The Project Gutenberg eBook of The breach of trust
Title: The breach of trust
or, The professor and possessor of piety
Author: Madeline Leslie
Release date: June 22, 2025 [eBook #76354]
Language: English
Original publication: Boston: D. Lothrop Company, 1869
Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the public domain.
Helen and her class in Sabbath School.
THE BREACH OF TRUST;
OR, THE
Professor and Possessor of Piety.
BY
[Madeline Leslie]
"Professing themselves to be wise, they became fools."
"Ye shall know them by their fruits."
BOSTON
D LOTHROP COMPANY
Entered for the Author according to Act of Congress, in
the year 1869, by
ANDREW F. GRAVES,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
CONTENTS.
————
THE PROFESSOR OF RELIGION
THE POSSESSOR OF PIETY
RETROSPECTION
THE BROTHER AND SISTER
HELEN'S SECRET
THE PASTOR'S STUDY
THE FEIGNED AND THE REAL
THE SUBSCRIPTION PAPER
THE PROFESSOR'S DEFEAT
THE REVELATION
THE GUARDIAN AND HIS WARD
A NARROW ESCAPE
SYBIL'S VISITS
THE YOUNG MISSIONARY
EXPLANATIONS
A DISCOVERY
THE DELICATE TITBIT
MR. TRACY'S SANCTUM
MORRISVILLE
THE ANONYMOUS GIFT
THE FRENCH CHATEAU
THE CRASH AT LAST
THE BRIDAL PAIR
MONSON P. TRACY
DEATH OF A POSSESSOR
END OF THE MERE PROFESSOR
Breach of Trust.
——————
CHAPTER I.
THE PROFESSOR OF RELIGION.
MONSON P. TRACY was a self-made man, and he had perfect confidence in himself. His own opinions, and his own judgment, were the only laws to which he succumbed. Those who honestly differed from him, he pronounced bigoted, self-willed. And where the difference referred to personal subjects, he called his opponents blind and prejudiced, treating them with a contempt intended to crush them.
Monson P. Tracy was, I am sorry to say, a man of not more than moderate abilities. He was addicted to hobbies, and some of these, to the relief of by-standers, he rode to death. He was a man of unbounded ambition. Believing himself entirely competent to fill any office his country had to offer, he was not backward in presenting his claims, and urging them on the unappreciating public.
Monson P. Tracy professed himself a Christian. He owned a slip in the popular church edifice near him, and might usually be seen in it on the morning of the Lord's day. He said a form of grace at table, and read a form of prayer afterward. By these means he intended to impress those about him with the fervor of his devotion, but in this he cheated few beside himself.
In an old-fashioned book which he seldom opened, there was a maxim: "By their fruits ye shall know them." This touchstone applied by others, rendered a verdict widely different from the one he so lovingly hugged to his own breast. But time will show us which verdict was correct.
If there was one thing which particularly pleased Mr. Tracy, it was to see his name in print. To give the man full justice, he was active, industrious, and energetic. Few men could work more skilfully to attain an end. And all his powers were brought into play to bring about so desirable a result, as seeing his name in capital letters at the head of a column in the newspaper.
Let me take advantage of an auspicious moment of this nature, to introduce him more fully to my readers.
He was sitting in a luxurious arm-chair, by far the most comfortable which the room contained, with the drop-light nicely shaded by a porcelain screen exactly the right distance from his eyes, a pleasant smile on his well-formed mouth, reading from the evening Journal.
His wife, a meek little woman, in a low chair on the other side of the table, had a stocking stretched over her hand, and was gazing rather dismally at a large hole in the toe, when he thus addressed her:
"There is an article here, Mrs. Tracy, which you will be interested to read."
"I seldom read the newspapers," was the indifferent reply. "I haven't time."
"But you will read this. I repeat, that it will interest you."
The tone was decisive, though a smile still curled his lips.
After an anxious search for thread of the right size, Mrs. Tracy realized that her husband had addressed her, and was awaiting a reply. She glanced in his face, and saw a heavy shade about to settle on his brow, so she quickly asked:
"What is it? Anything about you?"
"It is the report of my speech at the Convention. The editor does himself credit, in his way of printing those reports. See!"
