THE MISSING WATCH
Whether the general rule of implicit obedience to parental injunction
admitted of no exceptions, was a problem which Irene readily solved; and on
Saturday, as soon as her father and cousin had started to the plantation
(twenty-five miles distant), she put on her hat, and walked to town.
Wholly absorbed in philanthropic schemes, she hurried along the sidewalk,
ran up a flight of steps, and knocked at a door, on which was written in
large gilt letters "Dr. Arnold."
"Ah, Beauty! come in. Sit down, and tell me what brought you to town so
early."
He was probably a man of fifty; gruff in appearance, and unmistakably a
bachelor. His thick hair was grizzled, so was the heavy beard; and the
shaggy grey eyebrows slowly unbent, as he took his visitor's little hands
and looked kindly down into her grave face. From her infancy he had petted
and fondled her and she stood as little in awe of him as of Paragon.
"Doctor, are you busy this morning?"
"I am never too busy to attend to you, little one. What is it?"
"Of course you know that Mrs. Aubrey is almost blind."
"Of course I do, having been her physician."
"Those cataracts can be removed, however."
"Perhaps they can, and perhaps they can't."
"But the probabilities are that a good oculist can relieve her."
"I rather think so."
"Two hundred dollars would defray all the expenses of a trip to New Orleans
for this purpose, but she is too poor to afford it."
"Decidedly too poor."
His grey eyes twinkled promisingly, but he would not anticipate her.
"Dr. Arnold, don't you think you could spare that small sum without much
inconvenience?"
"Really! is that what you trudged into town for?"
"Yes. I have not the necessary amount at my disposal just now, and I came
to ask you to lend it to me."
"Do you want the money now?"
"Yes, if you please; but before you give it to me I ought to tell you that
I want the matter kept secret. No one is to know anything about it--not
even my father."
She looked so unembarrassed that for a moment he felt puzzled.
"I knew Mrs. Aubrey before her marriage." He bent forward to watch the
effect of his words, but if she really knew or suspected aught of the past
there was not the slightest intimation of it. Putting back her hair, she
looked up and answered--
"That should increase your willingness to aid her in her misfortunes."
"Hold out your hand; fifty, one hundred, a hundred and fifty, two hundred.
There, will that do?"
"Thank you! thank you. You will not need it soon, I hope?"
"Not until you are ready to pay me."
"Dr. Arnold, you have given me a great deal of pleasure--more than I can
express. I----"
"Don't try to express it, Queen. You have given me infinitely more, I
assure you."
Her splendid eyes were lifted toward him, and with some sudden impulse she
touched her lips to the hand he had placed on her shoulder. Something like
a tremor crossed the doctor's habitually stern mouth as he looked at the
marvellous beauty of the girl's countenance, and he kissed her slender
fingers as reverently as though he touched something consecrated.
"Irene, shall I take you home in my buggy?"
"No, thank you, I would rather walk. Oh! Doctor, I am so much obliged to
you."
In answer to Irene's knock, Electra opened the cottage door, and ushered
her into the small room which served as both kitchen and dining-room.
Everything was scrupulously neat, not a spot on the bare polished floor,
not a speck to dim the purity of the snowy dimity curtains, and on the
table in the centre stood a vase filled with fresh fragrant flowers. In a
low chair before the open window sat the widow knitting a blue and white
nubia. She glanced round as Irene entered.
"Who is it, Electra?"
"Miss Irene, aunt."
"Sit down, Miss Irene; how are you to-day?"
"Mrs. Aubrey, I am sorry to hear your eyes are no better."
"Thank you for your kind sympathy. My sight grows more dim every day."
"You shan't suffer much longer; these veils shall be taken off. Here is the
money to enable you to go to New Orleans and consult that physician. As
soon as the weather turns cooler you must start."
"Miss Irene, I cannot tax your generosity so heavily; I have no claim on
your goodness. Indeed I----"
"Mrs. Aubrey, don't you think it is your duty to recover your sight if
possible?"
"Yes, if I could command the means."
"You have the means; you must employ them. There, I will not take back the
money; it is yours."
"Don't refuse it, auntie, you will wound Irie," pleaded Electra.
There was silence for a few seconds; then Mrs. Aubrey took the hands from
her face and said,--"Irene, I will accept your generous offer. If my sight
is restored, I can repay you some day; if not, I am not too proud to be
under this great obligation to you. Oh, Irene! I can't tell you how much I
thank you; my heart is too full for words." She threw her arm round the
girl's waist and strained her to her bosom, and the hot tears fell fast on
the waves of golden hair. A moment after, Irene threw a tiny envelope into
Electra's lap, and without another word glided out of the room. The orphan
broke the seal, and as she opened a sheet of note-paper a ten-dollar bill
slipped out.
