The Re-Creation of Brian Kent Part 25

"Suppose it were true,--that I did still love my husband? Could that make any difference now? Can anything ever make any difference now? You will tire of me before long, just as you have grown tired of the others who were before me. Don't you suppose I know? You and our friends have taught me many things, Harry. I know, now, that Brian's dreams were right. That his dreams could never be realized, does not make them foolish nor wrong. His dreams that seemed so foolish--such impossible ideals--were more real, after all, than this life that we think so real.

WE are the dreamers,--we and our kind,--and our awakening is as sure to come as that river out there is sure of reaching the sea."

The man laughed harshly: "You are quite poetical, to-night. I believe I like you better, though, when you talk sense."

"I am sorry, Harry," she returned. "Please don't be cross with me! Go now,--please go!"

And something forced the man to silence. Slowly, he left the room. The woman locked the door. Returning to the window, she fell on her knees, and stretched her hands imploringly toward the tiny spot of light that still shone against the dark shadow of the mountain-side.

Between the mighty walls of tree-clad hills that lifted their solemn crests into the midnight sky, the dark river poured the sombre strength of its innumerable currents,--terrible in its awful power; dreadful, in its mysterious and unseen forces; irresistible in its ceaseless, onward rush to the sea of its final and infinite purpose!

And here and there on the restless, ever-moving surface of the shadowy, never-ending flood twinkled the reflection of a star.

CHAPTER XXII.

AT THE EMPIRE CONSOLIDATED SAVINGS BANK.

The President of the Empire Consolidated Savings Bank looked up from the papers on his desk as his secretary entered from the adjoining room and stood before him.

"Well, George?"

The secretary smiled as he spoke: "Mr. Ward, there is an old lady out here who insists that you will see her. The boys pa.s.sed her on to me, because,--well, she is not the kind of woman that can be refused. She has no card, but her name is Wakefield. She--"

The dignified President of the Empire Consolidated Savings Bank electrified his secretary by springing from his chair like a schoolboy from his seat at the tap of the teacher's dismissing bell. "Auntie Sue!

I should say she couldn't be refused! Where is she?" And before the secretary could collect his startled thoughts to answer, Homer T. Ward was out of the room.

When the smiling secretary, the stenographers, and other attending employees had witnessed a meeting between their dignified chief and the lovely old lady, which strengthened their conviction that the great financier was genuinely human, President Ward and Auntie Sue disappeared into the private office.

"George," said Mr. Ward, as he closed the door of that sacred inner sanctuary of the Empire Consolidated Savings Bank, "remember I am not in to any one;--from the Secretary of the Treasury to the Sheriff, I am not in."

"I understand, sir," returned the still smiling George. And from that moment until Homer T. Ward should open the door, nothing short of a regiment could have interrupted the interview between Auntie Sue and her old pupil.

Placing the dear old lady tenderly in a deep, leather-upholstered chair, Mr. Ward stood before her as though trying to convince himself that she was real; while his teacher of those long-ago, boyhood days gazed smilingly up at him.

"What in the name of all that is unexpected are you doing here, Auntie Sue?" he demanded; "and why is not Betty Jo with you? Isn't the girl ever coming home? There is nothing the matter with her, is there? Of course not, or you would have wired me."

It was not at all like the bank president to ask so many questions all at once.

Auntie Sue looked around the private office curiously, then smilingly back to the face of the financier.

"Do you know, Homer," she said with her chuckling little laugh, "I--I--am almost afraid of you in here. Everything is so grand and rich-looking; and there were so many men out there who tried to tell me you would not see me. I--I am glad I didn't know it would be like this, or I fear I never could have found the courage to come."

Homer T. Ward laughed, and then--rather full-waisted as he was--went down on one knee at the arm of her chair so as to bring his face level with her eyes.

"Look at me, Auntie Sue," he said; "look straight through me, just as you used to do years and years ago, and tell me what you see."

