“I SHALL KEEP MY PLEDGE”
Richard Forrester’s affairs were duly settled, and his property—an
exceedingly handsome property, too—passed into the hands of Editha
Dalton.
The young girl had grown wonderfully womanly and dignified during the
last two years.
She was not like the careless, sparkling, impulsive Editha who had so
dauntlessly stood up in the crowded court-room and defended the hero of
our story on that sad day when he received a felon’s doom.
She was more grave and self-contained, more thoughtful and dignified,
but not a whit less sweet and attractive.
If anything, the gentle gravity of the deep blue eyes, with their
steady, searching glance, possessed a greater charm than when they had
been so full of mirth and laughter; the calm, self-possessed manner was
more fascinating than the careless gayety of the light-hearted
school-girl.
She persisted—much to her father’s inward vexation and disgust, for he
had fondly hoped to have the handling of her money matters—in going over
all her uncle’s papers, and becoming thoroughly acquainted with all the
points of business pertaining to them.
He had said he felt sure she would make good use of the fortune which he
had left her, and she knew that, in order to do so, she must understand
in the beginning everything concerning it.
So she listened with the strictest attention while the prosy lawyer whom
Richard Forrester had appointed to settle his affairs explained, now and
then putting an intelligent question, which showed that her mind was
strong and clear to grasp every detail.
She would allow no one save herself to examine the private drawer of
Richard Forrester’s safe, although Mr. Dalton stood by chafing at her
obstinacy, and longing to see for himself what it contained.
She found, as she expected, the package belonging to Earle, of which her
uncle had spoken.
“What have you there, Editha?” her father asked, as, after examining its
address and seal, she was about to return it to the drawer.
“It is something—some papers, I think, that belonged to Earle,” Editha
answered, and he noticed the flush that sprang to her cheek as she
pronounced his name.
“Let me see it,” he said, holding out his hand for it.
“You can examine the outside, papa, if you like; but the package is not
to be opened,” she said, as she reluctantly handed it to him.
“Indeed! and by whose authority do you speak so emphatically?” Mr.
Dalton demanded, with a sneer, as he curiously examined the bold, clear
writing upon the wrapper, and wondered what secrets it contained.
“By Uncle Richard’s, papa,” Editha replied, firmly, the flush growing
deeper on her cheek at his sneer.
He spoke oftener now to her in that way than he had ever done before,
and not a day passed that he did not wound her deeply, and make her feel
as if her only remaining friend was becoming alienated from her.
Mr. Dalton, on his part, was very much chagrined that she should presume
to act so independently.
It was a great disappointment to him that he could not control her large
income, which he had intended should contribute as much to his own
enjoyment as to hers.
Money was his god; not to hoard and keep, but for the pleasure he could
get from it; and _he_ knew how to live for _that_ end as well as any one
in the world.
But Editha, after acquainting herself thoroughly with the details of her
position as her uncle’s heiress, had again committed everything into the
hands of Mr. Forrester’s lawyer, Mr. Felton saying he was to manage for
her just as he had done for him, and it was better he should do so,
since he understood everything, than to make any change.
“By your Uncle Richard’s, eh?” repeated Mr. Dalton, as he still regarded
the package belonging to Earle Wayne.
“Yes, sir; the last day of his life he gave me some directions, and
among other things committed these papers to my keeping until Earle’s
time should expire, and charged me _under no circumstances to allow the
seal to be broken_.”
“Pshaw! what a fuss over a little mess of papers; and what can it matter
to any one if we look inside? It is sealed with a regular seal, too. I
have considerable curiosity to know what silly secret the young convict
regards so sacredly.”
“I do not think it is very kind, sir, to speak of Earle in that way;
and, whether it is silly or not, it _is_ his secret, and no one has any
right to it but himself,” Editha answered with dignity and some show of
spirit.
“It seems to me you are unaccountably interested, and very valiant in
your defense of a convicted criminal,” retorted Mr. Dalton, considerably
irritated by his daughter’s independence.
“I am deeply interested in Earle Wayne, papa; he was my friend before he
was so unfortunate; he is my friend still,” she bravely returned.
“I suppose you even intend to take him under the shadow of your
sheltering wing when he comes out of prison?” he sneered.
“I shall certainly not withhold my friendship from him while he is in
every way worthy to retain it; and besides——”
“Besides what?” Sumner Dalton asked, with blazing eyes, as she
hesitated.
He had no idea that there was so much fire and spirit bottled up in the
little lady, who until quite recently had appeared to him only a
light-hearted, sweet-tempered child.
True, she had been willful at times, but he had not minded it when it
was confined to the little things of childhood, and never having had any
other children, it had been a pleasure to pet her and indulge her in
everything.
