CHAPTER XXIV
FACING THE TRUTH
Irene was a great comfort to Mary Louise in this hour of trial. Thechair-girl, beneath her gayety of demeanor and lightness of speech, wasdeeply religious. Her absolute faith sounded so cheering that death wasrobbed of much of its horror and her bereaved friend found solace. MaryLouise was able to talk freely of "Mamma Bee" to Irene, while with AuntHannah she rather avoided reference to her mother.
"I've always longed to be more with Mamma Bee and to learn to know herbetter," she said to her friend; "for, though she was very loving andgentle to me while I was with her, she spent most of her life caringfor Gran'pa Jim, and they were away from me so much that I reallydidn't get to know Mamma very well. I think she worried a good dealover Gran'pa's troubles. She couldn't help that, of course, but Ialways hoped that some day the troubles would be over and we could alllive happily together. And now--that can never be!"
Irene, knowing more of the Hathaway family history than Mary Louisedid, through the letter she had found and read, was often perplexed howto console her friend and still regard honesty and truth. Anydeception, even when practiced through the best of motives, wasabhorrent to her nature, so she avoided speaking of the presentaffliction and led Mary Louise to look to a future life for themotherly companionship she had missed on earth.
"That," said she, "is the thought that has always given me the mostcomfort. We are both orphans, dear, and I'm sure your nature is asbrave as my own and that you can bear equally well the loss of yourparents."
And Mary Louise was really brave and tried hard to bear her grief withpatient resignation. One thing she presently decided in her mind,although she did not mention it to Irene. She must find Gran'pa Jim andgo to him, wherever he might be. Gran'pa Jim and her mother had beeninseparable companions; Mary Louise knew that her own present sorrowcould be nothing when compared with that of her grandfather. And so itwas her duty to find him and comfort him, to devote her whole life, asher mother had done, to caring for his wants and cheering hisloneliness--so far, indeed, as she was able to do. Of course, no onecould quite take the place of Mamma Bee.
She was thinking in this vein as she sat in the den with Irene thatSaturday afternoon. The chair-girl, who sewed beautifully, was fixingover one of Mary Louise's black dresses while Mary Louise sat opposite,listlessly watching her. The door into the hall was closed, but theglass door to the rear porch was wide open to let in the sun and air.And this simple scene was the setting for the drama about to be enacted.
Mary Louise had her back half turned to the hall door, which Irenepartially faced, and so it was that when the door opened softly and thechair-girl raised her head to gaze with startled surprise at someonewho stood in the doorway, Mary Louise first curiously eyed her friend'sexpressive face and then, rather languidly, turned her head to glanceover her shoulder.
The next moment she sprang to her feet and rushed forward.
"Gran'pa Jim--Oh, Gran'pa Jim!" she cried, and threw herself into thearms of a tall man who folded her to his breast in a close embrace.
For a while they stood there silent, while Irene dropped her eyes toher lap, deeming the reunion too sacred to be observed by another. Andthen a little stir at the open porch door attracted her attention andwith a shock of repulsion she saw Agatha Lord standing there with acynical smile on her lovely face. Softly the sash of the window wasraised, and the maid Susan stood on the ground outside, leaned herelbows on the sill and quietly regarded the scene within the den.
The opening of the window arrested Colonel Weatherby's attention. Helifted his head and with a quick glance took in the situation. Then,still holding his granddaughter in his arms, he advanced to the centerof the room and said sternly, addressing Agatha:
"Is this a deliberate intrusion, because I am here, or is it pureinsolence?"
"Forgive us if we intrude, Mr. Hathaway," replied Agatha. "It was notour desire to interrupt your meeting with your granddaughter, but--ithas been so difficult, in the past, to secure an interview with you,sir, that we dared not risk missing you at this time."
He regarded her with an expression of astonishment.
"That's it, exactly, Mr. Weatherby-Hathaway," remarked Susan mockingly,from her window.
