“ ‘There were papers here,’ she cried, ‘only a minute since. They are mine—give them back to me!’
“ ‘Listen, woman,’ I said sternly, ‘you are lying—or dreaming. My brother-in-law’s papers are doubtless in his safe at his office, where they ought to be. As for the rest—you are a thief.’
“ ‘I am not,’ she screamed; ‘I am his wife. He married me, and the papers that were in the desk will prove it.’
“ ‘Listen,’ I exclaimed, when she had finished—‘listen carefully, and take heed to what I say. You are a liar. You have no proofs—there never were any proofs of what you say, because it never happened—it is absurd upon the face of it. Not one person in Wellington would believe it. Why should he marry you? He did not need to! You are merely lying—you are not even self-deceived. If he had really married you, you would have made it known long ago. That you did not is proof that your story is false.’
“She was hit so hard that she trembled and sank into a chair. But I had no mercy—she had saved your father from me—‘dear Julia,’ indeed!
“ ‘Stand up,’ I ordered. ‘Do not dare to sit down in my presence. I have you on the hip, my lady, and will teach you your place.’
“She struggled to her feet, and stood supporting herself with one hand on the chair. I could have killed her, Olivia! She had been my father’s slave; if it had been before the war, I would have had her whipped to death.
“ ‘You are a thief,’ I said, ‘and of that there are proofs. I have caught you in the act. The watch in your bosom is my own, the money belongs to Mr. Merkell’s estate, which belongs to my niece, his daughter Olivia. I saw you steal them. My word is worth yours a hundred times over, for I am a lady, and you are—what? And now hear me: if ever you breathe to a living soul one word of this preposterous story, I will charge you with the theft, and have you sent to the penitentiary. Your child will be taken from you, and you shall never see it again. I will give you now just ten minutes to take your brat and your rags out of this house forever. But before you go, put down your plunder there upon the desk!’
“She laid down the money and the watch, and a few minutes later left the house with the child in her arms.
“And now, Olivia, you know how I saved your estate, and why you should be grateful to me.”
Olivia had listened to her aunt’s story with intense interest. Having perceived the old woman’s mood, and fearful lest any interruption might break the flow of her narrative, she had with an effort kept back the one question which had been hovering upon her lips, but which could now no longer be withheld.
“What became of the papers, Aunt Polly?”
“Ha, ha!” chuckled Mrs. Ochiltree with a cunning look, “did I not tell you that she found no papers?”
A change had come over Mrs. Ochiltree’s face, marking the reaction from her burst of energy. Her eyes were half closed, and she was muttering incoherently. Olivia made some slight effort to arouse her, but in vain, and realizing the futility of any further attempt to extract information from her aunt at this time, she called William and drove homeward.
XVI
Ellis Takes a Trick
Late one afternoon a handsome trap, drawn by two spirited bays, drove up to Carteret’s gate. Three places were taken by Mrs. Carteret, Clara, and the major, leaving the fourth seat vacant.
“I’ve asked Ellis to drive out with us,” said the major, as he took the lines from the colored man who had the trap in charge. “We’ll go by the office and pick him up.”
Clara frowned, but perceiving Mrs. Carteret’s eye fixed upon her, restrained any further expression of annoyance.
The major’s liking for Ellis had increased within the year. The young man was not only a good journalist, but possessed sufficient cleverness and tact to make him excellent company. The major was fond of argument, but extremely tenacious of his own opinions. Ellis handled the foils of discussion with just the requisite skill to draw out the major, permitting himself to be vanquished, not too easily, but, as it were, inevitably, by the major’s incontrovertible arguments.
Olivia had long suspected Ellis of feeling a more than friendly interest in Clara. Herself partial to Tom, she had more than once thought it hardly fair to Delamere, or even to Clara, who was young and impressionable, to have another young man constantly about the house. True, there had seemed to be no great danger, for Ellis had neither the family nor the means to make him a suitable match for the major’s sister; nor had Clara made any secret of her dislike for Ellis, or of her resentment for his supposed depreciation of Delamere. Mrs. Carteret was inclined to a more just and reasonable view of Ellis’s conduct in this matter, but nevertheless did not deem it wise to undeceive Clara. Dislike was a stout barrier, which remorse might have broken down. The major, absorbed in schemes of empire and dreams of his child’s future, had not become cognizant of the affair. His wife, out of friendship for Tom, had refrained from mentioning it; while the major, with a delicate regard for Clara’s feelings, had said nothing at home in regard to his interview with her lover.
At the Chronicle office Ellis took the front seat beside the major. After leaving the city pavements, they bowled along merrily over an excellent toll-road, built of oyster shells from the neighboring sound, stopping at intervals to pay toll to the gatekeepers, most of whom were white women with tallow complexions and snuff-stained lips—the traditional “poor-white.” For part of the way the road was bordered with a growth of scrub oak and pine, interspersed with stretches of
