Ralph Raymond's Heir

"Do you often have these fits?" asked Robert.

"I have not had one for three months, but lately I have been apprehending one, for I have not felt as well as usual. Indeed, I have a violent headache now. I think I will go to the hotel and lie down, if you can amuse yourself for awhile."

"Yes, you had better do so. I can get along quite well."

Robert easily credited the plausible explanation which had been given, for he could not believe that Cromwell would deliberately seek his life. He did not know the powerful motive which prompted him.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE VEIL IS LIFTED

About a fortnight from the time of their departure the two travelers reached a town in Southern Indiana, which we will call Madison. They had traveled leisurely, stopping at several places on the way. Cromwell had not ventured upon a second attempt upon the life of Robert Raymond. The first failure had left on his mind an impression of fear, and he resolved that he would not again attempt open violence. If anything was to be done, it should be by more subtle and hidden ways.

As for Robert, his first feeling of suspicion was entirely dissipated. He accepted Cromwell's explanation in good faith, and thought little more about the matter, but gave up his time and thoughts to the new scenes into which each successive day brought him. He had not got to like Cromwell, nor was there any chance that he would, but the two did not interfere much with each other, but kept by themselves, so far as it could be done under the circumstances.

On arriving in Madison, a town of which Cromwell had formerly known something, they went to the Madison House, as the hotel was called, and entered their names.

The next morning Cromwell went round to the village drug store, kept by an old acquaintance, formerly a fellow clerk, named Leonard Grover.

"How do you do. Grover?" he said, as he entered the shop.

Grover surveyed him scrutinizingly.

"Don't you know me?" asked Cromwell.

"What! James Cromwell? How came you out here? And where have you been for some time? Sit down and tell me all about it."

The two took chairs, and Cromwell said as much as he chose to say.

"I have been employed in New York," he said, "but I got tired of that city, and came out here to see if I couldn't find an opening somewhere."

"You don't like New York, then?"

"Not particularly. At any rate, I have determined to make a change."

"Well, that is curious."

"Why curious?"

"I mean that while you are tired of New York, I am anxious to go there."

"You are? Why don't you then?"

"Because I am tied down to this store. If I could sell out to anybody for any decent price, I would start for New York, mighty quick."

"Then I suppose you are not doing well here?"

"Yes, I am doing well, but I don't think my health is as good here as at the East. Besides, I have some relations in New York, and that would make it pleasant for me to be there."

"What would you sell out for?" asked Cromwell.

"Do you mean business?"

"Yes, I have been thinking that if I could get a shop on favorable terms, I would buy one. Tell me what is the best you can do."

"If you will come in to-morrow, I will do so. I must take a little inventory of my stock, so as to see how I stand."

"Very well, I will do so."

The next day James Cromwell arranged to purchase the shop, with its present stock, at fifteen hundred dollars, cash.

"It's worth two thousand," said the proprietor, "but I am willing to sacrifice twenty-five per cent. for the sake of freeing myself. You get it dirt cheap."

"If I did not, I could not buy it at all," said Cromwell.

James Cromwell was authorized to draw upon Paul Morton for a sum not exceeding two thousand dollars, whenever he could make an arrangement to purchase a drug shop. Although he had agreed to pay fifteen hundred, he drew for the entire sum, and this draft was honored. In the course of a week all the arrangements were completed. The old sign was removed, and another put in its place bearing in large letters the name:

JAMES CROMWELL,DRUGGIST AND APOTHECARY

While these arrangements were in progress, Robert Raymond was left in complete ignorance of them. He spent the day in roaming over the neighborhood, with which he had by this time become quite familiar. It had occurred to him several times, to wonder why Mr. Cromwell saw fit to remain so long in a town which seemed to possess no especial attractions. He once or twice put the question, but was put off with an evasive answer, and did not repeat it.

But one morning as he walked through the principal street, he saw the new sign referred to above, going up, and he was struck with surprise.

"What does that mean, I wonder?" he asked himself.

Just at this moment James Cromwell himself appeared at the door of the shop. His hat was off, and it was evident that he was at home here.

"What does that mean, Mr. Cromwell?" asked Robert, pointing to the sign.

