THREADS GATHERED UP
THREADS GATHERED UP
THREADS GATHERED UP
THREADS GATHERED UP
CHAPTER I.AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR.
Three years passed, and nothing occurred to disturb the even tenor of Virgie’s life.
She had worked diligently during this time, gaining fresh laurels with every season. She had removed from the retired lodgings which she had taken at first upon coming to San Francisco, into a better locality, where she had a handsome suite of rooms in a well-known apartment-house.
These were bright and pleasant, tastefully furnished also, and Virgie thoroughly enjoyed the pretty home which she had won by the labor of her own hands.
When she had made the change she gave the contents of her other home to Chi Lu, who had married a thrifty woman of his own country, and together they were carrying on quite a flourishing laundry business, while, in place of the faithful Chinese, Virgie had taken a bright and capable Swedish woman.
One evening, after a dreary, rainy day, the bell under the name of “Alexander,” in the house of which we have been speaking, was pulled by a vigorous hand.
Virgie was in her chamber, putting her little girl to bed—a service which she enjoyed, for the child always expected a merry frolic and then some “pretty story before the dustman came.”
She heard the bell, and soon after voices in the prettyparlor leading from her chamber, and she wondered who could have chosen such a stormy night to call up her, for she seldom had visitors, even in pleasant weather.
Presently Mina, the Swede, came to her, and said that a gentleman was waiting to see her.
“Who is he? Did he give no name?” Virgie questioned, surprised.
“No, madam. I asked him, and he said there was no need to take his name, for you would know him when you saw him.”
Virgie’s heart beat more quickly at this, and a feeling of dread took possession of her.
Mr. Knight came to see her occasionally, and one or two of his clerks had been there a few times on business, but Mina knew them, so she was sure it was none of these, but someone who must have known her in the past.
She finished the story she was telling little Virgie, made some trifling changes in her toilet, and then went into the parlor.
A gentleman was seated by the table, with his back toward her, and though he had on a heavy overcoat, and his form was considerably bowed, and his hair very gray, there was something familiar about him that sent a sudden shock through Virgie’s frame.
As she went forward to greet him he suddenly arose and turned toward her, bending a pair of piercing black eyes searchingly upon her face.
Virgie stopped short as she met that glance, all the color leaving her face, while a startled cry escaped her lips.
The man flushed, and his eyes sank guiltily before hers as he said, in a low tone:
“You know me, then, Virgie?”
“Uncle Mark!” she gasped, and then sank weakly into a chair.
“Yes, I am your Uncle Mark,” the man returned, a touch of bitterness in his tone; “but I scarcely expected that you would acknowledge me as such. Where is your father?”
“Dead.”
Mark Alexander staggered as if some one had struck him a sudden blow.
“When did he—die?” he asked, with whitening lips.
“Six years ago last November.”
The man sank back into his chair, and bowed his head upon the table, with a groan.
Profound silence reigned in the room for several minutes, while each occupant was tortured by bitter thoughts.
Virgie could scarcely realize that at last the man who had wrought her father’s ruin was sitting in her presence. She had never seen him but once since that dreadful time when the thunderbolt had fallen to crush them all, and that had been when she had fled from him in the street more than three years previous. She wondered how he had found her now. She had hoped she should never meet him again; she feared him; she abhorred him for the crime and wrong he had committed.
Her heart was even now filled with great bitterness toward him, for, but for him her dear father might have been living, an honored and respected citizen of San Francisco, and she could only remember how he had suffered, how, believing his name forever dishonored, he had fled, as it were, into the wilderness, there to drag out a weary existence among strangers.
A heavy sigh at length aroused her from these unhappy musings, and she glanced at her companion.
She could see that he, too, was sadly changed.
Evidently the last twelve years had been far from happy ones with him. His bowed form, his haggard face and gray hair, all told of a mind ill at ease, of a heart tortured by fear, if not with remorse.
Apparently, too, he had been very ill; he might even be so still, for he was fearfully emaciated, his face was hueless, and he was trembling with either weakness, cold, or emotion, perhaps all three combined.
His coat was drenched in the heavy rain in which he had come, and he looked so utterly wretched and forlorn, that something of pity began to crowd the anger from her heart.
“Uncle Mark,” she said, trying to steady her trembling voice, “you have taken me so by surprise that I am forgetful of my duty. Remove your wet coat, and come nearer the fire, while I ring for a cup of tea and some supper for you.”
“Ah! then you will not turn me out again into the storm. Still you cannot have much but hatred for me in your heart,” he returned, lifting to her a face that was almost convulsed.
“I trust that nothing would make me unmindful of the duties of hospitality, especially toward one who is ill and suffering as you appear to be,” Virgie answered, as she arose and went out to confer a moment with Mina regarding the comfort of her unbidden guest.
“Where is Aunt Margaret?” she inquired, when she returned, a few moments later.
“Dead.”
“Ah! and Philip?”
“Dead—and little Bertha, too. All are gone—victims of cholera, while I have not known a well day since I had it,” the man answered, in a harsh, unnatural voice.
Virgie felt the tears rise to her eyes, and her heart softened still more. Surely his punishment had begun, and in no light manner, if death had so quickly robbed him of all his family, ruining his own health also.
“How did you know that I was here in San Francisco?” she asked, after another painful pause.
He started at her question.
“I saw you here more than three years ago. I was not quite sure it was you the first time I met you, and I followed you, hoping to learn where you lived; but you evaded me without knowing it, that time. The next day I haunted the place where I lost sight of you, and came upon you just as you turned the corner, you remember. You knew me, I was very sure, by the look of dismay that sprang to your eyes. I was more sure after your little strategy in that store. But I wanted to see you desperately, Virgie. Didn’t you see my advertisement among the personals?”
“Yes; but I—could not meet you. I—could not forget,” faltered Virgie.
The man shivered at her words.
“Well, I cannot blame you. But never mind that now. I meant to find you if I could; but I made up my mind after a while that you and Abbot had left San Francisco—I had not a thought that he was dead—and so I went elsewhere to hunt for you. I have spent the last three years in wandering about, but finally came back here to end my days. I was in at Knight’s bookstore a day or two since. There was a pile of new books on the counter, and as I stood looking at one of them a gentlemancame for one, and said to a boy, ‘I want you to take one of Mrs. Alexander’s new books around to her.’ The name startled me. I turned to the title page, and saw ‘Virginia Alexander’ printed there, as the author. I bought a copy, and followed the boy here. I should have come to see you yesterday, but I was not able to get out; I had hardly strength sufficient to-day, but to-night despair drove me out in spite of the storm.”
“I am afraid you were imprudent. But what can I do for you, Uncle Mark?” Virgie asked, hardly knowing what to say to the returned fugitive.
“I will tell you that by and by. Can I—will you let me stay here to-night?” he humbly asked.
Virgie had but two beds, her own and her servant’s, but she had not the heart to send him forth again into the storm, he looked so ill and miserable; so she replied, with a look of pity:
“Yes, if you wish.”
The poor creature broke down and sobbed at her kindness, but he recovered himself after a moment, and turned away from her gaze.
“It is my nerves,” he explained; “I am a total wreck; I am utterly shattered.”
Mina now came in with a tempting little supper, and he was more composed and cheerful after he had eaten something and taken a cup of tea, and soon began to talk more freely of his past.
He had been in the East Indies, he told Virgie, engaged in the spice trade, most of the time since his flight from San Francisco. But he had never known a moment of peace since the day that he had fled with all the available funds of the bank, of which he had been the cashier, and his brother the president, for he hadknown well enough that the good name of the latter would have to suffer as well as his own.
