An hour later, when Constance went to see Mrs. Dewey, she found her in a state of unconsciousness, nature having at last given way. Not long after I left the house, her mother, on entering the room where the children were laid out, found her insensible, lying across the bed, with her dead babes clasped in her arms.
Mrs. Floyd sent word for me to come and see her daughter, as she continued in a lethargic state. I found her like one in a deep sleep, only her breathing was light, and her pulse very feeble, but regular. She was out of the reach of my skill, and in the hands of the Great Physician. I could only trust the cure to Him. No medicine for the body would be of any avail here. I called again in the afternoon; but found no change. How little was there in the pale, pinched face that lay among the white pillows, to remind me of the handsome, dashing Mrs. Dewey, of a year gone by!
“What do you think of her, Doctor?”
Mrs. Floyd put the question. The tone had in it something that made me look narrowly into the speaker's face. My ears had not deceived me.
There was the wish in her heart that Delia might die!
I was not surprised at this. And yet the revelation of such a state of feeling, in so good and true a woman, as I had reason to know Mrs. Floyd to be, made my heart bound with a throb of pain.
Alas! alas! Into what unnatural conditions may not the mind fall, through suffering that shuts out human hope!
“Nature,” said I, in answer to the question of Mrs. Floyd, “may be only gathering up her powers after a long period of exhaustion. The strife through which your daughter has passed—calmly passed to all external seeming—has not been without a wasting of internal life. How she kept on so evenly to the end, passes my comprehension. There is not one woman in a thousand who could have so borne herself through to the final act. It is meet that she should rest now.”
“If she were sleeping with her babes, happy would it be for her!”
Tears fell over the face of Mrs. Floyd.
“God knows what is best,” I remarked.
“She has nothing to live for in this world.” A sob broke from its repression, and heaved the mother's bosom. “O Doctor, if I saw the death dews on her brow, I would not weep!”
“Leave her, my dear friend,” said I, “in the hands of Him who sees deeper into the heart than it is possible for our eyes to penetrate. Her feet have left the soft, flowery ways they trod for a time, and turned into rough paths, where every footfall is upon sharp stones; but it may be that a blessed land is smiling beyond, he has been astray in the world, and God may only be leading her homeward by the way of sorrow.”
Mrs. Floyd wept freely as I talked.
“His will be done,” she said, sobbing.
“Your daughter,” said I, taking the occasion to bear my testimony on the favorable side, “has been wronged without question. She was doubtless imprudent, but not sinful; and the present attempt to disgrace her I regard as a cruel wrong. It will recoil, I trust, in a way not dreamed of.”
“O Doctor, let me thank you for such words.”
And Mrs. Floyd caught my arm with an eager movement.
“I speak soberly, madam, and from observation and reflection. And I trust to see Delia live and triumph over her enemies.”
“Won't you talk with the Squire, Doctor?” She still grasped my arm. “He will not hear a word from me in favor of Delia. Mr. Dewey has completely blinded him.”
“Wait patiently, Mrs. Floyd,” said I, in a tone of encouragement. “Your daughter is not without friends. There are those upon her side, who have the will and the power to defend her; and they will defend her, I believe successfully.”
A sigh fluttered through the room, causing us both to turn quickly towards the bed on which Mrs. Dewey was lying. Her lips were moving slightly; but no change appeared on her death-like face. I laid my fingers upon her wrist, and searched for her pulse. It was very low and thread-like; but with more vitality than on the occasion of my first visit to her in the morning.
“The signs are favorable.”
Mrs. Floyd did not respond. She was looking at her daughter with an expression of unutterable grief upon her countenance.
I did not attempt to give medicine, but left unerring nature to do her own work.
Mrs. Dewey did not again look upon the faces of her dead children. They were buried ere her mind awoke to any knowledge of passing events. I was at the funeral, and closely observed her husband. He appeared very sober, and shed some tears at the grave, when the little coffins were lowered together into the earth.
It was a week before Mrs. Dewey was clearly conscious of external things. I visited her every day, watching, with deep interest, her slow convalescence. It was plain, as her mind began to recover its faculties, that the memory of a sad event had faded; and I was anxious for the effect, when this painful remembrance was restored.
One day I found her sitting up in her room. She smiled feebly as I came in, and said:
“Doctor, am I never going to get well? It seems like an age since I became sick.”
