Part 39 (1/2)
”Mary, what wild things are you saying?”
”Ah, it's hard to believe; but it's true. He'll have to disgorge, or Mr.
Jevons will take the business into court. He gave me the seven thousand dollars I wanted on the spot, and promised to get the rest for me, and give me as much more as I wanted. I've seen Ormsby, and paid him the money; but he's obdurate. The jealous wretch is bent upon ruining d.i.c.k.
Nothing will move him.”
”It is our sin crying for atonement, Mary. Money cannot buy absolution.”
”No, but father can say the word that will save us all. He must swear he made a mistake--that he did sign those checks for the amounts drawn from the bank. That will paralyze Ormsby, and leave him powerless.”
”Lies! lies!--we are wallowing in lies!” groaned the rector.
”When a lie can hurt no one, and can avert a terrible calamity, perjury can be no sin. G.o.d knows I have been punished enough.” Then, with a sudden anger and a burst of violence so unusual in his wife that it horrified the rector, she began to abuse her father, calling him every terrible, foolish name that came to her tongue.
”He shall pay the penalty of his fraud,” she cried. ”Thief he calls me--well, it's bred in the bone. Set a thief to catch a thief. I've run him to earth. He'll have to lose hundreds of thousands, and more. It will send him wild with terror. Think what that'll mean! Think how he'll cringe and whine and implore! It'll be like plucking out his heart. I have the whip-hand of him now, and he shall dance to my tune. I shouldn't be surprised if compulsory honesty and the restoration of ill-gotten wealth were to kill him.”
”Mary, Mary, be calm!”
”I'm going to him now,” she cried. ”We'll see who will be worsted in the fight. I'll silence his taunts. There'll be no more chuckling over his daughter's misery--no more insults and abuse of you, John.”
”My dear Mary, you mustn't think of going now. You're unsprung, overcome.
You'll do something rash. Let us be satisfied for the present with this great change of fortune. One ghost at least is laid--the terror of poverty. The way lies open now for our honorable confession. You see that, don't you?” he pleaded. ”We can delay no longer. There is no excuse. By the return of our boy, the ground was cut from beneath our feet. What does it matter what the world says of us, when we have made things right with our G.o.d, when we have done justice by our brave son?”
”Oh, no--think of Netty.”
”Ah, Netty is in trouble, dearest. She's had bad news to-day. Harry Bent talks of canceling his engagement. The scandal has reached the ears of his family, and his money-affairs are dependent on his mother, whom he can't offend. You see, darling, the sins of the fathers have begun to descend on the children--d.i.c.k and Netty both stricken. We must confess!--confess!”
”I can't, John, I can't--I can't. d.i.c.k won't hear of it.”
”d.i.c.k has no voice in the matter at all. It is the voice of G.o.d that calls.”
”Yes, yes, I know, John, but--wait till I've seen father once more. I won't listen to you, I won't eat, I won't sleep, until I've seen him.
I'll go to him at once.”
”I must come, too,” urged the rector weakly. Yet, the thought of facing the miser's taunts at such a time filled him with unspeakable dread. And he could not tell her that d.i.c.k's arrest was imminent.
”Have some food, dearest, and go afterward.”
”I couldn't eat. It would choke me,” Mrs. Swinton said, rebelliously.
Netty, hearing her mother's voice, came into the room, her eyes red with weeping.
”You've heard, mother?” she cried, plaintively.
”I've heard, Netty. To-morrow Mrs. Bent will be sorry. We're no longer paupers, Netty.”
”Why, grandfather isn't dead?”