He held the paper toward her, swinging the drop-light in her direction, while she read:
"Speech of Monson P. Tracy before the — Convention. Received by a
crowded audience, with loud and repeated applause."
The small, hazel eyes of the lady glistened as she read; her ball of cotton fell from her lap unheeded.
"Oh, how nice! How pleasant! How proud I am to be the wife of a man whom every body praises!"
"Yes, Mrs. Tracy, it is pleasant, I acknowledge it. It is agreeable to feel that my efforts for the welfare of my fellow creatures are appreciated. In my pocket you will find a dozen copies of this report. I wish that you would see them folded and directed to the gentlemen whose names are on this list. It will be a pleasant work for you."
"Will it be necessary to direct them this evening, Mr. Tracy? My mending is sadly behind this week."
"An hour, after I have retired, will be sufficient for the business."
He was turning back to the paper with a smile, when thinking it would be a suitable opportunity, she touched on a new theme.
"I shall need a little money for family expenses."
The smile quickly vanished as he asked curtly:
"How much?"
"Ten dollars will do, though I ought to have more. Sarah Barrows has been here to-day with her bill. She says her mother is sick and needs medicine."
"Pshaw! That is only an excuse! She must wait my convenience. Here are ten dollars. Make them go as far as possible. Our expenses were never so heavy."
The next morning as Mrs. Tracy was pouring her husband a cup of coffee she asked:
"Did you notice in the paper the death of Mr. Edmond. I saw it as I was directing the Journals you left last night."
"No," he answered with a start of surprise. His face paled a little, for memories of the past came rushing over him. Without interrupting his breakfast, he exclaimed presently. "So he's gone! I wonder what he's done with all his property!"
A ring at the door-bell prevented an answer, if he expected any, and a boy from the telegram office was admitted by the servant.
"Please, sir, this came two days ago; and, on account of the direction not being distinct it was sent to Miles Tracy Esq., in the country; and now it's come back to us again."
The gentleman seized the narrow slip of paper and read eagerly:
"Father is dying. Wants to see you. Carriage at depot to meet you this
evening.
"FRANCIS J. EDMOND."
Mr. Tracy turned upon the messenger with an angry scowl. "Your office ought to be fined heavily for such mistakes. Here is a dying man sends for me on business of the last importance; a carriage sent a mile to convoy me to his house; and I not there. It may be a loss to me of—well more than you can imagine."
"Will you please sign your name, sir?" ventured the boy, timidly extending the book.
"No, not I! You may tell your master I am exceedingly displeased."
"Here, boy, I'll sign it," said Mrs. Tracy following the messenger to the door, "only it's a terrible pity there was such a mistake."
"I wish you would pack my carpetbag," remarked the merchant. "I shall start for Maytown in the eleven train."
Mr. Tracy having finished his breakfast, and re-read the telegram, started up, and began to make preparations to go to his store as usual.
"Shall you have time to order the dinner from the stall?" asked his wife anxiously.
"Scarcely. I shall be away, you know. You had better get along with what you have in the house. I can't help wondering what Mr. Edmond wanted to see me for."
CHAPTER II.
THE POSSESSOR OF PIETY.
IN a beautiful country town, near forty miles from the city honored as the residence of Monson P. Tracy, lay the valuable estate of Mr. Roswell Edmond. On a height of land overlooking a great sweep of forest and plain with a church spire here and there giving notice of a home for weary wanderers, a lovely lawn sloping down to the edge of a lake in the foreground with a pretty border of willows and maples making the borders of the estate, stood an English cottage almost embowered in the numerous vines trained over the lattices.
As the traveller approached by the main avenue, which wound around the lawn to the front entrance, he could not fail to be impressed with the evidences of refined taste which met his view on every side.
Ornamental trees of a half century's growth threw a pleasant shade over the avenue, but the whole front was open except an occasional tree or cluster of trees which gave additional beauty to the scene. Here was a purple beech, a magnificent specimen, with its heavy foliage gracefully sweeping the ground. There on the opposite side were a cluster of Norway spruce, and, farther on, some rare varieties of Siberian pine.
