Virgie\'s Inheritance by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
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Mrs. Georgie Sheldon >> Virgie\'s Inheritance
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15 Virgie's Inheritance
By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Author of "Nora," "Trixy,"
"Earle Wayne's Nobility,"
"Helen's Victory,"
"A True Aristocrat," Etc.
Copyright, 1887, 1888, 1891
By Street & Smith
Virgie's Inheritance.
Chapter I.
Virgie and the Benighted Traveler.
"Virgie, I shall have to give up the race."
"Papa!"
"My strength is failing rapidly. It was all that I could do to creep home
to-night. My trembling limbs, my labored breathing, and this dreadful
cough, all warn me that I must set my house in order, and make provision
for your future."
It was an apparently old man who spoke thus, and yet the years of his life
numbered but a little over fifty.
His hair was silvery white; his face was colorless and haggard, his eyes
dim and sunken, and his form was much attenuated and bowed by the disease
which was fast consuming him.
He was sitting by a blazing fire, in an ordinary easy-chair over which a
heavy coverlid had been thrown to make it more comfortable; but he
shivered, and hovered over the blaze, as if he were chilled to the very
marrow, while the hands which he held extended to catch the warmth were
livid, and trembling from weakness.
The room was small, but cozy and home-like. A cheap, coarse carpet, though
of a bright and tasteful pattern, lay upon the floor. An oval table,
covered with a daintily embroidered cloth, stood in the center. There was
a pretty lamp, with a bright Japanese shade upon it. There were also a few
books in choice bindings, and a dainty work-basket filled with implements
for sewing. A few pictures--some done with pen and ink, others in crayon,
but all showing great talent and nicety of execution--hung, in simple
frames, upon the walls. The two windows of the apartment were screened by
pretty curtains of spotless muslin over heavier hangings of crimson, while
a lounge and two or three chairs completed the furnishing of the room.
Beside the table, in a low rocker, several paces from the invalid by the
fire, yet where she could catch every expression of his pale, sad face,
there sat a young girl, with a piece of fancy work in her hands, upon
which she had been busily engaged before her father spoke.
She was perhaps twenty years of age, with a straight, perfect form, and a
face that would have better graced a a palace than the humble mountain
home where she now abode. It was a pure, oval, with delicate, beautiful
brows; soft, round cheeks, in which a lovely pink came and went with every
emotion. Her eyes were of a deep violet color, shaded by dark silken
lashes, though their expression was saddened somewhat just now by a look
of care and anxiety. Her white forehead was surmounted by rich
chestnut-brown hair, which was gathered into a graceful knot at the back
of her finely shaped head. A straight, patrician nose; a small, but rather
resolute mouth, and a rounded chin, in which there was a bewitching
dimple; small, lady-like hands and feet, completed the
tout ensemble of
Virginia Abbot, the daughter and only child of a whilom honored and
wealthy bank president of San Francisco.
When addressed, as recorded above, the beautiful girl had started and
grown suddenly pale, and a look of keenest pain shot into her violet eyes.
Then her sweet mouth straightened itself into a stern, resolute line.
There was a moment of solemn silence, which she broke, by saying, in a
repressed but gentle tone:
"I am sorry that you are feeling worse than usual to-night, papa. I know
you must be weary. You are always that after being all day in the mine,
and the storm, of course, aggravates your cough; but if you will rest a
few days you will surely be better."
"No, Virgie, it is useless to build upon false hopes. I shall never be any
better. My work is done. I shall go no more to my claim, and I have
decided to dispose of it to the first one who will offer me a fair price
for it. But, dear child, if it were not for you I believe I should be glad
to know that my saddened life is almost at an end. I----"
The weary voice quivered and failed here, and the man sank back in his
chair with a bitter sigh.
The young girl, her own face now blanched to the hue of death, laid down
her work, arose, and moved swiftly to her father's side, where she knelt
by his chair.
"Papa, do not talk so. You must not leave me," she cried, in a voice of
agony. "I cannot spare you. There must be something to help you--to build
up your strength. Let us go back home, where you can have the best medical
advice."
The man sat up in his chair, stopping her with a gesture almost of
despair.
"Home!" he cried, hoarsely. "Virgie, we have no home but this. You know
that I am already the same as dead to every one but you; that even our
real name is sunk in oblivion."
