Three millions! or, The way of the world
“Is this the thought which I was expected to divine?”
“No, by no means. Did you ever observe that Mr. Birch was attentive to
your sister?”
“Well, rather so; I think they are inclined to be fond of each other.
I have noticed it more since we returned than before,” replied Eugene,
still struggling to grasp the mysterious thought which had darkened the
mind of his companion.
“Mr. Birch was opposed to your marrying Mary; and he feared that you
would marry her.”
“Just so.”
“Naturally enough, he would prevent it.”
“Very likely; he openly proposed to me to compel Buckstone to marry
her, on penalty of a criminal prosecution. If he was the person with
Buckstone last night, there was nothing dishonorable or unfriendly in
his conduct, for his action was consistent with the course upon which
we had agreed.”
“Did you authorize him to purchase Buckstone’s compliance?”
“No, I did not; but that does not materially affect the question.”
“It does not: I only wish to establish the point that Mr. Birch desired
to bring about the marriage of Mary with Buckstone.”
“We grant that.”
“Why did he desire it?”
“For Mary’s sake; for mine, too, if you please. Both considerations
were honorable and friendly towards me.”
“Entirely so, Mr. Hungerford,” said the doctor, warmly. “One more
question, if you please. Did you ever say anything to Mr. Birch about
marrying, when Mary was utterly lost to you? or could he, from his
thorough knowledge of your disposition and character, have formed a
correct idea as to whether you would or would not marry another?”
Dr. Bilks looked interested and anxious when he proposed the question.
“I told him in so many words, before I went to Europe, that I should
not marry at all, as Mary could not be mine; and he knew me well enough
to believe what I said. The last thing I said to him was to the effect
that the three millions could never be mine.”
“Exactly so; he told me, if you did not marry Mary, you would never
marry. If at the age of thirty you have no son, what becomes of the
three millions, did you say?”
“Half a million goes to me, half a million to my sister----”
“Did you intimate that you thought Mr. Birch and your sister were
disposed to be fond of each other?” interposed Dr. Bilks, in a kind of
careless, indifferent manner.
Eugene sprang to his feet. His face was deadly pale, and his lip
quivered. He had grasped the doctor’s mysterious thought. Dick Birch
wished to prevent the possibility of his marriage with Mary, that,
with Julia, he might obtain the fortune of half a million! It was a
disgusting, revolting suspicion, and he was sick at heart.
CHAPTER XIV.
IN THE LIBRARY.
“Mr. Hungerford, I beg you will not give this suggestion the slightest
thought or attention. I am entirely satisfied that there cannot be the
least ground for suspecting our friend Mr. Birch of unworthy motives,”
interposed Dr. Bilks, when he observed Eugene’s distress. “I am sure he
has been a true friend, and far above any selfish considerations.”
Eugene paced the room in violent agitation. He could not, he did not,
believe that Dick Birch was capable of double-dealing with anybody, and
especially not with him.
“You have compelled me to lead your mind in the direction which my own
travelled for an instant; you dragged my thought out of me; now I must
insist that you banish the idea from your mind, as I did from mine,”
continued the doctor, apparently much moved by the mischief he had been
forced to do.
“Can I have been deceived in Dick Birch!” mused Eugene, as he walked
the library.
“You have not been; he is the same true and tried friend he has always
been.”
“This money has cursed the whole of us!” exclaimed he.
“Not at all, Mr. Hungerford. You wrong him; you wrong yourself. Mr.
Birch is as true as steel.”
“Dick was poor, and in debt for his education, besides having a mother
and three sisters partially dependent upon him,” continued Eugene, who
appeared to be talking to himself rather than to the doctor. “It was a
great temptation.”
“Whatever the temptation, I am sure Mr. Birch has not yielded, and has
never cherished a selfish thought towards you or yours.”
“Dr. Bilks, do you believe that Mr. Birch was the person who was with
Buckstone last night?” demanded Eugene, stopping before the doctor’s
chair.
“I am hardly prepared to say, Mr. Hungerford.”
“You have heard all the evidence for and against him.”
“The evidence is very strong; but in the face of it all, Mr. Birch
declares that he was not the person. I am disposed to believe him, in
spite of all the testimony against him.”
“I thank you for those words; they are very comforting to me. If Dick’s
word produces so strong an impression upon you, who have known him but
for a few months, what effect should it produce upon me, who have been
his intimate friend for years!”
“Mr. Hungerford, without fear or favor, without regard to the
friendships of months or years, we wish to know the truth,” said the
doctor, with a Brutus-like integrity.
“Yes; you are right! If Dick has deceived me in the smallest
particular, even for my own good, I will cast him off; I will renounce
the friendship which I valued more than all the money in the world.”
“Let not your own integrity blind you on the one hand, or your
friendship on the other,” added the doctor, solemnly. “Be just.”
“I will, if possible. What were you about to suggest?” asked Eugene,
whose intuitive knowledge of the character of his companion assured him
that this flourish was only the preliminary to another suggestion.
“I confess that I feel a painful interest in this matter,” continued
the doctor; “and while nothing would afford me so much pleasure as
to see our friend Birch completely vindicated, I feel compelled to
say that appearances are very strong against him. I am exceedingly
sorry to say that his conduct on the beach to-night was not entirely
satisfactory to me.”
