Chapter XVIII: The Strange Proposition

ONE evening toward the last of December, the Rev. Mr. Whiting called, and was shown into the Rector's study. He had always exhibited marked respect toward his predecessor, and had held himself entirely aloof from the rumors circulated in regard to the fraud. During the Rector's late sickness, he had been a frequent visitor, and confessed to his young wife that the lessons he learned in that sick chamber, were worth more than all the sermons on preparation for death that he had ever heard. He now came to invite Mr. Washburn to present the cause of missions to his former people, assuring him that if he felt equal to the effort, he would greatly delight his old friends, and he hoped they would contribute generously to the cause.

As he entered the study, the Rector was writing, and merely pushed the sheet of paper from his hand, before rising to welcome the visitor. Before they concluded the arrangement, Mr. Washburn passed the nearly finished letter to Mr. Whiting, with this remark—

"You are no doubt aware, sir, that an examination by a Committee of Reference, concerning certain charges against me was only delayed by my illness. As you will see by my note to them,—" passing him the open sheet,—"my desire is that a new and early appointment be made for the trial. Would it not be best to delay my presentation of the cause to your people until after that has taken place?"

Mr. Whiting hastened to assure him that he was confident the accusers were laboring under a mistake.

"Stop, sir," urged the Rector, with a smile, "you are prejudging the case." Then with great seriousness, he added, "It is certainly true that there is a discrepancy in the accounts, and I shall never rest until this is accounted for. I look to the examiners to help me. The more carefully they go over the ground, the more grateful I shall be to them. If during my attacks of dizziness, I disposed of several thousands of dollars of money contributed in charity, I hope their researches will discover what I did with it. Otherwise I shall have to make this loss good, which at my age, I confess will be a heavy burden to me. That is exactly how the case stands. Now if you prefer to have me postpone preaching for your people for a few weeks, I will do so."

"No, indeed, sir. I shall take it as a mark of friendship, if you will occupy the pulpit next Sunday, a part or the whole of the day, as you feel able." He rose, and seizing the Rector's hand, shook it warmly, saying, "I respect you, sir, more than I can express, for this confidence in one so much younger than yourself. Should I ever be placed in such an unfortunate position, I hope I shall profit by your example."

"Ah!" responded the Rector, with quick feeling. "I can give you a good staff to help you over a rough road:—

"'Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee.'

"His promise is sure."

Before the letter to the Committee was sent, Mr. Washburn read it to his wife and two older daughters.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Emily. "How glad I shall be to have it over."

As she was intending to go to the city for some calls, her father requested her to leave the letter with his clerk at his office, for the moment forgetting that it might not be pleasant for her to meet Barnes Bailey. How little any of those present realized that this meeting was one of a series of circumstances which their Heavenly Father had arranged to result in the complete vindication of his afflicted servant.

On her way to the city, Emily's reluctance to meet her father's clerk every moment increased, until at length, she resolved to call at a friend's house, and send a messenger with the letter to the office.

"But this is cowardly," she said to herself. "It is early; I will go there first. Probably he will not be in, and I can leave it on his table."

Her hope, however, of not seeing him was disappointed. Her knock at the office door was instantly answered, and Barnes Bailey, not having yet removed his hat and coat, came to open it.

At the sight of her, he started back in great confusion, his face flushing painfully. He held out his hand, and instantly recovering himself, paid her a fulsome compliment on her improved appearance, excusing his momentary surprise by saying, "I was just thinking of your father, or rather of you, in connection with him. In fact, I came earlier to the office to write you a note."

"I am in haste," exclaimed Emily, with great dignity, handing him the letter with her father's directions. "If you have anything to say to my father, or to me, you can come to Canterbury."

"No! No!" he urged eagerly. "It is a confidential communication for your ear solely. This letter to the Committee is, I suppose, in reference to your father's trial. I must tell you before that. I beg you to stop a few moments. Take a chair; I will not detain you long."

His manner was so abrupt and strange and positive that Emily knew not how to refuse. Not a suspicion entered her mind of the purport of his communication. He had rolled her father's arm-chair toward her, and she sat down, when he excited her indignation again by opening the door into the hall, looking out, then shutting the door and locking it.

"I insist upon going, Mr. Bailey," she exclaimed, starting from her chair.

He only waved her back to her seat, every particle of color having left his face.

"It is for your father's sake—that is partly—that I make this communication. I am your father's clerk, and so pretty well acquainted with his affairs. Since he has been ill— and—and before, I have not been idle. I have suspicions, no, I have almost a certainty that I have discovered the mistake in regard to the books."

"Why did not you at once inform my father of this?"

