"I am obliged to leave you."
"For what?"
"That I cannot tell you just at present."
"Can you not trust me, Paul?" Scott asked sadly. "Have I not always----"
"Oh, please, do not ask that," Paul said. "You have been more than a brother to me, more than a father, and--yes, more than anyone in all the world."
"Then why do you leave me?"
"I must."
"You must? It is strange. Are you tired of me, Paul?"
"Oh, no, no," said Paul, becoming strangely excited.
"Then tell me why you leave me. If there is anything I can do, or anything which I have not done, let me know, and I will try to make amends."
"There is nothing that I could desire that has not been done for me.
Indeed, I do not think any other man in all the world would have been as generous as you have been, but I cannot stay longer."
Scott arose and walked slowly up and down the room. His face had grown very grave, and his lips were pressed firmly together. At length he stopped before Paul, and grasping both his hands tightly in his own, and looking straight down in the boy"s face, he said:
"Paul, my boy, I cannot give you up; it is useless to try. You are a part of my home. Mother and June look to you in all their troubles, and now when all is darkest with me, will you leave me in still greater darkness? Paul, I have never made a confidant of any one, but to you I have confided more than to any other."
Paul remained silent.
"I will not ask you again why you leave me, but let me tell you that I shall be at a loss to know how to act without you, for I am just now in the beginning of a very puzzling piece of business, and I must have help in the matter."
"Is it anything I can do?" Paul asked.
"I do not know; you might be compelled to leave the city."
"Is it in regard to searching for your wife?"
"No, Paul," Scott answered firmly. "I shall never look for Irene. When she comes to my home she will come of her own free will."
"And you will take her back?"
"I shall never close my door against her."
"May I ask you a question, Mr. Wilmer?"
"As many as you choose."
"And you need not answer me unless you wish. Could you take her back and love her as well as ever?"
Scott waited some time before answering, as was his custom when asked a very important question.
"Paul," he said, "I could never take her as my wife again. As far as that is concerned, I had better buried her; but should she ever return to my home, she shall never want if I have the power to aid her."
"Oh, Mr. Wilmer, I am so glad to know that she will not suffer, for how terrible it would be to come to poverty after having lived in luxury, as she has. I knew you were n.o.ble, but did not know any one could be so generous."
"No, Paul, I am not n.o.ble; you do not know, and heaven grant that you never may know, how hard were the battles which I have fought to bring myself to that decision, but I have found that my marriage to Irene was a terrible mistake--a very grave error. Had she remained as my wife I should have endeavored to do all in my power to make her happy, but her own hand has severed the tie, and with G.o.d"s help I shall turn my back on the grim shadows that she has thrown across my pathway, and try to do life"s duty just the same as though all had been sunshine. I do not wish to censure her. I am only fearful that her sin will bring her more unhappiness than she can bear, for invariably the wages of sin is death. Paul, I am sure you will keep secret all that which I have entrusted to you; and now there is a matter of which I wish to speak, and I may want your help, if you will consent to aid me. The work requires cool, calculating and close figuring. The happiness of a life is at stake, and we must lay aside our own cares to work out the problem."
Scott then related the interview between Mr. Le Moyne and himself.
Paul started to his feet, and grasping Scott"s hand in great agitation, he said:
"Scott Wilmer, you must let me help you."
"How can you, Paul?"
"I can, I will, if only you will trust me. Do not question me, but let me do as I will. Let me come or go, and give me time and I will help you."
"Why, how excited you are! Do you really think you can help me?"
"I am sure I can."
"Very well, Paul, do as you think best, only do not let me lose track of you."
"I will come to you again--trust me."
"I will, Paul, I will, and do not fail to draw on me for any amount you may need."
After a long conversation and a great deal of speculating Scott and Paul came to a decision.
CHAPTER XXII.
LOOKING FOR A PLACE.
"Oh, dear, oh, dear, I am so tired, and here I"ve traveled all day, and my feet are so sore that I can hardly step at all."
"What is the matter, and what is your name?"
"Well, the matter is that I am just tired to death, and my name is Mrs. Morris."
The lady who asked the question smiled and drew nearer to the woman, who had taken a seat on the steps of her neat residence. It certainly was no very uncommon thing to find a tired old lady in the streets of New York, but there was something in the appearance of the old lady which attracted the attention of the young and beautiful woman in the doorway.
"Oh, dear; oh, dear," she sighed again, and then the tears began to drop slowly upon the bundle she held in her lap.
She was dressed in a plain brown wool dress, and a black shawl and bonnet. She had a sweet, pleasant face, and it was that which caused the young lady to pause and take the second look, and to ask the cause of her trouble.