BROTHERS AT LAST.
Delmar Barrington had listened in deep silence to every word that fell
from his brother’s eloquent lips.
It was the strangest story he had ever heard--the story of a woman’s
revenge consummated by her child after her broken heart had found rest
in the grave--the story of a legacy of hate and the keeping of a solemn
vow to the bitter end.
It threw a brilliant light on the darkness of the past.
It showed him Byrd Barrington, not as a mercenary wretch, but in the
character of a hero--a faithful heart that had suffered martyrdom in
keeping its vow to the dead.
“Do you think my heart did not yearn over you--my only brother?” Byrd
said, with a strange dew in his deep eyes. “Do you think I cared for
sordid gold, that I was willing in my heart to strip you of all for my
own gain? No, no! Rather would I have gone forth penniless into the
world myself! Ah, what nights I have lain awake trying to see some way
out of my miserable vow, wondering if my mother were not half-frenzied
when she made it, and if in the other world she might not repent the
bitterness of her revenge thus taken on those who were not accountable
for my father’s sins! I have prayed for a sign; I have begged her to
return and release me from the burden of my vow that with every year
bore heavier on my heart! Alas, to me there came no token, although the
servants of Castellane have whispered that she haunts her old home in
distress and grief. But I cannot believe it, since all my longings for
her visible presence are in vain.”
He paused and wiped away the fine dew that beaded his high, white brow,
and Delmar, half-rising from his couch of weakness, held out an eager
hand.
“God bless you, Byrd,” he cried tenderly. “You are one of those silent
heroes of whom the carping world never knows. I realize all your
goodness and greatness. We are brothers at last.”
And in a moment all bitterness had passed from his heart, and it
thrilled with a yearning sympathy for the man who had so revered his
mother’s memory that he had made himself a secret martyr for her sake,
warring against his own loving instincts in his bitter inheritance of
that legacy of hate.
Tenderly, fervently, they clasped hands over their reconciliation. The
vow had been kept to the bitter end, and now there was no bar at least
to love if Delmar could be great enough to forgive.
He was weak and impulsive, but he was not wicked, and he saw at once
the greatness of Byrd’s character, so there was no bar to their future
love--there could not be when Delmar saw how eagerly anxious his
brother was for his happiness.
“You will marry Josephine, of course, next spring, when poor Maisie has
been dead a year,” he said gently. “I am sure that she loves you still,
and I have told her what I shall do for her if she marries you.”
Delmar flushed and cried:
“I wish you had not told her, Byrd! I--I--distrust Josephine as much as
I love her. I should have liked to test her love--to see if she would
come to me for love alone.”
Byrd turned aside his head to hide a cynical smile.
He would not grieve his brother’s heart by one word against his love.
He had confidence in Josephine’s love for Delmar, believing that mutual
love must bring them happiness in the end.
So he said cheerfully:
“It is not alone Josephine we have to consider, but her parents.
They are quite too ambitious to give their consent to their daughter
marrying a poor man--especially as it is privately known that Shirley
is on the brink of failure and just keeping his head above water now
through a loan I made him a month ago.”
“I am not sure that I wish to marry her at all now,” Delmar said
reflectively, but his brother laughed and answered:
“Wait until you see her again!”
It was some time before that came about, for Josephine and her mother
were away visiting friends in Boston, and when they returned the first
snow of December lay white upon the ground and Delmar Barrington was
going about again, although very pale and thin as yet, for there was an
injury to one of his lungs that made recovery tedious, and which the
doctors were frank enough to say might very likely shorten the young
man’s days.
Josephine knew well enough that Delmar was at home, but she had not
hurried back for that. Having given up the hope of winning Byrd, she
had been angling elsewhere for a rich parti, mama having declared that
Delmar and a two-hundred-thousand dowry were not to be thought of
except as a last resort.
They did not succeed in their designs while away, and on their return
mama gave a reluctant assent for Josephine to renew the old love-affair
with Delmar since nothing better offered.
When Josephine first saw her lover it gave her quite a shock, seeing
him so pale and altered.
“He is not as handsome as he used to be. I do not find myself so much
in love with him, after all,” she thought, and at first she was cold
and shy.
