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Page 24
"He is merciful, dear guardian," said Margie, gently. "He never refuses
the earnest petition of the suffering soul."
"Archer, your grandmother died a little while ago. My cruelty to your
father made her, for twenty long years, a maniac. But before her death,
all delusion was swept away, and she bade me love and forgive our
grandson--that she might tell your father and mother, when she met
them in heaven, that at last all was well here below. I promised her,
and since then my soul has been in peace. But I have longed to go to
her--longed inexpressibly. She had been all around me, but so impalpable
that when I put out my hands to touch her, they grasped only the air.
The hands of mortality may not reach after the hands which have put on
immortality."
He lay quiet a moment, and then went on, brokenly.
"Archer, I wronged your parents bitterly, but I have repented it in dust
and ashes. Repented it long ago, only I was too proud and stubborn to
acknowledge it. Forgive me again, Archer, and kiss me before I die."
"I do forgive you, grandfather; I do forgive you with my whole heart."
He stooped, and left a kiss on the withered forehead.
"Margie," said the feeble voice, "pray for me, that peace may come."
She looked at Archer, hesitated a moment, then knelt by the bedside. He
stood silent, and then, urged by some uncontrollable impulse, he knelt by
her side.
The girlish voice, broken, but sweet as music, went up to Heaven in a
petition so fervent, so simple, that God heard and answered. The peace
she asked for the dying man came.
Her pleading ceased. Mr. Trevlyn lay quiet, his countenance serene and
hopeful. His lips moved, they bent over him, and caught the name of
"Caroline."
Trevlyn's hand sought Margie's and she did not repulse him. They stood
together silently, looking at the white face on the pillows.
"He is dead!" Archie said, softly: "God rest him!"
* * * * *
After the funeral of John Trevlyn, his last will and testament was read.
It created a great deal of surprise when it was known that all the vast
possessions of the old man were bequeathed to his grandson--his sole
relative--whom he had despised and denied almost to the day of his death.
In fact, not a half-dozen persons in the city were aware of the fact that
there existed any tie of relationship between John Trevlyn, the miser,
and Archer Trevlyn, the head clerk of Belgrade and Company.
Arch's good fortune did not change him a particle. He gave less time to
business, it is true, but he spent it in hard study. His early education
had been defective, and he was doing his best to remedy the lack.
Early in the autumn following the death of his grandfather, he went to
Europe, and after the lapse of a year, returned again to New York. The
second day after his arrival, he went out to Harrison Park. Margie had
passed the summer there, with an old friend of her mother for company,
he was told, and would not come back to the city before December.
It was a cold, stormy night in September, when he knocked at the door of
Miss Harrison's residence; but a cheery light shone from the window, and
streamed out of the door which the servant held open.
He inquired for Miss Harrison, and was shown at once into her presence.
She sat in a low chair, her dress of sombre black relieved by a white
ribbon at the throat, and by the chestnut light of the shining hair that
swept in unbound luxuriance over her shoulders. She rose to meet her
guest, scarcely recognizing Archer Trevlyn in the bronzed, bearded man
before her.
"Miss Harrison," he said, gently, "it is a cold night; will you not give
a warm welcome to an old friend?"
She knew his voice instantly. A bright color leaped to her cheek, an
embarrassment which made her a thousand times dearer and more charming to
Arch Trevlyn, possessed her. But she held out her hands, and said a few
shy words of welcome.
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