THE SQUIRE MEETS MISS HEATHERFORD.
"Humph!" Maria resumed after some minutes, and, arousing herself from
another fit of musing into which she had fallen, "I always thought there
was a skeleton hid in this old hair trunk, and now I've unearthed it.
'Murder will out,' they say, and I guess the Lord thought He'd make me
His instrument to see justice done that boy. He just sent me up here
to-day to smash the thing, and now I s'pose I've got to finish the
business up. I'm going to take charge of these papers and see that Cliff
gets them."
She began to replace them and the letters in the box as she spoke, with
a set face and determined air.
"Of course, I shall tell the squire just how I happened to find 'em,"
she went on. "I ain't one to hide anything. I'll just face him and out
with the whole matter, but they ain't never goin' back into his
possession again if I lose my place for it!" She handled the letters
reverently as she laid them, one by one, into their receptacle, her face
softening involuntarily.
"Of course, these letters will tell Cliff a lot that I may never know
anything about, and what is none o' my business," she mused, but with a
yearning curiosity to know their contents, nevertheless. "I only hope,
if the squire has been trying to cheat him out o' anything that belongs
to him, they'll help to set him right."
Having restored all that she thought belonged there to the box, she set
it one side, then finished packing the trunk, replaced the cover, and,
rising, drew it to the corner where it was accustomed to stand.
Then taking the exhumed "skeleton" under her arm she marched straight
down to her own room, where she locked it safely away in her own trunk
and hid the key.
She was quite upset by the exciting discovery of the afternoon, and for
the first time in many years lay awake until after midnight nervously
conning the matter over in her mind, and trying to decide just what she
ought to do about it. It proved to be a perplexing question, and she
chewed the cud of indecision industriously for the next two weeks, while
she scrubbed and cleaned, took up and put down carpets, washed, ironed,
and hung curtains, and performed the manifold duties that throng upon
the busy matron during house-cleaning time.
Half a dozen times she began a letter to Cliff asking him to come to
Cedar Hill, as she had something important to tell him, but she tore
each one up, her sense of loyalty to the squire making her feel that she
ought to tell him of her discovery first; while, too, she doubted the
wisdom of asking Cliff to leave his business and be at the expense of
such a journey. Once she thought she would go to a lawyer and tell him
the whole story, for she had a suspicion that there might be some
property coming to Cliff if his identity could be proven. But such a
measure did not quite commend itself to her, for she thought he might
not care to have another party let into the secrets of his origin and
his mother's domestic troubles, while she also reasoned that it would be
only fair to give the squire a chance to voluntarily right the wrong he
had committed.
The two weeks lengthened into a month, and she was no nearer a decision
than on the day of her discovery.
Meantime, however, Providence was opening the way for her to be relieved
of the burden which she felt was fast becoming too heavy to be borne.
Squire Talford, on arriving in Washington, took a room in a
boarding-house in a quiet street. He did not like hotel-life for
numerous reasons, the chief one being that he was too economically
inclined to spend his money in that way, while he also objected to the
constant change, rush, and excitement of such a place.
Now, it happened, strangely enough, that Clifford had a room in a house
adjoining Squire Talford's boarding-place, although he took his meals
farther down on the same street.
Thus it naturally came about that the whilom bound boy and his former
master ran up against each other only a few days after the arrival of
the latter in the nation's capital. The encounter occurred on Sunday,
about the middle of the afternoon, when Clifford, with a red
moss-rosebud on his coat, started forth for the Lamonti mansion, where
he was to dine with the Heatherfords.
The squire had been out to post some letters at the nearest box, and
was returning to his boarding-place when the two met on a corner.
Clifford flushed slightly, and was greatly surprised to see the man so
far from home, but with the politeness which always characterized him,
lifted his hat and cordially saluted him. The man shot a frowning glance
at him and passed on without a word, as if he had been a total stranger
to him. Possibly, if Clifford had been shabbily clad and had not looked
so prosperous, happy, and handsome, he might not have been quite so
churlish; but it made him secretly furious to see him clothed better
than himself, a fact which plainly indicated to him that he was still
making his way steadily upward, while his buoyant air and alert,
energetic step told of perfect health and a heart at peace with the
world.
The slight stung Clifford for the instant, but, replacing his hat and
straightening himself with an air of conscious superiority, he went on
his way, and half an hour later had forgotten the existence of the man.
He had far more interesting things to think about just then, for he and
Mollie were laying their plans for the most important event of their
lives--their marriage, which it had been decided should take place some
time during the latter part of January.
Several times during the next three weeks Clifford met the squire, and,
out of respect for his years, invariably saluted him in a gentlemanly
manner, but always with the same result--the man as often passed him
with a cold stare and without moving a muscle of his hard, forbidding
face.
"I wonder why he has always hated me so?" Clifford mused upon one of
these occasions. "I served him faithfully during the four years that I
lived with him--my conscience is clear of ever having once wilfully
disobeyed him or neglected my work. I cannot understand how one human
being can entertain such an unreasonable grudge against another. I am
sure I have no desire to exchange places with him, rich as he is, for I
think it must be very uncomfortable to hate one as he seems to me. I
wish Mollie could meet him--she reads faces like books, and I really
would like to know what her analysis of his character would be."
He had his wish granted not very long afterward. Squire Talford stepped
into a stationery-store one afternoon on his way home to dinner, to lay
in a fresh supply of paper and envelopes. He had observed before
entering that a very handsome equipage was standing before the door, for
being fond of fine horses, and a good judge of them, as well, he never
passed them unnoticed.
He even turned to take a second look out of the window of the store
before making his purchase, and found himself wondering who could be the
fortunate owner of the blooded pair, while his appreciative eyes also
took in the elegant appointments of the carriage and harness and the
liveried coachman and footman.