“Why not?” demanded Eugene, abruptly.
“He did not deny the sheriff’s position. Three of his warmest friends,
including yourself, Mr. Hungerford, were present. He knew how painful
to us that attitude of suspicion must be. Why did he not explain to us,
if not to the sheriff, the facts alleged against him? Why did he hold
up his head, and walk away, when a word would have satisfied us? Why is
he not here this evening, to give us the assurance which we have the
right to demand of him?”
“You don’t know Dick,” said Eugene, impatiently.
“I certainly know nothing ill of him; but I cannot help thinking how
much better it would have been, if he had squarely faced this charge,
instead of leaving us to grope about among all these painful doubts.”
“Dick is a proud, high-spirited fellow. He believes that his friend has
no right even to suspect him of anything wrong, much less to believe
him capable of doing a wilful wrong. His view of friendship is too
lofty to permit him to defend himself from any charge or suspicion. He
would rather suffer in his honesty, than stoop to the littleness of
buying his friend with an argument.”
“I can hardly comprehend such a position.”
“If Dick’s friend suspects him, he is no friend. He believes in perfect
confidence. If that confidence is lost or impaired, it is not for him
to restore it, or to heal the breach. He will not tolerate a partial
friendship.”
“It is rather a sentimental idea.”
“But it is the true one.”
“If my friend places himself in a suspicious position, I think he is
bound to explain.”
“In his estimation, a friend cannot place himself in a suspicious
position. Whatever attitude he may assume, his friend has no right to
doubt his integrity; no more than a wife has to suspect her husband, or
a husband his wife.”
“Are friends always perfect? are husbands and wives?” asked Dr. Bilks,
incredulously.
“No; never in action, but always in purpose. They may err in judgment
constantly, but never in intention. If your friend suspects you, he is
not your friend. If your wife does not trust in you, you are married,
but not mated. This is Dick’s view, and it is mine. If I have been
mistaken in him, he is no longer my friend. I would not injure him,
but he is no more to me than a neighbor and a brother man. No man is
my friend in whom I cannot perfectly confide. If, with good intentions
towards me, he wronged me out of all my money, and made me a knave
before the world, I should still cherish him, even while I lost all
respect for his judgment and discretion.”
“Then you certainly have no fault to find with Mr. Birch.”
“None, if he has only erred in judgment. If he has deceived me, if
he has endeavored to make Mary the wife of Buckstone to prevent me
from marrying her, for his own ends, he is a knave!” said Eugene,
emphatically.
“But it is not so, Mr. Hungerford. Mr. Birch, I am sure, had no selfish
motives.”
“Dick and I proposed to do the very thing which the person on the beach
was doing with Buckstone.”
“If it was not Mr. Birch, who was it? Who else could it have been?”
asked the doctor.
“I have no idea. There is not another man in the world who could by any
possibility have had the slightest interest in Mary’s marriage.”
“I think there is some mistake. We probably misunderstood Mr. Birch
this morning. He did not mean to say he was not the person. I am
entirely satisfied that he will say he was the man who accompanied
Buckstone to the island. He is honest and upright, and he will not deny
it.”
“Mr. Birch,” said Parkinson, opening the door of the library.
“Mr. Birch!” exclaimed Dr. Bilks.
Eugene rushed to the entry, grasped the hand of his friend, and
returned to the library with him. Dick was rather cold, stiff, and
formal in his manner.
“I have called up to see you on business, Hungerford,” said he.
“I am glad to see you on any terms,” replied Eugene, warmly.
“If Dr. Bilks will excuse you for a few moments, we will go into the
office. Or perhaps the doctor will join the ladies in the drawing-room
for half an hour,” added Dick; and there was a certain bitterness in
his tones which did not escape the keen ear of Dr. Bilks.
“Certainly, Mr. Birch; do not let me interrupt you for a moment. I must
go to my office,” replied the doctor.
“Dick, we have been talking about you and these affairs since tea. Dr.
Bilks knows all about the business.”
“If you desire his presence, it will not disturb me,” added Dick,
indifferently. “If I have been the subject of your conversation, it may
be as well that he remain.”
“Dick, don’t be so stiff.”
“I am under the shadow just now,” he replied. “I came to deliver the
books and papers to you.”
“No, no, Dick! Don’t begin in that strain.”
“I came on business only.”
Dick went to the office, opened the iron safe there, and took out the
books and papers, which he brought into the library.
“Here are the day-book and ledger, the latter posted to May,” he
continued. “I have kept them with the utmost care, and you will find
them plain and intelligible. They need no explanation. Here is your
letter-book; it contains a copy of every business letter I have sent;
while every one I have received is on file. Here is your check-book.
Here is a record-book, containing a full history of all I have done
since I managed your affairs.”
“Dick, I will hear no more of this!” exclaimed Eugene. “Burn the books
and papers; and I am still satisfied with what you have done.”
“There was a time when you would have been--not three hours ago,”
replied Dick, as he carried the books and papers back to the office,
restored them to the safe, and, locking it, brought the key to Eugene.
“Here is the key, Hungerford. You will find everything straight and
correct. To-morrow, when you have had time to examine my personal