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+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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: THERE WAS SOMETHING MAGNETIC ABOUT THIS MAN WHOM SHE
+FEARED AND TRIED TO HATE.--Page 201]
+
+
+
+
+  THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+  BY
+  HOUGHTON TOWNLEY
+
+  Author of
+  "The Bishop's Emeralds"
+
+  ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+  WILL GREFÉ
+
+  NEW YORK
+  GROSSET & DUNLAP
+  PUBLISHERS
+
+
+
+
+  COPYRIGHT, 1909 BY
+  W. J. WATT & COMPANY
+
+  _Published June, 1909_
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+  CHAPTER                                         PAGE
+        I  The Sheriff's Writ                        9
+       II  The Check                                21
+      III  The Dinner at the Club                   33
+       IV  Dora Dundas                              39
+        V  Debts                                    50
+       VI  A Kinship Something Less Than Kind       66
+      VII  Good-bye                                 82
+     VIII  A Tiresome Patient                       89
+       IX  Herresford is Told                       93
+        X  Hearts Ache and Ache Yet Do Not Break   102
+       XI  A House of Sorrow                       117
+      XII  A Difficult Position                    125
+     XIII  Dick's Heroism                          135
+      XIV  Mrs. Swinton Confesses                  147
+       XV  Colonel Dundas Speaks His Mind          168
+      XVI  Mr. Trimmer Comes Home                  173
+     XVII  Mrs. Swinton Goes Home                  190
+    XVIII  A Second Proposal                       195
+      XIX  An Unexpected Telegram                  204
+       XX  The Wedding Day Arranged                221
+      XXI  Dick's Return                           226
+     XXII  The Blight of Fear                      237
+    XXIII  Dora Sees Herresford                    249
+     XXIV  Dick Explains to Dora                   262
+      XXV  Tracked                                 280
+     XXVI  Mrs. Swinton Hears the Truth            288
+    XXVII  Ormsby Refuses                          297
+   XXVIII  The Will                                307
+     XXIX  A Public Confession                     320
+      XXX  Flight                                  333
+     XXXI  Dora Decides                            340
+    XXXII  Home Again                              348
+   XXXIII  The Scarlet Feather                     353
+
+
+
+
+THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+
+
+
+THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE SHERIFF'S WRIT
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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, quite
+content to be quiet, only asking to be left alone and caressed at rare
+intervals by highly-esteemed persons.
+
+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.
+
+The rector was even now struggling with his accounts.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+The rector turned over the leaves of the account-books, and sighed
+heavily.
+
+"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."
+
+"Bankrupt, John!" his wife murmured, languidly raising her brows. "You
+are exaggerating."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Only a matter of a thousand dollars, John?" cried Mrs. Swinton, after
+another puff from her cigarette. Then, glancing at the 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.
+
+"Mary, you must be late for once," cried the disturbed husband, striding
+over to her. "We must talk this matter out."
+
+She smiled up at him bewitchingly, and he melted, for he adored her
+still.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes, of course, he did. That was why I became responsible. But you know
+what his promises are."
+
+"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."
+
+"Hush, darling! He is a very old man."
+
+"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 what everyone would say--that you had been
+speculating, or gambling, just because you dabbled a little in mines a
+few years ago."
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+It did not for one moment occur to his generous 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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 builder man, and tell him he will have his money. I'll get it
+somehow, if I have to pawn my jewels."
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes, that's a device of his, although they belonged to my mother. At any
+rate, write the man a sharp letter."
+
+"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."
+
+The two had been through scenes like this before, but never had the
+situation hitherto been so desperate as to-night.
+
+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.
+
+"Don't look so worried, dear," she murmured. "What's a thousand dollars!
+Why, I might win that much at bridge, to-night."
+
+"Don't, darling, don't!" the husband groaned, distractedly.
+
+Any mention of bridge was as salt upon an open wound to him. He knew that
+his wife played for 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?
+
+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.
+
+"What, you again?" gasped the servant.
+
+"Yes. It's all right, I suppose? He ain't here?"
+
+"The young master?" Rudd inquired, with a grin. "No. And it's lucky for
+you that he ain't."
+
+"Parson in?" came the curt query.
+
+"Yes," Rudd answered, reluctantly.
+
+"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!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE CHECK
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"I've explained to the gent, ma'am, and he's gone out to get the money,"
+was the prompt answer.
+
+"You mean, my husband?"
+
+"Yes, the parson, ma'am. I come to levy--execution. You understand,
+ma'am."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 certain miserly instincts in the man until they became the
+dominant force of his life. By reason of this stinginess, his daughter
+was 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 lawns, which stretched away on the plateau before the
+house.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Father, I have come to see you."
+
+She kissed him on the brow, and his eyes darted an upward look, keen and
+penetrating as an eagle's.
+
+"Then you want something. The usual?"
+
+"Yes, father--money."
+
+This was an undertaking often embarked upon before, and successfully, but
+each time with a bitterer 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.
+
+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.
+
+"How much is it now?" asked the miser.
+
+"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."
+
+"What!" screamed the old man, in horror. "A thousand dollars! It's a
+lie."
+
+"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--"
+
+"Like his insolence."
+
+"And you promised a thousand dollars."
+
+"A thousand? Nothing of the sort," snarled the miser, scratching the
+coverlet with hooked fingers--always a sign of irritation with him. "I
+said one, not one thousand."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Father, father, be reasonable. There is a man at our house--a sheriff's
+officer. Think of it!"
+
+"Aha, has it come to that!" laughed the miser. "Now, he will wake up.
+Now, we shall see!"
+
+"Not only that, father. Dick may go away."
+
+"What, fleeing from justice?"
+
+"No, no, father. He is going to volunteer for service in the war."
+
+She commenced to give him details, but he hushed her down. "How
+much?--How much?" he asked, insultingly. "I told you before that you
+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."
+
+"Oh, father, father, it is expected of you."
+
+"How much?" snapped the old man.
+
+"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."
+
+"What!" he screamed. "Two thousand! Two, you mean. Get me my
+check-book--get me my check-book."
+
+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.
+
+"Two thousand, father," she said, gently.
+
+"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.
+
+"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 noughts for
+the cents. Then, he paused and addressed her again, emphasizing his
+remarks with the end of the penholder.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Have you no gratitude?" cried the old horror from the bed. "Can't you
+say, thank you?"
+
+"Thank you, father," she answered, coldly; "I am tired of your jests,"
+and, without another word, she swept from the room.
+
+"Two!" chuckled the old man in his throat, "two!"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"My own father!" she cried bitterly, as she spread out the check before
+her. "Two dollars!"
+
+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 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.
+
+Her face lighted up with a sudden reckless thought.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+Dick would take the check to the bank for her, 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.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Who presented this check?"
+
+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.
+
+"Young Mr. Swinton presented it, sir," the cashier explained.
+
+Vivian Ormsby's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the check more closely.
+
+"Leave it with me," he commanded, "and count out the notes."
+
+As soon as he was alone, he went to a cupboard and took out a magnifying
+glass.
+
+"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." Vivian Ormsby had special reasons for hating Dick Swinton just
+now, not unconnected with a certain Dora Dundas.
+
+Yet, he sent for his cashier, and handed him the check.
+
+"Pay it," he directed.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE DINNER AT THE CLUB
+
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The dinner progressed tamely enough until the 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.
+
+"Some of you--perhaps all--" he concluded, "are willing to go with me.
+Let such as will stand up."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+He seemed ashamed to look up, and was overcome by the unexpected
+prominence into which he was thrown. He was deathly pale; but his mouth
+expressed dogged determination.
+
+"Not Swinton?" asked the colonel, reproachfully.
+
+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.
+
+"Fill him up a glass of champagne, a stiff one--it will give him some
+Dutch courage," remarked Captain Ormsby _sotto voce_, 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.
+
+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 room. Then, he
+kicked his chair back, and strode to the door just behind him.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+  DEAREST, 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 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.--DORA.
+
+He groaned as he realized that this note should have been read earlier.
+It was too late now.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+DORA DUNDAS
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Mrs. Swinton and Miss Netty have breakfasted in their rooms, sir. The
+rector has gone out. And it's nine o'clock."
+
+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.
+
+When Dick was dressed, he opened the girl's letter, and his face
+softened:
+
+  DEAREST, 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.
+
+                                    Your loving,
+                                                             DORA.
+
+"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."
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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 the 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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"I suppose you've heard all about last night?" asked Dick, hoarsely.
+
+"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?"
+
+The color fled from Dick's face, and left it white and drawn.
+
+"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."
+
+"But who was it? Not Jack Lorrimer or Harry Bent, surely?"
+
+"Then, you don't know?" he exclaimed.
+
+Something in his face made her heart stand still.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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 angry with Vivian Ormsby;
+but--and there came the rub--of course, he would go now, at all costs.
+
+"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--"
+
+"But your grandfather, Dick! Surely, only a word to him would be enough.
+He could not refuse to behave handsomely."
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, Dick!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Dick! Dick!" cried the girl. "I'm a soldier's daughter. I--"
+
+"Oh, pray spare me a repetition of your father's platitudes--I've heard
+them often enough. I don't 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."
+
+He extended his hand, sullenly and coldly.
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, yes, of course, we'll be discreet. And, if I'm killed--well, nobody
+will know of our engagement."
+
+"Dick, if you died on the field of battle, I should be proud to proclaim
+to all the world that--"
+
+She broke down and sobbed, in spite of some staring passers-by, who saw
+that there was a lover's quarrel in progress.
+
+"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."
+
+"Dick! Don't leave me like that."
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 usual attraction of a good-looking,
+soft-eyed Adonis gained favor by the whispered suggestion that he was
+dangerous.
+
+But, in truth, Dick was only bored with women until he fell in love with
+Dora, and took the girl's heart by storm.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Now, you're mine," he murmured, with a great sigh of relief, "and we're
+engaged."
+
+She smiled and nodded, and came to his heart again of her own accord.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+On his return to the rectory, Dick met his mother in the porch.
+
+"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--"
+
+"It's all right, Dick. You can have your outfit; I've got enough. I
+suppose five hundred dollars will cover it?"
+
+"It'll have to, if that's all I can get, mother."
+
+"That is all I can spare."
+
+"Out of grandfather's two thousand?"
+
+"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."
+
+Dick groaned.
+
+"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."
+
+"He's an old brute," growled Dick, as he strode away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+DEBTS
+
+
+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.
+
+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 glass he once more examined every
+stroke made by Mrs. Swinton's spluttering pen.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+When the physician was asked to give his opinion some time later, he
+expressed a belief that the 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.
+
+And Dick was going to the war!
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The trouble was once more money--the bitterness of poverty, fresh-edged
+and keen. He must 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.
+
+The letter was short and emphatic:
+
+  SIR, 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.
+
+                                    Yours truly,
+                                                     WILLIAM WISE.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 and fifty dollars
+more to be raised at once; and the two thousand just received from
+Herresford all gone.
+
+Netty entered the room at the moment.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"You mustn't call yourself old. You're not even respectably middle-aged.
+But what do you want to talk to me about?"
+
+"Money, my dear, money."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 to worry your mother about. By the way,
+what is she doing now?"
+
+"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.
+
+"And what am I to look at?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Congratulations on having received a present? And who gave it to my
+Persian?" asked the rector, absently.
+
+"Who gave it to me? It's my engagement ring. Harry and I settled
+everything last night."
+
+"Harry?"
+
+"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 be wretched. I'm going
+to have a lovely time for always and always."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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 a 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't, Jack, don't! I'm frightfully worried. What was it you and Netty
+were talking about?"
+
+"Ah, what indeed! The child tells me she is engaged to Harry Bent, and
+that you know all about it."
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+"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 all, that you should know everything--for
+it will make the parting with Dick less hard."
+
+"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.
+
+"I've had a letter threatening his arrest."
+
+"Arrest!" she cried, starting up. Her voice was a chord of fear.
+
+"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."
+
+"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 ought to be ours. He can't
+refuse--he shall not!"
+
+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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"But how about your own trouble, darling? Why must you have a thousand
+dollars?"
+
+"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."
+
+"But, my darling, that was practically raising money on heirlooms. Your
+father distinctly warned you that the jewels were only lent. They are
+his, not yours."
+
+"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."
+
+"It is the same thing, dear one. You certainly ought to get them back."
+
+"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."
+
+"Such a sum is out of the question. You must persuade the woman to
+wait."
+
+"That is why I was going up to town to-day. But my debt far exceeds that
+sum."
+
+"By how much?"
+
+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.
+
+"Nearly two thousand, John."
+
+"For dresses--only dresses?"
+
+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 cry for money could only be silenced by the one person who
+held it all--her father.
+
+Once more, rage against him surged up in her heart, and she relieved her
+pent-up feelings in the usual way.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Do! What could he do?" she replied, with a mirthless laugh. "A man can't
+prosecute his own child."
+
+"Some men can, and do. Your father is just the sort to outrage all family
+sentiment, and defy public opinion."
+
+"You don't think that!" she cried, turning around on him very suddenly,
+with a terrified look in her eyes.
+
+They were interrupted by a tap at the door.
+
+"A gentleman to see you, sir; at least, sir, to see Mr. Dick." The
+manservant's manner was halting and embarrassed.
+
+"What does he want with Mr. Dick?"
+
+"Well, sir, he says--"
+
+"Well, what does he say?"
+
+The man looked at his master and mistress hesitatingly, as though he
+would rather not speak. "He says, sir--"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"That he has come to arrest him--but he would like to see you first."
+
+"There must be some mistake. Send him in."
+
+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.
+
+"Why have you come?" asked the rector.
+
+"Well, there's a warrant. It has been reported he was going to skip."
+
+"Why have you come so soon? I only received Wise's letter this morning."
+
+"It was sent the day before yesterday."
+
+The rector picked up the letter, and found that it was dated two days
+ago.
+
+"There was evidently a delay in transmission. What are we to do?" asked
+the clergyman, turning to his wife despairingly.
+
+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.
+
+"My instructions were to give reasonable time, 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"If there is any likelihood of your being able to do anything by evening,
+of course--"
+
+"He'll wait. He must wait," cried Mrs. Swinton, taking up her muff. "I'll
+have to see father about it."
+
+"You must wait till this evening, my man."
+
+"All right, then. Until six o'clock?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very well, six o'clock," the man agreed, and withdrew.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"Sophistry, my darling, sophistry!"
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+A KINSHIP SOMETHING LESS THAN KIND
+
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, sir, if we don't suit you, we can go."
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"What will you take for luncheon to-day, sir?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Because I've nothing to say, sir."
+
+"That's right, that's right. Now that you've left 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."
+
+"What, another?"
+
+"Yes. It'll pay, won't it, to get fifty dollars a year more, and save me
+two hundred on the outdoor staff, eh?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Who gave you permission to pick my flowers?" 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."
+
+The daughter did not reply. She walked across the room very slowly, and
+rang the bell, waiting until a maid appeared.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Herresford had watched her from under his screwed-up eyelids, and, as she
+commenced to read, he sighed irritably.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Five hundred is next to useless. It is disgracefully little for an
+outfit and general expenses of your grandson."
+
+"The boy is a scamp; an idle, horse-racing young vagabond--a thief, too.
+Have you forgotten that horse he stole? I haven't."
+
+"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!
+here's the book," and Mrs. Swinton drew it toward her as she seated
+herself at the desk.
+
+She knew his ways so well that in his increasing petulance she saw the
+coming surrender.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, the very lowest is fifty, father," she remarked, with a sudden
+abandonment of irritation, and a new light in her fine eyes.
+
+"Ah! that's more like it."
+
+"Then, I'll make it fifty."
+
+"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."
+
+She had commenced the check. The date was filled in, and the name of her
+son as the payee.
+
+"Five, madam--not a penny more. Five!"
+
+The inspiration vibrated in her brain. Why not repeat the successful
+forgery? He would miss five thousand as little as five.
+
+She wrote "five," in letters, and lower down filled in the numeral,
+putting it very near the dollar-sign.
+
+"Father, you are driving me to desperation. It's your fault if--"
+
+"Give me the pen--give me the pen," he snarled. "If you keep me waiting
+too long, I shall change my mind."
+
+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.
+
+Five thousand dollars!
+
+The same process of alteration as before was adopted. This time there was
+no flaw or suspicious spluttering.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+This would still leave a small balance in hand.
+
+And they would economize in the future.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 wives lying unburied for lack of funds to
+pay the undertaker.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dick returned, ignorant of his danger of arrest, and almost at the moment
+when his mother had accomplished her second forgery.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+She dropped her eyes nervously, and heard him catch his breath.
+
+"Five thousand!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Arrest me?"
+
+"Yes. It was an awful blow to your father."
+
+"Arrest!" he groaned. "I feared it. But you've got five thousand. It'll
+save us all!"
+
+"The check isn't cashed yet. Here it is."
+
+He seized the little slip eagerly, his eyes glistening. It was his
+respite, and might mean the end of all their troubles.
+
+"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."
+
+"How much do your debts amount to, Dick?" asked Mrs. Swinton, in some
+trepidation.
+
+"I hardly know; but the ones which must be paid before I go will amount
+to a good many hundreds, I fear."
+
+"Oh, Dick! I'm sorry, but need all be paid now? You see, the money is
+badly wanted for other things."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't, Dick, don't!" she sobbed, rising and flinging her arms about
+him.
+
+She was much overwrought, and her tears fell fast. Dick embraced his
+beautiful mother, and kissed her with an affection that was almost
+lover-like.
+
+"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."
+
+"But I was hoping to help your father. He's getting quite white with
+worry. Have you noticed how he has aged lately?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+He looked at it--the check--lovingly, and sighed with satisfaction.
+
+"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."
+
+"No, Dick don't go," cried the guilty woman, nervously.
+
+"But I must, mother. It won't do to give him any further excuses for
+fault-finding."
+
+"If you go, say nothing about the money."
+
+"But--"
+
+"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."
+
+"All right, mother." And Dick went off to the bank with the check,
+feeling that the world was a much-improved place.
+
+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.
+
+Dick stepped into the strange room, and saluted his relative.
+
+"Good-afternoon, grandfather. I've called to see you to say good-bye," he
+said, cheerily.
+
+"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.
+
+"I am going away to the war, grandfather, and I may never return."
+
+"And a good job, too, sir--a good job, too."
+
+Dick's teeth were hard set. The insult had to be endured.
+
+"Don't come asking me for money, sir, because you won't get it."
+
+"No, grandfather, I have enough, thank you. Your generosity has touched
+me, after your close-fis--your talks about economy, I mean."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I want no more money," cried the young man, hotly. "You know that
+perfectly well, grandfather."
+
+"That's good news, then."
+
+The old man subsided and collapsed into his pillows.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Dick gave a despairing sigh, and turned away.
+
+"Well, then, good-bye, grandfather. If I get shot--"
+
+"Go and get shot, sir--and be damned to you!" cried the old man.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Dick! Dick! I'm an old man. I never mean what I say. I'll pay--"
+
+The last words were choked with a sigh, and he lay back, breathing
+heavily.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+GOOD-BYE
+
+
+"Go and get shot!"
+
+The old man's words rang in Dick's ears as he rode away.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 as cotton-wool beneath her feet. Tears?--absurd! A
+soldier's daughter send her lover to the front with hysterical sobs?
+Never!
+
+She controlled herself, and approached him quite close before he saw her,
+so absorbed was he in meditation.
+
+"Dora!" he cried.
+
+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.
+
+"I didn't mean to cry, Dick."
+
+"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."
+
+"Dick, that is not the mind of a soldier."
+
+"Well, it's my mind, anyway. You see, you've 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."
+
+"But you'll go now, and fight for your country and--for me. You'll come
+back covered with glory, I know you will."
+
+"Perhaps--and maybe I sha'n't come back at all."
+
+"Then, I shall mourn my hero as a noble patriot, who never showed the
+white feather."
+
+"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."
+
+"Every man is a part of his nation, and the nation's quarrel is his
+own."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Every day."
+
+"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."
+
+"You certainly are a very bad letter-writer, Dick," 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."
+
+"You are sure, Dora, that you're not sorry you engaged yourself to a
+useless person like me?"
+
+"You shall not abuse yourself in that way!"
+
+"You are quite sure?" he repeated.
+
+"Quite sure, my hero."
+
+"And you never cared for that cad, Ormsby? not one little bit?"
+
+"No. Not one little bit."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh, it's no bother. We have two trained nurses there, who take night and
+day duty. I only relieve them occasionally."
+
+Dick grunted contemptuously.
+
+"You'll send him away as soon as he gets well, won't you?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I've got a bone to pick with Ormsby when I come back. Do you know what
+the cad said about me at the dinner?"
+
+"No."
+
+"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."
+
+"How infamous!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+At last, it was good-bye. The very end, the dreadful wrench--the absolute
+adieu!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+A TIRESOME PATIENT
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+He allowed himself idly to imagine that this was 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.
+
+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.
+
+When there was talk of the patient getting up, he was increasingly
+irritable if Dora were away. One day, he seized her hand, and carried it
+to his lips--dry, fevered lips that scorched her.
+
+"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?
+
+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.
+
+"Which check?" asked Mr. Barnby; "the one for two thousand or the one for
+five thousand? I have them both."
+
+"There are two, then?"
+
+Ormsby's eyes glistened.
+
+"Yes, with the same strange discoloration of the ink. This is the one;
+and I have brought the glass with me."
+
+Ormsby examined Mrs. Swinton's second forgery under the magnifier, and
+was puzzled.
+
+"The addition has been cleverly made. The writing seems to be the same.
+Whose handwriting is it--not Herresford's?"
+
+"It seems to be Mrs. Swinton's. Compare it with these old checks in his
+pass-book, and you will see if I am not right. She has drawn many checks
+for him and frequently altered them, but always with an initial."
+
+"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?"
+
+"No, not all--but nearly all of it has been withdrawn."
+
+"Then, he has robbed us of seven thousand dollars?"
+
+"If the checks are forgeries, yes. I hope not, I sincerely hope not. If
+you doubted the first check--"
+
+"The scoundrel! Go at once to Herresford. The old man must refund and
+make good the loss, or we are in a predicament."
+
+"I'll go immediately. I suppose it is the young man's work? It is
+impossible to conceive that Mrs. Swinton--his own daughter--"
+
+"Don't be a fool. Go to Herresford."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+HERRESFORD IS TOLD
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+At the mention of the word bank, the old man lost all interest in things
+out of doors.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Will you take a seat, Mr.----? I didn't quite catch your name."
+
+"Barnby, sir."
+
+"Take a seat, Mr. Barnby. You've come to see me about money?"
+
+"Yes, sir, an unpleasant matter, I fear."
+
+"Depression in the market, eh? Things still falling? Ah! It's the war,
+the war--curse it! Tell me more--tell me quickly!"
+
+"It's a family matter, sir."
+
+"Family matter! What has my family to do with my money--ha! I guess why
+you've come. Yes--yes--something to do with my grandson?"
+
+"Just so, sir."
+
+"What is it now? Debts, overdrawn accounts--what--what?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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.
+
+"One check was made out to your daughter, Mary Swinton, and presented at
+the bank, and cashed by your grandson, Mr. Richard Swinton."
+
+"Yes, for five dollars."
+
+"Five thousand dollars, sir."
+
+"But I tell you I never drew it."
+
+"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."
+
+"What!" screamed the old man, raising himself on one hand and extending
+the other. "Let me look! Let me look!"
+
+His bony claw was outstretched, every finger quivering with excitement.
+
+"These are the checks, sir. That is your correct signature, I believe?"
+
+"I never signed them--I never signed them. Take them away. They're not
+mine."
+
+"Pardon me, sir, the signature is undoubtedly yours. Do you remember
+signing any check for two dollars or for five?"
+
+"Yes, yes, of course. I gave her two--yes--and I gave her five--for the
+boy."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"No, sir, surely not. A member of your own family--"
+
+"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."
+
+"But he is your grandson, sir. I take it that you would not desire a
+scandal, a public exposure."
+
+"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."
+
+"But he is your heir."
+
+"Nothing of the sort. He is not my heir."
+
+"But some day--"
+
+"Some day! What has some day got to do with you, eh, sir? Are you in my
+confidence, sir? Have I ever told you that I intend to leave my money to
+my grandson?"
+
+"No, sir, of course not. I beg your pardon if I presumed--"
+
+"You do presume, sir."
+
+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.
+
+"Then, sir, I take it, that you wish us to prosecute your grandson--who
+is at the war."
+
+"Prosecute whom you like, sir, but don't come here pretending that you're
+not responsible for the acts of fraudulent swindlers."
+
+"It has been fought out over and over again, and I believe never settled
+satisfactorily."
+
+"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."
+
+"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
+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--"
+
+"What! Do you mean to insinuate that my daughter--my daughter--sir, would
+be capable of a low, cunning forgery?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+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 him with the act of a fool. As a parting shot, he asked:
+
+"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--?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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?"
+
+"I said nothing, sir."
+
+"Then, what are you waiting for? Get back to your bank, and look after my
+money."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+HEARTS ACHE AND ACHE YET DO NOT BREAK
+
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+The colonel turned on his heel, and was out of the room before Dora could
+stop him.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Must! Captain Ormsby," faltered Dora, with the color flooding her
+cheeks. "I never allow anyone to use that word to me--not even father."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+He uttered an exclamation of bitter annoyance.
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"But I don't," cried Dora, angrier than before.
+
+"You will change presently."
+
+"Never!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Forgery of what?" she asked, with a little, contemptuous laugh.
+
+"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."
+
+"You are saying this in spite--to frighten me."
+
+"Ah, you may well be frightened. The best thing he can do is to get
+shot."
+
+"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.
+
+"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--"
+
+"Stop! I will not listen--I won't believe unless I hear it from his own
+lips."
+
+"You shall see the police warrant."
+
+"I will not believe it, I tell you. His last words to me were a warning
+against you. He told me to 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."
+
+With that, she left him chewing the cud of his bitterness.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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 invalided home, and
+her chief interest in the war news was removed.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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 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 altogether. 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.
+
+The thunderbolt fell on a day that she had devoted to her husband's
+interests.
+
+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.
+
+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 the
+ever-present army of free sight-seers, and a leaven of real workers.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"He is coming later, with John."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+Mr. Barnby was the visitor. He came forward to shake the rector's hand
+awkwardly.
+
+"What is it, Barnby?" cried the rector, with a laugh. "No overdrawn
+account yet awhile, surely."
+
+"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."
+
+"Forgeries! What do you mean?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"He repudiates these checks, sir. They were presented at the bank by your
+son, Mr. Richard Swinton, 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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"But the checks themselves bear evidence of alteration."
+
+"Do you, too, sir, mean to insinuate that my son is a forger?"
+
+A sudden rat-tat at the door silenced them, and a servant entered with a
+telegram.
+
+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.
+
+"My son"--he explained.
+
+"Nothing serious, I hope. Not--?"
+
+"Yes--dead!"
+
+There was a long pause, during which the rector stood breathing heavily,
+with one hand upon his heart. Mr. Barnby folded the forged checks
+mechanically, and stammered out:
+
+"Under--the--er--circumstances, I think this interview had better be
+postponed. Pray accept my condolences, sir. I am deeply, truly sorry."
+
+"Gone!--killed!--and he didn't want to go."
+
+With the tears streaming down his cheeks, the stricken man turned once
+more to the telegram, and muttered the vital purport of its message:
+
+  "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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+A HOUSE OF SORROW
+
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+A momentary spirit of rebellion took possession of him, and he clenched
+his fists and cursed the war.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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--"
+
+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.
+
+"Stop!" he cried in his agony.
+
+At the moment, the study door opened gently--the soft rustle of silk--his
+wife.
+
+In an instant, she was at his side.
+
+"What is it--what has happened?"
+
+He rose, and extended his hand to her like a blind man. "Dick--"
+
+"Is dead! Oh!"
+
+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?"
+
+"He died gloriously, darling--for his country, performing an act of
+gallantry--volunteering to run a great risk. A hero's death."
+
+They wept in each other's arms for some moments, and the gay music
+stopped of its own accord.
+
+"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. Their condolences would madden us. Send them away, John--send
+them away."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Mother--mother, they're all asking for you. The bishop is going now.
+Why, what is the matter?"
+
+"Your mother and I are not very well, Netty, dear. Tell them we shall be
+back in a moment."
+
+"More money worries, I suppose," sighed Netty with a shrug, as she went
+out of the room.
+
+"You see how much Netty cares," cried Mrs. Swinton.
+
+"You're rather hard on the girl, dearest. Your heart is bitter with your
+loss. Let us be charitable."
+
+"But Dick!--Dick! Our boy!" she sobbed. Then, with a wonderful effort,
+she aroused herself, 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.
+
+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.
+
+"What's the matter?" cried the bishop at last, when John Swinton burst
+into tears, and turned away with a sob.
+
+The rector waved his hand to the telegram lying on the table, and the
+bishop took it up.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Father, something serious is the matter with mother. You've had news
+from the war. What is it--nothing has happened to Harry?"
+
+"No, child--your brother."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+The unguarded exclamation expressed a world of relief. Then, Netty's
+shallow brain commenced to work, and she murmured:
+
+"Is Dick wounded or--?"
+
+"The worst, Netty dear. He is gone."
+
+He spoke with his face still hidden. "Go to your mother," he pleaded, for
+he wished to be alone.
+
+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.
+
+Of a sudden, he remembered Mr. Barnby's accusation against his son's
+honor. The horrible, abominable suggestion of forgery.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The rector pulled himself together, and went to his 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.
+
+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.
+
+And thus they sat now, till the fire burned out, and the keen, frosty air
+penetrated the room, chilling them to the bone.
+
+"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."
+
+She arose wearily, and asked in quite a casual manner, as if trying to
+avoid the matter of their sorrow:
+
+"What did Barnby want?"
+
+"Oh, he came with some crazy story about--some checks Dick cashed for
+you, which your father repudiates. The old man must be going mad!"
+
+"Checks?" she asked huskily, and her face was drawn with terror.
+
+"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."
+
+"Does he accuse Dick?" she asked, in a strained voice; "Dick, who is
+dead?"
+
+"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."
+
+She made no reply, but with bowed head walked unsteadily out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+A DIFFICULT POSITION
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 nothing by
+marrying the daughter against her father's wishes.
+
+It was bad enough to have troubles coming upon him in battalions without
+this final blow--the charge of forgery against Dick.
+
+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.
+
+He would not scruple to prosecute his own child 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+He arose awkwardly, and she gave him a distant bow.
+
+"You wish to see me, I understand, and you come from some bank, I
+believe?"
+
+She spoke in a manner indicating that her visitor was a person of whose
+existence she had just become aware.
+
+"Your husband has not informed you of the purport of my visit last night,
+Mrs. Swinton?" asked Mr. Barnby.
+
+"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?"
+
+"It cannot wait," replied Mr. Barnby, with growing coolness. He saw a
+terrified look in her eyes, 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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I--I did. Yes, I believe so. I can't remember."
+
+"Did you receive one from him for two thousand dollars?"
+
+"Why do you ask?"
+
+"Because the check for two dollars appears to have been altered into two
+thousand."
+
+"Let me see it," she demanded with the greatest _sang froid_.
+
+He produced the check, and she took it; but her hand trembled.
+
+"This is certainly a check for two thousand dollars, but I know nothing
+of it."
+
+"It was presented at the bank by your son, and cashed."
+
+"I tell you I know nothing of it. My son is dead, and cannot be
+questioned now."
+
+"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. The
+body of the check is in your handwriting, I believe."
+
+"Yes, that is my handwriting."
+
+"The additions were very cleverly made," ventured Mr. Barnby. "The forger
+must have imitated your handwriting wonderfully."
+
+"Yes, it is wonderfully like," she replied, huskily.
+
+"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."
+
+"You mean to insinuate that my son is a criminal?" she cried, with mock
+rage, drawing herself up, and acting her part very badly.
+
+"If you say those checks were not altered by you, there can be little
+doubt of the identity of the guilty person."
+
+"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."
+
+"He refuses, absolutely. And he says he will prosecute the offender,
+even if the forger be his own child."
+
+"He has the wickedness and audacity to suggest that I--?"
+
+"I merely repeat his words."
+
+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.
+
+"Show this gentleman to the door."
+
+"Madam, I will convey the result of this interview to Mr. Ormsby."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+Then came the worst danger of all. How was 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+DICK'S HEROISM
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+They refused, without hesitation.
+
+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, a drooping figure on the halter-cord, and the officer turned his
+attention to the others.
+
+"Now then, the next."
+
+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.
+
+Nutt remained as though still bound.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+There was no one to help Dora bear her sorrow. 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"What do you mean by 'if you had done what he did before he left home?'"
+asked the grief-stricken girl.
+
+"I mean the forgery."
+
+"What forgery?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, they say he went out to the war to get shot."
+
+"It's a lie!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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, poor man. He knows nothing
+whatever about it."
+
+"Father, the things you tell me sound like the horrible complications of
+a nightmare. They are absurd."
+
+"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."
+
+"Mr. Ormsby showed you the checks?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And Netty?" asked Dora, with a sob.
+
+"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 as he was well enough. Sit up, my girl--sit up. Keep a straight
+upper lip. You're under fire, and it's hot."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Hush, hush, Dora!" cried the colonel.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Ah, that sort of death requires a different kind of courage," sneered
+Ormsby, who was nettled by Dora's taunts.
+
+"I won't listen to you," she cried. "You are defaming the man I love. He
+couldn't go away with such things on his conscience. It is all some
+wicked plot."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+MRS. SWINTON CONFESSES
+
+
+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.
+
+Everybody knew--except the rector.
+
+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 and diffidence of those people who did
+pluck up sufficient courage to say they were sorry.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"Avoid disgrace?" cried the rector, astounded.
+
+"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."
+
+"Stole his grandfather's money! What do you mean?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't understand you," said the clergyman, haughtily.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Mary!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"And I have something to talk to you about, dearest. There is a horrible
+report spread in the town, apparently, by the bank people. Just now, a
+man came up and condoled with me, calling my son a thief and a forger."
+
+"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."
+
+The rector trembled with a growing dread.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"John, the checks I got from father, with which we paid our debts to
+stave off disgrace, were--forgeries."
+
+"Lord help us, Mary! Do you mean that we have been handling stolen
+money?"
+
+"Don't put it like that, John, don't! I can't bear it."
+
+"And is it true what they're saying about Dick? Oh! it's horrible. I'll
+not believe it of our boy."
+
+"There is no need to believe it, John. He is innocent, though they
+condemn him. Yet, the checks were forgeries."
+
+"Then, who? You got the checks, didn't you? I thought--Ah!"
+
+"I am the culprit, John. I altered them."
+
+"You?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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! Don't touch me! Stand
+away! No; I thought you were a good woman!"
+
+"I didn't know. I didn't realize."
+
+"You are not a child, without knowledge of the ways of the world. You
+must have known what you were doing."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I am never cruel, Mary. Tell me--how is Dick implicated?"
+
+"John, I have done a more dreadful thing than stealing money."
+
+"Mary!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't torture me! Speak plainly--speak out!" he gasped, with labored
+breath, as though he were choking.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"You must confess!" he cried, denouncing her with outstretched finger and
+in bitter scorn. "You shall!"
+
+"No, no, John," she screamed, wringing her hands in pitiful supplication.
+"Speak more quietly."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Don't bring our children into this, Mary. You--"
+
+"I must speak of Netty--I must! Would she ever forgive us, if her lover
+cast her off?"
+
+"And will he marry her, now that her brother is disgraced?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"And, yet, you will see your son's name defamed in the moment of his
+glory."
+
+"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."
+
+"Mary!"
+
+He groaned, with outstretched hands, revealing his love and the gap in
+his armor where he could still be pierced.
+
+"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
+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."
+
+"It's a sin--a horrible sin!"
+
+"Who are you to judge me? Would Dick have betrayed his mother?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"We must go away, to a new place, a new country, where no one knows us
+and we mustn't come back."
+
+"And Netty?"
+
+"Netty must bear her share of the burden you have put upon us. We will
+bear it together."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Harry Bent must know."
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't know what to do," moaned the broken man, bursting into tears,
+and sinking into his chair at the table.
+
+"Be guided by me, John. The dead can't feel, while the living can be
+condemned to lifelong torture."
+
+"Have your own way," he groaned. "I don't know what to do. I shall never
+hold up my head again."
+
+"Oh, yes, you will, John, and--there is always my shoulder to rest it
+upon, dearest. Let me comfort you."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Miss Dundas."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"Netty, is your mother really ill?" asked Dora, as she extended her hand,
+"or is she merely not receiving anyone?"
+
+"Mother has a bad headache, and is lying down. She is naturally very
+upset."
+
+"Oh, Netty, it is terrible!" sobbed Dora, breaking down hopelessly. "It
+can't be true--it can't!"
+
+"What can't be true?" asked Netty, coldly.
+
+"Poor dear Dick's death. It will kill me."
+
+"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."
+
+"Netty, that is unkind of you--ungenerous. You know I loved Dick. He was
+mine--mine!"
+
+"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."
+
+"There has been some hideous blunder."
+
+"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 may resent his
+bringing into the family the sister of a--forger."
+
+"Netty, you sha'n't speak of Dick like that!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Surely, they can be left to manage their affairs as they think best."
+
+"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."
+
+"Engaged! What nonsense! Really, Dora!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Surely, you don't think that is interesting to me--and at such a time."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"What is it you want of me?" she asked, with a feeble assumption of her
+usual languid tone.
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Swinton, it isn't true--tell me it isn't true! I can't believe
+it of him."
+
+"You are referring to Dick's trouble? Our sorrow is embittered by the
+knowledge that our poor boy went away--"
+
+Words failed her. She could not lie to this girl, whose eyes seemed to be
+searching her very soul. What did she suspect?
+
+"My father told me of the checks," said Dora. "They were made out to you.
+Yet, they say he 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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"He told you that!" cried Mrs. Swinton, startled into revealing her
+alarm.
+
+"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?"
+
+"My dear, it is too complicated a matter for a girl like you to
+understand. You must know that to discuss such a matter with me in this
+time of sorrow is little less than cruel."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"That's what I told father," faltered Dora.
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+Her idol was thrown down. Yet, what did it 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, you, Miss Dundas," he murmured, as he advanced with an extended,
+limp hand. "I thought I heard my wife's voice."
+
+"I have come to offer my condolences," murmured Dora, unable to do more
+than utter commonplaces in the face of his grief.
+
+"Yes, yes--thank you--thank you. It is a great blow, but I suppose we
+shall be reconciled in time."
+
+With that, he turned abruptly and hurried away into the study, not
+trusting himself to say more, and omitting to bid her adieu.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+COLONEL DUNDAS SPEAKS HIS MIND
+
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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."
+
+Now, the colonel flung down his letters, and, taking up one that was
+opened, handed it to Dora.
+
+"There's something in this for you to read--a letter from Ormsby, Dora."
+
+"I don't want to read anything from Mr. Ormsby."
+
+"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."
+
+Dora's face hardened as she took out the closely-written letter,
+addressed to herself, and enclosed under cover to her father.
+
+  "MY DEAR MISS DUNDAS,
+
+  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.
+
+  I am not jealous now of a dead man, nor do I wish 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.
+
+  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.
+
+  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 dear a price to pay without some fair
+  recognition of my sacrifice on your behalf."
+
+"Father," cried Dora, starting up, and reading no more, "I want you to
+let me have seven thousand dollars."
+
+"What!" cried the colonel, staring at her as though she had asked for the
+moon.
+
+"I want seven thousand dollars. I'll repay it somehow, in the course of
+years. I'll economize--"
+
+"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."
+
+"But, father, give it to me. It'll make no real difference to you. You
+are rich enough--"
+
+"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--"
+
+"You sha'n't speak like that, father."
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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.
+
+  "Miss Dundas expects to receive Mr. Ormsby as her father wishes."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+MR. TRIMMER COMES HOME
+
+
+"Mr. Trimmer is back."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+Never before had he taken a holiday, and on his 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.
+
+"Anything of importance since I have been away?" asked Mr. Trimmer.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Trimmer. Mr. Herresford has changed his bedroom."
+
+"Humph! We'll soon alter that," murmured Trimmer.
+
+"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."
+
+"Just so, just so! Any trouble with his family?"
+
+"Mr. Dick--I daresay you have heard."
+
+"I've heard nothing."
+
+"Dead--killed in the war."
+
+"Dead! Well, to be sure."
+
+"Yes, poor boy--killed."
+
+"Dear, dear!" murmured Mr. Trimmer, growing meditative.
+
+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 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.
+
+"How did Mr. Dick get away?" asked Mr. Trimmer. "Surely, his creditors
+wouldn't let him go."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"It was the very last thing we'd have believed, Mr. Trimmer; it was for
+seven thousand dollars."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"I must see Mr. Herresford about this." Trimmer 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.
+
+Herresford was reading a long deed left by his lawyer, and on a chair by
+his bedside was a pile of documents.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I gave myself leave, sir," replied Trimmer, nonchalantly.
+
+"And what right have you to take holidays without my permission?"
+
+"You discharged me, sir--but I thought better of it."
+
+A grunt was the only answer to this impertinence.
+
+"You seem to have been muddling things nicely in my absence," observed
+Trimmer after a moment, with cool audacity.
+
+"Have I? That's all you know. Who told you what I've been doing?"
+
+"Your heir is dead, I hear. I hope you had nothing to do with that."
+
+"What do you mean, sir--what do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I hope you didn't send him away to the war to save money and
+keep him from further debt."
+
+"My family affairs are nothing to do with you, sir."
+
+"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."
+
+"It's a lie--a lie!"
+
+"How did he get your checks?"
+
+The miser made no answer. Trimmer came over, and fixed glittering eyes
+upon him. The old man cowered.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"This is one of the occasions when I feel that a shaking would do you
+good," declared Trimmer.
+
+"No, no--not now--not again! Last time, I was bad for a week. The shock
+might kill me. It would be murder."
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+And, now that Herresford was broken in health, and had become a pitiful
+wreck, he preferred to be left entirely at Trimmer's mercy.
+
+"What are you going to do about an heir now?" asked the valet, curtly.
+"Have you made a new will?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Who is that coming up the drive?" asked the invalid, craning his neck
+to look out of the window.
+
+"It is Mrs. Swinton, sir, and Mr. Swinton."
+
+"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."
+
+"Very little, sir."
+
+"Well, if you stay here, you'll hear a little more."
+
+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.
+
+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
+was always so in the presence of a third person.
+
+"I am glad to see you sitting up and looking so well, father," observed
+the daughter, after her first greeting.
+
+"Oh, yes, I'm well--very well--better than you are," grunted the old man.
+"I know why you have come."
+
+"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.
+
+"You can talk before Trimmer. You ought to know that by this time.
+Trimmer and I are one."
+
+"If madam wishes, I will withdraw," murmured Trimmer, retiring to the
+door.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"I am glad to find you in a good temper, father."
+
+"Good temper--eh!" He laughed, and again the bones seemed to rattle in
+his throat. The fit ended with coughing and whining and abuse of the
+draughts and the cold.
+
+"Why don't you have a fire in the room, father? You'd be so much more
+comfortable."
+
+"Fire! We don't throw away money here--nor steal it."
+
+"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."
+
+"Who was referring to Dick?"
+
+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.
+
+"Hullo, forger!" he cried at last, and he watched the play of her face as
+the color came and went.
+
+"What do you mean, father?"
+
+"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
+son? D'ye think I'm going to spare you--eh?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"It was you, father--you--you who denounced him."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"No, father--indeed, no. John and I are going to lead a different kind of
+life. I've come to 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."
+
+"Earn it! Rubbish! You couldn't earn a dime."
+
+"We'll repay every penny--if you will only give us time, only stop
+pressing the bank--"
+
+"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."
+
+"Father, you'll not betray me! You won't tell them--"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+"Father, you always declared that--"
+
+"Never mind what I declared. It wasn't safe to trust you with the
+knowledge while he lived. You would have poisoned me."
+
+"Father, your insults are beyond all endurance!" she cried, writhing
+under the lash and stung to fury. She started up with hands clenched.
+
+"There, there, I told you so!" he whined, recoiling in mock terror.
+"Trimmer, Trimmer! Help! She'll kill me!"
+
+"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
+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--"
+
+"Trimmer! Trimmer!" screamed the old man, as she advanced nearer with
+threatening gestures, and fingers working nervously.
+
+Trimmer entered as noiselessly as a cat.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"I am sorry, father," she faltered. "I forgot that you are an invalid,
+and not responsible for your moods."
+
+He leaned forward on the edge of the bed, resting on his hands, and
+positively spat out his next words.
+
+"Bah! You're a hypocrite. Go home to your sky-pilot. But keep your mouth
+shut--do you hear?"
+
+"I hear, father."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I hear, father," she replied, with a sob.
+
+"Open the door for her, Trimmer."
+
+Trimmer darted to the door as if his politeness had been questioned, and
+bowed the daughter out.
+
+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.
+
+"You're overdoing it," he said. "You're getting foolish."
+
+"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?"
+
+"You are the last person to talk to Mrs. Swinton about stealing."
+
+"Keep your tongue still!"
+
+"If your daughter knew what I know!"
+
+"You don't know anything, sir--you don't know anything!"
+
+"I know a good deal. Three times during your illness, you were
+light-headed--you remember?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Trimmer, you're presuming. Trimmer, you're a bully. I'll--I'll cut your
+fifty thousand dollars out of my will--"
+
+"And I'll promptly cut you out of existence, if you do," murmured
+Trimmer, bending down.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Lie down and be quiet. You've done enough talking for to-day. I'm going
+to have you moved into the other room."
+
+"I'll not be treated as a child, sir. I'll stop your wages, sir. I'll--"
+
+"I've had no wages for many months. Lie down."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+MRS. SWINTON GOES HOME
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+If Herresford consented to add lie to lie, and to exonerate Dick by
+acknowledging the checks, all might yet be well.
+
+Now, when his wife came in, with flushed face and lips working in anger,
+he cried out, tremulously:
+
+"Well, Mary?"
+
+"It is useless, worse than useless!" she answered. "He is quite
+impossible, as I told you."
+
+"Then, he will not lend us the money?"
+
+"No, indeed, no. Worse, John, he knows."
+
+"Knows what?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Mary! Mary! You have ruined all. He will denounce us."
+
+"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."
+
+"Then, the burden of the guilt still rests on the shoulders of our dead
+son."
+
+"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--"
+
+She tottered forward into her husband's arms. He clasped her close,
+drawing her to him and pressing kisses on her cheeks.
+
+"My darling, my darling, be strong. It is not ended yet."
+
+"Take me home, John--take me home!" she sobbed.
+
+"No, I'll see the old man myself."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't Mary--don't!" he groaned.
+
+"When a man leaves his father and mother, he cleaves unto his wife: and,
+when I left my home, 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."
+
+"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.
+
+"It's impossible, John, impossible. We cannot pay back without explaining
+why."
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes, let us go home, John. You'll talk more reasonably there, and see
+things in another light."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+A SECOND PROPOSAL
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+The colonel pleaded letters to write, and begged Dora to play a little
+and entertain their guest.
+
+"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."
+
+Ormsby added his entreaties, and the colonel left them alone.
+
+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 tact, her womanliness, and, above all, her air of
+breeding. She certainly looked charming to-night, a fitting châtelaine
+for the noblest mansion.
+
+As the colonel remained in the doorway, still staring, Dora turned her
+head with a smile.
+
+"What are you looking at, father?"