On the wide piazza which extended around three sides of the house, rustic chairs, with wide spread arms invited the weary to rest, while the fragrant honeysuckle, the prairie rose, or the climbing wisteria vied with each other in producing charms to the delight of those who lingered near.
The front entrance opened into a spacious hall, extending through the house uninterrupted by stairs.
This was a favorite apartment with the whole family, and many hours every day through all the summer months were passed there.
The walls of the hall were lined with rare paintings carefully selected by Mr. Edmond during his frequent European tours. Nor did he neglect the skill of his own countrymen, as many a gem by an American artist bore ample testimony. The corners of the hall and also niches in the sides were filled with busts and statuary. This apartment being lighted from the roof was finely adapted for the purpose to which it had been applied.
Beside the light from above there was a high, narrow window, each side of the front door, and in the corner, near a splendidly executed bust of Sir Walter Scott stood a table inlaid with pearl, covered with the trifles usually found in connection with a lady's work-basket.
This was the favorite resort of Helen Josephine, only daughter and constant companion of Mr. Edmond.
The oldest child, a son named Francis Joseph, was nearly four years his sister's senior, and was Sophomore in Yale College, having left home for the preparatory school a short time after his mother's decease, which occurred five years earlier.
The dangerous illness of his father had called him from College duties at a time when, worn with over-work, he was poorly fitted to meet the overwhelming blow which awaited him.
He had the privilege, however, of administering to his father's comfort, for three days before his decease. To his care the dying parent committed the weeping Helen, with many tender admonitions.
"She is my darling, Frank, the companion and comfort of my last years. Impulsive, and it may be too resolute, but warm-hearted and loving, do not restrain her unreasonably. Govern her through her affections, and when other motives fail, remind her of my counsels, my prayers in her behalf."
In regard to their property, Mr. Edmond assured his son that every arrangement which prudence could suggest, had been already made. Monson P. Tracy, a man endeared to him by the knowledge of having in a worldly sense created his fortunes, had been appointed executor of his will and guardian to his children as long as they remained minors.
In speaking of this man the day before his death, Mr. Edmond said:
"He is bound to me by ties of gratitude. I believe him to be upright and honorable. And I die assured he will more than fulfil any obligations he may feel toward me by the deep interest he will take in the welfare of my children."
An hour or two later he asked: "Does the Doctor think I shall survive another day? If so I should like to see Mr. Tracy, and you may telegraph for him. But in case I should not live till he comes, I will say, that I have equally divided all I have left between you and your sister. She has also an estate willed her by her grandfather, now in the hands of an aged aunt. But as it will not come to her till the decease of her mother's aunt, I have made no mention of it in my will."
He then gave minute directions concerning his funeral, which he wished to have plain and without ostentation, recommending also that Woodbine Cottage, as his place was called, should be rented for a few years. And that until the completion of Helen's education, she should reside in the family of her guardian, if agreeable to him.
When the evening train arrived, and it was ascertained that Mr. Tracy had not answered the summons, the dying man merely explained to his son the steps necessary to be taken to set up the will, and provided that in case his executor should not accept the trust, their pastor, Mr. Knowles, should be his successor, who should have the privilege of appointing one or more, according to his judgment, to manage the financial responsibilities of his wards.
"Now," he said, when his son had made a memorandum of his father's words, "now I have done with earth, and need not be cumbered with worldly cares. I thank God, who, years ago, by his Spirit drew me to himself, and that now, in the midst of bodily infirmity, I am not harassed by mental anguish. I thank Him for his unspeakable gift—the Lord Jesus Christ, who bore my sins in his own body on the tree. And I am fully persuaded, my Saviour, having bought me with a price, will keep me to the end."
During the evening and night, Helen could not be persuaded to leave her father's couch, even to seek a few hours repose which she so greatly needed. She insisted on sharing her brother's vigils that she might smooth the dying pillow of the being whom she loved best on earth.
When he closed his eyes under the influence of opiates, she, too, slept on his pillow, her hand clasping his as she sat in a chair by his side.
Once, about midnight, the dying man started, as if from a painful dream.
