The Inglises Part 29

"Don't, Violet! It came into my mind--I couldn't help that, but it is wrong to speak of it. It could not have been he."

"I don't know. It does not seem possible. He is foolish and frivolous--and not to be relied on; but I do not think he would do such a thing as--take money--unless--"

"Violet! Don't speak of it. A false accusation is a terrible thing."

"I am not accusing him. There does not seem to be a sufficient motive for such an act. The sum was so small--and then--"

"Dear Violet!" said David, in great distress, "don't speak of it any more."

"Well, I will not--but Mr Oswald accused you. You are a great deal better than I am, Davie," said his sister, softly.

David laughed an uncertain laugh.

"That is all you know about it," said he.

When Violet went up next day to speak to Miss Oswald about the little girls, the first word that Frank said to her was:

"Has Davie told you? Oh! Violet, what will Aunt Mary think of papa?"

But Violet could not trust herself to speak of Davie's trouble to him.

She was too angry with his father; and, besides, she was too startled by Frank's pale looks to be able to think, for the moment, of any one but him.

"Are you ill, Frank? Are your eyes worse? What have you been doing to them?"

For Frank had dropped his head down on his hands again.

"Yes, they are worse. I was out in the rain, and caught cold. I was not strong enough to go, I suppose. Phil, sent me back with some people who were coming down. He would have come himself, but, of course, I couldn't let him."

"You would have done better to come to Gourlay with us," said Violet.

"Yes, even without Jem or Davie. I wish I had gone."

"Come with me to-morrow," said Violet, earnestly. "Mamma will be very glad to see you."

But Frank shook his head sadly.

"I cannot, Violet. I should be ashamed to look Aunt Mary in the face-- after--"

"You need not, Frank. Mamma will know. And you don't suppose that anything they say can really hurt our Davie?"

"No; not in the end. But--there's no use in talking."

"I am not afraid!" said Violet. "And mamma will not fret about it; I am sure of that?"

There was nothing more said for some time, and then Violet asked:

"Where is your brother now?"

"He must be far across the country by this time. He was enjoying the trip very much when I left him."

"And when will he be home?"

"I don't know. Not for a good while yet. Why are you asking?"

Frank raised himself up, and peered with his dim eyes into Violet's face.

"Why are you asking?" he repeated.

But Violet did not answer him. As she looked at his poor, pale face, the tears started in her eyes.

"Frank, dear boy, you must come home with me. You want mamma again.

She will do you more good than the doctor."

"Violet, tell me one thing! Does Davie blame Phil--about the missing money, I mean. Tell me!"

"Davie blame your brother! Why should you say so? Davie would be shocked at such a question from you. What reason could he have to blame Philip?"

But Violet was very glad that he did not pursue the subject, for she was afraid to let him know all her thoughts about Davie's trouble. She did not give him an opportunity to return to the subject. She wished very much for Frank's sake that he should return to Gourlay with her, and she hastened to propose the plan to his aunt. Miss Oswald was, by no means, disposed to hinder him, though she doubted if his father would let him go. She was not very much accustomed to the society of young people, and she had been at a loss what to do with the boy, who, though not very ill, was disinclined, and, indeed, unable to amuse himself, or to enter into any of the plans which were made for his pleasure, so she promised to speak to his father, and to have his things ready should he be permitted to go. Violet took care to avoid being alone with Frank while she stayed in the house, and nothing more was said about Philip.

It was all arranged as Violet desired it might be. Mr Oswald made no serious objections to his son's going to Gourlay. Frank himself objected, but the prospect of going with Violet was too pleasant to make his refusal very firm, and the thought of the loneliness of his own home decided him to go.

"Violet," said David, when the time came to say good-bye, "you must not tell mamma about all this vexation. It would only make her unhappy, and do no good."

But Violet would not promise.

"I cannot, Davie. I cannot keep anything from mamma when she wishes to know it; and she will be sure to ask everything about you. But you need not be afraid. Mamma will not fret. She will know that it will all be right in the end."

And the "end" of David's trouble, as far as the missing money was concerned, was nearer than either of them thought when they bade each other good-bye. He had a few days more of anxiety and discomfort, in the midst of which came a letter from his mother, which made it seem to him a very small trouble indeed. He read it over and over again, and laughed at himself for supposing that he was acting wisely in keeping the knowledge of all that was making him so unhappy from his mother.

"Mamma always knows just what to say and how to say it," said he to himself; "and, of course, she is not going to fret about a matter which is sure to come right in the end."

And so the days that followed were better days, though the hot weather, and the close confinement in the office through the day, and the loneliness of the deserted house at home, were beginning to tell on him, and he was by no means well. He did his best to do well all that was given him to do, but the days were long and dull and the evenings lonely, and he began to count the days that must pa.s.s before they should all come home.

There was something going on in the town one afternoon, a cricket match or a match at football, and all the clerks had left the bank at the earliest possible moment, intent on seeing all that was to be seen of it. David would have gone with, the rest, but Mr Caldwell, who was at the moment engaged with Mr Oswald in his private room, had asked him to remain till he came out to him again. David waited, not caring that he lost the amus.e.m.e.nt that the others sought, not caring very much for anything just at that moment, for he was tired and getting a little unhappy again, and very much ashamed of himself because of it.

For when he had read his mother's letter only the other day, he had taken all the comfort of her cheerful, trustful words, and acknowledged how foolish and wrong it had been for him to let Mr Oswald's doubts and suspicions dismay him. He had said then that it was all past now, and that he could wait G.o.d's time for the clearing of his name, without being unhappy or afraid again. And now here he was wondering anxiously whether Mr Oswald and Mr Caldwell were speaking about the lost money, and whether any thing more was known that he had not heard. He was tired waiting, and wanted to go home, and yet the thought of the empty house and the long dull evening was not pleasant, and he was saying to himself that it did not matter whether he stayed or went, when a hand was laid on his shoulder, and a familiar voice said--

"Well, Davie, my boy, have you been standing here ever since I went away?"

David turned and saw Philip Oswald. In his surprise, and because of the many thoughts that came upon him at the sight of him, he did not utter a word. He forgot to take the hand which Philip held out to him.

"Have you, Davie? I declare you look as if you had not seen the light of the sun for a month! What is the matter with you, Davie?"

He might well ask it, for David had grown very pale, and his heart was beating fast. In spite of his judgment, he had, since his talk with Violet, a.s.sociated Philip with the thought of the lost money, and now as he looked at his frank, handsome face, he said how impossible it was that he should have taken it, or that he should know anything about it.

No, Philip Oswald could not help him out of his trouble.

"When did you come, Philip?" said he. "I should scarcely have known you, if you hadn't spoken."