Volume One—Chapter Seventeen.The News.The day wore on with the storm now lulling slightly, now increasing in violence till it seemed as if the great rolling banks of green water must end by conquering in their attack, and sweeping away first the rough pier, and then the little twin towns on either side of the estuary. Nothing was visible seawards, but in a maritime place the attention of all is centred upon the expected, and in the full belief that sooner or later there would be a wreck, all masculine Hakemouth gathered in sheltered places to be on the watch.Van Heldre and Leslie came into contact again that afternoon, and after a long look seaward, the merchant took the young man’s arm.“Come on to my place,” he said quietly. “You’ll come too, Luke Vine?”“I? No, no,” said the old fellow, shaking his head. “I want to stop and watch the sea go down.”His refusal was loud and demonstrative, but somehow there was a suggestion in it of a request to be asked again.“Nonsense!” said Van Heldre. “You may as well come and take shelter for a while. You will not refuse, Leslie?”“Thanks all the same, but I hope you will excuse me too,” replied Leslie with his lips, but with an intense desire to go, for there was a possibility of Louise being at the house with Madelaine.“I shall feel vexed if you refuse,” said Van Heldre quietly. “Come along, Luke, and dine with us. I’m depressed and worried to-day; be a bit neighbourly if you can.”“Oh, I’ll come,” said the old man; “but it serves you right. Why can’t you be content as I am, instead of venturing hundreds and hundreds of pounds in ships on the sea? Here, come along, Leslie, and let’s eat and drink all we can to help him, the extravagant spendthrift.”Van Heldre smiled, and they went along to the house together.“The boy in yonder at work?” said Uncle Luke, giving a wag of his head toward the office.“Yes,” said Van Heldre, and ushered his visitors in, the closed door seeming directly after to shut out the din and confusion of the wind-swept street.“There, throw your mackintoshes on that chair,” said Van Heldre; and hardly had Leslie got rid of his than Mrs Van Heldre was in the hall, her short plump arms were round Leslie’s neck, and she kissed him heartily.“God bless you!” she whispered with a sob; and before Leslie had well recovered from his surprise and confusion, Madelaine was holding one of his hands in both of hers, and looking tearfully in his face in a way which spoke volumes.“Ah, it’s nice to be young and good-looking, and well off,” said Uncle Luke. “Nobody gives me such a welcome.”“How can you say that!” said Madelaine, with a laugh. “Come, Uncle Luke, and we’re very glad to see you.”As she spoke she put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his wrinkled cheek.“Hah! that’s like old times, Maddy,” said the grim-looking visitor, softening a little.“Why didn’t you keep a nice plump little girl, same as you used to be?”Madelaine gave him a smile and nod but left the old man with her father, and followed her mother and Leslie into the dining-room.“So that’s to be it, is it, Van, eh?”“I don’t know,” was the reply. “It’s all very sudden and a surprise to me.”“Angled for it, haven’t you?”“Angled? No.”“She has then. My dear boy, son of my heart, the very man for my darling, eh?” chuckled Uncle Luke.“Be quiet, you sham cynic,” said Van Heldre dreamily. “Don’t banter me, Luke, I’m sorely ill at ease.”“About money, eh?” cried Uncle Luke eagerly.“Money? No! I was thinking about those poor fellows out at sea.”“In your brig, eh? Ah, ’tis sad. But that money—quite safe, eh?”“Oh yes, safe enough.”“Oh, do come, papa dear,” said Madelaine, reappearing at the door. “Dinner is waiting.”“Yes, yes, we’re coming, my dear,” said Van Heldre, laying his hand affectionately on Uncle Luke’s shoulder, and they were soon after seated round the table, with the elder visitor showing at times quite another side of his character.No allusion was made to the adventure of the morning, but Leslie felt in the gentle tenderness displayed towards him by mother and daughter that much had been said, and that he had won a very warm place in their regard. In fact, in word and look, Mrs Van Heldre seemed to be giving him a home in her motherly heart, which was rather embarrassing, and would have been more so, but for Madelaine’s frank, pleasant way of meeting his gaze, every action seemed to be sisterly and affectionate but nothing more.So Leslie read them, but so did not the ciders at the table.By mutual consent no allusion was made to the missing brig, and it seemed to Leslie that the thoughts of mother and daughter were directed principally to one point, that of diverting Van Heldre from his troublesome thoughts.“Ah, I was hungry,” said Uncle Luke, when the repast was about half over. “Very pleasant meal, only wanted one thing to make it perfect.”“Why, my dear Luke Vine, why didn’t you speak? What is it? oh, pray say.”“Society,” said Uncle Luke, after pausing for a moment to turn towards the window, a gust having given it a tremendous shake. “I say, if I find my place blown away, can you find me a dry shed or a dog kennel or something, Leslie?”“Don’t talk such stuff, Luke Vine,” cried Mrs Van Heldre. “Don’t take any notice of him, Mr Leslie, he’s a rich old miser and nothing else. Now, Luke Vine, what do you mean?”“Said what I meant, society. Why didn’t you ask my sister to dinner? She’d have set us all right, eh, Madelaine?”“Oh, I don’t know,” said Madelaine, smiling.“But I do,” cried her mother; “she’d have set us all by the ears with her nonsense. You are a strange pair.”“We are—we are. Nice sherry this, Van.”“Glad you like it,” said Van Heldre, with his eyes turned towards the window, as if he expected news.“How a woman can be so full of pride and so useless puzzles me.”“Mamma!” whispered Madelaine, with an imploring look.“Let her talk, my clear,” said Uncle Luke, “it doesn’t hurt any one. Don’t talk nonsense, Van’s wife. What use could you make of her? She is like the thistle that grows up behind my place, a good-looking prickly plant, with a ball of down for a head. Let her be; you always get the worst of it. The more you excite her the more that head of hers sends out floating downy seeds to settle here and there and do mischief. She has spoiled my nephew Harry, and nearly spoiled my niece.”“Don’t you believe it, Mr Leslie,” cried Madelaine, with a long earnest look in her eyes.“Quite true, Miss Impudence,” continued Uncle Luke. “Always was a war between me and the useless plants.”“Well, I can’t sit here silent and listen to such heresy,” cried Mrs Van Heldre, shaking her head. “Surely, Luke Vine, you don’t call yourself a useful plant.”“Bless my soul, ma’am, then I suppose I’m a weed?”“Not you,” said Van Heldre, forcing a show of interest in the conversation.“Yes, old fellow, I am,” said Uncle Luke, holding his sherry up to the light, and sipping it as if he found real enjoyment therein. “I suppose I am only a weed, not a thistle, like Margaret up yonder, but a tough-rooted, stringy, matter-of-fact old nettle, who comes up quietly in his own corner, and injures no one so long as people let him alone.”“No, no, no, no!” said Madelaine emphatically.“Quite right, Miss Van Heldre,” said Leslie.“Hear, hear!” cried Van Heldre. “Stir me up, then, and see,” cried the old man grimly. “More than one person has found out before now how I can sting, and—Hallo! what’s wrong? You here?”There had been a quick step in the long passage, and, without ceremony, the door was thrown open, Harry Vine entering, to stand in the gathering gloom hatless and excited.He was about to speak, Van Heldre having sprung to his feet, when the young man’s eyes alighted on Leslie and Madelaine seated side by side at the table, and the flash of anger which mounted to his brain drove everything else away.“What is it?” cried Van Heldre hoarsely. “Do you hear?—speak!”“There is a brig on the Conger Rock,” said Harry quickly, as if roused to a recollection of that which he had come to say.“Yes, sir,” cried another voice, as old Crampton suddenly appeared. “And the man has just run up to the office with the news, for—”“Well, man, speak out,” said Van Heldre, whose florid face was mottled with patches of ghastly white.“They think it’s ours.”“I felt it coming,” groaned Van Heldre, as he rushed into the hall, Leslie following quickly.As he hurriedly threw on his waterproof a hand caught his, and turning, it was to see Madelaine looking up imploringly in his eyes.“My father, Mr Leslie. Keep him out of danger, pray!”“Trust me. I’ll do my best,” said the young man quickly; and then he awoke to the fact that Harry Vine was beside him, white with anger, an anger which seemed to make him dumb.The next minute the whole party were struggling down the street against the hurricane-like wind, to learn from a dozen voices, eager to tender the bad news, that the mist of spray had been so thick that in the early gloom of evening the vessel had approached quite unseen till she was close in, and directly after she had struck on the dangerous rock, in a wild attempt to reach the harbour, a task next to impossible in such a storm.
