AT SEA--A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER
Immediately after Mr. Walton's funeral Miss Eulie had written to a
brother-in-law, then, in Europe, full particulars of all that had
occurred. This gentleman's name was Kemp, and he had originally married
a sister of Miss Eulie and Mrs. Walton. But she had died some years
since, and he had married as his second wife one who was an entire
stranger to the Walton family, and with whom there could be but little
sympathy. For this reason, though no unfriendliness existed, there had
been a natural falling-off of the old cordial intimacy. Mr. Walton had
respected Mr. Kemp as a man of sterling worth and unimpeachable
integrity, and his feelings were shared by Miss Eulie and Annie, while
Mr. Kemp himself secretly cherished a tender and regretful memory of
his earlier marriage connection. When he heard that his niece, Annie,
was orphaned, his heart yearned toward her, for he had always been fond
of her as a child. But when he came to read of her relations with
Hunting, and that this man was in charge of her property, he was in
deep distress. He would have returned home immediately, but his wife's
health would not permit his leaving her. He wrote to Miss Eulie a long
letter of honest sympathy, urging her and Annie to come to him at
Paris, saying that the change would be of great benefit to both.
This letter was expressed in such a way that it could be shown to
Annie. But he inclosed another under seal to the aunt, marked private,
in which by strong and guarded language he warned her against Hunting.
He did not dare commit definite charges to writing, not knowing how
much influence Hunting had over Miss Eulie. He felt sure that Annie
would not listen to anything against her lover, and justly feared that
she would inform him of what she heard, thus putting him on his guard,
and increasing his power for mischief. Mr. Kemp's hope was to act
through Miss Eulie, and get both her and Annie under his protection as
soon as possible. He knew that when he was face to face with Annie he
could prove to her the character of her lover, and through her compel
him to resign his executorship. Therefore he solemnly charged Miss
Eulie, as she loved Annie, not to permit her marriage with Hunting,
and, as executrix, to watch his financial management closely.
Miss Eulie was greatly distressed by the contents of this letter. Mr.
Kemp's words, combined with Gregory's manner, destroyed her confidence
in Hunting, and made her feel that he might cause them irretrievable
disaster. She knew her brother to be a man of honor, and when he wrote
such words as these, "If Mr. Walton had known Hunting as I do he would
rather have buried his daughter than permit her to marry him," she was
sure that he did not speak unadvisedly.
"Moreover," Mr. Kemp wrote, "I am not giving my mere opinion of
Hunting. I have absolute proof of what he is and has done."
But it was his opinion that it would not be safe to reveal to Annie the
contents of this letter, as Hunting, in the desperation of his fears,
might find means to compass a hasty marriage, or disastrously use his
power over her property.
As we have seen, in quiet home-ministerings Miss Eulie had no superior,
but she felt peculiarly timid and self-distrustful in dealing with
matters like these. Her first impulse and her growing desire were that
she and Annie might reach the shelter and protection of her brother.
She did not understand business, and felt powerless to thwart Hunting.
Annie's spirits greatly flagged after her father's death. Hunting did
not seem to have the power to comfort and help her that she had
expected to find in him. She could not definitely find fault with a
single act, save his treatment of Gregory; he was devotion itself to
her, but it was to her alone. He proved no link between her and God.
Even when in careful phrases he sought to use the "language of Canaan,"
he did not speak it as a native, and ever left a vague, unsatisfied
pain in her heart. He was true and strong when he spoke of his own
love. He was eloquent and glowing when his fancy painted their future
home, but cold and formal in comparison when he dwelt on that which her
Christian nature most needed in her deep affliction.
When Annie found that she could leave the children in charge of a
careful, trustworthy relative, she was readily persuaded into the plan
of going abroad. She felt the need of change, for her health had begun
to fail, and she was sinking into one of those morbid states which are
partly physical and partly mental.
Hunting, also, strongly approved of the project. Business would require
him to visit Europe during the winter, and in having Annie as a
companion he thought himself fortunate indeed. He felt sure that as
soon as she regained her health and spirits she would consent to their
marriage; moreover, it would place the sea between her and Gregory,
thus averting all danger of disclosure. A trip abroad promised to
further his interests in all respects. He knew nothing of Mr. Kemp save
as a New York business man, and supposed that Mr. Kemp had only a
general and favorable knowledge of himself.
For Annie's sake and her own Miss Eulie tried to prevent any marked
change in her manner toward Hunting, and though she was not a very good
actress he did not care enough about her to notice her occasional
restraints and formality of manner. But Annie did, and it was another
source of vague uneasiness and pain, though the causes were too
intangible to speak of. She thought it possible that Gregory had
prejudiced her aunt slightly. But it was her nature to prove all the
more loyal to Hunting, especially when he was so devoted to her.
