Part 49 (1/2)
Well, Mrs. Fairbanks set to work to gain her purpose. She somehow got wind of the kind of life The Don lived in this city years ago. She set enquiries on foot and got hold of the facts pretty well. You know all about it, so I need not tell you. Poor chap, he had his black spots, sure enough. She furthermore got Lloyd somehow to corroborate her facts. Just how much he looked up for her I don't know, but I tell you I have quit Lloyd. He is a blanked cad. I know I should not write this, and you will hate to read it, but it is the truth. His conduct during the whole business has been d.a.m.nable! d.a.m.nable! d.a.m.nable! I gnash my teeth as I write.
When she had everything ready she sprung her mine. It was in her own house one evening, when Lloyd, The Don, and I were there, and the Fairbanks' new minister, Hooper, a young Trinity man, who has been a close friend of The Don's, I don't know how long, but some years at least. A fine fellow. G.o.d bless him, say I, again and again.
The Don and Betty had been going it pretty strong that evening, rather unnecessarily so, I think; and Mrs. Fairbanks got more and more worked up, until she seemed to lose her head. As The Don was saying good night she spoke up and said in that haughty way of hers, ”Mr. Balfour, the time has come when we must say good-bye, and I must ask you to discontinue your visits to this house, and your intimacy with my daughter.”
Well, we all sat up, I can tell you. The Don went white, and red, and white again. Betty walked over and stood by his side, her eyes all blazing.
”Mamma,” she cried, ”what are you saying against the man I love! Do you mean to--”
”Betty,” said her mother in her haughtiest and coldest and calmest voice, ”before you go any further, listen to me. I do not choose that my daughter, pure and unsullied, should give herself to a roue and a libertine.”
The Don took a step toward her and said: ”Mrs. Fairbanks, someone has misled you. What you say is false, absolutely and utterly false.” Betty glanced proudly up into his face.
”False!” cried Mrs. Fairbanks. ”Then, Mr. Balfour, you force me to ask, did you not live for some months with a woman on Jarvis Street? Were you not a constant visitor at houses of ill repute for months in this city?”
Poor Don! I can see him yet. His face grew livid, his eyes staring, as he stood there without a word.
”Don,” cried Betty, ”tell her it is false!” and she lifted her little head proudly. ”Tell her it is false, and I don't care who says it is true.” Still The Don stood speechless.
”Alas! my poor child,” said Mrs. Fairbanks, ”he could not say so. I have the proof in my hand.” And she pulled a letter out of her pocket.
”It is true, and much more--too true. Mr. Lloyd here knows this to be true. Is it not so, Mr. Lloyd? If this is not true, speak.” The poor old Don turned his eyes imploringly toward Lloyd, like a man hanging on his last hope, but Lloyd, the beast! mumbled and stuttered something or other. Betty ran to him, caught him by the arm and shook him. ”Speak out!” she said. ”Say it is all a lie!” The Lloyd said in a thick kind of voice, ”I cannot say so.”
Betty turned back to The Don, and may G.o.d keep me from ever seeing a face like hers again. ”Say it isn't true!” she said, putting her hand on his arm; and as he stood still, white and speechless, she gave a kind of cry of fear, and horror, and I don't know what else. ”Oh, Don, can this be true--and--you kissed me!”
Then The Don pulled himself together, turned to Mrs. Fairbanks, and began to speak, the words pouring out in a perfect torrent. ”Mrs.
Fairbanks, you must listen to me. What you say was true of me eight years ago. I came here a mere boy. I fell in with a bad lot--I had plenty of money, and I confess I went bad. That was eight years ago.
Then I met your daughters, and came into your home. From that time I have never done a dishonourable thing, my life has been clean. Ever since I touched your daughter's hand my hands have never touched anything unclean. The first day I saw her, eight years ago, I loved her, and since then I have been true in heart and in life to her. For my shameful past G.o.d knows I have repented bitterly, bitterly, and have sought forgiveness; and no man lives in this town, or any other, who can point to anything of which I am ashamed to speak here.”