+
+"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."
+
+"My mind requires no making up, colonel," responded Ormsby quickly, with
+an appealing, almost humble glance at Dora.
+
+"Father, what nonsense you talk!" cried she, changing color and trembling
+so much that the cigarettes spilled upon the floor.
+
+The colonel shut the door without further comment, and left them alone.
+
+"How stupid of me," murmured Dora, seeking to cover her confusion by
+picking up the cigarettes.
+
+"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."
+
+"Let go my arm, please."
+
+"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?"
+
+"It is useless, Mr. Ormsby. Let me go."
+
+"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."
+
+"You are talking nonsense, Mr. Ormsby, and you are hurting my arm."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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. He was their guest,
+and would be their guest as long as her father chose.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I'm making headway," was Ormsby's thought, "or she wouldn't take the
+trouble to excuse herself."
+
+"I think you are the most sensible girl I ever met, Dora."
+
+"You have no right to call me Dora."
+
+"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, and, instead of
+sitting apart from me over there, you will be here by my side, holding my
+hand."
+
+"Never!" she cried, starting up, and emphasizing her determination by a
+blow with her hand upon the music lying on the piano top.
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't feel like playing. You have upset me."
+
+"Then, sit by the fire."
+
+He drew forward a chair of which he knew she was fond, and brought it
+close to the hearth.
+
+"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."
+
+"I would rather play," she faltered.
+
+"Whichever you please."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Instantly, the spell was broken. She started up, and struck him in the
+face--even as Dick had done.
+
+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 a few moments, until she confessed that she was sorry. Then she fled
+from the room.
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+AN UNEXPECTED TELEGRAM
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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, 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.
+
+One morning, Ormsby drove up in his automobile, to propose an engagement
+for the evening to Dora. His _fiancée_, 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.
+
+"I suppose I'd better open it," murmured the colonel, as he slit the
+envelope.
+
+He read the message, frowned, swore an oath, turned it over, then read it
+again, with a look of blank amazement, whilst Ormsby watched.
+
+"Bad news?"
+
+"Read."
+
+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.
+
+"It can't be!" he gasped. "Alive? Then, the story of his death was a lie.
+His heroic death was a sham."
+
+"Dora will have to be told," groaned the colonel.
+
+"No, certainly not," cried Ormsby. "If he attempts to show his face in
+New York, I'll have him arrested."
+
+"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!"
+
+"No, of course not--of course not. We'll have to send him to jail."
+
+"Ormsby, you couldn't do it--you couldn't."
+
+"Well, he mustn't see Dora."
+
+"No--I'll attend to that."
+
+The colonel read the telegram again.
+
+  "Arrived at Boston Parker House this morning. Start home this
+  afternoon. Send message. Dying to see you.
+
+                                                   "DICK SWINTON."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 to the police that he is in the country again."
+
+"No, Ormsby--no!" pleaded the colonel. "You'll utterly upset yourself
+with Dora. You won't stand a ghost of a chance.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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 Ormsbys, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 his step was slow and uncertain. As they came
+near each other, he seized the colonel's arm.
+
+"Colonel! Colonel!" he cried. "How glad I am to see you! Is Dora with
+you?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Yes, I'm not up to the mark," laughed Dick. "I thought you knew all
+about it."
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes; but I corrected all that," cried Dick, "My letters--they got my
+letters?"
+
+"What letters?"
+
+"The two I sent through by the men that were exchanged. Young Maxwell
+took one."
+
+"Maxwell died of dysentery."
+
+"Ah, that accounts for it. The other I gave to a sailor. He promised to
+deliver it."
+
+"To whom did you write?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"No, of course not--not through Dora, at any rate."
+
+"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."
+
+"Copenhagen!"
+
+"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--!"
+
+"Here, hold up, Dick--hold up, man--you're tottering."
+
+The colonel's strong hand kept Dick on his feet. He led the young man
+gently through the vestibule.
+
+"Here, come to a quiet place. You mustn't be seen in public," growled the
+colonel.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Eh? What?"
+
+"Well, you can't expect it."
+
+"Oh, you're angry with me because I'm fond of Dora. I suppose you saw my
+telegram and--intercepted it."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then Dora doesn't know!"
+
+"No, Dora doesn't know--nor will she know. Better be dead, my boy--better
+be dead!"
+
+"I beg your pardon?" queried Dick, gazing at the colonel with dull, tired
+eyes.
+
+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.
+
+"I'm too done. You order. Perhaps, a drink'll pull me up."
+
+The colonel ordered brandy. He was now able to get a better look at the
+returned hero. The change in the young man shocked him, and he could see
+that the hand of death had clutched Dick harshly before letting him go.
+
+"What was it--fever?" he asked, with soldier-like abruptness, as he
+scanned the lean, weary face.
+
+"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!"
+
+Dick took a long draught at the brandy, and a little color came into his
+face.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+Dick looked blankly into his friend's face for some moments. A look of
+fear came into his eyes.
+
+"What's the matter? What's happened? Dora's--alive?"
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"And my father and mother?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes, they're well--as well as can be expected under the
+circumstances."
+
+"Well, what's the matter, then? What's happened?"
+
+"Dick, you must know perfectly well what has happened. Your grandfather
+found out--the--er--what you did before you went away."
+
+"What I did before I went away?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Dick sat like a stone, calm, pale, holding his glass and listening
+intently. For an instant he seemed about to faint.
+
+"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 had disinherited
+you, and all that. But surely you didn't owe seven thousand dollars!"
+
+"Are you talking about the checks my mother gave me before I went away?"
+Dick asked, quietly.
+
+"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 to 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."
+
+"But my mother--she has explained?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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, 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?"
+
+"You mean, why didn't I get shot?" asked Dick, slowly.
+
+"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."
+
+"But my mother could have explained!" cried Dick, huskily. He was so weak
+that he was unable to cope with agitation.
+
+"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."
+
+"My mother said that!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"God help her!" gasped Dick, with a gulp. He put his hand to his throat,
+and fell forward on the table, senseless.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"I suppose--my brain isn't what it was. But I'm feeling better. Tell me
+again what my mother said--and my father."
+
+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.
+
+"Well, are you going to live, or do you intend to remain dead?"
+
+"I'm going home."
+
+"To be arrested?"
+
+"No, to ask some questions."
+
+"Don't be a fool. You'll be arrested at the station."
+
+"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--"
+
+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.
+
+"You'd better not come home," urged the colonel; "at any rate, as far as
+we are concerned."
+
+"Ah, that means you intend to cut me."
+
+"Yes; and as far as Dora is concerned--Well, the fact is, she's engaged
+to Ormsby now."
+
+"Engaged to Ormsby?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Dick's hands hung limply at his sides. The colonel seized him by the
+loose front of his ulster, and 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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes--John Smith," echoed Dick, huskily.
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"My own mother!--I can't believe it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+THE WEDDING DAY ARRANGED
+
+
+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.
+
+"Dick Swinton is not dead," said the report, "he is hiding in New York."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"We are not, father. You know that very well."
+
+"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."
+
+"I have submitted to an engagement with Mr. Ormsby more to please you,
+father, than to please myself."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't talk like that, father."
+
+"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."
+
+"Father, father, you're not keeping anything from me. What did the doctor
+say?"
+
+The colonel saw his advantage, and, although he was inclined to smile,
+pulled a long face, and sighed.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+The colonel wanted to exclaim, "Indigestion!" but he shook his head, and
+sighed mournfully once more.
+
+"It's anxiety, my child, about your welfare. It's telling on me."
+
+"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."
+
+"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' 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."
+
+"Impossible, father--impossible! I couldn't get my clothes ready--"
+
+"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."
+
+"I--I didn't say so, father," cried Dora, blushing hotly.
+
+"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.
+
+"Say it is true!--say it is true!" he cried.
+
+"Oh, as you please, as you please." And, turning to her father to hide
+her embarrassment, Dora murmured, "You're not really ill, father?"
+
+"I tell you, my child, I shall be," roared the colonel, with a wink at
+Ormsby, "if this anxiety goes on any longer. Publish the date, Ormsby.
+Put it in the papers."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+DICK'S RETURN
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso confesseth them
+shall have mercy."
+
+John Swinton arose from the table, and closed the book abruptly. His
+study fire had burned low, yet the sermon was only half-finished.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+As the rector walked up and down the room, Dick 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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+What would his father's reception be?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Dick pressed himself close to the glass, and took off his cap.
+
+"Father!" he cried. "Open the window."
+
+It was Dick's voice, but not Dick's face.
+
+"Open the window."
+
+Like a man in a dream, the rector loosened the catch, and opened the
+casement.
+
+"Father--father! It is I--Dick--alive! and glad to be home."
+
+The clergyman retreated as from a ghost--afraid.
+
+"Don't be afraid of me. The report of my death was all a mistake,
+father."
+
+"Dick--Dick--my boy--back--alive!"
+
+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.
+
+The inevitable pause of embarrassment followed.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"I want to see you first, father, before telling mother. My coming back
+will be a shock; and she ought to be prepared."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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--"
+
+The rector looked down at his desk; he could not face his son. His hand
+involuntarily clenched as it rested on the table.
+
+"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."
+
+"Emigrating, my boy! Why should you emigrate?"
+
+This was hardly the tone that Dick expected: no reproach, no
+questioning.
+
+"It's no good running the risk of a prosecution, is it, father? And, as
+I've disgraced the family, I'd--"
+
+"You mean to say that you don't deny the bank's charge of forgery?"
+
+"No--no, father, I don't deny it. Why should I?"
+
+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, rather
+than betray his mother. He believed that his father knew nothing.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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 me 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 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--"
+
+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.
+
+"Dick--my boy!--my boy!" cried the father, raising him tenderly in his
+arms. "He'll die--he'll die after all!"
+
+The study door opened suddenly. Mary in her nightdress, with her hair
+about her shoulders, and her eyes staring, entered the room, barefooted.
+
+"I heard his voice, John--I heard his voice!" she cried, in shrill fear.
+
+"Mary! Help, help! He's here--Dick--alive! He's fainted!"
+
+The table stood between her and the dark form in the shadow on the floor.
+She advanced slowly.
+
+"Dick--not dead!" she screamed.
+
+Her cry rang through the house and awakened everybody. Netty heard the
+words upstairs, and sat up in bed, trembling. The servants heard them,
+and began to dress hurriedly.
+
+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.
+
+"He knows all; he understands," whispered the rector.
+
+The study door stood open, and in another moment they became conscious of
+the half-clad figure of Jane, the housekeeper, looking in.
+
+"Mr. Dick!" she screamed. "Mr. Dick! Not dead!" She turned and rushed
+upstairs to Netty's room.
+
+She found Netty in a panic, pale and trembling.
+
+"What has happened?"
+
+"Mr. Dick--he's alive! alive! He's come home."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+THE BLIGHT OF FEAR
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+If anything, Dick was worse; listless, nerveless, unable to rise, and
+spending his time in dozes that were perilously near unconsciousness.
+
+The meal ended, Netty escaped. Her mother hurried up to Dick, and the
+rector to his study, where he awaited his wife.
+
+Presently, she came down, dressed for walking.
+
+"Where are you going, Mary?" he asked nervously.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"What mercy do you think we shall get from 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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"What are you going to say?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I am helpless," cried the rector, throwing up his hands and turning
+away. "I know the path I should follow, but it is barred, and the way I
+am traveling is accursed."
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"It will all come right, John."
+
+He sighed, and embraced her like the broken man he was, and she left him
+alone with his conscience.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The old man looked up from his pillows, and started as if terrified.
+
+"She's here again, Trimmer--she's here again," he whined.
+
+Trimmer was no less surprised.
+
+"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."
+
+"If Mr. Herresford wishes--"
+
+"I wish it. Please leave us!"
+
+"Don't go! Don't go, Trimmer!" cried the miser extending one hand
+helplessly. "Raise me, Trimmer. Don't let her touch me."
+
+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.
+
+Herresford mumbled and appealed until the door was closed; then, he
+seemed to recover his courage and his tongue.
+
+"So, you're here again," he snapped. "What is it now--what is it now? Am
+I never to have peace?"
+
+"I have strange news. Dick is alive."
+
+"Not dead, eh! Humph! That does not surprise me. I expected as much. No
+man is dead in a war until his body is buried. So, he's come back, has
+he?"
+
+"Yes, and that is why I'm here. The bank people will have him arrested."
+
+There was a pause, which the miser ended by a fit of chuckling and
+choking laughter that maddened her.
+
+"This is no laughing matter, father. Can't you see what the position
+is?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"But Ormsby hates Dick. He is marrying the woman Dick loves."
+
+"And who is that, pray?" cried the old man, starting up and snapping his
+words out like pistol shots.
+
+"Why, Dora Dundas, of course."
+
+"Who's she?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+The old man fingered the tassel of his cap, and chewed it meditatively
+for a few moments.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Father, Dick has behaved nobly, but unfortunately 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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"If I confessed everything, father, do you think that Ormsby would spare
+me, Dick's mother! Oh, it's all a horrible tangle. It's driving me
+mad!"
+
+"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."
+
+The sight of her distress seemed to whet his appetite for cruelty. He
+rubbed salt into the open wounds with zest.
+
+"Get your sky-pilot to help you out of it. I won't. Not a penny do I pay.
+Seven thousand dollars!"
+
+"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."
+
+"What allowance? Who told you anything about any allowance?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Who's stopping your allowance? Trimmer! Trimmer!" he cried.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"She wants to rob me!--she wants to rob me!" This was all that she
+understood of his raving.
+
+"It is useless to talk to him now, Mrs. Swinton," said Trimmer, with a
+suggestive glance toward the door.
+
+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 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+DORA SEES HERRESFORD
+
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I'm afraid not, sir."
+
+"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!"
+
+"I can't recall her, sir."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Trimmer, my grandson is alive."
+
+"Alive, sir?"
+
+"Yes, and back from the war. He's got to marry that girl; but she's
+engaged to someone else--you understand?"
+
+"I think so, sir."
+
+"So, be cautious. Bring her here secretly, or--I'll sack you."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Go at once."
+
+"Yes, sir. Your medicine first."
+
+The old man dropped back into his querulous, peevish mood. Trimmer poured
+out the medicine, administered it, and then departed on his mission.
+
+On his arrival at the colonel's house, he sent word to Dora that he came
+from Mr. Herresford on important business.
+
+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.
+
+"Do I understand you to say that he himself sent you with this strange
+request?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, miss. I have come straight from Mr. Herresford."
+
+"Did he not say why he wished to see me?"
+
+"I am only his valet, miss; he would not be likely to tell me. What
+answer shall I take him?"
+
+"I will call at Asherton Hall this afternoon," the girl promised.
+
+"I will acquaint Mr. Herresford with your decision," replied Trimmer, and
+forthwith he took his departure.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+His voice was soft, and his manner genial. There was nothing at all
+terrifying about him.
+
+"You wished me to come to you?" murmured Dora.
+
+"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."
+
+"I am deeply sorry."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't! Don't!" cried Dora, with a sudden catch in her voice. "I'm
+engaged to marry Mr. Ormsby."
+
+"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!"
+
+Dora opened her eyes wide in surprise, wondering if she heard aright. Was
+this the miser?
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Ah! a boy worth crying for, my dear," said the 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?"
+
+Dora nodded.
+
+"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."
+
+"Why do you tell me these things, now?" she cried, a note of anger in her
+voice.
+
+"Because I don't want you to marry Ormsby."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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!"
+
+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."
+
+"O don't!--don't!" cried the girl, covering her face again, and sobbing
+bitterly.
+
+"You can't--you sha'n't marry Ormsby. Dick'll haunt you--and sooner than
+you know."
+
+"I've thought of that," sobbed the girl, "and I've tried to conquer it."
+
+"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."
+
+"You don't mean--you don't mean to suggest that you think there's any
+doubt?" cried Dora.
+
+"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!"
+
+"You seem to dislike Mr. Ormsby," said Dora, suspiciously.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Say that Mr. Herresford makes it a condition that you do not marry
+without his consent, and he refuses his consent in so far as Mr. Ormsby
+is concerned."
+
+"I can't do that, Mr. Herresford, you know I can't."
+
+"Come here," he said, beckoning her authoritatively. "Have you any
+confidence in my judgment of what is best for you? If not, say so."
+
+"I have every confidence in your judgment. You have voiced the things
+that were in my heart. I know you are right."
+
+"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?"
+
+She made no answer.
+
+"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."
+
+There was something strangely sympathetic between 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:
+
+  "DEAR VIVIAN, 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."
+
+Again, she paused thoughtfully, and Herresford made signs to her which
+she could not see, signifying that he wished to see the letter.
+
+"Let me read," he cried.
+
+She handed him the letter as a matter of course, and he nodded
+approvingly as he read.
+
+"Now, then, my girl, I'll tell you a secret. Can you keep secrets?"
+
+"I have always been able to."
+
+"It's a big secret. How long could you keep a very big secret?"
+
+"Quite as long as a little one."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+She gave a great gasp, and broke away, uncertain whether this were not
+some devilish jest.
+
+"Oh, it's true--it's true!" he cried, nodding.
+
+"Alive!--alive! Not dead! Dick!"
+
+"But keep it secret."
+
+"But why? Why?" cried Dora.
+
+"For reasons of my own. Oh, it's true. You needn't look at me like that.
+I'm not in my dotage yet."
+
+"Dick alive!--alive!" she cried. She clasped her hands, and swung around
+and around in excitement too great to be controlled.
+
+"Yes, alive, but in hiding," said the old man, "until I can get him out
+of that ugly scrape--cheaply."
+
+"But where--where? Tell me!"
+
+"That's my secret. You've got to keep your own."
+
+"Oh! but I must tell father."
+
+"Your father knows it already. He's not to be trusted."
+
+"Father knows, and yet--?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: "OH, GOOD-BYE--GOOD-BYE, YOU DEAR, DEAR OLD MAN!" SHE
+CRIED, DROPPING ON HER KNEES BESIDE HIM.--Page 261]
+
+Dora obeyed, and watched him as she drew on her gloves. When the last
+button was fastened, she took up her muff.
+
+"Good-bye--good-bye!" he grunted brusquely, offering a bony hand.
+
+"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.
+
+"Get away! Get away! You'll kill me. Enough--enough for one day."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+DICK EXPLAINS TO DORA
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Here's a nice little place," cried the colonel. "They give a picture of
+it. Why, girl, what a color you've got!"
+
+"Yes, father, it's happiness."
+
+"That's right, my girl--that's right. I'm glad you're taking a sensible
+view of things. What did I tell you?"
+
+"You told me an untruth, father. You told me that Dick was dead."
+
+Dora's eyes flashed, and the colonel looked sheepish. He covered his
+embarrassment with anger.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Father, I shall never marry Mr. Ormsby. I have told him so."
+
+"What! you've been down to the bank?"
+
+"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
+_congé_."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I--I won't be talked to like this. There comes a time when a father must
+assert his authority, and I say--"
+
+"Father, you'll be ill, if you excite yourself like this."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"I've seen Mr. Herresford, who said it was only a question of money."
+
+"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."
+
+"Then, his service to his country counts for nothing," faltered Dora.
+
+"No; many a man has distinguished himself in the field, but that hasn't
+saved him from prison. Dick Swinton is done for. Ormsby will see to
+that."
+
+"Vivian is a coward, then, and his action will only show how wise I was
+to abandon all thought of marrying him."
+
+"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--"
+
+"Father, you have always prided yourself on being a just man. Yet, you
+condemn Dick without a hearing."
+
+"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."
+
+"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. The colonel
+was red in the face, and emphasizing his words with his clenched fists,
+as if he were threatening to strike.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Mr. Swinton, you can guess why I have come."
+
+"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."
+
+"And to me, Mr. Swinton."
+
+"What! Then, you do not turn your back upon him, Miss Dundas!" he cried,
+with tears in his voice.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Your engagement to Mr. Ormsby is broken off?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Because you think you'll be able to marry Dick?"
+
+"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, 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."
+
+"Dick himself is the only person who can answer your questions."
+
+"But where is he? I suppose I can write to him?"
+
+"He's in hiding," said the rector, brokenly. The words seemed to be
+choking him.
+
+"In hiding! Dick, who faced a dozen rifles and flung defiance in the
+teeth of his country's enemies--in hiding!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Then, you will not tell me where he is?"
+
+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.
+
+"Father, Dick wants the papers. He's finished the book and--Oh, Miss
+Dundas!"
+
+"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 long has he been home? Oh,
+please let me go to him!"
+
+Father and daughter looked at one another in confusion.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Dora and Netty, in the study, maintained an unnatural reserve, in which
+there was silent antagonism. Dora relieved the situation by a
+commonplace.
+
+"You must be overjoyed, Netty, to have your brother back again."
+
+"Overjoyed!" exclaimed Netty, with a shrug. "I'm likely to lose a
+husband. A disgraced brother is a poor exchange."
+
+"You don't mean to say that Harry Bent would be so mean as to withdraw
+because your brother--"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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 Dora, and, when the girl was gone, went over to his visitor, and
+laid a trembling hand upon her shoulder.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Go in," he murmured, hoarsely.
+
+"Dora!"
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, Dick! Dick!" she cried, flinging away her muff and rushing to him.
+"Oh, my poor Dick! What have they done to you?"
+
+He smiled weakly, and allowed her to wind her arms about his neck as she
+knelt by his side.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"You remember what I said to you before I went away?"
+
+"I remember, and I have been loyal to my promise."
+
+"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.
+
+"But, Dick, if the charge is false, why cannot you refute it?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I--I would rather know," pleaded Dora, whose curiosity was
+overmastering.
+
+"But is your faith in me conditional? Is not my word enough?"
+
+"It is enough for me, Dick--but it is the others--father, and--"
+
+"Ah! I understand. But what do other people matter--now? You're going to
+marry Ormsby, I understand."
+
+Dora looked down, and her hand trembled in his as she sought for words to
+explain a situation which was hardly explainable.
+
+"Well--you see--Dick--they told me you were dead. We all gave you up as a
+lost hero."
+
+"Yet, before the grass had grown over my supposed grave, you were ready
+to transfer your love to--that cad."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Well, Dora, I'm not a marrying man, now. I'm not even respectable. As
+soon as I'm well, I've got to disappear again. But the idea of your
+marrying Ormsby--"
+
+"It's off, Dick--off! I gave him his dismissal the moment I heard--"
+
+"Did your father tell you I was alive?"
+
+"No, your grandfather told me."
+
+"Ye gods! You don't mean to say you've seen him!"
+
+"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."
+
+"He's a frightful old liar, is grandfather."
+
+"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."
+
+"But why?"
+
+"Well, I suppose--I suppose that he thought--"
+
+Dora played with the fringe of the rug on Dick's knee as she still knelt
+by his side, and seemed embarrassed.
+
+"I think I understand," laughed Dick. "He's taken a fancy to you."
+
+"Yes, Dick, I think he has. It is because he thinks--that you have taken
+a fancy to me--that--oh, well, can't you understand?"
+
+She rested her cheek against his, and, as he folded her to his heart, he
+understood.
+
+"So, grandfather has turned matchmaker. I'll warrant he thinks you are a
+skinflint, and will take care of his money."
+
+"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!"
+
+"Then, you'll have to keep it up, darling. Next time you go to see him,
+borrow a dress from your maid."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Dora, Dora, don't force it out of me!" he pleaded. "If you think a
+little, you'll understand."
+
+"I have thought. I can understand nothing. They told me that your
+mother's checks--"
+
+Even as she spoke, she understood. The knowledge flashed from brain to
+brain.
+
+"Oh, Dick--your mother!--Mrs. Swinton! Oh!"
+
+"Grandfather drove her to it, Dora. You mustn't be hard on her."
+
+"And she let them accuse you--her son--when you were supposed to have
+died gloriously--oh, horrible!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"But when they thought you were dead--oh, horrible. It was infamous!"
+
+"Dora, Dora, you promised to be patient."
+
+"Does your father know? He does, of course! A clergyman!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"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. Was it not easier to face the firing party than to endure the
+ignominy of this unmerited disgrace?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, Dick, there must be some other way."
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, I can't face her!" cried Dora, with hardening mouth.
+
+"Go away without seeing her, darling. Promise you won't reveal what I've
+told you."
+
+"I can't promise. It's horrible!"
+
+"You must--you must, little girl."
+
+And in the end, much against her will, she was persuaded to keep silence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+TRACKED
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Well, what news, Foxley?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And the rectory?" asked Ormsby.
+
+"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 name. Can you,
+therefore, arrange to have her letters posted by some--some responsible
+servant who will take copies of all the addresses?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Briefly, then, your labors have had no result, and you are as far from
+the scent as on the first day."
+
+"Not exactly that, sir. We'll nab him yet."
+
+"As for the people at the rectory," Ormsby said, decisively, "I'll tackle
+them myself."
+
+"Be guarded, sir. We don't want them to suspect that they are watched."
+
+"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--"
+
+Ormsby did not finish the sentence. The detective muttered one
+comprehensive word.
+
+"Suicide."
+
+Ormsby nodded.
+
+"And the best thing, I should think," grunted the detective.
+
+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.
+
+Ormsby offered his hand in friendly fashion, and took stock of the
+trembling man before speaking.
+
+"You can guess why I have come, Mr. Swinton."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And the conditions?"
+
+"That he undertakes not to molest or in any way pursue Miss Dora
+Dundas."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes, he has seen her--" The words slipped out before the clergyman knew
+what he was saying.
+
+"Ah, he has seen her," cried Ormsby, sharply. "So, he's either at
+Asherton Hall--or here."
+
+"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."
+
+"You have said enough, Mr. Swinton. Your son is in this house. I have
+him, at last."
+
+"My son is ill, Mr. Ormsby. You must give him time. This dreadful matter
+may yet be set right."
+
+"It is in the hands of the police. Good-day."
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, what have I said! What have I done! I've doubly betrayed him. Nobody
+can help him now, unless--unless--"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 hand, pleading, pathetic, seeking
+protection from the horrible contact of a jail, would he be able to hold
+out?
+
+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.
+
+As usual, he did nothing. He put off the evil hour, and waited for Ormsby
+to act.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+MRS. SWINTON HEARS THE TRUTH
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"You don't remember me, Mr. Jevons?"
+
+"Ah! now I hear your voice, I remember. You are the daughter of Mr.
+Herresford."
+
+"You were once my mother's lawyer, Mr. Jevons," said Mrs. Swinton,
+plunging at once into business.
+
+"I had that honor. Won't you sit down?"
+
+"It is twenty-five years ago--more than that."
+
+"Yes. You have married since then."
+
+"I married Mr. Swinton, the rector of St. Botolph's."
+
+"Indeed, indeed. That is very interesting. And now you are living--?"
+
+"At the rectory, on Riverside Drive."
+
+"Ah, yes.--And your father is well, I presume."
+
+"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."
+
+"That is not a large sum. There ought to be no difficulty."
+
+"You think so!" she cried, eagerly.
+
+"Well, it depends. The income your mother left you--if it is not in any
+way mortgaged--should give ample security."
+
+"My mother left me no income."
+
+"I beg your pardon?" queried the old man, curtly, as if he doubted his
+hearing.
+
+"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."
+
+Mr. Jevons looked incredulous. "Four thousand a year. Did you see your
+mother's will, Mrs. Swinton?"
+
+"No. Did she make a will?"
+
+"Yes, of course. I drew it up for her. You were only a girl then, I
+remember. You were away in Europe, in a convent, were you not, when your
+mother died?"
+
+"Yes, and father wouldn't allow me to come home."
+
+"Under that will, your mother left you something more than twenty
+thousand a year."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Mrs. Swinton laid her hand upon her heart, to still the throbbing set up
+by this startling turn of affairs.
+
+"But, when you were married, what was your husband thinking of not to see
+your mother's will, and get proper settlements?"
+
+"My husband has no head for money-affairs. It was a love match. We
+eloped, and father never forgave us."
+
+Mr. Jevons gave vent to his anger in little, jerky exclamations of
+amazement.
+
+"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."
+
+"He was a thief--is a thief!" cried Mrs. Swinton, breathing heavily, her
+eyes flashing with excitement. "Go on."
+
+"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
+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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"Your son!"
+
+"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."
+
+"I think it can be managed, Mrs. Swinton. I will see my partner about it,
+and probably let you have a check."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+Swinton, too much moved to utter thanks, folded the check, and slipped
+it into the purse in her muff.
+
+"Mr. Jevons, what am I to do about the--other money?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Undoubtedly--every pressure that the law will allow. Expose him. Shame
+him. Humiliate him. Prosecute him, if need be."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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?"
+
+"Dear, dear! Raising checks!"
+
+"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."
+
+"It depends entirely on the bank. Surely, your father will hush the
+matter up."
+
+"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."
+
+"But that was so many years ago! Surely, he won't question the checks."
+
+"He has done so--and a warrant is out for my son's arrest."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh, yes, he's a friend--at least I'm afraid he's not much of a friend to
+my son."
+
+"Well, it's a matter where a solicitor had better not interfere. The
+fewer people who have cognizance of the fact that the law has been
+broken, the better."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"It's the forgery--the dreadful business at the bank that frightens me."
+
+"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.
+
+"The circumstances are peculiar. But I will try."
+
+Mrs. Swinton reëntered her cab with a strange 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+ORMSBY REFUSES
+
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"May I ask you why you bring this money?" he demanded, at last.
+
+"I have explained."
+
+"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."
+
+"Of course I do. When the money is paid, my family affairs are no
+business of yours."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"If it is money you want, you shall have more."
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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--"
+
+"I beg of you--I beseech you! You don't understand--everything. If I
+could tell you, you would at least have a different point of view of
+Dick's honor. It's I who--who--"
+
+"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."
+
+"It is false!"
+
+"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."
+
+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, 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 more maddening because she had only robbed her father of a little,
+whereas he had defrauded her of much--oh, so much!
+
+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."
+
+He should make the avowal; she would force it from him. The irony of the
+situation was fantastic in its horror.
+
+She found her husband at home, looking whiter and more bloodless than
+ever.
+
+"What news, Mary?" he asked awkwardly, avoiding her glance.
+
+"The strangest, John--the strangest of all! My father is the biggest
+thief in America."
+
+"Mary, Mary, this perpetual abuse of your father, whom we have wronged,
+will not help us in the least."
+
+He led her into the study.
+
+"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."
+
+"Mary, what wild things are you saying?"
+
+"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."
+
+"It is our sin crying for atonement, Mary. Money cannot buy absolution."
+
+"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."
+
+"Lies! lies!--we are wallowing in lies!" groaned the rector.
+
+"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.
+
+"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. 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."
+
+"Mary, Mary, be calm!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh, no--think of Netty."
+
+"Ah, Netty is in trouble, dearest. She's had bad news to-day. Harry Bent
+talks of canceling his engagement. 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!"
+
+"I can't, John, I can't--I can't. Dick won't hear of it."
+
+"Dick has no voice in the matter at all. It is the voice of God that
+calls."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Have some food, dearest, and go afterward."
+
+"I couldn't eat. It would choke me," Mrs. Swinton said, rebelliously.
+
+Netty, hearing her mother's voice, came into the room, her eyes red with
+weeping.
+
+"You've heard, mother?" she cried, plaintively.
+
+"I've heard, Netty. To-morrow Mrs. Bent will be sorry. We're no longer
+paupers, Netty."
+
+"Why, grandfather isn't dead?"
+
+"No, but we are rich. He's a thief. We've always 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Silence, Netty. There are other people in the world beside yourself to
+think of," cried the rector.
+
+"Well, nobody ever thinks of me," sobbed the girl, angrily.
+
+There was a loud rattling at the front door. The rector started, and
+listened in terror.
+
+"Too late!" he groaned, dropping into a chair. "It's the police!"
+
+"John, you have betrayed me--after all!" screamed his wife, looking
+wildly around like a hunted thing.
+
+He bowed his head in assent. He misunderstood her meaning. "Ormsby has
+been here. He found out--by a slip of the tongue."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+THE WILL
+
+
+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.
+
+She understood, but refused; and the police proceeded with their search.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"We sha'n't take you without doctor's orders, if you're ill, sir."
+
+"Well, he won't give you the order, so you'd better leave your warrant,
+and run away and play."
+
+"I have to warn you, sir," said the officer pompously, "that anything you
+say will be taken down in evidence against you."
+
+"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."
+
+"We don't want any impudence. You're our prisoner; we shall put an
+officer in the house."
+
+"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."
+
+"Do I understand, sir," said the officer, taking out his notebook, "that
+you confess to defrauding the bank of seven thousand dollars?"
+
+"Oh, certainly! I'll confess to anything you like, only get out."
+
+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 rector and his wife stood
+face to face in the study, with the table between them.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"John, you are mad. Trouble has turned your brain. What are you saying?"
+
+"I am no longer your husband. I am your judge."
+
+"Oh, John, John--give me time--give me a little time. I promise you, I
+will set everything right in a few hours."
+
+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."
+
+"John, you no longer love me. You mean to 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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Out of my sight!"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"There is no objection to keeping our mouths shut for an hour or two,
+sir," he answered.
+
+"I am obliged to you for the concession. Until after the evening service
+then; after that you can do as you please."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 her married life and brought
+disaster on all belonging to her.
+
+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.
+
+Her heart sank with an awful dread. If her father were ill, and unable to
+give attention to her affairs, it spelled ruin.
+
+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.
+
+"I want to see my father at once, Mrs. Ripon," the distracted woman
+declared.
+
+"The doctor is with him, madam. He won't be long. Will you step into the
+library? Mr. Barnby is there."
+
+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.
+
+On her entrance, Mr. Barnby bowed with frigid politeness.
+
+"You have seen my father, Mr. Barnby. Is he well?" she asked, eagerly.
+
+"He looked far from well. I was shocked at the change in him."
+
+"Did he send for you?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"You forget, madam. You yourself admitted that the checks were altered
+without your knowledge."
+
+"Did I? No--no; certainly not! You misunderstood me."
+
+"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.
+
+"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
+public apology. The scandal caused by your blunders has been spread far
+and wide."
+
+"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."
+
+The sound of the arrival of another carriage broke upon Mrs. Swinton's
+ear, and she listened in some surprise.
+
+"Why are so many people arriving here at this hour?" she demanded,
+curiously.
+
+Mr. Barnby shrugged his shoulders, to signify that it was no affair of
+his.
+
+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:
+
+  "Come to me. I am dying."
+
+"Trimmer, I must see my father at once," cried Mrs. Swinton, without
+waiting to greet Dora.
+
+The girl gave her one look, a frozen glance of contempt, and turned her
+appealing eyes to Mr. Trimmer.
+
+"Mr. Herresford," the valet announced, "wishes to see Miss Dundas. The
+doctor is with him. No one else must come up."
+
+"But I insist," Mrs. Swinton cried.
+
+"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.
+
+The rector's wife fell back, too astonished to speak.
+
+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
+beckoned Dora, who approached tremblingly.
+
+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.
+
+"For Dick--for present use--to put himself straight."
+
+"I understand, grandfather."
+
+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.
+
+"I'm saying--good-bye--"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"To my money.... All for you.... You'll marry him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"No mourning--no delays--no silly nonsense of that sort."
+
+"It shall be as you wish."
+
+"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.
+You'll take care of it--you'll take care of it? You won't spend it?" he
+whined, with sudden excitement.
+
+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.
+
+"It's all here," he cried, holding up the volume with palsied hand. "It
+runs into millions--millions!"
+
+The doctor shook his head at Dora, as much as to say, "Take no notice; he
+is wandering."
+
+Trimmer now interrupted, entering the room abruptly.
+
+"Mrs. Swinton, sir, wishes to see you at once, on urgent business," he
+announced.
+
+"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.
+
+"Send her away," he screamed. "Liar!--Cheat!--Forger!--Thief! She sha'n't
+have my money--she sha'n't--"
+
+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.
+
+The daughter, unable to brook delay, and furious at Trimmer's insolent
+opposition to her will, entered the room at this moment.
+
+"Why am I kept away from my father?" she cried.
+
+"Your father is no more," whispered the physician, gently.
+
+"Dead?--dead?--And he never knew that I had found him out. The thief,
+dead--and I--Oh, father--!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+A PUBLIC CONFESSION
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Where is your father, Netty?" Mrs. Swinton demanded.
+
+"Gone to the church, mother. He seems very strange."
+
+"Did he leave no message?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Did he show your father the letter?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What happened then?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Dead--at last!"
+
+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.
+
+"Let him write me a reply, for you to bring back."
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 the window--within three yards of her, so near that she could
+almost touch him.
+
+"John! John!" she cried; but her voice was hoarse, and the droning notes
+of the organ shut out her appeal.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Confess your faults one to another and pray one for another that ye may
+be healed."
+
+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.
+
+"Confess your faults one to another and pray one for another that ye may
+be healed."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+The preacher paused, and rested silent for a long time. But, at last, he
+spoke again, hesitatingly:
+
+"You have doubtless heard of the terrible charge made against my brave
+son."
+
+There was a murmur, a shuffling of feet, and a turning of heads; eyes
+looking into eyes, saying, "Ah, I told you so."
+
+"On the very day that the news of my boy's supposed death reached me,"
+John Swinton continued, 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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 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 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--"
+
+The murmuring and whispering and hoarse exclamations of astonishment at
+this announcement interrupted the preacher's discourse for a moment.
+
+"--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.
+
+"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."
+
+The rector paused, and put his hand to his breast. 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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Several women, overwrought and terrified by the misery written on the
+man's face, arose to their feet, and cried out loudly:
+
+"He'll fall!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+The physicians took pity on her, and sent her to 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+She commenced to pack a trunk. Flight was the only thing possible under
+the circumstances.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+FLIGHT
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+"Poor Mary, poor Mary!" he murmured, and fell asleep again.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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!
+
+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!
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+And there was no letter from Dick! Had they all cast her off utterly?
+
+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!
+
+Gradually, the fear of arrest died down. All 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.
+
+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!
+
+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 letter: "Captain Ormsby has gone away on a three months'
+yachting cruise."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+DORA DECIDES
+
+
+"Dick, you are no longer an invalid, and it is absurd for you to pose as
+one."
+
+"Well, I feel pretty rotten, and I need a lot of attention. Come here,
+little one, and look after me."
+
+"It is absurd of you to describe yourself as weak, when you have a grip
+like that. Why, you positively bruised my arm."
+
+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.
+
+"You are a prisoner, Dora, until you tell me why you have avoided me
+during the past few days."
+
+"Your father requires so much attention."
+
+"And don't I?"
+
+"No, you are getting quite yourself again, and rough, and brutal, and
+tyrannical."
+
+She looked at him indulgently, and made a little _moué_.
+
+"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 of being with his sweetheart. And he doesn't expect that
+same sweetheart to give him the cold shoulder."
+
+Dora drew forward a little hassock, and settled herself at his feet with
+a sigh. He bent forward, and looked into her eyes questioningly.
+
+"Are you quite sure my going away didn't make any difference to you,
+Dora?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Never mind about that. Your father was all eagerness that you should
+marry Ormsby at one time, wasn't he?"
+
+"Dick, I thought I told you never to mention that horrid man's name
+again."
+
+"You are quite sure he is a horrid man?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Why not, darling?"
+
+"Because it would have been so much nicer, if--if you had come to me with
+nothing, despised and friendless. Then, I could have shown my love by
+defying the whole world for your sake."
+
+"Thanks, darling, but I prefer the money, if you don't mind."
+
+"Ah! but you're a man."
+
+"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."
+
+"She must be wretchedly unhappy," Dora agreed. "Yet, she writes no
+letters that give any clue to her feelings."
+
+"No, the letters she sends are merely to let us know where she is--never
+a word about father."
+
+"Does she know how ill he has been?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Does she know that he has given up St. Botolph's?"
+
+"Yes, I told her that."
+
+"She makes no mention of coming home?"
+
+"Not a word."
+
+"Dick, she must return, and at once," Dora declared, vehemently.
+
+"Not to this place, Dora. She would never do it. It wouldn't be fair to
+ask her."
+
+"But something must be done."
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Can she ever forgive him?" she asked, after a pause.
+
+"Well, the sermon was certainly pretty rough, 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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"How are we to set about it, Dick?"
+
+"Dora, you'll have to go and fetch her. I've thought it all out."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"How?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Good! Set about it to-day."
+
+"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."
+
+"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, and Dora no longer procrastinated. It should
+take place as soon as ever the rector and his wife were reconciled.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+"What is happening?" he asked on one occasion, when he found the road to
+the staircase absolutely barred.
+
+"The mistress's room is being prepared for her return," replied Jane, to
+whom the query was addressed.
+
+He started as though someone had struck him in the breast.
+
+"Coming home," he gasped, staring at the woman with dropped jaw and
+wondering eye.
+
+"Miss Dora's orders, sir. She said the room might be wanted any day now,
+and it must be cleaned."
+
+"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 streamed down his cheeks, as he passed
+slowly into his study. "Coming home! Mary coming home!"
+
+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.
+
+Netty was called into counsel to decide what was to be done. Her simple
+settlement of the difficulty was very welcome.
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+HOME AGAIN
+
+
+Netty's letter to her mother was characteristic:
+
+  "MY DEAR MOTHER,
+
+  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.
+
+  "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.
+
+  "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 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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+  "Shall be home to-morrow. Wife."
+
+The rector was hourly growing uneasy, when he 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+There came a sound of wheels on the rectory drive. Dick hurried upstairs,
+and the servants were nowhere 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Was that mother?" cried Dick from an upper window, in a loud whisper.
+
+"Yes, sir, it's herself right enough."
+
+Dick nodded and disappeared. He was impatient enough to go down, but
+held himself in check, leaving his father and mother to enjoy
+uninterrupted communion.
+
+It was a long time before Mary's musical voice was heard at the foot of
+the stairs, asking, "Where's Dick?"
+
+"I'm here, mother, and as lively as a cricket."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Do you know, Dick," she remarked, "that I shall be hard put to it to
+live up to you? You are such a hero!"
+
+"Pooh! Nonsense!" the lover exclaimed, in much confusion.
+
+But Dora shook her head, solemnly.
+
+"It is a fact," she declared, "and all the world knows it. If I didn't
+love you to distraction, I could 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--"
+
+"Good heavens!" Dick muttered, in consternation.
+
+"--and they are going to club on a silver service for a wedding present.
+Isn't that lovely?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I suppose so," Dick conceded. "But just think--if they should
+expect me to make a speech at the dinner! Good lord!"
+
+Dora opened her clear, gray eyes wide:
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"What? He dared?" Dora sat erect, and her eyes flashed in a sudden wrath.
+"Tell me about it, Dick."
+
+The story was soon related, and the girl's indignation against his whilom
+rival filled him with delight.
+
+"The odd thing about it all was," he went on, "that I carried that white
+feather with me. I had 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."
+
+"Oh, Dick," Dora cried, "have you the feather still?"
+
+"Yes, indeed," was the smiling answer. "You see, I got into the habit of
+keeping it by me."
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+She accepted it reverently, but an expression of dissatisfaction showed
+on her face.
+
+"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--"
+
+Dick interrupted, somewhat indignantly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"The blood!" Dora exclaimed, startled, and her face whitened. "What
+blood, Dick?"
+
+"Mine. You see, it lay right alongside the place where that bullet
+scraped my side."
+
+"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--"
+
+The lover, who had taken her into his arms, bent his head suddenly, and
+kissed her to silence.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+A FEW OF GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
+
+Great Books at Little Prices
+
+NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING.
+
+
+GRET: The Story of a Pagan. By Beatrice Mantle. Illustrated by C. M.
+Relyea.
+
+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.
+
+OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland. Illustrated by Howard Pyle.
+
+A vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town.
+
+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.
+
+THE MEMOIRS OF A BABY. By Josephine Daskam. Illustrated by F. Y. Cory.
+
+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.
+
+REBECCA MARY. By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen
+Green.
+
+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
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+
+THE FLY ON THE WHEEL. By Katherine Cecil Thurston. Frontispiece by
+Harrison Fisher.
+
+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.
+
+THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S. By George Barr McCutcheon. Illustrated by
+Harrison Fisher.
+
+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.
+
+TOLD BY UNCLE REMUS. By Joel Chandler Harris. Illustrated by A. B. Frost,
+J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck.
+
+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
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+
+THE CLIMBER. By E. F. Benson. With frontispiece.
+
+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.
+
+LYNCH'S DAUGHTER. By Leonard Merrick. Illustrated by Geo. Brehm.
+
+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
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+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
+
+DRAMATIZED NOVELS
+
+A Few that are Making Theatrical History
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+MARY JANE'S PA. By Norman Way. Illustrated with scenes from the play.
+
+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.
+
+CHERUB DEVINE. By Sewell Ford.
+
+"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.
+
+A WOMAN'S WAY. By Charles Somerville. Illustrated with scenes from the
+play.
+
+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.
+
+THE CLIMAX. By George C. Jenks.
+
+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.
+
+A FOOL THERE WAS. By Porter Emerson Browne. Illustrated by Edmund Magrath
+and W. W. Fawcett.
+
+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.
+
+THE SQUAW MAN. By Julie Opp Faversham and Edwin Milton Royle. Illustrated
+with scenes from the play.
+
+A glowing story, rapid in action, bright in dialogue with a fine
+courageous hero and a beautiful English heroine.
+
+THE GIRL IN WAITING. By Archibald Eyre. Illustrated with scenes from the
+play.
+
+A droll little comedy of misunderstandings, told with a light touch, a
+venturesome spirit and an eye for human oddities.
+
+THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. By Baroness Orczy. Illustrated with scenes from
+the play.
+
+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.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+A FEW OF GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
+
+Great Books at Little Prices
+
+
+CY WHITTAKER'S PLACE. By Joseph C. Lincoln. Illustrated by Wallace
+Morgan.
+
+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.
+
+THE FORGE IN THE FOREST. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated by H.
+Sandham.
+
+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.
+
+A SISTER TO EVANGELINE. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated by E.
+McConnell.
+
+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.
+
+THE OPENED SHUTTERS. By Clara Louise Burnham. Frontispiece by Harrison
+Fisher.
+
+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
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+
+THE RIGHT PRINCESS. By Clara Louise Burnham.
+
+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'
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+
+THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. By Clara Louise Burnham. Frontispiece by Harrison
+Fisher.
+
+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.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+A FEW OF GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
+
+Great Books at Little Prices
+
+
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+illustrations by C. W. Reed, and Scenes Reproduced from the Play.
+
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+human interest * * * there is a wealth of New England village character,
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+greatest rural play of recent times.
+
+THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. By Charles Felton Pidgin.
+Illustrated by Henry Roth.
+
+All who love honest sentiment, quaint and sunny humor, and homespun
+philosophy will find these "Further Adventures" a book after their own
+heart.
+
+HALF A CHANCE. By Frederic S. Isham. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer.
+
+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
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+
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+
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+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
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+
+THE GAME AND THE CANDLE. By Eleanor M. Ingram. Illustrated by P. D.
+Johnson.
