SYDNEY FREES HIS MIND
“You’re pretty weak, aren’t you?” This was Mrs. Fox’s remark as she
eased Sydney down into a rocking chair in the little parlor. It was
quite dark, save for the faint light that came in from the street lamp
over the curtain pole in the window.
“I suppose I was too weak to venture to come,” Sydney answered, “but I
felt that I must. Did you understand all that I meant to say in my
note?”
“I understand that you know of a great sum of money that is coming to
Maurice Darley. It’s strange, very strange.”
“Why is it? Did you know anything about it? Did you expect it?”
There was a note of alarm in Sydney’s tones.
“No, not that in particular. But you must tell me all the details
before I dare to tell any more.”
The old lady seated herself on a low chair close to Sydney’s side. It
was extremely weird, this confidential talk in the darkness.
“What details do you want?” Sydney asked.
“Why, proofs that there is really something to this fortune. Maurice
has talked too much about others that have nothing to them.”
“You see him often, then,” exclaimed Sydney eagerly. “He’s here,
perhaps.”
“S’h!” commanded the old Lady in a stern whisper. “Yes, he is here. He
is in the back room yonder. I am so afraid he will hear us. That is why
I had you come at midnight, when he would be sound asleep.”
“But why can I not see him?”
“Because he is weak—weak in his mind. He is all the while fancying that
he is rich. A talk about money would excite him so that I fear the
consequences.”
“And you say he knew Mr. Tyler?” Sydney remembered and spoke this name
very softly.
“Yes, he talks of him continually now.”
“Was he in his office once?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
“One more question. Has this Mr. Darley any children?”
“He had one once—a boy. But it must have died when a baby, soon after
Mrs. Darley did. And now do you know why I do not want you to come here
with stories of riches for Maurice Darley? He’s daft on the subject
already. I do not want him to go so far that they will take him away
from me.”
“You are fond of him, then?” asked Sydney.
“He is all I have. If he goes I must live alone. It is my delight to
care for him. The little money David left me is enough for my simple
wants, Maurice lives like a lord in his fancies. Why do you want to
come and disturb us in our content?”
“Because I must,” Sydney broke out, as passionately as he could in
restrained tones. “Don’t you understand that the money which belongs to
Maurice Darley I have been diverting to other uses? It was left to him
by Mr. Tyler, but I tore up the will. He made it about three hours
after another one, in which he had left everything to the woman who had
acted as a mother to me for twenty years.
“He was a vacillating old man. I felt that he might change his mind
back again if he should live three hours longer, so when he was dead I
tore up the last will. I alone knew what it contained, and I have been
a miserable man ever since.”
Sydney bowed his head on his hands, and there was silence in the little
room for a moment or two.
“You—you are a criminal, then?” said the old lady presently.
Sydney winced at the term, but at the same time he felt a sense of
relief, as one does after taking a plunge into cold water. At any rate
the shock of the first contact was over.
“Yes, I suppose I am,” he answered. “And I am ready to suffer the
penalty. The only excuse I have to offer is the fact that what I did, I
did not for myself, but for those I love, who have done so much for me.
And now it is not joy, but misery, I shall bring them.”
“You are repentant, though,” murmured the old lady softly. “It is not
as if you were hardened and only gave up when some one else found it
out and forced you to. There is hope for you in that. But how much
money is there?”
“Nearly half a million. But some of it has been used, put into a house,
which of course will be given up to Mr. Darley.”
“Then you will take him away from me?” It was almost a wail with which
the old lady said this.
“No, you can come with him, of course.”
“No. It will be his taking care of me then, and that will be so
different. Oh, why did you come to disturb us?” She seemed quite
forgetful for the time of the presence of any one else in the room, of
her own caution to Sydney to speak quietly. Suddenly she appeared to
recollect this latter necessity.
She ceased the half moaning she had begun and clutched Sydney’s arm
tightly.
“I suppose,” she whispered, “that it would not be right to ask you to
keep this money?”
“I can’t keep it,” Sydney replied. “I have suffered enough from it
already.”
“But how can you give it to a man who is not in his right mind? He
thinks he is a wealthy man. I have given him a quantity of gilt paper
to play with. He is like a child, you know. The possession of real
money will not make him any happier.”
“But there is the son,” suggested Sydney.
“I told you he was dead.”
“I am not so sure of that. I think I have seen him. Would he not be
about seventeen now?”
“Yes, and you have seen him?”
It was with difficulty the old lady kept her tones within bounds.
“But you cannot be sure it is the same,” she went on.
“No. I cannot be certain, but I am pretty sure.”
“Perhaps he looks like his father. Wait, I think I can find a picture
of him in the dark.”
“But I cannot see it in the dark.”
“By holding it close to the window you can get the ray from the lamp on
it There! here it is, I think.”
Mrs. Fox took the portrait to the front of the room, and parting the
curtains a little, held it for Sydney to look at.
“Yes, it is very like,” he said. “This picture must have been taken
when Mr. Darley was quite young.”
“He sat for it before he was married. But where is this boy?”
“Living at a little town out in New Jersey. He wants to find his
father.”
“How comes it he isn’t dead?” the old lady wanted to know.
Sydney told the story of Miles Harding as he had heard it from Rex.
“Do you know why he was compelled to give up the child?” he added.
“Poverty, I suppose. You know he was very sick once, and he lost
everything. That was what unsettled his reason. But to think he should
have given out that the child was dead!”
“Did you ever hear him speak of the Morriseys?”
“No, I never heard the name before. But I should like to see this boy.
Does he know that his father is living?”
“No, not yet; you see I did not hear of it until tonight. But I must
not stay longer. My brothers are waiting for me in the carriage. We
must arrange what we are going to do.”
“I don’t know what to say. The boy ought to have his rights. Can’t we
fix it all quietly some way? I don’t think you meant to do wrong.”
“Yes, I did. I did everything with my eyes open. I ought to suffer for
it. The only trouble is that those I love will suffer with me. But
don’t you think the restoration of fortune will bring back Mr. Darley’s
mind?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell about that. He is very queer.”
“Do you have a doctor for him?”
“Oh, no. I’d be afraid they’d want to take him away. I expect I’m
selfish about it. But bring the boy here. He is old enough. We can talk
it over with him, and maybe his father will recognize him.”
“I can come any time, then?” said Sydney.
“Yes, now I know who you are.”
“Good night, then. I shall see you soon again. I feel better than when
I came.”
Sydney rose and walked to the door without assistance. As soon as the
boys saw him they hurried out to help him into the carriage. Within
three minutes they were driving towards home and a church clock near by
chimed one—for half past twelve.
“Boys,” began Sydney, “I have something to tell you. I was not glad
before that I was not your own brother. I am glad of it now, because—I
am a criminal.”
There was a pause. No one spoke. There was no sound but the rattle of
the wheels. It was too dark to see the expression on the faces of the
twins. Rex was leaning partly forward, one hand gripping Roy’s knee. He
could think of nothing save the night Mr. Keeler had spent with them
and the horror they had had of him before they found out that it was
his brother whose picture was in that book.