University of Virginia Library

56. CHAPTER LVI.
WHAT BECAME OF THEM ALL.

“Ah! this cannot last—this ought not to last,” Nestoria exclaimed of a sudden,
drawing herself back from Edward and looking him in the face with a
strange mixture of fear and joy.

“I am too happy,” she went on. “I do not deserve any such happiness.
It will be surely taken away from me, unless I become more worthy of it. I
must strive in some way to be more fit for it than I have been and am. Do
you know what I have long thought that I must do as soon as this mystery
should clear away and I could see to stir? I have felt that I must pass the
rest of my life in suffering to do good, instead of suffering, as I have done, to
do evil. I have wanted to go as a—missionary,” she faltered out, with a
piteous, pleading gaze into his eyes, as if doubting whether he would let her
go.

We know already that Wetherel was of the firm and even masterful caste
of souls, such as his ancestors had mostly been before him, in spite of
their prevailing devoutness; but the look of tenderness which he now bent
upon Nestoria showed that over her he intended to hold no sceptre of unpersuasive
rule. This one being was to be on equal terms with him, the associated
monarch of their united life, at least so far as she should desire.

“My dear child, our existence is to be one,” he said gently, at the same
time kissing her hands. “I do not wish to dissuade you from obeying your
conscience, nor from going where you can do the most good to others. But
must we not consider also where I can be useful? You are already possessed
of a foreign language which will enable you to be at once of worth on a mission.
I should have to study years to acquire that language. Moreover, I
have not even a profession; there are more years of waiting and preparation;
and meanwhile life is hurrying by. Then, on the other hand, among my own
countrymen there is work all ready for me, and more than I can do. If I
am forced to retain a portion of my uncle's estate, I shall have means to enter
upon large philanthropies, such as I can myself oversee. I have thought this all
over many times already, and decided that I can be usefullest in America. Oh,
there are huge plans for doing good in my poor head,” he added, with an apologetical
smile. “But, grandiose as they are, they may come to something.
Will you not let your decision wait until you can hear about them?”

“Ah, yes,” sighed Nestoria, conscious, and joyfully conscious, too, despite
her scruples, of that weakness of love which trusts all to the love of a stronger
soul. “You must be considered. You can do far more in the world than I.
You must not be planted in poor earth because I might grow there to my own
satisfaction. I leave everything to you.”

It was not a painful act of submission, although she did for an instant have
a vague fear lest she were doing wrong, and lest her fretful conscience might
some day assault her because of it.

And now footsteps were heard, and Nestoria ran away to hide her happiness,
rustling out of one door as Mrs. Dinneford, Alice, and Lehming entered
by another. The elder lady's eye sought Wetherel's face with a cordial yet
humorous glance of inquiry.

“It is all as it should be,” said the young man; whereupon Mrs. Dinneford
smiled with pleasure, while Lehming, too shrewd at guessing, turned
pale.

Then there was much talk about the adventure of the past night, the wonderful
discovery and punishment of the murderer, and, in short, about the
whole Wetherel Affair.

“Only one thing remains to be settled,” said Edward. “That is the ownership
of this estate. I have pieced the will together as far as may be, and
shown it to a lawyer. He says that it is worthless. The signature of the testator
is torn off and partly destroyed. The signatures of the witnesses have
entirely vanished. The provisions are more or less incomplete. In short, it
is worthless. I am the heir.”

“It is well,” assented Lehming, in a firm voice, while Mrs. Dinneford and
Alice uttered some murmur of assent, which was naturally less clear and
emphatic.

“I will tell you what I propose,” continued Edward. “I propose to pay
in full the legacies to philanthropic and religious objects, so far as they can
be made out or inferred. So much must be done out of respect to the lifelong
character of the dead as a lover of his fellow men and of his Maker.
You agree to that, I see. But after that, what? You must admit that it is a
weighty, and at the same time a delicate question. I have tried to decide upon
some plan of division, without being able to satisfy myself. I have offered
you the whole, and you have refused. Nor will I take the whole. There we
are at a deadlock. You three must help me out.”

