George Alden improved slowly, his back having received serious injuries, from which Dr. Briar feared he would never fully recover. His faithful nurses were in constant attendance at his bedside, bestowing every attention that skill could suggest or loving hands perform. For many weeks he could not be moved. He became much emaciated, paroxysms of pain being of frequent occurrence and making opiates necessary.
Weeks passed, and spring was near at hand. Allowed to sit up for a short time each day, Alden looked from the window upon the street, enjoying every movement with delight known only to those confined for months upon beds of sickness and pain. Belle sat beside him reading aloud from a book, the patient watching her constantly, seemingly in a trance of worshipful devotion. His eyes sent forth sympathetic and tender glances, his heart catching every word that fell from the beautiful lips. Forgetting himself, he was held in transports of love, soon, alas! to be broken, leaving him a poor worshipper, removed far from his idol. Enjoying these precious hours, and watching the expression of love and happiness gathering upon the face of his young wife, he little thought she was to be the victim of the ambition and lost fortunes of two other men.
"Ah, Belle!" he said one day, "during all my sickness and suffering, I have passed many happy hours; will it always last?"
"I hope so, my dear husband; and when you recover we will publish our marriage, and then renew these happy moments without the attendant suffering."
"But must I be a cripple? Oh, the thought is agony to me. What should I do, a helpless person entirely dependent upon those I love? Even with all the precious hours I could enjoy with you and my dear sister, I should pray God to take me away."
"Do not talk of that. Dr. Briar says you will again be able to walk. Do for the present let your mind rest and be contented; your recovery depends entirely upon this."
"Yes, I know it, and were it not for my two good and loving nurses my mind long ere this would have given way. I am truly happy, yet I am so often reminded of the danger surrounding me that I cannot dispel the thought that I may be permanently helpless."
Belle, rising from her chair, approached him lovingly, placed her arm about his neck, and laughingly said:
"No more of such gloomy forebodings. If you wish to get well you must be happy and contented; if not your nurses will retire and send two snuff-taking, herb-giving hospital women to take care of you. How would you like that, my impatient prisoner?"
"That being too great a punishment, I will promise to obey my nurses, providing they will remain with me."
Week after week passing, the later spring began to sendforth its balmy breezes. The snows of winter long since gone, and the birds returned from southern homes, the trees began taking on their garb of emerald, while the apple blossoms were bursting forth, soon to expand their germs into luscious fruit.
The factory had not been rebuilt, and much suffering had been experienced among families whose members were thrown out of employment by the disastrous fire of the previous fall.
The heavy loss to the Cleverdale Woollen Company forced several of its stockholders into bankruptcy, and the business interests of the village were more or less affected by the disaster. Naturally, everybody thought Senator Hamblin too solid financially to be disturbed by the loss of one hundred thousand dollars—the amount of his stock in the company—but had they seen him in the solitude of his office or home meditating over the critical condition of his business affairs, they would have formed a far different opinion. During the winter he had been obliged to raise large sums of money to prevent his own bank paper from going to protest, but with an unlimited credit he could command almost any desired amount. Men with funds lying idle were glad to place their money in the hands of as safe a man as they supposed him to be. Widows and factory operatives felt secure, could they induce the president of the Cleverdale Bank to take their savings and pay them interest. In this way Senator Hamblin succeeded in averting the calamity that would otherwise have overwhelmed him.
He borrowed heavily from the bank on the notes of his friends.
The limited amount a bank may loan to any one individual—as regulated by the National Banking law—is one tenth of its capital stock, but on notes of his friends President Hamblin had already borrowed three quarters of the bank's capital. Thus keeping himself apparently solvent, the people of Cleverdale looked upon him as the wealthiest man in the county, and being a shrewd actor in life's drama, by his conversation and general demeanor he succeeded in making good the impression of his wealth, bestowing gifts upon charitable objects with more liberality than ever before. The Hamblin Guards were his especial pride; he contributed largely to the company's support when occasion afforded opportunity for the organization to do credit to its patron. At the State Capitol he was the leader in numerous projects, and his power was felt on many occasions, when important bills had to be carried through both houses. He returned to his home nearly every Saturday, remaining until Monday. While appearing happy and at ease before the public, in private he was discontented and miserable. Inevitable ruin staring him in the face, he planned to avert the calamity by the assistance of Walter Mannis.
He delayed making final arrangements for disgracing the cashier, hoping the latter would die, but as months passed and the obstinate fellow refused to play the part assigned him, Senator Hamblin became petulant and cross because he was so long in getting well.
He constantly chided Belle for confining herself so closely to the sick-room.
"You must go away from home for a time. Your mother and yourself had better make preparations immediately for the long-talked-of visit to your aunt in Philadelphia," said he. "You need rest and recreation, my daughter."
"I cannot leave home at present; perhaps I may be able to go next month. George is improving rapidly and begins to walk about the room, and even talks of soon resuming his work at the bank."
"Tell him to hurry up, for I want to see the roses back again in your cheeks. You must have rest and at once."
As he turned and left the room, he failed to hear his daughter remark:
"What would Papa say did he know I was the wife of George Alden?"
Two weeks later George Alden, riding for the first time since his illness through the streets of the village, received many demonstrations of the esteem in which he was held. Not only were kind expressions uttered by men, but the "God bless you" of many an old woman reaching him touched his heart-strings. Each day's drive gave him new force, he grew stronger, and the danger of being crippled for life finally passed away.
One day, after he had returned from his drive, Belle sat at his side, where she had passed so many anxious hours.
"Belle, my darling," he said, "you look tired and careworn, your bright color has entirely vanished, and youneed a change of air and scene. I am improving so rapidly now, you ought to go away for a while."
"Do you think so, George? Papa said the same thing to me a short time ago. He wants Mamma and me to visit his sister at Philadelphia, but I cannot endure the thought of leaving you."
"I am much better, and by another week hope to be able to resume my duties at the bank. Although I should greatly miss you, nevertheless you must promise to go, for you need it."
