Chapter 27

THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER.

"Where were you born, Mr. Maggimore?" asked the Wittleworth lawyer.

"In London," replied Andre.

"Are you a Frenchman?"

"My father was Italian, my mother French."

"Did you ever learn the barber's trade, or did you pick it up yourself?"

"I was apprenticed to a barber in London, and served seven years."

"Have you always worked at the business?"

"No, sir. I used to shave an English gentleman who had a stiff arm, and I finally went into his service as his valet. I remained with him till he died of cholera in Paris. I lived with him fourteen years," answered Andre, meekly.

"Have you ever told any person that Marguerite Checkynshaw died at the hospital?" demanded the attorney, sharply.

"I have, sir."

"Was it true?"

"No, sir."

"Why did you say so, then?"

"Because I thought it was true."

"What made you think so?"

"The last name of the Marguerite that died was so like Checkynshaw."

"What was the name of the other Marguerite?"

"Poulebah."

"Did you make any effort to find the parents of the child you adopted?"

"I did; I found the lodgings they had occupied, and the _concierge_ identified some clothing and the locket which I carried to him. He told me that the parents of the child were both dead. He only knew that they were English. I have no doubt now that he was a bad man, and that he told me what he knew was not true in regard to the child."

"Why so?"

"I think it is probable the Chuckinghams left some property in their rooms which he desired to keep, and because I have learned from Mr. Checkynshaw that the house I visited was not the one occupied by him. The _concierge_ told me two falsehoods--that the clothing and locket belonged to the child of his lodger, and that she spoke French."

The lawyer twisted the matter about in various ways; but Andre was as clear as light itself, and he did not materially contradict himself. Mrs. Checkynshaw was called for the defence; but, to the astonishment and disgust of the legal gentleman and his employers, she testified, in the most positive manner, that the elegant young lady in court was Marguerite Checkynshaw. She had taken care of her as a child, and she could not be mistaken. Mrs. Wittleworth was put upon the stand, with the letter announcing the death of Marguerite in her hand; but, poor woman, all her evidence was against herself. She identified the locket, and was in the end very sure that the beautiful young lady was her niece.

Mr. Fitzherbert Wittleworth was utterly disgusted, though he could not help believing that the young lady was his cousin. Not a doubt was left in the mind of any person, and of course Mr. Checkynshaw won his case; but the great man was very far from satisfied with himself, or with the position in which the trial left him. It was apparent to all the world that he had attempted to defraud Mrs. Wittleworth out of the block of stores, and ten years' income upon it; but the banker was not a man to bend before the storm of popular opinion. He took the trouble to define his position, and to explain away what was dark and unsatisfactory. He did not believe his child was dead. He was satisfied that Marguerite Poulebah was Marguerite Checkynshaw, though he could not find her. The director of the hospital said the Sisters had taken her, and he was sure she was living.

Besides, it would have been wicked to hand the property over to Mrs. Wittleworth for her drunken husband to squander away, and make her a beggar a second time. He intended, in due time, if his daughter did not appear, to pass the property to the rightful heir when it could be safely done. The integrity of his intentions could not be doubted, for had he not given Mrs. Wittleworth ten thousand dollars? The quitclaim deed, he declared, was only to save himself from being annoyed by Fitz and his father. Of course he intended to make it all right in the end.

Mr. Checkynshaw did not forgive the Wittleworths for the mischief they had attempted to do. He hinted at steps for compelling them to restore the ten thousand dollars; but Maggie protested, in her way, against such a course, and nothing was ever done.

Marguerite Checkynshaw went to live in Pemberton Square; but she was not happy there, and every day she visited the house at No. 3 Phillimore Court. Poor Andre was actually miserable. He had lost his darling child, and it was little comfort to know that she dwelt in the midst of luxury and splendor. Though he saw her every day, he was sad, and almost disconsolate.

