Matt took the lower road that wound away from Wade's church toward the
Northwick place; but as he went, he kept thinking that he must not
really try to see Suzette. It would be monstrous, at such a time; out of
all propriety, of all decency; it would be taking advantage of her
helplessness to intrude upon her the offer of help and of kindness which
every instinct of her nature must revolt from. There was only one thing
that could justify his coming, and that was impossible. Unless he came
to tell her that he loved her, and to ask her to let him take her burden
upon him, to share her shame and her sorrow for his love's sake, he had
no right to see her. At moments it seemed as if that were right and he
could do it, no matter how impossible, and then he almost ran forward;
but only to check himself, to stop short, and doubt whether not to turn
back altogether. By such faltering progresses, he found himself in the
Northwick avenue at last, and keeping doggedly on from the mansion,
which the farm road had brought him to, until he reached the cottage at
the avenue gate. On the threshold drooped a figure that the sight of set
his heart beating with a stifling pulse in his throat, and he floundered
on till he made out that this languid figure was Adeline. He could have
laughed at the irony, the mockery of the anti-climax, if it had not been
for the face that the old maid turned upon him at the approach of his
footfalls, and the pleasure that lighted up its pathos when she
recognized him.
"_Oh_, Mr. Hilary!" she said; and then she could not speak, for the
twitching of her lips and the trembling of her chin.
He took her hand in silence, and it seemed natural for him to do that
reverent and tender thing which is no longer a part of our custom; he
bent over it and kissed the chill, bony knuckles.
She drew her hand away to find her handkerchief and wipe her tears. "I
suppose you've come to see Suzette; but she's gone up to the village to
talk with Mr. Putney; he's our lawyer."
"Yes," said Matt.
"I presume I don't need to talk to you about that--letter. I think,--and
I believe Suzette will think so too in the end,--that his mind is
affected, and he just accuses himself of all these things because
they've been burnt into it so. How are your father and mother? And your
sister?"
She broke off with these questions, he could see, to stay herself in
what she wished to say. "They are all well. Father is still in Boston;
but mother and Louise are at the farm with me. They sent their love, and
they are anxious to know if there is anything--"
"Thank you. Will you sit down here? It's so close indoors." She made
room for him on the threshold, but he took the step below.
"I hope Miss Suzette is well?"
"Why, thank you, not very well. There isn't anything really the matter;
but we didn't either of us sleep very well last night; we were excited.
I don't know as I ought to tell you," she began. "I don't suppose it's a
thing you would know about, any way; but I've got to talk to somebody--"
"Miss Northwick," said Matt, "if there is anything in the world that I
can do for you, or that you even hope I can do, I _beg_ you to let me
hear it. I should be glad beyond all words to help you."
"Oh, I don't know as anything can be done," she began, after the fresh
gush of tears which were her thanks, "but Suzette and I have been
talking it over a good deal, and we thought we would like to see your
father about it. You see, Suzette can't feel right about our keeping the
place here, if father's really done what he says he's done. We don't
believe he has; but if he has, he has got to be found somewhere, and
made to give up the money he says he has got. Suzette thinks we ought to
give up the money we have got in the bank--fifteen hundred or two
thousand dollars--and she wanted I should let her give up her half of
the place, here; and at first I _did_ say she might. But come to find
out from Mr. Putney, the whole place would have to be sold before it
could be divided, and I couldn't seem to let it. That was what
we--disputed about. Yes! We had a dispute; but it's all right now, or it
will be, when we get the company to say they will stop the lawsuit
against father, if he will give up the money he's got, and we will give
up the place. Mr. Putney seemed to think the company couldn't stop it;
but I don't see why a rich corporation like that couldn't do almost
anything it wanted to with its money."
Her innocent corruption did not shock Matt, nor her scheme for defeating
justice; but he smiled forlornly at the hopelessness of it. "I'm afraid
Mr. Putney is right." He was silent, and then at the despair that came
into her face, he hurried on to say, "but I will see my father, Miss
Northwick; I will go down to see him at once; and if anything can be
honorably and fairly done to save your father, I am sure he will try to
do it for your sake. But don't expect anything," he said, getting to his
feet and putting out his hand to her.
"No, no; I won't," she said, with gratitude that wrung his heart.
"And--won't you wait and see Suzette?"
