“Frank! You? Where did you come from?” turning to the form that from the
darkness had stepped to her side. The old reckless laugh rang upon the
still night air:
“Not afraid of me, sister mine, are you? I have come from somewhere out
of the darkness surrounding us, but I am not dangerous. I have never
done anything worse than steal when I was hungry; but as that happens on
an average about twice, sometimes thrice a day I have that unpleasant
duty rather often to perform. But what is a fellow to do? The world owes
me a living, you know, and exerting myself to the extent of taking
something wherever I can place my hand upon it is about as much work as
I care to do.
“Say sis,” he went on in his reckless manner, to the horror-struck girl,
“you couldn’t give a fellow a little spending money, now could you? You
are in a pretty feathered nest here, you must admit. I always knew and
said such saintly goodness and beauty must have their reward. I knew too
you were not quite so innocent as you would have us believe. Say, now,
honor bright, how much is this most honored brother-in-law of mine
worth? To judge from the appearance of yonder noble mansion and these
surrounding grounds, he must command more than a few thousands, and as I
would like to put in an appearance at your next grand entertainment a
few hundred would not come amiss. You would not like to be ashamed of
me, eh?”
Almost paralyzed with horror Imelda listened. Was this man, who was
scarcely more than a boy, her brother? Oh, shame, shame! Her brother,
born of the same mother! She understood. He thought she was married and
he asked her for some of that supposed husband’s money. Was it possible
that the man sleeping in his far western grave was the father of them
both?
“Well, ’Melda, can’t you give a fellow an answer? I am waiting
patiently. Gad, but you have managed nicely. It seems I struck it
handsome when the brakeman found me snuggled away in a freight car, the
other night, and insisted that my room at that particular place was more
welcome than my presence. Think I shall remain here, instead of playing
tramp any longer. It will certainly be a change. Only I suppose I can’t
present myself in my present plight at the front door of my illustrious
brother-in-law’s mansion. So, sis, you will have to fork over some of
the shiners so’s I can make the desired change.”
“Frank!” now broke in Imelda’s horror-struck voice. “Frank! Will you
stop? How dare you think any of all the terrible things you have been
saying? You seem to take it for granted because you find me here in the
grounds of a handsome home that it is my own. I am not married, as you
seem to think, but am only a servant in the house you see yonder. So you
see all your talk about a rich brother-in-law is the veriest nonsense,
and the sooner you leave here and find yourself some honest work to do
the better it will be for you.”
“Look here, ’Melda,” he cried, catching her roughly by the arm, “you
can’t come any such chaff over me! I want money! I know you have it, and
I swear you are going to give it to me.” Imelda felt the blood in her
veins turning to ice, not from fear, but from the horror that her
brother had come to a level such as this.
“Let go of my arm,” she said in a calm, even voice. “Have you ever known
me to speak a falsehood? I have no money, and what is more, if I had I
should not give you a cent. You know me well enough of old to know that
I never say what I do not mean; so I repeat, let go of my arm and leave
these premises as quickly as possible. Until the time that you can prove
yourself a man I forbid you ever to speak to me again. Go to the home of
our childhood and at the graves of those to whom you owe your being,
make the resolution that you will be a son worthy of your father, and if
you can keep that resolution a time may come in the future that you may
again call me sister. Now for the last time, go,”—saying which she
brushed his hand from her arm and turning walked quickly away.
She had not proceeded a dozen steps when she ran into the arms of
someone standing there in the darkness. A cry broke from her lips. She
was almost overcome with terror. Were the grounds infested tonight? Her
heart throbbed with such force it seemed she would suffocate. She could
not utter a sound. Who was it? She only heard a heavy breathing and on
trying to extricate her hands they were held tighter.
“Don’t fear,” spoke a voice which sent a new thrill of fear to her
heart, for it was the voice of Lawrence Westcot!
“Don’t fear, you are quite safe. I have heard the greater part of what
transpired a few steps from here, and I will walk with you to the
house.”
Imelda was too weak to protest much against this offer. She shivered as
he drew her arm through his and led her silently to the house, but in
spite of her terror and repugnance at his touch she could not but notice
that he treated her with profound respect. He led her to the entrance,
opened the door and held it for her to pass through.
Without a single word she left him. Scarcely able to keep on her feet
she dragged herself up the broad stairway to her room; then without
removing any of her clothing, she sank upon the bed whereon she lay long
hours without moving so much as a finger. As the morning dawn stole
through the windows she rose and disrobed, a storm of sobs shaking the
slender figure while tears bedewed her pillow.
On the following day, and on many following days it was difficult to say
which of the two, Alice or Imelda, was the paler, the more listless;
whether in the depths of the blue or brown eyes lay hidden the keenest
pain.
Norman came and went. He saw the change in the girl he loved but could
not fathom the cause. He asked if she were sick; a shake of the head was
the only answer. It was all she could do to restrain the tears in his
presence. It would have been a luxury to sob her unhappy story out upon
his breast, but shame sealed her lips. So she bore her sorrow as best
she could, and in time its keen edge wore off. Frank seemed to have
disappeared as suddenly and completely as he did once before. Now and
then, as the memory of that evening more vividly rose before her mind’s
eye, she would whisper to herself.
“O father! my ever dear father! how thankful I am you did not live to
realize all this. How thankful that your proud head has not been bowed
with shame such knowledge would have brought you,”—and as these thoughts
seemed to give new strength her own head would be uplifted, while a look
of pride could be read in that high-bred face.