How It All Came Round Part 36

"Then we will not postpone the marriage. My child shall marry the man she loves, and have the strength of his love in the dark days that must follow; and in one week you will be back with me, no less my child because you are Hinton's wife."

"Father, I cannot."

"Not if I wish it, dear--if I have set my heart on it?"

"I cannot," she repeated.

She felt driven to her wits' end, and pressed her hands to her face.

"Charlotte, what is the meaning of this? There is more here than meets the eye. Have you and Hinton quarrelled?"

"No, except over this. And even over this it takes two to make a quarrel. I cannot marry next week; I have told him so. He is vexed, and you--you are vexed. Must I break my heart and leave you? You have always given me my own way; give it now. Don't send me away from you. It would break my heart to marry and leave you now."

"Is this indeed so, Charlotte?" he said. "Would you with your whole heart rather put it off?"

"With my whole, whole heart, I would rather," she said.

"I will not urge it. I cannot; and yet it destroys a hope which I thought might cheer me on my dying bed."

"Never mind the hope, father; you will have me. I shall not spend that week away from you."

"No, that week did seem long to look forward to."

"Ah! you are glad after all that I am to be with you," she said. "You will let me nurse you and care for you. You will not force yourself to do more than you are able. Now that I know all, I can take such care of you, and the thought of that will make me happier by and by."

"It is a relief that you know the worst," said Mr. Harman, but he did not smile or look contented; he, as well as Hinton, felt that there was more in this strange desire of Charlotte's than met the eye.

CHAPTER XLIII.

"YOU DON'T WANT MONEY?"

Sandy Wilson having again very carefully read Mr. Harman's will, felt much puzzled how to act. He was an honest, upright, practical man himself. The greatness of the crime committed quite startled him. He had no sympathy for the wicked men who had done the deed, and he had the very keenest sympathy for those against whom the deed was done. His little orphan and widowed sister and her baby child were the wronged ones. The men who had wronged her he had never seen. He said to himself that he had no sympathy, no sympathy whatever for Mr. Harman. What if he was a dying man, was that fact to screen him? Was he to be allowed to go down to his grave in peace, his gray head appearing to be to him a crown of glory, honored by the world, cheered for his great success in life?

Was all this to be allowed to continue when he was worthy not of applause but of hisses, of the world's most bitter opprobrium?

And yet Sandy felt that, little or indeed no pity as he had for this most wicked man, even if Charlotte had not come to him and pleaded with eyes, voice, and manner he could scarcely have exposed Mr. Harman. He could scarcely, after hearing that great doctor's verdict, have gone up to the old man and said that which would hurry him without an instant's time for repentance, to judgment.

Alexander Wilson believed most fully in a judgment to come. When he thought of it now, a certain sense of relief came over him. He need not trouble so sorely; he might leave this sinner to his G.o.d. It is to be feared that he thought more of G.o.d's justice than of His loving mercy and forgiveness, as he decided to leave John Harman in His hands.

That evening at six o'clock he was to be again with Charlotte Home. For Charlotte Harman's sake, he had denied himself that pleasure the night before; but this evening the solitary man might enjoy the keen pleasure of being with his very own. Mrs. Home was his nearest living relation--the child of his own loved sister. He did not know yet whether he could love her at all as he had loved his little Daisy; but he felt quite sure that her children would twine themselves round his heart; for already the remembrance of Daisy Home was causing it to beat high with pleasure.

As the hour approached for his visit, he loaded himself with presents not only for the children, but for the whole family. He said to himself with much delight, that however much Mr. Harman's will might be tied up for the present, yet Sandy Wilson's purse was open. He had far less idea than Charlotte Harman what children really liked, but he loaded himself with toys, cakes, and sweeties; and for his special pet Daisy over and above the other two he bought the very largest doll that a Regent Street shop could furnish him with. This doll was as heavy as a baby, and by no means so beautiful to look at as its smaller companions. But Sandy was no judge in such matters.

With his presents for the adults of the party he was more fortunate. For his niece he purchased a black silk, which in softness, l.u.s.tre, and quality could not be surpa.s.sed; for Mr. Home he bought two dozen very old port; for Anne, a bright blue merino dress.

These goods were packed into a four-wheeler, and, punctually at six o'clock, that well-laden cab drew up at 10, Tremins Road. Three eager pairs of eyes watched the unpacking, for the three pretty children, dressed in their best, were in the dining-room; Mr. Home was also present, and Charlotte had laid her tea-table with several unwonted dainties in honor of her uncle's visit. Anne, the little maid, was fluttering about; that well-laden cab had raised her spirits and her hopes. She flew in and out, helping the cabby to bring the numerous parcels into the hall.