+
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+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+  Transcriber's Notes:
+
+
+  The following changes were made to the original text. The change is
+  enclosed in brackets:
+
+  Page 15: Then, glancing at =he= clock, [the]
+
+  Page 22: The result of it had been to develop =certainly=
+  miserly instincts [certain]
+
+  Page 26: There is a man at =out= house [our]
+
+  Page 41: He looked at =he= envelope, [the]
+
+  Page 57: It's splendid match, [added 'a': It's a splendid match]
+
+  Page 110: would beggar her by stopping it =altogther= [altogether]
+
+  Page 169: MY DEAR MISS DUNDAS [added beginning double quote]
+
+  Page 180: "Who is that coming up the drive?"; asked =th= [the]
+
+  Page 208: This was characteristic of the cautious =Ormsby's=
+  [Ormsbys]
+
+  Page 216: and I don't intend =of= have my daughter [to]
+
+  Page 231: And, as I've disgraced the family, I'd-- [added missing
+  double quote mark at the end of the sentence]
+
+  Page 257: he said, beckoning her =authoritively=. [authoritatively]
+
+  Page 265: Dick Swinton =in= done for. [is]
+
+  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]
+
+  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.
+
+  The illustration on Page 260 has been moved so that the illustration is
+  not in the middle of a paragraph.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Scarlet Feather, by Houghton Townley
+
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+<!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;}
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+      .pagenum        { display:none; }
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+    .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;}
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+    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;}
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+    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&#8217;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.&mdash;<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 />
+      &#8220;The Bishop's Emeralds&#8221;
+      </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 &amp; 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 &amp; 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&#8217;s Writ&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&#8217;s Heroism&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&#8217;s Return&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&nbsp;&nbsp;</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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s officer, and he peered in. It was the rector&#8217;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&#8217;s
+silver-gray hair, his books, and a figure by the
+fireside&mdash;a handsome woman resplendent in jewels
+and wearing a low-cut, white evening gown&mdash;Mary
+Swinton, the rector&#8217;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&#8217;s
+night, a place for retirement, peace and repose.
+</p>
+<p>
+Mrs. Swinton sat in her own particular chair by
+the fireside&mdash;a most comfortable tub of a chair&mdash;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, &#8220;The
+Persian,&#8221; 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&#8217; gowns, it was obvious that they
+were going somewhere; and, by the rector&#8217;s ruffled
+hair and shabby smoking-jacket, that he would be
+staying at home, busy over money affairs&mdash;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&#8217;s, that great
+church planned for the betterment of the most hopeless
+slums. The clergyman&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s position was even more
+awkward than his father&#8217;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&#8217;s
+education, at his daughter&#8217;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>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s no use,&#8221; he cried, at last. &#8220;I can&#8217;t make
+them up. They are in a hopeless muddle. I know,
+though, that I can&#8217;t raise a thousand cents, much less
+a thousand dollars, and the builder threatens to make
+me bankrupt, if I don&#8217;t pay at once.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Bankrupt, John!&#8221; his wife murmured, languidly
+raising her brows. &#8220;You are exaggerating.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s a horrible position&mdash;bad
+enough for any man, fatal for a clergyman.
+We&#8217;ve staved off the crash for about as long as we
+can.&mdash;And I&#8217;m tired of it all!&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Only a matter of a thousand dollars, John?&#8221;
+cried Mrs. Swinton, after another puff from her
+cigarette. Then, glancing at <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: he in original text">the</ins> clock, she added:
+&#8220;What a time they are getting the carriage ready!
+We shall be late. Netty, go and see why they are
+so long.&#8221; Netty slipped away.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary, you must be late for once,&#8221; cried the disturbed
+husband, striding over to her. &#8220;We must
+talk this matter out.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She smiled up at him bewitchingly, and he melted,
+for he adored her still.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father will have to pay the money,&#8221; she said,
+rising lazily and facing him&mdash;as tall as he, and
+wonderfully graceful. She put her hand upon his
+shoulder.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, John, I&#8217;ll go to father once more. It&#8217;s
+really shameful! He absolutely promised you a
+thousand dollars for that Mission Hall, and then
+afterward refused to pay it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, of course, he did. That was why I became
+responsible. But you know what his promises are.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Hush, darling! He is a very old man.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, it&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;that you had been speculating,
+or gambling, just because you dabbled a little
+in mines a few years ago.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A thousand dollars would only delay the crash.
+We owe at least ten times as much as that,&#8221; 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. &#8220;They&#8217;ll have to
+find another rector for St. Botolph&#8217;s. I&#8217;ve tried
+hard to satisfy everybody. I&#8217;ve begged and worked.
+We&#8217;ve had bazaars, concerts, collections, everything.
+But people give less and less, and they want more and
+more. The poor cry louder and louder.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John, you are too generous. It&#8217;s monstrous that
+father should cling to his money as he does. He has
+nobody to leave it to but us&mdash;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And, when you get it, dearest, I have to borrow
+half. I&#8217;m a wretched muddler. I used to think
+great things of myself once, but now&mdash;well, they&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;I have been a miserable failure as a husband for
+you, Mary,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You remember that they
+used jestingly to call you the bishop&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Poor old John!&#8221; laughed his wife, smoothing
+his gleaming, silvery hair. &#8220;It&#8217;s not your fault.
+Father ought to have done more. He&#8217;s a perfect
+beast. He is a miser, mean, deceitful, avaricious,
+spiteful, everything that&#8217;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&#8217;t work!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Hush, hush, my darling! Don&#8217;t let&#8217;s get on
+that topic to-night. We never agree as to some
+things, and we never shall.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There&#8217;s talk, too, of Dick&#8217;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&#8217;ll get it somehow, if I have to pawn my jewels.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your father has repeatedly informed you, dearest,&#8221;
+the rector objected, &#8220;that your jewels do not
+really belong to you&mdash;that he has only loaned them
+to you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, that&#8217;s a device of his, although they belonged
+to my mother. At any rate, write the man a
+sharp letter.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Very well, my dear,&#8221; replied the rector, wearily,
+and he rose, and walked with bowed head toward his
+desk. &#8220;I&#8217;ll say that I hope to pay him.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s
+shoulder, and pressed her soft, fair cheek to
+his.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t look so worried, dear,&#8221; she murmured.
+&#8220;What&#8217;s a thousand dollars! Why, I might win
+that much at bridge, to-night.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t, darling, don&#8217;t!&#8221; 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&mdash;indeed, every parishioner
+of St. Botolph&#8217;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>
+&#8220;What, you again?&#8221; gasped the servant.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes. It&#8217;s all right, I suppose? He ain&#8217;t
+here?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The young master?&#8221; Rudd inquired, with a grin.
+&#8220;No. And it&#8217;s lucky for you that he ain&#8217;t.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Parson in?&#8221; came the curt query.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes,&#8221; Rudd answered, reluctantly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, tell him I&#8217;m here,&#8221; the deputy commanded,
+with a truculent air. &#8220;He&#8217;ll want to see me, I
+guess. Anyhow, he&#8217;d better!&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;What is it you want?&#8221; she demanded haughtily,
+annoyed by the fellow&#8217;s obvious lack of deference,
+for he had not risen or taken the pipe from his
+mouth.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve explained to the gent, ma&#8217;am, and he&#8217;s gone
+out to get the money,&#8221; was the prompt answer.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You mean, my husband?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, the parson, ma&#8217;am. I come to levy&mdash;execution.
+You understand, ma&#8217;am.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s meeting with
+the sheriff&#8217;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&#8217;s, and his dry,
+parchment skin was stretched tightly over the prominent
+bones. His nose was hooked, and his lips
+sunken over toothless gums&mdash;for he would not afford
+false teeth. His hands were as small as a woman&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Father, I have come to see you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She kissed him on the brow, and his eyes darted
+an upward look, keen and penetrating as an eagle&#8217;s.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then you want something. The usual?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, father&mdash;money.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;How much is it now?&#8221; asked the miser.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A large sum, father,&#8221; faltered Mrs. Swinton.
+&#8220;A thousand dollars! You know you promised
+John a thousand dollars toward the building of the
+Mission Hall.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What!&#8221; screamed the old man, in horror. &#8220;A
+thousand dollars! It&#8217;s a lie.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Like his insolence.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And you promised a thousand dollars.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A thousand? Nothing of the sort,&#8221; snarled
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span>
+the miser, scratching the coverlet with hooked fingers&mdash;always
+a sign of irritation with him. &#8220;I
+said one, not one thousand.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ha, ha! Serve him right,&#8221; chuckled the old
+man. The words positively rattled in his throat.
+&#8220;I always told you he was a fool. I told you, but
+you wouldn&#8217;t listen to me. You insisted upon marrying
+a sky pilot. Apply up there for help.&#8221; He
+pointed to the ceiling.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, father, be reasonable. There is a man
+at <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: out in original text">our</ins> house&mdash;a sheriff&#8217;s officer. Think of it!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Aha, has it come to that!&#8221; laughed the miser.
+&#8220;Now, he will wake up. Now, we shall see!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Not only that, father. Dick may go away.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What, fleeing from justice?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, no, father. He is going to volunteer for
+service in the war.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She commenced to give him details, but he hushed
+her down. &#8220;How much?&mdash;How much?&#8221; he
+asked, insultingly. &#8220;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&#8217;s a pauper, and dependent upon his
+father, not upon me. I owe him nothing.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, father, father, it is expected of you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;How much?&#8221; snapped the old man.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What!&#8221; he screamed. &#8220;Two thousand! Two,
+you mean. Get me my check-book&mdash;get me my
+check-book.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s knees, and brought an
+inkstand and a pen, which she put into his trembling
+fingers.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Two thousand, father,&#8221; she said, gently.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No&mdash;two!&#8221; 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 &#8220;Two&#8221; on the long line.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Two. Do you understand?&#8221; he snarled, thrusting
+his nose into her face, as she bent over him to
+hold the blotting-pad. &#8220;That&#8217;s all you&#8217;ll get out of
+me.&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Have you no gratitude?&#8221; cried the old horror
+from the bed. &#8220;Can&#8217;t you say, thank you?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Thank you, father,&#8221; she answered, coldly; &#8220;I
+am tired of your jests,&#8221; and, without another word,
+she swept from the room.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Two!&#8221; chuckled the old man in his throat,
+&#8220;two!&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;My own father!&#8221; she cried bitterly, as she
+spread out the check before her. &#8220;Two dollars!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Then, she noticed that the word &#8220;two&#8221; had nothing
+after it on the long line, and that the &#8220;2&#8221; below
+in the square for the numerals was straggling
+toward the left. It only needed a couple of noughts
+in her father&#8217;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 &#8220;thousand&#8221;
+after the &#8220;two,&#8221; 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&mdash;her own
+father! Indeed, her own money&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Who presented this check?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Vivian Ormsby, son of the banker, sat in his private
+room at Ormsby&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Young Mr. Swinton presented it, sir,&#8221; the
+cashier explained.
+</p>
+<p>
+Vivian Ormsby&#8217;s eyes narrowed as he scrutinized
+the check more closely.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Leave it with me,&#8221; he commanded, &#8220;and count
+out the notes.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+As soon as he was alone, he went to a cupboard
+and took out a magnifying glass.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ye gods! Forgery! Made out to his mother&mdash;and
+yet&mdash;the signature seems all right. Of
+course, the alteration might have been made in Herresford&#8217;s
+presence. The simplest thing would be to
+apply to the old man himself. If the young bounder
+has altered the figures&mdash;well, if he has&mdash;then let
+it go through. It will be a matter for us then, not
+for Herresford, who wouldn&#8217;t part with a cent to
+save his own, much less his daughter&#8217;s, child.&#8221;
+<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>
+&#8220;Pay it,&#8221; he directed.
+</p>
+<p>
+Through a glass panel in his room, the banker&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s heavy debts, but that he
+should put his head into the lion&#8217;s mouth was amazing.
+Forgery!
+</p>
+<p>
+How easy it would be to discover the fraud presently&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Some of you&mdash;perhaps all&mdash;&#8221; he concluded,
+&#8220;are willing to go with me. Let such as will stand
+up.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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&#8217;s offer.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then, the others stood up together: Ocklebourne,
+Carnaby, Lorrimer, Bent&mdash;all except Dick Swinton,
+the rector&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Not Swinton?&#8221; asked the colonel, reproachfully.
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick shook his head smilingly, and was terribly
+abashed. They waited a few moments longer&mdash;moments,
+during which a girl&#8217;s face seemed to be
+looking at Dick with wistful, tender eyes&mdash;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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Fill him up a glass of champagne, a stiff one&mdash;it
+will give him some Dutch courage,&#8221; 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&#8217;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&#8217;s glass, when the young man jumped to his feet.
+</p>
+<p>
+There was the beginning of a luke-warm cheer&mdash;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&#8217;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&mdash;the letter of a
+soldier&#8217;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&#8217;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.&mdash;<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&mdash;coachman, gardener, footman,&mdash;and
+usually valeted his young master. Now, he
+hurried upstairs to Mr. Dick&#8217;s bedroom, where he
+duly appeared with a pile of letters.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mrs. Swinton and Miss Netty have breakfasted
+in their rooms, sir. The rector has gone out. And
+it&#8217;s nine o&#8217;clock.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick took the bundle of letters&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;She imagines I&#8217;m going,&#8221; growled Dick, grinding
+his teeth and thinking of the shameful scene of
+last night. &#8220;Well, I&#8217;ll show them all that I have
+the courage of my convictions.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;You are not displeased?&#8221; she asked, with a
+blush. &#8220;I did so want to see you! Oh, to think
+that we must part so soon!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I suppose you&#8217;ve heard all about last night?&#8221;
+asked Dick, hoarsely.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes. Mr. Ormsby called to see father for a moment.
+They talked incessantly about the war, and I
+overheard a little of their conversation&mdash;about last
+night. How sad for that poor fellow who turned
+coward, and was shamed before them all. Who was
+it?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The color fled from Dick&#8217;s face, and left it white
+and drawn.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You were wrongly informed. The man was
+insulted, and there was no question of cowardice
+about it. He couldn&#8217;t go, and he wouldn&#8217;t go.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But who was it? Not Jack Lorrimer or Harry
+Bent, surely?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, you don&#8217;t know?&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Can&#8217;t you guess who it was they insulted?&#8221;
+cried Dick, bitterly. &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick!&mdash;you?&#8221; she cried, looking at him in cold
+amazement. Then, he knew to his cost what it was
+to love a soldier&#8217;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&mdash;certainly not on her
+account&mdash;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&mdash;and there
+came the rub&mdash;of course, he would go now, at all
+costs.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, it was for you I said no,&#8221; he cried, at last.
+&#8220;But for you I&#8217;ll say yes. It&#8217;s not too late. I&#8217;ll
+have to swindle somebody to get my outfit, and add
+another to the long list of debts that are breaking my
+father&#8217;s heart; but still&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But your grandfather, Dick! Surely, only a
+word to him would be enough. He could not refuse
+to behave handsomely.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He never behaved handsomely in his life. He&#8217;s
+a mean old miser, who will probably fool us all in the
+end, and leave his money to strangers. But, as it&#8217;s
+settled, we need say no more. I suppose I shall see
+you again before I go&mdash;if it matters to you&mdash;I
+suppose you don&#8217;t care whether I am killed.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, Dick!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, I&#8217;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&#8217;d show some feeling, and
+not look forward eagerly to my leaving you. You
+seem anxious to be rid of me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick! Dick!&#8221; cried the girl. &#8220;I&#8217;m a soldier&#8217;s
+daughter. I&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, pray spare me a repetition of your father&#8217;s
+platitudes&mdash;I&#8217;ve heard them often enough. I don&#8217;t
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span>
+know much about the war, but all I&#8217;ve heard has set
+me against it. But never mind! And now, good-bye,
+my Spartan sweetheart.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+He extended his hand, sullenly and coldly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Hush! And don&#8217;t be hateful&#8221; Dora remonstrated.
+Then, she added, quickly: &#8220;It&#8217;s more than
+ever necessary, Dick, now that you are going away,
+to keep our secret. You mustn&#8217;t anger your grandfather.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, of course, we&#8217;ll be discreet. And, if I&#8217;m
+killed&mdash;well, nobody will know of our engagement.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick, if you died on the field of battle, I should
+be proud to proclaim to all the world that&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She broke down and sobbed, in spite of some staring
+passers-by, who saw that there was a lover&#8217;s
+quarrel in progress.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There&#8217;s time enough to talk of my going when I
+am actually starting,&#8221; said Dick haughtily, drawing
+himself up to his full height, and showing an obvious
+intention to depart in a huff. &#8220;Good-bye.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick! Don&#8217;t leave me like that.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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 &#8220;to the dogs, sir,&#8221;
+were well advertised, both in print and by word of
+mouth.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The army is not what it was, sir, and, if we&#8217;re not
+careful, we sha&#8217;n&#8217;t have any army at all, sir,&#8221; 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&#8217;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&#8217;s
+heart by storm.
+</p>
+<p>
+Ormsby was laying siege to the citadel cautiously,
+as was his way. Bluff Jack Lorrimer&#8217;s courage was
+paralyzed by his love, and he drank deep to dispel
+his melancholy. Harry Bent&mdash;who was already
+under the spell of Netty Swinton, Dick&#8217;s sister&#8217;s&mdash;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&mdash;under
+the light of the moon&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Now, you&#8217;re mine,&#8221; he murmured, with a great
+sigh of relief, &#8220;and we&#8217;re engaged.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Mother!&#8221; he cried, in a voice that was husky
+with emotion. &#8220;I&#8217;ve got to go. I&#8217;ve just given
+my name in to the colonel, and the money must be
+found somehow. Ormsby has dared to insinuate
+that I&#8217;m a coward. I&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s all right, Dick. You can have your outfit;
+I&#8217;ve got enough. I suppose five hundred dollars will
+cover it?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;ll have to, if that&#8217;s all I can get, mother.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That is all I can spare.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Out of grandfather&#8217;s two thousand?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick groaned.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I know, my boy, that it is very humiliating to
+have to beg for money which really belongs to one&mdash;for
+it does belong to us, to you and me, I mean&mdash;as
+much as to him, doesn&#8217;t it? It&#8217;s maddening to think
+that the law allows a man to ruin his relations because
+senility has weakened his intellect.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He&#8217;s an old brute,&#8221; 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&#8217;s room. He rang the bell and
+ordered the check to be brought to him once more.
+Then, he asked for Herresford&#8217;s pass-book, and any
+checks in the old man&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;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&mdash;in Dora&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&mdash;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&#8217;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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Ah, here you are, father!&#8221; she cried, going
+over to the hearthrug and dropping down before the
+fire. &#8220;Why didn&#8217;t you come in to breakfast?
+Didn&#8217;t you hear the gong? Dick went off at eight,
+and I&#8217;ve had to feed all alone. The bacon is cold
+by now, I expect; but go and have some. I&#8217;ll wait
+here for you. I&#8217;ve got something to tell you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t want any breakfast, my child. I want
+to have a talk with you. It&#8217;s a long time since we
+had a chat, Netty. You&#8217;re getting almost as much
+a social personage as your mother. Very soon,
+there&#8217;ll be no one to keep the house warm, except the
+old man.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You mustn&#8217;t call yourself old. You&#8217;re not even
+respectably middle-aged. But what do you want to
+talk to me about?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Money, my dear, money.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Money! Oh, dear! no&mdash;nothing so horrid.
+This is a red-letter day for me; and, when you talk
+about money, it turns everything gray.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, yes, I know it&#8217;s not a pleasant subject; but,
+you see, we must talk about it, sometimes. You&#8217;ve
+been attending to the house-keeping lately, and I
+want you to try and cut down the expenses. I&#8217;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I hope she&#8217;s asleep. You mustn&#8217;t worry her,
+you really mustn&#8217;t. She&#8217;s had a dreadful night, and
+her head&#8217;s awful&mdash;and you mustn&#8217;t worry me.
+The house-keeping is all right. It worried me, I
+hate it so. Jane&#8217;s doing it, and she&#8217;s more than
+careful&mdash;she&#8217;s mean. And, now, my news. Can&#8217;t
+you guess it? No, you&#8217;ll never guess. Look!&#8221; the
+girl held out her hand.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And what am I to look at?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Can&#8217;t you see?&mdash;the ring! It&#8217;s been in his
+family hundreds of years; but it&#8217;s nothing compared
+to the other jewels; they are magnificent, worth a
+king&#8217;s ransom. Why don&#8217;t you say something&mdash;something
+nice and pretty and appropriate? You
+know you can make awfully nice speeches when you
+like, father&mdash;and I&#8217;m waiting for congratulations.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Congratulations on having received a present?
+And who gave it to my Persian?&#8221; asked the rector,
+absently.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Who gave it to me? It&#8217;s my engagement ring.
+Harry and I settled everything last night.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Harry?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m going to marry Harry Bent. You surely
+must have expected it. That&#8217;s why you are not to
+talk about anything unpleasant or ugly to-day. If
+you do, it&#8217;ll make me wretched, and I don&#8217;t want to
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span>
+be wretched. I&#8217;m going to have a lovely time for
+always and always.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;God grant it,&#8221; murmured the rector, with fervor;
+&#8220;but don&#8217;t forget that life has its responsibilities and
+its dull patches; don&#8217;t expect too much, my little
+girl. The rosy dawn doesn&#8217;t always maintain its
+promise. But we mustn&#8217;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&#8217;s
+a surprise, dear child, but, if it means your happiness,
+it&#8217;s a glad surprise. By-the-bye, you&#8217;re quite sure
+you&#8217;re in love, little girl?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Silly old daddy, of course I am. He&#8217;s an awfully
+good boy, and, when his uncle dies, he&#8217;ll be immensely
+rich. It&#8217;s <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: added missing word, &#8216;a&#8217;">a</ins> splendid match, and you ought to
+be very pleased about it. Ah, here&#8217;s mother!&#8221; she
+cried, scrambling to her feet as Mrs. Swinton, dressed
+for driving in a perfect costume of blue, entered the
+study. &#8220;Now, you can both talk about it instead of
+your horrid money,&#8221; and, throwing a kiss lightly to
+her father, she tripped out of the room.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You don&#8217;t look well, Mary,&#8221; exclaimed the
+rector anxiously, as his wife sank down into a chair
+by the fire. &#8220;Another headache?&#8221; He rested his
+hand lovingly on her shoulder. &#8220;You are overdoing
+it, dearest. You must slow down and live the
+normal, dull life of a clergyman&#8217;s wife.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t, Jack, don&#8217;t! I&#8217;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, what indeed! The child tells me she is
+engaged to Harry Bent, and that you know all about
+it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes. I&#8217;ve seen that he wanted her for months
+past; and she likes him, after a fashion. She&#8217;ll never
+marry for love&mdash;never love anybody better than
+herself, I fear; and, since he&#8217;s quite willing to give
+more than he receives, I see nothing against their
+engagement, except&mdash;except our dreadful financial
+position.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Mrs. Swinton spoke wearily. &#8220;We will discuss
+Netty later,&#8221; she continued, &#8220;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&#8217;t sent off that check to the builder of the Mission
+Hall, you must let it stand over. No, no, don&#8217;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&#8217;t have it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary, Mary, what are you saying! I can&#8217;t let
+you have the money. I sent it away two days ago.
+I was afraid to hold it. Your plight can&#8217;t be worse
+than mine, Mary,&#8221; he groaned. &#8220;God help me, I
+didn&#8217;t mean to tell you, but perhaps it&#8217;s best, after
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span>
+all, that you should know everything&mdash;for it will
+make the parting with Dick less hard.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;With Dick? What has your trouble got to do
+with Dick? Tell me quickly&mdash;tell me,&#8221; and her
+voice dropped to a sobbing whisper. She was terribly
+overwrought, and ready to expect anything.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve had a letter threatening his arrest.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Arrest!&#8221; she cried, starting up. Her voice was
+a chord of fear.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A money-lender intends to arrest him, if he attempts
+to leave the state&mdash;that is, unless I&#8217;m prepared
+to pay a debt of seven hundred and fifty dollars.
+I,&#8221; added the rector, in a broken voice, &#8220;a
+man without a penny in the world&mdash;a spendthrift, a
+muddler, a borrower, a man dependent upon the
+bounty of others.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Hush, John, hush!&#8221; cried his wife, coming
+closer to him. &#8220;You are not to blame. Your life
+is one long sacrifice to others. It is I who am wrong&mdash;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&#8217;ll
+live your life, dear. Only let us get out of this awful
+tangle, and all will be right. I&#8217;ll go to father
+again, and tell him just how things stand; and, if
+he won&#8217;t give me the money, he shall lend it to
+me. It will be ours some day. It is ours&mdash;it
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span>
+ought to be ours. He can&#8217;t refuse&mdash;he shall not!&#8221;
+</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. &#8220;It will be all
+right. Our luck must surely change, John. I feel it
+in my bones&mdash;not that there is any sign of it to-day.
+How can they arrest Dick if he goes to the war?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh! It&#8217;s some legal technicality. I don&#8217;t understand
+it. I&#8217;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&#8217;ve found
+out that he&#8217;s been paying other people, I suppose.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Arrest him! What insolence! As if we
+hadn&#8217;t enough trouble of our own without Dick&#8217;s affairs
+crippling us at such a time. He absolutely
+must go&mdash;especially after the things that cad
+Ormsby insinuated.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But how about your own trouble, darling?
+Why must you have a thousand dollars?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, it&#8217;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&#8217; parties.
+She has refused to give me any more credit without
+security, so I left some jewelry with her&mdash;old-fashioned
+stuff that I never wear.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John, how can you side with father in that way?
+They are mine, of course they are. I&#8217;m not pawning
+them. They are just security, that&#8217;s all.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is the same thing, dear one. You certainly
+ought to get them back.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It isn&#8217;t a question of getting them back, John.
+The woman threatens to sell them, unless I can let
+her have a thousand dollars.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Such a sum is out of the question. You must
+persuade the woman to wait.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That is why I was going up to town to-day.
+But my debt far exceeds that sum.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;By how much?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The rector rarely demanded any details of his
+wife&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Nearly two thousand, John.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;For dresses&mdash;only dresses?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+With a sigh, the rector dropped into his chair.
+After a moment&#8217;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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Oh, it is shameful, shameful! Father is to
+blame&mdash;father! He&#8217;s driving us to ruin. There&#8217;s
+nothing too bad one can say about him. He deserves
+to be robbed of his miserly hoard.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Hush, hush, dearest,&#8221; murmured the rector;
+&#8220;your father&#8217;s money is his own, not ours. If he
+were to find out that you had pledged your jewels,
+there&#8217;s no knowing what he might not do.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Do! What could he do?&#8221; she replied, with a
+mirthless laugh. &#8220;A man can&#8217;t prosecute his own
+child.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Some men can, and do. Your father is just the
+sort to outrage all family sentiment, and defy public
+opinion.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You don&#8217;t think that!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;A gentleman to see you, sir; at least, sir, to see
+Mr. Dick.&#8221; The manservant&#8217;s manner was halting
+and embarrassed.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What does he want with Mr. Dick?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, sir, he says&mdash;&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, what does he say?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The man looked at his master and mistress hesitatingly,
+as though he would rather not speak.
+&#8220;He says, sir&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That he has come to arrest him&mdash;but he would
+like to see you first.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There must be some mistake. Send him in.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Why have you come?&#8221; asked the rector.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, there&#8217;s a warrant. It has been reported
+he was going to skip.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why have you come so soon? I only received
+Wise&#8217;s letter this morning.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It was sent the day before yesterday.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The rector picked up the letter, and found that it
+was dated two days ago.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There was evidently a delay in transmission.
+What are we to do?&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;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&mdash;cash.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Can you wait till this evening?&#8221; pleaded the
+rector, hopelessly, &#8220;while I see what can be done.
+You&#8217;ve taken me at a disadvantage. My son is not
+here now. He won&#8217;t be back till after midday.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If there is any likelihood of your being able to
+do anything by evening, of course&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He&#8217;ll wait. He must wait,&#8221; cried Mrs.
+Swinton, taking up her muff. &#8220;I&#8217;ll have to see
+father about it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You must wait till this evening, my man.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;All right, then. Until six o&#8217;clock?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Very well, six o&#8217;clock,&#8221; the man agreed, and
+withdrew.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I can&#8217;t bear to think of your going to your father
+again, Mary,&#8221; sighed the rector, bitterly. &#8220;Dick
+has been a shocking muddler in his affairs&mdash;as bad
+as his father, without his father&#8217;s excuse. God
+knows, I&#8217;ve been too busy with parish affairs to attend
+properly to my own, whereas he&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He is young, John,&#8221; pleaded the indulgent
+mother, &#8220;and ought to be in receipt of a handsome
+allowance from his grandfather. He has only been
+spending what really should be his.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Sophistry, my darling, sophistry!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;At any rate, I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;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&mdash;loafing for
+a certainty, if he thinks no one can see him.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, yes, I know what you want to say,&#8221; he
+snarled: &#8220;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&mdash;slaves, do
+you hear? And I intend to see that you don&#8217;t rob
+me, for to waste the time that I pay for is to rob
+me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, sir, if we don&#8217;t suit you, we can go.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My good woman, you&#8217;d have gone long ago,
+if it hadn&#8217;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&#8217;s paid for it. If the positions were reversed, he
+would be quite as hard a master as I; that&#8217;s why I
+like him. He gets quite as much out of those under
+his control as I get out of him&mdash;only he doesn&#8217;t pay
+&#8217;em double.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;good for him&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Give me those field-glasses,&#8221; he commanded
+sharply, &#8220;and then you can get about your business.
+Those maids downstairs will be wasting their time
+while you&#8217;re up here.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What will you take for luncheon to-day, sir?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Woman, I left enough chicken yesterday to feed
+a family. The chicken curried, and don&#8217;t forget the
+chutney.&#8221; Then, after a mumbling interval, &#8220;and,
+if anybody calls, I won&#8217;t see &#8217;em&mdash;except Notley,
+who comes at eleven. And, when he comes, send
+him up at once&mdash;no kitchen gossip! I don&#8217;t pay
+lawyers to come here and amuse kitchen wenches.
+Why don&#8217;t you speak, eh? W-what?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Because I&#8217;ve nothing to say, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s right, that&#8217;s right. Now that you&#8217;ve left
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span>
+off &#8216;speaking your mind,&#8217; as you used to call it,
+you&#8217;re becoming quite docile and useful. Perhaps,
+I&#8217;ll give Ripon another fifty dollars a year. I&#8217;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&#8217;d have remained so long, if Ripon hadn&#8217;t
+married you. He&#8217;s made a sensible woman of you.
+Tell him I&#8217;m going to give him an extra fifty dollars
+a year, but&mdash;but he must do with a hand less in
+the gardens.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What, another?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes. It&#8217;ll pay, won&#8217;t it, to get fifty dollars a
+year more, and save me two hundred on the outdoor
+staff, eh?&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;You old wretch! If I had my way, I&#8217;d smother
+you. You spoil your own life, and you&#8217;re spoiling
+my man. He won&#8217;t be fit to live with soon.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Leave them alone, leave them alone!&#8221; he cried.
+&#8220;How dare she touch my flowers! I&#8217;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&mdash;money. And
+she sha&#8217;n&#8217;t have any. I&#8217;ll be firm about it.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Who gave you permission to pick my flowers?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span>
+the old man snarled, taking no notice of her greeting.
+&#8220;I allow no one to rob my garden. You are
+not to take those flowers home with you&mdash;do you
+understand? They belong to me.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Take these flowers to Mrs. Ripon, and tell her
+to have them arranged and brought to Mr. Herresford&#8217;s
+room. And now,&#8221; she added, as the girl
+closed the door behind her, &#8220;we must have a little
+talk, my dear father. I want some money&mdash;in
+brief, I must have some. Dick is going, and his kit
+must be got ready at once. I must have a thousand
+dollars.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Must, must, must! I don&#8217;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&#8217;t be intruded upon
+in this way. Your visits are an annoyance, madam,
+and they&#8217;d better cease.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;t a hundred dollars, and Dick&#8217;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&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Well?&#8221; she queried, after waiting for some
+minutes, and turning from the window toward the
+bed. &#8220;Well?&#8221; she repeated. &#8220;If it&#8217;s going to be
+a waiting game, we can both play it. I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t leave
+this room until you sign Dick&#8217;s check, and you know
+quite well that I go through with a thing when my
+mind is made up. It&#8217;s perfectly disgusting to have
+to insist like this, but you see, father, it&#8217;s the only
+way.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;If you&#8217;ll come back this evening,&#8221; he whined,
+after a long pause, &#8220;I&#8217;ll see what I can do. I&#8217;m
+expecting Notley, my lawyer, this morning, and I
+don&#8217;t want to be worried. I&#8217;ve a lot of figures to
+go through. Now, run away, Mary, and I&#8217;ll think
+it over.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;quite mean it,&#8221; she
+added, very quietly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s disgraceful that you should treat me in this
+way. I&#8217;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Five hundred is next to useless. It is disgracefully
+little for an outfit and general expenses of your
+grandson.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The boy is a scamp; an idle, horse-racing young
+vagabond&mdash;a thief, too. Have you forgotten that
+horse he stole? I haven&#8217;t.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Rubbish, father. The horse belonged to Dick.
+You gave it to him, and it was his to sell. But
+we&#8217;re wasting time. Shall I write the check? Ah!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span>
+here&#8217;s the book,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;I am going to draw a check for a thousand,
+father,&#8221; she said with assumed indifference, and took
+up a pen as though the matter were settled.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A thousand!&mdash;no, five hundred&mdash;no, it&#8217;s too
+much. Five hundred dollars for a couple of suits of
+khaki? Preposterous! Fifty would be too much.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, the very lowest is fifty, father,&#8221; she remarked,
+with a sudden abandonment of irritation,
+and a new light in her fine eyes.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah! that&#8217;s more like it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, I&#8217;ll make it fifty.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Fifty!&mdash;no, I never said fifty. I said five&mdash;too
+much,&#8221; and his fingers began to claw upon the
+coverlet, while his lips and tongue worked as with a
+palsy. &#8220;Fifty dollars! Do you want to ruin me?
+Make it five, and I&#8217;ll sign it at once. That&#8217;s more
+than I gave you last time.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She had commenced the check. The date was
+filled in, and the name of her son as the payee.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Five, madam&mdash;not a penny more. Five!&#8221;
+</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 &#8220;five,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Father, you are driving me to desperation. It&#8217;s
+your fault if&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Give me the pen&mdash;give me the pen,&#8221; he snarled.
+&#8220;If you keep me waiting too long, I shall change
+my mind.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;s debts paid,
+her own dressmaker&#8217;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&mdash;for they considered it such&mdash;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 &#8220;accounts rendered&#8221;&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Well, mother what luck with grandfather?&#8221; he
+cried anxiously, as he strode into the study. &#8220;I hear
+you&#8217;ve been up to the Hall. You are a brick to
+beard the old lion as you do.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, I&#8217;ve been lucky this time. I&#8217;ve screwed
+out some more for all of us&mdash;quite a large sum this
+time. I put forward unanswerable arguments&mdash;the
+expense of your outfit&mdash;our responsibilities&mdash;our
+debts, and all sorts of things, and then got your
+grandfather to include everything in one check. It&#8217;s
+for five thousand.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She dropped her eyes nervously, and heard him
+catch his breath.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Five thousand!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Not all for you, Dick,&#8221; she hastened to add,
+&#8220;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&#8217;t do such
+things, do they?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Arrest me?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes. It was an awful blow to your father.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Arrest!&#8221; he groaned. &#8220;I feared it. But
+you&#8217;ve got five thousand. It&#8217;ll save us all!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The check isn&#8217;t cashed yet. Here it is.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;I really must pay all my smaller debts, mother,&#8221;
+said Dick, as he looked down at the forged check.
+&#8220;You don&#8217;t know what a mean hound I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;How much do your debts amount to, Dick?&#8221;
+asked Mrs. Swinton, in some trepidation.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I hardly know; but the ones which must be paid
+before I go will amount to a good many hundreds,
+I fear.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, Dick! I&#8217;m sorry, but need all be paid
+now? You see, the money is badly wanted for
+other things.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, mother, I might not come back. I might
+be killed. And I&#8217;d like to feel that I&#8217;d left all
+straight at home.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t, Dick, don&#8217;t!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But I was hoping to help your father. He&#8217;s
+getting quite white with worry. Have you noticed
+how he has aged lately?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;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&#8217;t cry. You
+see, if I shouldn&#8217;t come back&mdash;you&#8217;ve got Netty.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What! Haven&#8217;t you heard?&#8221; she asked.
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t you know that Netty is going to leave us?
+Harry Bent proposed yesterday afternoon at the
+Ocklebournes&#8217;. He&#8217;s going away, too&mdash;and you
+may neither of you come back.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Hush, hush, mother! We&#8217;re all leaving somebody
+behind, and we can&#8217;t all come back. Don&#8217;t
+let us talk of it. I&#8217;ll run over and pay the check into
+my account, and then draw a little for everybody&mdash;something
+on account to keep them quiet.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+He looked at it&mdash;the check&mdash;lovingly, and
+sighed with satisfaction.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Since grandfather has turned up trumps,
+mother,&#8221; Dick suggested, &#8220;it would only be decent
+of me to go up and thank him, wouldn&#8217;t it? I&#8217;ve
+got to go up and say good-bye, anyway.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, Dick don&#8217;t go,&#8221; cried the guilty woman,
+nervously.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But I must, mother. It won&#8217;t do to give him
+any further excuses for fault-finding.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If you go, say nothing about the money.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Just to please me, Dick. Thank him for the
+money he has given you, and say nothing about the
+amount. Don&#8217;t remind him. He might relent, and&mdash;and
+stop the check or something of that sort.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;All right, mother.&#8221; 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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Good-afternoon, grandfather. I&#8217;ve called to see
+you to say good-bye,&#8221; he said, cheerily.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to see you, sir,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;I am going away to the war, grandfather, and
+I may never return.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And a good job, too, sir&mdash;a good job, too.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick&#8217;s teeth were hard set. The insult had to
+be endured.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t come asking me for money, sir, because
+you won&#8217;t get it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, grandfather, I have enough, thank you.
+Your generosity has touched me, after your close-fis&mdash;your
+talks about economy, I mean.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Generosity&mdash;eh?&#8221; snarled the spluttering old
+man. &#8220;No sarcasm, if you please. You insolent
+rascal!&#8221; He positively clawed the air, and his eyes
+gleamed. &#8220;I&#8217;ll teach you your duty to your elders,
+sir. I&#8217;ve signed two checks for you. Do you think
+I&#8217;m going to be bled to death like a pig with its wizen
+slit?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I want no more money,&#8221; cried the young man,
+hotly. &#8220;You know that perfectly well, grandfather.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s good news, then.&#8221;
+<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>
+&#8220;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&#8217;ll have no heir but my
+mother.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t flatter yourself that you&#8217;re my heir, sir.
+I&#8217;ll have you know you&#8217;re not, sir. No delusions.
+You need expect nothing from me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick gave a despairing sigh, and turned away.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, then, good-bye, grandfather. If I get
+shot&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Go and get shot, sir&mdash;and be damned to you!&#8221;
+cried the old man.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are in a bad temper, grandfather. I&#8217;ve said
+my adieu. You have always misunderstood and
+abused me. Good-bye. I&#8217;ll offend you no longer.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Dick! Dick! I&#8217;m an old man. I never mean
+what I say. I&#8217;ll pay&mdash;&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Go and get shot!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The old man&#8217;s words rang in Dick&#8217;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&mdash;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&mdash;but in secret&mdash;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?&mdash;absurd!
+A soldier&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Dora!&#8221; he cried.
+</p>
+<p>
+He opened his arms, and she dropped into them,
+sobbing shockingly (like any civilian&#8217;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>
+&#8220;I didn&#8217;t mean to cry, Dick.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Nor I,&#8221; he replied huskily, looking down upon
+her with tears almost falling from his long-lashed,
+tender eyes. &#8220;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&#8217;t know why I ever
+joined the wretched militia. Yes, I do&mdash;I joined
+for fun&mdash;without thinking&mdash;because others did.
+They had a good time, and wanted me to share it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick, that is not the mind of a soldier.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, it&#8217;s my mind, anyway. You see, you&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But you&#8217;ll go now, and fight for your country and&mdash;for
+me. You&#8217;ll come back covered with glory, I
+know you will.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Perhaps&mdash;and maybe I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t come back at
+all.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, I shall mourn my hero as a noble patriot,
+who never showed the white feather.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, it isn&#8217;t courage that I lack. Give me a good
+fight, and I&#8217;m in it like anybody else. It&#8217;s the idea of
+carnage, and gaping wounds, and men shrieking in
+agony, gouging one another&#8217;s eyes out, and biting like
+wild-cats, with cold steel in their vitals&mdash;all over a
+quarrel in which they have no part.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Every man is a part of his nation, and the nation&#8217;s
+quarrel is his own.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;We won&#8217;t argue it, darling. It&#8217;s settled now,
+and I&#8217;m going through with it. I start to-morrow.
+You&#8217;ll write to me often?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Every day.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If you don&#8217;t often get replies you&#8217;ll know it&#8217;s the
+fault of the army postal service&mdash;and perhaps my
+hatred of writing letters as well.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You certainly are a very bad letter-writer, Dick,&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span>
+she protested, with a laugh. &#8220;I&#8217;ve only had two
+notes from you, but those are very precious&mdash;precious
+as though written on leaves of gold.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are sure, Dora, that you&#8217;re not sorry you
+engaged yourself to a useless person like me?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You shall not abuse yourself in that way!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are quite sure?&#8221; he repeated.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Quite sure, my hero.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And you never cared for that cad, Ormsby? not
+one little bit?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No. Not one little bit.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s a confounded nuisance, his being laid up in
+your house. But he won&#8217;t go to the front. That&#8217;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&#8217;t they send him
+home, instead of letting you have all the bother of an
+invalid in your house?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s no bother. We have two trained nurses
+there, who take night and day duty. I only relieve
+them occasionally.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick grunted contemptuously.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You&#8217;ll send him away as soon as he gets well,
+won&#8217;t you?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It was after I struck him in the face and went
+away&mdash;after the gathering broke up. He was naturally
+very sore and sick about the way he&#8217;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&#8217;t be
+surprised to see me in jail one of these fine days.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;How infamous!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The scoundrel went so far as to hint darkly that
+I almost owed my liberty to him&mdash;as much as to say
+that, if he chose to speak, I&#8217;d have to do a term in the
+penitentiary.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, nonsense! It was just an angry man&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I wish I&#8217;d made it half-a-dozen instead of one.&#8221;
+Then, with sudden tenderness: &#8220;Promise me, darling,
+that you&#8217;ll never listen to tales and abuse about
+me, no matter how plausible they may seem. I know
+I&#8217;ve been going the pace; but I&#8217;m going to pull up,
+for I&#8217;ve come into a fortune now more precious than
+my grandfather&#8217;s money-bags. I&#8217;ve won the dearest,
+sweetest, truest, bravest little girl, and I mean to
+be worthy of her.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll listen to no one and believe nothing, unless it
+comes from your dear lips.&#8221; The girl&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&mdash;there
+was no hiding the fact; and, when he was convalescent,
+and the time came for him to go away, he
+would declare it&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;dry,
+fevered lips that scorched her.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You have been very good to me,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Which check?&#8221; asked Mr. Barnby; &#8220;the one
+for two thousand or the one for five thousand? I
+have them both.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There are two, then?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Ormsby&#8217;s eyes glistened.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, with the same strange discoloration of the
+ink. This is the one; and I have brought the glass
+with me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Ormsby examined Mrs. Swinton&#8217;s second forgery
+under the magnifier, and was puzzled.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The addition has been cleverly made. The writing
+seems to be the same. Whose handwriting is it&mdash;not
+Herresford&#8217;s?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It seems to be Mrs. Swinton&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, the check was drawn by Mrs. Swinton in
+her father&#8217;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, not all&mdash;but nearly all of it has been withdrawn.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, he has robbed us of seven thousand
+dollars?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If the checks are forgeries, yes. I hope not, I
+sincerely hope not. If you doubted the first
+check&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The scoundrel! Go at once to Herresford.
+The old man must refund and make good the loss, or
+we are in a predicament.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll go immediately. I suppose it is the young
+man&#8217;s work? It is impossible to conceive that Mrs.
+Swinton&mdash;his own daughter&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t be a fool. Go to Herresford.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&mdash;who resigned his position
+about once a month&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Send him up&mdash;send him up&mdash;don&#8217;t keep him
+waiting,&#8221; he cried. &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Will you take a seat, Mr.&mdash;&mdash;? I didn&#8217;t quite
+catch your name.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Barnby, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Take a seat, Mr. Barnby. You&#8217;ve come to see
+me about money?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, sir, an unpleasant matter, I fear.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Depression in the market, eh? Things still falling?
+Ah! It&#8217;s the war, the war&mdash;curse it! Tell
+me more&mdash;tell me quickly!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s a family matter, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;ha! I guess why you&#8217;ve come. Yes&mdash;yes&mdash;something
+to do with my grandson?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Just so, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What is it now? Debts, overdrawn accounts&mdash;what&mdash;what?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;which&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What!&mdash;when? I haven&#8217;t signed a check for
+any thousand dollars for months.&#8221; This was true,
+as the miser&#8217;s creditors knew to their cost. It was
+next to impossible to collect money from him.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;One check was made out to your daughter, Mary
+Swinton, and presented at the bank, and cashed by
+your grandson, Mr. Richard Swinton.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, for five dollars.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Five thousand dollars, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But I tell you I never drew it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;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&mdash;five
+seems to have been changed into five thousand.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What!&#8221; screamed the old man, raising himself
+on one hand and extending the other. &#8220;Let me
+look! Let me look!&#8221;
+<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>
+&#8220;These are the checks, sir. That is your correct
+signature, I believe?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I never signed them&mdash;I never signed them.
+Take them away. They&#8217;re not mine.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Pardon me, sir, the signature is undoubtedly
+yours. Do you remember signing any check for two
+dollars or for five?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, yes, of course. I gave her two&mdash;yes&mdash;and
+I gave her five&mdash;for the boy.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Just so, sir. Well, some fraudulent person has
+altered the figures. You&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The scoundrel!&#8221; cried the old man in guttural
+rage. &#8220;I always said he&#8217;d come to a bad end&mdash;but
+I never believed it&mdash;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, he has robbed you, sir,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;My money? Why should I lose money?&#8221;
+snapped the miser, turning around upon him. &#8220;I
+didn&#8217;t alter the checks. You ought to keep your eyes
+open. If swindlers choose to tamper with my paper,
+what&#8217;s it to do with me? It&#8217;s your risk, your business,
+your loss, not mine.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, sir, surely not. A member of your own
+family&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A member of my own family be hanged, sir.
+He&#8217;s no child of mine. He&#8217;s the son of that canting
+sky-pilot, that parson of the slums.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But he is your grandson, sir. I take it that you
+would not desire a scandal, a public exposure.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A scandal! What&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But he is your heir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Nothing of the sort. He is not my heir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But some day&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, sir, of course not. I beg your pardon if
+I presumed&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You do presume, sir.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Then, sir, I take it, that you wish us to prosecute
+your grandson&mdash;who is at the war.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Prosecute whom you like, sir, but don&#8217;t come
+here pretending that you&#8217;re not responsible for the
+acts of fraudulent swindlers.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It has been fought out over and over again, and
+I believe never settled satisfactorily.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, it is settled this time&mdash;unless you wish
+me to withdraw my account from your bank instantly&mdash;I&#8217;m
+the best customer you&#8217;ve got. Prosecute, sir&mdash;prosecute.
