Before the sun was an hour high Prairieville was greatly excited over
the news of the burglary at Lakeside and the subsequent arrest of
O’Rourke on suspicion of having been concerned in it.
He was, however, speedily at large again, Nolan not being able to swear
positively to his identity, and Colonel Bangs coming forward with an
_alibi_ in his favor. He made oath that O’Rourke had been with him in
his private office at the precise time when he was supposed to have
been at Lakeside taking the money from the parlor cupboard.
He (Bangs) had had a fit of wakefulness, and thinking it must be time
to rise, had summoned Phelim to light a fire in the office. On looking
at his watch, when Phelim came in answer to the summons, he had found
it barely three o’clock. Still, feeling sure he should not be able to
sleep again, he had his order carried out. The fire was slow to burn,
and Phelim did not leave the room till the clock had struck four—long
after McAllister and Nolan had given up their pursuit of the burglar
and returned to Lakeside.
This testimony, of course, completely exonerated O’Rourke, unless upon
the unlikely supposition that Lawyer Bangs was perjuring himself to
shield one in whom he had no greater interest than that of a master in
his servant. Barney Nolan was, perhaps, the only person who still
indulged strong suspicions against Phelim.
There was a grain of truth in the lawyer’s story. He had called Phelim
from his bed between two and three o’clock that morning, but it was by
an arrangement entered into the previous evening, during a private
interview held shortly after O’Rourke’s return from the depot; and
without waiting to light a fire at all the Irishman had set out on his
evil errand.
After making good his escape from his pursuers (McAllister and Nolan)
he gained Bangs’s residence by a circuitous route, and, under cover of
the darkness, crept cautiously in at a back door, opened for him by the
lawyer himself, who had a few moments before taken his stand beside it,
and was waiting there, listening intently for the expected sound of
approaching footsteps.
“Ah, at last!” he exclaimed, half under his breath, as his accomplice
stepped in. “Don’t breathe so loud if you can help it; some one may be
listening. This way—into the office.”
They groped their way through the dark passage into a room beyond,
dimly lighted by a smouldering fire. Bangs struck a match and lighted a
lamp.
“Won’t it shine out intil the street, sor?” asked Phelim, glancing
apprehensively around at the windows.
“No; can’t you see that the shutters are closed and the blinds drawn
down? Now, what success? I was never on any former occasion so anxious
to have you succeed.”
“I s’pose not, sor, seein’ as there’s on’y us two to divide the plunder
this toime. An’ it’s mesilf as should pocket the lion’s share, I’m a
thinkin’, seein’ as yer honor kep’ safe under shelter here, while I
done all the wurruk an’ tuk all the resk.”
“Ah, but if suspicion fastens upon you, I’m the man to save you from
the clutches of the law! But here, man, let’s see what the spoil
amounts to before we quarrel over the division.”
At that Phelim drew a little package from his breast-pocket and opened
it, Bangs looking on with eagle-eyed watchfulness and suspicion.
“Ah, what’s that? a thousand-dollar note!” he exclaimed, clutching
eagerly at it.
“Half’s moine, sor; don’t ye forgit that!” growled Phelim, keeping fast
hold of one end.
“Tut, man! it’s marked—do you see?—and won’t be of any use to either
of us,” grunted Bangs, letting go of the note in disgust.
“Eh! What difference does that make?” queried Phelim, examining it
critically and with a crestfallen air.
“All the difference in the world; for, of course, we couldn’t pass it
without exposing ourselves to almost certain detection as having had a
share in the robbery.”
Phelim ripped out an oath, adding, “They’s all marked—ivery wan ov
thim; an’ I’ve resked a tarm o’ years in the pinetintiary fer jist
nothin’ at all at all!”
“Never fear; I’ll take care of that,” returned Bangs, grimly. “I can’t
afford to let you rot in prison so long as you share your profits with
me,” he added, with an unpleasant laugh. “You’d better leave these with
me. They’ll be of no use to you, and if found on your person would send
you to jail in spite of all I or anybody else could do to keep you out
of it.”