Fannie entering the room at that moment, her brother appealed to her. "Fannie, I am trying to persuade Belle to leave home for a short time. Her father also desires her to visit his sister; and she needs rest. Come, Fannie, be as decided with her as you have been with me, and she will not dare disobey."
Fannie laughingly replied, "Yes, my dear Belle, you must go, for it will greatly benefit your health. Get ready to go at once, for George will soon be able to go into the bank."
Belle consented, and returning home, told her mother of her determination. Mrs. Hamblin readily fell in with the arrangement; sodressmakerswere called, and everything was done to make the ladies ready for the journey.
One week later George Alden declared himself able to resume his duties, but postponed returning to the bank until after the departure of his wife. Naturally enough he and Belle were constantly together, and were as one in dreading the separation.
"I am sorry, George, I promised to go," said Belle one day. "I cannot tell why I feel so badly about leaving you. I am not superstitious, but I fear something will occur to keep us apart."
"It is all for the best," said George. "Go, my precious wife, for a change is what you need. I shall resume my work at once, and while you are absent will write you each day. Returning you will be better able to meet your father, and tell him of our marriage."
The two were together several hours the day before the departure, but there was an indescribable feeling in the minds of both that something would occur affecting their happiness.
Telling their fears to Fannie, she laughed and said:
"Nonsense; lovers always feel that way when they part. Nothing is likely to occur affecting your happiness, unless it will make you both miserable to see the roses again in bloom upon Belle's cheeks."
But the final parting was full of sad forebodings, and as the train bore away Mrs. Hamblin and daughter, the tears shed in silence by the latter would not have ceased so soon had she known that her cup of happiness was to be replaced by one so full of trouble that its very bitterness would almost drive her into eternity.
The Legislative season drawing to a close, Senator Hamblin made preparations to return home. Determining upon an active and early canvass for the nomination as Gubernatorial candidate, his money had been lavishly expended to win converts, while his large dinner parties—the finest of the season—were attended by leading men and high dignitaries. So successful had been his efforts to make friends for himself, that even when the session closed, and before his canvass began, he was spoken of as the probable choice of his party for the Governor's chair. He therefore concentrated all his energies to accomplish two objects: his own nomination and the marriage of his daughter to Walter Mannis.
When awake these two objects were constantly on his mind; when asleep his dreams were filled with them; when the impending financial hurricane forced itself upon his mind he always reasoned:
"Walter Mannis will make my daughter a magnificent husband, while his fortune will prevent my failure. Once Governor of the State, and I can wield influence enough to extricate myself from the present dilemma."
The session had not been a profitable one to him, for no large jobs that he was interested in came before theSenate; besides, while looking out for his pocket, he had to avoid injuring his chances for the nomination. The session had cost him several thousand dollars more than his salary, which added to his embarrassments, yet his lavish use of money made all believe his wealth increasing.
After the departure of Belle, George Alden became much depressed in spirits. He was anxious to enter the bank at once, but by the advice of Doctor Briar he went, accompanied by his sister, to visit a cousin about two hundred miles distant. The change of air and scene, together with the letters received from his wife, gave him renewed vigor, and his despondency wore away. After a visit of one week he made preparations to return home—his sister, as much in need of a change as himself, was induced to remain a few days longer.
On his return, Alden was welcomed by many friends, who warmly grasped his hand and expressed their gratification; but when, on the following day, he entered the bank, he felt hurt at the cold greeting of the teller. Removing his hat and stepping to his desk, he opened a book, when Sargent said:
"Beg pardon, Mr. Alden, but the president desires to see you in his private office before you resume your duties."
"See me?" said the astonished cashier. "For what?"
"That you will hear, sir, from his own lips."
His voice was full of irony, and the manner in which he spoke caused the cashier to tremble, his pale face indicating agitation.
"Well, I will see him at once," Alden replied, and stepping to the door of the private office, he gently rapped. Receiving a summons, he opened the door and entered the apartment. The president was sitting at his desk. Alden said:
"The teller informed me you desired my presence here."
The president, giving him a cold, meaning look, rose from his seat, turned the key in the lock, then said:
"Yes, he was right. Be seated. I have much to say, and of a painful nature."
George Alden's lips trembled. For a moment neither spoke, the silence being finally broken by the president.
"George, never in my whole life did I have such a painful duty to perform as now falls to my lot. You have served the bank for several years, and during that time have succeeded in winning the confidence of every officer of the institution. You have been trusted implicitly at all times, yet an examination reveals to us that this confidence placed in you has not been deserved."
He paused, when George Alden sprang to his feet, and gasped:
"I—I do not—that is—I cannot comprehend your meaning."
"Be seated, Alden. It almost unmans me; in fact, ever since this affair came to my knowledge my confidence in mankind has been shaken as never before. I see you are overcome; why not confess your crime, and let us see that you are not as depraved as your act would indicate."
"My God! what do you mean? Confess what? At least, inform me of what I am charged."
"Why inform you of what you already know? The abstraction of the funds has been discovered and the worthless bonds are here."
Turning to his desk and opening a drawer, he laid before the astonished cashier five thousand dollars in worthless paper.
"I swear before my Maker," exclaimed George, "that I never saw those bonds before. What conspiracy is this?"
The president affected surprise and answered:
"You act your part well. You little thought, I suppose, that we would discover your crime. The books, however, show that some time in August last year you took five thousand dollars in money from the bank, placing these worthless bonds in the vault as collateral."
George Alden rose to his feet, and lifting his clenched hand above his head, and bringing it down upon the table before him, said:
"It is a lie! If anything is wrong the villain is in the other room."
"Beware, young man, how you talk; the evidence is too strong for you to escape by any means whatever. Here is the entry made in your own handwriting. You cannot deny this. Look here—is that written by any other hand than your own?"
"It—it—it—does look—oh, my God! I never wrote it. Am I dreaming? No, I am the victim of that man who has been at my desk."
Catching hold of a chair to prevent himself from falling, and turning toward the president, in piteous tones he said:
"Mr. Hamblin, certainly you do not think me capable of robbing the bank?"
