Three millions! or, The way of the world
“You are more forbearing than I deserve.”
“You are liable to be sent to the state prison for your crimes, but I
will not proceed against you.”
“Mr. Birch, I do not deserve this kindness at your hands.”
“Sin no more; that is all I ask of you.”
“Mr. Birch, wretch as I am proved to be, I believe you think me worse
than I am. I am not the villain you take me to be. I did love Julia
Hungerford: I do now. I am not worthy of her.”
“That’s true.”
“But my love purified my soul. If I was selfish when I wronged you, I
have repented in dust and ashes. When I watched day and night at the
bedside of Julia, there was not a selfish thought in my heart. Her
wasted form, her glazing eyes, the fear that she would soon die, drove
every consideration of self from my mind. I loved her; and if, without
ruining my reputation and driving me from her presence, I could have
confessed my sin to the world, and redeemed your good name, I would
gladly have done it. I forgot her half million, and I forgot my own.
Eugene loved Mary Kingman; I saw that he could never be happy without
her. I advised him to marry her: I removed all objections from the
minds of Julia and her mother. Was this selfish?”
“I am told that you did all this,” replied Dick; and the fact, fully
established, was so utterly inconsistent with the doctor’s course that
the lawyer could not explain it.
“You perceive that I voluntarily labored to shut out myself and Julia,
at the same time, from the fortune which it had before been my ambition
to obtain. If ever a man loved a woman truly, and for her own sake
alone, I so loved Julia.”
Dick was generous; he was magnanimous. To him Julia was more than
human, and it was not strange that the love of her should have
conquered the doctor’s selfishness. To him this view was reasonable;
and on no other ground could he explain the conduct of Dr. Lynch in
promoting the marriage of Eugene. But the character of the doctor,
as laid bare to him, was so base that he could not resist a strong
tendency to scepticism.
“Of course Julia can now be no more to me,” continued Dr. Lynch,
gloomily. “I resign her to one who is more worthy of her.”
“She is not yours to resign,” replied Dick, indignantly.
“I will keep out of your way, I mean.”
“You need not; you shall not. It is for her sake, more than your own,
that I have spared you the pain of a public exposure of all your
iniquities. I ask only enough to vindicate myself. If, after you have
done me this justice, she will permit you to come into her presence,
make the most of your opportunity. Between you and me, or any one else,
Julia shall be the arbiter. If she loves you, marry her. That is all I
have to say. You will be at the court-house at nine o’clock to-morrow
morning; if you are not there, I will publish your confession in the
newspapers.”
“I will be there, without fail.”
The doctor took his hat, and left the room. In spite of his meagre
appetite, he ate a hearty supper, and then returned to Poppleton with a
neighbor, who had been waiting two hours for him.
Dick Birch sat in his chair before the fire, thinking of what had just
transpired. He was full of thoughts. Possibly he was troubled with some
doubts in regard to what he had done. Had he compounded a felony? Had
he bargained to shield a scoundrel from the penalty of his crimes? Had
his desire to “whitewash” the doctor for Julia’s sake led him to do a
wrong to the community?
When the serpent is beneath your heel, crush him!
Dick did not do so.
But the doctor was to retract his evidence; was virtually to confess
his perjury, and his subornation of witnesses. The lawyer insisted
that he should do this. The crimes were to be actually confessed, but
not in detail. They were simply not to be set forth in their most
revolting shape. The only thing to be concealed was the disposition
of the body. Was it wrong to conceal this? The body was illegally
dissected; but would not a greater injury result from the disclosure of
these revolting details than from their suppression? Dick was not quite
satisfied.
The lawyer had a client to defend. Ross Kingman’s life was in peril.
Though the prisoner had nothing to do with the body, his cause might be
prejudiced by the exposure of the sickening particulars.
Why had Dick Birch been merciful to his apparent victim? The strongest
incentive has not yet appeared. The thought of crushing Dr. Lynch that
a rival in his love affair might be removed, was intolerable.
“Julia, I have disposed of my rival,” he fancied himself saying to her.
“I have vindicated my character. The doctor is a villain, as I told
you; and I am a saint, as you might have known. Here I am. Take me!”
Dick jumped out of his chair, ashamed of the very thought. He loved
Julia, but he could not think of her on these terms. He was unselfish,
magnanimous. He preferred that the doctor should not suffer on his
account; that the way might not be opened to him through the disgrace
of his rival. It was mean to take the prize on such terms. He desired
to stand before her as the doctor’s equal, with no advantage of any
kind. If Julia did not love him above all others, she would be no
treasure to him. Dr. Lynch had taken advantage of him; had conspired
against his good name; but Dick would accept no more concession than
just enough to restore his reputation. If it had been possible, he
would have spared the doctor even this; if, consistently with his
own standing in the eyes of his friends and the community, he could
have permitted his rival still to be the demigod of Pine Hill and of
Poppleton, it would have suited him better.
He scorned to crush a rival; his nature, in its nobility and
magnanimity, cried out against such a proceeding. Base, low-minded men
might do it; he could not. He did not consider that, if it was not his
duty to crush the rival, it was his duty to crush the evil-doer.
The serpent was not crushed.
