Books: Opening a Chestnut Burr

E >> Edward Payson Roe >> Opening a Chestnut Burr

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29

"Nothing definite," said she, a little wonderingly at Hunting's
manner. "Father happened to mention your name the first evening of his
arrival, and the bitter enmity that came out upon his face quite
startled me. You know well that I wouldn't hear a word against you. He
once commenced saying something to your prejudice, but I stopped him
and said I would neither listen to nor believe him--that he did not
know you, and was entirely mistaken in his judgment. It was evident to
us that Mr. Gregory was not a good man. Indeed, he made no pretence of
being one; but he has changed since, as yon can well understand, or he
couldn't have sacrificed himself as he has to-day. I told father that
I thought the cause of your trouble arose from your trying to restrain
him in some of his fast ways, but he thought it resulted from business
relations."

"You were both right," said Hunting, slowly, as if he were feeling his
way along. "He was inclined to be very dissipated, and I used to
remonstrate with him; but the immediate cause was a business
difficulty. He would have kept me out of a great deal of money if he
could."

His words were literally true, but they gave an utterly false
impression. Annie was satisfied, however. It seemed a natural
explanation, and she trusted Hunting implicitly. Indeed, with her
nature, love could scarcely exist without trust.

"That's all past now," said Annie, eagerly. "You surely will not let
it weigh with you a moment. Indeed, Charles, I shall expect you to do
everything in your power to make that man your friend."

"O, certainly, I could not act otherwise," he said, rather absently.
He was scheming with desperate earnestness to meet and avert the
impending dangers. Annie's frank and cordial reception showed him that
so far as she was concerned he was as yet safe. But he knew her well
enough to feel sure that if she detected falsehood in him his case
would be nearly hopeless. He recognized that he was walking on a mine
that at any moment might be sprung. With his whole soul he loved Annie
Walton, and it would be worse than death to lose her. The thought of
her had made every gross temptation fall harmless at his feet, and
even his insatiate love of wealth had been mingled with the dearer
hope that it would eventually minister to her happiness. But he had
lived so long in the atmosphere of Wall Street that his ideas of
commercial integrity had become exceedingly blurred. When a
questionable course opened by which he could make money, he could not
resist the temptation. He tried to satisfy himself that business
required such action, and called his sharp practice by the fine names
of skill, sagacity. But when on his visits to Annie, which, of late,
during the worst of his transactions, had been frequent rather than
prolonged, he had had a growing sense of humiliation and fear. He saw
that she could never be made to look upon his affair with Burnett &
Co. as he regarded it, and that her father was the soul of commercial
honor. Though Mr. Walton's fortune was moderate, not a penny had come
to him stained. After these visits Hunting would go back to the city,
resolved to quit everything illegitimate and become in his business
and other relations just what he seemed to them. But some glittering
temptation would assail him. He would make one more adroit shuffle of
the cards, and then, from being hollow, would become morally and
religiously sound at once.

During his voyage home, there was time for thought. A severe gale,
while lashing the sea into threatening waves, had also disturbed his
guilty conscience. He had amassed sufficient to satisfy even his greed
of gold for the present, and his calculating soul hinted that it was
time to begin to put away a little stock in heaven as well as on
earth. He resolved that he would withdraw from the whirlpool of Wall
Street speculation and engage in only legitimate operations. Moreover,
he began to long for the refuge and more quiet joys of home, and he
felt, as did poor Gregory, that Annie of all women could do most to
make him happy here and fit him for the future life. Therefore he had
returned with the purpose of pressing his suit for a speedy marriage
as strongly as a safe policy would permit.

The bright October day of his arrival in New York seemed emblematic of
his hopes and prospects, and now again the deepening night, the rising
wind, and the wildly hurrying clouds but mirrored back himself.

His safest and wisest course would have been to make an honest
confession to Annie of the wrong he had done Gregory. As his mind
recovered from its first confusion this thought occurred to him. But
he had already given her the impression that he had received the
wrong, or rather that it had been attempted against him. Moreover, by
any truthful confession he would stand convicted of deceiving and
swindling Burnett & Co. He justly feared that Annie would break with
him the moment she learned this. So like all schemers, he temporized,
and left his course open to be decided by circumstances rather than
principle.

