XXIV
"SHALL I GIVE HIM MY WORD, HARRY?"
I did not go all the way to New York on the train which Mrs. Carew andthe child had taken. I went only as far as Yonkers.
When I reached Doctor Pool's house, I thought it entirely empty. Eventhe office seemed closed. But appearances here could not always betrusted, and I rang the bell with a vigor which must have awakenedechoes in the uninhabited upper stories. I know that it brought thedoctor to the door, and in a state of doubtful amiability. But when hesaw who awaited him, his appearance changed and he welcomed me in with asmile or what was as nearly like one as his austere nature would permit.
"How now! Want your money? Seems to me you have earned it withunexpected ease."
"Not such great ease," I replied, as he carefully closed the door andlocked it. "I know that I feel as tired as I ever did in my life. Thechild is in New York under the guardianship of a woman who is reallyfond of her. You can dismiss all care concerning her."
"I see--and who is the woman? Name her."
"You do not trust me, I see."
"I trust no one in business matters."
"This is not a business matter--yet."
"What do you mean?"
"I have not asked for money. I am not going to till I can perfectlysatisfy you that all deception is at an end so far as Mr. Ocumpaugh atleast is concerned."
"Oh, you would play fair, I see."
I was too interested in noting how each of his hands involuntarilyclosed on itself, in his relief at not being called upon to part withsome of his hoardings, to answer with aught but a nod.
"You have your reasons for keeping close, of course," he growled as heled the way toward the basement stairs. "You're not out of the woods, isthat it? Or has the great lady bargained with you?--Um? Um?"
He threw the latter ejaculations back over his shoulder as he descendedto the office. They displeased me, and I made no attempt to reply. Infact, I had no reply ready. Had I bargained with Mrs. Ocumpaugh? Hardly.Yet--
"She is handsome enough," the old man broke in sharply, cutting in twomy self-communings. "You're a fellow of some stamina, if you have got ather secret without making her a promise. So the child is well! That'sgood! There's one long black mark eliminated from my account. But I havenot closed the book, and I am not going to, till my conscience hasnothing more to regret. It is not enough that the child is handed overto a different life; the fortunes that have been bequeathed her must begiven to him who would have inherited them had this child not been takenfor a veritable Ocumpaugh."
"That raises a nice point," I said.
"But one that will drag all false things to light."
"Your action in the matter along with the rest," I suggested.
"True! but do you think I shall stop because of that?"
He did not look as if he would stop because of anything.
"Do you not think Mrs. Ocumpaugh worthy some pity? Her future is aghastly one, whichever way you look at it."
"She sinned," was his uncompromising reply. "The wages of sin is death."
"But such death!" I protested; "death of the heart, which is the worstdeath of all."
He shrugged his shoulders, leading the way into the office.
"Let her beware!" he went on surlily. "Last month I saw my duty nofurther than the exaction of this child's dismissal from the home whosebenefits she enjoyed under a false name. To-day I am led further by theinexorable guide which prompts the anxious soul. All that was wrong mustbe made good. Mr. Ocumpaugh must know on whom his affections have beenlavished. I will not yield. The woman has done wrong; and she shallsuffer for it till she rises, a redeemed soul, into a state of mind thatprefers humiliation to a continuance in a life of deception. You maytell her what I say--that is, if you enjoy the right of conversationwith her."
The look he shot me at this was keen as hate and spite could make it. Iwas glad that we were by this time in the office, and that I couldavoid his eye by a quick look about the well-remembered place. Thisproof of the vindictive pursuit he had marked out for himself was nosurprise to me. I expected no less, yet it opened up difficulties whichmade my way, as well as hers, look dreary in the prospect. He perceivedmy despondency and smiled; then suddenly changed his tone.
"You do not ask after the little patient I have here. Come, Harry, come;here is some one I will let you see."
The door of my old room swung open and I do not know which surprised memost, the kindness in the rugged old voice I had never before heardlifted in tenderness, or the look of confidence and joy on the face ofthe little boy who now came running in. So inexorable to a remorsefuland suffering woman, and so full of consideration for a stranger'schild!
"Almost well," pronounced the doctor, and lifted him on his knee. "Doyou know this child's parentage and condition?" he sharply inquired,with a quick look toward me.
I saw no reason for not telling the truth.
"He is an orphan, and was destined for an institution."
"You know this?"
"Positively."
"Then I shall keep the child. Harry, will you stay with me?"
To my amazement, the little arms crept round his neck. A smile grimenough, in my estimation, but not at all frightful to the child,responded to this appeal.
"I did not like the old man and woman," he said.
Doctor Pool's whole manner showed triumph. "I shall treat him betterthan I did you," he remarked. "I am a regenerate man now."
I bowed; I was very uneasy; there was a question I wanted to ask andcould not in the presence of this child.
"He is hardly of an age to take my place," I observed, still under thespell of my surprise, for the child was handling the old man's longbeard, and seeming almost as happy as Gwendolen did in Mrs. Carew'sarms.
"He will have one of his own," was the doctor's unexpected reply.
I rose. I saw that he did not intend to dismiss the child.
"I should like your word, in return for the relief I have undoubtedlybrought you, that you will not molest certain parties till the threedays are up which I have mentioned as the limit of my own silence."
"Shall I give him my word, Harry?"
The child, startled by the abrupt address, drew his fingers from thelong beard he was playfully stroking and, eyeing me with elfish gravity,seemed to ponder the question as if some comprehension of its importancehad found entrance into his small brain. Annoyed at the doctor's whim,yet trusting to the child's intuition, I waited with inner anxiety forwhat those small lips would say, and felt an infinite relief, even if Idid not show it, when he finally uttered a faint "Yes," and hid his faceagain on the doctor's breast.
My last remembrance of them both was the picture they made as the doctorclosed the door upon me, with the sweet, confiding child still claspedin his arms.