A Daughter of the Forest by Evelyn Raymond (superbooks4u .TXT) 📕

must keep your engagement, even if—— But, Adrian?”

“Yes, mother.”

“You must not exaggerate your obligations to those people. They did for you only what anybody would do for a man lost in the woods. By their own admission you were worth a great deal to that farmer. Else he never would have parted with eighty dollars, as he did. I shall always prize the gold piece you brought me; indeed, I mean to have it set in a pin and wear it. But this Maine farmer, or lumberman, or whatever he is, just drop him out of mind. His very name is objectionable to me, and you must never mention it before your father. Years ago there was a—well, something unpleasant with some people; and, please oblige me by—by not being disagreeable now. After all my anxiety while you were gone and about your father’s health, I think—I really——”

Adrian slipped his arm across the back of the lady’s chair and smiled upon her, lovingly. He was trying his utmost to make up to her and all his family for whatever they had suffered because of his former “misdeeds.” He had come home full of high resolves and had had his sincerity immediately tested by his father’s demanding that:

“If you are in earnest, if you intend to do a son’s part by us, go back into the bank and learn a good business. This ‘art’ you talk about, what is it? But the shifty resource of a lot of idle fellows. Get down to business. Dollars are what count, in this world. Put yourself in a place where you can make them, and while I am alive to aid you.”

Adrian’s whole nature rebelled against this command, yet he had obeyed it. And he had inwardly resolved that, outside the duties of his clerkship, his time was his own and should be devoted to his beloved painting.

“After all, some of the world’s finest pictures have been done by those whose leisure was scant. If it’s in me it will have to come out. Some time, in some way, I’ll live my own life in spite of all.”

It had hurt him, too, a little that his people so discouraged all history of his wanderings.

All of his sisters were married and well-connected, and one of them voiced the opinion of all, when she said:

“Your running away, or your behaving so that you had to be sent away, is quite disgrace enough. That you are back safe, and sensible, is all any of us care to know.”

But because he was forbidden to talk of his forest experiences he dwelt upon them all the more in his own mind; and this afternoon’s glimpse of Margot’s sunny head had awakened all his former interest. Why was she in New York? Was the “master” with her? He, of whom his own mother spoke in such ignorant contempt, as a “farmer,” a “lumberman,” yet who was the most finished scholar and gentleman that Adrian had ever met.

“Well, I can’t get home till after that wretched dinner, and I should have to wait for the next train, anyway, even if the ‘mater’ would let me off. I’ve promised myself to make her happy, dear little woman, if I can, and sulking over my own disappointments isn’t the way to do that,” he reflected. So he roused himself to talk of other matters, and naturally of the sister at whose home they were to dine.

“I don’t see what made Kate ever marry a warden of state’s prison. I should think life in such a place would be hateful.”

“That shows how little you know about it, and what a revelation this visit will be to you. Why, my dear, she has a beautiful home, with horses and carriages at her disposal; her apartments are finely furnished and she has one comfort that I have not, or few housekeepers in fact.”

“What is that?”

“As many servants as she requires, and at no expense to herself. Servants who are absolutely obedient, thoroughly trained, and never ‘giving notice.’”

“I do not understand.”

“They are the convicts. Why, they even have an orchestra to play at their entertainments, also of convicts; the musical ones to whom the playing is a great reward and treat. I believe they are to play to-night.”

“Horror! I hope not. I don’t want to be served by any poor fellow out of a cell.”

“You’ll not think about that. Not after a little. I don’t at all, now, though I used to, sometimes, when they were first in office. It’s odd that though they’ve lived at Sing Sing for two years you’ve not been there yet.”

“Not so odd, little mother. Kate and I never get along together very well. She’s too dictatorial. Besides, she was always coming home and I saw her there. I had no hankering after a prison, myself. And speaking of disgrace, I feel that her living in such a place is worse than anything I ever did.”

“Adrian, for a boy who has ordinary intelligence you do say the strangest things. The office of warden is an honorable one and well paid.”

The lad smiled and his mother hastily added:

“Besides, it gives an opportunity for befriending the unhappy prisoners. Why, there is a man——”

She hesitated, looked fixedly at her son as if considering her next words, then concluded, rather lamely:

“But you’ll see.”

She opened her novel and began to read and Adrian also busied himself with the evening paper; and presently the station was reached and they left the train.

A carriage was in waiting for them, driven by men in livery, and altogether quite smart enough to warrant his mother’s satisfaction as they stepped into it and were whirled away to the prison.

But as he had been forewarned, there was no suggestion of anything repulsive in the charming apartments they entered, and his sister’s greeting was sufficiently affectionate to make him feel that he had misjudged her in the past.

