Chapter XX--Confidences

by Bram Stoker

　　Miss Rowly had received a bulky letter by the morning's post. Shehad not opened it, but had allowed it to rest beside her plate allbreakfast-time. Then she had taken it away with her to her ownsitting-room. Stephen did not appear to take any notice of it. Sheknew quite well that it was from some one in London whom her aunt hadasked to pay Leonard's bills. She also knew that the old lady hadsome purpose in her reticence, so she waited. She was learning to bepatient in these days. Miss Rowly did say anything about it thatday, or the next, or the next. The third-morning, she receivedanother letter which she had read in an enlightening manner. Shebegan its perusal with set brow frowning, then she nodded her headand smiled. She put the letter back in its envelope and placed it inthe little bag always carried. But she said nothing. Stephenwondered, but waited.That night, when Stephen's maid had left her, there came a gentle tapat her door, and an instant after the door opened. The tap had beena warning, not a request; it had in a measure prepared Stephen, whowas not surprised to see her Aunt in dressing-gown, though it wasmany a long day since she had visited her niece's room at night. Sheclosed the door behind her, saying:'There is something I want to talk to you about, dearest, and Ithought it would be better to do so when there could not be anypossible interruption. And besides,' here there was a little breakin her voice, 'I could hardly summon up my courage in the daylight.'She stopped, and the stopping told its own story. In an instantStephen's arm's were round her, all the protective instinct in herawake, at the distress of the woman she loved. The old lady tookcomfort from the warmth of the embrace, and held her tight whilst shewent on:'It is about these bills, my dear. Come and sit down and put acandle near me. I want you to read something.''Go on, Auntie dear,' she said gravely. The old lady, after a pause,spoke with a certain timidity:'They are all paid; at least all that can be. Perhaps I had betterread you the letter I have had from my solicitors:'"Dear Madam,--In accordance with your instructions we have paid allthe accounts mentioned in Schedule A (enclosed). We have placed foryour convenience three columns: (1) the original amount of eachaccount, (2) the amount of discount we were able to arrange, and (3)the amount paid. We regret that we have been unable to carry outyour wishes with regard to the items enumerated in Schedule B(enclosed). We have, we assure you, done all in our power to findthe gentlemen whose names and addresses are therein given. Thesewere marked 'Debt of honour' in the list you handed to us. Nothaving been able to obtain any reply to our letters, we sent one ofour clerks first to the addresses in London, and afterwards toOxford. That clerk, who is well used to such inquiries, could notfind trace of any of the gentlemen, or indeed of their existence. Wehave, therefore, come to the conclusion that, either there must besome error with regard to (a) names, (b) addresses, or (c) both; orthat no such persons exist. As it would be very unlikely that sucherrors could occur in all the cases, we can only conclude that therehave not been any such persons. If we may hazard an opinion: it ispossible that, these debts being what young men call 'debts ofhonour,' the debtor, or possibly the creditors, may not have wishedthe names mentioned. In such case fictitious names and addresses mayhave been substituted for the real ones. If you should like anyfurther inquiry instituted we would suggest that you ascertain theexact names and addresses from the debtor. Or should you prefer itwe would see the gentleman on your behalf, on learning from you hisname and address. We can keep, in the person of either one of theFirm or a Confidential Clerk as you might prefer, any appointment insuch behalf you may care to make.'"We have already sent to you the receipted account from each of thecreditors as you directed, viz. 'Received from Miss Laetitia Rowly infull settlement to date of the account due by Mr. Leonard Everard thesum of,' etc. etc. And also, as you further directed, a duplicatereceipt of the sum-total due in each case made out as 'Received infull settlement to date of account due by,' etc. etc. The duplicatereceipt was pinned at the back of each account so as to be easilydetachable."With regard to finance we have carried out your orders, etc."' Shehurried on the reading. "These sums, together with the amounts ofnine hundred pounds sterling, and seven hundred pounds sterlinglodged to the account of Miss Stephen Norman in the Norcester branchof the Bank as repayment of moneys advanced to you as by your writteninstructions, have exhausted the sum, etc."' She folded up theletter with the schedules, laying the bundle of accounts on thetable. Stephen paused; she felt it necessary to collect herselfbefore speaking.'Auntie dear, will