But scorn and loathe him as he might in his secret soul, it was necessary that he should be conciliated, because it was now in his power to bring open disgrace and ruin upon his victim. So Arthur went on to explain matters and, with Jackson's assistance, to concoct a plan of getting Elsie and her fortune into their hands.
As he had said, the idea had been in his mind for weeks, yet it was not until that day that he could see clearly how to carry it out. Also, his family pride had stood in the way until the excitement of semi-intoxication and his heavy losses had enabled him to put it aside for the time. To-morrow he would more than half regret the step he was taking, but now he plunged recklessly into the thing with small regard for consequences to himself or others.
"Can you imitate the chirography of others?" he asked.
"Perfectly, if I do say it that shouldn't."
"Then we can manage it. My brother Walter has kept up a correspondence with this niece ever since he left home. In a letter received yesterday she mentions that her father was about leaving her for the rest of the summer. Also that Miss Stanhope, the old aunt she's staying with, was formerly very intimate with Mrs. Waters of this city.
"It just flashed on me at once that a letter of introduction from her would be the very thing to put you at once on a footing of intimacy in Miss Stanhope's house; and that if you were good at imitating handwriting we might manage it by means of a note of invitation which I received from Mrs. Waters some time ago, and which, as good luck would have it, I threw into my table drawer instead of destroying."
"But who knows that it was written by the lady herself?"
"I do, for I heard Bob Waters say so."
"Good! have you the note about you?"
"Yes, here it is." And Arthur drew it from his pocket. "Let's cross over to that lamp-post."
They did so, and Jackson held the note up to the light for a moment, scanning it attentively. "Ah, ha! the very thing! no trouble at all about that," he said, pocketing it with a chuckle of delight, "But," and a slight frown contracted his brows, "what if the old lady should take it into her head to open a correspondence on the subject with her old friend?"
"I've thought of that too, but fortunately for our scheme Mrs. Waters sails for Europe to-morrow; and by the way that should be mentioned in the letter of introduction."
"Yes, so it should. Come to my room at the Merchants' House to-morrow night, and you shall find it ready for your inspection. I suppose the sooner the ball's set in motion the better?" he added as they moved slowly on down the street.
"Yes, for there's no knowing how long it may take you to storm the citadel of her ladyship's heart, or how soon her father may come to the conclusion that he can't do without her, and go and carry her off home. And I tell you, Tom, you'd stand no chance with him, or with her if he were there. He'd see through you in five minutes."
"H'm! What sort is she?"
"The very pious!" sneered Arthur, "and you're bound to take your cue from that or you'll make no headway with her at all."
"A hard rôle for me, Dinsmore. I know nothing of cant."
"You'll have to learn it then; let her once suspect your true character—a drinking, gambling, fortune-hunting roué—and she'll turn from you with the same fear and loathing that she would feel for a venomous reptile."
"Ha, ha! you're in a complimentary mood to-night, Dinsmore. Well, well, such a fortune as you speak of is worth some sacrifice and effort, and I think I may venture the character of a perfectly moral and upright man with a high respect for religion. The rest I can learn by degrees from her; and come to think of it, it mightn't be a bad idea to let her imagine she'd converted me."
"Capital! The very thing, Tom! But good-night. I must be off now to the college. I'll come to your room to-morrow night and we'll finish the arrangement of all preliminaries."
More than a fortnight had passed since the arrival of Miss Stanhope's guests. It had been a season of relaxation and keen enjoyment to them, to her, and to Dr. King's family, who had joined them in many a pleasant little excursion to points of interest in the vicinity, and several sociable family picnics among the surrounding hills and woods. A warm friendship had already sprung up between the three young girls, and had done much toward reconciling Elsie to the idea of spending the summer there away from her father.
She had finally consented to do so, yet as the time drew near her heart almost failed her. In all these years since they went to live together at the Oaks, they had never been far apart—except once or twice for a few days when he had gone to New Orleans to attend to business connected with the care of her property; and only on a very few occasions, when she paid a little visit in their own neighborhood, had they been separated for more than a day.
She could not keep back her tears as she hung about his neck on parting. "Ah, papa, how can I do without you for weeks and months?" she sighed.
"Or I without you, my darling?" he responded, straining her to his breast. "I don't know how I shall be able to stand it. You need not be surprised to see me again at any time, returning to claim my treasure; and in the meanwhile we will write to each other every day. I shall want to know all you are doing, thinking, and feeling. You must tell me of all your pursuits and pleasures; your new acquaintances, too, if you form any. In that you must be guided by the advice of Aunt Wealthy, together with your father's known wishes. I am sure I can trust my daughter to obey those in my absence as carefully as in my presence."
"I think you may, papa. I shall try to do nothing that you would disapprove, and to attend faithfully to all your wishes."
Mr. Dinsmore left by the morning train, directly after breakfast. It was a bright, clear day, and Miss Stanhope, anxious to help Elsie to recover her spirits, proposed a little shopping expedition into the village.
"You have not seen our stores yet," she said, "and I think we'd better go now before the sun gets any hotter. Should you like it, my dear?"
"Thank you, yes, auntie. I will go and get ready at once."
Elsie could hardly forbear smiling at the quaint little figure that met her in the porch a few moments later, and trotted with quick, short steps by her side across the lawn and up and down the village streets. The white muslin dress with its short and scanty skirt, an embroidered scarf of the same material, the close, old-fashioned leg-horn bonnet, trimmed with one broad strip of white mantua ribbon, put straight down over the top and tied under the chin, and the black mitts and morocco slippers of the same hue, formed a tout ensemble which, though odd, was not unpleasant to look upon. In one hand the little lady carried a very large parasol, in the other a gayly-colored silk reticule of corresponding size, this last not by a ribbon or string, but with its hem gathered up in her hand. All in singular contrast to Elsie with her slight, graceful form, fully a head taller, and her simple yet elegant costume. But the niece no more thought of feeling ashamed of her aunt, than her aunt of her.
They entered a store, and the smiling merchant asked, "What can I do for you to-day, ladies?"
"I will look at shirting muslin, if you please, Mr. Under," replied Miss Stanhope, laying parasol and reticule upon the counter.
"Over, if you please, Miss Stanhope," he answered with an amused look. "Just step this way, and I'll show you a piece that I think will suit."
"I beg your pardon, I'm always making mistakes in names," she said, doing as requested.
"Anything else to-day, ladies?" he asked when the muslin had been selected. "I have quite a lot of remnants of dress goods, Miss Stanhope. Would you like to look at them?"
"Yes," she answered almost eagerly, and he quickly spread them on the counter before her. She selected quite a number, Elsie wondering what she wanted with them.
"I'll send the package at once," said Mr. Over, as they left the store.
They entered another where