All the guests were in dinner dress and Adrian was appointed to take in his own mother, Kate having decided that this would be a happy surprise to both parties. They had been the last to arrive and as soon as greetings were over the meal was immediately served; but on their way toward the dining-room, Mrs. Wadislaw pressed her son’s arm and nodded significantly toward the leader of the palm-hidden orchestra.

“Take a look at that man.”

“Yes. Who is he?”

“A convict, life sentence. Number 526. He plays divinely, violin. But——”

Again she hesitated and looked sharply into Adrian’s face. Should she, or should she not, tell him the rest? Yes. She must; it would be the surest, shortest way of curing his infatuation for those wood people. Her boy had spoken of this Margot as a child, yet with profound love and admiration. It would be as well to nip any nonsense of that sort in the bud. There was only a moment left, they were already taking their places at the elegantly appointed table, and she whispered the rest:

“He is in for robbery and manslaughter,—your own father the victim. His name is Philip Romeyn, and your woodland nonpareil is his daughter.”

CHAPTER XXIII FATHER AND SON

“Mother!”

Adrian’s cry was a gasp. He could not believe that he had heard aright; but he felt himself pulled down into his chair and realized that though his spiritual world had been turned upside down, as it were, this extraordinary dinner must go on. There was only one fact for which to rejoice, a trivial one: he had been placed so that he could look directly into that palm-decked alcove and upon this convict, Number 526.

Convict! Impossible. The fine head was not debased by the close-cropped hair, and held itself erect as one upon which no shadow of guilt or disgrace had ever rested. The face was noble, despite its lines and the prison pallor; and though hard labor had bowed the once stalwart shoulders, they neither slouched nor shrunk together as did those of the other poor men in that group.

“Adrian! Remember where you are.”

Even the bouillon choked him and the fish was as ashes in his mouth. Courses came on and were removed, and he tasted each mechanically, prodded to this duty by his mother’s active elbow. Her tact and volubility covered his silence, though there was nobody at that table, save herself, who did not mentally set the lad down as an ignorant, ill-bred person, oddly unlike the others of his family. Handsome? Oh! yes. His appearance was quite correct and even noticeable, but if a man were too stupid to open his mouth, save to put food into it, his place at a social function were better filled by a plainer and more agreeable person.

But all things end, as even that intolerable dinner finally did, and Adrian was free to rise and in some quieter place try to rearrange his disordered ideas. But he noticed that Kate signaled her mother to lead the guests from the room while she, herself, remained to exchange a few words with her chief musician. Adrian, also, lingered, unreproved, with an intensity of interest which fully redeemed his face from that dulness which his sister had previously assigned to it. She even smiled upon him, reassuringly:

“You’ll get used to society after a bit, brother. You’ve avoided it so much and lived so among those artists that you’re somewhat awkward yet. But you’ll do in time, you’ll do very well. I mean to make it a point that you shall attend all my little functions.”

But Adrian resolved that he would never grace, or disgrace, another in this place, though he answered nothing. Then the lady turned to Number 526, and the boy’s eyes fixed themselves upon that worn face, seeking resemblances, trying to comprehend that this unhappy fellow was the father of his sunny Margot.

Kate was speaking now with an accent intended to be kind, even commendatory, but her brother’s ear detected, also, its tone of condescension. Did the convict notice it, as well? If so, his face showed no sign.

“You did well, my man, very well. I think that there might be a bit more time allowed for practice, and will speak to the warden about it. But you, personally, have a remarkable gift. I hope you will profit by it to your soul’s good. I shall want you and your men again for a time this evening. I have the warden’s consent in the matter. A few arias and dreamy waltzes, perhaps that sonata which you and 1001 played the other day at my reception. Just your violin and the piano. You will undertake it? The instruments shall be screened, of course.”

Adrian was leaning forward, his hands clenched, his lips parted. His gaze became more and more intense. Suddenly the convict raised his own eyes and met the youth’s squarely, unflinchingly. They were blue eyes, pain-dimmed, but courageous. Margot’s eyes, in very shape and color, as hers might be when life had brought her sorrow. For a half-minute the pair regarded one another, moved by an influence the elder man could not understand; then Adrian’s hand went out invitingly, while he said:

“Allow me to thank you for your music. I’ve never heard a violin speak as yours does.”

The convict hesitated, glanced at the warden’s lady, and replied:

“Probably because no other violin has been to any other man what this has been to me.”

But he did not take the proffered hand and, with a bow that would have graced a drawing-room rather than a cell, clasped his instrument closely and quietly moved away.

Kate was inured to prison sights, yet even she was touched by this little by-play, though she reproved her too warm-hearted brother.

“Your generosity does you credit,