He did not answer her directly.Then he said:
"Norah!I must go with you,and look on the face of the man whom Ihave so injured,--unwittingly,it is true;but it seems to me as if I had killed him.I will lay his head in the grave,as if he were my only brother:and how he must have hated me!I cannot go home to my wife till all that I can do for him is done.Then I go with a dreadful secret on my mind.I shall never speak of it again,after these days are over.I know you will not,either."He shook hands with her:and they never named the subject again,the one to the other.
Norah went home to Alice the next day.Not a word was said on the cause of her abrupt departure a day or two before.Alice had been charged by her husband in his letter not to allude to the supposed theft of the brooch;so she,implicitly obedient to those whom she loved both by nature and habit,was entirely silent on the subject,only treated Norah with the most tender respect,as if to make up for unjust suspicion.
Nor did Alice inquire into the reason why Mr.Openshaw had been absent during his uncle and aunt's visit,after he had once said that it was unavoidable.He came back,grave and quiet;and,from that time forth,was curiously changed.More thoughtful,and perhaps less active;quite as decided in conduct,but with new and different rules for the guidance of that conduct.Towards Alice he could hardly be more kind than he had always been;but he now seemed to look upon her as some one sacred and to be treated with reverence,as well as tenderness.He throve in business,and made a large fortune,one half of which was settled upon her.
Long years after these events,--a few months after her mother died,Ailsie and her "father"(as she always called Mr.Openshaw)drove to a cemetery a little way out of town,and she was carried to a certain mound by her maid,who was then sent back to the carriage.
There was a head-stone,with F.W.and a date.That was all.
Sitting by the grave,Mr.Openshaw told her the story;and for the sad fate of that poor father whom she had never seen,he shed the only tears she ever saw fall from his eyes.
"A most interesting story,all through,"I said,as Jarber folded up the first of his series of discoveries in triumph."A story that goes straight to the heart--especially at the end.But"--I stopped,and looked at Trottle.
Trottle entered his protest directly in the shape of a cough.
"Well!"I said,beginning to lose my patience."Don't you see that I want you to speak,and that I don't want you to cough?""Quite so,ma'am,"said Trottle,in a state of respectful obstinacy which would have upset the temper of a saint."Relative,I presume,to this story,ma'am?""Yes,Yes!"said Jarber."By all means let us hear what this good man has to say.""Well,sir,"answered Trottle,"I want to know why the House over the way doesn't let,and I don't exactly see how your story answers the question.That's all I have to say,sir."I should have liked to contradict my opinionated servant,at that moment.But,excellent as the story was in itself,I felt that he had hit on the weak point,so far as Jarber's particular purpose in reading it was concerned.
"And that is what you have to say,is it?"repeated Jarber."Ienter this room announcing that I have a series of discoveries,and you jump instantly to the conclusion that the first of the series exhausts my resources.Have I your permission,dear lady,to enlighten this obtuse person,if possible,by reading Number Two?""My work is behindhand,ma'am,"said Trottle,moving to the door,the moment I gave Jarber leave to go on.
"Stop where you are,"I said,in my most peremptory manner,"and give Mr.Jarber his fair opportunity of answering your objection now you have made it.
Trottle sat down with the look of a martyr,and Jarber began to read with his back turned on the enemy more decidedly than ever.
