Part 24 (2/2)
”I am sure you do, and I shall not waste time on their defence. I am concerned only in setting you right with yourself.”
”I always feel that what you say is true--must be true. I suppose it will take possession of my mind and I shall feel better after a while.”
”You will feel better after several hours' sleep. I am going to take you home now. Go to bed and sleep until noon.”
”My conscience hurts me. I have spoiled your visit.”
”I can live on the memory of yesterday for some time, and I shall return in a fortnight.”
”Well, I am glad you were here when it happened. I don't know what I should have done if I couldn't have talked to you about it. I feel a little better--but cross and disagreeable, all the same.”
”You are a woman of contrasts,” he said, smiling. ”A machine is not my ideal.”
He rowed her back to the point where he had boarded the boat, and shook her warmly by the hand.
”Good-bye,” he said. ”Be sensible and take the only practical view of it. If you care to write to me about anything, I need not say that I shall answer at once.” When she reached home, she took his advice and went to bed; and whether or not her mind obeyed his in small matters as in great, she slept soundly for five hours. When she awoke, she felt young and buoyant and untarnished again. She went at once to her mother's room and told the story. Mrs. Madison listened with horror and consternation.
”It cannot be!” she exclaimed. ”It cannot be! Jack Emory? It never could have been permitted. The very Fates would interfere. His father will rise from his grave. Why, it's monstrous. The woman ought to be hanged. And I thought her buried in her books! I never heard of such deceit.”
”It was the instinct of self-defence, I suppose.”
”He too! It never occurred to me to watch him or to warn him; for that such a thing could ever threaten a member of my family never entered my head. What on earth is to be done?”
It took Betty an hour to persuade her mother that Jack must be left to find out the truth for himself; that they had no right, after placing Harriet in the way of temptation, to make her more wretched than she was when they had rescued her. But she succeeded, as she always did; and Mrs. Madison said finally, with her long sigh of surrender,--
”Well, perhaps he is paying for some of the sins of his fathers. But I wish he did not happen to be a member of our family. As the thing is done, I suppose I may as well be philosophical about it. It is so much easier to be philosophical now that I have let go my hold on most of the responsibilities of life. As long as nothing happens to you, I can accept everything else with equanimity. What story of her birth and family do you suppose she told him? He must have asked her a good many questions.”
”Heaven knows. She is capable of concocting anything; and you must remember that we had accepted her as a cousin. She could put him off easily, for he had no suspicion to start with. I must now go and have a final delightful interview with Miss Trumbull.”
She met her in the hall, and experienced a sudden sense of helplessness in the face of that mighty curiosity. She almost respected it.
”I just want to say,” drawled Miss Trumbull, tossing her head, ”that I know more'n you think I do. There just ain't nothin' I don't know, I'll tell you, as you've turned me out as if I was a common servant. I know who you meet up the lake and take breakfast in farmhouses with, and I know why Miss Harriet was so dreadful scared you'd find out--”
Betty understood then why some people murdered others. Her eyes blazed so that the woman quailed.
”Oh, I ain't so bad as you think,” she stammered. ”I'd never think any harm of you, and I'd never be so despisable as to take away any woman's character. I'm a Christian and I don't want to hurt any one, likewise, I'd never tell him _that_. Bad as she's treated me--I who am as good and better'n she is any day--I wouldn't do any woman sech a bad turn as that. Only I'm just glad I do know it. When I'm settin' in my poor little parlor waitin' for another position to turn up--six months, mebbe--it'll be a big satisfaction to me to think that I could ruin her if I had a mind to--a big satisfaction.”
Betty went to her room, wrote a cheque for three months' wages and returned with it. ”Take this and go,” she said. ”And be kind enough not to look upon the amount as a bribe. The position of housekeeper is not an easy one to find, and I do not wish to think of any one in distress.”
XVI
Miss Trumbull left that afternoon, and although Betty half expected the woman, who had possessed some of the attributes of the villain in the play, to reappear at intervals in the interest of her role, the grave might have closed over her for all the sign she gave. But Miss Trumbull had done enough, and the Fates do not always linger to complete their work. The housekeeper, with all her self-satisfaction, never would have thought of calling herself a Fate; but motives are not always commensurate with results. She was only a common fool, and there were thousands like her, but her capacity for harm-doing was as far-reaching as had she had the brain of a genius and the soul of a devil.
As Emory positively refused to go to Europe until money of his own came in, although Betty offered to lend him what he needed, and as he was really well only when in the Adirondacks, and an abrupt move to one of the hotels would have animated the gossips, it was decided finally that he and his wife should remain where they were until it was time to sail. Harriet offered to take charge of the servants until another housekeeper could be found; and as she seemed anxious to do all she could to make amends for deceiving her benefactress, Betty let her a.s.sume what would have been to herself an onerous responsibility. After a day or two of constraint and awkwardness, the little household settled down to its altered conditions; and in a week everybody looked and acted much as usual, so soon does novelty wear off and do mortals readjust themselves. Jack and Harriet seemed happy; but the former, at least, was too fastidious to vaunt his affections in even the little public of his lifelong friends. He spent hours swinging in a hammock, reading philosophy and smoking; occasionally he read aloud to his aunt and Harriet, and in the afternoon he usually took his wife for a walk.
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