Pine Hill could hardly be the same without Dr. Lynch that it had been with him; but he went there no more. His name was not even mentioned after a few days; by general consent all allusions to him were avoided. It was not pleasant to think of him, for his conduct had been loathsome. Eugene trembled when he thought of Julia’s escape from death by poison; and he trembled when he thought of her escape from a union with the doctor, which had at least been possible, and which would have been worse than poison.
This second treachery on the part of the late demigod of Pine Hill revived the remembrance of the first. The doctor’s penitence had been a deception. He had never even regretted his first failure to ruin Dick Birch, except so far as it subjected him to humiliation, and rendered his rival more powerful and dangerous than before. His purpose was to win the hand of Julia, and to this everything else had been made subservient. The occupants of the Pine Hill mansion realized that the honored visitor, the beloved physician, had been a hypocrite; even his devotion to Julia and her mother, in sickness, was grounded on a selfish policy. Though Dr. Lynch did love Julia with all the earnestness of which his vile nature was capable, he lost even the credit of this genuine sentiment.
All the doctor’s base plans were not yet apparent to the Hungerfords; and they could not perceive that he was actuated by any other motive than jealousy--the desire to possess Julia. There was but little prospect that he would inherit the contingent half million, as it appeared to them, and therefore the conduct of the doctor seemed to be less contemptible than it really was, as the sequel will show.
Dick Birch and Eugene Hungerford supposed the doctor would not tamely submit to his banishment from Pine Hill. He loved Julia; he had wooed her as an enthusiastic lover, though she doubted his affection. It was a cruel fate to be excluded from her presence, though it would have been the height of impudence for a man who had attempted to commit a murder to bestow another thought upon her. But the doctor was not like other men; and the genius for treachery and deceit, which had carried him safely through his former trials, might again be called into action to explain away the poison, and to make peace with the Hungerfords on the ruin of Dick Birch.
Dr. Lynch had threatened to appeal to the people--to the public sentiment of Poppleton--for his justification. He was bold enough and unscrupulous enough to do so. It would be an easy thing for a man so powerful as the popular physician to make the people believe in his wrongs. He could readily persuade them that he was the victim of a conspiracy; that Birch, from jealousy, had invented the illusion of the poisoned globules. The fact that no legal steps had been taken by the family--that not even Dick Birch had publicly proclaimed the story--would operate in the doctor’s favor.
Eugene believed the wretch would resort to measures of this kind to vindicate himself. He was prepared for such action; he was fully resolved that, when the doctor made his first move, he should be arrested, and the whole matter passed upon by a court of justice. It was true, a conviction could not be expected; the doctor would escape upon a “reasonable doubt,” for the evidence was entirely circumstantial, and the connection between the parts was not perfect.
But Dr. Lynch did not mention the subject. He drove furiously through the streets of Poppleton, as before; he ate good suppers at the Bell River House, and was as popular as ever with the multitude. He did not even sneer when Dick Birch or the Hungerfords were alluded to; he avoided all mention of them himself, but he spoke of them respectfully when compelled to speak. Hungerford waited weeks and months for the development of the doctor’s plan of redemption, assured that it was yet to come; but there was not the slightest demonstration in that direction. If he had known what thoughts and purposes filled the mind of the demigod of Poppleton--as he still was--he would have been better prepared for his politic silence.
It was not possible that men so prominent as Eugene and Dr. Lynch could wholly avoid each other, or that Dick could entirely escape the presence of his intended murderer. They met in public places--in the church, in town meeting, in the library, in the streets, and not unfrequently at the social gatherings of the two villages. They bowed to each other; they even spoke upon indifferent topics when compelled to do so, and it was many weeks before the people discovered that the doctor had ceased to visit Pine Hill. The sufferer had the tact to explain everything in a plausible manner. He had given up Julia, and he left people to infer that his absence was caused by the severing of his relations with her. People were sorry for the doctor; they thought he ought to marry Julia, if he loved her; he was more popular than Dick Birch, blunt, honest, and plain-spoken as the latter was, and they sympathized with the doctor.
Eugene was not satisfied with himself, in the mean time. It was wicked to let such a man as Dr. Lynch play upon the credulity of the people--to pass himself off as an honest man. It was trifling with the justice of God and man to allow a murderer at heart to go at large, to be petted by the public, to become the joy and the solace of young and innocent maidens, as well as old men and decrepit women; to be the counsellor, guide, and friend of all. It was true that his conduct, so far as was known, was unexceptionable; even the ministers, who thought the doctor was rather “fast,” did not believe he was a bad man.
