CHAPTER XXVI
THE COUNT UNMASKS
"And now," said Uncle John, as he sat in their cosy sitting-room,propped in an easy chair with his feet upon a stool, "it's about timefor you to give an account of yourselves, you young rascals."
They had eaten a late but very satisfactory dinner at theCastello-a-Mare, where the return of the missing ones was hailed withjoy by the proprietor and his assistants. Even the little bewhiskeredhead-waiter, who resembled a jack-in-the-box more than he did a man,strove to celebrate the occasion by putting every good thing the houseafforded before the returned guests. For, although they dared notinterfere to protect the victims of the terrible Il Duca, the hotelpeople fully recognized the fact that brigandage was not a goodadvertisement for Taormina, and hoped the "little incident" would notbecome generally known.
Old Silas Watson, dignified lawyer as he was, actually danced a hornpipewhen he beheld his old friend safe and sound. But he shook his headreproachfully when he learned of the adventure his ward and the twogirls had undertaken with such temerity but marvelous success.
Beth had quickly recovered from her weakness, although Kenneth hadinsisted on keeping her arm all the way home. But the girl had beensilent and thoughtful, and would eat nothing at dinner.
When they had gathered in their room to talk it all over the lawyerthought his young friends deserved a reproof.
"The money wasn't worth the risk, you crazy lunatics!" he said.
"It wasn't the money at all," replied Patsy, demurely.
"No?"
"It was the principle of the thing. And wasn't Beth just wonderful,though?"
"Shucks!" said Kenneth. "She had to go and faint, like a ninny, and shecried all the way home, because she had hurt the brigand's finger."
The girl's eyes were still red, but she answered the boy's scornfulremark by saying, gravely:
"I am sorry it had to be done. I'll never touch a revolver again as longas I live."
Uncle John gathered his brave niece into an ample embrace.
"I'm very proud of you, my dear," he said, stroking her hair lovingly,"and you mustn't pay any attention to that silly boy. I've always knownyou were true blue, Beth, and now you have proved it to everyone. It mayhave been a reckless thing to do, as Mr. Watson says, but you did itlike a major, and saved our self-esteem as well as our money."
"Hurrah for Beth!" yelled the boy, changing his colors without a blush.
"If you don't shut up, I'll box your ears," said his guardian, sternly.
Uncle John and young Ferralti were the heroes of the evening. The littleold gentleman smoked a big cigar and beamed upon his nieces and friendswith intense satisfaction, while Ferralti sat glum and silent besideLouise until an abrupt challenge from Mr. Merrick effectually arousedhim.
"I've only one fault to find with this young man," was the observationreferred to: "that he made our acquaintance under false pretenses. Whena fairly decent fellow becomes an impostor there is usually reason forit, and I would like Count Ferralti--or whatever his name is--to give usthat reason and make a clean breast of his deception."
Ferralti bowed, with a serious face, but looked significantly toward theother members of the company.
"Whatever you have to say should be heard by all," declared Uncle John,answering the look.
"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Merrick, and all present are entitled to anexplanation," answered the young man, slowly. "I may have been foolish,but I believe I have done nothing that I need be ashamed of.Fortunately, there is now no further reason for concealment on my part,and in listening to my explanation I hope you will be as considerate aspossible."
They were attentive enough, by this time, and every eye was turned, notunkindly, upon the youth who had so long been an enigma to themall--except, perhaps, to Louise.
"I am an American by birth, and my name is Arthur Weldon."
In the pause that followed Uncle John gave a soft whistle and Patsylaughed outright, to the undisguised indignation of Louise.
"Years ago," resumed the youth, "my father, who was a rich man, made atrip to Sicily and, although I did not know this until recently, wasseized by brigands and imprisoned in the hidden valley we have justleft. There he fell in love with a beautiful girl who was the daughterof the female brigand known as the Duchess of Alcanta, and who assistedhim to escape and then married him. It was a pretty romance at the time,but when my father had taken his bride home to New York and becameimmersed in the details of his business, his love grew cold and he beganto neglect his wife cruelly. He became a railway president and amasseda great fortune, but was not so successful a husband as he was afinancier. The result was that the Sicilian girl, after some years ofunhappiness and suffering, deserted him and returned to her own country,leaving her child, then three years old, behind her. To be frank withyou, it was said at the time that my mother's mind had becomeunbalanced, or she would not have abandoned me to the care of a lovelessfather, but I prefer to think that she had come to hate her husband sobitterly that she could have no love for his child or else she fearedthat her terrible mother would kill me if I came into her power. Herflight mattered little to my father, except that it made him more sternand tyrannical toward me. He saw me very seldom and confided myeducation to servants. So I grew up practically unloved and uncared for,and when the proper time arrived I was sent to college. My father nowgave me an ample allowance, and at the close of my college career calledme into his office and ordered me to enter the employ of the railwaycompany. I objected to this. I did not like the business and had otherplans for my future. But he was stubborn and dictatorial, and when Icontinued unsubmissive he threatened to cast me off entirely and leavehis fortune to charity, since he had no other near relatives. He musthave thought better of this decision afterward, for he gave me a year todecide whether or not I would obey him. At the end of that time, hedeclared, I would become either a pauper or his heir, at my option.
