Part 24 (2/2)
”I have considered everything, and it would have been the same no matter where we might have met. Mother,” she said, turning with a smile, more than sad in the dim light, ”do you know that old log cabin over on the hill where the pension woman used to live? Yes, for we could see it from here in daylight. I pa.s.sed there today, coming home, and I stopped and gazed at the wretched place, and suddenly there came a thought that almost took my breath away. I thought that with him--”
she leaned over and took her mother's hand--”that with him I could live there and bless G.o.d for my happiness.”
”My darling child, you must not think that--you couldn't think that.”
”But I did, and though the world seemed further away, heaven was closer. I ought to have been a poor man's daughter, mother, for love is all there is to live for.”
They put their arms about each other. ”It would break your father's heart,” the mother said, her tears falling. ”It would crush him to the earth.”
”I know it, and my heart may be crushed, instead of his. But that pet.i.tion must not be signed.”
”Let us wait, my child. Don't say anything. Don't--”
They heard McElwin calling from the foot of the stairs. ”Lucy, Lucy, I think I'll have to go down town again.”
”Wait a moment,” his wife cried, hastening out, Eva following her. He turned back before they reached the foot of the stairs, and had resumed his anxious walk when they entered the parlor.
”Why, what can you be thinking about, James?” his wife asked.
”Thinking about going down town. I must go.”
”Not tonight? Why, it's going to rain.”
”Doesn't make any difference if it rains bearded pitchforks, I must go.”
His wife took him by the arm: ”James, you are keeping something from me--something has happened.”
”No, nothing has happened. A friend of mine has a project on foot. I am interested in it, and I want to advise him not to go ahead with it.”
”But he couldn't go ahead with it tonight,” Eva spoke up.
”Yes he can. You don't know how rash he is; he's got no head at all when it comes to such matters. Let me get my umbrella.”
”James,” said his wife, looking into his eyes, ”don't deceive us, tell us what it is.”
”What noise was that?” he cried, leaning toward the window. ”I heard something. Gracious!” he exclaimed, as the doorbell rang.
Mr. Menifee, the old minister, was shown in. ”Ah, good evening,”
McElwin cried, starting toward him, but then remembering his dignity he said: ”You are always welcome. Sit down.”
The old gentleman bowed to the ladies and took the easy chair which the banker shoved toward him. McElwin turned to the window and stood there, looking out, listening, with no ear for the solicitous common-places concerning the health of his household, indulged by the old gentleman. He glanced at the clock on the mantel, and was surprised to find that the hour was no later. He turned to the preacher.
”You can do me a service, Mr. Menifee; you can quiet the fears of my wife and daughter while I go down town. I have a most important matter of business on hand but they don't want me to go. Why,” he added, with a dry laugh, ”what is it to go down town at half past nine?”
”What, is it that late?” the old gentleman spoke up. ”Why, I am getting to be a late prowler. But if you have an important matter to attend to, surely you ought to do it.”
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