XII
WATTLES COMES
The Hallidays lived but a few rods from the Sutherlands. Yet as it wasdusk when Miss Halliday rose to depart, Frederick naturally offered hisservices as her escort.
She accepted them with a slight blush, the first he had ever seen on herface, or at least had ever noted there. It caused him such surprise thathe forgot Amabel's presence in the garden till they came upon her at thegate.
"A pleasant evening," observed that young girl in her high, unmusicalvoice.
"Very," was Miss Halliday's short reply; and for a moment the two faceswere in line as he held open the gate before his departing guest.
They were very different faces in feature and expression, and till thatnight he had never thought of comparing them. Indeed, the fascinationwhich beamed from Amabel Page's far from regular features had put allothers out of his mind, but now, as he surveyed the two girls, thecandour and purity which marked Agnes's countenance came out so stronglyunder his glance that Amabel lost all attraction for him, and he drewhis young neighbour hastily away.
Amabel noted the movement and smiled. Her contempt for Agnes Halliday'scharms amounted to disdain.
She might have felt less confidence in her own had she been in aposition to note the frequent glances Frederick cast at his old playmateas they proceeded slowly up the road. Not that there was any passion inthem--he was too full of care for that; but the curiosity which couldprompt him to turn his head a dozen times in the course of so short awalk, to see why Agnes Halliday held her face so persistently away fromhim, had an element of feeling in it that was more or less significant.As for Agnes, she was so unlike her accustomed self as to astonish evenherself. Whereas she had never before walked a dozen steps with himwithout indulging in some sharp saying, she found herself disinclined tospeak at all, much less to speak lightly. In mutual silence, then, theyreached the gateway leading into the Halliday grounds. But Agnes havingpassed in, they both stopped and for the first time looked squarely ateach other. Her eyes fell first, perhaps because his had changed in hiscontemplation of her. He smiled as he saw this, and in a half-careless,half-wistful tone, said quietly:
"Agnes, what would you think of a man who, after having committed littleelse but folly all his life, suddenly made up his mind to turnabsolutely toward the right and to pursue it in face of every obstacleand every discouragement?"
"I should think," she slowly replied, with one quick lift of her eyestoward his face, "that he had entered upon the noblest effort of whichman is capable, and the hardest. I should have great sympathy for thatman, Frederick."
"Would you?" he said, recalling Amabel's face with bitter aversion as hegazed into the womanly countenance he had hitherto slighted asuninteresting. "It is the first kind word you have ever given me, Agnes.Possibly it is the first I have ever deserved."
And without another word he doffed his hat, saluted her, and vanisheddown the hillside.
She remained; remained so long that it was nearly nine when she enteredthe family parlour. As she came in her mother looked up and was startledat her unaccustomed pallor.
"Why, Agnes," cried her mother, "what is the matter?"
Her answer was inaudible. What was the matter? She dreaded, even feared,to ask herself.
Meantime a strange scene was taking place in the woods toward which shehad seen Frederick go. The moon, which was particularly bright thatnight, shone upon a certain hollow where a huge tree lay. Around it theunderbrush was thick and the shadow dark, but in this especial place theopening was large enough for the rays to enter freely. Into this circletof light Frederick Sutherland had come. Alone and without the restraintimposed upon him by watching eyes, he showed a countenance so wan andfull of trouble that it was well it could not be seen by either of thetwo women whose thoughts were at that moment fixed upon him. To Amabelit would have given a throb of selfish hope, while to Agnes it wouldhave brought a pang of despair which might have somewhat too suddenlyinterpreted to her the mystery of her own sensations.
He had bent at once to the hollow space made by the outspreading rootsjust mentioned, and was feeling with an air of confidence along theground for something he had every reason to expect to find, when theshock of a sudden distrust seized him, and he flung himself down interror, feeling and feeling again among the fallen leaves and brokentwigs, till a full realisation of his misfortune reached him, and he wasobliged to acknowledge that the place was empty.
Overwhelmed at his loss, aghast at the consequences it must entail uponhim, he rose in a trembling sweat, crying out in his anger and dismay:
"She has been here! She has taken it!" And realising for the first timethe subtlety and strength of the antagonist pitted against him, heforgot his new resolutions and even that old promise made in hischildhood to Agatha Webb, and uttered oath after oath, cursing himself,the woman, and what she had done, till a casual glance at the heavensoverhead, in which the liquid moon hung calm and beautiful, recalled himto himself. With a sense of shame, the keener that it was a newsensation in his breast, he ceased his vain repinings, and turning fromthe unhallowed spot, made his way with deeper and deeper misgivingstoward a home made hateful to him now by the presence of the woman whowas thus bent upon his ruin.
He understood her now. He rated at its full value both her determinationand her power, and had she been so unfortunate as to have carried herimprudence to the point of surprising him by her presence, it would havetaken more than the memory of that day's solemn resolves to have kepthim from using his strength against her. But she was wise, and did notintrude upon him in his hour of anger, though who could say she was notnear enough to hear the sigh which broke irresistibly from his lips ashe emerged from the wood and approached his father's house?
