Chapter VII.

by Bret Harte

　　It was already autumn, and in the city of New York an early Sundaymorning breeze was sweeping up the leaves that had fallen from theregularly planted ailantus trees before the brown-stone frontage ofa row of monotonously alike five-storied houses on one of theprincipal avenues. The Pastor of the Third Presbyterian Church,that uplifted its double towers on the corner, stopped before oneof these dwellings, ran up the dozen broad steps, and rang thebell. He was presently admittted to the sombre richness of a halland drawing-room with high-backed furniture of dark carved woods,like cathedral stalls, and, hat in hand, somewhat impatientlyawaited the arrival of his hostess and parishioner. The dooropened to a tall, white-haired woman in lustreless black silk. Shewas regular and resolute in features, of fine but unbendingpresence, and, though somewhat past middle age, showed no signs ofeither the weakness or mellowness of years."I am sorry to disturb your Sabbath morning meditations, SisterArgalls, nor would I if it were not in the line of Christian duty;but Sister Robbins is unable today to make her usual Sabbathhospital visit, and I thought if you were excused from the ForeignMissionary class and Bible instruction at three you might undertakeher functions. I know, my dear old friend," he continued, withbland deprecation of her hard-set eyes, "how distasteful thispromiscuous mingling with the rough and ungodly has always been toyou, and how reluctant you are to be placed in the position ofbeing liable to hear coarse, vulgar, or irreverent speech. Ithink, too, in our long and pleasant pastoral relations, you havealways found me mindful of it. I admit I have sometimes regrettedthat your late husband had not more generally familiarized you withthe ways of the world. But so it is--we all have our weaknesses.If not one thing, another. And as Envy and Uncharitablenesssometimes find their way in even Christian hearts, I should likeyou to undertake this office for the sake of example. There aresome, dear Sister Argalls, who think that the rich widow who ismost liberal in the endowment of the goods that Providence hasintrusted to her hands claims therefore to be exempt from labor inthe Christian vineyard. Let us teach them how unjust they are.""I am willing," said the lady, with a dry, determined air. "Isuppose these patients are not professedly bad characters?""By no means. A few, perhaps; but the majority are unfortunates--dependent either upon public charity or some small provision madeby their friends.""Very well.""And you understand that though they have the privilege ofrejecting your Christian ministrations, dear Sister Argalls, youare free to judge when you may be patient or importunate withthem?""I understand."The Pastor was not an unkindly man, and, as he glanced at theuncompromising look in Mrs. Argalls's eyes, felt for a moment someinconsistency between his humane instincts and his Christian duty."Some of them may require, and be benefited by, a stern monitress,and Sister Robbins, I fear, was weak," he said consolingly tohimself, as he descended the steps again.At three o'clock Mrs. Argalls, with a reticule and a few tracts,was at the door of St. John's Hospital. As she displayed hertestimonials and announced that she had taken Mrs. Robbins's place,the officials received her respectfully, and gave some instructionsto the attendants, which, however, did not stop some individualcomments."I say, Jim, it doesn't seem the square thing to let that grim oldgirl loose among them poor convalescents.""Well, I don't know: they say she's rich and gives a lot o' moneyaway, but if she tackles that swearing old Kentuckian in No. 3,she'll have her hands full."However, the criticism was scarcely fair, for Mrs. Argalls,although moving rigidly along from bed to bed of the ward, equippedwith a certain formula of phrases, nevertheless dropped from timeto time some practical common-sense questions that showed an almostmasculine intuition of the patients' needs and requirements. Nordid she betray any of that over-sensitive shrinking from coarsenesswhich the good Pastor had feared, albeit she was quick to correctits exhibition. The languid men listened to her with half-aggressive, half-amused interest, and some of the satisfaction oftaking a bitter but wholesome tonic. It was not until she reachedthe bed at the farther end of the ward that she seemed to meet withany check.It was occupied by a haggard man, with a long white moustache andfeatures that seemed wasted by inward struggle and fever. At thefirst sound of her voice he turned quickly towards her, liftedhimself on his elbow, and gazed fixedly in her face."Kate Howard--by the Eternal!" he said, in a low voice.Despite her rigid self-possession the woman started, glancedhurriedly around, and drew nearer to him."Pendleton!" she said, in an equally suppressed voice, "What, inGod's name, are you doing here?""Dying, I reckon--sooner or later," he said grimly, "that's whatthey do here.""But--what," she went on hurriedly, still glancing over hershoulder as if she suspected some trick--"what has brought you tothis?""You!" said the colonel, dropping back exhaustedly on his pillow."You and your daughter.""I don't understand you," she said quickly, yet regarding him withstern rigidity. "You know perfectly well I have no daughter. Youknow perfectly well that I've kept the word I gave you ten yearsago, and that I have been dead to her as she has been to me.""I know," said the colonel, "that within the last three months Ihave paid away my last cent to keep the mouth of an infernalscoundrel shut who knows that you are her mother, and threatens toexpose her to her friends. I know that I'm dying here of an oldwound that I got when I shut the mouth of another hound who wasready to bark at her two years after you disappeared. I know thatbetween you and her I've let my old nigger die of a broken heart,because I couldn't keep