CHAPTERV.MR.KENYON'S RESOLVE.MR. KENYON felt that a sword was impending over his head which might at any time fall and destroy him. Four years before he had marriedMrs.Conrad, a wealthy widow, whose acquaintance he had made at a Saratoga boarding-house. WhyMrs.Conrad should have been willing to sacrifice her independence for such a man is one of the mysteries which I do not pretend to solve. I can only record the fact. Oliver was away at the time, or his influence—for he never fanciedMr.Kenyon—might have turned the scale against the marriage.Mr.Kenyon professed to be wealthy, but his new wife never was able to learn in what his property consisted or where it was located. Shortly after marriage he tried to get the management of his wife's property into hisown hands; but she was a cautious woman,—a trait she inherited from Scotch ancestry,—and, moreover, she was devotedly attached to her son Oliver. She came to knowMr.Kenyon better after she had assumed his name, and to distrust him more. Three months had not passed when she bitterly repented having accepted him; but she had taken a step which she could not retrace. She allowedMr.Kenyon a liberal sum for his personal expenses, and gave a home to his son Roland, who was allowed every advantage which her own son enjoyed. Further than this she was not willing to go, andMr.Kenyon was, in consequence, bitterly disappointed. He had supposed his wife to be of a more yielding temperament.So matters went on for three years. ThenMr.Kenyon all at once fancied himself in very poor health, at any rate he so represented. He induced a physician to recommend travelling, and to urge the importance of his wife accompanying him. She fell into the trap, for it proved to be a trap. The boys were left at home, at a boarding school, andMr.andMrs.Kenyon set out on their travels. They sailed for Cuba, where they remained two months; then they embarked for Charleston. In the neighborhood of CharlestonMr.Kenyon was enabled at length to carry out his nefarious design. He made the acquaintance ofDr.Fox, an unprincipled keeper of a private insane asylum, and leftMrs.Kenyon in his charge, under the name ofMrs.Crandall, with the strictest orders that under no circumstances should she be permitted to leave the asylum.Three months from the time of his departure he reappeared in Brentville, wearing deep mourning—a widower. According to his account,Mrs.Kenyon had been attacked by a malignant fever, and died in four days. He also produced a will, made by his wife, conveying to him absolutely her property, all and entire. The only reference to her son Oliver was couched in these terms:"I commend my dear son Oliver to my husband's charge, fully satisfied that he will provide for him in all ways as I would myself, urging him to do all in his power to promotemy dear Oliver's welfare, and prepare him for a creditable and useful position in the world."But for this clause doubts would have been expressed as to the genuineness of the will. As it was, it was generally supposed to be authentic, butMrs.Kenyon was severely criticised for reposing so much confidence in her husband, and leaving Oliver wholly dependent upon him.It was a great blow to Oliver,—his mother's death,—and the world seemed very lonely to him. Besides, he could not fail to notice a great difference in the manner ofMr.Kenyon and Roland toward him. The former laid aside his velvety manner and assumed airs of command. He felt secure in the position he had so wrongfully assumed, and hated Oliver all the more because he knew how much he had wronged him.Roland, too, was quick to understand the new state of things. He was older than Oliver, and tried to exact deference from him on that account. His father had promised to make him his chief heir, and both had a tacit understanding that Oliver was to be treated as apoor relation, with no money and no rights except such as they might be graciously pleased to accord.But Oliver did not fit well into this rôle. He was too spirited and too independent to be browbeaten, and did not choose to flatter or fawn upon his step-father though he did bear the purse.The outbreak recorded in the first chapter would have come sooner had Oliver been steadily at home. But he had spent some weeks in visiting a cousin out of town, and was thus saved from a conflict with Roland. Soon after he came home the scene already described took place.Thus far things had gone to suitMr.Kenyon. But the arrival ofDr.Fox, and his extortionate demand, with the absolute certainty that it would be followed at frequent intervals by others, was like a clap of thunder in a clear sky.Henceforth peril wasimminent. At any time his wife might escape from her asylum, and appear on the scene to convict him of conspiracy and falsehood. This would mean ruin. At any timeDr.Fox,if his exactions were resisted, might reveal the whole plot, and this, again, would be destruction. If not, he might be emboldened, by the possession of a damaging secret, to the most exorbitant demands.These thoughts worriedMr.Kenyon, and robbed him of sleep.What should he, or could he do?Two things seemed desirable—to get rid of Oliver, and to leave Brentville for some place where neitherDr.Fox nor his injured wife could seek him out.The more he thought of this way out of the difficulty the better he liked it. There was nothing to bind him to Brentville except the possession of a handsome place. But this comprised in value not more than a tenth part of his—that is, his wife's—possessions. Why should he not let or, still better, sell it, and at once and forever leave Brentville? There were no friendly ties to sunder. He was not popular in the village, and he knew it. He was popularly regarded as an interloper, who had no business with the property of which he had usurped the charge. Neither wasRoland liked, as much on his own account as on his father's, for he strutted about the village, turning up his nose at boys who would have been better off than himself in a worldly point of view but for his father's lucky marriage, and declining to engage in any game in which the first place was not accorded to him.It was very different with Oliver. He was born to be popular. Though he possessed his share of pride, doubtless, he never showed it in an offensive manner. No poor boy ever felt ill at ease in his company. He was the life and soul of the playground, though he obtained an easy pre-eminence in the schoolroom."Oliver is worth a dozen of Roland!" was the common remark. "What a pity he was left dependent on his step-father!"The last remark was often made to Oliver himself, but it was a subject which he was not willing to discuss. It seemed to him that he would be reproaching his mother, to find fault with the provision she had made for his future.It did seem to him, however, in his secret heart, that his mother had been misled by too blind a confidence in his step-father."I wish she had left me only one-quarter of the property, and left it independent of him," he thought more than once. "She couldn't know how disagreeable it would be to me to be dependent upon him."Oliver thought this, but he did not say it.The thought came to him again as he walked home from the house of Frank Dudley, twenty minutes after Roland had travelled over the same road."I wonder whetherMr.Kenyon will be up," he asked himself, as he rang the bell. "If he is, I suppose I must make up my mind for another volley. How different it was when my poor mother was alive!"The door was opened by Maggie, the servant."Has Roland come home?" he asked."Yes,Mr.Oliver; he is in bed by this time.""That's good!" thought Oliver. "IsMr.Kenyon up?""No,Mr.Oliver. Did you wish to see him?""Oh, no," said Oliver, feeling relieved. "I only enquired out of curiosity. You'd better shut up the house, Maggie.""I was going to,Mr.Oliver."Oliver took his lamp and went up slowly to bed. His room was just opposite to Roland's, which adjoined the apartment occupied by his father.Remembering the scene of the previous day, Oliver expected it would be renewed when he met his stepfather and Roland at breakfast in the morning. Such, also, was the expectation of Roland. He wanted Oliver to be humiliated, and fully anticipated that he would be.What, then, was the surprise of the two boys whenMr.Kenyon displayed an unusually gracious manner at table!
MR. KENYON felt that a sword was impending over his head which might at any time fall and destroy him. Four years before he had marriedMrs.Conrad, a wealthy widow, whose acquaintance he had made at a Saratoga boarding-house. WhyMrs.Conrad should have been willing to sacrifice her independence for such a man is one of the mysteries which I do not pretend to solve. I can only record the fact. Oliver was away at the time, or his influence—for he never fanciedMr.Kenyon—might have turned the scale against the marriage.Mr.Kenyon professed to be wealthy, but his new wife never was able to learn in what his property consisted or where it was located. Shortly after marriage he tried to get the management of his wife's property into hisown hands; but she was a cautious woman,—a trait she inherited from Scotch ancestry,—and, moreover, she was devotedly attached to her son Oliver. She came to knowMr.Kenyon better after she had assumed his name, and to distrust him more. Three months had not passed when she bitterly repented having accepted him; but she had taken a step which she could not retrace. She allowedMr.Kenyon a liberal sum for his personal expenses, and gave a home to his son Roland, who was allowed every advantage which her own son enjoyed. Further than this she was not willing to go, andMr.Kenyon was, in consequence, bitterly disappointed. He had supposed his wife to be of a more yielding temperament.