you let me see that letter? Oh, my dear, dearAuntie, don't think I mistrust you that I ask it. I do because Ilove you, and because I want to love you more if it is possible to doso.' Miss Rowly handed her the letter. She rose from the arm of thechair and stood beside the table as though to get better light fromthe candle than she could get from where she had sat.She read slowly and carefully to the end; then folded up the letterand handed it to her aunt. She came back to her seat on the edge ofthe chair, and putting her arms round her companion's neck looked herstraight in the eyes. The elder woman grew embarrassed under thescrutiny; she coloured up and smiled in a deprecatory way as shesaid:'Don't look at me like that, darling; and don't shake your head so.It is all right! I told you I had my reasons, and you said you wouldtrust me. I have only done what I thought best!''But, Auntie, you have paid away more than half your little fortune.I know all the figures. Father and uncle told me everything. Whydid you do it? Why did you do it?' The old woman held out her armsas she said:'Come here, dear one, and sit on my knee as you used to when you werea child, and I will whisper you.' Stephen sprang from her seat andalmost threw herself into the loving arms. For a few seconds thetwo, clasped tight to each other's heart, rocked gently to and fro.The elder kissed the younger and was kissed impulsively in return.Then she stroked the beautiful bright hair with her wrinkled hand,and said admiringly:'What lovely hair you have, my dear one!' Stephen held her closerand waited.'Well, my dear, I did it because I love you!''I know that, Auntie; you have never done anything else my life!''That is true, dear one. But it is right that I should do this. Nowyou must listen to me, and not speak till I have done. Keep yourthoughts on my words, so that you may follow my thoughts. You can doyour own thinking about them afterwards. And your own talking too; Ishall listen as long as you like!''Go on, I'll be good!''My dear, it is not right that you should appear to have paid thedebts of a young man who is no relation to you and who will, I knowwell, never be any closer to you than he is now.' She hurried on, asthough fearing an interruption, but Stephen felt that her clasptightened. 'We never can tell what will happen as life goes on.And, as the world is full of scandal, one cannot be too careful notto give the scandalmongers anything to exercise their wicked spiteupon. I don't trust that young man! he is a bad one all round, or Iam very much mistaken. And, my dear, come close to me! I cannot butsee that you and he have some secret which he is using to distressyou!' She paused, and her clasp grew closer still as Stephen's headsank on her breast. 'I know you have done something or saidsomething foolish of which he has a knowledge. And I know my dearone, that whatever it was, and no matter how foolish it may havebeen, it was not a wrong thing. God knows, we are all apt to dowrong things as well as foolish ones; the best of us. But such isnot for you! Your race, your father and mother, your upbringing,yourself and the truth and purity which are yours would save you fromanything which was in itself wrong. That I know, my dear, as well asI know myself! Ah! better, far better! for the gods did not think itwell to dower me as they have dowered you. The God of all the godshas given you the ten talents to guard; and He knows, as I do, thatyou will be faithful to your trust.'There was a solemn ring in her voce as the words were spoken whichwent through the young girl's heart. Love and confidence demanded inreturn that she should have at least the relief of certainacquiescence; there is a possible note of pain in the tensity ofevery string! Stephen lifted her head proudly and honestly, thoughher cheeks were scarlet, saying with a consciousness of integritywhich spoke directly soul to soul:'You are right, dear! I have done something very foolish; very, veryfoolish! But it was nothing which any one could call wrong. Do notask me what it was. I need only tell you this: that it was anoutrage on convention. It was so foolish, and based on such foolishmisconception; it sprang from such over-weening, arrogant self-opinion that it deserves the bitter punishment which will come; whichis coming; which is with me now! It was the cause of something whoseblackness I can't yet realise; but of which I will tell you when Ican speak of it. But it was not wrong in itself, or in the eyes ofGod or man!' The old woman said not a word. No word was needed, forhad she not already expressed her belief? But Stephen felt herrelief in the glad pressure of her finger-tips. In a voice lessstrained and tense Miss Rowly went on:'What need have I for money, dear? Here I have all that any woman,especially at my age, can need. There is no room even for charity;you are so good to all your people that my help is hardly required.And, my dear one, I