CHAPTER XXXII
For many weeks now Chip had suffered from a troubled conscience, and, like most of us, was unable to face its consequences and admit her sin.
Time and again she had planned how she could best evade it and yet bring those two brothers together without first confessing. Old Cy must be told, of course. She could explain her conduct to him. He would surely forgive her, she thought, and then, maybe, find another home for her somehow and somewhere. Oversensitive as she was, to now confess her cowardly concealment and her deception of those who had loved and trusted her, seemed horrible.
But events were stronger than her will, for one day in the last of August, Uncle Jud returned from the village store, bringing dress materials and startling information. “Cap’n Bemis is failin’ purty fast,” he said, “so Aunt Abby writes, an’ she ain’t comin’ up here. It won’t make no difference to you, girlie,” he continued, turning to Chip. “I’ve brought home stuff to rig ye out fer school. Miss Solon the dressmaker’s comin’ to-morrer, ’n’ we’ll take keer o’ ye in good shape. We’ve made up our minds ye belong to us fer good, me ’n’ Mandy,” he added, smiling at Chip, “an’ I shall go with ye to Christmas Cove, if Cap’n Bemis ain’t improvin’, ’n’ find ye a boardin’ place.”
“I’m awful sorry to hear ’bout the Cap’n,” interrupted Aunt Mandy, as if the other matter and Chip’s future were settled definitely; “but if he drops off, Aunt Abby must come here fer good. I dunno but it’ll be a relief,” she added, looking at Uncle Jud and sighing. “’Twa’n’t no love-match in the first place, ’n’ Abby’s mind’s always been sot on your brother Cyrus, ’n’ she never quite gin up the idee he was alive.”
And now a sudden faintness came to Chip as the chasm in her own life was thus opened. Only one instant she faltered, and then her defiant courage rose supreme and she took the plunge.
“Oh, your brother Cyrus isn’t dead, Uncle Jud,” she exclaimed, “he’s alive and I know him. I’ve known it all summer and dare not tell because I’m a miserable coward and couldn’t own up that I lied to you. My name isn’t Raymond, it’s McGuire; and my father was a murderer, and I’m nobody and fit for nobody. I know you’ll all despise me now and I deserve it. I’m willing to go away, though,” and the next instant she was kneeling before Uncle Jud and sobbing.
It had all come in a brief torrent of pitiful confession which few would be brave enough to make.
To Chip, seeing herself as she did, it meant loss of love, home, respect, and all else she now valued, and that she must become a homeless wanderer once more.
But Uncle Jud thought otherwise, for now he drew the sobbing girl into his lap.