"Captain Warren," she began once more, "the time I came to you in this room you were, so I thought, unreasonable and unkind. I asked you for money to help a poor family in trouble, and you refused to give it to me.""No, Caroline," he interrupted, "I didn't refuse, you only thought I did."She held up her hand. "Please let me go on," she begged. "Ithought you refused, and I couldn't understand why. I was hurt and angry. I knew that father never would have refused me under such circumstances, and you were his brother. But since then, only to-day, I have learned that I was wrong. I have learned--"She paused. The captain was silent. He was beginning to hope, to believe once more in his judgment of character; and yet, with his hope and growing joy, there was a trifle of anxiety.
"I have learned," went on his niece, "that I was mistaken. I can't understand yet why you wished to wait before saying yes, but I do know that it must have been neither because you were unkind nor ungenerous. I have just come from those poor people, and they have told me everything."Captain Elisha started. "What did they tell you?" he asked, quickly. "Who told you?""Annie and her mother. They told me what you had done and were doing for them. How kind you had been all through the illness and to-day. Oh, I know you made them promise not to tell me; and you made the doctor and nurse promise, too. But I knew SOMEONE had helped, and Annie dropped a hint. Then I suspected, and now Iknow. Those poor people!"
The captain, who had been looking at the floor, and frowning a bit, suddenly glanced up to find his niece's eyes fixed upon him, and they were filled with tears.
"Will you forgive me?" she asked, rising from her chair, and coming impulsively toward him. "I'm sorry I misjudged you and treated you so. You must be a very good man. Please forgive me."He took her hand, which was swallowed up in his big one. His eyes were moist, also.
"Lord love you, dearie," he said, "there's nothin' to forgive.
I realized that I must have seemed like a mean, stingy old scamp.
Yet I didn't mean to be. I only wanted to look into this thing just a little. Just as a matter of business, you know. And I . . . Caroline, did that doctor tell you anything more?""Any more?" she repeated in bewilderment. "He told me that you were the kindest man he had ever seen.""Yes, yes. Well, maybe his eyesight's poor. What I mean is did he tell you anything about anybody else bein' in this with me?""Anybody else? What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothin', nothin'. I joked with him a spell ago about a wealthy relation of the Moriarty tribe turnin up. 'Twas only a joke, of course. And yet, Caroline, I--I think I'd ought to say--He hesitated. What could he say? Even a hint might lead to embarrassing questions and he had promised Dunn.
"What ought you to say?" asked his niece.
"Why, nothin', I guess. I'm glad you understand matters a little better and I don't intend for the estate nor you to pay these Moriarty bills. Just get 'em off your mind. Forget 'em. I'll see that everything's attended to. And, later on, if you and me can, by puttin' our heads together, help those folks to earnin' a better livin', why, we will, hey?"The girl smiled up at him. "I think," she said, "that you must be one who likes to hide his light under a bushel.""I guess likely a two-quart measure'd be plenty big enough to hide mine. There! there! We won't have any more misunderstandin's, will we? I'm a pretty green vegetable and about as out of place here as a lobster in a balloon, but, as I said to you and Steve once before, if you'll just remember I AM green and sort of rough, and maybe make allowances accordin', this cruise of ours may not be so unpleasant. Now you run along and get ready for dinner, or the Commodore'll petrify from standin' so long behind your chair."She laughed, as she turned to go. "I should hate to have him do that," she said. "He would make a depressing statue. I shall see you again in a few minutes, at dinner. Thank you--Uncle."She left Captain Elisha in a curious state of mind. Against his will he had been forced to accept thanks and credit which, he believed, did not rightfully belong to him. It was the only thing to do, and yet it seemed almost like disloyalty to Malcolm Dunn.
This troubled him, but the trouble was, just then, a mere pinhead of blackness against the radiance of his spirit.
His brother's daughter had, for the first time, called him uncle.