A woman's debt

by William Le Queux

And then, in the midst of his anger and disappointment, came softening thoughts of the dead mother whom he had loved with such a passionate devotion. Could he act towards her child as if he were a stranger between whom there had been no tie save that between employer and employed. The stern look melted away; he came up to the stricken Richard and laid his hand upon his shoulder.

“Listen to me, Dick. You are the son of the woman whom I would have given up everything else to make my wife, had she not preferred your father to me. When you were left to the tender mercies of the world, an orphan cast aside by your own family, with a small pittance, enough to keep you from actual want, I came to your rescue. I took you into my business; I took you into my house. I have not perhaps told you very definitely of my future intentions, but you can guess what they were likely to be. In a year or two I proposed to give you a share of my business. I have noticed the attachment between you and Rosabelle, who is very dear to me. I should have put no obstacles in your way.”

The bitter irony of it all! But for this disastrous happening, what a fair and golden future! The unhappy young man could not speak, but inwardly he was suffering tortures. Those beautiful dreams of an honourable and prosperous career, of a happy wedded life with the charming girl he loved so dearly—all had vanished in those hateful few moments!

“Listen to me, Dick,” went on the deep, resonant voice, and the tone was now one more of sorrow than anger. “Abandon this stubborn attitude of pretended innocence. Don’t regard me as the stern and inflexible judge, ready to mete out deserved punishment, but one who will incline to mercy, the mercy that all of us may stand in need of some day. Your mother’s son cannot be naturally dishonest, it is impossible. You have got into difficulties that I have never suspected; in an evil hour your better instincts yielded to your pressing needs, your fear of disgrace; and you did this base thing. Confess your fault, make restitution if you can, if it is not too late, and I will help you as I vowed to your mother I always would.”

A dreadful groan escaped from the tortured Richard. “You are one of the best and kindest men on God’s earth; my mother whom you so loved always told me so. If I were the guilty wretch you believe me to be I would go on my knees and implore your pardon. But I am not a thief, and I cannot restore what I have never taken.”

But Morrice, more than ever convinced of his obduracy, continued to urge him, in tones that were almost pleading.

“There must of course be something between us that can never be quite blotted out, in spite of repentance on the one side and forgiveness on the other. I could never again put you in a position of trust, for that fatal weakness might come over you once more. But I would give you a post where temptation could not assail you. You have spoken of your mother, so dear to us both. I implore you by the memory of that beloved woman who, for aught we know, is even now watching us from afar, to quit this stubborn attitude and confess the truth.”

No reply came from the accused man, and the hard, stern look came back to the banker’s face. At that moment the door of the room slowly opened, and the charming vision of Rosabelle, looking her sweetest and daintiest, stood framed in the opening.

“May I come in?” she cried in her fresh, girlish voice.

“Come in, my poor child,” was her uncle’s answer. “Come in; something has happened that you will have to know sooner or later, although I fear the knowledge may break your heart.”