CHAPTER IX.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 116, 22 August 1885, Page 6

CHAPTER IX.

" UNCLE " DONALD SEEKS INFORMATION, The library of the Owen mansion was an apartment of medium size, on the first floor situated in an L that had been built on purpose for it. There were bookcases on two sides, well filled with valuable works of all kinds and descriptions— such works as a non-professional man, fond of reading, and eager to learn, would be apt to purchase, who had plenty of money. There were several choice pictures— three of them portraits; a few pieces of statuary, besides numerous articles of quaint and curious character, brought from all quarters of the globe. In one direction only had the present occupant had any hand in furnishing and supplying this library. He had brought home and deposited here a portion of the curiosities. The bows and arrows from the Landrone Islands were his ; also the knives and daggers from the Malay Peninsula ; and other articles, mostly of like description ; but of books, and pictures, and chaste statuary, not one had been of his supplying. He had found them all there when he came into possession ; and, save a few books on marine matters, and one or two stories of piratical character, the library proper had been of no interest or use to him. He took a pride in it, nevertheless, and was careful that the books should be kept in order j kept free from dust ; uncut leaves he caused to be cut ; and he kept lying upon the table, where he wrote, and where he read his political papers, several works on philosophical, scientific, or historic subjects. When they had entered the room, and Donald had carefully closed the door behind him, he pointed to a large easy chair, covered with the finest of dark-red Turkey morocco, saying : " There, Dons ; I want you to sit in that chair. You will see that it is the one really lazy chair in the room ; and you will see further that it has been kept with scrupulous care. That chair was your father's. When he had so far lost his health as to be obliged to give up out-door work, he— he— " The good uncle had evidently forgotten his cue. He had come very near giving Ralph a habitation and a name on those premises. That would not answer. He Btopped, coughed, smiled, and presently went on : " He, dear soul I —we all loved him J— he had been ailing for some time, and when he had become so ill as to be obliged to give up outdoor work, I called him here. I saw that he was not fit to carry on his farm, so I offered him a home with me. His wife and child were dead. I suppose you know that your mother was his second wife ?" " Yes, sir." " Well, I called him here, and he came j and that chair was his. He purceased it himself, and always sat in it— and, for the , matter of that, he slept in it, mostly, also, So I want you to sit in it. There ! Once more the dear old seat is worthily filled." Doris sank down into the great chair with strasge emotions ; but Donald did not give her time for reflection, "Now, my dear," he said, when he had seated himself directly before her, "there is a matter which I would have cleared up between us before we enter upon our domestic or social relations. From the character of your dear mother's last letter to me — the last which I received —I am led to fear that one of my letters failed to reach her. In fact," he added, the thought happily occurring to him in season, " I know it missed her, for the ship which carried the letter-bag was lost off Good Hope. In that letter I sent a remittance of a thousand dollars. "Mamma never received it." " I know now that she did not ; and I cannot tell you how sorry I am. Although your father's property sadly depreciated after he left it, I had intended that bis widow and child should not want. Do you know how much your mother believed herself to be entitled to from her husband's estate? Or, can you tell me anywhere near the figure at which she set it?" " Indeed, uncle, I cannot. I only know that papa always gave her to understand that he owned land— a good farm — with buildings thereon, and that there was no incumbrance on it. She supposed there would be more than enough for her support. After she had married a second time, she never used a penny of that money for herself. And here, dear uncle, I want to tell you Colonel Ashton — my mother's second husband— was one of papa's dearest friends, and when papa was dying he made Ashton promise to take care of matnma, at the same time telling him that he should die happier if he could know that he—Ashton — would at some time claim a husband's right." " I can understand all that, my dear niece, and I tell you truly when I aay I was glad when I knew that your mother had gained such a protector. "And now, Doris, I wish you would trust me fully. I wish you would tell me just whatyour mother thought of me — how She felt towards me. Did she think I had in any degree neglected her, or come short of the duty I owed her as guardian; to hef husband's property ?" Dorris was puzzled. She did not know how to answer this. "Dear child, hesitate not to tell me the truth. I can well understand how she might have thought so. It is too late, alas ! to undeceive her ', but I may be able to remove an unpleasant impression from your mind. She did think that I might have done more for her ?" Doris had resolved to tell the truth, and she spoke without further hesitation, though with evident reluctance. " Dear uncle, I never heard mamma blame you, but I heard her express the fear that you were tired of answering her calls for money. I cannot say that she thought you had been lax in your duty as guardian of the property, but I know that she thought, there ought to be more in your hands than you have accounted for." " But, my dear child, suppose she had received the last -remittance— the thousand dollars— that 1 Bent her, how would she have felt then?" This was questioning rather closely, and the sensitive* young lady hardly liked it. There wers one' or two questions which she had a right to ask in turn. After a little reflection, she answered : •* Indeed, uncle,l cannot tell you. Mamma always always- believed- that my papa was what might be called independent when ebe married- with 'him,- arid they < certainly did not spend a great deal of money at any time.* - mUyou tell me hovp much papa's property was worth P I wish you would." It was now Donald's turn to hesitate, but he did not manifest any unrest. He bent buhe&ytoft moment; then said, with a smile: Jr