Eugene was troubled, and felt that he himself, as well as the doctor, stood in a false position. He could not avoid the conclusion that it was his duty to expose the hypocrite, and it required all of Dick Birch’s logic and eloquence to keep him quiet. Mrs. Hungerford and Julia, in their gratitude to the skilful and devoted physician, would not have the doctor injured. They reasoned that, if exposed, he would lose all incentives to even an outwardly correct life; the simple facts, if proved, would ruin him, and cast loose upon the world all the evil propensities of his nature. Dick, as a lawyer, reasoned that the evidence was fatally deficient, and it would be demoralizing to the public conscience to exhibit a crime which could not be proved. Instead of sustaining the majesty of justice, the exposure would tend to bring it into contempt. A crime was to be alleged, but not proved.
The culprit had been in the library where the globules were kept; he had protested when they were offered to Julia. He alone could have known that the pellets were poison, which satisfied the family of his guilt. But the doctor was a bitter enemy of homœopathy, and a jury would attribute his protest--the full force of which could only be appreciated by those who had seen his pale face and heard his earnest words--to his dislike of the system; and he was certain to escape. Eugene could not even say that, as a juryman, he should be willing to convict a man on the evidence that could be adduced. Once more the tempest was permitted to subside. Eugene and Dick bowed to the doctor, and the doctor bowed to Eugene and Dick, when they met. Julia, Mrs. Hungerford the elder, and Mrs. Hungerford the younger, were coldly polite to him; and each party was scrupulously careful not to injure the other in word or deed. They were at war, but a perpetual truce had been tacitly agreed upon.
If Julia Hungerford had ever hesitated between her two devoted lovers, there was no longer any room for a doubt. The doctor had fallen, and had disappeared like a lost star from the firmament of her imagination, but Dick Birch had become a whole constellation of himself. The comparison in her mind between Dick and the doctor, always favorable to the former, had now become a contrast.
One morning, a month after Dr. Lynch had made his last visit to Pine Hill, as Dick was coming up from the river, he met Julia near the brook. He was about to cross the bridge, which he had planned and built with the proprietor’s consent, when he discovered her. He came to a halt, and awaited her approach. The scene on the former occasion, when he had first spoken to her of his love, came vividly to his mind. Close by was the bench on which they had sat.
“Met again,” said he.
She stopped as she was about to step upon the bridge. She smiled and she blushed. The figure of speech used by Dick when they met before came to her mind. They were on opposite sides of the stream.
“Why do you stop?” asked Dick.
“You startled me; I did not see you till you spoke.”
“Stop, if you please, Julia. I have built my bridge. Have you built yours?”
“I am not a bridge builder.”
“We are still on opposite sides of the stream, Julia. If you come over you are mine,” laughed Dick.
“Of course you do not expect me to go over in the face of a threat,” she replied, turning abruptly on her heel, and walking away.
Dick was vexed.
“Julia!”
“Well, Dick?”
“I am going to build a monument on the spot where you stood,” he added, joining her.
“I protest; it would obstruct the path.”
“Then I will remove the bridge and the path. I wish the bridge were burned up.”
“Burn it then.”
“It has become hateful to me.”
“Keep away from it then.”
“Don’t you think I had better leave Pine Hill?”
“Certainly, if you wish.”
“Are you quite willing to see me no more?”
“I should endeavor to be resigned, if such were your majesty’s pleasure.”
Why didn’t she ask him why he would build a monument, burn the bridge, leave Pine Hill, see her no more? It was very provoking of her not to help him even with a little encouragement.
“I thought you loved me, Julia--just a little,” said he.
“What made you think so?”
“You told me so.”
“But I have had time to repent of my folly.”
“Are you in earnest, Julia?”
“Are you, Dick?”
“Your question is not an answer to mine.”
“Then I will not ask or answer any questions.”
“Have I offended you, Julia? If I have, forgive me.”
“I forgive you, Dick. Do you wish me to go down on my knees to you?”
“No, no; I will go down on my knees to you.”
“Don’t do it; the ground is damp; you would get the rheumatism in your joints, and injure your clothing.”
