The Opal Serpent Part 20

"Deborah," he said, in a quiet voice, releasing himself, "I love Sylvia for herself and not for her money."

Deborah threw her brawny arms in the air and her ap.r.o.n over her red head. "I knowed it--oh, yuss, indeed," she sobbed in m.u.f.fled tones. "Ses I, I ses, Mr. Paul's a gentleman whatever his frantic par may be and marry you, my own lovey, he will, though not able to afford the marriage fees, the same as will come out of Debby's pocket, though the laundry go by the board. 'Eaven knows what we'll live on all the same, pore wurkhus ijets as me an' Bart are, not bein' able to make you an' Miss Sylvia 'appy. Miss Sylvia Krill an' Norman both," ended Deborah with emphasis, "whatever that smooth cat with the grin and the clawses may say, drat her fur a slimy tabby--yah!"

"I see you know all," said Paul, as soon as he could slip in a word.

"Know all," almost yelled Deborah, dragging down the ap.r.o.n and revealing flas.h.i.+ng eyes, "and it's a mussy I ain't in Old Bailey this very day for scratching that monkey of a Pash. Oh, if I'd known wot he wos never should he 'ave got me the laundry, though the same may have to go, worse luck. Ho, yuss! he come, and she come with her kitting, as is almost as big a cat as she is. Mrs. Krill, bless her, oh, yuss, Mrs. Krill, the sneakin', smiling Jezebel."

"Did she see Sylvia?" asked Beecot, sharply.

"Yuss, she did," admitted Deborah, "me lettin' her in not knowin' her scratchin's. An' the monkey an' the kitting come too--a-spyin' out the land as you may say. W'en I 'eard the noos I 'owled Mr. Paul, but my pretty she turned white like one of them plaster stateys as boys sell cheap in the streets, and ses she, she ses, 'Oh Paul'--if you'll forgive me mentioning your name, sir, without perliteness."

"Bless her, my darling. Did she think of me," said Beecot, tenderly.

"Ah, when do she not think of you, sir? 'Eart of gold, though none in her pocket by means of that Old Bailey woman as is a good match fur my Old Bailey master. Ho! he wos a bad 'un, and 'ow Miss Sylvia ever come to 'ave sich a par beats me. But I thank 'eaven the cat ain't my pretty's mar, though she do 'ave a daughter of her own, the painted, stuck-up parcel of bad bargains."

Paul nodded. "Calling names won't do any good, Deborah," he said sadly; "we must do the best we can."

"There ain't no chance of the lawr gettin' that woman to the gallers I 'spose, sir?"

"The woman is your late master's lawful wife. Pash seems to think so and has gone over to the enemy"--here Deborah clenched her mighty fists and gasped. "Sylvia's mother was married later, and as the former wife is alive Sylvia is--"

"No," shouted Deborah, flinging out her hand, "don't say it."

"Sylvia is poor," ended Paul, calmly. "What did you think I was about to say, Deborah?"

"What that cat said, insulting of my pretty. But I shoved her out of the door, tellin' her what she were. She guv me and Bart and my own sunbeam notice to quit," gasped Deborah, almost weeping, "an' quit we will this very day, Bart bein' a-packin' at this momingt. 'Ear 'im knocking, and I wish he wos a-knockin' at Mrs. Krill's 'ead, that I do, the flauntin'

hussy as she is, drat her."

"I'll go up and see Sylvia. No, Deborah, don't you come for a few minutes. When you do come we'll arrange what is to be done."

Deborah nodded acquiescence. "Take my lovely flower in your arms, sir,"

she said, following him to the foot of the stairs, "and tell her as your 'eart is true, which true I knowed it would be."

Beecot was soon in the sitting-room and found Sylvia on the sofa, her face buried in her hands. She looked up when she recognized the beloved footsteps and sprang to her feet. The next moment she was sobbing her heart out on Paul's faithful breast, and he was comforting her with all the endearing names he could think of.

"My own, my sweet, my dearest darling," whispered Paul, smoothing the pretty brown hair, "don't weep. You have lost much, but you have me."

"Dear," she wept, "do you think it is true?"

"I am afraid it is, Sylvia. However, I know a young lawyer, who is a friend of mine, and I'll speak to him."