His answer being only a cold wave of the hand, the distracted man stared at his tormentor; as he did so, anger succeeded amazement, and he exclaimed:
"It is a foul conspiracy, andyouare at the bottom of it! You would ruin me to satisfy your own ambition, you scoundrel!"
The president turned white with rage, and said:
"Have a care what you say, young man, or I will hand you over to the courts, where your crime will receive its just punishment. Your assumed innocence cannot stand against proofs so damaging as these books reveal."
"But I never committed the deed. I am innocent of anything so despicable. I a defaulter! God knows I never wronged any man. Oh, why was I brought out of the burning factory!"
His weak condition showed that he had miscalculated his strength, and Senator Hamblin looking into his face, saw its deathly pallor, while the poor man's eyeballs seemed almost ready to burst from their sockets. Much alarmed, he rose hastily, and seizing the hand of George Alden, said:
"I pity you—God knows I do. You are only human, and I will try and help you out of this trouble, for I recognize you have claims upon me."
"Thank you; perhaps I spoke hastily just now, but answer me—do you think I am guilty?"
"The evidence is very strong against you."
"But have you never thought another might have desired to get me out of the way?"
"To whom do you refer?"
The cashier turned, and pointing toward the door opening into the banking department, replied:
"The man who once went back onyou."
"No, I cannot believe that—for he pities you, and to him you owe the fact that no one knows of your crime but him and myself."
"My crime? Stop! do not call it that."
"Calm yourself, George, and let us talk of the future. Of course, it is impossible for you to remain in the bank. No one but Sargent and myself knows of the affair. You are without means to make good the missing sum. I have suffered great anguish of mind since I learned of this matter, and am not indifferent to the existing relations between you and my family, which makes my course toward you far different than it would be were our relations otherwise. Beside this, your brave act of last fall entitles you to consideration, therefore I will befriend and help you, if I can."
"Thank you, sir! thank you. I—I am so bewildered, I scarcely know what to do. I cannot realize that I am awake. I know I am innocent of any crime; but I have no adviser."
"Listen a moment," replied the president. "I can and will help you. I will replace the money, and thus make good the defalcation—advance you five hundred dollars beside, and you can quietly leave Cleverdale."
"I leave Cleverdale like a criminal! Confessing by flight that I am a thief! No, sir, I cannot do that."
"You do not realize your situation. At present no one knows of this affair. If you remain in town an excuse must be given for discharging you from the bank, for it will be impossible for you to retain your position here. Reflect a moment. If you desire to remain and face the evidence, I am powerless to prevent you. I am your friend so far as I can be, but should you remain here it will be necessary for me to report this matter to the board of directors. I wish I might do otherwise, but I cannot be placed in the attitude of sacrificing my own honor. I know that warm affection exists between you and my daughter; as the father of her whom you love and respect, I will help you if you will help yourself, but I cannot go beyond those limits and make myself the shielder of an openly apparent criminal. Ah! I know what you would say, but facts exist that we must look at squarely. I offer to help you, but you must leave Cleverdale at once."
The distracted cashier fell into a chair and groaned with agony. Through his mind rapidly passing many thoughts, he fully realized his situation, and knew he was the victim of a base trick, if not a conspiracy, yet he was powerless to prove his innocence. Thoughts of his young wife and sister passing rapidly through his mind, his first and only consideration was to shield them from disgrace. Once he thought of disclosing the secret of his marriage, but remembering the solemn promise made his wife, and knowing thatSenator Hamblin was a cold-hearted man, he feared the disclosure might increase their difficulties.
These thoughts running rapidly through his mind, he wished for his wife and sister that he might consult them, but as they were far away, in whatever he did he must act alone, and in his weakened condition he was unfit to decide so serious a matter.
He believed his innocence would be established if he prevented the conspiracy from being made public; although he was a good enough judge of human nature to suspect Hamblin, he was loath to believe that the president desired his ruin. He believed that Hamblin's mind had been poisoned by Sargent, who had really robbed the bank and made a scapegoat of the cashier. At the same time he recognized the fact that Senator Hamblin was in the power of the teller, but desired to get rid of the cashier. The more he thought over the subject the more he saw the utter impossibility of proving his innocence, but concluded to make one more appeal to the president.
"Give me time to think, sir," he replied to Senator Hamblin, when the latter asked for his decision. "Before you drive me from home and friends, make a more thorough examination, for I am confident you will be convinced of my innocence."
"No, that cannot be. This was discovered immediately after your heroic adventure. I was astonished and could not believe you guilty. I have investigated thoroughly, and after due deliberation am convinced in my own mind concerning this matter."
"But Sargent—what does he say?"
"He pleaded for you, as never before man did for another. When it looked as if you must die, I decided to make good the amount and let your grave cover the crime. I am entrusted with the funds of this institution. If you remain in the village I must give a reason for your discharge—if you go away your absence must be attributed to mystery; I shall never follow you. If you can ever repay me the amount I advance, all right; if you cannot, I shall feel that I have protected you as well as the honor of a member of my own household."
Eloquence can make deceit appear as the purest of truths. This gift accounted in part for Senator Hamblin's great power, for he was a natural actor. His persuasive manner and strong language had a perceptible effect upon George Alden, who gave evident signs of weakness of mind and body. Long months of confinement left him powerless to cope with a strong mind, and gradually his will succumbed to that of his persecutor.
He could write to Belle and Fannie, he reasoned, and be advised by them. Yes, he would save himself and friends the disgrace that must inevitably follow the charge he knew to be false, yet was unable to disprove. It would be a terrible ordeal, but he thought it would be only temporary and his vindication must surely follow. As for Belle, who never could doubt his honesty, he could keep her informed of his whereabouts, awaiting her summons to return.
"What is your decision, George? I must know at once," asked the president.
"Give me one day to decide."
"No, you must make your choice at once—the directors will meet this evening, and if you remain here I must tell them of the defalcation, and then I shall be powerless to aid you. I wish it were otherwise, but it is not."
"Well, sir, to shield those I love I accept your offer. I hope I have not made a wrong decision, but my vindication is sure to follow."
Senator Hamblin opened a private drawer, and taking from it five hundred dollars, said:
"Here, George, is money—no, do not push it back—you will require it—you need not take it as a gift, it is only lent you."
