PENITENCE AND PARDON.
Fanny arrived at the station near Woodville by the early train from the
city. On the way, she had been thinking of her own guilt, and
considering what she should do and say when she stood in the presence
of her injured friends. She was not studying how to conceal or palliate
her offence, but how she could best tell the whole truth. She gave
herself no credit for any good deed she had done during her absence;
she did not flatter herself that she had been benevolent and kind in
using the stolen money as she had used it; she did not believe that her
tender vigil at the bedside of the dying girl made her less guilty.
She felt that she deserved a severe punishment, and that it would do
her good to suffer for what she had done. She was even willing to be
sent to prison, to be disgraced, and banished from the happy home at
Woodville, whose hospitality she had abused. She felt that the penalty
of her errors, whatever it might be, would do her good. She was filled
with contrition and shame as she left the station; she hung her head,
and did not dare to look the people she met in the face. The Fanny who
went from Woodville a few days before had returned an entirely
different being.
Slowly and gloomily she walked down the road that led to the residence
of Mr. Grant. It seemed as though she had been absent a year, and
everything looked strange to her, though the change was all in herself.
All the currents of her former life had ceased to flow; the movements
of the wheel of events had been abruptly suspended. What gladdened her
before did not gladden her now, and what had once been a joy was now a
sorrow. She felt as though she had been transferred from the old world,
in which she had rejoiced in mischief and wrong, to a new world, whose
hopes and joys had not yet been revealed to her.
She approached the cottage of Mr. Long, the constable, who had probably
been engaged in the search for her since her departure. She went up to
the door and knocked. Mr. Long had just finished his breakfast, and she
was shown into the little parlor.
"So you have got back, Fanny Grant," said he, very coldly and sternly,
as he entered the room where she stood waiting for him.
"I have," she replied, just raising her eyes from the floor.
"Where have you been?"
"In New York city."
"Where did you stay?"
"At the house of a poor woman in the upper part of the city."
"I thought so; or I should have found you. You have been a very bad
girl, Fanny."
"I know it, sir. You may send me to prison now, for I deserve the worst
you can do to me," replied Fanny, choking with her emotions.
"You ought to be sent there. What did you come here for?"
"I stole the money, and I suppose you were sent to catch me. I am
willing to be sent to prison."
"You are very obliging," sneered the constable. "We don't generally ask
people whether they are willing or not when we send them to prison."
"I give myself up to you; and you can do with me what you think best."
"I know I can."
"You didn't catch me. I come here of myself; that is what I meant by
saying that I was willing to be sent to prison."
"What have you done with the money you stole?" asked the constable, who
was very much astonished at the singular conduct of Fanny.
"I have spent most of it."
"I suppose so," replied Mr. Long, who deemed it his duty to be stern
and unsympathizing. "How did you spend it?"
"I will tell Mr. Grant all about it," answered Fanny, who did not care
to repeat her story to such a person as the constable; and she felt
that he would be fully justified in disbelieving her statements.
"Perhaps you will tell me, if I wish you to do so."
"I will, but I would rather tell Mr. Grant first, for it is a long
story, and you will think it is a very strange one."
"No doubt it is," said the constable, perplexed by the replies of the
culprit, and doubtful what course he should pursue.
"I suppose Mr. Grant has not got home yet," added Fanny. "You can put
me in prison till he gets back; or I will solemnly promise you I will
not run away."
"Your promises are not worth much. Mr. Grant has got home. He came home
just as soon as he heard that you had gone off. You have given him a
heap of trouble, and you must settle the case with him. I will take you
over to the house, and I promise you I won't lose sight of you again."
"I will not attempt to get away," replied Fanny, meekly.
"I won't trust you," said Mr. Long, putting on his hat.
"I don't ask you to trust me."
"Come with me," he added, taking her by the arm.
"You need not hold me; I will not run away," said Fanny, as she left
the house with the constable, who seemed determined to hold on to her
as though she were some desperate ruffian, instead of a weak and
self-convicted girl.
"You won't get away from me, you may depend upon it," continued Mr.
Long, as they walked towards the mansion of Mr. Grant.
The constable seemed to be actuated by the vanity to make people
believe that he had made a capture, and he did not release his grasp
upon his prisoner till they reached their destination. They met several
people, who stopped and stared at them, and evidently thought the
constable had done a great thing. Mr. Long rang the bell at the front
door. The man-servant, who admitted them, started with astonishment
when he saw Fanny. They were shown to the library, and informed that
Mr. Grant was at breakfast.
"You can sit down in that chair," said the constable, pointing to a
seat. "If you attempt to get away, I shall put the handcuffs on you."
"I don't want to get away. I came back of my own accord," replied
Fanny, astonished rather than indignant at the absurd behavior of the
constable.
"You are bad enough to do almost anything."
"I hope I am not so bad as I was."
"Perhaps you do hope so; but we shall see."
"Can you tell me where Kate Magner is now?" asked Fanny, as Mr. Long
relapsed into silence and pompous dignity.
"She is at home, I suppose. She wasn't quite bad enough for you, it
seems."
"I hope she was not punished for what she did, for it was all my
fault."
"That's a fact. You have told the truth for once."
"I mean always to tell the truth now, Mr. Long," said Fanny.
"When you have done it a while, perhaps we can believe you. The Magner
girl told the whole story, and delivered up the money you gave her;
that saved her."
"I am glad she was not punished."
"She was punished."
"Then I am sorry, for it was I who led her away."
"We all know that. Now, be still; Mr. Grant is coming," said the
constable.
