“Oh, Edwin!” she suddenly cried out, “she was your idol, your little pet; you used to say, as she sat on your knee in the firelight at night, that she was born to be lucky and happy. You said her beauty, genius, and gentleness would draw the world to her feet. You hoped all that for her, Edwin, and yet there she is bowed down in the greatest shame and sorrow that can fall to a young girl's lot. On the day you left never to return, you told me of the great Virginia family from which she was descended, and said that some day we'd be grandparents of children that would make us proud. Poor, dear Edwin!—that was only one of your pretty dreams—our grandchild, if God lets it come, won't even have a name of its own, and may bear this curse through a long life to its grave. Oh, Edwin!—my gentle, loving husband—you are here by my side to-night, aren't you? You are here putting your dear spirit arms about me, trying to comfort me, and you will help her, too, dear husband, as you are helping me. Hold up the sweet, stricken child. Fill her dark life with your own unrealized dreams. Give her something—anything to help her bear her burden! That's my prayer to you, Edwin—to you, and to God!”
She went to her bed and threw herself down. Tears welled up in her, but she forced them back, and, dry-eyed and still, she lay with her wrinkled face near to the wall.
CHAPTER X
ONE evening, two days later, General Sylvester and his niece and nephew sat on the front veranda to catch the cool breezes which swept across the town and stirred the foliage of the trees on the lawn. The old gentleman had been urging Margaret to go to the piano in the big parlor and sing for them, but she had persistently declined. Since Fred Walton's leaving, despite her evident efforts to appear unconcerned, she had not seemed to her watchful brother and uncle to be at all like herself, and they were constantly trying to divert her mind from the unpleasant matter.
At this juncture Kenneth Galt's carriage and pair of spirited blacks, driven by John Dilk, his faithful negro coachman, came briskly down the street, and turned into the adjoining grounds through the gateway to the gravelled drive, and drew up at the steps of the house, which was not very different from the Dearing home in size, period, and architecture.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you!” the General exclaimed, suddenly. “Galt is off to Atlanta, to see some more capitalists on our new railroad scheme. You may think lightly of it, my boy, but as sure as fate we are going to put that big trunk-line through—or, rather, Galt is. He thinks it is in good shape, and that is encouragement enough for me. He has handled my affairs ever since he hung out his shingle as a lawyer, and as he made money hand over hand for himself, he has for me too.”
“Yes, he has the keenest sense of values of any man in the State,” Wynn agreed. “He has the full confidence of his clients, and he is not afraid to back up his ideas with money; that is what makes a successful speculator. He will put the road through if any one can. Investors will listen to a man who has succeeded in everything he has attempted.”
The carriage was now leaving the house, and when it had regained the street and was about to pass, the General stood up and waved his handkerchief. The carriage paused at the gate, and the man under discussion sprang out, hat in hand, and hurried up the walk.