"He made a great mistake in leaving San Francisco as he did," Mr. Knight remarked. "If he had remained here and quietly lived down the scandal, he might in time have recovered the confidence of the people."
"Oh! if the stain could be removed from his name and memory!" sighed Virgie.
"I do not like to pain you, my dear," replied Mr. Knight, sympathetically; "but that would be very difficult to accomplish, unless that cashier should come forward and make a full confession."
Virgie looked up, startled, her face growing very white.
"I saw him here in the city last year," she said.
"Impossible!" exclaimed her friend.
"I am very sure I was not mistaken," Virgie affirmed and then she told the publisher the circ.u.mstances of her being followed by that m.u.f.fled figure and of the advertis.e.m.e.nt which appeared in the papers a day or two following, desiring communication with her.
"I am afraid that you have made a mistake this time," said Mr. Knight, thoughtfully. "You ought to have communicated with the man."
"But I had such a horror of him; I could not believe that he would be able to tell me of anything to my advantage."
"At least he could have done you no harm, and he might have told you something worth knowing. Promise me, if anything of the same nature occurs again, you will let me know. If he could be arrested he might be forced to a confession of the truth."
Virgie was greatly disturbed by this view of the matter, and regretted that she had not had more wisdom at the time. She readily promised to do as Mr. Knight wished, though she feared she might never again have the opportunity.
"Now that the ice has been broken, and I know who you are, tell me something of your life among the mountains," said her friend. "I fear it must have been a very dreary and monotonous one."
"It was a very quiet and peaceful one," Virgie answered with a sigh, as she thought of the storms she had buffeted since. "Papa"s claim proved to be an excellent one, and he made a good deal of money from it; and after we became somewhat used to the change in our life, it was not so bad."
"But all his earnings there had to be sacrificed also. My poor child; what a hard lot has been yours! I almost wonder at your having any faith whatever in human nature," said Mr. Knight, feelingly.
"I am sure that you have proved to me that there is at least one n.o.ble man in the world," Virgie returned, gratefully. "I shall never forget your kindness to me, Mr. Knight; you have been a true friend to me."
The publisher leaned eagerly forward, and gathered her hands in his; her words had inspired him with hope.
"Let me be more than a friend to you, dear," he pleaded. "Let me take care of you and your little one in the future. I know that I am much older than you--old enough almost to be your father; but my home is lonely. I lost my wife ten years ago. I have no children, and my heart is hungry for some one to love. Dear child, you have been growing very dear to me ever since you first came to me, and if you can trust me, if you can give yourself to me, I will not ask too much, or even expect that you can feel a great deal of affection for me, for I know how sorely you have been tried and deceived in that respect; but let me persuade you to come to my home as my honored wife, and I will surround you with tenderest care. Life shall be made as pleasant as possible for you, and there will be no need of your toiling any more."
Virgie sat as one stunned after this unexpected proposal.
She had never thought of anything like this during all her intercourse with the kind-hearted publisher. She had learned to esteem him very highly for his goodness to her, and to look up to him almost as to a father, but the thought of ever being any man"s wife again had never occurred to her.
She grew very pale at his words, and instinctively shrank a little from him.
That act told him far more than words could have done, and he knew at once that his cause was hopeless.
He gently released her hands, sighing regretfully, while a look of pain settled upon his fine face.
"Oh! my friend," Virgie began, as soon as she could find her voice, "why have you said this to me? I have not had the remotest suspicion of--of your regard and what you have asked can never, never be."
"Then forget that I have said anything about it, my dear. I would not wound you for the world," said the old gentleman, with exceeding gentleness, but with a still pained, white face.
"Oh, please do not think me ungrateful for all your kindness," Virgie cried, the tears dropping thick and fast from her eyes; "but, believe me, I can never marry again. I feel, morally speaking, that I am just as truly Sir William Heath"s wife to-day as I ever was, even though the law has rent the bond that existed between us. I do not feel that a marriage can be broken except by death."
"Then why did you appeal for a divorce?" interrupted Mr. Knight, with surprise.
"Simply that he might be free in the eyes of the world to make that other woman a legal wife--so that she need not suffer such a wrong through me."
"But she has already suffered it, if what you have heard is true."
"That may be, but he now has it in his power to do her justice, if he chooses. At all events, I can never feel free to change my condition in life. My whole future must be devoted to the preparation of my child for the position which she will occupy by and by, for I am determined that she shall be acknowledged the rightful heir to Heathdale," Virgie concluded, firmly.
"How about the wrong which this other woman and her children will suffer in that case?" asked the publisher.
"That is something which I cannot help--for which I am in no way responsible. If others suffer, that must be Sir William Heath"s punishment for the wrong which he has done me and my child."
Virgie was very pale, showing that she felt strongly on the subject, but she spoke decidedly, as if her purpose was unalterable.
"I can but own the justice of what you have said," responded Mr. Knight, adding: "But of course it will have to be as you say regarding the matter of which I spoke. I should have been very happy in providing for your future, and I had built many hopes upon having your presence in my home.
However, I will never pain you by mentioning the subject again, and you must consider me the same friend as before. Come to me with all your plans, your hopes, and your troubles, and believe that I shall always feel the same interest in them as ever."
He arose and held out his hand to her as he spoke, and Virgie could see that it shook with the emotion which he was bravely trying to conceal.
Her heart was almost broken for him, for she knew, that his home was very silent and lonely. There was no one in it save his sister, a maiden lady of uncertain age, to make it pleasant for him.
"Forgive me!" she said, hardly able to speak, and with an impulsive movement she bent forward and touched her lips to the hand extended to her; then turning quickly, she glided from his presence before he could interpose a word to prevent her.
What happened to Virgie, and the final outcome of all her troubles is told in the sequel to this story ent.i.tled "Threads Gathered Up," which is published in a handsome cloth binding uniform with this volume.
The End.