His first course was to learn of Annie all that he could concerning
Gregory and his visit, so that he might act in view of the fullest
knowledge possible. She told him frankly what had occurred, so far as
time permitted during their ride home. But of Gregory's love she did
not speak, and was perplexed as to her proper course. Loyalty to her
lover seemed to require that he should know all, and yet she was sure
that Gregory would not wish her to speak of it, and she owed so much
to him that she felt she could not do what was contrary to his wishes.
But Hunting well surmised that, whether Annie knew it or not, Gregory
could not have been in her society three weeks and go away an
indifferent stranger.

"Jeff can give me more light," he thought.

Conscious of deceit himself, he distrusted every one, even crystal-
souled Annie.

CHAPTER XXIX

DEEPENING SHADOWS

Mr. Walton received Hunting in a fatherly way. Indeed, he looked upon
the young man as a son, and the thought of leaving Annie to his
protection was an unspeakable comfort.

Altogether Hunting was reassured by his reception, which proved that
his relations were as yet undisturbed. But in the depths of his soul
he trembled at the presence of Gregory in the house; and when Miss
Eulie came down and said, after an affectionate greeting, that Gregory
was in something like a stupor, he was even base enough to wish that
he might never come out of it.

At the word "stupor," Annie's face grew pale. She had a growing
dissatisfaction with Hunting's manner in regard to Gregory, and felt
that he did not feel or show the interest or gratitude that he ought;
but there was nothing tangible with which she could tax him.

The doctor, who came early in the evening, reassured her, and said
that the state of partial consciousness was not necessarily a
dangerous symptom, as it might be the result of a severe shock. The
young man he brought was installed as nurse under Miss Eulie's charge,
and Annie said that Mr. Hunting would also take his turn as watcher.

Then she, Mr. Hunting, and her father had a long talk over what had
happened in his absence, Mr. Walton dwelling most feelingly on what he
regarded as the providential character of the visit from the son of
his old friend.

"If he never leaves our house alive, I have a strong assurance that he
will join his father in the better home. Indeed, I may soon be there
with them."

"Please don't talk so, father," pleaded Annie.

"Well, my child, perhaps it's best I should, and prepare your minds
for what may be near. It's a great consolation to see Charles again,
and he will help you bear whatever is God's will."

"You can trust her to me," said Hunting, fervently. "I have ample
means to gratify her most extravagant wish, and my love will shelter
her and think for her even as yours would. But I trust you will soon
share our home with us."

"I expect to, my children, but it will be our eternal home."

Annie strove bravely to keep her tears back, for her father's sake,
but they would come.

"Annie," said Hunting, "won't you please let your father put this ring
on your engagement finger?" and he gave Mr. Walton a magnificent
solitaire diamond.

Mr. Walton took his daughter's hand, and looked earnestly into her
tearful, blushing face.

"Annie," he said, in a grave, sweet tone, "I hope for your sake that I
may be wrong, but I have a presentiment that my pilgrimage is nearly
ended. You have made its last stage very happy. A good daughter makes
a good wife, Mr. Hunting; and, Annie, dear, I shall tell your mother
that you supplied her place, as far as a daughter could. It will add
greatly to my peace if I can leave you and my sister, and the dear
little ones, under the care of one so competent to protect and provide
for you all. Mr. Hunting, do you feel that you can take them to your
home and heart, with my daughter?"

"Certainly," said Hunting. "I had no other thought; and Annie's will
shall be supreme in her future home."

"But, after all, the chief question is, Does this ring join your
hearts? I'm sure I'm right in thinking so, Annie?"

"Yes," she said, in a low tone.

Slowly, with his feeble, trembling hands he put the flashing gem on
Annie's finger, and then placed her hand in Hunting's, and, looking
solemnly to heaven, said, "May God bless this betrothal as your father
blesses it."

Hunting stooped and kissed her hand and then her lips. With mingled
truth and policy, he said, "This ceremony is more solemn and binding
to me than the one yet to come at the altar."

Annie was happy in her engagement. It was what she expected, and had
been consummated in a way that seemed peculiarly sweet and sacred; and
yet her thoughts, with a remorseful tinge, would keep recurring to the
man who even then might be dying for her sake.

After they had sat a little while in silence, which is often the best
expression of deep feeling, she suddenly said, with an involuntary
sigh, "Poor Mr. Gregory! I'm so sorry for him!"

Thus Hunting knew where her thoughts were, and instantly the purpose
formed itself in his mind to induce her through her father to consent
to an immediate marriage. He saw more plainly than Annie the great
change in her father, and based his hope on the fact that the parent
might naturally wish to give his child a legal protector before he
passed away.

