War has been called the court of last resort. A lawsuit may with equal
aptness be compared to a battle--the parallel might be drawn very
closely all along the line. First we have the casus belli, the cause
of action; then the various protocols and proclamations and general
orders, by way of pleas, demurrers, and motions; then the preliminary
skirmishes at the trial table; and then the final struggle, in which
might is quite as likely to prevail as right, victory most often
resting with the strongest battalions, and truth and justice not seldom
overborne by the weight of odds upon the other side.
The lawsuit which Warwick and Tryon had gone to try did not, however,
reach this ultimate stage, but, after a three days' engagement,
resulted in a treaty of peace. The case was compromised and settled,
and Tryon and Warwick set out on their homeward drive. They stopped at
a farm-house at noon, and while at table saw the stage-coach from the
town they had just left, bound for their own destination. In the
mail-bag under the driver's seat were Rena's two letters; they had been
delivered at the town in the morning, and immediately remailed to
Clarence, in accordance with orders left at the post-office the evening
before. Tryon and Warwick drove leisurely homeward through the pines,
all unconscious of the fateful squares of white paper moving along the
road a few miles before them, which a mother's yearning and a
daughter's love had thrown, like the apple of discord, into the narrow
circle of their happiness.
They reached Clarence at four o'clock. Warwick got down from the buggy
at his office. Tryon drove on to his hotel, to make a hasty toilet
before visiting his sweetheart.
Warwick glanced at his mail, tore open the envelope addressed in his
sister's handwriting, and read the contents with something like dismay.
She had gone away on the eve of her wedding, her lover knew not where,
to be gone no one knew how long, on a mission which could not be
frankly disclosed. A dim foreboding of disaster flashed across his
mind. He thrust the letter into his pocket, with others yet unopened,
and started toward his home. Reaching the gate, he paused a moment and
then walked on past the house. Tryon would probably be there in a few
minutes, and he did not care to meet him without first having had the
opportunity for some moments of reflection. He must fix upon some line
of action in this emergency.
Meanwhile Tryon had reached his hotel and opened his mail. The letter
from Rena was read first, with profound disappointment. He had really
made concessions in the settlement of that lawsuit--had yielded several
hundred dollars of his just dues, in order that he might get back to
Rena three days earlier. Now he must cool his heels in idleness for at
least three days before she would return. It was annoying, to say the
least. He wished to know where she had gone, that he might follow her
and stay near her until she should be ready to come back. He might ask
Warwick--no, she might have had some good reason for not having
mentioned her destination. She had probably gone to visit some of the
poor relations of whom her brother had spoken so frankly, and she would
doubtless prefer that he should not see her amid any surroundings but
the best. Indeed, he did not know that he would himself care to
endanger, by suggestive comparisons, the fine aureole of superiority
that surrounded her. She represented in her adorable person and her
pure heart the finest flower of the finest race that God had ever
made--the supreme effort of creative power, than which there could be
no finer. The flower would soon be his; why should he care to dig up
the soil in which it grew?
Tryon went on opening his letters. There were several bills and
circulars, and then a letter from his mother, of which he broke the
seal:--
MY DEAREST GEORGE,--This leaves us well. Blanche is still with me, and
we are impatiently awaiting your return. In your absence she seems
almost like a daughter to me. She joins me in the hope that your
lawsuits are progressing favorably, and that you will be with us soon.
. . .
On your way home, if it does not keep you away from us too long, would
it not be well for you to come by way of Patesville, and find out
whether there is any prospect of our being able to collect our claim
against old Mr. Duncan McSwayne's estate? You must have taken the
papers with you, along with the rest, for I do not find them here.
Things ought to be settled enough now for people to realize on some of
their securities. Your grandfather always believed the note was good,
and meant to try to collect it, but the war interfered. He said to me,
before he died, that if the note was ever collected, he would use the
money to buy a wedding present for your wife. Poor father! he is dead
and gone to heaven; but I am sure that even there he would be happier
if he knew the note was paid and the money used as he intended.
If you go to Patesville, call on my cousin, Dr. Ed. Green, and tell him
who you are. Give him my love. I haven't seen him for twenty years.