So matters went on for three years. ThenMr.Kenyon all at once fancied himself in very poor health, at any rate he so represented. He induced a physician to recommend travelling, and to urge the importance of his wife accompanying him. She fell into the trap, for it proved to be a trap. The boys were left at home, at a boarding school, andMr.andMrs.Kenyon set out on their travels. They sailed for Cuba, where they remained two months; then they embarked for Charleston. In the neighborhood of CharlestonMr.Kenyon was enabled at length to carry out his nefarious design. He made the acquaintance ofDr.Fox, an unprincipled keeper of a private insane asylum, and leftMrs.Kenyon in his charge, under the name ofMrs.Crandall, with the strictest orders that under no circumstances should she be permitted to leave the asylum.
Three months from the time of his departure he reappeared in Brentville, wearing deep mourning—a widower. According to his account,Mrs.Kenyon had been attacked by a malignant fever, and died in four days. He also produced a will, made by his wife, conveying to him absolutely her property, all and entire. The only reference to her son Oliver was couched in these terms:
"I commend my dear son Oliver to my husband's charge, fully satisfied that he will provide for him in all ways as I would myself, urging him to do all in his power to promotemy dear Oliver's welfare, and prepare him for a creditable and useful position in the world."
But for this clause doubts would have been expressed as to the genuineness of the will. As it was, it was generally supposed to be authentic, butMrs.Kenyon was severely criticised for reposing so much confidence in her husband, and leaving Oliver wholly dependent upon him.
It was a great blow to Oliver,—his mother's death,—and the world seemed very lonely to him. Besides, he could not fail to notice a great difference in the manner ofMr.Kenyon and Roland toward him. The former laid aside his velvety manner and assumed airs of command. He felt secure in the position he had so wrongfully assumed, and hated Oliver all the more because he knew how much he had wronged him.
Roland, too, was quick to understand the new state of things. He was older than Oliver, and tried to exact deference from him on that account. His father had promised to make him his chief heir, and both had a tacit understanding that Oliver was to be treated as apoor relation, with no money and no rights except such as they might be graciously pleased to accord.
But Oliver did not fit well into this rôle. He was too spirited and too independent to be browbeaten, and did not choose to flatter or fawn upon his step-father though he did bear the purse.
The outbreak recorded in the first chapter would have come sooner had Oliver been steadily at home. But he had spent some weeks in visiting a cousin out of town, and was thus saved from a conflict with Roland. Soon after he came home the scene already described took place.
Thus far things had gone to suitMr.Kenyon. But the arrival ofDr.Fox, and his extortionate demand, with the absolute certainty that it would be followed at frequent intervals by others, was like a clap of thunder in a clear sky.Henceforth peril wasimminent. At any time his wife might escape from her asylum, and appear on the scene to convict him of conspiracy and falsehood. This would mean ruin. At any timeDr.Fox,if his exactions were resisted, might reveal the whole plot, and this, again, would be destruction. If not, he might be emboldened, by the possession of a damaging secret, to the most exorbitant demands.
These thoughts worriedMr.Kenyon, and robbed him of sleep.
What should he, or could he do?
Two things seemed desirable—to get rid of Oliver, and to leave Brentville for some place where neitherDr.Fox nor his injured wife could seek him out.
The more he thought of this way out of the difficulty the better he liked it. There was nothing to bind him to Brentville except the possession of a handsome place. But this comprised in value not more than a tenth part of his—that is, his wife's—possessions. Why should he not let or, still better, sell it, and at once and forever leave Brentville? There were no friendly ties to sunder. He was not popular in the village, and he knew it. He was popularly regarded as an interloper, who had no business with the property of which he had usurped the charge. Neither wasRoland liked, as much on his own account as on his father's, for he strutted about the village, turning up his nose at boys who would have been better off than himself in a worldly point of view but for his father's lucky marriage, and declining to engage in any game in which the first place was not accorded to him.
It was very different with Oliver. He was born to be popular. Though he possessed his share of pride, doubtless, he never showed it in an offensive manner. No poor boy ever felt ill at ease in his company. He was the life and soul of the playground, though he obtained an easy pre-eminence in the schoolroom.
"Oliver is worth a dozen of Roland!" was the common remark. "What a pity he was left dependent on his step-father!"
The last remark was often made to Oliver himself, but it was a subject which he was not willing to discuss. It seemed to him that he would be reproaching his mother, to find fault with the provision she had made for his future.
It did seem to him, however, in his secret heart, that his mother had been misled by too blind a confidence in his step-father.
"I wish she had left me only one-quarter of the property, and left it independent of him," he thought more than once. "She couldn't know how disagreeable it would be to me to be dependent upon him."
Oliver thought this, but he did not say it.
The thought came to him again as he walked home from the house of Frank Dudley, twenty minutes after Roland had travelled over the same road.
"I wonder whetherMr.Kenyon will be up," he asked himself, as he rang the bell. "If he is, I suppose I must make up my mind for another volley. How different it was when my poor mother was alive!"
The door was opened by Maggie, the servant.
"Has Roland come home?" he asked.
"Yes,Mr.Oliver; he is in bed by this time."
"That's good!" thought Oliver. "IsMr.Kenyon up?"
"No,Mr.Oliver. Did you wish to see him?"
"Oh, no," said Oliver, feeling relieved. "I only enquired out of curiosity. You'd better shut up the house, Maggie."
"I was going to,Mr.Oliver."
Oliver took his lamp and went up slowly to bed. His room was just opposite to Roland's, which adjoined the apartment occupied by his father.
Remembering the scene of the previous day, Oliver expected it would be renewed when he met his stepfather and Roland at breakfast in the morning. Such, also, was the expectation of Roland. He wanted Oliver to be humiliated, and fully anticipated that he would be.
What, then, was the surprise of the two boys whenMr.Kenyon displayed an unusually gracious manner at table!
CHAPTERVI.MR.KENYON'S CHANGE OF BASE."GOOD-MORNING, Oliver," he said pleasantly, when our hero entered the room."Good-morning, sir," returned Oliver in surprise."We missed you at supper last evening," continued the step-father."Yes, sir; I took supper atDr.Dudley's," explained Oliver, not quite certain whether this would be considered satisfactory."Dr.Dudley is a very worthy man," saidMr.Kenyon. "His son is about your age, is he not?""Yes, sir.""He has a daughter, also—rather a pretty girl.""I believe Roland thinks so," said Oliver, glancing at his step-brother."Roland has taste, then," saidMr.Kenyon. "You two boys mustn't quarrel about the young lady.""I shan't quarrel," said Roland stiffly. "There are plenty other girls in this world.""You are a philosopher, I see," said his father.Roland felt that this had gone far enough. Why should his father talk pleasantly to Oliver, who had defied his authority the day before? If this went on, Oliver would be encouraged in his insubordination. He felt that it was necessary to revive the subject."I expect my ball is lost," he said in an aggrieved tone."What ball?" asked his father."The ball I batted out into the road yesterday afternoon.""Probably someone has picked it up," saidMr.Kenyon, proceeding to open an egg.Roland was provoked at his father's coolness and unconcern."If Oliver had picked it up for me it would not have been lost," he continued, with a scowl at our hero."If you had picked it up yourself, wouldn't it have answered the same purpose?"Roland stared at his father in anger and dismay. Could he really mean it? Had he been won over to Oliver's side? Oliver, too, was surprised. He began to entertain a much more favorable opinion of his step-father."Didn't you tell Oliver to pick it up yesterday afternoon?" demanded Roland, making a charge upon his father."Yes, I believe I did.""Well, he didn't do it.""He was wrong, then," saidMr.Kenyon mildly. "He should have respected my authority.""I'll go and look for it directly breakfast is over," said Oliver, quite won over byMr.Kenyon's mildness."It wouldn't be any use," said Roland. "I've been looking for it myself this morning, and it isn't there.""Of course, it wouldn't stay there all night," saidMr.Kenyon. "It has, no doubt, been picked up.""Aint you going to punish Oliver for disobeying you?" burst out the disappointed Roland.Oliver turned to his step-father with interest to hear his answer."No, Roland. On second thought, I don't think it was his place to go for the ball. You should have gone after it yourself."Oliver smiled to himself with secret satisfaction. He had never thought so well of his step-father before. He even felt better disposed toward Roland."Why didn't you ask me politely, Roland?" he said. "Then we should have saved all this trouble.""Because I am older than you, and you ought to obey me.""I can't agree with you there," said Oliver composedly."Come, boys, I can't