s strong point. His fear was lest +he should meet tall, stalwart Dick Swinton, who, on +a previous occasion of a similar character, had +forcibly resented what he deemed an unwarrantable +intrusion on the part of a shabby rascal. The uncurtained +window now attracted the attention of the +sheriff’s officer, and he peered in. It was the rector’s +study. +</p> +<p> +The rector himself was seated with his back toward +the window, at his desk, upon which were +piled account-books and papers in hopeless confusion. +A shaded lamp stood upon the centre of the table, +and threw a circle of light which included the clergyman’s +silver-gray hair, his books, and a figure by the +fireside—a handsome woman resplendent in jewels +and wearing a low-cut, white evening gown—Mary +Swinton, the rector’s wife. The room was paneled, +and the shadows were deep, relieved by the glint of +gilt on the bindings of the books that filled the +shelves on the three sides. The fireplace was surmounted +by a carved mantel, upon which stood two +gilt candelabra and a black statuette. The walls +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +were burdened by scarce a single picture, and the red +curtains at the windows were only half-drawn. On +looking in, the impression given was one of luxury +and of artistic refinement, an ideal room for a winter’s +night, a place for retirement, peace and repose. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Swinton sat in her own particular chair by +the fireside—a most comfortable tub of a chair—and +reclined with her feet outstretched upon a stool, +smoking a cigarette. Her graceful head was thrown +back, and, as she toyed with the cigarette, displaying +the arm of a girl and a figure slim and youthful, it +was difficult to believe that this woman could be +the mother of a grown son and daughter. Her +brown hair, which had a glint of gold in it, was carefully +dressed, and crowned with a thin circlet of diamonds. +Her shapely little head was poised upon a +long, white throat rising from queenly shoulders. +She looked very tall as she lounged thus with her feet +extended and her head thrown back, watching the +smoke curl from her full, red lips. +</p> +<p> +Opposite her, deep in an armchair, and scarcely +visible behind a large fashion journal, sat Netty +Swinton, her daughter, a girl of nineteen, a mere slip +of a woman. The pet name for Netty was, “The +Persian,” because she somewhat resembled a Persian +cat in her ways, always choosing the warmest and +most comfortable chairs, and curling up on sofas, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +quite content to be quiet, only asking to be left alone +and caressed at rare intervals by highly-esteemed +persons. +</p> +<p> +From the ladies’ gowns, it was obvious that they +were going somewhere; and, by the rector’s ruffled +hair and shabby smoking-jacket, that he would be +staying at home, busy over money affairs—the eternal +worry of this household. +</p> +<p> +The rector was even now struggling with his accounts. +</p> +<p> +The clever man seemed to be a fool before the +realities of life as set down in numerals. As a young +man, he had been a prodigy. People then spoke of +him as a future bishop, and he filled fashionable +churches of the city with the best in the land. They +came to hear his sensational sermons, and they patted +him on the back approvingly in their drawing-rooms. +He was immensely popular. Perhaps his wonderful +masculine beauty was responsible for much of the interest +he excited. It certainly captivated Mary Herresford, +a girl of nineteen, who was among those +bewitched. She adored the young preacher, whom +later she married secretly; and the red flame of their +passionate love had never died down. The wealthy +father of the bride had only forgiven them to the +extent of presenting his daughter with the property +on Riverside Drive, where they had since made their +home, to the considerable inconvenience of the rector +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +himself. Soon after the marriage, John Swinton +had taken the rectorship of St. Botolph’s, that great +church planned for the betterment of the most hopeless +slums. The clergyman’s admirers believed that +this was but the beginning of magnificent achievements. +On the contrary, the result threatened disaster +to his good-standing before the world. The +population of the parish grew in poverty, rather than +in grace. The rector was a man of ideals, generous +to a fault. His means were small; his bounty was +great. The income enjoyed by his wife did not +count. Old Herresford allowed his daughter only +sufficient for her personal needs, which were, naturally, +rather extravagant, for she had been reared +and had lived always in the atmosphere of wealth. +</p> +<p> +Matters were further complicated by the fact that +Mrs. Swinton, though she adored her husband, hated +his parish cordially. She belonged to the aristocracy, +and she had no thought of tearing herself from +the life with which she was familiar, while her husband, +on the contrary, doted on his parish and +avoided, so far as he might, the company of the +frivolous idlers who were his wife’s companions. +Husband and wife, therefore, agreed to differ, and to +be satisfied with love. After their son was born, the +wife drifted back to her old life, and was a most +welcome figure in the gayest society. Yet, no scandal +was ever associated with her name, and none +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +sneered at her love for her husband. The rector, +when he yielded to her persuasions and accompanied +her on social excursions, was as welcome as she; and +everybody proclaimed Mrs. Swinton a clever woman +to be able to live two entirely-different lives at the +same time, with neither overlapping. At forty, she +was still young and beautiful, with a ripe maturity +that only the tender crow’s feet about the corners of +the eyes betrayed to the inquisitive. She set the pace +for many a younger woman, and was far more active +than prim little Netty, her daughter. Needless to +say, she was adored by her son, to whom she was +both mother and chum. +</p> +<p> +Dick Swinton was like his father, the same gentlemanly +spirit combined with a somewhat unpractical +mind, which turned to the beautiful and the good, +and refused to admit the ugliness of unpleasant facts. +Indeed, the young man’s position was even more +awkward than his father’s. As grandson and heir +of Richard Herresford much was expected of him. +Everybody did not know that the rich old man was +such a miser that, after paying for his grandson’s +education, at his daughter’s persuasion, he allowed +him only a thousand dollars a year, and persistently +refused to disburse this sum until it was dragged from +him by Mrs. Swinton. +</p> +<p> +The rector turned over the leaves of the account-books, +and sighed heavily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +</p> +<p> +“It’s no use,” he cried, at last. “I can’t make +them up. They are in a hopeless muddle. I know, +though, that I can’t raise a thousand cents, much less +a thousand dollars, and the builder threatens to make +me bankrupt, if I don’t pay at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Bankrupt, John!” his wife murmured, languidly +raising her brows. “You are exaggerating.” +</p> +<p> +“No, my dear. The truth must be faced. Pressure +is being applied in every direction. I signed a +note, making myself security for the building of the +Mission-room. And here are other threats of suits. +I already have judgments against me, that they may +try to satisfy at any moment. Why, even our furniture +may be seized! And this man declares that he +will make me bankrupt. It’s a horrible position—bad +enough for any man, fatal for a clergyman. +We’ve staved off the crash for about as long as we +can.—And I’m tired of it all!” +</p> +<p> +He flung the account-book from him, and, brushing +his gray hair from his forehead in an agitated +fashion, started up. His brow was moist, and his +hand trembled. +</p> +<p> +“Only a matter of a thousand dollars, John?” +cried Mrs. Swinton, after another puff from her +cigarette. Then, glancing at <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: he in original text">the</ins> clock, she added: +“What a time they are getting the carriage ready! +We shall be late. Netty, go and see why they are +so long.” Netty slipped away. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +</p> +<p> +“Mary, you must be late for once,” cried the disturbed +husband, striding over to her. “We must +talk this matter out.” +</p> +<p> +She smiled up at him bewitchingly, and he melted, +for he adored her still. +</p> +<p> +“Father will have to pay the money,” she said, +rising lazily and facing him—as tall as he, and +wonderfully graceful. She put her hand upon his +shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, John, I’ll go to father once more. It’s +really shameful! He absolutely promised you a +thousand dollars for that Mission Hall, and then +afterward refused to pay it.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of course, he did. That was why I became +responsible. But you know what his promises are.” +</p> +<p> +“His promises should be kept like those of other +men. It is wicked to give money with one hand, and +then take it away with the other. He allowed you +to compromise yourself in the expectation of this unusual +lavishness on his part; and now he repudiates +the whole thing, like the miser that he is.” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, darling! He is a very old man.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, it’s all very well for you to find excuses +for him. You would find excuses for Satan himself, +John. You are far too lenient. Just think what +father would say, if you were to be made bankrupt. +Can’t you hear his delighted, malevolent chuckles? +Oh, it is too terrible, too outrageous! You know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +what everyone would say—that you had been speculating, +or gambling, just because you dabbled a little +in mines a few years ago.” +</p> +<p> +“A thousand dollars would only delay the crash. +We owe at least ten times as much as that,” groaned +the unhappy man, sinking into the chair his wife had +just vacated. He rested his elbows on his knees, and +his throbbing head in his hands. “They’ll have to +find another rector for St. Botolph’s. I’ve tried +hard to satisfy everybody. I’ve begged and worked. +We’ve had bazaars, concerts, collections, everything. +But people give less and less, and they want more and +more. The poor cry louder and louder.” +</p> +<p> +“John, you are too generous. It’s monstrous that +father should cling to his money as he does. He has +nobody to leave it to but us—in fact, it is as much +ours as his. Yet, he cripples us at every turn. I +have almost to go down on my knees for my own +allowance—” +</p> +<p> +“And, when you get it, dearest, I have to borrow +half. I’m a wretched muddler. I used to think +great things of myself once, but now—well, they’d +better make me bankrupt, and have done with it. At +least, I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that, +if I have robbed the rich man and the trader, it has +been to relieve the poor. Why, my own clothes are +so shabby that I am ashamed to face the sunlight.” +</p> +<p> +It did not for one moment occur to his generous +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +nature to glance at the costly garments of his beautiful +wife, who wanted for nothing, who spent her +days in a round of pleasure. He took her hand as +she stood beside him, and raised it to his lips. +</p> +<p> +“I have been a miserable failure as a husband for +you, Mary,” he said. “You remember that they +used jestingly to call you the bishop’s wife, and said +that you would never regret having married a parson. +Well, I really thought in those days that I should +make up for the disparity in our relative positions, +and raise you to an eminence worthy of you.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor old John!” laughed his wife, smoothing +his gleaming, silvery hair. “It’s not your fault. +Father ought to have done more. He’s a perfect +beast. He is a miser, mean, deceitful, avaricious, +spiteful, everything that’s wicked. He is ruining +you, and he will ruin Dick, too. He threatens that, +when he dies, we may find all his wealth left to +charities. Charities, indeed, when we have to pinch +and screw to satisfy insolent tradesmen, and the everlasting +hunger of a lot of cringing, crawling loafers +and vagabonds who won’t work!” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, hush, my darling! Don’t let’s get on +that topic to-night. We never agree as to some +things, and we never shall.” +</p> +<p> +“There’s talk, too, of Dick’s going to the front. +And that will cost money. Anyway, I shall see +father to-morrow. You must write to that wretched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +builder man, and tell him he will have his money. +I’ll get it somehow, if I have to pawn my jewels.” +</p> +<p> +“Your father has repeatedly informed you, dearest,” +the rector objected, “that your jewels do not +really belong to you—that he has only loaned them +to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that’s a device of his, although they belonged +to my mother. At any rate, write the man a +sharp letter.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well, my dear,” replied the rector, wearily, +and he rose, and walked with bowed head toward his +desk. “I’ll say that I hope to pay him.” +</p> +<p> +The two had been through scenes like this before, +but never had the situation hitherto been so desperate +as to-night. +</p> +<p> +Netty, soft-footed and soft-voiced, returned to announce +that the carriage was ready. Mrs. Swinton +thereupon threw away her cigarette, and gathered up +her train. For one moment, she bent over her husband’s +shoulder, and pressed her soft, fair cheek to +his. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t look so worried, dear,” she murmured. +“What’s a thousand dollars! Why, I might win +that much at bridge, to-night.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t, darling, don’t!” the husband groaned, +distractedly. +</p> +<p> +Any mention of bridge was as salt upon an open +wound to him. He knew that his wife played for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +high stakes among her own set—indeed, every parishioner +of St. Botolph’s knew it; it was a whispered +scandal. Yet, her touch thrilled him, and he was as +wax in her fingers. She spent her life in an exotic +atmosphere, but he knew that there was no evil in +her nature. There were weaknesses, doubtless; but +who was weaker than he, and where is the woman +in the world who is at once beautiful and strong? +</p> +<p> +The man without, lurking beside the window, +watched the departure of the mother and daughter. +He remained within the shadow until the yellow +lights of the carriage had disappeared through the +gates; then, he came forward, just as Rudd, the manservant, +was closing the front door. +</p> +<p> +“What, you again?” gasped the servant. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. It’s all right, I suppose? He ain’t +here?” +</p> +<p> +“The young master?” Rudd inquired, with a grin. +“No. And it’s lucky for you that he ain’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Parson in?” came the curt query. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” Rudd answered, reluctantly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, tell him I’m here,” the deputy commanded, +with a truculent air. “He’ll want to see me, I +guess. Anyhow, he’d better!” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='II_THE_CHECK' id='II_THE_CHECK'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>THE CHECK</h3> +</div> + +<p> +On the following morning, after breakfasting in her +own room, Mrs. Swinton came downstairs, to find +the house seemingly empty. She was not sorry to be +left alone, for she was feeling out of sorts with all +the world. In the bright daylight, she looked a little +older; her fair skin showed somewhat faded and +wan. She was nervously irritable just now, for last +night she had lost three hundred dollars at bridge. +The embarrassment over money filled her with +wretchedness. There remained no resource save to +appeal to her father for the amount needed. +</p> +<p> +She strolled out with the intention of ordering +Rudd to bring around the carriage; but, as she +stepped upon the porch, she stopped short at sight of +a man who was sprawled in a chair there, smoking +a pipe. +</p> +<p> +“What is it you want?” she demanded haughtily, +annoyed by the fellow’s obvious lack of deference, +for he had not risen or taken the pipe from his +mouth. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve explained to the gent, ma’am, and he’s gone +out to get the money,” was the prompt answer. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +</p> +<p> +“You mean, my husband?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, the parson, ma’am. I come to levy—execution. +You understand, ma’am.” +</p> +<p> +Further questions dried up in her throat. The +humiliation was too great to allow parley. Such an +advent as this had been threatened jestingly many +times. But the one actual visit of a like sort in the +past had been kept a secret from her. Now, in the +face of the catastrophe, she felt herself overwhelmed. +Nevertheless, the necessity for instant action was +imperative. +</p> +<p> +She went back into the house, and rang for her +maid to take the message to Rudd. Then, she +dressed hurriedly for the ride to her father’s house. +Her hands were trembling, and tears streamed down +her cheeks. At intervals, she muttered in rage +against her father, whom at this moment she positively +hated. +</p> +<p> +For that matter, old Herresford, by reason of his +unscrupulous operations in augmenting his enormous +fortune, was one of the most cordially hated men in +the country. Of late years, however, he had abandoned +aggressive undertakings, and rested content +with the wealth he had already acquired. Invalidism +had been the cause of this change. The result of +it had been to develop <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: certainly in original text">certain</ins> miserly instincts in +the man until they became the dominant force of his +life. By reason of this stinginess, his daughter was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +made to suffer so much that she abominated her +father. It was a long time now since he had ceased +to be a familiar figure in the world. For some years, +he had been confined to his bedchamber at Asherton +Hall, his magnificent estate on the Hudson. There, +from a window, he could survey a great part of his +gardens, and watch his gardeners at their labors. +With a pair of field-glasses, he could search every +wooded knoll of the park for a half-mile to the river, +in the hope of catching some fellow idling, whom he +could dismiss. In his senseless economies, he had +discharged servant after servant, until now his stately +house was woefully ill-kept, and even his favorite +gardens were undermanned. +</p> +<p> +On this morning of his daughter’s meeting with +the sheriff’s officer, he was sitting up in his carved +ebony bedstead. A black skull-cap was drawn over +his little head, and the long, white hair fell to his +shoulders, where it curled up at the ends. His +sunken eyes gleamed like a hawk’s, and his dry, +parchment skin was stretched tightly over the prominent +bones. His nose was hooked, and his lips +sunken over toothless gums—for he would not afford +false teeth. His hands were as small as a woman’s, +but claw-like. +</p> +<p> +On a round table by his bed stood the field-glasses +with which he watched his gardeners, and woe betide +man who permitted a single leaf to lie on the perfect +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +lawns, which stretched away on the plateau before +the house. +</p> +<p> +The chamber in which the bed was set was lofty +and bare. A few costly rugs were scattered on the +highly-polished floor, and the general effect was funereal, +for the ebony bedstead had a French canopy +of black satin embroidered with gold. By the window +stood his writing-desk, at which his steward and +his secretary sat when they had business with him; +and on the table by the window in the bay, was a +bowl of flowers, the only bright spot of color in the +room. +</p> +<p> +His daughter came unannounced, as she always +did. He was warned of her approach by the frou-frou +of her silk, an evidence of refined femininity that +for a long time past had been absent from Asherton +Hall. The old man grunted at the sound, and +stared straight ahead out of the window. He did +not turn until she stood by his bedside, and placed her +gloved hand upon his cold, bony fingers. +</p> +<p> +“Father, I have come to see you.” +</p> +<p> +She kissed him on the brow, and his eyes darted +an upward look, keen and penetrating as an eagle’s. +</p> +<p> +“Then you want something. The usual?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, father—money.” +</p> +<p> +This was an undertaking often embarked upon before, +and successfully, but each time with a bitterer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +spirit and a deeper sense of humiliation. The result +of each appeal was worse than the last, the miser’s +hand tightened upon his gold. +</p> +<p> +She knew that there was no use in beating about +the bush with him. During occasional periods of +illness, she had acted as his secretary, and was cognizant +of his ways and his affairs, and of the immense +amount of wealth he was storing up for her son. +At least, it seemed impossible that it could be for +anyone else, although the old man constantly threatened +that not a penny should go to the young scapegrace, +as he termed his grandson. He repeatedly +prophesied jail and the gallows for the young scamp. +</p> +<p> +“How much is it now?” asked the miser. +</p> +<p> +“A large sum, father,” faltered Mrs. Swinton. +“A thousand dollars! You know you promised +John a thousand dollars toward the building of the +Mission Hall.” +</p> +<p> +“What!” screamed the old man, in horror. “A +thousand dollars! It’s a lie.” +</p> +<p> +“You did, father. I was here. I heard you +promise. John talked to you a long time of what +was expected of you, and told you how little you had +given—” +</p> +<p> +“Like his insolence.” +</p> +<p> +“And you promised a thousand dollars.” +</p> +<p> +“A thousand? Nothing of the sort,” snarled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +the miser, scratching the coverlet with hooked fingers—always +a sign of irritation with him. “I +said one, not one thousand.” +</p> +<p> +She knew all his tricks. To avoid payment, he +would always promise generously; but, when it came +to drawing a check, he whiningly protested that five +hundred was five, three hundred three, and so on. +</p> +<p> +“This time, father, it is very urgent. John is in +a tight fix. Misfortune has been assailing him right +and left, and he is nearly bankrupt.” +</p> +<p> +“Ha, ha! Serve him right,” chuckled the old +man. The words positively rattled in his throat. +“I always told you he was a fool. I told you, but +you wouldn’t listen to me. You insisted upon marrying +a sky pilot. Apply up there for help.” He +pointed to the ceiling. +</p> +<p> +“Father, father, be reasonable. There is a man +at <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: out in original text">our</ins> house—a sheriff’s officer. Think of it!” +</p> +<p> +“Aha, has it come to that!” laughed the miser. +“Now, he will wake up. Now, we shall see!” +</p> +<p> +“Not only that, father. Dick may go away.” +</p> +<p> +“What, fleeing from justice?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, father. He is going to volunteer for +service in the war.” +</p> +<p> +She commenced to give him details, but he hushed +her down. “How much?—How much?” he +asked, insultingly. “I told you before that you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +have no justification for regarding your son as my +heir. Who told you that I was going to leave him +a penny? He’s a pauper, and dependent upon his +father, not upon me. I owe him nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, father, father, it is expected of you.” +</p> +<p> +“How much?” snapped the old man. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, quite a large sum, father. I want you to +advance me some of my allowance, as well. I must +have at least two thousand dollars.” +</p> +<p> +“What!” he screamed. “Two thousand! Two, +you mean. Get me my check-book—get me my +check-book.” +</p> +<p> +He pointed to the desk. She knew where to find +it, and hastened to obey, thinking to rush the matter +through. She took the blotting-pad from the desk, +and placed it on her father’s knees, and brought an +inkstand and a pen, which she put into his trembling +fingers. +</p> +<p> +“Two thousand, father,” she said, gently. +</p> +<p> +“No—two!” he snarled, flashing out at her and +positively jabbering in his anger. He filled in the +date, and again looked around at her, tauntingly. +Then, he wrote the word “Two” on the long line. +</p> +<p> +“Two. Do you understand?” he snarled, thrusting +his nose into her face, as she bent over him to +hold the blotting-pad. “That’s all you’ll get out of +me.” He filled in the figure two below, and straggling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +noughts for the cents. Then, he paused and +addressed her again, emphasizing his remarks with +the end of the penholder. +</p> +<p> +“I’ll have you understand that this is the last of +your borrowing and begging. I am not giving you +this money, you understand? I am advancing it on +account. Every penny I pay you will be deducted +from the little legacy I leave you at my death.” +</p> +<p> +She wearily waited for him to sign, to get it over; +for there was nothing to be done when he was in a +mood like this. Perhaps, on the morrow, he would +be more rational. +</p> +<p> +She replaced the blotting-pad, and dried the check +in mechanical fashion; but her face was white with +anger. She folded the useless slip, and put it in her +bag. +</p> +<p> +“Have you no gratitude?” cried the old horror +from the bed. “Can’t you say, thank you?” +</p> +<p> +“Thank you, father,” she answered, coldly; “I +am tired of your jests,” and, without another word, +she swept from the room. +</p> +<p> +“Two!” chuckled the old man in his throat, +“two!” +</p> +<p> +On arriving at the rectory, she found the man +reading a paper in the hall, and the rector not yet +returned. She guessed that her husband had gone +on a heart-breaking expedition to raise money. She +wished to ask the fellow the amount of the debt for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +which the execution was granted, but could not bring +herself to put the question. She went to her husband’s +study, guessing that he would come there on +his return, and, seating herself in his armchair, leaned +her elbows on the account-books and burst into tears. +</p> +<p> +After all, how little John had gained by marrying +her! She could do nothing for him; she was powerless +even to help her own son, who was compelled +to adopt miserable subterfuges and swallow his pride +on every occasion. She opened her purse and took +out the check, intending to destroy it in her rage, +but she was stopped by the miserable thought that, +after all, every penny was of vital importance just +now. She could not afford the luxury of its destruction. +</p> +<p> +“My own father!” she cried bitterly, as she +spread out the check before her. “Two dollars!” +</p> +<p> +Then, she noticed that the word “two” had nothing +after it on the long line, and that the “2” below +in the square for the numerals was straggling +toward the left. It only needed a couple of noughts +in her father’s hand to put everything right. Two +ciphers! They would indeed be ciphers to him, for +how could he feel the difference of a few thousands +more or less in his immense banking-account? A +bedridden old man had no use for money. Indeed, +it was impossible that he could know how much he +was worth. She had often seen him signing checks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +by the dozen, groaning over every one. When they +were gone, they were out of his mind; and all he +troubled about was to ask for the total at the bank, +and mumble with satisfaction over the fine, fat figures +of the balance. +</p> +<p> +Her face lighted up with a sudden reckless thought. +</p> +<p> +If she added those two ciphers herself with an old, +spluttering pen, and added the word “thousand” +after the “two,” who would be the wiser? +</p> +<p> +Certainly not her father. And the bank would pay +without a murmur. She seized a pen, prepared to +act upon the impulse, then paused. She knew vaguely +that it was a wrong thing to do. But—her own +father! Indeed, her own money—for some of his +wealth would be hers one day, and that day not +very far distant. It was ridiculous to have scruples +at such a time. +</p> +<p> +She cleverly filled in the words in a shaky hand, +and added the two ciphers. She let the ink dry, +and then surveyed her handiwork. +</p> +<p> +How her husband’s face would light up when she +told him of their good fortune. Two thousand +dollars! No, she could not imagine herself facing +the rector’s gray eyes, and telling him an awful lie. +It was bad enough to alter the check. She had +heard of people who had been put in prison for +altering checks! +</p> +<p> +Dick would take the check to the bank for her, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +so that she need not face any inquisitive, staring +clerks; and, when it was exchanged for notes, she +would be able to get rid of the loathly creature sitting +in the hall. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p> +“Who presented this check?” +</p> +<p> +Vivian Ormsby, son of the banker, sat in his private +room at Ormsby’s Bank, examining a check for +two thousand dollars, and a cashier stood at his side. +Vivian Ormsby had just looked in at the bank for +a few minutes, and he was in a hurry. +</p> +<p> +“Young Mr. Swinton presented it, sir,” the +cashier explained. +</p> +<p> +Vivian Ormsby’s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized +the check more closely. +</p> +<p> +“Leave it with me,” he commanded, “and count +out the notes.” +</p> +<p> +As soon as he was alone, he went to a cupboard +and took out a magnifying glass. +</p> +<p> +“Ye gods! Forgery! Made out to his mother—and +yet—the signature seems all right. Of +course, the alteration might have been made in Herresford’s +presence. The simplest thing would be to +apply to the old man himself. If the young bounder +has altered the figures—well, if he has—then let +it go through. It will be a matter for us then, not +for Herresford, who wouldn’t part with a cent to +save his own, much less his daughter’s, child.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +Vivian Ormsby had special reasons for hating Dick +Swinton just now, not unconnected with a certain +Dora Dundas. +</p> +<p> +Yet, he sent for his cashier, and handed him the +check. +</p> +<p> +“Pay it,” he directed. +</p> +<p> +Through a glass panel in his room, the banker’s +son watched the departure of Dick Swinton with +considerable satisfaction. Dick was a fine, handsome +young fellow, tall, broad-shouldered, and looking +twenty-five at least instead of his twenty-two +years, with a kindly face, like his father’s, brown +hair, hazel eyes, and a clean-shaven, sensitive mouth +more suited to a girl than to a man. Now, Ormsby +smiled sardonically at the unconscious swagger of +the young man, and he wondered, too. Indeed, he +had more than a suspicion about that check. Everybody +knew of his rival’s heavy debts, but that he +should put his head into the lion’s mouth was amazing. +Forgery! +</p> +<p> +How easy it would be to discover the fraud presently—when +the money was spent, and ere the +woman was won. Not now, but presently. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='III_THE_DINNER_AT_THE_CLUB' id='III_THE_DINNER_AT_THE_CLUB'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>THE DINNER AT THE CLUB</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Colonel Stone was the possessor of much political +and social influence; moreover, he enjoyed considerable +wealth; finally, he was flamboyantly and belligerently +patriotic. In consequence of his qualities +and influence, he conceived the project of raising a +company for the war in Cuba, equipping it at his +own expense. The War Department accepted his +proposition readily enough, for in his years of active +service he had acquired an excellent reputation as an +officer of ability, and he was still in the prime of life. +Rumors of the undertaking spread through his club, +although he endeavored to keep the matter secret +as long as possible. Unfortunately, he consulted +with that military authority, Colonel Dundas, who +was unable to restrain his garrulity concerning anything +martial. The current report had it that the +colonel intended to make his selection of officers +from among certain young men of his acquaintance +who were serving, or had served, with the National +Guard. Among such, now, the interest was keen, +for the war spirit was abroad in the land, and the +colonel’s project seem to offer excellent opportunity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +to win distinction. And then, at last, Colonel Stone +sent invitations to a select few young men to dine +with him at his club. The action was regarded as +significant, inasmuch as the colonel was not given to +this sort of hospitality. Among those to receive the +honor of an invitation was Dick Swinton. +</p> +<p> +When the rector’s son entered the private dining-room +of the club on the night appointed, he found +there besides his host five of his acquaintances: Will +Ocklebourne, the eldest son of the railway magnate; +Vivian Ormsby, who at this time was a captain in +the National Guard; Ned Carnaby, the crack polo-player; +Jack Lorrimer, a leader in athletics as well +as cotillions; and Harry Bent, the owner of the famous +racing stud. Without exception, the five, like +Dick himself, were splendid specimens of virile +youth, and in their appearance amply justified the +colonel’s choice. +</p> +<p> +Just before the party seated itself at the table, a +servant entered with a letter for Dick. He opened +it eagerly, and a sprig of forget-me-not fell into his +hand. He folded this within the letter, which he +had not time at the moment to read. But he understood +the message of the flower, for the handwriting +on the envelope was that of Dora Dundas. And he +sighed a little. The lust of adventure was in his +blood, and the war called him. +</p> +<p> +The dinner progressed tamely enough until the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +dessert was on the table. Then, the colonel arose, +and set forth his plans, and called for volunteers to +join him in this service to his country. +</p> +<p> +“Some of you—perhaps all—” he concluded, +“are willing to go with me. Let such as will stand +up.” +</p> +<p> +Instantly, Captain Ormsby was on his feet. He +stood martially erect, fingering his little, black mustache +nervously, his dark eyes gleaming. He was a +handsome, slim, dark man of forty, with a slightly +Jewish cast of countenance, crimped black hair, +parted in the centre, a large, but well-shaped nose, a +full, round chin, and a low, white forehead—a face +that suggested the Spaniard or the modern Greek +Jew.... There came a little outburst of applause +from the fellow-guests, a recognition of his +promptness in acceptance of the colonel’s offer. +</p> +<p> +Then, the others stood up together: Ocklebourne, +Carnaby, Lorrimer, Bent—all except Dick Swinton, +the rector’s son. The group turned expectant +eyes on him, awaiting his rising to complete the +group. Yet, he sat there with his fellow-officers +standing, Captain Ormsby on one side of him, Jack +Lorrimer on the other, in the most prominent place +in the room, leaning back in his chair, with eyes +downcast, and playing with his knife nervously. +</p> +<p> +He seemed ashamed to look up, and was overcome +by the unexpected prominence into which he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +was thrown. He was deathly pale; but his mouth +expressed dogged determination. +</p> +<p> +“Not Swinton?” asked the colonel, reproachfully. +</p> +<p> +Dick shook his head smilingly, and was terribly +abashed. They waited a few moments longer—moments, +during which a girl’s face seemed to be +looking at Dick with wistful, tender eyes—the +same woman that Ormsby loved. And he saw, too, +in a blurred mist, a vision of carnage and bloodshed +that was horribly unnecessary and unjust. He could +not explain all his reasons for evading this opportunity—that +he was only just engaged, was in debt, +and could not afford the money for his outfit. It +needed some courage to sit there and say nothing. +</p> +<p> +“Fill him up a glass of champagne, a stiff one—it +will give him some Dutch courage,” remarked Captain +Ormsby <i>sotto voce</i>, but loud enough for the +others to hear, and they laughed awkwardly at the +implied taunt of cowardice. Burly Jack Lorrimer, +who stood by Dick’s side and had had quite enough +to drink, seized a bottle jocularly; Ormsby took it +from him, and, leaning forward, was about to fill +Dick’s glass, when the young man jumped to his feet. +</p> +<p> +There was the beginning of a luke-warm cheer—arrested +instantly, for Dick turned in a fury on +Captain Ormsby, and struck him a blow in the face +with the flat of his hand that resounded through the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +room. Then, he kicked his chair back, and strode +to the door just behind him. +</p> +<p> +The colonel angrily hushed the murmurs of excitement +that ensued, and with considerable tact proceeded +to make a short speech to the volunteers as +though nothing had happened. +</p> +<p> +The whole scene lasted only fifteen minutes. The +ugly incident at the table was with one accord ignored, +and the wine was attacked with vigor, everybody +drinking everybody else’s health. The captain +was inwardly satisfied; for had he not succeeded in +publicly branding his rival in love as a coward? +</p> +<p> +Dick Swinton went striding home, a prey to the +bitterest humiliation. He had allowed his temper +to get the better of him, and had disgraced himself +in the eyes of his fellows. +</p> +<p> +And the forget-me-not in his pocket! That had +had much to do with it, of course. It was a silent +appeal from the girl he loved, who had been his own, +his very own, for only twenty-four sweet hours. He +took out her letter, which he had not yet perused, +and read it under a street lamp—the letter of a +soldier’s daughter, born and reared among soldiers. +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dearest</span>, Of course you must go. Don’t consider +me. All the others are going. Our secret +must remain sacred until your return. Your country +calls, and her claim comes even before that of your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +own darling. Oh, I shall hate the days you are +away, but it cannot be helped, can it? Father is +already talking about your kit, and he wants you to +come and see him that he may advise you what to +buy and what to wear.—<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dora.</span> +</p> +<p> +He groaned as he realized that this note should +have been read earlier. It was too late now. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IV_DORA_DUNDAS' id='IV_DORA_DUNDAS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>DORA DUNDAS</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Dick Swinton spent a wretched night after his +humiliation at the dinner. When he awakened, the +sun of spring was shining on the quivering leaves of +the trees along the drive. He opened his window +and looked out. +</p> +<p> +At the sound of the rattling casement, Rudd, who +was at work on the lawn, looked up. Rudd was +general factotum—coachman, gardener, footman,—and +usually valeted his young master. Now, he +hurried upstairs to Mr. Dick’s bedroom, where he +duly appeared with a pile of letters. +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Swinton and Miss Netty have breakfasted +in their rooms, sir. The rector has gone out. And +it’s nine o’clock.” +</p> +<p> +Dick took the bundle of letters—bills all of them, +except two, one of which was addressed in the handwriting +of Dora Dundas. Rudd knew the outside +of a bill as well as his young master, and had selected +the love-letter from the others, and placed it +first. +</p> +<p> +When Dick was dressed, he opened the girl’s letter, +and his face softened: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dearest</span>, I hear that everything was settled last +night, and I must see you this morning. There are +many things to be talked of before the dreadful good-bye. +I shall be in the Mall, but I can’t stay long. +</p> +<p style='text-align: right; font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4em; margin-right:24%'> +Your loving, +</p> +<p style='text-align: right; font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4em; margin-right:6%'> +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dora.</span> +</p> +<p> +“She imagines I’m going,” growled Dick, grinding +his teeth and thinking of the shameful scene of +last night. “Well, I’ll show them all that I have +the courage of my convictions.” +</p> +<p> +But, despite his declarations, his feelings were +greatly confused, and, although he would not confess +the fact even to himself, he was now consumed with +chagrin that he had refused the chance of service. +To be branded thus with cowardice was altogether +insupportable! +</p> +<p> +And then, while he was in this mood, he opened +the other envelope, carelessly. His interest was +first aroused by the fact that, as he glanced at it, +there was no sign of a letter. A second examination +revealed something contained there. Dick put in his +fingers, and pulled forth a white feather. For a +few seconds, he stared at it in bewilderment, wondering +what this thing might mean. But, in the next +instant, the significance of it flashed on him. Somewhere, +some time, he had read the story of a soldier +who was stigmatized by his fellows as a craven in +this manner. The presentation of the white feather +to him meant that he, Dick Swinton, was a coward. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +</p> +<p> +As he realized the truth, the young man was +stunned. It seemed to him a monstrous thing that +any could so misunderstand. Yet, there was the evidence +of his shame before his eyes. He grew white +as he tried to imagine what the sender must think of +him. And then, presently, in thinking of the sender, +he was filled with an overmastering rage against the +one who dared thus to impugn his courage. He +looked at <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: he in the original text">the</ins> envelope, which was addressed in a +straggling hand, and was convinced that the writer +had disguised the handwriting. But he felt that he +had no need of evidence to know who his enemy was. +Of his own circle, all were his friends, save only +Captain Ormsby. And he had struck Ormsby. +This, then, was Ormsby’s revenge. After all, it +were folly to permit the malevolence of a cad so to +distress him. Since he was not a coward, the white +feather concerned him not at all. +</p> +<p> +Nevertheless, he was unable to dismiss his annoyance +over the incident as completely as he wished, +and he breakfasted without appetite. He was still +disconsolate when he set out to keep his engagement +in Central Park. +</p> +<p> +At five minutes past ten o’clock, there approached +the spot where Dick stood waiting in the Mall a +very charming girl of scarcely twenty years of age, +of medium height, with a pretty, plump form delightfully +outlined by the lines of her walking dress. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +This was of a gray cloth, perfectly cut, but almost +military in its severity. Her mouth was small and +proud, her eyes gray and solemn, her color high from +walking in the chilly air, and her hair of that nondescript +brown usually described as fair. Uncommon, +yet not sensational; but with a delicate charm that +radiated from her like perfume from a flower. +</p> +<p> +At the sight of the lover awaiting her, Dora’s +placid demeanor departed. Her eyes lighted up and +moistened with tenderness. She could not wait for +him to join her; she started forward with outstretched +hands. +</p> +<p> +“You are not displeased?” she asked, with a +blush. “I did so want to see you! Oh, to think +that we must part so soon!” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you’ve heard all about last night?” +asked Dick, hoarsely. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Mr. Ormsby called to see father for a moment. +They talked incessantly about the war, and I +overheard a little of their conversation—about last +night. How sad for that poor fellow who turned +coward, and was shamed before them all. Who was +it?” +</p> +<p> +The color fled from Dick’s face, and left it white +and drawn. +</p> +<p> +“You were wrongly informed. The man was +insulted, and there was no question of cowardice +about it. He couldn’t go, and he wouldn’t go.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +</p> +<p> +“But who was it? Not Jack Lorrimer or Harry +Bent, surely?” +</p> +<p> +“Then, you don’t know?” he exclaimed. +</p> +<p> +Something in his face made her heart stand still. +</p> +<p> +Dora could not yet understand that a hideous +blunder had been made, that her information came +from a tainted source. Ormsby had told her father, +in her hearing, of a vulgar scuffle, but her ears had +not caught the name of the offender. +</p> +<p> +“Can’t you guess who it was they insulted?” +cried Dick, bitterly. “It was I. I declined to go. +How could I go? You know all about my finances. +You know what it costs, the outfit, everything; and, +darling, I was only just engaged to the dearest little +girl in the world.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick!—you?” she cried, looking at him in cold +amazement. Then, he knew to his cost what it was +to love a soldier’s daughter, a girl born in a military +camp, and reared among men who regarded the +chance of active service as the good fortune of the +gods. It had never occurred to her for a moment +that Dick would hang back—certainly not on her +account—after her loving message. +</p> +<p> +He hastened to explain the circumstances, and was +obliged to confess to the girl whom he had only just +won a good deal more of the unfortunate state of +his family affairs than he had hoped would be necessary. +Of course, she was sympathetic, and furiously +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +angry with Vivian Ormsby; but—and there +came the rub—of course, he would go now, at all +costs. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it was for you I said no,” he cried, at last. +“But for you I’ll say yes. It’s not too late. I’ll +have to swindle somebody to get my outfit, and add +another to the long list of debts that are breaking my +father’s heart; but still—” +</p> +<p> +“But your grandfather, Dick! Surely, only a +word to him would be enough. He could not refuse +to behave handsomely.” +</p> +<p> +“He never behaved handsomely in his life. He’s +a mean old miser, who will probably fool us all in the +end, and leave his money to strangers. But, as it’s +settled, we need say no more. I suppose I shall see +you again before I go—if it matters to you—I +suppose you don’t care whether I am killed.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Dick!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’m disappointed. I did hope that you +thought the world well lost for love, and that, having +braved the inevitable anger of your father in +giving yourself to me, you’d show some feeling, and +not look forward eagerly to my leaving you. You +seem anxious to be rid of me.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick! Dick!” cried the girl. “I’m a soldier’s +daughter. I—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, pray spare me a repetition of your father’s +platitudes—I’ve heard them often enough. I don’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +know much about the war, but all I’ve heard has set +me against it. But never mind! And now, good-bye, +my Spartan sweetheart.” +</p> +<p> +He extended his hand, sullenly and coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Hush! And don’t be hateful” Dora remonstrated. +Then, she added, quickly: “It’s more than +ever necessary, Dick, now that you are going away, +to keep our secret. You mustn’t anger your grandfather.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, of course, we’ll be discreet. And, if I’m +killed—well, nobody will know of our engagement.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick, if you died on the field of battle, I should +be proud to proclaim to all the world that—” +</p> +<p> +She broke down and sobbed, in spite of some staring +passers-by, who saw that there was a lover’s +quarrel in progress. +</p> +<p> +“There’s time enough to talk of my going when I +am actually starting,” said Dick haughtily, drawing +himself up to his full height, and showing an obvious +intention to depart in a huff. “Good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick! Don’t leave me like that.” +</p> +<p> +He was gone; and he left behind him a very +wretched girl. As she watched him striding along +the walk, she wanted to call him back, and beg him to +adhere to his previous decision to stay at home that +she might have him always near. When he was out +of sight, tears still blurred Dora’s vision, and she +bowed her head. A strange faintness came over her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +She wanted him now. After all, he was her lover, +her future husband; his place was by her side. It +was folly to send him away into danger. +</p> +<p> +Dora was the daughter of Colonel Dundas, a retired +officer of considerable experience. At his club, +he was the authority upon everything military. He +fairly bristled with patriotism, and his views on the +gradual departure of the service “to the dogs, sir,” +were well advertised, both in print and by word of +mouth. +</p> +<p> +“The army is not what it was, sir, and, if we’re not +careful, we sha’n’t have any army at all, sir,” was the +burden of his platitudes; and his motherless daughter +had listened reverently ever since she was born, and +believed in him. He had taught her that every self-respecting, +manly man should be a soldier. +</p> +<p> +Dick Swinton’s equivocal position as the son of a +needy clergyman and the very uncertain heir to a great +fortune, ruled him out of the reckoning as an eligible +bachelor, compared with Jack Lorrimer, Ned Carnaby, +Harry Bent, and Vivian Ormsby, all rich men. +The miser so frequently advertised the fact that his +grandson would not inherit a penny of his money +that people had come to believe it, and they looked +upon Dick with corresponding coolness. He surely +must be a scamp to be spoken of as his own grandfather +spoke of him; and, of course, wherever he +went, women flung themselves at his head. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +usual attraction of a good-looking, soft-eyed Adonis +gained favor by the whispered suggestion that he was +dangerous. +</p> +<p> +But, in truth, Dick was only bored with women +until he fell in love with Dora, and took the girl’s +heart by storm. +</p> +<p> +Ormsby was laying siege to the citadel cautiously, +as was his way. Bluff Jack Lorrimer’s courage was +paralyzed by his love, and he drank deep to dispel +his melancholy. Harry Bent—who was already +under the spell of Netty Swinton, Dick’s sister’s—was +indifferent, and Carnaby had been rejected three +times, despite his millions. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Dundas saw nothing to alarm him in the +admiration of these young men for his daughter until +Dick Swinton came along, and Dora changed into +a dreamy, solemn young person. She lost all her +audacity, and her hot temper was put to rest for ever. +Dick worshiped with his eyes in such a manner +that only the blind could fail to read the signs. He +was not loquacious, and Dora was unaccountably shy. +They never spoke of love until one day Dick, with +simple audacity, and favored by unusual circumstances—under +the light of the moon—clasped the +girl to his heart, and kissed her. She cried, and he +imprisoned her in his arms for a full minute. For +ransom and release, she gave her lips unresistingly, +and he uncaged her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +</p> +<p> +“Now, you’re mine,” he murmured, with a great +sigh of relief, “and we’re engaged.” +</p> +<p> +She smiled and nodded, and came to his heart +again of her own accord. +</p> +<p> +And not a word was said to anybody. It was all +too precious and wonderful and beautiful. And yet +she expected him to go away. +</p> +<p> +At the club, to-day everybody stared to see +Ormsby and Dick Swinton meet as though nothing +had happened overnight, and the news was soon +buzzing around that Swinton was going, after all. +Jack Lorrimer explained that Dick had at last procured +the consent of his grandfather, without which +it would have been impossible for him to go. Everybody +wondered why they had not thought of that +before, and laughed at the overnight business. +</p> +<p> +On his return to the rectory, Dick met his mother +in the porch. +</p> +<p> +“Mother!” he cried, in a voice that was husky +with emotion. “I’ve got to go. I’ve just given +my name in to the colonel, and the money must be +found somehow. Ormsby has dared to insinuate +that I’m a coward. I—” +</p> +<p> +“It’s all right, Dick. You can have your outfit; +I’ve got enough. I suppose five hundred dollars will +cover it?” +</p> +<p> +“It’ll have to, if that’s all I can get, mother.” +</p> +<p> +“That is all I can spare.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +</p> +<p> +“Out of grandfather’s two thousand?” +</p> +<p> +“Most of it has already gone. A thousand +to your father for the builder man, a hundred to +that wretch who was here yesterday, and the rest to +pay some of my own debts. My luck has deserted +me lately. I shall have to beg of your grandfather +again to get the five hundred you want.” +</p> +<p> +Dick groaned. +</p> +<p> +“I know, my boy, that it is very humiliating to +have to beg for money which really belongs to one—for +it does belong to us, to you and me, I mean—as +much as to him, doesn’t it? It’s maddening to think +that the law allows a man to ruin his relations because +senility has weakened his intellect.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s an old brute,” growled Dick, as he strode +away. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='V_DEBTS' id='V_DEBTS'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>DEBTS</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Vivian Ormsby smarted under the blow given him +by Dick at the dinner, and burned to avenge the +affront. He tingled with impatience to get another +look at the dubious check which promised such unexceptional +possibilities of retaliation if, as he suspected +and hoped, it was a forgery. Dick Swinton, +publicly denounced as a felon, could not possibly hold +up his head again; and as a rival in love he would +be remorselessly wiped out. The young upstart +should learn the penalty of striking an Ormsby. +</p> +<p> +The captain was a familiar figure at the bank, +which belonged almost entirely to his father and +himself, and he had his private room there, where +he appeared at intervals. Now, Ormsby sat at his +desk in the manager’s room. He rang the bell and +ordered the check to be brought to him once more. +Then, he asked for Herresford’s pass-book, and any +checks in the old man’s handwriting that were available. +He displayed renewed eagerness in comparing +the handwriting in the body of the check with +others of a recent date. The result of his scrutiny +was evidently interesting, as with his magnifying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +glass he once more examined every stroke made by +Mrs. Swinton’s spluttering pen. +</p> +<p> +The color of the ink used by the forger was not +the same as that in the signature. It had darkened +perceptibly and swiftly. An undoubted forgery! +</p> +<p> +It was beyond imagination that Mrs. Swinton, the +wife of the rector, could stoop to a fraud. Surely, +only a man would write heavily and thickly like that. +It was a clumsy alteration. +</p> +<p> +Dick Swinton had tampered with his grandfather’s +figures. Well, what then? Would the old man +thank his banker for making an accusation of +criminality against his grandson? Herresford +might be a mean man, but the honor of his name +was doubtless dear to him. +</p> +<p> +What would come of a public trial? Obviously, +Dick Swinton would be disinherited and disgraced. +The banker knew that it was his duty to proceed +at once, if he detected a fraud. But it was not the +way of Mr. Vivian Ormsby to act in haste—and +it was near the hour for luncheon, to which he had +been invited by Colonel Dundas. To-morrow, he +could, if advisable, openly discover flaws in the check, +and it would then be better if action were taken by +his manager, and not by himself. +</p> +<p> +Dora had been very sweet and kind to him—before +Dick came along. Vivian had gone so far as to +consult his father about a proposal of marriage to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +the rich colonel’s daughter. They were cautious +people, the Ormsbys, and made calculations in their +love-affairs as in their bank-books. The old banker +approved, and Vivian had hoped that Dora would accept +him before he went away. He knew that Dick +Swinton stood in his path; but, if he could drag his +rival down, it was surely fair and honorable to do +so before Dora could commit herself to any sentimental +relationship with a criminal. +</p> +<p> +Ormsby took the chauffeur’s seat in his waiting +automobile, and drove as fast as the traffic would +permit, for he feared lest he might be late. His +pace in the upper part of Fifth avenue was far beyond +anything the law permitted. As he reached +Eighty-eighth street, in which was Colonel Dundas’s +house, he hardly slackened speed as he swung around +the corner. And there, just before him, a group of +children playing stretched across the street. Instantly, +Ormsby applied the emergency brake. The +huge machine jarred abruptly to a standstill—so +abruptly that both Ormsby and his chauffeur in the +seat beside him were hurled out. The chauffeur +scrambled to his feet after a moment, for he had +escaped serious injury, but the banker lay white and +motionless on the pavement before Colonel Dundas’s +door. +</p> +<p> +When the physician was asked to give his opinion +some time later, he expressed a belief that the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +patient would live, but he certainly would not +go to the war. In the meantime, he could not be +moved. He must remain where he was—in Dora’s +tender care. +</p> +<p> +And Dick was going to the war! +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p> +The bright morning sunlight was streaming in at +the window of the rector’s study, sunlight which pitilessly +showed up patches of obliterated pattern in +the carpet and sorry signs of wear in the leather +chairs. A glorious morning; one of those rare days +which go to make the magic of spring; a day when +all the golden notes in the landscape become articulate +as they vibrate to the caress of the soft, warm +air. +</p> +<p> +The rector was only dimly conscious of its rare +beauty; for his face was troubled as he paced his +study, with head bent and hands behind his back. +Between his fingers was a letter which had sent the +blood of shame tingling to the roots of his hair, a +letter that would also hurt his wife—and this meant +a great deal to John Swinton. He was an emotional, +demonstrative man, who loved his wife with +all the force of his nature, and he would have gone +through fire and water for her dear sake, asking no +higher reward than a smile of gratitude. +</p> +<p> +The trouble was once more money—the bitterness +of poverty, fresh-edged and keen. He must +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +again, as always, appeal to his wife for help, and she +would have to beg again from her father. The +knowledge maddened him, for he had endured all +that a man may endure at the hands of Herresford. +</p> +<p> +The letter was short and emphatic: +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Sir</span>, I am requested by my client, Mr. Isaac +Russ, to inform you that if your son attempts to +leave the state before his obligations to my client +($750.00) are paid in full, he will be arrested. +</p> +<p style='text-align: right; font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4em; margin-right:24%'> +Yours truly, +</p> +<p style='text-align: right; font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4em; margin-right:6%'> +<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>William Wise.