A STORMY INTERVIEW
The consternation that Earle and the officers experienced when they
discovered that both Tom Drake and his accomplice had escaped, can be
better imagined than described. But there was no help for it; the former
had undoubtedly had burglars’ instruments in his possession, and while
Editha was being removed and attended to, had picked the lock upon the
door where he was confined, and then released his companion in mischief
and fled.
The news that Miss Dalton was at last found, with many of the
circumstances attending her discovery, spread like wild-fire, and soon
brought numerous friends and acquaintances to see and congratulate her
upon the happy event.
Mr. Felton was among the first, and the old gentleman appeared as
rejoiced to see her as if she had been his own child, and was
enthusiastic in his praises of her courage and bravery in refusing to
give up the precious document that could alone restore Earle his honor.
Mr. Dalton was immediately telegraphed to, and three days later he,
also, made his appearance in her room at the hotel.
She had improved very rapidly during those three days, and though she
was still exceedingly weak and nervous, starting at the lightest noise,
the wild light returning to her eyes, yet the color was beginning to
return to her cheeks and lips, the music to her voice, and the old look
of brightness to her face.
Mr. Dalton greeted Editha with some show of fondness, but he appeared
anything but pleased when he heard of Earle’s return, and that it was
through his instrumentality that she obtained her release, and almost
immediately his manner began to assume its former coolness toward her.
But Miss Dalton was not a daughter to be slighted by any means, when she
had such a snug fortune of her own; and it now began to be whispered
quite generally that Mr. Dalton had been exceedingly unfortunate in some
of his speculations, and that it was a very fine thing that he could
have her income to fall back upon during this rainy day.
While he was not exactly uncivil or aggressive in his treatment of
Earle, yet he testified his displeasure at his presence by sullen looks,
sarcasm and sneers, until Earle more than once lost patience, and would
have had it out with him had he not feared that any trouble would be
serious injury to Editha in her weak state.
But although he was very forbearing and always courteous, yet he never
seemed to gain any ground with his enemy, and at last resolved to bring
matters to a crisis.
He called upon Mr. Dalton one morning at his own room, and formally
proposed for Editha’s hand in marriage. Of course he had anticipated a
refusal, and of course he got it.
“I think, Mr. Dalton,” he said, not at all disconcerted, “that if you
will listen while I explain to you something of the change that has
occurred in my prospects during the last few months, you will not only
be willing to waive all your objections, but give us both your blessing,
instead of so curt a refusal.”
Mr. Dalton sneered visibly at this; indeed his face was gradually
acquiring a habitual sneer, as if things generally were disturbing his
tranquillity.
“Ahem! Mr. Wayne, permit me to say that no change, _of whatever nature_,
in your prospects would affect my decision. You cannot marry Miss
Dalton.”
“But, sir, remember that no stain rests upon my name now. I am free from
every taint.”
“Indeed! I am glad that _you_ are so happy as to think so,” he returned,
satirically.
Earle flushed, but, controlling his indignation, he returned:
“I not only think so, but all the world will be obliged to acknowledge
it very soon, as I have already taken measures to have John Loker’s
confession made public.”
“What the world may think does not concern me at all; you will please
consider my answer as final and unalterable;” and he waived his hand as
if to dismiss the subject entirely.
Again the hot blood rushed to Earle’s very forehead, and it was all he
could do not to let his temper fly.
“Will you please to give me some reason for what seems to me an
unreasonable refusal?” he asked, quietly; then, after an instant’s
thought, he added. “I have lately fallen heir to quite a handsome
property, and can place Miss Dalton in a position befitting her worth.”
“I regret, for your sake, that I am unable to confer the favor requested
upon one _so noble_ and heir to such _brilliant_ prospects; but even
were it possible, allow me to ask what _name_ you could bestow upon Miss
Dalton?” and the look accompanying this question was so cunning and full
of malice that for a moment Earle was startled.