+Have him home from the war, and
+fling him into jail.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Of course, sir, we have no actual evidence that
+the forgery was made by the young man, although
+he&mdash;er&mdash;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&mdash;er&mdash;someone
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span>
+else. It is a difficult matter to decide
+who&mdash;er&mdash;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What! Do you mean to insinuate that my
+daughter&mdash;my daughter&mdash;sir, would be capable of
+a low, cunning forgery?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I insinuate nothing, sir. But mothers will sometimes
+condone the faults of their sons, and&mdash;er&mdash;it
+would be difficult, if she were to say&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;ll get no money out of me. I&#8217;ll have my seven
+thousand, every penny.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;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&mdash;?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Women don&#8217;t forge, sir,&#8221; snarled the old man,
+&#8220;they&#8217;re too afraid of paper money. I don&#8217;t want
+to hear anything more about the matter. What I do
+want is a full statement of my balance. And, if
+there&#8217;s a dollar short, I&#8217;ll sue you, sir&mdash;yes, sue you!&mdash;for
+neglect of your trust.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I quite understand, sir. I&#8217;ll put your views before
+Mr. Ormsby. There is no need for hurry.
+The young man is at the war.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Have him home, sir, have him home,&#8221; snapped
+the old man, &#8220;and as for his mother&mdash;well, it serves
+her right&mdash;serves her right. Never would take
+my advice. Obstinate as a mule. But I&#8217;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&mdash;couldn&#8217;t hold a penny.
+Yet, married a beggar&mdash;and ruined him, too&mdash;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&#8217;ll have the
+joy of seeing her son in the dock&mdash;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&#8217;ll have my
+revenge now. Yes, yes. What are you staring at,
+sir? Get out of the room. How dare you insult
+my daughter?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I said nothing, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, what are you waiting for? Get back to
+your bank, and look after my money.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s right, my girl, play away. It&#8217;s good to
+hear the piano going again. And, between ourselves,
+I&#8217;m beginning to feel depressed by the stillness
+of the house. It&#8217;s difficult to believe that this is
+home since we took on hospital work. Between ourselves,
+I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t be sorry when Ormsby says good-bye.
+As a strong man and a soldier, I like him; but, as a
+sick man, I&#8217;ve had enough of him. Never had a
+fancy for ambulance work or being near the hospital
+base.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I, too, shall be glad when we have the house to
+ourselves,&#8221; observed Dora. &#8220;Of course, I&#8217;m fearfully
+sorry for Captain Ormsby, and all that; but I
+do wish he&#8217;d go. He&#8217;s not very ill now. Couldn&#8217;t
+you throw out a hint about his going, father?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Impossible! I&mdash;I am not a strategist; but you
+are. I will leave him to you, and you must get to
+work. But I don&#8217;t know what you&#8217;ve got to grumble
+about with a man like Ormsby in the house to
+amuse you and admire you all the time.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&mdash;for some unknown reason&mdash;and went
+out of the room. It looked like a plot to leave her
+at Vivian Ormsby&#8217;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>
+&#8220;One moment,&#8221; said Ormsby, resting his hand on
+her arm. &#8220;I have something to say to you. You
+must give me a few minutes&mdash;you really must, I
+insist.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Must! Captain Ormsby,&#8221; faltered Dora, with
+the color flooding her cheeks. &#8220;I never allow anyone
+to use that word to me&mdash;not even father.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, let me beg you to listen.&#8221; He spoke
+softly, caressingly, but the mouth was hard, and his
+fine, full eyes held her as under a spell. &#8220;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&#8217;s permission to ask you to be my wife.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Please, please, don&#8217;t say any more, Mr. Ormsby.
+I knew that you liked me, but&mdash;oh, I am so sorry!
+I can never be anything to you&mdash;never&mdash;never&mdash;never!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dora&#8221;&mdash;he caught her sharply, roughly by the
+arm&mdash;&#8220;you don&#8217;t know what you are saying. Perhaps,
+I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mr. Ormsby, please, don&#8217;t say any more. What
+you ask is impossible, quite impossible&mdash;I do not
+care for you; I can never care for you&mdash;in that
+way.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+He uttered an exclamation of bitter annoyance.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, it is as I thought. You have given your
+love to young Dick Swinton. But you&#8217;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&mdash;yes, spoil them, and I will, by God!
+Shall I tell you what sort of a man you have chosen
+for your lover?&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That is a falsehood&mdash;a deliberate lie!&#8221; cried
+Dora. &#8220;You would not dare to say such a thing if
+Dick were in New York. It&#8217;s only cowards who take
+advantage of the absent. I know of the quarrel you
+had with Dick at the dinner&mdash;I heard all about it.
+I&#8217;m glad he struck you. If he could know what you
+have just said, he would thrash you&mdash;as a liar deserves
+to be thrashed.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Gently, young lady, gently,&#8221; replied Ormsby,
+quietly, yet his face livid with passion. &#8220;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.&#8221; Then, with swift change of voice, from
+which all anger had vanished, he continued: &#8220;Forgive
+me, forgive me! I should not speak to you like
+this, but&mdash;really that fellow is not worthy of you.
+His own grandfather disowns him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But I don&#8217;t,&#8221; cried Dora, angrier than before.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You will change presently.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Never!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Forgery of what?&#8221; she asked, with a little, contemptuous
+laugh.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are saying this in spite&mdash;to frighten me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, you may well be frightened. The best thing
+he can do is to get shot.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t believe you,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s always up to his eyes in debt.
+I&#8217;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Stop! I will not listen&mdash;I won&#8217;t believe unless
+I hear it from his own lips.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You shall see the police warrant.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;good-bye.
+I presume you will be returning home
+this afternoon. You are quite well now&mdash;robust,
+in fact&mdash;and you are showing your gratitude for
+the kindness received at our hands in a very shabby
+way. Good-day.&#8221;
+</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: &#8220;He&#8217;s a new man, quite like
+his old self.&#8221; 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&mdash;aided a
+little by art, but of that, as a man, he knew nothing.
+Her manner, too, had altered&mdash;she was more anxious
+to please than ever before&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;s wife. She attended
+church meetings, mothers&#8217; meetings, gave away
+prizes, talked with old women and bores, and went
+to church four times on Sunday&mdash;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 &#8220;if&#8221; was her mainstay. Her last forgery
+was a very serious affair&mdash;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&mdash;or he
+would beggar her by stopping it <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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 &#8220;helped the good cause,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Oh, I&#8217;m so glad you&#8217;ve come. Polly&#8217;s in the
+drawing-room, and she says she&#8217;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&#8217;re singing comic songs at the piano.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Ah, here&#8217;s our dear, saintly Mary, with her
+hands full of prayer-books!&#8221; exclaimed Polly Ocklebourne,
+as her hostess came into the room. &#8220;So glad
+you&#8217;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He is coming later, with John.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I hope you don&#8217;t mind our coming, but we&#8217;re
+awfully curious to see you presiding at a high tea,
+with the bishop&#8217;s lady and her satellites. What are
+you going to feed the dears on, Mary? You&#8217;ll ask
+us to stay, won&#8217;t you? And, if I laugh, you&#8217;ll find
+excuses for me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t be absurd, Polly. I&#8217;d very much rather
+you hadn&#8217;t come&mdash;you know that. But, since you&#8217;re
+here, do try to be normal.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There you are!&#8221; cried racy Mrs. Ocklebourne,
+turning to her companions with a tragic expression;
+&#8220;I told you she wouldn&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;An unexpected pleasure,&#8221; exclaimed the rector,
+who had just entered the room, coming forward to
+greet Mrs. Ocklebourne. &#8220;You should have come
+to the ceremony? We had a most eloquent address
+from the bishop&mdash;let me make you known to each
+other.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Delighted,&#8221; murmured Mrs. Ocklebourne, with
+a smirk at her hostess, who was supremely uncomfortable,
+&#8220;and I do so want to know your dear wife,
+bishop. So does Major Joicy. He&#8217;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&mdash;that is the
+name of the place, isn&#8217;t it?&#8221;&mdash;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;The sinner has beguiled the saint,&#8221; whispered
+Mrs. Ocklebourne, as the party made a move for
+the dining-room, &#8220;but I&#8217;m hungry, and, if I were
+really good, I believe I should want a high tea every
+day.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;s hand awkwardly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What is it, Barnby?&#8221; cried the rector, with a
+laugh. &#8220;No overdrawn account yet awhile, surely.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Forgeries! What do you mean?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But what does all this signify?&#8221; asked the rector,
+fingering the checks idly. &#8220;Herresford doesn&#8217;t
+repudiate his own paper! The man must be mad.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s Mr. Herresford&#8217;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But the checks are signed by Herresford!&#8221;
+cried Swinton, hotly. &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But the checks themselves bear evidence of
+alteration.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Do you, too, sir, mean to insinuate that my son
+is a forger?&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;My son&#8221;&mdash;he explained.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Nothing serious, I hope. Not&mdash;?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes&mdash;dead!&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Under&mdash;the&mdash;er&mdash;circumstances, I think
+this interview had better be postponed. Pray accept
+my condolences, sir. I am deeply, truly sorry.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Gone!&mdash;killed!&mdash;and he didn&#8217;t want to go.&#8221;
+</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%'>
+&#8220;Died nobly rendering special service to his country.
+Captured and shot as a spy having courageously
+volunteered to carry dispatches through the
+enemy&#8217;s lines.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Gone&mdash;gone&mdash;poor Dick gone!&#8221; he murmured,
+&#8220;and just as we were beginning to hold up
+our heads again, and feel that life was worth living.
+My poor boy&mdash;my poor boy!&#8221;
+</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, &#8220;Poor Dick!
+Poor Dick!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;How can I tell them&mdash;how can I tell them?&#8221;
+he sobbed. &#8220;Our poor boy&mdash;our fine boy&mdash;our
+little Dick, who had grown into such a fine, big chap.
+He died gloriously&mdash;yes, there&#8217;s some consolation
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span>
+in that. But it doesn&#8217;t wipe out the horror of it,
+my poor lad. Shot as a spy! Executed! A
+crowd of ruffians leveling their guns at you&mdash;my
+poor lad&mdash;&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Stop!&#8221; he cried in his agony.
+</p>
+<p>
+At the moment, the study door opened gently&mdash;the
+soft rustle of silk&mdash;his wife.
+</p>
+<p>
+In an instant, she was at his side.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What is it&mdash;what has happened?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+He rose, and extended his hand to her like a blind
+man. &#8220;Dick&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Is dead! Oh!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+A long, tremulous cry, and she fell into his arms.
+&#8220;I knew it&mdash;I felt it coming. Oh, Dick&mdash;Dick,
+why did they make you go?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He died gloriously, darling&mdash;for his country,
+performing an act of gallantry&mdash;volunteering to
+run a great risk. A hero&#8217;s death.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+They wept in each other&#8217;s arms for some moments,
+and the gay music stopped of its own accord.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Netty will be here in a moment, and she&#8217;ll have
+to be told,&#8221; said Mrs. Swinton. &#8220;The bishop and
+the others mustn&#8217;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&mdash;send them away.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;They&#8217;ll be going presently, darling. If I send
+them away, I must explain why. Pull yourself together.
+We&#8217;ve faced trouble before, and must face
+this. It is our first real loss in this world. We still
+have Netty.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Netty! Netty!&#8221; cried his wife, with a petulance
+that almost shocked him. &#8220;What is she compared
+with Dick? And they&#8217;ve taken him&mdash;killed
+him. Oh, Dick!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Netty&#8217;s voice could be heard, laughing and talking
+in a high key as she opened the drawing-room door.
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll find her,&#8221; she was saying, and in another moment
+she burst into the study.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mother&mdash;mother, they&#8217;re all asking for you.
+The bishop is going now. Why, what is the matter?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your mother and I are not very well, Netty,
+dear. Tell them we shall be back in a moment.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;More money worries, I suppose,&#8221; sighed Netty
+with a shrug, as she went out of the room.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You see how much Netty cares,&#8221; cried Mrs.
+Swinton.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You&#8217;re rather hard on the girl, dearest. Your
+heart is bitter with your loss. Let us be charitable.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But Dick!&mdash;Dick! Our boy!&#8221; 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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s creditors. He knew Swinton&#8217;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&#8217;s friendly words,
+he could not conceal the misery in his heart.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter?&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Dreadful! A terrible blow! Words of sympathy
+are of little avail at the present moment, old
+friend,&#8221; he said, placing his hand on the other&#8217;s
+shoulder. &#8220;Everyone&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The parting handgrip between the bishop and the
+stricken father was long and eloquent of feeling, and
+the churchman&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Father, something serious is the matter with
+mother. You&#8217;ve had news from the war. What is
+it&mdash;nothing has happened to Harry?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, child&mdash;your brother.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The unguarded exclamation expressed a world of
+relief. Then, Netty&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Is Dick wounded or&mdash;?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The worst, Netty dear. He is gone.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+He spoke with his face still hidden. &#8220;Go to your
+mother,&#8221; he pleaded, for he wished to be alone.
+</p>
+<p>
+A furious anger against the war&mdash;against all
+war and bloodshed, was rising up within him. All
+a father&#8217;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&#8217;s accusation
+against his son&#8217;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&#8217;s signature?
+Herresford, who was always down on
+Dick, had made an infamous charge&mdash;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&#8217;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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Grieving will not bring him back, darling,&#8221; murmured
+the broken man. &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She arose wearily, and asked in quite a casual manner,
+as if trying to avoid the matter of their sorrow:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What did Barnby want?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, he came with some crazy story about&mdash;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!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Checks?&#8221; she asked huskily, and her face was
+drawn with terror.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Checks for quite large amounts,&#8221; said the rector.
+&#8220;Two or five thousand dollars, or something like
+that. The old man&#8217;s memory must be failing him.
+He&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Does he accuse Dick?&#8221; she asked, in a strained
+voice; &#8220;Dick, who is dead?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, darling. But don&#8217;t think of such nonsense.
+Barnby himself saw the absurdity of discussing it.
+Dick has had no money except what you got for
+him.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s great wealth, Dick&#8217;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&#8217;s
+wishes.
+</p>
+<p>
+It was bad enough to have troubles coming upon
+him in battalions without this final blow&mdash;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&#8217;s nature
+had ever been at war with her own. From her
+birth, he had taunted her with being like her mother&mdash;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&#8217;s fortune,
+which had been absorbed by the miser through a
+legal technicality at his wife&#8217;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&#8217;s bidding. The news of Dick&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;You wish to see me, I understand, and you
+come from some bank, I believe?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She spoke in a manner indicating that her visitor
+was a person of whose existence she had just become
+aware.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your husband has not informed you of the purport
+of my visit last night, Mrs. Swinton?&#8221; asked
+Mr. Barnby.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He spoke of some silly blunder about checks.
+Why have you come to me this morning&mdash;at a time
+of sorrow? Surely your wretched business can
+wait?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It cannot wait,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&mdash;I did. Yes, I believe so. I can&#8217;t remember.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Did you receive one from him for two thousand
+dollars?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why do you ask?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Because the check for two dollars appears to
+have been altered into two thousand.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Let me see it,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;This is certainly a check for two thousand dollars,
+but I know nothing of it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It was presented at the bank by your son, and
+cashed.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I tell you I know nothing of it. My son is
+dead, and cannot be questioned now.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, that is my handwriting.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The additions were very cleverly made,&#8221; ventured
+Mr. Barnby. &#8220;The forger must have imitated
+your handwriting wonderfully.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, it is wonderfully like,&#8221; she replied, huskily.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You mean to insinuate that my son is a criminal?&#8221;
+she cried, with mock rage, drawing herself
+up, and acting her part very badly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If you say those checks were not altered by you,
+there can be little doubt of the identity of the guilty
+person.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He has the wickedness and audacity to suggest
+that I&mdash;?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I merely repeat his words.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Show this gentleman to the door.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Madam, I will convey the result of this interview
+to Mr. Ormsby.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;God help me!&#8221; she cried. &#8220;There was no
+other way. The disgrace, the exposure, the scandal
+would be awful. I should be cut by everybody&mdash;my
+husband pointed at in the streets and denounced
+as a partner in my guilt&mdash;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&mdash;for
+Netty&#8217;s sake, too&mdash;how could Harry Bent marry
+a bankrupt clergyman&#8217;s daughter? But it wasn&#8217;t
+really my doing, it was his, his! He&#8217;s no father at
+all. He&#8217;s a miser, a beast of prey, a murderer of
+souls! From my birth, he&#8217;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&#8217;t do anything to you, Dick&mdash;you&#8217;re dead. Better
+to accuse you than ruin all of us. Your father
+couldn&#8217;t hold up his head again, or preach a sermon
+from the pulpit. We should be beggars. I
+couldn&#8217;t live that kind of a life. I should die. I
+have only one child now, and she must be my care.
+I&#8217;ve not been a proper mother to her, I fear, but
+I&#8217;ll make up for it&mdash;yes, I&#8217;ll make up for it. If I
+spoiled her life now, she would never forgive me&mdash;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&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;how make him see
+her point of view&mdash;how face his condemnation of
+her guilty act, and secure his consent to the damnable
+sin of dishonoring her dead son&#8217;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&#8217;S HEROISM</h3>
+</div>
+
+<p>
+Everybody in the country heard of Dick Swinton&#8217;s
+death and the way in which he died&mdash;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&mdash;one of the gallant band
+of three who volunteered to penetrate the enemy&#8217;s
+lines and carry dispatches&mdash;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&mdash;two
+officers and a private&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;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: &#8220;I&#8217;m done. Damn you&mdash;shoot!&#8221;
+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>
+&#8220;Now then, the next.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;s defiant
+refusal&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;and a
+good deal more that was prosy, and only interesting
+to a soldier. By chance, he saw the story of Dick&#8217;s
+death before his daughter came upon the scene, and
+was discreet enough not to mention the matter.
+Since Dora&#8217;s refusal of Ormsby, he was fairly certain
+as to the nature of his daughter&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;A good chap&mdash;a wild chap,&#8221; he observed &#8220;but
+of no real use to anybody but his country, which has
+reason to thank him. If I&#8217;d been in his place, I
+should have done the same. But, if I&#8217;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!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What do you mean by &#8216;if you had done what
+he did before he left home?&#8217;&#8221; asked the grief-stricken
+girl.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I mean the forgery.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What forgery?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Do you mean to say you haven&#8217;t heard? Why,
+everybody knows about it. Ormsby kept it dark as
+long as he could, but Herresford forced his hand.
+Don&#8217;t you know what they&#8217;re saying?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, they say he went out to the war to get
+shot.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s a lie!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s
+signature to two checks, robbing him of seven thousand
+dollars&mdash;or, rather, defrauded the bank, for
+Herresford won&#8217;t pay, and the bank must. It is
+poor Ormsby who will be the sufferer. He suspected
+the checks, and said nothing&mdash;just like him&mdash;the
+only thing he could do, after the row at the
+club dinner.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;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&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, the things you tell me sound like the
+horrible complications of a nightmare. They are
+absurd.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Absurd! Why, I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mr. Ormsby showed you the checks?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes. Dora&mdash;Dora&mdash;don&#8217;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&#8217;t come home from
+the front. Put him out of your heart, my girl&mdash;out
+of mind. I&#8217;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, &#8216;My son isn&#8217;t
+dead! My son isn&#8217;t dead!&#8217; and nobody contradicts
+him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And Netty?&#8221; asked Dora, with a sob.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh! nobody bothers about her. It&#8217;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&mdash;sit up.
+Keep a straight upper lip. You&#8217;re under fire, and
+it&#8217;s hot.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I can&#8217;t&mdash;I can&#8217;t!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;We&#8217;re a little upset, Ormsby&mdash;we&#8217;re a little upset,&#8221;
+cried the colonel. &#8220;But a soldier&#8217;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&#8217;s Herresford
+going to do about the checks?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;So, you still believe him to be a coward as well
+as a thief,&#8221; she cried, hotly. &#8220;You are a hypocrite.
+It was you who really sent him away. He never
+meant to go. He didn&#8217;t want to go. And now you
+have killed him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Hush, hush, Dora!&#8221; cried the colonel.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I believe it was all some scheme of your own,&#8221;
+cried the girl, hysterically. &#8220;You are the coward.
+I shall believe nothing until I&#8217;ve seen Mrs. Swinton,
+and hear what the rector has to say about it. Dick
+was the soul of honor. He was no thief.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He was in debt, my girl,&#8221; cried the colonel.
+&#8220;You don&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, that sort of death requires a different kind
+of courage,&#8221; sneered Ormsby, who was nettled by
+Dora&#8217;s taunts.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I won&#8217;t listen to you,&#8221; she cried. &#8220;You are
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span>
+defaming the man I love. He couldn&#8217;t go away
+with such things on his conscience. It is all some
+wicked plot.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;except the rector.
+</p>
+<p>
+He, poor man, comforted in his sorrow by the
+thought that his son&#8217;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&mdash;his
+wife&mdash;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&#8217;s
+slender, delicate white fingers, exclaimed:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m sorry for you, Swinton, and sorry for the
+lad. He died like a man, and I&#8217;ll not believe it was
+to avoid disgrace.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Avoid disgrace?&#8221; cried the rector, astounded.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s money,
+he meant to come back. Thieves and vagabonds of
+that sort don&#8217;t stand up against a wall with a dozen
+rifles at them, and refuse to speak the few words
+that&#8217;d save their skins.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Stole his grandfather&#8217;s money! What do you
+mean?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why, the money they say he got from the bank.
+Bah! the Ormsby&#8217;s are a bad lot. I&#8217;d rather deal
+with the Jews. It was his grandfather he thought
+he was cheating, perhaps&mdash;that isn&#8217;t like stealing
+from other people. But this I will say, Swinton:
+your wife, she might have told a lie to save the boy.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t understand you,&#8221; said the clergyman,
+haughtily.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, I&#8217;ll be more plain. He altered his grandfather&#8217;s
+checks, and kept the money for himself,
+didn&#8217;t he? Well, if my boy had done the same, and
+my wife hadn&#8217;t the sense or the heart to shield him,
+I&#8217;d&mdash;&#8221; He broke off abruptly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What you are saying is all double Dutch to me,&#8221;
+cried the rector, hoarsely. &#8220;You don&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ay, you told them they were wrong; but your
+wife told them they were right&mdash;at least, that&#8217;s how
+the story goes. The boy altered her checks, and
+robbed his grandfather&mdash;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&#8217;ve got to go to
+the courts to force him to pay. I&#8217;ve had a boy go
+wrong myself; but he&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s to be any service of burial, or anything
+of that sort, I&#8217;ll come.&#8221;
+<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>
+&#8220;Mary!&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Mary, Mary, you must not give way like this,&#8221;
+he murmured, as he bent over her and raised her
+gently. &#8220;Tears will not bring him back, Mary.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It isn&#8217;t that&mdash;it isn&#8217;t that!&#8221; she cried, as he
+lifted her to her feet. &#8220;Oh, I am so wretched! I
+must confess, John&mdash;something that will make you
+hate and loathe me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John! John!&#8221; cried his wife, placing her
+hands upon his shoulders, and presenting a face
+strained with agony. &#8220;I am going to tell you something
+that will make you hate me for the rest of your
+life.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The rector trembled with a growing dread.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is about those checks I am going to speak.
+When you have heard me, condemn me if you like,
+but don&#8217;t ruin us utterly. That is all I ask. Don&#8217;t
+ruin us.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John, the checks I got from father, with
+which we paid our debts to stave off disgrace, were&mdash;forgeries.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Lord help us, Mary! Do you mean that we
+have been handling stolen money?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t put it like that, John, don&#8217;t! I can&#8217;t
+bear it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And is it true what they&#8217;re saying about Dick?
+Oh! it&#8217;s horrible. I&#8217;ll not believe it of our boy.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There is no need to believe it, John. He is innocent,
+though they condemn him. Yet, the checks
+were forgeries.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, who? You got the checks, didn&#8217;t you?
+I thought&mdash;Ah!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I am the culprit, John. I altered them.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, John. Don&#8217;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&mdash;who
+knows what wretchedness was awaiting us?&mdash;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&mdash;if Dick hadn&#8217;t gone to the front&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;with money filched by a felony!
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span>
+Don&#8217;t touch me! Stand away! No; I thought you
+were a good woman!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I didn&#8217;t know. I didn&#8217;t realize.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are not a child, without knowledge of the
+ways of the world. You must have known what
+you were doing.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I thought that father would never know,&#8221; she
+faltered, chokingly. &#8220;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&mdash;and the bank found out.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John, John, you don&#8217;t understand yet!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;John! John!&#8221; she whispered huskily, with her
+lips close to his ear. &#8220;You must promise not to
+hate me, not to curse me when you have heard.
+You&#8217;ll despise me, you&#8217;ll be horrified. But promise&mdash;promise
+that you won&#8217;t be cruel.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I am never cruel, Mary. Tell me&mdash;how is
+Dick implicated?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John, I have done a more dreadful thing than
+stealing money.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have denied my sin&mdash;not for my own sake;
+no, John, it was for all our sakes&mdash;for yours, for
+Netty&#8217;s, for her future husband&#8217;s, for the good of
+the church where you have worked so hard and have
+become so indispensable.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t torture me! Speak plainly&mdash;speak
+out!&#8221; he gasped, with labored breath, as though he
+were choking.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;t
+punish him for his mother&#8217;s sin, and they were
+powerless, if I denied altering the checks. I did
+deny it&mdash;no, John, don&#8217;t shrink away like that! I
+won&#8217;t let you go. No, hold me to you, John, or I
+can&#8217;t go on. Don&#8217;t you see that my disgrace would
+be far greater than a man&#8217;s? I should be cut by
+everyone, disowned by my own father, prosecuted by
+the bank, and sent to prison. John&mdash;don&#8217;t you understand?
+Don&#8217;t look at me like that! They&#8217;ll put
+me in a felon&#8217;s dock, if you speak. I, your wife,
+the wife of the rector of St. Botolph&#8217;s&mdash;think of
+it!&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;John, John, you must see that I&#8217;m right. Think
+of Netty. We have a child who lives. Dick is
+dead. How does it matter what they say about
+Dick&#8217;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&mdash;our home.
+Oh, John, you must see it&mdash;you must!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You must confess!&#8221; he cried, denouncing her
+with outstretched finger and in bitter scorn. &#8220;You
+shall!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, no, John,&#8221; she screamed, wringing her hands
+in pitiful supplication. &#8220;Speak more quietly.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You have sullied the name of your dead son with
+a cowardly crime. Woman! Woman! This is
+devil&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s husband for her. Do you think that
+Harry Bent could possibly marry Netty, if her
+mother were sent to jail?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t bring our children into this, Mary.
+You&mdash;&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I must speak of Netty&mdash;I must! Would she
+ever forgive us, if her lover cast her off?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And will he marry her, now that her brother
+is disgraced?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, her brother&#8217;s disgrace is nothing. It is
+only gossip. They can&#8217;t arrest Dick and imprison
+him. Oh, I couldn&#8217;t bear it&mdash;I couldn&#8217;t!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And, yet, you will see your son&#8217;s name defamed
+in the moment of his glory.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John, John, I did it to save you. I didn&#8217;t think
+of myself. I&#8217;ve never been afraid to stand by anything
+I&#8217;ve done before. But this! Oh, take me
+away and kill me, shoot me, say that it was an accident,
+and I&#8217;ll gladly endure my punishment. But a
+mother is never alone in her sin. The sins of the
+fathers&mdash;you know the text well enough, John.
+Last night, I tried to kill myself.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+He groaned, with outstretched hands, revealing his
+love and the gap in his armor where he could still be
+pierced.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;what would you do without me?&mdash;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&mdash;oh, I&#8217;ve been
+through horrors untold, John. I&#8217;ve been punished
+a hundred times for all I&#8217;ve done. John! John!
+Don&#8217;t stand away from me like that! If you do, I
+shall go upstairs now&mdash;now!&mdash;and put an end to
+everything. I&#8217;ve got the poison there. I&#8217;ll go.
+God is my judge. I won&#8217;t live to be condemned by
+you and everybody, and have my name a by-word for
+all time&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s a sin&mdash;a horrible sin!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Who are you to judge me? Would Dick have
+betrayed his mother?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary&mdash;Mary! Don&#8217;t tempt me&mdash;don&#8217;t&mdash;don&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;We must go away, to a new place, a new country,
+where no one knows us and we mustn&#8217;t come
+back.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And Netty?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Netty must bear her share of the burden you
+have put upon us. We will bear it together.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No; Netty is blameless. You and I, John, must
+suffer, not she. It would be wicked to ruin her young
+life. You won&#8217;t denounce me, John. You can&#8217;t.
+You won&#8217;t have me sent to prison. You won&#8217;t disgrace
+me in the eyes of my friends. You won&#8217;t do
+anything&mdash;at least, until Netty is married&mdash;will
+you?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Harry Bent must know.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t know what to do,&#8221; moaned the broken
+man, bursting into tears, and sinking into his chair
+at the table.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Be guided by me, John. The dead can&#8217;t feel,
+while the living can be condemned to lifelong
+torture.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Have your own way,&#8221; he groaned. &#8220;I don&#8217;t
+know what to do. I shall never hold up my head
+again.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, you will, John, and&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;and she hated black.
+Netty was thinking ruefully of Dick&#8217;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&mdash;although visitors were not received
+to-day, with Mrs. Swinton lying ill upstairs,
+and the rector shut up alone in his study.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Miss Dundas.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Netty rose ungraciously, and presented a frigid
+hand to Dora, casting a sharp, feminine eye over the
+newcomer&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Netty, is your mother really ill?&#8221; asked Dora,
+as she extended her hand, &#8220;or is she merely not
+receiving anyone?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mother has a bad headache, and is lying down.
+She is naturally very upset.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, Netty, it is terrible!&#8221; sobbed Dora, breaking
+down hopelessly. &#8220;It can&#8217;t be true&mdash;it can&#8217;t!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What can&#8217;t be true?&#8221; asked Netty, coldly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Poor dear Dick&#8217;s death. It will kill me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t think there is any doubt about it,&#8221;
+snapped Netty. &#8220;And I don&#8217;t see why you should
+feel it more than anybody else.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Netty, that is unkind of you&mdash;ungenerous.
+You know I loved Dick. He was mine&mdash;mine!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Forgive me, but was he not also Nellie Ocklebourne&#8217;s,
+and the dear friend of I don&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There has been some hideous blunder.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, it is simple enough,&#8221; said Netty, curling herself
+up on a low settee. &#8220;Think what it may mean
+to me&mdash;just engaged to Harry Bent&mdash;and now,
+there&#8217;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&mdash;forger.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Netty, you sha&#8217;n&#8217;t speak of Dick like that!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why shouldn&#8217;t I? Did he think of me? Really,
+you are too absurd! I don&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Netty, how can you talk of your brother so! He
+is accused of a horrible crime. Why don&#8217;t you stand
+up for him? Why don&#8217;t you do something to clear
+him? What is your father doing&mdash;and your
+mother?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Surely, they can be left to manage their affairs as
+they think best.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And I, who loved him, must do nothing, I suppose,&#8221;
+cried Dora, hysterically. &#8220;I loved him, I
+tell you, and he loved me. We were engaged.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Engaged! What nonsense! Really, Dora!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No one knew, Netty,&#8221; sobbed Dora, aching for
+a little feminine sympathy, even from Netty. &#8220;Here
+is his ring, upon this ribbon round my neck.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Surely, you don&#8217;t think that is interesting to me&mdash;and
+at such a time.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, if it isn&#8217;t,&#8221; cried Dora, flashing out
+through her tears, &#8220;perhaps your brother&#8217;s honor is.
+I must see your mother, and urge her to refute the
+awful slanders spread about by Vivian Ormsby.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, so your other admirer is responsible for
+spreading the story of Dick&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dead! Dead! He can&#8217;t be,&#8221; cried Dora desperately.
+&#8220;I must see your mother,&#8221; she insisted.
+&#8220;I shall go up to her room. This is no ordinary
+time, and my business is urgent.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;What is it you want of me?&#8221; she asked, with a
+feeble assumption of her usual languid tone.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, Mrs. Swinton, it isn&#8217;t true&mdash;tell me it isn&#8217;t
+true! I can&#8217;t believe it of him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are referring to Dick&#8217;s trouble? Our sorrow
+is embittered by the knowledge that our poor
+boy went away&mdash;&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;My father told me of the checks,&#8221; said Dora.
+&#8220;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&#8217;t understand
+these things; and father&#8217;s explanation didn&#8217;t enlighten
+me at all. I loved Dick&mdash;you know I did.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ripened!&#8221; cried Dora, with fine contempt:
+&#8220;He loved me, and I loved him. We were engaged.
+No one was to know till he came back, but now&mdash;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&mdash;you must have known what he
+was doing. He couldn&#8217;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&#8217;d been able to arrange things for him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He told you that!&#8221; cried Mrs. Swinton, startled
+into revealing her alarm.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;d got lots of
+money, and that things were better for everybody at
+home&mdash;those were his words. Yet, they say he
+altered checks. What do they mean? How could
+he?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Cruel? Isn&#8217;t it cruel to me, too? Isn&#8217;t his
+honor as dear to me as to his mother? I tell you, I
+won&#8217;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&#8217;s not
+going to sit quiet, and let Mr. Ormsby&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is not Mr. Ormsby&mdash;it is his grandfather
+who repudiates the checks, Dora. Don&#8217;t you think
+that you are best advised by me, his mother? Do
+you think I didn&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s what I told father,&#8221; faltered Dora.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The best thing you can do, Dora, is to mollify
+Mr. Ormsby. Don&#8217;t anger him. Don&#8217;t urge him
+on to blacken Dick&#8217;s memory, as he is sure to do if
+you don&#8217;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&#8217;. Your father wishes it, and,
+if Dick could speak now, he would wish it, too&mdash;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&mdash;what am I saying?
+My sense of right and wrong is dulled. Help me.
+Bring me that chair. Oh! I&#8217;m a very wretched
+woman, Dora!&#8221; cried the unhappy mother, sinking
+into the chair Dora brought forward. &#8220;Take warning
+by me. Love with your head and not your heart,
+Dora. Don&#8217;t risk everything for a foolish girl&#8217;s
+passion, when a rich man offers you a proud position.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I shall never marry Vivian Ormsby,&#8221; said Dora,
+scornfully, &#8220;I shall never marry anybody. Oh,
+Dick!&mdash;I am his. And you, Mrs. Swinton&mdash;I
+thought one day to call you mother. Yet, you talk
+like this to me, as though Dick were unworthy&mdash;you
+whom he idolized.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t taunt me, Dora!&#8221; moaned the wretched
+mother. &#8220;I shall always be fond of you for Dick&#8217;s
+sake. Good-bye&mdash;and forgive me.&#8221; 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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Oh, you, Miss Dundas,&#8221; he murmured, as he advanced
+with an extended, limp hand. &#8220;I thought I
+heard my wife&#8217;s voice.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have come to offer my condolences,&#8221; murmured
+Dora, unable to do more than utter commonplaces
+in the face of his grief.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, yes&mdash;thank you&mdash;thank you. It is a
+great blow, but I suppose we shall be reconciled in
+time.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;s death;
+but others, who loved gossip and were blind to facial
+signs, babbled to her of the rector&#8217;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&mdash;but would it last? How dull
+it was in the church without the rector, and what an
+awful blow his son&#8217;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&#8217;s
+words were too true: &#8220;The evil that men do lives
+after them. The good is oft interred with their
+bones.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Now, the colonel flung down his letters, and, taking
+up one that was opened, handed it to Dora.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There&#8217;s something in this for you to read&mdash;a
+letter from Ormsby, Dora.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to read anything from Mr.
+Ormsby.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve read it,&#8221; said the colonel awkwardly, &#8220;as
+Mr. Ormsby requested me to. I think you&#8217;ll be
+sorry if you don&#8217;t see what he says.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'>
+Dora&#8217;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&#8217;s Note: added beginning double quote mark">&#8220;</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&#8217;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&mdash;a public scandal,
+a full exposure of my fellow-officer&#8217;s act of folly,
+a painful revelation concerning the affairs of the
+Swinton&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father,&#8221; cried Dora, starting up, and reading
+no more, &#8220;I want you to let me have seven thousand
+dollars.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What!&#8221; cried the colonel, staring at her as
+though she had asked for the moon.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I want seven thousand dollars. I&#8217;ll repay it
+somehow, in the course of years. I&#8217;ll economize&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t think of it, my girl&mdash;don&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But, father, give it to me. It&#8217;ll make no real
+difference to you. You are rich enough&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Not a penny, my girl&mdash;not a penny. Let
+Ormsby pay the money. Thank heaven, it&#8217;s his
+business, not ours. Your animosity against him is
+most unreasonable. Because you had a difference of
+opinion over a lad who couldn&#8217;t hold a candle to him
+as an upright, honorable man&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You sha&#8217;n&#8217;t speak like that, father.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But I shall speak! I&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;you see nobody&mdash;we
+can&#8217;t talk about the war&mdash;and, damn me! what else
+is there to talk about? You call yourself a soldier&#8217;s
+daughter, and you&#8217;re going to break your heart over
+a man who couldn&#8217;t play the straight game. Why,
+his own father and mother can&#8217;t say a good word for
+him. Yet, Ormsby&#8217;s willing to pay seven thousand
+dollars to stifle a public exposure, just for your sake.
+Why, girl, it&#8217;s magnificent! I wouldn&#8217;t pay seven
+cents. Ormsby is coming here, and you&#8217;ll have to be
+civil to him. Write and tell him so.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Very well, father,&#8221; 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&#8217;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%'>
+&#8220;Miss Dundas expects to receive Mr. Ormsby
+as her father wishes.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Mr. Trimmer is back.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s valet, who
+had been away for a long holiday&mdash;the first for
+many years. Trimmer was a power for good and
+evil&mdash;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&#8217;s. His hair was coal black&mdash;Mrs.
+Ripon declared that he dyed it. And he was about
+Herresford&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s iron personality showed itself in a quiet
+hectoring, which made him the other&#8217;s master. Mr.
+Trimmer was financially quite independent of his
+employer&#8217;s ill humors. He was wealthy, and his
+name was mentioned by the other servants with &#8217;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&mdash;not the servants&#8217; entrance&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Anything of importance since I have been
+away?&#8221; asked Mr. Trimmer.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, Mr. Trimmer. Mr. Herresford has
+changed his bedroom.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Humph! We&#8217;ll soon alter that,&#8221; murmured
+Trimmer.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s what I told him, Mr. Trimmer. I said
+you&#8217;d be annoyed, and that he&#8217;d have to go back
+when you returned.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Just so, just so! Any trouble with his family?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mr. Dick&mdash;I daresay you have heard.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve heard nothing.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dead&mdash;killed in the war.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dead! Well, to be sure.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, poor boy&mdash;killed.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dear, dear!&#8221; murmured Mr. Trimmer, growing
+meditative.
+</p>
+<p>
+Mrs. Ripon knew what he was thinking&mdash;or imagined
+that she did. There was no one now to
+inherit Herresford&#8217;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>
+&#8220;How did Mr. Dick get away?&#8221; asked Mr. Trimmer.
+&#8220;Surely, his creditors wouldn&#8217;t let him go.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, now you have touched the sore point, Mr.
+Trimmer. The poor young man swindled&mdash;yes,
+swindled the bank, forged checks in his grandfather&#8217;s
+name.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;It was the very last thing we&#8217;d have believed,
+Mr. Trimmer; it was for seven thousand dollars.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Tut, tut!&#8221; exclaimed Mr. Trimmer, sorrowfully.
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, he never came&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I must see Mr. Herresford about this.&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Good morning, sir,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s you? Back again, eh?&#8221; grunted the
+miser. &#8220;About time, too! How long is it since
+valets have taken to doing the grand tour, and taking
+three months&#8217; holiday without leave of their
+masters?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I gave myself leave, sir,&#8221; replied Trimmer, nonchalantly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And what right have you to take holidays without
+my permission?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You discharged me, sir&mdash;but I thought better
+of it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+A grunt was the only answer to this impertinence.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You seem to have been muddling things nicely
+in my absence,&#8221; observed Trimmer after a moment,
+with cool audacity.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Have I? That&#8217;s all you know. Who told you
+what I&#8217;ve been doing?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your heir is dead, I hear. I hope you had nothing
+to do with that.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What do you mean, sir&mdash;what do you mean?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I mean that I hope you didn&#8217;t send him away to
+the war to save money and keep him from further
+debt.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My family affairs are nothing to do with you,
+sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s a lie&mdash;a lie!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;How did he get your checks?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The miser made no answer. Trimmer came over,
+and fixed glittering eyes upon him. The old man
+cowered.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You&#8217;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&mdash;I knew you&#8217;d do some rascally
+meanness that&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Trimmer, it&#8217;s a lie!&#8221; cried the old man, shaking
+as with a palsy, and drawing further down into his
+pillow. &#8220;I&#8217;m an old man&mdash;I&#8217;m helpless&mdash;I won&#8217;t
+be bullied.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;This is one of the occasions when I feel that a
+shaking would do you good,&#8221; declared Trimmer.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, no&mdash;not now&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, and would that matter?&#8221; 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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s mercy.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What are you going to do about an heir now?&#8221;
+asked the valet, curtly. &#8220;Have you made a new
+will?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, I&#8217;ve not. Why should I? I left everything
+to the boy&mdash;with a reasonable amount for his
+mother. In the event of his death, his mother inherits.
+You wouldn&#8217;t have me leave my money to
+charities&mdash;or rascally servants like you, who are
+rolling in money? You needn&#8217;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&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Very likely&mdash;very likely,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Who is that coming up the drive?&#8221; asked <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;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>
+&#8220;It is Mrs. Swinton, sir, and Mr. Swinton.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;On foot?&#8221; cried the old man. &#8220;And since
+when, pray, did they begin to take the walking exercise?
+Ha! ha! Coming to see me&mdash;about their
+boy. Of course, you&#8217;ve heard all about it, Trimmer.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Very little, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, if you stay here, you&#8217;ll hear a little more.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;I am glad to see you sitting up and looking so
+well, father,&#8221; observed the daughter, after her first
+greeting.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, I&#8217;m well&mdash;very well&mdash;better than
+you are,&#8221; grunted the old man. &#8220;I know why you
+have come.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I wish to talk on important family matters,
+father,&#8221; said Mrs. Swinton, dropping into the chair
+which Trimmer brought forward, and giving the
+valet a sharp, resentful look.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You can talk before Trimmer. You ought to
+know that by this time. Trimmer and I are one.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If madam wishes, I will withdraw,&#8221; murmured
+Trimmer, retiring to the door.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No&mdash;no&mdash;don&#8217;t leave me&mdash;not alone with her&mdash;not
+alone!&#8221; 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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;I am glad to find you in a good temper, father.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Good temper&mdash;eh!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Why don&#8217;t you have a fire in the room, father?
+You&#8217;d be so much more comfortable.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Fire! We don&#8217;t throw away money here&mdash;nor
+steal it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, I beg that you will not refer to Dick in
+this interview by offensive terms; I can&#8217;t stand it.
+My boy is dead.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Who was referring to Dick?&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Hullo, forger!&#8221; he cried at last, and he watched
+the play of her face as the color came and went.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What do you mean, father?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What I say. How does it feel to be a forger&mdash;eh?
+What is it like to be a thief? I never stole
+money myself&mdash;not even from my parents. D&#8217;ye
+think I believe your story? D&#8217;ye think I don&#8217;t know
+who altered my checks&mdash;who had the money&mdash;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&#8217;ye think I&#8217;m going to spare you&mdash;eh?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father! Father! Have mercy&mdash;I was helpless!&#8221;
+she cried in terror, flinging herself on her
+knees beside his bed. &#8220;I couldn&#8217;t ruin both husband
+and daughter for the sake of a boy who was gone.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You couldn&#8217;t ruin yourself, you mean&mdash;but you
+could sully the memory of my heir with a foul charge&mdash;the
+worst of all that can be brought against a man
+and a gentleman.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It was you, father&mdash;you&mdash;you who denounced
+him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Lies, lies! I did nothing of the sort. The bank
+people suspected him because he was a man, because
+they didn&#8217;t think that any child of mine could rob
+me of seven thousand dollars&mdash;seven thousand
+dollars! Think of it, madam&mdash;seven thousand
+dollars! D&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But you won&#8217;t father&mdash;you won&#8217;t! You&#8217;ll have
+mercy. You&#8217;ll spare us. If you knew what I have
+suffered, you&#8217;d be sorry for me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, I can guess what you have suffered. And
+you&#8217;re going to suffer a good deal more yet. Don&#8217;t
+tell me you&#8217;ve come up here to get more money&mdash;not
+more?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, father&mdash;indeed, no. John and I are
+going to lead a different kind of life. I&#8217;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&#8217;ll pay it all back, somehow. John and I will earn
+it, if necessary.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Earn it! Rubbish! You couldn&#8217;t earn a
+dime.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;We&#8217;ll repay every penny&mdash;if you will only give
+us time, only stop pressing the bank&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I shall do nothing of the sort. You&#8217;ve robbed
+them, not me. You must answer to them. If
+you&#8217;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&#8217;s all I can
+say. When you steal, steal and stick to it. Never
+give up money.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, you&#8217;ll not betray me! You won&#8217;t tell
+them&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t know. I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Listen to me, madam,&#8221; he said at last, leaning
+forward. &#8220;Behind my back you&#8217;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&#8217;d pay you out some day&mdash;and now&#8217;s my chance.
+I&#8217;m not going to lose anything. I&#8217;m going to leave
+you to your own conscience and to the guidance of
+your virtuous sky-pilot. People&#8217;ll believe anything
+of a clergyman&#8217;s son. They&#8217;re a bad lot as a rule,
+but your boy was not; he was only a fool. But he
+was my heir. I&#8217;d left him everything in my will.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, you always declared that&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Never mind what I declared. It wasn&#8217;t safe to
+trust you with the knowledge while he lived. You
+would have poisoned me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, your insults are beyond all endurance!&#8221;
+she cried, writhing under the lash and stung to fury.
+She started up with hands clenched.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There, there, I told you so!&#8221; he whined, recoiling
+in mock terror. &#8220;Trimmer, Trimmer! Help!