At first Alden refused the loan, but the president, pretending to be affected almost to tears, at last succeeded in forcing the money upon him.
The interview ended, Alden left the building and wended his footsteps homeward. Alone in the privacy of his chamber he gave way to his feelings, after which he began making preparations for leaving Cleverdale. Taking up a picture of his wife that lay upon the table before him, he covered it with kisses, and said:
"I am her evil genius, and thus far have only caused her unhappiness. But she shall know all; yes, every word that passed between her father and me shall be written her."
For two hours he sat beside the table, writing. He wrote of the terrible charges against him, and placed on paperevery word that passed between the bank president and himself. He asserted his innocence; told of his love, and begged his wife to do everything in her power to clear up the mystery. He read and reread his letter, and added more, telling her of his assumed name and destination. He then wrote another letter, containing substantially the same matter, which he directed to his sister.
Not one word concerning his marriage, or his legal relationship to Belle, appeared in either letter. He was too much absorbed in his situation to think of anything but his flight and the causes that led to it.
At nine o'clock George Alden, bidding farewell to his home, went directly to the post office, mailed his letters, and then turned toward the depot. Meeting many friends, to their inquiries whither he was bound he replied, he was "going for his sister." It was a falsehood, and his conscience troubled him for it.
As the train steamed out of the depot his heart was too full of sadness to speak to any one. Although an innocent man, his sorrows must affect the two noble women whom he believed he was serving by leaving home.
God pity the three! Business reverses may drive a man from home and friends, death may inflict anguish hard to be endured, calumny may cast dark shadows over noble lives, but ambition alone can inflict unmerited misery on honorable natures; and worse than the ambition that causes war—worse because meaner—is the feeling that political necessities engender and stimulate in a man until he can coolly perform deeds more fiendish than Holy Writ anywhereascribes to Satan. In proof whereof it is only necessary to quote a word or two of Senator Hamblin's soliloquy after Alden left the bank.
"Iam the scoundrel.—Well, a man must be one to succeed in politics."
The next morning, as Senator Hamblin entered the bank, Sargent handed him two letters. Receiving them in silence, he went directly to his private office, closed and locked the door, and seating himself at the desk, seemed much troubled.
"I am playing a dangerous game, and wish I were well out of it. During the long, tedious night, sleep refused to relieve me of that dreadful look of agony and despair that yesterday overshadowed Alden's countenance. But can I do otherwise than try to prevent the crash that would ruin me and disgrace those dependent upon me? It is a desperate game, but I cannot retrace my steps. Let me look at these letters. Yes, here is one addressed to my daughter and another to the Alden girl. I cannot bear to open them, but must do so, for how else can I know his destination?"
For a moment he was silent, then quickly opening the letter addressed to Belle, and counting the sheets, he found there were six of them—just twenty-four pages in all. Reading, he was soon interested in the contents. Troubled thoughts running through his mind, he frequently passed his hand across his brow as if hiding the words fromview. Before the letter was finished he was greatly agitated, and when all was read, his head bowed upon the desk, sigh after sigh escaped him.
"What have I done? The writer of this letter would have made my daughter a kind and true husband. I will recall him—I must, for I cannot go farther in this deception. Poor Belle! God pity her! I—her father—have basely conspired to destroy her happiness. God! what a villain I am!"
He arose and paced the floor in terrible agony of conscience.
"I have added crime to cruelty, and my hand is plotting against two true and noble hearts. I will at once recall Alden, for Belle's letter received last evening informs me of her return home to-morrow. What sorrow awaits her! I must—I will make amends for all."
Resuming his seat, he was about to open the letter addressed to Fannie Alden, when a rap at the door caused him to pause, and hastily slipping the two letters into a private drawer, he arose, and opening the door, to his surprise he found himself face to face with Walter Mannis.
"Ah, Senator, how do you do? Glad to see you. You look surprised. Didn't expect to see me to-day, eh?"
"No, I did not expect you, Mannis, but I am glad to see you. Walk in, and be seated."
Closing and locking the door, and resuming his chair, he said:
"Mannis, this is bad business. Yesterday I sent poor Alden away as if he were a common thief. To-day I ama changed man and must give up this business, for it is a damnable scheme."
"Pshaw! Senator, you are only doing your duty; beside it is too late to turn back now. Tut, tut, man, another day will calm your mind and all will be well."
"I suppose I am weak, but the scene I passed through yesterday has quite unmanned me; I will soon throw off this spell, realizing now that only the successful development of our scheme will save us. But I was a fool to ever begin it."
Mannis, with his keen eye, saw that the veteran politician was really moved. He was astonished; what politician would not have been? But he did not lose his wits; he said:
"The only thing necessary now is to prevent Alden's return. Of course you have intercepted his letters, for Sargent told me as I entered the bank that he handed you two this morning."
"Yes, I have them safe; but the counterfeiting and forging business must follow. When will bloodshed be added?"
The words were spoken in a desperate voice, so Mannis quickly replied:
"Come, Senator, put on your hat and let us walk over to my room at the hotel. You need fresh air and a glass of wine—then we will return here and look further into this matter."
The Senator at first refused the invitation, but persuasion finally made him yield, and the two men left the bank.
Returning an hour later, Senator Hamblin was in better spirits, the fresh air, together with several glasses of wine, having changed his whole demeanor. Despondency had given way to exuberance of spirits, and both men were soon seated side by side, smoking cigars. Then George Alden's letters were brought from their hiding-place and examined, Mannis remarking:
"Well, he is a gushing youth if nothing else."
It being decided an answer must be sent Alden, Mannis, taking paper and pen, wrote as follows:
"Cleverdale, 187–."Sir: On receipt of your letter I immediately returned to Cleverdale. When I thought you an honest man, I respected and loved you, but your crime has aroused me from this dream. Never dare address me again, for I abhor a villain.Belle Hamblin."ToGeorge Alden."
"Cleverdale, 187–.
"Sir: On receipt of your letter I immediately returned to Cleverdale. When I thought you an honest man, I respected and loved you, but your crime has aroused me from this dream. Never dare address me again, for I abhor a villain.
