University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.
AT SEA—A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER.

IMMEDIATELY after Mr. Walton's funeral
Miss Eulie had written full particulars of all
that had occurred, to a brother by marriage, then
in Europe. This gentleman's name was Kemp,
and he had originally married a sister of Miss Eulie
and Mrs. Walton. But this lady had died some
years since, and he married as his second wife, one
who was an entire stranger to the Walton family,
and with whom there could be but little sympathy.
For this reason, though no unfriendliness existed,
there had been a natural falling-off of the old cordial
intimacy. But Miss Eulie and Annie (and so had
Mr. Walton) respected Mr. Kemp as a man of
sterling worth and unimpeachable integrity, while
he secretly cherished a tender and regretful memory
of his earlier marriage connection. When he heard
that his niece, Annie, was orphaned, his heart yearned
toward her, for he had always been fond of her as
a child. But when he came to read of her relations
with Hunting, and that this man was in charge of
her property, he was in deep distress. He would
have returned home immediately, but his wife's
health would not permit his leaving her. But he
sat down and wrote to Miss Eulie a long letter of

honest sympathy, urging her and Annie to come
to him at Paris, saying that the change would
be of great benefit to both.

This letter was expressed in such a way that
she could show it to Annie. But he inclosed
another under seal to herself, marked private, in
which by strong and guarded language he warned
her against Hunting. He did not dare commit
definite charges to writing, not knowing how much
influence Hunting had over his sister-in-law. He
felt sure that Annie would not listen to anything
against her lover, and justly feared that she would
inform him of what she heard, thus putting him on
his guard, and increasing his power for mischief.
His hope was to act through Miss Eulie, and get
both her and Annie under his protection as soon as
possible. He knew that as soon as face to face
with Annie he could prove to her the character of
her lover, and through her compel him to resign
his executorship. Therefore he solemnly charged
Miss Eulie, as she loved Annie, not to permit her
marriage with Hunting, and, as executrix, to watch
his financial management closely.

Miss Eulie was greatly distressed by the contents
of this letter. Mr. Kemp's words, combined with
Gregory's manner, destroyed her confidence in
Hunting, and made her feel that he might cause
them irretrievable disaster. She knew her brother
to be a man of honor, and when he wrote such
words as these, “If Mr. Walton knew Hunting as
I do, he would rather have buried his daughter than

permit her to marry him,” she was sure that he did
not speak unadvisedly.

“Moreover,” Mr. Kemp wrote—“I am not giving
my mere opinion of Hunting. I have absolute
proof of what he is and has done.”

But it was his advice that it would not be safe
to reveal to Annie the contents of this letter, as
Hunting, in the desperation of his fears, might find
means to compass a hasty marriage, or disastrously
use his power over her property.

As we have seen, in quiet home-ministerings,
Miss Eulie had no superior, but she felt peculiarly
timid and self-distrustful in dealing with matters
like these. Her first impulse and growing desire
was, that she and Annie might reach the shelter and
protection of her brother. She did not understand
business, and felt powerless to thwart Hunting.

Annie's spirits greatly flagged after her father's
death. Hunting did not seem to have the power
to comfort and help her that she expected. She
could not definitely find fault with a single act, save
his treatment of Gregory; he was devotion itself to
her, but it was to her alone. He proved no link
between her and God. Even when in careful phrases
he sought to use the “language of Canaan,” he
did not speak it as a native, and ever left a vague,
unsatisfied pain in her heart. He was true and
strong when he spoke of his own love. He was
eloquent and glowing when his fancy painted their
future home, but cold and formal in comparison,
when he dwelt on that which her Christian nature

most needed in her deep affliction. Too often he
seemed to avoid religious conversation, and when,
in her loving purpose to quicken and develop his
spiritual life, she spoke of sacred themes, he showed
a lack of sympathy and appreciation of her thought
and feeling which caused a growing depression.

When Annie found that she could leave the
children in charge of a careful, trustworthy relative
she was readily persuaded into the plan of going
abroad; she felt the need of change, for her health
had begun to fail, and she was sinking into one
of those morbid states which are partly physical
and partly mental.

Hunting, also, strongly approved of the project.
Business would require him to visit Europe during
the winter, and in having Annie as a companion he
thought himself fortunate indeed. He felt sure
that as soon as she regained her health and spirits
she would consent to their marriage; moreover, it
would place the sea between her and Gregory and
all dangers of disclosure. A trip abroad promised
to further his interests in all respects. He knew
nothing of Mr. Kemp save as a New York business
man, and supposed that Mr. Kemp had only a general
and favorable knowledge of himself.

