"SHALL I GIVE HIM MY WORD, HARRY?"
I did not go all the way to New York on the train which Mrs. Carew and
the child had taken. I went only as far as Yonkers.
When I reached Doctor Pool's house, I thought it entirely empty. Even
the office seemed closed. But appearances here could not always be
trusted, and I rang the bell with a vigor which must have awakened
echoes in the uninhabited upper stories. I know that it brought the
doctor to the door, and in a state of doubtful amiability. But when he
saw who awaited him, his appearance changed and he welcomed me in with a
smile or what was as nearly like one as his austere nature would permit.
"How now! Want your money? Seems to me you have earned it with
unexpected ease."
"Not such great ease," I replied, as he carefully closed the door and
locked it "I know that I feel as tired as I ever did in my life. The
child is in New York under the guardianship of a woman who is really
fond of her. You can dismiss all care concerning her."
"I see--and who is the woman? Name her."
"You do not trust me, I see."
"I trust no one in business matters."
"This is not a business matter--yet."
"What do you mean?"
"I have not asked for money. I am not going to till I can perfectly
satisfy you that all deception is at an end so far as Mr. Ocumpaugh at
least is concerned."
"Oh, you would play fair, I see."
I was too interested in noting how each of his hands involuntarily
closed on itself, in his relief at not being called upon to part with
some of his hoardings, to answer with aught but a nod.
"You have your reasons for keeping close, of course," he growled as he
led the way toward the basement stairs. "You're not out of the woods, is
that it? Or has the great lady bargained with you?--Um? Um?"
He threw the latter ejaculations back over his shoulder as he descended
to the office. They displeased me, and I made no attempt to reply. In
fact, I had no reply ready. Had I bargained with Mrs. Ocumpaugh? Hardly.
Yet--
"She is handsome enough," the old man broke in sharply, cutting in two
my self-communings. "You're a fellow of some stamina, if you have got at
her secret without making her a promise. So the child is well! That's
good! There's one long black mark eliminated from my account. But I have
not closed the book, and I am not going to, till my conscience has
nothing more to regret. It is not enough that the child is handed over
to a different life; the fortunes that have been bequeathed her must be
given to him who would have inherited them had this child not been taken
for a veritable Ocumpaugh."
"That raises a nice point," I said.
"But one that will drag all false things to light."
"Your action in the matter along with the rest," I suggested.
"True! but do you think I shall stop because of that?"
He did not look as if he would stop because of anything.
"Do you not think Mrs. Ocumpaugh worthy some pity? Her future is a
ghastly one, whichever way you look at it."
"She sinned," was his uncompromising reply. "The wages of sin is death."
"But such death!" I protested; "death of the heart, which is the worst
death of all."
He shrugged his shoulders, leading the way into the office.
"Let her beware!" he went on surlily. "Last month I saw my duty no
further than the exaction of this child's dismissal from the home whose
benefits she enjoyed under a false name. To-day I am led further by the
inexorable guide which prompts the anxious soul. All that was wrong must
be made good. Mr. Ocumpaugh must know on whom his affections have been
lavished. I will not yield. The woman has done wrong; and she shall
suffer for it till she rises, a redeemed soul, into a state of mind that
prefers humiliation to a continuance in a life of deception. You may
tell her what I say--that is, if you enjoy the right of conversation
with her."
The look he shot me at this was keen as hate and spite could make it. I
was glad that we were by this time in the office, and that I could avoid
his eye by a quick look about the well-remembered place. This proof of
the vindictive pursuit he had marked out for himself was no surprise to
me. I expected no less, yet it opened up difficulties which made my way,
as well as hers, look dreary in the prospect. He perceived my
despondency and smiled; then suddenly changed his tone.
"You do not ask after the little patient I have here. Come, Harry, come;
here is some one I will let you see."
The door of my old room swung open and I do not know which surprised me
most, the kindness in the rugged old voice I had never before heard
lifted in tenderness, or the look of confidence and joy on the face of
the little boy who now came running in. So inexorable to a remorseful
and suffering woman, and so full of consideration for a stranger's
child!
"Almost well," pronounced the doctor, and lifted him on his knee. "Do
you know this child's parentage and condition?" he sharply inquired,
with a quick look toward me.