•* Upon my word, I would tell you if I could. You are aware, of course, that his property was in land." " There were buildings on it— good ones — were there not ?" "Certainly, certainly; and I oan give you an approximate idea of the value of the whole. In the first place, I must inform; you that I had to hire the money which 111 1 ent to your mother— fifteen hundred dollars in all, if I remember rightly — and I gave as eeourity to the lender a mortgage on the estate. Your father had drawn all the money he had in the bank. You must bear in mind that, after leaving this place, he spent the better part of a year in Kiohmond and Norfolk, then a season in England, before he knew your mother. All that cost 1 him more than he thought. His drafts on me where honoured as soon as I received them, and he probably drew more than he realised. As I have said, there is a mortgage of fifteen hundred dollars on the estate : the thousand dollars which were lost I shall say nothing about. That loss I shall make my own. Over and above that, I suppose the property to-day is worth somewhere about two thousand dollars." • « Tioo — thousand— dollars !" repeated Doris, like one thunderstruck. «* Did you think it more ?" "0 !— certainly. Papa always gave mamma to'understand that there was much more. Indeed he did. There must be some mistake. Papa could not have decieved us. It was not like him." "I wish I knew how much Ralph set it at," said Owen, like a man cautiously feeling his way. « « He did not state any sum— he never did, " returned the orphan, with manifest feeling ; but he plainly intimated that if he should be taken away mamma would be left free from pecuniary care or want. lam certain of that. I know it." Donald Owen meditated. By-and-by his face brightened wonderfully. "Oho," he cried, assuming a glad look that gave no room for suspicion,"! think 1 see through the business now. If I am not mistaken the mystery is solved. Let me look. Wait one moment." He arose, and went to an old oaken cabinet evidently of English make, dark and glossy with age, from a compartment of which he took a bundle of papers and brought them to the table. After a little search he selected one, and drew it forth and opened it. " Aha ! here we have it. Yes, yes,— and to think that I should not have known it. I remember Ralph's telling me that he thoughtofinvestinginPbiladelphiaproperty. He had conceived an insane idea that property in a large city of a free State would be safer than here in Virginia. This deed tells me that he did so invest. Here is an estate on Chesbnut street, in Philadelphia, worth, when he bought it, ten thousand dollars. It must be worth much more now. I declare, I must look to that. Really, my dear niece, you are worth more than I thought. I will look that up, be sure." "But," ventured Dorie, hesitatingly, "have not the people who have occupied that property ever sent you any word, or asked any questions, about it?" " That is the strangest part of it," returned Donald, with a forced laugh. " I have received two or three letters asking me who was Ralph Owen's agent. Ha !ha ! ha ! — I thought the fellow wanted to drum us, d'you see, so I laid low, and kept dark, Ha ! ha !" " But, uncle, if papa had really owed the man, would you not have paid him if you could ?" j "Why, certainly, if I had thought it an honest demand. But you can always just exactly tell about these things. How was I to know that the man was not gumming me?" Donald saw from the horrified look upon the orphan's face that he had missed his mark. In spite of his firm resolve he had suffered himself to fall into his habit of low language and slang ; and, further, he had displayed a little too much of his innate dishonesty. Fortunately for him at that juncture, the first bell for supper sounded. He had learned all that he had particularly desired to know— that Ralph had never made known his possessions -that neither Doris nor her mother had ever had any clear idea of how much, or how little, he was worth. Only they had been sure that there was more than he had at first been inclined to acknowledge ; but he had found a ready way out from that difficulty ; and he was entirely willing to grant to the orphan as much of this Philadelphia property as she might feel authorised to claim. Ah ! if Doris could have had the handling of that whole packet of papers ehe would have lost confidence in Donald Owen for evermore ; but it might have been worse for her. She would have known too much. " Dear niece," said Donald, coming back to the character he had assumed for the occasion, " I am glad we had this conversation, and am doubly glad that my attention has been called to the old bundle of deeds, most of which are old bonds by which my father held the bulk of this property." (The only property his father had ever owned had been two shares of a piratical brig of which he had been commander. And we may say, without violating any confidence, that Donald himself had spent the early prime of hiB life as captain of a Caribbean buccaneer, while Wenzell and Herter had served their apprenticeship before the mast.) " Yes," he went on, in allusion to the bundle of deeds, "now that my eyes are opened, I shall at once take the necessary steps to put you in possession, and I think we may safely conclude that you will find an independence. That, certainly, 'ought to content you. Bless me ! it is strange how I could have overlooked it so