Poor Betty! She looked from one to the other in a frightened kind of way, and when The Don had finished his confession she gave a cry the like of which I never heard, ”Oh, mother, take me away!” I have heard of hearts being broken. I think hers was broken then.
I tell you we were all in a whirl. The Don fell on his knees beside her, taking hold of her skirts. ”Oh, Betty, won't you forgive me? G.o.d have mercy on me! Won't you forgive me? I have done many things of which I am ashamed, but I have never been untrue to you in thought or in deed. Never, never, so help me G.o.d!” He clutched the hem of her dress, kissing it over and over again. It was a ghastly sight, I can tell you. Betty shrank from him, drawing her skirts away. ”Come away, my daughter,” said Mrs. Fairbanks. ”There is nothing more to be said.”
As she turned away up spake little Hooper. G.o.d bless him, the little five-footer, every inch clear grit. ”Mrs. Fairbanks, one minute. Pardon me if I say a word. I am this young man's friend, and I am your minister. I have known this man for six years. I have known him intimately. I believe he carries a clean, pure heart, and he has lived a hard-working, honourable life. If he has sinned, he has repented, and G.o.d has forgiven him. Should not you?”
Mrs. Fairbanks turned impatiently on him. ”Mr. Hooper, forgiveness is one thing, and friends.h.i.+p another.”
”No, thank G.o.d!” cried the little chap. ”No, forgiveness is not one thing and friends.h.i.+p another. Forgiveness means friends.h.i.+p, and welcome, and love, with G.o.d and with man.” I could have hugged the little man where he stood.
Then Mrs. Fairbanks seemed to lose her head, and she blazed out in a perfect fury. ”Do you mean deliberately to say that this man,” pointing to The Don, who was still on his knees, with his face in his hands, ”that this man should be received into my house?”
”Mrs. Fairbanks,” said Hooper, ”is there not a place for the repentant and absolved, even with the saints of G.o.d?”
Mrs. Fairbanks lost herself completely. ”Mr. Hooper,” she cried, ”this is outrageous. I tell you, forgiven or not, repentant or not; never will he, or such as he, enter my doors or touch my daughter's hand.
Never while I live.”
Then Hooper drew himself up. He seemed to me six feet tall. He lifted his hand, and spoke with the kind of solemnity that you expect to come from the altar. ”Then listen to me, Mrs. Fairbanks. You say you would not receive him or such as him into your house. You invite me often to your home, and here I constantly meet men who are known in society as rakes and roues. You know it, and all society women know it, too. If you cared to take half the trouble you have taken in this case, you could find out all the facts. You are a woman of society, and you know well what I say is true. I have seen you in this room place your daughter in the arms of a man you knew to be a drunkard, and must have suspected was a libertine. These men have the entree to every good family in the city, and though their character is known, they are received everywhere. They have wealth and family connection. Do not attempt to deny it, Mrs. Fairbanks. I know society, and you know it well. If you strike off the names of those men whose lives, not have been in the past, but are to-day unclean and unworthy, you will have to make a very large blank in your dancing list.” Then the little fellow's voice broke right down. ”Forgive me if I have spoken harshly. I beseech you, hear me. You are doing a great wrong to my friend, a cruel wrong.
I pledge you my name and honour he is a good man, and he is worthy of your daughter. G.o.d has covered his sin: why have you dared to uncover it?” And then, in the tone that he uses in reading his prayers, he went on, ”In the name of the Saviour of the sinful and lost, I ask you, I entreat you, receive him.”
You would think that would have melted the heart of a she-devil, let alone a woman, but that woman stood there, cold, white, and unmoved.
”Is that all, Mr. Hooper?” she said. ”Then my answer is--never! And as for you, his eloquent advocate, I never wish to see you again. Come, Betty.”
As they began to move off The Don, who was still on his knees, looked up and reached out his hands toward the poor girl with a cry that stabbed my heart through and through. ”I want your forgiveness, Betty, only your forgiveness.” She paused, took a step towards him, then putting her hands over her face she stood still, shuddering. Her mother caught her and drew her away.