The Midnight Passenger - Richard Henry Savage (books like harry potter .txt) 📗

at Amoy, China, was only supplemented by the statement that he had fallen a victim of the coast fever.

"This is the end of all," sadly mused the lawyer, as he saw his immediate duty of repeating the news by telegraph to Detroit.

"Whatever connection Ferris had with the secret designs of Worthington is now a sealed mystery forever; the hand of Death has turned the last page down."

Witherspoon rightly conjectured that to Senator Dunham the death of his once trusted negotiator would be a welcome release from the tyranny of a dangerous past.

"The statesman's immaculate toga is still unsmirched," bitterly commented Witherspoon.

"And now all of Arthur Ferris' busy schemes have come to naught! His bootless treason, his fruitless intrigue of years, even the hush-money on the one side, the blood-money on the other, are all alike valueless! He lost every trick in life, even with the cards in his own hands." It was a case of the engineer "hoist with his own petard!"

In vain did John Witherspoon await any personal comment from the great heiress. The very name of the dead man was unmentioned in the daily letters from her secretary.

When Doctor Atwater returned from one of his now frequent "business" visits to Detroit, he shook his head in a grave negation when Witherspoon brought up the name of the dead counsel.

"Something very strange there! Even Boardman and Warner seemed averse to any conversation upon the subject," soberly said Atwater. "I judge that the memory of Ferris is a most distasteful topic to them all. I presume that the papers of old Hugh probably have revived matters, which might as well be buried in Ferris' lonely grave out there on the shores of the Formosa Strait."

It was nearly two months after the cabled announcement when John Witherspoon received a bulky packet from the United States Vice-Consul at Amoy, China. He had not fully deciphered all the documents when he sprang from his chair and, quitting the Trading Company's office, hurriedly drove to Doctor Atwater's headquarters.

Atwater saw from his friend's face that something of moment had happened. "Tell me, Jack, what is it?" he asked with a horrible fear.

"Alice?"

Witherspoon smiled sadly, as his friend's excitement betrayed the innocent secret of the young physician's heart.

"No! God be praised!" he slowly answered. "Alice lives to bless some good man's life! But I have here a message from the dead, and the last legacy of a crime! You must go out instantly to Detroit, for I cannot leave our great interests at this juncture. It seems as if the very grave had opened for this!"

Doctor Atwater's eyes were dim when he handed the papers back to his friend. "What could have goaded him on to his unhappy end! What stings and whiplashes of conscience! Let us go carefully over the whole matter together! I will telegraph my departure and then take to-night's train."

The few lines traced by Arthur Ferris' feeble fingers were supplemented by a long and formal letter from the United States Vice-Consul at Amoy.

The enclosure of a verified copy of the will of Arthur Ferris, duly attested by the consular seal, was accompanied by a statement that the original and the keys of Ferris' safe deposit box in New York had been duly forwarded to New York, through the Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank.

There was a sealed enclosure directed to Miss Alice Worthington, the superscription being faintly discernable in the trembling hand of the fever patient.

And as both men gazed silently at each other, they knew that some dark secret lay veiled there under the outspread wings of the American eagle of the consular seal, which duplicated Ferris' private signet.

With a strange interest, Atwater read of the last sufferings of the unfortunate official. "My late superior seemed to be tortured in his mind to his very last moment," wrote the Vice-Consul, "by the fear that these documents might not safely reach Miss Worthington through you.

"Be pleased to give me the earliest possible acknowledgment of the receipt of both the certified copy herewith sent and the original with the keys and duly certified order for the delivery of the tin box of the deceased to Miss Worthington herself."

"Here we dismiss his memory forever between us!" solemnly said Witherspoon, as he read aloud Arthur Ferris' last message. "It is for her alone to bear him in mind, and to sit in judgment upon him! What unrighted wrong drove him, in remorse, to his lonely grave! I shall never ask an answer of her!"

In vain did Atwater follow the enigmatic sentences.

"I leave the fund of one hundred thousand dollars, created for me by my uncle, and the similar sum now due and payable by the Worthington Estate, to Alice Worthington for the foundation of such a charity as she may deem proper. This money is the legacy of a crime and of a wrong!

"Of a crime, though only contemplated, of which I am not innocent at heart, and of a wrong done, of which Miss Worthington alone shall be the judge.

"To you, Witherspoon, I can say that every mad scheme which I framed to reach wealth and power has failed miserably; that I have found my soul's unhappiness in the betrayal of poor Clayton's friendship.

"And yet, as I hope for the forgiveness of an Almighty God, I knew nothing of his murder, either in the deed or its conception. Let me be forgotten by all the world, forgiven by one alone."

The two friends long gazed at each other in a gloomy silence.

