“New York, 11 A. M.—I am at this moment unexpectedly sent out of town upon important business, and so cannot go to Y., as I promised. Am very sorry, but my offering will prove that I am not unmindful of the occasion.G. W.”
“New York, 11 A. M.—I am at this moment unexpectedly sent out of town upon important business, and so cannot go to Y., as I promised. Am very sorry, but my offering will prove that I am not unmindful of the occasion.G. W.”
Having seen his tribute despatched, Gerald went on his way with what grace he could muster, although a feeling of bitterness against the marplot of his pleasure rankled sorely in his heart.
“What can it matter to him whether I am fond of Allison or not?” he mused, as he boarded a car for the ferry. “He is a man twice her age, and he cannot be so deluded as to think that she would ever marry him. It would be monstrous,” and a mocking laugh broke from him at the thought and the remembrance of what Allison had said about “getting a chill,” whenever John Hubbard came near her.
Nevertheless, at that very moment John Hubbard was seated in the private office of Adam Brewster, making a formal proposal for the hand of the banker’s daughter.
“You know I am a man of few words,” he remarked, coming to the point at once, as he took the chair his employer indicated, “and so I am here to confess to you, Mr. Brewster, that I love your daughter and to ask your permission to win her for my wife.”
The banker regarded the man in speechless astonishmentas he paused, after making the above startling declaration. It was a full minute before he could recover himself sufficiently to reply.
“You want to marrymydaughter!” he at last burst forth, with unconscious emphasis upon the pronoun. “Good Heaven! she is only a child!”
“I know that she is very young, sir, and, of course, I do not expect your sanction to a union under two or three years,” John Hubbard returned, shooting a searching look at his companion from his crafty eyes. “I simply want your consent to such an arrangement, and your influence in my favor with Miss Allison——”
“But——” began Mr. Brewster, with white lips and an evident effort at self-control.
“Believe me,” interposed his companion. “I appreciate your affectionate desires for her, and realize that you aspire to an assured position for her; but I believe I can realize even your most extravagant wishes for her in that respect. You know something of my circumstances, Mr. Brewster, but I have to tell you that my interest in this bank, my estates in New Jersey and Virginia are but a small part of my wealth. Let me ask you to examine this memoranda, and then possibly you will realize that my offer is not one to be despised,” said John Hubbard, as he took a small book from his pocket and passed it to his companion.
Mr. Brewster took it mechanically and silently examined the pages for several minutes, his face growing strangely grave and rigid as he did so.
Finally he lifted his glance to the expert’s face.
“John, I had no idea you were so rich a man,” he observed.
“Will I do for a son-in-law?” queried the man flippantly, and with a little smile of triumph.
“That is a difficult question to answer,” said Mr. Brewster, flushing a deep crimson with the effort he made to restrain his impulse to kick the man from his presence for his vulgarity and presumption, for, clever as he had become as a business man, he was possessed of no natural refinement, and the banker would far rather have seen Allison immured in a convent than the wife of such a man, useful as he was in certain ways.
“Why is it a difficult question?” sharply demanded the would-be suitor.
“Well, first and foremost, Allison is far too young to have any matrimonial ideas instilled into her mind; she has two years yet to go to school——”
“I told you I would wait—I expected to wait,” interposed John Hubbard impatiently, and with a fiery gleam in his eyes. “I have already waited and toiled years, with this one hope in view—for I have loved the child ever since she was a little girl—strange as it may seem—and a few years more will not matter so very much, provided I have your consent and influence to back me. Meantime, I shall be growing richer,” he concluded, as if that were the one inducement to be considered.
“But Allison’s wishes must be considered,” said the banker, a trifle nervously. He could not bind himself to sell his darling, and yet he knew that this manwould make a dangerous foe; there were certain reasons why he did not wish to excite his enmity. “At least,” he added, “I cannot force her affections—she must choose her own husband.”
“Ah! do you intend to allow her to do that? Suppose she should love and choose a poor man—a common clerk, for instance, with a mere pittance?” and the expert’s eyes gleamed maliciously.
“Humph! Ah! well—I don’t think I could quite agree to that,” coldly responded the banker. “The man who marries Allison must at least be able to match her fortune dollar for dollar.”
“I can very nearly do that now.”
“I see you can, John, and I own that you have been very clever—far more clever than I gave you credit for being. I cannot quite understand it. I am greatly surprised and—and, of course, am—ahem!—honored by your proposal——”
“Then be kind enough to give me some definite answer,” bluntly interposed Mr. Hubbard.
“Really, John, you must give me time—this has come upon me so unexpectedly, I am wholly unprepared to pledge myself to anything,” Mr. Brewster replied thoughtfully, and beginning to recover something of his habitual dignity.
“Very well, take time; but, meantime, give me a chance. By the way, I believe you have a lawn-party, or something of the kind, out at Lakeview to-day, do you not?”
Again Adam Brewster flushed, and he longed to show his companion the door and tell him never tocome into his presence again; but, as previously intimated, there were reasons why he dared not offend him.
So, restraining his anger, he called a smile to his lips and blandly responded:
“Yes, my daughter is going to entertain some of her friends this afternoon; it will be rather a juvenile affair; but perhaps you would enjoy seeing the young folks amuse themselves; if so, come home with me and look on for a while.”
“Thank you, I shall be happy to do so,” promptly returned John Hubbard, with a vicious gleam of his ghastly teeth.
And thus it happened that just as Allison Brewster came downstairs to receive her first guests she was confronted by “the man who always gave her a chill,” and who now drove all the brightness from her face, and made her feel that her party was doubly spoiled by his presence and Gerald’s absence.
“Why couldn’t papa have sent him, instead of Gerald, on that errand rather than bring him here, where he isn’t wanted?” she said to herself, with a feeling of resentment.
But she was a well-bred little lady, and, bowing courteously to her self-invited guest, she thanked him politely for the bouquet of magnificent roses with which he presented her, but which she quietly handed to a servant, charging her to put them in water, and—never thought of them again.
But upon her breast—nestling among the cascade of filmy lace that trimmed her spotless dress of India lawn—therewas a lovely cluster of forget-me-nots, which, with a thrill of delight—in spite of her disappointment at his enforced absence—she had culled from Gerald’s dainty basket, which was now standing upon the dressing-case in her room, to gladden no eyes but her own.