“Mabbe they moight come intil use wan o’ these days,” muttered Phelim,
turning the smaller notes over in his hands and gazing ruefully at
them. “I’ll kape these fer the prisent, and yer honor can hide that big
wan in yer strong box, rememberin’ it’s to be divided atween us whin
the toime comes.”
“All right,” said Bangs, adding to himself, with an inward chuckle,
“but possession’s nine points of the law.”
Then he went on to urge the wisdom of leaving the smaller notes also in
his care, assuring Phelim it would be highly dangerous for him to
retain them in his possession, till at length all but one were
surrendered to him.
Phelim then stole on tiptoe to the attic room appropriated to his use,
undressed, and got into bed, where, some hours later, he was found by
the constable, fast asleep, and taken into custody.
Bangs, having seen the prisoner discharged, went directly from the
magistrate’s office to Lakeside to condole with the family on their
loss and suggest measures for the recovery of the money and the
apprehension of the thief.
On being told that the notes were marked, he expressed himself so
confident of their final recovery that the despoiled family were quite
cheered, and Miriam, in her thankfulness for the hope his words gave
them, was more gracious to him than she had been for a long time.
He observed it with great satisfaction, and, thinking he had made a
favorable opening, began putting questions, though in a guarded way,
with the design of obtaining the information he so greatly desired in
respect to their hold upon the property and the extent to which this
loss was likely to embarrass them.
But divining his motive, her manner at once changed to one of extreme
coldness and hauteur, as she gave him distinctly to understand that she
would brook no prying into her affairs.
He replied with an angry denial of the correctness of the implication;
his queries were put from a sincere desire to be of service, and from
no other motive; prying curiosity was utterly beneath him—utterly
foreign to his character. And with that he rose, bowed himself out, and
went away in a rage.
“Mirry, dear,” remonstrated the gentle old grandmother, “I’m afraid you
are too proud and ready to take offence. It may be the colonel only
meant to be kind.”
“I don’t believe it, grandma; I doubt if the man ever did anything from
a purely unselfish motive.”
“I fear you have mortally offended him,” remarked Ronald, with a slight
laugh.
“I hope so, indeed,” she returned, her breast heaving and her eyes
sparkling, “and that his sister may take up his quarrel sufficiently to
secure us against a visit of condolence from her.”
Vain hope! Bangs’s anger was not of the kind to lead him to abandon his
purpose; and the next day Mrs. Wiley, as sweet, smiling, and gracious
as ever, again presented herself at their door.
Bertie showed her into the sitting-room, which she found quite
deserted, though through the open door of the adjoining bedroom she
caught a glimpse of Ronald reclining upon his couch.
“Is your poor, dear brother worse?” she asked.
“He’s not quite so well to-day, ma’am,” Bertie answered, placing a
chair for her near the fire. “Please sit down, and I’ll call
grandmother.”
“Sister Miriam too, my dear; I came to see them both.”
“Mirry is busy with the baking; she can’t come, I know; but I’ll tell
her,” the child answered, softly closing Ronald’s door, in obedience to
a sign from him, then passing into the kitchen, where the ladies of the
family were busied with housewifely labors, the grandmother preparing
vegetables for dinner, Miriam making pies and baking bread; for they
kept no servant or cook except in the busy harvest time.
Both turned an anxious look upon Bertie as he came in. They had
thought, on hearing the ring, that the caller was probably Mr. Himes,
the holder of the mortgage, coming for his interest. It was due that
day; he had always been very punctual in calling for it, and hitherto
had never failed to find it ready for him.
Bertie did not wait to be questioned. “It’s that lady that always
smiles and calls everybody ‘dear,’” he said, “and she came to see you
both—grandmother and Mirry.”
“Mrs. Wiley!” ejaculated Miriam, her cheeks flushing hotly. “I wish she
had less leisure to bestow upon us—enough to do at home to keep her
there.”
“Ah, well, child, we must try to have patience! I dare say she means to
be very kind,” sighed the old lady, hastily washing her hands and
taking off the large work-apron worn to protect her neat calico dress.