"I leave the whole mystery to you, my friend," at last wearily said the lawyer. "I will never try to read between the lines. Take the whole correspondence with you. I have already had a copy made of the Vice-Consul's letter and Ferris' own few sentences. I know that Alice will surely consecrate this vile money to some good purpose, and so I make you my ambassador.

"She will understand why I hope never to hear Ferris' name again, for I know and feel that he was a murderer at heart. Had Clayton missed the snares of the deadly thug who coveted the money which was so criminally exposed, for the golden bribe of the Worthington fortune, Ferris would have sacrificed the only man who stood between him and the millionaire's favor, between him and, perhaps, this orphaned girl's hand.

"And, as sure as the sinner errs, so sure is that old proverb, 'THE WAGES OF SIN IS DEATH!'

"I will simply forward any further Amoy enclosures to Miss Worthington for her own action. The drama is done, the curtain has fallen, and the lights are turned out forever!"

Mr. and Mrs. John Witherspoon were enjoying the delights of a Continental run a year later, when that bright-eyed young matron, Madame Francine, read to her delighted husband the account given by Miss Worthington of the opening of the "Free Hospital and Orphans' Home," to which the young heiress had dedicated the estate of the unfortunate Ferris, as well as a large sum set aside by herself.

The Witherspoons were in the far niente, floating on the Grand Canal in beautiful Venice, while the young beauty selected Alice's letter from a sheaf handed to them by the porter of the Hotel Danieli, who pursued them in a gondola.

The married lovers were now on their way to the Nile and the eternal glow of its cloudless skies.

Witherspoon listened with a mock gravity, until he suddenly interrupted, "What does she say of Atwater?"

"Nothing," answered the merry matron. "It's all about the grand opening of the Home."

"Then, IT'S ALL RIGHT!" calmly answered Jack, lighting a cigar and leaning back under the parti-colored awning. "When a woman says nothing about a man, it's surely all right. I can wait, wait patiently, till her philanthropic fever abates. I suppose that we will hear something at the First Cataract, or at Khartoum. or some other remote spot, perhaps where the lion basks upon the tomb of ruined Palmyra! There is a happy crisis approaching 'in the near future,' as the swell journals say."

There were many interesting details lost to the runaway lovers by their wanderings, but the essential facts finally reached them in Calcutta, on their homeward way around the world.

Neither Alice Worthington nor the man who was now her coadjutor in many noble works could ever exactly recall the sequence of the events which had prolonged indefinitely Atwater's stay in Detroit.

But it had happened upon a winter evening, when the great Worthington mansion was silent, and Mrs. Hayward, Alice's duenna and general almoner, had artfully stolen away, leaving the unconscious lovers together.

The successful working of the Hospital and Home was now assured beyond a doubt.

Atwater, gazing out into the glowing embers of the great fireplace, slowly said, as the musical chime of the silver bells of the mantel clock sounded ten:

"And now I feel that Messrs. Boardman and Warner can oversee your local Medical Board and keep the institution from lapsing into the dry rot of a purely charitable organization."

"I fear for nothing," he said, smiling faintly, "as long as you are here to watch it. And," he hastily added, "certainly you can trust Irma Gluyas! That poor woman finds a fiery zeal from her past sorrows spurring her on. She is a faithful assistant manageress.

"And even Leah Einstein has her humble merit as a sterling housekeeper. But, you must have Jack carefully watch over that boy out in the West. Young Emil needs a firm hand, and only Witherspoon can hold him down to usefulness."

"Why are you telling me all these things?" suddenly said Alice Worthington, her cheeks paling in a strange dismay.

"Because," said the young man, slowly, "I have long desired to follow out a special line of medical investigation in Vienna. I have the two years yet before I reach thirty, in which I propose to make my mark in original research, or else return to New York to my old routine, fortified by the contact of the ablest medical minds in the world."

"This is impossible! YOU SHALL NOT GO!" suddenly cried Alice Worthington, with pallid cheeks aflame with sudden blushes. Her bosom was heaving in some strange tumult as Atwater took her trembling hands in his own.

"It would be so hard for me to say 'Good bye," he almost whispered, "that I have decided to write you from New York. I have already secured my passage on the 'Paris.'"

"And you will not allow me to recompense you for all you have done?" whispered Alice, bravely strugbling to keep back her tears.

"Yes; I will," resolutely answered Atwater. "Go on lifting up the lowly, bind up their bruised hearts, and all good men will bless your name. That will be my reward!"

"Wait a moment," faltered Alice, as she sped away.

Left alone in the room, Atwater, gazing into the fire, listened for the returning footfall of the woman whose face had long haunted his pillow.

"You alone, of all the world," said the beautiful woman, as she glided to his side. "You alone are entitled to my confidence.

"Only you should know the story of my life!"

She handed him the letter which had been Arthur Ferris' eternal farewell to the woman who