VIRGIE RECEIVES A MYSTERIOUS PACKAGE.
Virgie, remembering her promise to Mr. Knight, to let him know if she
ever met her uncle in San Francisco again, determined to consult with
him regarding Mark Alexander’s intentions.
She knew that he would advise her rightly, and relieve her from all
anxiety in the matter. She feared that her uncle might be arrested and
tried for the crime that he had committed, in spite of the fact that he
was willing and eager to make full restitution, and he was far too ill a
man for any such excitement.
But she did not have to fear this long, for he was suddenly attacked
with very alarming symptoms and his physician told him plainly that he
would never leave his chamber again.
“It is far better so,” he said to Virgie, when he told her of the
verdict, “for nothing can occur now to cause you any annoyance. I shall
be glad to have ‘life’s fitful fever over,’ and can die content if you
will assure me that you forgive me for all the unhappiness I have caused
you.”
“Yes, I do, Uncle Mark,” she answered.
And she was sincere. She could freely forgive him for all _she_ had
suffered through his wrong-doing, but she could not quite forgive him
for the shame and sorrow her father had endured on his account.
To be sure the truth would all come out now, restitution would be made,
and the world would know that Mark Alexander alone had been guilty of
the crime imputed to his brother as well; but her father was not there
to experience the benefit of tardy justice, and, though grateful, she
was only partially content.
She sent for Mr. Knight and confided the whole matter to him. He told
her to leave it all with him, and he would see that full justice was
done.
After a conference with the invalid a lawyer was sent for, a full
confession of the crime was written out and signed in the presence of
the required number of witnesses, after which he made his will, making
Mr. Knight his executor, and bequeathing all that was necessary of his
fortune to liquidate his indebtedness to the bank he had wronged, the
remainder to go to his niece, Virginia Alexander, and her heirs forever.
After this important business was finished, the lawyer and witnesses
gone, Mr. Alexander requested Virgie to bring him a package of papers
she would find in the lower part of his trunk.
She complied, and then he asked her if she would assist him in looking
them over, as he wished to destroy those that were of no value and leave
some directions regarding the others.
There were a great many of them, and they were of various descriptions,
therefore their examination required some time. But at last everything
seemed to be arranged satisfactorily—all but one sealed package, which
the invalid had laid aside from all the others.
This he now took up, remarking, as he viewed it thoughtfully:
“There is quite a romantic history connected with this, and it came into
my hands in a remarkable way. I am going to tell you the story, and then
give the package to you to keep for the owner, if you should ever be
fortunate enough to find her.”
“Ah! It is something that some one has lost?” Virgie remarked, looking
interested.
“Yes. I stopped in London for a few days on my way home from the East.
But on the last day of my stay I gave up my room at the hotel several
hours before I left, and went into the gentlemen’s reception-room to
read my paper. I was far from well, and the noise and smoke there
annoyed me exceedingly, so I stole into a small parlor devoted to
ladies’ use, and seating myself behind some draperies in a bay-window,
gave myself up to the enjoyment of solitude and the news of the day. I
must, however, have soon fallen asleep, for I was not conscious that any
one had entered the room until I heard the voices of two ladies almost
beside me. How long they had been there I do not know, and my first
impulse was to make my presence known and then leave the room. But this
seemed an awkward thing to do, particularly as they might have been
talking some time before I awoke, and they might consider me very
ill-bred for having remained a listener to what had already been said.
Then, I thought, I was an utter stranger to them; I was about leaving
for another country, and whatever the nature of their conversation, it
could make no difference to either them or me, if I did overhear it. It
proved to be very harmless, however, until just as they were about to
separate, one lady remarked to the other:
“‘By the way, as we are going to the Continent for a while, I want to
ask you to take charge of a package for me. It would be valuable to no
one excepting myself, and yet if it should chance to fall into other
hands during my absence, it might occasion me a great deal of trouble. I
know it will be safe with you, and if anything should happen to me while
I am away, I want you to burn it.’
“‘Very well, I will do as you wish,’ returned her companion, as she
appeared to receive something that the other handed to her.
“They conversed a few moments longer, and then arose and left the room.
I judged that they had met there at the request of the lady who was
going abroad, simply to take leave of each other, and I thought no more
of the affair until I took my seat in the evening train for Edinburgh,
whence I was to go to Glasgow to await the sailing of a steamer for
home. A lady entered just after I was seated, and while giving some
directions to the porter who brought in her luggage, her voice struck me
as familiar. Still I could not place her—indeed I was very sure I had
never seen her before, and being exceedingly wary I settled myself in a
corner and was soon fast asleep. When I awoke it was very dark outside,
though the coach lamps burned dimly above me, and I found myself alone
in the compartment; my companion, whoever she might have been, had left
the train.
“Judging from the cramped condition I was in, I must have slept a long
time and very soundly. I arose to stretch myself and change my position,
when my foot struck some object on the floor. I stooped and picked up
the package. Taking it nearer to the light I found that its seal was
stamped simply with a coat of arms, while there was written on the back
of the wrapper, ‘To be destroyed, unopened, in the event of my death.’
