CONFESSION.
Yes, Annie Colchester had made up her mind. There was only one thing to
be done; she must see Mr. Parker without a moment’s delay, make full
confession, and fling herself upon his mercy.
“Even prison would be better than this present agony,” thought the poor
girl. “Whatever happens, I cannot face the Achesons again without their
knowing the truth.”
With the first dawn she rose and dressed, and then wrote a little note
to Mrs. Acheson.
“You will think badly of me, and no wonder,” wrote Annie. “The man who
tried to steal the wooden box last night was my brother Rupert. Yes, he
was my brother. He cut the square of glass out of the window, and
entered your house as a common burglar. Pray, don’t do anything until
you hear from me again. I am going to Mr. Parker.”
Belle found this note, read its contents, flushed slowly all over,
rubbed her forehead in a distracted way, and then, hiding the note in
the pocket of her dressing-gown, returned to her own room.
“Poor Annie has gone out of her mind,” she said to herself. “Mr.
Colchester, that charming, scholarly, delightful man enter the house in
order to take my box of money—impossible! I should not believe it if a
thousand Annie Colchesters swore to it. This note is my property, and I
refuse to divulge its contents for the present.”
Meanwhile Annie wandered about the streets until it was time for Mr.
Parker to appear at his office. He had been called unexpectedly out of
town on the previous day, or events would have come to an issue before
now. On his arrival this morning he looked eagerly through his
correspondence, and had just taken up the letter from the expert and was
reading its contents when his clerk entered, said that Miss Colchester
had called, that she looked in serious trouble, and wished to see Mr.
Parker without delay.
“Ask Miss Colchester into my waiting-room, and say I will send for her
presently,” was the reply.
The clerk withdrew. Mr. Parker continued to read the expert’s letter.
“I thought so,” he said to himself; “he says the writings are not
identical, that they have not been written by the same person. Miss
Annie little knows what a trap she has got into. She is just here in the
nick of time. Yes, I will see her; I will get the whole naked truth out
of her. Guilty! of course she is guilty. After she has made her
confession she shall come with me to the Gilroys. What an old, blind
fool I have been. How could I ever doubt a girl with a face like
Leslie’s?”
He stood up as he spoke. The expert’s letter had pleased him; but he
could not but own that he felt nearly as puzzled as ever.
“Bless me if I know what it means even now,” he said anxiously to
himself.
The puzzled man was standing on his hearth. His hair was wildly rubbed
over his head, and his eyes looked fiercer than Annie had ever seen them
when she entered the room.
“Well, Miss Colchester,” he said, “may I ask what is the meaning of this
visit? It so happens that I am anxious to see you, and should have
called upon you if you had not come to me. But, as a rule, I do not see
people on private business in my office.”
“I have come to speak to you about Leslie Gilroy,” said Annie. “You are
fond of Leslie?”
“It does not matter to you whether I care for her or not. What have you
got to say about her?”
“Only that she is quite innocent,” said Annie. “She never wrote that
letter.”
Mr. Parker’s face wore an ugly sneer.
“I wonder now,” he said, coming a step or two forward, “if you have been
following me about on the sly for the last day or two? Do you happen to
know that I had taken that letter and also the writing Leslie Gilroy
left here the other day to Essex the expert? You are sharp enough to
know most things. Did you find out about that?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“My meaning is plain enough. It is better to make confession before open
detection, is it not?”
“I don’t know anything,” continued Annie; “I have never heard of Mr.
Essex before. I am the most wretched, miserable girl in the world. I
came to you to confess, not knowing that you were able to expose me. It
does not matter now in the very least whether you expose me or not, for
I am going to expose myself. I did write that letter. I knew at the time
that it was forgery; but I was desperate. Rupert wanted sixty pounds. He
said that if he did not get the money he would be locked up; the police
were already after him. He owed the money for a debt of such a nature
that if he did not pay it he would be locked up.”
“Well, all this is coming to the point with a vengeance,” said Mr.
Parker.
Annie clutched hold of the nearest chair to steady herself.
“I am miserable, and I know that I deserve imprisonment, or anything you
like to give me,” she said.
“We will leave out the question about your deservings for the present,”
said the merchant. “What I want is the truth, the whole truth, and
nothing but the truth.”
“Well, I did it,” said Annie; “I did commit forgery. I was nearly mad. I
have always loved Rupert better than I ought. He was my only brother,
and I—I could never turn from him. It was idolatry, and I am punished.”
“Go on with your story,” said Mr. Parker.
“I am doing so; only you must give me time. Rupert wanted the money, and
I was distracted. Leslie and I were roomfellows; she was always good to
me.”
“A nice return you have made for her kindness.”