Almost unconsciously her hand fluttered caressingly among the delicate blossoms, even whileshe stood talking with John Hubbard; then, all at once, glancing out upon the lawn, she gave a little cry of joyous surprise and sprang forward to meet—Gerald himself!
The fair girl was as unaffected and as ingenuous as nature itself. She was heartily glad to see Gerald, she knew of no reason why she should not give free expression to her joy, and the flush of delighted surprise that overspread her lovely face, the welcoming light which shone in her beautiful eyes, sent a thrill of ecstasy through Gerald’s heart, while they at the same time caused a frown of annoyance and hate to settle upon John Hubbard’s brow.
Mr. Brewster was also an interested observer of Allison’s greeting of his young clerk, and he congratulated himself that they were so soon going to Newport, where the gaieties of the season, the mingling with companions in her own sphere of life, would crowd this “handsome young beggar” out of her mind.
“I am so glad that you could manage to come, after all,” Allison said, with earnest sincerity.“I was so disappointed when I received your note saying you had to go out of town. And now I want you to act as captain of the swanboat on the lake; you understand it perfectly, and I shall feel safer with you at the helm than with any one else.”
But before Gerald could reply, John Hubbard stepped forward and inquired, in a sharp, curt tone:
“How is this, young man? You surely have not had time to attend to the business upon which you were sent, and it was far too important to be entrusted to a common messenger.”
Gerald flushed hotly, more at the man’s tone and insolent bearing than at his words, but he had learned to hold himself well in hand.
“I was about to explain to Mr. Brewster,” he quietly remarked, as he turned to that gentleman without replying to the expert’s inquiry. “The package is perfectly safe, sir,” he continued, addressing his employer; “I delivered it into Mr. Bartlett’s own hands, according to your instructions. I had just reached the ferry when I met him coming off the boat, and so was not obliged to cross to Jersey City. Here is a message, acknowledging the safe delivery of the papers.”
As he concluded, he passed to Mr. Brewster a slip of paper, which was evidently a leaf that had been torn from a note-book, and upon which there had been penciled a few lines.
“It is all right, Gerald,” Mr. Brewster responded, as he read them, “and you were fortunate to meet Mr. Bartlett. If you had gone to Jersey City, you would have missed him and might have had to wait many hours before you could have obeyed the charge to deliver the papers into his own hands. And now I think, as Al—Miss Brewster suggests, you will be just the one to manage the boat for the company,” the banker concluded, in a tone that brought a quick flush to theyoung man’s cheek; for it seemed to imply that he was not regarded as an invited guest, but, rather, as a part of the machinery necessary to contribute to the pleasure of the company in general.
John Hubbard’s lips curled in an aggravating sneer, showing that he thoroughly appreciated the situation, and this did not tend to make Gerald’s mortification any the easier to bear.
But Allison came bravely to the rescue, and her blue eyes flashed angry defiance upon both gentlemen, while she tossed back her golden head with an independent air that spoke volumes.
“But, Gerald,” she said eagerly, as she moved nearer to him, “the boat is not to be used at present, there is to be an archery contest first, and the guests are already getting ready to dance under the pavilion. Here is my card. I want you to put your name down for the waltz-galop, and the military schottische; yes, and the minuet, too—you always do them so nicely with me. That’s it. Now, come, I want to introduce you to Annie, Cousin Charlie Manning’s wife, who is here to matronize the affair, and she has just the dearest little girl you ever saw—one of those Dresden china children that sets everybody wild. Good-by,” she added carelessly, and nodding over her shoulder at the two gentlemen as she slipped her hand within Gerald’s arm to lead him away. “I hope you will enjoy looking on at the fun.”
And with that she hurried her companion forward to a tall, graceful lady, who stood under a neighboring tree, and to whom she introduced him with as muchceremony as if he had been the son of a millionaire.
“Humph! your daughter appears to be exceedingly fond of your office boy, and vice versa,” John Hubbard observed, with an ugly frown, as he glowered after the youthful pair; “it might be wise for you to nip such a tendency in the bud.”
“Pooh! it is only a boy-and-girl fancy that doesn’t amount to anything,” the banker responded lightly, but with an uneasy gleam in his eyes.
“These boy-and-girl fancies sometimes prove to be the most lasting and dangerous,” his companion retorted, with a sullen air, as he turned to a rustic seat, where he could command a view of all that was occurring upon the lawn.
Meantime Allison was trying to obliterate the remembrance of the wound which her lover had received from her father.
“Oh, Gerald! I was so disappointed when your note came,” she exclaimed, with a heartiness which betrayed her sincerity, “but it was just lovely of you to send these,” with a shy glance at the bouquet pinned to her corsage, “and, you see, since I thought I could not have you here, I tried to console myself by wearing your flowers.”
“You honor me, Allison,” said the young man, his tones thrilling with emotion.
“Ah! but there was an element of selfishness about it,” she replied, with a saucy smile, “for I am very, very fond of these dear little forget-me-nots.”
“Yes, I know you are,” said her companion, lookingfondly into the lovely, uplifted eyes, and wondering which were the bluer—they or the flowers.
“How fortunate it was that you met that Mr. Bartlett,” Allison continued, in a satisfied tone; “you were in luck, and now we will have just as good a time as we can. Oh, dear, I wish we were not going to Newport on Monday,” she concluded, with a regretful sigh.
“Why! I have always supposed that you have very gay times at Newport,” Gerald observed, with surprise.
“Yes, we do—too gay, and that is just the reason I don’t like it. Everything is so forced—everybody trying to outdo everybody else, just to gratify their vanity and be conspicuous. There isn’t any heart in it—it is all a sort of ‘Vanity Fair’ parade; no matter where you go, you are scrutinized to see if your sleeves are of the latest cut; if your skirts have the right number of gores and measure the correct number of yards; if the crown of your hat is too high or too low, or if you carry the same parasols you had last year. I do like new and pretty things, but I don’t like to be measured and dissected wherever I go, and the probable condition of Adam Brewster’s finances judged accordingly.”
Gerald laughed.
“I think it must be only women who are so well versed in such analytical processes. I am sure the other sex are always impressed by the general effect—the tout ensemble,” he said, as he ran an admiring eye over the dainty figure beside him, and thinking he had never seen Allison more lovely than she appeared at that moment.
She was clad in the finest of India lawn, trimmedwith yards and yards of beautiful Valenciennes lace. A rich, white, satin ribbon girdled her waist and floated to the hem of her dress, and costly white kid boots incased her small, shapely feet. The only dash of color about her was the gleaming gold of her hair and the forget-me-nots upon her bosom.
