Doctor Wing had later been remunerated for his services, and had felt himself more than repaid upon receiving a beautiful autumnal scene, done in oils, for which the artist refused to accept anything but the physician's receipted bill, he claiming that even then he was the debtor.
Mrs. Everleigh also was the recipient of what she termed a "little gem," and Helen, while studying it during one of her visits to her friend, felt that it far exceeded anything she had ever yet seen from his brush. Then he suddenly disappeared from New York without telling any one of his intention or future plans.
Long afterward, Helen read some complimentary notices, copied from both London and Paris papers, referring to the work of a rapidly rising American artist by the name of Hungerford; and this gave her great encouragement for the time, but for the last two years she had seen nothing relating either to his work or his whereabouts; and now and then the fear that perhaps he had again lapsed into old habits that had resulted in total failure would haunt and oppress her.
One afternoon in December, having an engagement to dine out, Helen made an elaborate toilet, and had just put the finishing touches to it, when her bell rang, and a registered package was delivered at her door. Upon opening it, greatly to her astonishment, a bank book and a check book fell into her lap, together with a letter, the superscription of which she instantly saw was in John's handwriting. With trembling hands and quickened pulses, she unfolded the missive, and read:
HELEN: The inclosed books will, to some extent, explain themselves, but I will add that I have deposited in the National Bank of Commerce of New York, subject to your order, the sum of twelve thousand dollars. If five thousand dollars were allowed to remain at interest for fifteen years at five per cent, the result would be somewhere in the neighborhood of the amount named above. I am not going to rehearse the past; I simply wish to say that I have put this money aside for Dorothy, if you think it best to give it to her and explain how it has come to her. If, on the other hand, you feel it will disturb the harmony of her life to recall a great wrong of the past, let it remain to your own account, and use it as your heart dictates—it was really your money, you know, although set apart for Dorothy. I offer it in all humility, as a tardy act of reparation, which conscience demands of me. I have prospered beyond my expectations. For a year after leaving New York I studied and worked under my old master, Monsieur Jacques, who has been more than kind to me. Since then I have had more orders than I could fill, and nay name and work have been winning honorable mention in various art centers. I am now in New York, on an important commission, but expect to return to Paris within a few weeks. May I come to see you, Helen, and ascertain if Dorothy, for whom my starved heart is yearning beyond expression, will accept my offering, and grant me an interview? Address me at the Hotel Astor. JOHN.
Helen was deeply agitated while reading this letter. She fully appreciated the writer's position in wishing to make amends for the wrong he had done so long ago, and she wanted to deal justly by him in all things. But she did not quite know what to do about telling Dorothy, for the passing over of this little fortune, that had so unexpectedly fallen to her, would involve the rehearsal of many painful details, that might, perhaps, mar her present happiness.
Dorothy had never known of her father's return, five years ago; for, having been away on her wedding trip during most of his stay at the Grenoble, Helen had no difficulty in concealing the fact of his presence in the house from her.
Mr. Alexander was in prosperous circumstances; some time he would fall heir to great wealth, and Dorothy would never need this legacy. Still, it was a peace offering—an effort to atone, which she felt, in justice to John, should not be ignored or rejected.
Had she any right to deprive Dorothy of the privilege of accepting or rejecting it, as she might see fit, or longer keep from her the fact of her father's reappearance, his reformation, and the renown he had recently achieved for himself? Did she, herself, wish to see him again? Would it be just or kind to deny him audience, withhold congratulations upon his success, and a Godspeed upon his future career?
These were difficult questions, and for the time plunged her in deepest perplexity.