 | CHAPTER III. Knitting-work |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
Toward the close of the day after the one we
have described, a pedestrian, dusty and weary, walked
up the broad street that led by the stately mansion of
the oldest of the Pritchard heirs. He appeared to be
upwards of forty years of age, stooped in his gate like
one prematurely old, and was evidently a stranger, for
he gazed at the lofty dwelling of James Pritchard long
and earnestly, as if admiring the beauty of its architecture.
“Whose residence is this?” he asked of one who
was passing at that time.
“Pritchard's,” was the reply.
“Pritchard's?” reëchoed the stranger; “the name is
not familiar to me. Is he a native of this place?”
“Yes,” said the man, “he is one of the sons of old
Pritchard, the merchant, that died here many years ago,
and he has contrived to get all the old man's property
into his hands. Got a brother over here, humble
enough.” And he passed on.
The stranger stood looking at the house, when a gay
two daughters of James Pritchard, and a young and
fashionably-dressed man, whose likeness to the sisters
was sufficient evidence of his relationship. It was their
brother, a petted and only son, the heir to the name
and fortune of James Pritchard. As they passed the
stranger, the youngest of the sisters whispered to her
brother,
“O, Richard, what a horrid-looking creature! What
can he be staring at our house for?”
“I can't say,” replied the young man. — “Look here,
old fellow,” said he, addressing the stranger, “what
concern have you about the house, yonder, that you
stare at it so? Do you think of a midnight visit to it,
and a robbery of plate? The young ladies don't like
your looks, and you had better move on.”
“Don't be so severe, Richard,” said the young lady;
“he may come and murder us in our beds.”
The stranger made no reply, but looked upon the
party with a strong glance of contempt as they moved
away, and then mounted the steps that led to the elegant
mansion. He rang the bell with a feeble pull,
which was speedily answered by a servant in livery,
who stared upon him with a supercilious expression,
and then demanded why he had not gone round to the
back door.
“Because I want to see your master,” said the
stranger, with a weak voice.
“Well,” replied the domestic, “go round to the back
door, and I will call him.”
The stranger walked slowly round the house, looking
up at the windows, as he went along the gravelled
walks, that made his weary steps more slow and painful.
Reaching the door designated, he sat down upon
mansion. At last the servant appeared, and requested
the stranger to walk into the library. Mr. James
Pritchard was sitting at his table writing, as the man
entered.
“Is this Mr. Pritchard?” he asked.
“It is,” was the reply.
“You had a brother Henry, sir?” continued the
stranger.
“I had,” replied Mr. Pritchard, with a sudden flush
upon his face. “Why do you ask?”
“Because, sir, I knew your brother in India, and was
with him in his last moments. He enjoined a promise
upon me, if ever I came to his native place, to call upon
his brothers, assuring me of a warm welcome. It is
many years ago, but I have not forgotten the promise.
Fortune has gone rather hard with me since, and I am
induced to ask your aid for my old friend's sake.”
“Indeed, my brother's friend, you have a strong
memory, to retain the matter so long.”
“I never can forget him; he was so generous. I
remember that he left his share of his father's patrimony
to your brother.”
“There your memory fails you,” said Mr. Pritchard,
with irony in his tone, rising at the same time, and
going to his secretary. “This, perhaps, may refresh
your memory,” unfolding a paper, “if you are the one
you represent yourself to be. The property is willed
to me.”
And there, in unmistakable tracery, was the name of
James Pritchard as the legatee of Henry Pritchard.
The stranger grew pale with emotion as he looked upon
the paper, while the leggatee watched his face with sharp
sigh,
“True, true, time plays sad freaks with our memory;
but is the other brother of my friend — is your brother
alive?”
“Yes, he lives,” said Mr. Pritchard, with embarrassment;
“but an estrangement has grown up between us.
Family difficulties have led to non-intercourse, and we
rarely meet. But our conversation is growing irksome,
and, as I have pressing business, you will please excuse
me if I bid you good-evening. Take this for your
needs, and, as a reminder of painful things is what I
cannot bear, owing to a too sensitive nature, I beg you
will not call again.”
He placed a five-dollar bill in his visitor's hand,
and, calling a servant, directed him to show the stranger
to the door. The bill was quietly laid upon the corner
of the table, and an expression of pain was visible
upon the man's face as he left the door of the inhospitable
mansion. On leaving the house, he strolled
pensively along, apparently unheeding as to where
he was walking, when he entered the street where
the old Pritchard house stood in its decay, with
its low-browed windows, its heavy cornices, and its
immense stacks of chimneys. The stranger paused a
moment to look at it, and moved away in deep thought.
