A COMPLICATION OF TROUBLES.
Faith could think of no words then to comfort Mr. Watkins. His grief was
too poignant. She changed the subject.
When he left the house to go home, she put on her hat. There was
something she wished to say to him that she could not say before her
mother. There was an errand at the grocery that gave her an excuse, and
as the hour was not late, Faith welcomed the opportunity.
As soon as they were in the street she told him her experience with the
store detective and asked his advice in case she should be annoyed in
the future.
Before the words were fairly out of her mouth she wished she had not
spoken. There was confusion and shame upon her companion's face, and his
lips trembled strangely when he tried to answer her.
For a moment Faith could hardly believe her senses. She stared at him
stupidly, while her limbs trembled beneath her.
Instantly a suspicion darted through her brain. She remembered that he,
too, had been in the superintendent's office that evening, and that it
was possible, even probable, that he knew something about the money.
"Oh, Miss Marvin, this is dreadful!" he managed to say at last. "I did
not dream that they would settle upon you! I thought, that is, I hoped,
that they had dropped the matter!"
"Then you knew of it," said Faith, her voice sounding faint and far
away.
"I knew it, yes," said Mr. Watkins. "In fact, I was sent by Mr. Forbes
to stop you, but you had gotten out of the building."
"Is it possible?"
Faith was coming back to her senses now.
"Tell me all you know of the matter, Mr. Watkins," she said, sternly,
"and tell me the exact truth. Don't attempt to hide anything!"
Mr. Watkins controlled himself and told her the whole story--how the
superintendent had suspected her of stealing the money and sent to have
her brought back at once and had been disappointed.
"An hour later," he continued, "he got a telegram from his wife. His son
was dying and he had to go home. Since then there had nothing been done
about the robbery."
Faith drew a long breath after the young man finished.
"So appearances are against me," she said, with a sigh. "I am at the
mercy of a rascal like that detective, Hardy."
Mr. Watkins said nothing, but he was as pale as death. When he tried to
comfort her the words nearly choked him.
Faith saw it and pitied him even while she wondered. A few moments later
she bade him a cordial "good-night." If there was any suspicion in her
heart it did not show in her manner.
She was walking slowly home from the grocery, plunged in the most
serious thought, when a well-dressed man of middle age appeared suddenly
before her.
"I beg pardon, miss," he said, raising his hat, "but I am a stranger in
this neighborhood and am looking for a certain number. If you live about
here perhaps you will kindly direct me."
"I will, with pleasure, sir. What number do you wish?" asked Faith.
As she spoke she paused directly in the glare of a gas lamp.
As the light fell on her face the stranger stopped abruptly.
"By Jove! What luck!" he cried, gayly. "The very angel I was thinking
of!"
"What do you mean, sir!" cried Faith, who was now thoroughly frightened.
"If you wish me to direct you, state the number that you seek at once! I
am not in the habit of being addressed by strangers!"
"My dear child, don't get angry. I shall not harm you," said the man,
politely, "but you surprised me out of myself. I did not dream of
meeting you."
As Faith still stood staring at him he continued, speaking hurriedly,
and his manner became so chivalrous that the young girl soon accused
herself mentally of rudeness.
"You see, it is this way, miss. I was thinking of the sweetest little
girl in the whole big world, and when I saw your face you were so much
like her that to save my soul I could not help that exclamation. You
will pardon me, I am sure, for I meant no harm whatever! I am old enough
to be your father, so you see you have no reason to fear me."
"I spoke hastily," said Faith, slowly. "I had no wish to be rude, but
you must admit that I had cause to feel a little startled."
"You did, indeed, and I apologize humbly, but am I not right in thinking
that I have seen you somewhere before? Are you not employed in the
department store of Denton, Day & Co.?"
Faith looked at him in surprise.
"I have worked there two days," she began, a little hastily.
"And I have seen you twice," replied the stranger, promptly. "Your face
is a sweet one. I could not forget it."
The words were spoken so quietly that Faith could not resent them. She
was moving slowly toward her home now, feeling a little bit nervous.
