"To come straight to the point," said she, "for a good while we have been wanting to do something, and we did not know what to do. But a few days ago we became aware, through Miss w.i.l.l.y Croup, that what was most needed in this house is blankets. She said, in fact, that the blankets you had were the same you bought when you were first married, that some of them had been worn out and given to your poorer neighbors, and that now you were very short of blankets, and, with cold weather coming on, she did not consider that the clothing on your own bed was sufficient. She even went so far as to say that the blankets she used were very thin, and that she did not think they were warm enough for winter. So, some of us have agreed together that we would testify our friendship and our sympathy by presenting you with a pair of good, warm blankets for your own bed; then those you have could go to w.i.l.l.y Croup, and you both would be comfortable all winter. Of course, what we have done has not been upon an expensive scale. We have had many calls upon us,--poor old Mrs. Bradley, for one,--and we could not afford to spend much money. But we have bought you a good pair of blankets, which are warm and serviceable, and we hope you will not be offended, and we do not believe that you will be, for you know our motives, and all that we ask is that when you are warm and comfortable under our little gift, you will sometimes think of us. The blankets are out in the hall, and I have no doubt that Miss w.i.l.l.y Croup will bring them in."

Mrs. Cliff's eyes filled with tears. She wanted to speak, but how could she speak! But she was saved from further embarra.s.sment, for when w.i.l.l.y, who had been standing in the doorway, had gone to get the blankets, Miss Shott could be restrained no longer.

"I am bound to say," she began, "that, while I put my money in with the rest to get those blankets,--and am very glad to be able to do it, Mrs.

Cliff,--I don't think that we ought to do anything which would look as if we were giving our countenances to useless extravagances in persons, even if they are our friends, who, with but small means, think they must live like rich people, simply because they happen to be travelling among them.

It is not for me to allude to hotels in towns where there are good boarding-houses, to vestibule cars and fur-trimmed cloaks; but I will say that when I am called upon to help my friends who need it, I will do it as quick as anybody, but I also feel called upon by my conscience to lift up my voice against spending for useless things what little money a person may have, when that person needs that money for--well, for things I shall not mention. And now that I have said my say, I am just as glad to help give you those blankets, Mrs. Cliff, as anybody else is."

Every one in the room knew that the thing she would not mention was the money Mrs. Cliff had borrowed for her pa.s.sage. Miss Shott had not lent any of it, but her brother, a retired carpenter and builder, had, and as his sister expected to outlive him, although he was twelve years younger than she was, she naturally felt a little sore upon this point.

Now Mrs. Cliff was herself again. She was not embarra.s.sed. She was neither pale nor trembling. With a stern severity, not unknown to her friends and neighbors in former days, she rose to her feet.

"Nancy Shott," said she, "I don't know anything that makes me feel more at home than to hear you talk like that. You are the same woman that never could kiss a baby without wanting to spank it at the same time. I know what is the matter with you. You are thinking of that money I borrowed from your brother. Well, I borrowed that for a year, and the time is not up yet; but when it is, I'll pay it, every cent of it, and interest added. I knew what I was about when I borrowed it, and I know what I am about now, and if I get angry and pay it before it becomes due, he will lose that much interest, and he can charge it to you. That is all I have to say to you.

"As for you, Mrs. Perley, and the other persons who gave me these blankets, I want you to feel that I am just as grateful as if--just as grateful as I can be, and far more for the friendliness than for the goods. I won't say anything more about that, and it isn't necessary, but I must say one thing. I am ready to take the blankets, and to thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I will not have them unless the money Miss Shott put in is given back to her. Whatever that was, I will make it up myself, and I hope I may be excused for saying that I don't believe it will break me."

Now there was a scene. Miss Shott rose in anger and marched out of the house. Mrs. Perley and the other lady expostulated with Mrs. Cliff for a time, but they knew her very well, and soon desisted. Twenty-five cents was handed to Mrs. Perley to take the place of the sum contributed by Miss Shott, and the ladies departed, and the blankets were taken up-stairs. Mrs. Cliff gave one glance at them as w.i.l.l.y Croup spread them out.

"If those women could see my Californian blankets!" she said to herself, but to w.i.l.l.y she said, "They are very nice, and you may put them away."

Then she went to her own room and went to bed. This last shock was too much for her nerves to bear. In the afternoon w.i.l.l.y brought her some tea, but the poor lady would not get up. So long as she stayed in bed, people could be kept away from her, but there was nowhere else where she could be in peace.

All night she lay and thought and thought and thought. What should she do? She could not endure this condition of things. There was only one relief that presented itself to her: she might go to Mr. Perley, her minister, and confide everything to him. He would tell her what she ought to do.

"But," she thought, "suppose he should say it should all go to the Peruvians!" And then she had more thinking to do, based upon this contingency, which brought on a headache, and she remained in bed all the next day.

The next morning, w.i.l.l.y Croup, who had begun to regret that she had ever said anything about blankets,--but how could she have imagined that anybody could be so cut up at what that old Shott woman had said?--brought Mrs. Cliff a letter.

This was from Edna, stating that she and Ralph and the two negroes had just arrived in New York, from which point they were to sail for Havre.