Maggie tried to be happy in her new home, but her heart was not there. Mrs. Checkynshaw was cold and distant to her, and Elinora was a little, petulant, disagreeable tyrant, who lived for herself alone. She tried to love her, but she tried in vain. Her father was kind and indulgent to her; yet she saw but little of him. Maggie went to school for two years, and was busy with her studies and her music lessons; but not an evening passed without her going to see her foster-father, after he left the shop. About nine o'clock Leo walked home with her; but he seldom entered her father's house.

In the choice of a pursuit for life, Leo won the day, and went to learn the machinist's trade. He did not give up the "mouse business" entirely, but found time to make new houses; and there were customers to purchase them, adding quite a sum to the income of his foster-father. A housekeeper was employed to take Maggie's place; but home was never the place it had been after Maggie went away.

John Wittleworth kept his solemn promise, and continued to be a steady man. He obtained employment in a wholesale grocery, and served so faithfully that he won the esteem and regard of the firm. His former ambition returned to him, and when he spoke of going into business on his own account, with a portion of his wife's money as his capital, he was admitted as a partner in the firm that employed him. He was a man of excellent abilities, and in time he acquired a handsome property.

Fitz never amounted to much. His ideas were too big for his station. He obtained several situations; but, as he aspired to manage his employers' business without their aid, he was often out of a place. When his father went into business, he was taken as an entry-clerk; but he was such a trial that even parental solicitude could not tolerate him, and he was sent away. He was not a bad boy; but self-conceit was the rock on which he wrecked himself. He found another situation, and another, and another; but his stay in each was short. And so he went from one place to another, achieving nothing, until he was twenty-five years old, when he married a lady ten years his senior, whom even the twenty thousand dollars she possessed did not tempt any one else to make a wife. Fitz is a gentleman now; and though his lot at home is trying, he still maintains his dignity, and lives on his wife's property. He is not dissipated, and has no bad habits; but he does not amount to anything. People laugh at him, and speak contemptuously of him behind his back; and he is, and will continue to be, nothing but a cipher in the community.

In the little smoking-room in the house in Pemberton Square, three years after Maggie went to live there, on the very sofa where Andre Maggimore had lain, was stretched the inanimate form of another person, stricken down by the same malady. It was Mr. Checkynshaw. The two gentlemen with whom he had been conversing when attacked by the fit had placed him there, and Dr. Fisher had been sent for. From that sofa he was conveyed to his bed, still insensible. His eyes were open, but he knew none of those who stood by his couch.

The doctor came; but the banker was out of the reach of human aid, though he survived a day and a half. Maggie watched over him, as she had over Andre; but vain was her care, and vain were her hopes. Her father died. A few days later a long funeral procession left the house, and Mr. Checkynshaw was borne to his last resting-place at Mount Auburn. Mrs. Checkynshaw was bewildered and overwhelmed; Elinora was so nervous that she required an attendant constantly; and Maggie had little time to weep herself, so devoted was she to the wants of others.

By the death of her father, everything was changed with Maggie. There was little sympathy between her and the other members of the family. Mrs. Checkynshaw decided that the house should be sold, and that she and the two daughters should board with a relative of her own. Maggie did not like this arrangement, though she was prepared to accept it if no better one could be suggested. She stated her objection in the gentlest terms; but her step-mother was cold, and even harsh, and Maggie realized that the future was to be more unhappy than the past. In this emergency she consulted her old friend, Dr. Fisher, who was familiar with all the circumstances of the family.

"I cannot live with Mrs. Checkynshaw and Elinora, now that my father is no longer with us," said she, sadly. "I do not like them, and they do not like me."

"It is not necessary that you should live with them," replied the doctor.

"Couldn't I live with Andre again?" asked she, eagerly.

"Certainly you can. Leave this to me. I will see your father's executors, and tell them your wishes."

"Thank you, doctor."

"The block of stores yields a large income, besides your share of your father's property; but, Maggie, you are under age, and you must have a guardian to take charge of your property. Your own wishes in this matter will be consulted."

"Andre!" exclaimed she, with enthusiasm.

