CHAPTER XXI.

SOME INTERESTING REVELATIONS.

"Yes; forgive me, but I simply could not wait to hear from you, Helen--I had to come; I could not endure the suspense, so followed close upon my letter, which," glancing at the package on the table--"I see you have received. Besides--I--had something else to say to you," he added, drawing nearer to her.

"Something--else," she breathed, as he paused, yet scarcely knowing what she said.

"Yes; I have dared to hope--dared to come and plead that you will forgive me the awful past and allow me to take care of you in the future," he resumed, in tremulous tones. "Wait--oh, wait!" he begged, as she put out a hand to check him, "let me speak--let me empty myself. I cannot conceive how I ever could have been so heartless, so selfish, so--brutal toward the most faithful and self-sacrificing wife in the world! Let me atone--let me try to blot it out during the coming years. You shall never know a care nor sorrow from which I can shield you. My financial future is assured, I know I am a better man, and I want to prove it to you. This newborn love for work, for right living, and noble achieving has made me yearn to mount even higher upon the ladder of success, and you would be a continual inspiration in my career; while, having been lifted out of the depths myself, I long to save others as you saved me, and we could work together in this way, for our faith and aims are now the same. Helen--oh, Helen! will you come back to me? Can you--can you?"

He was as white as marble as he held out appealing, shaking hands to her, his burning eyes fastened in agonized yearning upon her lovely though colorless face.

But in spite of her exceeding pallor, Helen had never appeared more beautiful in her life. She was the picture of health. Her splendidly developed form was clad in a rich evening gown of silver-gray chiffon velvet, elaborately decorated with duchess lace and touches of rose pink here and there to give it life. A costly comb of gold gleamed among the massive coils of her bright hair, which scarcely showed a thread of silver even yet; a curiously wrought chain, to which a diamond cross was attached, was clasped around her white throat, and handsome diamond-studded bands of gold--a recent gift from her devoted son-in-law--encircled her shapely arms. With her beautiful, high-bred face, and these becoming and elegant accessories of costume, she was a most attractive woman.

While John was speaking, she had stood motionless regarding him with mingled astonishment and dismay.

He had never seemed so manly to her before. He had become more erect; his form had expanded, and he bore himself with a masterful dignity and self-possession that bespoke a wonderful growth in character. His face was earnest and purposeful; his clothing was fine and rich in texture and fitted him perfectly; his linen was immaculate. What a contrast to the broken-down, shabby suppliant who had come to her door five years previous!

He now looked the cultured, distinguished gentleman, and she knew he was a "better man"--clean within as well as without.

Why, then, did not her heart respond, her pulses quicken, to his impassioned appeal?

She could not tell; she was simply appalled, breathless, almost paralyzed by his words.

"Oh," she faltered, when he ceased speaking, "why did you come?"

A groan of agony escaped him at this involuntary betrayal of her attitude toward him. His hands clenched convulsively, then dropped heavily to his sides; the veins swelled out full and hard upon his forehead.

"Because I could not keep away. Because, ever since that day when you bade me try to live, start out anew and make my mark in the world, I have had but one aim--one overmastering desire in life--to make myself worthy of your esteem; to win an irreproachable name and position in the world to offer you, and atone, if ever so little, for what I made you suffer during those dreadful years of our early life. It was you who aroused the dormant spark of manhood within me; now let me share with you the fruits of that awakening. Oh, Helen! I honor, reverence--I love you as never before; let me prove it."

The man's voice, which had grown hoarse and painfully intense during this appeal, suddenly broke and became almost inaudible as he ended his appeal.

Helen was also deeply moved. A great trembling seized her; the room began to grow dark; she swayed dizzily where she stood, and then sank weakly upon a near-by chair, but involuntarily throwing out a repelling hand, as John sprang forward to her assistance.

He paused abruptly, at her gesture, as if he had received a mortal blow. Was his presence so repulsive to her that she could not endure to have him come near her?

For the moment he was crushed, humiliated beyond the power of speech; then he slowly drew himself erect, his chest heaving with a long, shuddering breath as he strove to recover something of self-possession.

"Helen!" the name burst sharply from his hueless lips; "that means that I have asked too much--that you cannot----"

"No, John, I cannot," she gently interposed.

The kindness in her tone half reassured him. He leaned eagerly forward to search her face, but knew instantly from the look in her sorrowful though unresponsive gray eyes that his hopes were vain.

"Oh, I might have known you never could forgive----" he began, when she interrupted him again.

"I have forgiven." Her voice was tremulous but very sweet. "I hold no bitterness against you in my heart--the last vestige was blotted out five years ago, as I then assured you, and to-day I realize that you are as worthy of my esteem as any other man who has resolutely overcome the errors of his past and is steadfastly adhering to high ideals and noble purposes. I can and do rejoice most heartily in the conquest you have won," she went on, speaking with more calmness--"in the fame and prosperity you have achieved, and which I am sure you will continue to win. But--John, the ties which once united us were too hopelessly severed to make it possible for us ever to piece them together again. When I pledged myself to you thirty years ago it was a lifelong vow I took. When the law annulled that union and--you formed other relations, it was the same to me as if death had claimed you--I gave you up, as absolutely and hopelessly as if you had literally been buried from my sight; it was an unconditional surrender--the bond that had united us was rent asunder, leaving a great gulf between us, and I knew that the void thus made could never be filled again. Then I took up my life to live it alone, and--thus I shall live until the end."

The man had stood before her while she spoke, with averted face and bowed head, which sank lower and lower as she proceeded, until it rested upon his breast, while his attitude was like one bereft of hope.

"I cannot bear it, Helen--even though I know the sentence is just," he faltered, at length breaking the silence. "It was through your heavenly compassion five years ago I gained a new lease of life, and that life I solemnly vowed should be spent in the effort to master the weaknesses that had been my ruin, and bereft me of all that a true man holds most sacred--family, home, and reputation. Clinging steadfastly to this resolve and your dauntless motto--'that there is hardly any situation in life so adverse that it cannot be overcome if one only goes to work in the right way'--I have conquered self in many ways. I have won a competence and some measure of renown as an artist; and my one inspiration throughout has been the hope of a blessed reunion with my dear ones. Failing in this, the future holds nothing but emptiness for me," he concluded dejectedly.

"The future holds all good for you, John," Helen returned, and, as once before during his illness, her voice was full of strength and encouragement. "You have, as you say, learned how to overcome--how to govern your life by principle instead of by impulse, and so have found your true manhood. And you will keep on in the same way, for, as we know, there is but one goal for us all--one ultimate attainment really worth living for--the full stature of the perfect man."

"But I wanted to atone to you--to take care of you--to bear burdens for you, as you once bore them for me; I want to make you happy, Helen----"

"You have already done that," she said, smiling up at him through eyes that were full of tears. "To know what you have been doing--what you have been achieving during the last five years--to see you as you are to-night--redeemed--gives me greater joy than you can realize."

He turned and walked away from her. He was crushed--almost on the point of breaking down utterly before her, notwithstanding his manhood, in view of this bitter disappointment. Yet he began to understand that the old ties, which he himself had so ruthlessly severed, could indeed never be pieced together again. There was between them a great gulf, in whose fathomless depths there lay a royal heart rent in twain, and a priceless love slain by his own reckless folly. How could he bear to live out his life bereft of all his fond hopes?

Presently, having in a measure regained his composure, he returned to her.