"Don't pay any attention to them, Gran'pa Jim," begged Mary Louise,clinging to him. "They're just two dreadful women who live down belowhere, and--and--"
"I realize who they are," said the old gentleman in a calm voice, andaddressing Agatha again he continued: "Since you are determined tointerview me, pray step inside and be seated."
Agatha shook her head with a smile; Nan Shelley laughed outright andretorted:
"Not yet, Hathaway. We can't afford to take chances with one who hasdodged the whole Department for ten years."
"Then you are Government agents?" he asked.
"That's it, sir."
He turned his head toward the door by which he had entered, for therewas an altercation going on in the hallway and Mr. Conant's voice couldbe heard angrily protesting.
A moment later the lawyer came in, followed by the little man with thefat nose, who bowed to Colonel Weatherby very respectfully yet remainedplanted in the doorway.
"This is--er--er--very unfortunate, sir; ve-ry un-for-tu-nate!"exclaimed Peter Conant, chopping off each word with a sort of snarl."These con-found-ed secret service people have trailed us here."
"It doesn't matter, Mr. Conant," replied the Colonel, in a voicecomposed but very weary. He seated himself in a chair, as he spoke, andMary Louise sat on the arm of it, still embracing him.
"No," said O'Gorman, "it really doesn't matter, sir. In fact, I'm sureyou will feel relieved to have this affair off your mind and be sparedall further annoyance concerning it."
The old gentleman looked at him steadily but made no answer. It wasPeter Conant who faced the speaker and demanded:
"What do you mean by that statement?"
"Mr. Hathaway knows what I mean. He can, in a few words, explain why hehas for years borne the accusation of a crime of which he is innocent."
Peter Conant was so astounded he could do nothing but stare at thedetective. Staring was the very best thing that Peter did and he neverstared harder in his life. The tears had been coursing down MaryLouise's cheeks, but now a glad look crossed her face.
"Do you hear that, Gran'pa Jim?" she cried. "Of course you areinnocent! I've always known that; but now even your enemies do."
Mr. Hathaway looked long into the girl's eyes, which met his ownhopefully, almost joyfully. Then he turned to O'Gorman.
"I cannot prove my innocence," he said.
"Do you mean that you WILL not?"
"I will go with you and stand my trial. I will accept whateverpunishment the law decrees."
O'Gorman nodded his head.
"I know exactly how you feel about it, Mr. Hathaway," he said, "and Isympathize with you most earnestly. Will you allow me to sit downawhile? Thank you."
He took a chair facing that of the hunted man. Agatha, seeing this,seated herself on the door-step. Nan maintained her position, leaningthrough the open window.
"This," said O'Gorman, "is a strange ease. It has always been a strangecase, sir, from the very beginning. Important government secrets of theUnited States were stolen and turned over to the agent of a foreigngovernment which is none too friendly to our own. It was considered, inits day, one of the most traitorous crimes in our history. And you,sir, a citizen of high standing and repute, were detected in the act oftransferring many of these important papers to a spy, thus periling thesafety of the nation. You were caught red-handed, so to speak, but madeyour escape and in a manner remarkable and even wonderful for itsadroitness have for years evaded every effort on the part of our SecretService Department to effect your capture. And yet, despite theabsolute truth of this statement, you are innocent."
None cared to reply for a time. Some who had listened to O'Gorman weretoo startled to speak; others refrained. Mary Louise stared at thedetective with almost Pet
er Conant's expression--her eyes big andround. Irene thrilled with joyous anticipation, for in the presence ofthis sorrowing, hunted, white-haired old man, whose years had beendevoted to patient self-sacrifice, the humiliation the comingdisclosure would, thrust upon Mary Louise seemed now insignificant.Until this moment Irene had been determined to suppress the knowledgegained through the old letter in order to protect the feelings of herfriend, but now a crying need for the truth to prevail was borne inupon her. She had thought that she alone knew this truth. To herastonishment, as well as satisfaction, the chair-girl now discoveredthat O'Gorman was equally well informed.