“I hope she won’t stay long, though, or I shall not be able to get
these potatoes and turnips ready in time for dinner.”
“Never mind that, grandma,” returned Miriam; “I can manage it all if
you will excuse me to her; but I cannot and will not leave my baking to
see her for even a moment.”
Bangs had given his sister a detailed account of his yesterday’s
interview with Miriam, arousing in her breast fierce anger against the
girl. “How dared she treat advances from my brother in that style!” she
exclaimed, grinding her teeth. “She shall be well paid for it, the
impudent hussy! I hope you are cured now of the desire to make her your
wife; but get the property if you can. I’ll do all in my power to help
you.”
“And with such an ally I can hardly fail,” he responded, with grim
satisfaction.
So this was the secret object of her call.
She had at first wished to see Miriam; but before Mrs. Heath came to
her she decided that events had shaped themselves in the very best
manner for the carrying out of her schemes; the old lady was likely to
be just now in the state of mind most favorable to her designs upon
her; gentle-tempered and loath to see the feelings of another wounded,
she would naturally feel anxious to make amends for Miriam’s rudeness
to Avery; and with a mind full of their recent loss, she would open her
heart in response to well-simulated sympathy.
The event proved Mrs. Wiley’s shrewdness and penetration; the guileless
old lady straightway fell into her trap. But of course the wily woman
approached her object in a roundabout way, and while she listened to a
circumstantial account of the robbery, given in response to her earnest
request, there was a second arrival.
Miriam, glancing from the window, saw the holder of the mortgage drive
up to the gate in his farm wagon.
“There he is!” she exclaimed. “Bertie, run out and ask Mr. Himes if he
will mind coming to the kitchen to see me. Tell him I can’t leave my
baking just now, and as there is a lady caller in the sitting-room, and
no fire in the parlor, this is the only place where we can have a
comfortable private talk.”
Bertie obeyed, and in another minute or two Mr. Himes was stamping the
snow from his feet on the back porch.
Miriam opened the door, bade him a cheerful good-morning, invited him
in, and set a chair near the fire, apologizing at the same time for
asking him there.
“Needn’t say another word, Miss Heath,” he said, seating himself and
glancing about him; “it’s a nice, comfortable place to come to out o’
the cold and the snow; neat as wax and warm as toast. But I’m in
somethin’ of a hurry, having a long ride to get back home, ye know, and
it’s snowing so fast that the roads will be dreadful heavy afore night;
so you’ll excuse me if I begin on business at once.”
Miriam had grown pale, and he noticed it.
“I don’t want to be hard on ye,” he said; “you’ve always been prompt
with that interest, and I know you was a hopin’ fer to pay off a part
o’ the principal this fall. I don’t calkilate ye can do that now (I
heard in town this mornin’ ye’d been robbed; and I’m mighty sorry fer
it, fer your sake as well’s my own; and I say that gang o’ burglars had
ought to be strung up higher’n Haman, every one on ’em); but I hope
they didn’t git all, and that you kin let me have the interest, for I’m
wantin’ it bad.”
“I wish I could, Mr. Himes,” Miriam said, low and falteringly; “but the
burglar got so nearly all, that I can pay only fifty dollars to-day.”
“Why, that’s only a quarter of it!”
“Yes, I know; and I’m very sorry.”
She went on to explain about the loss of the notes and the ground of
their hope of speedily recovering them, adding a promise to pay off the
remainder of the interest and half the principal immediately upon their
restoration.
“Well, well, I hope ye’ll git it,” he said. “I don’t want to be hard on
ye,” he repeated; “if ye can’t, ye can’t; and though it’s dreadful
inconvenient, I’ll wait a little, hoping the rascal will be caught with
all he stole from you.”
Miriam took her purse from her pocket and a fifty-dollar note from it.
“You see I expected you, Mr. Himes,” she said, with a sad sort of
smile, and pointing to a little side table, where were pen, ink, and
paper. “Will you write me a receipt for this? And then, if you are not
in too great haste, you must let me set you out a lunch, for you must
be hungry after your long ride.”
