[CHAPTER LXV.]
A STARTLING DÉNOUEMENT.
You may bury it deep, and leave behind you
The land, the people that knew your slain;
It will push the sods from its grave and find you
On wastes of water and desert plain.
Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
"Jones says there is a horrible old man down-stairs, mamma, asking for you, and will not go away until he sees you," Alpine Belmont said, entering her mother's boudoir one rainy evening just a few days after the cyclone.
"I will not see him. I have just refused to see that old impostor—my husband's brother, indeed!" contemptuously—"and I will not be annoyed again. Tell Jones to send the old beggar away."
Alpine was pale. Her eyes had a troubled look.
"He says that he is not a beggar, mamma—that he has claims on you. I am afraid you had better see him. He is making such a noise at the door, and Jones says he is somewhat intoxicated."
"Tell Jones to pitch him into the street."
"He tried to, but the old man was more than a match for him. Do come, mamma; it's so disgraceful, the sensation he is creating. People are gathering around the house. Let us have him in and try to pacify him."
Her arguments conquered, and Mrs. Carew sent down word to admit the old man to a small room where the servants were accustomed to come to her for orders.