"But, papa, you must try to live for my sake," Virgie cried, clasping her
trembling hands about his emaciated arm, and shuddering as she felt how
frail it was. "If you will not go back, let me at least send for Dr.
Truel. He is skillful. He was always our friend. He will cheer you and
give you something to build you up, and he will keep our secret, too. Oh,
you ought to have had advice long ago. What shall I do in this dreary
place if you leave me alone?"
The sick man unclasped her clinging hands from his arm, and drew her
slight form to him in a tender embrace.
"My darling," he said, fondly, "that is just what I wish to talk with you
about; so calm yourself and listen to me. Neither Dr. Truel, nor any other
doctor, can help me now; if I had called him a year ago he might have
prolonged my life; but my pride would not let me face any one whom I had
ever known. But I will not speak of the past; it is too familiar and
painful to both of us. It is useless, however, for me to think for a
moment of going back, even to die, in the home where we were once so
happy, for only disgrace is connected with our name--disgrace and wrong,
all the more keenly felt because unmerited."
"Hush, Virgie!" he continued, as a shuddering sob burst from the breast
pressed so closely to his, "you must not give way so. I did not mean to
alarm you unnecessarily by what I have said; I may not leave you for some
time yet. I may be spared for a few months, perhaps until autumn, but I
feel that the time has come to arrange some definite plan for your future.
I must, however, give up my work, for I have no longer strength to carry
it on; but if there was only some one whom I could trust to take charge
of my claim. I might even yet reap something of benefit from it to add to
the hoard that I have been saving for you against this emergency."
"But, papa, I would much rather that you should spend every dollar that
you have, if it would prolong your life; if I lose you, I have not a
friend in the world."
The man heaved a heavy sigh, for too well he realized the truth of her
words.
"My dear," he returned, with tender pathos, "if it were possible for me to
regain my health, at any sacrifice, I would gladly make it for your sake.
But I know that it cannot be, and my care now must be to make the best
provision that I can for you."
"I have been very successful since coming here," he went on, speaking more
cheerfully, "more so than I ever dared to hope, and the claim promises
much for the future and ought to bring a good price if sold; so you will
have quite a snug little fortune, my Virgie, and I trust that your lot in
life will yet be happy, in spite of the dark cloud that has so shadowed it
in the beginning. What say you to writing to my old friend, Laurence
Bancroft, of New York, confiding you to his care after----"
"Oh, my father, you make me utterly wretched," cried the young girl,
reaching up her arms and clasping them convulsively about his neck, while
she lifted her tear-stained face appealingly to him.
He bent forward and kissed her white forehead softly with his trembling
lips.
"Bear with me a little longer, my daughter, and then we will never mention
this again while I live," he returned, huskily. "Laurence Bancroft, as you
know, was a dear friend of my early life. He has a cultivated wife, and
two daughters about your own age; he will believe me when I tell him the
truth regarding our misfortunes, and will, no doubt, give you a home in
his own family, and care for your interests until--woman's best gift--the
love of some true man comes to you, and you have a home of your own. New
York is almost on the other side of the world, and no evil breath of the
past will be likely to touch you there. What do you say, Virgie?--may I
write to my friend, giving you to his care?"
"Yes, papa," Virgie said, wearily assenting to his project, more to put an
end to the painful conversation than because she had any choice in the
matter, "you may do whatever your judgment tells you is best, and I will
be guided entirely by your wishes."
Mr. Abbot looked intensely relieved.
This question had troubled him for many months, and he had always shrunk
from speaking of it, because of the pain which he knew it would inflict.
With this vital matter settled, he felt that he could give up all care,
and spend the few remaining days of his life in peace with his idolized
child, and calmly await the end, which he knew was so near.
"That is right, dear," he said, with a contented smile. "I am greatly
comforted. I will write a full account of everything, together with my
wishes for your future, and it will be ready to be sent to Mr. Bancroft at
a moment's warning. I do not care to have him know anything about us just
yet; hark! what was that?" he broke off abruptly, and started into a
listening attitude.
"Only the wind and the storm beating against the house, I think," answered
Virgie, lifting her head, and calmed for the moment as she, too, listened
to what had seemed an unusual noise.
