The victim of the affray was out of danger. Stephen had been investigating his brother’s affairs, but found no extravagances beside the gambling debts. Otherwise his course of conduct had not been blamable. But there were no tidings of him. Stephen had inserted advertisements in one or two papers, begging him to return, which was all that could be done for the present.
The pleasure of the meeting was a good deal dampened by this unfortunate affair. Mr. Duncan had counted so much upon his visit to us, it would seem. He brought mamma a lovely black silk dress from Paris, Edith a necklace and armlets that would make her pretty bracelets by and by. For Fan a choice set of engravings in a beautiful port-folio. Nelly some beautiful handkerchiefs, and the children each a ring.
“And this is for you;” he said, handing me a little box. “I have heard how good you were to my poor brother, and though it is only a trifle, I hope you will accept it and my grateful thanks as well.”
It was a beautiful pearl cross in the most delicate setting. So white and pure that I felt half afraid of it.
“O,” I exclaimed confusedly, “I did not do very much! I—mamma—thank you!” and I turned away from his peculiar look.
“I feel as if I had brought a great deal of trouble upon you all, but I will have no blame attached to any one, least of all you, Mr. Endicott. I know you have done your duty like a Christian gentleman, like a father, indeed. It is the poor boy’s misfortune that he is so self-willed and ungovernable, and I must try, if God spares me, to reclaim him. I was wrong not to begin earlier.”
“If I can be of any assistance command me to the utmost;” and papa wrung Stephen’s hand. “It is my duty to search for the lost souls and point out the way of repentance. I do feel that I have been sadly remiss.”
That evening at twilight I was standing at the study window glancing dreamily over the snowy road, when I heard a step beside me. I felt immediately who it was.
“I believe I owe you an apology,” he began in a low tone. “You were disappointed in your gift, and I do not wonder. I ought not to have bought you a cross. I had already laid one upon you unwittingly. Forgive me.”
“It was too elegant,” I returned. “That was its only fault, if it had one. I was—obliged for the kind remembrance.”