CHAPTER XIV

It was true, then. Neal had gone.

Cynthia went to her mother's room and told her what Janet had said.

"It is what I feared," cried Mrs. Franklin; "he has left me forever! My dear and only brother! And where is he? Cynthia, Cynthia, why did he go? It almost makes me think he may have taken the money."

"Mamma, how can you!" exclaimed Cynthia, indignantly. "Neal never took it. I--I--oh, I know he didn't take it! Can't you believe me, mamma?" She was almost crying.

"Dear child," said Mrs. Franklin, looking at her affectionately, "you have more faith in him than I have. But this running away is so much against him, Cynthia. If he had been innocent, would he not have stayed to brave it out?"

"No; he is so proud, mamma. That is the reason he went, I am sure. He thought papa suspected him. Oh, why did papa ever think it? Why did he say anything to Edith for Janet to hear?"

"Hush, dear. Your father spoke thoughtlessly, but it was natural; of course it was natural. But Neal should not have gone. It is a false kind of pride. If he is innocent he should have the pride of innocence and stay here."

It was what they all said. Cynthia went from one to the other, trying to convince them and to imbue them with her own belief in Neal, but she could not. Even Jack, her beloved twin-brother, was on the other side.

"Of course I want to believe in Neal, Cynth," he said. "I like him, and I never supposed before he'd do a low-down thing like this. In fact, I can't really believe it now. But why on earth did the fellow run away? If he came by the money all fair and square, why under the sun didn't he say so, instead of shutting himself up like an oyster and never letting on where he got it?"

"He had his reasons," persisted Cynthia. "Oh, Jack, can't you believe me? You always used to believe me."

"Well, you used to tell a fellow more than you do now. You get mighty shut up yourself now and then. You won't tell me what you're going to do with Aunt Betsey's money, or why you didn't buy a watch, or anything. I'm sure I don't want you to if you don't want to, but there's no reason why I should always think as you do."

If they had not been sitting side by side Jack could not have failed to notice the peculiar expression that came into Cynthia's face when he mentioned Aunt Betsey's present. They were on the stone wall which crossed the river path. Bob was with them, darting hither and thither, perhaps in the vain hope of finding his master.

"I don't need a watch, I've told you over and over again," said Cynthia. "But oh, Jack, I wish you would agree with me! Indeed, Neal is honest."

"I believe he is myself, on the whole," said Jack at last; "but it's a mighty queer thing he doesn't own up and tell where he got that money, and he's a great ass not to. You see the postmaster thinks that perhaps the package did come from Aunt Betsey, and Neal paid gold just a few days later. Of course it looks queer."

It was the same way with Edith. She would not be convinced, and after a vain argument with her Cynthia retired to the only place where she was sure of being undisturbed, and cried until her eyes smarted and her head ached. It was to the garret that she went when she wished to be alone, and, amid the piles of empty paper boxes and bars of soap and all the varied possessions that were stored there, she sat and thought over the matter.

[Illustration: "CYNTHIA CRIED UNTIL HER EYES SMARTED AND HER HEAD ACHED"]

"Ought I to tell?" she said again and again, speaking in a hoarse whisper; "oh! why did I ever promise?"

For Cynthia had at last prevailed upon Neal to borrow her money to pay Bronson with, and had promised that she would not tell, and Cynthia had a very strict sense of honor.

"Ought I to tell?" she repeated; "no, a promise is a promise, and I have no right to break it. I was silly, I was idiotic ever to promise such a thing, but how did I know it was coming out this way? If Neal had only not gone off! Perhaps he will come back soon; then I can make him tell. He does not realize how foolish, how wrong it is to keep it a secret. Oh, if he would only come back!"

But Neal did not come back. Instead of that, the next morning Mrs. Franklin received a letter from him. He repeated the same words. He could not stay where he was insulted. If they could not believe him he would go. He had a perfect right to use the money which he had paid for the money-order, and he would never condescend to explain where he got it. He was visiting a friend at present, but he was going at once in search of some work. He intended to support himself henceforth.