"That is a dreadful life for a girl," went on the man, very quietly. "It
is agony for the poor things, both of mind and body!"
"You are right, sir," cried Faith, who had thought instantly of Miss
Jennings. "The shop girls' life is one continuous drudgery. She is the
slave of circumstances and the victim of conditions."
"I am surprised that so many enter the life. There are surely other
vocations. They choose the hardest one possible."
"But do they choose?" asked Faith, who had become interested in spite,
of herself. "Are they not driven this way or that, according to their
opportunities? In my case there was no choice. I had tried everything
else. Hard as it is, I am thankful for my present employment."
The man looked at her sharply. There was genuine sympathy in his face.
Almost involuntarily he broke out in violent sentences.
"You girls are to blame in great measure for all this, and where the
fault is not yours it lies with your parents! Instead of cultivating
your graces you bedraggle them with labor! Instead of marketing your
smiles you trade in blood and sinew! Every day in that store means a
year off of your life; every anxious moment means an inroad into your
rightful happiness! Why will you not see the folly of your ways? Why can
you not understand that it is a false morality which is killing you?
Why, if I were a girl"--his voice had dropped to the most persuasive
cadence--"I should value my beauty too highly to hide it behind a
counter, and my subsistence should be the boundless reward of affection,
rather than the niggardly recompense for wasted tissues! Of course, I
shock you, because you have done no thinking for yourself. A lot of
narrow souled ancestors have done thinking for you. They have brought
you here to let you shift for yourself, but woe to you if you offend one
of their petty notions of honor. See, child! I have money, I have
constant ease. Could you blame me for offering to share it with youth
and beauty?"
As he breathed these words he gazed at Faith eagerly. The soul in the
man had vanished. He was dangerously in earnest.
The thrill that flowed through Faith's veins as he spoke was not of
fear, for, child that she was, she understood his meaning, and his words
stirred the deepest channels of her soul--she was more grieved than
shocked at the man's distorted reasoning.
"You are all wrong," she said, sadly. "You cannot understand! There are
some things more precious than gold to us, more precious even than
comfort or affection. Not for the world would I lose this 'something'
which I possess! It is the haven of my soul at the hour of every trial.
It is the one solace of my life in the desperate condition that I have
reached. You, a man of years, should not argue so wrongfully. It is
wicked to place temptations before the young and wretched."
She had regained her composure as she finished speaking, and a tinge of
righteous indignation made her voice vibrate strangely.
"Is it wrong to do good?" asked the man, a trifle sullenly. "Surely
comfort, ease, health are the best a man can offer. Nature did not
create you girls for a life of toil. You were made for love, for homage
and adoration. Yet when one offers you these you turn to your nameless
'something' and, like the martyrs of old, suffer torture and death
rather than accept what is your due. It is incomprehensible, truly!"
"Hush! Your words are an insult! I will not hear them. It is true that
my knowledge of the world is limited, but this much I know: the God of
righteousness has placed me here for a purpose, and that purpose is not
to play the coward in time of trouble or to prove traitor to the
highest, holiest instincts which permeate my being! Working girl I am
and may always be, but my lot is a queen's beside what you suggest! God
pity the poor women who have not the wisdom to see it."
She was standing before him now like a beautiful statue, one arm
uplifted to emphasize her utterances.
"My God! You are superb! Magnificent!" muttered the man involuntarily.
"I would give my life to be worthy of such a woman!"
Faith's arm dropped suddenly, and she drew away with a gasp. There was a
look in the man's face that frightened her for a moment.
"You have taught me a lesson," he said, almost hoarsely. "I thank you,
child, and I bid you good-evening."
"But the number," cried Faith, as he was turning away. "You wished me to
direct you to a certain number."
"Never mind it now. I can find it," was the answer.
He was walking swiftly away in the darkness of the street, when a figure
approached him from the opposite direction.
The two met directly under the gas lamp where Faith had been standing a
moment before, and as they met Faith heard a sharp exclamation.
Her sharp eyes recognized the newcomer at once. It was no other than Bob
Hardy, the store detective.