“I reckon you are right, Gerald,” she gravely replied, “the men are more kind and sensible in their judgment. If one is tastefully dressed, and looks pretty, the cost and style do not matter so much. Ah! here is Gladys,” she interposed, as a lovely child came running to meet her. “Now, isn’t she sweet?”
Gerald paused to talk to the little one for a few moments, and then the young couple hurried away to the pavilion, where they were soon whirling among the gay dancers and conscious only of the joy of being in each other’s presence.
It was an ideal afternoon to them both, although it meant a great deal more to Gerald than to Allison, for she was just at an age to enjoy a good time for the good time’s sake; she was standing where
“The brook and river meet,”
and had not yet awakened to the fact of a line of demarcation.
She was conscious of being very fond of her young friend, of realizing that he was more congenial to her than other gentlemen of her acquaintance, but had never paused to ask the reason why. The sacreddepths of her woman’s nature had never yet been sounded, as her ingenuous manner betrayed.
The two men who watched the girl from a distance, noting her every look and gesture, realized that it would need but a word or a breath to arouse the latent fire of a deep and absorbing love, and settle her fate for all time.
Both saw the danger and secretly vowed that it must and should be avoided in the future. Adam Brewster told himself that, after to-day, Allison and Gerald should not meet again, at least, until the former was the promised wife of another; while John Hubbard swore far more radical measures—swore that Gerald Winchester should be crushed—ruined; that he should be so compromised as to character and reputation that he would never dare to declare his love for Allison Brewster, or that, in the event of such a betrayal, she would spurn him from her with contempt.
The lawn-party appeared to be a grand success. Everybody seemed to enter into the spirit of the occasion with a zest and heartiness that bespoke real enjoyment. Allison had taken pains to introduce Gerald very generally to her friends, to whom he was so attentive and kind that he soon became an acknowledged favorite, a coveted partner and cavalier, and the fair little hostess was secretly very proud of him.
After a bounteous repast had been served in another pavilion, erected for that purpose, a party was formed for a row upon the lake, Gerald heading the company as “captain.”
The boat was a handsome and commodious affairshaped like a swan, and gaily canopied with red-and-white bunting. A couple of men had been hired to do the rowing, while Gerald managed the rudder.
Everything went well until the last party were returning. A short way out in the lake an artificial island had been made. Upon this there was a charming little grotto and fountain, and an arched rustic bridge spanned the water between this pretty spot and the mainland.
Just as the boat, with its merry company, was about to pass beneath the bridge, a sweet little voice from above called out gaily:
“Hurrah! Allison, hurrah! See! I’ve got a pretty flag!”
Allison, who was seated in the stern of the boat, beside Gerald, glanced up at the sound, to see little Gladys Manning leaning far out through one of the spaces of the bridge above. For once she had escaped the watchful eyes of her mother, and had run out upon the bridge “to see the pretty bird swim on the water.” Some one had given her a little silken flag, and this she was now waving merrily at Allison.
“Take care, Gladys! Back! back!” cried Allison, almost breathless from fear as the boat shot under the arch, and the child leaned out farther to watch it.
But she spoke too late, for already the little one had lost her balance, and, with a shriek of fear, fell headlong into the water and disappeared from sight.
Cries and screams now filled the air, and for a moment a panic in the boat seemed inevitable.
“Sit still, everybody, and be quiet!” cried Gerald, inringing, authoritative tones, while at the same moment he whisked off his coat and vest and slipped off his shoes. The next instant he sprang upon the seat, then dived out of sight.
Allison sat still in her place, her hands convulsively clasped upon her breast, her face as white as her dress. She scarcely seemed to breathe, and her agonized glance was fastened upon the spot where Gerald had disappeared.
The child had not risen to the surface, and it seemed an age before the young man reappeared.
But a great sigh, that seemed like a single moan, went up from every heart when he at length came up alone, gasping for breath.
The next moment he went down again, and, after what seemed an interminable age, although barely two minutes had elapsed, he came up, and now the limp form of little Gladys was seen in his arms.
The child’s clothing had caught upon a spike in one of the supports of the bridge, and thus she had been held at the bottom of the lake.
Gerald made straight for the boat with his lifeless burden.
“Can you help me, Allison?” he questioned, as he laid hold upon the stern.
She put forth her arms, grasped the child, and with his help soon had her in her lap.
“Now, you——” she gasped, looking anxiously into his white face.
“No—row! row with all your might,” Geraldshouted to the men, “never mind me, but the child must have help.”
They needed no second bidding, and two minutes later they were at the landing, where willing hands were extended to take Allison’s lifeless burden from her.
“Stop!” cried Gerald, as they were about to bear her away to the house.
He seized the child, laid her upon the greensward, fell upon his knees, and began to work upon her as he had once seen a physician try to resuscitate a man who had nearly drowned.
“Go for a doctor, somebody, and then bring blankets,” he continued, without suspending his efforts.
For fifteen minutes or more he worked for dear life, assisted by others; then a physician appearing upon the scene, he was only too glad to relinquish his patient to him, for suspense and excitement, together with the strength he had expended in the water, had nearly exhausted him, and he willingly obeyed Mr. Brewster, who ordered him to “come to his rooms, have a bath, and get into dry clothing.”
The child soon recovered under the physician’s treatment, and appeared as bright and well as ever.
Gerald, who was about the size of Mr. Manning, was provided with necessary apparel from that gentleman’s wardrobe, and ere long reappeared among the company, looking a trifle pale, perhaps, but very handsome and attractive after his act of heroism.
Allison also came down in a fresh toilet in season toreceive the adieus of her friends, who declared they had had a delightful time in spite of their recent fright.
No one would acquiesce in Gerald’s going back to the city that night. Mr. Brewster, with an unusual thrill of feeling in his voice, told him to “stay and make himself at home.”
An hour later the gentleman left his niece, Mrs. Manning, with Allison and Gerald, sitting upon the broad balcony overlooking the lake, where a glorious full moon shed its silver light all around them, and went to the library.
Fifteen minutes afterward Gladys called “mama” from above, and Mrs. Manning went up to see what was wanted, when, finding the child restless and nervous, she lay down beside her, where they both soon fell asleep.
Allison and Gerald, thus left alone, had a long, cozy chat together, until the great clock in the hall struck ten, when the former sprang to her feet.
