Five Hundred Dollars; or, Jacob Marlowe's Secret

She had nearly reached home when, from out of the darkness, a man's figure advanced from the roadside and laid his hand upon her arm.

"Who are you!" she asked faintly, suppressing a scream.

"Don't be frightened, Mary," was the reply, "I am your husband, Simeon Barton."

CHAPTER IX.

MRS. BARTON'S SECRET

Mrs. Barton staggered, and would have fallen, had not the other held her up. "You here," she exclaimed, in amazement, "after being absent so many years?"

"Yes; it has been a cruel exile. We have been very unfortunate."

"Where have you been these last ten years, Simeon?"

"For the last eight years in Canada."

"And you did not write me?"

"No; I feared it would set officers on my track. I have heard from you now and then, indirectly. Have you suffered much?"

"It has been a weary time. It would have been easier to bear if I had heard from you."

"A letter from Canada would have been sure to attract attention and invite comment. Besides, I had no money to send you. Misfortune has pursued me, and I have only been able to support myself. When I think of the probable author of my misfortunes, I own it has made me feel revengeful."

"To whom do you refer, Simeon?"

"To Albert Marlowe."

"What do you mean? How is he responsible for your—misfortune?"

"I will tell you. I believe that it was he who stole the bonds, the loss of which was imputed to me."

"Is it possible that you have any proof of this?" asked Mary Barton eagerly. "The bond that was found in your possession–"

"Was placed in my overcoat pocket for the express purpose of throwing suspicion upon me. You remember that it was a bond for five hundred dollars, while the amount stolen was six thousand."

"Yes."

"Albert and I were both at work in the same establishment. We were on a level, so far as means are concerned."

"Yes."

"Now he is a rich man," added Simeon Barton significantly.

"Yes; he is considered worth thirty thousand dollars."

"It was the stolen money that gave him his start, I verily believe."

"He did not start in business for himself for more than a year after—the trouble."

"No; for he thought it would invite suspicion. I have reason to think that he disposed of the bonds in Canada, and with the proceeds started in as a manufacturer. How otherwise could he have done so? He was only earning two dollars a day when we were working together, and it cost him all of that to support his family."

"I have often wondered where he obtained money to go into business."

"I don't think there is any mystery about it."

"And you have been compelled to bear the consequences of his wrong-doing while he has been living in luxury?" said Mary Barton bitterly.

"Yes; but mine is not a solitary case. Wickedness often flourishes in this world. We must look to the future for compensation."

"Do you think you will ever be able to prove your innocence, Simeon?"

"It is all that I live for. If I can do that, we can live together again. But tell me, before I go any further, how are you and the boy getting along?"

"We are comfortable," answered Mary Barton briefly. She did not care to add to her husband's anxieties by speaking of Bert's discharge.

"I wish I had some money to give you, but I only had enough to bring me here and return."

"You had an object in coming?"

"Yes; there was a man who was employed by Weeks Brothers at the time of the loss of the bonds. I learned some months since—it is not necessary to explain how—that he could throw light on the long unsolved mystery—that he knew the real thief. I am in search of him. Some time I hope to find him, and make clear my innocence by the aid of his testimony."

"Oh, Simeon, if you only could!" exclaimed Mrs. Barton, clasping her hands.

"I shall try, at all events."

"I wonder if it would not be well to consult Uncle Jacob?"

"Uncle Jacob!" repeated Simeon Barton in surprise.

"Yes; I have not told you. He has returned from California, and is now in New York."

"Have you seen him?"

"Yes; he spent a week at our house."

Mrs. Barton went on to give the particulars of Uncle Jacob's visit.

"He is a poor man," she concluded. "As I understand, he brought home but five hundred dollars, but he is lucky enough to be employed in an office in New York at a salary of twelve dollars a week."

"If I were earning that, and could hold up my head an honest man, without a stain—an undeserved stain—upon my name, I should be happy."

"Can you tell me Uncle Jacob's address?" he asked, after a pause. "I don't think I shall venture to call upon him, for I am subject to arrest on the old charge, as you know, and the New York detectives are sharp, but I might write to him and ask his advice. But stay! he thinks me dead, does he not?"

"Yes."

"And Bert—is that what you still call him?—he still thinks that he has no father living?"