Presently he turned to the counter, and found himself standing beside a
beautiful girl, very richly attired. She was sitting on a stool,
evidently waiting for something, and after giving his own order, Squire
Talford's glance wandered again to the vision of loveliness beside him,
noting her delicate, high-bred features, her wonderfully blue eyes, and
hair of shining gold.
A clerk came to her after a moment or two and apologized for the
necessity of keeping her waiting still longer--something seemed to have
gone wrong with the order she had given.
"Never mind," said Mollie--for it was she--with the rarest of smiles and
in sweetest tones. "I am not in any hurry, and do not mind waiting in
the least."
"Humph" grunted the squire to himself, as he took his package and left
the place.
The little incident had somehow jarred upon him and set him thinking,
for he well knew that if he had been kept waiting like that, whether he
had been in a hurry or not, he would have fretted and fumed and taken
pains to make the clerk as uncomfortable as possible; but the lovely
girl had unconsciously given him a lesson in true courtesy and charity.
He could not resist the temptation to pause on the sidewalk as he went
out and take another look at the beautiful horses which he had
previously admired.
"A fine pair you have there," he observed to the coachman.
"Yes, sir," replied the man, but looking neither to the right nor left,
nor unbending from his stiff, upright position a hairsbreadth.
"Morgan?"
"Yes, sir," with the same rigidity as before.
"How old are they?"
"Six years, or thereabouts."
The squire eyed them yearningly a moment, then, turning, was about to
proceed on his way when a passer-by jostled him, and, as he was just on
the edge of the curb, caused him to lose his balance, when he nearly
fell inside the carriage, which was a victoria.
He recovered himself almost immediately, however, and, after brushing
the dust from his clothing, passed on, but grumbling over the rudeness
and carelessness of him who had caused his discomfort.
Three minutes later Mollie emerged from the store, stepped into her
carriage, and gave the order to be driven "home."
As the vehicle drew up before her door and she was about to alight, her
foot came in contact with some object upon the floor. Stooping to
ascertain what it was, she was greatly surprised to find a gentleman's
wallet lying upon the mat just inside the carriage.
"Why, I wonder how this could have come here?" she exclaimed. Upon
opening it she found several papers neatly arranged in one pocket and a
number of bank-notes of various denominations, together with a slip of
paper bearing the name, "A. H. Talford, No. ---- Twelfth Street, N. E.,"
in another.
"Talford!" she repeated thoughtfully.
Where had she heard that name before? she wondered.
"Walker," she said, holding the wallet up for her coachman to see, "do
you know anything about this? I have just found it on the floor."
The man thought a moment, and then told her of the elderly gentleman who
had admired the horses, and then, making a misstep, had almost fallen
into the carriage.
"Ah! Then the wallet must be his. Walker, you may turn around and drive
me to No. ---- Twelfth Street, N. E.," said Mollie, as she resumed her
seat.
The man swung his horses around, and they went trotting down-town again.
Arriving at the residence corresponding to the number on the slip,
Mollie alighted and inquired of the maid who responded to her ring if
Mr. Talford was in.
"Yes," the girl replied, with a peculiar smile, for the man had
discovered his loss only a few moments before, and was turning the house
upside down in his efforts to discover the missing wallet. Mollie passed
the maid her card, and told her to say to the gentleman that she would
like to see him.
She waited in the parlor nearly five minutes before the squire made his
appearance, and then he seemed to be greatly excited and in a very
unhappy frame of mind. He started upon finding himself face to face with
the beautiful girl whom he had seen in the stationer's store, and
searched her face curiously.
Mollie arose as he entered, and, approaching him, extended the wallet.
She said afterward she never saw a more avaricious expression on any
human face.
"I found this in my carriage, sir, after leaving the store where I met
you a short time ago," she said. "My coachman thinks it must have
slipped from your pocket as you stumbled and almost fell close beside
the vehicle."
The man sprang forward and seized the purse with a greedy look and
grasp.
"Yes, it is mine," he exclaimed in eager, tremulous accents. "My address
is inside--I will show you."
"That is not necessary, Mr. Talford," Mollie pleasantly returned. "I
took the liberty of opening the wallet, and found it, or I should not
have known to whom to return it."
"Yes, yes; of course," said the squire, with some embarrassment, as he
whipped it open and began to finger the bills nervously. Mollie's red
lips curled slightly at the act, for she read his thoughts like a
printed page. She saw that it was his nature to distrust every one, and
a fear that he would be overreached by those with whom he came in
contact that he was wondering, even then, whether he should find his
precious money intact.
"I am very glad I found it and was enabled to restore it so soon," she
went on, "and I preferred to bring it to you myself rather than to
entrust it to a messenger."
She moved toward the door as she concluded, for the man's forbidding and
churlish presence chilled her like an icy wind.
"Ah! yes--yes, thank you, young woman. I'm much obliged to you, I am
sure," stammered the squire as he glanced irresolutely from his wallet
to her, then back again at the crisp bills within it. "I--I suppose I
ought to pay you something for your trouble."
Mollie flushed a vivid crimson at the reluctant suggestion, and drew
herself up with involuntary hauteur.
"Indeed no, sir," she coldly responded. "I assure you you are very
welcome to what I have done, and I will not detain you longer. Good
evening, Mr. Talford," and she bowed herself out with a grace that could
not wholly veil the vein of mockery and contempt that underlay her
words, and vanished from his sight, but leaving him with a sense of
shame and meanness such as he had seldom experienced in life.
"Talford! Talford! Where have I heard that name? It rings in the
chambers of my memory with a strangely familiar sound, and it almost
seems as if I have seen that face before," Mollie mused, with a look of
perplexity on her face, as she drove back in the fast gathering twilight
toward home; but she failed to place either face or name, and soon
forgot all about them for the time.