He turned a corner at the end of the street, and, in a
moment more, was at the house of Thomas Pritchard.
Knocking at the door, it was opened to him by the
charming Madeline, who ushered him into the parlor, as
he expressed the wish to see Mr. Pritchard, who was
not in, but was momently expected. The stranger's
humble and weary appearance won her sympathy, and
her kind voice bade him be seated till her father's
showed such a solicitude to please him that he was
profuse in thanks for her kindness. At length Mr.
Pritchard returned, and was informed that the stranger
awaited him. Entering the parlor, he courteously
saluted him, when, rising to his feet, the stranger stood
in the broad light that broke in a flood from the west,
and held out his hand. Mr. Pritchard took it, and, looking
full in his face, with a disturbed air, asked him who
he was.
“Thomas Pritchard, don't you know me?” was the
reply.
The voice was a voice from the dead, — the voice
broke the gloom that hung over a remembrance of
thirty years, — the voice was a renewal of fraternal joy
in his breast,— and, with a cry of “Henry, my brother!”
he held the stranger to his heart.
The sound had attracted the fair Madeline and her
brother Henry into the room, who were made partakers
in the joy of the reünion. The mystery was explained.
He had been very ill in India, and, in the belief that he
was about to die, had made a will bequeathing his porttion
of his father's estate to his brother Thomas, whose
name, as he had just seen, had been erased, and that of his
elder brother substituted. The vessel to which he was
attached had sailed, leaving him, as it was supposed, to
die. Reviving soon afterwards, a rich native of the
country, attracted by his friendless condition, had taken
him to his own home, where he had been cared for with
the greatest tenderness, and his life saved by the most
unremitting attention. He at last so ingratiated himself
that the old man adopted him as his son, he taking
the name of his new father. His remembrance of home,
at first vivid and mingled with regretful feelings at
the lengthening absence. Communication between the
portion of the country where he was and his own land
was rare, and at last indifference gained complete mastery
over him, and he had devoted his energies to
business. He had married young. His wife and family
were living, and had come with him to the adjoining
town, where he had stopped on account of cheapness
of accommodation; for “you must judge, my brother,”
said he, pointing with a melancholy smile to his faded
garments, “that I am not quite equal to our aristocratic
brother, with whom I had an interview this morning.”
His kind brother assured him that he was most welcome
to such as he had, and asked a description of that
interview, which was given him. Thomas Pritchard
heard it with a downcast face, and when he raised it
there was a cloud upon it; but no word escaped him of
censure for one who had done him such wrong.
“And now that I have come to life again,” said
Henry Pritchard, in a lively tone, “I shall be the executor
of my own will, and adjust the slight mistake of a
name that has somehow occurred.”
“Not for the world,” said his brother; “let him have
it all, as he has got all the rest. I wish not to contend
with him for it.”
“Well, then, for the present let it remain as it is,”
said Henry; “and for the present let me remain the
stranger that I was an hour since, for a purpose of my
own. I will be your guest for a day or two.”
Madeline busied herself in preparing the evening
meal, and the Pritchard heirs spent a long hour at the
board, talking of old times and scenes, and the thousand
things that come up to interest those who have
been long separated.
“And now, Thomas,” said Henry Pritchard, “I want
to get permission to visit the old house again. There
is a strange feeling in my mind with regard to it. I am
not superstitious; but, if ever a man was visited by a
denizen of the other world, our father has paid me a
visit. He came in a dream, and I thought he revealed
the old room to me where he died. Doing so, he
seemed to point to a closet which I do not remember to
have existed, but without a word of explanation he disappeared.
Three times the vision appeared to me, and
there was a troubled appearance upon the face that disturbed
me. It revived the interest in my home, and
the new desire that brought me here. How is this
entrance to be gained?”
“Our neighbor, Mr. Varney, will get permission for
me,” said his brother, “and you can accompany me.”
Mr. Varney was sent for, and our old fat friend came
soon after, waddling into the room. He started as he
saw the stranger with Mr. Pritchard, who placed his
fingers on his lips in token of silence. The desire to
visit the old house was stated, and Mr. Varney under-took
to procure the necessary leave in the name of
Thomas Pritchard. This he succeeded in doing the
next morning, and the three proceeded together to the
old pile, that had been deserted for many years.
