"That man," soliloquized the doctor, on his way home, as he reflected on his interview with Mr. Heath, "that man has something on his mind. Soul-sickness of some kind. What crime must he have committed, to force him to atone by such prodigal dispensations? What is the medicine for his cure, I wonder? Shall it be Sublapsarianism or Supralapsarianism, or an electuary compounded of Pædobaptism and Sabellianism? Methinks yon stalwart son of Holy Mother Church, Father Maguire, would be most successful in this case. The heroic surgery of the disciples of Loyola is often efficacious in such maladies. Strange that that honest, consistent, unselfish, truest soldier of the Cross should be the automaton of an order whose cardinal doctrine is 'passive obedience,' whose aim is to destroy free thought and enlightenment, and remand the world to the middle ages."
These latter reflections of the doctor were drawn forth by the appearance of the parish priest, who was passing by at the time. His reverence was a good-humored, blue-eyed Celt, with whom the doctor had occasional polemical encounters, and sorely tried with his latitudinarianism.
Mr. Heath next convoked the clergymen of the various denominations in Belton, and invited their co-operation in carrying out his philanthropic projects. They readily acceded to his wishes, and expressed their entire concurrence in his plans. Of course these praiseworthy acts of Mr. Heath met with general commendation, and as they involved the expenditure of very large sums of money, elicited many encomiums on his munificence and beneficence. In fact, he was giving evidence in every way of what the Rev. Mr. Sniffen called a "change of heart." There was an unmistakable earnestness now in his attendance at worship, and a lowering of his crest that denoted an attempt to walk in the paths of humility. There was also a perceptible amelioration in his health, arising probably from the diversion of thought called forth by his benevolent schemes. Edna noticed these gratifying changes in her father's physical condition with joy, and he seemed to appreciate her filial attention and solicitude by increased affection for her. His sole pleasure now was in her society, and as warmer days came he enjoyed long drives in company with her. Edna had a pair of fleet ponies which she drove like an experienced whip, and her basket-phaeton was often seen on golden afternoons scouring along the banks of the beautiful Passaic, or through the wooded hills of Pompton, with her father languidly reclining beside her, and a dapper groom in the rumble.
One evening, as they were returning home from a drive, and were within a few rods of the gateway, a man who had been lying on the sward by the road-side staggered to his feet, and motioned as if he wished to speak to them. He was a rough fellow, a tramp, and evidently intoxicated. Edna, somewhat alarmed, would have whipped up the ponies, but the man stood in front of them gesticulating, and for fear of hurting him, she drew in the reins and stopped. The groom, leaping from his seat, was about to deal harshly with the interloper, when at a sign from his master he desisted. The fellow, with an unsteady gait, approached Mr. Heath, and held out his hand, saying: "I told 'em, old man, I told 'em wanted to see you. That chap at the gate over there wouldn't let me in. Told 'im you was my friend—best friend ever had in the world—ain't that so, old man? How you been, old top—all right, eh?"
The under-gardener, who acted as lodge-keeper, here advanced, and explained that the man had made several attempts to force himself in the grounds, saying that he was acquainted with Mr. Heath, and wished to see him on business.
"Sho I did—sho I did—'portant business, I said, 'portant business, old man," repeated the fellow.
At the apparition of this stranger, Mr. Heath's features became livid—his lingers grasped the side of the phaeton nervously, and for a moment he seemed unable to utter a word. Edna fortunately was too much occupied in watching the intruder and cause of all the trouble, to heed her father's agitation, while he with a strong effort collected himself.
"Wouldn't b'lieve me—told 'em you was my friend—best friend, eh, old man? That's so, that's so," repeated the man with drunken persistency, while Mr. Heath alighting, bade Edna rather peremptorily to drive on, and with a hasty gesture waved the gardener away.
The stranger was a red-bearded man of powerful build, within about ten years of Mr. Heath's age. His aspect was coarse and vulgar, and his garments worn and filthy. Judging from the tattooing on the backs of his hands, and his red, rugose neck, he was probably a seafarer. Mr. Heath led him, not without some trouble, up to the house and into the library, where they remained closeted together all the evening. Meals were brought up to them, and the household saw no more of the man, for he apparently disappeared before the next morning.