"At least you will allow me to make some substantial provision for your future," he observed, with a pathetic air of humility. "That surely is my right after my culpable improvidence of those early years. My income is ample, and constantly increasing. I will settle an annuity upon you for----"

"But I do not need it, John, although I thank you for the kind thought," Helen gently interposed, her heart aching for him, and feeling that she herself could not much longer endure the strain of the interview. "My own income is more than sufficient for my support, especially now that Dorothy is settled in life; and, besides, I could not be happy to give up my work. Ah!" breaking off suddenly, as her bell rang once more--"that must be Dorothy; I am expecting her."

"Dorothy! And I am here!" the man exclaimed, in dismay. Then, a sharp ring of pain in his tones: "Helen, am I never to see Dorothy?"

She hesitated an instant, thinking rapidly.

"Yes, I think you should see her," she then said. "At least, I will tell her that you have returned, show her your letter, and she shall decide for herself. But, wait! you cannot get out now without meeting her, and the shock would be too much for her to run upon you without any preparation; step into the library behind you for a few minutes."

She waved him toward the room, and he slipped into it, partly closing the door, just as Dorothy blithely swept through the reception hall and clasped her mother in her arms.

"Mamma, dear, how lovely you are!" Dorothy exclaimed, in a sprightly tone, as she fondly kissed her. "Your gown is vastly becoming; but aren't you a trifle pale to-night? or is it that tone of gray? Sit down, do, and when I get my things off I have something very important to tell you."

She threw off her elegant evening cloak and stepped forth, radiant in a beautiful costume of pale-pink silk, chiffon, and lace, while the nodding plumes of the same color on her dainty hat lent a piquant charm to the happy, sparkling face beneath.

"Now, I have great news for you," she resumed, sinking upon a low chair beside her mother, and beginning to pull off her long white gloves. "Whom do you think Clifford met to-day at the Gotham Club? Oh, I am sure you could never guess, and I--I don't quite know how to tell you without giving you a tremendous shock; but the--the stranger was--oh, mamma!"--with a little nervous catch in her breath--"my father!"

"Dorothy!"

It seemed to Helen the most marvelous coincidence in the world that Dorothy should have thus been already prepared, in a measure, for what she was about to reveal to her!

"Wait, dearie--just try to be calm until I tell you all about it," Dorothy continued tenderly, as she slipped a supporting arm around Helen's waist. "It was Mr. Carruthers who was entertaining, and it goes without saying that he never dreamed he was introducing the father-in-law to his son-in-law. Clifford, evidently, was the only one of the company who comprehended the situation, for, of course, he recognized the name, and then I had shown him that photo, which I have always kept. It seems that he--my father--has been abroad again for several years, devoting himself to his art, and has won great honors; has had pictures hung in Paris and London exhibitions that have been raved over, and it is said he has made a great deal of money. Mr. Carruthers met him first in Paris, and says he stands high there with the best artists, and is a conscientious as well as a tireless worker----"

"Dorrie--I----"

Helen was on the point of checking her, for Dorothy's voice was so earnest, so full of animation, she thought John could not fail to hear every word. But Dorothy would not be checked.

"Wait, mamma," she interposed; "I know just how you feel, for all the strength went out of me, and I almost broke down when Clifford told me about it, and what a prepossessing gentleman he is to-day; he says that whatever he may have been in the past, he is sure he is fine now, through and through. Dear," she went on tremulously, "it nearly takes my breath away to know that he has come back--is actually here in New York; and if he has changed--has become all that they say he has, it shows that there was good in him--I wonder what kind angel found him and rekindled the vital spark. It makes me sorry, too, that I was quite so bitter against him, and said such cruel things to him that last day--I could almost wish to see him again if--if it were not for--that woman----"

"She is dead, Dorothy."

"Mamma! how do you know?"

"I have known it for more than five years, dear," Helen gravely returned; and, thinking she might as well tell her story now, for she saw that Dorothy was inclined to be lenient toward her father, and there was no reason why they should not meet at once. "While you were away on your wedding trip," she resumed, "he--your father--came here----"

"Here!"