He had hitherto always laughed when she opposed him, and often teased
her for the sake of arousing her antagonism, which made her appear so
pretty and brilliant.
Now, however, it was another matter.
She was setting up her will in stubborn opposition to his, and upon
matters of vital importance to him, too.
He had no notion of allowing her to compromise herself by befriending a
miserable criminal, and he was bound to put a stop to it in some way.
“Besides what?” he repeated, as she did not immediately reply.
She looked at him askance, as if she was somewhat doubtful of the
propriety of telling him anything more.
But at length she said:
“You know that Uncle Richard was also deeply interested in, and
entertained a high regard for Earle——”
“Please adopt a different way of speaking of him; I do not like you to
use his name so familiarly,” interrupted Mr. Dalton, with an angry tap
of his foot.
“Very well; for Mr. Wayne, then,” she said, flushing; “and, during my
last interview with him, he said he regarded him as a young man of great
ability and promise, and that he had intended, as soon as he was fitted
for the bar, to make him a partner in his business. All this he was
going to do for one whom _you_ appear to hold in such contempt, and as
soon as his time should expire, if he would accept it.”
“I do believe that Richard Forrester was born with a soft spot
somewhere, after all,” began her father, impatiently.
“Yes, sir, and it was _in his heart_,” Edith interrupted, quietly, but
with an ominous sparkle in her blue eyes.
She could not tamely listen even to her father if anything disparaging
was said of her beloved Uncle Richard.
Mr. Dalton glanced at her as if resenting the interruption, and then
continued:
“He was keen enough in business and in making money, but he has shown
himself almost an imbecile about some other things during the forty
years that he had lived.”
“Papa, do you forget that you are speaking of the dead?” Editha asked,
in a low, constrained tone.
“No; but I have no patience with such foolishness as he has more than
once been guilty of,” was the impatient reply.
“What has Uncle Richard done that is so very foolish? He told me on that
last day that his life had not been all smooth. What has he done?”
Editha asked, with evident anxiety.
“No matter—no matter,” Mr. Dalton said, hastily; then, as if anxious to
change the subject, asked: “Is that all you were going to tell me?”
“No; but I’m afraid you will be even more displeased with the rest of it
than with what I have already told you,” the young girl said,
doubtfully.
“At all events, let me hear it.”
“He said if he had not been so helpless he would have added a codicil to
his will, and given Ear—Mr. Wayne something handsome to start in life
with, when his three years should expire——”
“Aha!”
“And he made me promise that I would settle ten thousand dollars upon
him just as soon as he should be free, and at the same time return his
package to him.”
“Ten thousand dollars!” exclaimed Sumner Dalton aghast.
“Yes, sir.”
“I don’t believe it, Editha Dalton. It is more like a sickly,
sentimental fancy of your own,” was the excited retort. Mr. Dalton was
furious at the thought. Ten thousand dollars of Editha’s fortune to be
given away to a beggar and a criminal!
“Papa!”
“I do not believe it, I say! Such a monstrous proceeding could never
have originated in the brain of a sane man.”
“Papa, was I ever guilty of telling you a falsehood?” the young girl
demanded, turning upon him, all the pride of her nature aroused by his
words.
“Not that I know of; but——”
“Then do not dare to accuse me of it now. I am telling you only truth,
and the wishes of a dying man. Uncle Richard’s wishes in this respect
are sacred to me, even if my own heart and my friendship for Mr. Wayne
did not prompt me to do him this little kindness out of my abundance.”
“Little kindness! It would not take very many such _little kindnesses_
to make a beggar of yourself,” sneered Mr. Dalton, wrathfully.
“I pledged myself to execute this wish just as soon as Earle’s time
expires, and I shall fulfill my pledge to the letter,” Editha returned,
somewhat proudly.
“Not if I know it, Miss Dalton. Such folly—such rashness, I could never
allow you to be guilty of.”
“Papa,” she began, pleadingly, her face full of pain, her eyes full of
tears, “why are you so changed toward me lately? You and I are all that
are left of our family. We have no near relatives; we are almost alone
in the world. Do not, _please_ do not, let there be any estrangement,
any disagreement between us.”
Mr. Dalton’s face softened for the moment.
“Certainly not, my dear,” he replied, adopting his usual fond tone and
manner, “there need be no estrangement, no disagreement, if you will be
reasonable; but, of course, I cannot allow you to squander your money in
the way you propose doing.”
“My money! How came it mine? Whose was it before it became mine?”
“Richard Forrester’s, of course,” he said, with some uneasiness.