long." " Musn't there be back rentsdue, uncle ?" Doris found courage to ask. "Why, of course there must, hundreds of dollars ; and I shall collect it, too " " One question before we go, Uncle Donald. Do you know a man by the name of Jacob Wenzell ?" The old man was startled ; and the question had come so unexpectedly that he could not help showing it. He recovered himself quickly, however, and had evidently formed a prompt answer in the negative ; but upon second thought, he concluded to moderate his falsehood. He could not deny all knowledge of the man without losing the girl's confidence at once and for ever ; so he said, after hesitating until his face had coloured with confusion : " Wenzell ? Wenzell 1 Why, certainly I know him. He used to work for me j but I sent him adrift long ago. Has he crossed your track ?" Doris would not have known how to prevaricate had she desired to do such a thing ; but she did not hesitate here. "Yes," she answered. "He came from Calcutta to New York in the same ship with my husband and self." " Did he speak to you ?" "No, not to me. He" spoke toGeprge, however, and said that he was acquainted with you, and that he' had kaown my father." "He spoke truly there. Ah! there is the final calL Will you take my arm ?" She did so ; and as they moved on toward the door,, he added : "My dear .niece, I have really enjoyed $h\B conversation, ,Only one regret ( arises— that your mother could not' have known of the Philadelphia property. But we, will , not let that trouble us. You shall reoeive

the full benefit of it, I assure you. Ah I here we are I" This as they entered the supper-room, where they found Georgo and Leila. " Ha-ha ! my dear Bertram, you must not take offence at my spiriting away your, wife. .We have had an interesting conversation, In truth, my good sir," with sober earnostness, and appearance of sincerity, *' I had that to say to her .whioh I could not put off, My mind is now easy, and lam thankful. ' But there has been no secreoy. She will tell you everything," They sat down to the table with candles lighted, and the ourtains drawn to shut out the half light, or twilight; and as the meal progressed, the host Icept up a rattle of conversation, often oausiag his hearers to smile in spite of themselves, Leila sat by the side of her mistress, and was the only one present who could not find a bright or lightsome thing to smile at. When the meal was done, Donald arose and moved back his chair, saying : "Now, my dear neice, you and your husband will have to excuse me for the re* mainder of the evening. You know the way of your apartments. A pull there of the bellcord will call Susan to your aid, who will serve you as you may wish. The library is at your service at any and all times, as are the drawing-rooms. We have breakfast usually at eight o'clock. It shall be later hereafter if you desire." " Not at all," said Bertram. "W^ will be ready when you are. We are early risers, both of us." "Then let it be eight o'clock. I shall meet you then. Good-night, and pleasant dreams." They both wished him the same, and while he went one way, they went another, to their chambers. George's room was the pleasantest one to sit in, there being plenty of books lying around, and a home look about generally. Susan explained it by informing them that it was Rupert's room, he being now away in college. "That would seem to imply that he does not intend to keep me long," said George, smilingly ; "for, surely, he will give his son back his room when he arrives at home." " He may propose to limit us to one room after that," was Doris's proposition. "Never mind about the rooms now," responded her husband as they seated themselves. "I am anxious to know what in the world Donald Owen had to say to you that he should call you away from me." Doris looked to assure herself that the doors were closed, after which she resumed her seat, and gave a detailed account of the conversation, giving a portion of it word for word, forgetting nothing. George listened attentively, asking a few questions for more particular information. When the whole had been told, he asked : "Did he make any allusion to the crucifix ?" "No," was the answer ; " but I thought, once or twice, that he was upon the point of doing so.' 1 " And what should you have told him if he had asked you ?" " Really, George, I don't know. I should not know how to prevaricate, and I could not tell a downright falsehood." " Nor would I have you. My only fear was that you would not be able to flatly refuse to speak on the subject. However, I am glad he did not allude to it, though I am very confident that he has the question in reserve. And now, my darling," the husband pursued with marked anxiety, "I want you to tell me what impression the man produced upon you. What do you think of him ? What think you of his disposition towards us?" "George, if Uncle Donald had stopped when he had got about one-third through With hia <.ju<_>ol>Io«»o an<l njtplaaotlouj) I might have left him with a strong inclination to trust him ; but you can imagine what must have been the effect upon mo ot the latter part of the interview. George," clasping one of his hands in both her own, *»ot only has he deeply wronged both my mother and myself, but he means to perpetuate that wrong. Aye, and more. George ! —let us go away. We are not safe here— l feel it— l am sure of it." " Hush, darling ! Let us not make needless haste. Not another word, now. I think you may trust Susan Draper to a certain extent." " Yes, I know she is in full sympathy with me." " Then, do you question her. Do it carefully. Gain what information you can. I will look round and seek an opportunity to converse with Mr Owen. I will sound him, if the thing is possible. You are Bure he does not think you suspect him ?" " I know he does not, or, at least, lam very certain." "As I have said before: 'Forewarned is forearmed.' We are armed where he ia unarmed. Let us be cautious, and look further."