“You are getting on finely,” I answered, in a cheerful way, sitting down by her and taking her hand, which was wasted and shadowy.
“I don't know about that, Doctor,” she said.
“What makes me so weak? I've no more strength than a babe. And that reminds me of a frightful dream I had.” And her countenance changed.
“A dream?” I queried.
“Yes; I thought Aggy and Lu were both dead! I saw them laid out, cold and white as statues, just as plainly as I see you now.”
She stopped suddenly, an expression of fear going over her face—then looked at me in a strange, questioning way.
“Doctor”—she leaned towards me, with lips apart, and eyes full of a sudden, wild alarm. I laid my hand upon her, and said:
“You have been very ill for some time, Mrs. Dewey, and are too weak to bear excitement. Don't let mere dreams disturb you.”
“Dreams?” Her eyes fell from mine. “Dreams?” she repeated. “I feel very weak, Doctor,” was added, after a few moments. “Won't you assist me to lie down?”
And she made a movement to rise. I took her arm and supported her to the bed, where she quietly composed herself, and turned her face away, so as almost to hide it from my view. At this moment Mrs. Floyd came in, and I withdrew, leaving them together.
Memory had been restored. The accompanying shock was severe, but not heavy enough seriously to retard her recovery, which went on slowly. She still remained at the Allen House, rarely meeting her husband, who now spent a large part of his time in New York.
The period fixed for a trial of the case between them was fast approaching. He continued resolute, and she did not waver from her purpose to defend her good name. The deep interest I took in the case, led me to see Mr. Wallingford often, and make inquiry as to the evidence which could be produced in Mrs. Dewey's favor, and the probable chances of an honorable result. We both favored a settlement of the difficulty without a trial and its consequent exposure, if that were possible. But how to prevent this was the difficult question. Finally it was determined to make a copy of the letter found by Mrs. Dewey, and enclose it to her husband, giving him warning at the same time that the original would be produced at the trial.
Nothing was heard in response to this movement, until within a week of the day on which the case was expected to come up, when Mr. Dewey's lawyer called on Mr. Orton to know if it was still his intention to meet them in open court and resist their application for a divorce. On being assured that such was their purposes he expressed some regret at the consequent damage to the lady's reputation, as they had evidence against her of the most conclusive character. Finally he wished to know whether, in case a new ground were taken—one not touching the lady's good name—any opposition would be made. Mr. Orton said that he would consult his client, and answer the query with as little delay as practicable.
Mrs. Dewey expressed a willingness to remain passive, provided no allegations were made in the new bill that even remotely cast a shadow upon her virtue.
But Mr. Wallingford, on taking the matter into further consideration, advised a different course altogether—no less than an application from the other side, on the ground of neglect, ill-treatment, and constructive conjugal infidelity, based on the important letter already referred to. Mrs. Dewey caught eagerly at this suggestion, as soon as it was presented to her. If a divorce were thus obtained, her vindication would be complete.
The ranks of the enemy were thrown into confusion by this diversion. Mr. Dewey was violent, and threatened most terrible consequences. But when the time set for the case to come up arrived, he failed to appear.
It was from the other side that the next movement came. A divorce was applied for on the part of Mrs. Dewey, in a bill carefully drawn up by Mr. Wallingford. It asked not only for a legal separation from her husband, but for alimony, and the possession of the two remaining children. An answer was filed; but it was of so feeble a character as to amount to scarcely anything in the way of opposition. The chief argument was directed against the claim for alimony. The result was as we had anticipated. In the following spring a divorce was granted, and Mrs. Dewey, with her two children, left the Allen House and returned to her father's. The maintenance allowed by the court, was one thousand dollars a year for herself, and five hundred a year for each of the children during their minority.
And so closed this exciting drama, begun in weakness, and ending in hopeless disaster. Oh, a few years! How many broken hearts do they close over? How many wrecks of goodly lives do they see scattered among the breakers!
The interposition of Mr. Wallingford, in this case, was so managed as to keep him entirely out of sight, and Mrs. Dewey was never made aware of the fact that he had rendered her a great service.
We did not see a great deal of Mr. Dewey in S——for some months after this. I heard it casually remarked that he was traveling in the South and West, for a part of the time, on business. The large interests of his firm involved in the two mills, however, made his presence necessary among us, and late in the fall he came back, and remained through the winter residing at the Allen House.