“Yes; and before it became mine he reserved this ten thousand to be
given to Earle. Surely he had a right to do with his own as he would.”
“Very true; but you forget—his will was made years ago, giving you
_everything_.”
“He did not know Earle then; but he _said_ if he could only have the use
of his hands, he would have added a codicil to his will in his favor.”
“But he did _not_ do it. The will stands just as it always has, and he
can claim nothing. No part of your fortune is _legally_ his.”
“He told me it was his _wish_, and I shall give Earle the money,” Editha
answered, firmly.
“You will _not_,” asserted Mr. Dalton, positively.
“Papa, do you know how much I am worth in all?”
“A hundred and seventy-five thousand strong—a handsome fortune, a _very_
handsome fortune for a young girl like you to possess,” he said, rubbing
his hands together with an air of satisfaction, as if he expected to
reap no little benefit from the said fortune himself.
“That is more than Uncle Richard thought, owing, no doubt, to the
successful sale of that block I did not wish to keep and Mr. Felton
advised me to sell. Uncle Richard told me there would be more than a
hundred and fifty thousand; but you see I have nearly twenty-five
thousand more than he expected; and, even after giving Earle what he
wished, I shall have more than he thought.”
“What nonsense, child!”
“It is not nonsense. The money was set apart for him, and I should be a
thief and a robber not to do with it as I was bidden. I have promised,
and I shall fulfill,” Editha returned, steadfastly.
“Not with _my_ consent, miss,” Mr. Dalton cried, hotly.
“Then it will have to be done without it,” she answered, sadly.
“That cannot be; you are under age; you are only nineteen, and it will
be more than a year before you are free to act upon your own authority.
Meantime, I am your legal guardian, and you can transfer no property
without my consent,” her father replied, triumphantly.
“Is that so?” Editha asked, with a startled look.
“That is so, according to the law of this State.”
“Papa, you cannot mean what you say. You _must_ allow me to do this
thing; you would not be so dishonorable as to withhold this money from
Earle when it is really his. He has only about nine months longer to
stay——”
“A year, you mean,” Mr. Dalton interrupted.
“No; his ‘days of grace’ amount to three months, and so he will be free
in about nine; and he will be absolutely penniless—he will have nothing
upon which to begin life. It would be cruel to keep this money from him
when it is rightfully his, and he will need it so much. Pray, papa, be
kind and reasonable, and let me do as Uncle Richard wished,” pleaded the
fair girl, earnestly.
“Richard Forrester didn’t know what he wished himself, or he would never
have been guilty of such folly.”
“Papa, you _know_ that his mind was as clear as either yours or mine is
at this moment,” Editha exclaimed, nearly ready to weep at this cruel
opposition.
“It does not matter; I shall never consent to your fooling away ten
thousand dollars in any such manner; so let this end the controversy at
once,” he returned, doggedly.
“Poor Earle!” sighed Editha, regretfully; “then he’ll have to wait a
whole year for it. It is too bad.”
“Wait a _year_ for it—what do you mean?” demanded Mr. Dalton sharply.
“I mean, papa, that if I cannot give it to him without your consent,
that he will have to wait for it until I am twenty-one. But the very day
that I attain my majority I shall go to Mr. Felton and have him make
over ten thousand dollars to Earle Wayne,” and the gentle blue eyes met
his with a look that told him she would do just as she had said.
“Do you defy me, then? You will not dare!” he cried, actually quivering
with anger at her words.
“I have promised, and—I _shall keep my pledge_.”
Editha had grown very pale, but she spoke very firmly and steadily.
Sumner Dalton shot a dark look at the defiant little figure standing so
quietly opposite him, and muttered an oath under his breath.
Then, apparently thinking it unwise to say more upon the subject just
then, he turned his attention again to the package which he still held
in his hands.
Editha’s eyes followed his, and she held out her hand, saying:
“I will replace that in the safe now, if you please.”
“I wonder what there is in it?” he said, curiously.
Her lip curled a little, but she made no reply, still standing with
outstretched hand, waiting for him to give it to her.
“I’ve half a mind to open it,” he muttered.
“_No, indeed!_” she cried, in alarm, and taking a step forward.
“Pshaw! it can do no harm—it cannot contain anything so _very_
remarkable.”
“Sir, pray do not allow me to lose _all_ the respect I have for my own
father,” Editha cried, sternly, her eyes ablaze, her face flushing a
painful crimson, her form dilating with surprise, indignation, and
grief.
A peculiar, mocking laugh was all the reply he made to this, but he
handed back the package; not, however, without inwardly resolving to
ascertain, before very long, what it contained.
Editha hastily returned it to the private drawer, locked it and the safe
securely, and then, without a word, left the room.