A lamp was still burning in Mr. Sutherland's study over the front door,and the sight of it seemed to change for a moment the current ofFrederick's thoughts. Pausing at the gate, he considered with himself,and then with a freer countenance and a lighter step was about toproceed inward, when he heard the sound of a heavy breather coming upthe hill, and hesitated--why he hardly knew, except that every advancingstep occasioned him more or less apprehension.
The person, whoever it was, stopped before reaching the brow of thehill, and, panting heavily, muttered an oath which Frederick heard.Though it was no more profane than those which had just escaped his ownlips in the forest, it produced an effect upon him which was only secondin intensity to the terror of the discovery that the money he had sosafely hidden was gone.
Trembling in every limb, he dashed down the hill and confronted theperson standing there.
"You!" he cried, "you!" And for a moment he looked as if he would liketo fell to the ground the man before him.
But this man was a heavyweight of no ordinary physical strength andadroitness, and only smiled at Frederick's heat and threateningattitude.
"I thought I would be made welcome," he smiled, with just the hint ofsinister meaning in his tone. Then, before Frederick could speak: "Ihave merely saved you a trip to Boston; why so much anger, friend? Youhave the money; of that I am positive."
"Hush! We can't talk here," whispered Frederick. "Come into the grounds,or, what would be better, into the woods over there."
"I don't go into any woods with you," laughed the other; "not after lastnight, my friend. But I will talk low; that's no more than fair; I don'twant to put you into any other man's power, especially if you have themoney."
"Wattles,"--Frederick's tone was broken, almost unintelligible,--"whatdo you mean by your allusion to last night? Have you dared to connectme---"
"Pooh! Pooh!" interrupted the other, good-humouredly. "Don't let uswaste words over a chance expression I may have dropped. I don't careanything about last night's work, or who was concerned in it. That'snothing to me. All I want, my boy, is the money, and that I wantdevilish bad, or I would not have run up here from Boston, when I mighthave made half a hundred off a countryman Lewis brought in from theCanada wilds this morning."
> "Wattles, I swear---"
But the hand he had raised was quickly drawn down by the other.
"Don't," said the older man, shortly. "It won't pay, Sutherland.Stage-talk never passed for anything with me. Besides, your white facetells a truer story than your lips, and time is precious. I want to takethe 11 o'clock train back. So down with the cash. Nine hundred andfifty-five it is, but, being friends, we will let the odd five go."
"Wattles, I was to bring it to you to-morrow, or was it the next day? Ido not want to give it to you to-night; indeed, I cannot, but--Wattles,wait, stop! Where are you going?"
"To see your father. I want to tell him that his son owes me a debt;that this debt was incurred in a way that lays him liable to arrest forforgery; that, bad as he thinks you, there are facts which can be pickedup in Boston which would render Frederick Sutherland's continuedresidence under the parental roof impossible; that, in fact, you are ascamp of the first water, and that only my friendship for you has keptyou out of prison so long. Won't that make a nice story for the oldgentleman's ears!"
"Wattles--I--oh, my God! Wattles, stop a minute and listen to me. I havenot got the money. I had enough this morning to pay you, had itlegitimately, Wattles, but it has been stolen from me and---"
"I will also tell him," the other broke in, as quietly as if Frederickhad not uttered a word, "that in a certain visit to Boston you lost fivehundred dollars on one hand; that you lost it unfairly, not having adollar to pay with; that to prevent scandal I became your security,with the understanding that I was to be paid at the end of ten days fromthat night; that you thereupon played again and lost four hundred andodd more, so that your debt amounted to nine hundred and fifty-fivedollars; that the ten days passed without payment; that, wanting money,I pressed you and even resorted to a threat or two; and that, seeing mein earnest, you swore that the dollars should be mine within five days;that instead of remaining in Boston to get them, you came here; and thatthis morning at a very early hour you telegraphed that the funds were tohand and that you would bring them down to me to-morrow. The oldgentleman may draw conclusions from this, Sutherland, which may make hisposition as your father anything but grateful to him. He may even--Ah,you would try that game, would you?"
The young man had flung himself at the older man's throat as if he wouldchoke off the words he saw trembling on his lips. But the struggle thusbegun was short. In a moment both stood panting, and Frederick, withlowered head, was saying humbly:
"I beg pardon, Wattles, but you drive me mad with your suggestions andconclusions. I have not got the money, but I will try and get it. Waithere."
"For ten minutes, Sutherland; no longer! The moon is bright, and I cansee the hands of my watch distinctly. At a quarter to ten, you willreturn here with the amount I have mentioned, or I will seek it at yourfather's hands in his own study."
Frederick made a hurried gesture and vanished up the walk. Next momenthe was at his father's study door.
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