For Annie's sake and her own Miss Eulie tried
to prevent any marked change in her manner toward
Hunting, and though she was not a very good
actress, he did not care enough about her to notice
her occasional restraints and formality of manner.
But Annie did, and it was another source of

vague uneasiness and pain, though the causes were
too intangible to speak of. She thought it possible
that Gregory might have prejudiced her aunt
slightly. But it was her nature to prove all the
more loyal to Hunting, especially when he was so
devoted to her.

Before they could complete arrangements for departure,
Annie was taken seriously ill, and January
of the ensuing year had nearly passed before she
was strong enough for the journey. During her illness
no one could have been more kind and attentive
than Hunting, and Annie felt exceedingly
grateful. But in their prolonged and close intimacy
since her father's death, something in the
man himself had caused her love for him to wane.
She had a growing consciousness that he was not
what she supposed. She reproached herself bitterly
for this, and under the sense of the wrong she felt
herself doing him, was disposed to show more deference
to his wishes, and in justice to him to try to
make amends. When, therefore, he again urged
that the marriage take place before they sailed, giving
as his reason, that he could take better care of
her and that henceforth she could be with him,
and that he would not be compelled to leave her
so often on account of his business, she was half inclined
to yield. She felt that the marriage-tie
would confirm her true feelings as a wife, and that it
was hardly fair to ask him to be away from his
large and exacting business so much, especially
when he had seemingly been so generous in the

time he had given her, when it must have involved
to him serious loss and inconvenience. She said to
herself,

“I shall be better and happier, and so will
Charles, when I cease secretly finding fault with him,
and devote myself unselfishly to making a good
wife and a good home.”

Hunting exultantly thought that he would carry
his point, but Miss Eulie proved she was not that
nonentity which, in his polite and attentive indifference,
he had secretly regarded her. With quiet
firmness she said that, as Annie's natural guardian,
she would not give her consent to the marriage.
As a reason she gave—

“I think it would show a great lack of respect and
courtesy to your uncle and my brother, who is so
fond of you, and has been so kind. I see no pressing
need for the marriage now, for I am going with
Annie and can take care of her, as I have. If it
seems best, you can be married over there, and I
know that Mr. Kemp would feel greatly hurt if we
acted as if we were indifferent to his presence at
the ceremony.”

The moment her aunt expressed this view
Annie agreed with her, and Hunting felt that he
could not greatly complain, as the marriage would
be delayed but a few weeks.

Annie felt absolved from her promise to Gregory,
by an event that occurred not very long after
his departure. Gregory had sent a box directed to
Miss Eulie's care, containing some toys and books

for the children, and the promised tobacco for
Daddy Tuggar, also a note inclosed in one to Miss
Eulie for Annie, in which were these words only:

“If you had searched the world you could not
have given me anything that I would value more.”

In his self-distrust, and in his purpose not to give
the slightest ground for the imputation that he had
sought her promise of delay to obtain time to gain
a hearing himself, he had said no more.

But Annie thought that he might have said
more. The note seemed cold and brief in view of
all that had passed between them. Still, she hoped
much from the influence of her Bible.

But one evening Hunting came up from the city
evidently much disturbed. To her natural solicitude
he said:

“I don't like to speak of it, for you seem to think
that I ought to stand everything from Mr. Gregory.
And so I suppose I ought, and indeed I was grateful,
but one can't help having the natural feelings of a
man. I was with some friends and met him face to
face in an omnibus. Knowing how great was your
wish that we should be friendly, I spoke courteously
to him, but he looked at me as if I were a dog.
He might as well have struck me. I saw that my
friends were greatly surprised, but of course I could
not explain there, and yet it's not pleasant to be
treated like a pickpocket, with no redress. I defy
him,” continued Hunting, assuming the tone and
manner of one greatly wronged, “to prove anything
worse against me than that I compelled him and his

partners to pay money to which I had a legal right,
and which I could have collected in a court of law.”

The politic Hunting said nothing of moral right,
and innocent Annie was not on the look-out for
such quibbles.

Her quick feelings were strongly stirred, and on
the impulse of the moment she sat down and wrote:

“There,” she said, “read that, and please mail
it for me.”

“That's my noble Annie,” he said gratefully,
“now you prove your love anew, and show you will
not stand quietly by and see me insulted.”

“You may rest assured I will not,” she said
promptly; adding very sadly after a moment, “I
cannot understand how Mr. Gregory, with all his
good qualities, can act so.”

“You do not know him as well as I do,” said
Hunting, “and yet even I feel grateful to him for
his services to you, and would show it if he would
treat me decently.”

“He shall treat you decently and politely too,
if he wishes to keep my favor,” said she hotly.

But the next day, when she thought it all over
quietly, she regretted that she had written so harshly.
“My words will not help my Bible's influence,” she
thought in self-reproach, “and only when he becomes
a Christian will he show a different disposition.”

