MR. BREWSTER’S WILL.
After Gerald left Mr. Brewster, on Saturday afternoon, the
banker--Allison also having retired--sat for a long time in deep
thought, an anxious look on his thin face, a stern expression in
his shrewd, gray eyes.
“It certainly looks bad,” he muttered; “somebody has evidently been
meddling with my private accounts; but Gerald is not the rogue--he
is true to the core. I never knew any one possessing a finer sense
of honor. If I thought that Hubbard was up to any rascality--and I
am sometimes inclined to think he is too sharp--I’d cut him loose
without ceremony; and yet”--with a scowl of annoyance--“that might
not be so easily done, for some of our transactions have become
strangely mixed. Somehow, I have never had quite so much confidence
in him since that day when he proposed for Allison. I--I really
would like to break away from him before she gets through school
next summer, for, of course, she will never want to marry him, and
I am very sure I do not want him for a son-in-law.”
Again he dropped into profound thought, which was finally
interrupted by the entrance of his attendant, with the light repast
which constituted his supper.
A little later, Allison came again, to read the evening paper to
him, after which they chatted socially for a while, when the
banker said he felt weary, and would retire.
His attendant was assisting him to prepare for bed when he suddenly
put his hand to his head and made an exclamation as if he were in
pain.
“It is nothing,” he said, as the nurse glanced at him in surprise,
“merely a neuralgic twinge in my head; but--what is this?” he added
thickly, and beginning to rub his face, which was twitching and had
a strangely drawn look.
The next moment he fell forward upon the bed, unconscious.
A physician was summoned, and everything done that medical skill
could suggest; but the man never rallied; he remained in a stupor
throughout the night, until an early hour of the morning, when he
sank away like the sudden going out of a candle.
Knowing that John Hubbard was her father’s attorney, and otherwise
connected with him in business, and having no relatives upon whom
to call in this emergency, Allison had sent for the lawyer, when it
was found that the banker could not live, and he had remained at
the house until the end.
He assumed the care of everything, made all arrangements for the
burial, subject, of course, to Allison’s wishes and preferences,
and when these duties were over, he repaired immediately to the
bank, as there were certain papers which he wished to secure, and
certain accounts to be balanced, before Mr. Brewster’s death should
become known to the employees of the institution.
It required some time for Hubbard to pick the lock of the box, for
it was strangely constructed, and, not having been disturbed for
many years, the lock was considerably rusted.
But patience and perseverance at length accomplished his purpose,
when, throwing open the cover, an exclamation of disappointment and
disgust escaped him when he found within only a few neatly folded
articles of infant’s clothing.
Upon the garment uppermost there was a small pin, in the form of a
key, with a tiny diamond in the thumb-piece, which attracted his
interest for a moment.
“Pshaw!” the man impatiently ejaculated. “I might have saved my
time and trouble; this trumpery doesn’t amount to anything. The
things are doubtless some of Allison’s baby-clothes, which her
mother wished to preserve for her. Bah!”
He was upon the point of closing the box, when a second thought
prompted him to turn it upside down, whereupon, as the clothing
slipped out, two sealed envelopes rattled out upon the table.
“Aha! this begins to be more interesting!” exclaimed the man
eagerly, a curious look leaping into his shrewd eyes. He tore open
the envelopes, one of which contained quite a bulky enclosure; the
other but a single half-sheet of paper, with some careless writing
on one side.
This latter John Hubbard read first, and a look of astonishment
overspread his face while doing so.
“Well! well! here is romance worth reading!” he muttered, in a
wondering tone, as he dropped the paper and took up the closely
written sheets of the other missive and began to puruse them.
He seemed turned to stone as he read.
“My Dear Husband,” the communication began, “I have a confession
to make to you, and I am wondering if you will ever forgive
me when you learn the nature of it. I am dying, or I fear
that I should not have the courage to make it even now; but I
dare not go out of the world weighed down with this, the only
secret I have ever kept from you, and with a living lie upon my
conscience. It is an awful secret, Adam, and you will be shocked
to your soul when you read it. Allison is not our own child, my
husband; I do not even know whose child she is. There the truth
is out at last, and, oh! my dear, my dear, I am trying to imagine
how you will receive this dreadful revelation. Why did I deceive
you so? How does it happen that our darling is not our very own?
