Virgie's Inheritance Part 36

Mrs. Farnum lost her husband soon after her return from America, and afterward made her home mostly with her daughter. But she was far from being a happy woman, even though she had everything which unlimited wealth could purchase. Her conscience never ceased to trouble her for the part she had played in helping to ruin the life of that beautiful wife and mother whom she had met in New York. She was ever haunted by that sad, sweet face. She had been half-tempted, many times, to confess everything to Sir William, hoping thus to atone in part for what she had done, and because, after she found that Sadie's cause was hopeless, she began to pity that poor, injured girl; but her fear of Lady Linton, and also of Sir William's righteous anger, prevented her doing so.

Thus five years pa.s.sed.

It was now ten years since Sir William Heath's marriage with Virgie, but he was still true to the one love of his youth. He continued to cherish her image in his heart, even as he had vowed to do, and though he had come to believe her lost to him forever, he had determined that no other should occupy the place he had once given to her.

But about this time something occurred to create a pleasant change in his saddened life.

A dear friend of his youth died, leaving to his care his fine, manly little son, now in his twelfth year, who had been the pride of his father's heart, the comfort of widowered, lonely years.

Major Hamilton had been in Her Majesty's service for many years, and at the time of his death was serving on an important appointment abroad.

During this service he had acquired many honors and great wealth. His wife was the second daughter of Lord Shaftonsberry, but she had lived only one short month after the birth of their only son, Rupert, who was now to become the ward of Sir William Heath.

He was a n.o.ble little fellow, and it was not long before the baronet became fondly attached to him, and believed that perhaps he had at last found, in rearing this child of promise to manhood, something that would add interest and zest to his dreary and monotonous life.

Lady Linton, who was still at Heathdale, and nominally its mistress, received the orphaned stranger with great kindness.

He was heir presumptive to the t.i.tle and estates of Shaftonsberry, if death should remove the present inc.u.mbent who as yet had no children of his own, and this circ.u.mstance, in addition to the great wealth which young Rupert inherited from his father, made him a person of considerable consequence.

Her ladyship's mind, with its habitual cunning, leaped forward eight or ten years, and planned a union of the houses of Linton and Shaftonsberry, by the marriage of her daughter, Lillian, now eleven years of age, with her brother's ward.

She argued that everything was in her favor for accomplishing this, for the children would be reared beneath the same roof, and it would be comparatively easy to educate them to consider themselves destined for each other.

Of course this arch plotter kept all this to herself, for she well knew that her brother would sternly oppose all match-making of this sort; but it became a dearly cherished plan with her, and she bent all her energies toward its accomplishment.

Chapter XXVI.

"I Shall Never Marry Again."

Virgie returned to San Francisco about two weeks after Sir William quitted the city.

Her little girl, now more than two years old, was much improved, and had grown to be a remarkably interesting child, while she was of the greatest comfort to her mother whose every hope was now centered in her.

Virgie entered upon her work with renewed interest, although she had not been idle during the summer by any means. With her pen she had copied nature in every possible phase, and had brought home, for her winter's campaign, rich treasures of beauty and art.

She had for some time been engaged upon quite an extensive work, which was to be elegantly bound, and which promised to be something very rare and unique.

She threw herself into this with such energy, after her return, and worked at it so steadily and with so much enthusiasm, that Mr. Knight really began to fear that she would overtax her strength.

From the first he had been deeply interested in the beautiful and talented woman who bore her sorrows so bravely and battled so courageously with the adverse fate that had well-nigh ruined her life. He had pitied her friendlessness, and tried to throw around her a sort of fatherly care and protection; but as he came to know her better, to realize her strength of mind and character, and beauty of disposition, a warmer feeling began to take the place of pity and compa.s.sion, until, as she grew to confide in and rely upon him more and more, the hope that he might perhaps win her to share and brighten his lonely home during the declining years of his life, gradually dawned upon him, and he finally resolved to ask her to become his wife.

"I could save her from all this toil, and all uncertainty about the future. I would ask no greater happiness than to see her mistress of my home during the remainder of my life, and then, when I am gone, she will have all my wealth to smooth her own future."

Thus he mused while considering the propriety of putting his fate to the test.

One day Virgie came into his office to consult with him regarding some point connected with her book, and he thought she appeared weary and looked paler than usual.

"You are working too hard, Mrs. Alexander," he said. "Do not apply yourself so closely--there is no need."

"No need?" returned Virgie; "there is every need. I am very mercenary, Mr.

Knight," she added, smiling "I am determined to make all the money I can, so that my dear little girl may have every advantage by and by."

"But if you tax your strength too severely you may break down, and that would be far worse than not to make money quite so rapidly."

"I do not think I am going beyond my strength," Virgie replied, gravely.

"Besides, I am much more content when I am very busy; it keeps me from--thinking."

"You ought to be far more than simply 'content,'" answered Mr. Knight, regarding the fair face wistfully, "for you are not only making plenty of money, but winning fame for yourself also. The name of Alexander bids fair to become renowned."

Virgie started violently at this, and glanced sharply at her companion.

Then a burning blush suffused her face, and she said, in a low, pained tone:

"Oh, I hope not! I--I do not wish to be known. I am afraid I have done wrong in using the name at all. I did it hastily, impulsively----"

She stopped, covered with confusion, a look of distress on her lovely face for having allowed herself to say so much.

Mr. Knight looked astonished for a moment, while he earnestly studied her countenance. Then light seemed to dawn upon him suddenly.

"Pardon me," he said, leaning eagerly toward her, "but what you have said has enlightened me regarding something that has puzzled me since the day I first met you. You are the daughter of Abbot Alexander who disappeared so mysteriously from this city several years ago."

"Yes, it is true," Virgie confessed, with bowed head and burning cheeks.

"But, oh, Mr. Knight, pray do not allow any one else to suspect my ident.i.ty if you can avoid it. Put some other name to my books, or put no name at all to them. For my father's sake, I shrink from attracting public attention to his name."

"My dear young friend, I fear you are morbidly sensitive I used to know your father, and I always esteemed him as a n.o.ble man--one whose honor was unimpeachable."

"Ah! Then you do not know--"

"Yes, I do know all about that financial earthquake which wrought his ruin and that of many others; but I am sure he was blameless."

"You judge him, then, more kindly than others," Virgie returned, almost weeping to hear her father so warmly defended. "There are few, I fear, who do not believe the very worst of him even now."

"Doubtless that is true," Mr. Knight answered, with a sigh; "but I have always been convinced that that rascally cashier was at the bottom of the wrong. You must pardon me for speaking so plainly. I know that he was a relative, though unworthy the name he bore."

"But all the papers stated that the president and cashier were in league,"

said Virgie.

"I know it; and at first the affair did have that appearance--at least, such a construction was but natural under the circ.u.mstances."

"But papa gave up every dollar he possessed to right the wrong."

"I know he did, but the amount was so small, compared with that which had been stolen, that people were skeptical regarding his motives, and when he also disappeared, they were only too ready to believe that he had gone to share the plunder with the guilty cashier. But I would as soon suspect myself of a crime as Abbot Alexander. I know that he was an honorable man."

"Oh, it is such a comfort to hear you say this," Virgie murmured, her voice husky with emotion, her eyes filled with tears. "Poor papa! his last years were embittered with the thought that every one believed him a defaulter--that he had not one friend in all the world, save his daughter, who had faith in him."