“The woman I wed will never have cause to blush for the name she bears,
sir,” he replied, with an indignant flush, and wondering if it was
possible that Mr. Dalton could know aught concerning his previous
history.
“Ah, indeed!” was the sarcastic reply. “I trust—I hope truly that you
may find one _worthy to bear it_. Miss Dalton cannot. I decline that
honor for her.”
“Miss Dalton is of age, I believe, sir,” Earle said, very quietly, but
the words were rather ominous.
“Miss Dalton is about twenty-two, Mr.—ah—_Wayne_.”
Why was it, Earle wondered, that Mr. Dalton almost always addressed him
in this peculiar way now, with a pause, an interjection, and that
strange emphasis on his last name?
But he replied to his last remark with a dignity that became him well:
“Then, sir, we will leave the question for her to decide, and abide by
her verdict. I desired to render you all due courtesy, but, of course,
you are as well aware as I that my seeking your approval was a mere
matter of form. Good-morning, sir.”
“Good-morning,” Mr. Dalton returned, with a mocking bow, and saw him
depart with a sinister smile and an almost fiendish chuckle.
Earle immediately sought Editha, and communicated the result of the
interview to her.
“I shall not ask you to run away with me, my darling,” he said, with a
fond smile, “for I must marry my wife in an honorable way. Neither shall
I use any arguments to try to persuade you to defy your father and marry
me openly. I shall leave it entirely with you. It must be just as your
own heart dictates. Editha, you must decide this matter for yourself and
me.”
“Oh, Earle, it is hard,” she said; “my heart tells me that I belong to
you, while a feeling of pity and affection prompts me to consider, as
far as is right, the feelings and wishes of my father. I cannot
understand him; he is so changed since mamma and Uncle Richard died, I
sometimes fear that his mind is affected.”
Earle thought that his mind was affected decidedly, being possessed with
an evil spirit of some kind.
“An impassable barrier seems to have arisen between us,” Editha
continued, sadly; “and he has taken such an unaccountable dislike to you
that it seems very strange to me. Let me think it all over for one
night, Earle. Come to me to-morrow at this time and you shall have my
answer.”
Earle complied with her request and left her, feeling sad and depressed
himself.
He knew that he ought to return immediately to Wycliffe. He had been
gone a long time now, and was trespassing more than he liked upon Mr.
Tressalia’s good nature; but he did not feel as if he could even think
of such a thing as returning and leaving Editha behind.
The more he considered the matter the more inexplicable Mr. Dalton’s
fierce spite against him appeared. It seemed so almost childishly
unreasonable that he would not even listen while he told him of his
prospects. He seemed to talk as if he was aware of something very
shameful and degrading connected with him, and yet he could not
understand how Mr. Dalton, here in America, could possibly know aught of
his previous history, or the shadow of shame that had hung over his
early life.
Then, too, his declaring that “_no change of whatever nature_” in his
prospects could affect his answer seemed to imply some deep and bitter
personal hatred that, not being conscious of ever having done him an
injury, he could not fathom.
“It surely could not be,” he thought, “because Richard Forrester had so
kindly remembered him at the time of his death, and it was a petty
feeling of jealousy.”
He had not touched the money which Editha had so nobly insisted upon
investing for him. It still lay accumulating in the bank, and would
remain there until the end of time for any use that he would make of it.
And so, after perplexing his brain over the matter, only to become more
deeply puzzled, he resolved to let it drop, hoping that everything would
come out right in the end.
Notwithstanding Mr. Dalton’s sarcastic and almost insulting language and
manner to him, Earle did not cherish the least feeling of ill-will
toward him.
At the time a feeling of indignation and impatience at his injustice
would momentarily arouse his hot blood, but this soon passed, and he
sincerely pitied him for being the slave of such unholy passions as he
manifested.
The next morning, feeling very uneasy and apprehensive of he knew not
what, he called, as Editha had desired.