Edna wished very much to see Mrs. Cliff before she left the country, and wrote that if it would be convenient for that lady, she would run up to Plainton and stay a day or two with her. There would be time enough for this before the steamer sailed. When she read this brief note, Mrs. Cliff sprang out of bed.

"Edna come here!" she exclaimed. "That would be simply ruin! But I must see her. I must tell her everything, and let her help me."

As soon as she was dressed, she went down-stairs and told w.i.l.l.y that she would start for New York that very afternoon. She had received a letter from Mrs. Horn, and it was absolutely necessary to see her before she sailed. With only a small leather bag in her hand, and nearly all her ready money and her peace-destroying draft sewed up inside the body of her dress, she left Plainton, and when her friends and neighbors heard that she had gone, they could only ascribe such a sudden departure to the strange notions she had imbibed in foreign parts. When Plainton people contemplated a journey, they told everybody about it, and took plenty of time to make preparations; but South Americans and Californians would start anywhere at a moment's notice. People had thought that Mrs. Cliff was too old to be influenced by a.s.sociation in that way, but it was plain that they had been mistaken, and there were those who were very much afraid that even if the poor lady had got whatever ought to be coming to her from the Valparaiso business, it would have been of little use to her. Her old principles of economy and prudence must have been terribly shaken. This very journey to New York would probably cost twenty dollars!

When Mrs. Cliff entered Edna's room in a New York hotel, the latter was startled, almost frightened. She had expected her visitor, for she had had a telegram, but she scarcely recognized at the first glance the pale and haggard woman who had come to her.

"Sick!" exclaimed poor Mrs. Cliff, as she sank upon a sofa. "Yes, I am sick, but not in body, only in heart. Well, it is hard to tell you what is the matter. The nearest I can get to it is that it is wealth struck in, as measles sometimes strike in when they ought to come out properly, and one is just as dangerous as the other."

When Mrs. Cliff had had something to eat and drink, and had begun to tell her tale, Edna listened with great interest and sympathy. But when the good lady had nearly finished, and was speaking of her resolution to confide everything to Mr. Perley, Edna's gaze at her friend became very intent, and her hands tightly grasped the arms of the chair in which she was sitting.

"Mrs. Cliff," said she, when the other had finished, "there is but one thing for you to do: you must go to Europe with us."

"Now!" exclaimed Mrs. Cliff. "In the steamer you have engaged pa.s.sage in? Impossible! I could not go home and settle up everything and come back in time."

"But you must not go home," said Edna. "You must not think of it. Your troubles would begin again as soon as you got there. You must stay here and go when we do."

Mrs. Cliff stared at her. "But I have only a bag and the clothes I have on. I am not ready for a voyage. And there's the house, with n.o.body but w.i.l.l.y in it. Don't you see it would be impossible for me to go?"

"What you need for the pa.s.sage," said Edna, "you can buy here in a few hours, and everything else you can get on the other side a great deal cheaper and better than here. As to your house, you can write to that other lady to go there and stay with Miss Croup until you come back. I tell you, Mrs. Cliff, that all these things have become mere trifles to you. I dare say you could buy another house such as you own in Plainton, and scarcely miss the money. Compared to your health and happiness, the loss of that house, even if it should burn up while you are away, would be as a penny thrown to a beggar."

"And there is my new trunk," said Mrs. Cliff, "with my blankets and ever so many things locked up in it."

"Let it stay there," said Edna. "You will not need the blankets, and I don't believe any one will pick the lock."

"But how shall I explain my running away in such a fashion? What will they all think?"

"Simply write," said Edna, "that you are going to Europe as companion to Mrs. Horn. If they think you are poor, that will explain everything.

And you may add, if you choose, that Mrs. Horn is so anxious to have you, she will take no denial, and it is on account of her earnest entreaties that you are unable to go home and take leave in a proper way of your friends."

It was half an hour afterwards that Mrs. Cliff said: "Well, Edna, I will go with you. But I can tell you this: I would gladly give up all the mountains and palaces I may see in Europe, if I could go back to Plainton this day, deposit my money in the Plainton bank, and then begin to live according to my means. That would be a joy that nothing else on this earth could give me."

Edna laughed. "All you have to do," she said, "is to be patient and wait awhile, and then, when you go back like a queen to Plainton, you will have had your mountains and your palaces besides."

CHAPTER x.x.x

AT THE HoTEL BOILEAU

It was early in December,--two months after the departure of Edna and her little party from New York,--and they were all comfortably domiciled in the Hotel Boileau, in a quiet street, not far from the Boulevard des Italiens. This house, to which they came soon after their arrival in Paris, might be considered to belong to the family order, but its grade was much higher than that of the hotel in which they had lived in San Francisco. As in the former place, they had private apartments, a private table, and the service of their own colored men, in addition to that of the hotel servants. But their salon was large and beautifully furnished, their meals were cooked by a French chef, every one, from the lordly porter to the quick-footed chambermaid, served them with a courteous interest, and Mrs. Cliff said that although their life in the two hotels seemed to be in the main the same sort of life, they were, in reality, as different as an old, dingy mahogany bureau, just dragged from an attic, and that same piece of furniture when it had been rubbed down, oiled, and varnished. And Ralph declared that, so far as he knew anything about it, there was nothing like the air of Paris to bring out the tones and colorings and veinings of hotel life. But the greatest difference between the former and the present condition of this little party lay in the fact that in San Francisco its princ.i.p.al member was Mrs. Philip Horn, while in Paris it was Miss Edna Markham.

