“Yes; and her reply was, ‘Where are your shoulder-straps?’ And she eyed me from head to foot with provoking coolness. ‘I’m on my way to Washington for them,’ answered I. ‘Then you may take the salver,’ said the little woman, graciously thrusting it into my hands.”
“Well, Charles, when I was in New York last week, I saw that same little woman again, and found out who she is. How strangely, in this kaleidoscope of events which we call the world, we are brought in conjunction with those persons between whose fate and our own Chance or Providence seems to tender a significance which it would have us heed and solve! This girl was a Miss Charlton, the daughter of that same Ralph Charlton who holds the immense estate that rightfully belongs to our lost Clara.”
“Would he be disposed to surrender it?” asked Onslow.
“Probably not. I took pains while in New York to make inquiries. I learnt that his domestic status is far from enviable. He himself, could he follow his heart’s proclivities, would be a miser. Then he could be happy and contented—in his way. But this his wife will not allow. She forces him by the power of a superior will into expenses at which his heart revolts, although they do not absorb a fifth part of his income. The daughter shrinks from him with an innate aversion which she cannot overcome. And so, unloving and unloved, he finds in his own base avarice the instrument that scourges him and keeps him wretched.”
“I should not feel much compunction in compelling such a man to unclutch his riches,” remarked Onslow.
“It will be very difficult to do that, I fear,” said Vance, “even supposing we can find and identify the true heir.”
“We must find her, cost what it may!” cried Kenrick. “Cousin, take me to New Orleans with you.”
“No, Charles. You are wanted here on the Potomac. Your reputation in gunnery is already high. The country needs more officers of your stamp. You cannot be spared. The Captain here can go with me to the Gulf. He is wounded and entitled to a furlough. A trip to New Orleans by sea will do him good.”
With a look of grave disappointment Kenrick took up a newspaper and kept his face concealed by it for a moment. Then putting it down, and turning to Vance, he said, with a sweet sincerity in his tone: “Cousin, where my wishes are so strongly enlisted, you can judge better than I of my duty. I yield to your judgment, and, if you persist in it, will make no effort to get from government the permission I covet.”
“Truly I think your place is here,” said Vance.