“That means bedtime for me,” she said, laughing, “and papa is so ridiculously particular about it I suppose I must say good night. What a day this has been!” she added, with a deep sigh; “it is a long, long while since I have had such a lovely time. But for the accident there would have been nothing to mar it—at least after you came.”
Gerald’s pulses leaped at those last words, but he dared not betray how they had moved him, and so he replied with what composure he could:
“But that—the accident—only interrupted things for a little while.”
“Yes, thanks to you,” said Allison, as she laid her hand upon the back of his chair, and bent to look into his upturned face. “Oh, Gerald! what should we have done if you had not been there? I shall never forget how you seemed to know just what to do—never! You dear, brave, splendid hero!”
Actuated by the impulse of the moment, and the gratitude of her tender heart, she leaned forward and lightly touched his brow with her sweet, red lips.
Then, frightened at what she had done, she would have fled, but Gerald, every nerve in his body thrilling with ecstasy from that soft caress, sprang to his feet, seized her hands, and drew her gently toward him, looking eagerly down into her blushing face.
“Allison! Allison!” he whispered, all the mighty love within him breaking every barrier down and asserting its God-given right to speak for itself.
There was no mistaking the emotion that vibrated through every syllable of that tenderly uttered name, and, like a flash, it revealed to the beautiful girl what she was to Gerald Winchester—what he was to her, and would be for all time. She lifted one startled, comprehending look to him.
“Gerald!” she breathed softly; then their lips met in a mute caress.
The next instant the young lover found himself alone.
When Gerald and Allison met at the breakfast-table the next morning the fond glances of the one and the shy blushes of the other warned Mr. Brewster that Cupid was surely in ambush, and it would behoove him to be keenly on the alert. It was his custom to attend church every Sabbath morning, and Allison always accompanied him; accordingly, this morning, notwithstanding the excitement of the previous day, was no exception to his rule.
He courteously invited Gerald to accompany him, but the young man excused himself, as he wished to get back to the city by the next train.
Mr. Brewster offered to drop him at the station, as it lay on their way to church, and he experienced a sense of intense relief when the young man sprang from the carriage, just in season to board the train.
Not that he was not fond of Gerald for his faithfulness to him and his many noble qualities, while his heroism of the previous day had aroused his deepest gratitude, and increased his admiration for him a hundredfold. Had he been his own son, he would have gloried in him, or had he been the son of a man in his own sphere of life, he would have eagerly welcomed him as a suitor for his daughter’s hand. But pride,that relentless tyrant of the human heart, would never swerve out of the beaten track for a struggling clerk, even though he were of irreproachable morals or noblest aspirations.
One day, shortly after the departure of his family for Newport, Mr. Brewster, on entering his office, laid a tiny package upon Gerald’s desk.
“Something that Mrs. Manning commissioned me to hand to you,” he remarked.
It proved to be a small box, which, upon opening, Gerald found to contain a modest—as to size—but flawless diamond, in the form of a stud.
On an accompanying card were written these words:
“With grateful remembrance and kindest regards.“Charles and Annie Manning.”
“With grateful remembrance and kindest regards.“Charles and Annie Manning.”
Gerald was deeply touched by the testimonial, and greatly delighted with the beautiful gift.
He did not once see or hear from Allison throughout the summer, although, for years, he had never failed to receive an invitation to spend a day or two at Newport with the family, but the memory of those few last moments on that never-to-be-forgotten night at Lakeview—that lingering, betraying caress, and the trustful, loving look in the sweet, startled eyes uplifted to his, was a source of never-failing joy to him.
“I will yet be worthy to claim her, morally, intellectually, and—financially,” he often said to himself, with that same look of determination with which he had once told John Hubbard that nothing was unattainable to him who is bound to win.
The Brewsters remained at the fashionable watering-place until the middle of September, when Mr. and Mrs. Manning went abroad for an extended tour. Allison returned to Smith College, at Northampton, where she had two years more of study before her, and the banker settled himself in his winter home on Madison Avenue.
Thus another twelve months passed. John Hubbard still continued, apparently, to prosper in his worldly affairs, while he seemed to have utterly forgotten his enmity against Gerald.
But from time to time Gerald observed that his employer seemed preoccupied, and wore an anxious look. He was often taciturn, and occasionally harshly impatient, while, upon two or three occasions, he made strenuous efforts to tide over the meeting of certain obligations, which both surprised and troubled his confidential clerk.
Then there came a day, just after the close of Allison’s school year, that carried dismay to the hearts of all of the banker’s friends. He dropped senseless in his office just before the closing of the bank, and was borne to his home paralyzed and speechless. Eminent physicians were summoned, and every known remedy employed for his relief. His debility was purely physical, however—his mental faculties appearing to be as keen as ever.
Meantime, John Hubbard assumed the control of affairs at the bank, though, of course, under the authority of Mr. Brewster, and now Gerald began to realize that the tentacles of this human octopus were beginningto close around both himself and his employer.
From time to time the expert would call his attention to the fact that there were mistakes in his work. He could never account for these errors—he could have sworn that his work had been correctly done; but upon reviewing it, he was forced to confess that appearances were against him.
“You’ll have to be more careful, Winchester,” Mr. Hubbard sternly remarked to him one day in December, when, for the third time, he pointed out to him some discrepancies; “this kind of thing has been going on too long altogether; I have been looking back over some of Mr. Brewster’s private accounts, and I find numerous errors covering more than a year. If the man were well, I should disclose the fact to him and have you instantly discharged.”
Gerald flushed crimson. He could have taken his oath that he had never made an error in his work—at least, an uncorrected one.
“Mr. Brewster has never complained,” he began, when his companion curtly interrupted him with the trite remark:
“Figures don’t lie, young man.”
“Figures have been made to lie,” was on the tip of Gerald’s tongue as he darted a suspicious look at his companion; but he resolutely closed his lips and made no response.
But a little later, while John Hubbard was at luncheon and he was left alone in the office, he proceeded to examine some of these criticized accounts,and was almost paralyzed upon discovering how his books appeared to compromise him.
There were evidences that some one had been critically examining them, for there were frequent marginal notes, while the balance seemed to show that he had been cleverly and systematically robbing his employer for a long time.
With a very white face and sternly compressed lips, Gerald took a powerful magnifying-glass and brought it to bear along the various columns of figures.
