Frank Hunter's Peril

"Is your mother at home, Frank?" asked a soft voice.

Frank Hunter was stretched on the lawn in a careless posture, but looked up quickly as the question fell upon his ear. A man of middle height and middle age was looking at him from the other side of the gate.

Frank rose from his grassy couch and answered coldly:

"Yes, sir; I believe so. I will go in and see."

"Oh, don't trouble yourself, my young friend," said Mr. Craven, opening the gate and advancing toward the door with a brisk step. "I will ring the bell; I want to see your mother on a little business."

"Seems to me he has a good deal of business with mother," Frank said to himself. "There's something about the man I don't like, though he always treats me well enough. Perhaps it's his looks."

"How are you, Frank?"

Frank looked around, and saw his particular friend, Ben Cameron, just entering the gate.

"Tip-top, Ben," he answered, cordially. "I'm glad you've come."

"I'm glad to hear it; I thought you might be engaged."

"Engaged? What do you mean, Ben?" asked Frank, with a puzzled expression.

"Engaged in entertaining your future step-father," said Ben, laughing.

"My future step-father!" returned Frank, quickly; "you are speaking in riddles, Ben."

"Oh! well, if I must speak out, I saw Mr. Craven ahead of me."

"Mr. Craven! Well, what if you did?"

"Why, Frank, you must know the cause of his attentions to your mother."

"Ben," said Frank, his face flushing with anger, "you are my friend, but I don't want even you to hint at such a thing as that."

"Have I displeased you, Frank?"

"No, no; I won't think of it any more."

"I am afraid, Frank, you will have to think of it more," said his companion, gravely.

"You surely don't mean, Ben, that you have the least idea that my mother would marry such a man as that?" exclaimed Frank, pronouncing the last words contemptuously.

"It's what all the village is talking about," said Ben, significantly.

"Then I wish all the village would mind its own business," said Frank, hotly.

"I hope they are wrong, I am sure. Craven's a mean, sneaking sort of man, in my opinion. I should be sorry to have him your step-father."

"It's a hateful idea that such a man should take the place of my dear, noble father," exclaimed Frank, with excitement. "My mother wouldn't think of it."

But even as he spoke, there was a fear in his heart that there might be something in the rumor after all. He could not be blind to the frequent visits which Mr. Craven had made at the house of late. He knew that his mother had come to depend on him greatly in matters of business. He had heard her even consult him about her plans for himself, and this had annoyed him. Once he had intimated his dislike of Mr. Craven, but his mother had reproved him, saying that she considered him a true friend, and did not know how to do without him. But he stifled this apprehension, and assured Ben, in the most positive terms, that there was nothing whatever in the report. Whether there was or not, we shall be able to judge better by entering the house and being present at the interview.

Mrs. Hunter was sitting in a rocking-chair, with a piece of needle-work in her hand. She was a small, delicate-looking woman, still pretty, though nearer forty than thirty, and with the look of one who would never depend on herself, if she could find some one to lean upon for counsel and guidance. Frank, who was strong and resolute, had inherited these characteristics not from her but from his father, who had died two years previous, his strong and vigorous constitution succumbing to a sudden fever, which in his sturdy frame found plenty to prey upon.

And who was Mr. Craven?

He was, or professed to be, a lawyer, who six months before had come to the town of Shelby. He had learned that Mrs. Hunter was possessed of a handsome competence, and had managed an early introduction. He succeeded in getting her to employ him in some business matters, and under cover of this had called very often at her house. From the first he meant to marry her if he could, as his professional income was next to nothing, and with the money of the late Mr. Hunter he knew that he would be comfortably provided for for life. This very afternoon he had selected to make his proposal, and he knew so well the character and the weakness of the lady that he felt a tolerable assurance of success. He knew very well that Frank did not like him, and he in turn liked our young hero no better, but he always treated him with the utmost graciousness and suavity from motives of policy.

The room in which they were seated was very neatly and tastefully furnished. He looked, to employ a common phrase, "as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth," and his voice was soft and full of suavity.

They had evidently been talking on business, for he is saying, "Now that our business interview is over, there is another subject, my dear Mrs. Hunter, on which I wish to speak to you."

She looked up, not suspecting what was coming, and said, "What is it, Mr. Craven?"

"It's a very delicate matter. I hardly know how to introduce it."

Something in his look led her to suspect now, and she said, a little nervously, "Go on, Mr. Craven."

"My dear Mrs. Hunter, the frequent visits I have made here have given me such a view of your many amiable qualities, that almost without knowing it, I have come to love you."

Mrs. Hunter dropped her work nervously, and seemed agitated.

"I esteem you, Mr. Craven," she said, in a low voice, "but I have never thought of marrying again."

"Then think of it now, I entreat you. My happiness depends upon it--think of that. When I first discovered that I loved you, I tried hard to bury the secret in my own breast, but--but it became too strong for me, and now I place my fate in your hands."

By this time he had edged round to her side, and lifted her hand gently in his, and pressed it to his lips.

"Do not drive me to despair," he murmured softly.