It was a very absurd letter, and it made Mr. Franklin more angry than ever and his wife more distressed.

"It is perfect nonsense," said he. "The boy is not of age and he can be stopped. I will write at once to his guardians. In the meantime we will look him up in Boston; from the postmark I suppose he is there."

"One of his guardians is abroad, and the other is that old Quaker cousin of my mother's," sighed Mrs. Franklin.

"Give me his address, and don't worry, Hester. The affair will come around all right, I have no doubt. He is a headstrong boy and he needs a leash."

They could not find him in Boston. On going to the houses of his various friends there they learned that he had spent the night with one of them, but had left to go to his guardian in Philadelphia, they said.

"I am inclined to let it stand as it is," said Mr. Franklin, when he returned; "if he has gone to Philadelphia, let him stay there. His old guardian will probably keep him in better order than we can; perhaps it will be better not to interfere. I don't want to prejudice him against the boy, and yet how can I explain why he left here? He can tell his own story."

His wife, however, wrote a letter to her brother, and addressed it to the care of her cousin, William Carpenter, of Philadelphia. She hoped for an answer, but none came, and in a few days Mr. Franklin wrote to Mr. Carpenter, asking if his brother-in-law had arrived, and then, without waiting for a reply, he concluded to go himself to Philadelphia.

The following Sunday was Easter Day--it came late this year. Cynthia, sitting in the Franklin pew, saw to her dismay Tony Bronson on the other side of the church. He was with the Morgans. Gertrude, in a new spring hat with nodding flowers, looked triumphantly over at her friends. It pleased her immensely to have Bronson come so often.

"Dear me," thought Cynthia, "there will be more trouble now that he has come, for he will tell hateful things about Neal, I'm sure. I do hope Edith won't have anything to do with him."

Her thoughts wandered during the service. When it was over and the congregation streamed out of church into the mild spring air, the Morgans invited Edith to come home with them to dinner. This she agreed to do, much to her sister's disgust; but Cynthia was still further incensed when Edith came back that afternoon and announced, in a would-be careless manner, that she had promised to drive with Tony Bronson the next day.

"Why, Edith!" said Cynthia, indignantly, "I shouldn't think you would have anything to do with that Bronson. He has been hateful to Neal."

"I don't know why you should say that," returned Edith; "any one would say that he had been exceedingly nice to Neal. He lent him all that money, I'm sure. And besides, what difference does it make? Neal has behaved badly and run away. There is no reason why we should give up people that Neal doesn't happen to like. Papa said the other day that Tony Bronson was probably a very good sort of fellow, because he wasn't in that last scrape of Neal's."

"Papa doesn't know a thing about him, and, at any rate, papa wouldn't let you go to drive if he were at home. You know he wouldn't."

Mrs. Franklin came into the room just at this moment.

"Would not let Edith go to drive, Cynthia?" she said. "What do you mean, dear?"

"Go to drive with strange young men like that Bronson.'

"What nonsense!" said Edith, crossly; "of course I can go. Papa never in his life forbade my going to drive with any of the boys. How silly you are, Cynthia."

"Were you going to drive with Tony Bronson, Edith?" asked her step-mother.

"Yes, I am going, to-morrow."

"I think I agree with Cynthia, then. I hardly think your father would wish you to go."

"Why, how perfectly absurd!" exclaimed Edith, growing very angry. "There has never been any question of my going to drive with any one who asked me. Do you suppose I am going to give it up now?"

"I suppose you are, Edith," said Mrs. Franklin, quietly, but with decision. "In your father's absence you are in my charge, and I do not consider it desirable for you to drive with Mr. Bronson, nor with any other young man whom you know so slightly. It is not in good taste, to say the least. Please oblige me by giving it up this time. If I am mistaken in your father's views on the subject you can go after he gets home."

"I won't give it up!" exclaimed Edith, hotly. "Tony Bronson will be gone when papa gets home, and, besides, what can I tell him? I've said I would go."

"It is always possible to break an engagement of that kind," said her mother; "you can tell him that you find I have made other plans for you."

"I sha'n't tell him any such thing, Mrs. Franklin. I think it is too bad. You have no right to order me in this way."

