Her opportunity came the following morning, the day before Thanksgiving. After breakfast Captain Elisha went downtown to call on some acquaintances. He invited Caroline and the lawyer to accompany him, but they refused, the latter because he judged his, a stranger's, presence during the calls would be something of a hindrance to good fellowship and the discussion of town affairs which the captain was counting on, and Caroline because she saw her chance for the interview she so much desired.
After the captain had gone, Sylvester sat down before the fire in the sitting room to read the Boston Transcript. As he sat there, Caroline entered and closed the door behind her. Miss Abigail was in the kitchen, busy with preparations for the morrow's plum pudding.
The girl took the chair next that occupied by the lawyer. He put down his paper and turned to her.
"Well," he asked, "how does this Cape Cod air effect your appetite, Caroline? I'm ashamed of mine. I'm rather glad to-morrow is Thanksgiving; on that day, I believe, it is permissible, even commendable, to eat three times more than a self-respecting person ordinarily should."She smiled, but her answer was in the form of another question, and quite irrelevant.
"Mr. Sylvester," she said, "I wish you would tell me something about the value of a seat on the Stock Exchange. What is the price of one?"The lawyer looked at her in surprise.
"The value of a seat on the Stock Exchange?" he repeated.
"Yes; what does it cost to buy one?"
He hesitated, wondering why she should be interested in that subject. Captain Elisha had not told him a word of the interview following Pearson's last visit. He wondered, and then surmised a reason--Stephen, of course. Steve's ambition was to be a broker, and his sister was, doubtless, with sisterly solicitude and feminine ignorance of high prices, planning for his future.
"Well," he replied, smiling, "they're pretty expensive, I'm afraid, Caroline.""Are they?" innocently.
"Yes. I think the last sale was at a figure between ninety and one hundred thousand dollars.""Indeed! Was father's seat worth as much as that?""Yes."
"But," with a sigh, "that, I suppose, went with the rest of the estate.""Yes."
"Into the hands of the man who took it all?"
"Yes; the same hands," with a sly smile at his own private joke.
"Then how does it happen that my uncle has it in his possession?"The lawyer smiled no more. He turned in his chair and gazed quickly and keenly at the young lady beside him. And her gaze was just as keen as his own.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"I asked you how it happened that my uncle now has father's Stock Exchange seat in his possession.""Why! . . . Has he?"
"Yes. And I think you know he has, Mr. Sylvester. I know it, because he told me so himself. Didn't you know it?"This was a line shot from directly in front and a hard one to dodge. A lie was the only guard, and he was not in the habit of lying, even professionally.
"I--I cannot answer these questions," he declared. "They involve professional secrets and--""I don't see that this is a secret. My uncle has already told me.
What I could not understand was how he obtained the seat from the man to whom it was given as a part of father's debt. Do you know how he obtained it?""Er--well--er--probably an arrangement was made. I cannot go into details, because--well, for obvious reasons. You must excuse me, Caroline."He rose to go.
"One moment more," she said, "and one more question. Mr. Sylvester, who IS this mysterious person--this stockholder whom father defrauded, this person who wishes his name kept a secret, but who does such queer things? Who is he?""Caroline, I tell you I cannot answer these questions. He does wish to remain unknown, as I told you and your brother when we first learned of him and his claim. If I were to tell you I should break my faith with him. . . . You must excuse me; you really must.""Mr. Sylvester, perhaps you don't need to tell me. Perhaps I can guess. Isn't he my--""Caroline, I cannot--"
"ISN'T HE MY UNCLE, ELISHA WARREN?"
Sylvester was half way to the door, but she was in his path and looking him directly in the face. He hesitated.
"I thought so," she said. "You needn't answer, Mr. Sylvester; your face is answer enough. He is."She turned away, and, walking slowly to the chair from which she had arisen, sank into it.
"He is," she repeated. "I knew it. I wonder that I didn't know it from the very first. How could I have been so blind!"The lawyer, nervous, chagrined, and greatly troubled, remained standing by the door. He did not know whether to go or stay. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead.
"Whew!" he exclaimed. "Well, by--GEORGE!"
She paid no attention to him, but went on, speaking, apparently, to herself.
"It explains everything," she said. "He was father's brother; and father, in some way, took and used his money. But father knew what sort of man he was, and so he asked him to be our guardian. Father thought he would be kind to us, I suppose. And he has been kind--he has. But why did he keep it a secret? Why did he . . . Idon't understand that. Of course the money was his; all we had was his, by right. But to say nothing . . . and to let us believe . . .
It does not seem like him at all. It . . ."
Sylvester interrupted quickly. "Caroline! Caroline!" he said, "don't make any mistake. Don't misjudge your uncle again. He is a good man; one of the best men I ever knew. Yes, and one of the wisest. Don't say or think anything for which you may be sorry.
I am speaking as your friend."
She turned toward him once more, the distressed, puzzled look still on her face. "But I don't understand," she cried. "He . . . Oh, Mr. Sylvester, please, now that I do know--now that you have told me so much--won't you tell me the rest; the reason and--all of it?
Please!"
The lawyer shook his head, regarding her with an expression of annoyance and reluctant admiration.