allow any quarrelling at the table," saidMr.Kenyon, but still pleasantly. "I don't see why we can't live together in peace and quietness.""If he will only be like that all the time," thought Oliver, "there will be some pleasurein living with him. I am only afraid it won't last. What a difference there is between his manner to-day and yesterday."Oliver was destined to be still more astonished when breakfast was over.He had known for some time that Roland was better supplied with money than himself. In fact, he had been pinched for the want of a little ready money more than once, and whenever he applied toMr.Kenyon, he was either refused or the favor was grudgingly accorded. To-day, as he rose from the table,Mr.Kenyon asked:"How are you off for pocket-money, Oliver?""I have twenty-five cents in my pocket," said Oliver with a smile."Then it is about time for a new supply?""If you please, sir."Mr.Kenyon took a five-dollar bill from his pocket, and passed it over to our hero."Thank you, sir," said Oliver, with mingled surprise and gratitude."How much did you give him?" asked Roland crossly."The same that I give you, my son;" andMr.Kenyon produced another bill.Roland took the bill discontentedly. He was not satisfied to receive no more than Oliver."I think," he said to our hero, "you ought to buy me a new ball out of your money."Oliver did not reply, but looked towardMr.Kenyon."I will buy you a new ball myself," he said. "There is no call for Oliver to buy one, unless he wants one for his own use.""If you will excuse me, sir," said Oliver respectfully, "I will get ready to go to school.""Certainly, Oliver."Roland and his father were left alone."It seems to me you've taken a great fancy to Oliver all at once," said Roland."What makes you think so?""You take his part against me. Didn't you tell him yesterday to go after my ball?""Yes.""To-day you blame me for not going myself. You reward him for his impudence besides by giving him five dollars."Mr.Kenyon smiled."So my conduct puzzles you, does it?" he inquired complacently."Yes, it does. I should think Oliver was your son instead of me.""Have I not treated you as well as Oliver?""I think you ought to treat me better, considering I am your own son," grumbled Roland."I have good reasons for my conduct," saidMr.Kenyon mysteriously."What are they?""You are a boy, and it is not fitting I should tell you everything.""You aint afraid of Oliver, are you?" demanded Roland bluntly.Mr.Kenyon smiled pleasantly, showing a set of very white teeth as he did so."Really, that is amusing," he answered. "What on earth should make me afraid of Oliver?""I don't see what other reason you can have for backing down as you have.""Listen, Roland. There is more than oneway of arriving at a result, but there is always one way that is wiser than any other. Now it would not be wise for me to treat Oliver in such a way as to create unfavorable comment in the village.""What do you care for what people in the village think?" asked Roland bluntly. "Haven't you got the money?""Yes.""And Oliver hasn't a cent?""He has nothing except what I choose to give him.""Good!" said Roland with satisfaction. "I hope you don't mean to give him as much as you do me," he added."Not in the end. Just at present I may.""I don't see why you should.""Then you must be content to take my word for it, and trust to my judgment. In the end you may be assured that I shall look out for your interests, and that you will be far better off than Oliver."With this promise Roland was measurably satisfied. The thing that troubled him was that Oliver seemed to have triumphed overhim in their recent little difference. Perhaps, could he have fathomed his step-father's secret designs respecting Oliver, he would have felt less dissatisfied.Mr.Kenyon was never more to be dreaded than when he professed to be friendly.
"GOOD-MORNING, Oliver," he said pleasantly, when our hero entered the room.
"Good-morning, sir," returned Oliver in surprise.
"We missed you at supper last evening," continued the step-father.
"Yes, sir; I took supper atDr.Dudley's," explained Oliver, not quite certain whether this would be considered satisfactory.
"Dr.Dudley is a very worthy man," saidMr.Kenyon. "His son is about your age, is he not?"
"Yes, sir."
"He has a daughter, also—rather a pretty girl."
"I believe Roland thinks so," said Oliver, glancing at his step-brother.
"Roland has taste, then," saidMr.Kenyon. "You two boys mustn't quarrel about the young lady."
"I shan't quarrel," said Roland stiffly. "There are plenty other girls in this world."
"You are a philosopher, I see," said his father.
Roland felt that this had gone far enough. Why should his father talk pleasantly to Oliver, who had defied his authority the day before? If this went on, Oliver would be encouraged in his insubordination. He felt that it was necessary to revive the subject.
"I expect my ball is lost," he said in an aggrieved tone.
"What ball?" asked his father.
"The ball I batted out into the road yesterday afternoon."
"Probably someone has picked it up," saidMr.Kenyon, proceeding to open an egg.
Roland was provoked at his father's coolness and unconcern.
"If Oliver had picked it up for me it would not have been lost," he continued, with a scowl at our hero.
"If you had picked it up yourself, wouldn't it have answered the same purpose?"
Roland stared at his father in anger and dismay. Could he really mean it? Had he been won over to Oliver's side? Oliver, too, was surprised. He began to entertain a much more favorable opinion of his step-father.
"Didn't you tell Oliver to pick it up yesterday afternoon?" demanded Roland, making a charge upon his father.
"Yes, I believe I did."
"Well, he didn't do it."
"He was wrong, then," saidMr.Kenyon mildly. "He should have respected my authority."
"I'll go and look for it directly breakfast is over," said Oliver, quite won over byMr.Kenyon's mildness.
"It wouldn't be any use," said Roland. "I've been looking for it myself this morning, and it isn't there."
"Of course, it wouldn't stay there all night," saidMr.Kenyon. "It has, no doubt, been picked up."
"Aint you going to punish Oliver for disobeying you?" burst out the disappointed Roland.
Oliver turned to his step-father with interest to hear his answer.
"No, Roland. On second thought, I don't think it was his place to go for the ball. You should have gone after it yourself."
Oliver smiled to himself with secret satisfaction. He had never thought so well of his step-father before. He even felt better disposed toward Roland.
"Why didn't you ask me politely, Roland?" he said. "Then we should have saved all this trouble."
"Because I am older than you, and you ought to obey me."
"I can't agree with you there," said Oliver composedly.
"Come, boys, I can't allow any quarrelling at the table," saidMr.Kenyon, but still pleasantly. "I don't see why we can't live together in peace and quietness."
"If he will only be like that all the time," thought Oliver, "there will be some pleasurein living with him. I am only afraid it won't last. What a difference there is between his manner to-day and yesterday."
Oliver was destined to be still more astonished when breakfast was over.
He had known for some time that Roland was better supplied with money than himself. In fact, he had been pinched for the want of a little ready money more than once, and whenever he applied toMr.Kenyon, he was either refused or the favor was grudgingly accorded. To-day, as he rose from the table,Mr.Kenyon asked:
"How are you off for pocket-money, Oliver?"
"I have twenty-five cents in my pocket," said Oliver with a smile.
"Then it is about time for a new supply?"
"If you please, sir."
Mr.Kenyon took a five-dollar bill from his pocket, and passed it over to our hero.
"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, with mingled surprise and gratitude.
"How much did you give him?" asked Roland crossly.
"The same that I give you, my son;" andMr.Kenyon produced another bill.
Roland took the bill discontentedly. He was not satisfied to receive no more than Oliver.
"I think," he said to our hero, "you ought to buy me a new ball out of your money."
Oliver did not reply, but looked towardMr.Kenyon.
"I will buy you a new ball myself," he said. "There is no call for Oliver to buy one, unless he wants one for his own use."
"If you will excuse me, sir," said Oliver respectfully, "I will get ready to go to school."
"Certainly, Oliver."
Roland and his father were left alone.
"It seems to me you've taken a great fancy to Oliver all at once," said Roland.
"What makes you think so?"
"You take his part against me. Didn't you tell him yesterday to go after my ball?"
"Yes."
"To-day you blame me for not going myself. You reward him for his impudence besides by giving him five dollars."
Mr.Kenyon smiled.
"So my conduct puzzles you, does it?" he inquired complacently.
"Yes, it does. I should think Oliver was your son instead of me."
"Have I not treated you as well as Oliver?"
"I think you ought to treat me better, considering I am your own son," grumbled Roland.
"I have good reasons for my conduct," saidMr.Kenyon mysteriously.
"What are they?"
"You are a boy, and it is not fitting I should tell you everything."
"You aint afraid of Oliver, are you?" demanded Roland bluntly.
Mr.Kenyon smiled pleasantly, showing a set of very white teeth as he did so.
"Really, that is amusing," he answered. "What on earth should make me afraid of Oliver?"
"I don't see what other reason you can have for backing down as you have."
"Listen, Roland. There is more than oneway of arriving at a result, but there is always one way that is wiser than any other. Now it would not be wise for me to treat Oliver in such a way as to create unfavorable comment in the village."
"What do you care for what people in the village think?" asked Roland bluntly. "Haven't you got the money?"