"It means that this shop is mine; I have bought it."

"But I thought you were only going to stay in Madison a few days? I did not know you intended to go into business here."

"No, I suppose not," said Cromwell, coolly. "I did not know that there was any necessity of telling you all my plans."

"Of course not," said Robert. "I do not wish you to tell me any more than you think proper of your affairs. But I was thinking how I should go back to New York, as now you will probably be unable to accompany me."

"Yes, I shall be unable to accompany you," said Cromwell, "but I don't think there will be any trouble about that."

"I am old enough to travel alone, I think," said Robert. "I have been over the route once with you, and I think I can get along well enough."

"You seem to have made up your mind that you are going back to New York?" said Cromwell, with a slight sneer.

"Of course. My guardian told me that I was to go on a short journey, and would return to my old school again."

"He did not tell me that," said his companion, significantly.

"What did he tell you, Mr. Cromwell?" asked Robert, beginning to feel nervous and anxious, for he was very anxious of returning to his old school, where he had many valued friends.

"He can explain that best himself," said Cromwell, in reply. "Here is a letter which he told me to hand you when the time came that rendered it necessary."

He drew forth, as he spoke, a letter from the inner pocket of his coat, addressed to

Master Robert Raymond

Robert opened it hastily, and read in the merchant's handwriting, the following:

"Robert:—Circumstances have led me to decide that it would be best for you to remain at the West for a time, instead of returning to your former school, as you doubtless desire. It is not necessary for me to detail the reasons which have led me to this resolution. As your guardian, I must use my best discretion and judgment, and it is not for you to question either. Mr. Cromwell will look after your welfare, and make all necessary arrangements for you, such as finding a school for you to attend in the town where he decides to establish himself. Of course, you will board at the same place with him, and be under his charge. I expect you to be obedient to him in all things. Your guardian,

"Paul Morton."

Robert Raymond read this letter with mingled disappointment and indignation. He felt that he had been treated very unfairly and that he had been entrapped into this Western journey under false pretences.

He looked up after he had finished reading the letter, saying:

"Mr. Morton has not treated me right."

"Why hasn't he?"

"He ought to have told me all this before we started."

"If he had, you would have made a fuss, and he wished to avoid this."

"I think it was mean and unfair," said Robert, hotly.

"Perhaps you had better write and tell him so," said James Cromwell, sneering.

"I shall write to him," said Robert, very firmly. "My father never would have sanctioned such an arrangement as this. Besides, I don't believe there is any good school out here."

"It is just possible that there may be somebody in Madison who may know enough to teach you," said Cromwell, with an unpleasant sneer.

Robert Raymond looked at him intently. He felt instinctively that he should obtain no sympathy in his complaints, and he became silent. He went back to the hotel and wrote a letter to Mr. Morton, in which he set forth respectfully his objections to remaining at the West. The letter reached its destination, but his guardian did not see fit to answer it.

CHAPTER XIV.

CLARA MANTON

James Cromwell did not remain at the Madison Hotel, but secured board for himself and Robert at a private house in the village, where the only other boarders were a gentleman and his daughter. The latter was about nineteen, passably pretty, and very fond of attention. Her name was Clara Manton. Her father was in ill-health, and for a year or two had been out of business. He was possessed of about fifteen thousand dollars, well invested, and the income of this sum in a place like Madison, yielded him and his daughter a very comfortable support.

When Clara Manton heard that they were to have two fellow-boarders, and that one of them was a young man, she determined, as she expressed it to her friend, Louisa Bates, "to set her cap for him."

"Would you marry him?" inquired Louisa, of her friend.

"As to that, I can't tell. I haven't seen him yet. He may be very disagreeable for all I know. But even if he is, I am going to flatter him up, and make him fall in love with me. Then, when he offers himself, I can take his case into consideration."

"Perhaps you'll fall in love yourself, Clara," suggested her friend.

"I am not very susceptible. I wouldn't marry a masculine angel, unless he had some money. I must find out how Mr. Cromwell stands in that way, first."

When James Cromwell first made his appearance at Mrs. Shelby's table, Clara Manton, who sat opposite, fixed her black eyes upon his face, and examined him attentively.

