PAGE 7
A Belle of Canada City
by
There was a knock, and the entreating voice of Norah, the cook, outside the door. Cissy unlocked it and flung it open indignantly.
“Ah! It’s yourself, miss–and I never knew ye kem back till I met that gossoon of a hotel waiter in the street,” said the panting servant. “Sure it was only an hour ago while I was at me woorrck in the kitchen, and Jim rushes in and sez: ‘For the love of God, if iver ye want to see a blessed cint of the money ye put in the masther’s bank, off wid ye now and draw it out–for there’s a run on the bank!'”
“It was an infamous lie,” said Cissy fiercely.
“Sure, miss, how was oi to know? And if the masther HAS gone away, it’s ownly takin’ me money from the other divils down there that’s drawin’ it out and dividin’ it betwixt and between them.”
Cissy had a very vague idea of what a “run on the bank” meant, but Norah’s logic seemed to satisfy her feminine reason. She softened a little.
“Mr. Windibrook is in the parlor, miss, and a jintleman on the veranda,” continued Norah, encouraged.
Cissy started. “I’ll come down,” she said briefly.
Mr. Windibrook was waiting beside the piano, with his soft hat in one hand and a large white handkerchief in the other. He had confidently expected to find Cissy in tears, and was ready with boisterous condolement, but was a little taken aback as the young girl entered with a pale face, straightened brows, and eyes that shone with audacious rebellion. However, it was too late to change his attitude. “Ah, my young friend,” he said a little awkwardly, “we must not give way to our emotions, but try to recognize in our trials the benefits of a great lesson. But,” he added hurriedly, seeing her stand still silent but erect before him, “I see that you do!” He paused, coughed slightly, cast a glance at the veranda,–where Cissy now for the first time observed a man standing in an obviously assumed attitude of negligent abstraction,–moved towards the back room, and in a lower voice said, “A word with you in private.”
Without replying, Cissy followed him.
“If,” said Mr. Windibrook, with a sickly smile, “you are questioned regarding your father’s affairs, you may remember his peculiar and utterly unsolicited gift of a certain sum towards a new organ, to which I alluded to-day. You can say that he always expressed great liberality towards the church, and it was no surprise to you.”
Cissy only stared at him with dangerous eyes.
“Mrs. Windibrook,” continued the reverend gentleman in his highest, heartiest voice, albeit a little hurried, “wished me to say to you that until you heard from–your friends–she wanted you to come and stay with her. DO come! DO!”
Cissy, with her bright eyes fixed upon her visitor, said, “I shall stay here.”
“But,” said Mr. Windibrook impatiently, “you cannot. That man you see on the veranda is the sheriff’s officer. The house and all that it contains are in the hands of the law.”
Cissy’s face whitened in proportion as her eyes grew darker, but she said stoutly, “I shall stay here till my popper tells me to go.”
“Till your popper tells you to go!” repeated Mr. Windibrook harshly, dropping his heartiness and his handkerchief in a burst of unguarded temper. “Your papa is a thief escaping from justice, you foolish girl; a disgraced felon, who dare not show his face again in Canada City; and you are lucky, yes! lucky, miss, if you do not share his disgrace!”
“And you’re a wicked, wicked liar!” said Cissy, clinching her little fists at her side and edging towards him with a sidelong bantam-like movement as she advanced her freckled cheek close to his with an effrontery so like her absconding father that he recoiled before it. “And a mean, double-faced hypocrite, too! Didn’t you always praise him? Didn’t you call him a Napoleon, and a–Moses? Didn’t you say he was the making of Canada City? Didn’t you get him to raise your salary, and start a subscription for your new house? Oh, you–you–stinking beast!”