But she did not fall asleep at once. Her mind was still busy with the suspicion which her uncle's words concerning his future plans for Steve had aroused. She had thought of little else since she heard them. The captain did not mention the subject again; possibly, on reflection, he decided that he had already said too much. And she asked no more questions. She determined not to question him--yet. She must think first, and then ask someone else--Sylvester. He knew the truth and, if taken by surprise, might be driven into confession, if there should be anything to confess. She was waiting for an opportunity to be alone with him, and that opportunity had not yet presented itself.
The captain would have spoken further with her concerning James Pearson. He was eager to do that. But her mind was made up; she had sent her lover away, and it was best for both. She must forget him, if she could. So, when her uncle would have spoken on that subject, she begged him not to; and he, respecting her feelings and believing that to urge would be bad policy, refrained.
But to forget, she found, was an impossibility. In the excitement of the journey and the arrival amid new surroundings, she had managed to keep up a show of good spirits, but now alone once more, with the wind singing mournfully about the gables and rattling the windows, she was sad and so lonely. She thought what her life had once promised to be and what it had become. She did not regret the old life, that life she had known before her father died; she had been happy in it while he lived, but miserable after his death. As for happiness, she had been happy that summer, happy with her uncle and with--him. And with him now, even though they would be poor, as she was used to reckoning poverty, she knew she could be very happy. She wondered what he was doing then; if he was thinking of her. She ought to hope that he was not, because it was useless; but she wished that he might be, nevertheless. Then she told herself that all this was wicked; she had made up her mind; she must be true to the task she had set, duty to her brother and uncle.
Her uncle! why had her uncle done all this for her? And why had her father made him their guardian? These were old questions, but now she asked them with a new significance. If that strange suspicion of hers was true it would explain so much; it would explain almost everything. But it could not be true; if it was, why had he not told her when the discovery of her father's dishonesty and of the note forfeiting the estate was made? Why had he not told her then? That was what troubled her most. It did not seem like him to do such a thing--not like his character at all. Therefore, it could not be true. Yet she must know. She resolved to question Sylvester the next day, if possible. And, so resolving, she at last fell asleep.
Her opportunity came the following morning, the day before Thanksgiving. After breakfast Captain Elisha went downtown to call on some acquaintances. He invited Caroline and the lawyer to accompany him, but they refused, the latter because he judged his, a stranger's, presence during the calls would be something of a hindrance to good fellowship and the discussion of town affairs which the captain was counting on, and Caroline because she saw her chance for the interview she so much desired.
After the captain had gone, Sylvester sat down before the fire in the sitting room to read the Boston _Transcript_. As he sat there, Caroline entered and closed the door behind her. Miss Abigail was in the kitchen, busy with preparations for the morrow's plum pudding.
The girl took the chair next that occupied by the lawyer. He put down his paper and turned to her.
"Well," he asked, "how does this Cape Cod air effect your appetite, Caroline? I'm ashamed of mine. I'm rather glad to-morrow is Thanksgiving; on that day, I believe, it is permissible, even commendable, to eat three times more than a self-respecting person ordinarily should."
She smiled, but her answer was in the form of another question, and quite irrelevant.
"Mr. Sylvester," she said, "I wish you would tell me something about the value of a seat on the Stock Exchange. What is the price of one?"
The lawyer looked at her in surprise.
"The value of a seat on the Stock Exchange?" he repeated.
"Yes; what does it cost to buy one?"
He hesitated, wondering why she should be interested in that subject. Captain Elisha had not told him a word of the interview following Pearson's last visit. He wondered, and then surmised a reason--Stephen, of course. Steve's ambition was to be a broker, and his sister was, doubtless, with sisterly solicitude and feminine ignorance of high prices, planning for his future.
"Well," he replied, smiling, "they're pretty expensive, I'm afraid, Caroline."
"Are they?" innocently.
"Yes. I think the last sale was at a figure between ninety and one hundred thousand dollars."
"Indeed! Was father's seat worth as much as that?"
"Yes."
"But," with a sigh, "that, I suppose, went with the rest of the estate."
"Yes."
"Into the hands of the man who took it all?"
"Yes; the same hands," with a sly smile at his own private joke.
"Then how does it happen that my uncle has it in his possession?"
The lawyer smiled no more. He turned in his chair and gazed quickly and keenly at the young lady beside him. And her gaze was just as keen as his own.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"I asked you how it happened that my uncle now has father's Stock Exchange seat in his possession."
"Why!... Has he?"
"Yes. And I think you know he has, Mr. Sylvester. I know it, because he told me so himself. _Didn't_ you know it?"
This was a line shot from directly in front and a hard one to dodge. A lie was the only guard, and he was not in the habit of lying, even professionally.
"I--I cannot answer these questions," he declared. "They involve professional secrets and--"
"I don't see that this is a secret. My uncle has already told me. What I could not understand was how he obtained the seat from the man to whom it was given as a part of father's debt. Do you know how he obtained it?"
"Er--well--er--probably an arrangement was made. I cannot go into details, because--well, for obvious reasons. You must excuse me, Caroline."
He rose to go.
"One moment more," she said, "and one more question. Mr. Sylvester, who _is_ this mysterious person--this stockholder whom father defrauded, this person who wishes his name kept a secret, but who does such queer things? Who is he?"
"Caroline, I tell you I cannot answer these questions. He does wish to remain unknown, as I told you and your brother when we first learned of him and his claim. If I were to tell you I should break my faith with him.... You must excuse me; you really must."
"Mr. Sylvester, perhaps you don't need to tell me. Perhaps I can guess. Isn't he my--"
"Caroline, I cannot--"
"_Isn't he my uncle, Elisha Warren?_"
Sylvester was half way to the door, but she was in his path and looking him directly in the face. He hesitated.
"I thought so," she said. "You needn't answer, Mr. Sylvester; your face is answer enough. He is."
She turned away, and, walking slowly to the chair from which she had arisen, sank into it.
"He is," she repeated. "I knew it. I wonder that I didn't know it from the very first. How could I have been so blind!"
The lawyer, nervous, chagrined,