As James Cromwell's personal appearance has previously been described, it will readily be believed that Clara was not fascinated with the retreating forehead, ferret-like eyes, mottled complexion and insignificant features.

"He's horrid ugly!" she said to herself. "I don't think I ever saw a homelier man. The boy is much better looking. I wish he were the young man. There'd be some satisfaction in exercising my fascinations upon him. However, beauty is only skin deep, and if Mr. Cromwell has got money, I don't know that I would object to marrying him. What I want is a nice house and an easy life."

It will be seen that Clara Manton was not one of the romantic girls of which heroines are usually made. In truth, she was incapable of any love, except self-love, and though she could counterfeit sentiment, she had none of the quality. She was very practical and calculating, and did not mean to surrender her freedom, unless she could obtain the substantial advantages which she desired.

In spite, therefore, of James Cromwell's personal deficiencies, she determined to exercise her arts upon him.

On sitting down to the table she was introduced by Mrs. Shelby.

"How do you like Madison, Mr. Cromwell?" she said, with great suavity.

"Pretty well, thank you," said Cromwell, rather awkwardly, for he always felt uncomfortable in the society of ladies, particularly if they were young, or in any way pretty or attractive. It might have been a vague idea of his own personal disadvantages that produced this feeling, but it was partly because he had had very limited opportunities of becoming acquainted or associating with the opposite sex.

"I am glad you like us well enough to establish yourself here," said the young lady, graciously. "I hear you have gone into business in the village, so that we may hope to have you as a permanent accession to our village society."

"Thank you, Miss Manton," said James Cromwell, trying to think of something more to say, but not succeeding.

"Do you go back to the store in the evening?" asked the young lady, as he rose from the table.

"Yes, I think so. I am expected to keep open in the evening."

"But you have an assistant?"

"Yes."

"Then I advise you not to make yourself a slave to business. We shall hope for the pleasure of your company occasionally in the evening."

James Cromwell felt flattered, and looking full in the young lady's face, he thought to himself, "She is very pretty, and she seems to show me a great deal of politeness."

"Thank you, Miss Manton, for your kind invitation. I will accept it very soon—as soon as I think I can be spared from my business."

"You will be quite welcome," said Clara, graciously.

The young man might not have felt quite so well pleased, if he could have read what was passing in Clara's mind.

"He is not only ugly," she said to herself, "but an awkward boor. I don't believe he ever spoke to a lady before. However, he may be worth catching. At any rate, it will give me a little amusement to angle for him, and I will see if I can't make an impression."

"Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise." So runs an old proverb. This was illustrated in the case of James Cromwell, who, ignorant of the real opinion entertained of him by Miss Manton, began, after a while, to conceive the delusive thought that she had taken a fancy to him. But we are anticipating.

Three evenings later, when supper was concluded, James Cromwell made no movement to go back to the store. This was quickly observed by Clara, who said, with a smile:

"You are going to remain with us, this evening, are you not, Mr. Cromwell?"

"If it will be agreeable," he said.

"Can you doubt it?" she said, with a look which quickened the pulsations of Cromwell's heart. "I get so tired passing the evening alone. Papa gets hold of a paper or magazine, and I am left to my own devices for amusement."

She invited Cromwell to their private parlor, which was furnished with a piano.

"Do you like music, Mr. Cromwell?" she inquired.

"Very much, indeed," he answered, though the truth was he scarcely knew one tune from another.

"Perhaps you are a musician?"

"Not at all," he said, hastily, and in this statement, at least, he was correct. "Won't you play something, Miss Manton?"

"I haven't anything new, but if you don't mind old pieces, I will play for you."

She played a noisy instrumental piece, to which James Cromwell listened in silence, with very little idea of what was being played. His eyes were fixed rather on the young lady herself.

"How do you like it, Mr. Cromwell?"

"Very much, indeed," said Cromwell, hitching his chair a little nearer the instrument, and then coloring, lest the movement should have been observed.

"I think I will sing you something," said Clara. "I don't sing in public, but before an intimate friend I do not feel so bashful."