Mr. Walton now showed such signs of weariness that they left him in
Miss Eulie's care, who seemed to flit like a ministering spirit
between the two patients.

After the great excitement of the day, Annie, too, was very weary, and
soon the household sought such rest as was possible with two of its
inmates apparently very near the boundaries that separate the known
world from the unknown. Glimmering all night long, like signals of
distress at sea, the faint lights of the watchers reminded late
passers-by of the perilous nature of earthly voyaging.

Annie had gone with Miss Eulie to take a parting look at Gregory. She
bent over him and said, "Mr. Gregory," but his spirit seemed to have
sunk into such far depths that even her voice could not summon him.

"Oh, if he should die now!" she moaned, shudderingly, and on the night
of her engagement sobbed herself to sleep.

The next morning saw little change in the patients, save that Mr.
Walton was evidently weaker. Miss Eulie said that Gregory had roused
up during the night and seemed perfectly conscious. He had inquired
after Mr. Walton and Annie, but toward morning had fallen into his old
lethargy.

After breakfast Annie took Hunting up to see him, but was pained at
the darkening of her lover's face as he looked at the prostrate and
unconscious man. She could not understand it. He seemed to have no
wish to remain. She felt almost indignant, and yet what could she say
more than she had said? Gregory's condition, and the cause, should
naturally plead for him beyond all words.

Annie spent most of the day with her father, and purposed watching
with him that night. The doctor came and reported more favorably of
Gregory, but said that everything depended upon his being quiet. Annie
purposed that Hunting should commence the duties of watcher as soon as
possible. Therefore she told her aunt to tell Gregory, as soon as she
thought it would answer, that Hunting had arrived. In the afternoon,
Gregory seemed to come out of his lethargy more decidedly than he had
before, and took some nourishment with marked relish. Then he lay
quietly looking at the fire.

"Do you feel better now?" Miss Eulie asked, gently.

"I'm sure I don't know," he answered, wearily. "I have a numb, strange
feeling."

"Would you like to see Miss Walton?"

"No, not now; I am satisfied to know she is well."

"She wished me to tell you that Mr. Hunting had arrived."

He turned away his face with a deep scowl, but said nothing.

After some time she came to his side and said, "Is there anything you
would like?"

"Nothing," he replied, gently. "I appreciate your great kindness."

Miss Eulie sighed and left the room, feeling dimly that there were
internal injuries after all, but such as were beyond the doctor's
skill.

Annie echoed her sigh when she heard how he received Miss Eulie's
information. She determined to prepare and take him his supper.

When she noiselessly entered, he was again looking fixedly at the
fire. But she had not advanced far into the room before he recognized
her step and looked up quickly.

"See," she said, cheerily, coming to his side, "I've prepared and
brought you this supper with my own hands, and shall expect in return
that you compliment it highly. Now, isn't it a good supper?" she
asked, holding it before him.

But his eyes fastened on the glittering and significant ring, whose
meaning he too well understood. With an expression of intense pain he
turned his face to the wall without a word.

"Mr. Gregory," pleaded Annie, "I never thought you would turn away
from me."

"Not from you, not from you," he said, in a low tone, "but I'm very
weak, and the light of that diamond is too strong for me yet."

"Forgive me," she said, in a tone of deep reproach; "I did not think."

"No, forgive me. Please leave me now, and remember in charity how weak
I am."

She put the tray down and hastened from the room. He ate no supper
that night, neither did she. Hunting watched her gloomily, with both
fear and jealousy at heart. The latter, however, was groundless, for
Annie's feeling was only that of profound sorrow for something she
could not help. But lack of strongly manifested interest and sympathy
for Gregory injured him in her estimation; for woman-like she
unconsciously took the side of the one he wronged. She could
understand Gregory's enmity, but it seemed to her that Hunting should
be full of generous enthusiasm for one who was suffering so much in
her behalf.

"Men are so strange!" she said, half-vexedly. "They fall in love
without the slightest provocation, and hate each other forever, when a
woman would have sharp words and be over with it. They never do what
you would naturally expect."

During the day Hunting had found time to see Jeff alone, but had found
him inclined to be sullen and uncommunicative. Jeff had changed sides,
and was now an ardent adherent of Gregory's, who had given him five
dollars without imposing any conditions; and then, what was of far
greater import, had saved the house and Annie's life, and, according
to Jeff's simple views of equity, he ought to have both. And yet a
certain rude element of honesty made him feel that he had made a
bargain with Hunting, and that he must fulfil his part and then they
would be quits. But he was not disposed to do it with a very good
grace. So when Hunting said, "Well, Jeff, I suppose you've seen a good
deal since I was last here."