"Electra, come to school Monday. The enclosed will pay your tuition for two
months longer. Please don't hesitate to accept it if you really love
"Your friend IRENE."
Thinking of the group she had just left, Irene approached the gate and saw
that Russell stood holding it open for her to pass. Looking up she stopped,
for the expression of his face frightened and pained her.
"Russell, what is the matter? oh! tell me."
"I have been injured and insulted. Just now I doubt all people and all
things, even the justice and mercy of God."
"Russell, 'shall not the righteous Judge of all the earth do right?'"
"Shall the rich and the unprincipled eternally trample upon the poor and
the unfortunate?"
"Who has injured you?"
"A meek-looking man who passes for a Christian, who turns pale at the sound
of a violin, who exhorts to missionary labours, and talks often about
widows and orphans. Such a man, knowing the circumstances that surround me,
my poverty, my mother's affliction, on bare and most unwarrantable
suspicion turns me out of my situation as clerk, and endeavours to brand my
name with infamy. To-day I stand disgraced in the eyes of the community,
thanks to the vile slanders of that pillar of the church, Jacob Watson. I
could bear it myself, but my mother! my noble, patient, suffering mother! I
must go in, and add a yet heavier burden to those already crushing out her
life. Pleasant tidings, these I bring her; that her son is disgraced,
branded as a rogue!"
There was no moisture in the keen eye, no tremor in the metallic ring of
his voice, no relaxation of the curled lip.
"Can't you prove your innocence? Was it money?"
"No, it was a watch, which I gave up as security for drawing a portion of
my salary in advance. It was locked up in the iron safe; this morning it
was missing, and they accuse me of having stolen it."
He took off his hat as if it oppressed him, and tossed back his hair.
"What will you do, Russell?"
"I don't know yet."
"Oh! if I could only help you."
She clasped her hands over her heart, and for the first time since her
infancy tears rushed down her cheeks. It was painful to see that quiet girl
so moved, and Russell hastily took the folded hands in his, and bent his
face close to hers.
"Irene, the only comfort I have is that you are my friend. Don't let them
influence you against me. No matter what you may hear, believe in me. Oh!
Irene, Irene! believe in me always!"
He held her hands in a clasp so tight that it pained her, then suddenly
dropped them and left her.
Mrs. Aubrey recognized the step and looked round in surprise.
"Electra, I certainly hear Russell coming."
He drew near and touched her cheek with his lips, saying tenderly--
"How is my mother?"
"Russell, what brings you home so early?"
"That is rather a cold welcome, mother, but I am not astonished. Can you
bear to hear something unpleasant? Here, put your hands in mine; now listen
to me. You know I drew fifty dollars of my salary in advance, to pay Clark.
At that time I gave my watch to Mr. Watson by way of pawn, he seemed so
reluctant to let me have the money; you understand, mother, why I did not
mention it at the time. He locked it up in the iron safe, to which no one
has access except him and myself. Late yesterday I locked the safe as
usual, but do not remember whether the watch was still there or not; this
morning Mr. Watson missed it; we searched safe, desk, store, could find it
nowhere, nor the twenty-dollar gold piece deposited at the same time. No
other money was missing, though the safe contained nearly a thousand
dollars. The end of it all is that I am accused as the thief, and expelled
in disgrace for----"
A low, plaintive cry escaped the widow's lips, and her head sank heavily on
the boy's shoulder. Passing his arm fondly around her, he kissed her white
face, and continued in the same hushed, passionless tone, like one speaking
under his breath, and stilling some devouring rage--
"Mother, I need not assure you of my innocence. You know that I never could
be guilty of what is imputed to me; but, not having it in my power to prove
my innocence, I shall have to suffer the disgrace for a season. Only for a
season, I trust, mother, for in time the truth must be discovered. I have
been turned out of my situation, and, though they have no proof of my
guilt, they will try to brand me with the disgrace."
For a few moments deep silence reigned in the little kitchen, and only the
Infinite eye pierced the heart of the long-tried sufferer. When she raised
her head from the boy's bosom, the face, though tear-stained, was serene,
and, pressing her lips twice to his, she said slowly--
"'Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try
you; as though some strange thing happened unto you. For whom the Lord
loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth.' I will
wait patiently, my son, hoping for proofs which shall convince the world of
your innocence. I wish I could take the whole burden on my shoulders, and
relieve you, my dear boy."
