The Allen House Part 37

He spoke calmly, like one whose mind had risen above doubt. I objected nothing further; for that would have been useless. And why attempt to throw questions into his mind? Was there anything evil in the faith which he had adopted as exhibited in his life? I could not say yes. On the contrary, taking his life as an ill.u.s.tration, good only was to be inferred. I remembered very well when his mind diverged into this new direction. Some years had intervened. I thought to see him grow visionary or enthusiastic. Not so, however. There was a change progressively visible; but it was in the direction of sound and rational views of life. A broader humanity showed itself in his words and actions. Then came the subtler vein of religious sentiments, running like pure gold through all that appertained to him.

If, therefore, he was progressing towards a higher life, why should I question as to the way being right for him? Why should I seek to turn him into another path when there was such a broad light for his eyes on the one he had chosen? "By their fruits ye shall know them." And by his fruits I knew him to be of that highest type of manhood, a Christian gentleman.

I noticed, while Mr. Wallingford spoke so confidently of their reunion in heaven, that his wife leaned towards, and looked at him, with eyes through which her soul seemed going forth into his.

As the conversation flowed on, it gradually involved other themes, and finally led to the question On my part, as to when they were going to leave Ivy Cottage.

"That is quite uncertain," replied Mr. Wallingford. "I shall not hurry the present occupant. We have been so happy here, that we feel more inclined to stay than to remove to a more ambitious home."

"I hear that Mr. Dewey is going to build," said I.

"Where?"

"He has been negotiating for the property on the elevation west of the Allen House."

"Ah!"

"Yes. The price of the ground, five acres, is ten thousand dollars."

"The site is commanding and beautiful. The finest in S----, for one who thinks mainly of attracting the attention of others," said Mr.

Wallingford.

"If he builds, we shall see something on a grander scale than anything yet attempted in our neighborhood. He will overshadow you."

"The rivalry must be on his side alone," was Mr. Wallingford's reply.

"No elegance or imposing grandeur that he may a.s.sume, can disturb me in the smallest degree. I shall only feel pity for the defect of happiness that all his blandishments must hide."

"A splendid Italian villa is talked of."

Mr. Wallingford shook his head.

"You doubt all this?" said I.

"Not the man's ambitious pride; but his ability to do what pride suggests. He and his compeers are poorer, by a hundred thousand dollars, than they deemed themselves a few short months ago."

"Have they met with heavy losses?" I asked, not understanding the drift of his remark.

"The estate in trust has been withdrawn."

"How should that make them poorer?"

"It makes them poorer, in the first place, as to the means for carrying on business. And it makes them poorer, in the second place, in the loss of an estate, which, I am sorry to believe, Mr. Dewey and a part of his New York a.s.sociates regarded as virtually their own.

"But the heir was approaching his majority," said I.

"And growing up a weak, vicious, self-indulgent young man, who, in the hands of a shrewd, unscrupulous villain, might easily be robbed of his fortune. You may depend upon it, Doctor, that somebody has suffered a terrible disappointment, and one from which he is not likely soon to recover. No--no! We shall see nothing of this princely Italian villa."

"I cannot believe," I replied, "that the executors who had the estate in trust were influenced by dishonorable motives. I know the men too well."

"Nor do I, Doctor," he answered, promptly. "But, as I have before said, they were almost wholly under the influence of Dewey, and I think that he was leading them into mazes from which honorable extrication would have been impossible."

"Have you given Dewey any notice of removal?" I inquired.

"No--and shall not, for some time. I am in no hurry to leave this place, in which the happiest days of my life have pa.s.sed. Any seeming eagerness to dispossess him, would only chafe a spirit in which I would not needlessly excite evil pa.s.sions. His pride must, I think, lead him at a very early day to remove, and thus make a plain way before me."

"How long will you wait?" I asked.

"Almost any reasonable time."

"You and he might not take the same view of what was reasonable," said I.

"Perhaps not. But, as I remarked just now, being in no hurry to leave our present home, I shall not disturb him for some months to come. No change will be made by us earlier than next spring. And if he wishes to spend the winter in his present abode, he is welcome to remain."

There was no a.s.sumed virtuous forbearance in all this; but a sincere regard for the feelings and comfort of Dewey. This was so apparent, that I did not question for a moment his generous consideration of a man who would not have hesitated, if the power were given, to crush him to the very earth.

Many thoughts pa.s.sed in my mind, as I pondered the incidents and conversation of this evening. In looking back upon life, we see the sure progress of causes to effects; and in the effects, the quality of the causes. We no longer wonder at results--the only wonder is, that they were not foreseen. Wise maxims, some of the garnered grains of our fathers' experiences, are scattered through the books we read, and daily fall from the lips of teachers and friends; maxims which, if observed, would lead us to honor and happiness. But who gives them heed? Who makes them the rule of his conduct?

We might wonder less at the blind infatuation with which so many press onward in a course that all the wisdom of the past, as well as all the reason of the present, condemns, if it were possible to rub out our actions, as a child rubs from his slate a wrong sum, and begin the work of life over again. But this cannot be. We weave hourly the web that is to bind us in the future. Our to-days hold the fate of our to-morrows.

What we do is done for ever, and in some degree will affect us throughout infinite ages.

"Poor Delia Floyd!" My thought had turned to her as I lay awake, long after the small hours of the morning, busy with incidents and reflections which had completely banished sleep from my eyes. In the strong pity of my heart, I spoke the words aloud.

"What of her?" said Constance, in a tone of surprise. And so intruding thought had kept her awake also!

"Nothing more than usual," I answered. "But I cannot sleep for thinking of her unhappy state, and what she might have been, if obeying her own heart's right impulses, and the reason G.o.d gave her, she had accepted a true man, instead of a specious villain for her husband. The scene in Ivy Cottage to-night stands in most remarkable contrast with some things I witnessed at the Allen House before she went out thence a wretched woman for life. She staked everything on a desperate venture, and has lost. G.o.d pity her! for there is no help in any human arm. To think of what she is, and what she might have been, is enough to veil her reason in midnight darkness."

"Amen! G.o.d pity her!" said Constance. "For truly there is no help for her in mortal arm."

CHAPTER XXVIII.

The conduct of Mr. Wallingford, in regard to the estate which had fallen into his hands, rather puzzled Dewey. He had antic.i.p.ated an early notification to remove, and, true to his character, had determined to annoy the new owner by vexatious delays. But after the pa.s.sage of several weeks, in which came to him no intimation that he must give up the possession of his elegant home, he began to wonder what it could mean.

One day, not long after the conversation with Wallingford, mentioned in the last chapter, I met Mr. Dewey in the street. He stopped me and said, in half-sneering way,

"What of our honorable friend? Impatient, I suppose, to see the inside of the Allen House?"

"No," I replied, "he has no wish to disturb you for the present."

"Indeed! You expect me to believe all that, of course."

There was a rudeness in his manner that was offensive; but I did not care to let him see that I noticed it.

"Why should you not believe my remark?" said I. "Is it a new thing in your experience with men to find an individual considerate of another?"

"What do you mean by considerate of another?"