Part 19 (1/2)

[Ill.u.s.tration]

There was an end to merriment at the Newton mansion. When Mary ran from the room, the company stood for a moment amazed and bewildered, while the major, raging with pa.s.sion, yet half ashamed of his furious conduct, walked rapidly up and down the stage, attempting to explain the theft to his guests and to justify his conduct. But Tom Willitts, shocked at the cruel treatment he had received from Mary, yet filled with righteous indignation at the major's violence, interrupted his first utterance.

”You are a coward and a brute, sir; and old as you are, I will make you answer for your infamous treatment of that young girl.”

And before the major could reply he dashed out to pursue Mary and give her his protection. He sought her in vain upon the highway; and filled with bitterness, and wondering why she had so scorned him, he trudged on through the darkness, peering about him vainly for the poor girl for whom he would have sacrificed his life.

”Perhaps it was merely a jest,” suggested Mrs. Willitts. ”I think Mary wholly incapable of theft. She never could have intended seriously to keep the brooch.”

”A pretty serious jest,” said the major, ”to break into my desk three days ago. It's the kind of humor that puts people in jail.”

”My theory about the matter,” said the doctor, ”is this: She either was made the victim of a pretty ugly practical joke, or else some one stole the jewel from you and gave it to her to get her into trouble.”

”I don't believe anything of the kind,” said the major.

”It must be so. If she had stolen it, she certainly would not have worn it in your presence this evening. It is absurd to suppose such a thing.

Taking this theory--”

”Hang theorizing!” exclaimed the major, seeing the force of this suggestion, but more angry that he was driven to admit it to his own mind. ”She is a thief, and as sure as I live she shall either confess, tell how she got the jewel or go to prison.”

”And as sure as I live,” said the doctor, grown indignant and serious, ”I will unravel this mystery and clear this innocent girl of this most infamous and wicked imputation.”

”Do it if you can!” said the major, and turned his back upon him contemptuously.

The doctor left the house, and the company dispersed, eager gossips, all of them, to tell the story far and wide throughout the community before to-morrow's noon.

When Mary had revived and told, in broken words, the story of her misery and disgrace, her mother soothed and comforted her with the a.s.surance that she should never leave her again; and while she denounced Major Newton's conduct bitterly, she said he would find that he had made a mistake and would clear her of the charge.

”But he will not find it out, mother.”

”Why? Where did you get the brooch, Mary?”

”Do not ask me, mother; I cannot, cannot tell you.”

”Had you merely picked it up and put it on in jest?”

”No, no,” said Mary, ”it was given to me, I cannot tell by whom, and I thought it was mine. It was cruel, cruel!” and her tears came again.

”And who was it that did so vile a thing?” asked her mother.

”Mother, I cannot tell even you that.”

”But, Mary, this is foolish. You must not, for your own sake, for mine, hide the name of this criminal.”

”I will never, never tell. I will die first.”

”Was it Tom Willitts?”