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diff --git a/28123.txt b/28123.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6cf975f --- /dev/null +++ b/28123.txt @@ -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 *** + +***** This file should be named 28123.txt or 28123.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/1/2/28123/ + +Produced by Roger Frank, Darleen Dove and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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