And the dear old lady, with one thin soft hand on his heavy shoulder, answered, as she looked: "Why, I see a rather naughty boy, whom I ought to spank for throwing spitb.a.l.l.s at the old schoolroom ceiling," she retorted. "And I am not a bit afraid to do it either. So sit right over there, sir, and listen to me."

They laughed together then; and if Auntie Sue wiped her eyes as the schoolboy obediently took his seat in the big chair at the banker's desk, Homer T. Ward's eyes were not without a suspicious moisture.

"Tell me about Betty Jo first," the man insisted. "You know, Auntie Sue, the girl grows dearer to me every year."

"Betty Jo is that kind of a girl, Homer," Auntie Sue answered.

"I suppose it is because she is all I have to love," he said, "but, you know, ever since Sister Grace died and left the fatherless little kid to me, it seems like all my plans have centered around her; and now that she has finished her school; has travelled abroad, and gone through with that business-college course, I am beginning to feel like we should sort of settle down together. I am glad for her to be with you this summer, though, for the finis.h.i.+ng touches; and when she comes home to stay, you are coming with her."

Auntie Sue shook her head, smiling: "Now, Homer, you know that is settled: I will never leave my little log house by the river until I have watched the last sunset. You know, my dear boy, that I would be miserable in the city."

It was an old point often argued by them, and the man dismissed it, now, with a brief: "We'll see about that when the time comes. But, why didn't you bring Betty Jo with you?"

"Because," Auntie Sue answered, "I came away hurriedly, on a very important trip, for only a day, and it is necessary for her to stay and keep house while I am gone. The child must learn to cook, Homer, even if she is to inherit all your money."

"I know," answered the banker;--"the same as you make me work when I visit you. But your coming to me sounds rather serious, Auntie Sue. What is your trouble?"

The dear old lady laughed, nervously; for, to tell the truth, she did not quite know how she was going to manage to present Brian Kent's case to Homer T. Ward without presenting more than she was at this time ready to reveal.

"Why, you see, Homer," she began, "it is not really my trouble as much as it is yours, and it is not yours as much as it is--"

"Betty Jo's?" he asked quickly, when she hesitated.

"No! no!" she cried. "The child doesn't even know why I am here. Just try to forget her for a few minutes, Homer."

"All right," he said; "but you had me worried for a minute."

Auntie Sue might have answered that she was somewhat worried herself; but, instead, she plunged with desperate courage: "I came to see you about Brian Kent, Homer."

It is not enough to say that the President of the Empire Consolidated Savings Bank was astonished. "Brian Kent?" he said at last. "Why, Auntie Sue, I wrote you nearly a year ago that Brian Kent was dead."

"Yes, I know; but he was not--that is, he is not. But the Brian Kent your detectives were hunting was--I mean--is."

Homer T. Ward looked at his old teacher as though he feared she had suddenly lost her mind.

"It is like this, Homer," Auntie Sue explained: "A few days after your detective, Mr. Ross, called on me, this stranger appeared in the neighborhood. No one dreamed that he was Brian Kent, because, you see, he was not a bit like the description."

"Full beard, I suppose?" commented the banker, grimly.

"Yes: and every other way," continued Auntie Sue. "And he has been working so hard all winter; and everybody in the country respects and loves him so; and he is one of the best and truest men I ever knew; and he is planning and working to pay back every cent he took; and I cannot--I will not--let you send him to prison now."

The lovely old eyes were fixed on the banker's face with sweet anxiety.

Homer T. Ward was puzzled. Strange human problems are often presented to men in his position; but, certainly, this was the strangest;--his old teacher pleading for his absconding clerk who was supposed to be dead.

At last he said, with gentle kindness: "But, why did you come to tell me about him, Auntie Sue? He is safe enough if no one knows who he is."

"That is it!" she cried. "Some one found out about him, and is coming here to tell you, for the reward."

The banker whistled softly. "And you--you--grabbed a train, and beat 'em to it!" he exclaimed. "Well, if that doesn't--"