Jessie Graham Part 20

"You must have good news," the captain suggested, and Walter answered:

"Yes, blessed news," then as there came over him a strong desire to talk of the good news with some one, he continued:

"Tell me, Captain Murdock, have I talked of Jessie Graham?"

The captain started, for he had not thought of Jessie as the daughter of Richard Graham.

"Yes," he answered, "you said that she was married."

"But she isn't," interrupted Walter. "It was a lie imposed upon me by that false-hearted William Bellenger."

"You spoke of him, too," said the captain, "and I fancied he might be your cousin. You see I am tolerably well posted in your affairs," and the pleasant smile which accompanied these words, disarmed Walter at once from all fear that his secrets would be betrayed.

"What else did you learn?" he asked, and the captain replied:

"There is some trouble about your father. He robbed a bank, didn't he?"

and there was a strange look in the keen eyes which did not now rest on Walter's face, but sought the floor as if doubtful of the answer.

"Never, never!" Walter exclaimed, with an energy which brought the blood to his pale cheek, and tears to the eyes riveted upon the carpet. "He never did that."

"He has been proved innocent, then?" and in the voice which asked the question there was a trembling eagerness.

"Not proved so to the world, but I need no proof," returned Walter. "I never for a moment thought him guilty."

Then after a pause, he added. "I have, I see, unwittingly divulged much of my family history, and lest you should have received a wrong impression, I may as well confess the whole to you, but not now, I am too much excited, too tired to talk longer."

He was indeed exhausted, and for several hours he lay quite still, saying but little and thinking happy thoughts of home and _Jessie_, who Mr. Graham wrote, "mourned sadly over his absence."

Suddenly remembering the message he had left, and which would seem to say he loved Charlotte Reeves, he bade the captain bring to him pen and paper, and with a shaking hand he wrote to Mr. Graham:

"I am getting better fast, thanks to Captain Murdock, who, though a stranger, has been the best of friends, and kindest nurse. Forgive me, Mr. Graham. I thought the bride was Jessie. Don't hate me, I could not help it, and I had learned to love her before I heard from Mrs. Bartow that you would be displeased. I will overcome it if I can, for I promised the grandmother I would not talk of love to Jessie, until my father was proved innocent."

This was all he had strength to write, and when the letter was finished, he relapsed into a thoughtful, half dreamy state, from which he did not rouse for a day or two. Then, with strength renewed, he called the captain to him, and bidding him sit down beside him, told him the whole story of his life, even to his love for Jessie Graham,-which he must not tell until his father were proved innocent.

There was a smothered groan in the direction where Mr. Marshall sat, and inwardly the unfortunate man prayed:

"How long, dear Lord, oh, how long must thy servant wait?"

"Mr. Graham may release you from that promise," he said, "and then you surely would not hesitate."

"Perhaps not," Walter answered, for in spite of what Mrs. Bartow had said, he, too, entertained a secret hope that Mr. Graham would in some way interfere for him.

"What would be the result if your father should return to Deerwood?"

Captain Murdock asked. "Would they proceed against him?"

"Oh, no! oh, no;" said Walter. "It was so long ago, and everybody who knew him speaks well of him now. I have often wished he would come home, and when I was a little boy, I used to watch by the window till it grew dark, and then cry myself to sleep. Did I tell you his arm-chair stands in the kitchen corner now just where he left it that night he went away!

It was a fancy of grandpa's that no one should ever sit in it again, and no one has, but Jessie. She would make a playhouse of it, in spite of all we could say. I wish you could see Jessie and grandfather and all."

The captain wished so, too, and in his dreams that night, he was back again by the old hearth stone, sitting in the chair kept for him so long, and listening to his father's voice blessing his long-lost son.

All this might be again, he said, when he awoke but his young wife, whose face he saw, just as it looked on her bridal day, would not be there to meet him, and the strong man wept again as he had not done in many years, over the blight which had fallen so heavily upon him.

Rapidly the days and weeks went by, and then there came letters both from Mr. Graham and Mrs. Bellenger, telling how the wedding song had been changed into a wail of sorrow, and that the elegant William Bellenger was branded as a villain. Mr. Graham, too, spoke of Jessie, saying toward the close:

"You told me no news, dear Walter, when you said you loved my daughter.

