Chapter XXII: Brothers at Last

Delmar Barrington had listened in deep silence to every word that fell from his brother’s eloquent lips.

It was the strangest story he had ever heard--the story of a woman’s revenge consummated by her child after her broken heart had found rest in the grave--the story of a legacy of hate and the keeping of a solemn vow to the bitter end.

It threw a brilliant light on the darkness of the past.

It showed him Byrd Barrington, not as a mercenary wretch, but in the character of a hero--a faithful heart that had suffered martyrdom in keeping its vow to the dead.

“Do you think my heart did not yearn over you--my only brother?” Byrd said, with a strange dew in his deep eyes. “Do you think I cared for sordid gold, that I was willing in my heart to strip you of all for my own gain? No, no! Rather would I have gone forth penniless into the world myself! Ah, what nights I have lain awake trying to see some way out of my miserable vow, wondering if my mother were not half-frenzied when she made it, and if in the other world she might not repent the bitterness of her revenge thus taken on those who were not accountable for my father’s sins! I have prayed for a sign; I have begged her to return and release me from the burden of my vow that with every year bore heavier on my heart! Alas, to me there came no token, although the servants of Castellane have whispered that she haunts her old home in distress and grief. But I cannot believe it, since all my longings for her visible presence are in vain.”

He paused and wiped away the fine dew that beaded his high, white brow, and Delmar, half-rising from his couch of weakness, held out an eager hand.

“God bless you, Byrd,” he cried tenderly. “You are one of those silent heroes of whom the carping world never knows. I realize all your goodness and greatness. We are brothers at last.”

And in a moment all bitterness had passed from his heart, and it thrilled with a yearning sympathy for the man who had so revered his mother’s memory that he had made himself a secret martyr for her sake, warring against his own loving instincts in his bitter inheritance of that legacy of hate.

Tenderly, fervently, they clasped hands over their reconciliation. The vow had been kept to the bitter end, and now there was no bar at least to love if Delmar could be great enough to forgive.

He was weak and impulsive, but he was not wicked, and he saw at once the greatness of Byrd’s character, so there was no bar to their future love--there could not be when Delmar saw how eagerly anxious his brother was for his happiness.

“You will marry Josephine, of course, next spring, when poor Maisie has been dead a year,” he said gently. “I am sure that she loves you still, and I have told her what I shall do for her if she marries you.”

Delmar flushed and cried:

“I wish you had not told her, Byrd! I--I--distrust Josephine as much as I love her. I should have liked to test her love--to see if she would come to me for love alone.”

Byrd turned aside his head to hide a cynical smile.

He would not grieve his brother’s heart by one word against his love. He had confidence in Josephine’s love for Delmar, believing that mutual love must bring them happiness in the end.

So he said cheerfully:

“It is not alone Josephine we have to consider, but her parents. They are quite too ambitious to give their consent to their daughter marrying a poor man--especially as it is privately known that Shirley is on the brink of failure and just keeping his head above water now through a loan I made him a month ago.”

“I am not sure that I wish to marry her at all now,” Delmar said reflectively, but his brother laughed and answered:

“Wait until you see her again!”

It was some time before that came about, for Josephine and her mother were away visiting friends in Boston, and when they returned the first snow of December lay white upon the ground and Delmar Barrington was going about again, although very pale and thin as yet, for there was an injury to one of his lungs that made recovery tedious, and which the doctors were frank enough to say might very likely shorten the young man’s days.

Josephine knew well enough that Delmar was at home, but she had not hurried back for that. Having given up the hope of winning Byrd, she had been angling elsewhere for a rich parti, mama having declared that Delmar and a two-hundred-thousand dowry were not to be thought of except as a last resort.

They did not succeed in their designs while away, and on their return mama gave a reluctant assent for Josephine to renew the old love-affair with Delmar since nothing better offered.

When Josephine first saw her lover it gave her quite a shock, seeing him so pale and altered.

“He is not as handsome as he used to be. I do not find myself so much in love with him, after all,” she thought, and at first she was cold and shy.