Before they could complete arrangements for departure, Annie was taken
seriously ill, and January of the ensuing year had nearly passed before
she was strong enough for the journey. During her illness no one could
have been more kind and attentive than Hunting, and Annie felt
exceedingly grateful. Still, in their prolonged and close intimacy
since her father's death, something in the man himself had caused her
love for him to wane. She had a growing consciousness that he was not
what she had supposed. She reproached herself bitterly for this, and
under the sense of the wrong she felt herself doing him, was disposed
to show more deference to his wishes, and in justice to him to try to
make amends. When, therefore, he again urged that the marriage take
place before they sailed, giving as his reasons that he could take
better care of her, and that henceforth she could be with him, and that
he would not be compelled to leave her so often on account of his
business, she was half inclined to yield. She felt that the
marriage-tie would confirm her true feelings as a wife, and that it was
hardly fair to ask him to be away from his large and exacting business
so much, especially when he had appeared so generous in the time he had
given her, which must have involved to him serious loss and
inconvenience. She said to herself, "I shall be better and happier, and
so will Charles, when I cease secretly finding fault with him, and
devote myself unselfishly to making a good wife and a good home."
Hunting exultantly thought that he would carry his point, but Miss
Eulie proved she was not that nonentity which, in his polite and
attentive indifference, he had secretly considered her. With quiet
firmness she said that, as Annie's natural guardian, she would not give
her consent to the marriage. As a reason she said, "I think it would
show a great lack of respect and courtesy to Annie's uncle and my
brother, who is so fond of her, and has been so kind. I see no pressing
need for the marriage now, for I am going with Annie and can take care
of her as I have done. If it seems best, you can be married over there,
and I know that Mr. Kemp would feel greatly hurt if we acted as if we
were indifferent to his presence at the ceremony."
The moment her aunt expressed this view Annie agreed with her, and
Hunting felt that he could not greatly complain, as the marriage would
be delayed but a few weeks.
Annie felt absolved from her promise to Gregory by an event that
occurred not very long after his departure. Gregory had sent a box,
directed to Miss Eulie's care, containing some toys and books for the
children, and the promised tobacco for Daddy Tuggar, also a note for
Annie, inclosed in one to Miss Eulie, in which were these words only,
"If you had searched the world you could not have given me anything
that I would value more."
In his self-distrust, and in his purpose not to give the slightest
ground for the imputation that he had sought her promise of delay to
obtain time to gain a hearing himself, he had said no more. But Annie
thought that he might have said more. The note seemed cold and brief in
view of all that had passed between them. Still, she hoped much from
the influence of her Bible.
One evening Hunting came up from the city evidently much disturbed. To
her expressions of natural solicitude he replied, "I don't like to
speak of it, for you seem to think that I ought to stand everything
from Mr. Gregory. And so I suppose I ought, and indeed I was grateful,
but one can't help having the natural feelings of a man. I was with
some friends and met him face to face in an omnibus. Knowing how great
was your wish that we should be friendly, I spoke courteously to him,
but he looked at me as if I were a dog. He might as well have struck
me. I saw that my friends were greatly surprised, but of course I could
not explain there, and yet it's not pleasant to be treated like a
pickpocket, with no redress. I defy him," continued Hunting, assuming
the tone and manner of one greatly wronged, "to prove anything worse
against me than that I compelled him and his partners to pay money to
which I had a legal right, and which I could have collected in a court
of law."
The politic Hunting said nothing of moral right, and innocent Annie was
not on the lookout for such quibbles.
Her quick feelings were strongly stirred, and on the impulse of the
moment she sat down and wrote:
"Mr. Gregory--I think your course toward Mr. Hunting to-day was not
only unjust, but even ungentlemanly. You cannot hurt his feelings
without wounding mine. I cannot help feeling that your hostility is
both 'unreasonable and implacable.' In sadness and disappointment,
"Annie Walton."
"There," she said, "read that, and please mail it for me."
"That's my noble Annie," he said, gratefully. "Now you prove your love
anew, and show you will not stand quietly by and see me insulted."
"You may rest assured I will not," she said, promptly; adding very
sadly after a moment, "I cannot understand how Mr. Gregory, with all
his good qualities, can act so."
"You do not know him so well as I do," said Hunting; "and yet even I
feel grateful to him for his services to you, and would show it if he
would treat me decently."
"He shall treat you decently, and politely too, if he wishes to keep my
favor," said she, hotly.