The day wore on with the storm now lulling slightly, now increasing in violence till it seemed as if the great rolling banks of green water must end by conquering in their attack, and sweeping away first the rough pier, and then the little twin towns on either side of the estuary. Nothing was visible seawards, but in a maritime place the attention of all is centred upon the expected, and in the full belief that sooner or later there would be a wreck, all masculine Hakemouth gathered in sheltered places to be on the watch.
Van Heldre and Leslie came into contact again that afternoon, and after a long look seaward, the merchant took the young man’s arm.
“Come on to my place,” he said quietly. “You’ll come too, Luke Vine?”
“I? No, no,” said the old fellow, shaking his head. “I want to stop and watch the sea go down.”
His refusal was loud and demonstrative, but somehow there was a suggestion in it of a request to be asked again.
“Nonsense!” said Van Heldre. “You may as well come and take shelter for a while. You will not refuse, Leslie?”
“Thanks all the same, but I hope you will excuse me too,” replied Leslie with his lips, but with an intense desire to go, for there was a possibility of Louise being at the house with Madelaine.
“I shall feel vexed if you refuse,” said Van Heldre quietly. “Come along, Luke, and dine with us. I’m depressed and worried to-day; be a bit neighbourly if you can.”
“Oh, I’ll come,” said the old man; “but it serves you right. Why can’t you be content as I am, instead of venturing hundreds and hundreds of pounds in ships on the sea? Here, come along, Leslie, and let’s eat and drink all we can to help him, the extravagant spendthrift.”
Van Heldre smiled, and they went along to the house together.
“The boy in yonder at work?” said Uncle Luke, giving a wag of his head toward the office.
“Yes,” said Van Heldre, and ushered his visitors in, the closed door seeming directly after to shut out the din and confusion of the wind-swept street.
“There, throw your mackintoshes on that chair,” said Van Heldre; and hardly had Leslie got rid of his than Mrs Van Heldre was in the hall, her short plump arms were round Leslie’s neck, and she kissed him heartily.
“God bless you!” she whispered with a sob; and before Leslie had well recovered from his surprise and confusion, Madelaine was holding one of his hands in both of hers, and looking tearfully in his face in a way which spoke volumes.
“Ah, it’s nice to be young and good-looking, and well off,” said Uncle Luke. “Nobody gives me such a welcome.”
“How can you say that!” said Madelaine, with a laugh. “Come, Uncle Luke, and we’re very glad to see you.”
As she spoke she put her hands on his shoulders, and kissed his wrinkled cheek.
“Hah! that’s like old times, Maddy,” said the grim-looking visitor, softening a little.
“Why didn’t you keep a nice plump little girl, same as you used to be?”
Madelaine gave him a smile and nod but left the old man with her father, and followed her mother and Leslie into the dining-room.
“So that’s to be it, is it, Van, eh?”
“I don’t know,” was the reply. “It’s all very sudden and a surprise to me.”
“Angled for it, haven’t you?”
“Angled? No.”
“She has then. My dear boy, son of my heart, the very man for my darling, eh?” chuckled Uncle Luke.
“Be quiet, you sham cynic,” said Van Heldre dreamily. “Don’t banter me, Luke, I’m sorely ill at ease.”
“About money, eh?” cried Uncle Luke eagerly.
“Money? No! I was thinking about those poor fellows out at sea.”
“In your brig, eh? Ah, ’tis sad. But that money—quite safe, eh?”
“Oh yes, safe enough.”
“Oh, do come, papa dear,” said Madelaine, reappearing at the door. “Dinner is waiting.”
“Yes, yes, we’re coming, my dear,” said Van Heldre, laying his hand affectionately on Uncle Luke’s shoulder, and they were soon after seated round the table, with the elder visitor showing at times quite another side of his character.
No allusion was made to the adventure of the morning, but Leslie felt in the gentle tenderness displayed towards him by mother and daughter that much had been said, and that he had won a very warm place in their regard. In fact, in word and look, Mrs Van Heldre seemed to be giving him a home in her motherly heart, which was rather embarrassing, and would have been more so, but for Madelaine’s frank, pleasant way of meeting his gaze, every action seemed to be sisterly and affectionate but nothing more.
So Leslie read them, but so did not the ciders at the table.
By mutual consent no allusion was made to the missing brig, and it seemed to Leslie that the thoughts of mother and daughter were directed principally to one point, that of diverting Van Heldre from his troublesome thoughts.
“Ah, I was hungry,” said Uncle Luke, when the repast was about half over. “Very pleasant meal, only wanted one thing to make it perfect.”
“Why, my dear Luke Vine, why didn’t you speak? What is it? oh, pray say.”
“Society,” said Uncle Luke, after pausing for a moment to turn towards the window, a gust having given it a tremendous shake. “I say, if I find my place blown away, can you find me a dry shed or a dog kennel or something, Leslie?”
“Don’t talk such stuff, Luke Vine,” cried Mrs Van Heldre. “Don’t take any notice of him, Mr Leslie, he’s a rich old miser and nothing else. Now, Luke Vine, what do you mean?”