“Julia, I love you!” exclaimed Dick, desperately.
“But you wish me to go to you, instead of your coming to me. You wish me to unsex myself,” pouted she.
“Far from it.”
“Must I cross the bridge alone? You did not even come after me.”
“I have come now.”
“Tardily.”
“May I lead you over the bridge?”
“You may.”
“In the sense I meant before?”
“Not yet.”
“I love you, Julia. Will you not thus make me happy?”
They had returned to the verge of the bridge, where she stopped.
“Not yet. This is the site of your monument?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“To mark the sad spot where you refused me; where you virtually said you did not love me.”
“Very pretty; but a very weak idea for a sensible man. Why burn the bridge?”
“Because it has been associated with all my thoughts of you.”
“A good reason for burning it!”
“They would be sad thoughts, if you and I are to remain on opposite sides of the stream.”
“We are on the same side now; brought together by your coming over, and not by my going over.”
“Will you go over with me, Julia?”
“If you wish.”
“In the sense I meant?”
“In any sense you please.”
“Come!”
They crossed the bridge.
“Do you love me, Julia?”
She gave him her hand.
“You do love me!”
“I do, Dick!”
Why one so strong-minded as Julia should weep at such a time is a mystery. The heart is mightier than the brain.
Julia and Dick were late at breakfast that morning.
Both of them looked as though something had happened. That forenoon Julia told her mother and Mary of her engagement. That afternoon Mary told her husband of it. Dr. Lynch heard of it within a week. He used some expletives in the solitude of his office; but he was prudent in the presence of the people. The marriage was to take place in November.
“Julia,” said Eugene Hungerford, as he met her alone one morning after the day had been fixed, “this package belongs to you.”
“What is it?” she asked, with some astonishment.
“Certificates of stock, treasury notes, and a check, to the amount of one hundred thousand dollars.”
“Then it is not mine.”
“It is.”
“Please to explain.”
“You are to be married in November.”
“All the world knows it by this time.”
“What are your plans? Dick is a poor man. I have never been able to make him accept more than his salary of five thousand a year.”
“We shall not suffer on that. I have twenty thousand dollars of my own.”
“Dick has to support his invalid father and his family.”
“So much the better.”
“Have you any plans?”
“We have.”
“What are they?”
“Dick thinks of building a small house, in which his income will keep us very comfortably and pleasantly.”
“That is all very pretty; but I shall build a house like mine for you in the spring.”
“That would be very pretty! Dick could not support that style of living.”
“Julia, I have never intended that you should suffer by my marriage. The half million mentioned in uncle John’s will shall be yours. It will not be convenient for you to wait till I am thirty years of age. Here is the first instalment of your portion.”
“I object, Eugene.”
“Why?”
“I am too proud to receive a gift.”
“Why didn’t you decline uncle John’s legacy of twenty thousand, then?” laughed he.
“That was different.”
“Just the same. The half million comes from uncle John.”
“Dick will not consent.”
“It is none of his business. I give you the half million to-day. Here is one fifth of it. I will give you my note for the balance.”
Eugene was the most powerful personage at Pine Hill, and Julia could not prevail against him. Dick attempted to protest when he was told of what had been done. He talked about feeling mean; about being the “victim” of charity; but Eugene proved to be the better logician.
“Dick,” said he, “Julia has been accustomed to our style of living at Pine Hill, and it would be cruel to deprive her of the luxuries and comforts which she knows so well how to use.”
“Then it is cruel in me to ask her to be my wife.”
“Marriage is absolutely necessary to both of you, and has been from the beginning, in my opinion. Dick, you are trying to be a tyrant towards Julia or me.”
“No!”
“You wish to take her away from the luxuries of wealth, and you wish to deprive me of the pleasure of doing for her what I may do for others.”
“But my salary is sufficient to support her in what you and I both, a few years ago, would have deemed the most princely luxury.”
“Doubtless you think it would be very pleasant for me to live at Pine Hill, while my sister is cramped up in a small house, and reduced from plenty to comparative poverty. I say, Dick, it is cruel for you to insist upon such a state of things. You may humor your pride, and think it is magnanimous in you to choose poverty instead of wealth; but I am to be the sufferer--not you. I am to bear the pains and penalties of your reduced circumstances--not yourself.”
“I do not wish to render you uncomfortable, certainly,” replied Dick, musing.