"Is that you, Helen?" he gasped, fixing his dim eyes on her face. "Kiss me, darling! Oh, it is hard to leave you fatherless, motherless!"
His voice expressed the anguish of his soul, as he suddenly realized the desolation which would be his daughter's lot. But presently, after she had soothed him with kisses and words of endearment, his face brightened, and he exclaimed, with renewed strength:
"Get thee behind me, Satan, away with doubts, and gloomy forebodings. I know in whom I have believed; I can rely on His promise for me and for my children."
Then addressing them as they bent over him weeping, he added:
"I dare not ask for your exemption from trials; they are the common lot of humanity, and may be made the instruments by which your heavenly Father will lead you to himself. But I have prayed that your lives may be full of faith, hope, and charity. That the Saviour so precious to me in my dying hours, may be your Saviour, comforting and sustaining you through all your earthly journey, and at last presenting you to his Father as the reward of his sufferings in your behalf."
When the beams from the morning sun shone into his room, he roused from a troubled slumber, and pointing to the bright rays, gasped feebly:
"To-morrow's sun will shine on my body, but my soul will be bathing in the full effulgence of the Sun of righteousness. I shall see him as he is. But I shall not be afraid—no—not afraid! The pierced side and bleeding hands will be my safeguard."
He sank back, and they thought he had ceased to breathe. But he soon revived, and with a stronger voice exclaimed:
"Rock of ages cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee."
These were his last words.
CHAPTER III.
RETROSPECTION.
TWELVE o'clock the day following this sad event, found Monson P. Tracy seated in the cars, steaming away in the direction of Maytown. He was the only passenger in the first division of the car. And as he for the third time perused the brief telegram, his thoughts naturally turned back to his first acquaintance with the deceased.
To make my story more plain I will take this opportunity to describe some events which occurred about twenty-five years earlier.
Mr. Edmond, who at that time resided in the city, was one morning passing into his counting-house when he heard one of his clerks, threatening a youth with imprisonment if he did not take himself from the premises.
"What has the young man done, that he should be treated so roughly?" inquired the gentleman.
"No good, sir! I can bear testimony to that. I've seen him hanging round for days in company with some jailbirds. I've no doubt he is well acquainted with the police already."
"What have you to say for yourself?" urged Mr. Edmond, after gazing for a moment in the hungry face before him.
"I should like to tell you all about it, sir," stammered the boy, "but not before him. I don't know anything about jailbirds."
"Come with me into my counting-room."
When alone with the gentleman, the youth recited a tale of destitution which touched the heart of the listener. Only a month before, he had publicly professed his faith in Christ and had devoted himself with all his powers of body and mind to the service of his Saviour. Only that very morning he had asked his heavenly Father to give him opportunities to win souls. Was not this meeting with a fatherless boy just launched on the stage of active life a direct answer to his prayer?
He drew from the youth the facts that after the death of his parents an uncle had taken him home, but had treated him with such cruelty that he resolved to run away, and make his own fortune. He had but a dollar, given him by the hired man, who deeply sympathized with him, and with this small sum he had worked his way mostly on foot, nearly a hundred miles to the city. The first night he slept in the wagon of the drover who had brought him the last few miles. The following day he visited the wharves and counting-houses, begging for work, without one morsel of food passing his lips, and at night was thankful to accept a crust from a youth near his own age, and to share his couch on the floor of a cellar.
Three days passed in nearly the same manner, and this was the commencement of the fourth.
Leaving Monson, for it was he, in his office, Mr. Edmond dispatched a lad to a bake-shop near by for a loaf of bread. It was reward enough to watch the hungry boy devour the food. Then the gentleman pushed a sheet of paper before the child, saying:
"Write these words: 'Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.'"
The result both surprised and pleased the merchant, who at once set him to work with the promise of befriending him if he would deserve aid.
A few months proved that the youth was both active and industrious, and his benefactor took increasing interest in him. He advised Monson to attend an evening school and apply himself to those branches which would fit him for mercantile life. He provided ample means for the accomplishment of this object. Nor did he, while aiming to advance the temporal interests of his protégé, for one day forget the great object of winning him to the rank of a soldier of Christ. He presented him with a Sunday suit, and introduced him to a class in the Sabbath School, stating that it was his wish that every one in his employ should be a regular attendant on the means of grace.
