LOVE AND LUCRE.
When James Cromwell alluded to the possibility of his receiving a legacy
of ten thousand dollars at no distant date, it will be understood at
once that he alluded to the sum promised him by Paul Morton in the event
of the death of his ward. He had endeavored to compass Robert's death at
Niagara Falls, but since his failure there, he had let the matter drop,
partly from a timid fear of consequences, partly from the thought that
even without this sum he was sure of a good income. But the unexpected
condition imposed by Mr. Manton, again turned his thoughts to the
question of Robert's death, and its pecuniary advantage to himself; and
again our young hero was menaced by a peril by no means insignificant.
James Cromwell was neither strong nor brave; but there is no one so
powerless that his enmity may be disregarded, especially when it is
unsuspected.
But Cromwell's timid nature shrank from the audacity of the crime which
suggested itself to his mind. Besides, though he was fascinated by Clara
Manton, he was not clear about settling so large a sum as five thousand
dollars upon her. He would have done it if in his power, rather than
lose her, but if he could obtain her on any easier terms he thought that
it would be better. He decided, therefore, to see Clara herself, to
communicate to her her father's answer, and prevail upon her, if
possible, to marry him without her father's sanction.
Had he known Clara better, he would not have ventured to hope for
success, but he was wholly unaware that the mercenary condition had been
affixed by Clara herself. He fancied that she loved him for himself, and
believed her incapable of being swayed by self-interest.
Chance, as he thought, favored him, for only a short distance from the
house he met Clara, herself. She had left the house considerately, in
order to allow him an opportunity to call upon her father, and was now
returning.
"Mr. Cromwell?" she said, with affected surprise. "I supposed you were
in your shop. I fear you are becoming inattentive to business."
"I cannot attend to my business until one matter is decided," said
Cromwell.
"What is that?"
"How can you ask? Clara, I have just called upon your father. I asked
his permission to marry you."
"What did he say?" inquired the young lady.
"He told me he would consent on certain conditions."
"Certain conditions!" repeated Clara, innocently. "What could they be?"
"He said that I must prove to him that I was worth ten thousand dollars,
and must consent to settle half that amount upon you."
"I hope," said Clara, quickly, "that you don't think I had anything to
do with such conditions?"
"No; I am sure you had not," said Cromwell; and he believed what he
said, for no one, to look in the face of the young lady, would have
supposed her mercenary.
"I hope you don't blame papa. He carries prudence to excess."
"No, I don't blame him. It is natural that he should wish to make sure
of his daughter's comfort."
"And what did you say in reply?" asked Clara, considerably interested.
"I told him that at present my circumstances would not permit me to
comply with his conditions."
"That's a pity."
"But that I was expecting a legacy from a near relative that may
possibly fall to me very soon, which would remove every difficulty."
"What did he say then?"
"That when I received the legacy he would give me your hand, provided
you were still willing."
The young lady cast her eyes upon the ground. She did not think much of
waiting for dead men's shoes, and doubted whether her lover had any such
relative as he referred to. In her own mind she looked upon the matter
as at an end; and began to consider for whom she had better angle next.
She did not, however, mean to say this to Cromwell, for she had no
objection to keeping him dancing attendance upon her. It would gratify
her vanity, and perhaps he might serve, unconsciously, to help her in
snaring some other fish. She thought her best policy in the present
case, was to remain silent, unless she was called upon to say something.
"What do you say to that, Clara?" asked Cromwell.
"I suppose it is fair," she said.
"No; it is not fair," he said, "to make me wait so long. I have a good
income; I am careful, and not extravagant, and I know I can support you
comfortably. Do not make me wait. Tell me will you marry me at once?"
"I cannot disobey my father," said the young lady, who had all at once
become very dutiful.
"But do you think he has a right to interfere with your happiness?"
"He does it for my good."
"He thinks so; but do you agree with him?"
"Perhaps not; but I have always been taught to obey my father. I suppose
he knows better than I what I ought to do."
"Surely, you are not afraid that I should be unable to support you
comfortably?" said Cromwell, reproachfully.
"Oh, no," answered Clara. "I never think of money. My father often tells
me that I ought to think more of it. As far as I am concerned, I should
never think of asking whether you were worth one thousand dollars or
ten."
James Cromwell listened to Clara as she spoke with assumed simplicity,
her eyes downcast, and he was so infatuated by his love for her that he
never thought of doubting her. In his inexperience of female wiles he
was by no means a match for Clara, who was already, though yet under
twenty, a finished female coquette. So he accepted her for what she
chose to appear and the flame of his passion was increased.
"I am sure," he pleaded, "that if we were once married your father would
not object. The legacy I spoke of is sure to come to me in a year or
two, for my relative is very old and in very poor health, and there is
no fear of his changing his will."
"I have no doubt what you say is all true," said Clara, though in her
own heart she had very serious doubts; "but then it will not be very
long to wait a year or two, as the money will come to you then."
"A year or two!" repeated Cromwell. "It seems to me like waiting
forever."
"I am afraid you have not the gift of patience, Mr. Cromwell," said
Clara, smiling archly.
"No; I have not in this case, for I do not think there is any occasion
for waiting."
"But my father thinks so, unfortunately. If you can succeed in
persuading him to the contrary, you will find me ready to do as you
desire."
"Then you are determined to abide by your father's decision," said
Cromwell, in accents of disappointment.
"I must," said Clara, mildly, "however much my own heart suffers in
consequence," and she put on the air of a victim of parental tyranny;
"unless," she added, "I am able to make my father regard it in a
different light."
"Promise me that you will try," said her lover, grasping her hand.
"I will do what I can," she said. "But, really, I must go now. My father
will not know what has become of me."
With a sweet smile, she left him, and returned to the house. He turned,
and went back slowly to his shop.
"Well, that's all over," said Clara, to herself. "I should be a fool to
marry such a stupid gawky, unless he could settle money upon me. I don't
mean to throw myself away just at present."
"Well, Clara, I have had an offer for your hand," said her father, as
she entered his presence.
"Well?"
"I said what you told me, and found he could not comply with the
conditions."
"So you refused the honor of a son-in-law?"
"Yes."
"That was right."
"He said he was expecting a legacy of ten thousand dollars in a year or
two."
"All humbug, papa. I don't believe a word of it."
"You don't seem inclined to break your heart about the disappointment,"
said Mr. Manton, with a smile.
"No; he is the last man I would break my heart about, if I were fool
enough to break my heart about anybody. I must look out for somebody
else."
"And meanwhile?"
"I'll keep a hold on him. There might be something in the story of the
legacy, you know."
"I see you are well able to look out for your own interests, Clara."
"So I ought to be."
Thus spoke the unselfish Clara Manton, who was above all mercenary
considerations.