“Said what I meant, society. Why didn’t you ask my sister to dinner? She’d have set us all right, eh, Madelaine?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Madelaine, smiling.
“But I do,” cried her mother; “she’d have set us all by the ears with her nonsense. You are a strange pair.”
“We are—we are. Nice sherry this, Van.”
“Glad you like it,” said Van Heldre, with his eyes turned towards the window, as if he expected news.
“How a woman can be so full of pride and so useless puzzles me.”
“Mamma!” whispered Madelaine, with an imploring look.
“Let her talk, my clear,” said Uncle Luke, “it doesn’t hurt any one. Don’t talk nonsense, Van’s wife. What use could you make of her? She is like the thistle that grows up behind my place, a good-looking prickly plant, with a ball of down for a head. Let her be; you always get the worst of it. The more you excite her the more that head of hers sends out floating downy seeds to settle here and there and do mischief. She has spoiled my nephew Harry, and nearly spoiled my niece.”
“Don’t you believe it, Mr Leslie,” cried Madelaine, with a long earnest look in her eyes.
“Quite true, Miss Impudence,” continued Uncle Luke. “Always was a war between me and the useless plants.”
“Well, I can’t sit here silent and listen to such heresy,” cried Mrs Van Heldre, shaking her head. “Surely, Luke Vine, you don’t call yourself a useful plant.”
“Bless my soul, ma’am, then I suppose I’m a weed?”
“Not you,” said Van Heldre, forcing a show of interest in the conversation.
“Yes, old fellow, I am,” said Uncle Luke, holding his sherry up to the light, and sipping it as if he found real enjoyment therein. “I suppose I am only a weed, not a thistle, like Margaret up yonder, but a tough-rooted, stringy, matter-of-fact old nettle, who comes up quietly in his own corner, and injures no one so long as people let him alone.”
“No, no, no, no!” said Madelaine emphatically.
“Quite right, Miss Van Heldre,” said Leslie.
“Hear, hear!” cried Van Heldre. “Stir me up, then, and see,” cried the old man grimly. “More than one person has found out before now how I can sting, and—Hallo! what’s wrong? You here?”
There had been a quick step in the long passage, and, without ceremony, the door was thrown open, Harry Vine entering, to stand in the gathering gloom hatless and excited.
He was about to speak, Van Heldre having sprung to his feet, when the young man’s eyes alighted on Leslie and Madelaine seated side by side at the table, and the flash of anger which mounted to his brain drove everything else away.
“What is it?” cried Van Heldre hoarsely. “Do you hear?—speak!”
“There is a brig on the Conger Rock,” said Harry quickly, as if roused to a recollection of that which he had come to say.
“Yes, sir,” cried another voice, as old Crampton suddenly appeared. “And the man has just run up to the office with the news, for—”
“Well, man, speak out,” said Van Heldre, whose florid face was mottled with patches of ghastly white.
“They think it’s ours.”
“I felt it coming,” groaned Van Heldre, as he rushed into the hall, Leslie following quickly.
As he hurriedly threw on his waterproof a hand caught his, and turning, it was to see Madelaine looking up imploringly in his eyes.
“My father, Mr Leslie. Keep him out of danger, pray!”
“Trust me. I’ll do my best,” said the young man quickly; and then he awoke to the fact that Harry Vine was beside him, white with anger, an anger which seemed to make him dumb.
The next minute the whole party were struggling down the street against the hurricane-like wind, to learn from a dozen voices, eager to tender the bad news, that the mist of spray had been so thick that in the early gloom of evening the vessel had approached quite unseen till she was close in, and directly after she had struck on the dangerous rock, in a wild attempt to reach the harbour, a task next to impossible in such a storm.
Volume One—Chapter Eighteen.Harry Vine Shows his Bright Side.The wreck of a ship on the threshold of the home where every occupant is known, is a scene of excitement beyond the reach of pen to adequately describe; and as the two young men reached the mouth of the harbour, following closely upon Van Heldre, their own petty animosity was forgotten in the face of the terrible disaster.The night was coming fast, and a light had been hoisted in the rigging of the vessel, now hard on the dangerous rock—the long arc of a circle described by the dim star showing plainly to those on shore the precarious position of the unfortunate crew.The sides of the harbour were crowded, in spite of the tremendous storm of wind and spray; and, as Leslie followed the ship-owner, he noted the horror and despair in many a spray-wet face.As Van Heldre approached and was recognised there was a cheer given by those who seemed to take it for granted that the owner would at once devise a way to save the vessel from her perilous position; and rescue the crew whose lives were clear to many gathered in agony around, to see, as it were, their dear ones die.Steps had already been taken, however, and as the little party from Van Heldre’s reached the harbour it was to see the life-boat launched, and a crew of sturdy fellows in their places, ready to do battle with the waves.It seemed to be a terrible task to row right out from the comparatively calm harbour, whose long rocky point acted as a breakwater, to where the great billows came rolling in, each looking as if it would engulf a score of such frail craft as that which, after a little of the hesitation of preparation, and amidst a tremendous burst of cheering, was rowed out into the middle of the estuary, and then straight away for the mouth.But they were not all cheers which followed the boat. Close by where Leslie stood, with a choking sensation of emotion in his breast, a woman uttered a wild shriek as the boat went off, and her hands were outstretched towards one of the oilskin-cased men, who sat in his place tugging stolidly at his oar.That one cry, heard above the roaring of the wind, the hiss of the spray, and the heavy thunder of the waves, acted like a signal to let loose the pent-up agony of a score of hearts; and wives, mothers, sisters, all joined in that one wild cry, “Come back!”The answer was a hoarse “Give way!” from the coxswain; and the crew turned their eyes determinedly from the harbour wall and tugged at their oars.The progress of the boat was followed as far as was possible by the crowd; and when they could go no farther, every sheltered spot was seized upon as a coign of vantage from which to watch the saving of the doomed crew.Leslie was standing close to the harbour wall, sheltering his face with his hands as he watched the life-boat fast nearing the mouth of the harbour, where the tug of war would commence, when he felt a hand laid upon his arm.He turned sharply, to find Madelaine at his elbow, her hood drawn over her head and tightly secured beneath her chin.He hardly saw her face, though, for close beside her stood another closely-hooded figure, whose face was streaming with the spray, while strand after strand of her dark hair had been torn from its place by the wind, and refused to be controlled.“Miss Van Heldre! Miss Vine!”“Yes. Where is my father?”“Here; talking to this coastguardsman.”“And I thought we had lost him,” murmured Madelaine.“But is it wise of you two ladies?” said Leslie, as he grasped Louise’s hand for a moment. “The storm is too terrible.”“We could not rest indoors,” said Louise. “My father is down here, is he not?”“I have not seen him. You want some better shelter.”“No, no; don’t think of us,” said Louise excitedly; “but if you can help in any way.”“You know I will,” said Leslie earnestly.“Here, what are you two girls doing?” said a quick, angry voice. “Louie, I’m sure this is no place for you.”Harry spoke to his sister, but his eyes were fixed upon those of Leslie, who, however, declined his challenge, as it seemed, to quarrel, and glanced at the young man’s companion.At that moment the brothers Vine came up, and there was no farther excuse for Harry’s fault-finding objections.“Can’t you young fellows do anything to help?” said Uncle Luke.