"For reasons good and satisfactory to me. Miss Emily, it is for you to decide whether he ever shall be made acquainted with them. I have only to keep my month shut, and he will be deposed from his office, and end his days in disgrace. You can save him."

He approached nearer to her, and bent over her chair. His whole manner was so violent, and there was such a glare in his eyes that she could only think of a madman. But the very emergency of the case made her courage rise. Suppressing every sign of fear, she stood up, drawing up her form, and throwing back her head in a way she had when under intense excitement.

"Explain yourself, Mr. Bailey," she said coldly. "I cannot imagine how I can help or hinder you."

"Do you remember your answer to my proposal of marriage?" The words were almost hissed out.

She bowed.

"Reverse that answer, and I will set your father free."

"Do you not know my father better than to suppose he would purchase his freedom by the sacrifice of his daughter's happiness?" Her tone was freezing.

"I give you three days to decide," he said, trying to control his passion. "But you must decide for yourself. If you determine to accept my offer, I will devote my life to your happiness. If not—why—the charges of fraud will be sustained."

"God will take care of those charges, sir. Now I must go. I'll thank you to unlock the door."

"Remember," he said, "three days," obeying her.

"Three days," she repeated, leaving the room with a slight bow.

Emily's friend was intensely astonished when, on going to the parlor to give a cordial welcome to her favorite schoolmate, the young lady rushed into her arms with a burst of tears.

For a few minutes, she wept so violently that she could give no answer to the repeated inquiry,—

"What is it, dear? What can it be, Emily?"

"Papa has been very ill, you know," she replied, evasively, "and—and—my nerves are shaken, and—I met an old acquaintance, and—I'm all worried and nervous. Don't mind me. I'll be better, presently."

The young lady was well acquainted with the charges against Rev. Mr. Washburn, which, however, she knew him too well to believe. But she at once attributed Emily's agitation to a meeting in which the trial had been discussed, and did not wonder at it.

"You're to spend the day with me," she urged, rising to take off her friend's hat and sack.

"I can't. It is impossible. I'll come another time. I've come in to make some calls, and I want you to go with me. Don't refuse, for I need you."

Seeing that she was in earnest, her friend consented, and after a few minutes rose to prepare for the walk.

As it was a fine winter morning, two of her friends were out, and one was engaged with a sick brother, so that they only left their cards.

By noon, Emily found herself at the gate of her father's house. During the ride home, she had reflected on the strange conduct of Mr. Bailey, and resolved, for the present, to say nothing to her parents on the subject, but to write a minute account of the transaction to her friend Judge Wilson. Could she have imagined that he would send it by the next mail to Hon. Frederic Lawrence, she would have hesitated. But this fact she did not know. Once, indeed, she resolved to take the cars, make a flying visit to U—, talk with the Judge, make some arrangement with Duxbury about her classes, and be home before the Sabbath, but this, on farther reflection, she gave up.

She went at once to the study, merely said, "I did your errand, papa," and left him, without giving time for farther questions.

Fortunately at dinner, Josey had a long story to tell of some plan for a grand coasting party, and no one noticed Emily's appearance, except her mother, who asked kindly,—

"Did you suffer from the cold, my dear? Your cheeks show that you have been exposed to the wind."

The afternoon was passed by Emily in covering three sheets with fine writing. The more she reflected on what had passed, the more importance she attached to the words of the clerk.

"I always distrusted him," she said half aloud, "now I believe him capable of any iniquity."

The western mail left the city at eight in the morning. If the letter went the next day, it must be taken to the Canterbury office in season for the evening hourly. She resolved, therefore, to carry it at once, and inviting Marion to accompany her in a walk, set off in season to return before dark.

On their way, they met Dr. Rand in his sleigh.

Emily smiled to see how Marion blushed as she recognized him.

He jumped from his sleigh, and asked whether he should not have the pleasure of seeing them at the Rectory.

Marion pressed her sister's arm, as a signal for her to turn back, but she answered,—

"We are only going to the office, and shall be home almost as soon as you are."

"Oh!" he exclaimed. "I'm going farther on to see a patient, but I intended to call on my way back."

"Mother would be delighted to have you take tea with us," Emily said.

At which happy suggestion Marion gave her arm another squeeze.

"Thank you; I'll be there with pleasure. Duke has already become acquainted with your father's stable." He jumped into his sleigh, and raising his seal-skin cap, with a low bow, dashed away.

"I have a great respect for Dr. Rand," said Emily, as they walked on. "I think him a true gentleman."

"I can't help thanking him for his attention to papa," murmured Marion, blushing again.