"Yes."
"And Oliver hasn't a cent?"
"He has nothing except what I choose to give him."
"Good!" said Roland with satisfaction. "I hope you don't mean to give him as much as you do me," he added.
"Not in the end. Just at present I may."
"I don't see why you should."
"Then you must be content to take my word for it, and trust to my judgment. In the end you may be assured that I shall look out for your interests, and that you will be far better off than Oliver."
With this promise Roland was measurably satisfied. The thing that troubled him was that Oliver seemed to have triumphed overhim in their recent little difference. Perhaps, could he have fathomed his step-father's secret designs respecting Oliver, he would have felt less dissatisfied.Mr.Kenyon was never more to be dreaded than when he professed to be friendly.
CHAPTERVII.ROLAND'S DISCOMFITURE.ON the way to school Oliver overtook Frank Dudley."Well, Oliver, how's the weather at home?" asked Frank. "Cloudy, eh?""No; it's all clear and serene."Frank looked astonished."Didn'tMr.Kenyon blow you up, then?" he asked."Not a bit of it. He gave me a five-dollar bill without my asking for it.""What's come over him?" asked Frank in amazement. "His mind isn't getting affected, is it?"Oliver laughed."Not that I know of," he said. "I don't wonder you ask. I never saw such a change come over a man since yesterday. Then he wanted Roland to flog me. Now he is like an indulgent parent.""It's queer, decidedly. I hope, for your sake, it'll hold out.""So do I. Roland doesn't seem to fancy it, though. He tried hard to revive the quarrel of yesterday, but without success.""He's an amiable cub, that Roland.""Do you speak thus of your future brother-in-law?""Carrie would sooner be an old maid a dozen times over than give any encouragement to such a fellow."All of which was pleasant for Oliver to hear.Mr.Kenyon was not through with his surprises.Two weeks before, Roland had a new suit of clothes. Oliver's envy had been a little excited, because he needed new clothes more than his step-brother, but he was too proud to give expression to his dissatisfaction or to ask for a similar favor. On the way home from school, in company with Frank Dudley, Oliver metMr.Kenyon."Are you just coming home from school, Oliver?" asked his step-father pleasantly."Yes, sir.""I have toldMr.Crimp, the tailor, to measure you for a new suit of clothes. You may as well call in now and be measured.""Thank you, sir," said Oliver, in a tone of satisfaction.What boy ever was indifferent to new clothes?"Have you selected the cloth, sir?" he asked."No; you may make the selection yourself. You need not regard the price. It is best to get a good article."Mr.Kenyon waved his hand, and smiling pleasantly, walked away."Look here, Oliver," said Frank, "I begin to think you have misrepresentedMr.Kenyon to me. Such a man as that tyrannical! Why, he looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.""I don't know what to make of it myself, Frank. I never saw such a change in a man, If he'll keep on treating me like this I shall really begin to like him. Will you come to the tailor's with me?""Willingly. It'll be the next thing to ordering a suit for myself."The tailor's shop was near by, and the boys entered, with their school-books in their hands.Oliver, with his friend's approval, selected a piece of expensive cloth, and was measured for a suit. As they left the shop they fell in with Roland, who, cane in hand, was walking leisurely down the main street, cherishing the complacent delusion that he was the object of general admiration."Hallo, Frank!" he said, by way of greeting. To Oliver he did not vouchsafe a word.Frank Dudley nodded."Are you out for a walk?" he added."Yes.""Have you been into Crimp's?""Yes.""Been ordering new clothes?" enquired Roland, with interest, for he was rather a dandy, and was as much interested in clothes as a lady."I haven't. Oliver has."Roland arched his brows in displeasure."Have you ordered a suit of clothes?" he enquired."I have," answered Oliver coldly."Who authorized you to do it?""It is none of your business," said Oliver, justly provoked at the other's impertinence."It is my father's business," said Roland. "I suppose you expect to pay for them.""The bill won't be sent to you, at any rate. You may be assured of that. Come on, Frank."The two boys walked off, leaving Roland in front of the tailor's shop."I'll go in and see what he's ordered," thought he. "If it's without authority I'll tell my father, and he'll soon put a spoke in his wheel.""Good-evening, Crimp," said he consequentially.Considering the tailor quite beneath him he dispensed with any title."Good-evening," returned the tailor."Oliver has ordered a suit here, hasn't he?""Yes; he just ordered it.""Will you show me the cloth he selected?""If you wish."Mr.Crimp displayed the cloth. Roland was enough of a judge to see that it was high priced."It's nice cloth. Is it expensive?""It's the best I have in stock."Roland frowned."Is it any better than the suit you made me a short time since?""It is a little dearer.""Why didn't you show me this, then? I wanted the best.""Because it has come in since.""Look here, Crimp," said Roland, "you'd better wait till you hear from my father before you begin on this suit.""Why should I?""I don't believe he will allow Oliver to have such a high-priced suit."Mr.Crimp had had orders fromMr.Kenyon that very afternoon to follow Oliver's directions implicitly, but he did not choose to say this to Roland. The truth was, he was provoked at the liberty the ill-bred boy took inaddressing him without a title, and he didn't see fit to enlighten him on this point."You must excuse me," he said. "Oliver has ordered the suit, and I shall not take such a liberty with him as to question his order.""I rather think my father will have something to say about that," said Roland. "I presume you expect him to pay your bill.""The bill will be paid; I am not afraid of that. Why shouldn't it be?""You may have to depend on Oliver to pay it himself.""Well, he has money enough, or ought to have," said the tailor significantly. "His mother left a large property."Roland did not like the turn the conversation was taking, and stalked out of the shop."Crimp is getting impudent," he said to himself. "If there was another good tailor in the village I would patronize him."However, Roland had one other resource, and this consoled him."I'll tell my father, and we'll see if he don't put a stop to it," he thought. "Oliver will find he can't do just as he likes. I wish Crimpwould make the suit, and then father refuse to pay for it. It would teach him a lesson."Roland selected the supper-table for the revelation of what he supposed to be Oliver's unauthorized conduct."I met Oliver coming out of Crimp's this afternoon," he commenced.Oliver did not appear alarmed at this opening. He continued to eat his toast in silence.As no one said anything, Roland continued:"He had just been ordering a new suit of clothes.""Did you find any cloth to suit you, Oliver?" askedMr.Kenyon."Yes, sir, I found a very nice piece.""I should think it was nice. It was the dearest in Crimp's stock!" said Roland."How do you know?" asked Oliver quickly."Crimp told me so.""Then you went in and enquired," said Oliver, his lip curling."Yes, I did.""I am glad you selected a good article,Oliver," saidMr.Kenyon quietly. "It will wear longer."Roland stared at his father in open-mouthed amazement. He so fully anticipated getting Oliver into hot water that his father quite disconcerted him."His suit is going to be better than mine," he grumbled, in a tone of vexation."That is your own fault. Why didn't you select the same cloth?" asked his father."It is some new cloth that has just come in.""You can make it up next time," saidMr.Kenyon; "your suit seems to me to be a very nice one."This was all the satisfaction Roland got.The next day he metMr.Crimp in the street."Well, does your father object to Oliver's order?" he asked with a smile.Roland was too provoked to notice what he regarded as an impertinent question.
ON the way to school Oliver overtook Frank Dudley.
"Well, Oliver, how's the weather at home?" asked Frank. "Cloudy, eh?"
"No; it's all clear and serene."
Frank looked astonished.
"Didn'tMr.Kenyon blow you up, then?" he asked.
"Not a bit of it. He gave me a five-dollar bill without my asking for it."
"What's come over him?" asked Frank in amazement. "His mind isn't getting affected, is it?"
Oliver laughed.
"Not that I know of," he said. "I don't wonder you ask. I never saw such a change come over a man since yesterday. Then he wanted Roland to flog me. Now he is like an indulgent parent."
"It's queer, decidedly. I hope, for your sake, it'll hold out."
"So do I. Roland doesn't seem to fancy it, though. He tried hard to revive the quarrel of yesterday, but without success."
"He's an amiable cub, that Roland."
"Do you speak thus of your future brother-in-law?"
"Carrie would sooner be an old maid a dozen times over than give any encouragement to such a fellow."
All of which was pleasant for Oliver to hear.
Mr.Kenyon was not through with his surprises.
Two weeks before, Roland had a new suit of clothes. Oliver's envy had been a little excited, because he needed new clothes more than his step-brother, but he was too proud to give expression to his dissatisfaction or to ask for a similar favor. On the way home from school, in company with Frank Dudley, Oliver metMr.Kenyon.
"Are you just coming home from school, Oliver?" asked his step-father pleasantly.
"Yes, sir."
"I have toldMr.Crimp, the tailor, to measure you for a new suit of clothes. You may as well call in now and be measured."
"Thank you, sir," said Oliver, in a tone of satisfaction.
What boy ever was indifferent to new clothes?
"Have you selected the cloth, sir?" he asked.
"No; you may make the selection yourself. You need not regard the price. It is best to get a good article."
Mr.Kenyon waved his hand, and smiling pleasantly, walked away.
"Look here, Oliver," said Frank, "I begin to think you have misrepresentedMr.Kenyon to me. Such a man as that tyrannical! Why, he looks as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth."
"I don't know what to make of it myself, Frank. I never saw such a change in a man, If he'll keep on treating me like this I shall really begin to like him. Will you come to the tailor's with me?"
"Willingly. It'll be the next thing to ordering a suit for myself."
The tailor's shop was near by, and the boys entered, with their school-books in their hands.
Oliver, with his friend's approval, selected a piece of expensive cloth, and was measured for a suit. As they left the shop they fell in with Roland, who, cane in hand, was walking leisurely down the main street, cherishing the complacent delusion that he was the object of general admiration.
"Hallo, Frank!" he said, by way of greeting. To Oliver he did not vouchsafe a word.
Frank Dudley nodded.
"Are you out for a walk?" he added.
"Yes."
"Have you been into Crimp's?"
"Yes."
"Been ordering new clothes?" enquired Roland, with interest, for he was rather a dandy, and was as much interested in clothes as a lady.
"I haven't. Oliver has."
Roland arched his brows in displeasure.
"Have you ordered a suit of clothes?" he enquired.
"I have," answered Oliver coldly.
"Who authorized you to do it?"
"It is none of your business," said Oliver, justly provoked at the other's impertinence.
"It is my father's business," said Roland. "I suppose you expect to pay for them."
"The bill won't be sent to you, at any rate. You may be assured of that. Come on, Frank."
The two boys walked off, leaving Roland in front of the tailor's shop.
"I'll go in and see what he's ordered," thought he. "If it's without authority I'll tell my father, and he'll soon put a spoke in his wheel."
"Good-evening, Crimp," said he consequentially.
Considering the tailor quite beneath him he dispensed with any title.
"Good-evening," returned the tailor.
"Oliver has ordered a suit here, hasn't he?"
"Yes; he just ordered it."
"Will you show me the cloth he selected?"
"If you wish."
Mr.Crimp displayed the cloth. Roland was enough of a judge to see that it was high priced.
"It's nice cloth. Is it expensive?"
"It's the best I have in stock."
Roland frowned.
"Is it any better than the suit you made me a short time since?"
"It is a little dearer."
"Why didn't you show me this, then? I wanted the best."
"Because it has come in since."
"Look here, Crimp," said Roland, "you'd better wait till you hear from my father before you begin on this suit."
"Why should I?"
"I don't believe he will allow Oliver to have such a high-priced suit."
Mr.Crimp had had orders fromMr.Kenyon that very afternoon to follow Oliver's directions implicitly, but he did not choose to say this to Roland. The truth was, he was provoked at the liberty the ill-bred boy took inaddressing him without a title, and he didn't see fit to enlighten him on this point.
"You must excuse me," he said. "Oliver has ordered the suit, and I shall not take such a liberty with him as to question his order."
"I rather think my father will have something to say about that," said Roland. "I presume you expect him to pay your bill."
"The bill will be paid; I am not afraid of that. Why shouldn't it be?"
"You may have to depend on Oliver to pay it himself."
"Well, he has money enough, or ought to have," said the tailor significantly. "His mother left a large property."
Roland did not like the turn the conversation was taking, and stalked out of the shop.
"Crimp is getting impudent," he said to himself. "If there was another good tailor in the village I would patronize him."
However, Roland had one other resource, and this consoled him.
"I'll tell my father, and we'll see if he don't put a stop to it," he thought. "Oliver will find he can't do just as he likes. I wish Crimpwould make the suit, and then father refuse to pay for it. It would teach him a lesson."
Roland selected the supper-table for the revelation of what he supposed to be Oliver's unauthorized conduct.
"I met Oliver coming out of Crimp's this afternoon," he commenced.
Oliver did not appear alarmed at this opening. He continued to eat his toast in silence.
As no one said anything, Roland continued:
"He had just been ordering a new suit of clothes."
"Did you find any cloth to suit you, Oliver?" askedMr.Kenyon.
"Yes, sir, I found a very nice piece."
"I should think it was nice. It was the dearest in Crimp's stock!" said Roland.
"How do you know?" asked Oliver quickly.
"Crimp told me so."
"Then you went in and enquired," said Oliver, his lip curling.
"Yes, I did."
"I am glad you selected a good article,Oliver," saidMr.Kenyon quietly. "It will wear longer."
Roland stared at his father in open-mouthed amazement. He so fully anticipated getting Oliver into hot water that his father quite disconcerted him.
"His suit is going to be better than mine," he grumbled, in a tone of vexation.
"That is your own fault. Why didn't you select the same cloth?" asked his father.
"It is some new cloth that has just come in."
"You can make it up next time," saidMr.Kenyon; "your suit seems to me to be a very nice one."
This was all the satisfaction Roland got.
The next day he metMr.Crimp in the street.
"Well, does your father object to Oliver's order?" he asked with a smile.
Roland was too provoked to notice what he regarded as an impertinent question.
CHAPTERVIII.A DANGEROUS LETTER.THERE are some men who seem to be utterly destitute of principle. These are the men who in cold blood show themselves guilty of the most appalling crimes if their interest requires it. They are more detestable than those who, a prey to strong passion, are hurried into the commission of acts which in their cooler moments they deeply regret.To the first class belongedMr.Kenyon, who, as we have already seen, had committed his wife to the horrible confinement of a mad-house that he might be free to spend her fortune. Hitherto he had not injured Oliver, though he had made his life uncomfortable; but the time was coming when our hero would be himself in peril. It was because he foresaw that Oliver might need to be removedthat he began to treat him with unusual indulgence."Should anything happen," he said to himself, "this will disarm suspicion."The time came sooner than he anticipated. Action was precipitated by a most unlooked-for occurrence, which filled the soul of the guilty husband with terror.One day he stopped at the post-office to enquire for letters."There is no letter for you,Mr.Kenyon, but here is one for Oliver. Will you take it?"Mr.Kenyon was curious to learn with whom his step-son corresponded, and said:"Yes, I will take it."It was put into his hands. No sooner did he scan the handwriting and the postmark than he turned actually livid.It was in the handwriting of his wife, whom all the world supposed to be dead, and it was postmarked Charleston."Good Heavens! What a narrow escape!" he ejaculated, the perspiration standing in large drops on his brow. "Suppose Oliver had received this letter, I might have beenlynched. I must go home and consider what is to be done. How couldDr.Fox be so criminally—idiotically careless as to suffer such a letter to leave his establishment?"Mr.Kenyon hurried home, much perturbed.On the way he met Roland, who could not help observing his father's agitation."What is the matter, father?" he enquired carelessly, for he cared very little for anyone but himself."I have a sick headache," said his father abruptly. "I am going home to lie down."Roland made no further enquiries, andMr.Kenyon gained the house without any other encounter.He went up to his own room and locked himself in. Then he took out his pocket-knife and cut open the envelope. The letter was as follows:My Dear Oliver:This letter is from your unhappy mother, who is languishing in a private mad-house, the victim of your step-father's detestable machinations. Oh, Oliver, how can I reveal to you the hypocrisy and the baseness of that man, whom in an evil hour I accepted as the successor of your dear father. It was not because I lovedhim, but rather because of his importunity, that I yielded my assent to his proposals. I did not know his character then. I did not know, as I do now, that he only wanted to secure my property. He professed himself to be wealthy, but I have reason to think that in this, as in other things, he deceived me.When we came South he pretended that it was on account of his health, and I unsuspectingly fell into the snare. I need not dwell upon the details of that journey. Enough that he lured me here and placed me under the charge of aDr.Fox, a fitting tool of his, under the plea that I was insane.I am given to understand that on his return to the NorthMr.Kenyon represented me as dead. Such is his art that I do not doubt his story has been believed. Perhaps you, my dearest son, have mourned for me as dead. If this be so, my letter will be a revelation. I have been trying for a long time to get an opportunity to write you, but this is the first time I have met with success. I do not yet know if I can get it safely to the mail, but that is my hope.When you receive this letter consult with friends whom you can trust, and be guided by