Making Haste to Be Rich! CHAPTER 17.
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One evening, about a year after Riddell's release from imprisonment, Mr. Ackland sat alone with Blanche, in earnest conversation. The time had come for him to tell her the truth about her father. After directing her attention to the period of her earliest recollection, he said —
"Do you remember anything about your father, Blanche?"
A flush passed quickly over the beautiful face of the young girl. Heretofore, every allusion to her father, which she had ventured to make, had been met by reserve; and every question relating to him evaded.
"Not much," she replied. "I was young when he went away. Is he living — or is he dead, grandpa? Oh! you do not know how much I have thought of him lately."
"He is living, my child. For a year past, I have corresponded with him frequently."
"And did not tell me!"
"No, Blanche, for it was his wish that I should not do so."
"His wish! Does he not care for me?"
Tears were visible beneath the half shut eyelids of the maiden.
"He loves you tenderly, my child, and most ardently desires to see you."
"Then why does he stay away? Why has he been to me like one that is dead for so many years?"
"You have asked a question which must be answered before you can meet. Your father, Blanche, has been a sufferer for many long years — and amid all, there has been none to speak to him a word of comfort or hope. All turned away from him."
The face of Blanche became very pale, and the tears stole out and fell in large drops over her face. She tried to speak, but her lips moved inarticulately.
"But, my child," resumed Mr. Ackland, "there was a cause why his best friends thus turned from him and left him to suffer alone. Your father, in the eager pursuit of wealth, was sorely tempted to do wrong, and fell in the temptation."
The whole frame of the maiden shook. Mr. Ackland, when he remembered the death of her mother, felt alarmed for Blanche. But there was no holding back now. The truth, softened as much as he dared soften it, must be told.
"It is the wish of your father," he continued, "that you should know all."
"Then speak, grandpa! Do not keep me any longer in this dreadful suspense," said Blanche, her bosom panting, and her voice almost inaudible.
"Your father, some ten or twelve years ago, was one of our most active merchants. He had made money fast, but not fast enough to meet his wishes; and he, therefore, entered upon new and vast schemes of profit which could not be sustained by the capital upon which his business rested. At a certain point in his affairs, he had need of more money than it was possible to raise by any of the ordinary means that were open to him. Unless this money were obtained, ruin inevitable would follow. In this crisis of his affairs, when he was almost paralyzed with alarm, but one mode of extrication presented itself, and, with great reluctance, he adopted that mode; he had no intention of doing wrong to any. The expedient was resorted to as a temporary one; but necessity compelled him to continue it. From a single instance of departure from a right path, he was forced, by the power of accumulating circumstances, far away into error, and, at last, an accident exposed all. From a high and honorable position in the community — he fell suddenly overwhelmed with disgrace. Nor was this all. What he had done, though done, as he solemnly avers, with no intention of wrong to others, but with the hope of carrying him safely through his difficulties, was a violation of the law, and justice sought its own vindication. For ten years, Blanche, was your unhappy father deprived of liberty."
At this announcement, the daughter's feelings gave way, and for many minutes she wept and sobbed passionately. Mr. Ackland did not attempt to check the wild burst of grief, for he deemed it better that it should expend itself.
"Where is my father now?" at length asked the young girl, firmly, lifting her head and showing a face on which the tears no longer remained.
"It is just a year," said Mr. Ackland, "since he breathed the free air. A lonely, heart-stricken man, he wandered the streets of his native city — a stranger to all. And he often passed here, and paused a moment to look at your face; and lingered under our windows at night, to listen to your voice."
"Grandpa!" exclaimed Blanche, her face and body instantly convulsed. But a gush of tears came to her relief; and long and passionately did she weep again.
"He could not think of smiting your innocent, happy heart," continued Mr. Ackland, after Blanche had grown calm, "by his presence. Hard as it was for him to do so, he had resolved to go far off, and bear alone the burden his own act had laid upon his shoulders, and he had fixed the time of his departure. But he could not tear himself away without once more looking upon your face. Twenty times, in half that number of hours, did he pass your home; but saw you not. Again at twilight he went by, and still the closed shutters mocked his eager eyes. But, a few steps beyond, and he met you, and looked fondly upon your face, as he believed, for the last time. When we reached our own door, I left you and went back. He had reason to believe that I had not forgiven him; and I must own, that I found it hard to do so, for his act cost me greater pain than I had ever before endured. But the hour I spent with him that evening, removed the bitterness from my heart, and pity took the place of anger. I supplied him with money, and he went far off to the West, and there, under an assumed name, commenced business. And now, he waits to take you to his lonely heart, if you will go."
"Go! grandpa," said the agitated, weeping girl, "Let me go this hour!"
"But you will go among strangers."
"My father will be there."
"You will have to take another name."
"If my father bears it, that is enough. Oh, let me go to him."
And the eager girl stood trembling before the old man, who had loved her so long, and with a tenderer love than he had ever borne for one of his own children.
At this instant, the door of the room opened quickly. Blanche turned. One glance sufficed. Her heart was not deceived.
"My father!" And she fell forward into the arms of the stranger who entered.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Far away in the West lives a man, whose aspect ranks him as prematurely old. He is sober and thoughtful. None see him smile. He lives alone with his daughter, a beautiful young creature, beloved and admired by all who are so favored as to win her friendship. People wonder who they are; but can learn little about them. All questions concerning their previous history are met with silence, or evaded; and those who evince a prurient curiosity, are treated with a coldness that soon makes them strangers. But, by all, is seen the devoted love of the daughter for her parent, and it is plain that she is as tenderly loved by him. The man is remarkable for upright dealing; and is, for this cause, as well as from his amiable deportment, respected by everyone. The daughter is highly accomplished, and her temper so sweet, that all feel glad when they can win her from the seclusion of her home, to grace their social circles. Twice a year she goes on to the East to spend a month with some relatives. As yet, the names of these relatives are not known, though some more curious than the rest, have discovered the city where they live. Doubtless, the same curious ones will not rest until the truth is fully known and the whisper gets wind that the real name of the lovely Blanche is Riddell, and not Hartman. But she will never know that the sad secret of her father's life, is known among the people with whom she dwells.
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