"But Paul, though my mother may not have been married to my father--"

"She _was_, Sylvia, but Mrs. Krill was married to him earlier. Your father committed bigamy, and you, poor child, have to pay the penalty."

"Well, even if the marriage is wrong, the money was left to us."

"To you, dear," said Beecot, leading her to the sofa, "that is, the money was left in that loosely-worded will to 'my daughter.' We all thought it was you, but now this legal wife has come on the scene, the money must go to her daughter. Oh, Sylvia," cried Paul, straining her to his breast, "how foolish your father was not to say the money was left to 'my daughter Sylvia.' Then everything would have been right. But the absence of the name is fatal. The law will a.s.sume that the testator meant his true daughter."

"And am I not his true daughter?" she asked, her lips quivering.

"You are my own darling, Sylvia," murmured Paul, kissing her hair; "don't let us talk of the matter. I'll speak to my lawyer friend, but I fear from the att.i.tude of Pash that Mrs. Krill will make good her claim.

Were there a chance of keeping you in possession of the money, Pash would never have left you so easily."

"I am so sorry about the money on your account, Paul."

"My own," he said cheerily, "money is a good thing, and I wish we could have kept the five thousand a year. But I have you, and you have me, and although we cannot marry for a long time yet--"

"Not marry, Paul! Oh, why not?"

"Dearest, I am poor, I cannot drag you down to poverty."

Sylvia looked at him wide-eyed. "I am poor already." She looked round the room. "Nothing here is mine. I have only a few clothes. Mr. Pash said that Mrs. Krill would take everything. Let me marry you, darling,"

she whispered coaxingly, "and we can live in your garret. I will cook and mend, and be your own little wife."

Beecot groaned. "Don't tempt me, Sylvia," he said, putting her away, "I dare not marry you. Why, I have hardly enough to pay the fees. No, dear, you must go with Debby to her laundry, and I'll work night and day to make enough for us to live on. Then we'll marry, and--"

"But your father, Paul?"

"He won't do anything. He consented to our engagement, but solely, I believe, because he thought you were rich. Now, when he knows you are poor--and I wrote to tell him last night--he will forbid the match."

"Paul!" She clung to him in sick terror.

"My sweetest"--he caught her in his arms--"do you think a dozen fathers would make me give you up? No, my love of loves--my soul, my heart of hearts--come good, come ill, we will be together. You can stay with Debby at Jubileetown until I make enough to welcome you to a home, however humble. Dear, be hopeful, and trust in the G.o.d who brought us together. He is watching over us, and, knowing that, why need we fear?

Don't cry, darling heart."

"I'm not crying for crying," sobbed Sylvia, hiding her face on his breast and speaking incoherently; "but I'm so happy--"

"In spite of the bad news?" asked Paul, laughing gently.

"Yes--yes--to think that you should still wish to marry me. I am poor--I--I--have--no name, and--"

"Dearest, you will soon have my name."

"But Mrs. Krill said--"

"I don't want to hear what she said," cried Paul, impetuously; "she is a bad woman. I can see badness written all over her smiling face. We won't think of her. When you leave here you won't see her again. My own dear little sweetheart," whispered Paul, tenderly, "when you leave this unhappy house, let the bad past go. You and I will begin a new life.

Come, don't cry, my pet. Here's Debby."

Sylvia looked up, and threw herself into the faithful servant's arms.

"Oh, Debby, he loves me still; he's going to marry me whenever he can."

Deborah laughed and wiped Sylvia's tears away with her coa.r.s.e ap.r.o.n, tenderly. "You silly flower," she cried caressingly; "you foolish queen of 'oney bees, of course he have you in his 'eart. You'll be bride and I'll be bridesmaid, though not a pretty one, and all will be 'oney and suns.h.i.+ne and gates of pearl, my beauty."

"Debby--I'm--I'm--so happy!"

Deborah placed her young mistress in Paul's arms. "Then let 'im make you 'appier, pretty lily of the valley. Lor', as if anything bad 'ud ever come to you two while silly old Debby have a leg to stan' on an' arms to wash. Though the laundry--oh, lor'!" and she rubbed her nose till it grew scarlet, "what of it, Mr. Beecot, I do ask?"

"Have you enough money to pay a year's rent?"