+She&#8217;ll kill me!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It would serve you right if I did lay violent
+hands upon you,&#8221; she cried. &#8220;If I took you by the
+throat, and squeezed the life out of you, as I could,
+though you are my father. You&#8217;re not a man, you&#8217;re
+a beast&mdash;a monster&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Trimmer! Trimmer!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Trimmer, save me from this woman&mdash;she&#8217;ll
+kill me. I&#8217;m an old man! I&#8217;m helpless. She&#8217;s
+threatening to choke me. Have her put out. I
+can&#8217;t protect myself, or I&#8217;d&mdash;I&#8217;d have her prosecuted&mdash;the
+vampire!&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;I am sorry, father,&#8221; she faltered. &#8220;I forgot
+that you are an invalid, and not responsible for your
+moods.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Bah! You&#8217;re a hypocrite. Go home to your
+sky-pilot. But keep your mouth shut&mdash;do you
+hear?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I hear, father.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Pay them back your money if you like, but don&#8217;t
+ask me for another cent, or I&#8217;ll tell the truth&mdash;do
+you hear?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I hear, father,&#8221; she replied, with a sob.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Open the door for her, Trimmer.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;You&#8217;re overdoing it,&#8221; he said. &#8220;You&#8217;re getting
+foolish.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s right, Trimmer&mdash;that&#8217;s right. You
+abuse me, too!&#8221; whined the old man, bursting into
+tears. &#8220;Isn&#8217;t it bad enough to have one&#8217;s child a
+thief, without servants bullying one?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are the last person to talk to Mrs. Swinton
+about stealing.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Keep your tongue still!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If your daughter knew what I know!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You don&#8217;t know anything, sir&mdash;you don&#8217;t know
+anything!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;you remember?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I tell you, I&#8217;m not a thief. The money was
+mine&mdash;mine! Her mother was my wife&mdash;it belonged
+to me. Doesn&#8217;t a wife&#8217;s money belong to her
+husband?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Trimmer, you&#8217;re presuming. Trimmer, you&#8217;re
+a bully. I&#8217;ll&mdash;I&#8217;ll cut your fifty thousand dollars
+out of my will&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And I&#8217;ll promptly cut you out of existence, if
+you do,&#8221; murmured Trimmer, bending down.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s right, threaten me&mdash;threaten me,&#8221;
+whined the old man. &#8220;You&#8217;re all against me&mdash;a
+lot of thieves and scoundrels! What would become
+of the world, if there weren&#8217;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Lie down and be quiet. You&#8217;ve done enough
+talking for to-day. I&#8217;m going to have you moved
+into the other room.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll not be treated as a child, sir. I&#8217;ll stop your
+wages, sir. I&#8217;ll&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve had no wages for many months. Lie
+down.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s
+trials were ended. And would a suspicious world
+believe he shared his wife&#8217;s plunder without knowing
+how it was obtained? In addition, Netty&#8217;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&mdash;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&mdash;their joint sin
+it had become now&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Well, Mary?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is useless, worse than useless!&#8221; she answered.
+&#8220;He is quite impossible, as I told you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, he will not lend us the money?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, indeed, no. Worse, John, he knows.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Knows what?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;I couldn&#8217;t deny it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary! Mary! You have ruined all. He
+will denounce us.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, he doesn&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, the burden of the guilt still rests on the
+shoulders of our dead son.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, don&#8217;t, John&mdash;don&#8217;t put it like that! I&#8217;ve
+borne enough&mdash;I can&#8217;t bear much more. I think
+I&#8217;m going mad. My brain throbs, everything goes
+dim before my sight, and my heart leaps, and shooting
+pains&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She tottered forward into her husband&#8217;s arms.
+He clasped her close, drawing her to him and pressing
+kisses on her cheeks.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My darling, my darling, be strong. It is not
+ended yet.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Take me home, John&mdash;take me home!&#8221; she
+sobbed.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, I&#8217;ll see the old man myself.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John! John! It&#8217;ll do no good&mdash;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&#8217;s hard for you to go against your principles;
+but you mustn&#8217;t absolutely kill me. I should die,
+John, if you played traitor to me, your wife, and
+allowed me to be sent to jail.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t Mary&mdash;don&#8217;t!&#8221; he groaned.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;t hurt them much&mdash;whereas
+confession would annihilate us.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The money must be paid back,&#8221; he cried resolutely,
+striking the air with his clenched fist, while he
+held her to him with the other arm.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s impossible, John, impossible. We cannot
+pay back without explaining why.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;We must atone&mdash;for Dick&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, let us go home, John. You&#8217;ll talk more
+reasonably there, and see things in another light.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;not
+a word about Dick Swinton or the seven thousand
+dollars. He laid himself out to please, and
+self-confidence made him almost gay&mdash;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&#8217;s blundering diplomacy.
+</p>
+<p>
+As a result of his skilled tactics, Dora had ceased
+to shrink away from him&mdash;because she no longer
+feared that he would make love to her. She laughed
+at her father&#8217;s insinuations, because it was easier to
+laugh than to go away and cry. She put a brave
+face on things&mdash;for Dick&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Ormsby loves a cigarette over the fire, Dora,
+and he&#8217;s fond of music. I shall be able to hear you
+up in the study.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;What are you looking at, father?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I was only thinking,&#8221; said the colonel bluntly,
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My mind requires no making up, colonel,&#8221; responded
+Ormsby quickly, with an appealing, almost
+humble glance at Dora.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, what nonsense you talk!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;How stupid of me,&#8221; murmured Dora, seeking
+to cover her confusion by picking up the cigarettes.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I shall not allow you,&#8221; he murmured, seizing her
+arm in a strong grip, gently but firmly, and raising
+her. &#8220;I am ever at your service. You know that.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Let go my arm, please.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is useless, Mr. Ormsby. Let me go.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No,&#8221; he cried, coming quite close and surveying
+her with a glance so intense that she shrank
+away frightened. &#8220;I will not let you go. You
+are mine&mdash;mine! I mean to keep you forever.
+I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are talking nonsense, Mr. Ormsby, and you
+are hurting my arm.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;To prevent your escaping, I shall encircle you
+with bands of steel,&#8221; and he put his arm around her
+quickly, and held her to him.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I beg that you will behave decently and sensibly,&#8221;
+she cried, with a sob. &#8220;I&#8217;ve given you to
+understand before that this sort of thing is repugnant
+to me. Let me go.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid you think me a very hysterical and
+stupid person, Mr. Ormsby?&#8221; she said at last,
+growing weary of the strained silence and his indifferent
+nonchalance. &#8220;I don&#8217;t usually cry like this,
+and make scenes, and behave like a schoolgirl.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m making headway,&#8221; was Ormsby&#8217;s thought,
+&#8220;or she wouldn&#8217;t take the trouble to excuse herself.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I think you are the most sensible girl I ever
+met, Dora.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You have no right to call me Dora.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;In future, I shall do just as I choose. You
+know your father&#8217;s wishes&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Never!&#8221; she cried, starting up, and emphasizing
+her determination by a blow with her hand upon
+the music lying on the piano top.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t feel like playing. You have upset me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, sit by the fire.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+He drew forward a chair of which he knew she
+was fond, and brought it close to the hearth.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Come! You used to smoke in the old days.
+Have a cigarette. It will help you to forget unpleasant
+things. It will calm you&mdash;if you don&#8217;t
+feel inclined to play.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I would rather play,&#8221; she faltered.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Whichever you please.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&mdash;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&mdash;even as Dick had done.
+</p>
+<p>
+He only laughed&mdash;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>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m getting on,&#8221; he murmured, as he dropped
+back into the armchair, and lighted another cigarette.
+&#8220;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&#8217;s the law of nature. The man subdues the
+woman; and she surrenders at once when her strength
+is gone.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s name was
+coupled with Ormsby&#8217;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&#8217;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: &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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. &#8220;For Miss Dundas, sir,&#8221; was the explanation.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I suppose I&#8217;d better open it,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Bad news?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Read.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;It can&#8217;t be!&#8221; he gasped. &#8220;Alive? Then, the
+story of his death was a lie. His heroic death was
+a sham.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dora will have to be told,&#8221; groaned the colonel.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, certainly not,&#8221; cried Ormsby. &#8220;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&#8217;ll have him
+arrested.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, no, Ormsby, you wouldn&#8217;t do that. I must
+confess, it isn&#8217;t any pleasure to hear that he&#8217;s alive.
+It&#8217;s a confounded nuisance! His death&mdash;damn it
+all! He sha&#8217;n&#8217;t see her. They mustn&#8217;t meet,
+Ormsby!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, of course not&mdash;of course not. We&#8217;ll have
+to send him to jail.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ormsby, you couldn&#8217;t do it&mdash;you couldn&#8217;t.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, he mustn&#8217;t see Dora.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No&mdash;I&#8217;ll attend to that.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The colonel read the telegram again.
+</p>
+<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'>
+&#8220;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%'>
+&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dick Swinton</span>.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What does the fool want to come home for?&#8221;
+growled the colonel. &#8220;Hasn&#8217;t he any consideration
+for his mother and father and sister? Everybody
+thinks he&#8217;s dead&mdash;why doesn&#8217;t he remain dead?
+He sha&#8217;n&#8217;t upset my girl. I&#8217;ll see to that. I&#8217;ll&mdash;I&#8217;ll
+meet him myself.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A good idea,&#8221; observed Ormsby, who had grown
+thoughtful. &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, Ormsby&mdash;no!&#8221; pleaded the colonel.
+&#8220;You&#8217;ll utterly upset yourself with Dora. You
+won&#8217;t stand a ghost of a chance.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A hero with handcuffs doesn&#8217;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&#8217;ll alter her opinion, when she
+knows he&#8217;s a criminal, flying from justice. They
+gave him his life, I suppose, because he hadn&#8217;t the
+courage to die, and keep his country&#8217;s secrets. The
+traitor!&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s Note: Ormsby&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;s heart; but
+his sudden reappearance in the land of the living,
+with a warrant out for his arrest, and Dora&#8217;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&#8217;s knowledge, in order that he might work
+upon her feelings! Perhaps, he thought of persuading
+her to elope with him&mdash;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&mdash;or someone like him&mdash;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&#8217;s arm.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Colonel! Colonel!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;How glad I
+am to see you! Is Dora with you?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dora&mdash;no, sir! What do you take me for?
+Good God! what a wreck you are! Where have
+you been? How is it you&#8217;ve come home?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&mdash;I thought she would come!&#8221; gasped Dick,
+who looked very white. His eyes were unnaturally
+large, and his cheeks sunken, and his hands merely
+bones.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Here, come out of the crowd,&#8221; said the colonel,
+forgetting his tremendous speeches. He seized the
+young man by the arm, but gripped nothing like
+muscle. &#8220;Why, you&#8217;re a skeleton, boy!&#8221; he exclaimed,
+adopting the old attitude in spite of himself.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, I&#8217;m not up to the mark,&#8221; laughed Dick.
+&#8220;I thought you knew all about it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Knew all about it, man? You&#8217;re dead&mdash;dead!
+Everyone, your father and mother and all of us, read
+the full story of your death in the papers.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes; but I corrected all that,&#8221; cried Dick,
+&#8220;My letters&mdash;they got my letters?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What letters?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The two I sent through by the men that were
+exchanged. Young Maxwell took one.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Maxwell died of dysentery.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, that accounts for it. The other I gave to a
+sailor. He promised to deliver it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;To whom did you write?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;To Dora. I asked her to go to mother and explain
+things, so as not to give too great a shock.
+You don&#8217;t mean to say that my mother doesn&#8217;t
+know!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, of course not&mdash;not through Dora, at any
+rate.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Good heavens! Let&#8217;s get to a telegraph-office,
+and I&#8217;ll send her word at once. And father, too&mdash;dear
+old dad&mdash;he&#8217;s had two months of sorrow that
+might have been avoided. What a fool I was! I
+ought to have telegraphed from Copenhagen.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Copenhagen!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes; I escaped&mdash;nearly died of hunger&mdash;got
+on board a Danish ship as stowaway, and arrived at
+Copenhagen half-starved. But I wasn&#8217;t up to traveling
+for a bit. I&#8217;m pulling around, gradually. I&#8217;m&mdash;well,
+to be sure! And mother doesn&#8217;t know.
+What a surprise it will be! What a jollification!
+What a&mdash;!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Here, hold up, Dick&mdash;hold up, man&mdash;you&#8217;re
+tottering.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The colonel&#8217;s strong hand kept Dick on his feet.
+He led the young man gently through the vestibule.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Here, come to a quiet place. You mustn&#8217;t be
+seen in public,&#8221; growled the colonel.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why not?&#8221; asked Dick. &#8220;I&#8217;m a little faint.
+You see, I haven&#8217;t much money. I had to borrow.
+A square meal, at your expense, would do me a
+world of good, colonel. Let&#8217;s go to the dining-room.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Very well. We can get a quiet table there.
+But I want you to understand at once that, though
+I&#8217;m here, I&#8217;m not your friend.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Eh? What?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, you can&#8217;t expect it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, you&#8217;re angry with me because I&#8217;m fond of
+Dora. I suppose you saw my telegram and&mdash;intercepted
+it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then Dora doesn&#8217;t know!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, Dora doesn&#8217;t know&mdash;nor will she know.
+Better be dead, my boy&mdash;better be dead!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I beg your pardon?&#8221; 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&#8217;s eyes ran listlessly down the card, and he
+gave it back.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m too done. You order. Perhaps, a drink&#8217;ll
+pull me up.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;What was it&mdash;fever?&#8221; he asked, with soldier-like
+abruptness, as he scanned the lean, weary face.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;d sent word. I thought you all knew.
+By Jove, what a lark it will be to turn up and see
+their faces!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick took a long draught at the brandy, and a
+little color came into his face.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I suppose they&#8217;ll be glad and all that, as I&#8217;m
+something of a hero,&#8221; he continued. &#8220;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.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes,&#8221; answered the colonel, gloomily; then,
+leaning across the table: &#8220;Dick, my boy, I don&#8217;t
+want to be hard on you. We are all liable to err.
+Don&#8217;t you think it would have been better if you had
+remained dead?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick looked blankly into his friend&#8217;s face for some
+moments. A look of fear came into his eyes.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What&#8217;s the matter? What&#8217;s happened?
+Dora&#8217;s&mdash;alive?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, of course.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And my father and mother?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, yes, they&#8217;re well&mdash;as well as can be
+expected under the circumstances.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, what&#8217;s the matter, then? What&#8217;s happened?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick, you must know perfectly well what has
+happened. Your grandfather found out&mdash;the&mdash;er&mdash;what
+you did before you went away.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What I did before I went away?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, it&#8217;s no good skirmishing. Let&#8217;s call it by
+its proper name&mdash;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.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick&#8217;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>
+&#8220;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&mdash;er&mdash;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&mdash;your heroic death, as we imagined&mdash;came
+at the opportune moment to help
+people to forget your folly.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Of course, we all thought,&#8221; continued the colonel,
+&#8220;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&#8217;t owe seven thousand dollars!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Are you talking about the checks my mother
+gave me before I went away?&#8221; Dick asked, quietly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Of course I am. You know the circumstances
+better than I do. It&#8217;s no good playing the fool with
+me, and I don&#8217;t intend <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: of in the original text">to</ins> have my daughter upset
+by telegrams and surreptitious communications. So,
+now, you know. You&#8217;ve done for yourself, my lad,
+and you&#8217;d better face it and remain dead.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But my mother&mdash;she has explained?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Of course, she has, and it&#8217;s nearly broken her
+heart. Think of her awful position, to have to confess
+that her son altered her checks&mdash;checks actually
+drawn in her name&mdash;and the money filched from
+the bank by a dirty trick! The bank&#8217;s got to lose it.
+Your grandfather won&#8217;t pay a cent.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But my mother&mdash;?&#8221; 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&#8217;s
+brain.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s why I came to you here, to-day.
+If your mother knows no more than Dora and all
+the rest&mdash;if they still think you&#8217;re dead&mdash;well,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span>
+why not remain dead? It&#8217;s only charity&mdash;it&#8217;s only
+kind. Your father and mother think that you died
+a hero&#8217;s death, and, naturally, aren&#8217;t disposed to look
+upon your crime quite in the same light as other people.
+Why, in heaven&#8217;s name, when you got a chance
+of slipping out of life, and out of the old set, and
+making a fresh start, didn&#8217;t you seize it?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You mean, why didn&#8217;t I get shot?&#8221; asked Dick,
+slowly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;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&#8217;t the
+courage to do it themselves.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But my mother could have explained!&#8221; cried
+Dick, huskily. He was so weak that he was unable
+to cope with agitation.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Tut, tut, man, your mother could explain nothing.
+She could only tell the truth&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My mother said that!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;God help her!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;I suppose&mdash;my brain isn&#8217;t what it was. But
+I&#8217;m feeling better. Tell me again what my mother
+said&mdash;and my father.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Well, are you going to live, or do you intend to
+remain dead?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m going home.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;To be arrested?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, to ask some questions.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t be a fool. You&#8217;ll be arrested at the station.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, I sha&#8217;n&#8217;t. I&#8217;ve done a little dodging lately.
+I shall travel to some other place, and walk home.
+I&#8217;ve faced worse things than&mdash;&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;You&#8217;d better not come home,&#8221; urged the colonel;
+&#8220;at any rate, as far as we are concerned.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, that means you intend to cut me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes; and as far as Dora is concerned&mdash;Well,
+the fact is, she&#8217;s engaged to Ormsby now.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Engaged to Ormsby?&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Look here, boy&mdash;you want some money,&#8221; exclaimed
+the colonel, brusquely. &#8220;I&#8217;ve come prepared.
+You&#8217;ll find some bills in this envelope. Put
+it in your pocket.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick&#8217;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&#8217;s arm, and led him out into the
+vestibule.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Bear up, my boy&mdash;bear up,&#8221; he whispered.
+&#8220;You&#8217;ve got to face it. You&#8217;re dead&mdash;remember
+that. Nobody but myself knows the truth. Be a
+man, for God&#8217;s sake&mdash;for your mother&#8217;s sake&mdash;for
+your father&#8217;s. You&#8217;ve got the whole world before
+you. If things go very wrong&mdash;well, you can
+rely upon me for another instalment&mdash;just one more,
+like the one in your pocket. Write to me under some
+other name. Call yourself John Smith&mdash;do you
+hear?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes&mdash;John Smith,&#8221; echoed Dick, huskily.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, good-bye, my boy&mdash;good-bye,&#8221; the colonel
+exclaimed. &#8220;I must catch my train.&#8221; He tried
+to say something else. Words failed him. He
+turned and ignominiously escaped, leaving Dick
+standing alone, helpless and dazed.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m going home&mdash;I&#8217;m going home,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;My own mother!&mdash;I can&#8217;t believe it.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&mdash;who
+thought that he alone shared the colonel&#8217;s secret&mdash;heard
+the gossip circulating through the city.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick Swinton is not dead,&#8221; said the report, &#8220;he
+is hiding in New York.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Dora, your engagement is a preposterous thing,
+child. It&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;We are not, father. You know that very well.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Fiddlesticks! You&#8217;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&#8217;s here. And, when he&#8217;s
+away, you seem to buck up and show that you can be
+cheerful, if you like.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have submitted to an engagement with Mr.
+Ormsby more to please you, father, than to please
+myself.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, my child, why can&#8217;t you please me by settling
+things right away. Marriage is a serious responsibility.
+It is a woman&#8217;s profession, and the
+sooner she gets the hang of it, the quicker her promotion.
+I&#8217;m getting an old man, and I want to see
+you married before I die.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t talk like that, father.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, I&#8217;m not a young man, am I? The doctor
+told me this morning&mdash;but what the doctor told me
+has nothing to do with your feelings for Ormsby.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, father, you&#8217;re not keeping anything from
+me. What did the doctor say?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The colonel saw his advantage, and, although he
+was inclined to smile, pulled a long face, and sighed.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My child, I want to see you comfortably settled
+before I die. You wouldn&#8217;t like me to leave you
+here alone with no one to look after you&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, father! What are you saying? I&#8217;m
+sure the doctor has told you something. I saw you
+looking very strange yesterday, and holding your
+hand over your heart.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The colonel wanted to exclaim, &#8220;Indigestion!&#8221;
+but he shook his head, and sighed mournfully once
+more.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s anxiety, my child, about your welfare. It&#8217;s
+telling on me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to be an anxiety to you, father. I
+know I&#8217;ve not been a cheerful companion lately, but&mdash;it
+will be worse for you when I get married.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Nothing of the sort, my girl. Ormsby and I have
+settled that we are not to be separated. He&#8217;s looking
+out for a big place, where there&#8217;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&#8217;
+<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&#8217;s heart? No, my girl, it&#8217;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&mdash;bah! Come, now, I&#8217;ll fix it for you:
+four weeks from to-day.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Impossible, father&mdash;impossible! I couldn&#8217;t get
+my clothes ready&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Clothes be hanged! He&#8217;s going to marry you,
+not your kit. You&#8217;ve got clothes enough to supply
+a boarding-school. Six weeks&mdash;I give you six weeks.&mdash;Ah!
+here&#8217;s Ormsby. Ormsby, it&#8217;s settled. Dora
+is to marry you in six weeks, or&mdash;she&#8217;s no child of
+mine.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&mdash;I didn&#8217;t say so, father,&#8221; cried Dora, blushing
+hotly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m the happiest man in America!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Say it is true!&mdash;say it is true!&#8221; he cried.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, as you please, as you please.&#8221; And, turning
+to her father to hide her embarrassment, Dora
+murmured, &#8220;You&#8217;re not really ill, father?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I tell you, my child, I shall be,&#8221; roared the colonel,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span>
+with a wink at Ormsby, &#8220;if this anxiety goes on
+any longer. Publish the date, Ormsby. Put it in
+the papers.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;At once!&#8221; cried the delighted lover. &#8220;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&mdash;our home, Dora?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Of course she will,&#8221; cried the colonel, starting
+up with wonderful alacrity for a sick man. &#8220;I&#8217;ll go
+and order the motor, this minute.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s custom to sit up far into the night,
+preparing his Sunday sermon. Sunday morning&#8217;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&#8217;s hair. How
+white it was! The iron-gray streaks were quite gone.
+And yet how little time had elapsed! The rector&#8217;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>
+&#8220;He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but
+whoso confesseth them shall have mercy.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;confession.
+</p>
+<p>
+He was between the devil and the deep sea. His
+wife&#8217;s arguments for silence were unanswerable. The
+call of his conscience was unanswerable, too, except
+in one way&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;the thought
+that she had believed him dead and disgraced. His
+father&#8217;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&#8217;s belief in his father&#8217;s integrity.
+</p>
+<p>
+What would his father&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Father!&#8221; he cried. &#8220;Open the window.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+It was Dick&#8217;s voice, but not Dick&#8217;s face.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Open the window.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Like a man in a dream, the rector loosened the
+catch, and opened the casement.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father&mdash;father! It is I&mdash;Dick&mdash;alive! and
+glad to be home.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The clergyman retreated as from a ghost&mdash;afraid.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t be afraid of me. The report of my death
+was all a mistake, father.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick&mdash;Dick&mdash;my boy&mdash;back&mdash;alive!&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve come to have a talk with you, father,&#8221; 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&#8217;s return. His
+natural impulse was to rush upstairs to Mary, and
+tell her the glad news&mdash;glad, yet terrible. But Dick
+forestalled him by remarking quite casually:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I want to see you first, father, before telling
+mother. My coming back will be a shock; and she
+ought to be prepared.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes&mdash;you&#8217;ve taken me by surprise, my boy.
+Why didn&#8217;t you write? Why didn&#8217;t you let us know?
+Why didn&#8217;t you telegraph?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;of
+the&mdash;&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;He told me of the mess I&#8217;ve got myself into over
+the bank business&mdash;told me they would arrest me if
+I came home. But I couldn&#8217;t keep away, father.&#8221;
+There were tears in Dick&#8217;s voice now. &#8220;I just
+wanted to see you before&mdash;before emigrating.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Emigrating, my boy! Why should you emigrate?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+This was hardly the tone that Dick expected: no
+reproach, no questioning.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s no good running the risk of a prosecution, is
+it, father? And, as I&#8217;ve disgraced the family, I&#8217;d&mdash;<ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: added missing double quote mark at the end of the sentence">&#8221;</ins>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You mean to say that you don&#8217;t deny the bank&#8217;s
+charge of forgery?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No&mdash;no, father, I don&#8217;t deny it. Why should
+I?&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Dick&mdash;forgive!&#8221; The stricken father took a
+step forward, but his strength gave out, and he
+dropped upon his knees at his son&#8217;s feet. &#8220;Dick!
+Dick! We are sinners, your mother and I. I ask
+your pardon. Forgive me, boy, forgive&mdash;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&mdash;at your mother&#8217;s
+entreaty&mdash;to save Netty&#8217;s life from ruin and your
+mother from prison.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s all right, father&mdash;that&#8217;s all right,&#8221; cried
+Dick huskily, with an affected cheeriness, as he raised
+the stricken man. &#8220;I&#8217;m not able to grapple with it
+all just now. You see, I&#8217;ve had enteric, and am still
+shaky. I&#8217;ve thought it all out. Mother was&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;worse than all of you&mdash;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&#8217;t matter. You have a life before you,
+and a name that should go down in history,
+honored&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, nonsense, father! What I&#8217;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&#8217;s Note: we in original text">me</ins> well,
+I shall be all right. You see, it&#8217;s easier to go when
+the girl that a fellow loves is&mdash;is going to marry
+another man, a rich man&mdash;a cad. But that&#8217;s her
+affair. She thinks I&#8217;m a bad lot, and put away under
+the turf, and she&#8217;s going to live her life comfortably
+like other people, I suppose. Old Dundas was always
+keen on Ormsby. When she&#8217;s married&mdash;and
+settled down&mdash;then you must tell her the truth&mdash;that
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span>
+I didn&#8217;t alter those checks, that I wasn&#8217;t such a
+cheat, nor a coward either. Don&#8217;t let her think I
+died a skunk who wanted to be shot to avoid the consequences
+of a forgery. Yes, you&#8217;ll have to tell her
+that, father&mdash;you&#8217;ll have to tell her&mdash;&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Dick&mdash;my boy!&mdash;my boy!&#8221; cried the father,
+raising him tenderly in his arms. &#8220;He&#8217;ll die&mdash;he&#8217;ll
+die after all!&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;I heard his voice, John&mdash;I heard his voice!&#8221;
+she cried, in shrill fear.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary! Help, help! He&#8217;s here&mdash;Dick&mdash;alive!
+He&#8217;s fainted!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The table stood between her and the dark form in
+the shadow on the floor. She advanced slowly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick&mdash;not dead!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;He knows all; he understands,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Mr. Dick!&#8221; she screamed. &#8220;Mr. Dick! Not
+dead!&#8221; She turned and rushed upstairs to Netty&#8217;s
+room.
+</p>
+<p>
+She found Netty in a panic, pale and trembling.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What has happened?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mr. Dick&mdash;he&#8217;s alive! alive! He&#8217;s come
+home.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He&#8217;ll be arrested,&#8221; was Netty&#8217;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&mdash;if any&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s return. Her eyes were red with weeping,
+but only because she saw the possibility of her
+brother in the dock, and Harry Bent&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Where are you going, Mary?&#8221; he asked nervously.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m going up to see father. It&#8217;s the only thing
+to do. He cannot kill his own grandson. If Dick
+dies, his death will be at father&#8217;s door.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s action be, do you think,
+if she knows that Dick is here?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s now a matter between
+me and Dick&mdash;a mother&#8217;s utter ruin or a son&#8217;s
+emigration. And, after all, why shouldn&#8217;t Dick try
+his luck in another country? There&#8217;s nothing for
+him here.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What are you going to say?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I can&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I am helpless,&#8221; cried the rector, throwing up his
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span>
+hands and turning away. &#8220;I know the path I should
+follow, but it is barred, and the way I am traveling
+is accursed.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then I must act alone, John. Good-bye. To-day
+must decide everything. John, won&#8217;t you kiss
+me&mdash;won&#8217;t you say good-bye?&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;It will all come right, John.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;She&#8217;s here again, Trimmer&mdash;she&#8217;s here again,&#8221;
+he whined.
+</p>
+<p>
+Trimmer was no less surprised.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Trimmer, you can leave us,&#8221; 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.
+&#8220;I wish to speak to my father privately.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If Mr. Herresford wishes&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I wish it. Please leave us!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t go! Don&#8217;t go, Trimmer!&#8221; cried the
+miser extending one hand helplessly. &#8220;Raise me,
+Trimmer. Don&#8217;t let her touch me.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;So, you&#8217;re here again,&#8221; he snapped. &#8220;What is
+it now&mdash;what is it now? Am I never to have
+peace?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have strange news. Dick is alive.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s come back,
+has he?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, and that is why I&#8217;m here. The bank people
+will have him arrested.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+There was a pause, which the miser ended by a fit
+of chuckling and choking laughter that maddened
+her.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;This is no laughing matter, father. Can&#8217;t you
+see what the position is?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, it&#8217;s a pretty position&mdash;quite a dramatic
+situation. Boy dead, shamefully accused; boy alive,
+and to be arrested for his mother&#8217;s crime.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, I&#8217;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&mdash;that you really did
+authorize them.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, if you have any natural feeling toward
+Dick&mdash;I don&#8217;t ask you to think of me&mdash;you&#8217;ll set
+this matter straight by satisfying the bank people.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The bank people don&#8217;t want to be satisfied.
+They&#8217;ve paid me my money&mdash;there&#8217;s an end to it.
+You must appeal to Ormsby.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But Ormsby hates Dick. He is marrying the
+woman Dick loves.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And who is that, pray?&#8221; cried the old man, starting
+up and snapping his words out like pistol shots.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why, Dora Dundas, of course.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Who&#8217;s she?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The only daughter of Colonel Dundas, a wealthy
+man. His wealth, I suppose, attracted Ormsby.
+He will show Dick no mercy. You&#8217;ve met Colonel
+Dundas. You ought to remember him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh! the fool who writes to the papers about the
+war. I know him. What&#8217;s the girl like? Is she
+as great an idiot as her father?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You&#8217;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&#8217;t you remember&mdash;about
+two years ago?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The old man fingered the tassel of his cap, and
+chewed it meditatively for a few moments.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I remember,&#8221; he said, at last. &#8220;So, she&#8217;s going
+to marry Ormsby, because Dick is supposed to be
+dead&mdash;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&#8217;t
+have him, she chose the next best man, the banker&#8217;s
+son. Sensible girl, Dora Dundas. The question is&mdash;what&#8217;s
+Dick going to do?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s why I want to be prepared to prevent
+it. He talks of going abroad&mdash;emigrating&mdash;when
+he&#8217;s strong enough.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What!&#8221; screamed the old man, in astonishment.
+&#8220;He&#8217;s not going to stand up for his honor, my
+honor, the honor of the family? What&#8217;s he made
+of?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, father, can&#8217;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&#8217;s that I took
+the money. You wouldn&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If I confessed everything, father, do you think
+that Ormsby would spare me, Dick&#8217;s mother! Oh,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span>
+it&#8217;s all a horrible tangle. It&#8217;s driving me mad!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ha! ha!&#8221; chuckled the old man. &#8220;You&#8217;re beginning
+to use your brain a little. You&#8217;re beginning
+to realize the value of money&mdash;and you don&#8217;t like
+it. Well, you can unravel your own tangle. Don&#8217;t
+come to me.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Get your sky-pilot to help you out of it. I
+won&#8217;t. Not a penny do I pay. Seven thousand dollars!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, a hundred thousand could not make any
+difference to you,&#8221; she cried. &#8220;You must let me
+have the money. Take it out of my mother&#8217;s allowance.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What allowance? Who told you anything
+about any allowance?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, you&#8217;re an old man, and your memory is
+failing you. You know, I&#8217;m entitled to an allowance
+from my mother&#8217;s money. You don&#8217;t mean to
+say you&#8217;re going to stop that?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Who&#8217;s stopping your allowance? Trimmer!
+Trimmer!&#8221; he cried.
+</p>
+<p>
+Something in his manner&mdash;a look&mdash;a guilty terror
+in his eyes, made itself apparent to the woman.
+The reference to her mother frightened him. She
+saw behind the veil&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;s money, on which she could raise something.
+</p>
+<p>
+Trimmer put an end to the interview by answering
+his master&#8217;s call. The miser was gesticulating and
+mumbling, and frantically motioning his daughter to
+leave the room.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;She wants to rob me!&mdash;she wants to rob me!&#8221;
+This was all that she understood of his raving.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is useless to talk to him now, Mrs. Swinton,&#8221;
+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&#8217;s adviser&mdash;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Trimmer, I have a commission for you. Go to
+the residence of Colonel Dundas. See his daughter,
+Dora. She has been here&mdash;you remember her?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m afraid not, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Pretty girl, brown hair, determined mouth,
+steady eyes, quietly dressed&mdash;no thousand-dollar
+sables and coats of ermine. Came to tea&mdash;and
+didn&#8217;t cackle!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I can&#8217;t recall her, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You must. We don&#8217;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?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Trimmer, my grandson is alive.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Alive, sir?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, and back from the war. He&#8217;s got to marry
+that girl; but she&#8217;s engaged to someone else&mdash;you
+understand?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I think so, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;So, be cautious. Bring her here secretly, or&mdash;I&#8217;ll
+sack you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Go at once.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, sir. Your medicine first.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&mdash;on a matter of
+grave importance.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Do I understand you to say that he himself sent
+you with this strange request?&#8221; she asked.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, miss. I have come straight from Mr. Herresford.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Did he not say why he wished to see me?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I am only his valet, miss; he would not be likely
+to tell me. What answer shall I take him?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I will call at Asherton Hall this afternoon,&#8221; the
+girl promised.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I will acquaint Mr. Herresford with your decision,&#8221;
+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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;You wished me to come to you?&#8221; murmured
+Dora.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Trimmer, go out of the room. You needn&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I am deeply sorry.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;When you came before,&#8221; said Herresford,
+bluntly, &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t! Don&#8217;t!&#8221; cried Dora, with a sudden
+catch in her voice. &#8220;I&#8217;m engaged to marry Mr.
+Ormsby.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;An excellent match&mdash;a match that does credit
+to your head, my girl. But Ormsby is not a man&mdash;he&#8217;s
+only a machine. He thinks too much of his
+money. With him, it&#8217;s money, money&mdash;all money.
+A bad thing! A bad thing!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dora opened her eyes wide in surprise, wondering
+if she heard aright. Was this the miser?
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Now, Dick was a man&mdash;and he died like a gentleman&mdash;with
+his back to the wall&mdash;hurling defiance
+at the muzzles of the enemy&#8217;s rifles.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Ah! a boy worth crying for, my dear,&#8221; 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; &#8220;but a shocking spendthrift. That&#8217;s
+where we quarreled&mdash;though we never quarreled
+much. I had my say&mdash;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dora nodded.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s deficiencies, he would have been my
+heir, and this place and all my money would have
+been his&mdash;and yours.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why do you tell me these things, now?&#8221; she
+cried, a note of anger in her voice.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Because I don&#8217;t want you to marry Ormsby.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why not? It is to please my father. He
+wishes it, and&mdash;I must marry somebody. I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, take the advice of an old man who married
+a woman who loved someone else. My wife
+married to please her father&mdash;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&#8217;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&mdash;money&mdash;money!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The old man dragged himself nearer to the edge
+of the bed, and, reaching over, tapped his bony fingers
+on Dora&#8217;s knee. &#8220;Come, now&mdash;come&mdash;tell me
+that you&#8217;ll think it over, and not marry Ormsby.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;O don&#8217;t!&mdash;don&#8217;t!&#8221; cried the girl, covering her
+face again, and sobbing bitterly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You can&#8217;t&mdash;you sha&#8217;n&#8217;t marry Ormsby.
+Dick&#8217;ll haunt you&mdash;and sooner than you know.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve thought of that,&#8221; sobbed the girl, &#8220;and
+I&#8217;ve tried to conquer it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You don&#8217;t mean&mdash;you don&#8217;t mean to suggest
+that you think there&#8217;s any doubt?&#8221; cried Dora.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There&#8217;s no doubt on one point,&#8221; chuckled the
+old man, relapsing into his usual sardonic manner.
+&#8220;You&#8217;re not going to marry Ormsby&mdash;ha! ha!
+He thought he&#8217;d do me out of seven thousand dollars&mdash;and
+I&#8217;ve robbed him of his wife. Good business!&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You seem to dislike Mr. Ormsby,&#8221; said Dora,
+suspiciously.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Not at all&mdash;not at all! Man of business&mdash;man
+of money&mdash;no good as a husband! To some
+men, money-bags are more beautiful than petticoats.
+When you&#8217;re his wife, he&#8217;ll leave you at home, and
+go down to the bank and woo his real mistress&mdash;money!&mdash;money!
+money! But you&#8217;re not going
+to marry Ormsby, are you?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, I can&#8217;t&mdash;I can&#8217;t!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Having decided not to marry him,&#8221; continued
+the old man &#8220;you&#8217;ll write him a letter now&mdash;at
+once. There&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I can&#8217;t do that, Mr. Herresford, you know I
+can&#8217;t.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Come here,&#8221; he said, beckoning her <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: authoritively in original text">authoritatively</ins>.
+&#8220;Have you any confidence in my judgment
+of what is best for you? If not, say so.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have every confidence in your judgment. You
+have voiced the things that were in my heart. I
+know you are right.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, if you have confidence, do as I say, or
+you&#8217;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&#8217;m worth?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She made no answer.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Come here.&#8221; He beckoned again, and was about
+to whisper the amount, when his mood changed.
+&#8220;No, no! Nobody shall know what I&#8217;m worth.
+They&#8217;ll want money out of me. They&#8217;ll come around
+begging and borrowing and dunning. The less I
+pay, the more I have. Go, write the letter, girl&mdash;write
+the letter. Don&#8217;t take any notice of me and
+my money. I&#8217;m an old man. You&#8217;ve got all your
+life before you&mdash;one of the greatest heiresses in
+the country! And I know a man who&#8217;ll marry you
+for your money and love you as well&mdash;or I&#8217;ll know
+the reason why.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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%'>&#8220;<span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Vivian</span>, I cannot marry you, after all.
+It was all a mistake&mdash;a mistake. My heart always
+was and always will be another&#8217;s. Good-bye.
+Don&#8217;t come to see us any more. My decision is unalterable.
+It will only cause us both pain. I am
+very, very sorry.&#8221; Then, after a thoughtful pause,
+she added, &#8220;I am going somewhere, right away, for
+a long time.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Let me read,&#8221; he cried.
+</p>
+<p>
+She handed him the letter as a matter of course,
+and he nodded approvingly as he read.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Now, then, my girl, I&#8217;ll tell you a secret. Can
+you keep secrets?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have always been able to.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s a big secret. How long could you keep a
+very big secret?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Quite as long as a little one.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, bend down and I&#8217;ll tell you.&#8221; His face
+lighted up with amusement; the ape-like features
+were transformed; the wrinkles of care and pain
+wreathed into smiles.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Can&#8217;t you guess?&#8221; he asked, with a hoarse
+chuckle, and his shoulders shook with suppressed
+mirth. &#8220;Bend lower.&#8221; He grasped her arm, and
+drew his lips close to her ear. &#8220;Dick&#8217;s alive.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She gave a great gasp, and broke away, uncertain
+whether this were not some devilish jest.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, it&#8217;s true&mdash;it&#8217;s true!&#8221; he cried, nodding.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Alive!&mdash;alive! Not dead! Dick!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But keep it secret.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But why? Why?&#8221; cried Dora.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;For reasons of my own. Oh, it&#8217;s true. You
+needn&#8217;t look at me like that. I&#8217;m not in my dotage
+yet.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick alive!&mdash;alive!&#8221; she cried. She clasped
+her hands, and swung around and around in excitement
+too great to be controlled.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, alive, but in hiding,&#8221; said the old man,
+&#8220;until I can get him out of that ugly scrape&mdash;cheaply.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But where&mdash;where? Tell me!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s my secret. You&#8217;ve got to keep your
+own.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh! but I must tell father.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your father knows it already. He&#8217;s not to be
+trusted.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father knows, and yet&mdash;?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yet, he&#8217;d let you marry Ormsby. It&#8217;s a way
+fathers have when they want their daughters to
+marry rich men. So, you see, he&#8217;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&#8217;ve both been fools. If you had come
+to me like sensible children, and told me that
+you wanted to get married, I&#8217;d have paid his debts
+and transferred the burden of responsibility to you&mdash;for
+he is a responsibility, and always will be&mdash;mark
+my words!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A responsibility I will gladly undertake, grandfather.&#8221;
+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>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s right, call me grandfather. Good girl&mdash;good
+girl!&#8221; He reverted to his usual snappy
+manner. &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</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;'>
+&#8220;OH, GOOD-BYE&mdash;GOOD-BYE, YOU DEAR, DEAR OLD MAN!&#8221; SHE CRIED, DROPPING ON HER KNEES BESIDE HIM.&mdash;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>
+&#8220;Good-bye&mdash;good-bye!&#8221; he grunted brusquely,
+offering a bony hand.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, good-bye&mdash;good-bye, you dear, dear old
+man!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Get away! Get away! You&#8217;ll kill me.
+Enough&mdash;enough for one day.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Dick! Dick! Dick!&#8221; 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&#8217;s catalogue&mdash;his favorite
+occupation at the present time: Ormsby had enlisted
+his help in search of a suitable home for his
+bride.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Here&#8217;s a nice little place,&#8221; cried the colonel.
+&#8220;They give a picture of it. Why, girl, what a
+color you&#8217;ve got!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, father, it&#8217;s happiness.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s right, my girl&mdash;that&#8217;s right. I&#8217;m glad
+you&#8217;re taking a sensible view of things. What did
+I tell you?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You told me an untruth, father. You told me
+that Dick was dead.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dora&#8217;s eyes flashed, and the colonel looked sheepish.
+He covered his embarrassment with anger.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;So, the young fool hasn&#8217;t taken my advice then?
+He wants to turn convict. Is that why you&#8217;re
+happy?&mdash;because a man who presumed to make
+love to you behind your father&#8217;s back has come home
+to get sent to the penitentiary, instead of remaining
+respectably dead when he had the chance?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, I shall never marry Mr. Ormsby. I
+have told him so.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What! you&#8217;ve been down to the bank?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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>.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Do you mean to tell me,&#8221; thundered the colonel,
+rising and thumping the table with his clenched fist,
+&#8220;that you&#8217;re going to throw over the richest bachelor
+in the country for a blackguard, a forger, a man
+who couldn&#8217;t play the straight game?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&mdash;I won&#8217;t be talked to like this. There
+comes a time when a father must assert his authority,
+and I say&mdash;&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, you&#8217;ll be ill, if you excite yourself like
+this.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Don&#8217;t talk about playing the straight game to
+me. I suppose you&#8217;ve been to Asherton Hall to see
+the rascal. He&#8217;s hiding there, no doubt.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, he&#8217;s not. It is you who know where he is.
+You&#8217;ve seen him, and you must tell me where to
+find him. I won&#8217;t rest till I&#8217;ve heard the true story
+of the forgery from his own lips.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If I knew where he was at the present moment,&#8221;
+exclaimed the colonel, thumping the table again, &#8220;I&#8217;d
+give information to the police. As for Ormsby,
+when he gets your letter&mdash;if you&#8217;ve written it&mdash;he&#8217;ll
+search the wide world for him. He will be
+saving me the trouble. Swinton must pay the penalty&mdash;and
+the sooner the better.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve seen Mr. Herresford, who said it was only
+a question of money.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Aha, that&#8217;s where you&#8217;re wrong. If Ormsby
+chooses to prosecute, no man can help the young
+fool. He&#8217;s branded forever as a criminal and a
+felon. Why, if he could inherit his grandfather&#8217;s
+millions, decent people would shut their doors in his
+face, now.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, his service to his country counts for nothing,&#8221;
+faltered Dora.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;t saved him from prison. Dick
+Swinton <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: &#8220;in&#8221; in original text">is</ins> done for. Ormsby will see to that.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Vivian is a coward, then, and his action will only
+show how wise I was to abandon all thought of marrying
+him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You haven&#8217;t abandoned all thought of it.
+You&#8217;re just a silly fool of a girl who won&#8217;t take her
+father&#8217;s advice. It is an insult to Ormsby to throw
+him over for a thieving rascal&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, you have always prided yourself on being
+a just man. Yet, you condemn Dick without a
+hearing.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Without a hearing! Haven&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;not if I know it! Marry Dick
+Swinton, and you go out of my house, never to return.
+I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Father, curb your tongue,&#8221; 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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;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&mdash;she chose the father in
+preference to the mother from an instinctive distrust
+of Mrs. Swinton which she could not explain&mdash;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, &#8220;Where is Dick?&#8221; Yet, anything
+that contributed to Dick&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Mr. Swinton, you can guess why I have come.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I think I know. You have heard the glad news&mdash;indeed,
+everyone seems to have heard it&mdash;that
+my son has been given back to me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And to me, Mr. Swinton.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What! Then, you do not turn your back upon
+him, Miss Dundas!&#8221; he cried, with tears in his
+voice.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, yes, of course! I don&#8217;t wonder that you
+find it hard to believe.&#8221; The guilty rector fidgeted
+nervously, and covered his confusion by bringing forward
+a chair.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;t think what it has
+meant to me. It has saved me from an unhappy
+marriage.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your engagement to Mr. Ormsby is broken
+off?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Because you think you&#8217;ll be able to marry
+Dick?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes. Why do you speak of Dick like that?&#8221;
+she asked, with a sudden sinking at the heart.
+&#8220;Surely, you do not join in the general condemnation&mdash;you,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span>
+his own father! Oh, it isn&#8217;t true what
+they told me&mdash;that he&#8217;s a forger, who will have to
+answer to the law, and go to prison. It isn&#8217;t true.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick himself is the only person who can answer
+your questions.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But where is he? I suppose I can write to
+him?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He&#8217;s in hiding,&#8221; said the rector, brokenly.
+The words seemed to be choking him.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;In hiding! Dick, who faced a dozen rifles and
+flung defiance in the teeth of his country&#8217;s enemies&mdash;in
+hiding!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Just for the present&mdash;just for the present.
+You see, they would arrest him. It&#8217;s so much better
+to prepare a defense when one has liberty than&mdash;than&mdash;from
+the Tombs.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, you will not tell me where he is?&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Father, Dick wants the papers. He&#8217;s finished
+the book and&mdash;Oh, Miss Dundas!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He is here&mdash;in this house?&#8221; cried Dora, flushing
+angrily at the rector&#8217;s want of trust. &#8220;Oh, why
+didn&#8217;t you tell me? Do you think that I would betray
+him? Why didn&#8217;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!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Father and daughter looked at one another in
+confusion.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I intended to tell you, Miss Dundas, after I had
+asked my son&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t think Dick would like to see you just
+now,&#8221; interjected Netty. &#8220;You see, he&#8217;s ill&mdash;he&#8217;s
+very ill, and much broken.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Now that you know he is here,&#8221; interposed the
+rector, &#8220;there can be no objection to your seeing
+him. I must first inform him of your coming&mdash;that
+he may be prepared. I&#8217;m sure he will be glad
+to see you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The rector escaped to fulfil a difficult and painful
+mission. He had almost forgotten the existence of
+his son&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s eyes,
+that would mean&mdash;? 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>
+&#8220;You must be overjoyed, Netty, to have your
+brother back again.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Overjoyed!&#8221; exclaimed Netty, with a shrug.
+&#8220;I&#8217;m likely to lose a husband. A disgraced brother
+is a poor exchange.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You don&#8217;t mean to say that Harry Bent would
+be so mean as to withdraw because your brother&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, say it&mdash;because my brother is a criminal.
+I don&#8217;t pity him, and you&#8217;ll find your father
+less lenient than mine. All thought of an engagement
+between you and Dick is now, of course, absurd.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That is for Dick to decide,&#8221; 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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;My dear Miss Dundas, my son desires to see
+you, and speak with you alone. He will say&mdash;he
+will tell you things that may make you take a harsh
+view of&mdash;of his parents. I exhort you, in all
+Christian charity, to suspend your judgment, and
+be merciful&mdash;to us, at least. I am a weak man&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s room,
+the rector left her.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Go in,&#8221; he murmured, hoarsely.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dora!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+It was Dick&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Oh, Dick! Dick!&#8221; she cried, flinging away
+her muff and rushing to him. &#8220;Oh, my poor Dick!