“It reminds me,” put in Mrs. Dinneford, “of the favorite exhortation of a
pious, speechless deacon whom I used to know. `Brethren,' he used to say,
prayer-meeting after prayer-meeting, `brethren, we mustn't have too much
delicacy.' What the good old slow creature meant by it I never could imagine,
nor, I dare say, he either. But it applies to our situation surely. We
are bothered by too much delicacy. Somebody ought to speak plainly and in
business-like fashion; and when it comes to business, I say let the men
begin.”

“Certainly,” nodded Wetherel. “Come, Walter, you are a just man; tell
us what shall be done.”

“I have a whim,” replied Lehming with a smile—“I have a whim which
settles my portion. It seems to me that I may fairly claim the rewards, all
of them; those offered by the authorities and by the estate, those offered for
the discovery of Miss Bernard and of the criminal. They come to twenty
thousand dollars. That sum will just serve me. I claim it, and no more.
Don't interrupt me, Edward. You called on me to judge this case. Well, as
for these excellent Dinneford ladies,” he continued, smiling from one to another,
“they ought surely to be as liberal, or magnanimous, or just, or whatever
it may be, between them, as I am alone. I give up a quarter of a million
which doesn't belong to me. Let them club together and do the same.
That leaves them a quarter of a million, which is not pinching poverty, even
in these times. As for the heir at law,” turning to Wetherel, “let him take
his half million and hold his peace. There, you have my arbitration, and I
sincerely hope that no one will oppose it.”

There was a general smile, which was clearly one of satisfaction, and
which ended the discussion. In short, such were the terms according to which
this fastidiously delicate matter of settling the Wetherel estate was finally decided.
The Dinnefords were more than content with their allotment, and
Lehming positively refused to accept aught but what he had assigned
himself.

And now John Bowlder rumbled into the house, as big and noisy and
cheerful and unpractical as ever.

“There is your dollar, Walter,” were his first words, meanwhile thrusting
a bill into Lehming's breast pocket. “Take it before I become vainglorious
over it and assume it as a blazon, or turn greedy and put it at interest. Take
it as a present, if not otherwise. It is a curiosity. It is Bowlder's only dollar,
the only one that ever really belonged to him, because the only one that he
ever earned. He wants never to see it again. He desires no more dollars
from that source. He prefers money that has been left him. Toil is all very
well for the predestined and habituated sons of toil; but the soul which basks
in its own sunshine can be happiest without it. By the way, I hear that the
Wetherel mystery has exploded, and that Nettie Fulton has reappeared out
of it as Nestoria Bernard. Life is protean. It is also a Nemesis. Nemesis
at times interferes with Proteus, and tears off his disguises. Meanwhile the
tranquil soul looks on, and thinks it as good as a play, taking that much interest
in it, and no more. The girl Nestoria, however, I should like to see.
There is somewhat about her which is good for the spectator, making him
both happy and benign.”

So Nestoria was sent for, and Bowlder greeted her with affectionate uproar,
very absurd in a philosopher.

“I rejoice heartily,” he admitted, “that your worries are over. I am

driven to profess at least as much common humanity as that. You are one
of the magicians, and bring me down to earth.”

“How does poor Imogen Eleonore get on?” asked Nestoria. “Is she
lonely? Tell her I shall soon come to see her.”

“Poor Imogen has taken to herself another likewise poor creature, and
gone into the moonshine of betrothed bliss,” returned Bowlder. “A lover of
ancient days came down from Vermont yesterday, and carried her off this
morning with such ease that it seemed as if she were carrying him off. It is
not often that two souls take on a duality more promptly. She promised wedding
cake in time. Her last words to me were, Farewell, a long farewell!
Let us hope that she spoke prophetically,” solemnly added Bowlder, who had
at last discovered that Miss Jones's grandiose conversation had the emptiness
as well as the gaudiness of a soap bubble. “The Turks believe that idiots
are inspired. But that credence is not a part of my religion. At all events,
I desire to hear no more of Imogen Eleonore's inspirations, and warn you
against her as being not heavenly but mundane, and poor at that.”

“Ah! she had not helped you,” said Nestoria thoughtfully. “I owe her
much kindness. I must think how I can repay her.”

We need add no more, unless the reader would like to know that Alice
Dinneford, blessed with a sufficient fortune and some experimental wisdom,
means to have an American husband of the usual sort, and will probably
not find it hard to get one.