No words could express the deep love of Cornelia’s embrace, and with soothing, tender expressions she sought to quiet him, which succeeded, for he sunk back in her arms with a calm, peaceful smile on his sad, care-worn face.
Mr. Payne grew gradually better, dear reader, and during the hours of convalescence, when I was at different times alone with him, he told me the sad scene which had occurred previous to his sending for me to the library. He had been staggering under a load of business difficulties for some time, as Cornelia had suspected, but could not bear to look upon his affairs as they really were. He could not summon strength and courage to come to his wife, and tell her that all the fine fortune her father had left, was gone, that she and her children were penniless. Day after day he struggled on,—difficulties increased, and in a moment of desperation, to relieve himself of a pressing demand, he added the crime of forgery to the load of debt; hoping to relieve himself before he should be discovered.
This happened on the day, at the very time of our drive, when Cornelia was praying for strength. He had some days before written to a business firm in a neighboring town for assistance. Upon them he had some, yes, great claims, for ten years before his capital had established them in business; and he anxiously looked for an answer to his demand, in order to relieve himself before any one could discover his weak act. Late in the afternoon he received, instead of the frank, friendly aid he expected, a cold, short refusal. He staggered home. The enormity of his offence increased upon him, and as he reached his home, the consciousness of having added disgrace to poverty, almost set him wild. He went first into the library, which was in the lower part of the house, because, as he said, the sound of music and gayety that came from the drawing-room, maddened him. He had scarcely entered the room when the hall-bell rang, and the servant ushered into the dimly lighted library, a gentleman; and as he heard his name announced, Mr. Payne shuddered,—it was the very name he had used unlawfully, a few hours before. It was a young merchant of great property, which he had inherited from his father.
“I have come, Mr. Payne,” said the young man, as the servant closed the door, “to return to your hands a paper which you must destroy. No human being knows of it, but you and myself—and believe me, my dear sir,” he added, in a voice trembling with feeling, as the guilty man buried his face in his hands, groaning aloud, “believe me, I am certain, that great, great must have been the temptation—the trial that goaded Hartley Payne to such an act; and I thank God! it was upon me—upon the son of Jacob Hallett you did it. You befriended my father in the dark hour of poverty, you helped him up on the stepping-stone to fortune, and had you come to me in your emergency for this money,—that and double, and thrice treble the amount, should have been freely yours.”
Young Hallett then tore the note into a thousand pieces and burned it.
“I thank you,” said Mr Payne in a hoarse voice, “you have saved me from disgrace which is worse than death; but you must leave me now, and when I am more composed I will express to you my gratitude.”
“Not until you will promise me,” answered young Hallett, “that you will let me come to you to-morrow, and give me the satisfaction of assisting you in your trouble.”
Mr. Payne took the kind young man’s proffered hand, and pressing it, assured him, in broken words, that he would accept his offer; and young Hallett seeing that Mr. Payne was really suffering from the humiliation and mortification which his presence caused him, left him.
Mr. Payne walked up and down the room once or twice. He felt like a maniac. The crime he had committed stood before him in letters of fire. Maddened with remorse, he opened an escritoir, and taking from it a case of pistols, which were loaded, he laid it upon the table. Calmly he snapped the spring of the case, and throwing back the lid, took out one of the pistols, which he held deliberately to his head. As he did this, he heard a low shriek beside him, and with a strong grasp, the pistol was taken from his hand. He turned—and beside him stood Cornelia.
She had been in the library all the while. She had come there from the drawing-room after dinner, to watch for her father’s return, and had fallen asleep on the lounge, which was hidden by the large old screen that stood between it and the door. Her sleep was heavy from exhaustion, and she had not awakened until Mr. Hallett had entered; this aroused her, and with chilling horror she heard the whole conversation between them. After he left the room, she lay stunned, and was only aroused by the click of the escritoir lock. This startled her, and she sprang to her feet, just in time to save her father’s life. The revulsion was so great, that she sank to the floor, insensible, and then it was he sent for me.