+What have they done to you?&#8221;
+<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>
+&#8220;They&#8217;ve nearly killed me, Dora. But I&#8217;m not
+dead yet. I&#8217;m in hiding here, as I understand father
+told you. You don&#8217;t mean to give me the go-by
+just because people are saying things about me?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Indeed, no. But the things they&#8217;re saying, Dick,
+are dreadful, and I wanted to hear from your own
+lips that they&#8217;re not true.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You remember what I said to you before I went
+away?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I remember, and I have been loyal to my
+promise.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, you can continue loyal, little one. I am
+no forger&mdash;but I fear they&#8217;re going to put me into
+jail, and I must go through with it, as I&#8217;ve had to go
+through lots of ugly things out there.&#8221; He shuddered.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But, Dick, if the charge is false, why cannot you
+refute it?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&mdash;I would rather know,&#8221; pleaded Dora, whose
+curiosity was overmastering.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But is your faith in me conditional? Is not my
+word enough?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is enough for me, Dick&mdash;but it is the others&mdash;father,
+and&mdash;<ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: added missing double quote mark at the end of the sentence">&#8221;</ins>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah! I understand. But what do other people
+matter&mdash;now? You&#8217;re going to marry Ormsby, I
+understand.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Well&mdash;you see&mdash;Dick&mdash;they told me you
+were dead. We all gave you up as a lost hero.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yet, before the grass had grown over my supposed
+grave, you were ready to transfer your love to&mdash;that
+cad.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Not my love, Dick&mdash;not my love! Believe me,
+I was broken-hearted. They said dreadful things
+about you, and I couldn&#8217;t prove them untrue, and I
+didn&#8217;t want everybody to think&mdash;Well, father
+pressed it. I was utterly wretched. I knew I should
+never love anybody else, dearest&mdash;nobody else in
+the world, and I didn&#8217;t care whom I married.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+It was the sweetest reasoning, and of that peculiarly
+feminine order which the inherent vanity of man
+cannot resist. Dick&#8217;s only rebuke was a kiss.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, Dora, I&#8217;m not a marrying man, now. I&#8217;m
+not even respectable. As soon as I&#8217;m well, I&#8217;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s off, Dick&mdash;off! I gave him his dismissal
+the moment I heard&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Did your father tell you I was alive?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, your grandfather told me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ye gods! You don&#8217;t mean to say you&#8217;ve seen
+him!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, Dick, and I think he&#8217;s the dearest old man
+alive. He was most charming. He isn&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He&#8217;s a frightful old liar, is grandfather.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t think he was lying, Dick. You&#8217;ll laugh
+at his latest eccentricity. He told me he would alter
+his will and leave everything to me&mdash;not to you&mdash;to
+me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But why?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, I suppose&mdash;I suppose that he thought&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dora played with the fringe of the rug on Dick&#8217;s
+knee as she still knelt by his side, and seemed embarrassed.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I think I understand,&#8221; laughed Dick. &#8220;He&#8217;s
+taken a fancy to you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;that you have taken a fancy to me&mdash;that&mdash;oh,
+well, can&#8217;t you understand?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She rested her cheek against his, and, as he folded
+her to his heart, he understood.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;So, grandfather has turned matchmaker. I&#8217;ll
+warrant he thinks you are a skinflint, and will take
+care of his money.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That&#8217;s it, Dick. He thinks I&#8217;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!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Then, you&#8217;ll have to keep it up, darling. Next
+time you go to see him, borrow a dress from your
+maid.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is not a question of money, now. It is a question
+of the penitentiary, darling. And I don&#8217;t see
+that it is fair to hold you to any pledges. I&#8217;ve got
+to go through with this business. You couldn&#8217;t
+marry an ex-convict.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick, if you are not guilty, if you have done
+no wrong, you are shielding someone else who has.&#8221;
+Dora arose to her feet impatiently, and stood looking
+down almost angrily.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dora, Dora, don&#8217;t force it out of me!&#8221; he
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span>
+pleaded. &#8220;If you think a little, you&#8217;ll understand.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have thought. I can understand nothing.
+They told me that your mother&#8217;s checks&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Even as she spoke, she understood. The knowledge
+flashed from brain to brain.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, Dick&mdash;your mother!&mdash;Mrs. Swinton!
+Oh!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Grandfather drove her to it, Dora. You mustn&#8217;t
+be hard on her.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And she let them accuse you&mdash;her son&mdash;when
+you were supposed to have died gloriously&mdash;oh,
+horrible!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, that&#8217;s the worst of being a newspaper hero.
+The news that I&#8217;m home has got abroad somehow,
+and those journalist fellows are beginning to write
+me up again. I wish they&#8217;d leave me alone. They
+make things so hard.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick, you&#8217;re not going to ruin your whole career,
+and blacken your reputation, because your mother
+hasn&#8217;t the courage to stand by her wickedness.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It wasn&#8217;t the sort of thing you&#8217;d do, Dora, I
+know. But mother&#8217;s different. Never had any
+head for money, and didn&#8217;t know what she was doing.
+She looked upon grandfather&#8217;s money as hers and
+mine.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But when they thought you were dead&mdash;oh,
+horrible. It was infamous!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dora, Dora, you promised to be patient.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Does your father know? He does, of course!
+A clergyman!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Leave him out of it. Poor old dad&mdash;it&#8217;s quite
+broken him up. Think of it, Dora, the wife of the
+rector of St. Botolph&#8217;s parish to go to jail.
+That&#8217;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&#8217;t necessarily besmirch a sister&#8217;s honor. Can&#8217;t
+you see, Dora, that it&#8217;s hard enough for them to bear
+without your casting your stone as well?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, Dick, I can&#8217;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&mdash;I
+would have&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Hush, hush, Dora! If you knew what my
+mother has suffered, and if you could look into my
+father&#8217;s stricken heart, you&#8217;d be willing to overlook a
+great deal. When I get out of the country, I&#8217;m
+going to make a fresh start. Ormsby has set spies
+around the house like flies, and, as you&#8217;ve thrown
+him over now, he&#8217;ll be doubly venomous. I only
+wanted to set myself right in your eyes, and absolve
+you from all pledges.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But I don&#8217;t want to be absolved,&#8221; sobbed Dora,
+dropping on her knees again, and seeking his breast.
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There&#8217;s no help for it. I must go through with
+it. Don&#8217;t shake my courage. A man must stick up
+for his mother.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, Dick, there must be some other way.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There is no other&mdash;unless&mdash;unless my grandfather
+consents to acknowledge those checks, and declares
+that the alterations were made with his knowledge.
+But that he will not do&mdash;because he knows
+who did it&mdash;and he is merciless. I don&#8217;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&mdash;then I&#8217;ll go and
+do my bit of time, and see the inside of Sing-Sing.
+It&#8217;ll be amusing. There&#8217;s a cab. That&#8217;s mother
+come home.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, I can&#8217;t face her!&#8221; cried Dora, with hardening
+mouth.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Go away without seeing her, darling. Promise
+you won&#8217;t reveal what I&#8217;ve told you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I can&#8217;t promise. It&#8217;s horrible!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You must&mdash;you must, little girl.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;s private
+room unobtrusively, and closed the door after
+him with care.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, what news, Foxley?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;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&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And the rectory?&#8221; asked Ormsby.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He hasn&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;some responsible servant who
+will take copies of all the addresses?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have no doubt that can be done. The housekeeper
+at the colonel&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;We have endeavored to approach the servants
+at the rectory, but&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What puzzles me is the visit of Miss Dundas to
+Herresford,&#8221; said Ormsby, thinking of his letter of
+dismissal, with the old miser&#8217;s monogram on it.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;She evidently went there to see him,&#8221; said the detective,
+&#8220;and heard from him the news of the young
+man&#8217;s escape. That, perhaps, accounted for her
+high spirits.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Briefly, then, your labors have had no result, and
+you are as far from the scent as on the first day.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Not exactly that, sir. We&#8217;ll nab him yet.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;As for the people at the rectory,&#8221; Ormsby said,
+decisively, &#8220;I&#8217;ll tackle them myself.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Be guarded, sir. We don&#8217;t want them to suspect
+that they are watched.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;They probably know that already. I&#8217;m going
+to offer them terms. If they&#8217;ll advise their son to
+give himself up, seven thousand dollars shall be paid
+by some &#8216;friend,&#8217; and he will get off with a light sentence.
+It isn&#8217;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&#8217;ll be too hot to hold him,
+even if he should be acquitted. He&#8217;s a reckless young
+fellow. There&#8217;s no knowing what he might do.
+He might&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Ormsby did not finish the sentence. The detective
+muttered one comprehensive word.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Suicide.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Ormsby nodded.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And the best thing, I should think,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;You can guess why I have come, Mr. Swinton.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s arrest, and you can
+scarcely expect to be received as a welcome guest in
+this house. What have you to say to me?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;expense. There&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And the conditions?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That he undertakes not to molest or in any way
+pursue Miss Dora Dundas.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Miss Dundas would have married me but for
+the return of your scapegrace son,&#8221; cried Ormsby,
+flashing out. &#8220;He has seen her, and has upset all
+my plans.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, he has seen her&mdash;&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Ah, he has seen her,&#8221; cried Ormsby, sharply.
+&#8220;So, he&#8217;s either at Asherton Hall&mdash;or here.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&mdash;I didn&#8217;t say that!&#8221; gasped the rector.
+&#8220;This house is mine&mdash;you have no right&mdash;Dear,
+dear, I don&#8217;t know what I&#8217;m doing, or what I&#8217;m
+saying.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You have said enough, Mr. Swinton. Your son
+is in this house. I have him, at last.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My son is ill, Mr. Ormsby. You must give him
+time. This dreadful matter may yet be set right.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is in the hands of the police. Good-day.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+John Swinton was powerless to say a word in his
+son&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Oh, what have I said! What have I done!
+I&#8217;ve doubly betrayed him. Nobody can help him
+now, unless&mdash;unless&mdash;&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;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&mdash;before his wife returned&mdash;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&mdash;chaos&mdash;poverty&mdash;new
+work, with Dick&#8217;s help&mdash;but work with
+clean hands.
+</p>
+<p>
+The way was clear enough now&mdash;while Mary was
+away out of the house&mdash;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&#8217;s cry, &#8220;I
+am your wife, John, your very own&mdash;you and I are
+one&mdash;you cannot betray me!&#8221; 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&#8217;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 &amp; Jevons carried
+Mrs. Swinton&#8217;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>
+&#8220;You don&#8217;t remember me, Mr. Jevons?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah! now I hear your voice, I remember. You
+are the daughter of Mr. Herresford.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You were once my mother&#8217;s lawyer, Mr. Jevons,&#8221;
+said Mrs. Swinton, plunging at once into business.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I had that honor. Won&#8217;t you sit down?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is twenty-five years ago&mdash;more than that.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes. You have married since then.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I married Mr. Swinton, the rector of St.
+Botolph&#8217;s.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Indeed, indeed. That is very interesting. And
+now you are living&mdash;?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;At the rectory, on Riverside Drive.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, yes.&mdash;And your father is well, I presume.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;As well as can be expected,&#8221; answered Mrs.
+Swinton, tartly. &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;That is not a large sum. There ought to be no
+difficulty.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You think so!&#8221; she cried, eagerly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, it depends. The income your mother left
+you&mdash;if it is not in any way mortgaged&mdash;should
+give ample security.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My mother left me no income.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I beg your pardon?&#8221; queried the old man, curtly,
+as if he doubted his hearing.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My income is pitifully small, Mr. Jevons&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Mr. Jevons looked incredulous. &#8220;Four thousand
+a year. Did you see your mother&#8217;s will, Mrs.
+Swinton?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No. Did she make a will?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, and father wouldn&#8217;t allow me to come
+home.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Under that will, your mother left you something
+more than twenty thousand a year.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s income at her death.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s affairs. I was his lawyer
+once, you remember. A difficult man&mdash;a difficult
+man. You don&#8217;t mean to tell me that you have received
+from your father only four thousand a year?
+It&#8217;s incredible. It&#8217;s illegal.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Mrs. Swinton laid her hand upon her heart, to still
+the throbbing set up by this startling turn of affairs.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But, when you were married, what was your
+husband thinking of not to see your mother&#8217;s will,
+and get proper settlements?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My husband has no head for money-affairs. It
+was a love match. We eloped, and father never forgave
+us.&#8221;
+<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>
+&#8220;Mrs. Swinton, I ought to tell you that I always
+disapproved of your father&#8217;s management of your
+mother&#8217;s affairs&mdash;and his own. It was on this very
+question of your mother&#8217;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&#8217;s
+will which stipulated that your income should be
+paid to you quarterly, or at other intervals of time,
+according to your father&#8217;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&mdash;I will not
+say grasping.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He was a thief&mdash;is a thief!&#8221; cried Mrs. Swinton,
+breathing heavily, her eyes flashing with excitement.
+&#8220;Go on.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I withdrew altogether from your father&#8217;s affairs.
+I was busy, and had other matters to attend to. I
+naturally thought that your husband&#8217;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&mdash;eccentricities of your
+father would be set right. But it appears that you
+have never questioned your father&#8217;s discretion.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have questioned it again and again, and was
+always told that I was a pauper, that my mother&#8217;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your son!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I think it can be managed, Mrs. Swinton. I will
+see my partner about it, and probably let you have a
+check.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Mr. Jevons, what am I to do about the&mdash;other
+money?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Undoubtedly&mdash;every pressure that the law will
+allow. Expose him. Shame him. Humiliate him.
+Prosecute him, if need be.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;an
+enormous sum! There can be no possible question
+of your right to the money. If you wish us to advance
+anything more&mdash;seven thousand dollars is a
+very small sum&mdash;we shall be most happy.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dear, dear! Raising checks!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes&mdash;it was wrong. But it was all my father&#8217;s
+fault. He refused to give me money when&mdash;but
+that&#8217;s nothing to do with it. I want you to tell me
+it will be all right when the money is paid.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It depends entirely on the bank. Surely, your
+father will hush the matter up.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, he wishes us to be disgraced&mdash;ruined&mdash;just
+because my husband is a clergyman, and I married
+contrary to his wishes. He never forgives.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But that was so many years ago! Surely, he
+won&#8217;t question the checks.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He has done so&mdash;and a warrant is out for my
+son&#8217;s arrest.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dear, dear&mdash;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, he&#8217;s a friend&mdash;at least I&#8217;m afraid he&#8217;s
+not much of a friend to my son.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, it&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll do as you advise. I&#8217;ll see Mr. Ormsby to-day.
+You are quite sure, Mr. Jevons, that you&#8217;ve
+made no mistake about my mother&#8217;s money. Oh,
+it&#8217;s too wonderful&mdash;too amazing!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I will see father myself,&#8221; observed Mrs. Swinton,
+with her teeth set and an ugly light in her eyes.
+&#8220;Mr. Jevons, you will come down to-morrow to see
+us, or next day?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;To-morrow, at your pleasure. I&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s the forgery&mdash;the dreadful business at the
+bank that frightens me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Do your best alone. I am sure your power of
+persuasion cannot fail to melt the hardest heart,&#8221; the
+lawyer protested, with his most courtly air.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The circumstances are peculiar. But I will try.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;I have come to pay you some money,&#8221; said Mrs.
+Swinton quietly, as she unfastened the catch of her
+muff bag. &#8220;Here is a check for seven thousand dollars.
+It is the sum required by you to make good the
+discrepancy in my father&#8217;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.&#8221; She spoke in
+a dull voice&mdash;a monotone&mdash;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>
+&#8220;May I ask you why you bring this money?&#8221; he
+demanded, at last.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have explained.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I hope you don&#8217;t think, Mrs. Swinton, that we
+are going to compound a felony, just because the
+criminal&#8217;s family pursues the proper course, and reimburses
+our bank.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Of course I do. When the money is paid, my
+family affairs are no business of yours.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;A warrant is out for your son&#8217;s arrest, Mrs.
+Swinton, and we shall have him to-night. It pains
+me exceedingly to have to take this course, but&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You hypocrite!&#8221; she cried, starting up. &#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;On the contrary, your son has robbed me of the
+woman I love,&#8221; said Ormsby, with cutting emphasis,
+&#8220;and he shall not have her. She may not marry me,
+but she shall not mate with a felon.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;If it is money you want, you shall have more.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You insult me, Mrs. Swinton. It is not the
+money I care about. It is the principle. Your son
+insulted me publicly&mdash;struck me like a drunken
+brawler&mdash;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&#8217;s
+heart if she persists in the mad course she has
+adopted. But she&#8217;ll change her mind, when she sees
+your son in handcuffs.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It must not be! It must not be!&#8221; cried the
+guilty woman. &#8220;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&#8217;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The whole world may shut its doors&mdash;there is
+only one door that must open to me, the door of
+Colonel Dundas&#8217;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&#8221;&mdash;and here he raised his fist with unwonted
+emphasis&mdash;&#8220;I&#8217;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I beg of you&mdash;I beseech you! You don&#8217;t understand&mdash;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&#8217;s
+honor. It&#8217;s I who&mdash;who&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Honor! Don&#8217;t talk to me about honor! How
+is it he&#8217;s alive? Why isn&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is false!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;it was on her
+lips a dozen times to cry aloud her sin&mdash;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&#8217;s
+would be a triumph for Ormsby. She took refuge
+in a last frantic lie.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My father signed the checks for those amounts.
+The alterations were made in his presence&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Ormsby smiled sardonically as he opened the door.
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;You are as bad as my father,&#8221; she cried. &#8220;Nothing
+pleases you men of money more than to wound
+and lacerate women&#8217;s hearts. Dora is well saved
+from such a cur.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;oh, so much!
+</p>
+<p>
+One sentence let fall by Ormsby remained vividly
+in her memory. &#8220;Unless Mr. Herresford made
+that avowal with his own lips, no one would take the
+slightest notice of it.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;What news, Mary?&#8221; he asked awkwardly,
+avoiding her glance.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The strangest, John&mdash;the strangest of all!
+My father is the biggest thief in America.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary, Mary, this perpetual abuse of your father,
+whom we have wronged, will not help us in the
+least.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+He led her into the study.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John, John, you don&#8217;t understand what I mean.
+I&#8217;ve been to Mr. Jevons, and he says that my mother
+left me more than half-a-million dollars, which my
+father has stolen&mdash;stolen! He has kept us beggars
+ever since our marriage, by a trick. My mother left
+me twenty thousand a year; and&mdash;you know what
+we&#8217;ve had from him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary, what wild things are you saying?&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, it&#8217;s hard to believe; but it&#8217;s true. He&#8217;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&#8217;ve
+seen Ormsby, and paid him the money; but he&#8217;s obdurate.
+The jealous wretch is bent upon ruining
+Dick. Nothing will move him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is our sin crying for atonement, Mary.
+Money cannot buy absolution.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, but father can say the word that will save us
+all. He must swear he made a mistake&mdash;that he
+did sign those checks for the amounts drawn from
+the bank. That will paralyze Ormsby, and leave
+him powerless.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Lies! lies!&mdash;we are wallowing in lies!&#8221; groaned
+the rector.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;He shall pay the penalty of his fraud,&#8221; she cried.
+&#8220;Thief he calls me&mdash;well, it&#8217;s bred in the bone.
+Set a thief to catch a thief. I&#8217;ve run him to earth.
+He&#8217;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&#8217;ll
+mean! Think how he&#8217;ll cringe and whine and implore!
+It&#8217;ll be like plucking out his heart. I have
+the whip-hand of him now, and he shall dance to my
+tune. I shouldn&#8217;t be surprised if compulsory honesty
+and the restoration of ill-gotten wealth were to kill
+him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mary, Mary, be calm!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m going to him now,&#8221; she cried. &#8220;We&#8217;ll see
+who will be worsted in the fight. I&#8217;ll silence his
+taunts. There&#8217;ll be no more chuckling over his
+daughter&#8217;s misery&mdash;no more insults and abuse of
+you, John.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;My dear Mary, you mustn&#8217;t think of going now.
+You&#8217;re unsprung, overcome. You&#8217;ll do something
+rash. Let us be satisfied for the present with this
+great change of fortune. One ghost at least is laid&mdash;the
+terror of poverty. The way lies open now
+for our honorable confession. You see that, don&#8217;t
+you?&#8221; he pleaded. &#8220;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, no&mdash;think of Netty.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah, Netty is in trouble, dearest. She&#8217;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&#8217;t offend. You see, darling,
+the sins of the fathers have begun to descend on
+the children&mdash;Dick and Netty both stricken. We
+must confess!&mdash;confess!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I can&#8217;t, John, I can&#8217;t&mdash;I can&#8217;t. Dick won&#8217;t
+hear of it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick has no voice in the matter at all. It is the
+voice of God that calls.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, yes, I know, John, but&mdash;wait till I&#8217;ve seen
+father once more. I won&#8217;t listen to you, I won&#8217;t
+eat, I won&#8217;t sleep, until I&#8217;ve seen him. I&#8217;ll go to him
+at once.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I must come, too,&#8221; urged the rector weakly.
+Yet, the thought of facing the miser&#8217;s taunts at such
+a time filled him with unspeakable dread. And he
+could not tell her that Dick&#8217;s arrest was imminent.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Have some food, dearest, and go afterward.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I couldn&#8217;t eat. It would choke me,&#8221; Mrs.
+Swinton said, rebelliously.
+</p>
+<p>
+Netty, hearing her mother&#8217;s voice, came into the
+room, her eyes red with weeping.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You&#8217;ve heard, mother?&#8221; she cried, plaintively.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ve heard, Netty. To-morrow Mrs. Bent will
+be sorry. We&#8217;re no longer paupers, Netty.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why, grandfather isn&#8217;t dead?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, but we are rich. He&#8217;s a thief. We&#8217;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&mdash;all my mother&#8217;s fortune.
+I&#8217;ve only just found it out to-day from a lawyer.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, the villain!&#8221; cried Netty. &#8220;But I shall
+be jilted all the same. Dick has ruined and disgraced
+us all. I&#8217;m snubbed&mdash;jilted&mdash;thrown
+over, because my brother is a felon.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Silence, Netty. There are other people in the
+world beside yourself to think of,&#8221; cried the rector.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, nobody ever thinks of me,&#8221; sobbed the
+girl, angrily.
+</p>
+<p>
+There was a loud rattling at the front door. The
+rector started, and listened in terror.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Too late!&#8221; he groaned, dropping into a chair.
+&#8220;It&#8217;s the police!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John, you have betrayed me&mdash;after all!&#8221;
+screamed his wife, looking wildly around like a
+hunted thing.
+</p>
+<p>
+He bowed his head in assent. He misunderstood
+her meaning. &#8220;Ormsby has been here. He found
+out&mdash;by a slip of the tongue.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Well, so you&#8217;ve found me,&#8221; he cried, with a
+laugh. &#8220;It&#8217;s no good your thinking of taking me,
+unless you&#8217;ve brought a stretcher, for I can&#8217;t walk.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;We sha&#8217;n&#8217;t take you without doctor&#8217;s orders,
+if you&#8217;re ill, sir.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, he won&#8217;t give you the order, so you&#8217;d better
+leave your warrant, and run away and play.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I have to warn you, sir,&#8221; said the officer pompously,
+&#8220;that anything you say will be taken down
+in evidence against you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, take that down in evidence&mdash;what I&#8217;ve
+just said. You&#8217;re a smart lot to look everywhere
+except in the most likely place. Take that down
+as well.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;We don&#8217;t want any impudence. You&#8217;re our
+prisoner; we shall put an officer in the house.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, all I ask is that you won&#8217;t make things
+more unpleasant for my mother and father than is
+absolutely necessary. Now, get out. I&#8217;m reading
+an interesting book. If you should see Mr. Ormsby,
+you can give him my kind regards, and tell him he&#8217;s
+a bigger cad than I thought, and, when I&#8217;m free,
+I&#8217;ll repeat the dose I gave him at our club dinner.
+Say I&#8217;m sorry I didn&#8217;t rob his bank of seventy thousand
+instead of seven thousand.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Do I understand, sir,&#8221; said the officer, taking
+out his notebook, &#8220;that you confess to defrauding
+the bank of seven thousand dollars?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, certainly! I&#8217;ll confess to anything you
+like, only get out.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;For the last time, Mary, I implore you to
+speak.&#8221; He raised his hand, and his eyes blazed
+with a light new and strange to her.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;When you have compelled him to add lie to lie.
+Mary&mdash;wife&mdash;I charge you to speak, and save me
+the necessity of denouncing you.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John, you are mad. Trouble has turned your
+brain. What are you saying?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I am no longer your husband. I am your
+judge.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, John, John&mdash;give me time&mdash;give me a
+little time. I promise you, I will set everything right
+in a few hours.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The rector looked at the clock. &#8220;At half-past
+six, I go to conduct the evening service&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;you despise me&mdash;you want to get rid of
+me!&#8221; cried the wretched woman between her sobs,
+as she flung herself on her knees at his feet. &#8220;John!
+John! I can&#8217;t do it&mdash;I can&#8217;t!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Get away, woman&mdash;don&#8217;t touch me! You&#8217;re
+a bad woman. You have broken my faith in myself&mdash;almost
+my faith in God. I&#8217;ll have nothing further
+to do with you&mdash;or your father&mdash;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&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John! John!&mdash;you can&#8217;t&mdash;you won&#8217;t! You&#8217;ll
+keep me with you always. I&#8217;ll love you&mdash;oh&mdash;you
+shall not regret it. You cannot do without
+me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Out of my sight!&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s honor. Her
+thoughts flew again to her father&mdash;the greatest sinner,
+as she regarded him&mdash;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&#8217; respite&mdash;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&mdash;that
+a doctor&#8217;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>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Was that the meaning of the young man&#8217;s
+cheek?&#8221; 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&#8217;t care to hazard
+a guess openly.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;There is no objection to keeping our mouths
+shut for an hour or two, sir,&#8221; he answered.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I am obliged to you for the concession. Until
+after the evening service then; after that you can do
+as you please.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;I want to see my father at once, Mrs. Ripon,&#8221;
+the distracted woman declared.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The doctor is with him, madam. He won&#8217;t be
+long. Will you step into the library? Mr. Barnby
+is there.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;You have seen my father, Mr. Barnby. Is he
+well?&#8221; she asked, eagerly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He looked far from well. I was shocked at the
+change in him.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Did he send for you?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah! he has come to his senses, at last. I knew
+he would,&#8221; she cried. &#8220;So, you see, Mr. Barnby,
+that you were utterly in the wrong.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You forget, madam. You yourself admitted
+that the checks were altered without your knowledge.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Did I? No&mdash;no; certainly not! You misunderstood
+me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mr. Herresford and his family are fond of misunderstandings,&#8221;
+said the manager stiffly, with a
+flash of scorn. He shrewdly guessed who the real
+forger was; but, in the face of the miser&#8217;s declaration,
+he was powerless.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The sound of the arrival of another carriage
+broke upon Mrs. Swinton&#8217;s ear, and she listened in
+some surprise.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why are so many people arriving here at this
+hour?&#8221; 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&#8217;s
+own handwriting, short and dramatic in its appeal:
+</p>
+<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'>
+&#8220;Come to me. I am dying.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Trimmer, I must see my father at once,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Mr. Herresford,&#8221; the valet announced, &#8220;wishes
+to see Miss Dundas. The doctor is with him. No
+one else must come up.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But I insist,&#8221; Mrs. Swinton cried.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And I, too, insist,&#8221; 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&#8217;s wife fell back, too astonished to
+speak.
+</p>
+<p>
+Dora followed Trimmer&#8217;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&mdash;a black book with a silver lock&mdash;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>
+&#8220;For Dick&mdash;for present use&mdash;to put himself
+straight.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I understand, grandfather.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m saying&mdash;good-bye&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;To my money.... All for you....
+You&#8217;ll marry him?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No mourning&mdash;no delays&mdash;no silly nonsense
+of that sort.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It shall be as you wish.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Marry at once. And my daughter&mdash;beware
+of her. A bad woman. I saved it from her
+clutches. It&#8217;s there.&#8221; He pointed to the account-books.
+&#8220;If I hadn&#8217;t taken care of it for her, she
+would have squandered every penny&mdash;can&#8217;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&#8217;ll take care of it&mdash;you&#8217;ll take care of it? You
+won&#8217;t spend it?&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;It&#8217;s all here,&#8221; he cried, holding up the volume
+with palsied hand. &#8220;It runs into millions&mdash;millions!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The doctor shook his head at Dora, as much as
+to say, &#8220;Take no notice; he is wandering.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Trimmer now interrupted, entering the room abruptly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mrs. Swinton, sir, wishes to see you at once, on
+urgent business,&#8221; he announced.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Send her away!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Send her away,&#8221; he screamed. &#8220;Liar!&mdash;Cheat!&mdash;Forger!&mdash;Thief!
+She sha&#8217;n&#8217;t have my
+money&mdash;she sha&#8217;n&#8217;t&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The words rattled in his throat, and he fell forward
+into Dora&#8217;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&#8217;s insolent opposition to her will, entered
+the room at this moment.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why am I kept away from my father?&#8221; she
+cried.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your father is no more,&#8221; whispered the physician,
+gently.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dead?&mdash;dead?&mdash;And he never knew that I
+had found him out. The thief, dead&mdash;and I&mdash;Oh,
+father&mdash;!&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Where is your father, Netty?&#8221; Mrs. Swinton
+demanded.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Gone to the church, mother. He seems very
+strange.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Did he leave no message?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Did he show your father the letter?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What happened then?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He crushed it in his hand, and cried &#8216;Lies! lies!
+all lies!&#8217; and went out of the house, muttering and
+staring before him, like a man walking in his sleep.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Netty, you must take a message to your father,&#8221;
+Mrs. Swinton directed. &#8220;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.&#8221; Her voice
+was hoarse with fear.
+</p>
+<p>
+She dragged off her gloves, and entered her husband&#8217;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>
+&#8220;This must be given into your father&#8217;s hand, and
+he must read it before he goes into the pulpit, Netty,
+or we are all ruined. Your grandfather is dead&mdash;you
+understand?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dead&mdash;at last!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The joyous exclamation from the girl&#8217;s lips jarred
+horribly. Yet, it was only an echo of her own old,
+oft-repeated lament at the length of the miser&#8217;s life.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Let him write me a reply, for you to bring
+back.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Netty took the letter, and then followed her
+mother to the automobile, which was driven rapidly
+to St. Botolph&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;one sure to move a
+congregation more deeply than the richest oratory.
+</p>
+<p>
+Everybody knew that the rector&#8217;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&#8217;s heart&mdash;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&mdash;within three yards of her, so near
+that she could almost touch him.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;John! John!&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Confess your faults one to another and pray
+one for another that ye may be healed.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s voice rang out amid a breathless
+silence, as he repeated his text.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Confess your faults one to another and pray one
+for another that ye may be healed.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Brethren, I stand before you to-night for the
+last time.&#8221; A gasp and a murmur ran through the
+congregation, followed by an awed silence. &#8220;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>
+&#8220;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, &#8216;A woman tempted
+me and I fell!&#8217; I blame no one but myself. The
+voice of the tempter spoke to me in devious ways,
+and I listened.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The preacher paused, and rested silent for a long
+time. But, at last, he spoke again, hesitatingly:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You have doubtless heard of the terrible charge
+made against my brave son.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+There was a murmur, a shuffling of feet, and a
+turning of heads; eyes looking into eyes, saying,
+&#8220;Ah, I told you so.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;On the very day that the news of my boy&#8217;s supposed
+death reached me,&#8221; John Swinton continued,
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span>
+more firmly, &#8220;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&mdash;innocent! Ah! you are
+surprised. You have heard the story&mdash;garbled, no
+doubt&mdash;how he presented to the bank two checks
+for small amounts which had been altered into large
+ones&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;t explain to
+you all the circumstances, and make you realize the
+crying need for money which led my unhappy wife&mdash;God
+bless her, and forgive her, sinner though
+she be&mdash;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&mdash;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&mdash;that Mr. Herresford, who
+died to-day&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The murmuring and whispering and hoarse exclamations
+of astonishment at this announcement interrupted
+the preacher&#8217;s discourse for a moment.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;&mdash;that Mr. Herresford unlawfully withheld
+from her a very large income, left by his wife. He
+is dead&mdash;God rest his soul!&mdash;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>
+&#8220;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&#8217;s sake. Even now,
+he would have me close my lips. But there is a
+duty to One on High.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;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&mdash;evil done that good might come of it.
+The sin of the father&mdash;my sin&mdash;was ten times
+greater. I consented to, and acted, the lie: I, who
+lived in an atmosphere of sanctity&mdash;a hypocrite, a
+cheat, a fraud, admonishing sinners and backsliders&mdash;I,
+the greatest of them all.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&mdash;have&mdash;confessed! The rest is with
+the Lord.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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&#8217;s face, arose to their feet,
+and cried out loudly:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;He&#8217;ll fall!&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;John! John!&#8221; 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&mdash;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&mdash;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;except
+Dick.
+</p>
+<p>
+The young man&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;all the more
+acute because it humbled a woman who had borne
+herself proudly all her life&mdash;as much as fright
+prompted her flight. Moreover, she believed that
+Ormsby might act upon the rector&#8217;s confession, despite
+Herresford&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;for the present.
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Poor Mary, poor Mary!&#8221; he murmured, and
+fell asleep again.
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick&#8217;s recovery was more swift. He was soon at
+his father&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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 &#8220;positively
+sickening&#8221; 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&#8217;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: &#8220;Captain Ormsby has gone away on a three
+months&#8217; yachting cruise.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Dick, you are no longer an invalid, and it is absurd
+for you to pose as one.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, I feel pretty rotten, and I need a lot of attention.
+Come here, little one, and look after me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is absurd of you to describe yourself as weak,
+when you have a grip like that. Why, you positively
+bruised my arm.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dora made a great show of reluctance in coming
+to Dick&#8217;s side. He sat in his father&#8217;s arm-chair in
+the study, near the window, where the warm sunshine
+could fall upon him.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are a prisoner, Dora, until you tell me why
+you have avoided me during the past few days.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your father requires so much attention.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;And don&#8217;t I?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, you are getting quite yourself again, and
+rough, and brutal, and tyrannical.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+She looked at him indulgently, and made a little
+<i>moué</i>.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You know, we&#8217;re engaged, Dora, and, when a
+fellow is in love with a girl with lots of money, like
+you, it&#8217;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&#8217;t
+expect that same sweetheart to give him the cold
+shoulder.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Are you quite sure my going away didn&#8217;t make
+any difference to you, Dora?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;How foolish you are, Dick! That wretched
+will of your grandfather&#8217;s made it necessary that I
+should marry you, and marry you I must, or you&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Never mind about that. Your father was all
+eagerness that you should marry Ormsby at one time,
+wasn&#8217;t he?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick, I thought I told you never to mention that
+horrid man&#8217;s name again.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You are quite sure he is a horrid man?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick, don&#8217;t be absurd.&#8221; She flushed hotly.
+&#8220;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&mdash;I don&#8217;t like it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why not, darling?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Because it would have been so much nicer, if&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Thanks, darling, but I prefer the money, if you
+don&#8217;t mind.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Ah! but you&#8217;re a man.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I only want mother to come back to be perfectly
+happy,&#8221; Dick said, gravely. &#8220;You don&#8217;t know
+mother. She could stand anything but rebuke.
+That sermon of father&#8217;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;She must be wretchedly unhappy,&#8221; Dora agreed.
+&#8220;Yet, she writes no letters that give any clue to her
+feelings.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, the letters she sends are merely to let us
+know where she is&mdash;never a word about father.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Does she know how ill he has been?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, you see, I can&#8217;t write much, and I hesitated
+to say anything that would hurt her feelings.
+I said he&#8217;d been very ill, but was mending slowly, and
+we hoped to see him himself again in a week or two.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Does she know that he has given up St.
+Botolph&#8217;s?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, I told her that.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;She makes no mention of coming home?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Not a word.&#8221;
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dick, she must return, and at once,&#8221; Dora declared,
+vehemently.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Not to this place, Dora. She would never do it.
+It wouldn&#8217;t be fair to ask her.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But something must be done.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I don&#8217;t blame her for altering her father&#8217;s checks.
+That&#8217;s nothing,&#8221; observed Dora, with typical feminine
+inconsequence, &#8220;but letting people think that&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I know, I know! But it couldn&#8217;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&#8217;ve got to arrange it between us. If
+mother won&#8217;t come home, she must be fetched.&#8221;
+</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>
+&#8220;Can she ever forgive him?&#8221; she asked, after a
+pause.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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&#8217;ve got to be done. You don&#8217;t suppose
+he&#8217;s any less fond of mother than before, do you?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No; but, you see, a woman feels differently about
+these things&mdash;things of conscience, I mean. Your
+mother probably thinks he despises her, and a proud
+woman can never stand that.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But he doesn&#8217;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&mdash;his
+son&mdash;to be blamed for that&mdash;Well, it&#8217;s all
+wrong, anyway, and mother&#8217;s got to come home.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;How are we to set about it, Dick?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Dora, you&#8217;ll have to go and fetch her. I&#8217;ve
+thought it all out.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I? How can I? That wouldn&#8217;t do at all, Dick.
+Don&#8217;t you see that she would resent it&mdash;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You mean that you nearly married Ormsby because
+she led you to think that I wasn&#8217;t worth a
+tinker&#8217;s damn. Well, perhaps I wasn&#8217;t&mdash;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&#8217;d go to mother at
+once, if I were strong enough, but I&#8217;m not. So, what
+do you suggest, little girl?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;How?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Well, first of all, it wouldn&#8217;t be a bad idea to get
+Jane to turn your mother&#8217;s room out, and clean it as
+if getting ready for the return of the mistress of the
+house.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I see,&#8221; cried Dick, with a spasmodic tightening
+of the right hand which rested on Dora&#8217;s shoulder.
+&#8220;Give father the impression that she&#8217;s coming back,
+just to see how he takes it.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Good! Set about it to-day.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;ll find Jane at once. And, now, I&#8217;ve been here
+with you quite a long time, and there are many things
+for me to attend to.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;No, not yet,&#8221; he pleaded with an invalid&#8217;s sigh,
+a very mechanical one; but he had found it effectual
+in reaching Dora&#8217;s heart on previous occasions. It
+was efficacious to-day. Her heart was full to bursting
+with joy and love and&mdash;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&#8217;s room,
+and it was evident that something was going on.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What is happening?&#8221; he asked on one occasion,
+when he found the road to the staircase absolutely
+barred.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The mistress&#8217;s room is being prepared for her
+return,&#8221; replied Jane, to whom the query was addressed.
+</p>
+<p>
+He started as though someone had struck him in
+the breast.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Coming home,&#8221; he gasped, staring at the
+woman with dropped jaw and wondering eye.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Miss Dora&#8217;s orders, sir. She said the room
+might be wanted any day now, and it must be
+cleaned.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Coming home,&#8221; murmured the rector, as he
+steadied himself with the aid of the banister, &#8220;coming
+home! coming home!&#8221; 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. &#8220;Coming home! Mary coming home!&#8221;
+</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&mdash;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>
+&#8220;I shall just write and tell mother what you&#8217;ve
+done. Then, she can act as she pleases; but I expect
+she&#8217;ll be very angry.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s letter to her mother was characteristic:
+</p>
+<p style='font-size: 0.9em; margin-left:4%; margin-right:4%'>
+&#8220;<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&#8217;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%'>
+&#8220;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&#8217;, 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%'>
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</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&mdash;this hero of schoolgirl days,
+this lover of her runaway marriage.
+</p>
+<p>
+The eleven-o&#8217;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%'>
+&#8220;Shall be home to-morrow. Wife.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;s
+return was a matter of course, and not an occasion
+for wonderment.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then, at last, the rector&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Oh, my poor John, my poor John!&#8221; 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&mdash;from
+nowhere&mdash;and slipped the fare into the man&#8217;s
+hand. Rudd had caught the excitement of the household,
+and his face was beaming.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Was that mother?&#8221; cried Dick from an upper
+window, in a loud whisper.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, sir, it&#8217;s herself right enough.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;s musical voice
+was heard at the foot of the stairs, asking, &#8220;Where&#8217;s
+Dick?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I&#8217;m here, mother, and as lively as a cricket.&#8221;
+</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&#8217;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&#8217;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&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Do you know, Dick,&#8221; she remarked, &#8220;that I
+shall be hard put to it to live up to you? You are
+such a hero!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Pooh! Nonsense!&#8221; the lover exclaimed, in
+much confusion.
+</p>
+<p>
+But Dora shook her head, solemnly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;It is a fact,&#8221; she declared, &#8220;and all the world
+knows it. If I didn&#8217;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Good heavens!&#8221; Dick muttered, in consternation.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;&mdash;and they are going to club on a silver service
+for a wedding present. Isn&#8217;t that lovely?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, I suppose so,&#8221; Dick conceded. &#8220;But
+just think&mdash;if they should expect me to make a
+speech at the dinner! Good lord!&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dora opened her clear, gray eyes wide:
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Why, Dick!&#8221; she remonstrated. &#8220;You don&#8217;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?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;I never made a speech in my life,&#8221; the lover
+answered, shamefacedly; &#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;What? He dared?&#8221; Dora sat erect, and her
+eyes flashed in a sudden wrath. &#8220;Tell me about it,
+Dick.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+The story was soon related, and the girl&#8217;s indignation
+against his whilom rival filled him with delight.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The odd thing about it all was,&#8221; he went on,
+&#8220;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.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Oh, Dick,&#8221; Dora cried, &#8220;have you the feather
+still?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Yes, indeed,&#8221; was the smiling answer. &#8220;You
+see, I got into the habit of keeping it by me.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;But you haven&#8217;t it with you, now?&#8221; The girl&#8217;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>
+&#8220;Oh, yes, I have it,&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;It&mdash;it isn&#8217;t exactly a white feather now,&#8221; she
+suggested. &#8220;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dick interrupted, somewhat indignantly.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;You can&#8217;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&#8217;t
+help the blood&mdash;could I?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span>
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;The blood!&#8221; Dora exclaimed, startled, and her
+face whitened. &#8220;What blood, Dick?&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Mine. You see, it lay right alongside the place
+where that bullet scraped my side.&#8221;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#8220;Your blood!&#8221; The girl&#8217;s face was wonderfully
+alight. &#8220;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&mdash;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&mdash;&#8221;
+</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 &amp; DUNLAP&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217;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. &#8220;Old Chester Tales&#8221; 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&#8217;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&#8217;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 &#8220;Brer Rabbit&#8217;s Laughing
+Place,&#8221; 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&#8217;s soul&mdash;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&#8217;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, &#8220;Old Man Lynch&#8221; 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 &amp; Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
+</p>
+<hr class='ppg-pb' />
+
+<p style='text-align: center; font-size: 1.3em'>
+GROSSET &amp; DUNLAP&#8217;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&#8217;S PA.</span> By Norman Way. Illustrated with scenes
+from the play.
+</p>
+<p>
+Delightful, irresponsible &#8220;Mary Jane&#8217;s Pa&#8221; 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>
+&#8220;Cherub,&#8221; 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&#8217;S WAY.</span> By Charles Somerville. Illustrated with
+scenes from the play.
+</p>
+<p>
+A story in which a woman&#8217;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&#8217;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 &amp; 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 &amp; DUNLAP&#8217;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&#8217;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&mdash;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&#8217; 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&mdash;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 &amp; 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 &amp; DUNLAP&#8217;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 &#8220;Further Adventures&#8221;
+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&mdash;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 &#8220;a lover and his lass&#8221;
+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 &amp; 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&#8217;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 &#8216;a&#8217;: 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: &#8220;Who is that coming up the drive?&#8221; 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
+
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@@ -0,0 +1,9803 @@
+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 Grefe
+
+Release Date: February 19, 2009 [EBook #28123]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** 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
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+
+
+
+[Illustration: THERE WAS SOMETHING MAGNETIC ABOUT THIS MAN WHOM SHE
+FEARED AND TRIED TO HATE.--Page 201]
+
+
+
+
+  THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+  BY
+  HOUGHTON TOWNLEY
+
+  Author of
+  "The Bishop's Emeralds"
+
+  ILLUSTRATIONS BY
+  WILL GREFE
+
+  NEW YORK
+  GROSSET & DUNLAP
+  PUBLISHERS
+
+
+
+
+  COPYRIGHT, 1909 BY
+  W. J. WATT & COMPANY
+
+  _Published June, 1909_
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+  CHAPTER                                         PAGE
+        I  The Sheriff's Writ                        9
+       II  The Check                                21
+      III  The Dinner at the Club                   33
+       IV  Dora Dundas                              39
+        V  Debts                                    50
+       VI  A Kinship Something Less Than Kind       66
+      VII  Good-bye                                 82
+     VIII  A Tiresome Patient                       89
+       IX  Herresford is Told                       93
+        X  Hearts Ache and Ache Yet Do Not Break   102
+       XI  A House of Sorrow                       117
+      XII  A Difficult Position                    125
+     XIII  Dick's Heroism                          135
+      XIV  Mrs. Swinton Confesses                  147
+       XV  Colonel Dundas Speaks His Mind          168
+      XVI  Mr. Trimmer Comes Home                  173
+     XVII  Mrs. Swinton Goes Home                  190
+    XVIII  A Second Proposal                       195
+      XIX  An Unexpected Telegram                  204
+       XX  The Wedding Day Arranged                221
+      XXI  Dick's Return                           226
+     XXII  The Blight of Fear                      237
+    XXIII  Dora Sees Herresford                    249
+     XXIV  Dick Explains to Dora                   262
+      XXV  Tracked                                 280
+     XXVI  Mrs. Swinton Hears the Truth            288
+    XXVII  Ormsby Refuses                          297
+   XXVIII  The Will                                307
+     XXIX  A Public Confession                     320
+      XXX  Flight                                  333
+     XXXI  Dora Decides                            340
+    XXXII  Home Again                              348
+   XXXIII  The Scarlet Feather                     353
+
+
+
+
+THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+
+
+
+THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+
+CHAPTER I
+
+THE SHERIFF'S WRIT
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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, quite
+content to be quiet, only asking to be left alone and caressed at rare
+intervals by highly-esteemed persons.
+
+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.
+
+The rector was even now struggling with his accounts.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+The rector turned over the leaves of the account-books, and sighed
+heavily.
+
+"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."
+
+"Bankrupt, John!" his wife murmured, languidly raising her brows. "You
+are exaggerating."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Only a matter of a thousand dollars, John?" cried Mrs. Swinton, after
+another puff from her cigarette. Then, glancing at the 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.
+
+"Mary, you must be late for once," cried the disturbed husband, striding
+over to her. "We must talk this matter out."
+
+She smiled up at him bewitchingly, and he melted, for he adored her
+still.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes, of course, he did. That was why I became responsible. But you know
+what his promises are."
+
+"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."
+
+"Hush, darling! He is a very old man."
+
+"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 what everyone would say--that you had been
+speculating, or gambling, just because you dabbled a little in mines a
+few years ago."
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+It did not for one moment occur to his generous 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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 builder man, and tell him he will have his money. I'll get it
+somehow, if I have to pawn my jewels."
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes, that's a device of his, although they belonged to my mother. At any
+rate, write the man a sharp letter."
+
+"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."
+
+The two had been through scenes like this before, but never had the
+situation hitherto been so desperate as to-night.
+
+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.
+
+"Don't look so worried, dear," she murmured. "What's a thousand dollars!
+Why, I might win that much at bridge, to-night."
+
+"Don't, darling, don't!" the husband groaned, distractedly.
+
+Any mention of bridge was as salt upon an open wound to him. He knew that
+his wife played for 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?
+
+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.
+
+"What, you again?" gasped the servant.