Delmar was on his dignity, too, although the very first sight of her
made his heart throb furiously with a joy he would not have let her see
for worlds.
So in the first few days they did not come very near together.
Delmar was waiting for Josephine to humble herself, and she was
coquetting, wondering if, indeed, there was no hope of getting the
elder brother, with his five millions.
There was no telling how long she would have kept up her fencing had
not something very startling suddenly transpired.
Mrs. French, kind soul, who was somewhat outside the pale of all this
maneuvering, came to call one day and let the cat out of the bag--a
very interesting piece of news, indeed, that set Josephine’s heart
beating with a sort of ecstasy.
“I oughtn’t to tell it, but I cannot keep it,” the good lady said, all
in a flutter. “It has been in the air a day or two, but Byrd and Del
are keeping it close as wax. Still, as you’re such old friends, and
must know it soon, anyway, I’m sure they would not mind my telling you.”
“Of course not, my dear Mrs. French,” cooed the mother, while the
daughter twittered:
“I’m just dying to hear it!”
“It’s about poor, dear little Maisie. Who would have dreamed of her
being a great heiress!”
“Oh, Mrs. French!”
“Impossible!”
And they almost devoured her with their eager eyes.
“It’s true,” she answered. “You see, Byrd has just been going over all
his father’s papers--he has had so much to hinder him since April,
you know--and so it seems that my poor brother, who, alas, was too
fond of money, held a large fortune in trust for poor Maisie, and--and
there being no one to look after the child’s interests, he dishonestly
appropriated it all to himself. Oh, how it grieves me to know that my
poor brother could do such a dreadful thing!” Mrs. French exclaimed,
wiping her eyes, that were full of tears.
“Maisie an heiress! Well, wonders will never cease!” cried Mrs.
Shirley, encouraging the old lady to add:
“Yes, indeed; a great heiress! Gold-mines, stocks, and bonds, amounting
to four million dollars! And to think of the poor dear being dead and
never knowing it!” and this time she sobbed aloud in distress.
“Four millions, oh!” cried Mrs. Shirley in a rapture, adding: “And
Delmar was her husband. By law he must come into it all!”
A quick glance passed between her and Josephine as Mrs. French replied:
“Yes, every dollar of it. Byrd says so, and oh, you could never guess
how honest and upright he is. He might have kept it secret when he
found it out and held on to the whole fortune, as his father evidently
intended for him to do, but, no! like an honest gentleman, he says:
“‘I will redeem my father’s injustice. I will not keep anything not
lawfully mine. Delmar was Maisie’s husband--he has the best right to
it, and so I will put him in possession at once!’”
“How grand, how noble!” cried Josephine, clasping her pretty hands, her
brown eyes shining like stars, with bright dreams of the future.
But her mother drew down her lips and raised her eyes in a sort of
dismay.
“Oh, Mrs. French, my dear, good friend, I fear you have made a great
mistake telling us this great and interesting secret!” she cried.
“A mistake!” faltered poor Mrs. French bewilderedly.
“Yes, yes--not but that we appreciate your confidence and are delighted
to hear of Delmar’s good fortune, but--perhaps--they would have
preferred to keep it secret yet a while longer. So, if I were in your
place I would not tell any one else, and I would not even let Byrd or
Delmar know you had told us. They might be very angry--who knows?”
The kind old lady was frightened and faltered:
“I--I--perhaps you are right. They cautioned me not to tell a living
soul. But somehow I couldn’t keep it from old friends like you. But
you’ll never betray me?”
“Never! never!” both promised fervently.
When she was gone they looked at each other with radiant faces.
“Josephine Shirley, you must be engaged to Delmar Barrington before
to-morrow night,” cried her mother emphatically.
“I will,” she replied laughingly.
“Only think!” her mother added, “out of Byrd’s reputed five millions he
will have nothing but one million and Castellane left. He was a fool
not to keep it, say I. He had as good a right to it really as Delmar,
who treated poor Maisie shamefully. But it is a fine thing for you, my
dear, that everything happened as it did!”
All was eager self-congratulation--not a word of pity for poor Maisie
in her lonely grave under the cold December snow, not a word of
admiration for Byrd’s honesty. He was a fool, but they were glad of it,
they agreed.