their advice. Do what you can to rescue me from this living death. Do not arouse the suspicions ofMr.Kenyon if you can avoid it. He is capable of anything.My dear son, my paper is exhausted, and I dare not write more, at any rate, lest I should be interrupted and detected. Heaven bless you and restore you to my longing sight.Your loving mother,Margaret Conrad.Mr.Kenyon's face darkened, especially when his attention was drawn to the signature."Conrad! So she discards my name!" he muttered. "Fortunately the object of this accursed letter will not be attained, nor will Oliver have an opportunity of making mischief by showing it to the neighbors."Mr.Kenyon lighted a candle and deliberately held the dangerous letter in the flame till it was consumed."There," he said, breathing a sigh of relief, "that peril is over. But suppose she should write another?"Again his face wore an expression of nervous apprehension."I must write toDr.Fox at once," he mused, "and warn him to keep close guard over his patient. Otherwise I may have to dread an explosion at any time."He threw himself into an easy chair and began to think over the situation.The man was alert and watchful. Danger was at hand, and he resolved to head it off at any hazard.Meanwhile Oliver had occasion to pass thepost-office on his way home from school. Thinking there might be a letter or paper for his step-father, he entered and made enquiry."Is there anything for us,Mr.Herman?" he said."No," said the postmaster, adding jocularly: "Isn't one letter a day enough for you?""I have received no letter," answered Oliver, rather surprised."I gave a letter toMr.Kenyon for you this morning.""Oh, I haven't been home from school yet," said Oliver. "I suppose it is waiting for me there.""Very likely. It looked to be in a lady's handwriting," added the postmaster, disposed to banter Oliver, who was a favorite with him."I can't think who can have written it, then," said our hero.At first he thought it might be from an intimate boy friend of about his own age, but the postmaster's remark seemed to render that unlikely.We all like to receive letters, however disinclined we may be to answer them. Oliver was no exception in this respect. His desire to see the letter was increased by his being quite unable to conjecture who could have written to him in a feminine handwriting. As soon, therefore, as he reached home, he enquired forMr.Kenyon."He's in his room,Mr.Oliver," said the servant."Did he leave any letter for me, Maggie?""I didn't hear of any,Mr.Oliver.""Then he's got it upstairs, I suppose."Oliver went up the stairs and knocked atMr.Kenyon's door. The latter had now recovered his wonted composure, and called out to him to enter."I heard you had a letter for me,Mr.Kenyon," said Oliver abruptly.AgainMr.Kenyon looked disturbed. He had hoped that Oliver would hear nothing of it, and that no enquiry might be made."Who told you I had a letter for you?""The postmaster."Mr.Kenyon saw that it was useless to deny it."Yes, I believe there was one," he said carelessly. "Where could I have put it?"He began to search his pockets; then he looked into the drawers of his desk."I don't remember laying it down," he said slowly. "In fact, I don't remember seeing it since I got home. I may have dropped it in the road.""Won't you oblige me by looking again, sir?" asked Oliver, disappointed.Mr.Kenyon looked again, but, of course, in vain."It may turn up," he said at length. "Not that it was of any importance. It looked like a circular.""Mr.Herman told me it was in feminine handwriting," said Oliver."Oho! that accounts for your anxiety!" saidMr.Kenyon, with affected jocularity, "Come, I'll look again."But the letter was not found.Oliver did not fail to notice something singular in his step-father's manner."Has he suppressed my letter?" he asked himself, as he slowly retired from the room. "What does it all mean?""He suspects me," mutteredMr.Kenyon, "He is in my way, and I must get rid of him."
THERE are some men who seem to be utterly destitute of principle. These are the men who in cold blood show themselves guilty of the most appalling crimes if their interest requires it. They are more detestable than those who, a prey to strong passion, are hurried into the commission of acts which in their cooler moments they deeply regret.
To the first class belongedMr.Kenyon, who, as we have already seen, had committed his wife to the horrible confinement of a mad-house that he might be free to spend her fortune. Hitherto he had not injured Oliver, though he had made his life uncomfortable; but the time was coming when our hero would be himself in peril. It was because he foresaw that Oliver might need to be removedthat he began to treat him with unusual indulgence.
"Should anything happen," he said to himself, "this will disarm suspicion."
The time came sooner than he anticipated. Action was precipitated by a most unlooked-for occurrence, which filled the soul of the guilty husband with terror.
One day he stopped at the post-office to enquire for letters.
"There is no letter for you,Mr.Kenyon, but here is one for Oliver. Will you take it?"
Mr.Kenyon was curious to learn with whom his step-son corresponded, and said:
"Yes, I will take it."
It was put into his hands. No sooner did he scan the handwriting and the postmark than he turned actually livid.
It was in the handwriting of his wife, whom all the world supposed to be dead, and it was postmarked Charleston.
"Good Heavens! What a narrow escape!" he ejaculated, the perspiration standing in large drops on his brow. "Suppose Oliver had received this letter, I might have beenlynched. I must go home and consider what is to be done. How couldDr.Fox be so criminally—idiotically careless as to suffer such a letter to leave his establishment?"
Mr.Kenyon hurried home, much perturbed.
On the way he met Roland, who could not help observing his father's agitation.
"What is the matter, father?" he enquired carelessly, for he cared very little for anyone but himself.
"I have a sick headache," said his father abruptly. "I am going home to lie down."
Roland made no further enquiries, andMr.Kenyon gained the house without any other encounter.
He went up to his own room and locked himself in. Then he took out his pocket-knife and cut open the envelope. The letter was as follows:
My Dear Oliver:This letter is from your unhappy mother, who is languishing in a private mad-house, the victim of your step-father's detestable machinations. Oh, Oliver, how can I reveal to you the hypocrisy and the baseness of that man, whom in an evil hour I accepted as the successor of your dear father. It was not because I lovedhim, but rather because of his importunity, that I yielded my assent to his proposals. I did not know his character then. I did not know, as I do now, that he only wanted to secure my property. He professed himself to be wealthy, but I have reason to think that in this, as in other things, he deceived me.When we came South he pretended that it was on account of his health, and I unsuspectingly fell into the snare. I need not dwell upon the details of that journey. Enough that he lured me here and placed me under the charge of aDr.Fox, a fitting tool of his, under the plea that I was insane.I am given to understand that on his return to the NorthMr.Kenyon represented me as dead. Such is his art that I do not doubt his story has been believed. Perhaps you, my dearest son, have mourned for me as dead. If this be so, my letter will be a revelation. I have been trying for a long time to get an opportunity to write you, but this is the first time I have met with success. I do not yet know if I can get it safely to the mail, but that is my hope.When you receive this letter consult with friends whom you can trust, and be guided by their advice. Do what you can to rescue me from this living death. Do not arouse the suspicions ofMr.Kenyon if you can avoid it. He is capable of anything.My dear son, my paper is exhausted, and I dare not write more, at any rate, lest I should be interrupted and detected. Heaven bless you and restore you to my longing sight.Your loving mother,Margaret Conrad.
My Dear Oliver:
This letter is from your unhappy mother, who is languishing in a private mad-house, the victim of your step-father's detestable machinations. Oh, Oliver, how can I reveal to you the hypocrisy and the baseness of that man, whom in an evil hour I accepted as the successor of your dear father. It was not because I lovedhim, but rather because of his importunity, that I yielded my assent to his proposals. I did not know his character then. I did not know, as I do now, that he only wanted to secure my property. He professed himself to be wealthy, but I have reason to think that in this, as in other things, he deceived me.
When we came South he pretended that it was on account of his health, and I unsuspectingly fell into the snare. I need not dwell upon the details of that journey. Enough that he lured me here and placed me under the charge of aDr.Fox, a fitting tool of his, under the plea that I was insane.
I am given to understand that on his return to the NorthMr.Kenyon represented me as dead. Such is his art that I do not doubt his story has been believed. Perhaps you, my dearest son, have mourned for me as dead. If this be so, my letter will be a revelation. I have been trying for a long time to get an opportunity to write you, but this is the first time I have met with success. I do not yet know if I can get it safely to the mail, but that is my hope.
When you receive this letter consult with friends whom you can trust, and be guided by their advice. Do what you can to rescue me from this living death. Do not arouse the suspicions ofMr.Kenyon if you can avoid it. He is capable of anything.