"It is a wild night, my child. I hope no one is homeless in this storm,"
said Mr. Abbot. "I am thankful for this peaceful, though humble refuge,
after the turmoil and wrong of a few years ago, only it is hard for you to
be so shut away and isolated from those of your own age. But surely that
was a knock, Virgie."
The young girl started to her feet as a loud and imperative rap echoed
through the small entry outside the parlor.
It was seldom that they were disturbed at that hour of the evening, for
among the hard working people of the mining district in which they lived,
there were few who were not early wrapped in slumber after the labors of
the day.
Virgie passed quickly out of the cheerful parlor into the tiny hall, and
opened the outer door, though the heavy burglar chain was fastened and
would admit of its being opened but a little ways.
"Who is there?" she asked, in her clear, sweet tones.
"A stranger who has lost his way and seeks direction to the nearest public
inn," answered a rich, mellow voice from without.
Mr. Abbot now came out, a heavy shawl wrapped about his shoulders to
shield him from the dampness.
"It is more than a mile from here, and a very poor place at that," he
said.
The stranger outside gave a low whistle of dismay at this information, and
muttered something about being in "a very uncomfortable fix."
Mr. Abbot unfastened the chain, threw wide the door, and invited the
unknown to come in out of the storm.
"Thanks," was the courteous response; "but I will not trespass upon your
hospitality if you will kindly direct me to the inn of which you speak.
The darkness came on so suddenly that I lost my way. I left Oreana at
noon to go to Humboldt, but my horse sprained his foot on the rough
mountain road, and I have had to come at a snail's pace ever since."
"You are sadly out of your way, indeed, if you are going to Humboldt, for
it is a good ten miles from here. Come in--come in out of the pouring
rain, and we will discuss what will be best for you to do," returned his
host, in a hearty tone, for he was won by the man's frankness and
courtesy.
The stranger stepped, dripping, into the hall, a tall, straight figure,
booted and spurred, and enveloped in waterproof jacket, trousers, and
havelock.
"Thanks," he said, "you are very kind; but allow me to introduce myself;
my name is Heath--William Heath, at your service."
"Then, Mr. Heath, come to my fireside and dry and warm yourself; my name
is Abbot and this is my daughter," replied Mr. Abbot, leading the way into
the cheerful parlor whither Virgie had retired when her father opened the
door to the benighted wayfarer.
Mr. Heath bowed with all the polish that could have been expected of him
had he been in a royal drawing-room instead of a rude cottage in a ruder
mining district of the mountains of Nevada, while his dark eyes flashed
with a look of admiration over the perfect figure and into the lovely face
of his host's daughter.
He removed his hat and havelock, revealing a grand head covered with
waving brown hair, and a handsome face all aglow with intelligence. His
eyes were a dark, wine-brown, his glance as keen and straight as an
eagle's, his manner and bearing betraying that he was accustomed to mingle
with people of culture and refinement.
Chapter II.
The Stranger Welcomed.
Virginia Abbot simply inclined her regal head in returning the stranger's
greeting; then taking up her work again, she sat down by the table, with
her back toward the fire and the newcomer. She had not failed to notice
his look of surprised admiration when introduced to her, and it had
affected her strangely.
Five years previous Mr. Abbot and his young daughter had come to that wild
region entire strangers--the former, a man of gentlemanly bearing,
somewhat past his prime; the latter a wondrously beautiful girl of
fifteen, just budding into womanhood, and with a dignity of mien and
refinement of speech which, together with her beauty, caused the uncouth
inhabitants of the place to regard her with something of awe, and as if
they thought she belonged to an entirely different sphere from them.
Mr. Abbot owned a claim in the gold and silver region there, which he
asserted that he was going to work himself, much to the surprise of the
rough miners, for he was a frail looking man.
He built a small but very convenient house, containing five rooms, which,
with the few elegancies he had brought with him, for his child's sake, and
which proclaimed that the strangers had been accustomed to the luxuries of
life heretofore, became the pride and wonder of the settlement.
The house was painted inside and out; there were carpets upon the floors,
draperies at the windows, vases and ornaments on the mantels, pictures on
the walls. But though all the furnishings were of the simplest and
cheapest, yet, to the rude and unaccustomed people about them, their home
seemed a veritable palace.
Another mystery and evidence of superiority was the grave and
self-contained Chinaman who came with them, and was installed as cook and
servant in general in the small kitchen, and who waited upon the young
lady of the house with so much respect and deference.