“Then you will not object to Julia’s half million.”
“There is something humiliating in the situation.”
“Nothing of the kind. What your pride does not permit me to do for you, I shall do for my sister.”
“The same thing under another name.”
“No; the real question is, Shall I let my sister suffer for your pride and obstinacy? If I were to sacrifice anything at all for your sake, or even for hers, it would be different. I am giving her what I do not need, and cannot use. There is no merit whatever in my deed.”
Dick yielded only when he could no longer contest the point; but his pride was not entirely overcome.
“Now, Dick, you will be a rich man in spite of yourself,” said Julia, when they met alone after the conversation; “and I shall have the happiness of making you so.”
“There is a man at the Port who will say that this wealth is what I have been aiming at.”
“But there is not a person at Pine Hill who would believe him.”
“Julia, I wish you had not a dollar in the world, and could not get one,” replied Dick, still galled by his situation.
“You would love me none the less; but I am glad to be worth taking.”
“You do not need wealth to make you a prize. I am not sure that you wouldn’t be better without it than with it.”
“I will try to be good with it, Dick.”
“Julia, I used to love you before I saw you. I wish we had met before the shower of gold fell upon you.”
“I have no need to complain; and sad and unfortunate as the circumstances are, we must endeavor to be resigned,” said Julia. “It is hard to have wealth thrust upon you, to be rich in spite of yourself; but I hope we shall be reconciled to our unhappy lot.”
We must do Dick Birch the justice to say that he endeavored to submit with good grace to the grievous misfortune of half a million. He patiently bore the cross, and richly deserved the crown. But it should be added that, in his doubts and fears, his trials and vexations, he was supported and cheered by the fairest and truest of women; that Julia did all she could to comfort him in his affliction, and render tolerable the load of wealth he was compelled to bear on his shoulders. When he desponded, she pointed him to the redeeming joys of his condition. Without her in this trying emergency, he would have been forlorn indeed.
There is nothing like the comfort and solace which a true woman is to a man burdened with trials, especially when there is any money to spend. In such a strait as that to which poor Dick was reduced, she is a blessing which cannot be over-estimated. She is more than a comforter: she bears his burden, and labors assiduously to remove far from him the cause of his sorrows.
Under such gentle ministrations as those of his betrothed, it is not strange that Dick Birch soon recovered his wonted cheerfulness, and looked with tolerable calmness upon the heavy burden he was doomed to carry. He had faith in woman; and he knew, if she could not relieve him of the load, she could help him spend it. When November came, and the bridal day dawned upon him, he had attained a very happy frame of mind; so that he hardly needed the consolations of any one besides Julia to sustain him in the great trial.
They were married by the Rev. John Porter. The Pine Hill mansion was thronged again, though the wedding was a comparatively quiet affair, measured by that of Eugene and Mary.
Dr. Lynch was not present. He was not invited. People did not know whether he was asked or not; but they thought it quite natural that he should not care to witness the crowning triumph of his rival. The doctor said nothing; he kept his own counsel, and bided his own time.
“There will be a fall at Pine Hill one of these days,” he muttered more than once, when he thought of Julia as the wife of another, and of his own banishment. “There will be weeping and wailing over broken ties and unlawful heirs. I shall be satisfied then.”
Dick had long cherished a desire to visit Europe. When the marriage day was first arranged, he had even thought of a bridal tour across the ocean; but his own means were insufficient. Julia was pleased with the idea of a second visit; but Dick abandoned the project after a careful examination of his finances. When the half million dropped into his lap, Julia opened the subject again, and Dick gladly assented to the project. The whole family went to the city to see the happy couple start.
Pine Hill was dull without Julia; but there was nothing but happiness there. Mary Hungerford was all that her husband had hoped or desired, and he was never tired of being at her side. There was enough to occupy their time; and if the house was not as lively as it had been when Julia was at home, there were no heavy and weary moments there.
The Library building was completed, and the institution was in full operation, much to the satisfaction of Poppleton, though the people at the Mills complained at its location, and said it ought to have been placed half way between the two villages.
In June, when Mr. and Mrs. Birch returned, their house--a duplicate of the Pine Hill mansion, and placed within ten rods of it--was half done; but the happy couple were cordially welcomed to their old home. In the autumn they took possession of their new residence; and we will leave them for a time, as happy and contented as love and plenty could make them.