In the spring a rumor got afloat that Mr. Dewey was soon to be married. A lady in New York was mentioned; the same, it was said, to whom the letter found by Mrs. Dewey was addressed. A few signs of renovation at the Allen House gave confirmation of this rumor, which at length assumed a more positive shape.
The intimacy between Mrs. Wallingford and Constance, had grown into a close interior friendship, and scarcely a week passed that an evening was not spent by them together, sometimes at our house, and sometimes at Ivy Cottage. Mr. Wallingford had developed into a man after my own heart; and so I shared, when professional engagements allowed, in the enjoyment of these pleasant seasons.
One evening Mr. and Mrs. Wallingford came round to spend an hour with us. I was happily at leisure. Conversation naturally falls into the current of passing events, and on this occasion, the approaching marriage of Mr. Dewey came naturally into the field of topics. This led to a review of the many strange circumstances connected with Mrs. Wallingford's presence in S——, and naturally, to an inquiry from my wife as to the present position of the property left by Captain Allen.
“What about this young Garcia?” said Constance, addressing Mr. Wallingford. “I haven't heard of him for some time.”
“He is at school yet, I believe,” replied Mr. Wallingford, not showing much interest in the matter.
“He must be nearly of age,” said I.
“About twenty, if his years were correctly given.”
“He will come into the possession of a handsome property,” I remarked.
“Yes, if it can be found by the time he is ready to receive it.”
“Can be found! I don't comprehend you, Mr. Wallingford? Do you mean to question the integrity of the men who are executors to the estate?”
“No. But, they have embarked in the same vessel with an unscrupulous villain—so I regard Ralph Dewey—and have, as far as I can see, given the rudder into his hands. If he do not wreck them on some dangerous coast, or sunken rock, it will be more from good fortune than anything else.”
“He is partner in a very wealthy firm,” said I.
“The standing of Floyd, Lawson, Lee & Co., is, you know, undoubted. He can't wreck out friends Bigelow and Floyd, without ruining them also.”
“I was in New York a few months ago, on business,” Mr. Wallingford replied, “and it so happened, that I heard the firm of which Dewey is a partner spoken of. Among other remarks, was this: 'They are thought to be very much extended.'”
“What is the meaning of that?” asked Mrs. Wallingford.
“It is understood in business circles,” replied her husband, “to mean, that a house is doing too much business for the amount of capital employed, and that it has issued, in consequence, a large amount of paper. Any very heavy losses to a firm in this condition might prove disastrous.”
“Too much extended?” said I, thoughtfully, some new impressions forming themselves in my mind.
“Yes, that was the opinion held by the individual I refer to; and he was not one to speak carelessly on so grave a matter.”
“If the house of Floyd, Lawson, Lee, & Co. should go down,” I remarked, “there will be sad work in S——.”
“There will, without any doubt,” replied Mr. Wallingford.
“The executors to the Allen estate might find themselves in a most unfortunate position,” said I.
“Such a position as I would not be in, for all the world. Any thing but dishonor!”
“How dishonor?” asked Constance.
“The whole estate would be, I fear, involved.”
“They gave security,” said I.
“But the sureties are not worth a tenth part of the sum for which they stand responsible. The court acted with a singular want of discretion in appointing them.”
“You don't mean to have us infer that Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd have used the funds of this estate for their own purposes, to any great extent?”
“I would not care to say this out of doors, Doctor, but that is just my opinion of the matter as it now stands. Dewey is guardian to the heir, and would favor, rather than oppose, such a use of the funds.”
“It might be just so much in favor of the heir,” remarked Mrs. Wallingford, “if two-thirds of the property had disappeared by the time he reached his majority; for, from all that I have heard of him, he is not likely to become a man fitted to use large wealth either to his own or any body else's advantage. He was low born and low bred, in the worst sense of the words; and I fear that no education will change his original quality, or greatly modify his early bias. So while the wasting of his substance is a great wrong in the abstract, it may be a real blessing to him. Events in this life work out strangely to our human eyes, yet there is a Providence in them that ever educes good from evil.”
“If we could always believe that,” said I, “how tranquilly might we pass through life! How clearly would our eyes see through the darkest clouds, and rest upon the silver lining!”
