CHAPTER VII.
After placing the picture carefully in his pocket he picked up the papers one by one and read each of them carefully. The first proved to be the marriage certificate of his parents; the second and several others the receipts of the interest paid on the mortgage before spoken of; the last was a letter in the familiar handwriting of his mother. With the trembling hands he opened it. It read thus:
“My dear son and only child: My career on earth is nearly run; I feel it my duty to make an explanation. I sincerely hope I may find courage to tell you all about your father and the secret mortgage, but if anything should happen this note will be found and explain my strange conduct. This mortgage was given when you were small. I have tried to pay it but could not get enough money ahead, as it took so much money to pay doctor bills and hired help. I gave the mortgage to save my father from prison. He promised to pay it, but never did, and I have only managed to pay the interest on it. The face of the mortgage is three thousand dollars. I did not care to let everyone know there was a shadow over your birthplace, so I have kept it a profound secret. The mortgagee and our old servants are the only beings who know of it. My dear son, I have taught you to be a good farmer, and I pray to God you may be able to raise the mortgage when it becomes due. It was given for twenty years at ten per cent. interest. I would have told you before now, and perhaps we could have paid it. But I could not; I have always told you it was free from debt and I deeded it to you as the same. God forgive my weakness! I was born a deceptive child and I have lived a deceitful life the last twenty-five years. I loved your father, as noble and kind a husband as ever lived. I deceived him cruelly, and after our marriage I quarreled with him about a picture he had, and finally to torment him I told him I had burned it. It made him very angry. One day he went to the village and I never saw him any more. Mychild, I feel as if he is alive and if you ever meet him give him the picture and ask him to forgive me. Tell him I died loving him and our child, he who has never seen me out of temper. My son you will never see these lines until I am clasped in death’s repose. I have erred, but I must die. As God forgives his erring creatures I pray of you to forgive me.”
Your affectionate mother.
As Paul folded up the letter tears were falling on the table, and he exclaimed aloud. “My mother, Oh, my mother! if I had only known your trouble I could have made it lighter for you to bear. I freely forgive you in all. Who would not forgive a mother’s errors?—she who has borne many trials for us while young.”
“Massa,” exclaimed Pompey, breaking in on Paul’s murmurings, “you is just like your fadder; he would have forgiven her if she would have done what was fair by him after they were married. You see she liked to torment him, and she did, once too often. Well, Paul, is you going away tomorrow now?” asked the negro, looking fondly at his young master.
“Yes, Pompey, I am going if nothing happens to prevent me, as I have a great mystery to solve and I cannot do it if I stay here.”
“Why Massa, de ’riginal ob dat picture is dead; Massa told Missus so; I heard him tell her.”
“My man, there is a mystery about it and I must find it out!” exclaimed the young man in a decisive tone.
He placed the papers carefully back and handed the box to his servant, saying, “Keep this carefully, Pompey, as by and by the papers will be of great importance to me.”
“I will do as you tells me,” answered the servant, taking the box from his young master’s hand.
Many injunctions were given for the future, then each one returned to his respective chamber, but not to sleep, as Pompey was thinking of his young master, who was going away early the next morning and would not tell him where he was going or when he should hear from him.
“Poor soul, I’s afraid he will neber come back. Oh, howI lub dat boy. May de good Lawd watch ober him and keep him from bad company!”
Thus the negro mused until daylight dawned.
Paul threw himself on the bed but could not sleep. He was deeply troubled as he lay thinking of his mother’s troubles, the mortgage, and lastly of his journey on the morrow, and as morning dawned he had made up his mind where he should go.
“I do not care; I will take the stage for New York and trust to Providence for the rest.”
Thus he pondered until the servant’s bell rang.
He hastily dressed and went down stairs. As he made his appearance earlier than usual Pompey said, “Guess you did not rest bery well, Massa?”
“No,” answered Paul, “I did not. Please hurry breakfast, as I have a long ride this morning, Pompey, and should be on the road.” Soon breakfast was ready, and after eating Paul bade his servants goodbye and started for the village.
Soon the same stage that bore Nettie on her homeward journey bore the sad, broken-hearted young man from his once happy home. One desire caused him to travel. Perhaps he would be able to find a person who resembled the picture he had closely hidden in his pocket, or, find his lost love.
It was a year since Nettie returned home. Time drearily passed by and brought momentarily each day the same longing thought: “Where is Paul?” She had read of Paul’s mother’s death in the village paper and it deeply grieved her to hear that he was all alone with no relative to bear the sorrow with him—no one to console him in this trial. Warren had written her a letter, stating Paul had started to the city.