Monson was not without a good deal of native shrewdness. He soon perceived what he called, "the weak side" of his employer, and was quite willing for policy's sake to feign a love for religion. On the Sabbath, his seat in church on the side wing, and directly in front of his benefactor's slip was never vacant, while his apparently devout hearing of the word, inspired many a prayer in his behalf from his watchful friend.
At the end of seven years, Monson found himself in a position to which he had never aspired. He was head clerk in the great commercial house of Roswell Edmond, with a salary sufficient to support himself in luxury.
But though extremely fond of show, Monson had a strong motive for prudence. He was, as I have already explained, a man of unbounded ambition. He believed himself to be the possessor of uncommon abilities, and he wished to live to have his name blazoned through the land. He had early joined a club of young men, who met professedly for the discussion of the popular subjects of the day, and, I fear, for far worse purposes. Finding that his loud voice, distinct articulation, and confidence in himself, won many votes to the side he advocated, he speedily became quite a leader among his companions.
Mr. Edmond, ever zealous to promote the interests of his protégé, encouraged this love for debate, only trying to divert it into a healthy channel. He selected subjects such as would really profit, and himself aided Monson in preparing his arguments. For instance:
"Are there evidences enough in nature to prove the existence of a God?"
"What are the arguments in proof of the inspiration of the Bible?"
Fifteen years from the morning when the good man first met the hungry youth, Monson P. Tracy's name appeared on a new sign hung in place of the old one of Roswell Edmond & Co.
This gentleman having inherited a large fortune in addition to his already handsome estate, resolved to comply with the wishes of his wife, and retire altogether to his beautiful estate in the country. He therefore decided to show his appreciation of the faithful services of his head clerk, by allowing him to purchase the business at a reasonable, or, as his mercantile friends assured him, at a most unreasonable discount.
He had thus been the means of creating the fortune of Mr. Tracy, a fortune which had steadily increased, until he was counted among the most prosperous merchants in the city.
In consequence of Mr. Edmond's frequent absence in Europe, where he went in search of health for his wife, the benefactor and his protégé had seldom met of late years. But as Mr. Edmond frequently saw Mr. Tracy's name in print, and heard him spoken of as a rising man, especially as he believed his professions of piety to be sincere, he felt no hesitation in leaving his children's property, and, what he valued far more, the cultivation of their hearts, to his guardian care.
CHAPTER IV.
THE BROTHER AND SISTER.
THE hour was sunset, but the high brick walls prevented the two persons seated in a bay-window on one of the main streets of a large city, from enjoying more than a few tints of the gorgeously painted clouds.
Helen Josephine and her brother, reunited after a separation of three months, thought but little of this deprivation at the time. The young girl sat on a divan placed within the window, her head resting on her brother's shoulder, her hand closely clasped in his. He had, at her request, been telling her of his studies, the classmates who particularly interested him, the words of kindness and encouragement he had received from his professors, and then they sat silent, communing with their own hearts.
At length, with a profound sigh, Helen exclaimed:
"Oh, Frank! I find it so hard to keep the resolutions I made by dear papa's couch. My heart is full of hard thoughts. I'm afraid I never can be happy here. Oh, why did God take papa away? I wish, oh, I wish, I had never left Woodbine Cottage, my sweet, 'sweet,' home!"
Frank was startled by the depth of feeling displayed in his sister's tone, even more than by the words. Tenderly embracing her, he said soothingly:
"You shall tell me all about it, pet. Come, open your heart, and confess all the naughty thoughts you have had."
She shuddered, which caused him to add:
"Can't you imagine for the time that I am papa, and confess, as you used to, for the sake of a good-night kiss."
"Not here! Oh, not here! Take me to Maytown, and let us pass one week near our dear, lost home. Why didn't I realize then what a paradise it was?"
"That's a good suggestion," remarked Frank. "We can board with our old nurse, and wander around among the familiar haunts as much as we please, for there are no young people on the place to disturb us. If it is pleasant, we will start to-morrow."
Mr. Tracy at this moment entered the room with the proof of a column in the newspaper in his hand.