“Is it not so? Does not God's providence follow us in the smallest things of our lives? Do we take a step that falls outside of his cognizance? We have only to look back, to be assured of this. We may walk on tranquilly, Doctor, for, as sure as we live, no evil can befall us that does not have its origin within our own spirits. All the machinations of our most bitter enemies will come to naught, if we keep our hearts free from guile. They may rob us of our earthly possessions; but even this God will turn to our greater gain.”
Mrs. Wallingford spoke with a charming enthusiasm.
“With such a confidence,” said my wife, “one is richer than if he had the wealth of an Astor.”
“And with this great advantage,” replied Mrs. Wallingford, “that he may enjoy the whole of his possessions. Moth and rust never corrupt them; and no man can take them away.”
“I have a new book from which I want to read you a sentiment,” said Constance, rising, and moving towards the secretary and book-case, which stood in the room.
Mrs. Wallingford rose and went with her.
“It is so beautifully accordant with many things I have heard you say,” added my wife, as she took down the volume, and commenced turning over its pages.
After reading a few sentences, and commenting upon them, some remark directed the attention of Mrs. Wallingford to the antiquated secretary, which was the one I had purchased when the furniture of the Allen house was sold.
“I have reason to remember this old secretary,” she said. “It was here that the will was found which cut off our interest in the estate of my uncle.”
As she spoke in a pleasant way, she pulled out a drawer—the very one which had suggested concealment, when I first got possession of the piece of furniture—and said—
“This is where the will lay concealed.”
And she pressed against the side firmly, when a portion of it yielded, and there sprung up another drawer, or receptacle, placed in vertically.
We were all very much interested in this curious arrangement. The drawer could not be pulled out much beyond half its depth; the secret portion lying within this limit.
As I stood looking at the drawer, a sudden thought flashed through my mind, and I pressed my hand against the other side. It began to yield! I pressed harder, and up sprung a corresponding secret receptacle, from which a paper fell out. A hard substance rattled on the solid wood. It was a gold locket, tied with a piece of blue ribbon; and attached, with a seal, to the folded paper.
It was some moments before a hand reached forth to lift the document. It was at length taken up by Mr. Wallingford. As he did so, the locket swung free, and we saw that it contained a braid of dark hair. Unfolding the paper, and stepping back to the light, he read, in a low, firm voice, as follows:
“I, John Allen, being of sound mind, do make this as my last will and testament, revoking, at the same time, all other wills. I give and bequeath all my property, real and personal, to my sister Flora, if living; or, if dead, to her legal heirs—reserving only, for my wife, Theresa Garcia, in case she survive me, a legacy of five hundred dollars a year, to be continued during her natural life. And I name as my executors, to carry out the provisions of this will, Doctor Edward——-and James Wilkinson, of the town of S——, State of Massachusetts.”
Then followed the date, which was recent, compared with that of the other wills, and the signatures of the testator and witnesses, all in due form. The witnesses were men in our town, and well known to us all.
At the reading of her mother's name, Mrs. Wallingford sat down quickly, and, covering her face, leaned over upon the centre table. I saw that she was endeavoring to control a strong agitation.
I was the first to speak.
“The ways of Providence are past finding out,” said I. “Let me congratulate you on this good fortune.”
As I spoke, Mrs. Wallingford rose from the table, and, going to her husband, placed her hands upon his arms, and looking up into his face, fondly and tearfully, said:—
“Dear Henry! For your sake, my heart is glad to-night.”
He laid the will down, as if it were a thing of little value, and kissing her, said:—
“This cannot add to our happiness, Blanche, and may bring care and trouble.”
“Not more trouble than blessing,” she replied, “if rightfully used.”
The locket attached to the will excited our curious interest. It was, we felt sure, the same that Captain Allen's mother had sent to him by the hands of Jacob Perkins. Doubtless, some memory of his mother, stirred by the sight of this locket, had caused him to revoke his former will, and execute this one in favor of his sister. There was no room to question, for a moment, its genuineness. It had all legal formality, and the men who witnessed the signature were living and well known to us all. I was named as one of the executors. So there was some perplexing business before me; for, in taking things as they were, it was not probable that the executors under the former will would be able, promptly, to give a satisfactory account of their trust, or to hand over the property in a shape acceptable to the right heirs.