The doctor smiled, and shook his head.

"Why not?" demanded she, her face looking sad again.

"Andre is a very good man, but he does not know much about business."

"There is nothing to do at present but to collect the rents on the block of stores. I could not name any one but Andre for my guardian."

"Perhaps the court will not approve of him if you do," added the doctor, with a smile.

"I'm sure Andre is honest and true, and will be faithful to the end. He knows enough about business to take care of the property."

Maggie argued like a woman, and the doctor promised to do what he could to meet her wishes. Mr. Checkynshaw's executors were opposed to the plan; but, at the earnest solicitation of Maggie and the doctor, they at last consented to recommend it, and Andre was appointed guardian of the rich man's daughter. If ever a man was amazed and bewildered, Andre was, when he found himself the keeper of such a vast property.

Maggie had a plan of her own. Andre was to be a barber no longer. A nice brick house in Harrison Avenue was hired, and furnished in good style, and the strange family were once more united. Leo sold out the mouse business to Tom Casey, and was as happy as a lord in his new home. The executors paid Maggie's share of her father's estate to Andre, in accordance with the provisions of the will. The ex-barber was not a business man; but this fact rendered him all the more cautious in handling the property intrusted to his care. He had shaved men of dignity and substance for so many years, that he had no lack of friendly advisers. With fear and trembling he discharged his sacred duty.

But Andre's duties as guardian were abruptly terminated one day, before Maggie was twenty-one. A remarkably good-looking young lawyer, Mr. Charles Harding, the partner of an older legal gentleman who had done Andre's business, relieved him of his charge by marrying his ward. Everybody said he was a splendid fellow, and Maggie knew he was. No one seemed to be astonished except Leo, who thought the affair had come off rather suddenly. He did not exactly understand how Maggie could have fallen in love with any fellow--he never thought of such things.

"So Maggie is married," said Mr. Fitz Wittleworth one day, when they met in the street.

"Yes; and a capital fellow Harding is, too," replied Leo, warmly.

"It was rather sudden--wasn't it?"

"Well, it was rather sudden; but when I think what a beautiful girl Maggie was, and when I think what a good girl she was, I am not at all surprised--not a bit."

"But, Leo, I always thought you would marry Maggie," added Mr. Wittleworth, stroking his chin.

"I!" exclaimed Leo, opening his eyes. "Why, I never thought of such a thing."

"The more fool you, when you could have done it."

"What, marry my sister!"

"She isn't your sister, any more than I am."

"Well, it's all the same thing, and I could never look upon her as anything but a sister," replied Leo, as he hastened to his work.

Leo was satisfied; for he could still love Mrs. Harding as a sister; and he had certainly never thought of her in any other relation. Perhaps he did not think of anything at that time but machines and machinery. Both he and Andre remained with Mrs. Harding, for she would not consent to their leaving her. And her husband liked them because she did.

When Leo was twenty-five, his inventive genius had laid the foundation of his fortune, and his "royalties" soon made him independent, for he had the business ability to profit by his inventions. When he was married, the "strange family" was separated, but never in spirit. Andre goes from one house to the other half a dozen times a day, and is honored as a "grandpa" by four little boys and girls.

Leo has always been the determined and persevering individual he was in his youth, when engaged in the "mouse business." As an apprentice, as n journeyman, as a master machinist, and as an inventor, it has been "MAKE or BREAK" with him; and, though the parts of his machinery often did break, and the apparatus failed to do its expected work, he did not give up; and he conquered in the end, whatever trials and difficulties interposed.

Mrs. Harding is superlatively happy in her husband, her children, her foster-father, whom she still lovingly calls "_mon pere_" and in her noble brother. She calls, at long intervals, upon Mrs. Checkynshaw and Elinora; and peace reigns between the two houses of Checkynshaw and Wittleworth. Though she was never happier than when she knew no other relation than that of the poor man's daughter, she has every reason to be thankful, and is thankful, to God for the blessings which have come to her as THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER.