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Hope and Have; Fanny Grant Among the Indians

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CHAPTER XI. PENITENCE AND PARDON. Fanny arrived at the station near Woodville by the early train from the city. On the way, she had been thinking of her own guilt, and considering what she should do and say when she stood in the presence of her injured friends. She was not studying how to conceal or palliate her offence, but how she could best tell the whole truth. She gave herself no credit for any good deed she had done during her absence; she did not flatter herself that she had been benevolent and kind in using the stolen money as she had used it; she did not believe that her tender vigil at the bedside of the dying girl made her less guilty. She felt that she deserved a severe punishment, and that it would do her good to suffer for what she had done. She was even willing to be sent to prison, to be disgraced, and banished from the happy home at Woodville, whose hospitality she had abused. She felt that the penalty of her errors, whatever it might be, would do her good. She was filled with contrition and shame as she left the station; she hung her head, and did not dare to look the people she met in the face. The Fanny who went from Woodville a few days before had returned an entirely different being. Slowly and gloomily she walked down the road that led to the residence of Mr. Grant. It seemed as though she had been absent a year, and everything looked strange to her, though the change was all in herself. All the currents of her former life had ceased to flow; the movements of the wheel of events had been abruptly suspended. What gladdened her before did not gladden her now, and what had once been a joy was now a sorrow. She felt as though she had been transferred from the old world, in which she had rejoiced in mischief and wrong, to a new world, whose hopes and joys had not yet been revealed to her. She approached the cottage of Mr. Long, the constable, who had probably been engaged in the search for her since her departure. She went up to the door and knocked. Mr. Long had just finished his breakfast, and she was shown into the little parlor. "So you have got back, Fanny Grant," said he, very coldly and sternly, as he entered the room where she stood waiting for him. "I have," she replied, just raising her eyes from the floor. "Where have you been?" "In New York city." "Where did you stay?" "At the house of a poor woman in the upper part of the city." "I thought so; or I should have found you. You have been a very bad girl, Fanny." "I know it, sir. You may send me to prison now, for I deserve the worst you can do to me," replied Fanny, choking with her emotions. "You ought to be sent there. What did you come here for?" "I stole the money, and I suppose you were sent to catch me. I am willing to be sent to prison." "You are very obliging," sneered the constable. "We don't generally ask people whether they are willing or not when we send them to prison." "I give myself up to you; and you can do with me what you think best." "I know I can." "You didn't catch me. I come here of myself; that is what I meant by saying that I was willing to be sent to prison." "What have you done with the money you stole?" asked the constable, who was very much astonished at the singular conduct of Fanny. "I have spent most of it." "I suppose so," replied Mr. Long, who deemed it his duty to be stern and unsympathizing. "How did you spend it?" "I will tell Mr. Grant all about it," answered Fanny, who did not care to repeat her story to such a person as the constable; and she felt that he would be fully justified in disbelieving her statements. "Perhaps you will tell me, if I wish you to do so." "I will, but I would rather tell Mr. Grant first, for it is a long story, and you will think it is a very strange one." "No doubt it is," said the constable, perplexed by the replies of the culprit, and doubtful what course he should pursue. "I suppose Mr. Grant has not got home yet," added Fanny. "You can put me in prison till he gets back; or I will solemnly promise you I will not run away." "Your promises are not worth much. Mr. Grant has got home. He came home just as soon as he heard that you had gone off. You have given him a heap of trouble, and you must settle the case with him. I will take you over to the house, and I promise you I won't lose sight of you again." "I will not attempt to get away," replied Fanny, meekly. "I won't trust you," said Mr. Long, putting on his hat. "I don't ask you to trust me." "Come with me," he added, taking her by the arm. "You need not hold me; I will not run away," said Fanny, as she left the house with the constable, who seemed determined to hold on to her as though she were some desperate ruffian, instead of a weak and self-convicted girl. "You won't get away from me, you may depend upon it," continued Mr. Long, as they walked towards the mansion of Mr. Grant. The constable seemed to be actuated by the vanity to make people believe that he had made a capture, and he did not release his grasp upon his prisoner till they reached their destination. They met several people, who stopped and stared at them, and evidently thought the constable had done a great thing. Mr. Long rang the bell at the front door. The man-servant, who admitted them, started with astonishment when he saw Fanny. They were shown to the library, and informed that Mr. Grant was at breakfast. "You can sit down in that chair," said the constable, pointing to a seat. "If you attempt to get away, I shall put the handcuffs on you." "I don't want to get away. I came back of my own accord," replied Fanny, astonished rather than indignant at the absurd behavior of the constable. "You are bad enough to do almost anything." "I hope I am not so bad as I was." "Perhaps you do hope so; but we shall see." "Can you tell me where Kate Magner is now?" asked Fanny, as Mr. Long relapsed into silence and pompous dignity. "She is at home, I suppose. She wasn't quite bad enough for you, it seems." "I hope she was not punished for what she did, for it was all my fault." "That's a fact. You have told the truth for once." "I mean always to tell the truth now, Mr. Long," said Fanny. "When you have done it a while, perhaps we can believe you. The Magner girl told the whole story, and delivered up the money you gave her; that saved her." "I am glad she was not punished." "She was punished." "Then I am sorry, for it was I who led her away." "We all know that. Now, be still; Mr. Grant is coming," said the constable. Mr. Grant entered the library, and walked towards the chair where Fanny sat, taking no notice of the constable. He paused before her, looking very sad, but very stern. Fanny's bosom was bounding with emotion. She trembled; her heart was rising up into her throat, and choking her. She raised her eyes from the floor and glanced at him,—only one glance at that sad, stern face,—and then burst into tears. She did not mean to weep; did not mean to do anything which could appeal to the sympathy of her kind friend and benefactor, but she could not help it. "I have brought her up to you, Mr. Grant," said the constable. "Where did you find her?" Mr. Long would have preferred to let Mr. Grant believe that he had caught her himself; but the question was so direct that he could only give a direct answer. "She came to my house this morning." "Very well, Mr. Long; I will not trouble you to remain any longer," added Mr. Grant. "I hope you will not let her get away from you, sir," said the constable, who thought his official position was slighted by this intimation; and he was curious to hear what the culprit had to say for herself. "I will not try to get away, Mr. Grant," interposed Fanny. "There is no fear of her getting away, even if she is disposed to do so." Mr. Long found himself obliged to leave, his office ignored, and his curiosity ungratified. "Where have you been, Fanny Jane?" asked Mr. Grant, when the constable had gone, his tones being the counterpart of his stern, sad face. "In New York," replied Fanny, still sobbing. "What have you done with the money you took from the drawer in the closet?" "I spent most of it." "For what did you spend it?" "I have come back to tell the whole truth, Mr. Grant. I have been very wicked and ungrateful to you. I am very sorry for what I have done; I don't ask you to forgive me, for I know you can't. I am willing to be punished as you think best, for I deserve the worst you can do to me." Mr. Grant was a tender-hearted man. Perhaps his own children had suffered from the gentleness of his nature; if they had, the injury had been more than compensated for in the blessings imparted by his tenderness. He was more than astonished at the attitude of the returned wanderer. Fanny had never before been known to be in such a frame of mind. The sternness of his expression passed away; there was nothing but the sadness left. Probably he doubted the sincerity of the culprit's contrition; at least he did not realize the depth and earnestness of it. "I will hear whatever you wish to say," replied he, seating himself in his easy chair. "I have been so wicked that I know you will find it hard to believe me; but I mean to tell the whole truth," sobbed Fanny. "I hope you do. You may wait till you are better able to speak. The letter you sent to Mrs. Green informed us where you were, but we were unable to find you." "I came home as soon as I could; and I did not wish you to find me till I had done what I had to do," answered Fanny, drying her tears. She then commenced the narrative of her adventures from the time she had parted with Miss Fanny. She told how she had let the cat out of the drawer, and how she had found where the money was actually concealed; she related very minutely every incident that had occurred up to the time she had seen Mr. O'Shane and Mrs. Kent in front of the house in New York. At this point Mr. Grant became intensely interested in the story, and when Fanny said that she had paid the poor woman's rent with one hundred dollars of the stolen money, a slight smile gathered upon his sad face. Then she related the particulars of her interview with the sick girl, mentioning even the hymns she had sung to her. She described as well as she could the impression made upon her by the beautiful and patient sufferer; the sense of her own guilt and wickedness, which had then and there dawned upon her; and the oppressive burden she had borne in her soul when she went down into the city, which did not permit her to enjoy the pleasures of the great metropolis for which she had stolen the money, and run away from her home. Fanny was eloquent, but the simple truth was her only inspiration. Mr. Grant evidently understood the frame of mind which she described, and when she came to her final interview with the dying girl, he could hardly repress a tear in his own eyes. Fanny omitted nothing, but told every incident, and repeated all she could remember of the conversation of poor Jenny,—and hardly a word of it was forgotten,—confirming her statement by exhibiting the anchor on her bosom, and the paper given her by the dying saint. Mr. Grant read the paper, and the tears came to his eyes in spite of his efforts to suppress them. "For her sake, Fanny, I forgive you," said he. "I do not deserve to be forgiven, sir," sobbed Fanny. "I could not resist such an appeal as this," answered Mr. Grant, glancing at the paper again. "I would have come home then, when poor Jenny was gone, but I thought I ought to stay and do what I could for the poor woman;" and Fanny continued her narrative, describing everything that took place at Mrs. Kent's till her departure, including her visit to Dr. Porter's, the funeral, and her confession to the bereaved mother. "Mrs. Kent felt very bad when I told her that I had stolen the money; and she promised to pay you all I had spent for her. She gave me this note for you," continued Fanny, handing him the paper. Mr. Grant glanced at it, and put it in his pocket. "Fanny, if your penitence is sincere, as I hope and believe it is, I shall be thankful that this event has happened," said he. "I should have been glad of an opportunity to do what you have done with my money. It would have been wrong for you to steal it, even to relieve the distress of so needy and deserving a person as the soldier's wife; but you have put it to a good use. It is impossible for me to doubt your story, but I wish to confirm it. When you have had your breakfast, you may go to the city with me, and we will visit Mrs. Kent." "I have told the whole truth, Mr. Grant; and I am willing to do anything you say. I did not ask or expect to be forgiven." "I could have forgiven you, even without the request of the dying girl." "I do not deserve it. I expected to be sent to prison," sobbed the penitent. "I never thought of sending you to prison, or to any such place. I say I forgive you, but I shall be compelled to send you to your uncle's in Minnesota." "I am willing to go," replied Fanny, who, a week before, would have deemed this a greater hardship than being sent to prison. Fanny went to her breakfast. Mrs. Green and the servants were surprised, not to say disgusted, to see Mr. Grant treat her with so much tenderness. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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