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Young Captain Jack: The Son of a Soldier, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 6. Mrs. Ruthven's Story |
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_ CHAPTER VI. MRS. RUTHVEN'S STORY "I am so glad to see you both back, safe and sound!" It was Mrs. Alice Ruthven who spoke, as she embraced first her daughter and then Jack. "And we are glad enough to get back, mother," answered Marion. "I was so frightened, even after Old Ben went after you. We watched the lightning, and when it struck the wreck----" Mrs. Ruthven stopped speaking and gave a shiver. "We weren't in such very great danger," answered Jack. Then he looked at the lady curiously. "What is it, Jack? You have something on your mind," she said quickly. The youth looked at Marian, who turned red. "I--I--that is, mother, Jack knows the truth," faltered the girl. "The truth?" repeated Mrs. Ruthven slowly. "Yes, Marion has told me the truth," said Jack, in as steady a voice as he could command. "And so I--I--am not your son." He could scarcely speak the words. "Oh, Jack!" The lady caught him in her arms. "So you know the truth at last?" She kissed him. "But you are my son, just as if you were my own flesh and blood. You are not angry at me for keeping this a secret so long? I did it because I did not wish to hurt your feelings." "No, I am not angry at you, Mrs. Ruth----" "Call me mother, Jack." "I am not angry, mother. You have been very kind to me. But it is so strange! I can't understand it all," and he heaved a deep sigh. "You have been a son to me in the past, Jack; I wish you to continue to be one." "But I have no real claim upon you." "Yes, you have, for my late husband and myself adopted you." "Marion told me that you never heard one word regarding my past." "She told the truth. We tried our best, but every effort ended in failure. Your mother called you Jack ere she died, and that was all." "What of our clothing? Was none of it marked, or had she nothing in her pocket?" "No, the clothing was not marked, and she had nothing in her pocket but a lace handkerchief, also unmarked. That handkerchief I have kept, with the clothing. And I have also kept a ring she wore upon one of her fingers." "Was that marked?" "It had been, but it was so worn that we could not make out the marking, nor could the two jewelers by whom we had the ring inspected." "I would like to see the ring." "I will get it," returned Mrs. Ruthven, and left the room. Soon she came back with a small jewel casket, from which she took a ring and a very dainty lace handkerchief. "Here is the ring," she said, as she passed it over to Jack. "It looks like a wedding ring," said the youth, as he gazed at the circlet of gold. "I believe it is a wedding ring." Jack looked inside and saw some markings, but all were so faint that it was impossible to make out more than the figures 1 and 8. "Those figures stand for eighteen hundred and something, I imagine," said Mrs. Ruthven. "They must give the year when your mother was married." "I suppose you are right." "The ring belongs to you, Jack. I would advise you to be careful of it." "If you please, I would like to have you keep it for the present." "I will do that willingly." The handkerchief was next examined. But it seemed to be without markings of any kind, and was soon returned to the jewel case along with the ring. "Now tell me how Marion came to tell you of the past," said Mrs. Ruthven, after putting the jewel case away. "I made her tell me the truth," said Jack. "But how did you suspect this at first?" "Because of something St. John said to Darcy Gilbert." "What did he say?" "Oh, it doesn't matter much--now, mother. He told Darcy I wasn't your son." "What else did he say?" "Oh, I think I had better not say." "But you must tell me, Jack; I insist upon knowing." "He told Darcy that I was a nobody, and that I would have to go away some day." At these words Mrs. Ruthven's face flushed angrily. "St. John is taking too much upon his shoulders," she cried. "This is no business of his." "I may be a nobody, but, but"--Jack stammered--"if he says anything to me, I am afraid there will be a row." "He shall not say anything to you. I will speak to him about this. Leave it all to me." "But he shall not insult me," said Jack sturdily. Marion had left the apartment, to change her clothing, so she did not hear what was said about St. John. A few words more on the subject passed between the lady of the plantation and the