"Yes, I've seen a mighty lot," said Jeff, sententiously.

"Well, Jeff, you remember our agreement. What did you see? Only the
truth now."

"Sartin, sah, only de truf. I'se belong to de Walton family, and yous
doesn't get nothin' but de truf from dem."

"All right, Jeff; I'm glad your employers have so good an influence on
you. Well?"

"I'se seen Misser Gregory on de roof," said Jeff, drawing on his
imagination, as he had only heard about that event through Zibbie's
highly colored story, "where some other folks wouldn't dar go, and now
I'se see dat house dar, which I wouldn't see dar, wasn't it for Misser
Gregory."

"Well, well," said Hunting, impatiently, "I've heard all about that.
What else?"

"I'se seen Miss Annie roun' all day bloomin' and sweet as a rose, and
I'se seen how she might have been a crushed white lily," Jeff
continued, solemnly, with a rhetorical wave of the hand.

There existed in Jeff the raw material of a colored preacher, only it
was very crude and undeveloped. But upon any important occasion he
always grew rhetorical and figurative in his language.

"Come, come, Jeff, tell me something new."

"Well," said Jeff, "since I'se promised to tell you, and since I'se
spent de ten dollars, and hasn't got it to give you back again, I'se
seen Misser Gregory las' Sunday evenin', a kneelin' afore Miss Annie
as if he was a sayin' his prayers to her, and I shouldn't wonder if
she heard 'em (with a chuckle); anyhow she wasn't lofty and scornful,
and Misser Gregory he's looked kinder glorified ever since; afore that
he looked glum, and Miss Annie, she's been kinder bendin' toward him
since dat evenin', like a rosebud wid de dew on it."

Hunting's face darkened with suppressed anger and jealousy. After a
moment he said, "Is that all?"

"Dat's all."

"Well, Jeff, here's ten dollars more, and look sharper than ever now."

"'Scuse me, Misser Hunting. We'se squar' now. I'se done what I agreed,
and now I'se gwine out ob de business."

"Has Gregory engaged your services?" asked Hunting, quickly.

"No, sah, he hab not. I reckon Misser Gregory tink he doesn't need any
help."

"Why won't you do as I wish, then?"

"Well, Mr. Hunting, it kinder makes me feel bad here," said Jeff,
rubbing his hand indefinitely over several physical organs. "I don't
jes' believe Miss Annie would like it, and after seein' Mr. Gregory
under dat pesky ladder, I couldn't do nothin' dat he wouldn't like. If
it hadn't been for him I'd sorter felt as if I'd killed Miss Annie by
leavin' dat doggoned ladder so straight up, and I nebber could hab
gone out in de dark agin all my life."

"Why, you old black fool," said Hunting, irritably, "don't you know
I'm going to marry Miss Annie? You'd better keep on the right side of
me."

"Which is de right side?" Jeff could not forbear saying, with a
suppressed chuckle.

"Come, sir, no impudence. You won't serve me any more then?"

"Oh yes, Misser Hunting. I'se black yer boots, make de fire, harness
de hoss, do anything dat won't hurt in here," with a gesture that
seemed to indicate the pit of his stomach. "Anything more, please
'scuse me."

"You will not speak of what has passed between us?"

"I'se given my word," said Jeff, drawing himself up, "de word ob one
dat belongs to de Waltons."

Hunting turned on his heel and strode away. Annie had given one aspect
to the scene on that Sabbath evening, and Jeff had innocently given
another. Hunting was not loyal enough even to such a woman as Annie to
believe her implicitly. But it is the curse of conscious deceit to
breed suspicion. Only the true can have absolute faith in the truth of
others. Moreover, Hunting, in his hidden selfishness and worldliness
could not understand Annie's ardent effort to save a fellow-creature
from sin. Skilled in the subtle impulses of the heart, he believed
that Annie, unconsciously even to herself, was drifting toward the man
he hated all the more because he had wronged him, while the danger of
his presence made him almost vindictive. Yet he realized the necessity
of disguising his feelings, for if Annie discovered them he might well
dread the consequence. But the idea of watching alone with Gregory was
revolting. It suggested dark thoughts which he tried to put from him
in horror, for he was far from being a hardened villain. He was only a
man who had gradually formed the habit of acting from expedience and
self-interest, instead of principle. Such a rule of life often places
us where expedience and self-interest require deeds that are black
indeed.