“Thank’e; I am that; and your cookin’ has a powerful good smell,” he
returned, pocketing the note, seating himself at the table, and taking
up the pen; “I don’t know but it’ll pay to take time to snatch a
mouthful or so.”
Regarding this as an acceptance of her invitation, Miriam moved briskly
about, spread a snowy cloth on one end of the large table at which she
had been at work, and by the time the farmer had gone through with the
business of writing the receipt—a slow and toilsome one to him—had
quite a tempting little repast of cold meat, hot rolls and butter, pie,
and gingerbread ready for him.
He did it hasty but ample justice—eating being more in his line than
writing—thanked her with hearty praise of her cooking, and went away,
his parting words a strongly expressed hope that the apprehension of
the thief would soon put her in a position to keep her promises of
payment to him.
As Miriam closed the door upon him and turned to her work again, her
heart was heavy with a sad foreboding of the consequences to her dear
ones and herself should that hope fail of realization.
“Bertie,” she said, noticing the child standing at the window intently
watching Mr. Himes as he made his way down the garden-path toward his
horses and wagon, “what made you stare so at the man while he was
eating? I was quite ashamed of your rudeness.”
“Why, sister,” returned the child, slowly, “he never thanked the Lord
at all for his victuals, and I was watching to see him choke—you know
grandmother said the other day she should expect to choke if she did
that way. But he didn’t, though, not a bit.”
“Grandma would tell you that our Father in heaven is very kind and
patient with us all, and that that is another reason why we should not
abuse His goodness,” Miriam answered, in a cheerful tone, the thought
of that goodness helping her to throw off for a time her heavy burden
of care.
Not much occurring in her vicinity ever escaped the sharp eyes and ears
of Madam Wiley. She had seen Mr. Himes piloted by Bertie to the kitchen
door, and full of curiosity in regard to his errand there, had strained
her ears to hear the talk between him and Miriam; but the girl’s tones
were low, the farmer’s utterance was indistinct, and Miriam had
purposely seated him on the side of the room farthest from the
communicating door between it and the sitting-room; besides, there was
the distracting necessity of listening to and answering the remarks of
Mrs. Heath.
With all these hindrances, the seeker after information found the task
she had set herself beset with difficulties. She could not get so much
as an inkling of the subject-matter of discourse in the kitchen.
It was very provoking; and only by the most determined effort was she
able to maintain her suavity of speech and manner and pay sufficient
attention to what the old lady said, to avoid answering wide of the
mark. But at last the farmer went, and rallying all her energies to the
successful carrying out of her purpose, she skilfully drew the old lady
on to pour into her sympathizing ear the story of their family
difficulties and perplexities.
“But, dear Mrs. Heath, you surely need not feel quite cast down by this
loss, seeing that you own this lovely place. You have it quite clear of
incumbrance, have you not?—no mortgage on it? no flaw in the title?”
she at length queried in her sweetest, most tenderly sympathetic tones;
and her victim was just beginning a sad-voiced, hesitating reply when
Ronald, who had some time before softly set his door ajar, called:
“Grandmother!”
“Ah! excuse me for a moment, my boy is wanting something,” the old lady
said, hastily rising and hurrying to him.
He motioned to her to close the door after her; then, drawing her down
to him, whispered in her ear, “Grandmother, don’t trust that woman;
don’t let her know anything of our affairs.”
“Well, no, child, not if it vexes you; but I’m sure she means very
kindly. But what shall I do? I never was good at evading questions; I
can’t tell a lie, and don’t know any other way to avoid telling the
truth.”
“Well, I’d sooner talk to her as Mirry did to her brother the other day
than let her pry into the family secrets. But bring her in here to see
me, and let me always be present at your interviews after this. I’ll
warrant she’ll put a curb upon her curiosity when I’m by.”
In accordance with his wishes, the invitation was promptly given; but
suddenly, finding it high time she was at home, the unwelcome visitor
took her departure.