“I wish you would tell us what to do, Mr Vine,” said Leslie coldly.Just then Van Heldre turned to, and joined them.“He is afraid the distance is too far,” he said dreamily, as if in answer to a question.“For the boat, Mr Van Heldre?” cried Louise.“No, no; for the rocket apparatus. Ah! Vine,” he continued, as he saw his old friend, “how helpless we are in such a storm!”No more was said. It was no time for words. The members of the two families stood together in a group watching the progress of the boat, and even Aunt Marguerite’s cold and sluggish blood was moved enough to draw her to the window, through whose spray and salt-blurred panes she could dimly see the tossing light of the brig.It was indeed no time for words, and even the very breath was held, to be allowed to escape in a low hiss of exultation as the life-boat was seen to rise suddenly and swiftly up a great bank of water, stand out upon its summit for a few moments, and then plunge down out of sight as the wave came on, deluged the point, and roared and tumbled over in the mouth of the harbour.It was plain enough now; the life-boat was beyond the protection of the point; and its progress was watched as it rose and fell, slowly growing more distant, and at times invisible for minutes together.At such times the excitement seemed beyond bearing. The boat, all felt, must have been swamped, and those on board left tossing in the boiling sea. The catastrophe of the wreck of the brig seemed to be swallowed up now in one that was greater; and as Leslie glanced round once, it was to see Louise and Madelaine clinging together, wild-eyed and pale.“There she is!” shouted a voice; and the life-boat was seen to slowly rise again, as a hoarse cheer arose—the pent-up excitement of the moment.It seemed an interminable length of time before the life-saving vessel reached the brig, and what followed during the next half-hour could only be guessed at. So dark had it become that now only the tossing light on board the doomed merchantman could be seen, rising and falling slowly with rhythmical regularity, as if those on board were waving to those they loved a sad farewell.Then at last a faint spark was seen for a few moments before it disappeared. Again it shone for a while and again disappeared.“One of the lanthorns in the life-boat.”“Coming back,” said Van Heldre hoarsely.“With the crew, sir?” cried Leslie.“Hah!” exclaimed Van Heldre slowly; “that we must see.”Another long time of suspense and horror. A dozen times over that boat’s light seemed to have gone for ever, but only to reappear; and at last, in the darkness it was seen, after a few minutes’ tremendous tossing, to become steady.The life-boat was in the harbour once again, and a ringing burst of cheers, that seemed smothered directly after by the roar of the storm, greeted the crew as they rowed up to the landing-place, utterly exhausted, but bringing with them two half-dead members of the brig’s crew.“All we could get to stir,” said the sturdy coxswain, “and we could not get aboard.”“How many are there?”“Seven, sir—in main-top. Half-dead.”“You should have stayed and brought them off,” cried Leslie frantically, for he did not realise the difficulties of the task the men had had to fulfil.“Who goes next?” cried Van Heldre, as the half-drowned men were borne, under the direction of the doctor, to the nearest inn.“No one can’t go again, sir,” said the old coxswain sternly. “It arn’t to be done.”“A crew must go again,” cried Van Heldre. “We cannot stand here and let them perish before our eyes. Here, my lads!” he roared. “Volunteers!”“Mr Leslie! My father,” whispered Madelaine; but the young mine-owner was already on his way to where Van Heldre stood.“Do you hear?” roared the latter. “Do as you would be done by. Volunteers!”Not a man stirred, the peril was too great.“It’s no good, master,” said the old coxswain; “they’re gone, poor lads, by now.”“No,” cried Leslie excitedly; “the light is there still.”“Ay,” said the coxswain, “a lamp ’ll burn some time longer than a man’s life. Here, master, I’ll go again, if you can get a crew.”“Volunteers!” shouted Van Heldre, but there was only a confused babble of voices, as women clung to their men and held back those who would have yielded.“Are you men!” roared Leslie excitedly; and Madelaine felt her arm grasped tightly. “I say, are you men, to stand there and see those poor fellows perish before your eyes!”“It’s throwing lives away,” cried a shrill woman’s voice.“Ay, go yoursen,” shouted a man angrily. “I’m going,” roared Leslie. “Only a landsman. Now then, is there never a sailor who will come?”There was a panting, spasmodic cry at Madelaine’s ear, one which she echoed, as Harry Vine stepped up to Leslie’s side.“Here’s another landsman,” he cried excitedly. “Now, Pradelle, come on!”There was no response from his companion, who drew back.“No, no,” panted Madelaine. “Louie—help me—they must not go.”Her words were drowned in a tremendous cheer, for Van Heldre, without a word, had stepped into the life-boat, followed by the two young men.Example is said to be better than precept. It was so here, for, with a rush, twenty of the sturdy Hakemouth fishers made for the boat, and the crew was not only made up, but a dozen men begged Van Heldre and the two young men to come out and let others take their places.“No,” said Leslie through his set teeth; “not if I never see shore again, Henry Vine.”“Is that brag to Hector over me, or British pluck?” said Harry.“Don’t know, my lad. Are you going ashore?”“Let’s wait and see,” muttered Harry, as he tied on the life-preserver handed to him.“Harry, my boy!”The young man looked up and saw his father on the harbour wall.“Hallo! Father!” he said sadly.“You are too young and weak. Let some strong man go.”“I can pull an oar as well as most of them, father,” he shouted; and then to himself: “And if I don’t get back—well—I suppose I’m not much good.”“Let him go,” said Uncle Luke, as he held back his brother. “Hang the boy, he has stuff in him after all.”A busy scene of confusion for a few minutes, and then once more a cheer arose, as the life-boat, well manned, parted the waters of the harbour, and the lanthorns forward and astern shone with a dull glare as that first great wave was reached, up which the boat glided, and then plunged down and disappeared.One long hour of intense agony, but not for those in the boat. The energy called forth, the tremendous struggle, the excitement to which every spirit was wrought, kept off agony or fear. It was like being in the supreme moments of a battle-charge, when in the wild whirl there is no room for dread, and a man’s spirit carries him through to the end.The agony was on shore, where women clung together no longer weeping, but straining their eyes seaward for the dancing lights which dimly crept up each billow, and then disappeared, as if never to appear again.“Madelaine!”“Louise!”All that was said as the two girls clasped each other and watched the dim lanthorns far at sea. “Ah!”Then a loud groan.“I knowed it couldn’t be long.”Then another deep murmur, whose strange intensity had made it dominate the shrieks, roars, and thunder of the storm.The light, which had been slowly waving up and down in the rigging of the brig, had disappeared, and it told to all the sad tale—that the mast had gone, and with it those who had been clinging in the top.But the two dim lanthorns in the life-boat went on and on, the thunder of the surf on the wreck guiding them. As the crew toiled away, the landsmen sufficiently accustomed to the use of the oar could pretty well hold their own, till, in utter despair and hopelessness, after hovering hours about the place where the wreck should have been, the life-boat’s head was laid for the harbour lights; and after a fierce battle to avoid being driven beyond, the gallant little crew reached the shelter given by the long low point, but several had almost to be lifted to the wharf.A few jagged and torn timbers, and a couple of bodies cast up among the rocks, a couple of miles to the east, were all the traces of Van Heldre’s handsome brig, which had gone to pieces in the darkness before the life-boat, on its second journey, was half-way there.