Belle Hamblin.
"ToGeorge Alden."
"There, Senator, have Sargent copy this—imitating your daughter's handwriting—and mail it to the gusher. It will make him overflow with rhapsody—or profanity. Gracious! how I would like to see him when he runs his eyes over thisbillet-doux," and he ended his words with a long, low whistle.
The interview was but a short one, and the two men shook hands. Mannis, while leaving the private office and passing into the bank, whispered to Sargent:
"Come to my room at the hotel at noon, I wish to see you privately."
Promptly at noon Sargent entered the Cleverdale Hotel, and hastily going to Mannis's room rapped at the door. Avoice within calling out, "Come in," the teller entered the apartment, and Mannis rose to meet him.
"Sargent, the old man is faint-hearted, and if something is not done to prevent, he will have Alden back here."
"Yes, I noticed he looked like a sick man when he came to the bank this morning. If he should repent, what would you and I do?"
"We must not give him a chance. Will you stand by me in this matter, Sargent? Remember, you are to be cashier."
"Stand by you? Yes, sir; I am with you and can take a hand in anything you suggest."
"Well, let's shake hands over that. Now let me whisper a few words in your ear."
For five minutes the two men whispered together; then Sargent said:
"By thunder! I never thought of that—but I am your man—that will check things certain."
"Not a lisp of this," said Mannis; "but Saturday evening, at eight o'clock, meet me near the hollow road, and be sure to bring along that suit."
In another moment Mannis was alone, and an hour later, behind a span of fleet horses, he was speeding over the road toward Havelock.
"The girl shall be mine," he said, "and the Senator's money will chip in nicely to keep me afloat. But if he only knew I wanted his cash, even more than his pretty daughter, he would shut down on me. Chicken-hearted as a child, I am afraid he will repent, and try to undo the littlegame. I always took him for a man of pluck; but we will arrange this business, though. My eyes! how he will shake in his boots when Sargent and I get through with our part of this affair—and won't all Cleverdale be excited? Whew! There'll be a first-class rumpus!"
The following day Mrs. Hamblin and Belle arrived at the Hamblin mansion; the husband and father was not there to receive them. Relieving themselves of wraps, etc., they took their supper.
Belle with great impatience momentarily expected the arrival of George Alden. Eight, half-past eight, nine o'clock came, still the young husband failed to appear.
"It is strange, mamma," said she. "I wrote him I would be here this evening. Can he be sick? I will send Jane to his house—possibly he is there."
Seating herself, she hastily wrote:
"Dear George:"I am home. Come at once.Belle."
"Dear George:
"I am home. Come at once.
Belle."
Summoning Jane, instructions concerning the note were given; in twenty minutes the faithful nurse returned and exclaimed:
"The house is dark, and no person there."
"No one there!" said Belle, in a trembling voice. "It is singular enough. He came home three days since. Where is Papa?—he can tell us whether George has been at the bank. There must be something wrong."
"Be calm, my child," said her mother; "he will comesoon—there is some good reason for his absence. Perhaps he is at the bank with your father."
"True; I never thought of that. It is getting late, and we had better send James to the bank and ascertain. I must know his whereabouts before I can sleep."
She immediately rang the bell, and Jane appeared.
"Tell James to go to the bank, and see if Papa is there. Also tell him to inquire if Mr. Alden is there. If Papa is alone, ask him if he will please come home at once."
Half an hour later, James returned with the information that Mr. Hamblin was alone at his office, and would be up soon. Belle was much agitated; her mother tried to quiet her, but without success. Shortly after, Senator Hamblin entered the house; Belle ran to meet him, but by his manner she was conscious that something terrible had happened. After embracing his wife and daughter, the latter asked:
"Papa, where—is—is—George?"
Slow to answer, his hesitation only added to her agitation, for she continued:
"Oh, speak! What has happened?"
"My daughter, he is unworthy of you, he has proven himself a villain."
"Proven himself a villain! why, what do you mean? Answer me!" Her face became deathly pale, and she tottered as if about to fall.
"He has—I cannot speak it, for I am affected as never before—but you must know the worst—George Alden has stolen five thousand dollars from the bank."
There was a wild shriek, and Belle fell sobbing into her mother's arms.
"It is—it is false! he never committed a crime." Rising quickly, with excited voice she asked: "And—and where is he?"
"Alas, my child, he has absconded. I befriended him, making good the amount, and the crime is known only to the teller and myself."
"Father," exclaimed Belle, "this awful crime is yours, not his; you have conspired to defame as pure a man as ever lived,—andyou have killed his wife."
"His wife! My God, Belle, what do you mean?"
"I mean that I am the wedded wife of George Alden, whom an unnatural father conspired to ruin, branding him as a criminal and sending him away a fugitive. Oh, I see it all! Weak from his late illness, not able to cope with villains, and left by me at the mercy of his persecutors, he is ruined, and I am murdered by—oh, God!—my father!"
The sorrow-stricken wife sobbed with intense agony; her proud sire stood trembling like a whipped cur. Approaching his wife, he said:
"Why was I not made aware of this marriage? I would have saved him from flight, but now I am afraid it is too late. He—he—did not tell me of this."
"No, pledged not to reveal the marriage until my return, his fine sense of honor, together with his weak condition, made him keep the secret. But what is manliness, honor, or love to you? You drove him away!" replied Belle.
"I did not drive him away, the evidence of guilt caused his flight. I not only made good the defalcation, but gave him money for necessary expenses. He made a fatal mistake in not informing me of this marriage; but I promise to recall him. I will do it at once. You must bear up until his return."
"Then you will restore him to me, and when he returns you will proclaim his innocence?"
"Hope for the best, my child. You did wrong in keeping your marriage from me."