But, of this, more anon. Our good friends went home early after this singular discovery, showing more bewilderment than elation of manner. I think that Constance and I were gladder in heart than they.
The first thing done was to place the will on record; the next to give proper legal notice of its existence to the executors under the previous will, Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd. Mr. Dewey, on the announcement of this discovery, unhesitatingly declared the paper a forgery; but the witnesses to the signature of Captain Allen were living, and ready to attest its genuineness. They remembered, very distinctly, the time when their names were appended to the document. It was only a year before the Captain's death. They were walking past the Allen House, when the old man called them in, and asked them to witness the signing of a paper. Of its contents they had no knowledge, as he did not make any communication on the subject. But he signed it in their presence, and their signatures showed this will to be the paper then executed.
Notwithstanding this, it came to our ears, that Mr. Dewey persisted in alleging fraud, forgery, and the complicity of these witnesses. And from the manner of Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd, in the first brief interview I had with them, it was plain that they were far from being satisfied that all was right. Their manner was that of men utterly confounded. If the property in question had been held by them as really their own, they could hardly have exhibited more feeling.
After the will was entered at the proper office, and thus made public, the following paragraph appeared in our “Weekly Star”—
“Remarkable Discovery of a Will.—A singular circumstance happened in our town last week, no less than the discovery of a new and more recent will of the late Captain Allen, by which all of his large property is devised to his sister and her heirs. It was found in a secret drawer, contained in an antiquated French Secretary, which Dr.——bought when the furniture of the Allen House was sold, previous to a renovation of the old mansion for the residence of Mr. Ralph Dewey. The late Mrs. Montgomery, who resided for a time at the Allen House, was sister to Captain Allen, and her daughter is now the wife of our townsman, Henry Wallingford, Esq. We congratulate the parties on the good fortune which has come to their door.”
The marriage of Mr. Dewey took place within a month after the discovery of this will, and he brought his new wife to S——, installing her as mistress of the Allen House. She was a showy woman, past thirty, with a pair of brilliant black eyes, and a dark, rich complexion. Her long, thin nose, and delicate, but proudly arching lips, showed her to possess will and determination. It was the rumor in S——, that she brought her husband a considerable fortune. But she was not well received among us. The families of Judge Bigelow, and Joshua Kling, Cashier of the Clinton Bank, called immediately. Something later called the wives of two Directors in the Bank, and afterwards the wives of one or two citizens who had embarked some capital in the cotton mills. Beyond this, no advances were made towards an acquaintance with the new Mrs. Dewey.
It shocked my sensibilities to see this woman dashing about through S——in the elegant equipage once the pride of the now humbled daughter of Squire Floyd, who, since the divorce granted on her application, had lived in strict retirement in her father's house. The only time when she was seen abroad, was on the Sabbath, at church, with her two children. The oldest, a daughter, in her thirteenth year; and the youngest, a boy, ten years of age. The terrible ordeal passed through by this unhappy woman, had told upon her severely. In a year, she seemed to have lived ten. All the fine roundness of her face and person had given way, and she presented the appearance of one who had come out of a long and exhausting illness.
Constance made it a point of duty to visit her often. She found her states of mind exceedingly variable. Sometimes she was in patient, tranquil states, and sometimes she manifested great bitterness of spirit, complaining of man's cruel selfishness, and God's injustice. The marriage of Mr. Dewey disturbed her considerably. One day, not long after this event, Constance called to see her. She was in one of her darker moods; and all the comforting suggestions which my good wife could make, seemed to go for nothing. They were sitting near a window, overlooking the street, when Delia suddenly turned pale, and caught her breath. A carriage went sweeping by at the moment, drawn by two spirited horses.
“Is that the woman?” she exclaimed, as soon as she recovered herself.
“That is the woman,” Constance replied.
Delia clutched her hands so tightly that her arms quivered, and grew rigid; while her pale face darkened with an expression so like revenge, that Constance felt a shudder of fear in her heart.
“If my prayers for her are answered,” said the excited woman, speaking through her closing teeth, “she will find that day the darkest in the calendar of her life, when she stepped between me and my husband. I have only curses for her in my heart. Only curses!”
Constance, startled, and almost frightened by this wild burst of feeling, endeavored to soothe her; but the storm was too fierce to own the power of her gentle persuasions, and raged on for its brief season.