Her regret would have been still deeper, if she
had known that Hunting had sent her note with
one from himself to this effect:

“You perceive from the inclosed that you cannot
insult me as you did yesterday, and still retain the
favor of one whose esteem you value too highly perhaps.
My only regret is that you were not a witness
to the words and manner which accompanied
the act of writing.”

Still stronger would have been her indignation
had she known that Hunting had greatly exaggerated
his insult. Gregory had merely acted as
if unconscious of his presence, and there had been
no look of scorn.

When Gregory received the missives he tossed
Hunting's contemptuously into the fire, but
read Annie's more than once, sighed deeply and
said:

“He keeps his ascendancy over her. O God,
quench not my spark of faith by permitting this
great wrong to be consummated.” Then he endorsed
on her note, “Forgiven, my dear, deceived
sister. You will understand in God's good time.”

But he felt that God must unravel the problem,
for Annie would listen to nothing against her
lover.

Annie hoped that Gregory would write an explanation,
or at least some words in self-defence,
and then she meant to soften her hasty note, but no
answer came. This increased her depression, for
she was surprised at her strong and abiding interest
in him. She could not understand how their eventful
acquaintance should end as it promised to.
Then came her illness, and, through many long,
sleepless hours, she thought of the painful mystery.

But as she recovered strength of body and mind
she felt that it was, one of those things that she
must trustingly put in God's hands and leave there.
This she did, and resolutely and patiently addressed
herself to the duties and obligations of her lot.

As for Gregory, from the first evening of his
return to the city, he adopted the resolution in
regard to Annie's Bible, which she, as a little child,
had written in it so many years ago:

“I will read it every day.”

It became his shrine and constant solace. Instead
of going to his club, as was his former custom,
he spent the long, quiet evenings in its study.
The more he read the more fascinated he became
with its rich and varied truths. Sometimes, as he
was tracing up a line of thought through its pages,
so luminously and beautifully would it develop that
it seemed to him that Annie and his mother, with
unseen hands, were pointing the way. Though
almost alone in the great city, he grew less and less
lonely, and welcomed the shades of evening, that he

might return to a place now sacred to him, where
the gift-Bible, like a living presence, awaited him.

His doubts and fears vanished slowly. His
faith kindled even more slowly; but the teachings
of that inspired Book gave him principle, true manhood,
and strength to do right, no matter how he
felt. He had honestly and sturdily resolved to be
guided by it, and it did guide him. He was a
Christian, though he did not know it, and would
not presume to call himself such even to himself.
In view of his evil past he was exceedingly
humble and self-distrustful. As Mr. Walton had
told poor old Daddy Tuggar, he was simply trying
to “trust Jesus Christ and do the best he could.”

But those associated with him in business, and
many others, wondered at his change. Old Mr.
Burnett, his senior partner, was specially delighted,
and would often say to him:

“I thank God, Mr. Gregory, that you nearly
had your neck broke last October;” for the good
old man associated this accident with the change.

Gregory also commenced attending church—not
a gorgeous temple on Fifth avenue, where he was
not needed, but he hunted up an obscure and
struggling mission, and said to the minister:

“I am little better than a heathen, but if you
will trust me I will do the best I can to help you.”

Within a month, through his liberal gifts and
energetic labors the usefulness of the mission was
almost doubled. It was touching to see him humbly
and patiently doing the Lord's lowliest work,

as if he were not worthy. He hoped that in time
he might receive the glad assurance that he was accepted;
but whether it came or not, purposed to
do the best he could and leave his fate in God's
hands. At any rate God seemed not against him,
for both his business and Christian work prospered.

One bright morning the last of January, Annie,
Miss Eulie, and Hunting were driven down to the
steamer, and having gone to their state-rooms
and seen that their luggage was properly stowed
away, they came up on deck to watch the scenes
attending the departure of the great ship, and
observe the views as they sailed down the bay.
Hunting had told them to make the most of this
part of the voyage, for in a winter passage it might
be long before they could enjoy another promenade.

Annie was intensely interested, for all was new
and strange. She had a keen, quick eye for character,
and a human interest in humanity, even
though those around her did not belong to her
“set.” Therefore, it was with appreciative eyes
she watched the motley groups of her fellow-passengers
waving handkerchiefs and exchanging farewells
with equally diversified groups on the wharf.

“It seems,” she said to her aunt, “as if all the
world had sent their representatives here. It
makes me almost sad that there is no one to see
us off.”