He could not shake off the feeling that he was about to meet some
dreadful impending fate; it seemed almost as if a voiceless, wordless
warning was impressing him, and he found himself involuntarily repeating
the words of one who said:
“Often do the spirits
Of great events stride on before the events,
And in to-day already walks to-morrow.”
He found Editha calm, but looking weary and very sad, as if the struggle
of deciding had been too much for her strength.
She came and went toward him, looking so pale that she seemed more like
some beautiful spirit about to fade from his sight than a woman whom he
longed to call “wife.”
“I have decided, Earle,” she said, the tears shining in her eyes as she
held out both hands to him in greeting.
He took them and drew her toward him, searching her fair face with his
anxious eyes.
“My darling!” he said, in low, intense pleading tones.
“I am going with _you_,” she whispered; and his arms instantly encircled
her, a low-spoken thanksgiving and blessing falling from his lips, the
burden rolling from his heart.
“Papa is already so estranged from me,” she continued, “that I know I
should be miserable to let you go back alone; you would be very unhappy
also.”
The closer clasp of the arms infolding her confirmed the truth of her
statements, and told her how very dear she was to him.
The golden head drooped and rested trustfully against his shoulder, and
she went on:
“Perhaps, when he sees how determined I am, he may relent and consent to
go with us. At all events, I feel that I have no right to ruin both our
lives, and yield to an unreasonable command of his.”
Before Earle could reply, Mr. Dalton himself entered the room.
“Ah! quite an affecting tableau,” he said, with a disagreeable sneer;
“it seems to be my privilege to—to have the benefit of these interesting
scenes.”
His eyes glittered with anger as they rested upon Earle, but he
continued, speaking to Editha:
“I must beg pardon for the intrusion; I merely came to say that I want
you to be ready to go to Newport next week.”
Editha flushed.
He had never spoken quite so peremptorily to her before; he had been
more willing to consult her convenience and pleasure, more especially
since he had in a measure been dependent upon her income to supply his
own wants.
She had seen, too, the look of malignant hatred which he had cast upon
Earle, and her spirit arose in rebellion against it.
She had quietly withdrawn from her lover’s embrace when the door opened,
but remained standing by his side.
“Papa, I—I am not going to Newport this summer,” she said, with outward
calmness; but Earle could almost feel her tremble, and his heart ached
for her, in prospect of the conflict which he knew must come.
“Not going to Newport!” Mr. Dalton said, with raised eyebrows and
well-feigned surprise. “Who ever heard of such a thing as our not going
to Newport during the summer? Of course you are going to Newport,
Editha; I could not think of leaving you at home alone, and—I should be
so exceedingly lonesome;” and he shot a cunning glance at the young
couple, that disagreeable sneer still upon his lips.
“Papa, I am really sorry if you will be lonely——” began Editha, a
tremble in her voice, when Earle quietly laid his hand upon hers and
stopped her.
“Mr. Dalton,” he said, in a cold, business-like tone, “we may as well
come to the point and have this matter settled once for all. Editha has
already decided to return with me to Europe as my wife.”
Instead of a blaze of anger, as he had expected, Mr. Dalton chuckled
audibly, and gleefully rubbed his hands together, as if this were really
a delightful piece of news to him.
But he took no more notice of Earle than if he had not been there.
Instead, he again addressed himself to Editha:
“My dear, did I understand that last statement of Mr.—ah—_Wayne’s_
correctly?”
“You did, papa,” she answered, but it was a great effort for her to
utter the three short words.
“You have decided to spend your future in Europe?”
“Yes, sir.”
She ventured to glance at him. She could understand neither his tone nor
his mood.
“You will leave your native land and go with a stranger to a foreign
country?”
“Earle is no stranger, papa,” she said, quickly; “we have known him for
years, and surely you ought to be willing to trust me with one so good
and true as he is.”
“So good and true!” he repeated, mockingly. “You are exceedingly fond of
Mr. Wayne?”