“I thought her mind had given way,” said my wife, on relating what she had seen and heard. “It was fearful to look upon a human creature so terribly moved.”
“The trial to her feelings must have been very.... [Gap in original]
“But I thought the severe discipline through which she had passed, had chastened and subdued her,” answered Constance. “I saw, or believed that I saw, the beginnings of a new and true life in her soul. But over all this, passion has swept with its besom of destruction.”
“The better states,” I replied, “may not have been destroyed in this evil whirlwind. Such states, when once formed, usually retire and hide themselves until the storm has spent its fury.”
“I pray that it may be so in this case,” said Constance. “But from what I saw to-day, my fears are on the other side.”
In the mean time we were taking such steps as the responsibility of our position required, towards getting possession of the property, which, under the will of Captain Allen, must come into our hands. My co-executor, Mr. James Wilkinson, a merchant of S——, was for adopting the most summary proceedings. He was annoyed at the questions, doubts, and delays which Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd permitted to intervene; and more especially by the intermeddling of Dewey, towards whom, from some cause, he entertained hostile feeling.
As a matter of course, we were guided in all our movements by Mr. Wallingford. At the earliest term of court, we brought forward the claim of Mrs. Wallingford, under the last will and testament of her uncle. A feeble effort was made to throw doubt upon the genuineness of the document; but the oath of the witnesses to the signature of Captain Allen settled the question beyond the reach of cavil, and the executors under the first will were ordered to transfer, by a certain date, all property belonging to the estate into our hands.
I saw plainly enough, from the beginning, that the idea of giving an account of their stewardship was not an agreeable one to either of the executors under the old will. The direction which the property must take was one that would not admit of any holding back or covering up on their part. They would be required to exhibit clean hands.
The property clearly shown as having passed into their possession, was the old mansion and valuable grounds, which had been sold, under an order of the court, at a heavy sacrifice—bringing only thirty-five thousand dollars, instead of sixty thousand, its real value—and the proceeds re-invested. Then there was other town property worth twenty thousand dollars, and stocks valued at as much more: making seventy-five thousand dollars in all as the principal. Interest added, would swell the sum for which they must give account to over one hundred thousand dollars.
It was found, on looking into the business, that the whole of this immense sum was invested in the cotton mills. The search made into the legal condition of these mill properties was not satisfactory. There were several mortgages against them, one of which, for twenty-five thousand dollars, was held by the Clinton Bank as collateral security for loans.
After various delays and failures on the part of the old executors to meet us in a satisfactory manner, we all assembled, by appointment, in the office of Judge Bigelow. Mr. Dewey I was surprised to find present. But it was plain that he was there either by the consent or request of the Judge and Squire. The court had given a certain time for the executors under the first will to make up their accounts, and hand over the property in trust. That time had expired.
There was manifest embarrassment on the part of Judge Bigelow and his associate; while Dewey looked stern and dogged. We soon got into the centre of the business, and found it pretty earnest work. It was admitted by the executors that the greater portion of the estate was in the cotton mills. How to get it out was the question.
“I had always understood,” said Mr. Wallingford, “that the mills were chiefly owned in New York.”
“The New York interest is large,” replied Squire Floyd, in a husky voice.
“And can be increased, no doubt, to almost any extent, in order to enable you to withdraw the trust investments,” resumed Mr. Wallingford.
“Why cannot you let it remain where it is for the present? The investment is safe and the interest sure,” said Judge Bigelow.
“There isn't safer security in the state,” spoke up Mr. Dewey, with animation.
“It isn't the kind of security we wish to hold,” said Mr. Wilkinson firmly. “We have given heavy bonds, and prefer to get the property in a different shape.”
Here followed a chilling silence, which was broken by Mr. Wallingford.
“There is one way in which this can be arranged,” said he.
All eyes were turned upon him.
“If it is not convenient to transfer to new parties interests of such magnitude, we will take, at a fair valuation, the Allen House and grounds appertaining thereto, including the mill site.”
Mr. Dewey was on his feet in a moment, and said—
“Never!” with considerable excitement of manner.
Judge Bigelow and Squire Floyd looked at each other in a bewildered manner, and then at Mr. Dewey, who was walking the floor with many signs of disturbance.