Dr. Lynch stopped at Pine Hill, on his return to Poppleton. He was
admitted by Parkinson and shown to the library. What could he say for
himself?
Eugene was not particularly cordial in his greeting. The doctor did not
expect him to be.
“Mr. Hungerford, I have come here for the last time. I shall go out of
your house before I am kicked out,” the doctor began.
“Dr. Lynch, your name explains your position.”
“No, sir; it does not.”
The doctor did not often speak so decidedly, and his manner attracted
Eugene’s attention.
“It explains why you came here.”
“Mr. Hungerford, I have a confession to make, before I depart.
To-morrow morning I shall go upon the stand, and publicly acknowledge
that I have wronged Mr. Birch. I shall tell the simple truth. Justice
to him and to you requires this at my hands. It would have been done
before, if I had had the courage to do it, for my error has caused me
more suffering than it has him--infinitely more. I bow my head with
shame.”
When a man repents, who can frown upon him? Eugene could not. Neither
he nor Dick Birch was what the world calls a shrewd man. Penitence,
confession, a desire to be true and manly, would wipe out any offence.
“I am sorry you have been led into error.”
“I repent it in sackcloth and ashes; I did repent it months since.”
Dr. Lynch explained why he had sent for Buckstone, for what purpose
he had gone with him to The Great Bell; in fact, he told all that he
had written out in his confession. Eugene shuddered when he spoke of
the body, and wondered how even a doctor could cut off the head, and
dissect the brain of one with whom, a few hours before, he had walked
and talked.
“Buckstone was dead, Mr. Hungerford,” said Dr. Lynch, solemnly. “If
his tenantless clay could serve the living, I deemed it my duty to
put it to that use. I believe the knowledge thus gained enabled me to
save, the life of Mr. Dunbar, one of the best and most useful men in
Poppleton. I grant that it was wrong for me to take the body for the
purpose of dissection; but it would have been a greater wrong to let
Mr. Dunbar die.”
“Were you not fully informed before in regard to the brain?”
“I should have been; but I was not. There was a certain point which was
quite dark to me. The brain of Buckstone made it clear.”
“How came Dick’s handkerchief and cigar in the boat?”
“I put them there. I confess with shame and humiliation that I intended
to wrong your friend.”
Eugene cast a loathing glance at him.
“You despise me, as I despise myself. If I had repented to-day, for the
first time, I should not have dared to come into your presence. Will
you hear my story from the beginning?”
“I will hear whatever you wish to say. I shall not scorn you any more
than you seem to scorn yourself.”
“You could not. When I went to Baltimore, after the death of Mr.
Hungerford, I saw Mr. Loring, one of the trustees. I learned--with what
disappointment I need not describe--that only twenty thousand dollars
had been left to me. I was vexed and indignant, for I had endeavored
to be like a son to my step-father. I expected at least one third of
his fortune. Mr. Loring described your family. He spoke of Julia as a
lovely and accomplished woman. I asked myself why I might not marry
her.”
Eugene looked contemptuous.
“I went back to Dayton, and, as soon as possible, wound up my business,
and sold out my practice. I wished the trustees to lose sight of me. A
friend of mine wrote to Mr. Loring, at my desire, on business; to make
inquiries in regard to me, and added that Dr. Lynch was going to ruin,
and had actually spent most of his little fortune in three months. I
knew the trustees would ask no questions about me after this.
“I came to Poppleton. You had gone to Europe. I used every effort to
establish myself, and succeeded beyond my most sanguine expectations.
How I stand you know. My practice is larger than it was in Dayton,
and is worth, at least, four thousand dollars a year. Just before
your return, I was called to Mary Kingman. Mr. Birch had told me her
story. I pitied her; but she was in my way. It was indispensable to
the success of my plans that she should be reunited to Buckstone. I
attempted to do this, as I told you, fearful that Mr. Birch, who never
had a selfish thought, would fail to do it.
“I had already satisfied myself that Mr. Birch was devoted to Julia; he
was in my way. I liked him so well, and he had been so good a friend
to me, that I could not patiently think of injuring him. It was the
vilest, most wicked thing I ever did in my life, bad as I have been.”
Dr. Lynch wiped the perspiration from his forehead. Eugene thought
there was hope of one who could so strongly condemn himself. It was
true repentance.
“I did not mean to injure Mr. Birch till my own safety seemed to
require it. When Buckstone was killed, I knew the fact that he had a
companion would be discovered through Ross. You know the rest of it.
Dick was suspected, was generally condemned by the people. He abandoned
Pine Hill, as I was sure he would. I went away for a week.”
“In order to avoid seeing Mr. Lester?” said Eugene.
“Partly, not wholly. On my return I found Julia sick. She had a settled
fever--the worst kind of typhoid. I had serious doubts if she could
survive the attack. If she had been my mother or my sister, I could not
have been more interested. I was not selfish then. I thought of nothing
but my fair patient. God knows that not a mercenary thought crossed my
mind in those hours I watched her. I wept and I prayed for her. When I
was not here, I was studying the case.”
“We all feel that we owe her life to you, doctor,” added Eugene, as
he recalled the weary days and nights they had watched with fear and
trembling.
“She passed the crisis; she was out of danger. She smiled upon me. O,