But the next day, when she thought it all over quietly, she regretted
that she had written so harshly. "My words will not help my Bible's
influence," she thought in self-reproach, "and only when he becomes a
Christian will he show a different disposition."
Her regret would have been still deeper, if she had known that Hunting
had sent her note with one from himself to this effect:
"You perceive from the inclosed that you cannot insult me as you did
yesterday and still retain the favor of one whose esteem you value _too
highly_ perhaps. My only regret is that you were not a witness to the
words and manner which accompanied the act of writing."
Still stronger would have been her indignation had she known that
Hunting had greatly exaggerated his insult. Gregory had merely acted as
if unconscious of his presence, and there had been no look of scorn.
When Gregory received the missives he tossed Hunting's contemptuously
into the fire, but read Annie's more than once, sighed deeply, and
said, "He keeps his ascendency over her. O God! quench not my spark of
faith by permitting this great wrong to be consummated." Then he
indorsed on her note, "Forgiven, my dear, deceived sister. You will
understand in God's good time."
But he felt that God must unravel the problem, for Annie would listen
to nothing against her lover.
She hoped that Gregory would write an explanation, or at least some
words in self-defence, and then she meant to soften her hasty note, but
no answer came. This increased her depression, and she was surprised at
her strong and abiding interest in him. She could not understand how
their eventful acquaintance should end as it promised to. Then came her
illness, and through many long, sleepless hours, she thought of the
painful mystery.
As she recovered strength of body and mind she felt that it was one of
those things that she must trustingly put in God's hands and leave
there. This she did, and resolutely and patiently addressed herself to
the duties of her lot.
As for Gregory, from the first evening of his return to the city, he
adopted the resolution in regard to Annie's Bible which she, as a
little child, had written in it so many years ago, "I will read it
every day."
It became his shrine and constant solace. Instead of going to his club,
as was his former custom, he spent the long, quiet evenings in its
study. The more he read the more fascinated he became by its rich and
varied truths. Sometimes as he was tracing up a line of thought through
its pages, so luminously and beautifully would it develop that it
seemed to him that Annie and his mother, with unseen hands, were
pointing the way. Though almost alone in the great city, he grew less
and less lonely, and welcomed the shades of evening, that he might
return to a place now sacred to him, where the gift Bible, like a
living presence, awaited him.
His doubts and fears vanished slowly. His faith kindled even more
slowly; but the teachings of that inspired Book gave him principle,
true manhood, and strength to do right, no matter how he felt. He had
honestly and sturdily resolved to be guided by it, and it did guide
him. He was a Christian, though he did not know it, and would not
presume to call himself such even to himself. In view of his evil past
he was exceedingly humble and self-distrustful. As Mr. Walton had told
poor old Daddy Tuggar, he was simply trying to "trust Jesus Christ and
do the best he could."
But those associated with him in business, and many others, wondered at
the change in him. Old Mr. Burnett, his senior partner, was especially
delighted, and would often say to him, "I thank God, Mr. Gregory, that
you nearly had your neck broken last October"; for the good old man
associated this accident with the change.
Gregory also began attending church--not a gorgeous temple on Fifth
Avenue, where he was not needed; but he hunted up an obscure and
struggling mission, and said to the minister, "I am little better than
a heathen, but if you will trust me I will do the best I can to help
you."
Within a month, through his liberal gifts and energetic labors, the
usefulness of the mission was almost doubled. It was touching to see
him humbly and patiently doing the Lord's lowliest work, as if he were
not worthy. He hoped that in time he might receive the glad assurance
that he was accepted; but whether it came or not, he purposed to do the
best he could, and leave his fate in God's hands. At any rate God
seemed not against him, for both his business and his Christian work
prospered.
One bright morning late in January, Annie, Miss Eulie, and Hunting were
driven down, to the steamer, and having gone to their state-rooms and
seen that their luggage was properly stowed away, they came up on deck
to watch the scenes attending the departure of the great ship, and
observe the views as they sailed down the bay. Hunting had told them to
make the most of this part of the voyage, for in a winter passage it
might be long before they could enjoy another promenade.
Annie was intensely interested, for all was new and strange. She had a
keen, quick eye for character, and a human interest in humanity, even
though those around her did not belong to her "set." Therefore it was
with appreciative eyes that she watched the motley groups of her
fellow-passengers waving handkerchiefs and exchanging farewells with
equally diversified groups on the wharf.
"It seems," she said to her aunt, "as if all the world had sent their
representatives here. It makes me almost sad that there is no one to
see us off."