This change of name had been the result of nights of thought and hours of consultation. In San Francisco Edna felt herself to be Mrs. Horn as truly as if they had been married at high noon in one of the city churches, but although she could see no reason to change her faith in the reality of her conjugal status, she had begun to fear that Captain Horn might have different views upon the subject. This feeling had been brought about by the tone of his letters. If he should die, those letters might prove that she was then his widow, but it was plain that he did not wish to impress upon her mind that she was now his wife.

If she had remained in San Francisco, Edna would have retained the captain's name. There she was a stranger, and Captain Horn was well known. His agents knew her as Mrs. Horn, the people of the _Mary Bartlett_ knew her as such, and she should not have thought of resigning it. But in Paris the case was very different. There she had friends, and expected to make more, and in that city she was quite sure that Captain Horn was very little known.

Edna's Parisian friends, were all Americans, and some of them people of consideration, one of her old schoolmates being the wife of a secretary of the American legation. Could she appear before these friends as Mrs.

Captain Philip Horn, feeling that not only was she utterly unable to produce Captain Horn, but that she might never be able to do so? Should the captain not return, and should she have proofs of his death, or sufficient reason to believe it, she might then do as she pleased about claiming her place as his widow. But should he return, he should not find that she had trammelled and impeded his plans and purposes by announcing herself as his wife. She did not expect ever to live in San Francisco again, and in no other place need she be known as Mrs. Horn.

As to the business objects of her exceptional marriage, they were, in a large degree, already attained. The money Captain Horn had remitted to her in San Francisco was a sum so large as to astound her, and when she reached Paris she lost no time in depositing her funds under her maiden name. For the sake of security, some of the money was sent to a London banker, and in Paris she did not deposit with the banking house which Captain Horn had mentioned. But directions were left with that house that if a letter ever came to Mrs. Philip Horn, it was to be sent to her in care of Mrs. Cliff, and, to facilitate the reception of such a letter, Mrs. Cliff made Wraxton, Fuguet & Co. her bankers, and all her letters were addressed to them. But at Edna's bankers she was known as Miss Markham, and her only Parisian connection with the name of Horn was through Mrs. Cliff.

The amount of money now possessed by Edna was, indeed, a very fair fortune for her, without regarding it, as Captain Horn had requested, as a remittance to be used as a year's income. In his letters accompanying his remittances the captain had always spoken of them as her share of the gold brought away, and in this respect he treated her exactly as he treated Mrs. Cliff, and in only one respect had she any reason to infer that the money was in any manner a contribution from himself. In making her divisions according to his directions, her portion was so much greater than that of the others, Edna imagined Captain Horn sent her his share as well as her own. But of this she did not feel certain, and should he succeed in securing the rest of the gold in the mound, she did not know what division he would make. Consequently, this little thread of a tie between herself and the captain, woven merely of some hypothetical arithmetic, was but a cobweb of a thread. The resumption of her maiden name had been stoutly combated by both Mrs. Cliff and Ralph. The first firmly insisted upon the validity of the marriage, so long as the captain did not appear, but she did not cease to insist that the moment he did appear, there should be another ceremony.

"But," said Edna, "you know that Cheditafa's ceremony was performed simply for the purpose of securing to me, in case of his loss on that boat trip, a right to claim the benefit of his discovery. If he should come back, he can give me all the benefit I have a right to claim from that discovery, just as he gives you your share, without the least necessity of a civilized marriage. Now, would you advise me to take a step which would seem to force upon him the necessity for such a marriage?"

"No," said Mrs. Cliff. "But all your reasoning is on a wrong basis. I haven't the least doubt in the world---I don't see how any one can have a doubt--that the captain intends to come back and claim you as his wife; and if anything more be necessary to make you such, as I consider there would be, he would be as ready as anybody to do it. And, Edna, if you could see yourself, not merely as you look in the gla.s.s, but as he would see you, you would know that he would be as ready as any of us would wish him to be. And how will he feel, do you suppose, when he finds that you renounce him and are going about under your maiden name?"

In her heart Edna answered that she hoped he might feel very much as she had felt when he did not come to see her in San Francisco, but to Mrs.

Cliff she said she had no doubt that he would fully appreciate her reasons for a.s.suming her old name.

Ralph's remarks were briefer, and more to the point.

"He married you," he said, "the best way he could under the circ.u.mstances, and wrote to you as his wife, and in San Francisco you took his name. Now, if he comes back and says you are not his wife, I'll kill him."

"If I were you, Ralph," said his sister, "I wouldn't do that. In fact, I may say I would disapprove of any such proceeding."

"Oh, you can laugh," said he, "but it makes no difference to me. I shall take the matter into my own hands if he repudiates that contract."