The wreck of a ship on the threshold of the home where every occupant is known, is a scene of excitement beyond the reach of pen to adequately describe; and as the two young men reached the mouth of the harbour, following closely upon Van Heldre, their own petty animosity was forgotten in the face of the terrible disaster.
The night was coming fast, and a light had been hoisted in the rigging of the vessel, now hard on the dangerous rock—the long arc of a circle described by the dim star showing plainly to those on shore the precarious position of the unfortunate crew.
The sides of the harbour were crowded, in spite of the tremendous storm of wind and spray; and, as Leslie followed the ship-owner, he noted the horror and despair in many a spray-wet face.
As Van Heldre approached and was recognised there was a cheer given by those who seemed to take it for granted that the owner would at once devise a way to save the vessel from her perilous position; and rescue the crew whose lives were clear to many gathered in agony around, to see, as it were, their dear ones die.
Steps had already been taken, however, and as the little party from Van Heldre’s reached the harbour it was to see the life-boat launched, and a crew of sturdy fellows in their places, ready to do battle with the waves.
It seemed to be a terrible task to row right out from the comparatively calm harbour, whose long rocky point acted as a breakwater, to where the great billows came rolling in, each looking as if it would engulf a score of such frail craft as that which, after a little of the hesitation of preparation, and amidst a tremendous burst of cheering, was rowed out into the middle of the estuary, and then straight away for the mouth.
But they were not all cheers which followed the boat. Close by where Leslie stood, with a choking sensation of emotion in his breast, a woman uttered a wild shriek as the boat went off, and her hands were outstretched towards one of the oilskin-cased men, who sat in his place tugging stolidly at his oar.
That one cry, heard above the roaring of the wind, the hiss of the spray, and the heavy thunder of the waves, acted like a signal to let loose the pent-up agony of a score of hearts; and wives, mothers, sisters, all joined in that one wild cry, “Come back!”
The answer was a hoarse “Give way!” from the coxswain; and the crew turned their eyes determinedly from the harbour wall and tugged at their oars.
The progress of the boat was followed as far as was possible by the crowd; and when they could go no farther, every sheltered spot was seized upon as a coign of vantage from which to watch the saving of the doomed crew.
Leslie was standing close to the harbour wall, sheltering his face with his hands as he watched the life-boat fast nearing the mouth of the harbour, where the tug of war would commence, when he felt a hand laid upon his arm.
He turned sharply, to find Madelaine at his elbow, her hood drawn over her head and tightly secured beneath her chin.
He hardly saw her face, though, for close beside her stood another closely-hooded figure, whose face was streaming with the spray, while strand after strand of her dark hair had been torn from its place by the wind, and refused to be controlled.
“Miss Van Heldre! Miss Vine!”
“Yes. Where is my father?”
“Here; talking to this coastguardsman.”
“And I thought we had lost him,” murmured Madelaine.
“But is it wise of you two ladies?” said Leslie, as he grasped Louise’s hand for a moment. “The storm is too terrible.”
“We could not rest indoors,” said Louise. “My father is down here, is he not?”
“I have not seen him. You want some better shelter.”
“No, no; don’t think of us,” said Louise excitedly; “but if you can help in any way.”
“You know I will,” said Leslie earnestly.
“Here, what are you two girls doing?” said a quick, angry voice. “Louie, I’m sure this is no place for you.”
Harry spoke to his sister, but his eyes were fixed upon those of Leslie, who, however, declined his challenge, as it seemed, to quarrel, and glanced at the young man’s companion.
At that moment the brothers Vine came up, and there was no farther excuse for Harry’s fault-finding objections.
“Can’t you young fellows do anything to help?” said Uncle Luke.
“I wish you would tell us what to do, Mr Vine,” said Leslie coldly.
Just then Van Heldre turned to, and joined them.
“He is afraid the distance is too far,” he said dreamily, as if in answer to a question.
“For the boat, Mr Van Heldre?” cried Louise.
“No, no; for the rocket apparatus. Ah! Vine,” he continued, as he saw his old friend, “how helpless we are in such a storm!”
No more was said. It was no time for words. The members of the two families stood together in a group watching the progress of the boat, and even Aunt Marguerite’s cold and sluggish blood was moved enough to draw her to the window, through whose spray and salt-blurred panes she could dimly see the tossing light of the brig.
It was indeed no time for words, and even the very breath was held, to be allowed to escape in a low hiss of exultation as the life-boat was seen to rise suddenly and swiftly up a great bank of water, stand out upon its summit for a few moments, and then plunge down out of sight as the wave came on, deluged the point, and roared and tumbled over in the mouth of the harbour.
It was plain enough now; the life-boat was beyond the protection of the point; and its progress was watched as it rose and fell, slowly growing more distant, and at times invisible for minutes together.
At such times the excitement seemed beyond bearing. The boat, all felt, must have been swamped, and those on board left tossing in the boiling sea. The catastrophe of the wreck of the brig seemed to be swallowed up now in one that was greater; and as Leslie glanced round once, it was to see Louise and Madelaine clinging together, wild-eyed and pale.
“There she is!” shouted a voice; and the life-boat was seen to slowly rise again, as a hoarse cheer arose—the pent-up excitement of the moment.
It seemed an interminable length of time before the life-saving vessel reached the brig, and what followed during the next half-hour could only be guessed at. So dark had it become that now only the tossing light on board the doomed merchantman could be seen, rising and falling slowly with rhythmical regularity, as if those on board were waving to those they loved a sad farewell.
Then at last a faint spark was seen for a few moments before it disappeared. Again it shone for a while and again disappeared.
“One of the lanthorns in the life-boat.”
“Coming back,” said Van Heldre hoarsely.
“With the crew, sir?” cried Leslie.