</span> +</p> +<p> +This was not the only trouble that the post had +brought. On the table lay a communication from +his bishop, a kindly, earnest letter from man to man, +warning him that he must immediately settle with a +certain stockbroker, who had lodged a complaint +against him, or run the risk of a public prosecution, +which would mean ruin. +</p> +<p> +In his various troubles, he had almost forgotten +the stockbroker to whom he gave orders to purchase +shares weeks ago, orders faithfully carried out. The +shares were now his, but a turn of the market had +made them quite worthless. Nevertheless, they +must be paid for. +</p> +<p> +He sighed heavily as he pocketed the bishop’s letter. +His affairs were in a more hopeless tangle than +he had imagined. Seven hundred and fifty for Dick, +and a thousand for the broker—seventeen hundred +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +and fifty dollars more to be raised at once; and the +two thousand just received from Herresford all gone. +</p> +<p> +Netty entered the room at the moment. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, here you are, father!” she cried, going +over to the hearthrug and dropping down before the +fire. “Why didn’t you come in to breakfast? +Didn’t you hear the gong? Dick went off at eight, +and I’ve had to feed all alone. The bacon is cold +by now, I expect; but go and have some. I’ll wait +here for you. I’ve got something to tell you.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want any breakfast, my child. I want +to have a talk with you. It’s a long time since we +had a chat, Netty. You’re getting almost as much +a social personage as your mother. Very soon, +there’ll be no one to keep the house warm, except the +old man.” +</p> +<p> +“You mustn’t call yourself old. You’re not even +respectably middle-aged. But what do you want to +talk to me about?” +</p> +<p> +“Money, my dear, money.” +</p> +<p> +“Money! Oh, dear! no—nothing so horrid. +This is a red-letter day for me; and, when you talk +about money, it turns everything gray.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, I know it’s not a pleasant subject; but, +you see, we must talk about it, sometimes. You’ve +been attending to the house-keeping lately, and I +want you to try and cut down the expenses. I’ve +had bad news this morning, news which I shall have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +to worry your mother about. By the way, what is +she doing now?” +</p> +<p> +“I hope she’s asleep. You mustn’t worry her, +you really mustn’t. She’s had a dreadful night, and +her head’s awful—and you mustn’t worry me. +The house-keeping is all right. It worried me, I +hate it so. Jane’s doing it, and she’s more than +careful—she’s mean. And, now, my news. Can’t +you guess it? No, you’ll never guess. Look!” the +girl held out her hand. +</p> +<p> +“And what am I to look at?” +</p> +<p> +“Can’t you see?—the ring! It’s been in his +family hundreds of years; but it’s nothing compared +to the other jewels; they are magnificent, worth a +king’s ransom. Why don’t you say something—something +nice and pretty and appropriate? You +know you can make awfully nice speeches when you +like, father—and I’m waiting for congratulations.” +</p> +<p> +“Congratulations on having received a present? +And who gave it to my Persian?” asked the rector, +absently. +</p> +<p> +“Who gave it to me? It’s my engagement ring. +Harry and I settled everything last night.” +</p> +<p> +“Harry?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going to marry Harry Bent. You surely +must have expected it. That’s why you are not to +talk about anything unpleasant or ugly to-day. If +you do, it’ll make me wretched, and I don’t want to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +be wretched. I’m going to have a lovely time for +always and always.” +</p> +<p> +“God grant it,” murmured the rector, with fervor; +“but don’t forget that life has its responsibilities and +its dull patches; don’t expect too much, my little +girl. The rosy dawn doesn’t always maintain its +promise. But we mustn’t begin the Sunday sermon +to-day, eh, Persian? And now, run away, for I must +be quiet to think over what you have told me. It’s +a surprise, dear child, but, if it means your happiness, +it’s a glad surprise. By-the-bye, you’re quite sure +you’re in love, little girl?” +</p> +<p> +“Silly old daddy, of course I am. He’s an awfully +good boy, and, when his uncle dies, he’ll be immensely +rich. It’s <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: added missing word, ‘a’">a</ins> splendid match, and you ought to +be very pleased about it. Ah, here’s mother!” she +cried, scrambling to her feet as Mrs. Swinton, dressed +for driving in a perfect costume of blue, entered the +study. “Now, you can both talk about it instead of +your horrid money,” and, throwing a kiss lightly to +her father, she tripped out of the room. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t look well, Mary,” exclaimed the +rector anxiously, as his wife sank down into a chair +by the fire. “Another headache?” He rested his +hand lovingly on her shoulder. “You are overdoing +it, dearest. You must slow down and live the +normal, dull life of a clergyman’s wife.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t, Jack, don’t! I’m frightfully worried. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +What was it you and Netty were talking about?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, what indeed! The child tells me she is +engaged to Harry Bent, and that you know all about +it.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I’ve seen that he wanted her for months +past; and she likes him, after a fashion. She’ll never +marry for love—never love anybody better than +herself, I fear; and, since he’s quite willing to give +more than he receives, I see nothing against their +engagement, except—except our dreadful financial +position.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Swinton spoke wearily. “We will discuss +Netty later,” she continued, “for I have something +of the utmost importance to talk over with you. I +must have a thousand dollars by Friday, and, if you +haven’t sent off that check to the builder of the Mission +Hall, you must let it stand over. No, no, don’t +shake your head like that. I only want the money +for a day or so, until I can see father, and get +another check from him. But, in the meantime, I +must have the money. It means dreadful trouble, if +I can’t have it.” +</p> +<p> +“Mary, Mary, what are you saying! I can’t let +you have the money. I sent it away two days ago. +I was afraid to hold it. Your plight can’t be worse +than mine, Mary,” he groaned. “God help me, I +didn’t mean to tell you, but perhaps it’s best, after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +all, that you should know everything—for it will +make the parting with Dick less hard.” +</p> +<p> +“With Dick? What has your trouble got to do +with Dick? Tell me quickly—tell me,” and her +voice dropped to a sobbing whisper. She was terribly +overwrought, and ready to expect anything. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve had a letter threatening his arrest.” +</p> +<p> +“Arrest!” she cried, starting up. Her voice was +a chord of fear. +</p> +<p> +“A money-lender intends to arrest him, if he attempts +to leave the state—that is, unless I’m prepared +to pay a debt of seven hundred and fifty dollars. +I,” added the rector, in a broken voice, “a +man without a penny in the world—a spendthrift, a +muddler, a borrower, a man dependent upon the +bounty of others.” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, John, hush!” cried his wife, coming +closer to him. “You are not to blame. Your life +is one long sacrifice to others. It is I who am wrong—oh! +so wrong! But it shall all be different soon. +I will stand by you and help you. No one shall be +able to say that you work alone in the future. I’ll +live your life, dear. Only let us get out of this awful +tangle, and all will be right. I’ll go to father +again, and tell him just how things stand; and, if +he won’t give me the money, he shall lend it to +me. It will be ours some day. It is ours—it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +ought to be ours. He can’t refuse—he shall not!” +</p> +<p> +She turned to pace the room feverishly for a few +moments, then, going over to her husband again, she +linked her arm affectionately in his. “It will be all +right. Our luck must surely change, John. I feel it +in my bones—not that there is any sign of it to-day. +How can they arrest Dick if he goes to the war?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! It’s some legal technicality. I don’t understand +it. I’ve heard of it before. Some judgment +has been given against him, and the money-lender +has power to make him pay with the first cash +he gets, or something of that kind. They’ve found +out that he’s been paying other people, I suppose.” +</p> +<p> +“Arrest him! What insolence! As if we +hadn’t enough trouble of our own without Dick’s affairs +crippling us at such a time. He absolutely +must go—especially after the things that cad +Ormsby insinuated.” +</p> +<p> +“But how about your own trouble, darling? +Why must you have a thousand dollars?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it’s an awful matter. You see, I have +rather a big bill with a dressmaker, and I wanted +some more new frocks for the Ocklebournes’ parties. +She has refused to give me any more credit without +security, so I left some jewelry with her—old-fashioned +stuff that I never wear.” +</p> +<p> +“But, my darling, that was practically raising +money on heirlooms. Your father distinctly warned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +you that the jewels were only lent. They are his, +not yours.” +</p> +<p> +“John, how can you side with father in that way? +They are mine, of course they are. I’m not pawning +them. They are just security, that’s all.” +</p> +<p> +“It is the same thing, dear one. You certainly +ought to get them back.” +</p> +<p> +“It isn’t a question of getting them back, John. +The woman threatens to sell them, unless I can let +her have a thousand dollars.” +</p> +<p> +“Such a sum is out of the question. You must +persuade the woman to wait.” +</p> +<p> +“That is why I was going up to town to-day. +But my debt far exceeds that sum.” +</p> +<p> +“By how much?” +</p> +<p> +The rector rarely demanded any details of his +wife’s money-affairs, or troubled how she spent her +private income. But the time for ceremony was +past. There was a haggard perplexity in his look, +and an expression of fear in his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Nearly two thousand, John.” +</p> +<p> +“For dresses—only dresses?” +</p> +<p> +With a sigh, the rector dropped into his chair. +After a moment’s despondency, he commenced to +make calculations on his blotting-pad, while Mary +stood looking out of the window, crying a little and +shaping a new resolve. It was useless to go to her +dressmaker with empty hands, and the everlasting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +cry for money could only be silenced by the one +person who held it all—her father. +</p> +<p> +Once more, rage against him surged up in her +heart, and she relieved her pent-up feelings in the +usual way. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it is shameful, shameful! Father is to +blame—father! He’s driving us to ruin. There’s +nothing too bad one can say about him. He deserves +to be robbed of his miserly hoard.” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, hush, dearest,” murmured the rector; +“your father’s money is his own, not ours. If he +were to find out that you had pledged your jewels, +there’s no knowing what he might not do.” +</p> +<p> +“Do! What could he do?” she replied, with a +mirthless laugh. “A man can’t prosecute his own +child.” +</p> +<p> +“Some men can, and do. Your father is just the +sort to outrage all family sentiment, and defy public +opinion.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t think that!” she cried, turning +around on him very suddenly, with a terrified look +in her eyes. +</p> +<p> +They were interrupted by a tap at the door. +</p> +<p> +“A gentleman to see you, sir; at least, sir, to see +Mr. Dick.” The manservant’s manner was halting +and embarrassed. +</p> +<p> +“What does he want with Mr. Dick?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, he says—” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +</p> +<p> +“Well, what does he say?” +</p> +<p> +The man looked at his master and mistress hesitatingly, +as though he would rather not speak. +“He says, sir—” +</p> +<p> +“Well?” +</p> +<p> +“That he has come to arrest him—but he would +like to see you first.” +</p> +<p> +“There must be some mistake. Send him in.” +</p> +<p> +A thick-set, burly, bearded man entered, hat in +hand, bowed curtly to the rector, and endeavored to +bow more ceremoniously to Mrs. Swinton, who stood +glaring at him in fear. +</p> +<p> +“Why have you come?” asked the rector. +</p> +<p> +“Well, there’s a warrant. It has been reported +he was going to skip.” +</p> +<p> +“Why have you come so soon? I only received +Wise’s letter this morning.” +</p> +<p> +“It was sent the day before yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +The rector picked up the letter, and found that it +was dated two days ago. +</p> +<p> +“There was evidently a delay in transmission. +What are we to do?” asked the clergyman, turning +to his wife despairingly. +</p> +<p> +She stood white and irresolute. It was a most +humiliating moment. She longed to call her manservant +to turn the fellow out of doors, but she +dared not. +</p> +<p> +“My instructions were to give reasonable time, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +and not to proceed with the arrest if there was any +possibility of the money being forthcoming, or a part +of it, not less than two hundred and fifty—cash.” +</p> +<p> +“Can you wait till this evening?” pleaded the +rector, hopelessly, “while I see what can be done. +You’ve taken me at a disadvantage. My son is not +here now. He won’t be back till after midday.” +</p> +<p> +“If there is any likelihood of your being able to +do anything by evening, of course—” +</p> +<p> +“He’ll wait. He must wait,” cried Mrs. +Swinton, taking up her muff. “I’ll have to see +father about it.” +</p> +<p> +“You must wait till this evening, my man.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, then. Until six o’clock?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well, six o’clock,” the man agreed, and +withdrew. +</p> +<p> +“I can’t bear to think of your going to your father +again, Mary,” sighed the rector, bitterly. “Dick +has been a shocking muddler in his affairs—as bad +as his father, without his father’s excuse. God +knows, I’ve been too busy with parish affairs to attend +properly to my own, whereas he—” +</p> +<p> +“He is young, John,” pleaded the indulgent +mother, “and ought to be in receipt of a handsome +allowance from his grandfather. He has only been +spending what really should be his.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +</p> +<p> +“Sophistry, my darling, sophistry!” +</p> +<p> +“At any rate, I’m going up to my father to get +money from him, by hook or by crook. We must +have it, or we are irretrievably ruined.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VI_A_KINSHIP_SOMETHING_LESS_THAN_KIND' id='VI_A_KINSHIP_SOMETHING_LESS_THAN_KIND'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>A KINSHIP SOMETHING LESS THAN KIND</h3> +</div> + +<p> +“Pull the blinds higher and raise my pillows, do +you hear, woman? I want to see what that lazy +scamp of a husband of yours is about—loafing for +a certainty, if he thinks no one can see him.” +</p> +<p> +Herresford addressed his housekeeper, the wife +of Ripon, the head-gardener. Mrs. Ripon bit her +lip as she tugged at the blind cords savagely, and +gave her master a defiant look, which he was quick +to see. It apparently amused him, for he smiled +grimly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, yes, I know what you want to say,” he +snarled: “that I grind you all down, and treat you +as slaves. That, my good woman, is where you +make a mistake. Yet, you are slaves—slaves, do +you hear? And I intend to see that you don’t rob +me, for to waste the time that I pay for is to rob +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, if we don’t suit you, we can go.” +</p> +<p> +“My good woman, you’d have gone long ago, +if it hadn’t suited my convenience to retain you. +Ripon is a good gardener; you are a good housekeeper. +You both know the value of money. We +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +happen to suit each other. Your husband has more +sense than you. He does the work of two men, and +he’s paid for it. If the positions were reversed, he +would be quite as hard a master as I; that’s why I +like him. He gets quite as much out of those under +his control as I get out of him—only he doesn’t pay +’em double.” +</p> +<p> +The old man looked like a wizened monkey as he +screwed up his eyes and chuckled. He was in a good +temper this morning—good for him—and he +looked well pleased as his eye traveled slowly over +the wonderful expanse of garden which lay spread +out like a fairy panorama below his window. +</p> +<p> +“Give me those field-glasses,” he commanded +sharply, “and then you can get about your business. +Those maids downstairs will be wasting their time +while you’re up here.” +</p> +<p> +“What will you take for luncheon to-day, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“Woman, I left enough chicken yesterday to feed +a family. The chicken curried, and don’t forget the +chutney.” Then, after a mumbling interval, “and, +if anybody calls, I won’t see ’em—except Notley, +who comes at eleven. And, when he comes, send +him up at once—no kitchen gossip! I don’t pay +lawyers to come here and amuse kitchen wenches. +Why don’t you speak, eh? W-what?” +</p> +<p> +“Because I’ve nothing to say, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s right, that’s right. Now that you’ve left +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +off ‘speaking your mind,’ as you used to call it, +you’re becoming quite docile and useful. Perhaps, +I’ll give Ripon another fifty dollars a year. I’m +not a hard man, you know, when people understand +that I stand no nonsense. But I always have my +own way. No one can get over me. You and I understand +each other, Mrs. Ripon, eh? Yet, I doubt +if you’d have remained so long, if Ripon hadn’t +married you. He’s made a sensible woman of you. +Tell him I’m going to give him an extra fifty dollars +a year, but—but he must do with a hand less in +the gardens.” +</p> +<p> +“What, another?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. It’ll pay, won’t it, to get fifty dollars a +year more, and save me two hundred on the outdoor +staff, eh?” +</p> +<p> +The woman made no answer, but crossed the room +softly, and closed the door. When she was on the +other side of it, she shook her fist at him. +</p> +<p> +“You old wretch! If I had my way, I’d smother +you. You spoil your own life, and you’re spoiling +my man. He won’t be fit to live with soon.” +</p> +<p> +The sunlight streamed into the bedroom, and Herresford, +drawing the curtains of his ebony bedstead, +lay blinking in their shadow, looking out over his +garden, and noting every beauty with the keen pleasure +of an ardent lover of horticulture—his only +hobby. As advancing age laid its finger more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +heavily upon him, he had become increasingly irritable +and impossible. Every human instinct seemed +to have shriveled up and died—all save the love of +money and his passion for flowers. His withered old +lips almost smiled as he moved the field-glasses slowly, +bringing into range the magnificent stretch of soft +turf, with its patchwork of vivid color. +</p> +<p> +The face of the old man on the bed changed as he +clutched the field-glasses and brought them in nervous +haste to his eyes, and a muttered oath escaped him. +A woman had come through one of the archways in +the hedge that surrounded the herb garden. She +walked slowly, every now and then breaking off a +flower. As she tugged at a trail of late roses, sending +their petals in a crimson stream upon the turf, +Herresford dragged himself higher upon the pillows, +his lips working in anger, and his fingers clawing irritably +at the coverlet. +</p> +<p> +“Leave them alone, leave them alone!” he cried. +“How dare she touch my flowers! I’ll have her +shut out of the place, daughter or no daughter. +What does she want here? Begging again, I suppose. +The only bond between us—money. And +she sha’n’t have any. I’ll be firm about it.” +</p> +<p> +He was still muttering when Mrs. Swinton came +into the room, bringing with her the sheaf of blossoms +she had gathered as she came along. +</p> +<p> +“Who gave you permission to pick my flowers?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +the old man snarled, taking no notice of her greeting. +“I allow no one to rob my garden. You are +not to take those flowers home with you—do you +understand? They belong to me.” +</p> +<p> +The daughter did not reply. She walked across +the room very slowly, and rang the bell, waiting until +a maid appeared. +</p> +<p> +“Take these flowers to Mrs. Ripon, and tell her +to have them arranged and brought to Mr. Herresford’s +room. And now,” she added, as the girl +closed the door behind her, “we must have a little +talk, my dear father. I want some money—in +brief, I must have some. Dick is going, and his kit +must be got ready at once. I must have a thousand +dollars.” +</p> +<p> +“Must, must, must! I don’t know the meaning +of the word. You come here dunning me for money +as though I were made of it. Do you know what +you and your husband have cost me? I tell you I +have no money for you, and I won’t be intruded upon +in this way. Your visits are an annoyance, madam, +and they’d better cease.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I know, I know. And I should not have +come here to-day unless our need had been great. +My dear father, you simply must come to my aid. +We haven’t a hundred dollars, and Dick’s honor is +pledged. He must go to the war, and he must +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +have the money to go with. If I could go to +anybody else and borrow it, I would; but there is no +one. If you will let me have a check for the +amount, I will promise that you hear nothing more +of me—as long as you like. Come, father, shall +I write out a check? You played a jest with me +the other day, and only gave me two dollars.” +</p> +<p> +Herresford lay with his eyes closed and his lips +tightly pressed together. He hated these encounters +with his daughter, for she generally succeeded in +getting something out of him; but he was determined +she should have nothing this morning. He took +refuge in silence, his only effectual weapon so far as +Mrs. Swinton was concerned. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” she queried, after waiting for some +minutes, and turning from the window toward the +bed. “Well?” she repeated. “If it’s going to be +a waiting game, we can both play it. I sha’n’t leave +this room until you sign Dick’s check, and you know +quite well that I go through with a thing when my +mind is made up. It’s perfectly disgusting to have +to insist like this, but you see, father, it’s the only +way.” +</p> +<p> +She had spoken very quickly, yet very deliberately. +She walked over to a table which stood in one of the +windows, carefully selected a volume, and, drawing +a chair to the side of her father’s bed, sat down. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +</p> +<p> +Herresford had watched her from under his +screwed-up eyelids, and, as she commenced to read, +he sighed irritably. +</p> +<p> +“If you’ll come back this evening,” he whined, +after a long pause, “I’ll see what I can do. I’m +expecting Notley, my lawyer, this morning, and I +don’t want to be worried. I’ve a lot of figures to +go through. Now, run away, Mary, and I’ll think +it over.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear father, why waste your time and mine? +I told you I should not go from this room until I +had the money, and I mean it—quite mean it,” she +added, very quietly. +</p> +<p> +“It’s disgraceful that you should treat me in this +way. I’ll give orders that you are not to be admitted +again, unless by my express instructions. +What was the amount you mentioned? Five hundred +dollars? Do you realize what five hundred +dollars really is?” +</p> +<p> +“Five hundred is next to useless. It is disgracefully +little for an outfit and general expenses of your +grandson.” +</p> +<p> +“The boy is a scamp; an idle, horse-racing young +vagabond—a thief, too. Have you forgotten that +horse he stole? I haven’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Rubbish, father. The horse belonged to Dick. +You gave it to him, and it was his to sell. But +we’re wasting time. Shall I write the check? Ah! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +here’s the book,” and Mrs. Swinton drew it toward +her as she seated herself at the desk. +</p> +<p> +She knew his ways so well that in his increasing +petulance she saw the coming surrender. +</p> +<p> +“I am going to draw a check for a thousand, +father,” she said with assumed indifference, and took +up a pen as though the matter were settled. +</p> +<p> +“A thousand!—no, five hundred—no, it’s too +much. Five hundred dollars for a couple of suits of +khaki? Preposterous! Fifty would be too much.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, the very lowest is fifty, father,” she remarked, +with a sudden abandonment of irritation, +and a new light in her fine eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! that’s more like it.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, I’ll make it fifty.” +</p> +<p> +“Fifty!—no, I never said fifty. I said five—too +much,” and his fingers began to claw upon the +coverlet, while his lips and tongue worked as with a +palsy. “Fifty dollars! Do you want to ruin me? +Make it five, and I’ll sign it at once. That’s more +than I gave you last time.” +</p> +<p> +She had commenced the check. The date was +filled in, and the name of her son as the payee. +</p> +<p> +“Five, madam—not a penny more. Five!” +</p> +<p> +The inspiration vibrated in her brain. Why not +repeat the successful forgery? He would miss five +thousand as little as five. +</p> +<p> +She wrote “five,” in letters, and lower down filled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +in the numeral, putting it very near the dollar-sign. +</p> +<p> +“Father, you are driving me to desperation. It’s +your fault if—” +</p> +<p> +“Give me the pen—give me the pen,” he snarled. +“If you keep me waiting too long, I shall change +my mind.” +</p> +<p> +She brought the blotting-pad and pen, and he +scrawled his signature, scarcely looking at the check. +She drew it away from him swiftly—for she had +known him to tear up a check in a last access of +covetous greed. +</p> +<p> +Five thousand dollars! +</p> +<p> +The same process of alteration as before was +adopted. This time there was no flaw or suspicious +spluttering. +</p> +<p> +The reckless woman, emboldened by her first success, +plunged wildly on the second opportunity. The +devil’s work was better done; but, unfortunately, she +made the alteration, as before, with the rectory ink, +which was of excellent quality, and in a few hours +darkened to an entirely different tint. The color of +the writing was uniform at first; but to-morrow there +would be a difference. +</p> +<p> +She was running a great risk; but she saw before +her peace and prosperity, her husband’s debts paid, +her own dressmaker’s bills for the past two years +wiped out, and Dick saved from arrest. +</p> +<p> +This would still leave a small balance in hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +</p> +<p> +And they would economize in the future. +</p> +<p> +Vain resolves! The spendthrift is always the +thriftiest person in intention. The rector had understated +when he declared their deficit. Only the most +persistent creditors were appeased. But their good +fortune—for they considered it such—had become +known to every creditor as if by magic. Bills +came pouring in. If the aggressive builder of the +new Mission Hall could get his money, why not the +baker, the butcher, the tailor? The study table was +positively white with the shower of “accounts rendered”—polite +demands and abusive threats. +</p> +<p> +The rector had innocently and gratefully accepted +the story of the gift of two thousand dollars, without +question or surprise. His wonderful, beautiful wife +always dragged him out of difficulties. He had +ceased to do more than bless and thank her. He was +glad of the respite, and had already begun to build +castles in the air, and formulate a wonderful scheme +for alleviating distress by advancing urgently needed +money, to be refunded to him out of the proceeds of +bazaars and concerts and public subscriptions +later on. +</p> +<p> +The poor, too, seemed to have discovered that the +rector was paying away money, and the most miserable, +tattered, whining specimens of humanity rang +his door-bell. They had piteous tales to tell of children +dying for want of proper nourishment, of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +wives lying unburied for lack of funds to pay the +undertaker. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p> +Dick returned, ignorant of his danger of arrest, +and almost at the moment when his mother had accomplished +her second forgery. +</p> +<p> +“Well, mother what luck with grandfather?” he +cried anxiously, as he strode into the study. “I hear +you’ve been up to the Hall. You are a brick to +beard the old lion as you do.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’ve been lucky this time. I’ve screwed +out some more for all of us—quite a large sum this +time. I put forward unanswerable arguments—the +expense of your outfit—our responsibilities—our +debts, and all sorts of things, and then got your +grandfather to include everything in one check. It’s +for five thousand.” +</p> +<p> +She dropped her eyes nervously, and heard him +catch his breath. +</p> +<p> +“Five thousand!” +</p> +<p> +“Not all for you, Dick,” she hastened to add, +“though your debts must be paid. There was a +man here this morning to arrest you. At least, that +was what he threatened; but they don’t do such +things, do they?” +</p> +<p> +“Arrest me?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. It was an awful blow to your father.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +</p> +<p> +“Arrest!” he groaned. “I feared it. But +you’ve got five thousand. It’ll save us all!” +</p> +<p> +“The check isn’t cashed yet. Here it is.” +</p> +<p> +He seized the little slip eagerly, his eyes glistening. +It was his respite, and might mean the end of all +their troubles. +</p> +<p> +“I really must pay all my smaller debts, mother,” +said Dick, as he looked down at the forged check. +“You don’t know what a mean hound I’ve felt in +not being able to pay the smaller tradesmen, for they +are more decent than the bigger people. Five thousand! +Only think of it. What a brick the old man +is, after all.” +</p> +<p> +“How much do your debts amount to, Dick?” +asked Mrs. Swinton, in some trepidation. +</p> +<p> +“I hardly know; but the ones which must be paid +before I go will amount to a good many hundreds, +I fear.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Dick! I’m sorry, but need all be paid +now? You see, the money is badly wanted for +other things.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, mother, I might not come back. I might +be killed. And I’d like to feel that I’d left all +straight at home.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t, Dick, don’t!” she sobbed, rising and +flinging her arms about him. +</p> +<p> +She was much overwrought, and her tears fell +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +fast. Dick embraced his beautiful mother, and +kissed her with an affection that was almost lover-like. +</p> +<p> +“Mother, I really must pay up everyone before I +go. You see, some of them look upon it as their +last chance. They think that, if I once get out of +the country, I shall never come back.” +</p> +<p> +“But I was hoping to help your father. He’s +getting quite white with worry. Have you noticed +how he has aged lately?” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t wonder at it, mother. Look at the way +he works, writing half the night, tearing all over the +town during the day, doing the work of six men. +If you could manage another fifteen hundred for me, +mother, I could go away happy. Don’t cry. You +see, if I shouldn’t come back—you’ve got Netty.” +</p> +<p> +“What! Haven’t you heard?” she asked. +“Don’t you know that Netty is going to leave us? +Harry Bent proposed yesterday afternoon at the +Ocklebournes’. He’s going away, too—and you +may neither of you come back.” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, hush, mother! We’re all leaving somebody +behind, and we can’t all come back. Don’t +let us talk of it. I’ll run over and pay the check into +my account, and then draw a little for everybody—something +on account to keep them quiet.” +</p> +<p> +He looked at it—the check—lovingly, and +sighed with satisfaction. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +</p> +<p> +“Since grandfather has turned up trumps, +mother,” Dick suggested, “it would only be decent +of me to go up and thank him, wouldn’t it? I’ve +got to go up and say good-bye, anyway.” +</p> +<p> +“No, Dick don’t go,” cried the guilty woman, +nervously. +</p> +<p> +“But I must, mother. It won’t do to give him +any further excuses for fault-finding.” +</p> +<p> +“If you go, say nothing about the money.” +</p> +<p> +“But—” +</p> +<p> +“Just to please me, Dick. Thank him for the +money he has given you, and say nothing about the +amount. Don’t remind him. He might relent, and—and +stop the check or something of that sort.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, mother.” And Dick went off to the +bank with the check, feeling that the world was a +much-improved place. +</p> +<p> +On his return, he took a train to Asherton Hall, +in order that he might thank his grandfather. +There was no one about when he arrived, and he +strode indoors, unannounced. As he reached the +bedroom door, Mrs. Ripon was coming out, red in +the face and spluttering with rage, arguing with +Trimmer, the valet; and the old man’s voice could +be heard, raised to a high treble, querulously storming +over the usual domestic trifles. +</p> +<p> +Dick stepped into the strange room, and saluted +his relative. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +</p> +<p> +“Good-afternoon, grandfather. I’ve called to see +you to say good-bye,” he said, cheerily. +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to see you, sir,” snapped the old +man, raising himself on his hands, and positively +spitting the words out. His previous fit of anger +flowed into the present interview like a stream temporarily +dammed and released. +</p> +<p> +“I am going away to the war, grandfather, and +I may never return.” +</p> +<p> +“And a good job, too, sir—a good job, too.” +</p> +<p> +Dick’s teeth were hard set. The insult had to +be endured. +</p> +<p> +“Don’t come asking me for money, sir, because +you won’t get it.” +</p> +<p> +“No, grandfather, I have enough, thank you. +Your generosity has touched me, after your close-fis—your +talks about economy, I mean.” +</p> +<p> +“Generosity—eh?” snarled the spluttering old +man. “No sarcasm, if you please. You insolent +rascal!” He positively clawed the air, and his eyes +gleamed. “I’ll teach you your duty to your elders, +sir. I’ve signed two checks for you. Do you think +I’m going to be bled to death like a pig with its wizen +slit?” +</p> +<p> +“I want no more money,” cried the young man, +hotly. “You know that perfectly well, grandfather.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s good news, then.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +</p> +<p> +The old man subsided and collapsed into his pillows. +</p> +<p> +“I merely came to thank you, and to shake you +by the hand. I am answering a patriotic call; and, +if I fall in the war, you’ll have no heir but my +mother.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t flatter yourself that you’re my heir, sir. +I’ll have you know you’re not, sir. No delusions. +You need expect nothing from me.” +</p> +<p> +Dick gave a despairing sigh, and turned away. +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, good-bye, grandfather. If I get +shot—” +</p> +<p> +“Go and get shot, sir—and be damned to you!” +cried the old man. +</p> +<p> +“You are in a bad temper, grandfather. I’ve said +my adieu. You have always misunderstood and +abused me. Good-bye. I’ll offend you no longer.” +</p> +<p> +The young man stalked out haughtily, and old +Herresford collapsed again; but he tried to rally. +His strength failed him. He leaned over the side of +his bed, gasping from his outburst, and called faintly: +</p> +<p> +“Dick! Dick! I’m an old man. I never mean +what I say. I’ll pay—” +</p> +<p> +The last words were choked with a sigh, and he +lay back, breathing heavily. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VII_GOODBYE' id='VII_GOODBYE'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>GOOD-BYE</h3> +</div> + +<p> +“Go and get shot!” +</p> +<p> +The old man’s words rang in Dick’s ears as he +rode away. +</p> +<p> +Well, perhaps he would be. His eyes traveled over +the undulating glens of Asherton Park, where beeches +and chestnuts in picturesque clumps intersected the +rolling grass land, and wondered if this were the last +time he would look upon the place. He wondered +what Dora would be doing this time next year—if +he were shot. +</p> +<p> +Well, it would be easier to face a rain of bullets +than to step into the train that was to carry him away +from Dora. To-day, they were to meet and part. +To-morrow, he started. +</p> +<p> +At once, on returning to town, Dick hastened to the +Mall in Central Park, where he was to meet Dora +again, by appointment. There, the elms in the avenue +were still a blaze of gold, that shimmered in the +afternoon sunlight. +</p> +<p> +Dora set out from home equipped for walking in a +white Empire coat with a deep ermine collar, a granny +muff to match, and a little white hat with a tall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +aigrette. Her skirt was short, and her neat little feet +were encased in high-heeled boots, that clicked on the +gravel path as she hurried toward the Mall. She +looked her best, and she knew it. She wanted Dick +to take away an impression vivid and favorable, +something to look back upon and remember with +pleasure. She was no puling, sentimental girl to +hang about his neck, and crush roses into his hand. +The tears were in her heart; the roses in her cheeks. +Warm kisses from her ruddy lips would linger longer +than the perfume of the sweetest flowers. She had +wept a great deal—but in secret—and careful bathing +and a dusting of powder had removed all traces. +As she proceeded down the avenue, her faultless, +white teeth many times bit upon the under lip, which +trembled provokingly; and the shiver of the golden +elms in the Park beside her certainly was not responsible +for the extreme haziness of her vision. It was +her firm intention not to think of Dick going into the +death zone. This might be their last interview; but +she would not allow such an idea to intrude. It was +a parting for a few months at most. +</p> +<p> +She turned into the Park and, after walking for a +minute, caught sight of Dick, moodily awaiting her. +She gave a great gulp, and pressed her muff to her +mouth to avoid crying out. Oh, the horrid, shooting +pain in her breast, and the stinging in her eyes! +The tree trunks began to waver, and the ground was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +as cotton-wool beneath her feet. Tears?—absurd! +A soldier’s daughter send her lover to the front with +hysterical sobs? Never! +</p> +<p> +She controlled herself, and approached him quite +close before he saw her, so absorbed was he in +meditation. +</p> +<p> +“Dora!” he cried. +</p> +<p> +He opened his arms, and she dropped into them, +sobbing shockingly (like any civilian’s daughter), +and shedding floods of tears. He held her to his +heart without a word, till the wild throbbing of her +bosom died down into a little flutter. Then, she +smiled up at him, like the sun shining through the +rain. +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t mean to cry, Dick.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor I,” he replied huskily, looking down upon +her with tears almost falling from his long-lashed, +tender eyes. “I knew it would be hard to go. Love +is like a fever, and makes one faint and weak. Oh! +why did I let a little silly pride stand in the way of my +happiness? Why did I promise to fight in a cause I +disapprove? War always was, and always will be +with me, an abomination. I don’t know why I ever +joined the wretched militia. Yes, I do—I joined +for fun—without thinking—because others did. +They had a good time, and wanted me to share it.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick, that is not the mind of a soldier.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it’s my mind, anyway. You see, you’ve +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +been born and bred in the atmosphere of this sort of +thing. I was reared in a rectory, where we were +taught to love our enemies, and turn to the smiter the +other cheek. I used to regard that as awful rot, too. +But I see now that training tells, in spite of yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“But you’ll go now, and fight for your country and—for +me. You’ll come back covered with glory, I +know you will.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps—and maybe I sha’n’t come back at +all.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, I shall mourn my hero as a noble patriot, +who never showed the white feather.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it isn’t courage that I lack. Give me a good +fight, and I’m in it like anybody else. It’s the idea of +carnage, and gaping wounds, and men shrieking in +agony, gouging one another’s eyes out, and biting like +wild-cats, with cold steel in their vitals—all over a +quarrel in which they have no part.” +</p> +<p> +“Every man is a part of his nation, and the nation’s +quarrel is his own.” +</p> +<p> +“We won’t argue it, darling. It’s settled now, +and I’m going through with it. I start to-morrow. +You’ll write to me often?” +</p> +<p> +“Every day.” +</p> +<p> +“If you don’t often get replies you’ll know it’s the +fault of the army postal service—and perhaps my +hatred of writing letters as well.” +</p> +<p> +“You certainly are a very bad letter-writer, Dick,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +she protested, with a laugh. “I’ve only had two +notes from you, but those are very precious—precious +as though written on leaves of gold.” +</p> +<p> +“You are sure, Dora, that you’re not sorry you +engaged yourself to a useless person like me?” +</p> +<p> +“You shall not abuse yourself in that way!” +</p> +<p> +“You are quite sure?” he repeated. +</p> +<p> +“Quite sure, my hero.” +</p> +<p> +“And you never cared for that cad, Ormsby? not +one little bit?” +</p> +<p> +“No. Not one little bit.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a confounded nuisance, his being laid up in +your house. But he won’t go to the front. That’s +one comfort. He was so stuck-up about it! To +hear him talk, you would have thought he was going +to run the whole war. Why don’t they send him +home, instead of letting you have all the bother of an +invalid in your house?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s no bother. We have two trained nurses +there, who take night and day duty. I only relieve +them occasionally.” +</p> +<p> +Dick grunted contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“You’ll send him away as soon as he gets well, +won’t you?” +</p> +<p> +“As soon as he is able to move, of course; but that +rests with father. You know how he loves to have +someone to talk with about the war.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve got a bone to pick with Ormsby when I come +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +back. Do you know what the cad said about me at +the dinner?” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“It was after I struck him in the face and went +away—after the gathering broke up. He was naturally +very sore and sick about the way he’d behaved, +and the others told him it was caddish; but he said he +knew a thing or two about the money affairs of my +family, and mine in particular, and he wouldn’t be +surprised to see me in jail one of these fine days.” +</p> +<p> +“How infamous!” +</p> +<p> +“The scoundrel went so far as to hint darkly that +I almost owed my liberty to him—as much as to say +that, if he chose to speak, I’d have to do a term in the +penitentiary.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, nonsense! It was just an angry man’s idle +threat. He is the very essence of conceit and stubborn +pride, and was probably smarting under the indignity +of the blow you gave him.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish I’d made it half-a-dozen instead of one.” +Then, with sudden tenderness: “Promise me, darling, +that you’ll never listen to tales and abuse about +me, no matter how plausible they may seem. I know +I’ve been going the pace; but I’m going to pull up, +for I’ve come into a fortune now more precious than +my grandfather’s money-bags. I’ve won the dearest, +sweetest, truest, bravest little girl, and I mean to +be worthy of her.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +</p> +<p> +“I’ll listen to no one and believe nothing, unless it +comes from your dear lips.” The girl’s voice was +very earnest as she made the promise. +</p> +<p> +Brave words! How easy to have faith, and swear +before high heaven when strong arms are clasped +about a yielding form, and eyes look into eyes seeking +depths deeper than wells fashioned by the hands of +men. +</p> +<p> +They strolled side by side, and exchanged vows, +till twilight fell and the cold shadows darkened all +the earth about them, and struck a chill to the girl’s +heart. She clung to her lover, broken-hearted. +Gone was the Spartan self-possession, the patriotic +self-denial that was ready to offer up the love of a lifetime +on the red altar of Mars. As he pressed his lips +to her cheek and his hard breathing sounded in her +ears, she seemed to hear the roaring of cannon, the +clatter of hoofs, the rumble of artillery over bloodstained +turf, the cries of men calling to one another +in blind anger, shouting, cursing, moaning, and Dick +wailing aloud in agony. She recovered herself with +a start as a clock in the distance struck the hour, and +reminded both of the flight of time. +</p> +<p> +At last, it was good-bye. The very end, the dreadful +wrench—the absolute adieu! +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='VIII_A_TIRESOME_PATIENT' id='VIII_A_TIRESOME_PATIENT'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>A TIRESOME PATIENT</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Vivian Ormsby’s illness dragged on from days into +weeks. There was little or nothing to be done but +nursing, and Dora took her share willingly. He was +a very courteous, considerate person when the girl he +loved was at his bedside, but very trying to the professional +nurses. He insisted upon attending to business +matters as soon as he recovered from his long +period of unconsciousness, but the physicians strictly +forbade visitors of any kind. +</p> +<p> +The patient was not allowed to read newspapers or +hear news of the war. All excitement was barred, +for it was one of the worst cases of concussion of the +brain the specialists had ever known. Ormsby could +not help watching Dora’s face in the mornings, when +the papers arrived; he saw her hand tremble and her +eyes grow dim as she read. When the first lists of +killed and wounded came to hand, she read with +ashen face and quivering lip, but, when the name she +sought, and dreaded to find, was not there, the color +came back, and she glowed again with the joy and +pride of youth. +</p> +<p> +He allowed himself idly to imagine that this was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +his home, and Dora his wife. It would always be +like this—Dora at hand with her gentle, soothing +touch upon his brow, her light, quick step, that he +knew so well, and could distinguish in a moment from +that of any other woman about the house, and her +rich, penetrating voice, that never faltered, and +carried even in a whisper, no matter how far away +from his bedside. She laughed sometimes in talking +to the nurses, finding it hard to restrain the natural +vivacity of her temperament, and it hurt him when +they hushed her down, and playfully ordered her +from the room. +</p> +<p> +He loved to lie and watch her, and his great dark +eyes at times exerted a kind of fascination. She +avoided them, but could feel his gaze when she turned +away, and was glad to escape. He loved her—there +was no hiding the fact; and, when he was convalescent, +and the time came for him to go away, he +would declare it—if not before. The nurses discussed +it between themselves, and speculated upon the +chances. They knew that there was a rival, but +he was far away, at the war—and he might never +come back. The man on the spot had all the advantages +on his side, the other all the love; it was +interesting to the feminine mind to watch developments. +</p> +<p> +When there was talk of the patient getting up, he +was increasingly irritable if Dora were away. One +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +day, he seized her hand, and carried it to his lips—dry, +fevered lips that scorched her. +</p> +<p> +“You have been very good to me,” he murmured, +in excuse for his presumption. And what could she +say in rebuke that would not be churlish and ungracious? +</p> +<p> +At last, he was allowed to see Mr. Barnby, the +manager at the bank, who came with a sheaf of letters +and arrears of documents needing signature. +The patient declared that he was not yet capable of +attending to details, but he wanted to see the check +signed by Herresford and presented by Dick Swinton. +</p> +<p> +“Which check?” asked Mr. Barnby; “the one +for two thousand or the one for five thousand? I +have them both.” +</p> +<p> +“There are two, then?” +</p> +<p> +Ormsby’s eyes glistened. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, with the same strange discoloration of the +ink. This is the one; and I have brought the glass +with me.” +</p> +<p> +Ormsby examined Mrs. Swinton’s second forgery +under the magnifier, and was puzzled. +</p> +<p> +“The addition has been cleverly made. The writing +seems to be the same. Whose handwriting is it—not +Herresford’s?” +</p> +<p> +“It seems to be Mrs. Swinton’s. Compare it with +these old checks in his pass-book, and you will see if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +I am not right. She has drawn many checks for him +and frequently altered them, but always with an +initial.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, the check was drawn by Mrs. Swinton in +her father’s presence, no doubt; and young Swinton +may have added the extra words and figures. An +amazingly clever forgery! You say he had all the +money?” +</p> +<p> +“No, not all—but nearly all of it has been withdrawn.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, he has robbed us of seven thousand +dollars?” +</p> +<p> +“If the checks are forgeries, yes. I hope not, I +sincerely hope not. If you doubted the first +check—” +</p> +<p> +“The scoundrel! Go at once to Herresford. +The old man must refund and make good the loss, or +we are in a predicament.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll go immediately. I suppose it is the young +man’s work? It is impossible to conceive that Mrs. +Swinton—his own daughter—” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be a fool. Go to Herresford.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='IX_HERRESFORD_IS_TOLD' id='IX_HERRESFORD_IS_TOLD'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>HERRESFORD IS TOLD</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Herresford was in a more than usually unpleasant +frame of mind when the manager of Ormsby’s bank +came to bring the news that someone had robbed him +of seven thousand dollars. The old man was no +longer in the usual bedroom, lying on his ebony bed. +A sudden impulse had seized him to be moved to +another portion of the house, where he could see a +fresh section of the grounds. He needed a change, +and he wanted to spy out new defects. A sudden +removal to a room in the front of the house revealed +the fact that everything had been neglected except +the portion of the garden which had formerly come +within range of his field-glasses. +</p> +<p> +Rage accordingly! Stormy interviews, with violent +threats of instant dismissal of the whole outdoor +staff, petulant abuse of people who had nothing whatever +to do with the neglect of the park, and a display +of energy and mental activity surprising in one of +such advanced age. He was in the middle of an +altercation with his steward—who resigned his position +about once a month—when the bank-manager +was announced. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +</p> +<p> +At the mention of the word bank, the old man lost +all interest in things out of doors. +</p> +<p> +“Send him up—send him up—don’t keep him +waiting,” he cried. “Time is money. He may +have come to tell me that I must sell something. +Nothing is more important in life than money. See +that there are pens and paper, in case I have to sign +anything.” +</p> +<p> +The quiet, urbane bank-manager had never before +interviewed this terrible personage. He had heard +strange stories of an abusive old man in his dotage, +who contrived to make it very unpleasant for any +representative of the bank sent up to his bedroom to +get documents signed, and was therefore surprised to +see an alert, hawk-eyed old gentleman, with a skull-cap +and a dressing-jacket, sitting up in bed in a small +turret bedroom, smiling, and almost genial. +</p> +<p> +“Will you take a seat, Mr.——? I didn’t quite +catch your name.” +</p> +<p> +“Barnby, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Take a seat, Mr. Barnby. You’ve come to see +me about money?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, an unpleasant matter, I fear.” +</p> +<p> +“Depression in the market, eh? Things still falling? +Ah! It’s the war, the war—curse it! Tell +me more—tell me quickly!” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a family matter, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Family matter! What has my family to do with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +my money—ha! I guess why you’ve come. Yes—yes—something +to do with my grandson?” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“What is it now? Debts, overdrawn accounts—what—what?” +</p> +<p> +“To put the matter in a nutshell, sir, two checks +were presented some weeks ago, signed by you, one +for two thousand dollars, the other for five thousand +dollars—which—” +</p> +<p> +“What!—when? I haven’t signed a check for +any thousand dollars for months.” This was true, +as the miser’s creditors knew to their cost. It was +next to impossible to collect money from him. +</p> +<p> +“One check was made out to your daughter, Mary +Swinton, and presented at the bank, and cashed by +your grandson, Mr. Richard Swinton.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, for five dollars.” +</p> +<p> +“Five thousand dollars, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“But I tell you I never drew it.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m very sorry to hear it, sir. The first check +for two thousand dollars looks very much as though +it had been altered, having been originally for two +dollars; and, in the second check, made out to Mr. +Swinton, the same kind of alteration occurs—five +seems to have been changed into five thousand.” +</p> +<p> +“What!” screamed the old man, raising himself +on one hand and extending the other. “Let me +look! Let me look!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +</p> +<p> +His bony claw was outstretched, every finger quivering +with excitement. +</p> +<p> +“These are the checks, sir. That is your correct +signature, I believe?” +</p> +<p> +“I never signed them—I never signed them. +Take them away. They’re not mine.” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon me, sir, the signature is undoubtedly +yours. Do you remember signing any check for two +dollars or for five?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, of course. I gave her two—yes—and +I gave her five—for the boy.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, sir. Well, some fraudulent person has +altered the figures. You’ll see, if you look through +this magnifying glass, holding the glass some distance +from the eyes, that the ink of the major part of the +check is different. When Mr. Swinton presented +these checks, the ink was new, and the alterations +were not apparent. But, in the course of time, the +ink of the forgery has darkened.” +</p> +<p> +“The scoundrel!” cried the old man in guttural +rage. “I always said he’d come to a bad end—but +I never believed it—never believed it. Let me look +again. The rascal! The scoundrel! Do you mean +to say he has robbed your bank of seven thousand +dollars?” +</p> +<p> +“No, he has robbed you, sir,” replied the bank-manager, +with alacrity, for his instructions were to +drive home, at all costs, the fact that it was Herresford +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +who had been swindled, and not the bank. They +knew the man they were dealing with, and had no +fancy for fighting on technical points. Unfortunately +for the bank, Mr. Barnby was a little too +eager. +</p> +<p> +“My money? Why should I lose money?” +snapped the miser, turning around upon him. “I +didn’t alter the checks. You ought to keep your eyes +open. If swindlers choose to tamper with my paper, +what’s it to do with me? It’s your risk, your business, +your loss, not mine.” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, surely not. A member of your own +family—” +</p> +<p> +“A member of my own family be hanged, sir. +He’s no child of mine. He’s the son of that canting +sky-pilot, that parson of the slums.” +</p> +<p> +“But he is your grandson, sir. I take it that you +would not desire a scandal, a public exposure.” +</p> +<p> +“A scandal! What’s a scandal to me? Am I +to pay seven thousand dollars for the privilege of +being robbed, sir? No, sir. I entrusted you with +the care of my money. You ought to take proper +precautions, and safeguard me against swindlers and +forgers.” +</p> +<p> +“But he is your heir.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the sort. He is not my heir.” +</p> +<p> +“But some day—” +</p> +<p> +“Some day! What has some day got to do with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +you, eh, sir? Are you in my confidence, sir? Have +I ever told you that I intend to leave my money to +my grandson?” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, of course not. I beg your pardon if +I presumed—” +</p> +<p> +“You do presume, sir.” +</p> +<p> +Poor Mr. Barnby was in a perspiration. The +keen, little old man was besting and flurrying him; he +was no match for this irascible invalid. +</p> +<p> +“Then, sir, I take it, that you wish us to prosecute +your grandson—who is at the war.” +</p> +<p> +“Prosecute whom you like, sir, but don’t come +here pretending that you’re not responsible for the +acts of fraudulent swindlers.” +</p> +<p> +“It has been fought out over and over again, and +I believe never settled satisfactorily.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, it is settled this time—unless you wish +me to withdraw my account from your bank instantly—I’m +the best customer you’ve got. Prosecute, sir—prosecute. +Have him home from the war, and +fling him into jail.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, sir, we have no actual evidence that +the forgery was made by the young man, although +he—er—presented the checks, and pursued an unusual +course. He took the amount in notes. The +second amount he took partly in notes, and paid the +rest into his account, which has since gone down to a +few dollars. Of course, it may have been done by—er—someone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +else. It is a difficult matter to decide +who—er—that is who actually made the alterations. +We have not yet brought the matter to the +notice of Mrs. Swinton. She may be able to explain—” +</p> +<p> +“What! Do you mean to insinuate that my +daughter—my daughter—sir, would be capable of +a low, cunning forgery?” +</p> +<p> +“I insinuate nothing, sir. But mothers will sometimes +condone the faults of their sons, and—er—it +would be difficult, if she were to say—” +</p> +<p> +“Let me tell you that the two checks were signed +by me for two and for five dollars, and given into +the hands of my daughter. If she was fool enough +to let them pass into the clutches of her rascally son, +she must take the consequences, and remember, sir, +you’ll get no money out of me. I’ll have my seven +thousand, every penny.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Barnby subsided. The situation was clear +enough. Herresford repudiated the checks, and it +was for Mr. Ormsby to decide what action should be +taken, and against whom. Mr. Barnby’s personal +opinion of the forgery was that it might just as well +have been done by Mrs. Swinton as by her son. In +fact, after a close perusal of the second check, to +which he had brought some knowledge of handwriting, +he was more inclined to regard her as the culprit. +He knew Dick slightly, and certainly could not credit +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +him with the act of a fool. As a parting shot, he +asked: +</p> +<p> +“Just for the sake of argument, sir, I presume +that you would not have us prosecute if it were your +daughter; whereas, if it were your grandson—?” +</p> +<p> +“Women don’t forge, sir,” snarled the old man, +“they’re too afraid of paper money. I don’t want +to hear anything more about the matter. What I do +want is a full statement of my balance. And, if +there’s a dollar short, I’ll sue you, sir—yes, sue you!—for +neglect of your trust.” +</p> +<p> +“I quite understand, sir. I’ll put your views before +Mr. Ormsby. There is no need for hurry. +The young man is at the war.” +</p> +<p> +“Have him home, sir, have him home,” snapped +the old man, “and as for his mother—well, it serves +her right—serves her right. Never would take +my advice. Obstinate as a mule. But I’ll pay her +out yet, ha, ha! Forgery! Scandal, ha, ha! All +her fine friends will stand by her now, of course. +Unnatural father, eh? Unnatural, because he knew +what he was dealing with. I knew my own flesh and +blood. Like her mother—couldn’t hold a penny. +Yet, married a beggar—and ruined him, too—ha, +ha! Goes to church three times on Sundays, and +casts up her eyes to heaven, pleading for sinners, and +gambles all night at bridge. Now, she’ll have the +joy of seeing her son in the dock—her dear son who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +was always dealt hardly with by his grandfather, +because his grandfather knew the breed. No sense +of the value of money. No brains! I’ll have my +revenge now. Yes, yes. What are you staring at, +sir? Get out of the room. How dare you insult +my daughter?” +</p> +<p> +“I said nothing, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, what are you waiting for? Get back to +your bank, and look after my money.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='X_HEARTS_ACHE_AND_ACHE_YET_DO_NOT_BREAK' id='X_HEARTS_ACHE_AND_ACHE_YET_DO_NOT_BREAK'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>HEARTS ACHE AND ACHE YET DO NOT BREAK</h3> +</div> + +<p> +“That’s right, my girl, play away. It’s good to +hear the piano going again. And, between ourselves, +I’m beginning to feel depressed by the stillness +of the house. It’s difficult to believe that this is +home since we took on hospital work. Between ourselves, +I sha’n’t be sorry when Ormsby says good-bye. +As a strong man and a soldier, I like him; but, as a +sick man, I’ve had enough of him. Never had a +fancy for ambulance work or being near the hospital +base.” +</p> +<p> +“I, too, shall be glad when we have the house to +ourselves,” observed Dora. “Of course, I’m fearfully +sorry for Captain Ormsby, and all that; but I +do wish he’d go. He’s not very ill now. Couldn’t +you throw out a hint about his going, father?” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible! I—I am not a strategist; but you +are. I will leave him to you, and you must get to +work. But I don’t know what you’ve got to grumble +about with a man like Ormsby in the house to +amuse you and admire you all the time.” +</p> +<p> +The colonel turned on his heel, and was out of the +room before Dora could stop him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +</p> +<p> +She got up from the piano, and pushed the stool +aside, impatiently. Her lovely face was clouded, +and two little lines above the curving arch of her eyebrows +were deeply set in thought. Ormsby’s continued +presence filled her with uneasy dread. For +the past two weeks, he had watched her with an intentness +that was embarrassing. She knew that he +meant to propose to her, if he succeeded in finding her +alone; and she was undecided as to whether she +should give, or deny, him the opportunity of hearing +the worst. Perhaps, it would be better to let him +speak; he could not possibly remain after she had +refused him. +</p> +<p> +This decision made, she presently went into the +library, where she found her father and their guest. +The two men were talking earnestly, and, as she +approached, her father shook hands heartily with +Ormsby—for some unknown reason—and went +out of the room. It looked like a plot to leave her +at Vivian Ormsby’s mercy. She made an excuse to +follow her father. Now that the moment was come, +her courage failed her. She saw that the man was +very much in earnest, and she knew that it would be +difficult to turn him from his purpose. +</p> +<p> +“One moment,” said Ormsby, resting his hand on +her arm. “I have something to say to you. You +must give me a few minutes—you really must, I +insist.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +</p> +<p> +“Must! Captain Ormsby,” faltered Dora, with +the color flooding her cheeks. “I never allow anyone +to use that word to me—not even father.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, let me beg you to listen.” He spoke +softly, caressingly, but the mouth was hard, and his +fine, full eyes held her as under a spell. “What I +have to say will not, I feel sure, come as a surprise, for +you must have seen that I love you. I have your +father’s permission to ask you to be my wife.” +</p> +<p> +“Please, please, don’t say any more, Mr. Ormsby. +I knew that you liked me, but—oh, I am so sorry! +I can never be anything to you—never—never—never!” +</p> +<p> +“Dora”—he caught her sharply, roughly by the +arm—“you don’t know what you are saying. Perhaps, +I’ve startled you. Listen, Dora. I am asking +you to marry me. I have cared for you ever +since the first moment I saw you, and I always wanted +to make you my wife. You are everything in the +world to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Ormsby, please, don’t say any more. What +you ask is impossible, quite impossible—I do not +care for you; I can never care for you—in that +way.” +</p> +<p> +He uttered an exclamation of bitter annoyance. +</p> +<p> +“Then, it is as I thought. You have given your +love to young Dick Swinton. But you’ll never marry +him. I may not be able to win you, but I can spoil +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +his chances—yes, spoil them, and I will, by God! +Shall I tell you what sort of a man you have chosen +for your lover?—a thief, a common thief, a man +who will be wanted by the police, who will go into the +hands of the police at my will and pleasure.” +</p> +<p> +“That is a falsehood—a deliberate lie!” cried +Dora. “You would not dare to say such a thing if +Dick were in New York. It’s only cowards who take +advantage of the absent. I know of the quarrel you +had with Dick at the dinner—I heard all about it. +I’m glad he struck you. If he could know what you +have just said, he would thrash you—as a liar deserves +to be thrashed.” +</p> +<p> +“Gently, young lady, gently,” replied Ormsby, +quietly, yet his face livid with passion. “You are +foolish to take up this tone with me. I hold the +whip, and, thanks to you, I intend to let Dick Swinton +feel it.” Then, with swift change of voice, from +which all anger had vanished, he continued: “Forgive +me, forgive me! I should not speak to you like +this, but—really that fellow is not worthy of you. +His own grandfather disowns him.” +</p> +<p> +“But I don’t,” cried Dora, angrier than before. +</p> +<p> +“You will change presently.” +</p> +<p> +“Never!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, you will. When he comes home from +the war, I shall have him arrested for forgery. That +is, if he dares set foot in the United States again.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +</p> +<p> +“Forgery of what?” she asked, with a little, contemptuous +laugh. +</p> +<p> +“Of two checks signed by his grandfather, one for +two, the other for five thousand, dollars. He has +robbed him of seven thousand dollars, and we have +Herresford’s permission to prosecute. He signed +no such checks, and he desires us to take action. He +refuses to make good our loss. We cannot compound +a felony.” +</p> +<p> +“You are saying this in spite—to frighten me.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you may well be frightened. The best thing +he can do is to get shot.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t believe you,” she cried, with a little thrill +of terror in her voice. She knew that Ormsby was +a man of precise statement, and not given to exaggeration +or bragging. +</p> +<p> +“Will you believe it if I show you the warrant for +his arrest? It will be here this afternoon. Barnby, +our manager, will apply for it, unless the rector can +reimburse us. He’s always up to his eyes in debt. +I’m sorry for the vicar and Mrs. Swinton, yet you +cannot blame me for feeling glad that my rival has +shown himself unworthy of the sweetest girl that—” +</p> +<p> +“Stop! I will not listen—I won’t believe unless +I hear it from his own lips.” +</p> +<p> +“You shall see the police warrant.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not believe it, I tell you. His last words +to me were a warning against you. He told me to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +be true and believe no lies that you might utter. And +I will be true. Good-morning, Mr. Ormsby, and—good-bye. +I presume you will be returning home +this afternoon. You are quite well now—robust, +in fact—and you are showing your gratitude for +the kindness received at our hands in a very shabby +way. Good-day.” +</p> +<p> +With that, she left him chewing the cud of his +bitterness. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p> +John Swinton seemed to have recovered his elasticity +and strength, both of mind and body. His +sermons took on a more optimistic tone, his energy +in parish work was well-nigh doubled. The change +was remarked by everybody, and it found expression +in the phrase: “He’s a new man, quite like +his old self.” Never was man so cheery, so encouraging, +so enthusiastic. +</p> +<p> +No longer did he pass his tradesmen in the street +with eyes averted, or make a cowardly escape down +a by-lane to avoid them. He owed no money. +The sensation was so delightful, so novel, that it +was like renewed youth. The long period of stinginess +and penny-wise-pound-foolish economy at the +rectory had ceased. The rector himself whistled +and sang about the house, and he came into the +drawing-room in the evening on the rare occasions +when Netty and her mother were at home, rubbing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +his hands like a man who is very satisfied with the +world. He showered compliments upon his beautiful +wife and daughter. Never man owned a prettier +pair, he declared, and Harry Bent ought to think +himself a lucky dog. +</p> +<p> +As for Mary Swinton, her pallor, which troubled +him a little, seemed to have increased her beauty. +He often took her by the shoulders and, looking into +her soft eyes, declared that she was the most wonderful +wife, and the best mate any clergyman ever +had. Her gowns were more magnificent than ever, +regal in their sumptuousness and elegance, and her +hair maintained its pristine brilliance—aided a +little by art, but of that, as a man, he knew nothing. +Her manner, too, had altered—she was more anxious +to please than ever before—and it touched him +deeply. She tried hard to stay at home and practise +self-denial and reasonable economy; it seemed +that the ideal home-life was a thing accomplished. +</p> +<p> +The rector’s cup of happiness would have been +quite full but for the anxiety of the war. His son +had enjoyed wonderful luck. He had been mentioned +in dispatches within a week of his arrival at +the front. What more could a father desire? +</p> +<p> +Every morning, they opened their newspapers with +dread; but, as the weeks slipped by, they grew accustomed +to the strain. Netty even forgot to look +at the paper for days together. Her lover had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +invalided home, and her chief interest in the war news +was removed. +</p> +<p> +For some weeks, Mrs. Swinton sincerely tried to +live the life of a clergyman’s wife. She attended +church meetings, mothers’ meetings, gave away +prizes, talked with old women and bores, and went +to church four times on Sunday—and all this as a +salve to her conscience, with a desperate hope that it +would help to smooth away difficulties if they ever +arose. +</p> +<p> +That “if” was her mainstay. Her last forgery +was a very serious affair—she did not realize how +serious, or how large the sum, until the first excitement +had died down, and all the money had been paid +away. The possibility of raising any more funds +by the same methods was quite out of the question. +</p> +<p> +She was dimly conscious of a growing terror of her +father. He was by nature merciless, and had always +seemed to hate her. If he discovered her fraud, +would he spare her for the sake of the family name +and honor? +</p> +<p> +No. He would do something, but what? She +dared not contemplate. She dared not think of the +frailness of the barriers which stood between herself +and the possible consequences of her crime. Sometimes, +she awoke in the night with a damp sweat +upon her, and saw herself arraigned in the dock as a +criminal charged with robbing her father. In the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +daylight, she rated her possible punishment as something +lower. Perhaps, he would arrange to have his +money back by stopping her allowance, and so leave +her stranded until the debt was paid off—or he +would beggar her by stopping it <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: altogther in original text">altogether</ins>. Another +thought came often. Before anything was +found out, the old man might die. That would +mean her deliverance. Yet, again, if he left her +nothing, or Dick either, then it spelt ruin, which +would shadow all their lives. The thought was unbearable. +She tried to forget it in a ceaseless +activity. +</p> +<p> +The thunderbolt fell on a day that she had devoted +to her husband’s interests. +</p> +<p> +The bishop was having luncheon with the rector. +The Mission Hall was to be opened in the afternoon, +and the bishop had promised to be present. +The full amount of the building funds had been subscribed, +thus reimbursing the clergyman to the extent +of a thousand dollars, the amount promised by Herresford +and never paid. +</p> +<p> +The ceremony brought to St. Botolph’s Mission +Hall the oddly-assorted crowd which generally finds +its way to such functions. There were smart people, +just a scattering of the cultured, dowdy and dull +folk, who had “helped the good cause,” and expected +to get as much sober entertainment in return +as might be had for the asking. Then, there were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +the ever-present army of free sight-seers, and a +leaven of real workers. +</p> +<p> +On the platform with the bishop and other notables, +both men and women, sat Mrs. Swinton, and +she sighed with unspeakable weariness. It had been +one of those dull, monotonous, clerical days, replete +with platitudes, the tedium of custom, and all the +petty ceremonies and observances that she hated. +She returned home worn out physically, and mentally +benumbed. Netty, who had remained away, on +pretence of a bad cold, met her mother in the hall. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve come. Polly’s in the +drawing-room, and she says she’s come to see what +a high tea is like, and to be introduced to the dear +bishop. Muriel West and Major Joicy are with +her. They’re singing comic songs at the piano.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Swinton looked annoyed. So far, she had +avoided any clashing between her smart friends and +her clerical acquaintances. Mrs. Ocklebourne was +the last person in the world she wanted to see to-day. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, here’s our dear, saintly Mary, with her +hands full of prayer-books!” exclaimed Polly Ocklebourne, +as her hostess came into the room. “So glad +you’re home, dear. This little handful of sinners +wants to be put through its paces before coming into +the rarefied atmosphere of bishops and things. +Where is the dear man?” +</p> +<p> +“He is coming later, with John.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +</p> +<p> +“I hope you don’t mind our coming, but we’re +awfully curious to see you presiding at a high tea, +with the bishop’s lady and her satellites. What are +you going to feed the dears on, Mary? You’ll ask +us to stay, won’t you? And, if I laugh, you’ll find +excuses for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be absurd, Polly. I’d very much rather +you hadn’t come—you know that. But, since you’re +here, do try to be normal.” +</p> +<p> +“There you are!” cried racy Mrs. Ocklebourne, +turning to her companions with a tragic expression; +“I told you she wouldn’t stretch out a hand to save +sinners. But methinks I scent the cloth of the cleric, +and I am sure I detect the camphor wherein furs +have lain all summer. Come, Mary, bridge the gulf +between the sheep and the goats, and introduce us +to the bishop.” +</p> +<p> +“An unexpected pleasure,” exclaimed the rector, +who had just entered the room, coming forward to +greet Mrs. Ocklebourne. “You should have come +to the ceremony? We had a most eloquent address +from the bishop—let me make you known to each +other.” +</p> +<p> +“Delighted,” murmured Mrs. Ocklebourne, with +a smirk at her hostess, who was supremely uncomfortable, +“and I do so want to know your dear wife, +bishop. So does Major Joicy. He’s tremendously +interested in the Something Society, which looks after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +the poor black things out in Nigeria—that is the +name of the place, isn’t it?”—this with a sweet smile +at the major, who was blushing like a schoolboy, and +thoroughly unhappy. When detached from the +racecourse or the card-table, his command of language +was nil. He would rather have encountered +a wild beast than a bishop’s wife, and Mrs. Ocklebourne +knew this. +</p> +<p> +She was thoroughly enjoying herself, for she was +full of mischief, and the present situation promised +to yield a rich harvest. But another look at the +weary face of Mrs. Swinton made her change her +tactics. She laid herself out to amuse the bishop, +and also to charm his wife. +</p> +<p> +“The sinner has beguiled the saint,” whispered +Mrs. Ocklebourne, as the party made a move for +the dining-room, “but I’m hungry, and, if I were +really good, I believe I should want a high tea every +day.” +</p> +<p> +The meal was a merry one. Polly Ocklebourne +had the most infectious laugh in the world, and she +kept the conversation going in splendid fashion, +whipping up the laggards and getting the best out of +everybody. She even succeeded in making the major +tell a funny story, at which everybody laughed. +</p> +<p> +A little while before the time for the bishop to +leave, a servant whispered to the rector that a gentleman +was waiting in the study to see him. He did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +not trouble to inquire the visitor’s name. Since +money affairs had been straightened out, these +chance visitors had lost their terror, and anyone was +free to call upon the clergyman, with the certainty +of a hearing, at morning, noon, or night, on any day +in the week. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Barnby was the visitor. He came forward to +shake the rector’s hand awkwardly. +</p> +<p> +“What is it, Barnby?” cried the rector, with a +laugh. “No overdrawn account yet awhile, surely.” +</p> +<p> +“No, Mr. Swinton, nothing as trivial as that. I +have just left Mr. Herresford at Asherton Hall, and +he makes a very serious charge concerning two checks +drawn by him, one for two thousand, the other for +five thousand dollars. He declares that they are +forgeries.” +</p> +<p> +“Forgeries! What do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“To be more accurate, the checks have been altered. +The first was originally for two dollars, the +second for five dollars. These figures were altered +into two thousand and five thousand. You will see, +if you take them to the light, that the ink is different—” +</p> +<p> +“But what does all this signify?” asked the rector, +fingering the checks idly. “Herresford doesn’t +repudiate his own paper! The man must be mad.” +</p> +<p> +“He repudiates these checks, sir. They were presented +at the bank by your son, Mr. Richard Swinton, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +and it’s Mr. Herresford’s opinion that the alterations +were made by the young man. He holds the +bank responsible for the seven thousand dollars +drawn by your son—” +</p> +<p> +“But the checks are signed by Herresford!” +cried Swinton, hotly. “This is some sardonic jest, +in keeping with his donation of a thousand dollars to +the Mission Hall, given with one hand and taken +away with the other. It nearly landed me in bankruptcy.” +</p> +<p> +“But the checks themselves bear evidence of +alteration.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you, too, sir, mean to insinuate that my son +is a forger?” +</p> +<p> +A sudden rat-tat at the door silenced them, and a +servant entered with a telegram. +</p> +<p> +A telegram! Telegrams in war time had a special +significance. The bank-manager understood, +and was silent while John Swinton held out his hand +tremblingly and opened the yellow envelope with +feverish fingers. Under the light, he read words +that swam before his eyes, and with a sob he crumpled +the paper. All the color was gone from his +face. +</p> +<p> +“My son”—he explained. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing serious, I hope. Not—?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes—dead!” +</p> +<p> +There was a long pause, during which the rector +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +stood breathing heavily, with one hand upon his +heart. Mr. Barnby folded the forged checks mechanically, +and stammered out: +</p> +<p> +“Under—the—er—circumstances, I think +this interview had better be postponed. Pray accept +my condolences, sir. I am deeply, truly sorry.” +</p> +<p> +“Gone!—killed!—and he didn’t want to go.” +</p> +<p> +With the tears streaming down his cheeks, the +stricken man turned once more to the telegram, and +muttered the vital purport of its message: +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +“Died nobly rendering special service to his country. +Captured and shot as a spy having courageously +volunteered to carry dispatches through the +enemy’s lines.” +</p> + +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XI_A_HOUSE_OF_SORROW' id='XI_A_HOUSE_OF_SORROW'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>A HOUSE OF SORROW</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Mr. Barnby took his leave, feeling very wretched. +John Swinton remained in the study, staring at the +telegram like one stunned. He read and re-read it +until the words lost their meaning. +</p> +<p> +“Gone—gone—poor Dick gone!” he murmured, +“and just as we were beginning to hold up +our heads again, and feel that life was worth living. +My poor boy—my poor boy!” +</p> +<p> +A momentary spirit of rebellion took possession +of him, and he clenched his fists and cursed the war. +</p> +<p> +Light, rippling music broke on his ear. Netty +was at the piano in the drawing-room. He must +calm himself. His hand was shaking and his knees +trembling. He could only murmur, “Poor Dick! +Poor Dick!” and weep like a child. +</p> +<p> +The music continued in a brighter key, and jarred +upon him. He covered his ears, and paced up and +down the room as though racked with pain. +</p> +<p> +“How can I tell them—how can I tell them?” +he sobbed. “Our poor boy—our fine boy—our +little Dick, who had grown into such a fine, big chap. +He died gloriously—yes, there’s some consolation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +in that. But it doesn’t wipe out the horror of it, +my poor lad. Shot as a spy! Executed! A +crowd of ruffians leveling their guns at you—my +poor lad—” +</p> +<p> +He could not follow the picture further. He +buried his face in his hands and dropped into the +little tub chair by the fire. The music in the next +room broke into a canter, with little ripples of +gaiety. +</p> +<p> +“Stop!” he cried in his agony. +</p> +<p> +At the moment, the study door opened gently—the +soft rustle of silk—his wife. +</p> +<p> +In an instant, she was at his side. +</p> +<p> +“What is it—what has happened?” +</p> +<p> +He rose, and extended his hand to her like a blind +man. “Dick—” +</p> +<p> +“Is dead! Oh!” +</p> +<p> +A long, tremulous cry, and she fell into his arms. +“I knew it—I felt it coming. Oh, Dick—Dick, +why did they make you go?” +</p> +<p> +“He died gloriously, darling—for his country, +performing an act of gallantry—volunteering to +run a great risk. A hero’s death.” +</p> +<p> +They wept in each other’s arms for some moments, +and the gay music stopped of its own accord. +</p> +<p> +“Netty will be here in a moment, and she’ll have +to be told,” said Mrs. Swinton. “The bishop and +the others mustn’t get an inkling of what has happened. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +Their condolences would madden us. Send +them away, John—send them away.” +</p> +<p> +“They’ll be going presently, darling. If I send +them away, I must explain why. Pull yourself together. +We’ve faced trouble before, and must face +this. It is our first real loss in this world. We still +have Netty.” +</p> +<p> +“Netty! Netty!” cried his wife, with a petulance +that almost shocked him. “What is she compared +with Dick? And they’ve taken him—killed +him. Oh, Dick!” +</p> +<p> +Netty’s voice could be heard, laughing and talking +in a high key as she opened the drawing-room door. +“I’ll find her,” she was saying, and in another moment +she burst into the study. +</p> +<p> +“Mother—mother, they’re all asking for you. +The bishop is going now. Why, what is the matter?” +</p> +<p> +“Your mother and I are not very well, Netty, +dear. Tell them we shall be back in a moment.” +</p> +<p> +“More money worries, I suppose,” sighed Netty +with a shrug, as she went out of the room. +</p> +<p> +“You see how much Netty cares,” cried Mrs. +Swinton. +</p> +<p> +“You’re rather hard on the girl, dearest. Your +heart is bitter with your loss. Let us be charitable.” +</p> +<p> +“But Dick!—Dick! Our boy!” she sobbed. +Then, with a wonderful effort, she aroused herself, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +dried her eyes, and composed her features for the +ordeal of facing her guests again. With remarkable +self-control, she assumed her social manner as a +mummer dons his mask; and, after one clasp of her +husband’s hand and a sympathetic look, went back to +her guests with that leisurely, graceful step which +was so characteristic of the popular and self-possessed +Mary Swinton. +</p> +<p> +Netty, who was quick to read the signs, saw that +something was wrong, and that her mother was +eager to get rid of her guests. She expedited the +farewells with something of her mother’s tact, and +with an artificial regret that deceived no one. The +bishop went unbidden to the study of his old friend, +the rector, ostensibly to say good-bye, but in reality +to drop a few hints concerning the unpleasant complaints +that had reached him during the year from +John Swinton’s creditors. He knew Swinton’s +worth, his over-generous nature, his impulsive optimism +and his great-hearted Christianity; but a rector +whom his parishioners threatened to make bankrupt +was an anxiety in the diocese. While the +clergyman listened to the bishop’s friendly words, +he could not conceal the misery in his heart. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter?” cried the bishop at last, +when John Swinton burst into tears, and turned away +with a sob. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +</p> +<p> +The rector waved his hand to the telegram lying +on the table, and the bishop took it up. +</p> +<p> +“Dreadful! A terrible blow! Words of sympathy +are of little avail at the present moment, old +friend,” he said, placing his hand on the other’s +shoulder. “Everyone’s heart will open to you, +John, in this time of trouble. The Lord giveth and +He taketh away. Your son has died the death of +an honorable, upright man. We are all proud of +him, as you will be when you are more resigned. +Good-bye, John. This is a time when a man is best +left to the care of his wife.” +</p> +<p> +The parting handgrip between the bishop and the +stricken father was long and eloquent of feeling, and +the churchman’s voice was husky as he uttered the +final farewell. Soon, everyone was gone. The +door closed behind the last gushing social personage, +and the rector was seated by the fire, with his face +buried in his hands. Netty came quietly to his side. +</p> +<p> +“Father, something serious is the matter with +mother. You’ve had news from the war. What is +it—nothing has happened to Harry?” +</p> +<p> +“No, child—your brother.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> +<p> +The unguarded exclamation expressed a world of +relief. Then, Netty’s shallow brain commenced to +work, and she murmured: +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +</p> +<p> +“Is Dick wounded or—?” +</p> +<p> +“The worst, Netty dear. He is gone.” +</p> +<p> +He spoke with his face still hidden. “Go to your +mother,” he pleaded, for he wished to be alone. +</p> +<p> +A furious anger against the war—against all +war and bloodshed, was rising up within him. All +a father’s protective instinct of his offspring burst +forth. Revenge entered into his soul. He beat the +air with clenched fists, and with distended eyes saw +the muzzles of rifles presented at his helpless boy. +</p> +<p> +Of a sudden, he remembered Mr. Barnby’s accusation +against his son’s honor. The horrible, +abominable suggestion of forgery. +</p> +<p> +Everybody seemed to have been against the boy. +How could Dick have forged his grandfather’s signature? +Herresford, who was always down on +Dick, had made an infamous charge—the result +of a delusion in his dotage. It mattered little now, +or nothing. Yet, everything mattered that touched +the honor of his boy. It was disgraceful, disgusting, +cruel. +</p> +<p> +Netty had gone to her own room, weeping +limpid, emotional tears, with no salt of sorrow in +them. The mother was in the drawing-room, +sobbing as though her heart would break. A chill +swept over the house. In the kitchen, there was +silence, broken by an occasional cry of grief. +</p> +<p> +The rector pulled himself together, and went to his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +wife. He found her in a state of collapse on the +hearth-rug, and lifted her up gently. He had no intention +of telling her of Barnby’s mistake, or of uttering +words of comfort. In the thousand and one +recollections that surged through his brain touching +his boy, words seemed superfluous. +</p> +<p> +He put his arm tenderly around the queenly wife +of whom he was so proud, for she was more precious +to him than any child—and led her back to his +study. He drew forward a little footstool by the +fire, which was a favorite seat with her, and placed +her there at his feet, while he sat in the tub chair; +and she rested between his knees, in the old way of +years ago, when they were lovers, and gossiped over +the fire after all the house was quiet and little golden-haired +Dick was fast asleep upstairs. +</p> +<p> +And thus they sat now, till the fire burned out, +and the keen, frosty air penetrated the room, chilling +them to the bone. +</p> +<p> +“Grieving will not bring him back, darling,” murmured +the broken man. “Let us to bed. Perhaps, +a little sleep will bring us comfort and strength to +face the morrow, and attend to our affairs as usual.” +</p> +<p> +She arose wearily, and asked in quite a casual manner, +as if trying to avoid the matter of their sorrow: +</p> +<p> +“What did Barnby want?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, he came with some crazy story about—some +checks Dick cashed for you, which your father +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +repudiates. The old man must be going mad!” +</p> +<p> +“Checks?” she asked huskily, and her face was +drawn with terror. +</p> +<p> +“Checks for quite large amounts,” said the rector. +“Two or five thousand dollars, or something like +that. The old man’s memory must be failing him. +He’s getting dangerous. I always thought his animosity +against Dick was more assumed than real, +but to launch such a preposterous accusation is beyond +enduring.” +</p> +<p> +“Does he accuse Dick?” she asked, in a strained +voice; “Dick, who is dead?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, darling. But don’t think of such nonsense. +Barnby himself saw the absurdity of discussing it. +Dick has had no money except what you got for +him.” +</p> +<p> +She made no reply, but with bowed head walked +unsteadily out of the room. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XII_A_DIFFICULT_POSITION' id='XII_A_DIFFICULT_POSITION'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>A DIFFICULT POSITION</h3> +</div> + +<p> +There was no rest for John Swinton that night. +After the first rush of sorrow, he began to rebel +against the injustice of his Master, who seemed to +heap trouble upon him with both hands, and reward +his untiring efforts in the cause of good by a crushing +load of worry. His was a temperament generally +summed up by the world in the simple phrase, +good-natured. He was soft-hearted, and weaker of +spirit than he knew. Those in trouble always found +in him a sympathetic listener; and the distress and +poverty among his people often pained him more +acutely than it did the actual sufferers born in, and +inured to, hardship and privation. +</p> +<p> +His energy was tremendous where a noble end +was to be achieved; but he loved the good things of +life, and hated its trivial worries, the keeping of accounts, +the payment of cash on the spot, and the attendance +of committee meetings, where men met +together to talk of doing what he could accomplish +single-handed while they were deliberating. He +was worldly enough to know that a great deal could +be done by money, and his hand was always in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +pocket to help those less fortunate than himself. +The influence of a wife that had no sympathy with +plain, common people who wore the wrong clothes, +and said the wrong things, and desired to be guided +in their ridiculous, trivial affairs, had more to do +with his failure than he knew. +</p> +<p> +He was always drawn between two desires, the +one to be a great and beloved divine, the other to +be a country gentleman, living in refinement, and in +surroundings sympathetic to his emotional artistic +temperament. The early promise of his youth, unfulfilled +in his middle age, had disappointed him. +But there was always one consolation. His son +would endure no privation and limitation such as +hampered a man without private means, like himself. +As the heir to Herresford’s great wealth, Dick’s future +prospects had seemed to be assured. But the +lad himself, careless of his own interests, like his +father, ran wild at an awkward period when his +grandfather, breaking in mind and body, developed +those eccentricities which became the marked feature +of his latter days. The animosity of the old man +was aroused, and once an enemy was always an +enemy with him. He cared nothing for his daughter. +Indeed, he cherished a positive hatred of her +at times; and never lost an opportunity of humiliating +the rector and making him feel that he gained +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +nothing by marrying the daughter against her father’s +wishes. +</p> +<p> +It was bad enough to have troubles coming upon +him in battalions without this final blow—the +charge of forgery against Dick. +</p> +<p> +The wife, unable to rest, arose and paced the house +in the small hours. She dreaded to ask for further +particulars of the charge brought by the bank against +poor Dick, for fear she should be tempted to confess +to her husband that she had robbed her own father. +The horrible truth stood out now in its full light, +naked and terrifying. With any other father, there +might have been a chance of mercy. But there was +none with this one. The malevolent old miser’s nature +had ever been at war with her own. From her +birth, he had taunted her with being like her mother—a +shallow, worthless, social creature, incapable of +straight dealing and plain economy. From her childhood, +she had deceived him, even in the matter of +pennies. She had lied to him when she left home to +elope with John Swinton; and it was only by threatening +him with lawyers and a public scandal that +she had been able to make him disgorge a part of +the income derived from her dead mother’s fortune, +which had been absorbed by the miser through a +legal technicality at his wife’s death. +</p> +<p> +He would not scruple to prosecute his own child +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +for theft. He would certainly make her smart for +her folly. The bad end, which he always prophesied +for anyone who did not conform to his arrogant +decrees, loomed imminent and forbidding. He was +little better than a monster, with no more paternal +instinct than the wild-cat. He would only chuckle +and rub his hands in glee at the thought of her humiliation +in the eyes of her friends. He might accuse +the rector of complicity in her fraud. He +would spread ruin around, rather than lose his dollars. +</p> +<p> +In the morning, half-an-hour after the bank +opened, Mr. Barnby appeared again at the rectory, +impelled by a strict sense of duty once more to enter +the house of sorrow, on what was surely the most +unpleasant errand ever undertaken by a man at his +employer’s bidding. The news of Dick’s death had +already spread over the town; and those who knew +of the affair at the club dinner and the taunt of +cowardice did not fail to comment on the glorious +end of the brave young officer who had died a hero. +A splendid coward they called him, ironically. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Barnby asked to see her ladyship, and not +the rector. The recollection of John Swinton’s haggard +face had kept him awake half the night. The +more he thought of the forgery, the more he was inclined +to believe that Mrs. Swinton could explain the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +mystery of the checks. He knew, by referring to +several banking-accounts, that she had recently been +paying away large sums of money to tradesmen, and +the amounts paid by Dick Swinton were not particularly +large. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Swinton stood outside the drawing-room +door with her hand on her heart for a full minute, +before she dared enter to meet the visitor. Then, +assuming her most self-possessed manner, with a +slight touch of hauteur, she advanced to greet the +newcomer. +</p> +<p> +He arose awkwardly, and she gave him a distant +bow. +</p> +<p> +“You wish to see me, I understand, and you +come from some bank, I believe?” +</p> +<p> +She spoke in a manner indicating that her visitor +was a person of whose existence she had just become +aware. +</p> +<p> +“Your husband has not informed you of the purport +of my visit last night, Mrs. Swinton?” asked +Mr. Barnby. +</p> +<p> +“He spoke of some silly blunder about checks. +Why have you come to me this morning—at a time +of sorrow? Surely your wretched business can +wait?” +</p> +<p> +“It cannot wait,” replied Mr. Barnby, with growing +coolness. He saw a terrified look in her eyes, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +and his own sparkled with triumph. It was easier +to settle matters of business with a woman in this +mood than with a tearful mother. +</p> +<p> +“I shall be as brief as possible, Mrs. Swinton. I +only come to ask you a plain question. Did you +recently receive from your father, Mr. Herresford, +a check for two dollars?” +</p> +<p> +“I—I did. Yes, I believe so. I can’t remember.” +</p> +<p> +“Did you receive one from him for two thousand +dollars?” +</p> +<p> +“Why do you ask?” +</p> +<p> +“Because the check for two dollars appears to +have been altered into two thousand.” +</p> +<p> +“Let me see it,” she demanded with the greatest +<i>sang froid</i>. +</p> +<p> +He produced the check, and she took it; but her +hand trembled. +</p> +<p> +“This is certainly a check for two thousand dollars, +but I know nothing of it.” +</p> +<p> +“It was presented at the bank by your son, and +cashed.” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you I know nothing of it. My son is +dead, and cannot be questioned now.” +</p> +<p> +“I have another check here for five thousand dollars, +made out to your son and cashed by him also. +You will see that the ink has changed color in one +part, and that the five has been altered to five thousand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +The body of the check is in your handwriting, +I believe.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that is my handwriting.” +</p> +<p> +“The additions were very cleverly made,” ventured +Mr. Barnby. “The forger must have imitated +your handwriting wonderfully.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, it is wonderfully like,” she replied, huskily. +</p> +<p> +“This check was also presented by your son, and +honored by us. Both checks are repudiated by your +father, who will only allow us to debit his account +with seven dollars. Therefore, we are six thousand, +nine hundred and ninety-three dollars to the bad. +Mr. Ormsby, our managing director, says we must +recover the money somehow. Your son is dead, +and cannot explain, as you have already reminded +me. Unfortunately, a warrant has been applied for, +for his arrest for forgery.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean to insinuate that my son is a criminal?” +she cried, with mock rage, drawing herself +up, and acting her part very badly. +</p> +<p> +“If you say those checks were not altered by you, +there can be little doubt of the identity of the guilty +person.” +</p> +<p> +“My son is dead. How dare you bring such a +charge against him. I refuse to listen to you, or to +discuss money matters at such a time. My father +must pay the money.” +</p> +<p> +“He refuses, absolutely. And he says he will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +prosecute the offender, even if the forger be his own +child.” +</p> +<p> +“He has the wickedness and audacity to suggest +that I—?” +</p> +<p> +“I merely repeat his words.” +</p> +<p> +She rang the bell, sweeping across the room in her +haughtiest manner, and drawing herself up to her +full height. The summons was answered instantly. +</p> +<p> +“Show this gentleman to the door.” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, I will convey the result of this interview +to Mr. Ormsby.” +</p> +<p> +The old man bowed himself out with a dignity +that was more real than hers, and it had, as well, a +touch of contempt in it. +</p> +<p> +The moment the door closed behind him, Mrs. +Swinton dropped into a chair, white and haggard, +gasping for breath, with her heart beating great +hammer-strokes that sent the blood to her brain. +The room whirled around, the windows danced before +her eyes, she clutched the back of a chair to prevent +herself from fainting. +</p> +<p> +“God help me!” she cried. “There was no +other way. The disgrace, the exposure, the scandal +would be awful. I should be cut by everybody—my +husband pointed at in the streets and denounced +as a partner in my guilt—for he has shared the +money. It was to pay his debts as well, to save +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +Dick and the whole household from ruin—for +Netty’s sake, too—how could Harry Bent marry +a bankrupt clergyman’s daughter? But it wasn’t +really my doing, it was his, his! He’s no father at +all. He’s a miser, a beast of prey, a murderer of +souls! From my birth, he’s hated and cheated me. +He has checked every good impulse, and made me +regard his money as something to be got by trickery +and misrepresentation and lies. And, now, I have +lied on paper, and they suspect poor, dead Dick, who +was the soul of honor. Oh, Dick, Dick! But they +can’t do anything to you, Dick—you’re dead. Better +to accuse you than ruin all of us. Your father +couldn’t hold up his head again, or preach a sermon +from the pulpit. We should be beggars. I +couldn’t live that kind of a life. I should die. I +have only one child now, and she must be my care. +I’ve not been a proper mother to her, I fear, but +I’ll make up for it—yes, I’ll make up for it. If I +spoiled her life now, she would never forgive me—never! +She is like me: she must have the good +things of life, the things that need money. And, +after all, it was my own money I took. It was no +theft at all. It’s only the wretched law that gives +a miser the power to crush his own child for scrawling +a few words on a piece of paper.” +</p> +<p> +Then came the worst danger of all. How was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +she to explain to her husband—how make him see +her point of view—how face his condemnation of +her guilty act, and secure his consent to the damnable +sin of dishonoring her dead son’s name to save the +family from ruin. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIII_DICK_S_HEROISM' id='XIII_DICK_S_HEROISM'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>DICK’S HEROISM</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Everybody in the country heard of Dick Swinton’s +death and the way in which he died—except Dora +Dundas. The news was withheld from her by +trickery; and she went on in blissful ignorance of +the calamity that had overtaken her. The newspapers +were full of the story. It had in it the picturesque +elements that touch the public imagination +and arouse enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +It appeared, from the narrative of a man who +narrowly escaped death—one of the gallant band +of three who volunteered to penetrate the enemy’s +lines and carry dispatches—that General Stone, +who for days was cut off from the main body of the +army, found it absolutely necessary to call for volunteers +to carry information and plans to the commander +in the field. Three men were chosen—two +officers and a private—Dick Swinton, Jack +Lorrimer, and a private named Nutt. The three +men started from different points, and their instructions +were to converge and join forces, and pass +through a narrow ravine, which was the only possible +path. Once through this, they could make a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +bolt for the American lines. Each man carried a +written dispatch in such a manner that it could be +destroyed instantly, the moment danger threatened, +and, also, the subject matter of the dispatch was committed +to memory. +</p> +<p> +The enemy’s lines were penetrated at night, but +unforeseen dangers and obstacles presented themselves; +so that it was daylight before the ravine was +reached. The gallant three met at the appointed +spot, and were within sight of one another, with only +half-a-mile to ride through the ravine, when a shot +rang out. A hundred rifles arose from the boulders. +The little band rushed for cover, and destroyed +their dispatches by burning. +</p> +<p> +Certain death stared them in the face. After destroying +the papers, they elected to ride on and run +the gantlet, rather than be captured as spies and shot +ignominiously. But it was too late. They were +surrounded. Only when Jack Lorrimer fell with +one arm shattered by a bullet and a bullet had grazed +Dick Swinton’s side did the others surrender. They +were promised their lives, if they laid down their +arms and gave up the dispatches. +</p> +<p> +The prisoners were bound and marched to a lonely +farmhouse, where their persons were searched and +their saddles ripped to pieces to find the papers. +The failure to discover anything aroused the anger +of their captors, and Dick Swinton, who from his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +bearing seemed to be an officer, was exhorted to reveal +the nature of his mission on promise of his +life. He refused. A further examination was +made. Their boots were cut to pieces, the heels +split open, their weapons smashed, and their clothes +torn to ribbons, but without avail. They were +brought before an officer high in command, who +charged them with bearing important messages, and +again promised them their lives, if they would betray +their country. Each man doggedly refused. They +were given an hour to reconsider their decision; at +the end of that time, they were to be shot. A firing +party was told off, and the men were led outside the +house, where they were bound hand and foot, and +flung upon the ground—for an engagement was in +progress, and distant firing threatened a possible +advance on the part of the Americans. So hot was +the firing that the hour’s respite was reduced to half-an-hour, +and a surly old soldier was sent to inform +them that he had orders to carry out their execution +at once, if they would not speak. +</p> +<p> +They refused, without hesitation. +</p> +<p> +Jack Lorrimer was unbound, and led around to +the side of the farmhouse. They tied him to a +halter-ring on the wall. Three times, he was given +the chance of saving his life by treachery; and his +only reply was: “I’m done. Damn you—shoot!” +The rifles were raised; there was a rattling volley, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +a drooping figure on the halter-cord, and the officer +turned his attention to the others. +</p> +<p> +“Now then, the next.” +</p> +<p> +Dick Swinton and Nutt were lying side by side. +Nutt had taken advantage of the interest excited by +the execution to wriggle himself free of his loosely-tied +fetters, which consisted of cords binding his +wrists behind his back and passed around to a knot +on his breast. He called upon Dick to aid him. +Dick Swinton rolled over, and with his teeth loosened +the first knot, then fell back into the old position. +</p> +<p> +Nutt remained as though still bound. +</p> +<p> +Dick was next unbound, and led around the farmhouse. +That was Nutt’s opportunity. He saw +them first drag away the dead body of Jack Lorrimer, +and fling it on one side; then they thrust Dick +back against the wall out of sight. +</p> +<p> +There was a pause while the firing party loaded +their rifles. This was the moment chosen by Nutt +for shaking off his bonds. He crawled a few yards, +heard the appeal to Dick Swinton, and Dick’s defiant +refusal—then the order to fire, and the volley. +He arose to his feet and ran. +</p> +<p> +All the men in the ravine were gone forward to +repel the dreaded advance, and the path was moderately +clear. He ran for dear life until he reached +the firing line, where he seized a wounded soldier’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +rifle, and dropped down as though he were dead. +Here, he remained until the firing line retreated +slowly before the American advance, and he heard +the tramp of feet and the bad language of the soldiers, +groaning, swearing, cursing. Then, he got +up, turned around, and with a yell of triumph entered +into the battle against his former captors. +</p> +<p> +At the end of the fighting, he reported himself at +headquarters. He told his story to the general, and +to a newspaper correspondent. He made the most +of it, and informed them how, as he wriggled free +of his bonds, he heard the officer commanding the +firing party call upon Dick Swinton three times, as +upon the preceding victim. Each time, there came +Dick’s angry refusal, in a loud, defiant tone. Then, +as he ran, there was the ugly volley. When he +looked back, the firing party were dragging away the +dead body, preparatory to stripping it. +</p> +<p> +The sympathy with the rector was profound. +Letters of condolence poured in. Yet, the bereaved +man could not absolutely reconcile himself to the +belief that Dick was no more. But it was evident +that the authorities regarded Nutt’s news as convincing, +or they would not have sent an official intimation +of his death. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Dundas read the news in his morning paper. +It was his custom to seize the journals the moment +they arrived, and read to Dora at the breakfast-table +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +all war news of vital interest—and a +good deal more that was prosy, and only interesting +to a soldier. By chance, he saw the story of Dick’s +death before his daughter came upon the scene, and +was discreet enough not to mention the matter. +Since Dora’s refusal of Ormsby, he was fairly certain +as to the nature of his daughter’s feelings toward +Dick, and in his displeasure made no reference whatever +to the young man whom formerly he had so welcomed +to his home. +</p> +<p> +Dora was left to find out the truth four days +later, when she came upon a stray copy of a weekly +paper belonging to the housekeeper. Dick’s portrait +stared out at her from the middle of the page, +and the whole story was given in detail. She was +stunned at first, and, like the rector, refused to believe. +It seemed possible that, at the last moment, +the firing party might have missed their aim—a +preposterous idea, seeing that the prisoner was set +with his back against the wall, a dozen paces from +his executioners. +</p> +<p> +She understood why her father had not mentioned +it. For the last day or two, he had sung the praises +of Captain Ormsby, who was coming to dine with +them on Monday. He had thrown out a very distinct +hint as to his own admiration for that gentleman’s +sterling qualities. +</p> +<p> +There was no one to help Dora bear her sorrow. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +It prostrated her. But for the forlorn hope that +the escaped trooper might have made a mistake, and +that, after all, Dick might have been saved, she +would have broken down utterly. +</p> +<p> +It was unnecessary to tell the colonel that his well-meant +postponement of the sad news was wasted effort. +He ventured awkwardly to comment upon the +death of their old friend. +</p> +<p> +“A good chap—a wild chap,” he observed “but +of no real use to anybody but his country, which has +reason to thank him. If I’d been in his place, I +should have done the same. But, if I’d done what +he did before he left home, I think I should have +died in the firing line, quietly and decently. Poor +chap! Poor chap!” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by ‘if you had done what +he did before he left home?’” asked the grief-stricken +girl. +</p> +<p> +“I mean the forgery.” +</p> +<p> +“What forgery?” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean to say you haven’t heard? Why, +everybody knows about it. Ormsby kept it dark as +long as he could, but Herresford forced his hand. +Don’t you know what they’re saying?” +</p> +<p> +“I know what Mr. Ormsby said. But I warn +you not to expect me to believe any lie that ungenerous, +cruel man has circulated about the man I +loved.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +</p> +<p> +“Well, they say he went out to the war to get +shot.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a lie!” +</p> +<p> +“He was in an awful hole, up to his eyes in debt, +and threatened with arrest. He almost ruined his +father and mother, and forged his grandfather’s +signature to two checks, robbing him of seven thousand +dollars—or, rather, defrauded the bank, for +Herresford won’t pay, and the bank must. It is +poor Ormsby who will be the sufferer. He suspected +the checks, and said nothing—just like him—the +only thing he could do, after the row at the +club dinner.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it on the authority of Mr. Ormsby that these +foul slanders on my dead lover have been made? +Are they public property, or just a private communication +to you, father?” +</p> +<p> +“It is the talk of the town, girl. Why, his own +mother has had to own up that the checks were +forgeries. He cashed two checks for her, and saw +his opportunity to alter the amounts, passing over +to her the original small sums, while he kept the +rest to pay his debts. Herresford’s opinion of him +has been very small all along; but nobody expected +the lad to steal. Such a pity! Such a fine chap, +too—the sort of boy girls go silly about, but lacking +in backbone and stability. The matter of the +checks has been kept from his father for the present, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +poor man. He knows nothing whatever about it.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, the things you tell me sound like the +horrible complications of a nightmare. They are +absurd.” +</p> +<p> +“Absurd! Why, I’ve seen the forged checks, +girl. The silly young fool forgot to use the same +colored ink as in the body of the check. A few days +afterward, the added figures and words dried black +as jet, whereas the ink used by Herresford dried a +permanent blue.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Ormsby showed you the checks?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Dora—Dora—don’t look like that! +I understand, my girl. I know you were fond of +the boy, and I disapproved of it from the beginning. +I said nothing, in case he didn’t come home from +the front. Put him out of your heart, my girl—out +of mind. I’m as sorry about everything as if +he were a boy of my own, and, if I could do anything +for poor John Swinton and his wife, I would. I +saw Mrs. Swinton yesterday driving, looking superbly +handsome, as usual, but turned to stone. +Poor old John goes about, saying, ‘My son isn’t +dead! My son isn’t dead!’ and nobody contradicts +him.” +</p> +<p> +“And Netty?” asked Dora, with a sob. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! nobody bothers about her. It’ll postpone +her marriage with Harry Bent, I suppose, for a little +while. They were to have been married as soon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +as he was well enough. Sit up, my girl—sit up. +Keep a straight upper lip. You’re under fire, and +it’s hot.” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t—I can’t!” sobbed Dora, burying her +face in her hands, and swaying dangerously. Her +father rushed forward to catch her, and held her to +his heart, where she sobbed out her grief. While +they stood thus, in the centre of the room, the servant +announced Mr. Ormsby. +</p> +<p> +At the mention of his name, Dora cried out in +anger, and declared that she would not see him. +But her father hushed her, and nodded to the servant +as a sign that the unwelcome gentleman was to +be shown into the room. +</p> +<p> +“We’re a little upset, Ormsby—we’re a little upset,” +cried the colonel. “But a soldier’s daughter is +not afraid of her tears being seen. We were talking +about poor Swinton. Dora has only just heard. +How do things go at the rectory? And what’s Herresford +going to do about the checks?” +</p> +<p> +“He insists upon our paying, and we must get +the money from somebody. Mrs. Swinton has none. +We must put the case to the rector, and get him to +reimburse the bank to avoid a lawsuit and a public +scandal. Poor Swinton set things right by his death. +There was no other way out. He died like a brave +man, and he will be remembered as a hero, except +by those who know the truth; and I am powerless to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +keep that back now. Believe me, Miss Dundas, if I +had known of his death, I would have cut out my +tongue rather than have published the story of the +crime, which was the original cause of his going to +the war.” +</p> +<p> +“So, you still believe him to be a coward as well +as a thief,” she cried, hotly. “You are a hypocrite. +It was you who really sent him away. He never +meant to go. He didn’t want to go. And now you +have killed him.” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, hush, Dora!” cried the colonel. +</p> +<p> +“I believe it was all some scheme of your own,” +cried the girl, hysterically. “You are the coward. +I shall believe nothing until I’ve seen Mrs. Swinton, +and hear what the rector has to say about it. Dick +was the soul of honor. He was no thief.” +</p> +<p> +“He was in debt, my girl,” cried the colonel. +“You don’t understand the position of a young man +placed as he was. Herresford was understood to +have discarded him as his heir. No doubt the +young fellow had raised money on his expectations. +Creditors were making existence a burden to him. +Many a soldier has ended things with a revolver +and an inquest for less than seven thousand dollars.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that sort of death requires a different kind +of courage,” sneered Ormsby, who was nettled by +Dora’s taunts. +</p> +<p> +“I won’t listen to you,” she cried. “You are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +defaming the man I love. He couldn’t go away +with such things on his conscience. It is all some +wicked plot.” +</p> +<p> +Ormsby shrugged his shoulders, and the colonel +sighed despondently, while Dora swept out of the +room, drawing her skirts away from Ormsby as +though his touch were contamination. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIV_MRS_SWINTON_CONFESSES' id='XIV_MRS_SWINTON_CONFESSES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>MRS. SWINTON CONFESSES</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Those who heard of the heroic death of Dick Swinton +soon heard also of the disgraceful circumstances +surrounding his departure. His volunteering was +now looked upon as a flight from justice; his death as +a suicide to avoid the inevitable punishment of his +crime. +</p> +<p> +Everybody knew—except the rector. +</p> +<p> +He, poor man, comforted in his sorrow by the +thought that his son’s memory would be forever +glorious, manfully endeavored to stifle his misery and +go about his daily tasks. The sympathy of his parishioners +was not made apparent by their bearing toward +him. He was disappointed in not receiving +more direct consolation from his friends and those +with whom he was in direct and almost daily communication. +There was something shamefaced in +their attitude. His churchwardens mumbled a few +words of regret, and turned away, confused. People +avoided him in the street, for the simple reason that +they knew not what attitude to take in such painful +circumstances. The stricken man was very conscious +of, but could not understand, the constraint +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +and diffidence of those people who did pluck up sufficient +courage to say they were sorry. +</p> +<p> +The revelation came, not through the proper channel—his +wife—but from an old friend who met +the rector in the street, one afternoon, and spoke out. +He offered his hand, and, gripping the clergyman’s +slender, delicate white fingers, exclaimed: +</p> +<p> +“I’m sorry for you, Swinton, and sorry for the +lad. He died like a man, and I’ll not believe it was +to avoid disgrace.” +</p> +<p> +“Avoid disgrace?” cried the rector, astounded. +</p> +<p> +“Ay; many a man has gone to war because his +country was too hot to hold him. But your son was +different. If he did steal his grandfather’s money, +he meant to come back. Thieves and vagabonds of +that sort don’t stand up against a wall with a dozen +rifles at them, and refuse to speak the few words +that’d save their skins.” +</p> +<p> +“Stole his grandfather’s money! What do you +mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Why, the money they say he got from the bank. +Bah! the Ormsby’s are a bad lot. I’d rather deal +with the Jews. It was his grandfather he thought +he was cheating, perhaps—that isn’t like stealing +from other people. But this I will say, Swinton: +your wife, she might have told a lie to save the boy.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t understand you,” said the clergyman, +haughtily. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +</p> +<p> +“Well, I’ll be more plain. He altered his grandfather’s +checks, and kept the money for himself, +didn’t he? Well, if my boy had done the same, and +my wife hadn’t the sense or the heart to shield him, +I’d—” He broke off abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“What you are saying is all double Dutch to me,” +cried the rector, hoarsely. “You don’t mean to tell +me that the bank people have set about that cock-and-bull +story of repudiated checks? I told them +they were wrong. I thought they understood.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, you told them they were wrong; but your +wife told them they were right—at least, that’s how +the story goes. The boy altered her checks, and +robbed his grandfather—if you call it robbing. I +call it getting a bit on account by forcing the hand of +a skinflint. For old Herresford is worse than the +Ormsbys, worse than the Jews. He has owed me +money for eighteen months, and I’ve got to go to +the courts to force him to pay. I’ve had a boy go +wrong myself; but he’s working with me now as +straight and good a lad as man could wish. Look +them straight in the face, Swinton, and tell them from +the pulpit that the boy’s fault in swindling his grandfather +out of what ought to be his, was wiped out +by his service to his country. It was a damned fine +piece of pluck, sir. I take off my hat to the boy; +and, if there’s to be any service of burial, or anything +of that sort, I’ll come.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +</p> +<p> +The rector parted from his candid friend, still +unable to grasp the situation thoroughly. That the +bank had spread abroad the false report seemed certain. +He hurried, fuming with indignation, to call +on Mr. Barnby and have the matter out with him. +But it was past three, and the doors of the bank were +shut. +</p> +<p> +If his wife had seen Barnby, there must have +been some misunderstanding. He hurried home, to +find the house silent and deserted. In the study, the +light was fading and the fire had gone out. He was +about to ring for the lamp to be lighted when a +stifled sob revealed the presence of someone in the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Mary!” +</p> +<p> +His wife was on the hearth-rug, with her arms +spread out on the seat of the little tub chair, and her +head bowed down. She heard him come in, but did +not raise her head. +</p> +<p> +“Mary, Mary, you must not give way like this,” +he murmured, as he bent over her and raised her +gently. “Tears will not bring him back, Mary.” +</p> +<p> +“It isn’t that—it isn’t that!” she cried, as he +lifted her to her feet. “Oh, I am so wretched! I +must confess, John—something that will make you +hate and loathe me.” +</p> +<p> +“And I have something to talk to you about, +dearest. There is a horrible report spread in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +town, apparently, by the bank people. Just now, a +man came up and condoled with me, calling my son +a thief and a forger.” +</p> +<p> +“John! John!” cried his wife, placing her +hands upon his shoulders, and presenting a face +strained with agony. “I am going to tell you something +that will make you hate me for the rest of your +life.” +</p> +<p> +The rector trembled with a growing dread. +</p> +<p> +“First, tell me what Barnby said to you, and what +you said to him, about those checks that you got from +your father. You must have given Barnby an entirely +erroneous impression.” +</p> +<p> +“It is about those checks I am going to speak. +When you have heard me, condemn me if you like, +but don’t ruin us utterly. That is all I ask. Don’t +ruin us.” +</p> +<p> +“Be more explicit. You are talking in riddles. +Everybody seems to be conspiring to hide something +from me. What is it? What has happened? +What did Dick do before he went away? Did he +do anything at all? Have you hidden something +from me?” +</p> +<p> +“John, the checks I got from father, with +which we paid our debts to stave off disgrace, were—forgeries.” +</p> +<p> +“Lord help us, Mary! Do you mean that we +have been handling stolen money?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +</p> +<p> +“Don’t put it like that, John, don’t! I can’t +bear it.” +</p> +<p> +“And is it true what they’re saying about Dick? +Oh! it’s horrible. I’ll not believe it of our boy.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no need to believe it, John. He is innocent, +though they condemn him. Yet, the checks +were forgeries.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, who? You got the checks, didn’t you? +I thought—Ah!” +</p> +<p> +“I am the culprit, John. I altered them.” +</p> +<p> +“You?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, John. Don’t look at me like that. Father +was outrageous. There was no money to be +got from him, and I had no other course. Your +bankruptcy would have meant your downfall. +That dressmaker woman was inexorable. You +would have been sued by your stock-broker, and—who +knows what wretchedness was awaiting us?—perhaps +absolute beggary in obscure lodgings, and +our daily bread purchased with money begged from +our friends. You know what father is: you know +how he hates both you and me, how he would +rub salt into our wounds, and gloat over our humiliation. +If—if Dick hadn’t gone to the front—” +</p> +<p> +“Mary, Mary, what are you saying! You have +robbed your father of money instead of facing the +result of our follies bravely? You have sent our +boy to the war—with money filched by a felony! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +Don’t touch me! Stand away! No; I thought you +were a good woman!” +</p> +<p> +“I didn’t know. I didn’t realize.” +</p> +<p> +“You are not a child, without knowledge of the +ways of the world. You must have known what +you were doing.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought that father would never know,” she +faltered, chokingly. “He hoards his money, and a +few thousands more or less would make no difference +to him. There was every chance that he would +never discover the loss. It was as much mine as +his. He has thousands that belonged to my mother, +which he cheated me out of. I added words and +figures to the checks, like the fool that I was, not +using the same ink that father used for the signatures, +and—and the bank found out.” +</p> +<p> +“Horrible! horrible! But what has this to do +with poor Dick? Why do people turn away from +me and stammer at the mention of his name, as +though they were ashamed? He, poor boy, knew +nothing of all this.” +</p> +<p> +“John, John, you don’t understand yet!” she +whispered, creeping nearer to him, with extended +hands, ready to entwine her arms about his neck. +He retreated, white-faced and terrified, thinking of +the serpent in Eden and the woman who tempted. +She was tempting him now, coming nearer to wind +her soft arms about him and hold him close, so that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +he would be powerless, as he always was when her +breath was on his cheek, and her eyes pleading for +a bending of his stern principles before her more-worldly +needs. +</p> +<p> +She held him tight-clasped to her until he could +feel the beating of her heart and the heaving of her +bosom against his breast. It was thus that she had +often cajoled him to buy things that he could +not afford, to entertain people that he would rather +not see, to indulge his children in vanities and follies +against his better judgment, to desert his plain duty +to his Church in favor of some social inanity. She +was always tempting, caressing, and charming him +with playful banter when he would be serious, weakening +him when he would be strong, coaxing him to +play when he would have worked. He had been as +wax in her hands; but hitherto her sins had been little +ones, and chiefly sins of omission. +</p> +<p> +“John! John!” she whispered huskily, with her +lips close to his ear. “You must promise not to +hate me, not to curse me when you have heard. +You’ll despise me, you’ll be horrified. But promise—promise +that you won’t be cruel.” +</p> +<p> +“I am never cruel, Mary. Tell me—how is +Dick implicated?” +</p> +<p> +“John, I have done a more dreadful thing than +stealing money.” +</p> +<p> +“Mary!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +</p> +<p> +“I have denied my sin—not for my own sake; +no, John, it was for all our sakes—for yours, for +Netty’s, for her future husband’s, for the good of +the church where you have worked so hard and have +become so indispensable.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t torture me! Speak plainly—speak +out!” he gasped, with labored breath, as though he +were choking. +</p> +<p> +“The bank people thought that Dick altered the +checks, John. Of course, if he had lived, I should +have confessed that it was not he, but I. I saw our +chance when the dreadful news came. They couldn’t +punish him for his mother’s sin, and they were +powerless, if I denied altering the checks. I did +deny it—no, John, don’t shrink away like that! I +won’t let you go. No, hold me to you, John, or I +can’t go on. Don’t you see that my disgrace would +be far greater than a man’s? I should be cut by +everyone, disowned by my own father, prosecuted by +the bank, and sent to prison. John—don’t you understand? +Don’t look at me like that! They’ll put +me in a felon’s dock, if you speak. I, your wife, +the wife of the rector of St. Botolph’s—think of +it!” +</p> +<p> +She held out her hands appealingly to him; but +he thrust her off in terror, as though she were an +evil spirit from another world, breathing poisonous +vapors. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +</p> +<p> +“John, John, you must see that I’m right. Think +of Netty. We have a child who lives. Dick is +dead. How does it matter what they say about +Dick’s money affairs? He died bravely. His name +will go down honored and esteemed. The glamour +of his heroism will blot out any taint of sin his +mother may have put upon him. My denial will +save his sister, his father, his mother—our home. +Oh, John, you must see it—you must!” +</p> +<p> +“You must confess!” he cried, denouncing her +with outstretched finger and in bitter scorn. “You +shall!” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, John,” she screamed, wringing her hands +in pitiful supplication. “Speak more quietly.” +</p> +<p> +“You have sullied the name of your dead son with +a cowardly crime. Woman! Woman! This is +devil’s work. They think our boy fled like a thief +with his pockets full of stolen money, whilst all the +time you and I were evading the just reward of our +follies and extravagance.” +</p> +<p> +“John, the money was used to pay your debts and +his debts, as well as mine; to stave off ruin from +you and from him as well as from myself, and to +keep Netty’s husband for her. Do you think that +Harry Bent could possibly marry Netty, if her +mother were sent to jail?” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t bring our children into this, Mary. +You—” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +</p> +<p> +“I must speak of Netty—I must! Would she +ever forgive us, if her lover cast her off?” +</p> +<p> +“And will he marry her, now that her brother +is disgraced?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, her brother’s disgrace is nothing. It is +only gossip. They can’t arrest Dick and imprison +him. Oh, I couldn’t bear it—I couldn’t!” +</p> +<p> +“And, yet, you will see your son’s name defamed +in the moment of his glory.” +</p> +<p> +“John, John, I did it to save you. I didn’t think +of myself. I’ve never been afraid to stand by anything +I’ve done before. But this! Oh, take me +away and kill me, shoot me, say that it was an accident, +and I’ll gladly endure my punishment. But a +mother is never alone in her sin. The sins of the +fathers—you know the text well enough, John. +Last night, I tried to kill myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Mary!” +</p> +<p> +He groaned, with outstretched hands, revealing his +love and the gap in his armor where he could still be +pierced. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I thought it would be best. I wrote a full +confession of everything, such a letter as would cover +my father with shame, and send him to his grave, +dreading to meet his Maker. I meant to poison myself, +but I thought of you in your double sorrow, +John—what would you do without me?—and +Netty, motherless when she most needs guidance. I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +thought of the disgrace and the shame of it, the +inquest and the newspaper accounts—oh, I’ve been +through horrors untold, John. I’ve been punished +a hundred times for all I’ve done. John! John! +Don’t stand away from me like that! If you do, I +shall go upstairs now—now!—and put an end to +everything. I’ve got the poison there. I’ll go. +God is my judge. I won’t live to be condemned by +you and everybody, and have my name a by-word for +all time—the daughter who ran away with a parson, +and robbed her father to save her husband, and +then was flung into jail by the godly man, who would +rather see his daughter a social outcast and his wife +in penal servitude than stand by her.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a sin—a horrible sin!” +</p> +<p> +“Who are you to judge me? Would Dick have +betrayed his mother?” +</p> +<p> +“Mary—Mary! Don’t tempt me—don’t—don’t! +You know what my plain duty is. You +know what our duty to our dead son is. Your father +must be appealed to. We will go to him on our +bended knees, and beg forgiveness. The bank people +must be told the truth, and they must contradict +publicly the slander upon Dick.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, you would have your wife humiliated and +publicly branded as a thief and a forger? What do +you think people will say of us, then? Shall I ever +dare to show my face among my friends again?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +</p> +<p> +“We must go away, to a new place, a new country, +where no one knows us and we mustn’t come +back.” +</p> +<p> +“And Netty?” +</p> +<p> +“Netty must bear her share of the burden you +have put upon us. We will bear it together.” +</p> +<p> +“No; Netty is blameless. You and I, John, must +suffer, not she. It would be wicked to ruin her young +life. You won’t denounce me, John. You can’t. +You won’t have me sent to prison. You won’t disgrace +me in the eyes of my friends. You won’t do +anything—at least, until Netty is married—will +you?” +</p> +<p> +“Harry Bent must know.” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, John. You know what his people are, +stiff-necked, conventional, purse-proud, always boasting +of their lineage. Until Netty is married! Wait +till then.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know what to do,” moaned the broken +man, bursting into tears, and sinking into his chair +at the table. +</p> +<p> +“Be guided by me, John. The dead can’t feel, +while the living can be condemned to lifelong +torture.” +</p> +<p> +“Have your own way,” he groaned. “I don’t +know what to do. I shall never hold up my head +again.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, you will, John, and—there is always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +my shoulder to rest it upon, dearest. Let me comfort +you.” +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p> +Netty Swinton sat before the drawing-room fire, +curled up on the white bearskin rug with a book in +her hand, munching biscuits. Netty was generally +eating something. Her eyes were red, but she had +not been weeping much, and, as she stared into the +embers, her pretty, expressionless little mouth was +drawn in a discontented downward curve. +</p> +<p> +She was in mourning—and she hated black. +Netty was thinking ruefully of Dick’s disgrace that +had fallen upon the family, and wondering anxiously +what the effect would be upon Harry Bent and his +relations, when a knock at the front door disturbed +her meditations, and presently, after a parley, a visitor +was announced—although visitors were not received +to-day, with Mrs. Swinton lying ill upstairs, +and the rector shut up alone in his study. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Dundas.” +</p> +<p> +Netty rose ungraciously, and presented a frigid +hand to Dora, casting a sharp, feminine eye over the +newcomer’s black dress and hat, which signified that +she, too, was in mourning. This Netty regarded as +rather impertinent. +</p> +<p> +The girls had never been intimate friends, although +they had seen a great deal of one another when Mrs. +Swinton took Dora under her wing and introduced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +her into society, which found Netty dull, and made +much of Dora. This aroused a natural jealousy. +The girls were opposite in temperament, and, in a +way, rivals. +</p> +<p> +“Netty, is your mother really ill?” asked Dora, +as she extended her hand, “or is she merely not +receiving anyone?” +</p> +<p> +“Mother has a bad headache, and is lying down. +She is naturally very upset.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Netty, it is terrible!” sobbed Dora, breaking +down hopelessly. “It can’t be true—it can’t!” +</p> +<p> +“What can’t be true?” asked Netty, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Poor dear Dick’s death. It will kill me.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think there is any doubt about it,” +snapped Netty. “And I don’t see why you should +feel it more than anybody else.” +</p> +<p> +“Netty, that is unkind of you—ungenerous. +You know I loved Dick. He was mine—mine!” +</p> +<p> +“Forgive me, but was he not also Nellie Ocklebourne’s, +and the dear friend of I don’t know how +many others besides? But none of them have been +here since they heard that he got into a scrape before +he went away.” +</p> +<p> +“There has been some hideous blunder.” +</p> +<p> +“No, it is simple enough,” said Netty, curling herself +up on a low settee. “Think what it may mean +to me—just engaged to Harry Bent—and now, +there’s no knowing what he may do. His people +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +may resent his bringing into the family the sister of +a—forger.” +</p> +<p> +“Netty, you sha’n’t speak of Dick like that!” +</p> +<p> +“Why shouldn’t I? Did he think of me? Really, +you are too absurd! I don’t see why you should +excite yourself about it. If you think that he cared +for you only, you are merely one more foolish victim.” +</p> +<p> +“Netty, how can you talk of your brother so! He +is accused of a horrible crime. Why don’t you stand +up for him? Why don’t you do something to clear +him? What is your father doing—and your +mother?” +</p> +<p> +“Surely, they can be left to manage their affairs as +they think best.” +</p> +<p> +“And I, who loved him, must do nothing, I suppose,” +cried Dora, hysterically. “I loved him, I +tell you, and he loved me. We were engaged.” +</p> +<p> +“Engaged! What nonsense! Really, Dora!” +</p> +<p> +“No one knew, Netty,” sobbed Dora, aching for +a little feminine sympathy, even from Netty. “Here +is his ring, upon this ribbon round my neck.” +</p> +<p> +“Surely, you don’t think that is interesting to me—and +at such a time.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if it isn’t,” cried Dora, flashing out +through her tears, “perhaps your brother’s honor is. +I must see your mother, and urge her to refute the +awful slanders spread about by Vivian Ormsby.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +</p> +<p> +“Oh, so your other admirer is responsible for +spreading the story of Dick’s misdeeds. I think he +might have kept silent. You must know that it is +only because Ormsby made himself ridiculous about +you, and because Dick hated Ormsby, that he flirted +with you, and so caused bad blood between them. I +think that you might leave Dick alone, now that he +is dead.” +</p> +<p> +“Dead! Dead! He can’t be,” cried Dora desperately. +“I must see your mother,” she insisted. +“I shall go up to her room. This is no ordinary +time, and my business is urgent.” +</p> +<p> +Netty shrugged her shoulders, and walked out of +the room, apparently to inform her mother of the +visit. After a long delay, Mrs. Swinton entered, +looking white and haggard. +</p> +<p> +“What is it you want of me?” she asked, with a +feeble assumption of her usual languid tone. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Mrs. Swinton, it isn’t true—tell me it isn’t +true! I can’t believe it of him.” +</p> +<p> +“You are referring to Dick’s trouble? Our sorrow +is embittered by the knowledge that our poor +boy went away—” +</p> +<p> +Words failed her. She could not lie to this girl, +whose eyes seemed to be searching her very soul. +What did she suspect? +</p> +<p> +“My father told me of the checks,” said Dora. +“They were made out to you. Yet, they say he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +forged them. How could he? I don’t understand +these things; and father’s explanation didn’t enlighten +me at all. I loved Dick—you know I did.” +</p> +<p> +“I suspected it, Dora, and had things gone well +with us, I should have been as pleased as anybody, if +the affection between you ripened—” +</p> +<p> +“Ripened!” cried Dora, with fine contempt: +“He loved me, and I loved him. We were engaged. +No one was to know till he came back, but now—well, +what does it matter who knows? But those +who slander him and take away his good name must +answer to me. Vivian Ormsby was always his +enemy. But you—you must have known what he +was doing. He couldn’t take all that money and go +away in debt, and talk as he did of having got money +from his grandfather by extortion. He told me that +you’d been able to arrange things for him.” +</p> +<p> +“He told you that!” cried Mrs. Swinton, startled +into revealing her alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he told me that his grandfather had grown +impossible, and that you were the only one who could +get money out of him. He said you’d got lots of +money, and that things were better for everybody at +home—those were his words. Yet, they say he +altered checks. What do they mean? How could +he?” +</p> +<p> +“My dear, it is too complicated a matter for a +girl like you to understand. You must know that to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +discuss such a matter with me in this time of sorrow +is little less than cruel.” +</p> +<p> +“Cruel? Isn’t it cruel to me, too? Isn’t his +honor as dear to me as to his mother? I tell you, I +won’t rest until he is set right before the world. +Where is Mr. Swinton? He is a man, and can make +a public denial on behalf of his son. Surely, he’s not +going to sit quiet, and let Mr. Ormsby—” +</p> +<p> +“It is not Mr. Ormsby—it is his grandfather +who repudiates the checks, Dora. Don’t you think +that you are best advised by me, his mother? Do +you think I didn’t love Dick? Do you think that, +if there were any way of refuting the charges, I +should be silent? His father knows that it is useless. +You will serve Dick best by burying your love in your +heart, and saying as little as possible. He died the +death of a hero; and as a hero he will be remembered +by us, not by his follies. And, after all, what +was the tricking of his grandfather out of a few +thousands that were really his own? It was a family +matter, which should never have been made public +at all.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s what I told father,” faltered Dora. +</p> +<p> +“The best thing you can do, Dora, is to mollify +Mr. Ormsby. Don’t anger him. Don’t urge him +on to blacken Dick’s memory, as he is sure to do if +you don’t look more kindly upon his suit. He expects +to marry you. He told me so when I met him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +at dinner at the Bents’. Your father wishes it, and, +if Dick could speak now, he would wish it, too—that +you would do everything in your power to close +the lips of his rival. Ormsby is a splendid match +for a girl like you, an eldest son, and immensely +wealthy. He worships you, and is a stronger man +altogether than poor Dick, who was weak, like his +mother. What am I saying—what am I saying? +My sense of right and wrong is dulled. Help me. +Bring me that chair. Oh! I’m a very wretched +woman, Dora!” cried the unhappy mother, sinking +into the chair Dora brought forward. “Take warning +by me. Love with your head and not your heart, +Dora. Don’t risk everything for a foolish girl’s +passion, when a rich man offers you a proud position.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall never marry Vivian Ormsby,” said Dora, +scornfully, “I shall never marry anybody. Oh, +Dick!—I am his. And you, Mrs. Swinton—I +thought one day to call you mother. Yet, you talk +like this to me, as though Dick were unworthy—you +whom he idolized.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t taunt me, Dora!” moaned the wretched +mother. “I shall always be fond of you for Dick’s +sake. Good-bye—and forgive me.” Mrs. Swinton +tottered from the room with arms extended, a +pitiable figure; and Dora stood alone, crestfallen, and +faced with the inevitable. +</p> +<p> +Her idol was thrown down. Yet, what did it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +matter that his feet were clay? She stood where +Mrs. Swinton had left her, rooted to the spot as if +unable to move. This room was in Dick’s home, +and shadowed by remembrances of him. +</p> +<p> +The door opened, and the rector looked in, with a +face so ghastly and drawn that she almost cried out +in terror. His hair was white, and his eyes looked +wild. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you, Miss Dundas,” he murmured, as he advanced +with an extended, limp hand. “I thought I +heard my wife’s voice.” +</p> +<p> +“I have come to offer my condolences,” murmured +Dora, unable to do more than utter commonplaces +in the face of his grief. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes—thank you—thank you. It is a +great blow, but I suppose we shall be reconciled in +time.” +</p> +<p> +With that, he turned abruptly and hurried away +into the study, not trusting himself to say more, and +omitting to bid her adieu. +</p> +<p> +Her mission had failed, and, as Netty did not return, +she let herself out of the house quietly, and, +with one last look round at Dick’s home, crept away. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XV_COLONEL_DUNDAS_SPEAKS_HIS_MIND' id='XV_COLONEL_DUNDAS_SPEAKS_HIS_MIND'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>COLONEL DUNDAS SPEAKS HIS MIND</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Colonel Dundas entered the dining-room with his +hands full of letters, and gave a sharp glance at +Dora, who was there before him this morning, sitting +with a newspaper in her lap, and her hands clasped, +gazing abstractedly into space. +</p> +<p> +People who knew of her regard for Dick Swinton +spared her any reference to the young man’s death; +but others, who loved gossip and were blind to facial +signs, babbled to her of the rector’s trouble. The +poor man was so broken, they said, that he could not +conduct the Sunday services. A friend was doing +duty for him. But Mrs. Swinton had come out +splendidly, and was throwing herself heart and soul +into the parish work, which the collapse of her husband +seriously hindered. It was gossiped that she +had sold her carriage and pair to provide winter +clothing for the children of the slums. The gay wife +had quite reformed—but would it last? How dull +it was in the church without the rector, and what an +awful blow his son’s death must have been to whiten +his hair and make an old man of him in the course of +a few days? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +</p> +<p> +Dora listened to these tales, unwilling to surrender +one jot of news that in any way touched the death of +her lover. She found that the people who talked of +Dick very soon forgot his heroism. Mark Antony’s +words were too true: “The evil that men do lives +after them. The good is oft interred with their +bones.” +</p> +<p> +Now, the colonel flung down his letters, and, taking +up one that was opened, handed it to Dora. +</p> +<p> +“There’s something in this for you to read—a +letter from Ormsby, Dora.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to read anything from Mr. +Ormsby.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve read it,” said the colonel awkwardly, “as +Mr. Ormsby requested me to. I think you’ll be +sorry if you don’t see what he says.” +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +Dora’s face hardened as she took out the closely-written +letter, addressed to herself, and enclosed +under cover to her father. +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +<ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: added beginning double quote mark">“</ins><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>My dear Miss Dundas</span>, +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +I have been very wretched since our last interview, +when you judged me unfairly and said many hard +things, the worst of which was your dismissal, and +your wish that I should not again enter your father’s +house. He has invited me to come, and I am feverishly +looking forward to your permission to accept +the invitation. +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +I am not jealous now of a dead man, nor do I wish +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +to press my suit at such a time. But I desire to set +myself right. You have no doubt learned by this +time that the lies of which you accused me were +painful truths. The hard things you said were not +justified, and I only ask to be received as a visitor, +for my life is colorless and miserable if I cannot see +you. +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +There is one other matter I must discuss with you +in full. It is, briefly, this: Mr. Herresford has +withdrawn his account from our bank, of which I +am a director and a partner, and demands the restitution +of seven thousand dollars taken by poor Dick +Swinton. My co-directors blame me for not acting +at once when I suspected the first check. But they +are not disposed to pay the money, and a lawsuit will +result. You know what that means—a public scandal, +a full exposure of my fellow-officer’s act of folly, +a painful revelation concerning the affairs of the +Swinton’s and their money troubles. All this, I am +sure, would be most repugnant to you. For your +sake, I am willing to pay this money, and spare you +pain. If, however, you persist in treating me unfairly +and breaking my heart, I cannot be expected +to make so great a sacrifice to save the honor of one +who publicly insulted me by striking me a cowardly +blow in the face because I held a smaller opinion of +him than did other people, and thoughtlessly revealed +the fact by an unguarded remark. +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +I never really doubted his physical courage, and he +has rendered a good account of himself, of which we +are all proud. But seven thousand dollars is too +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +dear a price to pay without some fair recognition of +my sacrifice on your behalf.” +</p> +<p> +“Father,” cried Dora, starting up, and reading +no more, “I want you to let me have seven thousand +dollars.” +</p> +<p> +“What!” cried the colonel, staring at her as +though she had asked for the moon. +</p> +<p> +“I want seven thousand dollars. I’ll repay it +somehow, in the course of years. I’ll economize—” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t think of it, my girl—don’t think of it. +That miserly old man, who starves his family and +washes his dirty linen in public, is going to have no +money of mine.” +</p> +<p> +“But, father, give it to me. It’ll make no real +difference to you. You are rich enough—” +</p> +<p> +“Not a penny, my girl—not a penny. Let +Ormsby pay the money. Thank heaven, it’s his +business, not ours. Your animosity against him is +most unreasonable. Because you had a difference of +opinion over a lad who couldn’t hold a candle to him +as an upright, honorable man—” +</p> +<p> +“You sha’n’t speak like that, father.” +</p> +<p> +“But I shall speak! I’m tired of your pale face, +and your weeping in secret, turning the whole house +into a place of mourning. And what for? A man +who would never have married you in any case. His +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +grandfather disowned him, he wouldn’t have gained +my consent, and the chances are a hundred to one +you would have married Ormsby. But, now, you +suddenly insult my friend—you see nobody—we +can’t talk about the war—and, damn me! what else +is there to talk about? You call yourself a soldier’s +daughter, and you’re going to break your heart over +a man who couldn’t play the straight game. Why, +his own father and mother can’t say a good word for +him. Yet, Ormsby’s willing to pay seven thousand +dollars to stifle a public exposure, just for your sake. +Why, girl, it’s magnificent! I wouldn’t pay seven +cents. Ormsby is coming here, and you’ll have to be +civil to him. Write and tell him so.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well, father,” sighed Dora, to whom the +anger of her parent was a very rare thing. There +was some justice in his point of view, although it was +harsh justice. For Dick’s sake, she could not afford +to incense Ormsby. She swallowed her pride and +humbled her heart, and, after much deliberation, +wrote a reply that was short and to the point. +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +“Miss Dundas expects to receive Mr. Ormsby +as her father wishes.” +</p> + +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVI_MR_TRIMMER_COMES_HOME' id='XVI_MR_TRIMMER_COMES_HOME'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>MR. TRIMMER COMES HOME</h3> +</div> + +<p> +“Mr. Trimmer is back.” +</p> +<p> +The words went around among the servants at +Asherton Hall in a whisper; and everybody was immediately +alert, as at the return of a master. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Trimmer was old Herresford’s valet, who +had been away for a long holiday—the first for +many years. Trimmer was a power for good and +evil—some said a greater power than Herresford +himself, over whom he had gained a mental ascendency. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Trimmer was sixty at least. Yet, his face +bore scarce a wrinkle, his back was as straight as any +young man’s. His hair was coal black—Mrs. +Ripon declared that he dyed it. And he was about +Herresford’s height, spare of figure, and always +faultlessly dressed in close-fitting garments with a +tendency toward a horsey cut. His head was large, +and his thick hair suggested a wig, for two curly +locks were brushed forward and brought over the +front of the ears, and at the summit of the forehead +was a wonderful curl that would not have disgraced +a hair-dresser’s window block. Faultless and trim, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +with glistening black eyes that were ever wandering +discreetly, he was the embodiment of alert watchfulness. +He could efface himself utterly at times, and +would stand in the background of the bedchamber, +almost out of sight, and as still as if turned to stone. +</p> +<p> +Interviews with Herresford were generally carried +on in Trimmer’s presence, but, although the old man +frequently referred to Trimmer in his arguments and +quarrels, the valet acutely avoided asserting himself +beyond the bounds of the strictest decorum while +visitors were present. But, when they were gone, +Trimmer’s iron personality showed itself in a quiet +hectoring, which made him the other’s master. Mr. +Trimmer was financially quite independent of his +employer’s ill humors. He was wealthy, and his +name was mentioned by the other servants with ’bated +breath. He was the owner of three saloons which +he had bought from time to time. In short, Mr. +Trimmer was a moneyed man. His was one of those +strange natures which work in grooves and cannot +get out of them. Nothing but the death of Herresford +would persuade him to break the continuity of +his service. His master might storm, and threaten, +and dismiss him. It always came to nothing. Mr. +Trimmer went on as usual, treating the miser as a +child, and administering his affairs, both financial and +domestic, with an iron hand. +</p> +<p> +Never before had he taken a holiday, and on his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +return there was much anxiety. The servants at the +Hall had hoped that he was really discharged, at last. +But no, he came back, smiling sardonically, and, as +he entered the front door—not the servants’ entrance—his +eye roved everywhere in search of backsliding. +Mrs. Ripon met him in the hall with a +forced smile and a greeting, but she dared not offer +to shake hands with the great man. +</p> +<p> +“Anything of importance since I have been +away?” asked Mr. Trimmer. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Trimmer. Mr. Herresford has +changed his bedroom.” +</p> +<p> +“Humph! We’ll soon alter that,” murmured +Trimmer. +</p> +<p> +“That’s what I told him, Mr. Trimmer. I said +you’d be annoyed, and that he’d have to go back +when you returned.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so, just so! Any trouble with his family?” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Dick—I daresay you have heard.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve heard nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Dead—killed in the war.” +</p> +<p> +“Dead! Well, to be sure.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, poor boy—killed.” +</p> +<p> +“Dear, dear!” murmured Mr. Trimmer, growing +meditative. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Ripon knew what he was thinking—or imagined +that she did. There was no one now to +inherit Herresford’s money but Mrs. Swinton, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +she believed that Trimmer was wondering how much +of it he would get for himself; for it was a popular +delusion below stairs that Mr. Trimmer had mesmerized +his master into making a will in his favor, +leaving him everything. +</p> +<p> +“How did Mr. Dick get away?” asked Mr. Trimmer. +“Surely, his creditors wouldn’t let him go.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, now you have touched the sore point, Mr. +Trimmer. The poor young man swindled—yes, +swindled the bank, forged checks in his grandfather’s +name.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Trimmer allowed some human expression to +creep into his stone face. He puckered his brows, +and his usually marble-smooth forehead showed unexpected +wrinkles. +</p> +<p> +“It was the very last thing we’d have believed, +Mr. Trimmer; it was for seven thousand dollars.” +</p> +<p> +“Tut, tut!” exclaimed Mr. Trimmer, sorrowfully. +“That comes of my going away. I ought to have +locked up the check-book. I suppose the young man +came here to see his grandfather and stole the +checks.” +</p> +<p> +“No, he never came—at least only once, and just +for a moment. Then, his grandfather was so insulting +that he only stayed a few minutes. That was +when he came to say good-bye. But Mrs. Swinton +came, trying to get money for the boy.” +</p> +<p> +“I must see Mr. Herresford about this.” Trimmer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +walked mechanically upstairs to the former bedroom, +quite forgetting that his master would not be +there. He came out again with a short, sharp exclamation +of anger, and at last found the old man in +the turret room. +</p> +<p> +Herresford was reading a long deed left by his +lawyer, and on a chair by his bedside was a pile of +documents. +</p> +<p> +“Good morning, sir,” said Trimmer, in exactly +the same tone as always during the last forty years, +and he cast his eye around the untidy room. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s you? Back again, eh?” grunted the +miser. “About time, too! How long is it since +valets have taken to doing the grand tour, and taking +three months’ holiday without leave of their +masters?” +</p> +<p> +“I gave myself leave, sir,” replied Trimmer, nonchalantly. +</p> +<p> +“And what right have you to take holidays without +my permission?” +</p> +<p> +“You discharged me, sir—but I thought better +of it.” +</p> +<p> +A grunt was the only answer to this impertinence. +</p> +<p> +“You seem to have been muddling things nicely +in my absence,” observed Trimmer after a moment, +with cool audacity. +</p> +<p> +“Have I? That’s all you know. Who told you +what I’ve been doing?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +</p> +<p> +“Your heir is dead, I hear. I hope you had nothing +to do with that.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean, sir—what do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean that I hope you didn’t send him away to +the war to save money and keep him from further +debt.” +</p> +<p> +“My family affairs are nothing to do with you, +sir.” +</p> +<p> +“So you have told me for the last forty years, sir. +I liked the young man. There was nothing bad +about him. But I hear you drove him to forgery.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a lie—a lie!” +</p> +<p> +“How did he get your checks?” +</p> +<p> +The miser made no answer. Trimmer came over, +and fixed glittering eyes upon him. The old man +cowered. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve ruined the boy, and sent him to the war. +I can see it in your face. I knew what would happen +if I let you alone—I knew you’d do some rascally +meanness that—” +</p> +<p> +“Trimmer, it’s a lie!” cried the old man, shaking +as with a palsy, and drawing further down into his +pillow. “I’m an old man—I’m helpless—I won’t +be bullied.” +</p> +<p> +“This is one of the occasions when I feel that a +shaking would do you good,” declared Trimmer. +</p> +<p> +“No, no—not now—not again! Last time, I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +was bad for a week. The shock might kill me. It +would be murder.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, and would that matter?” asked Trimmer, +callously. He stood at the bedside, with a duster in +one hand and a medicine-glass in the other, polishing +the glass in the most leisurely fashion, and speaking +in hard, even tones. He looked down upon the old +wreck as on the carcase of a dead dog. +</p> +<p> +They were a strange pair, these two, and the world +outside, although it knew something of the influence +of Trimmer over his master, had no conception of its +real extent. Trimmer ought to have been a master +of men; but some defect in his mental equipment +at the beginning of life, or an unkind fate, was responsible +for his becoming a menial. He was a slave +of habit, a stickler for scrupulous tidiness. A dusty +room or an ill-folded suit of clothes would agitate +him more than the rocking of an empire. He entered +the service of Herresford when quite a young man, +and that service had become a habit with him, and he +could not break it. He was bound to his menial occupation +by bonds of steel; and the idea of doing without +Trimmer was as inconceivable to his master as +the idea of going without clothes. The miser, who +followed no man’s advice, nevertheless revealed more +of his private affairs to his valet than to his lawyers. +And Trimmer, who consulted nobody, and was by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +nature secretive, jealously guarded his master’s interests, +and insisted on being consulted in all private matters. +A miser himself, Trimmer approved and fostered +the miserly instincts of his master, until there +had grown up between them an intimacy that was +almost a partnership. +</p> +<p> +And, now that Herresford was broken in health, +and had become a pitiful wreck, he preferred to be +left entirely at Trimmer’s mercy. +</p> +<p> +“What are you going to do about an heir now?” +asked the valet, curtly. “Have you made a new +will?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I’ve not. Why should I? I left everything +to the boy—with a reasonable amount for his +mother. In the event of his death, his mother inherits. +You wouldn’t have me leave my money to +charities—or rascally servants like you, who are +rolling in money? You needn’t be anxious. I told +you that you would have your fifty thousand dollars, +if you were in my service at my death and behaved +yourself—and if I died by natural means! Ha, ha! +I had to put in that clause, or you would have smothered +me with my own pillows long ago.” +</p> +<p> +“Very likely—very likely,” murmured Trimmer +indifferently, as though the suggestion were by no +means strained. He had heard it many hundreds of +times before. It was a favorite taunt. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that coming up the drive?” asked <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: th in original text">the</ins> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +invalid, craning his neck to look out of the window. +</p> +<p> +“It is Mrs. Swinton, sir, and Mr. Swinton.” +</p> +<p> +“On foot?” cried the old man. “And since +when, pray, did they begin to take the walking exercise? +Ha! ha! Coming to see me—about their +boy. Of course, you’ve heard all about it, Trimmer.” +</p> +<p> +“Very little, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you stay here, you’ll hear a little more.” +</p> +<p> +The decrepit creature chuckled with a sound like +loose bones rattling in his throat. He laughed so +much that he almost choked. Trimmer was obliged +to lift him up and pat his back vigorously. The +valet’s handling was firm, but by no means gentle; +and, the moment the old man was touched, he began +to whine as if for mercy, pretending that he was +being ill-used. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Swinton entered the room alone; the rector +remained below in the library. She found her father +well propped up with pillows, and his skull-cap, with +the long white tassel, was drawn down over one eye, +giving him a curious leer. The rakish angle of the +cap, with the piercing eyes beneath, the hawk-like +beak, and the shriveled old mouth, puckered into a +sardonic smile, made him an almost comic figure. +Trimmer stood at attention by the head of the bed +like a sentinel. His humility and deference to both +his master and Mrs. Swinton were almost servile; it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +was always so in the presence of a third person. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad to see you sitting up and looking so +well, father,” observed the daughter, after her first +greeting. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, I’m well—very well—better than +you are,” grunted the old man. “I know why you +have come.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish to talk on important family matters, +father,” said Mrs. Swinton, dropping into the chair +which Trimmer brought forward, and giving the +valet a sharp, resentful look. +</p> +<p> +“You can talk before Trimmer. You ought to +know that by this time. Trimmer and I are one.” +</p> +<p> +“If madam wishes, I will withdraw,” murmured +Trimmer, retiring to the door. +</p> +<p> +“No—no—don’t leave me—not alone with her—not +alone!” cried the old man, reaching out his +hand as if in terror. But Trimmer had opened the +door. He gave his master one sharp look of reproof, +and closed the door—almost. +</p> +<p> +Father and daughter sat looking at each other for +a full minute. The old man dragged down the tassel +of his skull-cap with his bony fingers, and commenced +chewing the end. The glittering eyes danced +with evil amusement, and, as he sat there huddled, +he resembled nothing so much as an ape. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad to find you in a good temper, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Good temper—eh!” He laughed, and again +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +the bones seemed to rattle in his throat. The fit +ended with coughing and whining and abuse of the +draughts and the cold. +</p> +<p> +“Why don’t you have a fire in the room, father? +You’d be so much more comfortable.” +</p> +<p> +“Fire! We don’t throw away money here—nor +steal it.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, I beg that you will not refer to Dick in +this interview by offensive terms; I can’t stand it. +My boy is dead.” +</p> +<p> +“Who was referring to Dick?” +</p> +<p> +His eyes sought hers, and searched her very soul. +She felt her flesh growing cold and her senses swooning. +It had been a great effort to come up and face +him at such a time, but her mission was urgent. She +came to entreat an amnesty, to beg that he would not +drag the miserable business of the checks into court +by a dispute with the bank, and there was something +horrible in his mirth. +</p> +<p> +“Hullo, forger!” he cried at last, and he watched +the play of her face as the color came and went. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean, father?” +</p> +<p> +“What I say. How does it feel to be a forger—eh? +What is it like to be a thief? I never stole +money myself—not even from my parents. D’ye +think I believe your story? D’ye think I don’t know +who altered my checks—who had the money—who +told the dirty lie to blacken the memory of her dead +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +son? D’ye think I’m going to spare you—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Father! Father! Have mercy—I was helpless!” +she cried in terror, flinging herself on her +knees beside his bed. “I couldn’t ruin both husband +and daughter for the sake of a boy who was gone.” +</p> +<p> +“You couldn’t ruin yourself, you mean—but you +could sully the memory of my heir with a foul charge—the +worst of all that can be brought against a man +and a gentleman.” +</p> +<p> +“It was you, father—you—you who denounced +him.” +</p> +<p> +“Lies, lies! I did nothing of the sort. The bank +people suspected him because he was a man, because +they didn’t think that any child of mine could rob +me of seven thousand dollars—seven thousand +dollars! Think of it, madam—seven thousand +dollars! D’ye know how many nickels there are +in seven thousand dollars? Why, I could send you +to Sing-Sing for years, if I chose to lift my finger.” +</p> +<p> +“But you won’t father—you won’t! You’ll have +mercy. You’ll spare us. If you knew what I have +suffered, you’d be sorry for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I can guess what you have suffered. And +you’re going to suffer a good deal more yet. Don’t +tell me you’ve come up here to get more money—not +more?” +</p> +<p> +“No, father—indeed, no. John and I are +going to lead a different kind of life. I’ve come to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +entreat you not to press the bank for that money. +We’ll pay it all back, somehow. John and I will earn +it, if necessary.” +</p> +<p> +“Earn it! Rubbish! You couldn’t earn a +dime.” +</p> +<p> +“We’ll repay every penny—if you will only give +us time, only stop pressing the bank—” +</p> +<p> +“I shall do nothing of the sort. You’ve robbed +them, not me. You must answer to them. If +you’ve got any of it left, pay it back to Ormsby. If +your husband is such an idiot as to beggar himself +to restore the spoils, more fool he, that’s all I can +say. When you steal, steal and stick to it. Never +give up money.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, you’ll not betray me! You won’t tell +them—” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t know. I’ll have to think it over. Get +up off your knees, and sit on a chair. That sort of +thing has no effect with me. You ought to have +found that out long ago.” +</p> +<p> +She arose wearily, and dropped back limply into +the chair like a witness under fire in a court of law. +The old man sat chewing the tassel of his cap, and +mumbling, sniggering, chuckling, spluttering with indecent +mirth. +</p> +<p> +“Listen to me, madam,” he said at last, leaning +forward. “Behind my back you’ve always called +me a skinflint, a miser, a villain. I always told you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +I’d pay you out some day—and now’s my chance. +I’m not going to lose anything. I’m going to leave +you to your own conscience and to the guidance of +your virtuous sky-pilot. People’ll believe anything +of a clergyman’s son. They’re a bad lot as a rule, +but your boy was not; he was only a fool. But he +was my heir. I’d left him everything in my will.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, you always declared that—” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind what I declared. It wasn’t safe to +trust you with the knowledge while he lived. You +would have poisoned me.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, your insults are beyond all endurance!” +she cried, writhing under the lash and stung to fury. +She started up with hands clenched. +</p> +<p> +“There, there, I told you so!” he whined, recoiling +in mock terror. “Trimmer, Trimmer! Help! +She’ll kill me!” +</p> +<p> +“It would serve you right if I did lay violent +hands upon you,” she cried. “If I took you by the +throat, and squeezed the life out of you, as I could, +though you are my father. You’re not a man, you’re +a beast—a monster—a soulless caricature, whose +only delight is the torturing of others. I could have +been a good woman and a good daughter, but for +your carping, sneering insults. At different times, +you have imputed to me every vile motive that suggested +itself to your evil brain. You hated me +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +from my birth. You hate me still—and I hate you. +Yes, it would serve you right if I killed you. It +would separate you from your wretched money, and +send your soul to torment—” +</p> +<p> +“Trimmer! Trimmer!” screamed the old man, +as she advanced nearer with threatening gestures, and +fingers working nervously. +</p> +<p> +Trimmer entered as noiselessly as a cat. +</p> +<p> +“Trimmer, save me from this woman—she’ll +kill me. I’m an old man! I’m helpless. She’s +threatening to choke me. Have her put out. I +can’t protect myself, or I’d—I’d have her prosecuted—the +vampire!” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Swinton recovered herself in the presence of +Trimmer, and drew away in contempt. She flung +back the chair upon which she had been sitting with +an angry movement, and she would have liked to +sweep out of the room; but fear seized her at the +thought of what she had done. This was not the +way to mollify the old man, who could ruin her by +a word. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry, father,” she faltered. “I forgot +that you are an invalid, and not responsible for your +moods.” +</p> +<p> +He leaned forward on the edge of the bed, resting +on his hands, and positively spat out his next +words. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +</p> +<p> +“Bah! You’re a hypocrite. Go home to your +sky-pilot. But keep your mouth shut—do you +hear?” +</p> +<p> +“I hear, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Pay them back your money if you like, but don’t +ask me for another cent, or I’ll tell the truth—do +you hear?” +</p> +<p> +“I hear, father,” she replied, with a sob. +</p> +<p> +“Open the door for her, Trimmer.” +</p> +<p> +Trimmer darted to the door as if his politeness +had been questioned, and bowed the daughter out. +</p> +<p> +When her footsteps had died away, he walked to +the bed and looked down contemptuously at the +mumbling creature. He surveyed him critically, as +a doctor might look at a feverish patient. +</p> +<p> +“You’re overdoing it,” he said. “You’re getting +foolish.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s right, Trimmer—that’s right. You +abuse me, too!” whined the old man, bursting into +tears. “Isn’t it bad enough to have one’s child a +thief, without servants bullying one?” +</p> +<p> +“You are the last person to talk to Mrs. Swinton +about stealing.” +</p> +<p> +“Keep your tongue still!” +</p> +<p> +“If your daughter knew what I know!” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t know anything, sir—you don’t know +anything!” +</p> +<p> +“I know a good deal. Three times during your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +illness, you were light-headed—you remember?” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, I’m not a thief. The money was +mine—mine! Her mother was my wife—it belonged +to me. Doesn’t a wife’s money belong to her +husband?” +</p> +<p> +“Tut, tut! Lie down and be quiet. I only kept +quiet on condition that you set things straight for +your daughter in your will, and left her the three +thousand a year her mother placed in your care.” +</p> +<p> +“Trimmer, you’re presuming. Trimmer, you’re +a bully. I’ll—I’ll cut your fifty thousand dollars +out of my will—” +</p> +<p> +“And I’ll promptly cut you out of existence, if +you do,” murmured Trimmer, bending down. +</p> +<p> +“That’s right, threaten me—threaten me,” +whined the old man. “You’re all against me—a +lot of thieves and scoundrels! What would become +of the world, if there weren’t a few people like me +to look after the money and save it from being +squandered in soup-kitchens, and psalm-smiting, and +Sunday schools?” +</p> +<p> +“Lie down and be quiet. You’ve done enough +talking for to-day. I’m going to have you moved +into the other room.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll not be treated as a child, sir. I’ll stop your +wages, sir. I’ll—” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve had no wages for many months. Lie +down.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVII_MRS_SWINTON_GOES_HOME' id='XVII_MRS_SWINTON_GOES_HOME'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>MRS. SWINTON GOES HOME</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Mrs. Swinton returned to the rector, who was waiting +in the library, with set face and clenched hands, +pacing up and down like a caged beast. The increased +whiteness of his hair and the extreme pallor +of his skin gave to his sorrow-shadowed eyes an extraordinary +brilliancy. His lips moved incessantly +as thoughts, surging in his brain, demanded physical +utterance. At intervals, he would wring his hands +and look upward appealingly, like a man struggling +in the toils of a temptation too great to be mastered. +A long period of worry and embarrassment had +broken his spirit. He was fated with the first real +calamity that had ever overtaken him. With money +difficulties, he was familiar. They scarcely touched +his conscience. But, in this matter of his son’s +honor, the divergent roads of right and wrong were +clearly defined; unhappily, he was not strong enough +fearlessly to tread the path of virtue. +</p> +<p> +His wife’s arguments seemed unanswerable. Indeed, +whenever she was near, he hopelessly surrendered +himself to her guidance. He knew perfectly +well that the only proper course for a man of God +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +was to go forth into the market-place and proclaim +his son’s innocence, to the shame of his wife, of himself, +and of his daughter. It was not a question of +precise justice. It was a plain issue between God +and the devil. But Mary had pursued the policy +of throwing dust in his eyes, and led him blindly +along the road where he was bound to sink deeper +and deeper into the mire. +</p> +<p> +When the love of wife conflicts with the love of +child, a father is between the horns of a dilemma. +The woman was living; the boy dead. The arguments +were overpoweringly plausible. Mrs. +Swinton had her life to live through; whereas Dick’s +trials were ended. And would a suspicious world +believe he shared his wife’s plunder without knowing +how it was obtained? In addition, Netty’s future +would certainly be overshadowed to a cruel extent. +</p> +<p> +The arguments of the woman were, indeed, unanswerable: +the misery of it was that the whole +thing resolved itself into a simple question of right +and wrong. As a clergyman of the church he could +not countenance a lie, live a lie, and stand idly by +while Herresford compelled the bank to refund the +money stolen from them by his wife. +</p> +<p> +He had naturally argued the matter out with her, +in love, in anger, in piteous appeal. It always came +around to the same thing in the end—a compromise. +The seven thousand dollars must be paid to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +miser, if it took the rest of their lives to raise it; if +they starved, and denied themselves common necessities. +And Herresford must say that he drew the +checks for innocent Dick. +</p> +<p> +His wife agreed with him on these points; but on +the question of confessing their sin—their joint sin +it had become now—she was obdurate. She had +yielded to his entreaties so far as to face the ordeal +of an interview with her father, she agreed to the +most painful economies; but further she would +not go. +</p> +<p> +If Herresford consented to add lie to lie, and to +exonerate Dick by acknowledging the checks, all +might yet be well. +</p> +<p> +Now, when his wife came in, with flushed face +and lips working in anger, he cried out, tremulously: +</p> +<p> +“Well, Mary?” +</p> +<p> +“It is useless, worse than useless!” she answered. +“He is quite impossible, as I told you.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, he will not lend us the money?” +</p> +<p> +“No, indeed, no. Worse, John, he knows.” +</p> +<p> +“Knows what?” +</p> +<p> +“That I did it. He understood Dick well +enough, in spite of his wicked abuse of him, and he +had made him his heir. He accused me of altering +the checks, and—I couldn’t deny it.” +</p> +<p> +“Mary! Mary! You have ruined all. He +will denounce us.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +</p> +<p> +“No, he doesn’t intend to do that, John. He +knows the torture we are enduring, and he wants it +to go on. He means to let the bank lose the money.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, the burden of the guilt still rests on the +shoulders of our dead son.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, don’t, John—don’t put it like that! I’ve +borne enough—I can’t bear much more. I think +I’m going mad. My brain throbs, everything goes +dim before my sight, and my heart leaps, and shooting +pains—” +</p> +<p> +She tottered forward into her husband’s arms. +He clasped her close, drawing her to him and pressing +kisses on her cheeks. +</p> +<p> +“My darling, my darling, be strong. It is not +ended yet.” +</p> +<p> +“Take me home, John—take me home!” she +sobbed. +</p> +<p> +“No, I’ll see the old man myself.” +</p> +<p> +“John! John! It’ll do no good—I beseech +you! I cannot trust you out of my sight. I never +know what you may do or what you will say. I +know it’s hard for you to go against your principles; +but you mustn’t absolutely kill me. I should die, +John, if you played traitor to me, your wife, and +allowed me to be sent to jail.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t Mary—don’t!” he groaned. +</p> +<p> +“When a man leaves his father and mother, he +cleaves unto his wife: and, when I left my home, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +John, I was faithful and true to you. It was for +you that I stooped to the trick which I now realize +was a crime which my father uses as a whip to lash +me with. We must live it down, John. The bank +people are rich. It won’t hurt them much—whereas +confession would annihilate us.” +</p> +<p> +“The money must be paid back,” he cried resolutely, +striking the air with his clenched fist, while he +held her to him with the other arm. +</p> +<p> +“It’s impossible, John, impossible. We cannot +pay back without explaining why.” +</p> +<p> +“We must atone—for Dick’s sake. No man +shall say that our son robbed him of money without +compensation from us, his parents. Let us go home, +Mary, and begin from to-day. The rectory must +be given up. It must be let furnished, and the servants +dismissed. We must go into some cheap place.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, let us go home, John. You’ll talk more +reasonably there, and see things in another light.” +</p> +<p> +The man listened, and allowed himself to be led. +This was as it had been always; but it could not go +on forever. Deep down in John Swinton’s vacillating +nature, there was the spirit of a martyr. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XVIII_A_SECOND_PROPOSAL' id='XVIII_A_SECOND_PROPOSAL'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>A SECOND PROPOSAL</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Dora was undetermined in her attitude toward Dick’s +enemy, who, for her sake, was ready to become his +friend and save his name from public disgrace. She +had a poor opinion of a man who was willing to +further his own suit by making concessions to a rival, +even though that rival were dead; but her attitude +of mind toward Dick was changing slowly under +outside influence—as it was bound to do with a +clear-headed girl, trained to the strict code of honor +that exists among military men concerning other people’s +money. A soldier who had committed forgery +could never hold up his head again in the eyes +of his regiment, or of the woman he loved. He +voluntarily made himself an outcast. +</p> +<p> +The colonel did not fail to drive home the inevitable +moral, and congratulated himself upon his +daughter’s escape. Dora was obliged to acknowledge +that Dick, if not a villain, was at least a fool. +The sorrow he had brought upon his father and +mother was alone sufficient to warrant the heartiest +condemnation. The colonel was never tired of commenting +on the awful change in the mother’s appearance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +and the blight upon John Swinton, who went +about like a condemned man, evading his friends, +and scarcely daring to look his parishioners in the +face. +</p> +<p> +There had been talk of a memorial service in the +parish church, but nothing came of it. Its abandonment +was looked upon as a tacit recognition of a +painful situation, which would only be augmented by +a public parade of sorrow. +</p> +<p> +Ormsby treated Dora with the greatest consideration. +No lover could have been more sympathetic—not +a word about Dick Swinton or the seven thousand +dollars. He laid himself out to please, and +self-confidence made him almost gay—if gaiety +could ever be associated with a man so somber and +proud. The colonel persisted in throwing his daughter +and the banker together in a most marked fashion, +and Ormsby was at much pains to ignore the +father’s blundering diplomacy. +</p> +<p> +As a result of his skilled tactics, Dora had ceased +to shrink away from him—because she no longer +feared that he would make love to her. She laughed +at her father’s insinuations, because it was easier to +laugh than to go away and cry. She put a brave +face on things—for Dick’s sake. She did not want +it to be thought that he had spread around more ruin +and misery than already stood to his credit at the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +rectory. Pride played its part. She supposed +Ormsby understood that the idea of his being a lover +was absurd. In this, she was rudely awakened one +evening after the banker had dined at the house. +</p> +<p> +The colonel pleaded letters to write, and begged +Dora to play a little and entertain their guest. +</p> +<p> +“Ormsby loves a cigarette over the fire, Dora, +and he’s fond of music. I shall be able to hear you +up in the study.” +</p> +<p> +Ormsby added his entreaties, and the colonel left +them alone. +</p> +<p> +Dora was in a black evening-gown. It heightened +the pallor of her skin, and made her look extremely +slender and tall. Ormsby, whose clothes +always fitted him like a uniform, looked his best in +evening dress, with his black hair and dark eyes. +His haughty bearing and stern, handsome features +went well with the severe lines of his conventional +attire. The colonel paused at the door before going +out, and looked at the two on whom his hopes were +now centred—Ormsby standing on the hearth-rug, +straight as a dart, and Dora offering him the cigarette-box +with a natural, sweet grace that was instinctive +with her. He nodded in approval as he +looked. Dora was an unfailing joy to him. She +pleased his eye as she might have pleased a lover. +He was proud of her, too, of her fearlessness, her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +tact, her womanliness, and, above all, her air of breeding. +She certainly looked charming to-night, a +fitting châtelaine for the noblest mansion. +</p> +<p> +As the colonel remained in the doorway, still staring, +Dora turned her head with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“What are you looking at, father?” +</p> +<p> +“I was only thinking,” said the colonel bluntly, +“what a magnificent pair you two would make if +you would only bring your minds to join forces, instead +of always fencing and standing on ceremony +like two proud peacocks.” +</p> +<p> +“My mind requires no making up, colonel,” responded +Ormsby quickly, with an appealing, almost +humble glance at Dora. +</p> +<p> +“Father, what nonsense you talk!” cried she, +changing color and trembling so much that the cigarettes +spilled upon the floor. +</p> +<p> +The colonel shut the door without further comment, +and left them alone. +</p> +<p> +“How stupid of me,” murmured Dora, seeking +to cover her confusion by picking up the cigarettes. +</p> +<p> +“I shall not allow you,” he murmured, seizing her +arm in a strong grip, gently but firmly, and raising +her. “I am ever at your service. You know that.” +</p> +<p> +“Let go my arm, please.” +</p> +<p> +“May I not take the other one as well, and look +into your eyes, and ask you the question which has +been in my mind for days?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +</p> +<p> +“It is useless, Mr. Ormsby. Let me go.” +</p> +<p> +“No,” he cried, coming quite close and surveying +her with a glance so intense that she shrank +away frightened. “I will not let you go. You +are mine—mine! I mean to keep you forever. +I’ll shadow you till you die. You shall never cast +me off. No other man shall ever approach you as +near as I. I will not let him. I would kill him.” +</p> +<p> +“You are talking nonsense, Mr. Ormsby, and you +are hurting my arm.” +</p> +<p> +“To prevent your escaping, I shall encircle you +with bands of steel,” and he put his arm around her +quickly, and held her to him. +</p> +<p> +“I beg that you will behave decently and sensibly,” +she cried, with a sob. “I’ve given you to +understand before that this sort of thing is repugnant +to me. Let me go.” +</p> +<p> +She struck him on the breast with the flat of her +hand, and thrust herself away, compelling him to release +her. Her anger spent itself in tears, and she +hurried across to the piano stool, where she dropped +down, feeling more helpless and hopeless than ever +in her life before. Her father had given Ormsby +the direct hint; and he had proposed again. She +could not blame him for that. She could not deny +that he was masterful, and handsome, and convincing. +There was no escape; and the absurdity of +sweeping out of the room in indignation was obvious. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +He was their guest, and would be their guest +as long as her father chose. +</p> +<p> +The ardent lover held himself in check with wonderful +self-possession. He drew forward an armchair, +and, dropping into it, picked up the cigarettes +from the floor, lighted one and settled himself callously +to smoke, taking no further notice of her +tears. It was better than offering sympathy that +would be scorned. It was exactly the right thing +at the moment, and Dora saw the wisdom of it and +respected him. It lessened her fear; but she cried +quietly for a little while; then, drying her tears, +she fingered the music on the top of the grand piano, +idly. +</p> +<p> +“I’m afraid you think me a very hysterical and +stupid person, Mr. Ormsby?” she said at last, +growing weary of the strained silence and his indifferent +nonchalance. “I don’t usually cry like this, +and make scenes, and behave like a schoolgirl.” +</p> +<p> +“I’m making headway,” was Ormsby’s thought, +“or she wouldn’t take the trouble to excuse herself.” +</p> +<p> +“I think you are the most sensible girl I ever +met, Dora.” +</p> +<p> +“You have no right to call me Dora.” +</p> +<p> +“In future, I shall do just as I choose. You +know your father’s wishes—you know mine. I am +patient, I can wait. After to-night, you are mine +always, and forever. Some day, you will be my wife, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +and, instead of sitting apart from me over there, +you will be here by my side, holding my hand.” +</p> +<p> +“Never!” she cried, starting up, and emphasizing +her determination by a blow with her hand upon +the music lying on the piano top. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! you feel like that now. Dora, show your +sweet reasonableness by playing to me for a little +while. I promise, I shall not annoy you further.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t feel like playing. You have upset me.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, sit by the fire.” +</p> +<p> +He drew forward a chair of which he knew she +was fond, and brought it close to the hearth. +</p> +<p> +“Come! You used to smoke in the old days. +Have a cigarette. It will help you to forget unpleasant +things. It will calm you—if you don’t +feel inclined to play.” +</p> +<p> +“I would rather play,” she faltered. +</p> +<p> +“Whichever you please.” +</p> +<p><a name="P201"></a></p> +<p> +She settled herself at the piano, and fingered the +music, irresolutely. She had not touched the keys +since Dick’s death, and, if she had been less perturbed +to-night, she would not for a moment have +contemplated breaking that silence for the sake of +Vivian Ormsby, but an extraordinary helplessness +had taken possession of her. There was something +magnetic about this man whom she feared, and tried +to hate, something that compelled her to act against +her will and better judgment. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +</p> +<p> +She chose the first piece of music at hand—a +waltz, a particularly romantic and melancholy refrain, +that was soothing to the man in the chair. He +sat with his head thrown back, blowing rings of +smoke into the air and secretly congratulating himself +upon his progress. In imagination, he experienced +all the intoxication of the dance, and Dora +in his arms, resting heavily upon him. In imagination, +he was drawing her closer and closer, her eyes +looking into his, and her breath upon his cheek. +</p> +<p> +He started up and faced her, watching the slender +hands gliding over the keys, as if he could keep away +no longer; then, he strolled over and stood behind +her, ostensibly watching the music. She felt his +presence oppressively. He bent lower, as if to scan +the notes: yet, she knew that he could not read music. +Her fingers faltered, and she looked over her shoulder +nervously. +</p> +<p> +Her eyes met his, and the playing ceased. Those +glittering orbs held her as if by a magic spell. She +was rendered powerless when he put his arm about +her, and touched her lips in a kiss. +</p> +<p> +Instantly, the spell was broken. She started up, +and struck him in the face—even as Dick had done. +</p> +<p> +He only laughed—and apologized. The blow +was a very slight one: and it gave him the opportunity +of seizing her wrists, and holding her captive for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +a few moments, until she confessed that she was +sorry. Then she fled from the room. +</p> +<p> +“I’m getting on,” he murmured, as he dropped +back into the armchair, and lighted another cigarette. +“A little more boldness, a rigid determination, a +constant repetition of my assurances that she cannot +escape me, and she will surrender. They all do. +It’s the law of nature. The man subdues the +woman; and she surrenders at once when her strength +is gone.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XIX_AN_UNEXPECTED_TELEGRAM' id='XIX_AN_UNEXPECTED_TELEGRAM'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>AN UNEXPECTED TELEGRAM</h3> +</div> + +<p> +As the days wore on, Dora went through many +scenes with her father concerning Vivian Ormsby. +The banker pressed his suit remorselessly, yet with +a consideration for the girl, which did him the +greatest credit. The colonel made no secret of his +keen desire for the match; and he informed his +friends, as well as Dora, that he looked upon the +thing as settled. Naturally, the girl’s name was +coupled with Ormsby’s, and, wherever one was invited, +the other always appeared. +</p> +<p> +Ormsby showed himself at his best during this +period. He would have made no progress at all +but for his tactful recognition of the fact that Dora +had loved Dick Swinton, and must be treated tenderly +on that account. She was grateful to him, for +he seemed to be the only one who respected poor +Dick’s memory. Other people were free in their +comments, and remorseless in their condemnation of +the criminal act which, as the culmination of a long +series of follies, must inevitably have brought him +to ruin if he had not chosen to end his life at the war. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +</p> +<p> +Nobody was surprised when the society columns of +the newspapers hinted of a coming engagement between +the daughter of a well-known soldier and the +son of a banker, who came together under romantic +circumstances, not unconnected with a regrettable accident. +</p> +<p> +Later, there was a definite announcement: “An +engagement has been arranged between Miss Dundas, +daughter of Colonel Herbert Dundas, and +Vivian Ormsby, eldest son of William Ormsby, the +well-known banker.” +</p> +<p> +Letters poured in on every side. Polly Ocklebourne +drove over to congratulate Dora in person, +and found the affianced bride looking very pale, and +by no means happy. Dora hastened to explain that +the engagement would be a long one, possibly two +years at least—and they laughed at her. The girl +had given her consent grudgingly, in half-hearted +fashion, with the stipulation that she might possibly +withdraw from it. Her father coaxed it out +of her. But, when people came around and talked +of the wedding, and abused her for treating poor +Ormsby shabbily by insisting on an engagement of +quite unfashionable and absurd length, the thought +of what she had done began to terrify her. She +knew perfectly well that she did not care for her +lover; that, under certain circumstances, she almost +hated him. But there was no one she liked better, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +nor was there any prospect of her dead heart coming +to life again at all. And, in the meantime, +Ormsby was constantly by her side. +</p> +<p> +One morning, Ormsby drove up in his automobile, +to propose an engagement for the evening to Dora. +His <i>fiancée</i>, however, had gone out for a walk, and +he was forced to content himself by leaving a message +with her father. The two men were chatting +together in the library, when a servant entered with +a telegram. “For Miss Dundas, sir,” was the explanation. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose I’d better open it,” murmured the +colonel, as he slit the envelope. +</p> +<p> +He read the message, frowned, swore an oath, +turned it over, then read it again, with a look of +blank amazement, whilst Ormsby watched. +</p> +<p> +“Bad news?” +</p> +<p> +“Read.” +</p> +<p> +Ormsby took the slip between his fingers. His +pale face hardened, and his teeth ground together. +His surprise was expressed in a smothered cry of +rage. +</p> +<p> +“It can’t be!” he gasped. “Alive? Then, the +story of his death was a lie. His heroic death was +a sham.” +</p> +<p> +“Dora will have to be told,” groaned the colonel. +</p> +<p> +“No, certainly not,” cried Ormsby. “If he attempts +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +to show his face in New York, I’ll have him +arrested.” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, Ormsby, you wouldn’t do that. I must +confess, it isn’t any pleasure to hear that he’s alive. +It’s a confounded nuisance! His death—damn it +all! He sha’n’t see her. They mustn’t meet, +Ormsby!” +</p> +<p> +“No, of course not—of course not. We’ll have +to send him to jail.” +</p> +<p> +“Ormsby, you couldn’t do it—you couldn’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, he mustn’t see Dora.” +</p> +<p> +“No—I’ll attend to that.” +</p> +<p> +The colonel read the telegram again. +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +“Arrived at Boston Parker House this morning. +Start home this afternoon. Send message. Dying +to see you. +</p> +<p style='text-align: right; font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4em; margin-right:6%'> +“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dick Swinton</span>.” +</p> +<p> +“What does the fool want to come home for?” +growled the colonel. “Hasn’t he any consideration +for his mother and father and sister? Everybody +thinks he’s dead—why doesn’t he remain dead? +He sha’n’t upset my girl. I’ll see to that. I’ll—I’ll +meet him myself.” +</p> +<p> +“A good idea,” observed Ormsby, who had grown +thoughtful. “For my part, my duty is plain. A +warrant is out for his arrest. I shall give information +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +to the police that he is in the country again.” +</p> +<p> +“No, Ormsby—no!” pleaded the colonel. +“You’ll utterly upset yourself with Dora. You +won’t stand a ghost of a chance. +</p> +<p> +“A hero with handcuffs doesn’t cut an agreeable +figure, or stand much of a chance. Dora has glorified +him, you must remember. There will be a reaction +of feeling. She’ll alter her opinion, when she +knows he’s a criminal, flying from justice. They +gave him his life, I suppose, because he hadn’t the +courage to die, and keep his country’s secrets. The +traitor!” +</p> +<p> +They resolved to say nothing of the arrival of the +telegram. The colonel gave out that business affairs +necessitated a journey to Boston, and Dora was +to be told that he would be back in the evening. +</p> +<p> +Ormsby drove the colonel to the station in his +motor. Afterward, he called at police-headquarters, +and then at the bank. There, he wrote a letter +to Herresford, reopening the matter of the +seven thousand dollars, which had lain dormant all +this time, true to the promise made to Dora. He +had let the quarrel stand in abeyance in case of accidents. +This was characteristic of the cautious +<ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: Ormsby’s in original text">Ormsbys</ins>, and quite in keeping with the remorseless +character of the man who never forgave, and never +desisted in any pursuit where personal gain was the +paramount consideration. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +</p> +<p> +Colonel Dundas had been genuinely fond of Dick +Swinton—up to a point. The kind of regard he +had for him was that which is accorded to many self-indulgent, +reckless young men who are their own +greatest enemies. He was always pleased to see +him; but he would never have experienced pleasure +in contemplating him as a possible son-in-law. His +supposititiously heroic death had surrounded him with +a halo of romance dear to the colonel’s heart; but +his sudden reappearance in the land of the living, +with a warrant out for his arrest, and Dora’s happiness +in the balance, excited a growing anger. +</p> +<p> +All the way to Boston, the colonel fumed and +swore. He muttered to himself and thumped the +arms of his chair, rehearsing the things he meant +to say when the rascal confronted him. How dare +Dick send telegrams to his innocent child without +her father’s knowledge, in order that he might work +upon her feelings! Perhaps, he thought of persuading +her to elope with him—elope with a criminal! +By the time he reached Boston, the colonel had built +up a hundred imaginary wrongs that it was his duty +to set right by plain speaking. +</p> +<p> +As he entered the vestibule of the hotel, he saw +Dick Swinton—or someone like him—wrapped in +a long, ill-fitting coat, walking up and down very +slowly. The young man caught sight of the ruddy +face of Colonel Dundas, and he tried to hurry, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +his step was slow and uncertain. As they came near +each other, he seized the colonel’s arm. +</p> +<p> +“Colonel! Colonel!” he cried. “How glad I +am to see you! Is Dora with you?” +</p> +<p> +“Dora—no, sir! What do you take me for? +Good God! what a wreck you are! Where have +you been? How is it you’ve come home?” +</p> +<p> +“I—I thought she would come!” gasped Dick, +who looked very white. His eyes were unnaturally +large, and his cheeks sunken, and his hands merely +bones. +</p> +<p> +“Here, come out of the crowd,” said the colonel, +forgetting his tremendous speeches. He seized the +young man by the arm, but gripped nothing like +muscle. “Why, you’re a skeleton, boy!” he exclaimed, +adopting the old attitude in spite of himself. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I’m not up to the mark,” laughed Dick. +“I thought you knew all about it.” +</p> +<p> +“Knew all about it, man? You’re dead—dead! +Everyone, your father and mother and all of us, read +the full story of your death in the papers.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; but I corrected all that,” cried Dick, +“My letters—they got my letters?” +</p> +<p> +“What letters?” +</p> +<p> +“The two I sent through by the men that were +exchanged. Young Maxwell took one.” +</p> +<p> +“Maxwell died of dysentery.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that accounts for it. The other I gave to a +sailor. He promised to deliver it.” +</p> +<p> +“To whom did you write?” +</p> +<p> +“To Dora. I asked her to go to mother and explain +things, so as not to give too great a shock. +You don’t mean to say that my mother doesn’t +know!” +</p> +<p> +“No, of course not—not through Dora, at any +rate.” +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! Let’s get to a telegraph-office, +and I’ll send her word at once. And father, too—dear +old dad—he’s had two months of sorrow that +might have been avoided. What a fool I was! I +ought to have telegraphed from Copenhagen.” +</p> +<p> +“Copenhagen!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I escaped—nearly died of hunger—got +on board a Danish ship as stowaway, and arrived at +Copenhagen half-starved. But I wasn’t up to traveling +for a bit. I’m pulling around, gradually. I’m—well, +to be sure! And mother doesn’t know. +What a surprise it will be! What a jollification! +What a—!” +</p> +<p> +“Here, hold up, Dick—hold up, man—you’re +tottering.” +</p> +<p> +The colonel’s strong hand kept Dick on his feet. +He led the young man gently through the vestibule. +</p> +<p> +“Here, come to a quiet place. You mustn’t be +seen in public,” growled the colonel. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +</p> +<p> +“Why not?” asked Dick. “I’m a little faint. +You see, I haven’t much money. I had to borrow. +A square meal, at your expense, would do me a +world of good, colonel. Let’s go to the dining-room.” +</p> +<p> +“Very well. We can get a quiet table there. +But I want you to understand at once that, though +I’m here, I’m not your friend.” +</p> +<p> +“Eh? What?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you can’t expect it.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, you’re angry with me because I’m fond of +Dora. I suppose you saw my telegram and—intercepted +it.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Then Dora doesn’t know!” +</p> +<p> +“No, Dora doesn’t know—nor will she know. +Better be dead, my boy—better be dead!” +</p> +<p> +“I beg your pardon?” queried Dick, gazing at +the colonel with dull, tired eyes. +</p> +<p> +The colonel vouchsafed no explanation, but led +the way into the dining-room. He selected a table +in a corner, and thrust the menu over to Dick. The +sick man’s eyes ran listlessly down the card, and he +gave it back. +</p> +<p> +“I’m too done. You order. Perhaps, a drink’ll +pull me up.” +</p> +<p> +The colonel ordered brandy. He was now able to +get a better look at the returned hero. The change +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +in the young man shocked him, and he could see that +the hand of death had clutched Dick harshly before +letting him go. +</p> +<p> +“What was it—fever?” he asked, with soldier-like +abruptness, as he scanned the lean, weary face. +</p> +<p> +“Enteric and starvation, and a bit of a wound, +too. I was taken prisoner, but, when the ambulance +cart was left in a general stampede, I was just able +to cry out to a nigger to cut my bonds. He set me +free; but, afterward, I think I went mad. I was in +our lines, I know. It was a good old Yankee who +set me free; but, when reason came, I was again in +the wrong camp. The ambulance cart had got into +its own lines again. At any rate, I was in different +hands, with a different regiment, packed off +to a proper prison camp. I sent word home, or +thought I’d sent word. I thought you all knew. +By Jove, what a lark it will be to turn up and see +their faces!” +</p> +<p> +Dick took a long draught at the brandy, and a +little color came into his face. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose they’ll be glad and all that, as I’m +something of a hero,” he continued. “A chap on +the train told me that the story of my capture got +into the papers, and was written up for all it was +worth. Another smack in the eye for Ormsby, that! +Nutt got away, and told you I was dead, I suppose.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” answered the colonel, gloomily; then, +leaning across the table: “Dick, my boy, I don’t +want to be hard on you. We are all liable to err. +Don’t you think it would have been better if you had +remained dead?” +</p> +<p> +Dick looked blankly into his friend’s face for some +moments. A look of fear came into his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“What’s the matter? What’s happened? +Dora’s—alive?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“And my father and mother?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, yes, they’re well—as well as can be +expected under the circumstances.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, what’s the matter, then? What’s happened?” +</p> +<p> +“Dick, you must know perfectly well what has +happened. Your grandfather found out—the—er—what +you did before you went away.” +</p> +<p> +“What I did before I went away?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it’s no good skirmishing. Let’s call it by +its proper name—your forgery. Those two checks +you cashed at the bank, originally for two and five +dollars. I daresay you thought that your grandfather +never looked at his pass-book. You were +mistaken. And what a confounded fool you must +have been to think that two amounts of such magnitude +as two thousand and five thousand dollars could +be overlooked.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +</p> +<p> +Dick’s lower jaw had dropped a little, and he +looked at the colonel in blank surprise, yet with more +listlessness than would a man in rude health when +amazed. The colonel misread the signs, and saw +only the astonishment of guilt unmasked. +</p> +<p> +“Your mother got the checks for you: but you +added to the figures in another ink. The forgery +was discovered, and by Ormsby, too, unfortunately, +who is no friend of yours. The matter was hushed +up, of course. You have to thank Dora for that. +A warrant was out for your arrest, but Dora begged +Ormsby to stay his hand for the sake of your mother +and father. And—er—well, the long and short +of it is that Ormsby was prepared to lose seven thousand +dollars, rather than ruin your family. The +news of your death—your heroic death, as we imagined—came +at the opportune moment to help +people to forget your folly.” +</p> +<p> +Dick sat like a stone, calm, pale, holding his glass +and listening intently. For an instant he seemed +about to faint. +</p> +<p> +“Of course, we all thought,” continued the colonel, +“that you had put yourself into a tight corner +on purpose, that you might respectably creep out of +your difficulties by dying and troubling nobody. +And we respected you for that. Everybody knew +that you were up to your eyes in debt, and at loggerheads +with your grandfather, that the old man +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +had disinherited you, and all that. But surely you +didn’t owe seven thousand dollars!” +</p> +<p> +“Are you talking about the checks my mother +gave me before I went away?” Dick asked, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I am. You know the circumstances +better than I do. It’s no good playing the fool with +me, and I don’t intend <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: of in the original text">to</ins> have my daughter upset +by telegrams and surreptitious communications. So, +now, you know. You’ve done for yourself, my lad, +and you’d better face it and remain dead.” +</p> +<p> +“But my mother—she has explained?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course, she has, and it’s nearly broken her +heart. Think of her awful position, to have to confess +that her son altered her checks—checks actually +drawn in her name—and the money filched from +the bank by a dirty trick! The bank’s got to lose it. +Your grandfather won’t pay a cent.” +</p> +<p> +“But my mother—?” faltered Dick again, leaning +forward heavily on the table, and gazing at the +colonel with eyes so full of horror that the elder man +wondered whether suffering had not turned Dick’s +brain. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, you may well ask about your mother. She +tried to do her best, I believe, to get your grandfather +to pay up; but the shame of the thing is what +I look at. That’s why I came to you here, to-day. +If your mother knows no more than Dora and all +the rest—if they still think you’re dead—well, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +why not remain dead? It’s only charity—it’s only +kind. Your father and mother think that you died +a hero’s death, and, naturally, aren’t disposed to look +upon your crime quite in the same light as other people. +Why, in heaven’s name, when you got a chance +of slipping out of life, and out of the old set, and +making a fresh start, didn’t you seize it?” +</p> +<p> +“You mean, why didn’t I get shot?” asked Dick, +slowly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, not exactly that. You know as well as I +do that lots of chaps go to the front to get officially +shot, and have their names on the list of the killed—men +who really mean to turn over a new leaf, and get +a fresh lease of life in another country, under +another name, when the war is over. Others get +put right out of the way, because they haven’t the +courage to do it themselves.” +</p> +<p> +“But my mother could have explained!” cried +Dick, huskily. He was so weak that he was unable +to cope with agitation. +</p> +<p> +“Tut, tut, man, your mother could explain nothing. +She could only tell the truth—that she gave +you two checks for small amounts, and you put bigger +amounts to them, and cashed them at the bank; +in short, that her son was a forger.” +</p> +<p> +“My mother said that!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“God help her!” gasped Dick, with a gulp. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +put his hand to his throat, and fell forward on the +table, senseless. +</p> +<p> +The colonel jumped up in alarm. Waiters rushed +forward, and they revived the sick man by further +applications of brandy. He recovered quickly, and +food was again set before him. +</p> +<p> +He ate mechanically, and for a long time there +was silence between the two men. The colonel +wished himself well out of the business, and felt the +brutality of using harsh words to a man in such a +condition of health. Yet, he was resolute in his +purpose. +</p> +<p> +Dick appeared somewhat stronger after the meal. +Every now and again, he would look up at the colonel +in a dazed fashion, as if unable to believe the +evidence of his senses. At last, he spoke again. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose—my brain isn’t what it was. But +I’m feeling better. Tell me again what my mother +said—and my father.” +</p> +<p> +The colonel detailed all that he knew, displaying +considerable irritation in the process. This attitude +of ignorance and innocence nettled him. He wound +up with a soldier-like abruptness. +</p> +<p> +“Well, are you going to live, or do you intend to +remain dead?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going home.” +</p> +<p> +“To be arrested?” +</p> +<p> +“No, to ask some questions.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be a fool. You’ll be arrested at the station.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I sha’n’t. I’ve done a little dodging lately. +I shall travel to some other place, and walk home. +I’ve faced worse things than—” +</p> +<p> +The sentence was never finished. He seemed to +realize that there could be nothing worse than to be +falsely denounced by his own mother—the mother +whom he loved and idolized, the most wonderful +mother son ever had, the most beautiful woman in +New York, the wife of John Swinton, chosen man +of God. +</p> +<p> +“You’d better not come home,” urged the colonel; +“at any rate, as far as we are concerned.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that means you intend to cut me.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; and as far as Dora is concerned—Well, +the fact is, she’s engaged to Ormsby now.” +</p> +<p> +“Engaged to Ormsby?” +</p> +<p> +Dick put out his hand almost blindly to take his +cap, and adjusted it on his head like a man drunk. +He arose and staggered from the table. This was +the last straw. +</p> +<p> +“Look here, boy—you want some money,” exclaimed +the colonel, brusquely. “I’ve come prepared. +You’ll find some bills in this envelope. Put +it in your pocket.” +</p> +<p> +Dick’s hands hung limply at his sides. The colonel +seized him by the loose front of his ulster, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +kept him from swaying, at the same time thrusting +the envelope into one of his pockets. Then, he took +the young man’s arm, and led him out into the +vestibule. +</p> +<p> +“Bear up, my boy—bear up,” he whispered. +“You’ve got to face it. You’re dead—remember +that. Nobody but myself knows the truth. Be a +man, for God’s sake—for your mother’s sake—for +your father’s. You’ve got the whole world before +you. If things go very wrong—well, you can +rely upon me for another instalment—just one more, +like the one in your pocket. Write to me under some +other name. Call yourself John Smith—do you +hear?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes—John Smith,” echoed Dick, huskily. +</p> +<p> +“Well, good-bye, my boy—good-bye,” the colonel +exclaimed. “I must catch my train.” He tried +to say something else. Words failed him. He +turned and ignominiously escaped, leaving Dick +standing alone, helpless and dazed. +</p> +<p> +“I’m going home—I’m going home,” muttered +Dick, as he thrust his hands into his ulster pockets, +and tottered along toward the elevator, for he felt +that he must get to his room at once. +</p> +<p> +“My own mother!—I can’t believe it.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XX_THE_WEDDING_DAY_ARRANGED' id='XX_THE_WEDDING_DAY_ARRANGED'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>THE WEDDING DAY ARRANGED</h3> +</div> + +<p> +When the colonel suppressed Dick’s telegram, and +as he fondly imagined, silenced the young man in +Boston, he left out of the reckoning a prying servant, +who secretly examined the message which the +colonel had thrown into a wastebasket torn across +only twice. In consequence of this, hundreds of +persons, presently, were discussing a rumor to the +effect that Dick Swinton was still alive. Dora, as it +chanced, heard nothing; but Vivian Ormsby—who +thought that he alone shared the colonel’s secret—heard +the gossip circulating through the city. +</p> +<p> +“Dick Swinton is not dead,” said the report, “he +is hiding in New York.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Barnby spoke of this as laughable. But +Ormsby knew that the truth must out sooner or later, +and it was necessary that he should be ready. The +police were on the alert—reluctantly alert, for they +respected the rector. The banker, however, was a +more important person than the clergyman, and his +evident anxiety to lay hands on the forger was a thing +not to be overlooked. There was also a little private +reward mentioned. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +</p> +<p> +The colonel, when Ormsby arrived to continue his +courtship, heard of these rumors with alarm, and +took every precaution to keep them from Dora by +maintaining a constant watch over her. He was as +impatient at the protracted engagement as was +Ormsby himself, and one morning he attacked Dora +upon the question of the marriage. +</p> +<p> +“Dora, your engagement is a preposterous thing, +child. It’s a shame to keep Ormsby waiting and +dangling at your heels as you do. To look at you, no +one would suspect you two were lovers.” +</p> +<p> +“We are not, father. You know that very well.” +</p> +<p> +“Fiddlesticks! You’re willing enough to let him +fetch and carry for you, and motor you all over the +country, and smother you with flowers, and load you +with presents. Yet, you are always as glum as a +church-warden while he’s here. And, when he’s +away, you seem to buck up and show that you can be +cheerful, if you like.” +</p> +<p> +“I have submitted to an engagement with Mr. +Ormsby more to please you, father, than to please +myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, my child, why can’t you please me by settling +things right away. Marriage is a serious responsibility. +It is a woman’s profession, and the +sooner she gets the hang of it, the quicker her promotion. +I’m getting an old man, and I want to see +you married before I die.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +</p> +<p> +“Don’t talk like that, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I’m not a young man, am I? The doctor +told me this morning—but what the doctor told me +has nothing to do with your feelings for Ormsby.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, father, you’re not keeping anything from +me. What did the doctor say?” +</p> +<p> +The colonel saw his advantage, and, although he +was inclined to smile, pulled a long face, and sighed. +</p> +<p> +“My child, I want to see you comfortably settled +before I die. You wouldn’t like me to leave you +here alone with no one to look after you—” +</p> +<p> +“Father, father! What are you saying? I’m +sure the doctor has told you something. I saw you +looking very strange yesterday, and holding your +hand over your heart.” +</p> +<p> +The colonel wanted to exclaim, “Indigestion!” +but he shook his head, and sighed mournfully once +more. +</p> +<p> +“It’s anxiety, my child, about your welfare. It’s +telling on me.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t want to be an anxiety to you, father. I +know I’ve not been a cheerful companion lately, but—it +will be worse for you when I get married.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the sort, my girl. Ormsby and I have +settled that we are not to be separated. He’s looking +out for a big place, where there’ll be a corner for +an old man. Come, come, have done with this shilly-shallying. +What on earth is the use of a two years’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +engagement? At the end of the two years, do you +suppose you will be able to break your word and +Ormsby’s heart? No, my girl, it’s not right. Either +you are going to marry Ormsby, or you are not. If +you are, then it might as well be to-morrow as next +month, and next month as next year. And as for +two years—bah! Come, now, I’ll fix it for you: +four weeks from to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible, father—impossible! I couldn’t get +my clothes ready—” +</p> +<p> +“Clothes be hanged! He’s going to marry you, +not your kit. You’ve got clothes enough to supply +a boarding-school. Six weeks—I give you six weeks.—Ah! +here’s Ormsby. Ormsby, it’s settled. Dora +is to marry you in six weeks, or—she’s no child of +mine.” +</p> +<p> +“I—I didn’t say so, father,” cried Dora, blushing +hotly. +</p> +<p> +“I’m the happiest man in America!” cried +Ormsby, coming over with outstretched hands, and a +greater show of feeling than he had ever before displayed. +He looked exceedingly handsome, and almost +boyish. +</p> +<p> +“Say it is true!—say it is true!” he cried. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as you please, as you please.” And, turning +to her father to hide her embarrassment, Dora +murmured, “You’re not really ill, father?” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, my child, I shall be,” roared the colonel, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +with a wink at Ormsby, “if this anxiety goes on +any longer. Publish the date, Ormsby. Put it in +the papers.” +</p> +<p> +“At once!” cried the delighted lover. “I saw +Farebrother to-day, and he assures me he has just +the place we want, not twenty miles out. Shall we +go over in the motor, and look at it? Will you come +and choose your home—our home, Dora?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course she will,” cried the colonel, starting +up with wonderful alacrity for a sick man. “I’ll go +and order the motor, this minute.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXI_DICK_S_RETURN' id='XXI_DICK_S_RETURN'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<h3>DICK’S RETURN</h3> +</div> + +<p> +The deepest stillness of night had settled down on +Riverside Drive, when Dick Swinton came cautiously +along the cross-town street, and paused near +the corner, looking suspiciously to left and to right. +Convinced, at last, that no one was about, he advanced +toward his home in the shadow of the houses, +going warily. At the beginning of the rectory +grounds, he stopped and leaned against the wall, peering +into the shadows for signs of a watching figure. +All was silent as the grave. He slipped to the side +gate without meeting anyone. Still going cautiously, +he entered without a sound. The place was in +shadow, but from a window on the ground floor a +narrow beam of light shot out on the drive and across +the lawn. It came from between the half-closed curtains +of his father’s study. +</p> +<p> +The rector was at work. It was Friday. Dick +had chosen the day and the hour because he knew that +it was his father’s custom to sit up far into the night, +preparing his Sunday sermon. Sunday morning’s +discourse was prepared on Friday evening; the evening +homily on Saturday. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +</p> +<p> +He crept to the window, and looked in. The light +from the lamp was shining on his father’s hair. How +white it was! The iron-gray streaks were quite gone. +And yet how little time had elapsed! The rector’s +Bible was at his elbow, lying open, and the desk was +covered with sheets of manuscripts, spread about in +unmethodical fashion. At the moment when Dick +looked in, the rector picked up his Bible, and laid it +open before him on the desk. +</p> +<p> +“He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but +whoso confesseth them shall have mercy.” +</p> +<p> +John Swinton arose from the table, and closed the +book abruptly. His study fire had burned low, yet +the sermon was only half-finished. +</p> +<p> +For weeks past, his life had been a hideous burden. +It was unendurable. Every time he opened his Bible, +he read his own condemnation; and, as he slowly +paced his study, he muttered text after text, always +dealing with the one thing—confession. +</p> +<p> +He was between the devil and the deep sea. His +wife’s arguments for silence were unanswerable. The +call of his conscience was unanswerable, too, except +in one way—by confession. He was a living lie; +his priesthood, a mockery. There was not a father +or a mother in his congregation who would not turn +from him in horror, if it were known that he shielded +the guilty beneath the pall of the honorable dead. +</p> +<p> +As the rector walked up and down the room, Dick +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +was able to look upon his father’s face unobserved. +The change shocked him. Was it grief for a dead +son, or grief for an erring one, that had whitened his +hair and hollowed his cheeks? +</p> +<p> +In the few days that had elapsed since his interview +with Colonel Dundas, Dick had pulled up wonderfully. +He had not come on to New York until he +felt himself strong enough to face the ordeal before +him. He had forgiven his mother from the first. +What she did must have been done with the best +intentions. The poverty of her son and the dire distress +of his father had tempted her to obtain possession +of money by forgery. The bank had at once +suspected the ne’er-do-well son. The son had been +proclaimed dead, and the mother had chosen silence. +</p> +<p> +These things, so unforgivable, were at once condoned +by the tender-hearted lad, who only remembered +his mother’s caresses and her constant anxiety +for his welfare from the day of his birth. It was +the loss of Dora that stung him most—the thought +that she had believed him dead and disgraced. His +father’s attitude puzzled him more, and he naturally +jumped to the conclusion that John Swinton +knew nothing; that he was deceived by his wife, like +the rest; otherwise, he would have scouted the lie on +the instant, no matter what the consequences. Such +was the son’s belief in his father’s integrity. +</p> +<p> +What would his father’s reception be? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +</p> +<p> +He raised his finger to tap at the window, but +paused as this thought occurred to him. The rector +could not fail to receive him back from the dead joyfully; +but there would be the inevitable reckoning to +pay. Even now, the lad hesitated, wondering +whether, after all, Colonel Dundas were not right in +declaring him better dead. But he was not without +hope; and his determination to be set right in Dora’s +eyes was inflexible. +</p> +<p> +He tapped at the window, gently. The rector +started and listened, but hearing nothing further, supposed +that he had been mistaken as to the sound. +</p> +<p> +The prodigal tapped again, this time with a coin. +There was no mistaking the summons. The rector +went to the window, flung back the curtains, and +peered out, standing between the window and the +light. +</p> +<p> +Dick pressed himself close to the glass, and took +off his cap. +</p> +<p> +“Father!” he cried. “Open the window.” +</p> +<p> +It was Dick’s voice, but not Dick’s face. +</p> +<p> +“Open the window.” +</p> +<p> +Like a man in a dream, the rector loosened the +catch, and opened the casement. +</p> +<p> +“Father—father! It is I—Dick—alive! and +glad to be home.” +</p> +<p> +The clergyman retreated as from a ghost—afraid. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +</p> +<p> +“Don’t be afraid of me. The report of my death +was all a mistake, father.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick—Dick—my boy—back—alive!” +</p> +<p> +The father folded his son to his heart, with a cry +of joy and a sudden rush of tears. He babbled +incoherently, and gasped for breath. Dick supported +the faltering steps to the chair by the desk. Then, +he closed the window silently, and flinging his cap +upon the table, slowly divested himself of the long +ulster. +</p> +<p> +The inevitable pause of embarrassment followed. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve come to have a talk with you, father,” said +Dick, cheerily. He seized the poker, and raked together +the embers of the dying fire, as naturally +as though no interval of time had elapsed since he +was there last. +</p> +<p> +The rector wiped his eyes and pulled himself together, +realizing, after the first rush of emotion, the +terrible situation created by his son’s return. His +natural impulse was to rush upstairs to Mary, and +tell her the glad news—glad, yet terrible. But Dick +forestalled him by remarking quite casually: +</p> +<p> +“I want to see you first, father, before telling +mother. My coming back will be a shock; and she +ought to be prepared.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes—you’ve taken me by surprise, my boy. +Why didn’t you write? Why didn’t you let us know? +Why didn’t you telegraph?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +</p> +<p> +“I did write, and I thought you knew all about it, +and would be expecting me, and, as soon as I landed, +I telegraphed to Dora Dundas, thinking she would +call on mother. But the colonel intercepted my telegram, +and came himself, and told me of the—of +the—” +</p> +<p> +The rector looked down at his desk; he could not +face his son. His hand involuntarily clenched as it +rested on the table. +</p> +<p> +“He told me of the mess I’ve got myself into over +the bank business—told me they would arrest me if +I came home. But I couldn’t keep away, father.” +There were tears in Dick’s voice now. “I just +wanted to see you before—before emigrating.” +</p> +<p> +“Emigrating, my boy! Why should you emigrate?” +</p> +<p> +This was hardly the tone that Dick expected: no +reproach, no questioning. +</p> +<p> +“It’s no good running the risk of a prosecution, is +it, father? And, as I’ve disgraced the family, I’d—<ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: added missing double quote mark at the end of the sentence">”</ins> +</p> +<p> +“You mean to say that you don’t deny the bank’s +charge of forgery?” +</p> +<p> +“No—no, father, I don’t deny it. Why should +I?” +</p> +<p> +The rector looked at his son helplessly, in agonized +appeal. His hands went up, and he bowed his head +before him. Dick was the strong man, and he the +weak one. Dick was ready to be wiped out of existence, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +rather than betray his mother. He believed +that his father knew nothing. +</p> +<p> +“Dick—forgive!” The stricken father took a +step forward, but his strength gave out, and he +dropped upon his knees at his son’s feet. “Dick! +Dick! We are sinners, your mother and I. I ask +your pardon. Forgive me, boy, forgive—It was +my wish from the first that you should be set straight. +I knew you were incapable of a fraud, and your +mother confessed everything to me. I only consented +to the blackening of your name at—at your mother’s +entreaty—to save Netty’s life from ruin and your +mother from prison.