you will ask. Ah! it is a long, sad story, but you shall have
every detail, and then judge me as you will. You remember that
when you sailed for Europe, before our own little one came, I
went to F---- to remain with my sister Nannie. Adam, that little
one died at its birth; but no one knew it save Nannie, Sarah--her
servant--and I. I had no physician, for baby came unexpectedly
in the midst of a terrible tempest, and Nannie took care of me;
but, oh! I was heartbroken when my darling died, and I grieved so
knowing how terribly you also would be disappointed, my sister
feared that you would lose me also. And now I will tell you how
strangely Allison was sent to take the place of the child we
lost. How dreadful it seems that hearts who so yearn for these
darlings are ruthlessly deprived of them, while other children
are remorselessly deserted, and left to the doubtful charity of a
cold world.”
Then there followed a full account of the incidents which have
already been related in the prologue to our story, and which it
would be wearisome to the reader to have repeated here.
Nothing was withheld, neither was the deception defended; a
concise, simple statement of facts was made; but when the story was
all told the fond, yet timid, wife and mother poured out a wealth
of love for the child of her adoption, and pleaded with a pathetic
earnestness that would melt the coldest heart that her sin might
not be visited upon the innocent little daughter whom they both
so dearly loved, but that her husband, even though he had been
secretly wronged and deceived, would still continue to tenderly
cherish her and never allow her to know the story of her desertion,
or that she was not their own flesh and blood.
“Humph! My wealthy and aristocratic banker, you were smart in
certain directions, but you were inclined to neglect the burning of
your bridges behind you,” sneered Hubbard, as he finished reading.
“Doubtless that was what he meant to do, and that was why he sent
Winchester here to get the things to-day? Gad! but it is a queer
complication of circumstances--his dying so suddenly just at this
time, these papers falling into my hands, and the sweeping of that
young upstart from my path--that has conspired to throw the power
for which I have been scheming for so many years directly into my
hands in a way I least expected.”
He sat for a long time absorbed in thought, his sinister face
changing in expression with the working of his mind, and plainly
betraying that he was plotting some deep and villainous scheme.
“If she can be persuaded to marry me as soon as she finishes her
education everything can be quietly settled just to my liking; and
then, John Hubbard, you may play the high-toned gentleman to your
heart’s content for the remainder of your life. But if she should
be obstinate and refuse me----”
An ugly scowl contracted his brow as he abruptly paused at this
point, while his eyes fastened themselves with an ugly glitter
in their depths upon the box whose sacred secrets he had just
fathomed. Then once more he fell into a fit of musing, which lasted
a long while.
Finally he arose, and, making his way again to the vault--which he
reopened with Mr. Brewster’s key--he sought the banker’s private
drawer, removing it, and taking it, with its contents, back to the
office, when he reseated himself and began to examine the papers
within it.
He finally found what he was in search of--a legal document,
which he drew from its envelope, unfolded, and began to study
attentively. After he had read it through he went back to the
first page, which he deliberately detached from the others; then,
procuring another sheet of paper exactly like it, he proceeded to
copy it, with a fountain-pen, which he always carried with him in a
hand which showed that the entire document had been written by him,
but making certain changes in the phraseology to suit himself.
“There!” he observed, with an air of satisfaction as he finished
his work; “that will fix things just as I want them--for the
present.”
He then refolded the paper, inclosed it in a fresh envelope, sealed
it with red wax, and wrote across the top of it in a bold, clear
hand, “Last will and testament of Adam Brewster.”
This he replaced in the drawer, which he carried back to its place
in the vault; then, making everything secure inside the bank, he
left the building, taking with him the two boxes which he had
previously wrapped in strong brown paper.
Three days later all that was mortal of Adam Brewster was laid away
in the family vault in Greenwood Cemetery.
In the foremost carriage of the many which followed him to his last
resting-place sat Allison, the once petted and idolized daughter,
but now a lonely orphan, clad in deepest mourning, her fair face
pale and tear-stained from heart-breaking grief and much weeping.
The faithful housekeeper, Mrs. Polard, who had been in the family
for years, occupied the seat beside her, and John Hubbard the one
opposite. He seemed in deep thought, and he scarcely took his eyes
from the bereaved girl during the melancholy drive.
Immediately upon the return from this last tribute of respect to
the late banker a few persons gathered in the elegant library,
which would henceforth know his presence no more, to listen to the
reading of his last will and testament.