The family retired, but not to sleep. All the long night Belle lay upon her sleepless pillow, unable to drive the thought from her mind that her husband was suffering. In the bedchamber of her father there was no repose, for even a politician cannot always stifle conscience at will. The Senator ordered remorse to quit his presence, but as remorse was not in his pay, it refused to obey his mandate. The wretched man would willingly have welcomed financial destruction, if thereby he could have restored George Alden to his daughter. Solemnly pledging himself to make restitution for the wrong he had done, he resolved on the morrow to write to George Alden, bidding him return. But he reckoned without his host, for Mannis and Sargent had not yet been interviewed by their consciences.
When, next morning, Senator Hamblin entered the breakfast-room, his face showed plainly the struggle through which he had passed. Inquiring for his daughter, he was told by Mrs. Hamblin that she was sleeping soundly.
"Poor child, let her sleep. Would that she couldenjoy an unbroken slumber until the return of her husband."
At nine o'clock he went to the bank and found Sargent alone.
"Have you mailed the forged letter to Alden?" he asked.
"Yes, sir; it left this morning."
"I am sorry, for I am convinced I have done a great wrong. I have been a fool—yes, worse than that, a villain—but I will recall him at once."
Sargent, conscious that his companion's mind had undergone a radical change, did not at first reply, but no other remark being made by the president, he finally said:
"Will it not be dangerous for him to return here? he might make it warm for us."
"I care not; although there would be no danger. There are reasons why I desire his immediate return. To-day is Friday—I will write to him at once, and he can be here by the middle of next week."
As he entered his private office and closed the door behind him, Sargent laughingly said to himself:
"Just as I expected—but we will nip this little game; for he has men, not a girl, to deal with now. We hold the trump cards and he will find himself euchred."
One hour later Senator Hamblin passed into the banking room, and handed Sargent a letter addressed,George Howard, Chicago, Ill., saying:
"Mail this at once. And do not be disappointed in this matter; if we can get Alden back again, I will make you ahandsome present—I will remain here while you are absent."
Sargent, leaving the bank, slipped the letter into his pocket.
"Lucky he sent me! I will take care of this for the present."
George Alden, with satchel in hand, stepped from a train just arrived from the East, at Chicago; his pale face, blood-shot eyes, and whole manner betokening a nervous condition. A stranger in a strange city, scarcely knowing which way to go, he felt almost like a guilty wretch fleeing from justice. The events of the past three days passing before his mind like a row of spectres, his haggard face told plainly of his anguish.
The sun was sinking beneath the western plains as the fugitive walked the streets of the strange city, not knowing whither to turn. He was faint from lack of nourishment, for he had not taken sufficient food to preserve his strength; while severe pains in his back recalled to his mind the fearful experience in the burning factory, when he lay in the hallway held down by the firebrand. He entered a restaurant, and seating himself at a small table in a recess, ordered food. Then, taking a photograph from his pocket, he imprinted many kisses upon the pictured face of his wife.
"Poor child!" he murmured. "She has already received my letter—God help her! I am sure, though, she will bid me return, as soon as she reads the letter."
The waiter soon returned, and Alden said:
"Can you direct me to an inexpensive, respectable private boarding-house, where I can find comfort? I am not well."
"Yes, sir," replied the waiter, "I can direct you to just such a place as you desire."
His supper finished, he paid his bill, and with directions from the waiter he started in search of the boarding-house, which he soon found. Making known his wants, the good lady, after asking a few questions and looking into his honest face, decided to take him as a boarder. It was fortunate for him that she did, for Mrs. Nash afterward proved a valuable friend at a time when Alden stood in need of care and attention.
In the solitude of his room he threw himself into a chair and gave way to a paroxysm of mental anguish, reproaching himself for deserting his home and friends, for the act was an acknowledgment of guilt. Retiring at an early hour, exhaustion made him sleep soundly. In dreamland he forgot his troubles, again living over those happy days passed with his loving wife and sister.
Sancho Panza uttered the sentiments of every living creature, when he invoked God's blessing upon the man who invented sleep.
As the morning sun crept into Alden's apartment its rays fell upon the sleeper's face and caused him to move his head upon the pillow. In a moment he opened his eyes, gazing about the room as if in doubt of his whereabouts; gradually the painful realities of life drove the happy dreams fromhis mind, filling his heart with sad thoughts, his only companions the past few days. Quitting his bed, he dressed himself, and involuntarily glancing into the mirror he started back in affright, and said:
"My God! is that haggard-looking face mine? Here I am, far away from home and kindred, hiding in Chicago. For what? Because I was a coward. Yes; having braved the dangers of fire, I did not have courage to face my false accuser. Oh, why did I run away like a thief?"
Overcoming his agitation, he bathed, dressed, and was soon ready to descend to the breakfast-room. At the table he met others, to whom he was introduced, but his heavy heart usurping the whole space within him, he talked little and ate less.
His meal finished, he returned to his room to wait for expected letters. Two long days passed, and the suspense was straining his nerves to their utmost tension; unable to divert his mind by reading, he watched the passage of time, which never moved so slowly. Saturday evening he sent Mrs. Nash's son to the post-office, instructing him to inquire for letters for George Howard, the latter his mother's maiden name, assumed by him on leaving Cleverdale; but the lad returned without tidings from either wife or sister.
On Sunday, leaving his room for a walk, he cared nothing for the sights that another time and under different circumstances would have pleased and interested him. Attending morning service at church, his thoughts were far away, an eloquent discourse failing to arouse him from his abstraction. The service over, he sought his boarding-house, and wasgoing directly to his room, when Mrs. Nash accosted him, and said:
"Mr. Howard, you seem ill; can I do anything for you?"
Halting to see whom she was addressing, he recalled his assumed name, and replied:
"No, I am weary, that is all. Thank you for your interest in me."
"But, sir, you do not look strong. Pardon me, but have you been ill?"
"Yes, I have been very ill for many months, but am getting stronger now, and will soon be well again."
The sigh that escaped him convinced the good woman his sufferings were mental. Observing the paleness overspreading his face, her heart was touched, but not wishing to appear impertinent, she said:
"I have a son about your age, far away in a foreign clime, and you must forgive me, if I, a mother, take an interest in you. If I could only know the whereabouts of my own boy, I could close my eyes in peace instead of lying upon my pillow each night imagining him surrounded by all kinds of danger and temptations," and she raised her handkerchief to her eyes.