"So you are sentimentalizing in the twilight," he exclaimed, laughing aloud. "I was going to ask the favor from you, Mr. Edmond, of a glance over this proof. It is my speech before the legislature. You have probably seen some notice of it. The press have been very flattering in their reports, and I have at length been prevailed upon to give it to the public."
"On what occasion was the speech?"
"I am astonished you have not heard of it. Our legislature were petitioned for a railroad grant; and I was requested to lay some facts before them, which had come under my notice. I did so, and my statements were favorably received, exceedingly so; indeed I may say I was congratulated upon the fairness of my arguments as well as the incontrovertible nature of my figures."
During this speech, Frank caught a glimpse of his sister and was so astonished by her manner, that he found it difficult to comprehend all his guardian was saying. A comprehensive:
"Certainly, sir," put him all right with the gentleman, who, after ordering a servant to light the gas, and placing the precious sheet in the hands of the young collegian for review, left the room.
"Now, Sis," ejaculated her brother playfully, "you must explain what you mean by freezing up in that style. I never saw such a change come over any person's countenance as did over yours on Mr. Tracy's entrance. I had no idea you could be so dignified. Ah, I'm afraid you have been naughtier than I thought!"
"I have been taking lessons in deportment," she answered without relaxing from her gravity. Then, with a sudden burst of feeling she exclaimed:
"It seems years, instead of months, since I lived at home, and ran wild around our shady walks. Oh, Frank, promise me one thing! Say you will never be married, and that as soon as you graduate, you will take me back to Woodbine Cottage. Promise that, and I'll try to be content."
A footfall sounded on the walk before the house, then came quickly up the steps.
Springing from her seat with a bound, Helen seized her brother's head in her arms, pressing her lips excitedly to his forehead.
"Good-night," she whispered. "Tell Mr. Tracy our plan for to-morrow. I must send word to my teachers of my wish to be absent." Then before he could reply she had glided from the parlor.
The young man stood a moment gazing after her retreating form, wondering at her impulsive manner, then drew a chair near the table, and sat down to the examination of the proof-sheet.
He had only advanced to the fifth line, however, before the door opened, and a young man entered.
"Mr. Edmond, I suppose," he said, advancing cordially with hand outstretched. "I am happy to see you under my father's roof. But where is your sister?"
"She has just left me. I suppose you are Roswell Edmond Tracy, my father's namesake."
"Yes, and when did you arrive? Oh, I see you are reading that speech of father's, quite a crack thing, the papers say. Father enjoys that sort of work amazingly. But I never could endure it. I'm constituted differently, you know."
"I don't think that I quite understand you."
Roswell laughed, and looked wise. "Speechifying I mean. But you need not trouble yourself to correct that proof," as he saw the young collegian make a mark on the margin with his pencil. "Ha! Ha! Ha! That was printed and distributed two days ago. That's an old ruse of father's to get your opinion of his speech."
The stranger, not relishing this style of conversation, remained silent.
"I'm sorry your sister retired before I came home," Roswell went on. "Perhaps she was offended because I was so late. But indeed I could not help it. I've taken a mighty fancy to your sister and tell her all my tricks with the governor," nodding toward the proof-sheet. "Why it's just the easiest thing in the world to wheedle him out of money. Just flatter him up about his speeches; tell him what so and so said of them, all shoddy, you know, of my manufacture, and out comes an X before he is aware."
"I earnestly hope that my sister does not practise such deception," seriously remarked Mr. Edmond.
Mrs. Tracy's entrance, followed by her husband, prevented a reply to this observation.
The guest took this opportunity to impart the information that he was going to visit Maytown for a few days and wished to take his sister with him. Then, as no objection was made on the part of the guardian, he pleaded fatigue after his journey, and retired to his chamber, carrying the proof-sheet with him.
His room adjoined his sister's, though there was no connection between them. Presently he heard a low tap at his chamber door.
"Is it all settled?" she inquired eagerly. "Are we really going?"
"Yes really, by the first train to-morrow morning."
She clasped her hands joyfully, her whole face sparkling with animation; but she did not speak.