+
+"Yes. It's all right, I suppose? He ain't here?"
+
+"The young master?" Rudd inquired, with a grin. "No. And it's lucky for
+you that he ain't."
+
+"Parson in?" came the curt query.
+
+"Yes," Rudd answered, reluctantly.
+
+"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!"
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER II
+
+THE CHECK
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"I've explained to the gent, ma'am, and he's gone out to get the money,"
+was the prompt answer.
+
+"You mean, my husband?"
+
+"Yes, the parson, ma'am. I come to levy--execution. You understand,
+ma'am."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 certain miserly instincts in the man until they became the
+dominant force of his life. By reason of this stinginess, his daughter
+was 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 lawns, which stretched away on the plateau before the
+house.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Father, I have come to see you."
+
+She kissed him on the brow, and his eyes darted an upward look, keen and
+penetrating as an eagle's.
+
+"Then you want something. The usual?"
+
+"Yes, father--money."
+
+This was an undertaking often embarked upon before, and successfully, but
+each time with a bitterer 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.
+
+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.
+
+"How much is it now?" asked the miser.
+
+"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."
+
+"What!" screamed the old man, in horror. "A thousand dollars! It's a
+lie."
+
+"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--"
+
+"Like his insolence."
+
+"And you promised a thousand dollars."
+
+"A thousand? Nothing of the sort," snarled the miser, scratching the
+coverlet with hooked fingers--always a sign of irritation with him. "I
+said one, not one thousand."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Father, father, be reasonable. There is a man at our house--a sheriff's
+officer. Think of it!"
+
+"Aha, has it come to that!" laughed the miser. "Now, he will wake up.
+Now, we shall see!"
+
+"Not only that, father. Dick may go away."
+
+"What, fleeing from justice?"
+
+"No, no, father. He is going to volunteer for service in the war."
+
+She commenced to give him details, but he hushed her down. "How
+much?--How much?" he asked, insultingly. "I told you before that you
+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."
+
+"Oh, father, father, it is expected of you."
+
+"How much?" snapped the old man.
+
+"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."
+
+"What!" he screamed. "Two thousand! Two, you mean. Get me my
+check-book--get me my check-book."
+
+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.
+
+"Two thousand, father," she said, gently.
+
+"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.
+
+"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 noughts for
+the cents. Then, he paused and addressed her again, emphasizing his
+remarks with the end of the penholder.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Have you no gratitude?" cried the old horror from the bed. "Can't you
+say, thank you?"
+
+"Thank you, father," she answered, coldly; "I am tired of your jests,"
+and, without another word, she swept from the room.
+
+"Two!" chuckled the old man in his throat, "two!"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"My own father!" she cried bitterly, as she spread out the check before
+her. "Two dollars!"
+
+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 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.
+
+Her face lighted up with a sudden reckless thought.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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!
+
+Dick would take the check to the bank for her, 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.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Who presented this check?"
+
+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.
+
+"Young Mr. Swinton presented it, sir," the cashier explained.
+
+Vivian Ormsby's eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the check more closely.
+
+"Leave it with me," he commanded, "and count out the notes."
+
+As soon as he was alone, he went to a cupboard and took out a magnifying
+glass.
+
+"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." Vivian Ormsby had special reasons for hating Dick Swinton just
+now, not unconnected with a certain Dora Dundas.
+
+Yet, he sent for his cashier, and handed him the check.
+
+"Pay it," he directed.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+THE DINNER AT THE CLUB
+
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The dinner progressed tamely enough until the 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.
+
+"Some of you--perhaps all--" he concluded, "are willing to go with me.
+Let such as will stand up."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+He seemed ashamed to look up, and was overcome by the unexpected
+prominence into which he was thrown. He was deathly pale; but his mouth
+expressed dogged determination.
+
+"Not Swinton?" asked the colonel, reproachfully.
+
+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.
+
+"Fill him up a glass of champagne, a stiff one--it will give him some
+Dutch courage," remarked Captain Ormsby _sotto voce_, 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.
+
+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 room. Then, he
+kicked his chair back, and strode to the door just behind him.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+  DEAREST, 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 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.--DORA.
+
+He groaned as he realized that this note should have been read earlier.
+It was too late now.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IV
+
+DORA DUNDAS
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Mrs. Swinton and Miss Netty have breakfasted in their rooms, sir. The
+rector has gone out. And it's nine o'clock."
+
+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.
+
+When Dick was dressed, he opened the girl's letter, and his face
+softened:
+
+  DEAREST, 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.
+
+                                    Your loving,
+                                                             DORA.
+
+"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."
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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 the 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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"I suppose you've heard all about last night?" asked Dick, hoarsely.
+
+"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?"
+
+The color fled from Dick's face, and left it white and drawn.
+
+"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."
+
+"But who was it? Not Jack Lorrimer or Harry Bent, surely?"
+
+"Then, you don't know?" he exclaimed.
+
+Something in his face made her heart stand still.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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 angry with Vivian Ormsby;
+but--and there came the rub--of course, he would go now, at all costs.
+
+"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--"
+
+"But your grandfather, Dick! Surely, only a word to him would be enough.
+He could not refuse to behave handsomely."
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, Dick!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Dick! Dick!" cried the girl. "I'm a soldier's daughter. I--"
+
+"Oh, pray spare me a repetition of your father's platitudes--I've heard
+them often enough. I don't 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."
+
+He extended his hand, sullenly and coldly.
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, yes, of course, we'll be discreet. And, if I'm killed--well, nobody
+will know of our engagement."
+
+"Dick, if you died on the field of battle, I should be proud to proclaim
+to all the world that--"
+
+She broke down and sobbed, in spite of some staring passers-by, who saw
+that there was a lover's quarrel in progress.
+
+"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."
+
+"Dick! Don't leave me like that."
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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 usual attraction of a good-looking,
+soft-eyed Adonis gained favor by the whispered suggestion that he was
+dangerous.
+
+But, in truth, Dick was only bored with women until he fell in love with
+Dora, and took the girl's heart by storm.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Now, you're mine," he murmured, with a great sigh of relief, "and we're
+engaged."
+
+She smiled and nodded, and came to his heart again of her own accord.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+On his return to the rectory, Dick met his mother in the porch.
+
+"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--"
+
+"It's all right, Dick. You can have your outfit; I've got enough. I
+suppose five hundred dollars will cover it?"
+
+"It'll have to, if that's all I can get, mother."
+
+"That is all I can spare."
+
+"Out of grandfather's two thousand?"
+
+"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."
+
+Dick groaned.
+
+"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."
+
+"He's an old brute," growled Dick, as he strode away.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+DEBTS
+
+
+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.
+
+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 glass he once more examined every
+stroke made by Mrs. Swinton's spluttering pen.
+
+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!
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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
+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.
+
+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.
+
+When the physician was asked to give his opinion some time later, he
+expressed a belief that the 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.
+
+And Dick was going to the war!
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The trouble was once more money--the bitterness of poverty, fresh-edged
+and keen. He must 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.
+
+The letter was short and emphatic:
+
+  SIR, 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.
+
+                                    Yours truly,
+                                                     WILLIAM WISE.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 and fifty dollars
+more to be raised at once; and the two thousand just received from
+Herresford all gone.
+
+Netty entered the room at the moment.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"You mustn't call yourself old. You're not even respectably middle-aged.
+But what do you want to talk to me about?"
+
+"Money, my dear, money."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 to worry your mother about. By the way,
+what is she doing now?"
+
+"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.
+
+"And what am I to look at?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Congratulations on having received a present? And who gave it to my
+Persian?" asked the rector, absently.
+
+"Who gave it to me? It's my engagement ring. Harry and I settled
+everything last night."
+
+"Harry?"
+
+"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 be wretched. I'm going
+to have a lovely time for always and always."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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 a 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't, Jack, don't! I'm frightfully worried. What was it you and Netty
+were talking about?"
+
+"Ah, what indeed! The child tells me she is engaged to Harry Bent, and
+that you know all about it."
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+"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 all, that you should know everything--for
+it will make the parting with Dick less hard."
+
+"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.
+
+"I've had a letter threatening his arrest."
+
+"Arrest!" she cried, starting up. Her voice was a chord of fear.
+
+"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."
+
+"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 ought to be ours. He can't
+refuse--he shall not!"
+
+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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"But how about your own trouble, darling? Why must you have a thousand
+dollars?"
+
+"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."
+
+"But, my darling, that was practically raising money on heirlooms. Your
+father distinctly warned you that the jewels were only lent. They are
+his, not yours."
+
+"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."
+
+"It is the same thing, dear one. You certainly ought to get them back."
+
+"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."
+
+"Such a sum is out of the question. You must persuade the woman to
+wait."
+
+"That is why I was going up to town to-day. But my debt far exceeds that
+sum."
+
+"By how much?"
+
+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.
+
+"Nearly two thousand, John."
+
+"For dresses--only dresses?"
+
+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 cry for money could only be silenced by the one person who
+held it all--her father.
+
+Once more, rage against him surged up in her heart, and she relieved her
+pent-up feelings in the usual way.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Do! What could he do?" she replied, with a mirthless laugh. "A man can't
+prosecute his own child."
+
+"Some men can, and do. Your father is just the sort to outrage all family
+sentiment, and defy public opinion."
+
+"You don't think that!" she cried, turning around on him very suddenly,
+with a terrified look in her eyes.
+
+They were interrupted by a tap at the door.
+
+"A gentleman to see you, sir; at least, sir, to see Mr. Dick." The
+manservant's manner was halting and embarrassed.
+
+"What does he want with Mr. Dick?"
+
+"Well, sir, he says--"
+
+"Well, what does he say?"
+
+The man looked at his master and mistress hesitatingly, as though he
+would rather not speak. "He says, sir--"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"That he has come to arrest him--but he would like to see you first."
+
+"There must be some mistake. Send him in."
+
+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.
+
+"Why have you come?" asked the rector.
+
+"Well, there's a warrant. It has been reported he was going to skip."
+
+"Why have you come so soon? I only received Wise's letter this morning."
+
+"It was sent the day before yesterday."
+
+The rector picked up the letter, and found that it was dated two days
+ago.
+
+"There was evidently a delay in transmission. What are we to do?" asked
+the clergyman, turning to his wife despairingly.
+
+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.
+
+"My instructions were to give reasonable time, 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"If there is any likelihood of your being able to do anything by evening,
+of course--"
+
+"He'll wait. He must wait," cried Mrs. Swinton, taking up her muff. "I'll
+have to see father about it."
+
+"You must wait till this evening, my man."
+
+"All right, then. Until six o'clock?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Very well, six o'clock," the man agreed, and withdrew.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"Sophistry, my darling, sophistry!"
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VI
+
+A KINSHIP SOMETHING LESS THAN KIND
+
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, sir, if we don't suit you, we can go."
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"What will you take for luncheon to-day, sir?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Because I've nothing to say, sir."
+
+"That's right, that's right. Now that you've left 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."
+
+"What, another?"
+
+"Yes. It'll pay, won't it, to get fifty dollars a year more, and save me
+two hundred on the outdoor staff, eh?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Who gave you permission to pick my flowers?" 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."
+
+The daughter did not reply. She walked across the room very slowly, and
+rang the bell, waiting until a maid appeared.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Herresford had watched her from under his screwed-up eyelids, and, as she
+commenced to read, he sighed irritably.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Five hundred is next to useless. It is disgracefully little for an
+outfit and general expenses of your grandson."
+
+"The boy is a scamp; an idle, horse-racing young vagabond--a thief, too.
+Have you forgotten that horse he stole? I haven't."
+
+"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!
+here's the book," and Mrs. Swinton drew it toward her as she seated
+herself at the desk.
+
+She knew his ways so well that in his increasing petulance she saw the
+coming surrender.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, the very lowest is fifty, father," she remarked, with a sudden
+abandonment of irritation, and a new light in her fine eyes.
+
+"Ah! that's more like it."
+
+"Then, I'll make it fifty."
+
+"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."
+
+She had commenced the check. The date was filled in, and the name of her
+son as the payee.
+
+"Five, madam--not a penny more. Five!"
+
+The inspiration vibrated in her brain. Why not repeat the successful
+forgery? He would miss five thousand as little as five.
+
+She wrote "five," in letters, and lower down filled in the numeral,
+putting it very near the dollar-sign.
+
+"Father, you are driving me to desperation. It's your fault if--"
+
+"Give me the pen--give me the pen," he snarled. "If you keep me waiting
+too long, I shall change my mind."
+
+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.
+
+Five thousand dollars!
+
+The same process of alteration as before was adopted. This time there was
+no flaw or suspicious spluttering.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+This would still leave a small balance in hand.
+
+And they would economize in the future.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 wives lying unburied for lack of funds to
+pay the undertaker.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dick returned, ignorant of his danger of arrest, and almost at the moment
+when his mother had accomplished her second forgery.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+She dropped her eyes nervously, and heard him catch his breath.
+
+"Five thousand!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Arrest me?"
+
+"Yes. It was an awful blow to your father."
+
+"Arrest!" he groaned. "I feared it. But you've got five thousand. It'll
+save us all!"
+
+"The check isn't cashed yet. Here it is."
+
+He seized the little slip eagerly, his eyes glistening. It was his
+respite, and might mean the end of all their troubles.
+
+"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."
+
+"How much do your debts amount to, Dick?" asked Mrs. Swinton, in some
+trepidation.
+
+"I hardly know; but the ones which must be paid before I go will amount
+to a good many hundreds, I fear."
+
+"Oh, Dick! I'm sorry, but need all be paid now? You see, the money is
+badly wanted for other things."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't, Dick, don't!" she sobbed, rising and flinging her arms about
+him.
+
+She was much overwrought, and her tears fell fast. Dick embraced his
+beautiful mother, and kissed her with an affection that was almost
+lover-like.
+
+"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."
+
+"But I was hoping to help your father. He's getting quite white with
+worry. Have you noticed how he has aged lately?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+He looked at it--the check--lovingly, and sighed with satisfaction.
+
+"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."
+
+"No, Dick don't go," cried the guilty woman, nervously.
+
+"But I must, mother. It won't do to give him any further excuses for
+fault-finding."
+
+"If you go, say nothing about the money."
+
+"But--"
+
+"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."
+
+"All right, mother." And Dick went off to the bank with the check,
+feeling that the world was a much-improved place.
+
+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.
+
+Dick stepped into the strange room, and saluted his relative.
+
+"Good-afternoon, grandfather. I've called to see you to say good-bye," he
+said, cheerily.
+
+"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.
+
+"I am going away to the war, grandfather, and I may never return."
+
+"And a good job, too, sir--a good job, too."
+
+Dick's teeth were hard set. The insult had to be endured.
+
+"Don't come asking me for money, sir, because you won't get it."
+
+"No, grandfather, I have enough, thank you. Your generosity has touched
+me, after your close-fis--your talks about economy, I mean."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I want no more money," cried the young man, hotly. "You know that
+perfectly well, grandfather."
+
+"That's good news, then."
+
+The old man subsided and collapsed into his pillows.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Dick gave a despairing sigh, and turned away.
+
+"Well, then, good-bye, grandfather. If I get shot--"
+
+"Go and get shot, sir--and be damned to you!" cried the old man.
+
+"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."
+
+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:
+
+"Dick! Dick! I'm an old man. I never mean what I say. I'll pay--"
+
+The last words were choked with a sigh, and he lay back, breathing
+heavily.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VII
+
+GOOD-BYE
+
+
+"Go and get shot!"
+
+The old man's words rang in Dick's ears as he rode away.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 as cotton-wool beneath her feet. Tears?--absurd! A
+soldier's daughter send her lover to the front with hysterical sobs?
+Never!
+
+She controlled herself, and approached him quite close before he saw her,
+so absorbed was he in meditation.
+
+"Dora!" he cried.
+
+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.
+
+"I didn't mean to cry, Dick."
+
+"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."
+
+"Dick, that is not the mind of a soldier."
+
+"Well, it's my mind, anyway. You see, you've 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."
+
+"But you'll go now, and fight for your country and--for me. You'll come
+back covered with glory, I know you will."
+
+"Perhaps--and maybe I sha'n't come back at all."
+
+"Then, I shall mourn my hero as a noble patriot, who never showed the
+white feather."
+
+"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."
+
+"Every man is a part of his nation, and the nation's quarrel is his
+own."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Every day."
+
+"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."
+
+"You certainly are a very bad letter-writer, Dick," 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."
+
+"You are sure, Dora, that you're not sorry you engaged yourself to a
+useless person like me?"
+
+"You shall not abuse yourself in that way!"
+
+"You are quite sure?" he repeated.
+
+"Quite sure, my hero."
+
+"And you never cared for that cad, Ormsby? not one little bit?"
+
+"No. Not one little bit."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh, it's no bother. We have two trained nurses there, who take night and
+day duty. I only relieve them occasionally."
+
+Dick grunted contemptuously.
+
+"You'll send him away as soon as he gets well, won't you?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I've got a bone to pick with Ormsby when I come back. Do you know what
+the cad said about me at the dinner?"
+
+"No."
+
+"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."
+
+"How infamous!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+At last, it was good-bye. The very end, the dreadful wrench--the absolute
+adieu!
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER VIII
+
+A TIRESOME PATIENT
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+He allowed himself idly to imagine that this was 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.
+
+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.
+
+When there was talk of the patient getting up, he was increasingly
+irritable if Dora were away. One day, he seized her hand, and carried it
+to his lips--dry, fevered lips that scorched her.
+
+"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?
+
+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.
+
+"Which check?" asked Mr. Barnby; "the one for two thousand or the one for
+five thousand? I have them both."
+
+"There are two, then?"
+
+Ormsby's eyes glistened.
+
+"Yes, with the same strange discoloration of the ink. This is the one;
+and I have brought the glass with me."
+
+Ormsby examined Mrs. Swinton's second forgery under the magnifier, and
+was puzzled.
+
+"The addition has been cleverly made. The writing seems to be the same.
+Whose handwriting is it--not Herresford's?"
+
+"It seems to be Mrs. Swinton's. Compare it with these old checks in his
+pass-book, and you will see if I am not right. She has drawn many checks
+for him and frequently altered them, but always with an initial."
+
+"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?"
+
+"No, not all--but nearly all of it has been withdrawn."
+
+"Then, he has robbed us of seven thousand dollars?"
+
+"If the checks are forgeries, yes. I hope not, I sincerely hope not. If
+you doubted the first check--"
+
+"The scoundrel! Go at once to Herresford. The old man must refund and
+make good the loss, or we are in a predicament."
+
+"I'll go immediately. I suppose it is the young man's work? It is
+impossible to conceive that Mrs. Swinton--his own daughter--"
+
+"Don't be a fool. Go to Herresford."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER IX
+
+HERRESFORD IS TOLD
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+At the mention of the word bank, the old man lost all interest in things
+out of doors.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Will you take a seat, Mr.----? I didn't quite catch your name."
+
+"Barnby, sir."
+
+"Take a seat, Mr. Barnby. You've come to see me about money?"
+
+"Yes, sir, an unpleasant matter, I fear."
+
+"Depression in the market, eh? Things still falling? Ah! It's the war,
+the war--curse it! Tell me more--tell me quickly!"
+
+"It's a family matter, sir."
+
+"Family matter! What has my family to do with my money--ha! I guess why
+you've come. Yes--yes--something to do with my grandson?"
+
+"Just so, sir."
+
+"What is it now? Debts, overdrawn accounts--what--what?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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.
+
+"One check was made out to your daughter, Mary Swinton, and presented at
+the bank, and cashed by your grandson, Mr. Richard Swinton."
+
+"Yes, for five dollars."
+
+"Five thousand dollars, sir."
+
+"But I tell you I never drew it."
+
+"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."
+
+"What!" screamed the old man, raising himself on one hand and extending
+the other. "Let me look! Let me look!"
+
+His bony claw was outstretched, every finger quivering with excitement.
+
+"These are the checks, sir. That is your correct signature, I believe?"
+
+"I never signed them--I never signed them. Take them away. They're not
+mine."
+
+"Pardon me, sir, the signature is undoubtedly yours. Do you remember
+signing any check for two dollars or for five?"
+
+"Yes, yes, of course. I gave her two--yes--and I gave her five--for the
+boy."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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 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.
+
+"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."
+
+"No, sir, surely not. A member of your own family--"
+
+"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."
+
+"But he is your grandson, sir. I take it that you would not desire a
+scandal, a public exposure."
+
+"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."
+
+"But he is your heir."
+
+"Nothing of the sort. He is not my heir."
+
+"But some day--"
+
+"Some day! What has some day got to do with you, eh, sir? Are you in my
+confidence, sir? Have I ever told you that I intend to leave my money to
+my grandson?"
+
+"No, sir, of course not. I beg your pardon if I presumed--"
+
+"You do presume, sir."
+
+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.
+
+"Then, sir, I take it, that you wish us to prosecute your grandson--who
+is at the war."
+
+"Prosecute whom you like, sir, but don't come here pretending that you're
+not responsible for the acts of fraudulent swindlers."
+
+"It has been fought out over and over again, and I believe never settled
+satisfactorily."
+
+"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."
+
+"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
+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--"
+
+"What! Do you mean to insinuate that my daughter--my daughter--sir, would
+be capable of a low, cunning forgery?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+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 him with the act of a fool. As a parting shot, he asked:
+
+"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--?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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?"
+
+"I said nothing, sir."
+
+"Then, what are you waiting for? Get back to your bank, and look after my
+money."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+HEARTS ACHE AND ACHE YET DO NOT BREAK
+
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+The colonel turned on his heel, and was out of the room before Dora could
+stop him.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Must! Captain Ormsby," faltered Dora, with the color flooding her
+cheeks. "I never allow anyone to use that word to me--not even father."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+He uttered an exclamation of bitter annoyance.
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"But I don't," cried Dora, angrier than before.
+
+"You will change presently."
+
+"Never!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Forgery of what?" she asked, with a little, contemptuous laugh.
+
+"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."
+
+"You are saying this in spite--to frighten me."
+
+"Ah, you may well be frightened. The best thing he can do is to get
+shot."
+
+"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.
+
+"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--"
+
+"Stop! I will not listen--I won't believe unless I hear it from his own
+lips."
+
+"You shall see the police warrant."
+
+"I will not believe it, I tell you. His last words to me were a warning
+against you. He told me to 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."
+
+With that, she left him chewing the cud of his bitterness.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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 invalided home, and
+her chief interest in the war news was removed.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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 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 altogether. 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.
+
+The thunderbolt fell on a day that she had devoted to her husband's
+interests.
+
+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.
+
+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 the
+ever-present army of free sight-seers, and a leaven of real workers.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"He is coming later, with John."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+Mr. Barnby was the visitor. He came forward to shake the rector's hand
+awkwardly.
+
+"What is it, Barnby?" cried the rector, with a laugh. "No overdrawn
+account yet awhile, surely."
+
+"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."
+
+"Forgeries! What do you mean?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"He repudiates these checks, sir. They were presented at the bank by your
+son, Mr. Richard Swinton, 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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"But the checks themselves bear evidence of alteration."
+
+"Do you, too, sir, mean to insinuate that my son is a forger?"
+
+A sudden rat-tat at the door silenced them, and a servant entered with a
+telegram.
+
+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.
+
+"My son"--he explained.
+
+"Nothing serious, I hope. Not--?"
+
+"Yes--dead!"
+
+There was a long pause, during which the rector stood breathing heavily,
+with one hand upon his heart. Mr. Barnby folded the forged checks
+mechanically, and stammered out:
+
+"Under--the--er--circumstances, I think this interview had better be
+postponed. Pray accept my condolences, sir. I am deeply, truly sorry."
+
+"Gone!--killed!--and he didn't want to go."
+
+With the tears streaming down his cheeks, the stricken man turned once
+more to the telegram, and muttered the vital purport of its message:
+
+  "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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XI
+
+A HOUSE OF SORROW
+
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+A momentary spirit of rebellion took possession of him, and he clenched
+his fists and cursed the war.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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--"
+
+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.
+
+"Stop!" he cried in his agony.
+
+At the moment, the study door opened gently--the soft rustle of silk--his
+wife.
+
+In an instant, she was at his side.
+
+"What is it--what has happened?"
+
+He rose, and extended his hand to her like a blind man. "Dick--"
+
+"Is dead! Oh!"
+
+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?"
+
+"He died gloriously, darling--for his country, performing an act of
+gallantry--volunteering to run a great risk. A hero's death."
+
+They wept in each other's arms for some moments, and the gay music
+stopped of its own accord.
+
+"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. Their condolences would madden us. Send them away, John--send
+them away."
+
+"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."
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"Mother--mother, they're all asking for you. The bishop is going now.
+Why, what is the matter?"
+
+"Your mother and I are not very well, Netty, dear. Tell them we shall be
+back in a moment."
+
+"More money worries, I suppose," sighed Netty with a shrug, as she went
+out of the room.
+
+"You see how much Netty cares," cried Mrs. Swinton.
+
+"You're rather hard on the girl, dearest. Your heart is bitter with your
+loss. Let us be charitable."
+
+"But Dick!--Dick! Our boy!" she sobbed. Then, with a wonderful effort,
+she aroused herself, 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.
+
+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.
+
+"What's the matter?" cried the bishop at last, when John Swinton burst
+into tears, and turned away with a sob.
+
+The rector waved his hand to the telegram lying on the table, and the
+bishop took it up.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Father, something serious is the matter with mother. You've had news
+from the war. What is it--nothing has happened to Harry?"
+
+"No, child--your brother."
+
+"Oh!"
+
+The unguarded exclamation expressed a world of relief. Then, Netty's
+shallow brain commenced to work, and she murmured:
+
+"Is Dick wounded or--?"
+
+"The worst, Netty dear. He is gone."
+
+He spoke with his face still hidden. "Go to your mother," he pleaded, for
+he wished to be alone.
+
+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.
+
+Of a sudden, he remembered Mr. Barnby's accusation against his son's
+honor. The horrible, abominable suggestion of forgery.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The rector pulled himself together, and went to his 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.
+
+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.
+
+And thus they sat now, till the fire burned out, and the keen, frosty air
+penetrated the room, chilling them to the bone.
+
+"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."
+
+She arose wearily, and asked in quite a casual manner, as if trying to
+avoid the matter of their sorrow:
+
+"What did Barnby want?"
+
+"Oh, he came with some crazy story about--some checks Dick cashed for
+you, which your father repudiates. The old man must be going mad!"
+
+"Checks?" she asked huskily, and her face was drawn with terror.
+
+"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."
+
+"Does he accuse Dick?" she asked, in a strained voice; "Dick, who is
+dead?"
+
+"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."
+
+She made no reply, but with bowed head walked unsteadily out of the room.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XII
+
+A DIFFICULT POSITION
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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 nothing by
+marrying the daughter against her father's wishes.
+
+It was bad enough to have troubles coming upon him in battalions without
+this final blow--the charge of forgery against Dick.
+
+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.
+
+He would not scruple to prosecute his own child 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+He arose awkwardly, and she gave him a distant bow.
+
+"You wish to see me, I understand, and you come from some bank, I
+believe?"
+
+She spoke in a manner indicating that her visitor was a person of whose
+existence she had just become aware.
+
+"Your husband has not informed you of the purport of my visit last night,
+Mrs. Swinton?" asked Mr. Barnby.
+
+"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?"
+
+"It cannot wait," replied Mr. Barnby, with growing coolness. He saw a
+terrified look in her eyes, 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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I--I did. Yes, I believe so. I can't remember."
+
+"Did you receive one from him for two thousand dollars?"
+
+"Why do you ask?"
+
+"Because the check for two dollars appears to have been altered into two
+thousand."
+
+"Let me see it," she demanded with the greatest _sang froid_.
+
+He produced the check, and she took it; but her hand trembled.
+
+"This is certainly a check for two thousand dollars, but I know nothing
+of it."
+
+"It was presented at the bank by your son, and cashed."
+
+"I tell you I know nothing of it. My son is dead, and cannot be
+questioned now."
+
+"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. The
+body of the check is in your handwriting, I believe."
+
+"Yes, that is my handwriting."
+
+"The additions were very cleverly made," ventured Mr. Barnby. "The forger
+must have imitated your handwriting wonderfully."
+
+"Yes, it is wonderfully like," she replied, huskily.
+
+"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."
+
+"You mean to insinuate that my son is a criminal?" she cried, with mock
+rage, drawing herself up, and acting her part very badly.
+
+"If you say those checks were not altered by you, there can be little
+doubt of the identity of the guilty person."
+
+"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."
+
+"He refuses, absolutely. And he says he will prosecute the offender,
+even if the forger be his own child."
+
+"He has the wickedness and audacity to suggest that I--?"
+
+"I merely repeat his words."
+
+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.
+
+"Show this gentleman to the door."
+
+"Madam, I will convey the result of this interview to Mr. Ormsby."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+Then came the worst danger of all. How was 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIII
+
+DICK'S HEROISM
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+They refused, without hesitation.
+
+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, a drooping figure on the halter-cord, and the officer turned his
+attention to the others.
+
+"Now then, the next."
+
+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.
+
+Nutt remained as though still bound.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+There was no one to help Dora bear her sorrow. 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"What do you mean by 'if you had done what he did before he left home?'"
+asked the grief-stricken girl.
+
+"I mean the forgery."
+
+"What forgery?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Well, they say he went out to the war to get shot."
+
+"It's a lie!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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, poor man. He knows nothing
+whatever about it."
+
+"Father, the things you tell me sound like the horrible complications of
+a nightmare. They are absurd."
+
+"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."
+
+"Mr. Ormsby showed you the checks?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And Netty?" asked Dora, with a sob.
+
+"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 as he was well enough. Sit up, my girl--sit up. Keep a straight
+upper lip. You're under fire, and it's hot."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Hush, hush, Dora!" cried the colonel.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Ah, that sort of death requires a different kind of courage," sneered
+Ormsby, who was nettled by Dora's taunts.
+
+"I won't listen to you," she cried. "You are defaming the man I love. He
+couldn't go away with such things on his conscience. It is all some
+wicked plot."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIV
+
+MRS. SWINTON CONFESSES
+
+
+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.
+
+Everybody knew--except the rector.
+
+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 and diffidence of those people who did
+pluck up sufficient courage to say they were sorry.
+
+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:
+
+"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."
+
+"Avoid disgrace?" cried the rector, astounded.
+
+"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."
+
+"Stole his grandfather's money! What do you mean?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't understand you," said the clergyman, haughtily.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Mary!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"And I have something to talk to you about, dearest. There is a horrible
+report spread in the town, apparently, by the bank people. Just now, a
+man came up and condoled with me, calling my son a thief and a forger."
+
+"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."
+
+The rector trembled with a growing dread.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"John, the checks I got from father, with which we paid our debts to
+stave off disgrace, were--forgeries."
+
+"Lord help us, Mary! Do you mean that we have been handling stolen
+money?"
+
+"Don't put it like that, John, don't! I can't bear it."
+
+"And is it true what they're saying about Dick? Oh! it's horrible. I'll
+not believe it of our boy."
+
+"There is no need to believe it, John. He is innocent, though they
+condemn him. Yet, the checks were forgeries."
+
+"Then, who? You got the checks, didn't you? I thought--Ah!"
+
+"I am the culprit, John. I altered them."
+
+"You?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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! Don't touch me! Stand
+away! No; I thought you were a good woman!"
+
+"I didn't know. I didn't realize."
+
+"You are not a child, without knowledge of the ways of the world. You
+must have known what you were doing."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I am never cruel, Mary. Tell me--how is Dick implicated?"
+
+"John, I have done a more dreadful thing than stealing money."
+
+"Mary!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't torture me! Speak plainly--speak out!" he gasped, with labored
+breath, as though he were choking.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"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!"
+
+"You must confess!" he cried, denouncing her with outstretched finger and
+in bitter scorn. "You shall!"
+
+"No, no, John," she screamed, wringing her hands in pitiful supplication.
+"Speak more quietly."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Don't bring our children into this, Mary. You--"
+
+"I must speak of Netty--I must! Would she ever forgive us, if her lover
+cast her off?"
+
+"And will he marry her, now that her brother is disgraced?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"And, yet, you will see your son's name defamed in the moment of his
+glory."
+
+"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."
+
+"Mary!"
+
+He groaned, with outstretched hands, revealing his love and the gap in
+his armor where he could still be pierced.
+
+"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
+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."
+
+"It's a sin--a horrible sin!"
+
+"Who are you to judge me? Would Dick have betrayed his mother?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"We must go away, to a new place, a new country, where no one knows us
+and we mustn't come back."
+
+"And Netty?"
+
+"Netty must bear her share of the burden you have put upon us. We will
+bear it together."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Harry Bent must know."
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't know what to do," moaned the broken man, bursting into tears,
+and sinking into his chair at the table.
+
+"Be guided by me, John. The dead can't feel, while the living can be
+condemned to lifelong torture."
+
+"Have your own way," he groaned. "I don't know what to do. I shall never
+hold up my head again."
+
+"Oh, yes, you will, John, and--there is always my shoulder to rest it
+upon, dearest. Let me comfort you."
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Miss Dundas."
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+"Netty, is your mother really ill?" asked Dora, as she extended her hand,
+"or is she merely not receiving anyone?"
+
+"Mother has a bad headache, and is lying down. She is naturally very
+upset."
+
+"Oh, Netty, it is terrible!" sobbed Dora, breaking down hopelessly. "It
+can't be true--it can't!"
+
+"What can't be true?" asked Netty, coldly.
+
+"Poor dear Dick's death. It will kill me."
+
+"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."
+
+"Netty, that is unkind of you--ungenerous. You know I loved Dick. He was
+mine--mine!"
+
+"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."
+
+"There has been some hideous blunder."
+
+"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 may resent his
+bringing into the family the sister of a--forger."
+
+"Netty, you sha'n't speak of Dick like that!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Surely, they can be left to manage their affairs as they think best."
+
+"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."
+
+"Engaged! What nonsense! Really, Dora!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Surely, you don't think that is interesting to me--and at such a time."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"What is it you want of me?" she asked, with a feeble assumption of her
+usual languid tone.
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Swinton, it isn't true--tell me it isn't true! I can't believe
+it of him."
+
+"You are referring to Dick's trouble? Our sorrow is embittered by the
+knowledge that our poor boy went away--"
+
+Words failed her. She could not lie to this girl, whose eyes seemed to be
+searching her very soul. What did she suspect?
+
+"My father told me of the checks," said Dora. "They were made out to you.
+Yet, they say he 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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"He told you that!" cried Mrs. Swinton, startled into revealing her
+alarm.
+
+"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?"
+
+"My dear, it is too complicated a matter for a girl like you to
+understand. You must know that to discuss such a matter with me in this
+time of sorrow is little less than cruel."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"That's what I told father," faltered Dora.
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+Her idol was thrown down. Yet, what did it 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.
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, you, Miss Dundas," he murmured, as he advanced with an extended,
+limp hand. "I thought I heard my wife's voice."
+
+"I have come to offer my condolences," murmured Dora, unable to do more
+than utter commonplaces in the face of his grief.
+
+"Yes, yes--thank you--thank you. It is a great blow, but I suppose we
+shall be reconciled in time."
+
+With that, he turned abruptly and hurried away into the study, not
+trusting himself to say more, and omitting to bid her adieu.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XV
+
+COLONEL DUNDAS SPEAKS HIS MIND
+
+
+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.
+
+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?
+
+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."
+
+Now, the colonel flung down his letters, and, taking up one that was
+opened, handed it to Dora.
+
+"There's something in this for you to read--a letter from Ormsby, Dora."
+
+"I don't want to read anything from Mr. Ormsby."
+
+"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."
+
+Dora's face hardened as she took out the closely-written letter,
+addressed to herself, and enclosed under cover to her father.
+
+  "MY DEAR MISS DUNDAS,
+
+  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.
+
+  I am not jealous now of a dead man, nor do I wish 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.
+
+  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.
+
+  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 dear a price to pay without some fair
+  recognition of my sacrifice on your behalf."
+
+"Father," cried Dora, starting up, and reading no more, "I want you to
+let me have seven thousand dollars."
+
+"What!" cried the colonel, staring at her as though she had asked for the
+moon.
+
+"I want seven thousand dollars. I'll repay it somehow, in the course of
+years. I'll economize--"
+
+"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."
+
+"But, father, give it to me. It'll make no real difference to you. You
+are rich enough--"
+
+"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--"
+
+"You sha'n't speak like that, father."
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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.
+
+  "Miss Dundas expects to receive Mr. Ormsby as her father wishes."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVI
+
+MR. TRIMMER COMES HOME
+
+
+"Mr. Trimmer is back."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+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.
+
+Never before had he taken a holiday, and on his 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.
+
+"Anything of importance since I have been away?" asked Mr. Trimmer.
+
+"Yes, Mr. Trimmer. Mr. Herresford has changed his bedroom."
+
+"Humph! We'll soon alter that," murmured Trimmer.
+
+"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."
+
+"Just so, just so! Any trouble with his family?"
+
+"Mr. Dick--I daresay you have heard."
+
+"I've heard nothing."
+
+"Dead--killed in the war."
+
+"Dead! Well, to be sure."
+
+"Yes, poor boy--killed."
+
+"Dear, dear!" murmured Mr. Trimmer, growing meditative.
+
+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 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.
+
+"How did Mr. Dick get away?" asked Mr. Trimmer. "Surely, his creditors
+wouldn't let him go."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"It was the very last thing we'd have believed, Mr. Trimmer; it was for
+seven thousand dollars."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"I must see Mr. Herresford about this." Trimmer 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.
+
+Herresford was reading a long deed left by his lawyer, and on a chair by
+his bedside was a pile of documents.
+
+"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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I gave myself leave, sir," replied Trimmer, nonchalantly.
+
+"And what right have you to take holidays without my permission?"
+
+"You discharged me, sir--but I thought better of it."
+
+A grunt was the only answer to this impertinence.
+
+"You seem to have been muddling things nicely in my absence," observed
+Trimmer after a moment, with cool audacity.
+
+"Have I? That's all you know. Who told you what I've been doing?"
+
+"Your heir is dead, I hear. I hope you had nothing to do with that."
+
+"What do you mean, sir--what do you mean?"
+
+"I mean that I hope you didn't send him away to the war to save money and
+keep him from further debt."
+
+"My family affairs are nothing to do with you, sir."
+
+"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."
+
+"It's a lie--a lie!"
+
+"How did he get your checks?"
+
+The miser made no answer. Trimmer came over, and fixed glittering eyes
+upon him. The old man cowered.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"This is one of the occasions when I feel that a shaking would do you
+good," declared Trimmer.
+
+"No, no--not now--not again! Last time, I was bad for a week. The shock
+might kill me. It would be murder."
+
+"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.
+
+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 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.
+
+And, now that Herresford was broken in health, and had become a pitiful
+wreck, he preferred to be left entirely at Trimmer's mercy.
+
+"What are you going to do about an heir now?" asked the valet, curtly.
+"Have you made a new will?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Who is that coming up the drive?" asked the invalid, craning his neck
+to look out of the window.
+
+"It is Mrs. Swinton, sir, and Mr. Swinton."
+
+"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."
+
+"Very little, sir."
+
+"Well, if you stay here, you'll hear a little more."
+
+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.
+
+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
+was always so in the presence of a third person.
+
+"I am glad to see you sitting up and looking so well, father," observed
+the daughter, after her first greeting.
+
+"Oh, yes, I'm well--very well--better than you are," grunted the old man.
+"I know why you have come."
+
+"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.
+
+"You can talk before Trimmer. You ought to know that by this time.
+Trimmer and I are one."
+
+"If madam wishes, I will withdraw," murmured Trimmer, retiring to the
+door.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"I am glad to find you in a good temper, father."
+
+"Good temper--eh!" He laughed, and again the bones seemed to rattle in
+his throat. The fit ended with coughing and whining and abuse of the
+draughts and the cold.
+
+"Why don't you have a fire in the room, father? You'd be so much more
+comfortable."
+
+"Fire! We don't throw away money here--nor steal it."
+
+"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."
+
+"Who was referring to Dick?"
+
+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.
+
+"Hullo, forger!" he cried at last, and he watched the play of her face as
+the color came and went.
+
+"What do you mean, father?"
+
+"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
+son? D'ye think I'm going to spare you--eh?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"It was you, father--you--you who denounced him."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"No, father--indeed, no. John and I are going to lead a different kind of
+life. I've come to 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."
+
+"Earn it! Rubbish! You couldn't earn a dime."
+
+"We'll repay every penny--if you will only give us time, only stop
+pressing the bank--"
+
+"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."
+
+"Father, you'll not betray me! You won't tell them--"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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 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."
+
+"Father, you always declared that--"
+
+"Never mind what I declared. It wasn't safe to trust you with the
+knowledge while he lived. You would have poisoned me."
+
+"Father, your insults are beyond all endurance!" she cried, writhing
+under the lash and stung to fury. She started up with hands clenched.
+
+"There, there, I told you so!" he whined, recoiling in mock terror.
+"Trimmer, Trimmer! Help! She'll kill me!"
+
+"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
+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--"
+
+"Trimmer! Trimmer!" screamed the old man, as she advanced nearer with
+threatening gestures, and fingers working nervously.
+
+Trimmer entered as noiselessly as a cat.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+"I am sorry, father," she faltered. "I forgot that you are an invalid,
+and not responsible for your moods."
+
+He leaned forward on the edge of the bed, resting on his hands, and
+positively spat out his next words.
+
+"Bah! You're a hypocrite. Go home to your sky-pilot. But keep your mouth
+shut--do you hear?"
+
+"I hear, father."
+
+"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?"
+
+"I hear, father," she replied, with a sob.
+
+"Open the door for her, Trimmer."
+
+Trimmer darted to the door as if his politeness had been questioned, and
+bowed the daughter out.
+
+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.
+
+"You're overdoing it," he said. "You're getting foolish."
+
+"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?"
+
+"You are the last person to talk to Mrs. Swinton about stealing."
+
+"Keep your tongue still!"
+
+"If your daughter knew what I know!"
+
+"You don't know anything, sir--you don't know anything!"
+
+"I know a good deal. Three times during your illness, you were
+light-headed--you remember?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Trimmer, you're presuming. Trimmer, you're a bully. I'll--I'll cut your
+fifty thousand dollars out of my will--"
+
+"And I'll promptly cut you out of existence, if you do," murmured
+Trimmer, bending down.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Lie down and be quiet. You've done enough talking for to-day. I'm going
+to have you moved into the other room."
+
+"I'll not be treated as a child, sir. I'll stop your wages, sir. I'll--"
+
+"I've had no wages for many months. Lie down."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVII
+
+MRS. SWINTON GOES HOME
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+If Herresford consented to add lie to lie, and to exonerate Dick by
+acknowledging the checks, all might yet be well.
+
+Now, when his wife came in, with flushed face and lips working in anger,
+he cried out, tremulously:
+
+"Well, Mary?"
+
+"It is useless, worse than useless!" she answered. "He is quite
+impossible, as I told you."
+
+"Then, he will not lend us the money?"
+
+"No, indeed, no. Worse, John, he knows."
+
+"Knows what?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Mary! Mary! You have ruined all. He will denounce us."
+
+"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."
+
+"Then, the burden of the guilt still rests on the shoulders of our dead
+son."
+
+"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--"
+
+She tottered forward into her husband's arms. He clasped her close,
+drawing her to him and pressing kisses on her cheeks.
+
+"My darling, my darling, be strong. It is not ended yet."
+
+"Take me home, John--take me home!" she sobbed.
+
+"No, I'll see the old man myself."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't Mary--don't!" he groaned.
+
+"When a man leaves his father and mother, he cleaves unto his wife: and,
+when I left my home, 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."
+
+"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.
+
+"It's impossible, John, impossible. We cannot pay back without explaining
+why."
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes, let us go home, John. You'll talk more reasonably there, and see
+things in another light."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XVIII
+
+A SECOND PROPOSAL
+
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+The colonel pleaded letters to write, and begged Dora to play a little
+and entertain their guest.
+
+"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."
+
+Ormsby added his entreaties, and the colonel left them alone.
+
+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 tact, her womanliness, and, above all, her air of
+breeding. She certainly looked charming to-night, a fitting chatelaine
+for the noblest mansion.
+
+As the colonel remained in the doorway, still staring, Dora turned her
+head with a smile.
+
+"What are you looking at, father?"
+
+"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."
+
+"My mind requires no making up, colonel," responded Ormsby quickly, with
+an appealing, almost humble glance at Dora.
+
+"Father, what nonsense you talk!" cried she, changing color and trembling
+so much that the cigarettes spilled upon the floor.
+
+The colonel shut the door without further comment, and left them alone.
+
+"How stupid of me," murmured Dora, seeking to cover her confusion by
+picking up the cigarettes.
+
+"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."
+
+"Let go my arm, please."
+
+"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?"
+
+"It is useless, Mr. Ormsby. Let me go."
+
+"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."
+
+"You are talking nonsense, Mr. Ormsby, and you are hurting my arm."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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. He was their guest,
+and would be their guest as long as her father chose.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"I'm making headway," was Ormsby's thought, "or she wouldn't take the
+trouble to excuse herself."
+
+"I think you are the most sensible girl I ever met, Dora."
+
+"You have no right to call me Dora."
+
+"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, and, instead of
+sitting apart from me over there, you will be here by my side, holding my
+hand."
+
+"Never!" she cried, starting up, and emphasizing her determination by a
+blow with her hand upon the music lying on the piano top.
+
+"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."
+
+"I don't feel like playing. You have upset me."
+
+"Then, sit by the fire."
+
+He drew forward a chair of which he knew she was fond, and brought it
+close to the hearth.
+
+"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."
+
+"I would rather play," she faltered.
+
+"Whichever you please."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Instantly, the spell was broken. She started up, and struck him in the
+face--even as Dick had done.
+
+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 a few moments, until she confessed that she was sorry. Then she fled
+from the room.
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XIX
+
+AN UNEXPECTED TELEGRAM
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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."
+
+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, 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.
+
+One morning, Ormsby drove up in his automobile, to propose an engagement
+for the evening to Dora. His _fiancee_, 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.
+
+"I suppose I'd better open it," murmured the colonel, as he slit the
+envelope.
+
+He read the message, frowned, swore an oath, turned it over, then read it
+again, with a look of blank amazement, whilst Ormsby watched.
+
+"Bad news?"
+
+"Read."
+
+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.
+
+"It can't be!" he gasped. "Alive? Then, the story of his death was a lie.
+His heroic death was a sham."
+
+"Dora will have to be told," groaned the colonel.
+
+"No, certainly not," cried Ormsby. "If he attempts to show his face in
+New York, I'll have him arrested."
+
+"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!"
+
+"No, of course not--of course not. We'll have to send him to jail."
+
+"Ormsby, you couldn't do it--you couldn't."
+
+"Well, he mustn't see Dora."
+
+"No--I'll attend to that."
+
+The colonel read the telegram again.
+
+  "Arrived at Boston Parker House this morning. Start home this
+  afternoon. Send message. Dying to see you.
+
+                                                   "DICK SWINTON."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 to the police that he is in the country again."
+
+"No, Ormsby--no!" pleaded the colonel. "You'll utterly upset yourself
+with Dora. You won't stand a ghost of a chance.
+
+"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!"
+
+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.
+
+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 Ormsbys, 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 his step was slow and uncertain. As they came
+near each other, he seized the colonel's arm.