She murmured as she sat in the little arbor by her home, “Oh, God, why did I leave him as I did; he is alone, all alone; no kindred friends to comfort him; Oh, why did I leave him?”
She was weeping piteously when a hand was laid on her head, and the owner said, “Found at last, my own. Were you weeping for me?” asked the manly voice by her side.
Nettie looked up in the manly face as she answered, “Forgive me, love, for doubting you.”
She was overcome with joy, and fell fainting at his feet. He picked her up and bore her into the cottage.
As he laid her down on the lounge he called, and Nettie’s mother came to her side. As she returned to consciousness Paul stood motionless, gazing at the mother and daughter.
“Can it be!” he exclaimed aloud.
“Can it be what?” asked the mother, looking up at the young man for the first time, as she had been busily applying restoratives to her child and had forgotten everything else, whom she had never seen in this condition before. She noticed how thin and pale Nettie had grown lately, and it grieved her deeply.
When she looked at the stranger she turned as white as her daughter and sank on the floor by the side of the lounge.
“Sir, why did you come here? What have I done to be persecuted in this way,” she asked.
She was gazing wildly at him, and it troubled him very much.
“My dear madam, you are laboring under a great mistake, as there is a mystery here we must try to solve,” said the young man, taking the picture out of his pocket and handing it to her saying, “Madam, did you ever see this?”
She took it with trembling hands and opened it and exclaimed passionately, “Sir, where did you get this?”
“It was left in a little tin box for me by my mother,” answered Paul.
“How came she to have it? It was my picture I gave to a young man many years ago. It is the same one, as here is the lock of hair and the initials of my maiden name,” said the lady as she sat gazing at it earnestly and deeply thinking.
It brought back memories of the past.
“How happy I was when I gave the picture to him; no shadow obscured the fair horizon of my life; but time will change all things; babes will grow to be men and women, and soon will grow to old age if God spares them to this world of sorrow. I for one have borne many trials. Whenever cast down, the thought will ever arise, ‘God doeth all things well.’How strange it is that a stranger should have a picture given to a friend twenty-five years ago,” said the lady in meditation.
“Madam, it is strange, very strange indeed. It is a mystery. My father supposed you dead and in time married my mother. Yet one of my servants told me my father loved the picture so much that when he was told it was burned up he went away and never has been heard of since. He left home when I was a babe on my mother’s breast. I am going to find him if he is alive,” said the young man vehemently.
“I must find him if he is in the land of the living.”
He bent over the couch where Nettie lay listening to her mother’s and lover’s passionate words and she said, “My little love, your mother thinks she had been deceived by my poor father, and now his son is trying to deceive her only child. I am going away, and when I find my father or hear something definite about him then I will return. All I ask is to prove faithful to me until I return.”
He pressed a kiss on her fair brow as he said, “God bless and keep you both until I return.”
In a moment the door closed on the manly form of Paul Burton.
He went directly to the hotel where he was stopping and packing his little wardrobe prepared to travel.
He thought of going to England but decided he would first go to the pleasure seekers’ sea-side resorts.
Days and weeks went slowly by to the ones left in the cottage. At last it was nearly Christmas; the inmates were looking out of the window at the people hurrying along the thoroughfare. Presently the mother said, “Nettie, I wonder if anyone thinks enough of us to give us something. Our little money is nearly gone and what we have we cannot spare for niceties as it is all we have to keep the wolf from the door.”
“God will provide for us,” answered Nettie.
“I wonder where Paul is today. It is a long time since he went away. Oh, if he would only come back to us it would be all the pleasure I would ask. I care not for presents. Oh, whydoes he not come!” exclaimed Nettie, looking wistfully at her mother while the tears were springing to her eyes.
“My child, God grant that he may come back and bring good news. We can only wait, watch, and pray,” answered the mother sorrowfully.
A few days after the above conversation they were looking out on the busy people along the way. Many happy faces were to be seen. It was the long-looked-for, happy day among the little children. One little one was standing in the street viewing the shop windows when a runaway horse came dashing along, and before she could have gotten out of the way a middle aged man came running out of a shop near and caught her up in his arms, not soon enough, however, to clear the danger as they were thrown down violently on the sidewalk.
Mrs. Spaulding was the first to lend a helping hand, as it was just before her door. Soon she bore the little inanimate form of the child into her own cottage and laid her on lounge, where Nettie once lay, and began applying restoratives. Soon she had the pleasure of seeing her open her bright blue eyes and feebly ask for ‘mama.’