Here the father and daughter lived in the utmost seclusion. Virgie never
was seen outside her home unless accompanied by her father or servant, and
Mr. Abbot, when not in the mine, devoted himself wholly to his child.
They made no friends, and did not mingle at all with those about them,
although they were always kind and courteous to every one, and thus won
the respect of every man, woman and child in the hamlet. Mr. Abbot had the
appearance of being much broken in spirit; his countenance wore a look of
habitual sadness, and his abundant hair, so prematurely whitened, plainly
told that some heavy trouble had overtaken him in the past. Nothing could
be learned of their antecedents, where they had lived, or why they were
there, though Chi Lu, the servant, was often plied with questions by the
curious, and thus they were regarded as a trio of very mysterious
personages.
After a year or so, it began to be whispered about that "the governor," as
Mr. Abbot was called, because of the respect in which he was held, had
"struck it rich," in other words, that his claim was proving an unusually
fruitful one, and he was making money rapidly. How this came to be known
it would be hard to say, for he was very uncommunicative, going and coming
to and from his work quietly and unostentatiously, and living in the
simplest manner.
As time passed, Virginia Abbot grew even more beautiful than she was when
she had first come to her mountain home. The bracing air agreed with her,
her health was perfect, while her simple manner of living and her regular
habits were calculated to develop to the utmost every charm, and keep her
strong, and fresh, and beautiful.
Her mind was not allowed to lie dormant, however, for her father attended
most carefully and faithfully to her education, and not only insisted upon
a regular and thorough course of study, but kept her well provided with
the literature of the times, embracing many new books and various papers
and periodicals.
But for more than a year past, Mr. Abbot's health had been failing. The
change, however, was so gradual that Virgie did not observe it until the
disease had fastened itself so firmly upon him that he was beyond all
human aid. The man himself fought against it for months, striving to
prolong his life for the sake of his idolized daughter, although,
personally, the world had no longer any charms for him; but it never
relaxed its fatal hold, and at last, at the time of the opening of our
story, he felt that the time had come for him to give up labor and lay
down all burdens, for he knew that his days were numbered.
The question of providing a home and protection for Virgie had long
agitated his mind.
They had no relations or friends to whom he could confide her. There were
reasons why he was unwilling to appoint a guardian and send her back to
their former home, and so, at last, he resolved to commit her to the care
of his early friend and college mate, Laurence Bancroft, a wealthy
merchant of New York city.
But the matter was to be taken entirely out of his hands, and the
beautiful girl's destiny settled in a way wholly unexpected by either
father or daughter.
* * * * *
When Mr. Heath, the benighted and storm-delayed traveler, threw back his
dripping coat, and seated himself at the invitation of his host, before
the blazing fire, Mr. Abbot thought that he had seldom seen a more
attractive young man.
He was apparently about twenty-five years of age. His dark eyer were full
of intelligence, and fringed with long silken lashes. His features were
clear cut, as if they had been chiseled in marble. A dark brown moustache
shaded, but did not conceal, a sensitive mouth, from which there flashed
the gleam of brilliant teeth whenever he spoke or smiled; his nose was
well formed, and his smooth, rather massive chin betrayed strength of
purpose and decision of character.
His address was very courteous, even fascinating, and his voice possessed
a rich, mellow tone, with a sympathetic ring in it, to which it was a
delight to listen, and which won at once upon the hearts and confidence of
his entertainers.
"You are unfortunate to be obliged to traverse our rough mountain roads on
such a night as this," Mr. Abbot observed, with a shiver, as he drew
nearer the fire, and laid another heavy oaken stick across the glowing
blaze.
"That is true, sir," responded his guest, yet the glance, which he
involuntarily shot at Virgie, bending gracefully over her work, did not
betray an overwhelming sense of his misfortune.
"I Am On My Way To Join A Party Of Sportsmen At Humboldt," He Continued. "I
Was Detained At Virginia City Upon A Matter Of Business, And They Went On
Before, Promising To Wait There For Me Until To-Morrow Evening."
"Are you traveling on horseback?" Mr. Abbot asked, with some surprise.