I knew it long ago and I have watched you narrowly, to see if you were worthy of her. That I think you are, I prove to you by saying, that to no young man of my acquaintance, would I entrust her happiness so willingly as to you, and had you talked to me freely upon the subject, you would not, perhaps, have been in California now. Your remark concerning Mrs. Bartow reminded me of what she once told me, and when I questioned her again upon the subject, demanding to know the truth, she confessed the falsehood she imposed on you, by saying I did not wish you to marry Jessie. I can find nothing to excuse her save her foolish pride, which will probably never be subdued. Still she is your stanch friend now, just as she is poor William's bitter enemy. You have said you would not talk of love to Jessie until your father was proved innocent. This, my dear Walter, may never be, even if he is living, which is very doubtful. So why should you hesitate. You have my free consent to say to her whatever you think best to say. She is in Deerwood, now, with poor Lottie, who is sadly mortified at what she considers her disgrace. I am doing what I can for William, so is his grandmother; but his father refuses to see him or even hear his name spoken. Unfortunate Will, he seems penitent, and has acknowledged everything to me, even the wicked part he acted toward you, by deceiving you. I thank Heaven every day that Jessie's choice fell on you, and not on him."

This letter made Walter supremely happy, and to Captain Murdock, in whom he now confided everything, he told how, immediately on his return to New York, he should ask the young lady to be his wife.

"And would you like your father to come back even though his guilt could not be disproved?" the captain asked, and Walter answered:

"Yes, oh, yes; but I'm afraid he never will. Poor father, if I could once look upon his face."

"You shall-you do!" sprang to the lips of Captain Murdock, but he forced the wild words back, and going away alone, he prayed, as he often did, that the load he had borne so long might be lifted from his heart, and that the sun of domestic peace, which had early set in gloom, might s.h.i.+ne upon his later life.

CHAPTER XV.-GLORIOUS NEWS.

There was a package for Walter, who had now been some months in California,-a package of letters and papers both,-and with a beating heart he sat down to read, taking Mr. Graham's letter first, for that might have a message from Jessie.

It was glorious news which the letter contained, and it wrung a cry of delight from Walter, which was heard by the captain, who turned to see what it was that thus affected his companion.

"Listen, Captain Murdock," Walter exclaimed, "listen to this. _My father is proved innocent. Heyward was the robber,-he came back and confessed it the night before he died_, and--"

He did not finish the sentence, for, like a wild beast startled from its lair by a sudden fright, Captain Murdock bounded to his side, and, s.n.a.t.c.hing the letter from him, devoured its contents at a glance then striking his hands together, he fairly screamed:

"Thank G.o.d! the year of jubilee has come,-the day I've waited for so long!"

Earnestly and half fearfully Walter gazed up into the marble face, and into the eyes that burned like coals of fire, seeing in them now, for the first time, a look like his grandfather. Then a suspicion of truth burst upon him, and springing up he caught the gray-haired captain by the arm, demanding faintly:

"Who are you? Tell me, or I shall die."

"I am your father, boy," and, opening his arms, the father received to his embrace his fainting son.

The news and the surprise combined were too much for Walter, and for some little time he lay upon the bed, whither his father had borne him, unconscious of the caresses, the words of love, the whispered blessings showered on him by one who felt now that he trod a different earth, and breathed a different air from what he had done for twenty-four long years.

"_Father_,"-how like music that word sounded in his ear when Walter said it at last, and how it wrung tears from eyes which, until recently, were unused to weep.

"Say it again, my son. Call me father often. 'Tis the name I've thirsted for, but never expected to hear," and the strong man, weak now as a woman, kissed lovingly the face of the handsome boy.

"Read it aloud," Walter said, pointing to the crumpled letter lying on the floor.

Mr. Marshall complied, and read in tremulous tones how Ralph Heyward, after an absence of eighteen years, had again asked shelter at the farm-house, saying he was tired and sick. His request was granted, and when the morning came he was too ill to leave his bed, but lay there for many days, kindly cared for by the deacon, to whom he made a full confession of his guilt, saying that _he_, and not Seth Marshall, robbed the Deerwood Bank; that it was what he intended to do when he came there that night, feigning drunkenness the better to cover his design.

He knew that Seth kept the keys in his pocket, and when sure that the household were asleep, he arose, and putting on his victim's coat, cap and shoes, left the house stealthily, committed the theft, hid the money, and then as cautiously returned to his room, and was settling himself a second time into an apparently drunken sleep, when he heard some one up, looking, as he supposed, for the cause of the disturbance he had made in accidentally upsetting a chair as he left Seth Marshall's room. Then he was still again until the morning came, and the arrest was made.