Part 61 (1/2)

”If Mrs. Tuke knew,” he said to himself, ”she would say Providence was interposing to prevent me putting an end to my useless life.”

He lay in bed an hour longer than he would have done had the weather been fine. ”It is of no use getting up till breakfast-time,” he reflected.

He heard the postman's rat-tat-tat while he was dressing, and wondered if there were any letters for him.

He came slowly and listlessly down the stairs. Another day of weariness and mental distress stretched out before him. ”I am only prolonging the agony,” he said to himself, as he took his lonely seat at the head of the table.

Then his eye rested on a large envelope by the side of his place, with a blue stamp in the corner.

He was alert in a moment. ”An American letter,” he said, half aloud, and his thoughts flew off to Madeline Grover unconsciously. The address, however, was in a man's handwriting--there could be no doubt about that.

He tore open the envelope quickly and mechanically, and turned to the signature at the end of the letter. ”Seaward and Graythorne,” he read, and a look of perplexity came into his eyes.

He opened out the letter, and an enclosure fluttered on to his plate. He picked it up and stared.

”There must be some mistake,” he said with a gasp, and he drew his hand across his eyes as though to remove some dimness that had gathered. Yet, there was his own name clear and distinct enough. ”Pay to the order of Mr. Rufus Sterne the sum of five thousand dollars.”

”Five thousand dollars,” he muttered. ”Why, that is a thousand pounds--a thousand pounds. I must be dreaming surely.”

He turned to the letter at length, and began to read. Slowly, as he waded his way through the legal jargon, the truth began to dawn upon him. It had to do with the property his father had acc.u.mulated. Some Judge Cowley, of the Supreme Court of somewhere, had authorised a distribution, and the enclosed was the sum paid on account.

That was about all he could make out. But why a firm of solicitors in New York should be acting in a case of disputed property somewhere out in Pennsylvania, was a problem he could not understand.

He was in no mood, however, to worry himself over legal subtleties. The great outstanding fact--the fact that dominated all others--was that he was in possession of a thousand pounds.

The revulsion of feeling was so great that for a moment or two it seemed to unman him. The cords that had been strung up so long to the very highest point of tension were suddenly relaxed. The hard stoicism with which he had fortified himself, melted like wax in the flame of a candle. The dull numbness of despair, which was rendering him indifferent to life, vanished like mist before the summer sun. The joy of hope, the dream of love, the fire of ambition, were all kindled afresh as by an electric spark. The wailing wind, instead of sobbing began to sing. The moaning ocean commenced to laugh and rejoice. The rain-drops were tears of joy that Nature shed. Light and love, and beauty and delight were everywhere. His breakfast remained untouched. He was quite unconscious of the fact until Mrs. Tuke came into the room.

”Why, you haven't tasted your breakfast,” she said, lifting her eyes and hands in astonishment.

”Haven't I?” he said, with a smile.

”And your bacon is quite cold.”

”I forgot all about it, Mrs. Tuke.”

”And your tea is like ditch-water.”

”I'm very sorry.”

”It's like throwing money away.”

”Oh, never mind.”

”But I do mind, I hate wastefulness, especially in young people.”

”Well, forgive me this time. I've had a surprise.”

”Oh, indeed! A pleasant surprise, I hope. You've had enough of the other sort.”

”A very pleasant surprise. Now, brew me a fresh pot of tea and warm up the bacon. I really feel as if I had got an appet.i.te.”