Mr. Checkynshaw did not forgive the Wittleworths for the mischief they had attempted to do. He hinted at steps for compelling them to restore the ten thousand dollars; but Maggie protested, in her way, against such a course, and nothing was ever done.
Marguerite Checkynshaw went to live in Pemberton Square; but she was not happy there, and every day she visited the house at No. 3 Phillimore Court. Poor André was actually miserable. He had lost his darling child, and it was little comfort to know that she dwelt in the midst of luxury and splendor. Though he saw her every day, he was sad, and almost disconsolate.
Maggie tried to be happy in her new home, but her heart was not there. Mrs. Checkynshaw was cold and distant to her, and Elinora was a little, petulant, disagreeable tyrant, who lived for herself alone. She tried to love her, but she tried in vain. Her father was kind and indulgent to her; yet she saw but little of him. Maggie went to school for two years, and was busy with her studies and her music lessons; but not an evening passed without her going to see her foster-father, after he left the shop. About nine o'clock Leo walked home with her; but he seldom entered her father's house.
In the choice of a pursuit for life, Leo won the day, and went to learn the machinist's trade. He did not give up the "mouse business" entirely, but found time to make new houses; and there were customers to purchase them, adding quite a sum to the income of his foster-father. A housekeeper was employed to take Maggie's place; but home was never the place it had been after Maggie went away.
John Wittleworth kept his solemn promise, and continued to be a steady man. He obtained employment in a wholesale grocery, and served so faithfully that he won the esteem and regard of the firm. His former ambition returned to him, and when he spoke of going into business on his own account, with a portion of his wife's money as his capital, he was admitted as a partner in the firm that employed him. He was a man of excellent abilities, and in time he acquired a handsome property.
Fitz never amounted to much. His ideas were too big for his station. He obtained several situations; but, as he aspired to manage his employers' business without their aid, he was often out of a place. When his father went into business, he was taken as an entry-clerk; but he was such a trial that even parental solicitude could not tolerate him, and he was sent away. He was not a bad boy; but self-conceit was the rock on which he wrecked himself. He found another situation, and another, and another; but his stay in each was short. And so he went from one place to another, achieving nothing, until he was twenty-five years old, when he married a lady ten years his senior, whom even the twenty thousand dollars she possessed did not tempt any one else to make a wife. Fitz is a gentleman now; and though his lot at home is trying, he still maintains his dignity, and lives on his wife's property. He is not dissipated, and has no bad habits; but he does not amount to anything. People laugh at him, and speak contemptuously of him behind his back; and he is, and will continue to be, nothing but a cipher in the community.
In the little smoking-room in the house in Pemberton Square, three years after Maggie went to live there, on the very sofa where André Maggimore had lain, was stretched the inanimate form of another person, stricken down by the same malady. It was Mr. Checkynshaw. The two gentlemen with whom he had been conversing when attacked by the fit had placed him there, and Dr. Fisher had been sent for. From that sofa he was conveyed to his bed, still insensible. His eyes were open, but he knew none of those who stood by his couch.
The doctor came; but the banker was out of the reach of human aid, though he survived a day and a half. Maggie watched over him, as she had over André; but vain was her care, and vain were her hopes. Her father died. A few days later a long funeral procession left the house, and Mr. Checkynshaw was borne to his last resting-place at Mount Auburn. Mrs. Checkynshaw was bewildered and overwhelmed; Elinora was so nervous that she required an attendant constantly; and Maggie had little time to weep herself, so devoted was she to the wants of others.
By the death of her father, everything was changed with Maggie. There was little sympathy between her and the other members of the family. Mrs. Checkynshaw decided that the house should be sold, and that she and the two daughters should board with a relative of her own. Maggie did not like this arrangement, though she was prepared to accept it if no better one could be suggested. She stated her objection in the gentlest terms; but her step-mother was cold, and even harsh, and Maggie realized that the future was to be more unhappy than the past. In this emergency she consulted her old friend, Dr. Fisher, who was familiar with all the circumstances of the family.
"I cannot live with Mrs. Checkynshaw and Elinora, now that my father is no longer with us," said she, sadly. "I do not like them, and they do not like me."