Making Haste to Be Rich! CHAPTER 16.
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Ten years — how long a period to some; how brief to others — ten years at last rolled round, and the imprisoned one was set free. He had paid, even to the last farthing, the penalty laid upon him by the violated law of his country. For five long, long, weary years, he had not seen the face of a living soul — but that of his keeper; and for five more years he toiled with men of crime, like himself, some with deeper stains upon them, and some more innocent. In all that time he had heard nothing of what was going on in the busy world without. No word had come to him from friend or foe. He was as a dead man to those who had known him, and they left him in his tomb unvisited.
The death of his wife, and subsequently of two of his children, he knew. Intelligence of these sad events reached him immediately on their occurrence, and deep was the grief, and bitter the feelings of remorse they awakened. But they were buried, and he saw them not. Of the other child — of Blanche, who had her mother's gentle face and loving heart — he had not heard since the prison gates shut themselves between him and the outer world. She might be living — or she might be dead — he knew not.
But these prison gates were at last opened, and the humbled man went forth, but with no feeling of exultation on regaining his liberty. There were no friends to receive him who would pity or forgive the past. No home to which he could go and hide himself for a time. No fortune, although he had spent years of incessant toil and anxious care in striving for gain, awaited him. All — all he had struggled for was lost.
Riddell went forth and breathed again the free air; but his bosom was no lighter. He walked the street among freemen, but no happier than when he was a prisoner. Only a day before, his heart bounded at the thought of liberty — now it lay like a heavy weight in his bosom.
He thought of his child. Was she living? and should he go to her, and smite her innocent young heart with his presence? He felt an intense yearning to see her; but something whispered to him that he ought not to search her out. If she still lived, she had doubtless been taught to think of him as dead, and the truth might kill her, as it had killed her mother.
Slowly he walked the streets of his native city; but how busy had been the hand of change. He saw but few countenances that he remembered — none knew him.
Urged by a feeling that he could not repress, he at last took his way to the part of the town where he had erected his elegant mansion. A stranger's name was on the door where his had once been. He moved on with a deep sigh. Not far from this stood a large and beautiful dwelling; as he passed by, he read the name of Morris Jordan. The steps of the unhappy man were quickened; his teeth were firmly set and his hand clenched.
"Fool! fool!" he muttered, as he went hurriedly along. "I was a madman!" he added in a little while, sadly, and again his steps lingered. Suddenly his eyes rested upon a young and beautiful face at a window. He paused but for an instant, and then almost sprang away. Was it the face of her who had lain in his bosom? Was it a vision? No. It was the face of his child! — of Blanche, just in the bloom and beauty of life's early spring time. Sixteen summers had smiled, and sixteen winters blown upon her young cheeks, and both had brightened them.
Riddell's heart beat wildly, and his brain was, for a time, all in confusion. Yes, it was his child. His eyes had seen her. She was yet alive, and — happy. Oh! with what intenseness did he long to take her to his bosom; but, he felt that she was too pure to be touched by him — that he had no right to step forth and curse her with his presence. His was a wild, wild struggle. But he conquered. Yet, day after day, and night after night, for more than a week, would he go by her home, now and then getting a sight of her face, and sometimes hearing her sweet voice — he knew it was her voice, it was so like one that had been hushed for years — warbling like the voice of a happy bird.
At last he resolved to tear himself away; for he felt, that if he stayed much longer, he would not have power to go. Far off, in some western city, it was his purpose to seek, under an assumed name, an honest livelihood. On the day previous to the one fixed upon for his departure, he passed the house of his child more than twenty times, with the hope of seeing her face once more, perhaps for the last time. But the shutters were closed, and so remained.
"I must look upon her again," he murmured, as he went by the dwelling of Mr. Ackland, and still found the windows shut. "I cannot go until I have seen that face once more."
The unhappy man had scarcely uttered these words, when his eyes rested, a short distance in advance, upon Mr. Ackland, who looked twenty years older than when he last saw him; and upon his arm leaned a slender, graceful form. It was Blanche, looking fairer, and purer, and happier, than she had yet appeared in his eyes. His knees tottered — his heart grew still — his feet refused to obey the impulse of his mind — and he stood with his eyes riveted upon the face of one he yearned with an intense desire to clasp to his bosom, but dared not. She did not notice him, but passed on. He turned and followed her with his eyes, until she was hidden from view by the crowd; and then, groaning in the anguish of his spirit, moved slowly on. He had not gone far, however, when a hand was laid upon his shoulder. Turning quickly, he stood face to face with Mr. Ackland, who had recognized him as they passed. For some moments, the two men looked intently at each other, both trembling violently.
"Come," said Mr. Ackland at length, laying his hand upon the arm of Riddell; and they walked silently, side by side, for the distance of three or four blocks, and then entered a hotel. Mr. Ackland called for a room, and in a brief space they were alone. By this time, Riddell had regained his self-possession.