My dear son, my paper is exhausted, and I dare not write more, at any rate, lest I should be interrupted and detected. Heaven bless you and restore you to my longing sight.
Your loving mother,
Margaret Conrad.
Mr.Kenyon's face darkened, especially when his attention was drawn to the signature.
"Conrad! So she discards my name!" he muttered. "Fortunately the object of this accursed letter will not be attained, nor will Oliver have an opportunity of making mischief by showing it to the neighbors."
Mr.Kenyon lighted a candle and deliberately held the dangerous letter in the flame till it was consumed.
"There," he said, breathing a sigh of relief, "that peril is over. But suppose she should write another?"
Again his face wore an expression of nervous apprehension.
"I must write toDr.Fox at once," he mused, "and warn him to keep close guard over his patient. Otherwise I may have to dread an explosion at any time."
He threw himself into an easy chair and began to think over the situation.
The man was alert and watchful. Danger was at hand, and he resolved to head it off at any hazard.
Meanwhile Oliver had occasion to pass thepost-office on his way home from school. Thinking there might be a letter or paper for his step-father, he entered and made enquiry.
"Is there anything for us,Mr.Herman?" he said.
"No," said the postmaster, adding jocularly: "Isn't one letter a day enough for you?"
"I have received no letter," answered Oliver, rather surprised.
"I gave a letter toMr.Kenyon for you this morning."
"Oh, I haven't been home from school yet," said Oliver. "I suppose it is waiting for me there."
"Very likely. It looked to be in a lady's handwriting," added the postmaster, disposed to banter Oliver, who was a favorite with him.
"I can't think who can have written it, then," said our hero.
At first he thought it might be from an intimate boy friend of about his own age, but the postmaster's remark seemed to render that unlikely.
We all like to receive letters, however disinclined we may be to answer them. Oliver was no exception in this respect. His desire to see the letter was increased by his being quite unable to conjecture who could have written to him in a feminine handwriting. As soon, therefore, as he reached home, he enquired forMr.Kenyon.
"He's in his room,Mr.Oliver," said the servant.
"Did he leave any letter for me, Maggie?"
"I didn't hear of any,Mr.Oliver."
"Then he's got it upstairs, I suppose."
Oliver went up the stairs and knocked atMr.Kenyon's door. The latter had now recovered his wonted composure, and called out to him to enter.
"I heard you had a letter for me,Mr.Kenyon," said Oliver abruptly.
AgainMr.Kenyon looked disturbed. He had hoped that Oliver would hear nothing of it, and that no enquiry might be made.
"Who told you I had a letter for you?"
"The postmaster."
Mr.Kenyon saw that it was useless to deny it.
"Yes, I believe there was one," he said carelessly. "Where could I have put it?"
He began to search his pockets; then he looked into the drawers of his desk.
"I don't remember laying it down," he said slowly. "In fact, I don't remember seeing it since I got home. I may have dropped it in the road."
"Won't you oblige me by looking again, sir?" asked Oliver, disappointed.
Mr.Kenyon looked again, but, of course, in vain.
"It may turn up," he said at length. "Not that it was of any importance. It looked like a circular."
"Mr.Herman told me it was in feminine handwriting," said Oliver.
"Oho! that accounts for your anxiety!" saidMr.Kenyon, with affected jocularity, "Come, I'll look again."
But the letter was not found.
Oliver did not fail to notice something singular in his step-father's manner.
"Has he suppressed my letter?" he asked himself, as he slowly retired from the room. "What does it all mean?"
"He suspects me," mutteredMr.Kenyon, "He is in my way, and I must get rid of him."
CHAPTERIX.OLIVER'S MOTHER.IT is time to introduce Oliver's mother, who was suffering such cruel imprisonment within the walls of a mad-house.It was by a subterfuge she had first been induced to enter the asylum ofDr.Fox. Her husband had spoken of it as a boarding-school under the charge of an old friend of his."I think, my dear," he said, as they dismounted at the gate, "that you will be interested to look over the institution, and I know it will afford my friend great pleasure to show it to you.""I dare say I shall find it interesting," she answered, and they entered.Dr.Fox met them at the door. He had received previous notice of their arrival, and a bargain had been struck betweenMr.Kenyon and the doctor. A meaning look was exchangedbetween them whichMrs.Kenyon did not notice."I have brought my wife to look over your establishment, doctor," saidMr.Kenyon."I don't think it is worth looking at," said the doctor, "but I shall be very glad to show it. Will you come upstairs?"They were moving up the main staircase when a loud scream was heard from above, proceeding from one of the insane inmates."What is that?" askedMrs.Kenyon, stopping short and turning pale.Mr.Kenyon bit his lip. He feared that his wife would suspect too soon the character of the institution. ButDr.Fox was prepared for the question."It is poor Tommy Briggs," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "He is in the sick-ward.""But what is the matter with him?" askedMrs.Kenyon, shuddering as another wild shriek was borne to her ears."He has fits," answered the doctor."Ought he to be here, then?""He has them only at intervals, say oncea month. To-morrow he will be all right again."Mrs.Kenyon accepted this explanation without suspicion."How old is he?" she asked."Fifteen.""About the age of Oliver," she remarked, turning to her husband."Or Roland.""What a misfortune it must be to have a boy so afflicted! How I pity his poor mother!""Come up another flight, please," saidDr.Fox. "We will begin our examination there."They went up to the next story.Dr.Fox drew a bunch of keys from his pocket, and applying one to the door opened it."Do you keep them locked in?" askedMrs.Kenyon, surprised."This is one of the dormitories," answered the doctor, who never lost his self-possession. "Come in, please."It was a large square room. In one corner was a bed, surrounded by curtains. In the opposite corner was another bed—a cot."Sit down one moment,Mrs.Kenyon," said the doctor. "I want to call a servant."He left the room, andMr.Kenyon followed him.The two men regarded each other with a complacent smile."Well, it's done," said the doctor, rubbing his hands. "She walked into the trap without any suspicion or fuss.""You'd better lock the door," saidMr.Kenyon nervously.The doctor did so."Now," said he, "if you will follow me downstairs we will attend to the business part of the matter.""Willingly," said Kenyon.The business referred to consisted of the payment of three months' board in advance."Now,Dr.Fox," said his new patron, "you may rely upon punctual payment of your bills. On your part, I depend on your safe custody of my wife as long as her mind remains unsound.""And that will be a long time, I fancy," said the doctor, laughing.Mr.Kenyon appreciated the joke, and laughed too."I must leave you now," he said. "I hope you won't have much trouble with her.""Oh, have no anxiety on that score," said the doctor nonchalantly. "I am used to such cases; I know how to manage."The two men shook hands, andMr.Kenyon left the asylum a free man."So far, well," he said, when he was in the open air. "At last—at last, I am rich! And I mean to enjoy my wealth!"Mrs.Kenyon remained in the seat assigned her for two or three minutes. Then she began to wonder why her husband and the doctor did not return."It's strange they leave me here so long," she said to herself.Then she rose and went to the door.She tried to open it, but it resisted her efforts."What does this mean?" she asked herself, bewildered.She turned, and was startled by seeing a tallwoman, in a long calico robe, in the act of emerging from the curtained bed. The woman had long hair, which, unconfined, descended over her shoulders. Her features wore a strange look, which startled and alarmedMrs.Kenyon."How did you get into my room?" asked the woman sharply."Is this your room?" askedMrs.Kenyon, unable to remove her eyes from the strange apparition."Yes, it is my audience chamber," was the reply. "Why are you here?""I hardly know," saidMrs.Kenyon hurriedly. "I think there must be some mistake. I would go out if I could, but the door is locked.""They always lock it," said the other composedly."Do you live here?" askedMrs.Kenyon nervously."Oh, yes, I have lived here for five hundred years, more or less.""What!" exclaimedMrs.Kenyon, terror-stricken."I said more or less," repeated the woman sharply. "How can I tell within fifty years? Do you know who I am?""No.""You have often heard of me," said the other complacently. "The whole world has heard about me. I am Queen Cleopatra."Mrs.Kenyon knew where she was now. She realized it with a heart full of horror. But what could it mean? CouldMr.Kenyon have left her there intentionally? In spite of all she had learned about it she could hardly credit it."What place is this, tell me?" she implored."I'll tell you," said the woman, "but you mustn't tell," she added, with a look of cunning. "I've found it all out. It's a place where they send crazy people.""Good Heaven!""They are all crazy here—all but me," continued Cleopatra, to call her by the name she assumed. "I am only here for my health," she continued. "That's what the doctor tells me, though why they should keep me so longI cannot understand. Sometimes I suspect——""In Heaven's name, what?"The woman advanced towardMrs.Kenyon, who shrank from her instinctively, and whispered:"They want to separate me and Mark Antony," she said. "I am convinced of it, though whether it's Cæsar or my ministers who have done it I can't tell. What do you think?" she demanded, fixing her eyes searchingly uponMrs.Kenyon."I don't know," answeredMrs.Kenyon, shrinking away from her."You needn't be afraid of me," said Cleopatra, observing the movement. "I am not crazy, you know. I am perfectly harmless. Are you crazy?""Heaven forbid!" exclaimedMrs.Kenyon with a shudder."They all say so," said Cleopatra shrewdly, "but they are all crazy except me. Do you hear that?"There was another wild shriek, proceeding from a room on the same floor."Who is it?" askedMrs.Kenyon, in alarm."It's crazy Nancy," answered Cleopatra. "She thinks she's the wife of HenryVIII., and she is always afraid he will have her executed. It's queer what fancies these people have," added Cleopatra, laughing."How unconscious she is of her infirmity!" thoughtMrs.Kenyon. "I hope she's never violent.""Is there a bell here?" she asked."What for?""I wish to ring for the doctor and my husband.""Ho! ho! Do you think they would notice your ringing?""Do you think they mean to leave me here?" askedMrs.Kenyon, with a gasp of horror."To be sure they do. The doctor told me this morning he was going to give me a nice, agreeable room-mate."The full horror of her situation was revealed to the unfortunate woman, and she sank upon the floor in a swoon.