+
+"Colonel! Colonel!" he cried. "How glad I am to see you! Is Dora with
+you?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Yes, I'm not up to the mark," laughed Dick. "I thought you knew all
+about it."
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes; but I corrected all that," cried Dick, "My letters--they got my
+letters?"
+
+"What letters?"
+
+"The two I sent through by the men that were exchanged. Young Maxwell
+took one."
+
+"Maxwell died of dysentery."
+
+"Ah, that accounts for it. The other I gave to a sailor. He promised to
+deliver it."
+
+"To whom did you write?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"No, of course not--not through Dora, at any rate."
+
+"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."
+
+"Copenhagen!"
+
+"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--!"
+
+"Here, hold up, Dick--hold up, man--you're tottering."
+
+The colonel's strong hand kept Dick on his feet. He led the young man
+gently through the vestibule.
+
+"Here, come to a quiet place. You mustn't be seen in public," growled the
+colonel.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Eh? What?"
+
+"Well, you can't expect it."
+
+"Oh, you're angry with me because I'm fond of Dora. I suppose you saw my
+telegram and--intercepted it."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Then Dora doesn't know!"
+
+"No, Dora doesn't know--nor will she know. Better be dead, my boy--better
+be dead!"
+
+"I beg your pardon?" queried Dick, gazing at the colonel with dull, tired
+eyes.
+
+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.
+
+"I'm too done. You order. Perhaps, a drink'll pull me up."
+
+The colonel ordered brandy. He was now able to get a better look at the
+returned hero. The change in the young man shocked him, and he could see
+that the hand of death had clutched Dick harshly before letting him go.
+
+"What was it--fever?" he asked, with soldier-like abruptness, as he
+scanned the lean, weary face.
+
+"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!"
+
+Dick took a long draught at the brandy, and a little color came into his
+face.
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+Dick looked blankly into his friend's face for some moments. A look of
+fear came into his eyes.
+
+"What's the matter? What's happened? Dora's--alive?"
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"And my father and mother?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes, they're well--as well as can be expected under the
+circumstances."
+
+"Well, what's the matter, then? What's happened?"
+
+"Dick, you must know perfectly well what has happened. Your grandfather
+found out--the--er--what you did before you went away."
+
+"What I did before I went away?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Dick sat like a stone, calm, pale, holding his glass and listening
+intently. For an instant he seemed about to faint.
+
+"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 had disinherited
+you, and all that. But surely you didn't owe seven thousand dollars!"
+
+"Are you talking about the checks my mother gave me before I went away?"
+Dick asked, quietly.
+
+"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 to 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."
+
+"But my mother--she has explained?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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, 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?"
+
+"You mean, why didn't I get shot?" asked Dick, slowly.
+
+"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."
+
+"But my mother could have explained!" cried Dick, huskily. He was so weak
+that he was unable to cope with agitation.
+
+"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."
+
+"My mother said that!"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"God help her!" gasped Dick, with a gulp. He put his hand to his throat,
+and fell forward on the table, senseless.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"I suppose--my brain isn't what it was. But I'm feeling better. Tell me
+again what my mother said--and my father."
+
+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.
+
+"Well, are you going to live, or do you intend to remain dead?"
+
+"I'm going home."
+
+"To be arrested?"
+
+"No, to ask some questions."
+
+"Don't be a fool. You'll be arrested at the station."
+
+"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--"
+
+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.
+
+"You'd better not come home," urged the colonel; "at any rate, as far as
+we are concerned."
+
+"Ah, that means you intend to cut me."
+
+"Yes; and as far as Dora is concerned--Well, the fact is, she's engaged
+to Ormsby now."
+
+"Engaged to Ormsby?"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+Dick's hands hung limply at his sides. The colonel seized him by the
+loose front of his ulster, and 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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes--John Smith," echoed Dick, huskily.
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+"My own mother!--I can't believe it."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XX
+
+THE WEDDING DAY ARRANGED
+
+
+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.
+
+"Dick Swinton is not dead," said the report, "he is hiding in New York."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"We are not, father. You know that very well."
+
+"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."
+
+"I have submitted to an engagement with Mr. Ormsby more to please you,
+father, than to please myself."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't talk like that, father."
+
+"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."
+
+"Father, father, you're not keeping anything from me. What did the doctor
+say?"
+
+The colonel saw his advantage, and, although he was inclined to smile,
+pulled a long face, and sighed.
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+The colonel wanted to exclaim, "Indigestion!" but he shook his head, and
+sighed mournfully once more.
+
+"It's anxiety, my child, about your welfare. It's telling on me."
+
+"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."
+
+"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' 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."
+
+"Impossible, father--impossible! I couldn't get my clothes ready--"
+
+"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."
+
+"I--I didn't say so, father," cried Dora, blushing hotly.
+
+"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.
+
+"Say it is true!--say it is true!" he cried.
+
+"Oh, as you please, as you please." And, turning to her father to hide
+her embarrassment, Dora murmured, "You're not really ill, father?"
+
+"I tell you, my child, I shall be," roared the colonel, with a wink at
+Ormsby, "if this anxiety goes on any longer. Publish the date, Ormsby.
+Put it in the papers."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXI
+
+DICK'S RETURN
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso confesseth them
+shall have mercy."
+
+John Swinton arose from the table, and closed the book abruptly. His
+study fire had burned low, yet the sermon was only half-finished.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+As the rector walked up and down the room, Dick 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?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+What would his father's reception be?
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+Dick pressed himself close to the glass, and took off his cap.
+
+"Father!" he cried. "Open the window."
+
+It was Dick's voice, but not Dick's face.
+
+"Open the window."
+
+Like a man in a dream, the rector loosened the catch, and opened the
+casement.
+
+"Father--father! It is I--Dick--alive! and glad to be home."
+
+The clergyman retreated as from a ghost--afraid.
+
+"Don't be afraid of me. The report of my death was all a mistake,
+father."
+
+"Dick--Dick--my boy--back--alive!"
+
+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.
+
+The inevitable pause of embarrassment followed.
+
+"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.
+
+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:
+
+"I want to see you first, father, before telling mother. My coming back
+will be a shock; and she ought to be prepared."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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--"
+
+The rector looked down at his desk; he could not face his son. His hand
+involuntarily clenched as it rested on the table.
+
+"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."
+
+"Emigrating, my boy! Why should you emigrate?"
+
+This was hardly the tone that Dick expected: no reproach, no
+questioning.
+
+"It's no good running the risk of a prosecution, is it, father? And, as
+I've disgraced the family, I'd--"
+
+"You mean to say that you don't deny the bank's charge of forgery?"
+
+"No--no, father, I don't deny it. Why should I?"
+
+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, rather
+than betray his mother. He believed that his father knew nothing.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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 me 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 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--"
+
+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.
+
+"Dick--my boy!--my boy!" cried the father, raising him tenderly in his
+arms. "He'll die--he'll die after all!"
+
+The study door opened suddenly. Mary in her nightdress, with her hair
+about her shoulders, and her eyes staring, entered the room, barefooted.
+
+"I heard his voice, John--I heard his voice!" she cried, in shrill fear.
+
+"Mary! Help, help! He's here--Dick--alive! He's fainted!"
+
+The table stood between her and the dark form in the shadow on the floor.
+She advanced slowly.
+
+"Dick--not dead!" she screamed.
+
+Her cry rang through the house and awakened everybody. Netty heard the
+words upstairs, and sat up in bed, trembling. The servants heard them,
+and began to dress hurriedly.
+
+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.
+
+"He knows all; he understands," whispered the rector.
+
+The study door stood open, and in another moment they became conscious of
+the half-clad figure of Jane, the housekeeper, looking in.
+
+"Mr. Dick!" she screamed. "Mr. Dick! Not dead!" She turned and rushed
+upstairs to Netty's room.
+
+She found Netty in a panic, pale and trembling.
+
+"What has happened?"
+
+"Mr. Dick--he's alive! alive! He's come home."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXII
+
+THE BLIGHT OF FEAR
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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. 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.
+
+If anything, Dick was worse; listless, nerveless, unable to rise, and
+spending his time in dozes that were perilously near unconsciousness.
+
+The meal ended, Netty escaped. Her mother hurried up to Dick, and the
+rector to his study, where he awaited his wife.
+
+Presently, she came down, dressed for walking.
+
+"Where are you going, Mary?" he asked nervously.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"What mercy do you think we shall get from 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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"What are you going to say?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I am helpless," cried the rector, throwing up his hands and turning
+away. "I know the path I should follow, but it is barred, and the way I
+am traveling is accursed."
+
+"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?"
+
+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.
+
+"It will all come right, John."
+
+He sighed, and embraced her like the broken man he was, and she left him
+alone with his conscience.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+The old man looked up from his pillows, and started as if terrified.
+
+"She's here again, Trimmer--she's here again," he whined.
+
+Trimmer was no less surprised.
+
+"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."
+
+"If Mr. Herresford wishes--"
+
+"I wish it. Please leave us!"
+
+"Don't go! Don't go, Trimmer!" cried the miser extending one hand
+helplessly. "Raise me, Trimmer. Don't let her touch me."
+
+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.
+
+Herresford mumbled and appealed until the door was closed; then, he
+seemed to recover his courage and his tongue.
+
+"So, you're here again," he snapped. "What is it now--what is it now? Am
+I never to have peace?"
+
+"I have strange news. Dick is alive."
+
+"Not dead, eh! Humph! That does not surprise me. I expected as much. No
+man is dead in a war until his body is buried. So, he's come back, has
+he?"
+
+"Yes, and that is why I'm here. The bank people will have him arrested."
+
+There was a pause, which the miser ended by a fit of chuckling and
+choking laughter that maddened her.
+
+"This is no laughing matter, father. Can't you see what the position
+is?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"But Ormsby hates Dick. He is marrying the woman Dick loves."
+
+"And who is that, pray?" cried the old man, starting up and snapping his
+words out like pistol shots.
+
+"Why, Dora Dundas, of course."
+
+"Who's she?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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?"
+
+The old man fingered the tassel of his cap, and chewed it meditatively
+for a few moments.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Father, Dick has behaved nobly, but unfortunately 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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"If I confessed everything, father, do you think that Ormsby would spare
+me, Dick's mother! Oh, it's all a horrible tangle. It's driving me
+mad!"
+
+"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."
+
+The sight of her distress seemed to whet his appetite for cruelty. He
+rubbed salt into the open wounds with zest.
+
+"Get your sky-pilot to help you out of it. I won't. Not a penny do I pay.
+Seven thousand dollars!"
+
+"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."
+
+"What allowance? Who told you anything about any allowance?"
+
+"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?"
+
+"Who's stopping your allowance? Trimmer! Trimmer!" he cried.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"She wants to rob me!--she wants to rob me!" This was all that she
+understood of his raving.
+
+"It is useless to talk to him now, Mrs. Swinton," said Trimmer, with a
+suggestive glance toward the door.
+
+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 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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIII
+
+DORA SEES HERRESFORD
+
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"I'm afraid not, sir."
+
+"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!"
+
+"I can't recall her, sir."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Trimmer, my grandson is alive."
+
+"Alive, sir?"
+
+"Yes, and back from the war. He's got to marry that girl; but she's
+engaged to someone else--you understand?"
+
+"I think so, sir."
+
+"So, be cautious. Bring her here secretly, or--I'll sack you."
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"Go at once."
+
+"Yes, sir. Your medicine first."
+
+The old man dropped back into his querulous, peevish mood. Trimmer poured
+out the medicine, administered it, and then departed on his mission.
+
+On his arrival at the colonel's house, he sent word to Dora that he came
+from Mr. Herresford on important business.
+
+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.
+
+"Do I understand you to say that he himself sent you with this strange
+request?" she asked.
+
+"Yes, miss. I have come straight from Mr. Herresford."
+
+"Did he not say why he wished to see me?"
+
+"I am only his valet, miss; he would not be likely to tell me. What
+answer shall I take him?"
+
+"I will call at Asherton Hall this afternoon," the girl promised.
+
+"I will acquaint Mr. Herresford with your decision," replied Trimmer, and
+forthwith he took his departure.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+His voice was soft, and his manner genial. There was nothing at all
+terrifying about him.
+
+"You wished me to come to you?" murmured Dora.
+
+"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."
+
+"I am deeply sorry."
+
+"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."
+
+"Don't! Don't!" cried Dora, with a sudden catch in her voice. "I'm
+engaged to marry Mr. Ormsby."
+
+"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!"
+
+Dora opened her eyes wide in surprise, wondering if she heard aright. Was
+this the miser?
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Ah! a boy worth crying for, my dear," said the 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?"
+
+Dora nodded.
+
+"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."
+
+"Why do you tell me these things, now?" she cried, a note of anger in her
+voice.
+
+"Because I don't want you to marry Ormsby."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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!"
+
+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."
+
+"O don't!--don't!" cried the girl, covering her face again, and sobbing
+bitterly.
+
+"You can't--you sha'n't marry Ormsby. Dick'll haunt you--and sooner than
+you know."
+
+"I've thought of that," sobbed the girl, "and I've tried to conquer it."
+
+"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."
+
+"You don't mean--you don't mean to suggest that you think there's any
+doubt?" cried Dora.
+
+"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!"
+
+"You seem to dislike Mr. Ormsby," said Dora, suspiciously.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Say that Mr. Herresford makes it a condition that you do not marry
+without his consent, and he refuses his consent in so far as Mr. Ormsby
+is concerned."
+
+"I can't do that, Mr. Herresford, you know I can't."
+
+"Come here," he said, beckoning her authoritatively. "Have you any
+confidence in my judgment of what is best for you? If not, say so."
+
+"I have every confidence in your judgment. You have voiced the things
+that were in my heart. I know you are right."
+
+"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?"
+
+She made no answer.
+
+"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."
+
+There was something strangely sympathetic between 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:
+
+  "DEAR VIVIAN, 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."
+
+Again, she paused thoughtfully, and Herresford made signs to her which
+she could not see, signifying that he wished to see the letter.
+
+"Let me read," he cried.
+
+She handed him the letter as a matter of course, and he nodded
+approvingly as he read.
+
+"Now, then, my girl, I'll tell you a secret. Can you keep secrets?"
+
+"I have always been able to."
+
+"It's a big secret. How long could you keep a very big secret?"
+
+"Quite as long as a little one."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+She gave a great gasp, and broke away, uncertain whether this were not
+some devilish jest.
+
+"Oh, it's true--it's true!" he cried, nodding.
+
+"Alive!--alive! Not dead! Dick!"
+
+"But keep it secret."
+
+"But why? Why?" cried Dora.
+
+"For reasons of my own. Oh, it's true. You needn't look at me like that.
+I'm not in my dotage yet."
+
+"Dick alive!--alive!" she cried. She clasped her hands, and swung around
+and around in excitement too great to be controlled.
+
+"Yes, alive, but in hiding," said the old man, "until I can get him out
+of that ugly scrape--cheaply."
+
+"But where--where? Tell me!"
+
+"That's my secret. You've got to keep your own."
+
+"Oh! but I must tell father."
+
+"Your father knows it already. He's not to be trusted."
+
+"Father knows, and yet--?"
+
+"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!"
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+[Illustration: "OH, GOOD-BYE--GOOD-BYE, YOU DEAR, DEAR OLD MAN!" SHE
+CRIED, DROPPING ON HER KNEES BESIDE HIM.--Page 261]
+
+Dora obeyed, and watched him as she drew on her gloves. When the last
+button was fastened, she took up her muff.
+
+"Good-bye--good-bye!" he grunted brusquely, offering a bony hand.
+
+"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.
+
+"Get away! Get away! You'll kill me. Enough--enough for one day."
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIV
+
+DICK EXPLAINS TO DORA
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Here's a nice little place," cried the colonel. "They give a picture of
+it. Why, girl, what a color you've got!"
+
+"Yes, father, it's happiness."
+
+"That's right, my girl--that's right. I'm glad you're taking a sensible
+view of things. What did I tell you?"
+
+"You told me an untruth, father. You told me that Dick was dead."
+
+Dora's eyes flashed, and the colonel looked sheepish. He covered his
+embarrassment with anger.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Father, I shall never marry Mr. Ormsby. I have told him so."
+
+"What! you've been down to the bank?"
+
+"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
+_conge_."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I--I won't be talked to like this. There comes a time when a father must
+assert his authority, and I say--"
+
+"Father, you'll be ill, if you excite yourself like this."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"I've seen Mr. Herresford, who said it was only a question of money."
+
+"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."
+
+"Then, his service to his country counts for nothing," faltered Dora.
+
+"No; many a man has distinguished himself in the field, but that hasn't
+saved him from prison. Dick Swinton is done for. Ormsby will see to
+that."
+
+"Vivian is a coward, then, and his action will only show how wise I was
+to abandon all thought of marrying him."
+
+"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--"
+
+"Father, you have always prided yourself on being a just man. Yet, you
+condemn Dick without a hearing."
+
+"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."
+
+"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. The colonel
+was red in the face, and emphasizing his words with his clenched fists,
+as if he were threatening to strike.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Mr. Swinton, you can guess why I have come."
+
+"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."
+
+"And to me, Mr. Swinton."
+
+"What! Then, you do not turn your back upon him, Miss Dundas!" he cried,
+with tears in his voice.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Your engagement to Mr. Ormsby is broken off?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Because you think you'll be able to marry Dick?"
+
+"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, 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."
+
+"Dick himself is the only person who can answer your questions."
+
+"But where is he? I suppose I can write to him?"
+
+"He's in hiding," said the rector, brokenly. The words seemed to be
+choking him.
+
+"In hiding! Dick, who faced a dozen rifles and flung defiance in the
+teeth of his country's enemies--in hiding!"
+
+"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."
+
+"Then, you will not tell me where he is?"
+
+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.
+
+"Father, Dick wants the papers. He's finished the book and--Oh, Miss
+Dundas!"
+
+"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 long has he been home? Oh,
+please let me go to him!"
+
+Father and daughter looked at one another in confusion.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Dora and Netty, in the study, maintained an unnatural reserve, in which
+there was silent antagonism. Dora relieved the situation by a
+commonplace.
+
+"You must be overjoyed, Netty, to have your brother back again."
+
+"Overjoyed!" exclaimed Netty, with a shrug. "I'm likely to lose a
+husband. A disgraced brother is a poor exchange."
+
+"You don't mean to say that Harry Bent would be so mean as to withdraw
+because your brother--"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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 Dora, and, when the girl was gone, went over to his visitor, and
+laid a trembling hand upon her shoulder.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Go in," he murmured, hoarsely.
+
+"Dora!"
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, Dick! Dick!" she cried, flinging away her muff and rushing to him.
+"Oh, my poor Dick! What have they done to you?"
+
+He smiled weakly, and allowed her to wind her arms about his neck as she
+knelt by his side.
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"You remember what I said to you before I went away?"
+
+"I remember, and I have been loyal to my promise."
+
+"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.
+
+"But, Dick, if the charge is false, why cannot you refute it?"
+
+"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."
+
+"I--I would rather know," pleaded Dora, whose curiosity was
+overmastering.
+
+"But is your faith in me conditional? Is not my word enough?"
+
+"It is enough for me, Dick--but it is the others--father, and--"
+
+"Ah! I understand. But what do other people matter--now? You're going to
+marry Ormsby, I understand."
+
+Dora looked down, and her hand trembled in his as she sought for words to
+explain a situation which was hardly explainable.
+
+"Well--you see--Dick--they told me you were dead. We all gave you up as a
+lost hero."
+
+"Yet, before the grass had grown over my supposed grave, you were ready
+to transfer your love to--that cad."
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Well, Dora, I'm not a marrying man, now. I'm not even respectable. As
+soon as I'm well, I've got to disappear again. But the idea of your
+marrying Ormsby--"
+
+"It's off, Dick--off! I gave him his dismissal the moment I heard--"
+
+"Did your father tell you I was alive?"
+
+"No, your grandfather told me."
+
+"Ye gods! You don't mean to say you've seen him!"
+
+"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."
+
+"He's a frightful old liar, is grandfather."
+
+"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."
+
+"But why?"
+
+"Well, I suppose--I suppose that he thought--"
+
+Dora played with the fringe of the rug on Dick's knee as she still knelt
+by his side, and seemed embarrassed.
+
+"I think I understand," laughed Dick. "He's taken a fancy to you."
+
+"Yes, Dick, I think he has. It is because he thinks--that you have taken
+a fancy to me--that--oh, well, can't you understand?"
+
+She rested her cheek against his, and, as he folded her to his heart, he
+understood.
+
+"So, grandfather has turned matchmaker. I'll warrant he thinks you are a
+skinflint, and will take care of his money."
+
+"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!"
+
+"Then, you'll have to keep it up, darling. Next time you go to see him,
+borrow a dress from your maid."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Dora, Dora, don't force it out of me!" he pleaded. "If you think a
+little, you'll understand."
+
+"I have thought. I can understand nothing. They told me that your
+mother's checks--"
+
+Even as she spoke, she understood. The knowledge flashed from brain to
+brain.
+
+"Oh, Dick--your mother!--Mrs. Swinton! Oh!"
+
+"Grandfather drove her to it, Dora. You mustn't be hard on her."
+
+"And she let them accuse you--her son--when you were supposed to have
+died gloriously--oh, horrible!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"But when they thought you were dead--oh, horrible. It was infamous!"
+
+"Dora, Dora, you promised to be patient."
+
+"Does your father know? He does, of course! A clergyman!"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+"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. Was it not easier to face the firing party than to endure the
+ignominy of this unmerited disgrace?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, Dick, there must be some other way."
+
+"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."
+
+"Oh, I can't face her!" cried Dora, with hardening mouth.
+
+"Go away without seeing her, darling. Promise you won't reveal what I've
+told you."
+
+"I can't promise. It's horrible!"
+
+"You must--you must, little girl."
+
+And in the end, much against her will, she was persuaded to keep silence.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXV
+
+TRACKED
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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, 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.
+
+"Well, what news, Foxley?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And the rectory?" asked Ormsby.
+
+"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 name. Can you,
+therefore, arrange to have her letters posted by some--some responsible
+servant who will take copies of all the addresses?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"Briefly, then, your labors have had no result, and you are as far from
+the scent as on the first day."
+
+"Not exactly that, sir. We'll nab him yet."
+
+"As for the people at the rectory," Ormsby said, decisively, "I'll tackle
+them myself."
+
+"Be guarded, sir. We don't want them to suspect that they are watched."
+
+"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--"
+
+Ormsby did not finish the sentence. The detective muttered one
+comprehensive word.
+
+"Suicide."
+
+Ormsby nodded.
+
+"And the best thing, I should think," grunted the detective.
+
+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.
+
+Ormsby offered his hand in friendly fashion, and took stock of the
+trembling man before speaking.
+
+"You can guess why I have come, Mr. Swinton."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"And the conditions?"
+
+"That he undertakes not to molest or in any way pursue Miss Dora
+Dundas."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes, he has seen her--" The words slipped out before the clergyman knew
+what he was saying.
+
+"Ah, he has seen her," cried Ormsby, sharply. "So, he's either at
+Asherton Hall--or here."
+
+"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."
+
+"You have said enough, Mr. Swinton. Your son is in this house. I have
+him, at last."
+
+"My son is ill, Mr. Ormsby. You must give him time. This dreadful matter
+may yet be set right."
+
+"It is in the hands of the police. Good-day."
+
+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.
+
+"Oh, what have I said! What have I done! I've doubly betrayed him. Nobody
+can help him now, unless--unless--"
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 hand, pleading, pathetic, seeking
+protection from the horrible contact of a jail, would he be able to hold
+out?
+
+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.
+
+As usual, he did nothing. He put off the evil hour, and waited for Ormsby
+to act.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVI
+
+MRS. SWINTON HEARS THE TRUTH
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"You don't remember me, Mr. Jevons?"
+
+"Ah! now I hear your voice, I remember. You are the daughter of Mr.
+Herresford."
+
+"You were once my mother's lawyer, Mr. Jevons," said Mrs. Swinton,
+plunging at once into business.
+
+"I had that honor. Won't you sit down?"
+
+"It is twenty-five years ago--more than that."
+
+"Yes. You have married since then."
+
+"I married Mr. Swinton, the rector of St. Botolph's."
+
+"Indeed, indeed. That is very interesting. And now you are living--?"
+
+"At the rectory, on Riverside Drive."
+
+"Ah, yes.--And your father is well, I presume."
+
+"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."
+
+"That is not a large sum. There ought to be no difficulty."
+
+"You think so!" she cried, eagerly.
+
+"Well, it depends. The income your mother left you--if it is not in any
+way mortgaged--should give ample security."
+
+"My mother left me no income."
+
+"I beg your pardon?" queried the old man, curtly, as if he doubted his
+hearing.
+
+"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."
+
+Mr. Jevons looked incredulous. "Four thousand a year. Did you see your
+mother's will, Mrs. Swinton?"
+
+"No. Did she make a will?"
+
+"Yes, of course. I drew it up for her. You were only a girl then, I
+remember. You were away in Europe, in a convent, were you not, when your
+mother died?"
+
+"Yes, and father wouldn't allow me to come home."
+
+"Under that will, your mother left you something more than twenty
+thousand a year."
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+Mrs. Swinton laid her hand upon her heart, to still the throbbing set up
+by this startling turn of affairs.
+
+"But, when you were married, what was your husband thinking of not to see
+your mother's will, and get proper settlements?"
+
+"My husband has no head for money-affairs. It was a love match. We
+eloped, and father never forgave us."
+
+Mr. Jevons gave vent to his anger in little, jerky exclamations of
+amazement.
+
+"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."
+
+"He was a thief--is a thief!" cried Mrs. Swinton, breathing heavily, her
+eyes flashing with excitement. "Go on."
+
+"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
+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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"Your son!"
+
+"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."
+
+"I think it can be managed, Mrs. Swinton. I will see my partner about it,
+and probably let you have a check."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+Swinton, too much moved to utter thanks, folded the check, and slipped
+it into the purse in her muff.
+
+"Mr. Jevons, what am I to do about the--other money?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Undoubtedly--every pressure that the law will allow. Expose him. Shame
+him. Humiliate him. Prosecute him, if need be."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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?"
+
+"Dear, dear! Raising checks!"
+
+"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."
+
+"It depends entirely on the bank. Surely, your father will hush the
+matter up."
+
+"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."
+
+"But that was so many years ago! Surely, he won't question the checks."
+
+"He has done so--and a warrant is out for my son's arrest."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh, yes, he's a friend--at least I'm afraid he's not much of a friend to
+my son."
+
+"Well, it's a matter where a solicitor had better not interfere. The
+fewer people who have cognizance of the fact that the law has been
+broken, the better."
+
+"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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"It's the forgery--the dreadful business at the bank that frightens me."
+
+"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.
+
+"The circumstances are peculiar. But I will try."
+
+Mrs. Swinton reentered her cab with a strange 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVII
+
+ORMSBY REFUSES
+
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"May I ask you why you bring this money?" he demanded, at last.
+
+"I have explained."
+
+"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."
+
+"Of course I do. When the money is paid, my family affairs are no
+business of yours."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"If it is money you want, you shall have more."
+
+"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 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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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--"
+
+"I beg of you--I beseech you! You don't understand--everything. If I
+could tell you, you would at least have a different point of view of
+Dick's honor. It's I who--who--"
+
+"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."
+
+"It is false!"
+
+"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."
+
+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, 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.
+
+"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."
+
+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."
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 more maddening because she had only robbed her father of a little,
+whereas he had defrauded her of much--oh, so much!
+
+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."
+
+He should make the avowal; she would force it from him. The irony of the
+situation was fantastic in its horror.
+
+She found her husband at home, looking whiter and more bloodless than
+ever.
+
+"What news, Mary?" he asked awkwardly, avoiding her glance.
+
+"The strangest, John--the strangest of all! My father is the biggest
+thief in America."
+
+"Mary, Mary, this perpetual abuse of your father, whom we have wronged,
+will not help us in the least."
+
+He led her into the study.
+
+"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."
+
+"Mary, what wild things are you saying?"
+
+"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."
+
+"It is our sin crying for atonement, Mary. Money cannot buy absolution."
+
+"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."
+
+"Lies! lies!--we are wallowing in lies!" groaned the rector.
+
+"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.
+
+"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. 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."
+
+"Mary, Mary, be calm!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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?"
+
+"Oh, no--think of Netty."
+
+"Ah, Netty is in trouble, dearest. She's had bad news to-day. Harry Bent
+talks of canceling his engagement. 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!"
+
+"I can't, John, I can't--I can't. Dick won't hear of it."
+
+"Dick has no voice in the matter at all. It is the voice of God that
+calls."
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"Have some food, dearest, and go afterward."
+
+"I couldn't eat. It would choke me," Mrs. Swinton said, rebelliously.
+
+Netty, hearing her mother's voice, came into the room, her eyes red with
+weeping.
+
+"You've heard, mother?" she cried, plaintively.
+
+"I've heard, Netty. To-morrow Mrs. Bent will be sorry. We're no longer
+paupers, Netty."
+
+"Why, grandfather isn't dead?"
+
+"No, but we are rich. He's a thief. We've always 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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Silence, Netty. There are other people in the world beside yourself to
+think of," cried the rector.
+
+"Well, nobody ever thinks of me," sobbed the girl, angrily.
+
+There was a loud rattling at the front door. The rector started, and
+listened in terror.
+
+"Too late!" he groaned, dropping into a chair. "It's the police!"
+
+"John, you have betrayed me--after all!" screamed his wife, looking
+wildly around like a hunted thing.
+
+He bowed his head in assent. He misunderstood her meaning. "Ormsby has
+been here. He found out--by a slip of the tongue."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXVIII
+
+THE WILL
+
+
+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.
+
+She understood, but refused; and the police proceeded with their search.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"We sha'n't take you without doctor's orders, if you're ill, sir."
+
+"Well, he won't give you the order, so you'd better leave your warrant,
+and run away and play."
+
+"I have to warn you, sir," said the officer pompously, "that anything you
+say will be taken down in evidence against you."
+
+"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."
+
+"We don't want any impudence. You're our prisoner; we shall put an
+officer in the house."
+
+"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."
+
+"Do I understand, sir," said the officer, taking out his notebook, "that
+you confess to defrauding the bank of seven thousand dollars?"
+
+"Oh, certainly! I'll confess to anything you like, only get out."
+
+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 rector and his wife stood
+face to face in the study, with the table between them.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"John, you are mad. Trouble has turned your brain. What are you saying?"
+
+"I am no longer your husband. I am your judge."
+
+"Oh, John, John--give me time--give me a little time. I promise you, I
+will set everything right in a few hours."
+
+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."
+
+"John, you no longer love me. You mean to 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!"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Out of my sight!"
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+"There is no objection to keeping our mouths shut for an hour or two,
+sir," he answered.
+
+"I am obliged to you for the concession. Until after the evening service
+then; after that you can do as you please."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 her married life and brought
+disaster on all belonging to her.
+
+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.
+
+Her heart sank with an awful dread. If her father were ill, and unable to
+give attention to her affairs, it spelled ruin.
+
+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.
+
+"I want to see my father at once, Mrs. Ripon," the distracted woman
+declared.
+
+"The doctor is with him, madam. He won't be long. Will you step into the
+library? Mr. Barnby is there."
+
+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.
+
+On her entrance, Mr. Barnby bowed with frigid politeness.
+
+"You have seen my father, Mr. Barnby. Is he well?" she asked, eagerly.
+
+"He looked far from well. I was shocked at the change in him."
+
+"Did he send for you?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"You forget, madam. You yourself admitted that the checks were altered
+without your knowledge."
+
+"Did I? No--no; certainly not! You misunderstood me."
+
+"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.
+
+"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
+public apology. The scandal caused by your blunders has been spread far
+and wide."
+
+"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."
+
+The sound of the arrival of another carriage broke upon Mrs. Swinton's
+ear, and she listened in some surprise.
+
+"Why are so many people arriving here at this hour?" she demanded,
+curiously.
+
+Mr. Barnby shrugged his shoulders, to signify that it was no affair of
+his.
+
+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:
+
+  "Come to me. I am dying."
+
+"Trimmer, I must see my father at once," cried Mrs. Swinton, without
+waiting to greet Dora.
+
+The girl gave her one look, a frozen glance of contempt, and turned her
+appealing eyes to Mr. Trimmer.
+
+"Mr. Herresford," the valet announced, "wishes to see Miss Dundas. The
+doctor is with him. No one else must come up."
+
+"But I insist," Mrs. Swinton cried.
+
+"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.
+
+The rector's wife fell back, too astonished to speak.
+
+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
+beckoned Dora, who approached tremblingly.
+
+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.
+
+"For Dick--for present use--to put himself straight."
+
+"I understand, grandfather."
+
+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.
+
+"I'm saying--good-bye--"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"To my money.... All for you.... You'll marry him?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"No mourning--no delays--no silly nonsense of that sort."
+
+"It shall be as you wish."
+
+"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.
+You'll take care of it--you'll take care of it? You won't spend it?" he
+whined, with sudden excitement.
+
+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.
+
+"It's all here," he cried, holding up the volume with palsied hand. "It
+runs into millions--millions!"
+
+The doctor shook his head at Dora, as much as to say, "Take no notice; he
+is wandering."
+
+Trimmer now interrupted, entering the room abruptly.
+
+"Mrs. Swinton, sir, wishes to see you at once, on urgent business," he
+announced.
+
+"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.
+
+"Send her away," he screamed. "Liar!--Cheat!--Forger!--Thief! She sha'n't
+have my money--she sha'n't--"
+
+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.
+
+The daughter, unable to brook delay, and furious at Trimmer's insolent
+opposition to her will, entered the room at this moment.
+
+"Why am I kept away from my father?" she cried.
+
+"Your father is no more," whispered the physician, gently.
+
+"Dead?--dead?--And he never knew that I had found him out. The thief,
+dead--and I--Oh, father--!"
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXIX
+
+A PUBLIC CONFESSION
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Where is your father, Netty?" Mrs. Swinton demanded.
+
+"Gone to the church, mother. He seems very strange."
+
+"Did he leave no message?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Did he show your father the letter?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"What happened then?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+"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?"
+
+"Dead--at last!"
+
+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.
+
+"Let him write me a reply, for you to bring back."
+
+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. 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.
+
+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.
+
+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 the window--within three yards of her, so near that she could
+almost touch him.
+
+"John! John!" she cried; but her voice was hoarse, and the droning notes
+of the organ shut out her appeal.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+"Confess your faults one to another and pray one for another that ye may
+be healed."
+
+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.
+
+"Confess your faults one to another and pray one for another that ye may
+be healed."
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+The preacher paused, and rested silent for a long time. But, at last, he
+spoke again, hesitatingly:
+
+"You have doubtless heard of the terrible charge made against my brave
+son."
+
+There was a murmur, a shuffling of feet, and a turning of heads; eyes
+looking into eyes, saying, "Ah, I told you so."
+
+"On the very day that the news of my boy's supposed death reached me,"
+John Swinton continued, 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."
+
+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.
+
+"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 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 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--"
+
+The murmuring and whispering and hoarse exclamations of astonishment at
+this announcement interrupted the preacher's discourse for a moment.
+
+"--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.
+
+"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."
+
+The rector paused, and put his hand to his breast. 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.
+
+"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.
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+Several women, overwrought and terrified by the misery written on the
+man's face, arose to their feet, and cried out loudly:
+
+"He'll fall!"
+
+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.
+
+"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."
+
+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 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.
+
+"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.
+
+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.
+
+The physicians took pity on her, and sent her to 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+She commenced to pack a trunk. Flight was the only thing possible under
+the circumstances.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXX
+
+FLIGHT
+
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+"Poor Mary, poor Mary!" he murmured, and fell asleep again.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+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 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!
+
+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!
+
+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 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.
+
+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.
+
+And there was no letter from Dick! Had they all cast her off utterly?
+
+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!
+
+Gradually, the fear of arrest died down. All 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.
+
+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!
+
+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 letter: "Captain Ormsby has gone away on a three months'
+yachting cruise."
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXI
+
+DORA DECIDES
+
+
+"Dick, you are no longer an invalid, and it is absurd for you to pose as
+one."
+
+"Well, I feel pretty rotten, and I need a lot of attention. Come here,
+little one, and look after me."
+
+"It is absurd of you to describe yourself as weak, when you have a grip
+like that. Why, you positively bruised my arm."
+
+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.
+
+"You are a prisoner, Dora, until you tell me why you have avoided me
+during the past few days."
+
+"Your father requires so much attention."
+
+"And don't I?"
+
+"No, you are getting quite yourself again, and rough, and brutal, and
+tyrannical."
+
+She looked at him indulgently, and made a little _moue_.
+
+"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 of being with his sweetheart. And he doesn't expect that
+same sweetheart to give him the cold shoulder."
+
+Dora drew forward a little hassock, and settled herself at his feet with
+a sigh. He bent forward, and looked into her eyes questioningly.
+
+"Are you quite sure my going away didn't make any difference to you,
+Dora?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Never mind about that. Your father was all eagerness that you should
+marry Ormsby at one time, wasn't he?"
+
+"Dick, I thought I told you never to mention that horrid man's name
+again."
+
+"You are quite sure he is a horrid man?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Why not, darling?"
+
+"Because it would have been so much nicer, if--if you had come to me with
+nothing, despised and friendless. Then, I could have shown my love by
+defying the whole world for your sake."
+
+"Thanks, darling, but I prefer the money, if you don't mind."
+
+"Ah! but you're a man."
+
+"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."
+
+"She must be wretchedly unhappy," Dora agreed. "Yet, she writes no
+letters that give any clue to her feelings."
+
+"No, the letters she sends are merely to let us know where she is--never
+a word about father."
+
+"Does she know how ill he has been?"
+
+"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."
+
+"Does she know that he has given up St. Botolph's?"
+
+"Yes, I told her that."
+
+"She makes no mention of coming home?"
+
+"Not a word."
+
+"Dick, she must return, and at once," Dora declared, vehemently.
+
+"Not to this place, Dora. She would never do it. It wouldn't be fair to
+ask her."
+
+"But something must be done."
+
+"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."
+
+"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--"
+
+"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."
+
+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.
+
+"Can she ever forgive him?" she asked, after a pause.
+
+"Well, the sermon was certainly pretty rough, 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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"How are we to set about it, Dick?"
+
+"Dora, you'll have to go and fetch her. I've thought it all out."
+
+"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."
+
+"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 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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"How?"
+
+"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."
+
+"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."
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Good! Set about it to-day."
+
+"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."
+
+"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, and Dora no longer procrastinated. It should
+take place as soon as ever the rector and his wife were reconciled.
+
+                  *       *       *       *       *
+
+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.
+
+"What is happening?" he asked on one occasion, when he found the road to
+the staircase absolutely barred.
+
+"The mistress's room is being prepared for her return," replied Jane, to
+whom the query was addressed.
+
+He started as though someone had struck him in the breast.
+
+"Coming home," he gasped, staring at the woman with dropped jaw and
+wondering eye.
+
+"Miss Dora's orders, sir. She said the room might be wanted any day now,
+and it must be cleaned."
+
+"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 streamed down his cheeks, as he passed
+slowly into his study. "Coming home! Mary coming home!"
+
+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.
+
+Netty was called into counsel to decide what was to be done. Her simple
+settlement of the difficulty was very welcome.
+
+"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."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXII
+
+HOME AGAIN
+
+
+Netty's letter to her mother was characteristic:
+
+  "MY DEAR MOTHER,
+
+  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.
+
+  "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.
+
+  "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 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."
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+  "Shall be home to-morrow. Wife."
+
+The rector was hourly growing uneasy, when he 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.
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+There came a sound of wheels on the rectory drive. Dick hurried upstairs,
+and the servants were nowhere 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.
+
+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.
+
+"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.
+
+"Was that mother?" cried Dick from an upper window, in a loud whisper.
+
+"Yes, sir, it's herself right enough."
+
+Dick nodded and disappeared. He was impatient enough to go down, but
+held himself in check, leaving his father and mother to enjoy
+uninterrupted communion.
+
+It was a long time before Mary's musical voice was heard at the foot of
+the stairs, asking, "Where's Dick?"
+
+"I'm here, mother, and as lively as a cricket."
+
+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.
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER XXXIII
+
+THE SCARLET FEATHER
+
+
+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.
+
+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:
+
+"Do you know, Dick," she remarked, "that I shall be hard put to it to
+live up to you? You are such a hero!"
+
+"Pooh! Nonsense!" the lover exclaimed, in much confusion.
+
+But Dora shook her head, solemnly.
+
+"It is a fact," she declared, "and all the world knows it. If I didn't
+love you to distraction, I could 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--"
+
+"Good heavens!" Dick muttered, in consternation.
+
+"--and they are going to club on a silver service for a wedding present.
+Isn't that lovely?"
+
+"Oh, yes, I suppose so," Dick conceded. "But just think--if they should
+expect me to make a speech at the dinner! Good lord!"
+
+Dora opened her clear, gray eyes wide:
+
+"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?"
+
+"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."
+
+"What? He dared?" Dora sat erect, and her eyes flashed in a sudden wrath.
+"Tell me about it, Dick."
+
+The story was soon related, and the girl's indignation against his whilom
+rival filled him with delight.
+
+"The odd thing about it all was," he went on, "that I carried that white
+feather with me. I had 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."
+
+"Oh, Dick," Dora cried, "have you the feather still?"
+
+"Yes, indeed," was the smiling answer. "You see, I got into the habit of
+keeping it by me."
+
+"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.
+
+"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.
+
+She accepted it reverently, but an expression of dissatisfaction showed
+on her face.
+
+"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--"
+
+Dick interrupted, somewhat indignantly.
+
+"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?"
+
+"The blood!" Dora exclaimed, startled, and her face whitened. "What
+blood, Dick?"
+
+"Mine. You see, it lay right alongside the place where that bullet
+scraped my side."
+
+"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--"
+
+The lover, who had taken her into his arms, bent his head suddenly, and
+kissed her to silence.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+A FEW OF GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
+
+Great Books at Little Prices
+
+NEW, CLEVER, ENTERTAINING.
+
+
+GRET: The Story of a Pagan. By Beatrice Mantle. Illustrated by C. M.
+Relyea.
+
+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.
+
+OLD CHESTER TALES. By Margaret Deland. Illustrated by Howard Pyle.
+
+A vivid yet delicate portrayal of characters in an old New England town.
+
+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.
+
+THE MEMOIRS OF A BABY. By Josephine Daskam. Illustrated by F. Y. Cory.
+
+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.
+
+REBECCA MARY. By Annie Hamilton Donnell. Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen
+Green.
+
+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.
+
+THE FLY ON THE WHEEL. By Katherine Cecil Thurston. Frontispiece by
+Harrison Fisher.
+
+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.
+
+THE MAN FROM BRODNEY'S. By George Barr McCutcheon. Illustrated by
+Harrison Fisher.
+
+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.
+
+TOLD BY UNCLE REMUS. By Joel Chandler Harris. Illustrated by A. B. Frost,
+J. M. Conde and Frank Verbeck.
+
+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.
+
+THE CLIMBER. By E. F. Benson. With frontispiece.
+
+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.
+
+LYNCH'S DAUGHTER. By Leonard Merrick. Illustrated by Geo. Brehm.
+
+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.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
+
+DRAMATIZED NOVELS
+
+A Few that are Making Theatrical History
+
+
+MARY JANE'S PA. By Norman Way. Illustrated with scenes from the play.
+
+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.
+
+CHERUB DEVINE. By Sewell Ford.
+
+"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.
+
+A WOMAN'S WAY. By Charles Somerville. Illustrated with scenes from the
+play.
+
+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.
+
+THE CLIMAX. By George C. Jenks.
+
+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.
+
+A FOOL THERE WAS. By Porter Emerson Browne. Illustrated by Edmund Magrath
+and W. W. Fawcett.
+
+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.
+
+THE SQUAW MAN. By Julie Opp Faversham and Edwin Milton Royle. Illustrated
+with scenes from the play.
+
+A glowing story, rapid in action, bright in dialogue with a fine
+courageous hero and a beautiful English heroine.
+
+THE GIRL IN WAITING. By Archibald Eyre. Illustrated with scenes from the
+play.
+
+A droll little comedy of misunderstandings, told with a light touch, a
+venturesome spirit and an eye for human oddities.
+
+THE SCARLET PIMPERNEL. By Baroness Orczy. Illustrated with scenes from
+the play.
+
+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.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+A FEW OF GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
+
+Great Books at Little Prices
+
+
+CY WHITTAKER'S PLACE. By Joseph C. Lincoln. Illustrated by Wallace
+Morgan.
+
+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.
+
+THE FORGE IN THE FOREST. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated by H.
+Sandham.
+
+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.
+
+A SISTER TO EVANGELINE. By Charles G. D. Roberts. Illustrated by E.
+McConnell.
+
+Being the story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went into exile with
+the villagers of Grand Pre. Swift action, fresh atmosphere, wholesome
+purity, deep passion and searching analysis characterize this strong
+novel.
+
+THE OPENED SHUTTERS. By Clara Louise Burnham. Frontispiece by Harrison
+Fisher.
+
+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.
+
+THE RIGHT PRINCESS. By Clara Louise Burnham.
+
+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.
+
+THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. By Clara Louise Burnham. Frontispiece by Harrison
+Fisher.
+
+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 blase woman by this glimpse into a
+cheery life.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+A FEW OF GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
+
+Great Books at Little Prices
+
+
+QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. A Picture of New England Home Life. With
+illustrations by C. W. Reed, and Scenes Reproduced from the Play.
+
+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.
+
+THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF QUINCY ADAMS SAWYER. By Charles Felton Pidgin.
+Illustrated by Henry Roth.
+
+All who love honest sentiment, quaint and sunny humor, and homespun
+philosophy will find these "Further Adventures" a book after their own
+heart.
+
+HALF A CHANCE. By Frederic S. Isham. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer.
+
+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!
+
+VIRGINIA OF THE AIR LANES. By Herbert Quick. Illustrated by William R.
+Leigh.
+
+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.
+
+THE GAME AND THE CANDLE. By Eleanor M. Ingram. Illustrated by P. D.
+Johnson.
+
+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.
+
+GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+  Transcriber's Notes:
+
+
+  The following changes were made to the original text. The change is
+  enclosed in brackets:
+
+  Page 15: Then, glancing at =he= clock, [the]
+
+  Page 22: The result of it had been to develop =certainly=
+  miserly instincts [certain]
+
+  Page 26: There is a man at =out= house [our]
+
+  Page 41: He looked at =he= envelope, [the]
+
+  Page 57: It's splendid match, [added 'a': It's a splendid match]
+
+  Page 110: would beggar her by stopping it =altogther= [altogether]
+
+  Page 169: MY DEAR MISS DUNDAS [added beginning double quote]
+
+  Page 180: "Who is that coming up the drive?"; asked =th= [the]
+
+  Page 208: This was characteristic of the cautious =Ormsby's=
+  [Ormsbys]
+
+  Page 216: and I don't intend =of= have my daughter [to]
+
+  Page 231: And, as I've disgraced the family, I'd-- [added missing
+  double quote mark at the end of the sentence]
+
+  Page 257: he said, beckoning her =authoritively=. [authoritatively]
+
+  Page 265: Dick Swinton =in= done for. [is]
+
+  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]
+
+  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.
+
+  The illustration on Page 260 has been moved so that the illustration is
+  not in the middle of a paragraph.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Scarlet Feather, by Houghton Townley
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SCARLET FEATHER ***
+
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