"I am, doubtless, the last man you expected or wished to meet," he said, with some firmness, breaking the silence that had been maintained on both sides, up to this point, while he looked fully and steadily in the face of Mr. Ackland.
"I was not aware that your term had expired," was answered. "I have looked forward to the time as anxiously, perhaps, as yourself. For what reason, I need not say. I did hope, that when again free, you would at once leave this city. But it seems I have erred. A week at least has elapsed, and you are still here."
"Do you blame me for lingering?" asked Riddell in a voice that trembled. "Do you wonder that I found it almost impossible to tear myself away?"
"Perhaps I should not," said Mr. Ackland, touched by the tone and manner of Riddell.
"Tell me one thing," said the latter, after a pause, speaking earnestly. "Does Blanche know anything of my unhappy history? Does she know that I am alive?"
"She does not. She was but a child when those terrible events happened."
"Crime, then, is not associated in her mind with the name of her father?"
"No."
"May the blessing of Heaven rest upon you!" ejaculated Riddell, catching hold of Mr. Ackland's hand, and pressing it warmly. The old man was visibly moved. "Daily, for a week," resumed Riddell, I have I passed your house many times, to get a look at the face of my child, and night after night have I stood beneath your windows, that I might hear the sound of her voice, sad as the tones made me feel; all the while struggling to tear myself away, without the power to do so. Oh, sir, if you know how I long to take my child in my arms, you would pity me; for I cannot do so without making dark, the light in her happy eyes, and that I will not do.' Ten years, sir, is a long time for a man to suffer and repent; and it is hard, after all is over, to go forth again into the world, and not find one who will forgive all, and love through all. My child would forgive all, even if she knew all, and love me still; but as selfish as I am, I will not ask that of her, for she cannot forgive me and love me without knowing all — and that knowledge would be gained at too dear a cost. Mr. Ackland! I know that you, as well as hundreds, have execrated my name; and yet I never intended to wrong anyone, when, under strong temptation, I resorted to the mode of raising money that proved my ruin. I believed that, by this means I would be able to carry through my scheme of money-making, and secure the great fortune I was so eager to gain; and, through all, lift myself the paper I created. But the unfortunate discovery you made, and the involuntary betrayal thereof, destroyed everything. And have I not suffered for my folly? — yes, have I not suffered enough? Even you would think so — even you would pity me — if you could know all I have endured since last you saw me."
And Mr. Ackland did, from his heart, pity the unhappy man, as much as he had suffered from his folly and crime. That he had not come forth from prison cold and hardened, was a relief to him.
"I know you love Blanche as if she were your own child," said Riddell, after a brief silence. "How can you help loving her. And yet you have others to love. She is my child, and all that is left to me in the world!"
A choking sob interrupted his utterance, but he struggled with himself and regained his composure.
"If she were with me — if I could come to her as from a far country — nay, even if my appearing were with a confession of former wrong doings, long and bitterly repented — I know she would love me, and that love would be to me like a gushing spring to the traveler just perishing with thirst. Do you think this might be done? Pity me, and have regard for me."
Mr. Ackland was deeply moved. "I am not all evil, sir," resumed Riddell. "As widely as I strayed, under strong temptations — as selfish and disgraceful of the good of others as I proved myself to be when filled with the lust for gain — long-suffering has brought repentance; and now, in thinking of my child, the good resolutions that have been forming in my mind gain strength. Oh! if we could be restored to each other, without wrong to her."
"That could hardly be — and yet I will think," replied Mr. Ackland, in a softened tone. "You are without money, of course," he said, after a few moments.
"Except a small sum which I kept through my long confinement. But tell me what was the result in the settlement of my affairs by those who took charge of them?"
"A large dividend was paid."
"It is well. There was enough, and more than enough to pay all that I owed, if I could have settled it myself."
"You need some help now," said Mr. Ackland. "Your dress must be improved. Here are a hundred dollars. Get suitable clothing immediately. Tomorrow I will see you again. By that time I will be able to think to better purpose than I can now."
Riddell seized the hand of Mr. Ackland, and said, with deep emotion —
"Oh, sir! can you forgive me for all the suffering my folly has occasioned you?"
"The past is past," replied Mr. Ackland, trying to speak with composure; "I trust that what I have suffered has not steeled my heart. If there is forgiveness in God — then manought not to harden himself against his fellow man who repents."
Riddell bowed his head and wept like a child.
"Tomorrow, at this time, and in this place, I will meet you again," said Mr. Ackland, rising.
"No, not here," returned Riddell, naming another place; and the two men parted, with far different feelings than when they met.
At the next interview, it was arranged that Riddell should leave the city without seeing his daughter, and go to a certain small town in the West, and there commence business for himself on a small capital advanced by Mr. Ackland, and leave with him the task of breaking to Blanche, at a proper time, the fact that her father was living. This design was at once carried out, and Riddell departed from his native city, to seek a home far off and among strangers.
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