Part 16 (2/2)
”He was in an awful hole, up to his eyes in debt, and threatened with arrest. He almost ruined his father and mother, and forged his grandfather's signature to two checks, robbing him of seven thousand dollars--or, rather, defrauded the bank, for Herresford won't pay, and the bank must. It is poor Ormsby who will be the sufferer. He suspected the checks, and said nothing--just like him--the only thing he could do, after the row at the club dinner.”
”Is it on the authority of Mr. Ormsby that these foul slanders on my dead lover have been made? Are they public property, or just a private communication to you, father?”
”It is the talk of the town, girl. Why, his own mother has had to own up that the checks were forgeries. He cashed two checks for her, and saw his opportunity to alter the amounts, pa.s.sing over to her the original small sums, while he kept the rest to pay his debts. Herresford's opinion of him has been very small all along; but n.o.body expected the lad to steal.
Such a pity! Such a fine chap, too--the sort of boy girls go silly about, but lacking in backbone and stability. The matter of the checks has been kept from his father for the present, poor man. He knows nothing whatever about it.”
”Father, the things you tell me sound like the horrible complications of a nightmare. They are absurd.”
”Absurd! Why, I've seen the forged checks, girl. The silly young fool forgot to use the same colored ink as in the body of the check. A few days afterward, the added figures and words dried black as jet, whereas the ink used by Herresford dried a permanent blue.”
”Mr. Ormsby showed you the checks?”
”Yes. Dora--Dora--don't look like that! I understand, my girl. I know you were fond of the boy, and I disapproved of it from the beginning. I said nothing, in case he didn't come home from the front. Put him out of your heart, my girl--out of mind. I'm as sorry about everything as if he were a boy of my own, and, if I could do anything for poor John Swinton and his wife, I would. I saw Mrs. Swinton yesterday driving, looking superbly handsome, as usual, but turned to stone. Poor old John goes about, saying, 'My son isn't dead! My son isn't dead!' and n.o.body contradicts him.”
”And Netty?” asked Dora, with a sob.
”Oh! n.o.body bothers about her. It'll postpone her marriage with Harry Bent, I suppose, for a little while. They were to have been married as soon as he was well enough. Sit up, my girl--sit up. Keep a straight upper lip. You're under fire, and it's hot.”
”I can't--I can't!” sobbed Dora, burying her face in her hands, and swaying dangerously. Her father rushed forward to catch her, and held her to his heart, where she sobbed out her grief. While they stood thus, in the centre of the room, the servant announced Mr. Ormsby.
At the mention of his name, Dora cried out in anger, and declared that she would not see him. But her father hushed her, and nodded to the servant as a sign that the unwelcome gentleman was to be shown into the room.
”We're a little upset, Ormsby--we're a little upset,” cried the colonel.
”But a soldier's daughter is not afraid of her tears being seen. We were talking about poor Swinton. Dora has only just heard. How do things go at the rectory? And what's Herresford going to do about the checks?”
”He insists upon our paying, and we must get the money from somebody.
Mrs. Swinton has none. We must put the case to the rector, and get him to reimburse the bank to avoid a lawsuit and a public scandal. Poor Swinton set things right by his death. There was no other way out. He died like a brave man, and he will be remembered as a hero, except by those who know the truth; and I am powerless to keep that back now. Believe me, Miss Dundas, if I had known of his death, I would have cut out my tongue rather than have published the story of the crime, which was the original cause of his going to the war.”
”So, you still believe him to be a coward as well as a thief,” she cried, hotly. ”You are a hypocrite. It was you who really sent him away. He never meant to go. He didn't want to go. And now you have killed him.”
”Hush, hush, Dora!” cried the colonel.
”I believe it was all some scheme of your own,” cried the girl, hysterically. ”You are the coward. I shall believe nothing until I've seen Mrs. Swinton, and hear what the rector has to say about it. d.i.c.k was the soul of honor. He was no thief.”
”He was in debt, my girl,” cried the colonel. ”You don't understand the position of a young man placed as he was. Herresford was understood to have discarded him as his heir. No doubt the young fellow had raised money on his expectations. Creditors were making existence a burden to him. Many a soldier has ended things with a revolver and an inquest for less than seven thousand dollars.”
”Ah, that sort of death requires a different kind of courage,” sneered Ormsby, who was nettled by Dora's taunts.
”I won't listen to you,” she cried. ”You are defaming the man I love. He couldn't go away with such things on his conscience. It is all some wicked plot.”
Ormsby shrugged his shoulders, and the colonel sighed despondently, while Dora swept out of the room, drawing her skirts away from Ormsby as though his touch were contamination.
CHAPTER XIV
MRS. SWINTON CONFESSES
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