She spoke the word softly and hesitatingly, while a faint flush showed
on her otherwise white face.
"If I am not Guy's wife, as they say, then I have no right to his money,
and I told father so, and said I'd give it back, and he said I couldn't,
and I said I could and would, and I wrote to Guy about it, told him I
was not so mean, and father kept the letter, and I did not know what I
should do next till I was invited to visit Aunt Merriman in Detroit.
Then I took the paper--the settlement, you know, from the box where
father kept it and put it in my pocket; here it is--see," and she drew
out a document and held it toward me while she continued: "I started for
Detroit under the care of a friend who stopped a few miles the other
side, so you see I was free to come here if I liked, and I did so, for I
wanted to see Guy and give him the paper, and tell him I'd never take a
cent of his money. I am sorry he is sick. I did not think he'd care so
much, and I don't know what to do with the paper unless I tear it up. I
believe I'd better; then, surely, it will be out of the way."
And before I could speak or think she tore the document in two, and then
across again, and scattered the four pieces on the floor.
"Tell Guy, please," she continued, "what I have done, and that I never
meant to take it, after--after--that--you know--and that I did not care
for money only as father taught me I must have it, and that I am sorry
he ever saw me, and I never really wanted to be married and can't be his
wife again till I do."
She spoke as if Guy would take her back of course if she only signified
her wish to come, and this kept me angry, though I was beginning to
soften a little with this unexpected phase of her character, and I might
have suffered her to stay till morning if she had signified a wish to
do so, but she did not.
"I suppose I must go now if I would catch the train," she said, moving
toward the door. "Good-by, Fanny. I am sorry I ever troubled you."
She held her little white, ungloved hand toward me, and then I came to
myself, and, hearing the wind and rain, and remembering the lonely road
to the station, I said to her: "Stay, Daisy, I cannot let you go alone. Miss Hamilton will watch with
Guy while I go with you."
"And who will go with you? It will be just as dark and rainy then," she
said; but she made no objection to my plan, and in less than five
minutes Julia, who always slept in her dressing-gown so as to be ready
for any emergency, was sitting by Guy, and I was out in the dark night
with Daisy and our watchdog Leo, who, at sight of his old playmate, had
leaped upon her and nearly knocked her down in his joy.