CHAPTER XXIII
THE CRISIS
Mershone and Fogerty plodded through the snow together, side by side.They were facing the wind, which cut their faces cruelly, yet neitherseemed to mind the bitterness of the weather. "Keep watch along theroadside," suggested Mershone; "she may have fallen anywhere, you know.She couldn't endure this thing long. Poor Louise!"
"You were fond of her, Mr. Mershone?" asked Fogerty, notunsympathetically.
"Yes. That was why I made such a struggle to get her."
"It was a mistake, sir. Provided a woman is won by force or trickeryshe's never worth getting. If she doesn't care for you it's better togive her up."
"I know--now."
"You're a bright fellow, Mershone, a clever fellow. It's a pity youcouldn't direct your talents the right way. They'll jug you for this."
"Never mind. The game of life isn't worth playing. I've done with it,and the sooner I go to the devil the better. If only I could be sureLouise was safe I'd toss every care--and every honest thought--to thewinds, from this moment."
During the silence that followed Fogerty was thoughtful. Indeed, hismind dwelt more upon the defeated and desperate man beside him than uponthe waif he was searching for.
"What's been done, Mr. Mershone," he said, after a time, "can't behelped now. The future of every man is always a bigger proposition thanhis past--whoever he may be. With your talents and genius you could yetmake of yourself a successful and prosperous man, respected by thecommunity--if you could get out of this miserable rut that has helpedto drag you down."
"But I can't," said the other, despondently.
"You can if you try. But you'll have to strike for a place a good wayfrom New York. Go West, forget your past, and carve out an honest futureunder a new name and among new associates. You're equal to it."
Mershone shook his head.
"You forget," he said. "They'll give me a jail sentence for this folly,as sure as fate, and that will be the end of me."
"Not necessarily. See here, Mershone, it won't help any of those peopleto prosecute you. If the girl escapes with her life no real harm hasbeen done, although you've caused a deal of unhappiness, in one way oranother. For my part, I'd like to see you escape, because I'm sure thisaffair will be a warning to you that will induce you to give up alltrickery in the future. Money wouldn't bribe me, as you know, butsympathy and good fellowship will. If you'll promise to skip right now,and turn over a new leaf, you are free."
"Where could I go?"
"There's a town a mile ahead of us; I can see the buildings now andthen. You've money, for you offered it to me. I haven't any assistantshere, I'm all alone on the job. That talk about four men was only abluff. Push me over in the snow and make tracks. I'll tell Weldon you'veescaped, and advise him not to bother you. It's very easy."
Mershone stopped short, seized the detective's hand and wrung itgratefully.
"You're a good fellow, Fogerty. I--I thank you. But I can't do it. Inthe first place, I can't rest in peace until Louise is found, or I knowher fate. Secondly, I'm game to give an account for all my deeds, nowthat I've played the farce out, and lost. I--I really haven't theambition, Fogerty, to make a new start in life, and try to reform.What's the use?"
Fogerty did not reply. Perhaps he realized the case was entirelyhopeless. But he had done what he could to save the misguided fellow andgive him a chance, and he was sorry he had not succeeded.
Meantime Arthur Weldon, almost dazed by the calamity that had overtakenhis sweetheart, found an able assistant in his chauffeur, who, when thecase was explained to him, developed an eager and intelligent interestin the chase. Fortunately they moved with the storm and the snowpresently moderated in volume although the wind was still blowing afierce gale. This gave them a better opportunity than the others toobserve the road they followed.
Jones had good eyes, and although the trail of the heavy wagon was lostat times he soon picked it up again and they were enabled to make fairlygood speed.
"I believe," said Arthur, presently, "that the marks are gettingclearer."
"I know they are, sir," agreed Jones.
"Then we've come in the right direction, for it is proof that the wagonwas headed this way."
"Quite right, sir."
This back section was thinly settled and the occasional farm-houses theypassed were set well back from the road. It was evident from the closedgates and drifted snowbanks that no teams had either left these placesor arrived during a recent period. Arthur was encouraged, moreover, bythe wagon ruts growing still more clear as they proceeded, and hisexcitement was great when Jones abruptly halted and pointed to a placewhere the wheels had made a turn and entered a farm yard.
"Here's the place, sir," announced the chauffeur.
"Can you get in?"
"It's pretty deep, sir, but I'll try."
The snow was crisp and light, owing to the excessive cold, and themachine plowed through it bravely, drawing up at last to the door of anhumble cottage.
As Arthur leaped out of the car a man appeared upon the steps, closingthe door softly behind him.
"Looking for the young lady, sir?" he asked.
"Is she here?" cried Arthur.
The man placed his finger on his lips, although the wind prevented anysound of voices being heard within.
"Gently, sir, don't make a noise--but come in."
They entered what seemed to be a kitchen. The farmer, a man of advancedyears, led him to a front room, and again cautioning him to be silent,motioned him to enter.
A sheet-iron stove made the place fairly comfortable. By a window sat ameek-faced woman, bent over some sewing. On a couch opposite lay Louise,covered by a heavy shawl. She was fast asleep, her hair disheveled andstraying over her crimson cheeks, flushed from exposure to the weather.Her slumber seemed the result of physical exhaustion, for her lips wereparted and she breathed deeply.