Then her eye rested upon a gentleman who evidently had no one to see
him off. He was leaning on the railing upon the opposite side of the
ship, smoking a cigar. His back was toward all this bustle and
confusion, and he seemed to have an air of isolation and of
indifference to what was going on about him. His tall person was clad
in a heavy overcoat, which seemed to combine comfort with elegance, and
gave to him, even in his leaning posture, a distingue air. But that
which drew Annie's attention was the difference of his manner from that
of all others, who were either excited by their surroundings, or were
turning wistfully and eagerly toward friends whom it might be long
before they saw again. The motionless, apathetic figure, smoking
quietly, with his hat drawn down over his eyes, and looking away from
everything and everybody, came to have a fascination for her.
The steamer slowly and majestically moved out into the stream. Shouts,
cries, final words, hoarse orders from the officers--a perfect babel of
sounds--filled the air, but the silently-curling smoke-wreaths were the
only suggestion of life from that strangely indifferent form. He seemed
like one so deeply absorbed in his own thoughts that he would have to
be awakened as from sleep.
Suddenly he turned and came toward them with the air of one who feels
himself alone, though jostled in a crowd, and instantly, with a strange
thrill at heart, Annie recognized Walter Gregory.
Hunting saw him also, and Annie noted that, while the blackest frown
gathered on his brow, he grew very pale.
In his absorption, Gregory would have passed by them, but Annie said,
"Mr. Gregory, are you not going to speak to us?"
He started violently, and his face mantled with hot blood, and Annie
also felt that she was blushing unaccountably. But he recovered
instantly, and came and shook her hand most cordially, saying, "This is
a strangely unexpected pleasure. And Miss Morton, also! When was I ever
so fortunate before?"
Then he saw Hunting, to whom he bowed with his old, distant manner, and
Hunting returned the acknowledgment in the most stiff and formal way.
"Do you know," said Annie, "I have been watching you with curiosity for
some time past, though I did not know who you were till you turned. I
could not account for your apathy and indifference to this scene, which
to me is so novel and exciting, and which seems to find every one
interested save yourself. I should hardly have thought you alive if you
had not been smoking."
"Well," he said, "I have been abroad so often that it has become like
crossing the ferry, and I was expecting no one down to see me off. But
you do not look well;" and both she and Miss Eulie noticed that he
glanced uneasily from her to Hunting, and did not seem sure how he
should address her.
"Miss Walton has just recovered from a long illness," said Miss Eulie,
quietly.
His face instantly brightened, and as quickly changed to an expression
of sincerest sympathy.
"Not seriously ill, I hope," he said, earnestly.
"I'm afraid I was," replied Annie, adding, cheerfully, "I am quite well
now, though."
His face became as pale as it had been flushed a moment before, and he
said, in a low tone, "I did not know it."
His manner touched her, and proved that there was no indifference on
his part toward her, though there might be to the bustling world around
him.
Then he inquired particularly after each member of the household, and
especially after old Daddy Tuggar.
Annie told him how delighted the children had been with the toys and
books. "And as for Daddy Tuggar," she said, smiling, "he has been in
the clouds, literally and metaphorically, ever since you sent him the
tobacco. Whenever I go to see him he says, most cheerfully, 'It's all
settled, Miss Annie. It grows clearer with every pipe' (while I can
scarcely see him), 'I'm all right, 'cause I'm an awful sinner.'"
She was rather surprised at the look of glad sympathy which Gregory
gave her, but he only said, "He is to be envied."
Then at her request he began to point out the objects of interest they
were passing, and with quiet courtesy drew Hunting into the
conversation, who rather ungraciously permitted it because he could not
help himself.
Annie again, with pain, saw the unfavorable contrast of her lover with
this man, who certainly proved himself the more finished gentleman, if
nothing else.
With almost a child's delight she said, "You have no idea how novel and
interesting all this is to me, though so old and matter-of-fact to you.
I have always wanted to cross the ocean, and look forward to this
voyage with unmingled pleasure."
"I'm sincerely sorry such a disastrous change is so soon to take place
in your sensations, for it will be rough outside to-day, and I fear you
and Miss Morton will soon be suffering from the most forlorn and
prosaic of maladies."
"I won't give up to it," said Annie, resolutely.
"I have no doubt," he replied, humorously, "as our quaint old friend
used to say, that you are 'well meanin',' but we must all submit to
fate. I fear you will soon be confined to the dismal lower regions."
"Are you sick?"
"I was at first."
His prediction was soon verified. From almost a feeling of rapture and
a sense of the sublime as they looked out upon the broad Atlantic with
its tumultuous waves, the ladies suddenly became silent, and glanced
nervously toward the stairway that led to the cabin.
Gregory promptly gave his arm to Miss Eulie, while Hunting followed
with Annie, and that was the last appearance of the ladies for three
days.