“Instantly it flashed upon me that the lady of the familiar voice, who
had been my companion, was one of the women who had been in the ladies’
parlor at the hotel that afternoon, and that this was the very package
intrusted to her care by her friend. Of course I would not presume to
open the package to ascertain to whom it belonged, and I had not the
faintest idea what to do with it, for no names had been called during
that interview to enlighten me as to the identity of the ladies.
“When the train stopped again I asked the guard at what station my
companion had left. He did not know; he said the guards had been changed
at Sheffield, and the lady must have got out before that, as I was alone
in the compartment when he came on. I was both puzzled and annoyed. I
did not like to intrust the package to any one connected with the train,
for I judged from what the lady had said that it contained something of
great importance—at least to her. I did not doubt that inquiries would
be made for it, for doubtless the woman who had lost it would be in
great anxiety about it. My time was not valuable, and I began to be
considerably interested in my discovery, so I resolved to return to
London, and wait to see if any inquiries were made regarding the lost
package. Accordingly I took the next train back, and the following
morning, I myself inserted a notice in some of the papers, describing
what I had found and stating where it could be obtained. I remained in
the city a fortnight, but no one ever came to claim the package, and
though I closely examined the newspapers, no inquiry for it ever
appeared. I felt that I had done my whole duty in the matter, so I again
started for home, bringing my mysterious possession with me.
“It is just as I found it. I confess I have often felt a curiosity
regarding its contents, but I have respected the owner’s evident desire
that it should remain a sealed matter to every one save herself. I am
going to give it to you now, Virgie. Of course, I know it is very
doubtful whether you will ever meet the owner, but I do not like to
destroy it, fearing there may be something of importance contained in
it. Here it is, just as I found it, and if you should ever happen to
hear any one mention having lost a sealed package on the Edinburgh
train, this may prove to be the one. It can easily be identified by the
crest upon the seal.”
Virgie took the mysterious thing and examined it with some curiosity.
It was of an oblong shape, nicely wrapped in thick white paper, sealed
with red wax, upon which had been stamped a coat of arms.
“What a queer looking device,” Virgie said. “A shield bearing a cross
that is doubled crossed.”
“Yet, it is what is called a patriarchal cross. I was curious about the
crest, so I studied up a little on the subject of heraldry; and the
motto is certainly an excellent one, ‘_Droit et Loyal_,’ meaning
‘Upright and Loyal,’” returned the sick man, with a sigh, as if the
words were a stab at him.
Virgie turned the package over, and found written there, in an evidently
disguised hand, the sentence, “To be destroyed unopened in the event of
my death.”
“I feel almost as if I hold the fate of someone in my hands,” she said,
a slight shiver disturbing her.
She was not naturally superstitious, but she experienced a very
uncomfortable sensation in the possession of the mystic thing, and years
after the words that she had just uttered returned to her mind with
peculiar force; she did indeed hold the fate of a human being in her
hands.
“If you do not like to keep it, if the knowledge of its possession
becomes irksome or burdensome, then destroy it,” her uncle said, as he
noticed that she was strangely affected.
“I will keep it for the present,” she answered. “There is no
probability, however, that the owner and I will ever meet.”
“I do not know; stranger things than that have happened, our lives cross
those of others in a marvelous way sometimes,” returned Mr. Alexander,
dreamily. “I believe,” he added, arousing himself after a few moments,
“that some power stronger than myself has influenced me to preserve that
package, and to confide it now to you. I am impressed that it may even
prove useful to you. Let me advise you to take good care of it, Virgie,
keep it, say for twenty years, if you should live so long, and then, if
nothing has come of it, do what you like with it; by that time it is
doubtful if it could do the owner either harm or good.”
“Very well, I will do as you suggest, Uncle Mark,” Virgie answered, and
saying this, she arose and locked it in a small drawer in her
writing-desk.
Mark Alexander failed very rapidly after that. Disease and remorse had
done their work pretty effectually, and in less than three weeks from
that stormy evening when he had come to Virgie he was laid to his last,
long rest in Lone Mountain Cemetery.
After this Mr. Knight lost no time in carrying out the instructions he
had received, and instituted measures for making ample restitution for
the crime that had been committed nearly twelve years previous.
The bank from which Mark Alexander had stolen so largely had been nearly
ruined. All payments had been suspended for years, and the most
strenuous exertions were made to turn to the best advantage the
comparatively small assets left, and thus prevent a total loss to the
depositors and stockholders. It had been but a little while since it had
been able to resume business upon its former basis, and it will be
readily understood that the accession of nearly half a million
dollars—the sum returned to them by the former criminal—was most
joyfully received by the directors.
A statement of the fact was published, together with an announcement
that all depositors who had suffered from the defalcation would receive
remuneration for all loss and annoyance in the past.
Abbot Alexander, the former president, was exonerated from all blame.