Arthur, after gazing at her for a moment with a beating-heart, for themysterious actions of the old farmer had made him fear the worst, softlyapproached the couch and knelt beside the girl he loved, thanking; Godin his inmost heart for her escape. Then he leaned over and pressed akiss upon her cheek.
Louise slowly opened her eyes, smiled divinely, and threw her armsimpulsively around his neck.
"I knew you would come for me, dear," she whispered.
CHAPTER XXIV
A MATTER OF COURSE
All explanations were barred until the girl had been tenderly taken toher own home and under the loving care of her mother and cousins hadrecovered to an extent from the terrible experiences she had undergone. Then by degrees she told them her story, and how, hearing the voice ofher persecutor Mershone in the hall below she had become frantic withfear and resolved to trust herself to the mercies of the storm ratherthan submit to an interview with him. Before this she had decided thatshe could climb down the trellis, and that part of her flight sheaccomplished easily. Then she ran toward the rear of the premises toavoid being seen and managed to find the lane, and later thecross-roads. It was very cold, but her excitement and the fear ofpursuit kept her warm until suddenly her strength failed her and shesank down in the snow without power to move. At this juncture the farmerand his wife drove by, having been on a trip to the town. The man sprangout and lifted her in, and the woman tenderly wrapped her in the robesand blankets and pillowed her head upon her motherly bosom. By the timethey reached the farm-house she was quite warm again, but so exhaustedthat with a brief explanation that she was lost, but somebody would besure to find her before long, she fell upon the couch and almostimmediately lost consciousness.
So Arthur found her, and one look into his eyes assured her that all hertroubles were over.
They did not prosecute Charlie Mershone, after all. Fogerty pleaded forhim earnestly, and Uncle John pointed out that to arrest the young manwould mean to give the whole affair to the newspapers, which until nowhad not gleaned the slightest inkling of what had happened. Publicitywas to be avoided if possi
ble, as it would set loose a thousandmalicious tongues and benefit nobody. The only thing to be gained byprosecuting Mershone was revenge, and all were willing to forego thatdoubtful satisfaction.
However, Uncle John had an interview with the young man in the office ofthe prosecuting attorney, at which Mershone was given permission toleave town quietly and pursue his fortunes in other fields. If ever hereturned, or in any way molested any of the Merricks or his cousinDiana, he was assured that he would be immediately arrested andprosecuted to the full extent of the law.
Mershone accepted the conditions and became an exile, passing at onceout of the lives of those he had so deeply wronged.
The joyful reunion of the lovers led to an early date being set for thewedding. They met all protests by pleading their fears of anotherheartrending separation, and no one ventured to oppose their desire.
Mrs. Merrick quickly recovered her accustomed spirits during theexcitement of those anxious weeks preceding the wedding. Cards wereissued to "the very best people in town;" the _trousseau_ involvedanxiety by day and restless dreams by night--all eminently enjoyable;there were entertainments to be attended and congratulations to bereceived from every side.
Society, suspecting nothing of the tragedy so lately enacted in theseyoung lives, was especially gracious to the betrothed. Louise was therecipient of innumerable merry "showers" from her girl associates, andher cousins, Patsy and Beth, followed in line with "glass showers" and"china showers" until the prospective bride was stocked with enoughwares to establish a "house-furnishing emporium," as Uncle John proudlydeclared.
Mr. Merrick, by this time quite reconciled and palpably pleased at theapproaching marriage of his eldest niece, was not to be outdone in"social stunts" that might add to her happiness. He gave theatre partiesand banquets without number, and gave them with the marked success thatinvariably attended his efforts.
The evening before the wedding Uncle John and the Major claimed Arthurfor their own, and after an hour's conference between the three thatleft the young fellow more happy and grateful than ever before, he wasentertained at his last "bachelor dinner," where he made a remarkablespeech and was lustily cheered.
Of course Beth and Patsy were the bridesmaids, and their cousin KennethForbes came all the way from Elmhurst to be Arthur's best man. No oneever knew what it cost Uncle John for the wonderful decorations at thechurch and home, for the music, the banquet and all the other detailswhich he himself eagerly arranged on a magnificent scale and claimed wasa part of his "wedding present."
When it was all over, and the young people had driven away to begin thejourney of life together, the little man put a loving arm around Bethand Patsy and said, between smiles and tears:
"Well, my dears, I've lost one niece, and that's a fact; but I've stilltwo left. How long will they remain with me, I wonder?"
"Dear me, Uncle John," said practical Patsy; "your necktie's untied anddangling; like a shoestring! I hope it wasn't that way at the wedding."
"It was, though," declared the Major, chuckling. "If all three of ye getmarried, my dears, poor Uncle John will come to look like a scarecrow--and all that in the face of swell society!"
"Aren't we about through with swell society now?" asked Mr. Merrick,anxiously. "Aren't we about done with it? It caused all our troubles,you know."
"Society," announced Beth, complacently, "is an excellent thing in theabstract. It has its black sheep, of course; but I think no more thanany other established class of humanity."
"Dear me!" cried Uncle John; "you once denounced society."
"That," said she, "was before I knew anything at all about it."
Aunt Jane's Nieces in Society Page 23