"What kind of a youth is Mr. Tracy's son?" demanded the brother. "He tells me strange things of you."
"Of me? Hush! I cannot breathe in the house with him. There, kiss me good-night again. I must go. To-morrow I'll tell you everything."
CHAPTER V.
HELEN'S SECRET.
BUT to-morrow, her mood had changed. And when, as soon as they were comfortably seated in the cars, he urged her to relieve his mind, and tell him all she knew of the youth who bore his precious father's name, she quietly refused.
"It is not my secret; I have no right to know it. I did not obtain my information honorably. That is, I overheard a conversation not intended for my ear, and I did not allow my presence to be discovered even when I might. I was spellbound. I could not have stirred for the world. And now I would not be ignorant of what I heard; no, not for every dollar dear papa left me."
It was all in vain Frank expressed his horror and surprise and grief that she was so reserved, she only shook her head.
"No," she repeated drawing up her dainty little neck, and putting on an air of defiance, "No, I can take care of myself, if I am only sixteen. If it ever becomes necessary, I will tell you. Now let us talk of something more agreeable."
"But, Helen, remember that I promised Father to watch over you as tenderly as he could have done. You must explain your unaccountable behaviour. I will not go back to College, and leave you so. Between wonder and anxiety, I scarcely slept at all last night."
"Do you want me to become a laughing-stock for all these people?" she inquired, her cheeks crimson with excitement. "I should be crying before I said ten words."
She turned suddenly away to the window and for some time appeared absorbed in the prospect without. But at last, hearing her brother sigh repeatedly, she touched his hand and said humbly:
"Don't worry, Frank. I'm a bad girl; and I'm afraid I shall grow worse, with all sorts of hard feeling rankling in my breast; but when we are at home, we will take a walk to my pretty arbor, and I'll make a full confession of all that concerns myself. That's what I'm going to Maytown for, you know. Come, Mr. Junior, can't you be agreeable? With that solemn face, our neighbors will think you are my jealous lover, or a very stern guardian, which you are not."
A few hours later the happy pair, for the time throwing behind them all anxious thoughts, wandered off from the cottage of their old nurse to the garden and grove belonging to the estate.
The place had been rented for two years by an aged couple who were in search of quiet, and who gladly gave permission to the youthful owners to ramble wherever they pleased.
"I can breathe here," cried Helen, expanding her chest and inhaling large draughts of the sweet, fresh country air. "The fragrance from the flowers and the new mown lawn is perfectly delightful."
Then with a sudden change of tone and manner, she turned to her brother, stopping in her walk, and inquired:
"Frank, what would be the result if we told Mr. Tracy that we preferred Mr. Knowles for our guardian?
"But, Sis, under the circumstances Mr. Knowles would not accept the trust."
"What if I could persuade him? Don't you remember what he said the day we left dear papa under the sycamore trees?
"'If you are ever in trouble, my child, come to me as to a father. My heart and my home are ever open to receive the children of my best parishioner.'"
Frank walked for some distance in silence, his sister closely and rather impatiently watching him.
"I am not sufficiently acquainted with the law, to understand whether wards have a right to change their guardian except for some delinquence in regard to the trust. Perhaps Mr. Tracy would be glad to be rid of the responsibility."
"No, he would not!" exclaimed Helen, in great excitement. "He would not give it up if he could keep it against our wish."
"Now, Sis, I will not go on talking in this blind way. Here is our rustic seat, and we are as retired as if we were in the midst of a great forest. Sit down, and tell me everything that has occurred since I left you."
"Well, I will."
She threw herself on the seat and for one moment covered her face with her hands, shuddering visibly.
"Are you trying to torture me, Helen?" inquired Frank, seizing her hand and pulling it from her face; "if so, you have succeeded well."
"Oh, Frank! I hate Mr. Tracy and Roswell. I despise Mrs. Tracy for being the wife of her husband. And I despise Helen Edmond more than all. I'm growing worse and worse every day; I'm freezing up, as you call it. I'm growing hard and defiant, and unforgiving. I'm forgetting all dear papa's instructions. I'm getting to hate prayer, or grace at table. Oh, I'm horrid! And the worst of it is, I'm afraid I shall never be any better."