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s all right, father—that’s all right,” cried +Dick huskily, with an affected cheeriness, as he raised +the stricken man. “I’m not able to grapple with it +all just now. You see, I’ve had enteric, and am still +shaky. I’ve thought it all out. Mother was—was +foolish. She wanted to set us all straight, to pay my +debts and save me from arrest. Well, I can but return +the compliment. A fellow can’t see his own +mother sent to prison. She did it for love of her +husband and children. She only defrauded her own +father; and, if he had an ounce of sentiment in him, +or was in his right mind, he’d acknowledge the checks, +and make us disgorge in some other way. I felt like +going up to Asherton Hall first, and strangling the +old villain in his bed.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +</p> +<p> +“Dick, my boy, it is not his fault. It is he who +has been right, and we who have been wrong. No +man should spend money he does not possess. Debts +that a man can never pay are robberies. I have condoned, +I am worse than she—worse than all of you—I, +the clergyman, who have been given the care of +souls. Dick, there is more joy in heaven over one +sinner that repenteth, and your mother and I have +sincerely repented; but we have not atoned. You +must see her to-night, and tell her that you mean to +come home. You must tell the truth, and set yourself +right in the eyes of all men. Your father and +mother don’t matter. You have a life before you, +and a name that should go down in history, +honored—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, nonsense, father! What I’ve been through +is nothing to what some of the chaps suffered. Some +thriving colony is the place for me under a new name, +a new life. So long as mother and you know, and +send me a cheery word sometimes, and wish <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: we in original text">me</ins> well, +I shall be all right. You see, it’s easier to go when +the girl that a fellow loves is—is going to marry +another man, a rich man—a cad. But that’s her +affair. She thinks I’m a bad lot, and put away under +the turf, and she’s going to live her life comfortably +like other people, I suppose. Old Dundas was always +keen on Ormsby. When she’s married—and +settled down—then you must tell her the truth—that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +I didn’t alter those checks, that I wasn’t such a +cheat, nor a coward either. Don’t let her think I +died a skunk who wanted to be shot to avoid the consequences +of a forgery. Yes, you’ll have to tell her +that, father—you’ll have to tell her—” +</p> +<p> +The words came out with difficulty. Dick, who +was standing on the hearthrug, put out his hand +blindly for support. It rested on a table for a moment, +but only for a moment. His lips parted, and +his eyes closed. Ere the rector could rush to his aid, +he slipped to the floor in a faint. Emotion, in his +present weak state, was too much for him. He had +overestimated his strength. +</p> +<p> +“Dick—my boy!—my boy!” cried the father, +raising him tenderly in his arms. “He’ll die—he’ll +die after all!” +</p> +<p> +The study door opened suddenly. Mary in her +nightdress, with her hair about her shoulders, and +her eyes staring, entered the room, barefooted. +</p> +<p> +“I heard his voice, John—I heard his voice!” +she cried, in shrill fear. +</p> +<p> +“Mary! Help, help! He’s here—Dick—alive! +He’s fainted!” +</p> +<p> +The table stood between her and the dark form in +the shadow on the floor. She advanced slowly. +</p> +<p> +“Dick—not dead!” she screamed. +</p> +<p> +Her cry rang through the house and awakened +everybody. Netty heard the words upstairs, and sat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +up in bed, trembling. The servants heard them, and +began to dress hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +Dick was lifted by his father from the floor to the +couch, and the conscience-stricken mother looked on +with drawn, white face. Love conquered her fear, +and she put her arms about him and kissed him; but, +when he opened his eyes, she drew away out of sight, +fearing reproach. His first words might be bitter +denunciation. +</p> +<p> +“He knows all; he understands,” whispered the +rector. +</p> +<p> +The study door stood open, and in another moment +they became conscious of the half-clad figure of Jane, +the housekeeper, looking in. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Dick!” she screamed. “Mr. Dick! Not +dead!” She turned and rushed upstairs to Netty’s +room. +</p> +<p> +She found Netty in a panic, pale and trembling. +</p> +<p> +“What has happened?” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Dick—he’s alive! alive! He’s come +home.” +</p> +<p> +“He’ll be arrested,” was Netty’s only thought, +and she thrust Jane out of the room, telling her to +hold her tongue. It was bitterly cold, and she went +back to bed. She guessed that there must be a painful +interview in progress down in the study, and her own +joy—if any—at the return of her disgraced +brother could wait. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +</p> +<p> +She had no two points of view. She was sorry +that Dick had returned. She regretted that the +forger was not dead. It was so hideously inconvenient +when one wanted to get married to have a disreputable +brother in the family. She then and there +resolved that Dick need not think he would ever get +money out of Harry Bent. +</p> +<p> +It was a strange home-coming for the prodigal. +His intention to emigrate as soon as he had seen his +father and mother was frustrated by an attack of +weakness, which made it impossible for him to be +moved. He was helped to bed, miserably conscious +that self-sacrifice would entail more than emigration. +If he took upon his shoulders the family burden, it +would be as a prisoner and a convict. The secret of +his home-coming could not be kept, and Ormsby’s +warrant must take effect. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXII_THE_BLIGHT_OF_FEAR' id='XXII_THE_BLIGHT_OF_FEAR'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>THE BLIGHT OF FEAR</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Breakfast at the rectory on the morning following +Dick’s sensational return was a very solemn meal, for +the blight of fear had fallen upon the whole household. +No one slept. The father and mother had +remained with Dick until the small hours of the +morning, and, when they finally bade each other good-night, +both were conscious that the old days of sweet +comradeship were over forever. +</p> +<p> +There would be no more heart-to-heart speaking +between these two, no sharing of burdens. The man +must go his way and the woman hers, each with a +load of sorrow to bear. +</p> +<p> +The rector was the only one really glad to find that +the news of Dick’s death was not true; but the joy of +finding him alive was nullified by the terror of coming +trouble. Mary was mentally stunned by the shock of +Dick’s return. She had grown accustomed to the +thought of him as dead, and, of late, had been almost +glad, since it saved the whole family from social ruin. +Now, what would happen? She could not think, +every faculty seemed benumbed. She had arisen and +dressed in a perfectly mechanical manner, and, even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +now that she was sitting at the breakfast-table, her +eyes had the strange and set expression which one +sees in the eyes of the sleep-walker. Her voice, too, +had unfamiliar notes as she read aloud the headings +of the news columns, making a wretched pretense of +keeping up appearances before the servants. +</p> +<p> +The domestics had been sworn to secrecy. This +was not difficult, as all were devoted to Dick. He +had always been a favorite. His kindness and consideration +for those who served him was always in +marked contrast to Netty’s haughty and exacting nature. +There was not a creature in the house who +would not have run personal risk to serve him. +</p> +<p> +He was still in a state of prostration, weaker far +than he knew, and on the brink of a serious collapse. +The need for secrecy made it dangerous to call in +medical aid, and he tried to allay his father’s anxiety +by assuring him that rest was all he needed. He +would soon be well enough to start on his way again. +</p> +<p> +During breakfast, Netty had made no comment on +her brother’s return. Her eyes were red with weeping, +but only because she saw the possibility of her +brother in the dock, and Harry Bent’s mother opposing +her marriage. The rector and his wife scarcely +exchanged a word; it was obvious that there was a +growing antagonism between them. The woman +already suspected her husband of leaning toward her +son, with designs upon her liberty and reputation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +The rector was hoping that his wife would come to +her senses, now that her boy had returned, and see the +wisdom of confession, without forcing upon him the +painful task of telling the dreadful truth. The situation +had been argued out between them until words +ceased to have meaning, and by common consent all +action was suspended until this morning, when, it was +hoped, Dick would be rested, and able to join the +council. +</p> +<p> +If anything, Dick was worse; listless, nerveless, +unable to rise, and spending his time in dozes that +were perilously near unconsciousness. +</p> +<p> +The meal ended, Netty escaped. Her mother +hurried up to Dick, and the rector to his study, where +he awaited his wife. +</p> +<p> +Presently, she came down, dressed for walking. +</p> +<p> +“Where are you going, Mary?” he asked nervously. +</p> +<p> +“I’m going up to see father. It’s the only thing +to do. He cannot kill his own grandson. If Dick +dies, his death will be at father’s door.” +</p> +<p> +“Mary, you are agitated and hysterical. You are +not fit to see anyone. Your father can do nothing. +The matter is in the hands of the bank. We must +either remain passive, and await the issue of events, +or see Ormsby and put the case to him, appealing to +him for a withdrawal of the prosecution.” +</p> +<p> +“What mercy do you think we shall get from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +him? You forget he is a prospective bridegroom, +and his bride, Dora Dundas, is preparing for her +wedding. What will Dora’s action be, do you think, +if she knows that Dick is here?” +</p> +<p> +“Dearest, if she believes him guilty, she will go +on with her marriage. The understanding between +Dick and Dora was informal. It was not like an +engagement. She is engaged to Ormsby, and she +will not go back on her word now, though I have +grave doubts of the wisdom of allowing her to remain +in ignorance of the truth.” +</p> +<p> +“The girl loved Dick. There was a definite +understanding between them. She has been breaking +her heart over him. This engagement to Ormsby is +a matter arranged by her father. No, the only person +who can help us is my father, and I refuse to discuss +it with you further. It’s now a matter between +me and Dick—a mother’s utter ruin or a son’s +emigration. And, after all, why shouldn’t Dick try +his luck in another country? There’s nothing for +him here.” +</p> +<p> +“What are you going to say?” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t tell till I see father, and know what +mood he is in. He has always abused Dick; but he +always liked him. Dick was the only one who could +speak out straight and defy him, and he appreciated +it.” +</p> +<p> +“I am helpless,” cried the rector, throwing up his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +hands and turning away. “I know the path I should +follow, but it is barred, and the way I am traveling +is accursed.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I must act alone, John. Good-bye. To-day +must decide everything. John, won’t you kiss +me—won’t you say good-bye?” +</p> +<p> +He still turned his back upon her, more in sorrow +than in anger. She placed her gloved hand upon his +shoulder appealingly, and turned a woe-begone face. +</p> +<p> +“It will all come right, John.” +</p> +<p> +He sighed, and embraced her like the broken man +he was, and she left him alone with his conscience. +</p> +<p> +And what a terrible companion that conscience +had become! At times, it was a white-robed angel +beckoning him, at others a red imp deriding in exultation, +tormenting, wounding, maddening. +</p> +<p> +On the way to Asherton Hall, Mrs. Swinton +framed a hundred speeches, and went through imaginary +altercations. By the time she arrived, she was +keyed up to a dangerous pitch of excitement, verging +on hysteria. Nobody saw her coming and she entered +the house through the eastern conservatory. +</p> +<p> +Herresford was back in the old bedroom, and +Trimmer was there, superintending the removal of +the breakfast things. The daughter, treading lightly, +walked into the room, unannounced. +</p> +<p> +The old man looked up from his pillows, and +started as if terrified. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +</p> +<p> +“She’s here again, Trimmer—she’s here again,” +he whined. +</p> +<p> +Trimmer was no less surprised. +</p> +<p> +“Trimmer, you can leave us,” cried Mary, whose +eyes were glistening with an unusual light. There +was a red patch in her cheeks, the lips were hard set, +and her hands were working nervously in her muff. +“I wish to speak to my father privately.” +</p> +<p> +“If Mr. Herresford wishes—” +</p> +<p> +“I wish it. Please leave us!” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t go! Don’t go, Trimmer!” cried the +miser extending one hand helplessly. “Raise me, +Trimmer. Don’t let her touch me.” +</p> +<p> +Trimmer obeyed his master, ignoring Mrs. Swinton, +and lifted the old bag of bones with a jerk that +seemed to rattle it. He placed an especially large +velvet-covered cushion behind the invalid’s back, +straightened the skull-cap so that the tassel should +not fall over the eye; then, assuming a stony expression +of face, turned to go. +</p> +<p> +Herresford mumbled and appealed until the door +was closed; then, he seemed to recover his courage +and his tongue. +</p> +<p> +“So, you’re here again,” he snapped. “What is +it now—what is it now? Am I never to have +peace?” +</p> +<p> +“I have strange news. Dick is alive.” +</p> +<p> +“Not dead, eh! Humph! That does not surprise +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +me. I expected as much. No man is dead in +a war until his body is buried. So, he’s come back, +has he?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and that is why I’m here. The bank people +will have him arrested.” +</p> +<p> +There was a pause, which the miser ended by a fit +of chuckling and choking laughter that maddened +her. +</p> +<p> +“This is no laughing matter, father. Can’t you +see what the position is?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, it’s a pretty position—quite a dramatic +situation. Boy dead, shamefully accused; boy alive, +and to be arrested for his mother’s crime.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, I’ve thought it all out. There is only +one thing to do, and you must do it. You must +pay that money to the bank, and compel them to +abandon the prosecution by declaring that you made +a mistake about the checks—that you really did +authorize them.” +</p> +<p> +“Add lie to lie, I suppose; and, according to your +method of moral arithmetic, make two wrongs into +one right. So, you want to drag me into it?” +</p> +<p> +“Father, if you have any natural feeling toward +Dick—I don’t ask you to think of me—you’ll set +this matter straight by satisfying the bank people.” +</p> +<p> +“The bank people don’t want to be satisfied. +They’ve paid me my money—there’s an end to it. +You must appeal to Ormsby.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +</p> +<p> +“But Ormsby hates Dick. He is marrying the +woman Dick loves.” +</p> +<p> +“And who is that, pray?” cried the old man, starting +up and snapping his words out like pistol shots. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Dora Dundas, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“Who’s she?” +</p> +<p> +“The only daughter of Colonel Dundas, a wealthy +man. His wealth, I suppose, attracted Ormsby. +He will show Dick no mercy. You’ve met Colonel +Dundas. You ought to remember him.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! the fool who writes to the papers about the +war. I know him. What’s the girl like? Is she +as great an idiot as her father?” +</p> +<p> +“You’ve seen her. I brought her here with me +one afternoon to see the gardens, and she came up +and had tea with you. Don’t you remember—about +two years ago?” +</p> +<p> +The old man fingered the tassel of his cap, and +chewed it meditatively for a few moments. +</p> +<p> +“I remember,” he said, at last. “So, she’s going +to marry Ormsby, because Dick is supposed to be +dead—and disgraced. Well, a sensible girl. +Ormsby is rich. She knew that Dick would have +money, lots of it, at my death; and, when she couldn’t +have him, she chose the next best man, the banker’s +son. Sensible girl, Dora Dundas. The question is—what’s +Dick going to do?” +</p> +<p> +“Father, Dick has behaved nobly, but unfortunately +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +he is ill at home; and at any moment may be +arrested. That’s why I want to be prepared to prevent +it. He talks of going abroad—emigrating—when +he’s strong enough.” +</p> +<p> +“What!” screamed the old man, in astonishment. +“He’s not going to stand up for his honor, my +honor, the honor of the family? What’s he made +of?” +</p> +<p> +“Father, father, can’t you understand? If he +speaks, he denounces me, his mother. Am I not +one of the family? Think what my position is. It +was as much for his sake as for John’s that I took +the money. You wouldn’t save us from ruin. I +was driven to desperation, you know I was. It was +your fault, and you must do what is in your power to +avert the threatened disgrace. Father, the bank people +cannot possibly prosecute, if you pay them the +seven thousand dollars. I will repay it out of my +allowance in instalments.” +</p> +<p> +There was silence for a few moments, during +which the old man surveyed the situation with a +clear mental vision, superior to that of his daughter. +</p> +<p> +“And you think Ormsby is going to compound a +felony, and at the same time bring back to the +neighborhood a young man in love with his future +wife?” +</p> +<p> +“If I confessed everything, father, do you think +that Ormsby would spare me, Dick’s mother! Oh, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +it’s all a horrible tangle. It’s driving me mad!” +</p> +<p> +“Ha! ha!” chuckled the old man. “You’re beginning +to use your brain a little. You’re beginning +to realize the value of money—and you don’t like +it. Well, you can unravel your own tangle. Don’t +come to me.” +</p> +<p> +The sight of her distress seemed to whet his appetite +for cruelty. He rubbed salt into the open +wounds with zest. +</p> +<p> +“Get your sky-pilot to help you out of it. I +won’t. Not a penny do I pay. Seven thousand dollars!” +</p> +<p> +“Father, a hundred thousand could not make any +difference to you,” she cried. “You must let me +have the money. Take it out of my mother’s allowance.” +</p> +<p> +“What allowance? Who told you anything +about any allowance?” +</p> +<p> +“Father, you’re an old man, and your memory is +failing you. You know, I’m entitled to an allowance +from my mother’s money. You don’t mean to +say you’re going to stop that?” +</p> +<p> +“Who’s stopping your allowance? Trimmer! +Trimmer!” he cried. +</p> +<p> +Something in his manner—a look—a guilty terror +in his eyes, made itself apparent to the woman. +The reference to her mother frightened him. She +saw behind the veil—but indistinctly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +</p> +<p> +It had always been a sore point that her father conceded +only an allowance of a few thousands a year, +whereas her mother had brought him an income of +many thousands. Mrs. Herresford had always +given her daughter to understand that wealth would +revert to her, but, as the girl was too young to understand +money matters at the time of her mother’s +death, she had been entirely at the mercy of her +father. +</p> +<p> +In her present despair, she was ready to seize any +floating straw. The idea came to her that she might +have some unexpected reversionary interest in her +mother’s money, on which she could raise something. +</p> +<p> +Trimmer put an end to the interview by answering +his master’s call. The miser was gesticulating and +mumbling, and frantically motioning his daughter to +leave the room. +</p> +<p> +“She wants to rob me!—she wants to rob me!” +This was all that she understood of his raving. +</p> +<p> +“It is useless to talk to him now, Mrs. Swinton,” +said Trimmer, with a suggestive glance toward the +door. +</p> +<p> +She departed without another word, full of a new +idea. Her position was such that only a lawyer +could help her; and she was resolved to have legal +advice. It was a forlorn hope, but one not to be +despised; and there was not a moment to lose. As +if by an inspiration, she remembered the name of a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +lawyer who used to be her mother’s adviser—a Mr. +Jevons, who used to come to Asherton Hall before +her mother died, and afterward quarreled with Herresford. +This was the man to advise her. He +would be sure to know the truth about the private +fortune of Mrs. Herresford, which the husband had +absorbed after his wife’s death. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXIII_DORA_SEES_HERRESFORD' id='XXIII_DORA_SEES_HERRESFORD'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>DORA SEES HERRESFORD</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Herresford recovered his composure very quickly +after the departure of his daughter. A few harsh +words from Trimmer silenced him, and he remained +sitting up, staring out of the window. The next +time Trimmer came into the room, he called him to +his side, and gazed into his face with a look that the +valet understood. Trimmer knew every mood, and +there were some when the master ruled the servant +and commands were not to be questioned. +</p> +<p> +“Trimmer, I have a commission for you. Go to +the residence of Colonel Dundas. See his daughter, +Dora. She has been here—you remember her?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m afraid not, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Pretty girl, brown hair, determined mouth, +steady eyes, quietly dressed—no thousand-dollar +sables and coats of ermine. Came to tea—and +didn’t cackle!” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t recall her, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“You must. We don’t have many women here. +My memory is better than yours. I want to see her +again; and, when she comes, I talk to her alone, +you hear?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Trimmer, my grandson is alive.” +</p> +<p> +“Alive, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and back from the war. He’s got to marry +that girl; but she’s engaged to someone else—you +understand?” +</p> +<p> +“I think so, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“So, be cautious. Bring her here secretly, or—I’ll +sack you.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Go at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. Your medicine first.” +</p> +<p> +The old man dropped back into his querulous, +peevish mood. Trimmer poured out the medicine, +administered it, and then departed on his mission. +</p> +<p> +On his arrival at the colonel’s house, he sent word +to Dora that he came from Mr. Herresford on important +business. +</p> +<p> +When Dora received the message, her face flushed, +and she looked puzzled and distressed. But she +came to Trimmer presently, and listened with bent +head to what he had to say. Afterward, she was silent +for several minutes. She did not know what to +say to his curious request that she would come immediately +and see Mr. Herresford—on a matter of +grave importance. +</p> +<p> +“Do I understand you to say that he himself sent +you with this strange request?” she asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +</p> +<p> +“Yes, miss. I have come straight from Mr. Herresford.” +</p> +<p> +“Did he not say why he wished to see me?” +</p> +<p> +“I am only his valet, miss; he would not be likely +to tell me. What answer shall I take him?” +</p> +<p> +“I will call at Asherton Hall this afternoon,” the +girl promised. +</p> +<p> +“I will acquaint Mr. Herresford with your decision,” +replied Trimmer, and forthwith he took his +departure. +</p> +<p> +When it was too late to recall her promise, Dora +regretted having given it. She was rather frightened, +and could not guess what the terrible old man +could possibly want with her. The time of her marriage +was drawing near, and she was striving to cast +out of her heart all thoughts of Dick, or of the Swintons, +or anybody connected with the old, happy days. +If Mr. Herresford desired to see her, it could only +be to talk about Dick. +</p> +<p> +The blood rushed to her cheeks. Then came a +reaction, and her heart almost stood still as the wild +idea came that perhaps, after all, Dick lived. Everybody +else had regarded the idea of his being alive +as preposterous; yet, for a long while, she had +dreamed and hoped that the story of his death was +false. Then, as time went on, the hope grew fainter; +and, after many months, she abandoned it. She +trembled now to think what her attitude would be if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +that dream came true. Of course, the old man might +want to see her about Dick’s affairs; and the summons +probably meant nothing that could bring happiness. +Nevertheless, having given her promise, she +was determined to go through with it. +</p> +<p> +She trembled as she approached the great house, +where half the blinds were down, and all was suggestive +of neglect and decay. She had spent some +pleasant afternoons in the splendid gardens and conservatories +with Mrs. Swinton in the old days, but +her one recollection of the eccentric old man was not +very encouraging. She remembered how keenly he +had eyed her, like a valuer summing up the points of +a horse, and how glad she had been to escape his +penetrating scrutiny. Others were present on that occasion. +She was to face him alone now. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Trimmer met her in the hall with a face of +stone, and conducted her up to the bedroom. Her +heart beat wildly until she was actually in the room, +and the little huddled-up figure on the bed came into +view. Then, she lost all her terror, and felt only +pity for the shriveled, ape-like creature. +</p> +<p> +“Sit down, Miss Dundas. It is kind of you to +visit an old man. Trimmer, a chair for Miss Dundas, +close to my bed. My hearing is not what it +was.” +</p> +<p> +His voice was soft, and his manner genial. There +was nothing at all terrifying about him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +</p> +<p> +“You wished me to come to you?” murmured +Dora. +</p> +<p> +“Trimmer, go out of the room. You needn’t +wait. Yes, Miss Dundas, I sent for you. I made +your acquaintance two years ago. I was only in a +bath-chair then; now, you see what I have come to.” +</p> +<p> +“I am deeply sorry.” +</p> +<p> +“When you came before,” said Herresford, +bluntly, “I liked the look of you, Miss Dora; and +I said to myself that, if Dick was not a fool and +blind, he would choose you for his wife.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t! Don’t!” cried Dora, with a sudden +catch in her voice. “I’m engaged to marry Mr. +Ormsby.” +</p> +<p> +“An excellent match—a match that does credit +to your head, my girl. But Ormsby is not a man—he’s +only a machine. He thinks too much of his +money. With him, it’s money, money—all money. +A bad thing! A bad thing!” +</p> +<p> +Dora opened her eyes wide in surprise, wondering +if she heard aright. Was this the miser? +</p> +<p> +“Now, Dick was a man—and he died like a gentleman—with +his back to the wall—hurling defiance +at the muzzles of the enemy’s rifles.” +</p> +<p> +Dora bowed her head, and the tears began to fall. +She raised her muff to her face to hide the spasm +of pain that distorted her features. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! a boy worth crying for, my dear,” said the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +old man, dragging himself with difficulty to the edge +of the bed; “but a shocking spendthrift. That’s +where we quarreled—though we never quarreled +much. I had my say—the boy had his. Sometimes +I was hard, and sometimes he was harder. +The taunts of the young cut the old deeper than the +taunts of the old cut the young. Do you follow +me?” +</p> +<p> +Dora nodded. +</p> +<p> +“Now, if he had married a wife like you, a girl +with a level head and a stiff upper lip, a girl with not +sufficient sentiment to make her a fool, nor enough +brains to be a prig, but just clever enough to supply +her husband’s deficiencies, he would have been my +heir, and this place and all my money would have +been his—and yours.” +</p> +<p> +“Why do you tell me these things, now?” she +cried, a note of anger in her voice. +</p> +<p> +“Because I don’t want you to marry Ormsby.” +</p> +<p> +“Why not? It is to please my father. He +wishes it, and—I must marry somebody. I’m not +going to be an old maid. I shall never love anybody +as I loved Dick, and I might as well recognize +the fact.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, take the advice of an old man who married +a woman who loved someone else. My wife +married to please her father—married me. As +my wife, she hated me. I hated her. She brought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +up my daughter to look upon me as a monster. Everything +I did was unreasonable, eccentric, wicked; +everything I said, absurd; every admonition, harshness; +every economy, meanness. Well; I’m the sort +of man that, when people pull me one way, I go the +other. She spoiled my life, and I consoled myself +with money—money—money!” +</p> +<p> +The old man dragged himself nearer to the edge +of the bed, and, reaching over, tapped his bony fingers +on Dora’s knee. “Come, now—come—tell me +that you’ll think it over, and not marry Ormsby.” +</p> +<p> +“O don’t!—don’t!” cried the girl, covering her +face again, and sobbing bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“You can’t—you sha’n’t marry Ormsby. +Dick’ll haunt you—and sooner than you know.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve thought of that,” sobbed the girl, “and +I’ve tried to conquer it.” +</p> +<p> +“Besides, no man is dead in a war till his body is +buried. Get one lover under ground before you +lead the other over his grave.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t mean—you don’t mean to suggest +that you think there’s any doubt?” cried Dora. +</p> +<p> +“There’s no doubt on one point,” chuckled the +old man, relapsing into his usual sardonic manner. +“You’re not going to marry Ormsby—ha! ha! +He thought he’d do me out of seven thousand dollars—and +I’ve robbed him of his wife. Good business!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +</p> +<p> +“You seem to dislike Mr. Ormsby,” said Dora, +suspiciously. +</p> +<p> +“Not at all—not at all! Man of business—man +of money—no good as a husband! To some +men, money-bags are more beautiful than petticoats. +When you’re his wife, he’ll leave you at home, and +go down to the bank and woo his real mistress—money!—money! +money! But you’re not going +to marry Ormsby, are you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I can’t—I can’t!” cried the girl, starting +up and pacing the room. Herresford, with superlative +cunning, had struck the right chord. It only +needed a little brusque advice to set her in open revolt. +</p> +<p> +“Having decided not to marry him,” continued +the old man “you’ll write him a letter now—at +once. There’s pen and ink and paper on the desk. +Write now, while your heart rings true; and you +can tell him as well, if you like, that Mr. Herresford +will alter his will to-morrow, and leave all his +wealth to you.” +</p> +<p> +Dora turned and faced him in amazement, fearing +that his reason was unhinged. But the strange, +quizzical, amused smile with which he surveyed her +expressed so much sanity that she could not fail to +respect his utterances. +</p> +<p> +“Say that Mr. Herresford makes it a condition +that you do not marry without his consent, and he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +refuses his consent in so far as Mr. Ormsby is concerned.” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t do that, Mr. Herresford, you know I +can’t.” +</p> +<p> +“Come here,” he said, beckoning her <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: authoritively in original text">authoritatively</ins>. +“Have you any confidence in my judgment +of what is best for you? If not, say so.” +</p> +<p> +“I have every confidence in your judgment. You +have voiced the things that were in my heart. I +know you are right.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, if you have confidence, do as I say, or +you’ll bitterly regret it. As the mistress of Asherton +Hall and all my money, you can have any man +you wish. Do you know what I’m worth?” +</p> +<p> +She made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“Come here.” He beckoned again, and was about +to whisper the amount, when his mood changed. +“No, no! Nobody shall know what I’m worth. +They’ll want money out of me. They’ll come around +begging and borrowing and dunning. The less I +pay, the more I have. Go, write the letter, girl—write +the letter. Don’t take any notice of me and +my money. I’m an old man. You’ve got all your +life before you—one of the greatest heiresses in +the country! And I know a man who’ll marry you +for your money and love you as well—or I’ll know +the reason why.” +</p> +<p> +There was something strangely sympathetic between +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +these two widely-contrasted beings—the +young, clear-brained, high-spirited girl and the old +misanthrope. She obeyed him as though mesmerized, +and, flinging down her muff, took off her gloves, +and seated herself at the writing-table. There was +determination in every movement. The invalid +mumbled and chuckled with satisfaction from the +depths of his pillows; but she paid no further heed +to him. With the first pen that came to hand, she +dashed off a curt note to Ormsby: +</p> + + +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'>“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Vivian</span>, I cannot marry you, after all. +It was all a mistake—a mistake. My heart always +was and always will be another’s. Good-bye. +Don’t come to see us any more. My decision is unalterable. +It will only cause us both pain. I am +very, very sorry.” Then, after a thoughtful pause, +she added, “I am going somewhere, right away, for +a long time.” +</p> + +<p> +Again, she paused thoughtfully, and Herresford +made signs to her which she could not see, signifying +that he wished to see the letter. +</p> +<p> +“Let me read,” he cried. +</p> +<p> +She handed him the letter as a matter of course, +and he nodded approvingly as he read. +</p> +<p> +“Now, then, my girl, I’ll tell you a secret. Can +you keep secrets?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +</p> +<p> +“I have always been able to.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s a big secret. How long could you keep a +very big secret?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite as long as a little one.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, bend down and I’ll tell you.” His face +lighted up with amusement; the ape-like features +were transformed; the wrinkles of care and pain +wreathed into smiles. +</p> +<p> +“Can’t you guess?” he asked, with a hoarse +chuckle, and his shoulders shook with suppressed +mirth. “Bend lower.” He grasped her arm, and +drew his lips close to her ear. “Dick’s alive.” +</p> +<p> +She gave a great gasp, and broke away, uncertain +whether this were not some devilish jest. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it’s true—it’s true!” he cried, nodding. +</p> +<p> +“Alive!—alive! Not dead! Dick!” +</p> +<p> +“But keep it secret.” +</p> +<p> +“But why? Why?” cried Dora. +</p> +<p> +“For reasons of my own. Oh, it’s true. You +needn’t look at me like that. I’m not in my dotage +yet.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick alive!—alive!” she cried. She clasped +her hands, and swung around and around in excitement +too great to be controlled. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, alive, but in hiding,” said the old man, +“until I can get him out of that ugly scrape—cheaply.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +</p> +<p> +“But where—where? Tell me!” +</p> +<p> +“That’s my secret. You’ve got to keep your +own.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! but I must tell father.” +</p> +<p> +“Your father knows it already. He’s not to be +trusted.” +</p> +<p> +“Father knows, and yet—?” +</p> +<p> +“Yet, he’d let you marry Ormsby. It’s a way +fathers have when they want their daughters to +marry rich men. So, you see, he’s not as honest as +I am. Now, go home like a good girl, and in a +day or two you shall hear from Dick. In the meantime, +I tell you this much: The boy is ill and +broken. You’ve both been fools. If you had come +to me like sensible children, and told me that +you wanted to get married, I’d have paid his debts +and transferred the burden of responsibility to you—for +he is a responsibility, and always will be—mark +my words!” +</p> +<p> +“A responsibility I will gladly undertake, grandfather.” +She dropped on her knees beside the bed, +and clasped his hand with a frankness and naturalness +quite strange and wonderful to him. He raised +her fingers to his lips, and kissed them with unusual +emotion. +</p> +<p> +“That’s right, call me grandfather. Good girl—good +girl!” He reverted to his usual snappy +manner. “Put on your gloves, girl. Get away +home. Keep a still tongue in your head. Wait till +you hear from me. Give me the letter. Trimmer +shall post it.” +</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-260.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 286px; height: 406px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center;width: 286px;'> +“OH, GOOD-BYE—GOOD-BYE, YOU DEAR, DEAR OLD MAN!” SHE CRIED, DROPPING ON HER KNEES BESIDE HIM.—Page 261<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +</p> +<p> +Dora obeyed, and watched him as she drew on +her gloves. When the last button was fastened, she +took up her muff. +</p> +<p> +“Good-bye—good-bye!” he grunted brusquely, +offering a bony hand. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, good-bye—good-bye, you dear, dear old +man!” she cried, dropping on her knees beside him +once more, and flinging her arms around his neck, +weeping for joy at the great news. +</p> +<p> +“Get away! Get away! You’ll kill me. +Enough—enough for one day.” +</p> +<p> +She kissed him, and he broke down. When she +released him, he fell back on his pillows, breathing +heavily. There were tears in his eyes. Trimmer +entered at the opportune moment, and opened the +door. Dora passed out and ran down the stairs. +When in the open air, she wanted to dance, to laugh, +to cry, to sing, all at once in the centre of the drive. +Only a stern sense of decorum prevented an hysterical +outburst. She walked faster and faster, until she +almost ran. +</p> +<p> +“Dick! Dick! Dick!” she cried, shouting riotously +to the leafless elms in the avenue, and scampering +like a joyous child. She waved her arms and +sang to the breeze. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXIV_DICK_EXPLAINS_TO_DORA' id='XXIV_DICK_EXPLAINS_TO_DORA'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<h3>DICK EXPLAINS TO DORA</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Dora hardly knew how she reached home after her +visit to Herresford. She had no recollection of +anything seen by the way. Her senses swam in +an ecstasy too great for words, too intense to allow +of impressions from outside. Tears of joy obscured +her vision. It was only when she arrived home, and +saw her father, and recollected that he had deceived +her wilfully, that she had room in her heart for +anything but happiness. +</p> +<p> +The colonel was in the library, turning over the +leaves of a house-agent’s catalogue—his favorite +occupation at the present time: Ormsby had enlisted +his help in search of a suitable home for his +bride. +</p> +<p> +“Here’s a nice little place,” cried the colonel. +“They give a picture of it. Why, girl, what a +color you’ve got!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, father, it’s happiness.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s right, my girl—that’s right. I’m glad +you’re taking a sensible view of things. What did +I tell you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +</p> +<p> +“You told me an untruth, father. You told me +that Dick was dead.” +</p> +<p> +Dora’s eyes flashed, and the colonel looked sheepish. +He covered his embarrassment with anger. +</p> +<p> +“So, the young fool hasn’t taken my advice then? +He wants to turn convict. Is that why you’re +happy?—because a man who presumed to make +love to you behind your father’s back has come home +to get sent to the penitentiary, instead of remaining +respectably dead when he had the chance?” +</p> +<p> +“Father, I shall never marry Mr. Ormsby. I +have told him so.” +</p> +<p> +“What! you’ve been down to the bank?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I have just come from Asherton Hall. +What passed there I cannot explain to you at present, +but I have written to Vivian, giving him his +<i>congé</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean to tell me,” thundered the colonel, +rising and thumping the table with his clenched fist, +“that you’re going to throw over the richest bachelor +in the country for a blackguard, a forger, a man +who couldn’t play the straight game?” +</p> +<p> +“Did you play the straight game, father, when +you concealed the fact that Dick lived? You meant +to trick me into a speedy marriage with your friend.” +</p> +<p> +“I—I won’t be talked to like this. There +comes a time when a father must assert his authority, +and I say—” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +</p> +<p> +“Father, you’ll be ill, if you excite yourself like +this.” +</p> +<p> +“Don’t talk about playing the straight game to +me. I suppose you’ve been to Asherton Hall to see +the rascal. He’s hiding there, no doubt.” +</p> +<p> +“No, he’s not. It is you who know where he is. +You’ve seen him, and you must tell me where to +find him. I won’t rest till I’ve heard the true story +of the forgery from his own lips.” +</p> +<p> +“If I knew where he was at the present moment,” +exclaimed the colonel, thumping the table again, “I’d +give information to the police. As for Ormsby, +when he gets your letter—if you’ve written it—he’ll +search the wide world for him. He will be +saving me the trouble. Swinton must pay the penalty—and +the sooner the better.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve seen Mr. Herresford, who said it was only +a question of money.” +</p> +<p> +“Aha, that’s where you’re wrong. If Ormsby +chooses to prosecute, no man can help the young +fool. He’s branded forever as a criminal and a +felon. Why, if he could inherit his grandfather’s +millions, decent people would shut their doors in his +face, now.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, his service to his country counts for nothing,” +faltered Dora. +</p> +<p> +“No; many a man has distinguished himself in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +field, but that hasn’t saved him from prison. Dick +Swinton <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: “in” in original text">is</ins> done for. Ormsby will see to that.” +</p> +<p> +“Vivian is a coward, then, and his action will only +show how wise I was to abandon all thought of marrying +him.” +</p> +<p> +“You haven’t abandoned all thought of it. +You’re just a silly fool of a girl who won’t take her +father’s advice. It is an insult to Ormsby to throw +him over for a thieving rascal—” +</p> +<p> +“Father, you have always prided yourself on being +a just man. Yet, you condemn Dick without a +hearing.” +</p> +<p> +“Without a hearing! Haven’t I given him a +hearing? I saw him. He had the chance then to +deny the charge. His crime is set out in black and +white, and he can’t get away from it. No doubt, +he thinks he can talk over a silly woman, and scrape +his way back to respectable society by marrying my +daughter; but no—not if I know it! Marry Dick +Swinton, and you go out of my house, never to return. +I’ll not be laughed at by my friends and +pointed at as a man of loose principles, who allowed +his daughter to mate with a blackguard.” +</p> +<p> +“Father, curb your tongue,” cried Dora, flashing +out angrily. Her color was rising, and that determined +little mouth, which had excited the admiration +of Herresford, was set in a hard, straight line. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +The colonel was red in the face, and emphasizing +his words with his clenched fists, as if he were threatening +to strike. +</p> +<p> +Dora was the first to recover her composure. She +turned away with a shrug, and walked out of the +room to put an end to the discussion. +</p> +<p> +Her joy at Dick’s return from the grave was +short-lived. The appalling difficulty of the situation +was making itself felt. She left the colonel to ramp +about the house, muttering, and shut herself in her +boudoir, where she proceeded to make short work of +everything associated with Vivian Ormsby. His +photograph was torn into little pieces; the gifts with +which he had loaded her were collected together in +a heap; his letters were burned without a sigh. She +would have been sorry for him, if he had not conspired +with her father to conceal the truth about +Dick’s supposed death. She shuddered to think +what her position would have been, if she had married +Ormsby, and then discovered, when the die was +cast, that Dick, her idol, the only one who had +touched a responsive chord in her heart, was living, +and set aside by fraud. +</p> +<p> +The scrape into which Dick had got himself could +not really be as serious as her father imagined, +since the grandfather of the culprit had spoken of it +so lightly—and, in any case, the crime of forgery +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +never horrifies a woman as do the supposedly +meaner crimes of other theft and of violence. It +was surely something that could be put right, and, +if it could not, then it would become a battle of +heart against conscience. But, at present, love held +the field. +</p> +<p> +It was absolutely necessary to see Dick, and get +information on all points; and, as it was quite impossible +to extract information from her father as to +her lover’s whereabouts, the rectory seemed to be +the most likely place to gather news. To the +rectory, therefore, she went. +</p> +<p> +Dick was upstairs, ill. When her name was +taken in to the clergyman—she chose the father in +preference to the mother from an instinctive distrust +of Mrs. Swinton which she could not explain—John +Swinton trembled. Cowardice suggested that +he should avoid her questioning. He knew why she +came; and was not prepared with the answer to the +inevitable inquiry, “Where is Dick?” Yet, anything +that contributed to Dick’s happiness at this +miserable juncture was not to be neglected. Therefore, +he received her. +</p> +<p> +Dora was shocked to see the change in the clergyman. +His hand trembled when it met hers, and his +eyes looked anywhere but into her face. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Swinton, you can guess why I have come.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +</p> +<p> +“I think I know. You have heard the glad news—indeed, +everyone seems to have heard it—that +my son has been given back to me.” +</p> +<p> +“And to me, Mr. Swinton.” +</p> +<p> +“What! Then, you do not turn your back upon +him, Miss Dundas!” he cried, with tears in his +voice. +</p> +<p> +“I have come to you, Mr. Swinton, to find out +where he is, that I may go to him, and hear from +his own lips a denial of the atrocious charge brought +against him by the bank.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, of course! I don’t wonder that you +find it hard to believe.” The guilty rector fidgeted +nervously, and covered his confusion by bringing forward +a chair. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot stay, Mr. Swinton, thank you. I have +just run down to beg you to put me in communication +with your son. Oh, you can’t think what it has +meant to me. It has saved me from an unhappy +marriage.” +</p> +<p> +“Your engagement to Mr. Ormsby is broken +off?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Because you think you’ll be able to marry +Dick?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Why do you speak of Dick like that?” +she asked, with a sudden sinking at the heart. +“Surely, you do not join in the general condemnation—you, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +his own father! Oh, it isn’t true what +they told me—that he’s a forger, who will have to +answer to the law, and go to prison. It isn’t true.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick himself is the only person who can answer +your questions.” +</p> +<p> +“But where is he? I suppose I can write to +him?” +</p> +<p> +“He’s in hiding,” said the rector, brokenly. +The words seemed to be choking him. +</p> +<p> +“In hiding! Dick, who faced a dozen rifles and +flung defiance in the teeth of his country’s enemies—in +hiding!” +</p> +<p> +“Just for the present—just for the present. +You see, they would arrest him. It’s so much better +to prepare a defense when one has liberty than—than—from +the Tombs.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, you will not tell me where he is?” +</p> +<p> +The information Dora vainly sought came to her +by an accident. Netty, unaware of the presence of +a visitor in the house, walked into the study, and +commenced to speak before she was well into the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Father, Dick wants the papers. He’s finished +the book and—Oh, Miss Dundas!” +</p> +<p> +“He is here—in this house?” cried Dora, flushing +angrily at the rector’s want of trust. “Oh, why +didn’t you tell me? Do you think that I would betray +him? Why didn’t you let me know? How +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +long has he been home? Oh, please let me go to +him!” +</p> +<p> +Father and daughter looked at one another in +confusion. +</p> +<p> +“I intended to tell you, Miss Dundas, after I had +asked my son’s permission. You see, we are all in +league with him here. If the police got an inkling +of his presence in the house, it would be very awkward.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think Dick would like to see you just +now,” interjected Netty. “You see, he’s ill—he’s +very ill, and much broken.” +</p> +<p> +“Now that you know he is here,” interposed the +rector, “there can be no objection to your seeing +him. I must first inform him of your coming—that +he may be prepared. I’m sure he will be glad +to see you.” +</p> +<p> +The rector escaped to fulfil a difficult and painful +mission. He had almost forgotten the existence of +his son’s sweetheart, and was only conscious that she +added to the troubles of an already trying situation. +The noble fellow, who was prepared to take the +burden of his mother’s sin, would certainly find it +hard to justify himself in the eyes of the woman he +loved. And, if he set himself right in Dora’s eyes, +that would mean—? He trembled to think what +it would mean. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +</p> +<p> +Dora and Netty, in the study, maintained an unnatural +reserve, in which there was silent antagonism. +Dora relieved the situation by a commonplace. +</p> +<p> +“You must be overjoyed, Netty, to have your +brother back again.” +</p> +<p> +“Overjoyed!” exclaimed Netty, with a shrug. +“I’m likely to lose a husband. A disgraced brother +is a poor exchange.” +</p> +<p> +“You don’t mean to say that Harry Bent would +be so mean as to withdraw because your brother—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, say it—because my brother is a criminal. +I don’t pity him, and you’ll find your father +less lenient than mine. All thought of an engagement +between you and Dick is now, of course, absurd.” +</p> +<p> +“That is for Dick to decide,” said Dora, quietly. +But there was a horrible sinking at her heart, and +tears came to her eyes. She walked to the window +to hide her emotion from unsympathetic eyes. She +almost hated Netty. Everyone seemed to be conspiring +to overthrow her idol. They would not give +her half a chance of believing him innocent. She +positively quaked at the prospect of hearing from +Dick’s own lips his version of the story. +</p> +<p> +When the clergyman came down, he entered with +bowed head and haggard face, like a beaten man. +He signed to Netty that he wished to be alone with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +Dora, and, when the girl was gone, went over to his +visitor, and laid a trembling hand upon her shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Miss Dundas, my son desires to see +you, and speak with you alone. He will say—he +will tell you things that may make you take a harsh +view of—of his parents. I exhort you, in all +Christian charity, to suspend your judgment, and +be merciful—to us, at least. I am a weak man—weaker +than I thought. This is a time of humiliation +for us, a time of difficulty, bordering on ruin. +Have mercy. That is all I ask.” +</p> +<p> +Without waiting for a reply, he led the way upstairs. +Dora followed with beating heart, conscious +of a sense of mystery. At the door of Dick’s room, +the rector left her. +</p> +<p> +“Go in,” he murmured, hoarsely. +</p> +<p> +“Dora!” +</p> +<p> +It was Dick’s voice. He was reclining in a deck-chair, +wrapped around with rugs, and with a book +lying in his lap. He was less drawn and pinched +than when he first returned, but the change in him +was still great enough to give her a sudden wrench +at the heart. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Dick! Dick!” she cried, flinging away +her muff and rushing to him. “Oh, my poor Dick! +What have they done to you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +</p> +<p> +He smiled weakly, and allowed her to wind her +arms about his neck as she knelt by his side. +</p> +<p> +“They’ve nearly killed me, Dora. But I’m not +dead yet. I’m in hiding here, as I understand father +told you. You don’t mean to give me the go-by +just because people are saying things about me?” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, no. But the things they’re saying, Dick, +are dreadful, and I wanted to hear from your own +lips that they’re not true.” +</p> +<p> +“You remember what I said to you before I went +away?” +</p> +<p> +“I remember, and I have been loyal to my +promise.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you can continue loyal, little one. I am +no forger—but I fear they’re going to put me into +jail, and I must go through with it, as I’ve had to go +through lots of ugly things out there.” He shuddered. +</p> +<p> +“But, Dick, if the charge is false, why cannot you +refute it?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, there you have me, Dora. If you force me +to explain, I will. It concerns one who is near and +dear to me, and I would rather be silent. If, however, +there is the slightest doubt in your mind of my +innocence, you must know everything.” +</p> +<p> +“I—I would rather know,” pleaded Dora, whose +curiosity was overmastering. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +</p> +<p> +“But is your faith in me conditional? Is not my +word enough?” +</p> +<p> +“It is enough for me, Dick—but it is the others—father, +and—<ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber’s Note: added missing double quote mark at the end of the sentence">”</ins> +</p> +<p> +“Ah! I understand. But what do other people +matter—now? You’re going to marry Ormsby, I +understand.” +</p> +<p> +Dora looked down, and her hand trembled in his +as she sought for words to explain a situation which +was hardly explainable. +</p> +<p> +“Well—you see—Dick—they told me you +were dead. We all gave you up as a lost hero.” +</p> +<p> +“Yet, before the grass had grown over my supposed +grave, you were ready to transfer your love to—that +cad.” +</p> +<p> +“Not my love, Dick—not my love! Believe me, +I was broken-hearted. They said dreadful things +about you, and I couldn’t prove them untrue, and I +didn’t want everybody to think—Well, father +pressed it. I was utterly wretched. I knew I should +never love anybody else, dearest—nobody else in +the world, and I didn’t care whom I married.” +</p> +<p> +It was the sweetest reasoning, and of that peculiarly +feminine order which the inherent vanity of man +cannot resist. Dick’s only rebuke was a kiss. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Dora, I’m not a marrying man, now. I’m +not even respectable. As soon as I’m well, I’ve got +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +to disappear again. But the idea of your marrying +Ormsby—” +</p> +<p> +“It’s off, Dick—off! I gave him his dismissal +the moment I heard—” +</p> +<p> +“Did your father tell you I was alive?” +</p> +<p> +“No, your grandfather told me.” +</p> +<p> +“Ye gods! You don’t mean to say you’ve seen +him!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Dick, and I think he’s the dearest old man +alive. He was most charming. He isn’t really a bit +horrid. My letter dismissing Mr. Ormsby was +posted at his own request. So, if you want me, Dick, +I am yours still. More wonderful still, he told me +things I could hardly believe.” +</p> +<p> +“He’s a frightful old liar, is grandfather.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t think he was lying, Dick. You’ll laugh +at his latest eccentricity. He told me he would alter +his will and leave everything to me—not to you—to +me.” +</p> +<p> +“But why?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I suppose—I suppose that he thought—” +</p> +<p> +Dora played with the fringe of the rug on Dick’s +knee as she still knelt by his side, and seemed embarrassed. +</p> +<p> +“I think I understand,” laughed Dick. “He’s +taken a fancy to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Dick, I think he has. It is because he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +thinks—that you have taken a fancy to me—that—oh, +well, can’t you understand?” +</p> +<p> +She rested her cheek against his, and, as he folded +her to his heart, he understood. +</p> +<p> +“So, grandfather has turned matchmaker. I’ll +warrant he thinks you are a skinflint, and will take +care of his money.” +</p> +<p> +“That’s it, Dick. He thinks I’m the most economical +person. I saw him looking at my dress, a +cheap, tweed walking affair. Oh, good gracious, if +he had seen my wardrobe at home, or the housekeeping +and the stable accounts!” +</p> +<p> +“Then, you’ll have to keep it up, darling. Next +time you go to see him, borrow a dress from your +maid.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick, your grandfather talked of getting you out +of your scrape. What does that mean? If he pays +the seven thousand dollars, will it get you off?” +</p> +<p> +“It is not a question of money, now. It is a question +of the penitentiary, darling. And I don’t see +that it is fair to hold you to any pledges. I’ve got +to go through with this business. You couldn’t +marry an ex-convict.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick, if you are not guilty, if you have done +no wrong, you are shielding someone else who has.” +Dora arose to her feet impatiently, and stood looking +down almost angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Dora, Dora, don’t force it out of me!” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +pleaded. “If you think a little, you’ll understand.” +</p> +<p> +“I have thought. I can understand nothing. +They told me that your mother’s checks—” +</p> +<p> +Even as she spoke, she understood. The knowledge +flashed from brain to brain. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Dick—your mother!—Mrs. Swinton! +Oh!” +</p> +<p> +“Grandfather drove her to it, Dora. You mustn’t +be hard on her.” +</p> +<p> +“And she let them accuse you—her son—when +you were supposed to have died gloriously—oh, +horrible!” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that’s the worst of being a newspaper hero. +The news that I’m home has got abroad somehow, +and those journalist fellows are beginning to write +me up again. I wish they’d leave me alone. They +make things so hard.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick, you’re not going to ruin your whole career, +and blacken your reputation, because your mother +hasn’t the courage to stand by her wickedness.” +</p> +<p> +“It wasn’t the sort of thing you’d do, Dora, I +know. But mother’s different. Never had any +head for money, and didn’t know what she was doing. +She looked upon grandfather’s money as hers and +mine.” +</p> +<p> +“But when they thought you were dead—oh, +horrible. It was infamous!” +</p> +<p> +“Dora, Dora, you promised to be patient.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +</p> +<p> +“Does your father know? He does, of course! +A clergyman!” +</p> +<p> +“Leave him out of it. Poor old dad—it’s quite +broken him up. Think of it, Dora, the wife of the +rector of St. Botolph’s parish to go to jail. +That’s what it would mean. The rector himself disgraced, +and his children stigmatized forever. An +erring son is a common thing; and an erring brother +doesn’t necessarily besmirch a sister’s honor. Can’t +you see, Dora, that it’s hard enough for them to bear +without your casting your stone as well?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Dick, I can’t understand it. Has she no +mother feeling? How could a woman do such a +thing? Her own son! To take advantage of his +death to defile his memory. Oh, if I had known, I—I +would have—” +</p> +<p> +“Hush, hush, Dora! If you knew what my +mother has suffered, and if you could look into my +father’s stricken heart, you’d be willing to overlook a +great deal. When I get out of the country, I’m +going to make a fresh start. Ormsby has set spies +around the house like flies, and, as you’ve thrown +him over now, he’ll be doubly venomous. I only +wanted to set myself right in your eyes, and absolve +you from all pledges.” +</p> +<p> +“But I don’t want to be absolved,” sobbed Dora, +dropping on her knees again, and seeking his breast. +“Oh, Dick, Dick, you are braver than they know. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +Was it not easier to face the firing party than to endure +the ignominy of this unmerited disgrace?” +</p> +<p> +“There’s no help for it. I must go through with +it. Don’t shake my courage. A man must stick up +for his mother.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Dick, there must be some other way.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no other—unless—unless my grandfather +consents to acknowledge those checks, and declares +that the alterations were made with his knowledge. +But that he will not do—because he knows +who did it—and he is merciless. I don’t care a +snap of my finger for the world. You are my world, +Dora. If you approve, then I am game. I shall be +all right in a few days, and then—then I’ll go and +do my bit of time, and see the inside of Sing-Sing. +It’ll be amusing. There’s a cab. That’s mother +come home.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I can’t face her!” cried Dora, with hardening +mouth. +</p> +<p> +“Go away without seeing her, darling. Promise +you won’t reveal what I’ve told you.” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t promise. It’s horrible!” +</p> +<p> +“You must—you must, little girl.” +</p> +<p> +And in the end, much against her will, she was persuaded +to keep silence. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXV_TRACKED' id='XXV_TRACKED'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<h3>TRACKED</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Vivian Ormsby refused to abandon all hope of winning +Dora. He believed that, if he got Dick Swinton +into jail, it would crush her romance forever. In +his pride, he disdained appeal to Colonel Dundas. +He knew her father’s view, and did not doubt that +pressure would be brought to bear from that quarter. +Dora could not well marry a penniless convict, and +the colonel’s wealth was worth a little submission to +parental authority. Dora would soon change her +tone when all illusions were shattered. She was far +too sensible to ruin her life by a reckless marriage. +Time was on his side. Every hour that passed must +intensify her humiliation. +</p> +<p> +He had realized the necessity of prompt action, +and was in closest touch with the police. Detectives +were in and out of the bank all day long, and a famous +private detective had promised him that the +fugitive would be captured within seven days. +</p> +<p> +Detective Foxley entered the bank one day to see +Vivian Ormsby, and brought the banker news of his +latest investigations. The inspector was a small, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +thin-featured, sandy-haired man, with a calm exterior +and a deliberate manner. He entered Ormsby’s private +room unobtrusively, and closed the door after +him with care. +</p> +<p> +“Well, what news, Foxley?” +</p> +<p> +“My men have shadowed everybody, but so far +with no result. I thought it advisable to keep an eye +on the young lady. He is sure to communicate with +her, and she’ll try to see him. His people at the +rectory know where he is, and I suspect that Mr. +Herresford knows as well. My man reports that +the young lady went to Asherton Hall after an interview +with Mr. Herresford’s valet. She came out of +the house in a state of excitement, and showed every +sign of joy. She thought she was alone, and danced +and ran like a child, from which we deduced that she +had seen the young man, and that he was hiding in +Asherton Hall. We went so far as to interview the +housekeeper, who made it clear that the young man +had not been there, and offered to let us search. But +we are watching the house.” +</p> +<p> +“And the rectory?” asked Ormsby. +</p> +<p> +“He hasn’t been there. Miss Dundas called at +the rectory as well, and after a short visit returned +home on foot. Evidently, she is getting information +from his relatives. It has occurred to me that she’ll +possibly write to him, addressing him by some other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +name. Can you, therefore, arrange to have her letters +posted by some—some responsible servant who +will take copies of all the addresses?” +</p> +<p> +“I have no doubt that can be done. The housekeeper +at the colonel’s is a very good friend of mine. +I have tipped her handsomely. The letters are all +posted in a letter-box in the hall, and cleared by the +same servant every day.” +</p> +<p> +“We have endeavored to approach the servants +at the rectory, but—no go. They are of course +stanch and loyal to their young master. That is only +natural. Mrs. Swinton has been shadowed, and she +has made no attempt to meet her son. Our only +danger is that he may get out of the country again. +Every port is watched.” +</p> +<p> +“What puzzles me is the visit of Miss Dundas to +Herresford,” said Ormsby, thinking of his letter of +dismissal, with the old miser’s monogram on it. +</p> +<p> +“She evidently went there to see him,” said the detective, +“and heard from him the news of the young +man’s escape. That, perhaps, accounted for her +high spirits.” +</p> +<p> +“Briefly, then, your labors have had no result, and +you are as far from the scent as on the first day.” +</p> +<p> +“Not exactly that, sir. We’ll nab him yet.” +</p> +<p> +“As for the people at the rectory,” Ormsby said, +decisively, “I’ll tackle them myself.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +</p> +<p> +“Be guarded, sir. We don’t want them to suspect +that they are watched.” +</p> +<p> +“They probably know that already. I’m going +to offer them terms. If they’ll advise their son to +give himself up, seven thousand dollars shall be paid +by some ‘friend,’ and he will get off with a light sentence. +It isn’t as though I wanted him sent up for +any great length of time. I only want him put in the +dock. The whole United States will ring with the +scandal, and the country’ll be too hot to hold him, +even if he should be acquitted. He’s a reckless young +fellow. There’s no knowing what he might do. +He might—” +</p> +<p> +Ormsby did not finish the sentence. The detective +muttered one comprehensive word. +</p> +<p> +“Suicide.” +</p> +<p> +Ormsby nodded. +</p> +<p> +“And the best thing, I should think,” grunted the +detective. +</p> +<p> +The upshot of this conversation was a prompt visit +to the rectory by Ormsby, whose arrival caused no +little consternation in the household. The rector was +flustered and ill at ease. He would have liked to +deny the visitor, but was afraid. He knew the +banker slightly, well enough to dread the steady fire +of those stern eyes. +</p> +<p> +Ormsby offered his hand in friendly fashion, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +took stock of the trembling man before speaking. +</p> +<p> +“You can guess why I have come, Mr. Swinton.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not difficult to guess, Mr. Ormsby. It is +the sad business of the checks. I hear you have +issued a warrant for my son’s arrest, and you can +scarcely expect to be received as a welcome guest in +this house. What have you to say to me?” +</p> +<p> +“Only this, Mr. Swinton. If your son likes to +give himself up, we will deal with him as leniently +as possible to avoid delay and—expense. There’ll +be no question of refunding the money. My co-directors +are willing to put in a plea for the unfortunate +young man as a first offender, on certain conditions.” +</p> +<p> +“And the conditions?” +</p> +<p> +“That he undertakes not to molest or in any way +pursue Miss Dora Dundas.” +</p> +<p> +“Molest is rather a hard word, Mr. Ormsby. I +am aware of the rivalry between you and my son, +and I recognize that he has made a dangerous enemy. +Surely, Miss Dundas is the best judge of her own +feelings?” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Dundas would have married me but for +the return of your scapegrace son,” cried Ormsby, +flashing out. “He has seen her, and has upset all +my plans.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he has seen her—” The words slipped out +before the clergyman knew what he was saying. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +</p> +<p> +“Ah, he has seen her,” cried Ormsby, sharply. +“So, he’s either at Asherton Hall—or here.” +</p> +<p> +“I—I didn’t say that!” gasped the rector. +“This house is mine—you have no right—Dear, +dear, I don’t know what I’m doing, or what I’m +saying.” +</p> +<p> +“You have said enough, Mr. Swinton. Your son +is in this house. I have him, at last.” +</p> +<p> +“My son is ill, Mr. Ormsby. You must give him +time. This dreadful matter may yet be set right.” +</p> +<p> +“It is in the hands of the police. Good-day.” +</p> +<p> +John Swinton was powerless to say a word in his +son’s defense. He led Ormsby from the room and +out of the house, without another word of protest. +On his return, he sank down in his writing-chair, +groaning and weeping. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what have I said! What have I done! +I’ve doubly betrayed him. Nobody can help him +now, unless—unless—” +</p> +<p> +He clasped his hands upon the desk as if in prayer, +looking upward. He saw his way, clear and defined. +Even as Abraham offered up his son at the +call of God, so he must deliver up his guilty wife, and +cry aloud his own sin. Ay, from the pulpit. It +would be the last time his voice would ever be raised +in the house of God. His congregation would know +him for a sinner, a liar, a coward. He had remained +silent when scandalous tongues were busy defaming +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +his son’s reputation; and not a word of protest had +fallen from his lips. He had gone to the pulpit, +and, with an expectant hush in the church, they had +waited for him to speak of his dead son who had +died gloriously—and no word had passed his lips, +because only one declaration was possible. Either +he must deny the foul slander, or by his silence give +impetus to the rumor of guilt. The hue and cry +had been openly raised for his son, and he had done +nothing. The devil had demanded Dick, even as +God demanded Isaac. And the traitorous priest had +been under the spell of a woman. It was hard to +deliver up to man’s justice the wife of his bosom. It +was no longer a choice of two evils; it was an issue between +God and himself. +</p> +<p> +He prayed for strength that he might be able to go +out of the house now—before his wife returned—and +declare her guilt to the police and his own condonation +of it; after that, to call together his own +flock and make open confession of his sin, and say +farewell to the priesthood. Then—chaos—poverty—new +work, with Dick’s help—but work with +clean hands. +</p> +<p> +The way was clear enough now—while Mary was +away out of the house—while her voice no longer +rang in his ears and the soft rustle of her skirts had +died away. But, when she came back with her pale +face and care-lined eyes, her soft voice and caressing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +hand, pleading, pathetic, seeking protection from the +horrible contact of a jail, would he be able to hold +out? +</p> +<p> +His face was strained with mental agony, and his +fingers worked convulsively on one another. He +spread his arms upon the table and bowed his head as +though racked with physical pain. The clarion voice +of duty was calling; but, when the woman’s cry, “I +am your wife, John, your very own—you and I are +one—you cannot betray me!” next broke on his ear, +would he be strong then? If he could bear the punishment +with her, and stand in the dock by her side, +it would be better than suffering alone, tortured by +the thought of the hours of misery to be endured by +a gently-nurtured woman in a cruel prison. Perhaps, +they would take him, too, for his share in the fraud. +Dick was right when he said a man could more easily +bear the hardship of prison than could a woman. If +it had been possible, he would gladly have borne his +wife’s burden. +</p> +<p> +As usual, he did nothing. He put off the evil +hour, and waited for Ormsby to act. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXVI_MRS_SWINTON_HEARS_THE_TRUTH' id='XXVI_MRS_SWINTON_HEARS_THE_TRUTH'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<h3>MRS. SWINTON HEARS THE TRUTH</h3> +</div> + +<p> +The junior clerk of Messrs Jevons & Jevons carried +Mrs. Swinton’s card to the senior partner, a hoary-headed +old man, well stricken in years. When the +card was scrutinized, he could not recall the personality +of Mrs. Swinton. He sent for his confidential +clerk, who was also at a disadvantage, yet they both +seemed to remember having heard the name before. +</p> +<p> +At last, however, the client was ushered in, and +Mr. Jevons hoped that his eyes would repair the lapse +of his memory. A pale, dark-eyed, slender woman, +wrapped in furs, entered. +</p> +<p> +“You don’t remember me, Mr. Jevons?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! now I hear your voice, I remember. You +are the daughter of Mr. Herresford.” +</p> +<p> +“You were once my mother’s lawyer, Mr. Jevons,” +said Mrs. Swinton, plunging at once into business. +</p> +<p> +“I had that honor. Won’t you sit down?” +</p> +<p> +“It is twenty-five years ago—more than that.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. You have married since then.” +</p> +<p> +“I married Mr. Swinton, the rector of St. +Botolph’s.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, indeed. That is very interesting. And +now you are living—?” +</p> +<p> +“At the rectory, on Riverside Drive.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, yes.—And your father is well, I presume.” +</p> +<p> +“As well as can be expected,” answered Mrs. +Swinton, tartly. “It is about money-matters I have +come to you, Mr. Jevons. I want to know if it is +possible by any means to raise the sum of seven thousand +dollars.” +</p> +<p> +“That is not a large sum. There ought to be no +difficulty.” +</p> +<p> +“You think so!” she cried, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it depends. The income your mother left +you—if it is not in any way mortgaged—should +give ample security.” +</p> +<p> +“My mother left me no income.” +</p> +<p> +“I beg your pardon?” queried the old man, curtly, +as if he doubted his hearing. +</p> +<p> +“My income is pitifully small, Mr. Jevons—only +four thousand a year, which my father allows +me, and he makes a favor of that, often withholding +it, and plunging me into debt.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Jevons looked incredulous. “Four thousand +a year. Did you see your mother’s will, Mrs. +Swinton?” +</p> +<p> +“No. Did she make a will?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, of course. I drew it up for her. You were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +only a girl then, I remember. You were away in +Europe, in a convent, were you not, when your +mother died?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and father wouldn’t allow me to come +home.” +</p> +<p> +“Under that will, your mother left you something +more than twenty thousand a year.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Jevons, you are thinking of someone else. +You have so many clients you are mixing them up. +My father, who is little better than a miser, absorbed +the whole of my mother’s income at her death.” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible! Impossible! Your mother left +you considerably more than half-a-million dollars. +It was because of a dispute over the sum that I withdrew +from your father’s affairs. I was his lawyer +once, you remember. A difficult man—a difficult +man. You don’t mean to tell me that you have received +from your father only four thousand a year? +It’s incredible. It’s illegal.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Swinton laid her hand upon her heart, to still +the throbbing set up by this startling turn of affairs. +</p> +<p> +“But, when you were married, what was your +husband thinking of not to see your mother’s will, +and get proper settlements?” +</p> +<p> +“My husband has no head for money-affairs. It +was a love match. We eloped, and father never forgave +us.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +</p> +<p> +Mr. Jevons gave vent to his anger in little, jerky +exclamations of amazement. +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Swinton, I ought to tell you that I always +disapproved of your father’s management of your +mother’s affairs—and his own. It was on this very +question of your mother’s money that I split with +him. He insulted me, put obstacles in the way of +my transacting his legal business, and I had no option +but to withdraw. There was a clause in your mother’s +will which stipulated that your income should be +paid to you quarterly, or at other intervals of time, +according to your father’s discretion. He chose to +read that to mean that he could pay you money at +discretion in small or large sums, as he thought fit. +You were a mere child at the time, and your father +was your natural guardian. I always suspected him +of having some designs upon that money, for he bitterly +resented the idea of a girl having an income at +all. He was peculiar in money matters—I will not +say grasping.” +</p> +<p> +“He was a thief—is a thief!” cried Mrs. Swinton, +breathing heavily, her eyes flashing with excitement. +“Go on.” +</p> +<p> +“I withdrew altogether from your father’s affairs. +I was busy, and had other matters to attend to. I +naturally thought that your husband’s lawyers would +take over the management of your affairs, and any +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +discrepancies due to the er—eccentricities of your +father would be set right. But it appears that you +have never questioned your father’s discretion.” +</p> +<p> +“I have questioned it again and again, and was +always told that I was a pauper, that my mother’s +money belonged to him. Oh, if I had only known! +What misery it would have prevented! It would +have saved my son from ruin—” +</p> +<p> +“Your son!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I have a boy and a girl, both thinking of +marriage, both crippled by the want of money. I +must have seven thousand dollars this very day.” +</p> +<p> +“I think it can be managed, Mrs. Swinton. I will +see my partner about it, and probably let you have a +check.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Jevons went fully into her affairs for nearly an +hour. Then, he handed her a newspaper, and left +the room. She flung down the journal, and started +to her feet. +</p> +<p> +Twenty thousand a year! More than half-a-million +dollars withheld from her for twenty-five +years by a grasping, unnatural father. It was like a +wonderful dream. The revelation opened up a prospect +of unlimited joy. +</p> +<p> +In a few minutes, Mr. Jevons returned with a +signed check for the amount required. He placed +it in his client’s hand, with a solemn bow. Mrs. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +Swinton, too much moved to utter thanks, folded the +check, and slipped it into the purse in her muff. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Jevons, what am I to do about the—other +money?” +</p> +<p> +“I’ve just been thinking of that. I mentioned it +to my partner. If you wish us to act for you, I will +bring pressure upon your father to have it restored at +once. There is not the smallest flaw in the will. +We must bring pressure.” +</p> +<p> +“Undoubtedly—every pressure that the law will +allow. Expose him. Shame him. Humiliate him. +Prosecute him, if need be.” +</p> +<p> +“It is certainly a flagrant instance of the abuse of +parental authority. But a suit is quite unnecessary. +Your father must hand over to you the half-million, +plus compound-interest for twenty-five years—an +enormous sum! There can be no possible question +of your right to the money. If you wish us to advance +anything more—seven thousand dollars is a +very small sum—we shall be most happy.” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot believe it all yet, Mr. Jevons. I am so +accustomed to penury and debt that it sounds like a +fairy story. There is one other matter I wish to +speak to you about. My son—my son is in trouble. +Two checks, signed by my father, for small +amounts were altered to larger ones, and cashed at +our local bank. The amount in dispute came to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +seven thousand dollars, and my father declines to be +responsible, and wants to force the bank to lose the +money. That is why I wanted this check. If I pay +them back with this money, the affair will be ended, +and nothing more can be said about it. That is so?” +</p> +<p> +“Dear, dear! Raising checks!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes—it was wrong. But it was all my father’s +fault. He refused to give me money when—but +that’s nothing to do with it. I want you to tell me +it will be all right when the money is paid.” +</p> +<p> +“It depends entirely on the bank. Surely, your +father will hush the matter up.” +</p> +<p> +“No, he wishes us to be disgraced—ruined—just +because my husband is a clergyman, and I married +contrary to his wishes. He never forgives.” +</p> +<p> +“But that was so many years ago! Surely, he +won’t question the checks.” +</p> +<p> +“He has done so—and a warrant is out for my +son’s arrest.” +</p> +<p> +“Dear, dear—that is very serious. I should +take the money to the bank, and see what they can do. +If the police have knowledge of the felony, they may +take action on their own account, but these things can +often be hushed up. I should advise you to see the +responsible person at the bank. Do you know him?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, he’s a friend—at least I’m afraid he’s +not much of a friend to my son.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it’s a matter where a solicitor had better +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +not interfere. The fewer people who have cognizance +of the fact that the law has been broken, the +better.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll do as you advise. I’ll see Mr. Ormsby to-day. +You are quite sure, Mr. Jevons, that you’ve +made no mistake about my mother’s money. Oh, +it’s too wonderful—too amazing!” +</p> +<p> +“I am quite sure. I went thoroughly into the +matter at the time, and it will give me the greatest +pleasure to act for you against Mr. Herresford. If +it should come to a suit, there can only be one issue.” +</p> +<p> +“I will see father myself,” observed Mrs. Swinton, +with her teeth set and an ugly light in her eyes. +“Mr. Jevons, you will come down to-morrow to see +us, or next day?” +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow, at your pleasure. I’ll bring a copy +of the will, and prepare an exact calculation of the +amount of your claim. Good-morning, Mrs. Swinton. +I am pleased to have brought the color back +to your cheeks. You looked very pale when you +came in.” +</p> +<p> +“It’s the forgery—the dreadful business at the +bank that frightens me.” +</p> +<p> +“Do your best alone. I am sure your power of +persuasion cannot fail to melt the hardest heart,” the +lawyer protested, with his most courtly air. +</p> +<p> +“The circumstances are peculiar. But I will try.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Swinton reëntered her cab with a strange +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +mixture of emotions. As she drove through the +crowded thoroughfares, her feelings were divided between +indignant rage against her father and joy at +the thought of John Swinton’s troubles ended, the +luxury and independence of the future, Netty no +longer a dowerless bride, Dick a man of wealth without +dependence upon his grandfather. +</p> +<p> +It is astonishing how soon one gets accustomed to +a sudden change of fortune. The novelty of the +situation had worn off by the time the home journey +was finished. She was again in the grip of overwhelming +fear. The horrible dread of a prosecution +stood like a spectre in her path. +</p> +<p> +On her arrival at the bank, she found the doors +closed; but she rang the bell so insistently that, at last, +a porter appeared. And she even persuaded that +grim person to violate all rules, and take her card to +Vivian Ormsby, who was conferring with Mr. +Barnby. In the end, she triumphed, and was admitted +to the banker’s private room. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXVII_ORMSBY_REFUSES' id='XXVII_ORMSBY_REFUSES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<h3>ORMSBY REFUSES</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Ormsby greeted Dick’s mother with marked coldness. +He extended to her the politeness accorded to +an enemy before a duel. He motioned her to a seat +near his desk, and took up a position on the hearthrug. +His pale face was hard set, and his dark eyes +gleamed. His hands were clenched behind his back, +and his whole attitude was that of a man holding +himself in check. The very mention of the name of +Swinton was enough to fill his brain with madness. +</p> +<p> +“I have come to pay you some money,” said Mrs. +Swinton quietly, as she unfastened the catch of her +muff bag. “Here is a check for seven thousand dollars. +It is the sum required by you to make good the +discrepancy in my father’s account with your bank. +He is an old man in his dotage; and, as he repudiates +his checks, you must not be the loser.” She spoke in +a dull voice—a monotone—as though repeating a +lesson learnt by heart. +</p> +<p> +Ormsby was rather staggered. How Mrs. Swinton +could raise seven thousand dollars without getting +it from Herresford was a mystery, and he had never +expected the miser to disgorge. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +</p> +<p> +“May I ask you why you bring this money?” he +demanded, at last. +</p> +<p> +“I have explained.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope you don’t think, Mrs. Swinton, that we +are going to compound a felony, just because the +criminal’s family pursues the proper course, and reimburses +our bank.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I do. When the money is paid, my +family affairs are no business of yours.” +</p> +<p> +“A warrant is out for your son’s arrest, Mrs. +Swinton, and we shall have him to-night. It pains +me exceedingly to have to take this course, but—” +</p> +<p> +“You hypocrite!” she cried, starting up. “You +are taking an unfair advantage of your position. +You are playing a mean, contemptible trick. You +are jealous of my son. Your action is not that of a +man, but of a coward. Are you not satisfied with +having robbed him of his wife that you must hound +him down?” +</p> +<p> +“On the contrary, your son has robbed me of the +woman I love,” said Ormsby, with cutting emphasis, +“and he shall not have her. She may not marry me, +but she shall not mate with a felon.” +</p> +<p> +“If it is money you want, you shall have more.” +</p> +<p> +“You insult me, Mrs. Swinton. It is not the +money I care about. It is the principle. Your son +insulted me publicly—struck me like a drunken +brawler—and worked upon the feelings of a pure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +and innocent woman, who will break her father’s +heart if she persists in the mad course she has +adopted. But she’ll change her mind, when she sees +your son in handcuffs.” +</p> +<p> +“It must not be! It must not be!” cried the +guilty woman. “If you were a man and a gentleman, +you would not let personal spite and jealousy +come into a matter like this. You would not ruin +my son for life, and break my heart, because you cannot +have the girl, who pledged herself to Dick before +you had any chance with her. You’ll be cut by every +decent person. Every door will be shut against you. +If you do what you threaten, everyone shall know the +truth—” +</p> +<p> +“The whole world may shut its doors—there is +only one door that must open to me, the door of +Colonel Dundas’s house, where, until to-day, I was +sure of a welcome, and almost sure of a wife. I am +sorry for you, because it is obviously painful for a +mother to contemplate the downfall of her son. +You naturally strive to screen him by every means in +your power. It is the common instinct of humanity. +But I tell you”—and here he raised his fist with unwonted +emphasis—“I’ll kill him, hound him down, +make his life unbearable. The country will be too hot +to hold him. First a felon, then a convict, then an +outcast, a marked man, a wastrel—” +</p> +<p> +“I beg of you—I beseech you! You don’t understand—everything. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +If I could tell you, you +would at least have a different point of view of Dick’s +honor. It’s I who—who—” +</p> +<p> +“Honor! Don’t talk to me about honor! How +is it he’s alive? Why isn’t he beside his comrade, +Jack Lorrimer, who died rather than betray his +country? It is easy to see how he escaped the bullets +of the firing party. He told his secret, and +heaven alone knows how many dead men lie at his +door as the result of that treachery.” +</p> +<p> +“It is false!” +</p> +<p> +“If I err, Mrs. Swinton, it is because I believe that +a forger is always a sneak and a thief. I judge men +as I find them. I speculate upon their unseen acts +by what has gone before. A brave man is always a +brave man, a coward always a coward, a thief always +a thief, because it is his natural bent. It is useless to +prolong this interview. You lose your son; I gain a +wife. The world will be well rid of a dangerous +citizen. Allow me to open the side door for you. +It is the quickest way.” +</p> +<p> +Of what avail was her sudden avalanche of wealth? +It could not move the determination of this remorseless +man. If she confessed the truth—it was on her +lips a dozen times to cry aloud her sin—he would +only transfer his animosity to her, because it would +hurt Dick the more. Next to humiliating his rival, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +to humble the wife of the rector of St. Botolph’s +would be a triumph for Ormsby. She took refuge +in a last frantic lie. +</p> +<p> +“My father signed the checks for those amounts. +The alterations were made in his presence—by me. +I saw him sign them. He knew very well what he +was doing then. But, since, he has forgotten. His +denial is folly. Dick is innocent. I can swear to +it.” +</p> +<p> +Ormsby smiled sardonically as he opened the door. +“It does great credit to your imagination, Mrs. +Swinton. Your statement, on the face of it, is false. +Unless Mr. Herresford made that avowal with his +own lips, no one would take the slightest notice of +it. It would only be adding folly to crime. I wish +you good-day.” +</p> +<p> +He held the door wide open, still smiling with an +evil light in his eyes. As she passed out, she was +almost tempted to strike him, so great was her mortification. +</p> +<p> +“You are as bad as my father,” she cried. “Nothing +pleases you men of money more than to wound +and lacerate women’s hearts. Dora is well saved +from such a cur.” +</p> +<p> +She reached the rectory in a state bordering on despair. +Money could do nothing. She was powerless +to evade the consequences of her folly. It was the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +more maddening because she had only robbed her +father of a little, whereas he had defrauded her of +much—oh, so much! +</p> +<p> +One sentence let fall by Ormsby remained vividly +in her memory. “Unless Mr. Herresford made +that avowal with his own lips, no one would take the +slightest notice of it.” +</p> +<p> +He should make the avowal; she would force it +from him. The irony of the situation was fantastic +in its horror. +</p> +<p> +She found her husband at home, looking whiter +and more bloodless than ever. +</p> +<p> +“What news, Mary?” he asked awkwardly, +avoiding her glance. +</p> +<p> +“The strangest, John—the strangest of all! +My father is the biggest thief in America.” +</p> +<p> +“Mary, Mary, this perpetual abuse of your father, +whom we have wronged, will not help us in the +least.” +</p> +<p> +He led her into the study. +</p> +<p> +“John, John, you don’t understand what I mean. +I’ve been to Mr. Jevons, and he says that my mother +left me more than half-a-million dollars, which my +father has stolen—stolen! He has kept us beggars +ever since our marriage, by a trick. My mother left +me twenty thousand a year; and—you know what +we’ve had from him.” +</p> +<p> +“Mary, what wild things are you saying?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +</p> +<p> +“Ah, it’s hard to believe; but it’s true. He’ll +have to disgorge, or Mr. Jevons will take the business +into court. He gave me the seven thousand dollars +I wanted on the spot, and promised to get the rest for +me, and give me as much more as I wanted. I’ve +seen Ormsby, and paid him the money; but he’s obdurate. +The jealous wretch is bent upon ruining +Dick. Nothing will move him.” +</p> +<p> +“It is our sin crying for atonement, Mary. +Money cannot buy absolution.” +</p> +<p> +“No, but father can say the word that will save us +all. He must swear he made a mistake—that he +did sign those checks for the amounts drawn from +the bank. That will paralyze Ormsby, and leave +him powerless.” +</p> +<p> +“Lies! lies!—we are wallowing in lies!” groaned +the rector. +</p> +<p> +“When a lie can hurt no one, and can avert a terrible +calamity, perjury can be no sin. God knows I +have been punished enough.” Then, with a sudden +anger and a burst of violence so unusual in his wife +that it horrified the rector, she began to abuse her +father, calling him every terrible, foolish name that +came to her tongue. +</p> +<p> +“He shall pay the penalty of his fraud,” she cried. +“Thief he calls me—well, it’s bred in the bone. +Set a thief to catch a thief. I’ve run him to earth. +He’ll have to lose hundreds of thousands, and more. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +It will send him wild with terror. Think what that’ll +mean! Think how he’ll cringe and whine and implore! +It’ll be like plucking out his heart. I have +the whip-hand of him now, and he shall dance to my +tune. I shouldn’t be surprised if compulsory honesty +and the restoration of ill-gotten wealth were to kill +him.” +</p> +<p> +“Mary, Mary, be calm!” +</p> +<p> +“I’m going to him now,” she cried. “We’ll see +who will be worsted in the fight. I’ll silence his +taunts. There’ll be no more chuckling over his +daughter’s misery—no more insults and abuse of +you, John.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Mary, you mustn’t think of going now. +You’re unsprung, overcome. You’ll do something +rash. Let us be satisfied for the present with this +great change of fortune. One ghost at least is laid—the +terror of poverty. The way lies open now +for our honorable confession. You see that, don’t +you?” he pleaded. “We can delay no longer. +There is no excuse. By the return of our boy, the +ground was cut from beneath our feet. What does +it matter what the world says of us, when we have +made things right with our God, when we have +done justice by our brave son?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no—think of Netty.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Netty is in trouble, dearest. She’s had bad +news to-day. Harry Bent talks of canceling his engagement. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +The scandal has reached the ears of his +family, and his money-affairs are dependent on his +mother, whom he can’t offend. You see, darling, +the sins of the fathers have begun to descend on +the children—Dick and Netty both stricken. We +must confess!—confess!” +</p> +<p> +“I can’t, John, I can’t—I can’t. Dick won’t +hear of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Dick has no voice in the matter at all. It is the +voice of God that calls.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, I know, John, but—wait till I’ve seen +father once more. I won’t listen to you, I won’t +eat, I won’t sleep, until I’ve seen him. I’ll go to him +at once.” +</p> +<p> +“I must come, too,” urged the rector weakly. +Yet, the thought of facing the miser’s taunts at such +a time filled him with unspeakable dread. And he +could not tell her that Dick’s arrest was imminent. +</p> +<p> +“Have some food, dearest, and go afterward.” +</p> +<p> +“I couldn’t eat. It would choke me,” Mrs. +Swinton said, rebelliously. +</p> +<p> +Netty, hearing her mother’s voice, came into the +room, her eyes red with weeping. +</p> +<p> +“You’ve heard, mother?” she cried, plaintively. +</p> +<p> +“I’ve heard, Netty. To-morrow Mrs. Bent will +be sorry. We’re no longer paupers, Netty.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, grandfather isn’t dead?” +</p> +<p> +“No, but we are rich. He’s a thief. We’ve always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +been rich. Your grandfather has robbed us of +hundreds of thousands—all my mother’s fortune. +I’ve only just found it out to-day from a lawyer.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, the villain!” cried Netty. “But I shall +be jilted all the same. Dick has ruined and disgraced +us all. I’m snubbed—jilted—thrown +over, because my brother is a felon.” +</p> +<p> +“Silence, Netty. There are other people in the +world beside yourself to think of,” cried the rector. +</p> +<p> +“Well, nobody ever thinks of me,” sobbed the +girl, angrily. +</p> +<p> +There was a loud rattling at the front door. The +rector started, and listened in terror. +</p> +<p> +“Too late!” he groaned, dropping into a chair. +“It’s the police!” +</p> +<p> +“John, you have betrayed me—after all!” +screamed his wife, looking wildly around like a +hunted thing. +</p> +<p> +He bowed his head in assent. He misunderstood +her meaning. “Ormsby has been here. He found +out—by a slip of the tongue.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXVIII_THE_WILL' id='XXVIII_THE_WILL'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<h3>THE WILL</h3> +</div> + +<p> +The police had arrived with a warrant to search the +house. Mrs. Swinton seemed turned to stone. The +rector drooped his head in resignation, and stood with +hands clenched at his side, looking appealingly at +his wife. He said nothing, but his eyes beseeched +her to be brave, to say the words that would save +her son, to surrender in the name of truth and justice. +</p> +<p> +She understood, but refused; and the police proceeded +with their search. +</p> +<p> +Now that further concealment was useless, they +were led upstairs. Dick, lying in his deck-chair, +heard them coming, and guessed what had happened. +He dropped his book upon his lap, and, when the +police inspector and the detective entered the room, +he was quite prepared. +</p> +<p> +“Well, so you’ve found me,” he cried, with a +laugh. “It’s no good your thinking of taking me, +unless you’ve brought a stretcher, for I can’t walk.” +</p> +<p> +“We sha’n’t take you without doctor’s orders, +if you’re ill, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, he won’t give you the order, so you’d better +leave your warrant, and run away and play.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +</p> +<p> +“I have to warn you, sir,” said the officer pompously, +“that anything you say will be taken down +in evidence against you.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, take that down in evidence—what I’ve +just said. You’re a smart lot to look everywhere +except in the most likely place. Take that down +as well.” +</p> +<p> +“We don’t want any impudence. You’re our +prisoner; we shall put an officer in the house.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, all I ask is that you won’t make things +more unpleasant for my mother and father than is +absolutely necessary. Now, get out. I’m reading +an interesting book. If you should see Mr. Ormsby, +you can give him my kind regards, and tell him he’s +a bigger cad than I thought, and, when I’m free, +I’ll repeat the dose I gave him at our club dinner. +Say I’m sorry I didn’t rob his bank of seventy thousand +instead of seven thousand.” +</p> +<p> +“Do I understand, sir,” said the officer, taking +out his notebook, “that you confess to defrauding +the bank of seven thousand dollars?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, certainly! I’ll confess to anything you +like, only get out.” +</p> +<p> +Netty had taken refuge in the drawing-room, +where she locked herself in, inspired with an unreasoning +terror, and a dread of seeing her brother +handcuffed and carried out of the house. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +rector and his wife stood face to face in the study, +with the table between them. +</p> +<p> +“For the last time, Mary, I implore you to +speak.” He raised his hand, and his eyes blazed +with a light new and strange to her. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, there is no need for me to speak, +John. This can all be settled in a few hours, when +I have denounced father to his face, and compelled +him to retract.” +</p> +<p> +“When you have compelled him to add lie to lie. +Mary—wife—I charge you to speak, and save me +the necessity of denouncing you.” +</p> +<p> +“John, you are mad. Trouble has turned your +brain. What are you saying?” +</p> +<p> +“I am no longer your husband. I am your +judge.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, John, John—give me time—give me a +little time. I promise you, I will set everything right +in a few hours.” +</p> +<p> +The rector looked at the clock. “At half-past +six, I go to conduct the evening service—my last +service in the church. This is the end of my priesthood. +I preach my last sermon to-night. Unless +you have surrendered yourself to justice before I +go into the pulpit for my sermon, I shall make public +confession of our sin.” +</p> +<p> +“John, you no longer love me. You mean to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +ruin me—you despise me—you want to get rid of +me!” cried the wretched woman between her sobs, +as she flung herself on her knees at his feet. “John! +John! I can’t do it—I can’t!” +</p> +<p> +“Get away, woman—don’t touch me! You’re +a bad woman. You have broken my faith in myself—almost +my faith in God. I’ll have nothing further +to do with you—or your father—or the +money that you say is yours. Money has nothing +to do with it. It is a matter of conscience, of courage, +of truth! I’ve been a miserable coward, and +my son has shamed me into a semblance of a brave +man. I am going to do the right thing by the boy.” +</p> +<p> +“John! John!—you can’t—you won’t! You’ll +keep me with you always. I’ll love you—oh—you +shall not regret it. You cannot do without +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Out of my sight!” +</p> +<p> +He rushed from the room, leaving his wife still +upon her knees, with her arms outstretched appealingly. +When the door slammed behind him, she +uttered one despairing moan, and fell forward on +her face, sobbing hysterically. +</p> +<p> +Her hands clawed at the carpet in her agony, yet +she could not bring herself to make any effort towards +the rehabilitation of her son’s honor. Her +thoughts flew again to her father—the greatest sinner, +as she regarded him—and the flash of hope +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +that had so elated her in the afternoon again blinded +her. She struggled to her feet, still sobbing, and +looked at the clock. If John persisted in his determination +to denounce her at evening service, there +was at least a three hours’ respite—time enough to +go to her father. +</p> +<p> +The rector, in the hall, had met an officer coming +down the stairs, who explained the situation to him—that +a doctor’s certificate would be necessary, and +that officers must remain in and about the house to +keep watch on their prisoner. The rector listened +to them with his mind elsewhere, as though their +communication had little interest for him, and his +lips moved with his thoughts. But, before they left, +he pulled himself together, and addressed them. +</p> +<p> +“Officers, I beg one favor of you: that you will +not make this matter public until after the service +in the church this evening. You have arrested the +wrong culprit. The real forger may possibly come +to you at the police station with me to-night, and +surrender.” +</p> +<p> +“Was that the meaning of the young man’s +cheek?” wondered the officer, eying the pale-faced, +distraught clergyman suspiciously. He had arrested +defaulting priests before to-day, and was half-inclined +to believe that the rector himself was the +culprit indicated. However, he didn’t care to hazard +a guess openly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +</p> +<p> +“There is no objection to keeping our mouths +shut for an hour or two, sir,” he answered. +</p> +<p> +“I am obliged to you for the concession. Until +after the evening service then; after that you can do +as you please.” +</p> +<p> +The rector picked up his hat, and walked out of +the house without another word, leaving the policemen +in some doubt as to the wisdom of allowing him +out of sight. +</p> +<p> +Mary heard the talking in the hall, and her +husband’s step past the window, and was paralyzed +with terror, fearing lest he might already have betrayed +her to the police. The easiest way to settle +the doubt was to go into the hall, and see what had +happened. To her infinite relief, the officer allowed +her to pass out of the front door without molestation. +</p> +<p> +The automobile for which she had telephoned was +already waiting. She entered hurriedly, and bade +the chauffeur drive at top speed to Asherton Hall. +The cold air outside in the darkening twilight revived +her, and brought fresh energy. Her anger +against her father grew with every turn of the +wheels, and her rage was such that she almost contemplated +killing him. Indeed, the vague idea was +rioting in her mind that, rather than go to prison, +she would die, first wreaking some terrible vengeance +on the miser, who had ruined the happiness of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +her married life and brought disaster on all belonging +to her. +</p> +<p> +On her arrival, there were only three windows +lighted in the whole front of the great house; but +outside the entrance there were the blinking lamps +of two carriages, one a shabby hired vehicle, the +other a smart brougham, which she recognized at +once as belonging to her father’s family physician. +</p> +<p> +Her heart sank with an awful dread. If her +father were ill, and unable to give attention to her +affairs, it spelled ruin. +</p> +<p> +The door was opened by Mrs. Ripon, who admitted +Mrs. Swinton in silence. The hall was +lighted by a single oil lamp, which only served to +intensify the desolation and gloom of the dingy, +faded house. +</p> +<p> +“I want to see my father at once, Mrs. Ripon,” +the distracted woman declared. +</p> +<p> +“The doctor is with him, madam. He won’t be +long. Will you step into the library? Mr. Barnby +is there.” +</p> +<p> +The mention of that name caused her another +fright. She was inclined to avoid the bank-manager. +Curiosity, however, conquered, and she resolved +to face him, in the hope of hearing why he +had come to her father. +</p> +<p> +On her entrance, Mr. Barnby bowed with frigid +politeness. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +</p> +<p> +“You have seen my father, Mr. Barnby. Is he +well?” she asked, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“He looked far from well. I was shocked at the +change in him.” +</p> +<p> +“Did he send for you?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and it will be some satisfaction to you to +know that he has withdrawn his charge against his +grandson. When I came before, he asserted most +emphatically that the checks had been altered without +his knowledge. He now declares angrily that I +utterly mistook him, that he said nothing of the kind. +He is prepared to swear that the checks are not forgeries +at all.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! he has come to his senses, at last. I knew +he would,” she cried. “So, you see, Mr. Barnby, +that you were utterly in the wrong.” +</p> +<p> +“You forget, madam. You yourself admitted +that the checks were altered without your knowledge.” +</p> +<p> +“Did I? No—no; certainly not! You misunderstood +me.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Herresford and his family are fond of misunderstandings,” +said the manager stiffly, with a +flash of scorn. He shrewdly guessed who the real +forger was; but, in the face of the miser’s declaration, +he was powerless. +</p> +<p> +“This means, Mr. Barnby, that now my son will +not be arrested, that the impudent affront put upon +us by Mr. Ormsby will need an ample apology—a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +public apology. The scandal caused by your blunders +has been spread far and wide.” +</p> +<p> +“That is a matter for Mr. Ormsby. Mr. Herresford +has withdrawn his previous assertion, and +has given me a written statement, which absolves +your son. I insisted upon it being written. It may +have to be an affidavit.” +</p> +<p> +The sound of the arrival of another carriage +broke upon Mrs. Swinton’s ear, and she listened in +some surprise. +</p> +<p> +“Why are so many people arriving here at this +hour?” she demanded, curiously. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Barnby shrugged his shoulders, to signify that +it was no affair of his. +</p> +<p> +The front door was opened by Mr. Trimmer, who +had hurriedly descended the stairs. Mrs. Swinton +emerged from the library at the same moment, impatient +to see her father. To her amazement, she +beheld Dora Dundas enter. The girl carried in her +hand a piece of paper. Her face was pale, her eyes +were red with weeping, and her bearing generally +was subdued. The message in her hand was a +crumpled half-sheet of note-paper, in the miser’s +own handwriting, short and dramatic in its appeal: +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +“Come to me. I am dying.” +</p> +<p> +“Trimmer, I must see my father at once,” cried +Mrs. Swinton, without waiting to greet Dora. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +</p> +<p> +The girl gave her one look, a frozen glance of +contempt, and turned her appealing eyes to Mr. +Trimmer. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Herresford,” the valet announced, “wishes +to see Miss Dundas. The doctor is with him. No +one else must come up.” +</p> +<p> +“But I insist,” Mrs. Swinton cried. +</p> +<p> +“And I, too, insist,” cried Trimmer, with glittering +eyes and a voice thrilling from excitement. +His period of servitude was nearly ended, and he +cared not a snap of his fingers for Mrs. Swinton or +for anyone else. His legacy of fifty thousand dollars +was almost within his grasp. +</p> +<p> +The rector’s wife fell back, too astonished to +speak. +</p> +<p> +Dora followed Trimmer’s lead up the stairs, and +entered the death chamber with noiseless tread. +The dying man was lying propped up with pillows +as usual. One side of him was already at rest forever; +but his right hand, with which he had written +his last letter and signed the lying statement which +was to absolve his grandson, was lovingly fingering +a large bundle of bank-notes that Mr. Barnby, by +request, had brought up from the bank. On a chair +by the bedside, account-books were spread in confusion, +and one—a black book with a silver lock—was +lying on the bed. The physician stood on one +side, half-screened by the curtains of the bed. Herresford +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +beckoned Dora, who approached tremblingly. +</p> +<p> +The old man crumpled up the bank-notes, and +placed them in her hand, murmuring something +which she could not hear. She bent down nearer to +his lips. +</p> +<p> +“For Dick—for present use—to put himself +straight.” +</p> +<p> +“I understand, grandfather.” +</p> +<p> +The miser made impatient signs to her, which the +doctor interpreted to mean that he desired her to +kneel by his bedside. She dropped down, and her +face was close to his; she could feel his breath upon +her cheek. +</p> +<p> +“I’m saying—good-bye—” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“To my money.... All for you.... +You’ll marry him?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“No mourning—no delays—no silly nonsense +of that sort.” +</p> +<p> +“It shall be as you wish.” +</p> +<p> +“Marry at once. And my daughter—beware +of her. A bad woman. I saved it from her +clutches. It’s there.” He pointed to the account-books. +“If I hadn’t taken care of it for her, she +would have squandered every penny—can’t keep it +from her any longer. Plenty for you and Dick. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +You’ll take care of it—you’ll take care of it? You +won’t spend it?” he whined, with sudden excitement. +</p> +<p> +Dora passed her hand over his hair, and soothed +him. He moaned like a fretful child, then recovered +his energies with surprising suddenness. He +seized the little black account-book with the silver +lock. +</p> +<p> +“It’s all here,” he cried, holding up the volume +with palsied hand. “It runs into millions—millions!” +</p> +<p> +The doctor shook his head at Dora, as much as +to say, “Take no notice; he is wandering.” +</p> +<p> +Trimmer now interrupted, entering the room abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Swinton, sir, wishes to see you at once, on +urgent business,” he announced. +</p> +<p> +“Send her away!” cried the old man, throwing +out his arm, and hurling the book from him so that +it slid along the polished floor. He made one last +supreme effort, and dragged himself up. +</p> +<p> +“Send her away,” he screamed. “Liar!—Cheat!—Forger!—Thief! +She sha’n’t have my +money—she sha’n’t—” +</p> +<p> +The words rattled in his throat, and he fell forward +into Dora’s arms. She laid him back gently, +and, after a few labored moments, he breathed his +last. +</p> +<p> +The daughter, unable to brook delay, and furious +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +at Trimmer’s insolent opposition to her will, entered +the room at this moment. +</p> +<p> +“Why am I kept away from my father?” she +cried. +</p> +<p> +“Your father is no more,” whispered the physician, +gently. +</p> +<p> +“Dead?—dead?—And he never knew that I +had found him out. The thief, dead—and I—Oh, +father—!” +</p> +<p> +She collapsed, sobbing hysterically and screaming. +The pent-up agony of the last few weeks burst +forth, and she babbled and raved like a mad woman. +The physician carried her shrieking from the room, +and the miser was left in peace. By his bedside, his +only friend, Dora, knelt and prayed silently. +</p> +<p> +Trimmer stole from the room, with bowed head +and tears falling—tears for the first time since +childhood. The strange, hypnotic spell of his servitude +was finished. He walked about aimlessly, like +one wandering in a mist. As yet, he could not lay +hold on the freedom that was his at last. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXIX_A_PUBLIC_CONFESSION' id='XXIX_A_PUBLIC_CONFESSION'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<h3>A PUBLIC CONFESSION</h3> +</div> + +<p> +The physician and Mrs. Ripon between them managed +to soothe Mrs. Swinton, and bring her back +to consciousness of her surroundings; but the minutes +were flying, and she dimly remembered that +her husband, knowing nothing of what had passed, +would go remorselessly through with his confession. +She begged to be allowed to return home at once. +</p> +<p> +They helped her into the automobile, and she fell +back on the cushions, listlessly. The quiet of the +drive revived her a little. The window was open, +and the cold air fanned her hot cheeks. But, as the +car reached the city streets, a despairing helplessness +settled down upon her. It seemed to her that she +could even hear the bell of St. Botolph’s, calling the +congregation to listen to the confession which her +husband would surely make. +</p> +<p> +On reaching the rectory, she bade the chauffeur +wait, and then entered the house with faltering steps. +She found Netty just ready to go out. +</p> +<p> +“Where is your father, Netty?” Mrs. Swinton +demanded. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +</p> +<p> +“Gone to the church, mother. He seems very +strange.” +</p> +<p> +“Did he leave no message?” +</p> +<p> +“No, but Mr. Barnby was here a few moments +ago, and Mr. Barnby saw the police officers; and +they went away, after he showed them a letter from +grandfather, absolving Dick from all blame about +the checks.” +</p> +<p> +“Did he show your father the letter?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“What happened then?” +</p> +<p> +“He crushed it in his hand, and cried ‘Lies! lies! +all lies!’ and went out of the house, muttering and +staring before him, like a man walking in his sleep.” +</p> +<p> +“Netty, you must take a message to your father,” +Mrs. Swinton directed. “You must come with me +in the automobile. Then, you must take my note +into the vestry, and see that he gets it at once, before +service. There will be plenty of time.” Her voice +was hoarse with fear. +</p> +<p> +She dragged off her gloves, and entered her husband’s +study, the scene of so many painful interviews, +and yet of so many pleasant hours, during +twenty-five years of married life. On a piece of +sermon paper, the first that came to hand, and with +trembling fingers, she scrawled a last, wild appeal, +which also conveyed the information that her father +was dead. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +</p> +<p> +“This must be given into your father’s hand, and +he must read it before he goes into the pulpit, Netty, +or we are all ruined. Your grandfather is dead—you +understand?” +</p> +<p> +“Dead—at last!” +</p> +<p> +The joyous exclamation from the girl’s lips jarred +horribly. Yet, it was only an echo of her own old, +oft-repeated lament at the length of the miser’s life. +</p> +<p> +“Let him write me a reply, for you to bring +back.” +</p> +<p> +Netty took the letter, and then followed her +mother to the automobile, which was driven rapidly +to St. Botolph’s. But, at the church, Mrs. Swinton +had not the courage to enter. Instead, when she +had hurried Netty toward the vestry, she approached +a side window, where one of the panels +stood open, and peered within, stealthily. At once, +she perceived her husband by the lectern. He was +calm and pale, droning out the service with unusual +lassitude. The church was crammed. It was a +vast edifice, and its ample accommodations were +rarely strained; but to-night people were standing up +in a black mass by the door. Pastor and congregation +understood each other. An electric thrill +passed through the expectant crowd. The news of +Dick Swinton’s arrest had been spread broadcast, +despite the promise to the rector. Ormsby and the +clerks of the bank, too, had scattered information. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +The general question was as to what course the +clergyman would now pursue. He was an exceedingly +popular preacher, and his services were usually +well attended. But, to-night, the people were flocking +to St. Botolph’s, expecting they knew not what, +yet certain that the rector would not go into the +pulpit without making some reference to the calamity +that had befallen him. The whispered disgrace +had become a public record. Would he defend +his son against the charges? All in all, it was +a most sensational scandal—one sure to move a +congregation more deeply than the richest oratory. +</p> +<p> +Everybody knew that the rector’s heart was not +in his words; for he never gabbled the prayers and +hurried through the service as he was doing to-night. +There was surely something coming. He, like +them, was waiting for the moment when he should +ascend the pulpit steps. +</p> +<p> +For a minute, a wild fury against him arose in +the guilty woman’s heart—a bitter sense of humiliation +and injustice. And, when she looked upon +the white-robed figure, standing apart from the serried +mass of faces, she understood with a great pang +how much he had been alone in the past twenty-five +years, fighting his way through life amid alien surroundings, +dragged down by the burden of her follies. +He was walking to the pulpit now. He had +gone out of sight of the congregation, and was near +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +the window—within three yards of her, so near +that she could almost touch him. +</p> +<p> +“John! John!” she cried; but her voice was +hoarse, and the droning notes of the organ shut out +her appeal. +</p> +<p> +At the bottom of the steps, he held the rail, and +steadied himself. Twice he faltered. His face +was as white as his surplice. He closed his eyes, and +threw back his head, turning his face heavenward; +his lips parted, and he seemed to be on the verge of +fainting and falling backward. +</p> +<p> +She cried out again, and pressed her face close to +the window. Her cry must have penetrated this time, +for he looked around in a dazed fashion, as one +who heard a voice from afar. It seemed to stimulate +him. With one hand on his heart and the other +gripping his Bible, he mounted the steps unsteadily. +He spread out the Book on the red cushion, and +read the text. +</p> +<p> +“Confess your faults one to another and pray +one for another that ye may be healed.” +</p> +<p> +The woman, listening outside the window, could +not endure the suspense. She entered the church by +a side door, and listened not far from the pulpit +steps. Her husband’s voice rang out amid a breathless +silence, as he repeated his text. +</p> +<p> +“Confess your faults one to another and pray one +for another that ye may be healed.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +</p> +<p> +“Brethren, I stand before you to-night for the +last time.” A gasp and a murmur ran through the +congregation, followed by an awed silence. “I am +here to confess my sins, because I am unworthy to +hold the sacred office, because for weeks past my +life has been a living lie. At each service, I have +mounted the steps of this pulpit, and have preached +to you of sin and its atonement, and all the while +my heart was sore, and my conscience eating into it +like a canker. +</p> +<p> +“I am a husband and a father, like many of you +here, with the love of wife and children strong in +my breast. Alas! it has been stronger than my +love for God. I have succumbed to the lusts of the +flesh, and have listened to the voice of the devil. I +come not to cry aloud unto you, ‘A woman tempted +me and I fell!’ I blame no one but myself. The +voice of the tempter spoke to me in devious ways, +and I listened.” +</p> +<p> +The preacher paused, and rested silent for a long +time. But, at last, he spoke again, hesitatingly: +</p> +<p> +“You have doubtless heard of the terrible charge +made against my brave son.” +</p> +<p> +There was a murmur, a shuffling of feet, and a +turning of heads; eyes looking into eyes, saying, +“Ah, I told you so.” +</p> +<p> +“On the very day that the news of my boy’s supposed +death reached me,” John Swinton continued, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +more firmly, “an infamous charge was made against +him. While on all sides praises of his bravery were +being noised abroad, I learned that a warrant had +been issued for his arrest. A respected member of +this congregation, Mr. Barnby, the manager of the +bank, was with me in the moment of my sorrow, +and, with great consideration for my feelings, made +no further reference to the misdemeanor my son was +supposed to have committed. Let me tell you at +once that my boy was innocent of the forgery of +which you have all heard—innocent! Ah! you are +surprised. You have heard the story—garbled, no +doubt—how he presented to the bank two checks +for small amounts which had been altered into large +ones—the checks signed by his grandfather, Mr. +Herresford. Such an act would have been infamous, +and, when I fully understood the charge, +I knew it was false. The bank had been defrauded, +certainly, but not by my son. There was another +culprit; and that culprit was known to me.” +</p> +<p> +At this declaration, there was a louder murmur, +and more shuffling of feet, as people leaned forward +in the pews, and the old men put their hands to their +ears for fear of missing a single word. +</p> +<p> +“While it was believed that my son was dead, +no action could be taken. But tongues were busy +circulating the slander, and the noble heroism of my +boy was put into the shade, and forgotten. His +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +name became a byword, his memory odious, and +we, his parents, dared not mention him. Yet, all +the time, I knew him to be innocent, and I held my +peace. That was the sin of which I desire to purge +myself by public confession. I allowed my boy’s +name to be dragged in the mire, in order to shield +another dearer to me than my dead son. My life +was a lie—a daily treachery. For the sake of the +living, I consented to dishonor the dead, and live in +wedlock with the woman who was afraid to speak, +afraid to suffer and to atone. I can’t explain to +you all the circumstances, and make you realize the +crying need for money which led my unhappy wife—God +bless her, and forgive her, sinner though +she be—to take that one false step in the hope of +lightening the burdens that were pressing upon me +and my son. My financial embarrassments have +been well known to you for some time past. There +was no secret about them. Much of my own indebtedness +was due to foolish ventures for the good +of the poor of this town. Money, for its own sake +has never had any value to me; and I have been a +bad steward of my own fortunes. I now have to +confess to you that my dear wife thought to ease the +family burden by an act of sin, lightly regarding the +fraud as merely a family matter. The money she secured +by unlawful means was, from her point of +view, mere surplus wealth belonging to her father—wealth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +in which she had a reversionary interest. +Indeed, we now know that she had more than reversionary +interest—that Mr. Herresford, who +died to-day—” +</p> +<p> +The murmuring and whispering and hoarse exclamations +of astonishment at this announcement interrupted +the preacher’s discourse for a moment. +</p> +<p> +“—that Mr. Herresford unlawfully withheld +from her a very large income, left by his wife. He +is dead—God rest his soul!—and in this hour, +when his clay is scarcely cold, it behooves us to be +charitable, and to speak no ill of him; but that much +I must tell you. +</p> +<p> +“My son, as you know, escaped from his captors, +and reached the United States, only to find that the +police were waiting for him, with a warrant for his +arrest. His bravery was forgotten. His supposed +crime was now branded on his reputation in letters +deeper by far than those that told the other tale +as to his heroism. He came home, ill and broken, +to me, his father, and demanded an explanation +of the foul slander that had shattered his honor. +I told him the truth, that his erring mother was the +culprit. And the boy was merciful, and ready to +bear disgrace for his mother’s sake. Even now, +he would have me close my lips. But there is a +duty to One on High.” +</p> +<p> +The rector paused, and put his hand to his breast. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +He was silent for a few moments, with closed eyes, +and his face, which a few moments before had been +flushed with excitement, paled to an ashen gray. +He was silent so long that the congregation became +uneasy. One or two arose to their feet. The clergyman +put forth a hand blindly for support, as though +about to faint; but he recovered slowly, and, after +resting for a few moments on both hands, continued +his discourse in a lower key. +</p> +<p> +“There are many among you here, loyal husbands +and wives, who will think that, under the circumstances, +I ought to have remained silent, cherishing +the wife of my bosom and protecting her from the +rough usage of the world. Alas! in heaven, where +there is neither marriage nor giving in marriage, no +distinctions are allowed. Sin is sin; right is right; +and justice is justice. No young man at the outset of +his life should be blasted and accursed among men +because his father and mother, into whose hands God +has given the care of his soul, are too weak to stand +by the consequences of their wickedness and folly. +The sin of the woman in the beginning was a small +thing—evil done that good might come of it. +The sin of the father—my sin—was ten times +greater. I consented to, and acted, the lie: I, who +lived in an atmosphere of sanctity—a hypocrite, a +cheat, a fraud, admonishing sinners and backsliders—I, +the greatest of them all. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +</p> +<p> +“I will not enter into particulars of the inevitable +prosecution for forgery, which must follow this declaration. +Jealousy and spite have been imported +into a plain issue; but the matter is now out of my +hands. I—have—confessed! The rest is with +the Lord.” +</p> +<p> +The rector raised his arms, and flung them outward, +as though casting off the mantle of deceit under +which he had shielded himself—the heavy cloak +that had bowed his shoulders till he looked like an +old man. The arms that were flung upward did not +descend for many seconds. His head was thrown +back, looking upward, and he swayed. +</p> +<p> +Several women, overwrought and terrified by the +misery written on the man’s face, arose to their feet, +and cried out loudly: +</p> +<p> +“He’ll fall!” +</p> +<p> +The pulpit steps were behind him, and he balanced +just a second, but regained his equilibrium, +resting his left hand on the stone pillar around which +the pulpit was built. +</p> +<p> +“And now to God the Father, God the Son, and +God the Holy Ghost be ascribed all honor, might, +majesty, dominion, and power henceforth and for +ever. Amen.” +</p> +<p> +Like an aged, feeble man, he turned to descend the +pulpit steps. His left hand grasped the rail, which +was too wide to give him much support. He took +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +one step downward; then, his white head and shoulders +suddenly disappeared from the view of the congregation. +There was a scuffling sound, and a thud. +The congregation stood up; many rushed from their +pews. The guilty wife had heard every word. She +had seen him descend the steps, and had turned to fly, +dreading to meet him, afraid to look him in the +face, now that she knew what he really thought of +her. But the sound of his fall awakened all her +wifely instincts, and she rushed into the sight of all. +</p> +<p> +“John! John!” she cried, as she bent over the +huddled mass of humanity on the stairs. She was +too weak to help him. He had fainted, but was +reviving slowly. +</p> +<p> +The men who reached the pulpit thrust her to +one side roughly, and carried the rector into the +vestry. Fortunately, there were medical men in the +congregation, and he was transferred to their charge, +Mary standing by, wringing her hands and weeping. +Her face was distorted with pain; for her grief was +blended with rage and humiliation. How contemptuously +all these people treated her—Smith, the +church-warden, a grocer, and Harris, the coal-merchant. +Their cringing respect to her had always +been amusing in its servility; but now she was as dust +beneath their feet. They turned their backs, and +ignored her existence. +</p> +<p> +The physicians took pity on her, and sent her to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +the rectory to make preparations to receive her husband, +whose consciousness did not return completely. +In falling, he had struck his head against a jagged +piece of carving on the pulpit rails, and there was +an ugly wound in his temple. +</p> +<p> +Netty had already fled home from the church, and +Dick, quite unconscious of the progress of affairs, +was upstairs, quietly reading in snatches, and +dreaming of Dora—dreams that were interspersed +with misgivings and a shuddering fear of the future. +In his present state of health, the prospect of jail +did not seem so amusing as he had pretended to +Dora. +</p> +<p> +Netty came rushing up to him with the news of +what had happened in the church. He was deeply +agitated, though not so astonished as his sister. The +awakening of his father’s conscience had always been +an eventuality to be reckoned with; and the awakening +had come. +</p> +<p> +They carried the rector into his home, and he was +put to bed by the physicians. Mary, feeling that +she was banned and shunned, shut herself up in her +room, a prey to a hundred different emotions. Terror +was the dominant one. Those dreadful, rough-spoken +men, who had come to arrest Dick, would +soon be arriving to take her away. +</p> +<p> +She commenced to pack a trunk. Flight was the +only thing possible under the circumstances. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXX_FLIGHT' id='XXX_FLIGHT'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +<h3>FLIGHT</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Everybody supposed Mrs. Swinton to be locked in +her room. The rector was attended by his daughter +and the physicians, and lay in a state of collapse +for many hours, causing considerable anxiety to the +household; but, toward midnight, he rallied and +asked for his wife. +</p> +<p> +Visitors were forbidden. The presence of Mrs. +Swinton was not likely to have a soothing effect, and +all emotion must be avoided. Nevertheless, under +the peculiar circumstances, the physicians decided +that she should be told of his asking for her, although +she was not to be allowed to enter the sickroom. +</p> +<p> +Netty, in tears, crept upstairs to her mother’s +room, and knocked softly. There was no answer. +Examination showed that the place was empty. +The erring wife had fled, and no one knew whither—except +Dick. +</p> +<p> +The young man’s position was extremely painful. +Unable to do anything, with scarcely strength +enough to rise from his couch, he lay in torment. +His mother had rushed into his room in a highly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +hysterical state, and announced her intention of fleeing +before the consequences of her husband’s public +confession could culminate in arrest. In vain, the +young man implored her to remain and face it out, +and comfort the rector. It was impossible to reason +with her, her terror and humiliation were too great. +She could not, she declared, live another day in this +atmosphere. He pointed out that, since the miser +had acknowledged the checks, a prosecution was out +of the question, and that she was as safe at home +as a thousand miles away. It was, however, useless +and painful to argue with her. Her double +crime had been laid bare, and shame—all the more +acute because it humbled a woman who had borne +herself proudly all her life—as much as fright +prompted her flight. Moreover, she believed that +Ormsby might act upon the rector’s confession, despite +Herresford’s dying acknowledgment. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p> +For a time, they feared that the rector would slip +out of the world. He lay quite still, but his lips +moved incessantly, murmuring his wife’s name; and +from this condition he passed into a state of mental +coma, from which he did not recover till next day, +after a long and heavy sleep. Then, he asked again +for his wife; and they told him that she had gone +away—for the present. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span> +</p> +<p> +“Poor Mary, poor Mary!” he murmured, and +fell asleep again. +</p> +<p> +Dick’s recovery was more swift. He was soon at +his father’s bedside, and the pleasure that the stricken +man took in the presence of his son did more to +help him back to full consciousness of his surroundings +than anything else. +</p> +<p> +No word came from the wife, however. She was +deeply wounded, as well as humiliated. She recognized +that her god and the rector’s were not the +same. Hers was self. He had made peace with +his Master; but her heart was still hard; and her +god was only a graven image. +</p> +<p> +In an empty, barnlike hotel in an obscure town, +with never a familiar face about her, she experienced +her first sensation of utter desolation. She +missed Dick. She missed Netty; yes, even Netty +would have been a comfort. But, beyond all, she +missed her husband. +</p> +<p> +Away from home, alone, in a strange place, she +was able to survey herself and her affairs with a +detachment impossible in the familiar surroundings +of the rectory. Economy was no longer a consideration; +expense mattered nothing now; but how surprisingly +little she desired to spend when both hands +were full! How trivial the difference that money +really made in the things that mattered! It could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span> +not buy back the respect of husband and son. Yet, +along with these thoughts came others full of hot +rebellion, for her penitence was not yet complete. +She alternated between regret for her folly and a passionate +anger against the whole world. Was not all +she had done for the good of others? Nothing had +been placed in the balance to her credit. She was +condemned as a selfish criminal, with no account +taken of motives. Was it for herself she forged? +Was it for herself she lied, when her sin came home +to roost? Was it through any lack of love for +Dick that she allowed the foul slander to besmirch +his memory, when everybody had believed him dead? +No, a thousand times no! +</p> +<p> +The position was a strange one, a hideous tangle +of nice, sentimental distinctions. Small wonder that +the woman should be blind, and set the balance in +her own favor! +</p> +<p> +The vigor of her lamentations and the intensity +of her resentment against everything and everybody +brought the inevitable reaction. Truth began to +arise from the mirage. Much contemplation of self +brought humility, and, try as she would, she could +not stifle an aching desire to know what was happening +to John since that awful night in the church. +She had left him when he was ill, because he had +laid the lash upon her shoulders. Yet, her place +was at his side. Netty was there, of course. But +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +of what use could Netty be when John was ill? +Dick, too, still needed her care. A wave of deep +remorse swept over her when she remembered how +weak and helpless he was. +</p> +<p> +Her natural curiosity to know the exact conditions +of her father’s will was satisfied by the gossip of the +newspapers. And nothing amazed her more than +the announcement that Dora Dundas, of all people +in the world, was to inherit his millions. Thoughts +of Dora sent cold shivers down her back. She +knew the downright and straightforward nature so +well that she could easily imagine the hot indignation +flaming in the girl’s breast for any wrong or +injustice inflicted on Dick. +</p> +<p> +And there was no letter from Dick! Had they +all cast her off utterly? +</p> +<p> +A week spent amid uncongenial surroundings and +without communication from home, reduced her to +a state of pitiable depression. The world did not +want her. Even her newly-found wealth could not +make her welcome in her own home. Dick, of +course, would be consoled by Dora; and the marriage +arranged by the miser would take place with as +little delay as possible. Her son would then, indeed, +be lost to her—Dick who had never uttered +one word of reproach, Dick who had been ready to +suffer for her sin! +</p> +<p> +Gradually, the fear of arrest died down. All +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +sense of panic vanished on calm consideration of the +facts; but this produced no real relief. Indeed, it +made matters worse: it removed her only excuse for +remaining in hiding. +</p> +<p> +Her first letter home was written to Netty, not +to her husband. Pride would not allow a complete +surrender. And how eagerly she waited for the +reply! +</p> +<p> +When it did come, it was a bitter disappointment. +It was stilted and commonplace. Netty regretted +that her mother felt it necessary to absent +herself from home, and she was very wretched because +father was still far from well, although recovering +slowly. He was in the hands of Dora Dundas, +who had volunteered to nurse him; and it was “positively +sickening” to see the way in which he and +Dick allowed themselves to be led and swayed by +Dora in everything. Mrs. Bent had at first consented +to her engagement continuing, so long as Mrs. +Swinton did not again make her appearance in New +York until after the wedding. But, when she heard +how rich Mrs. Swinton had become by the death of +Herresford and the recovery of Mrs. Herresford’s +fortune, she changed her mind, and desired the marriage +to take place as soon as the local scandal had +blown over. There must be substantial settlements, +however. A significant line came at the end of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span> +letter: “Captain Ormsby has gone away on a three +months’ yachting cruise.” +</p> +<p> +There was little mention of the rector, yet Mary +was burning with desire to know what attitude he had +taken up toward her: whether he ever mentioned her +name, or regarded her as an outcast. Netty gave no +clue at all to the real state of affairs at home. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXXI_DORA_DECIDES' id='XXXI_DORA_DECIDES'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +<h3>DORA DECIDES</h3> +</div> + +<p> +“Dick, you are no longer an invalid, and it is absurd +for you to pose as one.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I feel pretty rotten, and I need a lot of attention. +Come here, little one, and look after me.” +</p> +<p> +“It is absurd of you to describe yourself as weak, +when you have a grip like that. Why, you positively +bruised my arm.” +</p> +<p> +Dora made a great show of reluctance in coming +to Dick’s side. He sat in his father’s arm-chair in +the study, near the window, where the warm sunshine +could fall upon him. +</p> +<p> +“You are a prisoner, Dora, until you tell me why +you have avoided me during the past few days.” +</p> +<p> +“Your father requires so much attention.” +</p> +<p> +“And don’t I?” +</p> +<p> +“No, you are getting quite yourself again, and +rough, and brutal, and tyrannical.” +</p> +<p> +She looked at him indulgently, and made a little +<i>moué</i>. +</p> +<p> +“You know, we’re engaged, Dora, and, when a +fellow is in love with a girl with lots of money, like +you, it’s only natural that he should take every opportunity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +of being with his sweetheart. And he doesn’t +expect that same sweetheart to give him the cold +shoulder.” +</p> +<p> +Dora drew forward a little hassock, and settled +herself at his feet with a sigh. He bent forward, +and looked into her eyes questioningly. +</p> +<p> +“Are you quite sure my going away didn’t make +any difference to you, Dora?” +</p> +<p> +“How foolish you are, Dick! That wretched +will of your grandfather’s made it necessary that I +should marry you, and marry you I must, or you’ll +be a pauper. Father, who was opposed to the match +at one time, is now all eagerness for it. I hate to +think that money has any part in our marriage.” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind about that. Your father was all +eagerness that you should marry Ormsby at one time, +wasn’t he?” +</p> +<p> +“Dick, I thought I told you never to mention that +horrid man’s name again.” +</p> +<p> +“You are quite sure he is a horrid man?” +</p> +<p> +“Dick, don’t be absurd.” She flushed hotly. +“What hurts me about our marriage is that you, the +man, have no option in the matter. I am just a +stepping-stone to wealth, so far as you are concerned, +and I—I don’t like it.” +</p> +<p> +“Why not, darling?” +</p> +<p> +“Because it would have been so much nicer, if—if +you had come to me with nothing, despised and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span> +friendless. Then, I could have shown my love by +defying the whole world for your sake.” +</p> +<p> +“Thanks, darling, but I prefer the money, if you +don’t mind.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! but you’re a man.” +</p> +<p> +“I only want mother to come back to be perfectly +happy,” Dick said, gravely. “You don’t know +mother. She could stand anything but rebuke. +That sermon of father’s must have almost done for +her. Nothing could be more terrible in her eyes +than to be held up to contempt. You must make allowances +for mother, Dora.” +</p> +<p> +“She must be wretchedly unhappy,” Dora agreed. +“Yet, she writes no letters that give any clue to her +feelings.” +</p> +<p> +“No, the letters she sends are merely to let us +know where she is—never a word about father.” +</p> +<p> +“Does she know how ill he has been?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see, I can’t write much, and I hesitated +to say anything that would hurt her feelings. +I said he’d been very ill, but was mending slowly, and +we hoped to see him himself again in a week or two.” +</p> +<p> +“Does she know that he has given up St. +Botolph’s?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I told her that.” +</p> +<p> +“She makes no mention of coming home?” +</p> +<p> +“Not a word.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span> +</p> +<p> +“Dick, she must return, and at once,” Dora declared, +vehemently. +</p> +<p> +“Not to this place, Dora. She would never do it. +It wouldn’t be fair to ask her.” +</p> +<p> +“But something must be done.” +</p> +<p> +“I feel pretty sick about it. It was partly +through me and my wretched debts that father and +mother got so short of money. Mother was always +hard up. It runs in the blood. And, what with one +thing and another, we were all of us in a pretty tight +fix; and she tried to get us out of it.” +</p> +<p> +“I don’t blame her for altering her father’s checks. +That’s nothing,” observed Dora, with typical feminine +inconsequence, “but letting people think that—” +</p> +<p> +“I know, I know! But it couldn’t really have +done me any harm when I was under the turf; and it +meant ruin to father, if she had done nothing. Look +here, Dora, mother must come back, or father must +go to her. We’ve got to arrange it between us. If +mother won’t come home, she must be fetched.” +</p> +<p> +Dora sat for a few moments with her elbows resting +on her knees and her chin on her hands, gazing +thoughtfully out of the window, watching the sparrows +on the path outside. +</p> +<p> +“Can she ever forgive him?” she asked, after a +pause. +</p> +<p> +“Well, the sermon was certainly pretty rough, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +especially after things had been all smoothed out. +But father is a demon for doing nasty things when +he thinks they’ve got to be done. You don’t suppose +he’s any less fond of mother than before, do you?” +</p> +<p> +“No; but, you see, a woman feels differently about +these things—things of conscience, I mean. Your +mother probably thinks he despises her, and a proud +woman can never stand that.” +</p> +<p> +“But he doesn’t. It was himself that he was troubled +about, to think that he had strayed from the +strict path of duty to such an extent as to allow me—his +son—to be blamed for that—Well, it’s all +wrong, anyway, and mother’s got to come home.” +</p> +<p> +“How are we to set about it, Dick?” +</p> +<p> +“Dora, you’ll have to go and fetch her. I’ve +thought it all out.” +</p> +<p> +“I? How can I? That wouldn’t do at all, Dick. +Don’t you see that she would resent it—the advance +coming from me, because I was one of those most +concerned and affected by her sin; and, being a +woman, more likely to be hard upon her than anyone +else.” +</p> +<p> +“You mean that you nearly married Ormsby because +she led you to think that I wasn’t worth a +tinker’s damn. Well, perhaps I wasn’t—before the +war. But I learned things out there. I had to pull +myself together, and endure and go through such +privation that a whole life on fifteen dollars a week +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span> +would be luxury in comparison. I’d go to mother at +once, if I were strong enough, but I’m not. So, what +do you suggest, little girl?” +</p> +<p> +“I think we ought to sound your father on the +matter first. He is difficult to approach. He has a +trick of making you feel that he prefers to bear his +sorrow alone; but I think it can be managed, if we +use a little harmless deception.” +</p> +<p> +“How?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, first of all, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get +Jane to turn your mother’s room out, and clean it as +if getting ready for the return of the mistress of the +house.” +</p> +<p> +“I see,” cried Dick, with a spasmodic tightening +of the right hand which rested on Dora’s shoulder. +“Give father the impression that she’s coming back, +just to see how he takes it.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Good! Set about it to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“I’ll find Jane at once. And, now, I’ve been here +with you quite a long time, and there are many things +for me to attend to.” +</p> +<p> +“No, not yet,” he pleaded with an invalid’s sigh, +a very mechanical one; but he had found it effectual +in reaching Dora’s heart on previous occasions. It +was efficacious to-day. Her heart was full to bursting +with joy and love and—the spring. Dick again +raised the delicate question of the date of their marriage, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span> +and Dora no longer procrastinated. It should +take place as soon as ever the rector and his wife were +reconciled. +</p> +<hr class='tb' /> + +<p> +John Swinton, who was just beginning to move +about the house, white-faced and shaky, with a lustreless +eye and snow-white head, was awakened from his +torpor by a tremendous bustling up and down stairs. +Furniture strewed the landing outside his wife’s room, +and it was evident that something was going on. +</p> +<p> +“What is happening?” he asked on one occasion, +when he found the road to the staircase absolutely +barred. +</p> +<p> +“The mistress’s room is being prepared for her +return,” replied Jane, to whom the query was addressed. +</p> +<p> +He started as though someone had struck him in +the breast. +</p> +<p> +“Coming home,” he gasped, staring at the +woman with dropped jaw and wondering eye. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Dora’s orders, sir. She said the room +might be wanted any day now, and it must be +cleaned.” +</p> +<p> +“Coming home,” murmured the rector, as he +steadied himself with the aid of the banister, “coming +home! coming home!” There was a different +inflection in his voice each time he repeated the +phrase. Tenderness crept into the words, and tears +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +streamed down his cheeks, as he passed slowly into +his study. “Coming home! Mary coming home!” +</p> +<p> +Dick and Dora were rather alarmed at the result +of their plot. They dreaded the effect of possible +disappointment; but they had learned what they +wanted to know—that was the main point. The +rector was inconsolable without his wife. Her return +was the only thing that could dispel the torpor +which rendered him indifferent to daily concerns. +</p> +<p> +Netty was called into counsel to decide what was +to be done. Her simple settlement of the difficulty +was very welcome. +</p> +<p> +“I shall just write and tell mother what you’ve +done. Then, she can act as she pleases; but I expect +she’ll be very angry.” +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXXII_HOME_AGAIN' id='XXXII_HOME_AGAIN'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +<h3>HOME AGAIN</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Netty’s letter to her mother was characteristic: +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +“<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>My dear Mother</span>, +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +I do wish you would come home. It’s positively +hateful here without you. Dora Dundas goes to-morrow, +thank goodness, and, of course, Dick is in +the dumps. She has managed the house as though +it were her own, and I, for one, shall be heartily glad +to see the back of her. +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +“I am very miserable for many reasons. Since +that wretched business about the checks, Mrs. Bent +has been so different, and so has Harry. He is always +at the Ocklebournes’, and you know what Nelly +Ocklebourne is. The way she behaves is disgraceful. +Harry was always particularly friendly in that quarter, +and it is absurd of them to talk about the friendship +of a lifetime as an excuse for a quite disgraceful +familiarity. Wherever he goes, Nell is certain to +turn up, too. It is quite marked. +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +“We all want you to come home, father included. +Dora and Dick had your room turned out yesterday, +and, when father saw the muddle, he asked why. +They told him your room was being got ready for +your return. He seemed overjoyed and quite overcome, +and for the first time since his illness he looks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span> +something like his old self. He is studying the time-tables +and the clocks all day, expecting you at any +minute, so you need not be afraid the excitement will +be too much for him.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Swinton read no more than this. A sudden +wild happiness seized her. She pressed the letter to +her lips, and sobbed with relief. All the pent-up misery +of the last few weeks were washed away in tears; +the barriers of pride were broken down; she was +as humble and contrite as a little child. She startled +her maid by an unusual morning activity, and consulted +the time-tables quite as eagerly as John. He +wanted her; that was enough. She cared nothing +now for the censorious tongues. Her gentle, sweet-spirited +husband awaited her return. All else melted +away into insignificance. He was a beacon in the +darkness, a very mountain of light on the horizon. +He was calling on her—this hero of schoolgirl days, +this lover of her runaway marriage. +</p> +<p> +The eleven-o’clock express found her, accompanied +by her faithful and astonished maid, being carried +toward New York. On the way, she sent a telegram, +announcing her return. In the momentous +message, there was no shirking the main issue. It +was to John himself: +</p> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'> +“Shall be home to-morrow. Wife.” +</p> +<p> +The rector was hourly growing uneasy, when he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span> +found that neither Dora nor Dick could give him any +definite news concerning his wife’s return: but, when +her telegram was placed in his trembling hand, he +was unable to open it. He passed it dumbly to Dick +in piteous helplessness, who, after a hasty glance at +the message, read it aloud cheerily, and with a splendid +affectation of inconsequence, as though his mother’s +return was a matter of course, and not an occasion +for wonderment. +</p> +<p> +Then, at last, the rector’s tongue was let loose. +He talked incessantly on trivialities, and fussed about +the house, vainly imagining that no one noticed his +delight and excitement. He visited his wife’s room, +and ordered every conceivable comfort that his agitated +mind could suggest. Everything was to be arranged +exactly as it had been before Mrs. Swinton +went away, so that she could see no difference. The +home had really undergone little change, yet the rector +was not satisfied until every vase and cushion, +plant, and book was as he remembered it. +</p> +<p> +Dick and Dora were in high glee at the success of +their ruse, while Netty took to herself the sole credit +of the idea. Dora went home from the rectory in +the best of spirits. The colonel had fretted and +fumed at her prolonged absence, for he missed her +sorely, and was very glad of her return. +</p> +<p> +There came a sound of wheels on the rectory drive. +Dick hurried upstairs, and the servants were nowhere +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span> +to be seen. Everybody understood that the meeting +between husband and wife was a thing too sacred for +other eyes, and all disappeared as if by mutual consent. +The rector’s heart almost failed him as he +stepped toward the carriage. He was bareheaded, +and his face was wan and thin in the strong light. +When his eyes fell upon the beautiful woman, his +expression changed. It was he who was strong now, +the wife who faltered. As his fingers closed upon +hers, she broke down, and with a helpless sob dropped +into his arms. +</p> +<p> +He held her to his breast for a full minute. Then, +at last, when she was able to hold him at arm’s length +and look with anxious eyes into his stricken, careworn +face, she read there the story of his sorrow and +anguish. It was now her turn to lavish tenderness. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, my poor John, my poor John!” she cried, +as together they passed into the porch, leaving the +cabman looking after them, wondering where his +fare was coming from. Then Rudd appeared—from +nowhere—and slipped the fare into the man’s +hand. Rudd had caught the excitement of the household, +and his face was beaming. +</p> +<p> +“Was that mother?” cried Dick from an upper +window, in a loud whisper. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, it’s herself right enough.” +</p> +<p> +Dick nodded and disappeared. He was impatient +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +enough to go down, but held himself in check, leaving +his father and mother to enjoy uninterrupted communion. +</p> +<p> +It was a long time before Mary’s musical voice +was heard at the foot of the stairs, asking, “Where’s +Dick?” +</p> +<p> +“I’m here, mother, and as lively as a cricket.” +</p> +<p> +This was not strictly correct, for he came downstairs +very gingerly, and obviously relied on the +banisters for support. He gave his mother a hearty +hug, and, in reply to her questions concerning the +whereabouts of Netty, explained that the daughter of +the house had gone out in a state of agitation and +tears, not stating her destination. +</p> +<p> +By a curious coincidence, the first visitor to arrive +at the house after the return of Mrs. Swinton was +one of Dick’s unpaid creditors, the very man who +had threatened to have him arrested on the eve of +his departure for the war. A small balance of +the debt still remained unliquidated. But the mother +was quite equal to the situation. She laughed gaily, +like her old self, and went to the study check-book +in hand to wipe out the last of the blots on the +old life, with an easy conscience, knowing that the +balance at the bank would never more be an uncertain +quantity. +</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='XXXIII_THE_SCARLET_FEATHER' id='XXXIII_THE_SCARLET_FEATHER'></a> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +<h3>THE SCARLET FEATHER</h3> +</div> + +<p> +Netty entered the room presently, and greeted +her mother with a warmth of emotion beyond +the usual. Dick took advantage of her coming +to excuse himself for a little while. He +had promised Dora immediate information concerning +his mother’s coming, and he was now all +eagerness to tell her of the new happiness in his +home. He had telephoned for a hansom, and the +drive through the Park to the colonel’s was quickly +accomplished. Soon, the girl he loved was a sharer +in his joy over the reunion of father and mother. +</p> +<p> +After a time, there came a lapse into silence, when +the first subject had been gone over with fond thoroughness. +It was broken by Dora: +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, Dick,” she remarked, “that I +shall be hard put to it to live up to you? You are +such a hero!” +</p> +<p> +“Pooh! Nonsense!” the lover exclaimed, in +much confusion. +</p> +<p> +But Dora shook her head, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“It is a fact,” she declared, “and all the world +knows it. If I didn’t love you to distraction, I could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span> +never endure the way in which father raves about +you. And he says, your brother officers are to give +a dinner in your honor, and—” +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens!” Dick muttered, in consternation. +</p> +<p> +“—and they are going to club on a silver service +for a wedding present. Isn’t that lovely?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, I suppose so,” Dick conceded. “But +just think—if they should expect me to make a +speech at the dinner! Good lord!” +</p> +<p> +Dora opened her clear, gray eyes wide: +</p> +<p> +“Why, Dick!” she remonstrated. “You don’t +mean to tell me that you would show the white +feather, just at the idea of making some response to +a toast in your honor?” +</p> +<p> +“I never made a speech in my life,” the lover +answered, shamefacedly; “and I am frightened nearly +out of my wits at the bare idea of being called on.... +But you spoke of the white feather, dearest. +I never told you that my miserable enemy, +Ormsby, sent me one.” +</p> +<p> +“What? He dared?” Dora sat erect, and her +eyes flashed in a sudden wrath. “Tell me about it, +Dick.” +</p> +<p> +The story was soon related, and the girl’s indignation +against his whilom rival filled him with delight. +</p> +<p> +“The odd thing about it all was,” he went on, +“that I carried that white feather with me. I had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span> +a feeling, somehow, that it would serve as a talisman. +And, perhaps, it did. Anyhow, I lived through the +experience. One thing I know for a certainty. +While my memory of the white feather lasted, I +could never be a coward of the sort Ormsby meant.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Dick,” Dora cried, “have you the feather +still?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, indeed,” was the smiling answer. “You +see, I got into the habit of keeping it by me.” +</p> +<p> +“But you haven’t it with you, now?” The girl’s +eyes were very wistful. To her imagination, there +was a potent charm in this lying symbol, which had +been the companion of the man whom she adored. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, I have it,” Dick replied, carelessly. +He reached a hand into an inner pocket of his waistcoat, +and brought forth the feather, which he held +out to the girl. +</p> +<p> +She accepted it reverently, but an expression of +dissatisfaction showed on her face. +</p> +<p> +“It—it isn’t exactly a white feather now,” she +suggested. “It is really quite shockingly dirty. +But I shall have it cleaned, and then set in a case or +a frame of gold, decorated with—” +</p> +<p> +Dick interrupted, somewhat indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“You can’t expect a man living for months in the +way I did to keep a white feather immaculate. And, +anyhow, it is not so very dirty. Besides, I couldn’t +help the blood—could I?” +</p> +<p> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +</p> +<p> +“The blood!” Dora exclaimed, startled, and her +face whitened. “What blood, Dick?” +</p> +<p> +“Mine. You see, it lay right alongside the place +where that bullet scraped my side.” +</p> +<p> +“Your blood!” The girl’s face was wonderfully +alight. “And I said that I would have it cleaned. +Why, the idea seems sacrilege! No, this feather +shall never be cleaned from those precious stains, +sweetheart. The white feather—and now it is +scarlet with the blood of my hero. Ah, this scarlet +feather shall be set in purest gold, and bordered with +jewels. It shall be a shrine for my worship, Dick. +And—” +</p> +<p> +The lover, who had taken her into his arms, bent +his head suddenly, and kissed her to silence. +</p> +<p style='text-align: center'> +THE END +</p> + +<hr class='silver' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.1em'> +A FEW OF +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.3em'> +GROSSET & DUNLAP’S +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.5em'> +Great Books at Little Prices +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 0.9em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> +NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING. +</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>GRET: The Story of a Pagan.</span> By Beatrice Mantle. Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. +</p> +<p> +The wild free life of an Oregon lumber camp furnishes the setting for this +strong original story. Gret is the daughter of the camp and is utterly content +with the wild life—until love comes. A fine book, unmarred by convention. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>OLD CHESTER TALES.</span> By Margaret Deland. Illustrated by Howard Pyle. +</p> +<p> +A vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town. +</p> +<p> +Dr. Lavendar’s fine, kindly wisdom is brought to bear upon the lives of +all, permeating the whole volume like the pungent odor of pine, healthful +and life giving. “Old Chester Tales” will surely be among the books that +abide. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE MEMOIRS OF A BABY.</span> By Josephine Daskam. Illustrated +by F. Y. Cory. +</p> +<p> +The dawning intelligence of the baby was grappled with by its great aunt, +an elderly maiden, whose book knowledge of babies was something at which +even the infant himself winked. A delicious bit of humor. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>REBECCA MARY.</span> By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green. +</p> +<p> +The heart tragedies of this little girl with no one near to share them, are +told with a delicate art, a keen appreciation of the needs of the childish +heart and a humorous knowledge of the workings of the childish mind. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE FLY ON THE WHEEL.</span> By Katherine Cecil Thurston. Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. +</p> +<p> +An Irish story of real power, perfect in development and showing a true +conception of the spirited Hibernian character as displayed in the tragic as +well as the tender phases of life. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE MAN FROM BRODNEY’S.</span> By George Barr McCutcheon. Illustrated by Harrison Fisher. +</p> +<p> +An island in the South Sea is the setting for this entertaining tale, and +an all-conquering hero and a beautiful princess figure in a most complicated +plot. One of Mr. McCutcheon’s best books. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>TOLD BY UNCLE REMUS.</span> By Joel Chandler Harris. Illustrated +by A. B. Frost, J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck. +</p> +<p> +Again Uncle Remus enters the fields of childhood, and leads another +little boy to that non-locatable land called “Brer Rabbit’s Laughing +Place,” and again the quaint animals spring into active life and play their +parts, for the edification of a small but appreciative audience. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE CLIMBER.</span> By E. F. Benson. With frontispiece. +</p> +<p> +An unsparing analysis of an ambitious woman’s soul—a woman who +believed that in social supremacy she would find happiness, and who finds +instead the utter despair of one who has chosen the things that pass away. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>LYNCH’S DAUGHTER.</span> By Leonard Merrick. Illustrated by +Geo. Brehm. +</p> +<p> +A story of to-day, telling how a rich girl acquires ideals of beautiful and +simple living, and of men and love, quite apart from the teachings of her +father, “Old Man Lynch” of Wall St. True to life, clever in treatment. +</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 1.1em; margin-top:0.5em'> +Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York +</p> +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.3em'> +GROSSET & DUNLAP’S +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.5em'> +DRAMATIZED NOVELS +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.1em; margin-bottom:0.5em'> +A Few that are Making Theatrical History +</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>MARY JANE’S PA.</span> By Norman Way. Illustrated with scenes +from the play. +</p> +<p> +Delightful, irresponsible “Mary Jane’s Pa” awakes one morning to find +himself famous, and, genius being ill adapted to domestic joys, he wanders +from home to work out his own unique destiny. One of the most humorous +bits of recent fiction. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>CHERUB DEVINE.</span> By Sewell Ford. +</p> +<p> +“Cherub,” a good hearted but not over refined young man is brought in +touch with the aristocracy. Of sprightly wit, he is sometimes a merciless +analyst, but he proves in the end that manhood counts for more than ancient +lineage by winning the love of the fairest girl in the flock. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>A WOMAN’S WAY.</span> By Charles Somerville. Illustrated with +scenes from the play. +</p> +<p> +A story in which a woman’s wit and self-sacrificing love save her husband +from the toils of an adventuress, and change an apparently tragic situation +into one of delicious comedy. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE CLIMAX.</span> By George C. Jenks. +</p> +<p> +With ambition luring her on, a young choir soprano leaves the little village +where she was born and the limited audience of St. Jude’s to train for the +opera in New York. She leaves love behind her and meets love more ardent +but not more sincere in her new environment. How she works, how she +studies, how she suffers, are vividly portrayed. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>A FOOL THERE WAS.</span> By Porter Emerson Browne. Illustrated +by Edmund Magrath and W. W. Fawcett. +</p> +<p> +A relentless portrayal of the career of a man who comes under the influence +of a beautiful but evil woman; how she lures him on and on, how he +struggles, falls and rises, only to fall again into her net, make a story of +unflinching realism. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE SQUAW MAN.</span> By Julie Opp Faversham and Edwin +Milton Royle. Illustrated with scenes from the play. +</p> +<p> +A glowing story, rapid in action, bright in dialogue with a fine courageous +hero and a beautiful English heroine. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE GIRL IN WAITING.</span> By Archibald Eyre. Illustrated +with scenes from the play. +</p> +<p> +A droll little comedy of misunderstandings, told with a light touch, a venturesome +spirit and an eye for human oddities. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL.</span> By Baroness Orczy. Illustrated +with scenes from the play. +</p> +<p> +A realistic story of the days of the French Revolution, abounding in +dramatic incident, with a young English soldier of fortune, daring, mysterious +as the hero. +</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 1.1em; margin-top:0.5em'> +Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York +</p> +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.1em'> +A FEW OF +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.3em'> +GROSSET & DUNLAP’S +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.5em'> +Great Books at Little Prices +</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>CY WHITTAKER’S PLACE.</span> By Joseph C. Lincoln. +Illustrated by Wallace Morgan. +</p> +<p> +A Cape Cod story describing the amusing efforts of an elderly +bachelor and his two cronies to rear and educate a little +girl. Full of honest fun—a rural drama. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE FORGE IN THE FOREST.</span> By Charles G. D. +Roberts. Illustrated by H. Sandham. +</p> +<p> +A story of the conflict in Acadia after its conquest by the +British. A dramatic picture that lives and shines with the indefinable +charm of poetic romance. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>A SISTER TO EVANGELINE.</span> By Charles G. D. +Roberts. Illustrated by E. McConnell. +</p> +<p> +Being the story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went +into exile with the villagers of Grand Prè. Swift action, +fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion and searching +analysis characterize this strong novel. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE OPENED SHUTTERS.</span> By Clara Louise Burnham. +Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. +</p> +<p> +A summer haunt on an island in Casco Bay is the background +for this romance. A beautiful woman, at discord with +life, is brought to realize, by her new friends, that she may +open the shutters of her soul to the blessed sunlight of joy by +casting aside vanity and self love. A delicately humorous +work with a lofty motive underlying it all. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE RIGHT PRINCESS.</span> By Clara Louise Burnham. +</p> +<p> +An amusing story, opening at a fashionable Long Island resort, +where a stately Englishwoman employs a forcible New +England housekeeper to serve in her interesting home. How +types so widely apart react on each others’ lives, all to ultimate +good, makes a story both humorous and rich in sentiment. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE LEAVEN OF LOVE.</span> By Clara Louise Burnham. +Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. +</p> +<p> +At a Southern California resort a world-weary woman, young +and beautiful but disillusioned, meets a girl who has learned +the art of living—of tasting life in all its richness, opulence and +joy. The story hinges upon the change wrought in the soul +of the blasè woman by this glimpse into a cheery life. +</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 1.1em; margin-top:0.5em'> +Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York +</p> +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.1em'> +A FEW OF +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.3em'> +GROSSET & DUNLAP’S +</p> +<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.5em'> +Great Books at Little Prices +</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER.</span> A Picture of New +England Home Life. With illustrations by C. W. +Reed, and Scenes Reproduced from the Play. +</p> +<p> +One of the best New England stories ever written. It is +full of homely human interest * * * there is a wealth of New +England village character, scenes and incidents * * * forcibly, +vividly and truthfully drawn. Few books have enjoyed a +greater sale and popularity. Dramatized, it made the greatest +rural play of recent times. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF QUINCY +ADAMS SAWYER.</span> By Charles Felton Pidgin. +Illustrated by Henry Roth. +</p> +<p> +All who love honest sentiment, quaint and sunny humor, +and homespun philosophy will find these “Further Adventures” +a book after their own heart. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>HALF A CHANCE.</span> By Frederic S. Isham. Illustrated +by Herman Pfeifer. +</p> +<p> +The thrill of excitement will keep the reader in a state of +suspense, and he will become personally concerned from the +start, as to the central character, a very real man who suffers, +dares—and achieves! +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>VIRGINIA OF THE AIR LANES.</span> By Herbert +Quick. Illustrated by William R. Leigh. +</p> +<p> +The author has seized the romantic moment for the airship +novel, and created the pretty story of “a lover and his lass” +contending with an elderly relative for the monopoly of the +skies. An exciting tale of adventure in midair. +</p> +<p> +<span style='text-decoration:underline'>THE GAME AND THE CANDLE.</span> By Eleanor M. +Ingram. Illustrated by P. D. Johnson. +</p> +<p> +The hero is a young American, who, to save his family from +poverty, deliberately commits a felony. Then follow his capture +and imprisonment, and his rescue by a Russian Grand +Duke. A stirring story, rich in sentiment. +</p> +<hr class='minor' /> + +<p style='text-align: center; font-variant: small-caps; font-size: 1.1em; margin-top:0.5em'> +Grosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York +</p> +<hr class='ppg-pb' /> +<p><a name="ATN"></a></p> +<table summary="additional transcriber notes" style='margin:3em auto 0 auto; width:35em; border:1px solid;color: #778899; padding:10px;'> + +<tr><td> +<p style='font-size:small; color:#303030; text-align:left;'>Additional Transcriber’s Notes: <br /><br /> + +The following changes were made to the original text. The change is enclosed in brackets:<br /><br /> + +Page 15: Then, glancing at <span style='text-decoration:underline'>he</span> clock, [the]<br /><br /> + +Page 22: The result of it had been to develop <span style='text-decoration:underline'>certainly</span> miserly instincts [certain]<br /><br /> + +Page 26: There is a man at <span style='text-decoration:underline'>out</span> house [our]<br /><br /> + +Page 41: He looked at <span style='text-decoration:underline'>he</span> envelope, [the]<br /><br /> + +Page 57: It's splendid match, [added ‘a’: It's a splendid match]<br /><br /> + +Page 110: would beggar her by stopping it <span style='text-decoration:underline'>altogther</span> [altogether]<br /><br /> + +Page 169: <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>My dear Miss Dundas</span> [added beginning double quote]<br /><br /> + +Page 180: “Who is that coming up the drive?” asked <span style='text-decoration:underline'>th</span> [the]<br /><br /> + +Page 208: This was characteristic of the cautious <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Ormsby's</span> [Ormsbys]<br /><br /> + +Page 216: and I don't intend <span style='text-decoration:underline'>of</span> have my daughter [to]<br /><br /> + +Page 231: And, as I've disgraced the family, I'd-- [added missing double quote mark at the end of the sentence]<br /><br /> + +Page 257: he said, beckoning her <span style='text-decoration:underline'>authoritively</span>. [authoritatively]<br /><br /> + +Page 265: Dick Swinton <span style='text-decoration:underline'>in</span> done for. [is]<br /><br /> + +Page 274: It is enough for me, Dick--but it is the others--father, and-- [added missing double quote mark at the end of the sentence]<br /><br /></p> +</td></tr> +</table> + +<!-- generated by ppgen.rb version: 2.71 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Feb 14 08:24:10 -0800 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Scarlet Feather, by Houghton Townley + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCARLET FEATHER *** + +***** This file should be named 28123-h.htm or 28123-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/1/2/28123/ + +Produced by Roger Frank, Darleen Dove and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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