him to suffer with me, and I know that I'mhere a pauper on the State. I know that, Kate, and when I say it Idon't regret it. I've kept my word to you, and, by the Eternal,your daughter's worth it! For if there ever was a fair andpeerless creature--it's your child!""And she--a rich woman--unless she squandered the fortune I gaveher--lets you lie here!" said the woman grimly."She don't know it.""She should know it! Have you quarreled?" She was looking at himkeenly."She distrusts me, because she half suspects the secret, and Ihadn't the heart to tell her all.""All? What does she know? What does this man know? What has beentold her?" she said rapidly."She only knows that the name she has taken she has no right to.""Right to? Why, it was written on the Trust--Yerba Buena.""No, not that. She thought it was a mistake. She took the name ofArguello.""What?" said Mrs. Argalls, suddenly grasping the invalid's wristwith both hands. "What name?" her eyes were startled from theirrigid coldness, her lips were colorless."Arguello! It was some foolish schoolgirl fancy which that houndhelped to foster in her. Why--what's the matter, Kate?"The woman dropped the helpless man's wrist, then, with an effort,recovered herself sufficiently to rise, and, with an air ofincreased decorum, as if the spiritual character of their interviewexcluded worldly intrusion, adjusted the screen around his bed, soas partly to hide her own face and Pendleton's. Then, droppinginto the chair beside him, she said, in her old voice, from whichthe burden of ten long years seemed to have been lifted,--"Harry, what's that you're playing on me?""I don't understand you," said Pendleton amazedly."Do you mean to say you don't know it, and didn't tell heryourself?" she said curtly."What? Tell her what?" he repeated impatiently."That Arguello was her father!""Her father?" He tried to struggle to his elbow again, but shelaid her hand masterfully upon his shoulder and forced him back."Her father!" he repeated hurriedly. "Jose Arguello! Great God!--are you sure?"Quietly and yet mechanically gathering the scattered tracts fromthe coverlet, and putting them back, one by one in her reticule,she closed it and her lips with a snap as she uttered--"Yes."Pendleton remained staring at her silently, "Yes," he muttered, "itmay have been some instinct of the child's, or some diabolicalfancy of Briones'. But," he said bitterly, "true or not, she hasno right to his name.""And I say she has."She had risen to her feet, with her arms folded across her breast,in an attitude of such Puritan composure that the distantspectators might have thought she was delivering an exordium to theprostrate man."I met Jose Arguello, for the second time, in New Orleans," shesaid slowly, "eight years ago. He was still rich, but ruined inhealth by dissipation. I was tired of my way of life. He proposedthat I should marry him to take care of him and legitimatize ourchild. I was forced to tell him what I had done with her, and thatthe Trust could not be disturbed until she was of age and her ownmistress. He assented. We married, but he died within a year. Hedied, leaving with me his acknowledgment of her as his child, andthe right to claim her if I chose.""And?"--interrupted the colonel with sparkling eyes."I don't choose."Hear me!" she continued firmly. "With his name and my ownmistress, and the girl, as I believed, properly provided for andignorant of my existence, I saw no necessity for reopening thepast. I resolved to lead a new life as his widow. I came north.In the little New England town where I first stopped, the countrypeople contracted my name to Mrs. Argalls. I let it stand so. Icame to New York and entered the service of the Lord and the bondsof the Church, Henry Pendleton, as Mrs. Argalls, and have remainedso ever since.""But you would not object to Yerba knowing that you lived, andrightly bore her father's name?" said Pendleton eagerly.The woman looked at him with compressed lips. "I should. I haveburied all my past, and all its consequences. Let me not seek toreopen it or recall them.""But if you knew that she was as proud as yourself, and that thisvery uncertainty as to her name and parentage, although she hasnever known the whole truth, kept her from taking the name andbecoming the wife of a man whom she loves?""Whom she loves!""Yes; one of her guardians---Hathaway--to whom you intrusted herwhen she was a child.""Paul Hathaway--but he knew it.""Yes. But she does not know he does. He has kept the secretfaithfully, even when she refused him."She was silent for a moment, and then said,--"So be it. I consent.""And you'll write to her?" said the colonel eagerly."No. But you may, and if you want them I will furnish you withsuch proofs as you may require.""Thank you." He held out his hand with such a happy yet childishgratitude upon his worn face that her own trembled slightly as shetook it. "Good-by!""I shall see you soon," she said."I shall be here," he said grimly."I think not," she returned, with the first relaxation of hersmileless face, and moved away.As she passed out she asked to see the house surgeon. How soon didhe think the patient she had been conversing with could be removedfrom the hospital with safety? Did Mrs. Argalls mean "far?" Mrs.Argalls meant as far as that--tendering her card and eminentlyrespectable address. Ah!--perhaps in a week. Not before? Perhapsbefore, unless complications ensued; the patient had been much rundown physically, though, as Mrs. Argalls had probably noticed, hewas singularly strong in nervous will force. Mrs. Argalls hadnoticed it, and considered it an extraordinary case of conviction--worthy of the closest watching and care. When he was able to bemoved she would send her own carriage and her own physician tosuperintend his transfer. In the mean time he was to want fornothing. Certainly, he had given very little trouble, and, infact, wanted very little. Just now he had only asked for paper,pens, and ink.