“I thought so!” he hoarsely muttered, at last, “they have been tampered with! Some of my threes and sixes have been changed to eights; my ones, in numberless instances, have been made into twos, fours, and sevens, but so skilfully that no one would believe me if I should assert it—I could never prove that he did it. Great Heaven! and it has been going on for many months. This was what he had in mind when he crushed my rose and warned me to beware of a similar fate.”
Gerald was sick at heart as he realized that he was standing upon the brink of a fearful precipice and was powerless to help himself—how he had become entangled in a skilfully contrived net from which there seemed to be no possible way of escape.
If Mr. Brewster had been well he would have appealed at once to him, stated his suspicions, and tried to point out the changes he had discovered in the figures, but in the man’s present precarious condition he dared not trouble him with the matter, even if he were allowed an interview with him.
A week passed, and then, to his great joy, he received a note from Mr. Brewster asking him to call upon him at a certain hour the following Saturday, as he had a special commission for him.
He presented himself at the Brewster mansion promptly at the hour mentioned in the note, and was at once conducted to his employer’s presence.
He was greatly shocked at the change in the man—not having seen him since his attack—for he had grown very thin, and seemed to have aged many years. Mr. Brewster greeted him very kindly, and seemed heartily glad to see him, but almost immediately broached the business concerning which he had desired to see him.
“Gerald, I have a secret commission with which I wish to entrust you,” he began, a grave look settling over his face. “I know that I can trust you absolutely, and that is why I have chosen you in preference to any one else.”
“Thank you, sir,” Gerald replied, with a glowing face, his sorely wounded heart greatly comforted by this assurance.
“You have been inside the bank vault?”
“Yes, sir, often; you have frequently sent me to the drawer which contains your private documents.”
“Yes—yes, I know, and —— But before I go on I want you to give me your word of honor that no one shall ever learn from you the secret I am about to commit to you,” said the banker.
“Certainly, sir, I will promise that I will never betray any confidence that you repose in me,” Gerald responded.
“That is enough,” he said. “Now, behind that drawer, which contains those private papers, there is a small, secret vault, which I had built there to store certain valuables during my absence from town. No one save the man who made it, and I, know that it is there; no one would suspect it, for, on removing the drawer, there seems to be nothing but the brick wall behind it. On the contrary, there is an iron plate, or panel, painted to resemble bricks. At the bottom of this panel there is a small slot. You will insert in this a tiny key which I shall give you; turn it half-around, and the panel will spring outward. You can then swing it upward, when you will discover behind it two boxes, take them out, being careful to relock the panel, and bring them to me.”
“Yes, sir; I shall be very glad to do as you wish,” Gerald remarked. “But how will I be able to get into the vault and remove the boxes without the knowledge of others?”
“I have keys that will admit you to it, and you must go to the bank when no one else is there,” said the banker, with a slight frown, as if he did not exactly relish this part of the commission.“To-morrow will be Sunday, and you had best go as soon after you have had your breakfast as you can; then come directly to me. Be careful not to excite the suspicion of any one whom you may meet, for one of the boxes contains valuable jewels that belonged to Mrs. Brewster. I want them for Allison; the other holds nothing of special value to any one except myself.”
Mr. Brewster had become very white during this last statement, and Gerald feared he was talking too much for his strength.
“Here are my keys,” he continued, after a moment, and, taking a bunch from a drawer in the table beside him, “this one unlocks the outer door, this the inner; the brass one opens the gate of the iron fence; the heavy one will admit you to the vault; this unlocks my private drawer, and the little, flat one the panel that conceals the secret vault. Quite a lesson to learn, isn’t it?” he added, with a slight smile; “but I think you will have no difficulty in remembering how to use them.”
“No, sir; four of them I know already, so that leaves only those belonging to your drawer and the secret vault to be distinguished, and that is easily done,” Gerald replied, as he examined each key attentively.
“Very well, then, I shall look for you here again some time to-morrow forenoon. I want to get those boxes into my possession as soon as possible,” Mr. Brewster observed, with a faint but impatient sigh.
“I will try to be here some time between ten and eleven o’clock,” Gerald returned, then added, losing some of his color: “And now, Mr. Brewster, if you are not too tired, I have something to tell you about my work.”
“I am not too tired, go ahead,” said the man; whereupon Gerald gave him a brief account of the conversation that had recently passed between himself and JohnHubbard, and what he had discovered afterward in connection with his work.
Mr. Brewster listened to him with growing astonishment, never once removing his eyes from the young man’s face during his recital.
“These are very strange statements, Gerald—very grave statements,” he remarked, with some sternness, as he concluded.
“They are, indeed, sir, and they involve my honor, my reputation, and, unless my past dealings with you and my assurance are sufficient guarantee to you of my integrity, the evidence is there to prove that I have been doing very crooked business in your office. The balances are all right, apparently, but the entries, if examined, would seem to be conclusive testimony that I have been systematically robbing you. Mr. Brewster, I firmly believe that those figures have been skilfully changed for the sole purpose of ruining me.”
“By whom?”
“That, of course, I cannot say positively, but I have long known that Mr. Hubbard dislikes me,” was the somewhat reluctant reply.
“Do you mean to imply that John Hubbard would doctor the accounts to injure you?” exclaimed Mr. Brewster, with a start.
“I have no right to assert that he would, for I cannot prove it; but some one has done it, and he is the only one who, to my knowledge, has had access to the books. I can only say I know he hates me, and—I also say, Mr. Brewster”—and the honest fellow here straightened himself with conscious integrity, and lifted an unfalteringlook to his employer—“that I have never made a false entry upon one of your books.”
Neither was conscious of the presence of a third person in the room as the banker heartily responded:
“I am sure you have not, Gerald; I would stake my fortune upon your integrity and upon your unswerving faithfulness to my interests. I will look into this matter just as soon as I am able. Ah! Allison, I did not hear you come in. What is it, dear?” he concluded, turning, as he caught the sound of her step behind him.
She came forward, blushing and smiling a welcome to Gerald.
“It is time for your beef broth, papa,” she said, as she placed a small salver containing a cup before him.
Then she turned to our hero with outstretched hand.
“What an age it is since I saw you last, Gerald,” she remarked, and then flushed again as she recalled her last interview with him.
He returned her greeting with what warmth he dared in Mr. Brewster’s presence, but with a hand-clasp that spoke volumes.
Allison had come into the room where Gerald and her father were conversing so earnestly just in season to catch the words of commendation uttered by the latter.
