Gretchen: A Novel

by Mary Jane Holmes

"Tom, do you want to kill me now?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, and she replied:

"Don't you know you said under the pines that you would kill any claimant to Tracy Park who might appear against you!"

"I remember it," Tom said, "but I didn't think then that the claimant would be you," and he put his arm around her as he continued: "I can't say that I am not awfully cut up to be turned neck and heels out of what I believed would be my own, but if I must be, I am glad it is you who do it, for I know you'll not be hard upon us, or let Uncle Arthur be, even if mother is so mean. Remember, Jerrie, that I loved you and asked you to be my wife when I believed you poor and unknown."

Tom was very politic, but all the good there was in him seemed now to be on the surface, and while inwardly rebelling at his misfortune, he felt a thrill of joy in knowing that Jerrie was his cousin, and would not be hard upon him.

"Shall we go back to the house?" he said at last, and they went back, meeting the people upon the piazza, where they stopped for a moment while Jerrie's hands were shaken, and she was congratulated that at last the mystery was cleared, and her rights restored to her.

"Mr. Arthur Tracy ought to be here," Judge St. Claire said.

"Yes, I'd thought of that," Tom replied, "and shall telegraph him to-morrow."

Then they said good-night, and without going in to see either Mr. or Mrs. Tracy again, Tom and Jerrie walked toward the cottage, through the woods where the trees met in graceful arches over head, and the moonlight fell in silver flecks upon the grass, and the summer air was odorous and sweet with the smell of the pines and the balm of Gilead trees scattered here and there. It was a lovely place, and Tom thought so with a keen sense of pain, as, after leaving Jerrie at her gate, he walked slowly back, until he reached the four pines, where he sat down to think and wonder what he should do as a poor man, with neither business or prospects.

"I don't suppose father has laid up much," he said, "for since Uncle Arthur came home he has done very little business, and has spent what really was his own recklessly and without a thought of saving, he was so sure to have enough at last, and Uncle Arthur was so free to give us what we asked for. But that will end when he knows he has a daughter, and as he never fancied me much, I shall either have to beg, or work, or starve, or marry a rich wife, which is not so easy for a poor dog to do. I don't suppose that governor's daughter would look at me now, nor any one else who is anybody. By George, I ought to have called on Ann Eliza again. I wonder if it's too late. I believe I'll walk around there any way, and if I see a light, I'll go in, and if old paterfamilias—how I'd like to kick him—is there, I'll tell him the news, and that I know now he did not strike Jerrie with the table-leg, and perhaps I'll apologize for what I said in the car. Tom Tracy, you are a scoundrel, and no mistake," he added, with energy, as he arose and struck into the field, through which he had dragged Ann Eliza the night of the storm.