“Hah!” exclaimed Van Heldre slowly; “that we must see.”
Another long time of suspense and horror. A dozen times over that boat’s light seemed to have gone for ever, but only to reappear; and at last, in the darkness it was seen, after a few minutes’ tremendous tossing, to become steady.
The life-boat was in the harbour once again, and a ringing burst of cheers, that seemed smothered directly after by the roar of the storm, greeted the crew as they rowed up to the landing-place, utterly exhausted, but bringing with them two half-dead members of the brig’s crew.
“All we could get to stir,” said the sturdy coxswain, “and we could not get aboard.”
“How many are there?”
“Seven, sir—in main-top. Half-dead.”
“You should have stayed and brought them off,” cried Leslie frantically, for he did not realise the difficulties of the task the men had had to fulfil.
“Who goes next?” cried Van Heldre, as the half-drowned men were borne, under the direction of the doctor, to the nearest inn.
“No one can’t go again, sir,” said the old coxswain sternly. “It arn’t to be done.”
“A crew must go again,” cried Van Heldre. “We cannot stand here and let them perish before our eyes. Here, my lads!” he roared. “Volunteers!”
“Mr Leslie! My father,” whispered Madelaine; but the young mine-owner was already on his way to where Van Heldre stood.
“Do you hear?” roared the latter. “Do as you would be done by. Volunteers!”
Not a man stirred, the peril was too great.
“It’s no good, master,” said the old coxswain; “they’re gone, poor lads, by now.”
“No,” cried Leslie excitedly; “the light is there still.”
“Ay,” said the coxswain, “a lamp ’ll burn some time longer than a man’s life. Here, master, I’ll go again, if you can get a crew.”
“Volunteers!” shouted Van Heldre, but there was only a confused babble of voices, as women clung to their men and held back those who would have yielded.
“Are you men!” roared Leslie excitedly; and Madelaine felt her arm grasped tightly. “I say, are you men, to stand there and see those poor fellows perish before your eyes!”
“It’s throwing lives away,” cried a shrill woman’s voice.
“Ay, go yoursen,” shouted a man angrily. “I’m going,” roared Leslie. “Only a landsman. Now then, is there never a sailor who will come?”
There was a panting, spasmodic cry at Madelaine’s ear, one which she echoed, as Harry Vine stepped up to Leslie’s side.
“Here’s another landsman,” he cried excitedly. “Now, Pradelle, come on!”
There was no response from his companion, who drew back.
“No, no,” panted Madelaine. “Louie—help me—they must not go.”
Her words were drowned in a tremendous cheer, for Van Heldre, without a word, had stepped into the life-boat, followed by the two young men.
Example is said to be better than precept. It was so here, for, with a rush, twenty of the sturdy Hakemouth fishers made for the boat, and the crew was not only made up, but a dozen men begged Van Heldre and the two young men to come out and let others take their places.
“No,” said Leslie through his set teeth; “not if I never see shore again, Henry Vine.”
“Is that brag to Hector over me, or British pluck?” said Harry.
“Don’t know, my lad. Are you going ashore?”
“Let’s wait and see,” muttered Harry, as he tied on the life-preserver handed to him.
“Harry, my boy!”
The young man looked up and saw his father on the harbour wall.
“Hallo! Father!” he said sadly.
“You are too young and weak. Let some strong man go.”
“I can pull an oar as well as most of them, father,” he shouted; and then to himself: “And if I don’t get back—well—I suppose I’m not much good.”
“Let him go,” said Uncle Luke, as he held back his brother. “Hang the boy, he has stuff in him after all.”
A busy scene of confusion for a few minutes, and then once more a cheer arose, as the life-boat, well manned, parted the waters of the harbour, and the lanthorns forward and astern shone with a dull glare as that first great wave was reached, up which the boat glided, and then plunged down and disappeared.
One long hour of intense agony, but not for those in the boat. The energy called forth, the tremendous struggle, the excitement to which every spirit was wrought, kept off agony or fear. It was like being in the supreme moments of a battle-charge, when in the wild whirl there is no room for dread, and a man’s spirit carries him through to the end.
The agony was on shore, where women clung together no longer weeping, but straining their eyes seaward for the dancing lights which dimly crept up each billow, and then disappeared, as if never to appear again.
“Madelaine!”
“Louise!”
All that was said as the two girls clasped each other and watched the dim lanthorns far at sea. “Ah!”
Then a loud groan.
“I knowed it couldn’t be long.”
Then another deep murmur, whose strange intensity had made it dominate the shrieks, roars, and thunder of the storm.
The light, which had been slowly waving up and down in the rigging of the brig, had disappeared, and it told to all the sad tale—that the mast had gone, and with it those who had been clinging in the top.
But the two dim lanthorns in the life-boat went on and on, the thunder of the surf on the wreck guiding them. As the crew toiled away, the landsmen sufficiently accustomed to the use of the oar could pretty well hold their own, till, in utter despair and hopelessness, after hovering hours about the place where the wreck should have been, the life-boat’s head was laid for the harbour lights; and after a fierce battle to avoid being driven beyond, the gallant little crew reached the shelter given by the long low point, but several had almost to be lifted to the wharf.
A few jagged and torn timbers, and a couple of bodies cast up among the rocks, a couple of miles to the east, were all the traces of Van Heldre’s handsome brig, which had gone to pieces in the darkness before the life-boat, on its second journey, was half-way there.