"You have, mother; it ceases to crush me, now that you are yourself once
more." He spoke with difficulty, however, as if something stifled him, and,
rising hastily, poured out and drank a glass of water.
"And now, Russell, sit down and let me tell you a little that is pleasant
and sunshiny. There is still a bright spot left to look upon."
Stealing her hand into his, the mother informed him of all that had
occurred during Irene's visit, and concluded by laying the money in his
palm.
Electra sat opposite, watching the change that came over the face she loved
best on earth. Her large, eager midnight eyes noted the quick flush and
glad light which overspread his features; the deep joy that kindled in his
tortured soul; and unconsciously she clutched her fingers till the nails
grew purple, as though striving to strangle some hideous object thrusting
itself before her. Her breathing became laboured and painful, her gaze more
concentrated and searching, and when her cousin exclaimed: "Oh, mother! she
is an angel! I have always known it. She is unlike everybody else!"
Electra's heart seemed to stand still; and from that moment a sombre
curtain fell between the girl's eyes and God's sunshine. She rose, and a
silent yet terrible struggle took place in her passionate soul. Justice and
jealousy wrestled briefly; she would be just though every star fell from
her sky, and with a quick uncertain step she reached Russell, thrust
Irene's note into his fingers, and fled into solitude. An hour later,
Russell knocked at the door of an office, which bore on a square tin plate
these words, "Robert Campbell, Attorney at Law." The door was partially
closed, and as he entered an elderly man looked up from a desk, covered
with loose papers and open volumes, from which he was evidently making
extracts. The thin hair hung over his forehead as if restless fingers had
ploughed carelessly through it, and, as he kept one finger on a half-copied
paragraph, the cold blue eye said very plainly, "This is a busy time with
me; despatch your errand at once."
"Good morning, Mr. Campbell; are you particularly engaged?"
"How-d'ye-do, Aubrey. I am generally engaged; confoundedly busy this
morning. What do you want?"
His pen resumed its work, but he turned his head as if to listen.
"I will call again when you are at leisure," said Russell, turning away.
"That will be--next month--next year; in fine, postponing your visit
indefinitely. Sit down--somewhere--well--clear those books into a corner,
and let's hear your business. I am at your service for ten minutes--talk
fast."
He put his pen behind his ear, crossed his arms on the desk, and looked
expectant.
"I came here to ask whether you wished to employ anyone in your office."
"And what the deuce do you suppose I want with an office lad like yourself?
I tried that experiment to my perfect satisfaction a few months ago. Is
that all?"
"That is all, sir."
The boy rose, but the bitter look that crossed his face as he glanced at
the well-filled book-shelves arrested the lawyer's attention, and he
added--
"Why did you leave Watson, young man? It is a bad plan to change about in
this style."
"I was expelled from my situation on a foul and most unjust accusation."
"Let's hear the whole business; sit down."
Without hesitation he narrated all the circumstances, once or twice pausing
to still the tempest of passion that flashed from his eyes. While he spoke,
Mr. Campbell's keen eyes searched him from head to foot, and at the
conclusion he said--
"I see fate has thumped none of your original obstinacy out of you. Aubrey,
suppose I shut my eyes to the watch transaction, and take you into my
office?"
"If so, I shall do my duty faithfully. But you said you did not need anyone
here, and though I am anxious to find work, I do not expect or desire to be
taken in from charity. I intend to earn my wages, sir, and from your own
account I should judge you had very little use for an assistant."
"Humph! a bountiful share of pride along with prodigious obstinacy. Though
I am a lawyer, I told you the truth; I have no earthly use for such
assistants as I have been plagued with for several years. In the main,
office-boys are a nuisance, comparable only to the locusts of Egypt; I
washed my hands of the whole tribe months since. But if I could only get an
intelligent, ambitious, honourable, trustworthy young man, he would be a
help to me. I had despaired of finding such, but, on the whole, I rather
like you; believe you can suit me exactly if you will, and I am disposed to
give you a trial. Sit down here and copy this paragraph; let me see what
sort of hieroglyphics I shall have to decipher if I make you my copyist."
Russell silently complied, and after a careful examination it seemed the
chirography was satisfactory.
"Aubrey, you and I can work peaceably together; I value your candour, I
like your resolution. Come to me on Monday, and in the matter of salary you
shall find me liberal enough. I think you told me you had a cousin as well
as your mother to support; I shall not forget it. Now, good morning, and
leave me unless you desire to accumulate work for yourself."