“I am sure you have not, Gerald,” he had said; “I would stake my fortune upon your integrity and upon your unswerving faithfulness to my interests.”
She had noted, with the keen perception of a loving heart, the troubled look in Gerald’s eyes, the anxious expression upon his brow, and she instantly knew that something had gone amiss with him, in spite of the fact that he seemed in perfect health, and was handsomer and more manly than ever.
But in the excitement of greeting him—when she saw his face light up with joy in her presence, when she felt the warm, lingering clasp of his hand, and detected the old-time thrill in his voice—she forgot all about it, for the time, and thought only of the pleasures of this unexpected meeting.
When Gerald finally left the house it was with a very much lighter heart than when he entered. His employer’s hearty and unqualified assurance of confidence was like balm to his wounded spirit; while his little interview with Allison had set all his pulses vibrating afresh with his deep and abiding love for her.
He had not seen her for many months, and she seemed to have grown a hundredfold more lovely thanwhen he had bidden her adieu on that bright Sunday morning so long ago.
He wondered if she had forgotten the evening previous—their interview upon the veranda, where, with the moonlight streaming upon them in its soft effulgence, they had been conscious only of each other’s presence and the happiness that had thrilled every fiber of their being. Did she remember their parting when the clock struck ten? That blissful moment when their lips met in that involuntary caress? That look into each other’s eyes, that low-breathed “Allison!” “Gerald!” which had expressed so much?
She seemed a trifle more mature; she had acquired a little air of dignity which, on the whole, he decided only added to her charms, although at first it had chilled him slightly—at least, until he found himself looking down into the expressive eyes.
He hoped he should see her again on the morrow, when he returned with the boxes which Mr. Brewster had commissioned him to get from the secret vault.
He smiled and uttered a sigh of content, as he passed his hand over the pocket which held the keys the banker had given to him, and realized that he never would have been entrusted with them if he had not possessed the entire confidence of the man.
He hurried back to his lodging, where, in this happy frame of mind, he settled down to the preparation of some lessons which were to be recited that evening to acertain professor with whom he had been studying for three years.
As we know, Gerald, at the time of his aunt’s death, had been in the second year of the high school, but for a time after that his studies were interrupted, as he found that his daily duties taxed his strength to the utmost.
But as he became accustomed to his work, he began to get hungry for his books again, and for a while attended evening school, although his progress was thus necessarily slow.
Then he made the acquaintance of a professor by the name of Emerson, who, becoming interested in the bright, ambitious lad, offered to help him perfect his education and arranged for Gerald to recite three times a week to him.
He was now in his twenty-first year, and expected by the coming June to complete the studies of the second year of a regular college course.
After partaking of a light supper, he repaired to the house of his friend, Professor Emerson, where he acquitted himself most creditably in his recitations.
The gentleman had become quite fond of his enterprising pupil, and it was a great delight to him to teach one who was so eager for knowledge and so quick to comprehend.
“By the way, Gerald, what do you intend to make of yourself when you get through with your course?” he inquired to-night, as he closed his book after the last recitation, and bent an inquiring look on the handsome face before him.
“I think—since I am so well started in the banking business, I shall stick to it, learn it thoroughly, and, if fortune favors me, perhaps become a banker myself, by and by,” he replied, but with a smile at his egotism in aspiring to a position such as Adam Brewster occupied.
Professor Emerson eyed him curiously for a moment, then remarked:
“You’ll achieve it, if you undertake it, and, rightly conducted, banking is a good business; still, I wish you might go a little higher, intellectually—you would make a fine lawyer, your mental grasp is so keen and accurate.”
“Thank you,” said Gerald, flushing at the compliment, “but it would take me several years to prepare for the bar, after completing my college course, and, since I have my own canoe to paddle, I think I will adhere to what I have begun. I wish, though,” he added gravely, as his mind suddenly reverted to John Hubbard, “I have time to become thoroughly posted in law, and could combine the two, for then I should always be sure of the faithfulness of my legal adviser.”
“Why, Winchester! I did not suppose you possessed so suspicious a nature!” said his friend, smiling, but with a note of surprise in his tones. “If every one was governed by such distrust I fear the lawyers would fare hard.”
“I am not naturally suspicious,” replied Gerald, reddening,“and my remark must seem narrow and intolerant to you; it was prompted by the fact that one lawyer whom I know is anything but an honest and conscientious man.”
“But, ‘one swallow does not make a summer,’ my boy,” retorted his friend, laughing.
“I know it, sir, and I have no business to be suspicious of all men because of one man’s failings. I will try to be more charitable toward lawyers in the future,” said the young man, as he rose to leave.
He felt half-ashamed of having allowed himself to be so swayed by his antipathy against John Hubbard, but all the way back to his lodgings he was haunted by the face of the man and the malignant scowl which had distorted it when he accused him of unfaithfulness and dishonesty in his work.
Even in his sleep during the night he could not divest himself of the consciousness of his vicious individuality—he seemed to be continually pursuing and persecuting him until his visions became so real that they finally drove him from his bed long before his usual hour for rising on Sunday morning.
It was not yet dawn when he arose on Sunday morning, and, upon looking from his window, Gerald saw that it was snowing.
He dressed himself with unusual care, for he hoped to see Allison again, and, loverlike, desired to make as good an appearance in her sight as possible. Then he hurried out for his morning meal, after which he wended his way to the bank, where he arrived about half-past eight.
The steps leading up to the door were covered with snow, and, strangely enough, as he mounted them, leaving a footprint upon every one, an uncomfortable sensation which was akin to guilt, began to creep over him,causing his errand to become suddenly repulsive to him, and making him long to go back to his room and remain there.
But, throwing back his head with an air of conscious rectitude—for was he not there at his employer’s command?—he quickly let himself into the building, removing the key and relocking the door on the inside to make sure that no one would follow him.
Passing through the inner door, he carefully wiped his feet upon the mat, and removed his overshoes lest they should leave tracks upon the floor—that same uncanny feeling which he had experienced outside still pursuing him.
The bank was so still every footfall echoed noisily through it, and sent a nervous shiver creeping down his spine.
“Good gracious!” he exclaimed, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders, “I am no thief stealing in here to rob the place! Why on earth should I feel like one? It is positively absurd!”
Proceeding directly to the vault, he drew the heavy bolts, unlocked and swung open the massive iron-plated door. The place was cold and gloomy, and again Gerald shivered with a nervous chill as he stepped within those solid walls which so securely guarded their hoarded treasure.