Delmar was on his dignity, too, although the very first sight of her made his heart throb furiously with a joy he would not have let her see for worlds.

So in the first few days they did not come very near together.

Delmar was waiting for Josephine to humble herself, and she was coquetting, wondering if, indeed, there was no hope of getting the elder brother, with his five millions.

There was no telling how long she would have kept up her fencing had not something very startling suddenly transpired.

Mrs. French, kind soul, who was somewhat outside the pale of all this maneuvering, came to call one day and let the cat out of the bag--a very interesting piece of news, indeed, that set Josephine’s heart beating with a sort of ecstasy.

“I oughtn’t to tell it, but I cannot keep it,” the good lady said, all in a flutter. “It has been in the air a day or two, but Byrd and Del are keeping it close as wax. Still, as you’re such old friends, and must know it soon, anyway, I’m sure they would not mind my telling you.”

“Of course not, my dear Mrs. French,” cooed the mother, while the daughter twittered:

“I’m just dying to hear it!”

“It’s about poor, dear little Maisie. Who would have dreamed of her being a great heiress!”

“Oh, Mrs. French!”

“Impossible!”

And they almost devoured her with their eager eyes.

“It’s true,” she answered. “You see, Byrd has just been going over all his father’s papers--he has had so much to hinder him since April, you know--and so it seems that my poor brother, who, alas, was too fond of money, held a large fortune in trust for poor Maisie, and--and there being no one to look after the child’s interests, he dishonestly appropriated it all to himself. Oh, how it grieves me to know that my poor brother could do such a dreadful thing!” Mrs. French exclaimed, wiping her eyes, that were full of tears.

“Maisie an heiress! Well, wonders will never cease!” cried Mrs. Shirley, encouraging the old lady to add:

“Yes, indeed; a great heiress! Gold-mines, stocks, and bonds, amounting to four million dollars! And to think of the poor dear being dead and never knowing it!” and this time she sobbed aloud in distress.

“Four millions, oh!” cried Mrs. Shirley in a rapture, adding: “And Delmar was her husband. By law he must come into it all!”

A quick glance passed between her and Josephine as Mrs. French replied:

“Yes, every dollar of it. Byrd says so, and oh, you could never guess how honest and upright he is. He might have kept it secret when he found it out and held on to the whole fortune, as his father evidently intended for him to do, but, no! like an honest gentleman, he says:

“‘I will redeem my father’s injustice. I will not keep anything not lawfully mine. Delmar was Maisie’s husband--he has the best right to it, and so I will put him in possession at once!’”

“How grand, how noble!” cried Josephine, clasping her pretty hands, her brown eyes shining like stars, with bright dreams of the future.

But her mother drew down her lips and raised her eyes in a sort of dismay.

“Oh, Mrs. French, my dear, good friend, I fear you have made a great mistake telling us this great and interesting secret!” she cried.

“A mistake!” faltered poor Mrs. French bewilderedly.

“Yes, yes--not but that we appreciate your confidence and are delighted to hear of Delmar’s good fortune, but--perhaps--they would have preferred to keep it secret yet a while longer. So, if I were in your place I would not tell any one else, and I would not even let Byrd or Delmar know you had told us. They might be very angry--who knows?”

The kind old lady was frightened and faltered:

“I--I--perhaps you are right. They cautioned me not to tell a living soul. But somehow I couldn’t keep it from old friends like you. But you’ll never betray me?”

“Never! never!” both promised fervently.

When she was gone they looked at each other with radiant faces.

“Josephine Shirley, you must be engaged to Delmar Barrington before to-morrow night,” cried her mother emphatically.

“I will,” she replied laughingly.

“Only think!” her mother added, “out of Byrd’s reputed five millions he will have nothing but one million and Castellane left. He was a fool not to keep it, say I. He had as good a right to it really as Delmar, who treated poor Maisie shamefully. But it is a fine thing for you, my dear, that everything happened as it did!”

All was eager self-congratulation--not a word of pity for poor Maisie in her lonely grave under the cold December snow, not a word of admiration for Byrd’s honesty. He was a fool, but they were glad of it, they agreed.