“I know that well; but you cannot understand the temptation. There, I
don’t mean to excuse myself. On the very evening when I saw Rupert, and
found out all about his trouble, Leslie talked about you. I was so
startled to find that she also knew you. She told me what you were doing
for her, how liberal you were with your money, how very kind. She said
that her father had been your greatest friend, and that you had made a
sort of promise to help his children. As she spoke, a desperate idea
came into my head. I was always very clever at imitating handwriting,
and there was plenty of Leslie’s about. The idea of making her appear to
write to you for money came into my brain, and would not go away again.
I thought of it all night, and the scheme seemed almost impossible to be
detected, and was my last and only resource. I rose very early, got hold
of some of Leslie’s handwriting, copied it carefully, wrote the letter
which I brought to you, got permission to go to London from Miss
Lauderdale, and saw you that afternoon. You gave me the money. I took it
back. I gave it to Rupert.”
“But even now I do not understand,” said Mr. Parker. “I came down to
Wingfield the next day. I was very much disturbed, I can tell you. That
letter, which seemed to be Leslie’s, shook my faith. I always considered
her the finest, sweetest girl I had ever come across, like, very like,
one whom I have lost; but no matter, you are unworthy to hear that name.
I came to Wingfield, and I saw Leslie, and she knew all about it; she
did not deny anything.”
“That is because she was noble. I was obliged to tell her the truth, and
she resolved to screen me and take the consequences.”
“’Pon my word! I never heard anything like this in the whole course of
my life,” said Mr. Parker. “Noble! I should think she was; but what were
you made of? You allowed her! Think what she suffered. I distrusted her,
and you allowed her to screen you.”
“I did, for Rupert’s sake. I know I was bad, but I was not wholly bad.
She knew that if it were discovered I should be expelled from St.
Wode’s, and my chance in life would be over, so she agreed to screen me.
I didn’t guess at the time how much she would suffer, and what it would
mean to her. Leslie saw Rupert and told him that if he would leave the
country, and never return, she would keep his secret and mine. Rupert
promised to go away. He went, and I thought I should never see him
again. Then I lost my interest in my work. I found I could not study;
and when I passed my exam. I only took an ordinary, and my prospects
were more or less ruined. I was terribly poor, for the little money that
I had saved I had already given to my brother. When my own money was
nearly gone I went to Leslie; that was a few days ago. I heard that you
wanted a secretary, and I begged and implored of her to ask you to give
me the post. Leslie did not like asking you. She said you were terribly
changed to her; but at last she consented. She came here with me. You
told her that if she told the real truth about the money you would give
me the post. How could she tell you the truth without ruining me? We
both knew it was all up then, although she implored me at the eleventh
hour to make confession; but I could not—how could I without ruining
Rupert?”
“You conscience has become very tender since then,” said Mr. Parker.
“How is it you are here this morning?”
“I will tell you. Because Rupert himself has opened my eyes. Oh, I love
him still; yes, I love him still; but my heart is broken. I don’t care
what happens to me. Friends of mine of the name of Acheson asked me to
stay with them for a week. I had only fourteen shillings in the world,
and I thought I would go. Mrs. Acheson was very kind—she was like a
mother to me; but on the very day I went, on the day I saw you last, I
met my brother. He had never gone away; he had broken his word to
Leslie; he had got into fresh, awful trouble. He wanted more and more
money; and, oh, Mr. Parker, last night he broke into the very house
where I was staying, in order to steal some money which was in the
drawing-room. What am I to do? Oh, if I might only die!”
The miserable girl fell on her knees, burying her face in a chair near
by; her faint sobs sounded through the room.
Mr. Parker stood still for a moment, the color in his face was coming
and going. What was he to do? He hated Annie Colchester, and yet from
the bottom of his soul he pitied her. Before he could decide anything,
there came a knock at the door.
“Particularly engaged just now,” he called out.
“It’s Miss Gilroy, sir. She wants to see you as soon as possible.”
“Miss Gilroy! Bless my soul! what can she have come about?”
“Oh, do let her in. I know she will plead for me. She will ask you not
to be too bitterly hard,” said poor Annie.
Mr. Parker opened the door.
“Come right in, Leslie,” he said. His manner had changed; there was a
tremble in his deep voice.
Leslie came eagerly forward.
“I have come to ask you if you know anything about Annie Colchester,”
she began. “We are in dreadful trouble about her; she has disappeared,
and—— Why, what is it? You seem to know something. What is wrong?”
“Only that I have learned the truth at last, Leslie. Annie Colchester is
here; she has confessed everything. Stand up, Annie, and speak this
moment.”