"I pity any person in trouble," Alden said, "for I have had my share of sorrow and suffering." He would have said more, but at that moment the door-bell rang, and Mrs. Nash said:
"If you are in trouble confide in me, and I will try and give you the consolation I hope some good person will give my own poor boy."
George Howard—we must for the present call him by that name—passed on to his room, while the good woman went to answer the door-bell. At the supper table she spoke kindly to the new boarder, who ate but little, and soon re-entered his room.
The following day, sending again to the post-office, the boy returned bearing in his hand a letter addressed to George Howard, Chicago, Ill.
Seizing it with trembling hands, Alden hastily tore open the envelope, looked at the few lines it contained, and holding the sheet before his eyes, with a trembling voice read aloud:
"Cleverdale, 187–."Sir: On receipt of your letter, I immediately returned to Cleverdale. When I thought you an honest man, I respected and loved you, but your crime has aroused me from this dream. Never dare address me again, for I abhor a villain.Belle Hamblin."
"Cleverdale, 187–.
"Sir: On receipt of your letter, I immediately returned to Cleverdale. When I thought you an honest man, I respected and loved you, but your crime has aroused me from this dream. Never dare address me again, for I abhor a villain.
Belle Hamblin."
He crushed the letter and tore it into shreds. As the pieces fell from his hand his pale face became suffused with scarlet, and large cords rose on his temples and brow as he said:
"My God!—And she too believes it? I did not think that—Oh, my head is bursting—I am dying—God, have mercy—I—I—"
He staggered and fell heavily to the floor. Mrs. Nash hastily entering the room beheld him lying senseless upon the carpet. The good woman, seeing the scattered pieces of paper, at once comprehended the situation, for she knewher young son had brought a letter which must have contained bad news.
"Poor fellow! I am afraid he is gone." Stooping, she placed her hand over his heart. "No, he is not dead," she continued.
She stepped into the hall and summoned help; and two women lifted the insensible form to the bed. A physician was called at once, and attempted to resuscitate him. Remaining in a partial stupor all day, toward night Alden began to show signs of returning consciousness. The following day, as he lay upon his bed looking at the kind-hearted woman watching over him, his mind seemed utterly broken down, for his appearance was that of listless disinterestedness. His face was pale, with the exception of a bright-red spot on either cheek.
For three long weary months he kept his room, yet never murmured at fate's decrees. His hostess constantly watched her patient, and never troubled him with questions; her only desire being for his recovery. The physician gave orders that he must be kept perfectly quiet, and all letters withheld from him, unless containing cheering news. No letters came, however, and the good woman wondered; but had she known of the scenes taking place elsewhere, she would have been filled with greater wonder.
Time dragged slowly, Senator Hamblin being ill at ease.
Beholding his daughter's sorrow, and knowing she could not become the wife of Walter Mannis, he began looking about for some other method to avert the financial disaster threatening him.
Scarcely a moment passed that he did not reproach himself for the great wrong he had done. Overwhelmed with horror, and fully realizing that ambition and selfishness had made him a criminal, he little realized that he was dealing with men deeper and more desperate than himself.
One night a man left the village of Cleverdale and passed into the country. He wore a slouched hat pulled well down over his forehead, while his coat-collar was turned up about his neck. The night was dark and cloudy, so the pedestrian was scarcely observed by any one; but when he met an acquaintance, he pulled his hat further over his brow, and passed unrecognized. Under his left arm he carried a large bundle, his right hand holding fast a heavy cane, which he used to pick out his pathway.
It was not long before, passing beyond the corporate limits of the village, his feet were treading the highwayleading toward Havelock. As he kept on his way he heard the noise of an approaching carriage. The dense clouds overhead made the night so dark that teams were compelled to move slowly, and as the mysterious pedestrian neared the carriage he coughed three times; a low whistle assured him his signal was heard. The single individual in the vehicle cried out, "Whoa!" the man on foot approached and jumped in. The team turned and headed toward Havelock, and the horses were driven faster than was compatible with safety.
One hour later the vehicle entered a piece of dense woods. The driver, dismounting, seized the horses by the head and led them on, through a narrow roadway or lane, for a distance of at least a quarter of a mile. When he stopped the man in the carriage jumped to the ground, and the two stood side by side. The driver then reached beneath the seat of the carriage, and drew forth a dark lantern, a pickaxe, two shovels, a hoe, a coil of rope, and two long queer-looking hooks with wooden handles. As he passed his hand under the seat, a noise was heard similar to the wail of a cat.
Both men were disguised, and as they continued their work conversed in low tones. Gathering up their tools and moving along at a rapid pace for about five hundred feet, they stopped at the edge of the forest and scaled a high picket fence. White slabs of marble, tall columns of the same material, and large granite monuments rose before them like spectres, grim and lonely.
A ghost-like stillness pervaded the scene, for the two menwere in a city of the dead, surrounded on all sides by its silent habitations.
"Follow me—it is only a short distance away. Come," said the taller of the two, who led on, his companion following.
The two men paused at the side of a newly made mound, and laying down their tools, pulled off their overcoats and prepared for work. As they threw aside their disguises the reader would at once have recognized the two men as Hon. Walter Mannis and Sargent, the teller.
"Here is the grave," said Mannis. "And we must commence our work at once. This man was buried last Sunday, and in size and personal appearance looks much like Alden. Let us hurry up and snake him out—come, take that pick and loosen the earth. Eh? what's that? S—h—h—h! Pshaw! it's only a twig which broke beneath your feet."
"This is rather serious business, Mannis. Give me a pull from that bottle. There—that tastes good, and it will nerve a fellow up."
"Yes, we need a little backbone—be careful and do not make much noise, for we are within a quarter mile of the road, and there is danger of being discovered. Here—hand me that spade. The earth is not very solid, for I can easily run this spade down a foot or two."
"This pick goes in as easy," said Sargent, "as if it were cutting cheese. Wonder where Alden is now? Ha! ha! wouldn't he make Rome howl if he knew what we were doing? But, d—n him! he always looked upon meas if I was a scoundrel; now I'll be even with him. There, how is that? Hand me that other spade."