"Helen, Mr. Tracy is a Christian. You ought not to talk so."
"If he is, I'll try hard never to become one. But I know he is not. I might have believed it, if I had never known our precious papa. I might have imagined that religion was talking about churches and ministers, going to church one half of every pleasant Sunday, reading prayers in a loud, monotonous voice, and in the meantime doing every mean, selfish, ungrateful thing, under the cloak of piety.
"Thank God, I have seen one good Christian. I have seen him live, and I have seen him die." Her voice faltered and for a moment she lost self-control.
But with an effort, she quickly resumed: "I have seen a man whose heart was kept pure, and therefore sweet, healthy streams flowed from the living fountain. A man who thought little of himself except so to live as to do honor to his Saviour, but who thought much of others in his efforts to make them happier and better,—a man whose name, perhaps, was never seen in public print, but which was engraven on the hearts of all who knew him,—a man who confessed himself a sinner, though in the sight of others he was a saint,—a man whom Jesus loved and comforted in his dying hours. Yes, I'm sure there are Christians."
Frank sat and gazed at his sister in wonder. Her eyes by turns melting and defiant, her head erect, her cheeks crimson with excitement, her tongue loosened and the words flowing with the greatest rapidity from her lips. For one instant, the thought crossed his mind that a fever was burning in her veins and affecting her reason, but one recollection of her talk before starting with old nurse, just like her old self, put such fears to flight.
He clasped her hand tenderly exclaiming, "Sis, I can't make it out. I don't know you. I believe you're not Helen after all."
"That's just it," she answered, with a loud laugh that distressed him beyond measure. "I'm not Helen, papa's darling, who meant to try and be good and meet her papa in heaven. I'm another girl, all bad, 'bad,' and nothing to help me be good. How will it all end?"
"Helen, do you think Mr. Tracy a bad man? Have you a sufficient reason for thinking so? If you have, tell me what it is, and I will take you away from him, if I lose my fortune by the means. But if you have any pity on me, don't give up so."
"I distrust Monson P. Tracy, Frank. He may be a shrewd business man. Papa thought him so. But I consider him wholly without principle; and then he is eaten up with selfishness. I verily believe he imagines there is only one man in the United States whose opinion is worth taking, and that man is Monson P. Tracy. He may be honest in this belief; and cheat himself into the idea that he is noble, generous, upright and honorable; but I'm sure he doesn't cheat his Maker."
"Nor does he seem to have cheated you, Sis. But you give no proofs."
"Perhaps I cannot. One must live with him to see how thoroughly a man can make clean the outside of the platter while the inside is full of corruption."
"You never used to be so bitter, Helen! I couldn't have believed it was in you. Remember who says 'Judge not.'"
She sighed. "Perhaps you would become bitter too, if you were obliged to put a constant restraint on your feelings, to listen day after day to a discourse on Christian duty, which was after all only an opportunity for self-glorification, and knew,—what you knew. If you heard a man planning all sorts of iniquity to blast the happiness of one under his charge, and then was obliged to listen to his prayers."
She started as if to leave the spot; but he seized her hand.
"You must not run away," he said firmly.
"I wish I could run away from myself. I loathe the thought of harboring such hard, bitter, defiant feelings. I loathe myself for being obliged to live with those so utterly distasteful to me, to accept common civilities from their hands while all the time I hate them. Oh, it is indeed dreadful!"
"Helen, tell me, what iniquity has Mr. Tracy planned to blast your happiness?"
She shook her head, her eyes flashing. "I cannot tell you. It would be dishonorable. They think me young and capable of being moulded to—to, well no matter, to what. No, I must not tell you yet; but I promise that if anything occurs to make it impossible for me to reside under the same roof, I will tell you."
"Do you imagine I can go back to my studies with the thought that my only sister, left to my care by our dying father, is in circumstances of peril, all the more alarming to me because I cannot even guess at the nature of it?"
A quick gush of tears for a moment relieved poor Helen's agitation. But with a wonderful self-control, she quickly recovered herself. Throwing her arms around her brother's neck, she exclaimed passionately:
"It might be worse,—I might not have had you."