Opening a Chestnut Burr Part 60

"Not now, please," said Gregory. "I start in a few moments for Paris, and must even now say good-by for a little time. I warn you, Mr. Kemp, that Miss Walton will exaggerate my services. She has a way of overvaluing what is done for her, and undervaluing what she does for others."

"Well," said Mr. Kemp, with a significant nod, "that's a trait that runs in the Walton blood."

"I long ago came to regard their blood as of the truest blue," said Gregory, laughing.

"Must you leave us again so soon?" said Annie, with a slight tremble in her voice.

"Yes, Miss Walton, even now I should be on the way to the train. But you are surrounded by those who can best take care of you. Still I earnestly hope that, before many days, I shall see you in Paris, and in greatly improved health. So I won't say good-by, but only good-morning."

Ah, he did not know, or he would have said "farewell" with a heavy heart.

His parting from her was most friendly, and the pressure of his hand warm and strong, but Annie felt, with a deep, unsatisfied pain at heart, that it was all too formal. Mr. Kemp was exceedingly demonstrative, and said, "Wait till I see you in Paris, and I will overwhelm you with questions, especially about your partner, my dear old friend, Mr. Burnett."

But staid, quiet Miss Eulie surprised them all. She just put her arms about his neck, and gave him a hearty kiss, saying, "Take that, Mr.

Gregory, from one who loves you like a mother."

He returned the caress most tenderly, and hastened away to hide his emotion.

Then envious Annie bitterly reproached herself that she had been so cold, and, to make amends, began giving a glowing account of all that Gregory had done for them.

The old gentleman listened with an amused twinkle in his eyes, secretly exulting over the thought, "It is not going to break her heart to part with Hunting."

In the midst of her graphic story that unfortunate man entered, and her words died upon her lips. She rose quietly, and said, "Charles, this is my uncle, Mr. Kemp."

But she was amazed to see Mr. Kemp, who thus far had seemed geniality itself, acknowledge her affianced with freezing coldness, and Hunting turned deathly pale with a presentiment of disaster.

"Be seated, sir," said Mr. Kemp, stiffly; "I wish to make a brief explanation, and after that will relieve you of the care of these ladies."

Hunting sank into a chair, and Annie saw something of the same terror on his face which had sickened her on the sinking ship. "Annie," said her uncle, very gravely, "have you entire confidence in me? Your father had."

"Certainly," said Annie, wondering beyond measure at this most unaccountable scene.

"Will you take my word for it, that this man, who seems most conscious of his guilt, deceived--yes, lied to Burnett & Co., and swindled them out of so large a sum of money that the firm would have failed but for me? Because, if you cannot take my word, I can give you absolute proof."

Annie buried her face in her hands and said, "Now I understand all this wretched mystery. How I have wronged Mr. Gregory!"

"You could not do other than wrong him while Mr. Hunting had any influence over you. I know Mr. Gregory well. He is an honorable business man, and always was, with all his faults. And now, sir, for your satisfaction, let me inform you that Mr. Burnett is one of my most intimate friends. He told me all about it, and gave ample proof of the nature of the entire transaction. I am connected with the bank with which the firm deposited, and through my influence I secured them such accommodation as tided them over the critical time in their affairs which your villany had occasioned."

Hunting now recovered himself sufficiently to say, "I did nothing different from what often occurs in business. I had a legal right to every cent that I collected from Burnett & Co."

"But how about _moral right?_ Do we not all know that often the most barefaced robberies take place within the limits of the law? And such was your act. Even the hardened gamblers of the Street were disgusted."

"You have no right to speak to me in this way, sir," said Hunting, trying to work up a little indignation. "Mr. Walton trusted me, and I became engaged to Miss Walton under circ.u.mstances the most solemn and sacred; we are the same as married."

"Come, sir," interrupted Mr. Kemp, hotly, "don't make me lose my temper. John Walton was the soul of Christian honor. He would have buried his daughter rather than have her marry you, if he had known you as I do. I now insist that you resign your executorship and relieve us of your presence."

"Annie," cried Hunting, in a voice of anguish, "can you sit quietly by and hear me so insulted?"

