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 had expected to find in him. 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 G.o.d.

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.

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, thus averting all danger 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 had 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 pa.s.sed 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. Still, 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 had 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 reasons 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 appeared so generous in the time he had given her, which 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 nonent.i.ty which, in his polite and attentive indifference, he had secretly considered 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 said, "I think it would show a great lack of respect and courtesy to Annie's uncle and my brother, who is so fond of her, 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 done. 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 for Annie, inclosed in one to Miss Eulie, 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 pa.s.sed between them. Still, she hoped much from the influence of her Bible.

One evening Hunting came up from the city evidently much disturbed. To her expressions of natural solicitude he replied, "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, a.s.suming 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 lookout for such quibbles.

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

"Mr. Gregory--I think your course toward Mr. Hunting to-day was not only unjust, but even ungentlemanly. You cannot hurt his feelings without wounding mine. I cannot help feeling that your hostility is both 'unreasonable and implacable.' In sadness and disappointment, "Annie Walton."

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

"That's my n.o.ble 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 a.s.sured 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 so 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 ascendency over her. O G.o.d! quench not my spark of faith by permitting this great wrong to be consummated." Then he indorsed on her note, "Forgiven, my dear, deceived sister. You will understand in G.o.d's good time."

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

She 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, and 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.

As she recovered strength of body and mind she felt that it was one of those things that she must trustingly put in G.o.d's hands and leave there. This she did, and resolutely and patiently addressed herself to the duties 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 by 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 st.u.r.dily 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 a.s.sociated with him in business, and many others, wondered at the change in him. Old Mr. Burnett, his senior partner, was especially delighted, and would often say to him, "I thank G.o.d, Mr. Gregory, that you nearly had your neck broken last October"; for the good old man a.s.sociated this accident with the change.

Gregory also began 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 a.s.surance that he was accepted; but whether it came or not, he purposed to do the best he could, and leave his fate in G.o.d's hands. At any rate G.o.d seemed not against him, for both his business and his Christian work prospered.

One bright morning late in 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 pa.s.sage 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 that she watched the motley groups of her fellow-pa.s.sengers 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 of indifference to what was going on about him. His tall person was clad in a heavy overcoat, which seemed to combine comfort with elegance, and gave to him, even in his leaning posture, a distingue air. But that which drew Annie's attention was the difference of his manner from that of all others, who were either excited by their 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 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, hoa.r.s.e orders from the officers--a perfect babel of sounds--filled the air, but the silently-curling smoke-wreaths 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.

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, Gregory would have pa.s.sed by them, but Annie said, "Mr. Gregory, are you not going to speak to us?"

He started violently, and his face 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 way.

"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 every one 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 had been flushed a moment before, and he said, in a low tone, "I did not know it."