The massive oaken door grated harshly on its hinges
as the brothers entered, and their footfalls and subdued
voices wakened strange echoes through the
rooms. It was with deep emotion they entered the
room where their father had died. Several articles yet
remained of what then filled it, and for a short time the
main object of visiting the place was forgotten in the
tender reminiscences of the past that were awakened.
An exclamation from Henry Pritchard at last attracted
said, in a whisper,
“The very spot the ghost revealed to me!”
An examination showed that the panel was a secret
door, secured to the floor by small hinges, and at the
top by a spring, which was hid in the deep moulding.
The rust of years prevented an immediate removal of
the panel, but after some little exertion it was done,
when a large amount of old papers was found, and in
a case by itself a paper, labelled “The Last Will and
Testament of Henry Pritchard.”
As the paper was unrolled, the eye of Mr. Varney
fell upon the names of those who had witnessed the
will, and he shouted out, in a tone that made the old
house ring again,
“Found, at last! — found, at last! I told 'em there was
a will. Found, at last! `Witness, Simon Varney,' as
plain as your hand.”
The will was written in a clear and distinct manner,
and the tenor of it was, that the eldest son, James, having
been fitted for business, should enjoy his position in
the firm of Pritchard, Smead, & Raikes, and that the
property should be equally divided between the brothers,
Thomas and Henry Pritchard. The instrument
abounded with kind expressions for his children. It
was thought advisable to return the papers to their
hiding-place, and the panel was restored as before. No
sooner was this done than the door opened, and James
Pritchard entered. His brow was dark as night, and
the expression of his face cruelly forbidding, as he
looked upon the assembled group in the little low
parlor. He took no notice of his brother Thomas, but,
turning to the stranger, whom he recognized as his
tone,
“By what right, sir, do you enter here without my
permission?”
“By permission of Mr. Pritchard, sir,” was the
stranger's reply, in a humble tone.
“And by what right has he permitted you?” cried
the imperious man, with increasing violence.
“By my right as one of my father's heirs,” said
Thomas Pritchard, in a voice firm and distinct, as though
the occasion had given him new powers.
“Then leave, all of you,” said he; “for the house is
mine.”
“James Pritchard,” said Thomas, with a firmness
of tone that was unusual, “you are yourself an intruder
here, and remain but by our sufferance. Our father
made a will, deeding his property to myself and our
youngest brother. That brother lives.”
James Pritchard laughed scornfully, and his laugh
sounded fearfully in the old house.
“It is too late a day,” said he, “for such an assertion,
and assertion is not proof.”
He stamped his foot as he spoke, and the panel, but
feebly secured, fell with a loud sound at his feet, revealing
the secret closet.
“Our father speaks to you, James Pritchard, from the
tomb,” said Thomas Pritchard, holding the will towards
him, “and affirms my truth; and here, by your side, is
one from the grave to claim his right. It is our
brother Henry.”
The color fled from the haughty man's cheeks, as
though a ghost had, indeed, risen and was standing
before him. He clutched at the air, as if to seize something
with which to support himself, and gazed upon
seemed combined.
“I deny his identity!” at length he found voice to
say. “I deny his identity, — he is an impostor! I have
twenty witnesses of my brother's death. Your credulity
has been deceived. The will is a fabrication.”
“I was one of the witnesses, myself,” said Mr. Varney,
as though this were the greatest event in his life;
“no cheat, sir! See there, `Witness, Simon Varney.'”
James Pritchard left the house, saying, as he left,
“I deny the will, and deny the scheme trumped up
by a fool and an impostor to deprive me of my right.”
The younger brothers held a brief conference as
to what course to pursue. To establish their claim
would require money, of which they had apparently
none at command, while the one who was to contest it
with them had abundant means. In this strait they
appealed to Mr. Varney, who, after revolving the
matter for some time, gave it as his opinion that the
one who had proposed to buy the property the day or
two before would advance money to aid their cause,
through hope of obtaining it. He said this with a significant
glance at Henry Pritchard, who nodded in
reply; and Mr. Varney was left to consult with the
stranger, when he should see him. The next morning
Mr. Varney informed the brothers that the stranger
would advance them money to any amount, through
him, though desirous of remaining unknown in the
matter. This seemed to remove one difficulty from
the path, and, having retained eminent counsel, the
cause was submitted entirely to his hands. The town
became interested in the affair, and public opinion
divided upon the question, a large party siding with
James Pritchard; but the will was too well authenticated
had long since sold his right in the property unconditionally
to the elder, which shut him out from his
interest in the will, and the denial of the identity of the
younger seemed hard to prove, which rendered the case
apparently a safe one for the possessor of the property.