Mr. Grant entered the library, and walked towards the chair where Fanny
sat, taking no notice of the constable. He paused before her, looking
very sad, but very stern. Fanny's bosom was bounding with emotion. She
trembled; her heart was rising up into her throat, and choking her. She
raised her eyes from the floor and glanced at him,--only one glance at
that sad, stern face,--and then burst into tears. She did not mean to
weep; did not mean to do anything which could appeal to the sympathy of
her kind friend and benefactor, but she could not help it.
"I have brought her up to you, Mr. Grant," said the constable.
"Where did you find her?"
Mr. Long would have preferred to let Mr. Grant believe that he had
caught her himself; but the question was so direct that he could only
give a direct answer.
"She came to my house this morning."
"Very well, Mr. Long; I will not trouble you to remain any longer,"
added Mr. Grant.
"I hope you will not let her get away from you, sir," said the
constable, who thought his official position was slighted by this
intimation; and he was curious to hear what the culprit had to say for
herself.
"I will not try to get away, Mr. Grant," interposed Fanny.
"There is no fear of her getting away, even if she is disposed to do
so."
Mr. Long found himself obliged to leave, his office ignored, and his
curiosity ungratified.
"Where have you been, Fanny Jane?" asked Mr. Grant, when the constable
had gone, his tones being the counterpart of his stern, sad face.
"In New York," replied Fanny, still sobbing.
"What have you done with the money you took from the drawer in the
closet?"
"I spent most of it."
"For what did you spend it?"
"I have come back to tell the whole truth, Mr. Grant. I have been very
wicked and ungrateful to you. I am very sorry for what I have done; I
don't ask you to forgive me, for I know you can't. I am willing to be
punished as you think best, for I deserve the worst you can do to me."
Mr. Grant was a tender-hearted man. Perhaps his own children had
suffered from the gentleness of his nature; if they had, the injury had
been more than compensated for in the blessings imparted by his
tenderness. He was more than astonished at the attitude of the returned
wanderer. Fanny had never before been known to be in such a frame of
mind. The sternness of his expression passed away; there was nothing
but the sadness left. Probably he doubted the sincerity of the
culprit's contrition; at least he did not realize the depth and
earnestness of it.
"I will hear whatever you wish to say," replied he, seating himself in
his easy chair.
"I have been so wicked that I know you will find it hard to believe me;
but I mean to tell the whole truth," sobbed Fanny.
"I hope you do. You may wait till you are better able to speak. The
letter you sent to Mrs. Green informed us where you were, but we were
unable to find you."
"I came home as soon as I could; and I did not wish you to find me till
I had done what I had to do," answered Fanny, drying her tears.
She then commenced the narrative of her adventures from the time she
had parted with Miss Fanny. She told how she had let the cat out of the
drawer, and how she had found where the money was actually concealed;
she related very minutely every incident that had occurred up to the
time she had seen Mr. O'Shane and Mrs. Kent in front of the house in
New York. At this point Mr. Grant became intensely interested in the
story, and when Fanny said that she had paid the poor woman's rent with
one hundred dollars of the stolen money, a slight smile gathered upon
his sad face.
Then she related the particulars of her interview with the sick girl,
mentioning even the hymns she had sung to her. She described as well as
she could the impression made upon her by the beautiful and patient
sufferer; the sense of her own guilt and wickedness, which had then and
there dawned upon her; and the oppressive burden she had borne in her
soul when she went down into the city, which did not permit her to
enjoy the pleasures of the great metropolis for which she had stolen
the money, and run away from her home. Fanny was eloquent, but the
simple truth was her only inspiration.
Mr. Grant evidently understood the frame of mind which she described,
and when she came to her final interview with the dying girl, he could
hardly repress a tear in his own eyes. Fanny omitted nothing, but told
every incident, and repeated all she could remember of the conversation
of poor Jenny,--and hardly a word of it was forgotten,--confirming her
statement by exhibiting the anchor on her bosom, and the paper given
her by the dying saint.
Mr. Grant read the paper, and the tears came to his eyes in spite of
his efforts to suppress them.
"For her sake, Fanny, I forgive you," said he.
"I do not deserve to be forgiven, sir," sobbed Fanny.
"I could not resist such an appeal as this," answered Mr. Grant,
glancing at the paper again.
"I would have come home then, when poor Jenny was gone, but I thought I
ought to stay and do what I could for the poor woman;" and Fanny
continued her narrative, describing everything that took place at Mrs.
Kent's till her departure, including her visit to Dr. Porter's, the
funeral, and her confession to the bereaved mother.
"Mrs. Kent felt very bad when I told her that I had stolen the money;
and she promised to pay you all I had spent for her. She gave me this
note for you," continued Fanny, handing him the paper.
Mr. Grant glanced at it, and put it in his pocket.
"Fanny, if your penitence is sincere, as I hope and believe it is, I
shall be thankful that this event has happened," said he. "I should
have been glad of an opportunity to do what you have done with my
money. It would have been wrong for you to steal it, even to relieve
the distress of so needy and deserving a person as the soldier's wife;
but you have put it to a good use. It is impossible for me to doubt
your story, but I wish to confirm it. When you have had your breakfast,
you may go to the city with me, and we will visit Mrs. Kent."
"I have told the whole truth, Mr. Grant; and I am willing to do
anything you say. I did not ask or expect to be forgiven."
"I could have forgiven you, even without the request of the dying
girl."
"I do not deserve it. I expected to be sent to prison," sobbed the
penitent.
"I never thought of sending you to prison, or to any such place. I say
I forgive you, but I shall be compelled to send you to your uncle's in
Minnesota."
"I am willing to go," replied Fanny, who, a week before, would have
deemed this a greater hardship than being sent to prison.
Fanny went to her breakfast. Mrs. Green and the servants were
surprised, not to say disgusted, to see Mr. Grant treat her with so
much tenderness.