She could not at once speak aloud, for she was seeing the face of the dead boy, whose half-open eyes had looked reproach at her father as hers had looked at times while listening to his story. She had once said that if she knew their money came by gambling she would smash the furniture and burn the house. She did know it now, but she must keep silent and never let even her mother know what she knew of her father’s past.
He had not told her the name of the young man, and she did not ask him. She didn’t care, her heart was so full of pain and humiliation at what she had heard. It was worse than she supposed, and she was glad that everything was over between herself and Herbert. It must have been ended now. She could never marry any one, knowing what she did. Her life work must be to make some amends by paying the creditors in Merivale.
When her father asked again, “What will you do when I am gone?” she cried, “Oh, father, you must not die, and leave mother and me alone! I have promised to pay all you owe, and I can do it.”
“How?” he asked, and she replied by telling him what had passed between herself and Miss Percy.
“Percy,” he repeated, sitting up in bed with a strength he had not shown in days. “You mean the lady who was at the Whites’ a year ago, and wanted to take you abroad?”
“Yes, father,” she answered; and, with a laugh which made Louie’s blood curdle, it was so unnatural, Mr. Grey fell back upon his pillow, whispering words she could not understand.
The next moment he was shivering with a frightful chill, from which he never fully rallied.
CHAPTER XIX
THE END AND AFTER
Nowhere is an error forgotten so readily, or more kindness shown to the erring one when in trouble, than in a small place, and Merivale was not an exception. The payment of the smaller debts had done much towards restoring good feeling among a certain class of creditors. The dresses intended for Narragansett Pier had been returned to Boston. The milkman had his range and winter coal and Johnny’s overcoat. Other Johnnies would be clothed and warmed through the coming winter. The back rent on the bank was paid, the judge smacking his lips as he received the money and saying, “them women folks are trying to do the square thing.” The woman with the thirty dollars was rejoicing in her new teeth, while Nancy Sharp had been paid in full, part of the payment consisting of the identical twenty silver dollars which had gone round so many times on the day of the run, and nothing could exceed her fidelity to the Greys or the bitterness of her tongue if aught was said against them. Others of higher degree than Nancy followed her example, and words of sympathy and offers of help, if needed, were daily left at the house where the master lay dying.
Mrs. Grey had recovered sufficiently to be in the sick-room a part of the time, but it was Louie who bore the burden and whispered comfort to the repentant man, who, in his anguish, often cried out: