The Scarlet Feather Part 35

"Yes, d.i.c.k, 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, d.i.c.k, 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, d.i.c.k. 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 d.i.c.k's knee as she still knelt by his side, and seemed embarra.s.sed.

"I think I understand," laughed d.i.c.k. "He's taken a fancy to you."

"Yes, d.i.c.k, 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, d.i.c.k. 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."

"d.i.c.k, your grandfather talked of getting you out of your sc.r.a.pe. 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."

"d.i.c.k, 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, d.i.c.k--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."

"d.i.c.k, 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, d.i.c.k, 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, d.i.c.k, d.i.c.k, 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, d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k 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 pa.s.sed 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 un.o.btrusively, 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.