“At first,” he said, “I tried traveling, throwing myself into every excitement, and took my family with me. But it would not do; the fortune which I had stolen and was trying to enjoy, was like a mill-stone about my neck; the word ‘thief’ was branded upon my heart with every beat of my pulse, until, in despair, I at last located at Batavia, on the island of Java, and threw myself, heart and brain, into business. I invested the most of my ill-gotten gains where they would be safe, and began to speculate with the rest. The Bible says that ‘the wicked shall not prosper;’ but I did—if you call it prospering to have money literally pouring in upon you and be nearly distracted with an accusing conscience at the same time. The richer I grew the more wretched I became. I had heard that your father had sacrificed all that he was worth toward wiping out my iniquity; but of course I knew that it could not begin to make my defalcation good, and that people would only scoff and sneer, and say it was all pretense—doubtless we were in league and would share equally in the spoils. I knew his high sense of honor, and how sensitive he was, and I believed the blow would crush him.”
“It did! it did!” cried Virgie, bursting into a passion of tears, as all the sad past came pressing upon her with this recital.
“Poor child! poor child!” returned her uncle, tremulously. “But you and your father were in a state of bliss compared with me. Then there came that terrible epidemic sweeping all whom I loved in three days from the face of the earth, and bringing me, also, very nearto death’s door. When it was all over, and I knew that I was to live, I felt that there remained but one thing for me to do—to come back here and make an open confession of everything, and atone, as far as I was able, for the mischief I had wrought. If I could have found Abbot I should have done this long ago. Oh, my brother, I wish you had not died!”
Again he broke down, and Virgie felt herself fast melting toward him.
She could not but feel that his repentance had come far too late, but he was much too wretched not to appeal to her sympathies.
They talked for several hours, she telling him all that had occurred since his flight, though she touched but lightly upon her individual sorrows.
But he appeared so exhausted that she finally persuaded him to retire, giving up her own room to him, she and little Virgie occupying Mina’s, while the girl slept upon a lounge in their small dining-room.
When morning came Mr. Alexander was too ill to rise, and feared that he was going to have a relapse of his former illness.
He grew better, however, toward evening, and seemed to be so grateful for the care which his niece had given him, so repentant for the sorrow that he had brought upon her, that she was deeply touched.
After a few days he appeared much stronger, and seemed greatly interested in Virgie, her work, and particularly in her little one. Still, he did not seem to be quite at his ease.
“I did not mean to be such a burden upon you, Virgie,” he said, humbly, one afternoon, as she was performing some little service for him.
“I do not consider you a burden. I am glad if I can make you comfortable, Uncle Mark,” she returned, kindly.
“You shall not be a loser for your kindness to me,” he added, smiling.
Virgie turned upon him sharply, her face flushing crimson, her eyes blazing.
“Uncle Mark,” she retorted, in a clear, decided voice, “whatever I have done for you has been done from sympathy, and because I felt it my duty to minister to your needs; but I shall never receive any compensation from you—I could not. If you are as rich as you have hinted several times, I want you to right the wrong that you committed so long ago. There is much that still remains unpaid, even though the bank has long since resumed business. Many depositors lost heavily; there were several years that no interest was paid to them, and their funds were so locked up that they could not have what rightfully belonged to them, and much suffering was occasioned by it. All this—everythingmust be paid to the uttermost farthing.”
“It shall be done. I will do all that can be required of me. But, Virgie,youhave been the heaviest loser of all through what your father paid out for me, and that will be one of the debts to be canceled with the rest. Don’t let your pride prevent my relieving my conscience of that obligation,” said the sick man, tremulously.
Virgie had not thought of the matter in that light before. Her chief desire had been to have a confession, and restitution made to the bank and all depositors, and thus clear her father from all imputation of wrong-doing. She had never reckoned herself among the numberof the injured—never counted upon receiving a dollar in return for the sacrifice her father had made. To have his honor re-established, and then be able to bring his body back to rest beside her mother, would give her more joy than she ever expected to know again in this world.
“Papa’s good name is more to me than all else,” she said, tearfully.
“Dear child, it shall be fully restored; his honor vindicated. Oh, that he could have lived to know it! That it could not is the hardest part of my punishment. But after I have done that, you will not refuse to receive what I can offer you?” pleaded Mark Alexander, earnestly.
“Can you satisfyallclaims upon the bank?” Virgie asked, in surprise, for she knew that the interest of all those years would amount to a great deal.
“I can do far more than that, and to-morrow I will make a beginning, if I have the strength. What I do must be done quickly, for my days are numbered.”