youth, and then the talk shifted back to Jack's past. "Some day I am going to find out who I am." said the boy. "There must be some way to do this." "Are you then so anxious to leave me, Jack?" asked Mrs. Ruthven, and the tears sprang into her eyes. "No, no, mother; I will not leave you so long as you wish me to stay!" he exclaimed. "It isn't that. But this mystery of the past must be solved." "Well, I will help you all I can. But do not hope for too much, my boy, or you may be disappointed," and then she embraced him again. Running up to his bedroom, Jack quickly changed the suit which had been soaked the night before for a better one, and then came below again. He hardly knew what to do with himself. The news had set his head in a whirl. At last he decided to go out riding on a pony Mrs. Ruthven had given him a few weeks before. The pony was soon saddled by one of the stable hands, and Jack set off on a level road running between the two Ruthven plantations. At first he thought to ask Marion to accompany him, but then decided that he was in no humor to have anybody along. "I must think this out by myself," was the way he reasoned, and set off at a brisk pace under the wide-spreading trees. He was less than quarter of a mile away from home when he came face to face with St. John, who was returning from his visit to Old Ben's boathouse. As the two riders approached each other, the young man glared darkly at our hero. "Hullo, where are you bound?" he demanded sharply. "I don't think that is any of your business, St. John," replied Jack, who was just then in no humor to be polite. "Humph! you needn't get on your high horse about it!" "I am not on a high horse, only on a small pony." "Don't joke me, Jack--I don't like it." "As you please, St. John." "What's got into you this morning?" demanded the young man curiously. "Well, if you want to know, I don't like the way you have been talking about me." "Oho! so that is how the wind blows." "You have taken the pains to call me a nobody," went on Jack hotly. "I told the truth, didn't I?" "I consider myself just as good as you, St. John Ruthven." "Do you indeed!" sneered the spendthrift. "I do indeed, and in the future I will thank you to be more careful of what you say about me." "I have a right to tell the truth to anybody I please." "I don't deny that. But I consider my blood just as good as yours." "Do you? I don't." "Your opinion isn't worth anything to me." "Humph! still riding a high horse, I see. Let me tell you, you are not half as good as a Ruthven, and never will be. How my aunt could take you in is a mystery to me." "She is not as hard-hearted as you are." "She is very foolish." "She is my foster mother, and I'll thank you to speak respectfully of her," cried Jack, his eyes flashing. "Of course you'll stick by her--as long as she'll let you. You have a nice ax to grind." "I don't understand your last words." "She owns considerable property, and you will try to get a big share of it for yourself, when she dies." "I have never given her property a thought. I want only what is rightfully coming to me." "There is nothing coming to you by right. The property ought to go to Marion and the other Ruthvens." "By other Ruthvens I suppose you mean yourself." "I am one of them." "Are you so anxious to get hold of my aunt's plantation?" "I don't want to see my aunt waste it on such a low upstart as you!" Jack's eyes flashed fire, and riding close to St. John he held up his little riding whip. "You shan't call me an upstart!" he ejaculated. "Take it back, or I'll hit you with this!" "You won't dare to touch me!" howled St. John in a rage. "You are an upstart, and worse, to my way of thinking." Scarcely had the words left his lips when Jack brought down the riding whip across the young man's shoulders and neck, leaving a livid red mark behind. "Oh!" howled the spendthrift, and gave a jerk backward on the reins, which brought his horse up on his hind legs. "How dare you! I'll--I'll kill you for that!" "Do you take it back or not?" went on Jack, raising the whip again. Instead of replying St. John reached over to hit the youth with his own whip. But Jack dodged, and then struck out a second time. The blow landed upon St. John's hand, and he jerked back quickly. The movement scared the horse, and the animal plunged so violently that the rider was thrown from the saddle into some nearby bushes. Then the horse galloped away, leaving St. John to his fate. _ |
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