Every taint, every doubt and suspicion were removed from his name, and
justice was at last rendered to an honest man. A glowing tribute was
paid to his nobility of character, to his rare talents as a business
man, and to the spirit of self-sacrifice he had manifested at the time
of the trouble, in giving up all his own wealth.
It was a day long to be remembered by Virgie, when all this was
proclaimed to the world. The papers were full of it, and seemed to vie
with each other in trying to atone for the wrong which Abbot Alexander
had so patiently suffered, which had broken the heart of his gentle wife
and driven his wife and his beautiful daughter into exile. It was tardy
justice, but it was ample and complete.
But little was said of Mark Alexander and his wonderful prosperity since
his defalcation, but that little, while it did not conceal or condone
the crime that he had committed, commended most highly that last act of
his life.
It was also hinted in these same papers, that the talented author of
“Gleanings from the Heights,” and several other charming productions of
the same character, was the daughter of the lamented bank president who
had been so cruelly maligned.
“Oh, if my father could have but known of this!” Virgie exclaimed, when
talking the matter over, afterward, with Mr. Knight.
“You may be very sure that he does know it,” he responded, gravely. “It
is to be regretted that he could not have known it before his death; it
would have helped to soothe his last days. But still, if anything can
add to his joy in another world, the fact that his name is to-day held
up as one of the most honored in San Francisco, must contribute to it,
as also must the knowledge that his daughter will henceforth be relieved
from all pecuniary care or anxiety. You are really quite a wealthy young
woman, my friend,” the publisher concluded, smiling.
“Am I?” Virgie questioned, absently.
She was thinking of those weary years among the mountains when, day
after day, her father came and went, to and from the mine, like a common
laborer, toiling persistently and patiently, so that she might have a
competence when he could care for her no longer. “And all for naught!”
she mused, with a bitter pang, “for had not that also fallen into the
hands of an adventurer?” It seemed to have been his fate to accumulate
for others to spend.
“How indifferent you are! Have you no curiosity about the matter?”
questioned Mr. Knight, archly.
“Yes, of course I have,” Virgie answered, rousing herself from her
reverie. “Is the amount that remains to me finally determined?”
“Yes; there will be about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars—not much
more than half what your father sacrificed for his brother, but
sufficient to make you quite independent.”
“So much!” exclaimed Virgie, in surprise.
“It is quite a snug little fortune, and I am glad for you. There will be
no longer any need for your working as you have done, and I am afraid I
must lose my matchless designer.”
“Indeed you will not,” Virgie cried eagerly; “that is, if you will allow
me to continue my work. I have become so accustomed to regular
employment—I love my work so well, that I shall be far happier to
continue it. I will not try to do quite so much,” she added,
thoughtfully, “now that there is no actual necessity for it; I will
perhaps give you one or two designs a year, but I could not think of
living an idle life.”
“I shall be only too glad to get anything from your pen,” Mr. Knight
returned. “But what do you think about removing to New York? I am
contemplating giving up my business here and establishing myself in New
York city. My partner, who, as you know, is a younger man than I, wants
to branch out a little more than I care to at my age, so I have sold out
to him. Still, I, too, am unwilling to be idle, so I think I will go
East and do a little quiet business on my own account.”
“It matters very little to me where I am located,” Virgie said, with a
sigh. It was a little hard, she thought, not to have any ties anywhere.
“I should like to travel a portion of every year, and I may as well make
my headquarters in New York as anywhere.”
And now it seemed as if a very peaceful, if not delightful future lay
before her; yet, aside from the many advantages which her newly acquired
wealth would enable her to give her child, its possession gave her but
very little pleasure.
She did not believe that life would ever hold any special enjoyment for
her again. Excepting her child, she had not a single object for which to
live, nothing to look forward to. She cared little for society, indeed
she shrank from meeting strangers; at least, those in her own position
in life, although she went much among the poor, and spent money freely
upon them.
When Mr. Knight went to New York she went also, making a quiet but
elegant home for herself not far from his residence, where he and his
sister kept bachelor’s and old maid’s hall, and there she lived her
uneventful life, with nothing save a season of travel now and then, to
vary its monotony.
Thus several years went by. She never heard one word either from or of
Heathdale; she knew not whether Sir William was living or dead,
prosperous or otherwise, though often her heart yearned for some tidings
of him.
One summer, when little Virgie was nine years of age, they went for a
week or two to Niagara Falls. Virgie had never visited the place, and
she promised herself a rare treat in studying nature there in all its
grandeur, and in making some sketches for the coming winter’s work.
She reached the village late in the day, and was driven directly to one
of the principal hotels, where she ordered a couple of rooms—for she had
a maid with her—and then stepped to the office to register.
After she had done so she carelessly glanced over some of the preceding
pages to see who were guests in the house.
At the top of one of the pages, and under the date of a week previous,
she saw three names that sent every drop of blood back upon her heart
and turned her giddy and faint.
“William Heath and wife. Master Willie Heath and maid,” she read, and
every letter seemed as if it had been branded in characters of fire upon
her brain.