"No, sir; but the train on which I started met with an accident this
morning, which was liable to detain it several hours, and being impatient
of the delay, I procured a horse at Oreana, thinking I could easily reach
Humboldt by evening, when I could return it by rail. But the unfortunate
beast sprained his foot on a rolling stone, as I have already told you;
the storm and darkness overtook me, I lost my way, and my courage was just
about failing, when I espied the friendly lights of this settlement, and I
resolved to stop at the first house I came to and ask where I could find
shelter for the night."
Mr. Abbot had been studying the young man's face attentively during this
explanation.
He liked his appearance exceedingly; his countenance was honest and true,
his story straightforward and well told, and some unaccountable impulse
prompted him to take measures to become better acquainted with him.
"If you are going to Humboldt, you should have taken the turn to your left
five miles back on the mountain," he said. "It would be impossible for you
to reach it to-night, even if you could be set right, for you would be
sure to lose your way again in the darkness. The only public house--if you
can call it such--in this region, is at least a mile from here, and far
from inviting or comfortable at that; so allow me, Mr. Heath, to offer
you the hospitality of our home for the night, and to-morrow you can start
afresh and refreshed upon your way."
The young man looked up with a glance of surprise, while a quick flush
mounted to his brow, at this unexpected and rather extraordinary offer,
for he well knew that in a mining district all strangers are regarded with
suspicion if not with positive dislike.
"Sir, you are very kind," he began, casting another glance toward the
lovely maiden by the table, for he had seen her give a quick start at her
father's invitation, "but I fear I should trespass beyond all bounds were
I to accept your offer."
"No, indeed," returned Mr. Abbot, with more of eagerness in his manner
than he was in the habit of betraying over anything. "I could not think of
allowing you to go on in this driving storm, and we can arrange it very
comfortably can we not, Virgie?" turning toward her.
"Yes, sir," was the low though unhesitating reply.
"But I am an entire stranger to you. How dare you take me into your
household? How do you know but that I am a robber or a brigand in
disguise?" queried Mr. Heath, with a twinkle in his fine eyes. But still
he was strongly tempted to accept the friendly offer, not only on account
of the comfort surrounding him, but because he was attracted by the
cultivated gentleman and his charming daughter, both of whom were a great
surprise to him, finding them as he had in that wild region.
"Nay," responded Mr. Abbot, smiling, yet meeting the frank eyes of his
guest steadily, "I think I can vouch for your character as a gentleman
even though you are an utter stranger. Remove your wet garments, I pray,
and make yourself comfortable for the night."
"But my horse," began Mr. Heath, suddenly bethinking himself of the
dripping and suffering animal.
"True. Pardon my thoughtlessness," returned his host, adding, "There is a
small shed attached to our dwelling where he can at least be sheltered.
Virgie, please go and send Chi Lu to assist Mr. Heath."
Virgie immediately arose and left the room, and soon after a diminutive
Chinaman appeared in the doorway, bearing a lighted lantern, and
signifying his readiness to "puttee up te hossee."
Mr. Heath left the house with him, and both were gone some time, attending
to the animal's injured leg and trying to make him as comfortable as
circumstances would allow.
During their absence Virgie, at the suggestion of her father, busied
herself in arranging a supper for the storm-beaten traveler, who upon his
return was greeted by the fumes of steaming coffee, while an appetizing
array of cold meats and other viands was spread upon the table, which had
been drawn up before the fire.
"I fear Miss Abbot is making herself trouble on my account," Mr. Heath
remarked, with a swift and grateful glance at the graceful form and
flushed face that was bending over the glowing coals, where the young girl
was toasting to a delicate brown a slice from a wheaten loaf.
"No, indeed; it is no trouble; and a meal after your long ride in the rain
will not come amiss," Virgie answered, looking up and meeting his fine
eyes for an instant.
She deposited the bread upon a plate, and inviting the young man to be
seated, poured with her own hands a cup of fragrant coffee, which she
placed before him.
She continued to wait upon him with exquisite ease and grace until his
hunger was appeased, which was not soon, for it was a rare pleasure for
him to watch her beautiful and expressive face while he chatted with her
father, sipped his coffee, and ate his toast.
But he finished at length, and then Chi Lu was summoned the table cleared,
and the room restored to its usual order.
Mr. Abbot seldom had met a real gentleman since coming among the
mountains; he had lived chiefly within himself and for his child. But now
he found that he had not lost all interest in the outside world, and he
enjoyed immensely Mr. Heath's account of his travels, and his descriptions
of men and things.
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