"Ah! Annie, my girl, here's something for you," said Uncle Sandy, tossing her dress to her. After which, it is to be feared, Anne went off her head for a little bit.

The children, headed by their mother, came into the little hall to meet and welcome their uncle. He entered the dining-room with Daisy riding on his shoulder. Then before tea could even be thought of, the presents must be discussed. The cakes, the sweeties, the toys were opened out; the children scampered about, laughed, shouted, and kissed the old Australian. Never in all his life had Uncle Sandy felt so happy.

Over an hour pa.s.sed in this way, then the mother's firm voice was heard.

The little heads were raised obediently. Good-night kisses were given, and Harold, Daisy, and little Angus were led off to their nursery by the highly flushed and excited Anne.

The tea which followed and the quiet talk were nearly as pleasant, and Uncle Sandy so enjoyed himself, that for a time he completely forgot old Harman's will, his own half promise, Charlotte Harman's despair.

It was all brought back to him, however, and by the Homes themselves.

The tea things had been removed, the gas was lit, the curtains drawn, and Charlotte Home had insisted on her old uncle seating himself in the one easy-chair which the room possessed. She herself stood on the hearthrug, and glancing for a moment at her husband she spoke.

"Uncle Sandy, it is so good to have you back again, and Angus and I are so truly glad to welcome my dear mother's brother to our home, that we think it hard to have to touch on anything the least gloomy to-night.

Just a word or two will be sufficient, and then we must drop the subject for ever."

Uncle Sandy raised his wrinkled old face.

"Ah," he said. "If there's anything unpleasant, have it cut by all means--out and over--that's my own motto."

"We spoke the other night," continued Charlotte, "about my dear mother.

I told you that she was poor--that she had to do with poverty, from the hour of my father's death until the end of her own life. It is all over for her now, she is at rest. If plenty of money could be found for her she would not need it. When I told you the story you expressed a doubt that all was not right; you said it was absolutely impossible that my father could have left my mother nothing; you said that either the will was tampered with or not acted on. Well, Uncle Sandy, I agree with you.

I had long felt that something was not right."

"Ay, ay, my girl; I said before, you had a brain in your head and a head on your shoulders. Trust Uncle Sandy not to know a clever woman when he sees her."

"Well, uncle, I can say all the rest in a very few words. You said you could investigate the matter; that you could discover whether any foul play had been committed. I asked you not to do so until I saw you again; I now ask you not to do so at all; to let the whole matter rest always.

In this I have my husband's sanction and wish."

"Yes, Lottie has my full approval in this matter," said Mr. Home, coming forward and laying his hand on his wife's shoulder. "We don't want money, we would rather let the matter rest."

"You don't want money!" said Uncle Sandy, gazing hard from the ethereal worn-looking man, to the woman, tall and thin, in her rusty dress, with every mark of poverty showing in thin cheek, in careworn eyes, in labor-stained hands. "You don't want money!" he repeated. "Niece Charlotte, I retract what I said of you--I thought you were not quite a fool. As to you, Home, I don't pretend to understand you. You don't want money?"

Mr. Home smiled. Charlotte bent down and kissed her old uncle's brow.

"Nevertheless, you will do what we wish, even though you don't understand," she said.

Uncle Sandy took her hand.

"Sit down near me, Niece Charlotte," he said. "And as to you, Home, you have a long story to hear. After you have heard it, it will be time enough to discuss your proposition. The fact is, Charlotte, I disobeyed you in part. You asked me to do nothing in this matter until we met again. I did nothing to compromise you; but, nevertheless, I was not idle, I wanted to set my own mind at rest. There was an easy way of doing this which I knew of, and which I wondered had not occurred to you. Charlotte, I went yesterday to Somerset House; doubtless, you know nothing of what took me there. I can soon enlighten you. In a certain part of that vast pile, all wills are obliged to be kept. Anyone who likes may go there, and, by paying the sum of one shilling, read any will they desire. I did so. I went to Somerset House and I saw your father's will."

"Yes," said Charlotte. Whatever her previous resolution, she no doubt felt keenly excited now. "Yes," she repeated, "you read my father's will."

"I read it. I read it in a hurry yesterday; to-day I saw it again and read it carefully. There is no flaw in it; it is a will that must stand, that cannot be disputed. Charlotte, you were right in your forebodings.

Niece Charlotte, you and your mother, before you, were basely robbed, cruelly wronged; your dead father was just and upright; your living brothers are villains; your father left, absolutely to your mother first, and to you at her death, the sum of twelve hundred a year. He left to you both a large enough sum of money to realize that large yearly income. You were robbed of it. Do you know how?"

"No," said Charlotte. She said that one little word almost in a whisper.

Her face was deadly pale.