“Yes, sir, I _am_,” Editha now said, boldly, and turning her flashing
eyes full upon him.
Her indignation was rising—her patience giving out under his scathing
sarcasms.
“Mr. Wayne ought to be a happy man—he doubtless _is_ a happy man in
having so brave and fair a champion. It is so beautiful to witness such
entire trust and confidence—such fervent affection. My dear, you can go
to Europe with Mr. Wayne if you choose, I suppose, seeing that you have
attained your majority, as he has once hinted to me, but—_you cannot as
his wife_!”
The whole sentence was spoken with great apparent calmness and
deliberation, but his eyes glowed like a burning flame upon the lovers
standing so proudly side by side.
“If my majority gives me the right to choose upon one point, it does
upon the other also, I suppose,” she returned, coldly.
“Oh, no, my dear, you are entirely mistaken there,” returned Mr. Dalton,
with aggravating affability, and darting a fiery glance at Earle.
“Papa, I do not understand you in this mood at all,” Editha said, with
some hauteur; “but I will say, once for all, that I think you are
exceedingly unkind, as well as unreasonable. What possible objection can
you have to Earle in a moral point of view?”
A gleam of malicious amusement flashed over his face as he answered:
“You must excuse me, Editha, but—really—I should not presume to set
myself up as a judge upon Mr.—ah—_Wayne’s_ morals—nor indeed upon the
morals of any one.”
“Then I do not consider that you have any right, for a mere prejudice,
to ruin both his life and mine—our united happiness depends upon this
union; and, papa, I shall marry Mr. Wayne—if not _with_ your consent,
then without it,” she concluded, firmly.
“My dear, allow me to repeat, you _cannot_ marry Mr. Wayne.”
“And _I_ repeat that I _shall_ do so.”
Mr. Dalton chuckled again.
“Mr. _Wayne_ will, I suppose, be very _proud_ to bestow his _name_ upon
you,” he said, significantly.
“Allow me to ask what you mean to insinuate by that assertion?” Earle
here interposed, flushing deeply.
“Wayne is a name that one might well be proud of, if one had a _right_
to it,” he answered, maliciously.
“And you mean me to understand that you think I have no right to it?”
“I have my doubts upon the matter.”
“You think I am an impostor—that I have been seeking Miss Dalton’s
affections under false pretentions—under an assumed name?” Earle
demanded, with dignity.
“I _have_ had some such idea; yes,” Mr. Dalton answered, with a strange
smile.
“Mr. Dalton, _what_ do you mean? What do you really know about me?”
Mr. Dalton replied only by a low laugh, and Earle continued, with some
excitement:
“My name _is_ Earle Wayne—it is the name that my mother gave to me upon
my birth, and I will now say——”
“_Your mother!_” he interrupted, and a scornful, bitter laugh rang out,
making both his listeners shudder, it was so fiendishly unnatural.
“Papa, why do you talk like this? _Why_ are you so prejudiced against
Earle?” Editha burst forth, unable to bear any more.
“‘_Prejudice_’ is a _very mild term_, Editha,” he replied with
glittering eyes.
“What reason have you for hating him, then?” she cried, passionately.
“I have the very best reason in the world, according to my judgment, for
_hating not only him, but all that ever belonged to him_,” Mr. Dalton
answered, with deliberate emphasis.
“Sir,” exclaimed Earle, in startled surprise, “_what_ do you know about
me, or those belonging to me? and why do you still persist in saying
that Miss Dalton cannot be my wife, when she has distinctly stated that
she has decided the matter? What possible barrier can there be to our
union save the petty spite you so ignobly manifest toward me?”
Mr. Dalton laughed again at this—a low, mocking laugh—and rubbed his
hands in sardonic glee, while Earle regarded him in amazed perplexity,
and Editha wondered if her father was not losing his mind that he should
act thus.