He used to be very fond of the ladies, a very gallant man. He can
direct you to a good lawyer, no doubt. Hoping to see you soon,
Your loving mother,
ELIZABETH TRYON.
P. S. Blanche joins me in love to you.
This affectionate and motherly letter did not give Tryon unalloyed
satisfaction. He was glad to hear that his mother was well, but he had
hoped that Blanche Leary might have finished her visit by this time.
The reasonable inference from the letter was that Blanche meant to
await his return. Her presence would spoil the fine romantic flavor of
the surprise he had planned for his mother; it would never do to expose
his bride to an unannounced meeting with the woman whom he had tacitly
rejected. There would be one advantage in such a meeting: the
comparison of the two women would be so much in Rena's favor that his
mother could not hesitate for a moment between them. The situation,
however, would have elements of constraint, and he did not care to
expose either Rena or Blanche to any disagreeable contingency. It
would be better to take his wife on a wedding trip, and notify his
mother, before he returned home, of his marriage. In the extremely
improbable case that she should disapprove his choice after having seen
his wife, the ice would at least have been broken before his arrival at
home.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, striking his knee with his hand, "why
shouldn't I run up to Patesville while Rena's gone? I can leave here
at five o'clock, and get there some time to-morrow morning. I can
transact my business during the day, and get back the day after
to-morrow; for Rena might return ahead of time, just as we did, and I
shall want to be here when she comes; I'd rather wait a year for a
legal opinion on a doubtful old note than to lose one day with my love.
The train goes in twenty minutes. My bag is already packed. I'll just
drop a line to George and tell him where I've gone."
He put Rena's letter into his breast pocket, and turning to his trunk,
took from it a handful of papers relating to the claim in reference to
which he was going to Patesville. These he thrust into the same pocket
with Rena's letter; he wished to read both letter and papers while on
the train. It would be a pleasure merely to hold the letter before his
eyes and look at the lines traced by her hand. The papers he wished to
study, for the more practical purpose of examining into the merits of
his claim against the estate of Duncan McSwayne.
When Warwick reached home, he inquired if Mr. Tryon had called.
"No, suh," answered the nurse, to whom he had put the question; "he
ain't be'n here yet, suh."
Warwick was surprised and much disturbed.
"De baby 's be'n cryin' for Miss Rena," suggested the nurse, "an' I
s'pec' he'd like to see you, suh. Shall I fetch 'im?"
"Yes, bring him to me."
He took the child in his arms and went out upon the piazza. Several
porch pillows lay invitingly near. He pushed them toward the steps
with his foot, sat down upon one, and placed little Albert upon
another. He was scarcely seated when a messenger from the hotel came
up the walk from the gate and handed him a note. At the same moment he
heard the long shriek of the afternoon train leaving the station on the
opposite side of the town.
He tore the envelope open anxiously, read the note, smiled a sickly
smile, and clenched the paper in his hand unconsciously. There was
nothing he could do. The train had gone; there was no telegraph to
Patesville, and no letter could leave Clarence for twenty-four hours.
The best laid schemes go wrong at times--the stanchest ships are
sometimes wrecked, or skirt the breakers perilously. Life is a sea,
full of strange currents and uncharted reefs--whoever leaves the
traveled path must run the danger of destruction. Warwick was a
lawyer, however, and accustomed to balance probabilities.
"He may easily be in Patesville a day or two without meeting her. She
will spend most of her time at mother's bedside, and he will be
occupied with his own affairs."
If Tryon should meet her--well, he was very much in love, and he had
spoken very nobly of birth and blood. Warwick would have preferred,
nevertheless, that Tryon's theories should not be put to this
particular test. Rena's scruples had so far been successfully
combated; the question would be opened again, and the situation
unnecessarily complicated, if Tryon should meet Rena in Patesville.
"Will he or will he not?" he asked himself. He took a coin from his
pocket and spun it upon the floor. "Heads, he sees her; tails, he does
not."
The coin spun swiftly and steadily, leaving upon the eye the impression
of a revolving sphere. Little Albert, left for a moment to his own
devices, had crept behind his father and was watching the whirling disk
with great pleasure. He felt that he would like to possess this
interesting object. The coin began to move more slowly, and was
wabbling to its fall, when the child stretched forth his chubby fist
and caught it ere it touched the floor.