"It was during this year that I formed the acquaintance of your niece,Miss Merrick, and grew to love her devotedly. Louise returned myaffection, but her mother, learning of my quarrel with my father,refused to sanction our engagement until I was acknowledged his heir. Iwas forbidden her house, but naturally we met elsewhere, and when I knewshe was going to Europe with you, sir, who had never seen me, we hitupon what we thought was a happy and innocent plan to avoid the longseparation. I decided to go to Europe also, and without you or yourother nieces suspecting, my identity, attach myself to your party andenjoy the society of Louise while she remained abroad. So I followedyou on the next ship and met you at Sorrento, where I introduced myselfas Count Ferralti--a name we had agreed I should assume before we partedin America.
"The rest of my story you know. My father was killed in an accident onhis own railroad, and I received the news while we were prisoners of thebrigand, whom I discovered to be my uncle, but who had no mercy upon mebecause of the relationship. To-night, on my return here, I found aletter from my father's attorney, forwarded from my bankers in Paris.Through my father's sudden death I have inherited all his wealth, as hehad no time to alter his will. Therefore Mrs. Merrick's objection to meis now removed, and Louise has never cared whether I had a penny ornot."
He halted, as if not knowing what more to say, and the little group oflisteners remained quiet because it seemed that no remark from them wasnecessary. Young Weldon, however, was ill at ease, and after hitchingnervously in his chair he addressed Uncle John in these words:
"Sir, you are the young lady's guardian for the present, as she is inyour charge. I therefore ask your consent to our formal engagement."
"Not any," said Uncle John, decidedly. "I'll sanction no engagement ofany children on this trip. You are wrong in supposing I am Louise'sguardian--I'm just her chum and uncle. It's like cradle-snatching towant to marry a girl of sixteen, and you ought to be ashamed ofyourself, for you can't be much more than twenty-one yourself. WhileLouise is in my care I won't have any entanglements of any sort, soyou'll have to wait till you
get home and settle the business with hermother."
"Very wise and proper, sir," said Mr. Watson, nodding gravely.
Louise's cheeks were flaming.
"Do you intend to drive Arthur away, Uncle?" she asked.
"Why should I, my dear? except that you've both taken me for a blind oldidiot and tried to deceive me. Let the boy stay with us, if he wantsto, but he'll have to cut out all love-making and double-dealing fromthis time on--or I'll take you home in double-quick time."
The young man seemed to resent the indictment.
"The deception seemed necessary at the time, sir," he said, "and youmust not forget the old adage that 'all's fair in love and war.' But Ibeg that you will forgive us both and overlook our fault, if fault itwas. Hereafter it is our desire to be perfectly frank with you in allthings."
That was a good way to disarm Uncle John's anger, and the result wasimmediately apparent.
"Very good," said the old gentleman; "if you are proper and obedientchildren I've no objection to your being together. I rather like you,Arthur Weldon, and most of your failings are due to the foolishness ofyouth. But you've got to acquire dignity now, for you have suddenlybecome a man of consequence in the world. Don't think you've got tomarry every girl that attracts you by her pretty face. This devotion toLouise may be 'puppy-love,' after all, and--"
"Oh, Uncle!" came a chorus of protest.
"What, you rascals! are you encouraging this desperate fol-de-rol?"
"You are too severe, Uncle John," said Patsy, smiling. "The trouble withyou is that you've never been in love yourself."
"Never been in love!" He beamed upon the three girls with devotionwritten all over his round, jolly face.
"Then you're jealous," said Kenneth. "Give the poor kids a fair show,Uncle John."
"All right, I will. Arthur, my lad, join our happy family as one of mykidlets, and love us all--but no one in particular. Eh? Until we gethome again, you know. We've started out to have the time of our lives,and we're getting it in chunks--eh, girls?"
"We certainly are, Uncle John!" Another chorus.
"Well, what do you say, Arthur Weldon?"
"Perhaps you are right, sir," answered the young man. "And, anyway, I amdeeply grateful for your kindness. I fear I must return home in a coupleof weeks, to look after business matters; but while I remain with you Ishall try to conduct myself as you wish."
"That sounds proper. Is it satisfactory to you, Louise?"
"Yes, Uncle."
"Then we've settled Cupid--for a time, anyway. And now, my dears, Ithink we have all had enough of Taormina. Where shall we go next?"