Mannis, doing as requested, said:
"Be careful, Sargent, and throw the dirt where the grave-digger pitched it. So the old man weakened, eh?—if he knew that you pocketed his letter he would be apt to send you adrift. His pretty daughter is his pride, his very life—Ah, Sargent, she is a darling, and I feel rather sorry for her, for she will cry her pretty eyes out upon learning George Alden will never return. Careful, Sargent; the earth is falling back into the grave. Here, take another drink; egad! a little good spirits is required to keep the evil spirits away. I don't just like this job; but virtue will have its reward, and such patterns as you and I will not be forgotten, eh?"—and both men laughed, as the devil also must have done if he was present, as probably he was.
For a full half-hour they toiled on, until they stood at least three feet deep in the grave. Slowly the mound of earth rose about them and the scene became animated. In the distance was heard the rumbling of thunder, the dark clouds overhead becoming blacker and more dense, while the men, unaccustomed to manual labor, paused at intervals to rest. Nearer and nearer they came to the box and its occupant, until at last Sargent's spade struck the wood, sending back a dull, hollow thud, startling both men.
"Gracious, Sargent! that frightened me, it came so sudden; but it will not be long before we shall have this ugly business finished."
"It startled me too. This is a pretty tough job, Mannis."
"That's so; but remember it will make you cashier of the bank."
"Yes, that will pay—but see here, Mannis, it's mighty slippery business after all."
"We have no time to discuss the matter now—come, let's to work; ten minutes of lively shovelling will have the box clean as a whistle."
Both men resumed their labor, shovelful after shovelful of dirt was thrown up on top of the mound already formed, until they stood upon the cover of the box.
"Lay the shovels outside, Sargent, and take another drink. There, that will set you up. Here's at you!" and he turned the bottle and drank deep from its throat.
Taking a screw-driver from his pocket, and turning the rays of his dark lantern into the grave, Mannis began removing the screws from the cover. It was but the work of a few moments, when, the cover carefully laid outside the grave, the screw-driver began its work on the lid of the coffin. As the corpse was exposed to view, Mannis touched its cold, clammy face. A thrill of horror went through his frame, causing him to start and step heavily upon Sargent's toes, their owner standing behind him on the lower part of the coffin-lid.
Both men expressed their abhorrence of the scene, and an outsider looking upon the body-snatchers would have beheld three death-like countenances instead of one.
"Here, Sargent, stick that hook into the clothing. Nowwait a moment until I get the other hook into this side; there—steady now! Can you take hold of both hooks? There, don't drop him, and I will fasten this rope about his breast. Now if you can hold on a moment, I will get out and hang to him with the rope."
Nimble as a cat, Mannis sprang from the grave.
"Now pull out the hooks, and come and help me."
Sargent did not wait for a second summons, for his hair already stood on end at the thought of being alone in the grave with the dead man, and he was at the side of Mannis in an instant. The two men worked hard, and soon had their horrid prey out on the grass. The coffin-lid was laid back and the outside cover placed in position, the body-snatchers not waiting to replace the screws. Quickly they plied their spades, only stopping to tread down the loose dirt. In twenty minutes the grave was refilled, the mound rebuilt and the ground cleared up, as it was found.
"Sargent, we have a burden to tug. First, let us take the tools to the wagon and then return for the cold corpus."
Gathering up their tools and soon placing them beneath the carriage-seat, the men returned, and taking up the corpse, prepared to leave the cemetery. When approaching the fence, a sudden flash of lightning caused them to drop their burden, and the body rolled over into a hole near by.
"Egad! Mannis, I am sick of this. U-u-g-h! when that flash struck the face of the corpse it sent a thrill of horror all through me. I wish the body was in its coffin again."
"You think it rather unpleasant work, eh, Sargent? Well, that's because you've never been in politics. But wehave got over the worst of it. Let us kick off a picket and push the fellow through the fence."
Suiting the action to the words, he gave a vigorous blow with his foot, and two pickets flew off. The body was then lifted up and crowded through the aperture, and ten minutes later the men and their disagreeable burden reached the carriage.
"It is one o'clock, Sargent," said Mannis, turning the light of his dark lantern on his watch. "We must hurry up. Get that suit of clothes, there; spread them out. Now help me strip this fellow. It was mighty lucky Alden left these clothes in the bank; very kind of him, and I am much obliged for his thoughtfulness. No one will examine them critically to see if they are old clothes or not."
"Old clothes! They are not old clothes, it is a suit he wore last year when he slept in the bank, and he never took them away. This fellow looks pretty fine in borrowed clothes, eh, Mannis?"
The body was soon dressed; the hardest work experienced was that of encasing the feet in boots, although the task, after much effort, was successfully accomplished.
The two men had labored faithfully and their work was soon finished. The clothes taken from the dead man were buried, the form lifted into the carriage, the men following, when Mannis turned the horses' heads toward Cleverdale.
The clouds began discharging flashes of lightning, loud peals of thunder adding their unpleasantness to the scene, and amid almost impenetrable darkness the team could not be driven faster than a walk. Presently great drops of rainspattered into the carriage, striking the occupants full in the face. After a long, gloomy ride, which neither Mannis nor Sargent enjoyed, the street lamps of Cleverdale were faintly seen in the distance.
"Where are we, Sargent? Oh, I see now—that flash showed up the country. There is the road—let us turn in and plant this chap."
The horses' heads were again turned, and approaching a clump of forest trees the two men jumped out. The body was taken from the vehicle and dropped over the fence. Both men then followed, and carrying the body back some distance, placed it beneath a tree.
"Where is the pistol, Sargent? All right—now I'll put a ball into his brain."
A sharp report followed, and Mannis had fired through the sightless eyes, the pistol being held so near as to tear and disfigure the face past recognition.
"There!" said he. "I guess this will be a good enough Alden until I marry the girl."
The pistol laid beside the body, the two men hastily left the place.
One hour later, Sargent was in his bed, and as daylight began to dawn, as naturally as if nothing unusual had happened, Mannis was on his way toward Havelock.