“This is the family property,” continued Mr. Wallingford, coolly—“and ought never to have been sold. It is but fair that it should come back.”
“It can't go back,” spoke up Mr. Dewey. “The present owners will not let it pass out of their hands.”
“If that is the case,” said Mr. Wallingford, “we shall have to look in another direction. It occurred to me that this might suit all parties, and lead to an easy arrangement. But if that cannot be—if the present owners, to use Mr. Dewey's words, will not let it go back—then my suggestion falls to the ground, and we must look to the investments as they stand. We do not press the matter.”
I observed Mr. Dewey closely; the amount of feeling he displayed having drawn my attention upon him. Once or twice I saw him dart malignant glances towards Mr. Wallingford. And so, by degrees, I began to have a glimpse of what was passing in his mind. To go out from that elegant home, and let Wallingford succeed him as the owner, was something to which his proud heart could not submit—Wallingford, the once despised and contemned student of his uncle! That was too bitter a humiliation.
As nothing could then be decided, another meeting, to take place in three or four days, was agreed upon, and we separated.
As my profession kept me going about all the while, I had opportunities for observing the movements of other people. The day following the meeting referred to in the last chapter, I saw Dewey, the Judge, and the Squire together several times, and always in earnest talk. As I came home, towards evening, I saw them all entering Mr. Dewey's residence. It was plain that there was trouble in the camp.
On the next day, Mr. Dewey left town. I noticed him going into a car at the depot. When the time came for our meeting, a postponement was asked for. I felt like demurring, but Mr. Wallingford readily consented.
“Give them a little more time,” said he, as we walked away from Judge Bigelow's office. “It will come out as we desired. The easiest way for them to arrange with us, is to let us have the Allen House property, which is owned by the firm of which Dewey is a member; and it is with a view to this, I have no doubt, that he is now in New York.”
So we waited a few days longer. The return of Mr. Dewey took place in the course of a week, when I received a note from Judge Bigelow, asking a private interview. I found him and his nephew alone. They received me in a pleasant, affable way; and the Judge said that he wished to have a little talk with me before another formal meeting of the executors. I answered that it would give me pleasure to confer with him; though I could neither accept nor propose any thing, standing alone.
“It is not with a view to that, Doctor,” replied the Judge, his countenance putting on a shade of gravity that nearly obliterated the smiles with which he at first received me. “But I thought it might help to a better issue, if two of the parties representing the opposite interests in this case were to have a little informal conversation.”
“I am ready to hear any thing you have to say, Judge, and shall be very happy if I can aid, in any thing, the satisfactory adjustment of these matters.” My answer, I thought, appeared to give him confidence, and he said—
“Without doubt you can aid, Doctor. The position in which Squire Floyd and myself find ourselves placed, is one of some embarrassment. In making investments of the property which came into our hands, we had reference, of course, to its security and productiveness; at the same time looking to a period, still some years in advance, when our trust would cease, and the property pass in due course to the heir-at-law. To realize on these investments now, would be to damage the interests of others; and I cannot feel that it would be right for you to urge this. The discovery of a new will, bearing a later date, is a thing wholly unexpected. We had no warning to prepare for the summary action growing out of its appearance, and, as I have just intimated, cannot proceed without injury to others.”
“I do not believe,” said Mr. Dewey, “that the court, if the case was fairly stated, would require this speedy settlement of the trust. And it is my advice, that the whole matter be referred back for a new award as to time. A year longer should be conceded to the executors under the old will.”
“That would be equitable,” said the Judge.
“I am afraid,” I made answer to this, “that Mr. Wallingford will not consent to any postponement.”
“He won't? The hound!” I was startled by the fierceness of Dewey's tone of voice, and, turning to look at him, saw on his countenance an expression of malignant hatred.
“Ralph!” said Judge Bigelow, in a warning voice.
“I can't repress my indignation,” answered the nephew. “What demons from the nether hell have conspired to givehimpower over us? If it had been any other man in the world I could have borne it patiently.”
“Ralph! Ralph!” interposed the Judge, in a deprecating voice.
“It is no use, uncle. I cannot keep down my feeling,” was replied. “To see you hunted by this hound, who owes you everything.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Dewey,” said I, “but I cannot hear such language used towards a gentleman of irreproachable character. Mr. Wallingford is not entitled to the epithet you give; and I warn you, not to repeat that, or anything like it, in my presence.”
