“I’m much obliged to you,” said Fred. “I’ll come down.”
And there he saw, on the poor bed in the “Dun Cow,” surrounded by the few rustic houses about, all excited and discussing the tragedy, his father, at last hushed and safe, seized by the death which he had cheated once, but could not cheat a second time. The dreadful drowning look had departed from his face; he lay tranquil and calm, like a man who had died in his bed, who had never wronged either man or woman. Whom had he wronged? Perhaps the insurance companies—no one else. And Fred at length came to the conclusion that there was now no occasion to disturb the insurance companies. It had come to pass at last—the event which had been supposed to be accomplished long ago. There was no reason now for the confession he had intended, no need to expose his father’s deception, to betray the secret of the house. Fred could scarcely reconcile himself to the fact that this was so. It cost him a great deal of trouble to make up his mind that his business now—now that all was over, and his father gone for ever—was to be silent for ever. Mr. Wedderburn had been summoned, and this was his advice, as well as the almost imperious command of Fred’s mother. To throw a stain upon her husband’s name was intolerable to Mrs. Dalyell—to attract attention to the house and explain its secret history. She said, with tears, yet with indignation, that it should not, it must not be. And old Pat Wedderburn, who was strangely moved by the story, and who said not a word in blame of his friend, supported her strongly. “They would have had to give the money now, if not then,” he said, “and it’s not your part to open the question. Let it alone. Let him rest in his grave at last—poor Bob! And I hope in my presence no one will ever say an ill word of Bob D’yell.”
There was a tear in the old lawyer’s eye. Perhaps he understood it best of the three, though the other two were wife and son. Fred’s statement that the drowned man was a relation made it possible to lay him in the Yalton vault after all—his last and rightful home. Who the other was, who had received that sad hospitality in the name of Robert Dalyell of Yalton, they never knew, nor was it necessary to inquire.
Somehow, however, there was no more question of Mrs. Dalyell’s marriage. Neither bride or bridegroom ever spoke of it again. And Mr. Wedderburn resumed something of the old easy relations after a while, and presided at Susie’s marriage, and was the best friend of the house, as he had always been. It was a conclusion which on the whole they all felt to be the best.
Stories of College Life
THE UNIVERSITY SERIES
I. Harvard Stories.—Sketches of the Undergraduate.
By W. K. Post. Fifteenth edition. 12°, paper,
50 cts.; cloth $1.00
“Mr. Post’s manner of telling these tales is in its way inimitable. The atmosphere of the book in its relation to the localities where the scenes are laid is well-nigh perfect. The different types of undergraduates are clearly drawn, and there is a dramatic element in most of the stories that is very welcome. It goes without saying that Harvard men will find keen pleasure in this volume, while for those who desire a faithful picture of certain phases of American student life it offers a noteworthy fund of instruction and entertainment.”—Literary News.