"Lynde is down-stairs, asking for you, Leonie. I don't think you are
well enough to see him, but Mr. Pryor insisted that I should ask you.
What shall I say to him, dear?"
Edith Pyne bent and kissed her cousin affectionately, as she asked
the question, and Leonie's eyes filled with tears. Kindness had never
seemed to affect her so much as since the death of poor Liz, and
she had never received more of it. They all seemed to vie with each
other in their attempts to do most to make her comfortable, and in
consequence kept her in a state bordering on hysteria.
"I will go down to see him, of course," she returned, with a little
quiet smile. "You are all too good to me. You will make a perfect baby
of me if this continues."
She arose, and assisted by Edith, made her way down-stairs; but at the
door of the library the support was withdrawn, and she was left to
enter alone.
She did not notice the fact, as she thought she should find all the
family gathered there, if she thought of it at all; but she seemed to
understand when she saw that the room contained Lynde Pyne alone.
A dainty crimson overspread her face, but controlling her timidity, she
entered and quietly placed her hand in the one extended.
Lynde drew her down beside him upon a sofa before either of them spoke.
"I expected to see you more exhausted, after the trying scenes through
which you have passed," he said gently. "I am pleased to see you
looking so well."
"Edith and the rest have been trying to persuade me that I was in a fit
state for rapid decline, or nervous prostration," she answered, with
an attempt at lightness. "It is quite a relief to hear you say to the
contrary."
"Not at all. I never saw you look better."
"I am sorry that I cannot say the same for you. You seem harrassed,
haggard. Tell me, will you not, how things are going? I have been so
anxious to know; but no one knew, or if they did, refused to tell me."
"It has distressed me! I never knew how few friends I had until now. I
cannot procure the amount of bail required for--Evelyn, and surely you
know what the result of that will be. She is in the Tombs in a state of
mind bordering upon insanity. I know that I should not tell you this,
and yet, you may be able to help me. The men whom I have accounted my
friends refuse to go on the bond for me, saying that she would but
escape, and I should be left with an amount to pay that would ruin me,
as, of course, I have offered to make the amount good in the event of
an accident. Even Mr. Pryor swears at me when I insist upon it that he
must do as I say. But if you would speak to him the effect might be
different."
"It is so good of you to take this interest in her. If there is
anything that I can do, you may be sure that I will with all my heart.
Oh, Lynde, I tried so hard to spare her. I entreated her to see the
condition in which she was placing herself, but she would not. Why,
upon the night that we were all arrested, I told her of the papers
that were in my possession--papers that I had no wish should ever come
before the public. I did not even ask her to resign her position as the
daughter of Leonard Chandler, but I could not see her become your wife
knowing that she was a---- I cannot say the word. The thought of it is
hideous to me!"
"But it has not released me from my promise, Leonie."
"What! You would not marry her now?"
"I must."
"You are mad!"
"I sometimes think I am going mad! She holds the most solemn pledge
from me that man could give to woman, and I have not the power to break
it. But let us leave this subject! It is not a safe one for you and me
to speak upon. You will do what you can with Mr. Pryor?"
"I will."
"There was another thing that I wished to speak to you about. I have
engaged one of my friends, a lawyer of considerable prominence, to
examine the original records and prove that your mother's marriage to
Ben Mauprat was not legal, in order that your claim to the fortune your
father left may not admit of question. It may be rather painful for
you, but be assured that all will be done to spare your feelings that
can be. You will trust me for that, will you not?"
"I don't think I quite understand you. You say that you have engaged a
lawyer for me?"
"Yes."
"To prove my claim to the fortune your uncle left?"
"To the fortune your father left."
"No one can lay a claim to that in my name without my sanction, can
they?"
"Of course not."
"And I have authorized no one to do it. I have already said that I have
no right to that money, and no intention of having it! It is yours, and
yours it shall remain."
He looked at her a moment in stupefied silence, then placed his hand
very gently on hers.
"And you think that I am so little a man that I would receive what is
yours by every right under Heaven? You think that I would rob a girl to
enrich myself?"
She lifted her sweet eyes pleadingly.
"It is not that!" she cried earnestly. "It was never meant for me, and
I should always feel that I was using that to which I had no right,
that I was living upon charity so to speak! It would eternally hang
like a stone about my neck, dragging me to a premature death. You must
not ask me to do it, Lynde, for indeed I cannot!"