But there were those engaged in the cause, backed by
the wealth which came from the invisible friend of the
Pritchard heirs, who met the fierce contestant of their
father's will with a powerful force. Evidence was introduced
to prove the death of the young Pritchard in India,
— the one who had brought the will, — and the probability
of his decease argued from after circumstances.
On the other side, the cause was left to the evidence of
personal resemblance to the deceased, attested by old
people who remembered the elder Pritchard, and by the
memory of his brother Thomas. After great difficulty,
and the occupancy of months of time, the case was
decided in favor of the Pritchard heirs. This decision
was made at the close of a fine day, and Thomas Pritchard,
sad at his success, went home with a clouded brow
and a weary heart. Henry Pritchard had gone to
inform his family of the result.
Since his return he had acted very mysteriously with
regard to his family. To the repeated invitations to
bring them to his brother's house, he had invariably
replied that they were very well where they were, and
from his evasion it had appeared that he was desirous
they should remain in present obscurity.
Thomas Pritchard was received by his children with
affectionate regard, and they learned from his lips the
intelligence of his success. He sat down in his arm-chair,
and leaned his head upon his hand, with the air of
a man who had been defeated. A knock at the door
stood before him. His surprise was great. Neither
spoke for a minute; at last, motioning to a chair,
Thomas Pritchard asked his visitor to be seated.
“Not,” said he, in a manner far different from that
which he usually employed, “till I am assured, by my
brother's forgiveness of unbrotherly wrong, that I am
welcome. Thomas, we have long been estranged. I
have deeply wronged you; and during this vexed trial
I have thought of that wrong. My father's spirit has
struggled with me, and my stubborn heart has yielded.
I had, before the decision, resolved to make reparation,
and have now come to express that determination, and
to beg your forgiveness, and that of my disowned
younger brother.”
Thomas Pritchard had risen to his feet as his brother
was speaking, and before he had concluded he had
grasped the hand held towards him, and pressed it to
his heart with a fervent embrace.
“And you have my most hearty forgiveness, James,”
he cried, shaking the hand warmly. “This moment is
worth more to me than all the wealth of India. I have
never been estranged from you; my feelings have been
true to you, with a conviction that you would some day
come back to brotherly allegiance. James, you are
welcome. I wish Henry were here to share my joy.”
The door opened as he spoke, and Henry Pritchard
entered, accompanied by Mr. Varney, whose delight in
the success of the heirs was great, in the importance
that the witnessing of the will had given him. A blank
expression fell on his jolly features, as he saw in whose
presence he stood, while Henry Pritchard, with no
further notice than a glance, passed to the other side of
the room. James Pritchard left the spot where he was
brother was gazing upon the picture of his father upon
the wall.
“Henry Pritchard,” he said, laying his finger upon
his brother's shoulder, “your elder brother asks your
forgiveness. He disowned you from a mistaken belief,
and is willing to repair, as far as possible, the injury he
has done, by restoring, without further contest, the
property he has held so long, — unjustly, dishonestly
held.”
Henry Pritchard turned and looked upon his brother's
face. Its expression assured him, and, seizing his
hand, he shook it warmly. It was enough. The Pritchard
brothers were at peace!
Mr. Varney coughed and fidgeted to attract attention;
at last, when wearied with trying, he spoke, —
“I 've come for you to go with me and see the benefactor
who has befriended you, in his own house. He 's
sent his coach for you.”
The heirs at once obeyed the summons, and invited
their elder brother to accompany them, which he assented
to, and, getting into the coach together, they
drove away. Through the main street of the town they
passed, towards the suburbs, and, after riding about
ten miles, they arrived at a splendid mansion-house,
embowered in trees, and everything about it denoting
affluence and taste. The coach stopped, and the party
alighted. They were met at the door by a lady of
about forty years of age, in whose complexion the
effect of an ardent sun was visible, who, in elegant
terms, bade them welcome, ushering them into a parlor,
richly but neatly furnished. She told them her husband,
General de Main, would welcome them presently.
In a few moments the door opened, and Henry Pritchard
astounded brothers as “General de Main,” the proprietor
of the mansion in which they then were. They
had not missed him from their side, and the surprise
was complete. He smiled at the puzzled expression
they wore, while Mr. Varney chuckled and rubbed his
hands gleefully, as if the matter was nothing new to
him, and he was aching to tell all he knew about it.