“Does it surprise you, young man, that I appear to have some knowledge
of you? and shall I tell you, Editha Dalton, why you can _never_ become
his wife?” he asked, and Editha shivered and grew white at his ominous
words. “You know,” he continued, still addressing her, “that I never
tolerate or forgive opposition from any one—never forgive either a
fancied or a real wrong. Mine is a peculiar temperament, I know, yet I
am what I am, and those who foil or oppose me must take the
consequences. I have never _loved_ your devoted admirer, and since I
have discovered _his secret_——”
“Secret!” breathed both his listeners, in surprise.
“Yes, _secret_. Had you no secret when you came to Richard Forrester?”
demanded Mr. Dalton of Earle, and gnawing his lip savagely.
“Yes, I own that I had,” Earle answered, with a sigh; “but——”
“But a smooth tongue and lying lips will gloss almost anything over,”
his enemy interrupted, sneeringly.
“Papa, you are fearfully unjust. Earle is the soul of truth,” Editha
cried, indignantly, adding: “What if he had a secret?—he had a right to
it, and no one should seek to pry into it. At any rate, I do not believe
it is anything that affected his honor or nobility.”
“Thank you, Editha,” Earle said, gracefully. “I _had_ a secret, but,
thank Heaven, it need be a secret no longer; and if you will both listen
calmly, I will explain its nature to you; I have only been waiting for a
favorable opportunity to do so.”
“You hear, Editha?—he has a secret, and such a secret! Shall I tell it?
I think I can do so much more effectively than he. He is a ——”
We will not write the horrible word that sent every bit of blood back
upon Editha’s heart and made Earle speechless from astonishment and
indignation.
It was uttered with a venomous hatred such as few are capable of either
feeling or showing; and then, without waiting to note the effect of his
words, he went on, in wild and excited tones:
“Now, my fair champion of high-toned morality, is not that a piece of
news to make your ears tingle? You have dared to oppose me time and
again,” he continued, with a scowl at her; “you have set aside my wishes
and authority to favor _him_, until I am determined that you shall
suffer for it; and your punishment, as well as his, will be no light
one. Now, what have you to say? Have I not advanced a good and
sufficient reason for your not marrying him, or shall I be obliged to
add another and stronger one?”
He glared upon the fair girl, his whole face working with the passion
that raged within him.
For a moment she could not speak.
She glanced from him to Earle, who stood very pale but calm, and with a
slight curl upon his handsome lips.
For an instant he had been tempted to cast the lie in the teeth of his
foe, then he decided to await Editha’s reply.
She had not been whiter on that night when he had found her in the power
of Tom Drake than she was at this moment, and a weary, hunted look shone
in her blue eyes.
“I do not believe it,” she said, drawing herself to her full height;
“but even if it were true, it is _not_ a sufficient reason, for the sin
and shame are not his—they belong to a previous generation.”
A wild, mocking laugh burst from Mr. Dalton’s lips at this.
“Such disinterested devotion it has never been my pleasure to witness
before,” he cried.
Earle’s deep-drawn sigh of gratitude and thankfulness at Editha’s reply
had not been lost upon him, and it had seemed to work him up to the
highest pitch of excitement.
“Mr. Dalton——” the young man began.
“_Hush!_ will you? I’ll attend to you when I get through with her,” he
said, with a gesture of authority; “this girl has got to learn that she
cannot defy _me_ with impunity. Now, miss, as I’ve driven that nail
home, hadn’t I better clinch it? Shall I tell you yet more to convince
you that you can never marry this nameless vagabond?” and he bent toward
her until his evil face almost touched hers.
She drew back from him with an involuntary expression of disgust.
Then she said, with a strangely sinking heart and shaking voice:
“If you have anything more to tell me, please tell it _quick_!”
“A ‘_good, and sufficient reason_’ I told you I had,” he returned, very
slowly and deliberately, and glancing from one to the other to mark the
effect of his words. “Yes, it is; and I think you will both be obliged
to acknowledge it when I tell you that _Earle Wayne_, as he calls
himself, IS MY OWN SON!”