CHAPTER XXII.
MISS DEBORAH'S EYES ARE OPENED.
Aunt Deborah felt that she had done a good stroke of business. Shehad lent Ferdinand four hundred and fifty dollars, and received inreturn a note for five hundred and fifty, secured by a diamond ringworth even more. She plumed herself on her shrewdness, though attimes she felt a little twinge at the idea of the exorbitant interestwhich she had exacted from so near a relative.
"But he said the money was worth that to him," she said to herself inextenuation, "and he's goin' to get two thousand dollars a year. Ididn't want to lend the money, I'd rather have had it in the savingsbank, but I did it to obleege him."
By such casuistry Aunt Deborah quieted her conscience, and carefullyput the ring away among her bonds and mortgages.
"Who'd think a little ring like that should be worth so much?" shesaid to herself. "It's clear waste of money. But then Ferdinanddidn't buy it. It was give to him, and a very foolish gift it wastoo. Railly, it makes me nervous to have it to take care of. It'sso little it might get lost easy."
Aunt Deborah plumed herself upon her shrewdness. It was not easy toget the advantage of her in a bargain, and yet she had accepted thering as security for a considerable loan without once questioning itsgenuineness. She relied implicitly upon her nephew's assurance ofits genuineness, just as she had relied upon his assertion ofrelationship. But the time was soon coming when she was to beundeceived.
One day, a neighbor stopped his horse in front of her house, andjumping out of his wagon, walked up to the door and knocked.
"Good-morning, Mr. Simpson," said the old lady, answering the knockherself; "won't you come in?"
"Thank you, Miss Deborah, I can't stop this morning. I was at thepost-office just now, when I saw there was a letter for you, andthought I'd bring it along."
"A letter for me!" said Aunt Deborah in some surprise, for hercorrespondence was very limited. "Who's it from?"
"It is post-marked New York," said Mr. Simpson.
"I don't know no one in New York," said the old lady, fumbling in herpockets for her spectacles.
"Maybe it's one of your old beaux," said Mr. Simpson, humorously, ajoke which brought a grim smile to the face of the old spinster."But I must be goin'. If it's an offer of marriage, don't forget toinvite me to the wedding."
Aunt Deborah went into the house, and seating herself in heraccustomed place, carefully opened the letter. She turned over thepage, and glanced at the signature. To her astonishment it wassigned,
"Your affectionate nephew, "FERDINAND B. KENSINGTON."
"Ferdinand!" she exclaimed in surprise. "Why, I thought he was inCaliforny by this time. How could he write from New York? I s'posehe'll explain. I hope he didn't lose the money I lent him."
The first sentence in the letter was destined to surprise MissDeborah yet more.
"Dear aunt," it commenced, "it is so many years since we have met,that I am afraid you have forgotten me."
"So many years!" repeated Miss Deborah in bewilderment. "What onearth can Ferdinand mean? Why, it's only five weeks yesterday sincehe was here. He must be crazy."
She resumed reading.
"I have often had it in mind to make you a little visit, but I havebeen so engrossed by business that I have been unable to get away. Iam a salesman for A. T. Stewart, whom you must have heard of, as heis the largest retail dealer in the city. I have been three years inhis employ, and have been promoted by degrees, till I now receivequite a good salary, until--and that is the news I have to writeyou--I have felt justifed in getting married. My wedding is fixedfor next week, Thursday. I should be very glad if you could attend,though I suppose you would consider it a long journey. But at anyrate I can assure you that I should be delighted to see you presenton the occasion, and so would Maria. If you can't come, write to me,at any rate, in memory of old times. It is just possible that duringour bridal tour--we are to go to the White Mountains for a week--weshall call on you. Let me know if it will be convenient for you toreceive us for a day.
"Your affectionate nephew, "FERDINAND B. KENSINGTON."
Miss Deborah read this letter like one dazed. She had to read it asecond time before she could comprehend its purport.
"Ferdinand going to be married! He never said a word about it whenhe was here. And he don't say a word about Californy. Then again hesays he hasn't seen me for years. Merciful man! I see it now--theother fellow was an impostor!" exclaimed Miss Deborah, jumping, toher feet in excitement. "What did he want to deceive an old womanfor?"
It flashed upon her at once. He came after money, and he hadsucceeded only too well. He had carried away four hundred and fiftydollars with him. True, he had left a note, and security. Butanother terrible suspicion had entered the old lady's mind; the ringmight not be genuine.
"I must know at once," exclaimed the disturbed spinster. "I'll goover to Brandon, to the jeweller's, and inquire. If it's paste,then, Deborah Kensington, you're the biggest fool in Centreville."
Miss Deborah summoned Abner, her farm servant from the field, andordered him instantly to harness the horse, as she wanted to go toBrandon.
"Do you want me to go with you?" asked Abner.
"To be sure, I can't drive so fur, and take care of the horse."
"It'll interrupt the work," objected Abner.
"Never mind about the work," said Deborah, impatiently. "I must goright off. It's on very important business."
"Wouldn't it be best to go after dinner?"
"No, we'll get some dinner over there, at the tavern."
"What's got into the old woman?" thought Abner. "It isn't like herto spend money at a tavern for dinner, when she might as well dine athome. Interruptin' the work, too! However, it's her business!"
Deborah was ready and waiting when the horse drove up the door. Shegot in, and they set out. Abner tried to open a conversation, but hefound Miss Deborah strangely unsocial. She appeared to take nointerest in the details of farm work of which he spoke.
"Something's on her mind, I guess," thought Abner; and, as we know,he was right.
In her hand Deborah clutched the ring, of whose genuineness she hadcome to entertain such painful doubts. It might be genuine, shetried to hope, even if it came from an impostor; but her hope wassmall. She felt a presentiment that it would prove as false as theman from whom she received it. As for the story of the manner inwhich he became possessed of it, doubtless that was as false as therest.
"How blind I was!" groaned Deborah in secret. "I saw he didn't looklike the family. What a goose I was to believe that story about hischangin' the color of his hair! I was an old fool, and that's allabout it."
"Drive to the jeweller's," said Miss Deborah, when they reachedBrandon.
In some surprise, Abner complied.
Deborah got out of the wagon hastily and entered the store.
"What can I do for you, Miss Kensington?" asked the jeweller, whorecognized the old lady.
"I want to show you a ring," said Aunt Deborah, abruptly. "Tell mewhat it's worth."
She produced the ring which the false Ferdinand had intrusted to her.
The jeweller scanned it closely.
"It's a good imitation of a diamond ring," he said.
"Imitation!" gasped Deborah.
"Yes; you didn't think it was genuine?"
"What's it worth?"
"The value of the gold. That appears to be genuine. It may be worththree dollars."
"Three dollars!" ejaculated Deborah. "He told me it cost six hundredand fifty."
"Whoever told you that was trying to deceive you."
"You're sure about its being imitation, are you?"
"There can be no doubt about it."
"That's what I thought," muttered the old lady, her face pale andrigid. "Is there anything to pay?"
"Oh, no; I am glad to be of service to you."
"Good-afternoon, then," said Deborah, abruptly, and she left thestore.
"Drive home, Abner, as quick as you can," she said.
"I haven't had any dinner," Abner remarked, "You said you'd get someat the tavern."
"Did I? Well, drive over there. I'm not hungry myself, but I'll payfor some dinner for you."
Poor Aunt Deborah! it was not the loss alone that troubled her,though she was fond of money; but it was humiliating to think thatshe had fallen such an easy prey to a designing adventurer. In herpresent bitter mood, she would gladly have ridden fifty miles to seethe false Ferdinand hanged.