"No right, Edith? I have at least a right to be spoken to with respect, and you will oblige me by doing so. Please send a note to Mr. Bronson by the man who goes to the village to-night."

She left the room, and Cynthia, who had restrained herself with great difficulty, now gave vent to her feelings.

"I don't see how you can be so horrid to mamma, Edith. What are you thinking of? And when she is so worried about Neal, too."

"Neal! Why should we suffer for Neal? She has no right to order me; I won't be treated like a small child. The idea of it not being in good taste to drive with Tony Bronson!"

"Don't be so absurd, Edith. Why, even I know papa wouldn't want you to. It's very different from going with the Brenton boys that we have known all our lives. You think I'm such an infant, but I know that much, and any other time you would yourself. It is just because it is that hateful Bronson. I can't understand what you and Gertrude see in him. You are both so silly about him."

Edith colored hotly.

"I am not silly. I think he is very nice, that's all. I wish you wouldn't interfere, Cynthia. You are silly to have such a prejudice against him. I suppose I shall have to write that note, and I do hate to give in to Mrs. Franklin. Oh, why, why, _why_ did papa marry again?"

She raised her voice irritably as she said this, and added:

"All this fuss about Neal and everything! We never should have had it if the Gordons hadn't come into the family. Oh! I beg your pardon, I didn't see you." For standing in the doorway was her step-mother.

"I am sorry that the coming of the Gordons has caused you so much trouble, Edith. We--we are unfortunate."

She turned away and went up-stairs.

"Edith, I don't see how you can," exclaimed Cynthia. "Mamma had so much trouble when she was a young girl, and she was so alone until she came here, and now all this about Neal. Really, I don't see how you can."

And she ran after her mother.

Edith, left alone, was a prey to conflicting emotions. She knew she had done wrong--very wrong. She was really sorry for the grief that Mrs. Franklin was suffering on Neal's account, and she had not wanted to hurt her.

"Of course, I did not intend her to hear me. How did I know she was there? It makes me so angry to think that I can't do what I want."

That was the gist of the whole matter. Edith wanted her own way, and she was determined to have it. She sat for a long time, thinking it all over. She did not make any great effort to quench her resentment, and so, of course, it became more intense. After a while she rose and went to the desk.

"I simply can't write him that I won't go," she said to herself. "How they would all laugh if I said Mrs. Franklin 'had made other plans for me,' as if I were Janet's age! No, I'll write Gertrude that I'll come down and spend the day with her, and perhaps when I get there I can induce Tony to play tennis, or something, instead of going to drive. I'll try and get out of it, as long as I must, but I'm going to have a good time of some sort. I won't be cheated out of that."

She wrote the note, and it was sent to the Morgans that night. Mrs. Franklin supposed, of course, that it was merely to give up the drive; so she was surprised when Edith announced that she was going to spend the next day with Gertrude. However, she raised no objections, nor indeed did she have any. Her mind was too full of Neal to think of much else. Even the altercation with Edith, painful though it had been, failed to make any lasting impression. Hester longed for her husband to return and tell her what he had learned. She had an uneasy feeling that something was wrong. It was so strange that Neal had not written from Philadelphia.

Cynthia did not take it so quietly.

"I think you are a goose, Edith," she said, the next morning. "Every one will think you are running after Tony Bronson. You were there to dinner yesterday, and now you are going again to-day."

Edith was greatly incensed.

"I am not running after him. How can you say such things? I often go there two days in succession."

And she went off holding her head very high, being driven to the village by Jack. Arrived at the Morgans, she was warmly greeted by all.

"So good of you to come," murmured Bronson; "now we can start from here on our drive, and go over to Blue Hill."

"I think I can't go to drive to-day. I--I thought perhaps we would play tennis, instead."

"Oh, Miss Edith! After your promise? I am not going to let you off so easily. No, indeed, we are going to drive. It is a fine day, and I've engaged a gay little mare at the livery stable."