"But consider, dear; even were I to do the contemptible thing you wish,
your heirs could one day come forward and demand their rights of me,
and there is not a law under the sun that would not give it to them.
You see I should but become a trustee, after all, responsible in the
years to come for that of which, very likely, I should not take the
best of care. There is nothing for it, Leonie, but for you to accept
that which is yours by every right, and of which you have been robbed
so long."
Her lovely face had grown almost sullen.
A slow, determined light was burning in her eyes, her hand loosened
itself from his, and she arose slowly to her feet.
"If that is all that you have come to say, let me settle it with you as
I have with Mr. Pryor, who has ceased to bother me upon the subject.
I will not touch one cent of that money. I did not sell my sister to
a prison for the sake of gaining a few paltry dollars, and I will not
have it appear even to myself that I did. If there were no other reason
than that, it would still be enough."
Lynde arose and stood before her.
His face was deadly pale and quivering with the suppression he was
putting upon himself, but he was very quiet, for all that.
"It seems too absurd," he said slowly, "for us to be standing here
fighting like two children over who shall and who shall not have the
money. Your argument is unreasonable. You might as well say that I am
selling my cousin to a prison in that I contemplate prosecuting him
for the concealment of his knowledge in this affair. There is just one
thing that I wish to say to you, and that is that I shall never touch a
dollar of the money which no more belongs to me than it does to Evelyn
Chandler. If you wish Luis Kingsley to have possession of it, a man who
until a few days ago, was a stranger to you, why, I have nothing to
say."
She looked at him for some time incredulously, then:
"You don't really mean that!" she exclaimed. "You would never do
anything so mad!"
"It contains less of madness than the absurdity you contemplate. I
swear to you that I do mean it. I will never touch it!"
She hesitated a moment, her eyes filling with tears, then went a step
toward him, laying her hand upon his arm timidly.
"At least we can come to a compromise, Cousin Lynde," she said, with
strong emphasis upon the relationship. "The money was left to you;
you say it is mine by right of my unfortunate birth, which never was
intended. Very well! I will agree to accept one-half if you will take
the other. Surely you can see the justice in that! I tell you frankly,
that if you refuse, Luis Kingsley may have the money!"
He saw that she meant it.
If he only could have said to her what was in his heart! If he only had
had the privilege to propose to her the compromise that was hovering
upon his lips, he would have felt himself the happiest of men, but
honor closed his lips.
He had not answered her, when Andrew Pryor entered.
"Well!" he exclaimed, "what understanding have you two arrived at?"
"None!" returned Leonie, turning to him, desperately. "Oh, sir, I
wish you would make him see that I am right and he is wrong! I wish
you would make him understand how impossible it is for me to do as he
thinks I should! You see it as I do, do you not? At least he should
take half!"
"That seems to me fair enough, Lynde, unless you could name a different
compromise!"
He laughed as the remark was made, but would have recalled it if he
could, when he saw the expression of both countenances.
"You must give me time to think of it!" cried Pyne, speaking hastily,
to cover his confusion. "That is a proposition that I never thought of
before. I will call about it to-morrow; and in the meantime, Leonie,
see what you can do about the other matter that I spoke to you of, will
you not?"
She was about to reply, when the door opened to admit a servant,
followed by a messenger.
"For Mr. Pyne!" the servant announced, handing the brownish envelope to
Lynde.
"Have I your permission?" asked Pyne, glancing from Leonie to Mr.
Pryor, as he held the message in his hand.
Receiving their permission, he tore the end off and read hastily. A
frown contracted his brow; then, with the ghastliness of death covering
his face, he read it aloud:
"DEAR PYNE,--A message just came for you from the Tombs to the
effect that a terrible thing has happened there, and your presence
is desired at once. From all accounts you need not distress yourself
further about bail for your fair client. I send this to Mr. Pryor's
in the hope that it may find you.
"Yours in haste,
"DOWNING."
Neither of the distressed listeners spoke until he had reached the door
to answer the imperative call. Then, with a bound, Leonie was beside
him.
"If anything has happened you will let me know, will you not?" she
asked, her voice not more than a whisper. "You know what I mean. I
should like to see her before----"
"Let us hope that it is nothing of that kind!" returned Lynde, his
throat seeming to close over the words. "Surely God will give her time
for repentance!"