“I am here,” said their host, “in four capacities: as
the East Indian General de Main, Henry Pritchard, the
unknown benefactor of the Pritchard heirs, and your
host, — in all of which I shall endeavor to do my duty;
and this, my sweet wife, shall make up for my deficiencies.”
He touched a bell, and folding doors unclosing,
disclosed a rich banquet, spread for a large party; and
there assembled were the family of their host, — the
oldest, a young man of about twenty-two, and four
young ladies, of ages varying from sixteen to six years,
— as beautiful as their mother, and as vivacious as they
were beautiful. And there, among them all, to the
astonishment of Thomas Pritchard, were the sweet Madeline
and his son Henry, who, through the good Mr.
Varney, had been brought there before them, he
having transformed himself into an ancient Ariel to
bring about results on which his heart was set. He
looked upon the scene with tears in his eyes, and his
great sides shook at the fun of the thing.
The party welcomed the guests, and James Pritchard,
though his heart smote him for what he had done,
experienced a pleasure he had not known for years, —
the first return for sincere repentance. He was cordially
welcomed by his brother, and every attention
shown him that could make him at ease; and Thomas
magnetism of his presence.
“And how could you so hide yourself from us?”
asked Thomas of his brother Henry.
“Through the aid of my father's old friend, Varney,
whom I remembered. I sought him, and through
him learned all of our family affairs, and proposed the
purchase of the old house. Then I visited you in the
dark, the night before I disclosed myself to you; and
the idea suddenly occurred to me to preserve my incognito.
My friend Varney assisted me in it all, and
through his aid, in spending my money, I am located
here, where I shall remain for a season.”
Mr. Varney smiled blandly with new importance,
and smoothed the napkin upon his lap with nervous
delight.
The party sat long, and separated with the promise
of renewed affection, which promise was fully redeemed.
The Pritchard estate was settled; how, the world knew
not, and Mr. Varney, who knew all about it, would n't
tell; but things remained relatively with the brothers
as before, with the exception that Thomas Pritchard's
house was enlarged, and more beautiful pictures graced
the walls, and more books swelled the library, in which
he took delight; and neater and more roomy grounds
appeared about the house, in which the fair face of
Madeline was often seen of mornings in the summer
time, bending over the blossoms less bright than the
glow upon her cheek. And the blush was brighter
when young Frank de Main pressed her hand and whispered
into her ear tender words, not unwillingly
heard. The families mingled, although the haughty
wife and daughters of James Pritchard reluctantly consented
the General and his wealth reconciled all difficulties,
and even the humble Thomas, reflecting the glitter,
became a visitable brother. It was a moment of mortification
when the daughters and son discovered in their
India uncle the one they had feared as a robber; but
they were of the class that are willing to be forgiven,
and forgot it, as their uncle seemingly did.
There was a grand family party, the next year, at the
house of Thomas Pritchard, on the occasion of the marriage
of Frank de Main Pritchard and the charming
Madeline; and the papers of the day, which we have
consulted, bear testimony to the gallantry of the groom
and the beauty of the bride, of which we have no
doubt. The superb set of diamonds, given her by
James Pritchard, was scarcely less beautiful than the
costly products of the India looms with which she was
presented by her husband's mother. But neither gift
was so precious to her heart as was the blessing of her
father, as he placed his hand upon her head and invoked
upon her the richest of heaven's bounty for her dutiful
regard, and kissed her brow as the amen to the prayer.
The amen was echoed by Mr. Varney, who took her in
his arms, and kissed her vehemently, much to the disgust
of the fashionable portion of the family, who looked
with aversion, as they had at a time previously, on the
horrid fat man. Mr. Varney did n't know what they
thought, and did n't care. He was as happy as though
he had been made the possessor of all the Indies, and
acted accordingly. Some thought it was the wine, in
which he pledged the bride's health eleven times. The
last act of folly which he committed was to punch the
aristocratic James Pritchard in the ribs, in a great style
hilarity of the occasion.
The old house was torn down, soon after, by general
consent, and a fine block of stores was raised upon its
site, that long was regarded an ornament to the part
of the city where it was located, and even now, though
some thirty years have transpired, is looked at with
pride by the older merchants.
If the reader see no other moral in this story than
the simple struggle for money that forms its basis, then
the writer will feel that his real effort has been overlooked,
and that his work has been in vain. But he
hopes its true meaning will have been observed, and in
this hope he leaves in their hands the story of the
Pritchard Heirs.
| CHAPTER III. Knitting-work | |