Jessie Graham Part 6

"Jessie," Walter said, sternly, "what do you mean about that valedictory. Come, sit by me and tell me at once."

In Walter's voice there was a tone which, as a child, Jessie had been wont to obey, and now at his command she stole timidly to his side upon the rustic bench, and told him all her suspicions, and the source from which they originated.

There was a sudden flash of anger in Walter's eye at his cousin's meanness, and then, with a merry laugh, he said:

"And it sounded familiar to you, too, did it? Some parts of it might, I'll admit, for you had heard them before. Do you remember being at any examination in Wilbraham, when I took the prize in composition, or rather declamation? It was said then that my essay was far beyond my years, and I am inclined to think it was; for I have written nothing since which pleased me half so well. I was appointed valedictorian, as you know, and in preparing my oration I selected a few of those old ideas and embodied them in language to suit the occasion. I am hardly willing to call it plagiarism, stealing from myself, and I am sure you would never have recognized it either if Mr. Bellenger had not roused your suspicions. Is my explanation satisfactory?"

It was perfectly so, for Jessie now remembered where she had heard something like Walter's valedictory, and with her doubts removed she became much like herself again, though she would not admit that William's insinuations were mere fabrications of his own. He never heard it before, she knew, but some of Walter's old Wilbraham a.s.sociates might have been present and said in his hearing that it seemed familiar, and then it would be quite natural for him to think so too.

Walter did not dispute her, but said:

"What else did my amiable cousin say against me?"

Clasping her hands over her burning face, Jessie answered faintly:

"He told me that your father had done a horrible thing, though he didn't explain what it was. I knew before that there was something unpleasant, and once asked father about it, but he wouldn't tell, and I want so much to know. What was it, Walter?"

For a moment Walter hesitated, then drawing Jessie nearer to him, he replied:

"It will pain me greatly to tell you that sad story, but I would rather you should hear it from my lips than from any other," and then, unmindful of the cows, which, having waited long for their accustomed summons, were slowly wending their way homeward, he began the story as follows:

"You know that old stone building on the hill near the village, and you have heard also that it was a flourishing high school for girls. There one pleasant summer my mother came. She was spending several months with a family who occupied what is now that huge old ruin down by the river side. Mother was beautiful, they say, and so my father thought, for every leisure moment found him at her side."

"But wasn't she a great deal richer than he," Jessie asked, unconscious of the pang her question inflicted upon her companion, who replied:

"Yes, he was poor, while Ellen Bellenger was rich, but she had a soul above the foolish distinction the world will make between the wealthy and the working cla.s.s. She loved my father, and he loved her. At last they were engaged, and then he proposed writing to her parents, as he would do nothing dishonorable; but she begged him not to do it, for she knew how proud they were, and that they would take her home at once. And so, in an unguarded moment, they went together over the line into New York, where they were married. The Bellengers, of course, were fearfully enraged, denouncing her at once, and bidding her never cross their threshold again. But this only drew her nearer to her husband, who fairly worshiped her, as did the entire family,-for she lived in the old gable-roofed house,-and was happy in that little room which we call yours now. Father was anxious that she should have everything she wanted, and it is said was sometimes very extravagant, buying for her costly luxuries which he could not well afford."

"But _my_ father," said Jessie. "What had he to do with it?"

"Everything," returned Walter, with bitterness. "Old Mr. Graham had a bank in Deerwood. Your father was cashier, while mine was teller, and in consideration of a large remuneration, performed a menial's part, such as sweeping the rooms, building the fires in winter, and of course he kept the keys. They were great friends, Richard Graham and Seth Marshall, and people likened them to David and Jonathan. At last one of the large bills my father had made came due, and on that very night the bank was robbed of more than a thousand dollars."

"Oh, Walter, how could he do it?" cried Jessie, and Walter replied:

"He didn't! He was as innocent as I, who was then unborn. Listen while I tell you. There was in town a dissipated, good-natured fellow, named Heyward, who had sometimes taught singing-school, and sometimes fiddled for country dances. No one knew how he managed to subsist, for he dressed well, traveled a great deal, and was very liberal with his money, when he had any. Still none suspected him of dishonesty; he did not know enough for that, they said. Everybody liked him, and when on that night he came to our house, apparently intoxicated, and asked for a shelter, grandfather bade him stay, and a.s.signed him a back room in which was an outer door. In the morning he was, or seemed to be, still in a drunken sleep. Your father brought the news of the robbery, and while he talked he looked suspiciously at mine, especially when my mother said innocently:

"'The burglars must have tried this house, too, for I woke in the night, and finding my husband gone, called to him to know where he was.

Presently he came in, saying he thought he heard a noise and got up to find what it was.'

"When she said this Mr. Graham changed color, and pointing to my father's shoes, which stood upon the hearth, he asked:

"'How came these so muddy? It was not raining at bedtime last night.'

"This was true. A heavy storm had arisen after ten and subsided before twelve, so that the shoes must have been worn since that hour, as there was fresh dirt still upon them. The robber had been tracked to our door, while there were corresponding marks from our door to the bank. My father's shoes just fitted in these tracks, for they measured them with the wretched man looking on in a kind of torpid apathy, as if utterly unable to comprehend the meaning of what he saw; but when Richard, his best friend, whispered to him softly, 'Confess it, Seth. Give up the money and it won't go so hard against you,' the truth burst upon him, and he dropped to the ground like one scathed with the lightning's stroke. For hours he lay in that death-like swoon, and when he came back to consciousness he was guarded by the officers of the law. They led him off in the care of a constable, he all the time protesting his innocence, save at intervals when he refused to speak, but sat with a look upon his face as if bereft of reason.

"The examination came on, and the upper room, where the court was held, was crowded to overflowing, all anxious to gain a sight of my father, though they had known him from boyhood up. Grandpa was there, and close behind sat or rather crouched my wretched mother. She would not be kept back, and with a face as white as marble, and hands locked firmly together, she sat to hear the testimony. Once the counsel for my father thought to clear him by throwing suspicion upon Heyward, who with a most foolish expression upon his face had declared that he heard nothing during the night. People would rather it had been he than Seth Marshall, and the tide was turning in favor of the latter when Richard Graham was called to the stand. He was known to be my father's dearest friend, and the audience waited breathlessly to hear what he would say. He testified that, having been very restless, he got up about two o'clock in the morning, and as his window commanded a full view of the bank, he naturally looked in that direction. The moon was setting, but he could still discern objects with tolerable distinctness, and he saw a man come out of the bank, lock the door, put the key in his pocket, and hurry down the street. My father then wore a light gray coat and cap of the same color, so did this man, and thinking it must be he, Mr. Graham called him by name; but if he heard he did not stop. Mr. Graham then remembered that the day before my father had procured some medicine for my mother, and had forgotten to take it home. This threw some light upon the matter, and thinking that mother had probably been taken suddenly ill and my father had gone for the medicine, Mr. Graham retired again to rest, and gave it no further thought until the robbery was discovered.

"'Do you believe the man you saw leaving the bank to have been the prisoner?' asked the lawyer, and for an instant Mr. Graham hesitated, for with the white stony face of his early friend upturned to his and the supplicating eyes of the young wife fixed upon him, how could he answer yes? But he did, Jessie,-he did it at last. He said, 'I do,' and over the white face there pa.s.sed a look of agony which wrung a groan even from your father's lips, while the pale young creature not far away rocked to and fro in her hopeless desolation."

"Oh, Walter, Walter!" cried Jessie, "don't tell me any more. I see now so plain that fair girl-wife crouching on the floor and my father testifying against her. How could he?"

Walter had asked himself that question many a time, and his bosom had swelled with resentment at the act; but now, when Jessie, too, questioned the justice of the proceeding, he answered:

"It was right I suppose,-all right. Mr. Graham believed that to which he testified, and when he left the stand he wound his arms around my father's neck and said:

"'G.o.d forgive me, Seth, I couldn't help it.'"

"But he could," said Jessie; "he needn't have told all he knew."

Walter made no reply to this; he merely went on with his story:

"Then the decision came. There was proof sufficient for the case to be presented before the grand jury, and unless bail could be found to the amount of one thousand dollars, my father must go to jail, there to await his trial at the county court, which would hold its next session in three weeks. When the decision was made known, my father pressed his hands tightly over his heart for a moment, and then he clasped them to his ears as the deep stillness in the room was broken by the plaintive cry:

"'Save my husband, somebody. Oh, save my darling husband!'

"The next moment my mother fell at his feet, a crushed, lifeless thing, her hair falling down her face and a blue, pinched look about her lips, while my father bent over her, his tears falling like rain upon her face. Everybody cried, and when the question was asked, 'Who will go the prisoner's bail?' your father answered aloud:

"'I will.'"

"Oh, I am so glad!" gasped Jessie, while Walter continued:

"With Mr. Graham for security, they let my poor father go home; but a mighty blow had fallen upon him, benumbing all his faculties; he could neither think, nor talk, nor act, but would sit all day with mother's hands in his, gazing into her face and whispering sometimes:

"'What will my darling do when I am in State prison?'

"Such would be his fate, everybody said. It could not be avoided, and in a kind of feverish despair he waited the result. Your father was with him often, 'keeping watch,' the villagers said; but if so, he was not vigilant enough, for one dark, stormy night, the last before the dreadful sitting of the court, when the wind roared and howled about the old farm-house, and the heavy autumnal rain beat against the windows, my father drew his favorite chair, the one which always stands in that dark corner, and which none save you has ever used since then, he drew it, I say, to my mother's side, and winding his arms about her neck, he said:

"'Ellen, do you believe me guilty?'

"'No, never for a moment,' she replied, and he continued:

"'Heaven bless you, precious one, for that. Teach our child to think the same, and give it a father's blessing.'

"My mother was too much bewildered to answer, and with a kiss upon her lips, my father turned to his father and standing up before him, said:

"'I know what's in your heart; but, father, I swear to you that I am innocent. Bless me, father-bless your only boy once more.'

"Then grandpa put his trembling hand upon the brown locks of his son and said:

"'I would lay down my life to know that you are not guilty; but I bless you all the same, and may G.o.d bless you too, my boy!'

"In the bedroom grandmother lay sick, and kneeling by her side, my father said to her:

"'Do you believe I did it?'

"'No,' she answered faintly, and without his asking it, she gave him her blessing.

"He kissed his sister,-kissed Aunt Debby, and then he went away. They saw his face, white as a corpse, pressed against the window pane, while his eyes were riveted upon his beautiful young wife,-then the face was gone, and only the storm went sobbing past the place where he had stood.

All that night the light burned on the table, and they waited his return, but from that hour to this he has not come back. He could not go to prison, and so he ran away. Mr. Graham paid the bail, and was heard to say that he was glad poor Seth escaped. I did not quite understand the matter when I was a boy, and I almost hated your father for testifying against him, but I know now he did what he thought was right.