Volume One—Chapter Nineteen.A Bad Night’s Work.“Oh, yes, you’re a very brave fellow, no doubt,” said Pradelle. “Everybody says so. Perhaps if I could have handled an oar as well as you did I should have come too. But look here, Harry Vine; all these find words butter no parsnips. You are no better off than you were before, and you gave me your promise.”It was quite true: fine words buttered no parsnips. Aunt Marguerite had called him her gallant young hero; Louise had kissed him affectionately; his father had shaken hands very warmly; Uncle Luke had given him a nod, and Van Heldre had said a few kindly words, while there was always a smile for him among the fishermen who hung about the harbour. But that was all; he was still Van Heldre’s clerk, and with a dislike to his position, which had become intensified since Madelaine had grown cold, and her intimacy with Leslie had seemed to increase.“Look here,” said Pradelle; “it’s time I was off.”“Why? What for?” said Harry, as they sat among the rocks.“Because I feel as if I were being made a fool.”“Why, every one is as civil to you as can be. My father—”“Oh, yes; the old man’s right enough.”“My aunt.”“Yes, wish she wasn’t so old, Harry, and had some money; I’d marry her.”“Don’t be a fool.”“Not going to be; so I tell you I’m off.”“No, no, don’t go. This place will be unbearable when you are gone.”“Can’t help it, dear boy. I must do something to increase my income, and if you will not join in and make a fortune, why I must go and find some one who will.”“But I dare not, Vic.”“You gave me your word—the word of a gentleman. I ask you to borrow the money for a week or two, and then we would replace it, and nobody be a bit the wiser, while we shall be on the high-road to fortune and fair France.”“I tell you I dare not.”“Then I shall do it myself.”“No, that you shall not.”“Then you shall.”“I daren’t.”“Bah! what a milksop you are; you have nothing to care for here. Miss Van Heldre has pitched you over because you are now her father’s clerk.”“Let that be, please.”“And taken up with Mr Bagpipes.”“Do you want to quarrel, Pradelle?”“Not I, dear boy; I’m dumb.”He said no more on that subject, but he had said enough. That was the truth then. Madelaine had given him up on that account, and the sting rankled in Harry’s breast.“Money goes to the bank every day, you say?” said Pradelle.“Yes. Crampton takes it.”“But that sum of money in notes? How much is there of that?”“Five hundred.”“Why don’t that go to the bank?”“I don’t know. A deposit, I think; likely to be called for.”“May be; but that’s our game, Harry. The other could not be managed without being missed; this, you see, is not in use.”“Pradelle, it’s madness.”“Say Vic, dear boy.”“Well, Vic, I say it’s madness.”“Nothing of the kind. It’s making use of a little coin that you can get at easily. Why, hang it, old fellow, you talk as if I were asking you to steal the money.”“Hush! Don’t talk like that.”“Well, you aggravate me so. Now, am I trying to serve you, or am I not?”“To serve me, of course.”“Yes, and you behave like a child.”“I want to behave like an honourable man to my father’s friend.”“Oh, if you are going to preach I’m off.”“I’m not going to preach.”“Then do act like a man. Here is your opportunity. You know what the old chap said about the tide in the affairs of men?”Harry nodded.“Well, your tide is at its height. You are going to seize your opportunity, and then you can do as you like. Why you might turn the tables on Miss Madelaine.”“If you don’t want to quarrel just leave her name alone,” said Harry, with a bulldog-like growl.“Oh, I’ll never mention it again if you like. Now, then, once for all, is it business?”Harry was silent for a few minutes, and then replied—“Yes.”“Your hand on it.”Harry stretched out his hand unwillingly, and it was taken and held.“I shall hold you to it now, my lad. Now, then, when is it to be?”“Oh, first opportunity.”“No: it’s going to be now—to-night—as soon as it’s dark.”“Nonsense, it must be some day—when Crampton is not there.”“That means it will not be done at all, for Crampton never leaves; you told me so. Look here, Harry Vine, if you borrow the amount then, and it’s missed, of course you are asked directly, and there you are. No, my lad, you’ll have to go to-night.”“But it will be like housebreaking.”“Bah! You’ll go quietly in by the back way, make your way along the passage to Van Heldre’s room, take the keys down from the hook—”“How did you know that the keys hung there?”“Because, my dear little man, I have wormed it all out of you by degrees. To continue; you will go down the glass passage, open the office door, go to the safe, open that, get the two hundred—”“Two hundred! You said fifty would do.”“Yes, but then I said a hundred, and now I think two will be better. Easier paid back. You can work more spiritedly with large sums than with small. You’ve got to do this, Harry Vine, so no nonsense.”Harry was silent.“When you have the notes, you will lock all up as before, and then if they are missing before we return them, which is not likely, who can say that you have been there? Bah! don’t be so squeamish. You’ve got to do that to-night. You have promised, and you shall. It is for your good, my lad.”“Yes, and yours,” said Harry gloomily.“Of course. Emancipation for us both.”Harry was silent, and soon after they rose and strolled back to the old house, where through the open window came the strains of music, and the voices of Madelainc and Louise harmonised in a duet.“One less at Van Heldre’s, lad. The old man will be having his evening pipe, and the doors open. Nothing could be better. Half-past nine, mind, while they are at tea. It will be quite dark then.”Harry was silent, and the two young men entered and sat down, their coming seeming to cast a damp on the little party, for the music was put aside and work taken up, Vine being busy with some notes of his day’s observations of the actions of a newly-found mollusc.Tea was brought in at about a quarter past nine, and Pradelle rose and went to the window.“What a beautiful night, Harry,” he said. “Coming for half an hour’s stroll before bed?”“Don’t you want some tea?” said Harry, loudly.“No. Do you?”“No,” said Harry shortly; and he rose and went out, followed by his friend.“You mean this then,” he said, as soon as they were out on the cliff.“No; but you do. There is just time for it, so now go.”Harry hesitated for a few minutes, and then strode off down toward the town, Pradelle keeping step with him, till they reached the street where a lane branched off, going round by the back of Van Heldre’s house, but on a higher level, a flight of steps leading down into the half garden, half yard, overlooked by the houses at the back, whose basements were level with Van Heldre’s first floor.The time selected by Pradelle for the carrying out of his scheme happened to be Crampton’s club night, and, according to his weekly custom, he had gone to the old-fashioned inn where it was kept, passing a muffled-up figure as he went along, the said figure turning in at one of the low entrances leading to dock premises as the old clerk came out, so that he did not see the face.It was a trifling matter, but it was not the first time Crampton had seen this figure loitering about at night, and it somehow impressed him so that he did not enjoy his one glass of spirits and water and his pipe. But the matter seemed to have slipped his memory for the time that he was transacting his club business, making entries and the like. Later on it came back with renewed force.Harry and Pradelle parted in the dark lane with very few more words spoken, the understanding being that they should meet at home at half-past nine.As soon as the former was alone, he walked slowly on round the front of Van Heldre’s house, and there, according to custom, sat the merchant, smoking his nightly pipe, resting one arm upon the table, with the shaded lamp shining down on his bald forehead, and a thoughtful, dreamy look in his eyes. Mrs Van Heldre was seated opposite, working and respecting her husband’s thoughtful mood, for he was in low spirits respecting the wreck of his ship. Insurance made up the monetary loss, but nothing could restore the poor fellows who had gone down.Harry stood on the opposite side, watching thoughtfully.“It would be very easy,” he said to himself. “Just as we planned, I can slip round to the back, drop in the garden, go in, take the keys, get the money, lock up again, and go and hang up the keys. Yes; how easy for any one who knows, and how risky it seems for him to leave his place like that. But then it is people’s want of knowledge which forms the safest lock.”