Then her eye rested upon a gentleman who evidently
had no one to see him off. He was leaning
on the railing upon the opposite side of the ship,

smoking a cigar. His back was toward all this
bustle and confusion, and he seemed to have
an air of isolation and indifference to what was
going on about him. His tall person was encased
in a heavy dark-blue overcoat, with a deep cape,
which seemed to combine comfort with elegance, and
gave to him, even in his leaning posture, a distingué
air. But that which drew Annie's attention was a
manner so different from all others, who were either
interested or excited by surroundings, or were turning
wistfully and eagerly toward friends, whom it
might be long before they saw again. The motionless,
apathetic figure, smoking quietly, with his felt
hat drawn down over his eyes, and looking away
from everything and everybody, came to have a fascination
for her.

The steamer slowly and majestically moved out
into the stream. Shouts, cries, final words, hoarse
orders from the officers—a perfect babel of sounds
filled the air, but the silently-curling smokewreaths
were the only suggestion of life from that
strangely indifferent form. He seemed like one so
deeply absorbed in his own thoughts that he would
have to be awakened as from sleep.

But suddenly he turned and came toward them
with the air of one who feels himself alone, though
jostled in a crowd, and instantly, with a strange
thrill at heart, Annie recognized Walter Gregory.

Hunting saw him also, and Annie noted that
while the blackest frown gathered on his brow, he
grew very pale.

In his absorption he would have passed by them,
but Annie said:

“Mr. Gregory, are you not going to speak to us?”

He started most violently, and every visible part
of his face and neck mantled with hot blood, and
Annie also felt that she was blushing unaccountably.
But he recovered instantly, and came and
shook her hand most cordially, saying:

“This is a strangely unexpected pleasure. And
Miss Morton, also! When was I ever so fortunate
before?”

Then he saw Hunting, to whom he bowed with
his old, distant manner, and Hunting returned the
acknowledgment in the most stiff and formal manner.

“Do you know,” said Annie, “I have been
watching you with curiosity for some time past,
though I did not know who you were till you
turned. I could not account for your apathy and
indifference to this scene, which, to me, is so novel
and exciting, and which seems to find everyone interested
save yourself. I should hardly have
thought you alive if you had not been smoking.”

“Well,” he said, “I have been abroad so often
that it has become like crossing the ferry, and I was
expecting no one down to see me off. But you do
not look well;” and both she and Miss Eulie noticed
that he glanced uneasily from her to Hunting,
and did not seem sure how he should address her.

“Miss Walton has just recovered from a long illness,”
said Miss Eulie, quietly.

His face instantly brightened, and as quickly
changed to an expression of sincerest sympathy.

“Not seriously ill, I hope,” he said, earnestly.

“I'm afraid I was,” replied Annie, adding, cheerfully,
“I am quite well now, though.”

His face became as pale as it was flushed a moment
before, and he said, in a low tone:

“I did not know it.”

His manner touched her, and proved that there
was no apathy and indifference on his part toward
her, though there might be to the bustling world
around him.

Then he inquired particularly after each member
of the household, especially old Daddy Tuggar.

Annie told him how delighted the children had
been with the toys and books, “and as for Daddy
Tuggar,” she said, smiling, “he has been in the
clouds, literally and metaphorically, ever since you
sent him the tobacco. Whenever I go to see him
he says, most cheerily, `It's all settled, Miss Annie.
It grows clearer with every pipe' (while I can
scarcely see him), I'm all right, 'cause I'm a dreadful
sinner.'”

She was rather surprised at the look of glad sympathy
which he gave her, but he only said,

“He is to be envied.”

Then at her request he commenced pointing out
the objects of interest they were passing, and with
quiet courtesy drew Hunting into the conversation,
who rather ungraciously permitted it because he
could not help himself.

Annie again, with pain, saw the unfavorable contrast
of her lover with this man, who certainly
proved himself the most finished of gentlemen, if
nothing else.

But with almost a child's delight she said, “You
have no idea how novel and interesting all this is
to me, though so old and matter of fact to you. I
have always wanted to cross the ocean, and look
forward to this voyage with unmingled pleasure.”

“I'm sincerely sorry such a disastrous change is
so soon to take place in your sensations, for it will
be rough outside to-day, and I fear you and Miss
Morton will soon be suffering from the most forlorn
and prosaic of maladies.”

“I won't give up to it,” said Annie resolutely.

“I have no doubt,” he replied humorously, “as
our quaint old friend used to say, that you are `well-meanin','
but we must all submit to fate. I fear you
will soon be confined to the dismal lower regions.”

“Are you sick?”

“I was at first.”

His prediction was soon verified. From almost
a feeling of rapture and a sense of the sublime as
they looked out upon the broad Atlantic with its
tumultuous waves, the ladies suddenly became silent,
and glanced nervously toward the stairway that
led to the cabin.

Gregory promptly gave his arm to Miss Eulie
while Hunting followed with Annie, and that was
the last appearance of the ladies for the three following
days.