But Annie was past this, her head was buried in her hands, and sobs
shook her frame. Leslie gave one glance from Mr. Parker to Annie, and
then sprang forward.
She fell on her knees by Annie’s side, and put her arms round her.
“Oh, poor, poor Annie; have you really confessed?” said Leslie. “It was
brave of you, dear; it was brave.” She put her arms round Annie’s neck
and began to kiss her.
“Oh, you don’t know how she has been tried and tempted,” she continued,
turning to the merchant. “You cannot be angry with her any longer. Even
the worst sinner ought to be forgiven when he confesses; and Annie is
sorry, so sorry.”
Leslie’s kisses fell on Annie’s hot cheeks like rain. After a time Annie
slightly moved her position, and stole one arm softly round Leslie’s
neck.
Mr. Parker looked at the two.
“Bless my soul! this will upset me,” he muttered to himself. “Never met
a girl like Leslie; it makes one believe in Christianity; that it does.”
He suddenly left the room. An hour later he came back.
Annie was now quite collected and calm. She had told Leslie everything.
Leslie went straight up to Mr. Parker, and took his hand.
“You have got to do something for me,” she said.
“I’ll do anything for you, Leslie; I feel fit to die when I think how I
mistrusted you.”
“You had good reasons to mistrust me, and I am not the least surprised.
You need not reproach yourself in the very least. Now, if you will do
something, if you will grant me a great, great favor, I shall be the
happiest of girls; I shall gladly rejoice in the thought of my past
suffering if it can help Annie now.”
“You want a favor for her?”
“I do; and I know you will grant it.”
“It would be difficult for me to refuse you anything; but what is it?”
“I want you to do this. I don’t wish Rupert Colchester, bad as he is, to
be locked up. I want him to leave the country; I want you to see that he
goes. He must be seen off, for Annie is not to be persecuted by him any
longer. When he is away I want Annie to become your secretary. I will be
responsible for her conduct, for her probity and honesty; she shall come
and live at my mother’s, and she shall work for you. Annie must be
saved. Oh, I love her, Mr. Parker; I love her, notwithstanding her sin.
She was terribly tempted. You and I do not know anything of such
temptation; but now we will save her, won’t we? Will you do this for my
sake?”
“I declare I’d do anything in the world for you; but it’s rather a big
order. I shan’t mind helping that poor girl; but the brother! is he to
go off scot-free?”
“For Annie’s sake, yes. It would hurt her too terribly if he were
punished. Give him one last chance, Mr. Parker; he may be saved even at
the eleventh hour. Oh, you are the best man I know; prove it now.”
“And this would make you quite happy, my dear?”
“It would make me so happy I should scarcely know how to contain myself.
Oh say ‘Yes,’ here and now.”
“Then here is my hand on it; I say it here and now.”
* * * * *
Mr. Parker was as good as his word. He was not a man to do things by
half-measures, and he did not lose an hour in taking means to discover
Rupert Colchester’s whereabouts. He found that young man hiding from the
police, gave him such a talking to that even he felt a little ashamed;
and finally, securing a berth for him on board a vessel which was bound
for Australia, saw him off himself on the following day. The curtain
drops forever on Rupert as far as this story is concerned.
Annie is happy at last, notwithstanding her great trials. She is very
busy, and has little time to think. She makes an excellent secretary; is
painstaking, persevering, clever, and affectionate. Mr. Parker does not
like to own it; but he is really getting very fond of her, and actually
asks her advice on several matters in the most unwarrantable and
unbusinesslike manner. Annie lives with Mrs. Gilroy, who is as kind as
kind can be to the motherless girl.
As to the other girls, whose opening lives have been so briefly sketched
in these pages, they are some of them still undergraduates at St.
Wode’s, and some are starting in the real battle of life; but they are
all without exception doing well.
Lettie has given up her collegiate training, has entered society, making
Mrs. Chetwynd very happy by so doing, and is much liked for her cheerful
and taking manners and her pretty face.
Eileen has quite recovered her health and strength. She and Marjorie are
still at St. Wode’s, and Marjorie never forgets that time when God
answered her prayer and spared Eileen’s life.
Leslie is more beautiful and more beloved than ever by all those who
know her. Mr. Parker openly talks of her as his adopted daughter, and
her love for the old man is the sunshine of his declining years.
Belle hopes to open her hostel within a year at the latest. There is a
change for the better in Belle, and she is less arrogant than formerly,
although she still firmly believes that the true aim of a woman’s life
is to delve in the rich soil of past literature and not to trouble
herself much about the future.
One and all in their different ways are going forward to a goal. Each
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THE OCTOPUS. A Story of California.
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BLIX.
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GROSSET & DUNLAP, Publishers, New York