Proceeding directly to Mr. Brewster’s private drawer, the number of which he had long known, he unlocked and drew it out, setting it upon the floor.
It contained several packages of papers. But these held no interest for him; he merely gave them a passingglance, then began to look for the slot in the iron panel at the back of the aperture.
It required close searching to find it, but his efforts were finally rewarded, whereupon he inserted the last of his keys, turned it half-around, when the panel sprang outward, as Mr. Brewster had described.
It appeared to be swung upon hinges, and, lifting it up, Gerald could distinguish within the little vault thus disclosed a box of some description.
He drew it from its place of concealment.
It proved to be a beautiful Japanese affair, inlaid with gold and mother-of-pearl in an intricate pattern. There was a tiny key in its lock, and for fear that it might drop out and be lost, Gerald removed it and transferred it to a pocket in his vest, without once thinking that he had it in his power to inspect the contents of the casket, if he chose to do so.
Putting it carefully down upon the floor, he looked for the other. He found it shoved away back in the secret vault. It was much larger than the other—a common, though strong, wooden receptacle—and it was also locked, while there was no key with it.
Gerald felt quite sure that the Japanese casket must contain the jewels of which Mr. Brewster had spoken, and which were to be given to Allison. Doubtless they were very valuable, and would be doubly precious to her because they had once belonged to and been worn by her mother.
He would probably see them upon her person some day; but, strange to say, he did not feel half so curious about them as he did regarding the contents of thelarger box, for he had been impressed by Mr. Brewster’s manner and expression when he had said that it contained “nothing of special value to any one—except myself.”
However, he felt that it was no business of his what either held; his duty lay simply in conveying them safely to his employer.
Putting the drawer back in its place, he relocked it, when, gathering the boxes from the floor, he turned to leave the vault. At that instant a shadow obscured the light admitted by the open door.
Gerald started forward with a sudden and terrible heart-throb. His face flushed hotly, then paled to the hue of marble as he was confronted by John Hubbard, who was standing upon the threshold, a sardonic grin distorting his sinister countenance.
“Aha! my young burglar,” the man exclaimed, in a tone of fiendish triumph, “is this the way you are in the habit of spending your Sundays?”
The sound of the expert’s voice at once restored Gerald’s composure, although every nerve in his body was tingling with anger at his manner of addressing him.
“I am no burglar, Mr. Hubbard, and you know it,” he coldly returned. “I am not in the habit of coming here—I have never been in the bank on Sunday before this; but——”
“What have you there?” sternly interposed his companion, and indicating by a gesture the boxes in Gerald’s hands.
“Some things belonging to Mr. Brewster.”
“So I judged. How came you here?”
“By his orders,” the young man briefly replied, and then wondered at the almost satanic leer which swept over the features of the man before him.
“Indeed! but how did you pass all these barriers?” with a nod backward over his shoulder.
“Why, by means of these keys, which Mr. Brewster himself gave to me, when he asked me to perform this errand for him,” the young man responded, as he held up the bunch by the ring, and which Mr. Hubbard instantly recognized as belonging to the banker.
“When did you see Mr. Brewster?” he questioned, a look of perplexity flashing over his face.
“Yesterday afternoon—he sent for me to go to him,” Gerald explained.
“H’m!” ejaculated the expert, with a frown. Then, after a moment of thought, he added: “What is in those boxes?”
Again Gerald flushed. Then he threw back his handsome head haughtily.
“Excuse me,” he said freezingly, “but that is a question which Mr. Brewster alone is qualified to answer.”
“Ha! ha!” laughed his companion, but with so weird a note in the sound, which echoed and re-echoed mockingly through the vault, that Gerald’s blood almost seemed to congeal in his veins. “You are very non-committal, my fine fellow,” he continued, with a snarl, “but do you dare to tell me that you don’t know what either of those boxes contains?”
“I must decline to discuss the matter with you, Mr. Hubbard,” was the terse reply.
“Indeed!” sneered his companion. Then he observed,served, authoritatively, as he went a step nearer Gerald. “Very well, we won’t discuss it; but since I am Mr. Brewster’s attorney, I will relieve you of all further care of them. Give them to me.”
“No, sir!” said Gerald resolutely, and retreating from him.
“Give them to me, I tell you!” commanded the man angrily.
“I cannot do that, Mr. Hubbard,” Gerald calmly returned. “Mr. Brewster requested me to come here for them, and then bring them directly to him. I shall deliver them to no other hands.”
Once more that strange laugh echoed through the dismal vault.
“You will have to go a long journey to do that, young man,” said John Hubbard, showing his white teeth in a horrible grin.
“How so?” queried Gerald, in surprise, but with a strange numbness stealing over him, “I—I do not understand you.”
“Adam Brewster is dead!” said John Hubbard.
There was a dead silence in that gloomy place for the space of a full minute after John Hubbard’s terrible announcement.
“It cannot be possible!” Gerald finally gasped, as he staggered back against the side of the vault, almost paralyzed from horror. As he did so, the topmost box in his hands slipped from his grasp, and fell with a crash to the floor.
The lock was either broken or forced from its socket by the concussion, and the lid flew back, thus disclosing to the curious eyes of John Hubbard various articles of valuable jewelry.
“Aha! diamonds! pearls! rubies and emeralds!” he exclaimed, as he stooped to examine them more closely. “Truly, young man, you were taking time by the forelock to feather your nest before an inventory could be taken of your employer’s effects.”
“What do you mean, sir?” he exclaimed, starting forward, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. “Do you dare assert that I knew that Mr. Brewster was not living, and stole here to rob him?”
“I am forced to admit that it looks very much like it,” was the deliberate and cruel response.
A terrible shock went quivering through Gerald atthese words, for he realized but too well that the man would do his utmost to injure him by putting the worst possible construction upon the situation.
“You know better!” he cried, hot indignation and resentment flaming up within him; “you know I would not touch a penny that did not belong to me.”
“Ahem! that all sounds very well, my would-be paragon of honor,” sneered the expert, “but you will have to prove it, you know.”
“Prove it! Why, of course, I can prove it,” replied Gerald, a little smile of scorn for his recent fear curling his lips, and a consciousness of rectitude and security supplanting it, “I have Mr. Brewster’s note of yesterday, asking me to come to him, as he had a special commission for me, and then the very fact of my having his keys proves that I am here under orders,” and again he held them up to his companion’s view.
