CHAPTER XLII.

Te Aroha News, Volume V, Issue 225, 22 October 1887, Page 5

CHAPTER XLII.

MADAM HOWLAND'S STORY. " Impossible !" burst from Walter's lips, w}iile he .regarded his companion as if he thought, she had suddenly lost her senses. " J wish it had been impossible for me to have beon so hard-hearted toward my own flesh and Wood," returned Madame Howland, An tuembl^ng tones, as the tears streamed ov<cr her pale face. "It is too sadly true, however, and it would be but simple justice if you should turn with Wthing from me, now that I have revealed myself to you.. But listen, my boy, and let mo tell you my story before you judge me. In my younger days I was a Baltimore beauty ajid heiress. My father was a wealthy Southerner, .owning two or three plantations and many slaves, and I inherited from him the pride of birth and station. "When I was eighteen years of age, I married Egbert Richardson. He also was wealthy, and occupied a high position in soeioty ; and, brought up as we had been, I do not know as it;s strange that we should both .consider poverty and labour as things to be despised and shunned We had been taught to gauge a porson by his position and possessions, rather tban to respect him for his intrinsic worth. We had one son, whom we named Walter, and you can, perhaps, imagine something of my astonishment and emotion when, on the morning of my accident, you told me your name was Walter Richardson. Something in your face had atti acted me from the first, and when you told me your name I knew what it was — you strongly resembled your father.*' Walter remembered now that she had seemed a good deal agitated at the time, but he had attributed it to her sufferings rather than to any mental disturbance. "Our son," madam continued, "was very bright and promising, and we gave him every advantage, and built our fondest hopes upon him. But before he reached his eighteenth year, his father died. Perhaps, if he had lived, I could never have found it in my heart to turn him against him as I did later ; but before he was twenty, I had accepted Major Howland, a distinguished gentleman, a graduate from West Point, and a native of my own State. He Avas an aristocrat in the strongest sense of the word, and could tolerate nothing of ■* plebeia-nism,' as he termed everything that savoured of labour or trade. He soon became very fond of my handsome son, showered innumerable favours upon him, and spared no expense or pains to make his education thorough and complete. You will perceive that it was a great blow to our expectation'? when, after leaving college, Walter insisted upon perfecting himself in gome profession, and declared his intention of going North for that purpose. We would have much preferred him to settle down as a ' gentleman ' and assist his stepfather in the care oi his large estate, which would have been his after his husband's death, not to mention my own valuable property. But he was resolute, and we -finally consented, reasoning that it could do him no harm to .see something of the world ; so we settled a handsome income upon him, and he left us for New Yoik city, where his tastes led him to take up mechanical engineering. •*• All went well until he wrote us that he had met a beautiful gh 1 w horn he had learned to love, and asked us to be prepared to receive her &s a daughter at no distant day. This news was like a thunderbolt to us both. We had never thought of such a contingency as his marrying a Northern girl — we lhad set crur hopes upon the daughter of a United States Senator. She was not a beautiful girl, but her position was irreproachable, and the union would have been a most desirable one. Major Howland immediately instituted inquiries about Walter's intended' bride, and found, to our grief and dismay, that lie had already committed himself to a poor girl, who was a clerk in a store. The major was furioilfely angry at this discovery, and declared if Walter married her, lie should never cross his threshold .again." Walter's lips opened, as if he would have spoken, while his eyes blazed and his whole face expressed the utmost scorn at this statement. He cheeked himself, however, and madam resumed : "You think that it was very hard and unfeeling,"' she said, deprecatingly, "but remember that it was owing more to education than an unfeeling heart. I tried to temporise with my husband — tried to prevail upon him to go to New York and see this young girl — she might not be so unworthy as he imagined. But he would not, and forbade me to take any measures toward effecting a reconciliation, and I was forced to obey. Walter was warned of the consequences which would follow his marriage with one whom he believed would disgrace the family, and commanded to return immediately to us. In reply, he wrote a noble and a manly letter, pleading his cause most eloquently, and inclosing a picture of his beautiful betrothed, which made me almost yearn to own her as a daughter, Bub the fair, sweet face had no influence upon my husband, except to make him more obstinate an'l he finally said so much that my own pride was touched and my heart hardened. Walter had also expressed some opinions regarding politics in his letter that made Major Howland exceedingly angry. He had decidedly refused to come home while the country was so agitated, saying that if the worst came, his conscience would not allow him to take up arms against the Union, and it would thus be better for him to remain where he was. This was the last bitter drop. He was formally discarded, his income was stopped, and his name no longer to be mentioned in our house. War ensued, throwing the country into a state of turmoil, and I never heard from my son again. Major Howland put his affairs in order, settled the bulk of his fortune upon me, and saw me safely and comfortably provided for, and then gave himself, and what he had reserved of his property, to the cause of the South. I need not go into details, but he had spent himself and his all in the struggle that ensued, and at the end of the war, came home only to die. After that I removed to Philadelphia, where I resided for several years, and then came to this suburban city, which has been my home ever since. " " Ah !" said Walter, looking up with a relieved expression, •' that is the reason, probably, why you never received the news of my father's death. My mother must have addressed you at Baltimore." Madam Howland smiled. " Thank you, my boy, for inferring that I did nob receive that news. You do not