But he was saved from the ordeal of spending hours alone with a man
who even in his helplessness might injure him beyond remedy, for on
the following morning Annie again sought Gregory's room bent on
securing reconciliation at once. She felt that she could endure this
estrangement no longer.

The young man employed as watcher was out at the time.

Gregory was gazing at the fire with the same look of listless apathy.
A deep flush overspread his deathly pale face as she came and sat down
beside him, but he did not turn from her.

"Mr. Gregory," she said, very gently, "it seems that I can do nothing
but receive favors from you, and I've come now to ask a great one."

He suspected something concerning Hunting, and his face darkened
forbiddingly. Though Annie noted this, she would not be denied.

"Do you think," she said, earnestly, "that, after your sacrifice for
me, I can ever cease to be your friend in the truest and strongest
sense?"

"Miss Walton," he said, calmly, "I've made no sacrifice for you. The
thought of that episode in the orchard is my one comfort while lying
here, and will be through what is left of life. But please do not
speak of it, for it will become a pain to me if I see the obligation
is a burden to you."

"It is not," she said, eagerly. "I'm glad to owe my life to you. But
do you think I can go on my way and forget you?"

"It's the very best you can do, Miss Walton."

"But I tell you it's impossible. Thank God, it's not my nature to do
it!"

He turned toward her with a wistful, searching look.

"We must carry out our old agreement," continued Annie. "We must be
close and lasting friends. You should not blame me for an attachment
formed years ago."

"I do not blame you."

"Then you should not punish me so severely. You first make your
friendship needful to me, and then you deny it."

"I am _your_ friend, and more."

"How can we enjoy a frank and happy friendship through coming years,
after--after--you feel differently from what you do now, when you will
not even hear the name of him who will one day be my second self?"

Again his face darkened; but she continued rapidly, "Mr. Hunting is
deeply grateful to you, and would like to express his feelings in
person. He wishes to bury the past--"

"He will, with me, soon," interrupted Gregory, gloomily.

"No; please do not speak in that way," she pleaded. "He wishes to make
what little return he can, and offers to watch with you night and
day."

He turned upon her almost fiercely, and said, "Are you too in league
with my evil destiny, in that you continually persecute me with that
man? Miss Walton, I half doubt whether you know what love means, or
you would not make such a proposition. Let me at least die quietly.
With the memory of the past and the knowledge of the present, his
presence in my room would be death by torture. Pardon me, but let us
end this matter once for all. We have both been unfortunate, you in
inspiring a love that you cannot return; I in permitting my heart to
go from me, beyond recall, before learning that my passion would be
hopeless. I do not see that either of us has been to blame, you
certainly not in the slightest degree. But, however vain, my love is
an actual fact, and I cannot act as if it were not. As well might a
man with a mortal wound smile and say it's but a scratch. I cannot
change my mind merely in view of expedience and invest such feelings
in another way. The fact of my love is now a past disaster, and I must
bear the consequences with such fortitude as I can. But what you ask
would drive me mad. If I should live, possibly in the future I might
meet you often without the torturing regret I now feel. But to make a
smiling member of Charles Hunting's friendly circle would require on
my part the baldest hypocrisy; and I can't do it, and won't try. If
that man comes into my room, I will crawl out if I can."

He was trembling with excitement, his face flushed and feverish, and
his eyes unnaturally bright.

"And you banish me too," said Annie, hurt and alarmed at the same
time.

"Yes, yes; forgive me for saying so. Yes; till I'm stronger. See how
I've spoken to you. I've no self-control."

She was most reluctant to go, and stood a moment, hesitating. Timidly
she ventured to quote the line:

"Earth has no sorrows that Heaven cannot cure."

"That's a comforting fact for those who are going there," he said,
coldly.

With a sudden burst of passionate grief she stooped and kissed his
hand, then fled to her own room, and cried as if her heart would
break. It seemed as if he were lost to her and heaven, and yet he was
capable of being so noble and good!

Miss Eulie entered Gregory's room soon after, and was alarmed at his
feverish and excited appearance. She decided that Annie's visits must
cease for the present. However, she took no apparent notice of his
disturbed condition, but immediately gave a remedy to ward off fever,
and a strong opiate, which, with the reaction and his weakness, caused
him to sink back into something like his old lethargy.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29