Part 37 (1/2)

”Go to them--let them see you, darling,” she said; and, with Arthur as her escort, Edith went out into the midst of the sable group, who crowded around her, with blessings, prayers, tears and howlings indescribable, while many a hard, black hand grasped hers, as negro after negro called her ”mistress,” adding some word of praise, which showed how proud they were of this beautiful, queenly scion of the Bernard stock, which they had feared would perish with Nina. Now they would be kept together--they would not be scattered to the four winds, and one old negro fell on his knees, kissing Edith's dress, and crying,

”Cato bresses yon for lettin' his bones rot on de ole plantation.”

Edith was perplexed, for to her the discovery had only brought sweet images of sisters.h.i.+p with Nina. Money and lands formed no part of her thoughts, and turning to Arthur she asked what it all meant.

Arthur did not reply at once, for he knew he held that which would effectually take away all right from Edith. After Nina, he was Mr.

Bernard's chosen heir, but not for an instant did he waver in the course he should pursue, and when the interview was ended with the negroes, and Edith was again with Nina, he excused himself for a moment, but soon returned, bearing in his hand Mr. Bernard's will, which he bade Edith read.

And she did read it, feeling intuitively as if her father from the grave were speaking to her, the injured Petrea's child, and virtually casting her aside.

The tears gathered slowly in her eyes, dropping one by one upon the paper, which without a word she handed back to Arthur.

”What is it, Arthur boy?” Nina asked. ”What is it that makes Miggie cry?”

Arthur doubted whether either of the girls would understand him if he entered into an explanation involving many technical terms, but he would do the best he could, and sitting down by Nina, he held her upon his bosom, while he said, ”Does my little girl remember the time when I met her in Boston, years ago, and Charlie Hudson brought me papers from her father?”

”Yes,” answered Nina; ”there was one that had in it something about straight jackets, and when I read it, I hit my head against the bureau. It's never been quite right since. Is this the letter that made Miggie cry?”

”No,” returned Arthur. ”This is your father's will, made when he thought there was no Miggie. In it, I am, his heir after you, and Miggie hasn't a cent.”

”You may have mine, Miggie. Nina'll give you hers, she will,” and the little maiden made a movement toward Edith, while Arthur continued,

”Yon can't, darling. It's mine after you;” and this he said, not to inflict fresh pain on Edith, but to try Nina, and hear what she would say.

There was a perplexed, troubled look in her eyes, and then, drawing his head close to her, she whispered,

”Couldn't you scratch it out, just as Richard did, only he didn't.

That's a good boy. He will, Miggie,” and she nodded toward Edith, while Arthur rejoined,

”Would it please my child-wife very much to have me scratch it out?”

He had never called her thus before Edith until now, and he stole a glance at her to witness the effect. For an instant she was white as marble; then the hot blood seemed bursting from the small round spot where it had settled in her cheeks, and involuntarily she extended her hand toward him in token of her approval. She could not have rea.s.sured him better than by this simple act, and still retaining her hand, he went on,

”When I came to Florida, after Mr. Bernard's death, my first step was to have the will proved, and consequently this sheet is now of very little consequence; but as you both will, undoubtedly, breathe more freely if every vestige of this writing is removed. I will destroy it at once, and, as soon as possible, take the legal steps for reinstating Edith.”

Then releasing Edith's hand, Arthur took the candle from the stand, and said to Nina,

”Have you strength to hold it?”

”Yes, yes,” she cried, grasping it eagerly, while, with a hand far steadier than hers, Arthur held the parchment in the flame, watching as the scorched, brown flakes dropped upon the floor, nor sending a single regret after the immense fortune he was giving up.

It was done at last. The will lay crisped and blackened upon the carpet; Edith, in her own estimation was reinstated in her rights, and then, as if demanding something for the sacrifice, Arthur turned playfully to her, and winding his arm around her said,

”Kiss me once as a sister, for such you are, and once for giving you back your inheritance.”

The kisses Arthur craved were given, and need we say returned!

Alas, those kisses! How they burned on Edith's lips, making her so happy--and how they blistered on Arthur's heart, making him doubt the propriety of having given or received them. His was the braver spirit now. He had buffeted the billow with a mightier struggle than Edith had ever known. Around his head a blacker, fiercer storm had blown than any she had ever felt, and from out that tumultuous sea of despair he had come a firmer, a better man, with strength to bear the burden imposed upon him. Were it not so he would never have sent for Edith Hastings--never have perilled his soul by putting himself a second time under her daily influence.

But he felt that there was that within him which would make him choose the right, make him cling to Nina, and so he wrote to Edith, meeting her when she came as friend meets friend, and continually thanking Heaven which enabled him to hide from everyone the festered wound, which at the sound of her familiar voice smarted and burned, and throbbed until his soul was sick and faint with pain.

The discovery of Edith's parentage filled him with joy--joy for Nina, and joy because an opportunity was thus afforded him of doing an act unselfish to the last degree, for never for a single moment did the thought force itself upon him that possibly Edith might yet be his, and so the property come back to him again. He had given her up, surrendered her entirely, and Richard's interests were as safe with him as his gold and silver could have been. Much he wished he knew exactly the nature of her feelings toward her betrothed, but he would not so much as question Victor, who, while noticing his calmness and self-possession, marvelled greatly, wondering the while if it were possible that Arthur's love were really all bestowed on Nina. It would seem so, from the constancy with which he hung over her pillow, doing for her the thousand tender offices, which none but a devoted husband could do, never complaining, never tiring even when she taxed his good nature to its utmost limit, growing sometimes so unreasonable and peevish that even Edith wondered at his forbearance.