Signing the Contract and What it Cost

“Oh, I cannot!” she groaned, hiding her face.

“No, no, assuredly not; forgive me, darling,” he whispered, bending over her; “but may I?”

She gave a silent assent, and he and his father left the room.

In a few moments they returned, Espy carrying a large-sized pocket-book, old and worn, which he placed in Floy’s hands, saying, “This is all we found. It is for you to open and examine it.”

She did so, her tears dropping over it all the time. It contained a little change and a few papers of no great importance – receipted bills, memoranda, etc.

“It is not here; he never made it,” she said huskily, pushing the book and its contents from her. “Ah, father, father, what has your neglect cost me!”

“Don’t be so distressed, child; there is really no occasion,” said Mr. Alden soothingly. “I don’t know why, as I told Espy yesterday, you and he have taken so much trouble to hunt for the will, as, you being the only child, the law gives all to you in case your father died intestate, as it seems he did.”

She lifted her white face, which she had hidden in her hands; she would not see Espy’s imploring look.

“No, Mr. Alden, you mistake,” she said; “I, lacking the will, am not the heir.”

“Nonsense, my dear child! ’Tis you who are mistaken. Why, how could you doubt that you, his only child, inherit Mr. Kemper’s property by natural right, unless he chose to will it, or part of it, to some one else?”

She seemed shaken with contending emotions; but controlling herself by a strong effort, and looking with steady, mournful gaze into the eyes of him whom she addressed, “I thought – I believed – oh, I never doubted till the hour that I became doubly orphaned – that I was his own child and – and hers!”

She paused for an instant, with her hands tightly clasped over her heart, then went on in lower and more tremulous tones. “But she – my mother – as I must call her still – she told me with her dying breath that – that I was theirs only by adoption.”

Mr. Alden, who had been standing, staggered back and dropped into a chair, looking perfectly astounded.

“Who – who are you then?” he gasped at length.

“I – I do not know, except – ”

“Never mind, Floy, my own little wife,” whispered Espy, throwing a protecting arm about her and making her lean on him.

Then turning to his father, he stated the facts as succinctly as possible.

Mr. Alden listened with a grave and troubled air, and, when his son had finished, sat for some moments in silent cogitation.

“Well,” he said at length, “this is a rather bad business; and yet – perhaps not so bad as it looks. Floy, how many are in this secret – about your birth, I mean?”

“Our three selves only,” she answered.

“Good! very good!” he said, rubbing his hands with a complacent smile. “Your sex is not famed for ability to keep secrets, but I’ll trust you for this one.”

She gave him a look of surprised inquiry.

“So long as you are believed to be Mr. Kemper’s own child,” he went on to explain, “no one will dispute your right to the property, and it’s very considerable, Floy – worth taking some pains to secure.”

Her dark eyes opened wide upon him in half-incredulous, indignant surprise, but he gave her no opportunity to speak.

“And it is yours of right, for, as we all know, Mr. Kemper intended it for you, and you will only be fulfilling his wishes in retaining possession, which, as the old saying has it,” he added, with an unpleasant laugh, “is nine points of the law.”

CHAPTER VII

A WICKED SUGGESTION

“All your attempts
Shall fall on me like brittle shafts on armor
That break themselves, or like waves against a rock.”

    Massinger.
Utter amazement at so base a proposal kept the girl silent for an instant; then releasing herself from Espy’s supporting arm, she stood erect before her tempter, her hands tightly clenched, a crimson tide rushing over the face so pale but a moment ago, the great dark eyes flashing with indignant anger, then filling with tears of deeply wounded feeling.

“Ah, I see; you were not serious. You could not believe me capable of such a crime. But it was a cruel jest,” she said in a choking voice, and ending with a burst of almost hysterical weeping.

“Crime!” echoed Mr. Alden testily. “Girl, you don’t know what you are talking about! How can it be a crime to take the property your father accumulated expressly for you?”

“I beg, sir, that the matter may be allowed to rest for the present,” interposed Espy; “we have had a hard day’s work, and Floy is not in a condition, either mentally or physically, to attend to business.”

“Well, well, just as she pleases; there’s no particular hurry, and I’d be the last one to want to distress her,” returned Mr. Alden, and taking up his hat he stalked out of the room, evidently not over-pleased. In fact, his ire was roused not a little by the term Floy had applied to his proposition.

“Crime indeed!” he muttered to himself as he hurried down the garden path. “As if I – I could be thought capable of suggesting a crime!”

He hastened to his wife with his grievance.

“Oh, well, never mind the child; she’s only a slip of a girl, and I dare say hardly knows what a crime is,” Mrs. Alden answered soothingly. “But really, remembering how they doted on her and petted her, I never was more surprised at anything in my life than to hear that she wasn’t their own.”

“Nor I, Jane; and if she’s going to be such a fool as to publish the thing and give up the property that she knows, and we all know, was intended for her, why – I’ll withdraw my consent – ”

“Oh, now, Nathan, don’t say that!” hastily interrupted his wife, knowing that he was an obstinate man and prided himself on keeping his word. “You might come to wish you hadn’t, for she’s a nice girl, and we’re all fond of her – you as well as the rest of us. There, now, I must go and see about supper,” she added, making an excuse to leave him before he had had time to commit himself.

Worn out with grief, excitement, and over-exertion, Floy went to bed that night with a raging headache, and for the next two or three days was able to do little but lie on the sofa.

Espy was with her almost constantly, saving her as much as possible from every annoyance, and comforting her with his sympathy and love.

They were not days of mirth and gladness, but of much heaviness of heart, yet often looked back upon in after years with tender regret, a mournful sweetness lingering about their memory.

As by mutual consent both Floy and Espy avoided the subject of the missing papers and her future action in regard to the property. It frequently obtruded itself upon Floy’s thoughts, but she refused to consider it for the time being; it must wait until she had strength for the struggle which she foresaw was before her if she would follow the dictates of an enlightened conscience.

Mr. Alden grew impatient.

“Espy,” he said at length, “what is Floy going to do?”

“She has not told me, sir; the subject has not been mentioned between us.”

“Then it’s high time it was; I hope you’ll talk to her about it to-day, and try to convince her of the reasonableness of the course I have recommended.”

“I should rather not undertake it, sir. I am not at all sure that hers is not the right view of the matter.”

“Come, now, don’t be a fool, Espy!” returned his father angrily. “You’d be standing amazingly in your own light, if you mean to marry the girl; it’s a fine property, and would give you just the start in life you need. Why, you might give up studying for a profession and devote yourself at once to your beloved art,” he added, with an unpleasant laugh.

The young man flushed deeply. “I should despise myself, sir, if I could act from such motives,” he said, forcing himself to speak quietly, though the hot blood coursed through his veins.