“H’m! so he wrote you to come to him, did he?” queried John Hubbard thoughtfully. “Where is the note? I should like to see it.”
Gerald put his hand into his coat-pocket; then suddenly remembered that he had put on his best suit that morning.
“Ah!” he said, “it is in the pocket of my other coat.”
John Hubbard’s eyes gleamed with a cunning light at this information.
“Well, you will doubtless need all the proof you can bring to get you out of this scrape,” he gruffly observed. “Maybe you can produce such a note, but I doubt it. Did any one see Mr. Brewster give you those keys?”
Gerald’s heart sank at the question, as he rememberedthat he and his employer had been utterly alone throughout their interview, except for the few minutes that Allison was in the room, and he was sure she had heard nothing that would prove the truth of what he had asserted. At least he knew she was not there when the keys were given to him.
“You have no right to question me like this, or to doubt my word, and I will have no further conversation with you about the matter,” he responded, after a moment of thought.
But he was deathly pale as he stooped to recover the box that had fallen. He found that it was not broken; the lock had only been forced by the fall. He carefully arranged the jewels which had been somewhat displaced, although, fortunately, none had been spilled; then, shutting the box, he relocked it with the key which he took from his vest-pocket.
John Hubbard watched him warily while he was thus engaged. “I will take charge of those things,” he sternly observed, as Gerald was about to replace the key in his pocket.
“Excuse me; but I do not think you will,” the young man coldly returned.
“I am Mr. Brewster’s attorney, and it will be my duty to settle his estate; consequently all his property will pass through my hands. Give me those boxes!” the man concluded authoritatively.
“No, sir. Mr. Brewster authorized me to take them to his house; I shall do as he ordered, and since you say he is no longer living, give them to Miss Brewster; he stated that he wanted the jewels for her.”
And he started to leave the vault as he concluded.
“You will do no such thing, you young upstart!” snarled John Hubbard, at the same time making an agile spring backward out of the vault, when he swung to the ponderous door almost before Gerald comprehended his intention.
“Now, you beggarly upstart, I have you just where I want you,” he cried, in a cruel, exultant tone, and putting his lips to the keyhole, “I once gave you an object-lesson regarding your fate if you continued to stand in my way.”
Gerald did not deign to reply to these taunts and presently he knew, by the closing of the outer door of the bank, that he was alone.
His heart was very heavy, for he began to realize that his case was desperate. Fate and his evil-minded foe had conspired to so involve him in a network of compromising circumstances, it seemed likely that he was destined to be proved a graceless scamp and a daring robber.
His employer, the only one who had it in his power to exonerate him from blame and prove his innocence, was dead.
He felt almost sure that John Hubbard intended to bring an officer there to arrest him, with the evidences of his guilt around him.
With this thought there came the temptation to restore those boxes to the secret vault from which he had taken them.
Mr. Brewster had said that no one, save himself and the man who constructed it, knew of its existence. Ifhe should conceal those jewels and the other box, there would be no evidence, beyond John Hubbard’s word, to prove that he had attempted to take them from the bank. His word would be just as good as that of his enemy, upon whom the burden of proving his own accusations would have to rest.
“But I should have to deny all knowledge of them. I should be obliged to lie, and that I will not do, even to save my—myself from prison,” he said to himself, with an air of proud resolution. “No, I will tell the truth and take my chance; I have Mr. Brewster’s note telling me to come to him; I have also his keys, and the two taken together ought to be strong points in my defense.”
Nevertheless, these arguments were small consolation in view of his unfortunate situation.
Then his thoughts reverted to Mr. Brewster, and hot tears rushed into his eyes as he realized that the man was lying still in death, and they would never meet in this life again. He was still weak from the shock he had experienced upon learning the fact so suddenly, and he wondered what could have caused the unlooked-for attack.
He had appeared to be very comfortable, and hopeful of soon getting out again, when he had seen him the previous day, and it seemed awful to him that he should have been so ruthlessly cut down, just in the prime of life, and in the height of prosperity.
He was wild with impatience to learn the particulars, and chafed restively against his confinement in that tomb-like place.
“Poor Allison! It will be a terrible blow to her,” hemused; “she will be all alone in the world now; but she is fortunate to be left an heiress, and thus shielded from the hardships of life.”
Alas! he little thought that the fortune which would fall to the girl was destined to bring upon her dangers and trials from which he would have shrunk appalled could he have foreseen them.
He sprang to his feet and began to pace the vault restlessly, for a feeling of faintness and sickness came over him; he also experienced a difficulty in breathing, as the air in the place began to be vitiated.
Suppose John Hubbard should not return in season to release him before suffocation overtook him, he thought, a nervous chill creeping over him; but he discarded it with a bitter smile.
He well knew that the man would not dare to let him die there—that he was planning for him a worse fate than death, out of a cruel spirit of revenge, because he had dared to love the girl whom he, for some strange reason, coveted. He believed that he meant to so crush and humiliate him that he would never want to seek Allison Brewster again, or meet the gaze of her pure, clear eyes.
“He shall not do it! by Heaven! he shall not succeed in his atrocious designs!” he cried out, in a sudden anguish, as those torturing thoughts flitted through his brain. “I am an honest man, and I swear I will yet prove it to the world, in spite of the worst that he can do.”
A little later he heard the outer door of the bank open and close again, then the sound of steps andvoices drawing near him, until presently, the bolt which fastened the door of the vault was shot back, and the next moment John Hubbard, accompanied by a policeman, stood in his presence.
“Here, Mr. Officer, is your prisoner, and that,” pointing to the two boxes upon the floor, “is the booty with which he was about to make off when I caught him,” the man explained, as he shot a look of malignant triumph at his victim.
“Humph!” ejaculated the officer, as he darted a comprehensive glance around the place, and at the same time taking the measure of Gerald.
“It is very fortunate that I happen here just as I did,” Mr. Hubbard went on. “I seldom come to the bank on Sunday, but there were some papers here which I was obliged to have to-day, and thus I came upon him in the midst of his depredations.”
“H’m! you look rather young and green to be a bank-robber,” the policeman remarked, not unkindly, as he searched the pale, handsome face of his prisoner; “you don’t seem like the sort, either, that would be up to such business.”
“I am no bank-robber,” said Gerald, with quiet dignity, and meeting the man’s searching look unflinchingly, “I am here under orders.”