Mr. Hubbard broke the seals in the presence of the gentleman’s
pastor, two of the older officers of the bank, Allison and Mrs.
Pollard.
The document was rather brief, considering the magnitude of the
testator’s fortune, and to the point, and was dated some eight
years previous.
It bequeathed all that he might die possessed of to his only and
beloved child, Allison Porter Brewster, excepting certain bequests.
“And I hereby appoint John L. Hubbard, my trusted attorney, to be
her sole guardian--if he be living at the time of my demise--until
she shall attain her twenty-fifth year, when she shall come into
the unrestricted possession of her whole fortune,” read the will.
Allison listened attentively to the reading of the will, although
she had flushed hotly upon learning that she was to be under the
guardianship of John Hubbard during the next six or seven years.
She had never liked her father’s attorney, although he had always
treated her with the utmost kindness and respect. But she knew that
her father had long trusted him in business, and therefore, she
tried to think that he must have considered him the most competent
and trustworthy person to manage her property, or he would not have
given him so much power.
Still, she would have preferred almost any one else; she felt that
he might, at least, have consulted her, since she had grown old
enough to think for herself, and not condemned her to such a long
and wearisome bondage to one who was so uncongenial to her in every
way.
Of course, she did not once dream that her father’s will had been
tampered with since his death.
After the reading of the will, those who had been invited to be
present during that formality took their leave, and Allison found
herself alone with the man to whom, for the next six or seven
years, she was to look for the management of her affairs.
He now remained with her for a half-hour or more, consulting her
wishes with a gentle deference which disarmed her, and made her
feel that perhaps, after all, he might be a very agreeable sort of
person to have for a guardian.
He came again the next day and every day throughout the
week--always upon some business which he contrived to make so
interesting that Allison really began to look forward to his coming
and to greet him with a growing cordiality and frankness that
made the man’s heart burn with eager hope and the belief that he
was destined to win the great stakes which for years he had been
playing.
One morning, after an unusually entertaining call he arose to
leave, remarking, in a laughing way:
“Well, Allison, I begin to think you would make quite a business
woman with the right coaching; you have been quite an apt pupil
during the last few days.”
She glanced up at him with a smile, and then a sob burst
involuntarily from her.
The man started, and bent a tender look upon her.
“Dear child, what is it?” he questioned, earnestly.
“Oh, I am so alone!” she moaned, tears raining over her face.
“This great house seems so desolate, so empty! I feel as if I could
not live here another day,” she concluded, glancing around the
spacious, elegant room, and shivering nervously.
“I know you must be lonely, dear,” he said, trembling himself, as
he leaned eagerly toward her, “and it pains me deeply to see you so
sorrowful. I would that I might shield you from every pang, from
every ill in life. Allison, may I?”
His voice was husky from mingled emotion and tenderness; he was
very pale from the intensity of passion that throbbed in every
pulse of his being; and Allison, looking up at him with a sudden
shock, read in his burning eyes the story that he was yearning to
tell her.
A hot flush instantly suffused her own face; then she shrank from
him with a gesture of unmistakable repugnance.
But he had no intention of losing the vantage-ground that he had
gained, and, bending still nearer her, he captured one of her hands.
“I perceive that you have fathomed my secret, my darling,” he said,
in a tremulous tone. “Yes, I love you, sweet. I have loved you ever
since you were a little girl, and have lived for years with the one
hope in view of some day winning your love in return. Now let me
become your guardian in more senses than one, Allison. Become my
wife and give me the right to smooth every rough place in life for
you; let me shield you from every rude wind and storm----”
“Oh, don’t! don’t!” suddenly interposed the girl, and snatching her
hand from his grasp. “Oh, why do you say such things to me? You
have no right to take advantage of my sorrow and loneliness. I will
not listen to you!”
“Hush, my child!” said her companion gently, but growing very white
about the mouth. “My declaration may seem somewhat premature, but
I have waited many years for the time to come when I might tell
you that all the hopes of my life were centered in you. I can wait
still longer, Allison--I can even be as patient as Jacob of old if
you will give me a crumb of comfort--if you will tell me that I may
hope to win you at last----”
“No! no! I never could marry you,” Alison cried wildly, and with
such significant emphasis there was no mistaking her attitude
toward her would-be lover, and which stung him like a lash.