know--I know,' she emphasised the word as shestroked the beautiful hair, 'that when I am gone my own poor, the fewthat I have looked after all my life, will, not suffer when mydarling thinks of me!' Stephen fairly climbed upon her as she said,looking in the brave old eyes:'So help me God, my darling, they shall never want!'Silence for a time; and then Miss Rowly's voice again:'Though it would not do for the world to know that a young maidenlady had paid the debts of a vicious young man, it makes no matter ifthey be paid by an old woman, be the same maid, wife, or widow! Andreally, my dear, I do not see how any money I might have could bebetter spent than in keeping harm away from you.''There need not be any harm at all, Auntie.''Perhaps not, dear! I hope not with all my heart. But I fear thatyoung man. Just fancy him threatening you, and in your own house; inmy very presence! Oh! yes, my dear. He meant to threaten, anyhow!Though I could not exactly understand what he was driving at, I couldsee that he was driving at something. And after all that you weredoing for him, and had done for him! I mean, of course, after allthat I had done for him, and was doing for him. It is mean enough,surely, for a man to beg, and from a woman; but to threatenafterwards. Ach! But I think, my dear, it is checkmate to him thistime. All along the line the only proof that is of there being anyfriendliness towards him from this house points to me. And moreover,my dear, I have a little plan in my head that will tend to show himup even better, in case he may ever try to annoy us. Look at me whennext he is here. I mean to do a little play-acting which willastonish him, I can tell you, if it doesn't frighten him out of thehouse altogether. But we won't talk of that yet. You willunderstand when you see it!' Her eyes twinkled and her mouth shutwith a loud snap as she spoke.After a few minutes of repose, which was like a glimpse of heaven toStephen's aching heart, she spoke again:'There was something else that troubled you more than even this. Yousaid you would tell me when you were able to speak of it . . . Whynot speak now? Oh! my dear, our hearts are close together to-night;and in all your life, you will never have any one who will listenwith greater sympathy than I will, or deal more tenderly with yourfault, whatever it may have been. Tell me, dear! Dear!' shewhispered after a pause, during which she realised the depth of thegirl's emotion by her convulsive struggling to keep herself in check.All at once the tortured girl seemed to yield herself, and slippedinertly from her grasp till kneeling down she laid her head in themotherly lap and sobbed. Miss Rowly kept stroking her hair insilence. Presently the girl looked up, and with a pang the aunt sawthat her eyes were dry. In her pain she said:'You sob like that, my child, and yet you are not crying; what is it,oh! my dear one? What is it that hurts you so that you cannot cry?'And then the bitter sobbing broke out again, but still alas! withouttears. Crouching low, and still enclosing her aunt's waist with heroutstretched arms and hiding her head in her breast; she said:'Oh! Auntie, I have sent Harold away!''What, my dear? What?' said the old lady astonished. 'Why, Ithought there was no one in the world that you trusted so much asHarold!''It is true. There was--there is no one except you whom I trust somuch. But I mistook something he said. I was in a blind fury at thetime, and I said things that I thought my father's daughter nevercould have said. And she never thought them, even then! Oh, Auntie,I drove him away with all the horrible things I could say that wouldwound him. And all because he acted in a way that I see now was themost noble and knightly in which any man could act. He that my dearfather had loved, and honoured, and trusted as another son. He thatwas a real son to him, and not a mock sop like me. I sent him awaywith such fierce and bitter pain that his poor face was ashen grey,and there was woe in his eyes that shall make woe in mine whenever Ishall see them in my mind, waking or sleeping. He, the truest friend. . . the most faithful, the most tender, the most strong, the mostunselfish! Oh! Auntie, Auntie, he just turned and bowed and wentaway. And he couldn't do anything else with the way I spoke to him;and now I shall never see him again!'The young girl's eyes ware still dry, but the old woman's were wet.For a few minutes she kept softly stroking the bowed heat till thesobbing grew less and less, and then died away; and the girl laystill, collapsed in the abandonment of dry-eyed grief.Then she rose, and taking off her dressing-gown, said tenderly:'Let me stay with you to-night, dear one? Go to sleep in my arms, asyou did long ago when there was any grief that you could not bear.'So Stephen lay in those loving arms till her own young breast ceasedheaving, and she breathed softly. Till dawn she slept on the bosomof her who loved her so well.