“You warn me!”
A gleam shot towards me from his evil eyes.
“Ralph! silence!” The Judge spoke sternly.
“Yes, in all soberness, I warn you,” said I, fixing my gaze upon him, and holding his eyes until they fell to the floor. “Mr. Wallingford is not the man to permit any one to use language about him, such as you have indulged in. If you make use of another opprobrious epithet, I will communicate the fact to him immediately. And let me say, that, unless a different temper is manifested, I must terminate this interview at once.”
Judge Bigelow drew his nephew aside, and talked for some time with him, in a low, earnest tone; after which the latter apologized, though with an ill grace, for the intemperance of his manner—alleging that an old wound smarted whenever Wallingford crossed his path.
The result of this confidential talk was not as favorable on my mind as Judge Bigelow had hoped to make it. I pitied his embarrassment; but the conduct of Dewey confirmed my previous view of the case, which was to require a transfer of the property specified by Mr. Wallingford, or press for an immediate foreclosure of the mill investments. There was, I felt satisfied, hazard in delay.
When our next formal meeting took place, Dewey was again present. It was in my thought to suggest that he was not a party covered by the business to be considered, when Mr. Wallingford said, in his mild, grave way—
“I believe this is a meeting of the Executors under the two wills of Captain Allen.”
The meaning of his remark could not be misunderstood, for he glanced towards Mr. Dewey as he spoke. That individual, however, did not choose to regard himself as referred to, and made no sign. But Mr. Wallingford was not the man to let a deliberate purpose fall to the ground. He had come with the intention of objecting to Dewey's presence at the conference, and to insist upon his retiring, as a preliminary to business.
No one replying to Mr. Wallingford's remark, he said, further—
“I do not mean to be uncourteous, but I must suggest the propriety of Mr. Dewey's withdrawal.”
“I am an interested party,” said Dewey, with ill-concealed anger.
“Ah! I was not before aware of this,” replied Wallingford, and he looked inquiringly towards the Judge and Squire. They showed an uneasy perplexity of manner, but did not respond.
“In what way are you interested?” queried Mr. Wallingford.
“I am one of the guardians to the heir under an existing will.”
“A will that the decision of our court has rendered null and void,” was promptly answered. “We have not met to consider questions in which Leon Garcia, or his representative, has any concern. Our business refers to other matters.”
Dewey moved uneasily, and seemed struggling to keep down his rising displeasure. But he did not, manifest any intention to withdraw.
“Had we not better proceed to business?” suggested Squire Floyd.
“Not while Mr. Dewey remains,” said I, firmly taking the side of Mr. Wallingford.
“Somebody will repent himself of this!” exclaimed the ill-governed man, passionately, starting to his feet, and striding from the office.
“I don't understand this individual's conduct,” remarked Wallingford, in a serious way. “Why has he presumed to intermeddle in our business? It has a bad look.”
He knit his brows closely, and put on a stern aspect, very unusual to him.
“You probably forget,” said Judge Bigelow, “that you have proposed a change of ownership in property now occupied by him?”
“That was simply to give you more latitude in settling up the estate in your hands. I said we were willing to accept that property at a fair valuation, thinking it would offer a desirable mode of liquidation. It is for you to say yea or nay to us; not Ralph Dewey. If you cannot gain his consent to the transfer, there is an end of that proposal.”
I really commiserated the embarrassment shown by the Judge and Squire. They seemed to be in a maze, without perceiving the right way of extrication. Dewey appeared to have over them some mysterious influence, above which they had not power to rise.
“If Ralph will not consent—”
“Ralph must consent!” exclaimed Squire Floyd, with a sudden energy of manner, and the exhibition of a degree of will not shown before. “Ralphmustconsent! The mode of adjustment proposed by Mr. Wallingford is the one easiest for us to accomplish, and I shall insist on Dewey's giving up his opposition. There is a vast deal more of pride than principle involved in his objection.”
The Squire was breaking away from his fetters.
“It is plain,” added Squire Floyd, “that his partners wish that property to go in preference to any other. And it must go.”
This was a style of remark quite unexpected on our part; and only added firmness to our purpose. The interview was not prolonged in discussion. We merely reaffirmed our ultimatum, and gave one week for the two men to decide in what manner to close their trust.