Matt reddened. "No; I think not now. But, perhaps, I will come back;
and--and--I will come soon again. Good-by!"
"Mr. Hilary!" she called after him. He ran back to her. "If--if your
father don't think anything can be done, I don't want he should say
anything about it."
"Oh, no; certainly not."
"And, Mr. Hilary! Don't _you_ let Suzette know I spoke to you. _I'll_
tell her."
"Why, of course."
On his way to Boston the affair seemed to grow less and less impossible
to Matt; but he really knew nothing of the legal complications; and when
he proposed it to his father, old Hilary shook his head. "I don't
believe it could be done. The man's regularly indicted, and he's in
contempt of court as long as he doesn't present himself for trial.
That's the way I understand it. But I'll see our counsel. Whose scheme
is this?"
"I don't know. Miss Northwick told me of it; but I fancied Miss
Suzette--"
"Yes," said Hilary. "It must have cost her almost her life to give up
her faith in that pitiful rascal."
"But after she had done that, it would cost her nothing to give up the
property, and as I understood Miss Northwick, that was her sister's
first impulse. She wished to give up her half of the estate
unconditionally; but Miss Northwick wouldn't consent, and they
compromised on the conditions she told me of."
"Well," said Hilary, "I think Miss Northwick showed the most sense. But
of course, Sue's a noble girl. She almost transfigures that old
scoundrel of a father of hers. That fellow--Jack Wilmington--ought to
come forward now and show himself a man, if he _is_ one. _Any_ man might
be proud of such a girl's love--and they say she was in love with him.
But he seems to have preferred to dangle after his uncle's wife. He
isn't good enough for her, and probably he always knew it."
Matt profited by the musing fit that came upon his father, to go and
look at the picture over the mantel. It was not a new picture; but he
did not feel that he was using his father quite frankly; and he kept
looking at it for that reason.
"If those poor creatures gave up their property, what would they do?
They've absolutely nothing else in the world!"
"I fancy," said Matt, "that isn't a consideration that would weigh with
Suzette Northwick."
"No. If there's anything in heredity, the father of such a girl must
have some good in him. Of course, they wouldn't be allowed to suffer."
"Do you mean that the company would regard the fact that it had no legal
claim on the property, and would recognize it in their behalf?"
"The company!" Hilary roared. "The company has _no_ right to that
property, moral _or_ legal. But we should act as if we had. If it were
unconditionally offered to us, we ought to acknowledge it as an act of
charity to us, and not of restitution. But every man Jack of us would
hold out for a right to it that didn't exist, and we should take it as
part of our due; and I should be such a coward that I couldn't tell the
Board what I thought of our pusillanimity."
"It seems rather hard for men to act magnanimously in a corporate
capacity, or even humanely," said Matt. "But I don't know but there
would be an obscure and negative justice in such action. It would be
right for the company to accept the property, if it was right for
Northwick's daughter to offer it, and I think it is most unquestionably
right for her to do that."
"Do you, Matt? Well, well," said Hilary, willing to be comforted,
"perhaps you're right. You must send Louise and your mother over to see
her."
"Well, perhaps not just now. She's proud and sensitive, and perhaps it
might seem intrusive, at this juncture?"
"Intrusive? Nonsense! She'll be glad to see them. Send them right over!"
Matt knew this was his father's way of yielding the point, and he went
away with his promise to say nothing of the matter they had talked of
till he heard from Putney. After that would be time enough to ascertain
the whereabouts of Northwick, which no one knew yet, not even his own
children.
What his father had said in praise of Suzette gave his love for her
unconscious approval; but at the same time it created a sort of comedy
situation, and Matt was as far from the comic as he hoped he was from
the romantic, in his mood. When he thought of going direct to her, he
hated to be going, like the hero of a novel, to offer himself to the
heroine at the moment her fortunes were darkest; but he knew that he was
only like that outwardly, and inwardly was simply and humbly her lover,
who wished in any way or any measure he might, to be her friend and
helper. He thought he might put his offer in some such form as would
leave her free to avail herself a little if not much of his longing to
comfort and support her in her trial. But at last he saw that he could
do nothing for the present, and that it would be cruel and useless to
give her more than the tried help of a faithful friend. He did not go
back to Hatboro', as he longed to do. He went back to his farm, and
possessed his soul in such patience as he could.