The words "intimate friend," slipped out so easily and naturally that she seemed unconscious of them, but they were intentional, and she glanced out of the corners of her eyes to watch their effect. She saw that Cromwell's eyes brightened, and the color came to his pale cheeks, and then she knew that they had produced the effect which she intended.

"She is certainly very charming," thought Cromwell, "and she is very friendly. I don't think I ever met a young lady so attractive."

"He's getting in love," said Clara to herself. "It'll be fun to see him when he gets quite carried away by the tender passion. I've heard of eloquent eyes, but I don't think his are capable of looking like anything except those of a ferret. Well, I'll see the play through."

She accordingly sang the well-known song, "Then I'll Remember Thee," putting into it as much meaning as possible, and occasionally glancing in a languishing manner at the young man, who sat uneasily in his chair, and began to feel all the symptoms of love. He sat as if spell-bound when she had finished.

"Why don't you compliment me, Mr. Cromwell?" she said, turning round, with a smile. "Do you know you are wanting in your duty, sir? Every young lady expects to be complimented, when she has done a young gentleman the favor to sing to him."

"It was because I was so charmed," said James Cromwell, with more readiness than might have been expected. "I was so charmed that I was incapable of saying a word."

"I am afraid you are like the rest of your sex, a sad flatterer, Mr. Cromwell," said the young lady, shaking her head, with a smile. "You don't expect me to believe that, now, do you?"

"Yes, I do, Miss Manton, for it is perfectly true," said James Cromwell, plucking up courage; "you sing like a nightingale."

"Do I? I was so afraid you'd say like an owl, or something else uncomplimentary. As you have behaved so well, I must sing you something more."

So the evening passed. The young lady paid assiduous attention to her visitor, and when they parted her task was accomplished. James Cromwell was in love.

CHAPTER XV.

A DECLARATION, AND HOW IT WAS RECEIVED

Robert Raymond did not propose to rebel against his guardian's arrangements, however disagreeable they were to himself. He had written a letter to Paul Morton, and he hoped that his remonstrance would have some effect. But meanwhile he determined to accept his fate, and act in accordance with the instructions which had been given him.

There was a private school in Madison, kept by a college graduate, and to this school Robert was sent by James Cromwell. He found himself the most advanced pupil in the classics, and he soon found that his teacher's acquirements were far from extensive or thorough. Still he could learn by his own efforts, though not of course, as well as at his former school, and he resolved to make the best of it. Of his connection with the school nothing in particular need be said. He was regular in attendance, and was treated with a degree of deference by the teacher, who perceived that his scholarship was sufficient to enable him to detect his own slender acquirements.

Meanwhile the flirtation between James Cromwell and Clara Manton continued. The young lady was always gracious, and so far as her manner went, might readily be supposed to have formed a decided inclination for her admirer, for such the druggist had now become. She had a certain dash and liveliness of manner which fascinated him, and he felt flattered in no slight degree that such a young lady should have singled him out as her favorite.

Desirous of appearing to the best advantage, he ordered a new suit from the village tailor without regard to expense, but it was beyond the power of any garments, however costly or showy, to set off the peculiar appearance of Cromwell, or make him look well. But Miss Manton smiled sweetly upon him, and he felt himself to be in paradise.

Occasionally the young lady went into his shop on some ostensible errand, and tarried to have a chat. James Cromwell's heart fluttered with delight whenever he saw her face at the door, and during her stay he could attend to nothing else.

One evening there was to be a concert in the village.

James Cromwell brought home tickets, and said diffidently, "Miss Manton, will you do me the favor to accompany me to the concert this evening?"

"Thank you, Mr. Cromwell," she answered, smiling graciously, "I will accept with pleasure. I was wishing to go, but papa does not feel very well to-day, so I had made up my mind that I must pass my time at home. At what hour does the concert commence?"

"At half-past seven."

"Will it be time if I am ready at quarter past?"

"Quite so."

"Then you may depend on me."

Strange as it may appear, it was the first time in his life that James Cromwell ever acted as escort to a lady in visiting a place of public entertainment, and he felt a degree of awkwardness because of that. But when Clara Manton appeared, she was so gracious and sociable, that all his mauvaise haute disappeared, and he walked arm in arm with her, feeling easier and more unembarrassed than he had supposed to be possible. When they entered the hall he glanced around him with pride at the thought it would be perceived that he was the chosen cavalier of such an attractive young lady.

