THE PAWNBROKER GETS HIS PRICE.
Directly Mr. Ross came down, and followed Eva into the room.
The pawnbroker stepped back to the wall, and uttered an exclamation full
of trouble and surprise.
“What! The gentleman here!—here, in this very house! I cannot
understand!”
Ross turned, his eyes kindled, and his cheeks flushed.
“Here at last? You have found it then? The shawl!—the shawl! Oh, sister,
you have it! But how can you tell if it is the same? I must be assured
of that.”
“Why, Ross, what is the matter? Do you know this man? What is my shawl
to you?”
“Your shawl!”
“Yes, brother!”
“And you got it of this man?”
“It seems that it came from him!”
“Yes, it is the same! I will swear to it! Oh, sir! the time I have taken
to search it out is well worth all you promised.”
“Perhaps. I do not know yet. Give me the shawl, sister; in half an hour
I will return.”
Ross was white in the face. He took up the shawl, and gazed upon it,
until tears absolutely trembled in his eyes. Then he folded the garment
carefully, as one handles a shroud, and went forth, carrying it in his
hand.
Mrs. Laurence was busy in her kitchen, absolutely humming over an
old-fashioned love-song, for the great load of a hard life had been
lifted from her shoulders, and awkward gleams of cheerfulness were
beginning to dawn in upon her.
All at once a man entered the back door, and came toward her.
“Why, Mr. Ross, is that you? I didn’t hear the bell,” she exclaimed,
smoothing down her apron.
“I did not ring, Mrs. Laurence; I wished to find you alone. Look at
this, and tell me if it is positively the shawl that came around that
child, and that you put in pledge?”
Mrs. Laurence wiped her moist hands on a towel, and unfolded the shawl.
“Of course it’s the same shawl, wherever it came from. There is no
mistake about that. I can swear to the curl in every one of these long
leaves.”
“It is then absolutely the garment that came around the child you
adopted?”
“Yes; I am ready to swear to it, if that is what you want.”
“No; there is no need of that.”
Again Ross folded up the shawl, and left the house, passing swiftly
through the yard, and looking at Ruth, who sat at the window, without a
consciousness of her presence.
Mrs. Carter and Eva were still in the reception-room. The pawnbroker had
retreated to the hall, where he sat on one of the carved chairs,
crouching uneasily forward, and holding a rusty hat clenched in his
hand. His eyes were full of hungry anxiety; for the reward which he had
hoped for seemed slipping from his grasp. Still he waited, in abject
patience, determined to press his claims to the utmost.
In less than half an hour the man started, and listened with the
vigilance of a house-dog. A latch-key turned in the street-door, and Mr.
Ross came in. He stopped on seeing the pawnbroker, and asked sharply
what he waited for? then checked himself, and muttered,
“Ah! I remember. You want the reward. How much was it?”
The man started up, and began to speak eagerly. But Ross lifted his
hand.
“The amount?—name it. I ask nothing more; that which I promised you
shall have.”
“Without regard to the price paid by the lady?”
“Without regard to anything. I am not disposed to cavil over a thing
like this.”
The pawnbroker paused, calculated, and looked keenly at his victim,
sorely tempted to double the original sum promised him. But there was
something in the eyes fixed upon him which checked the idea, and he
named what had been his most exorbitant demand.
“Wait!”
With this single word, Ross went swiftly upstairs, and came down again
with a check in his hand. The man started up, seized the paper, glanced
over it, and hurried from the house, with a greedy light in his eyes.
Ross turned into the reception-room, stood a moment on the threshold,
pale, trembling, and with a look of wild yearning in his eyes. Eva, came
toward him, smiling.
“Do tell us what makes you so anxious, Mr. Ross——”
The girl broke off with a cry of dismay, for Ross had flung his arms
around her, and was straining her to his heart with wild vehemence.
“My child! My darling! My own, own beautiful child!”
The man was raining kisses upon her forehead, which was wet with his
tears.
Mrs. Carter started up, and with her two shaking hands attempted to tear
the man and girl apart.
“Herman! Herman! Are you crazy? And she under this roof, under my care!
Give her up, I say!”
Ross still held the girl close; but lifted his head, and looked his
angry sister in the face. He could not speak, though his tremulous lips
moved, and his eyes were flooded. The woman’s voice softened.
“Herman, what does this mean?”
“It means, my sister, that as God has been merciful, I believe this girl
to be my own child!”
The man was trembling from head to foot. He put Eva’s face back from his
bosom, and looked tenderly down upon it.
“Have you never felt this, my darling? Did your soul never tell you the
secret that has so long filled mine?”
“I have no breath to answer,” faltered the girl. “Your words strike me
dumb! How can the things be that you speak of?”
“I cannot tell; yet I know. Wait a little while, and you shall both be
convinced that I am not out of my mind; let the rest prove as it will.”