Edith remonstrated feebly, but Bronson would not listen. She had half hoped it would be this way, she wanted so much to go. However, she would try again. She supposed no one at home would object to her taking the drive if they all went together.

When she and Gertrude were alone for a minute, she said:

"Why don't you go too to drive? We might all go to Blue Hill."

"No indeed!" laughed Gertrude. "I am not going a step. I haven't been asked, and I wouldn't think of intruding."

"But it would be such fun," persisted Edith; "you know we always used to go in a crowd, and walk up the hill."

"Times have changed," returned her friend, pointedly. "This time you are asked to go alone. If it were any one but you, Edith, I should be wildly jealous."

Edith blushed and looked conscious, and afterwards when Bronson renewed his pleading she consented to go with him. Naturally it was great fun to drive off with Tony Bronson in that stylish little trap he had described. She had tried to get out of it; she would tell Mrs. Franklin how they overcame her scruples. After all, Mrs. Franklin had no real right to prevent her going, she said to herself. Perhaps it would not be necessary to explain. Unless they chanced to meet some of the family, why need she tell that she had been to drive at all?

Thus she deceived herself into thinking that she was doing no wrong, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the moment.

That afternoon Mrs. Parker, Miss Betsey Trinkett's old friend, called at Oakleigh.

"So glad to find you at home, Mrs. Franklin," she said. "I met Edith a while ago, and she did look so sweet and pretty, driving with that nice young man that stays at the Morgans'. What's his name?"

"You cannot mean Mr. Bronson?"

"Bronson, yes; that's it--Bronson. Yes, they were driving away over towards Milton. I guess they were going to Blue Hill; it's a favorite drive for young folks. You let her have plenty of liberty, Mrs. Franklin, don't you? Well, I suppose you have to, being but a step-mother. And now do tell me about your brother. They say all kinds of things in Brenton, but you can't believe half of them. I dare say you know just where he is, after all."

"My brother went to Philadelphia, Mrs. Parker," said her hostess, controlling herself with difficulty. The shock of hearing that Edith had directly disobeyed her was almost too much for her.

"To Philadelphia! Have you friends there?"

"Yes, I have a cousin."

"Well, now, I'm glad to hear that! I'll just tell people and stop their tongues; they do say so much they don't mean. Why, only this afternoon somebody said they'd been told that Neal Gordon had been seen walking over the Boston road. That's the very reason I came up here, to see if it was true, and here he is away off in Philadelphia!"

Mrs. Franklin started.

"The Boston road?"

"Yes, and to think of his being in Philadelphia all the time! Well, I must be going, Mrs. Franklin. Edith did look sweet. You dress her so prettily. I always did think those girls needed a mother. And here comes Cynthia."

Walking up across the green from the river came Cynthia, with a paper in her hand which she was reading. At sight of Mrs. Parker and her mother standing at the carriage door, she hastily thrust the paper into her pocket.

Cynthia had been after wild-flowers to plant in the bed she had for them. She was in the woods not far from home when a small and ragged boy approached her.

"Be you Cynthy?" he asked.

She looked up from her digging, startled.

"Yes," she said.

"Then here's for yer, an' yer not to tell nobody."

So saying, the messenger disappeared as rapidly and mysteriously as he had come, his bare feet making little noise in last year's dead leaves.

Cynthia opened the crushed and dirty paper, and to her astonishment found Neal's handwriting within.

"Meet me on Brenton Island near the bridge, Tuesday, as early as you can. And don't tell I am here. Remember, _don't tell_."

The last words were heavily underlined.

Cynthia's heart stood still from excitement. Neal so near, and his sister not to know it! But she would prevail upon him to come home. He could not refuse her after all they had been through on his account.

Full of hope, she gathered up her trowel and her basket of plants and ran towards the house. Fortunately that tiresome Mrs. Parker was there, and so her mother would not notice her excitement. For once Cynthia was glad to see the lady. Since her escapade of the year before she had always been somewhat ashamed of meeting her.

An hour or two later a closed carriage came slowly up the avenue. Dennis Morgan was on the box with the coachman. Inside were Gertrude, Dr. Farley, and Edith, and Edith was unconscious.