"Yes; I have never mentioned it, for you have been so happy I could not bear to tell you anything unpleasant. He saw me one evening on the boat, as I was coming home after putting your house in order, and followed me here. He looked poorly--was really ill, and I sent him to Mrs. Harding for the night. He was taken alarmingly worse before morning, when I had him brought here, and Mrs. Harding took care of him, in the studio, for several weeks----"

"In the studio!" repeated Dorothy, breathless from astonishment. "Did she know who he was?"

"No, dear; he gave his name to her as Williams, and she has always believed he was some one whom I had once known in California, and wished to befriend in his trouble--at least, until his relatives could be notified."

"Then he was here after I returned?"

"Yes, for a few days only; but, before that, as soon as he began to gain strength, he seemed to want to take up his work again. He painted two lovely pictures here, then hired a couple of rooms downtown, where he worked until he made enough money to take him abroad again."

"Mamma! then _you_ were the good angel who rekindled the vital spark!" cried Dorothy, who was now almost sobbing.

"It has comforted me, dear, to think that I may have helped to inspire him to take up his art again," Helen returned, adding: "But it was Mrs. Everleigh who was really his 'good angel.'"

"Mrs. Everleigh!"

"Yes, I brought her here to see your father, and you know what she is able to do for people who will listen to her; but I will tell you more about that later."

"Did she know _who_ he was?" Dorothy inquired.

"No, dear; no one has ever known anything except as I told you--that he was an old acquaintance whom I would not allow to be taken to a hospital."

"Have you never heard from him since he went away?"

"Yes; several months after he opened his studio--I think it must have been just before he went abroad again--he wrote me a brief letter, and inclosed a liberal check to cover the expenses of his illness, he said," Helen explained. "Now and then," she continued, "I have seen a newspaper notice commenting favorably upon certain pictures he had painted, and I have rejoiced in his success. This afternoon I received a package from him----"

"Oh!"

"Here it is, with the letter accompanying it. Read it, dear, and then it will rest with you to say what shall be done regarding the matter of business to which he refers."

Helen laid the missive on Dorothy's lap as she concluded.

"How wonderful!" breathed the young wife, as she seized and unfolded it with eager hands.

Tears rained over her cheeks, as she read; but she dashed them impatiently away and devoured the pages to the end.

"Oh, what a transformation! And isn't it beautiful to read between the lines and realize all that it means?" she cried, a note of exultation in her tremulous tones. "He loves me still! he wants to see me! And--we should accept this money," she went on thoughtfully; "don't you think so? It would be unfair, unkind, to refuse it, when conscience has prompted him to make this restitution; unless, mamma, dear, you shrink from receiving it and from meeting----"

"Dorothy," Helen hurriedly interrupted, "it shall be as you say; if your heart yearns for your father----"

"It does--it really does; I feel that he is good and true and worthy."

"I am sure he is, dear," said Helen heartily; "and if you can give him the welcome he craves, and so help to make his life brighter in the future, it will give me joy to have you reunited."

"That is simply angelic of you, mamma," Dorothy eagerly exclaimed. Then, leaning nearer, she looked deep into her mother's eyes. "And you, dearest?" she questioned.

But her mother's lips were mute.

They held each other's gaze in silence for a minute; then Helen bent forward and softly kissed her daughter on the lips. It was as if she had said: "That book is sealed forever."

Dorothy's beautiful face clouded with a look of keen pain.

"Yes, I can understand," she murmured, scarcely above her breath, and with a regretful sigh. "But you will let him come, as he begs in his letter--you will see him just once, to--to congratulate and wish him well; will you not?"

"Dearest, I have already seen him."

"Mamma! when?" cried Dorothy, startled beyond measure.

"Just before you came in--immediately after receiving the package. He could not wait for a reply to his letter--I had barely finished reading it when he came. He is here now--in the library--waiting to see you."

Dorothy sprang to her feet as if electrified, as indeed she was.

"Here!" she exclaimed, her voice resonant with joy. "My father here!"