She sat motionless--her face, burning with shame, buried in her hands.

With her intense Walton hatred of deceit, the thought that she had come so near marrying a swindler and liar scorched her very soul.

He came to her side and tried to take her hand, but she shrunk from him in loathing, and, springing up, said pa.s.sionately, "When I think, sir, that with this guilty secret you would have tricked me into marriage by my father's death-bed, I am perfectly appalled at your wickedness. G.o.d in mercy s.n.a.t.c.hed me then from a fate worse than death."

She turned away for a moment and pressed her hands upon her throbbing heart. Then turning her dark and flashing eyes to where he stood, pale, speechless, and trembling, she said, more calmly, "May G.o.d forgive you.

I will when I can. Go."

She proved what is often true, that the gentle, when desperately wronged, are the most terrible.

He slunk cowering away without a word, and to avoid exposure Mr. Kemp at once compelled him to sign papers that took from him all further power of mischief. Mr. Kemp eventually became executor in his stead.

As soon as Annie grew calmer she had a glad sense of escape greater than that which had followed her rescue from the wrecked ship. Her heart sprung up within her bosom and sung for joy. Then again she would shudder deeply at what she had so narrowly avoided. Stronger than her grat.i.tude for life twice saved was her feeling of obligation to Gregory for his persistent effort to shield her from this marriage. She was eager to start for Paris at once that she might ask forgiveness for all her injustice toward him. But in the excess of her feelings she was far more unjust toward herself, as he would have told her.

Still, even if Hunting's dishonesty had not been revealed to her, Annie would have broken with him. As soon as she gained her mental strength and poise--as soon as she realized that her love was hopelessly gone from him--her true, strong nature would have revolted from the marriage as from a crime, and she would have told him, in deepest pity, but with rock-like firmness, that it could not be.

The next day she greatly relented toward him, and, in her deep pity, sent a kind farewell message which it would nave been well for him to heed.

CHAPTER x.x.xV

A CHESTNUT BURR AND A HOME

When Gregory reached Paris, to his grief and consternation he found a despatch informing him of the sudden death of old Mr. Burnett, and the illness of Mr. Seymour, the other partner. "Return instantly," it read; "the senior clerk is coming out to take your place."

At first it appeared a double grief that he could scarcely endure, for it seemed that if he went back now Annie would be lost to him beyond hope. But after thinking it all over he became calmer, "It may be best after all, for as my wife she is lost to me beyond hope, and G.o.d sees that I am not strong enough to meet her often yet and sustain myself, and so s.n.a.t.c.hes me from the temptation."

Thus little children guess at the meaning of an earthly father, but Gregory did what a child should--he trusted.

He wrote a warm but hasty note to Annie, which through some carelessness was never delivered, attended to some necessary matters, and was just in time to catch the French steamer outward bound.

When Annie reached Paris, she learned in dismay that he had sailed for New York. Seemingly he had left no message, no explanation; all they could learn at his hotel was that he had received a despatch summoning him instantly home. Annie was deeply wounded, though she tried to believe that he had written and that the letter had been missent or lost. A thousand conjectures of evil ran in her mind, and the thought of his being again on the ocean, which she now so dreaded, at the stormiest season of the year, was a source of deep anxiety. In her morbid fears she even thought that the scheming Hunting might have something to do with it. She gave way to despondency. Then her aunt tried to comfort her by saying, "Annie, I am sure I understand you both better than you do each other, and I think I can write Mr. Gregory a line which will clear up everything."

But the quiet little lady was quite frightened by the way in which Annie turned upon her.

"As you love me, aunty," she said, "never write a line on this subject.

I am not one to seek, but must be sought, even by Gregory. Not one line, I charge you, containing a hint of my feelings."

"Well, Annie, darling," she said, gently, "it's all going to come out right."

But Annie, in her weak, depressed state, saw only the dark side. As with Gregory there was nothing for her but patient trust.

But when, in due time, there came a despatch from him announcing his safe arrival, she was greatly rea.s.sured. The light came back into her eyes and the color to her cheeks.

"What kind of medicine have you been taking to-day?" asked her uncle, slyly.

"She has been treated with electricity," Miss Eulie remarked, quietly.