IT is time to introduce Oliver's mother, who was suffering such cruel imprisonment within the walls of a mad-house.
It was by a subterfuge she had first been induced to enter the asylum ofDr.Fox. Her husband had spoken of it as a boarding-school under the charge of an old friend of his.
"I think, my dear," he said, as they dismounted at the gate, "that you will be interested to look over the institution, and I know it will afford my friend great pleasure to show it to you."
"I dare say I shall find it interesting," she answered, and they entered.
Dr.Fox met them at the door. He had received previous notice of their arrival, and a bargain had been struck betweenMr.Kenyon and the doctor. A meaning look was exchangedbetween them whichMrs.Kenyon did not notice.
"I have brought my wife to look over your establishment, doctor," saidMr.Kenyon.
"I don't think it is worth looking at," said the doctor, "but I shall be very glad to show it. Will you come upstairs?"
They were moving up the main staircase when a loud scream was heard from above, proceeding from one of the insane inmates.
"What is that?" askedMrs.Kenyon, stopping short and turning pale.
Mr.Kenyon bit his lip. He feared that his wife would suspect too soon the character of the institution. ButDr.Fox was prepared for the question.
"It is poor Tommy Briggs," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "He is in the sick-ward."
"But what is the matter with him?" askedMrs.Kenyon, shuddering as another wild shriek was borne to her ears.
"He has fits," answered the doctor.
"Ought he to be here, then?"
"He has them only at intervals, say oncea month. To-morrow he will be all right again."
Mrs.Kenyon accepted this explanation without suspicion.
"How old is he?" she asked.
"Fifteen."
"About the age of Oliver," she remarked, turning to her husband.
"Or Roland."
"What a misfortune it must be to have a boy so afflicted! How I pity his poor mother!"
"Come up another flight, please," saidDr.Fox. "We will begin our examination there."
They went up to the next story.
Dr.Fox drew a bunch of keys from his pocket, and applying one to the door opened it.
"Do you keep them locked in?" askedMrs.Kenyon, surprised.
"This is one of the dormitories," answered the doctor, who never lost his self-possession. "Come in, please."
It was a large square room. In one corner was a bed, surrounded by curtains. In the opposite corner was another bed—a cot.
"Sit down one moment,Mrs.Kenyon," said the doctor. "I want to call a servant."
He left the room, andMr.Kenyon followed him.
The two men regarded each other with a complacent smile.
"Well, it's done," said the doctor, rubbing his hands. "She walked into the trap without any suspicion or fuss."
"You'd better lock the door," saidMr.Kenyon nervously.
The doctor did so.
"Now," said he, "if you will follow me downstairs we will attend to the business part of the matter."
"Willingly," said Kenyon.
The business referred to consisted of the payment of three months' board in advance.
"Now,Dr.Fox," said his new patron, "you may rely upon punctual payment of your bills. On your part, I depend on your safe custody of my wife as long as her mind remains unsound."
"And that will be a long time, I fancy," said the doctor, laughing.
Mr.Kenyon appreciated the joke, and laughed too.
"I must leave you now," he said. "I hope you won't have much trouble with her."
"Oh, have no anxiety on that score," said the doctor nonchalantly. "I am used to such cases; I know how to manage."
The two men shook hands, andMr.Kenyon left the asylum a free man.
"So far, well," he said, when he was in the open air. "At last—at last, I am rich! And I mean to enjoy my wealth!"
Mrs.Kenyon remained in the seat assigned her for two or three minutes. Then she began to wonder why her husband and the doctor did not return.
"It's strange they leave me here so long," she said to herself.
Then she rose and went to the door.
She tried to open it, but it resisted her efforts.
"What does this mean?" she asked herself, bewildered.
She turned, and was startled by seeing a tallwoman, in a long calico robe, in the act of emerging from the curtained bed. The woman had long hair, which, unconfined, descended over her shoulders. Her features wore a strange look, which startled and alarmedMrs.Kenyon.
"How did you get into my room?" asked the woman sharply.
"Is this your room?" askedMrs.Kenyon, unable to remove her eyes from the strange apparition.
"Yes, it is my audience chamber," was the reply. "Why are you here?"
"I hardly know," saidMrs.Kenyon hurriedly. "I think there must be some mistake. I would go out if I could, but the door is locked."
"They always lock it," said the other composedly.
"Do you live here?" askedMrs.Kenyon nervously.
"Oh, yes, I have lived here for five hundred years, more or less."
"What!" exclaimedMrs.Kenyon, terror-stricken.
"I said more or less," repeated the woman sharply. "How can I tell within fifty years? Do you know who I am?"
"No."
"You have often heard of me," said the other complacently. "The whole world has heard about me. I am Queen Cleopatra."
Mrs.Kenyon knew where she was now. She realized it with a heart full of horror. But what could it mean? CouldMr.Kenyon have left her there intentionally? In spite of all she had learned about it she could hardly credit it.
"What place is this, tell me?" she implored.
"I'll tell you," said the woman, "but you mustn't tell," she added, with a look of cunning. "I've found it all out. It's a place where they send crazy people."
"Good Heaven!"
"They are all crazy here—all but me," continued Cleopatra, to call her by the name she assumed. "I am only here for my health," she continued. "That's what the doctor tells me, though why they should keep me so longI cannot understand. Sometimes I suspect——"
"In Heaven's name, what?"
The woman advanced towardMrs.Kenyon, who shrank from her instinctively, and whispered:
"They want to separate me and Mark Antony," she said. "I am convinced of it, though whether it's Cæsar or my ministers who have done it I can't tell. What do you think?" she demanded, fixing her eyes searchingly uponMrs.Kenyon.
"I don't know," answeredMrs.Kenyon, shrinking away from her.
"You needn't be afraid of me," said Cleopatra, observing the movement. "I am not crazy, you know. I am perfectly harmless. Are you crazy?"
"Heaven forbid!" exclaimedMrs.Kenyon with a shudder.
"They all say so," said Cleopatra shrewdly, "but they are all crazy except me. Do you hear that?"
There was another wild shriek, proceeding from a room on the same floor.
"Who is it?" askedMrs.Kenyon, in alarm.
"It's crazy Nancy," answered Cleopatra. "She thinks she's the wife of HenryVIII., and she is always afraid he will have her executed. It's queer what fancies these people have," added Cleopatra, laughing.
"How unconscious she is of her infirmity!" thoughtMrs.Kenyon. "I hope she's never violent."
"Is there a bell here?" she asked.
"What for?"
"I wish to ring for the doctor and my husband."
"Ho! ho! Do you think they would notice your ringing?"
"Do you think they mean to leave me here?" askedMrs.Kenyon, with a gasp of horror.
"To be sure they do. The doctor told me this morning he was going to give me a nice, agreeable room-mate."
The full horror of her situation was revealed to the unfortunate woman, and she sank upon the floor in a swoon.