believe me iguito so bad as I have appeared. But I never ditl^ot the letter. If I had I could not Shave . ignored it. I must have gone to you. &ad once I did go to NewYork to search for my son, for ray heart yearned for him af ter my husband's death. I began to feel i-fctfit I had been cold and cruel, and I long«jl to be reconciled to my only child. I was filling even to receive his bride in spifce jofi her poverty and toil, for I knew that their presence would be a I comfort to me in my old age. I was rich, fj I could surround them with every luxury, J and I resolved t&oj> I would atone for my former harshness .and pride. But I could obtain no traoe of either my son or his wife, and I foartd,, remembering the views that he had expressed regarding the Union, that he might b&ve joined the Union army and have perished dn the war. But ib seems from your account that he and your mother Jiad died from overwork and exposure, and you had bseomo the care of a stranger. I have led a lonely life since then, though I have tried to do some good vith the wealth which I jyould have so gladly lavished upon my clujdren.. It has been no atonement, for there can be none for the mother who coldly discards the offspring that God has given her, ithough, for my son's sake, I have done what I could for others. But the moment you .uttered your name in my presence I knew that you were my son's son/ "Walter lifted grave, questioning eyes to his companion's face as she made this statement. She flushed slightly a« she met his glance. " You wonder," she said, reading hie thought, " why I did not at once claim you as my grandson. 1 will frankly confess that something of my old pride of race revived, as tho knowledge was forced upon me, and I dreaded to commit myself until I had tried your character. I wanted to be sure that you were worthy of my love and of the name you bear. This is why I have urged you to come here so much ; why I have asked you questions which, no doubt, you have thought very presuming from an enthc stranger. But, my dear boy, I find you a true and noble man ; one whom I can honour and feel pioud to own as my grandson, if you allow mo that privilege. I came very near revealing myself on the day of your arrest, and it was only by a mighty effort that I restrained myself. It was a great blow to me. even though you bore it so bravely and appeared so innocent. When Mr Conant came to Chester, he called here and relieved my mind, asserting that he could tiust you under any circumstances, and then I confided everything to him, under a promise of secrecy, and commissioned him to spare no expense foi you, but see that you had the a cry be&t counsel retained for your ti ial. •' And now, my dear boy," the old lady said, in conclusion, as she laid her hand upon Walter's arm and leaned forward to look more closely into his face, " can you forgive all the injury and injustice toward your parents of vhich I ha\ c been guilty ? I have suffered for it in the lonely years that I have spent in my desolate home, and tenfold since I discovered that you are my grandson, and realised how much I have missed in not having had you to comfort and cheer me during these long years. Will you try to foiget it all, Walter, and be to me in my old age what I know your father would have been— a kind and loving son, a staff and comfort." Her voice had grown husky and tremling; there were teais in her eyes and a wistful appealing expression upon her aged face. At first, during her recital, there had been a struggle in Walter's mind— a conflict between resentment for the treatment which his father and mother had received at the hands of one who ought to have shown them only tender consideration, and sympathy and pity for this lonely old lady who was suing so humbly for his forgiveness and affection. Pride, too, stood like a giant in the way. It seemed almost disloyal in him to bo willing to drop thus into the lap of luxury, to have benefits heaped ! upon him by the hand that had withheld even the necessaries of life from those whom ! ho had so dearly loved. If she had been poor