Of the concert it is unnecessary to speak. It closed at a comparatively early hour, and the two wended their way homeward.

"Shall we prolong our walk a little?" he said. "It is still early, and it is very pleasant."

"Yes; that will be pleasant," she returned. "Papa is probably asleep by this time, and won't miss me. What a charming concert we had."

"None of them sang as well as you, Miss Manton," said Cromwell.

"Oh, now you are flattering me, Mr. Cromwell. I cannot permit that, you know," she said, playfully.

"No," he said earnestly, "I am not flattering you, Miss Clara. You are so—so—I hope you'll excuse me, but you are so beautiful and attractive that–"

"Oh, Mr. Cromwell!" uttered Clara; adding to herself, "I dare say he is going to propose. Well, it's just as well now as at any other time. How ridiculous it makes him look, being in love!"

Luckily unconscious of the thoughts that were passing through the mind of his companion, Cromwell burst out, "But it's true, Miss Clara. I love you; and I don't think I can live without you. Will you marry me?"

"I am afraid you have said such things to a great many other young ladies before. How can I believe you are in earnest?"

"No; on my honor," he said earnestly, "I never loved before. Do you doubt the sincerity of my attachment? Don't you think you could look favorably upon my suit?"

"Perhaps I might," she answered, coyly. "That is, in time. It is so sudden, you know. It is not more than a month since I first met you."

"But in that month I have learned to love you better than anyone I ever knew, Miss Clara. Can't you give me some encouragement? Tell me that I am not wholly disagreeable to you?"

"If you had been, would I have accepted your invitation this evening, Mr. Cromwell?"

"Then you do like me a little?" he said, overjoyed.

"Perhaps, a little," she said, coquettishly.

After some time, Clara thought it polite to confess that she had herself no particular objections to him as a husband,—a confession which filled the enamored druggist with delight—"but," she proceeded, "I cannot marry without my father's approval."

"But do you think he will object to me?" asked Cromwell, in dismay.

"Papa is a very peculiar man," answered Clara. "I never can undertake to say beforehand how he will look upon any proposition. Perhaps he may give his consent at once, or perhaps it may take considerable time to persuade him. I cannot tell. But whatever he decides, I cannot disobey him."

"Not if your own happiness depended upon it?"

"No," said Clara, who played the rôle of a dutiful daughter for this occasion; "I can't go against papa's wishes."

"May I call upon him, and ask his consent?"

"Perhaps that will be the best way."

"I will ask to-morrow."

"Is it necessary to be in such haste, Mr. Cromwell?"

"I cannot rest until I know. I cannot remain in suspense. Will you allow me to call to-morrow?"

"Yes, I think so," said Clara, coquettishly, "that is, if I do not change my mind during the night."

By such speeches as these she added fuel to the flame of her lover's adoration, and increased his impatience to obtain a favorable decision.

When Clara returned home her father happened to be still up. He had become interested in something that he was reading, and this caused him to defer his hour of retiring.

"Well, papa," said Clara, taking off her bonnet, "I've got some news for you."

"What is it?"

"I've had an offer."

"An offer? Who from?"

"Oh, from that ridiculous druggist, Cromwell."

"Well, what did you say?"

"I referred him to you. He's going to call to-morrow."

"Well, what shall I say? Just give me instructions. Do you love him?"

"Stuff and nonsense, papa! As if anybody could! Such a ridiculous creature as he is!"

"Then I am to decline the honor of his relationship?"

"Not exactly."

"But you don't love him?"

"That is not necessary in marriage. Thank Providence, I am not sentimental, and never shall break my heart for love. When I marry I want to marry a man who has got some money. Just find out if he's worth ten thousand dollars. If he is and will agree to settle half of it on me, I will become Mrs. Cromwell whenever he says the word. Otherwise, I won't. But of course, this must be your condition, not mine. I am supposed to be perfectly indifferent to money matters. I dare say I shall rail against you on account of your mercenary spirit, if he can't meet the condition, and comes to complain to me. You won't mind that, will you?"