and suffering, he would have yielded to her entreaties at once, and gladly given her what care and comfort he could. But he recoiled from taking any step which Would seem as if he had been influenced by her wealth or position. Madam Ilowland could not fail to read something of all this in his expressive face. " Walter, do you shut your heart against me?" she pleaded. " I know I have done wrong, and now let me atone, as far as I can, for the wretched past, by loving and caring for you ; by smoothing your path and helping you on in the world, and, when I am done with it, all that I have will be yours." Walter lifted his eye—they were full of tears, for her tone had moved him — and said, with flushed cheeks, yet in a tone that had a ring of pride in it : '•That is just what troubles me and makes me hesitate. If you were poor it would be comparatively easy, for then I should not appear to be seeking my own preferment, or to be acting from selfish motives ; if you were poor I would gladly care for you, love you, and strive to make your future smooth and peaceful. " "Oh, my boy, I am poor — so poor that my old heart is starving for love and sympathy. Wealth will not purchase such things, and my future will be dark indeed, now thsfc I have found you, if you will not come to me and be the staff of my old age. Don't let your pride keep you from me, Walter — I am afraid you are tinctured with something of my own spirit, but do not yield to it. What is my wealth to me except as I can share it with you ? I have no one else to leave it to, and I 3hall feel sure that it will be wisely dispensed by your hands. I long for you, I have allowed myself to learn to love you very dearly during the little while I have known you, and I cannot give you up. My son, you loill not break your grandmother's heart." He was deeply touched, and yet he was not quite ready to yield even now. " I could not bear to be opposed in my chosen profession ; I am going to be an architect and builder, and I cannot give up the opportunity to make a name for myself," he said decidedly. " No one shall oppose you — that kind of pride died out of my heart long ago, and I honour our self-made men— you shall do whatever you like ; I will not lay even a straw in your way," returned Madam Howland, eagerly, her face lighting with something of hope and joy as she saw that he was yielding. " But— grandmother— " "Oh, my son, my son," cried the old lady, tremulously, and almost weeping at tho sound of the name she had so longed to hear ; for to her it was the sign of entire capitulation. He smiled, for it had escaped him almost ' unawares. He had been repeating to himself, "She is my father's mother — she is my grandmother," and now he had said it, and it seemed to cement tho bond between them. He laid his hand gently on her arm and spoke almost fondly. "I was going to tell you something more ; I do not wish to conceal anything from you. I, too, like nay poor father,

who gave you such grave offence, am betrothed to a poor girl — a teacher in the public schools." 11 Then marry her as soon as you like, if she is worthy, and God bless you both !'* madam returned, heartily. Then she leaned forward and pressed her trembling lips to his forehead, asking, tenderly : " Have I won my son ?" "Indeed, you have, grandmother— you have captured me most effectively," Walter answered, trying to speak lightly to hide his own emotion, while he returned her caress with real affection. " Thank Heaven !" she said, fervently. " I know 1 can never make up the past to you, but I will do what I can for your future." And from that day it was Known that Walter Richardson was the child of a son from whom Madam Howland had been separated by the war, and that from henceforth he was to be regarded as her heir. They did not deem it best to go into details, and as this explanation of their now relations appeared to be satisfactory to madam's friends, it was not needful to repeat the sad story of the past, while the young man was at once received by them with a cordiality that was very gratifying to his new-found relative.