“Yes,” he said, after a pause, as he stood there in profound ignorance of the fact that the muffled-up figure which had taken Crampton’s attention was in a low dark doorway, watching his every movement. “Yes; it would be very easy; and in spite of all your precious gloss, Master Victor Pradelle, I should feel the next moment that I had been a thief; and I’ll drudge as a clerk till I’m ninety-nine before I’ll do anything of the kind.”He thrust his hands into his pockets and turned off down by the harbour side, and hardly had he reached the water when Pradelle walked slowly up to the front of the house, noted the positions of those within by taking his stand just beneath the arched doorway opposite, and so close to the watcher that they nearly touched.The next moment Pradelle had passed on.“I knew he hadn’t the pluck,” he muttered bitterly. “A contemptible hound! Well, he shall see.”Without a moment’s hesitation, and as if he were quite at home about the place, Pradelle went round to the narrow back lane and stood by the gate leading down the steps into the yard. As he pressed the gate it gave way, and he could see that the doorway into the glazed passage was open, for the light in the hall shone through.There was no difficulty at all; and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped lightly down, ready with an excuse that he was seeking Harry, if he should meet any one; but the excuse was not needed. He walked softly and boldly into the passage, turned to his right, and entered the back room, which acted as Van Heldre’s private office and study. The keys lay where he knew them to be—in a drawer, which he opened and took them out, and then walked straight along the glazed passage to the office. The door yielded to the key, and he entered. The inner office was locked, but that was opened by a second key, and the safe showed dimly by the reflected lights which shone through the barred window.“How easy these things are!” said Pradelle to himself, as he unlocked the safe; “enough to tempt a man to be a burglar.”The iron door creaked faintly as he drew it open, and then began to feel about hastily, and with the perspiration streaming from his forehead. Books in plenty, but no notes.With an exclamation of impatience, he drew out a little match-box, struck a light, and saw that there was an iron drawer low down. The flame went out, but he had seen enough, and stooping he dragged out the drawer, thrust in his hand, which came in contact with a leaden paper weight, beneath which, tied round with tape, was a bundle of notes.“Hah!” he muttered with a half laugh, “I can’t stop to count you. Yes, I must, or they’ll miss ’em. It’s tempting though. Humph! tied both—”Thud!One heavy blow on the back of Victor Pradelle’s head which sent him staggering forward against the door of the safe: then he felt in a confused, half-stunned way that something had been snatched from his hand. A dead silence followed, during which his head swam, but he had sufficient sense left to totter across the outer office, and along the passage to the garden yard.How he got outside into the little lane he could not afterwards remember, his next recollection being of sitting down on the steps by the water-side bathing his face.Five minutes before Harry Vine had been in that very spot, from which he turned to go home.“Let him say what he likes,” muttered the young man; “I must have been mad to listen to him. Why—”Harry Vine stopped short, for a thought had struck him like a flash.How it was—why he should have such a suspicion he could not tell; but a terrible thought had seemed to burn into his brain. Then he felt paralysed as he shivered, and uttering an ejaculation full of rage and anger, he started off at a run towards Van Heldre’s place.“Nonsense!” he said to himself, and he checked his headlong speed. “What folly!”He walked on past a group of seamen, who had just quitted a public-house, and was about to turn up the lane which led to his home, when the thought came once more.“Curse him!” he said, half aloud, “I’d sooner kill him,” and hurrying back, he made straight for the lane behind Van Heldre’s.The gate yielded, he stepped down quickly into the yard, walked to the open door, looked to the right toward the hall, and then to the left toward the office. A dim light shone down the passage, and his heart seemed to stand still. The office door was open, and without hesitation he turned down the passage panting with horror, as he felt that his suspicions were confirmed. He crossed the outer room, the inner door was shut, and entering he paused for a moment.“Vic!” he whispered harshly.All was still.Trembling now with agitation, he was rapidly crossing to the safe when he stepped on something which gave beneath his feet, and he nearly fell headlong.Recovering himself, he stooped down to pick up the heavy ebony ruler used by old Crampton, and polished by rubs of his coat-tail till it shone.Harry felt giddy now with excitement, but he went to the safe door, felt that it was swung open, and groaning to himself, “Too late, too late!” he bent his head and felt for the drawer.Empty!“You scoundrel!” he groaned; “but he shall give up every note, and—”Once more he felt as if paralysed, for as he turned from the safe he knew that he was not alone in the office.Caught in the act! Burglary—the open safe—the notes gone, who would believe in his innocence?He could think of nothing else, as he heard Van Heldre’s voice in the darkness—one fierce angry utterance—“Who’s there?”“He does not know me,” flashed through Harry Vine’s brain.“You villain!” cried Van Heldre, springing at him.It was the instinctive act of one smitten by terror, despair, shame, and the desire to escape—a mad act, but prompted by the terrible position. As Van Heldre sprang at him and grasped at his breast, Harry Vine struck with all his might, the heavy ruler fell with a sickening crash upon the unguarded head, he felt a sudden tug, and with a groan his father’s friend sank senseless on the floor.For one moment Harry Vine stood bending over his victim; then uttering a hoarse sigh, he leaped over the body and fled.End of Volume One.
“Oh, yes, you’re a very brave fellow, no doubt,” said Pradelle. “Everybody says so. Perhaps if I could have handled an oar as well as you did I should have come too. But look here, Harry Vine; all these find words butter no parsnips. You are no better off than you were before, and you gave me your promise.”
It was quite true: fine words buttered no parsnips. Aunt Marguerite had called him her gallant young hero; Louise had kissed him affectionately; his father had shaken hands very warmly; Uncle Luke had given him a nod, and Van Heldre had said a few kindly words, while there was always a smile for him among the fishermen who hung about the harbour. But that was all; he was still Van Heldre’s clerk, and with a dislike to his position, which had become intensified since Madelaine had grown cold, and her intimacy with Leslie had seemed to increase.
“Look here,” said Pradelle; “it’s time I was off.”
“Why? What for?” said Harry, as they sat among the rocks.
“Because I feel as if I were being made a fool.”
“Why, every one is as civil to you as can be. My father—”
“Oh, yes; the old man’s right enough.”
“My aunt.”
“Yes, wish she wasn’t so old, Harry, and had some money; I’d marry her.”
“Don’t be a fool.”
“Not going to be; so I tell you I’m off.”
“No, no, don’t go. This place will be unbearable when you are gone.”
“Can’t help it, dear boy. I must do something to increase my income, and if you will not join in and make a fortune, why I must go and find some one who will.”
“But I dare not, Vic.”
“You gave me your word—the word of a gentleman. I ask you to borrow the money for a week or two, and then we would replace it, and nobody be a bit the wiser, while we shall be on the high-road to fortune and fair France.”
“I tell you I dare not.”
“Then I shall do it myself.”
“No, that you shall not.”
“Then you shall.”
“I daren’t.”
“Bah! what a milksop you are; you have nothing to care for here. Miss Van Heldre has pitched you over because you are now her father’s clerk.”
“Let that be, please.”
“And taken up with Mr Bagpipes.”
“Do you want to quarrel, Pradelle?”
“Not I, dear boy; I’m dumb.”
He said no more on that subject, but he had said enough. That was the truth then. Madelaine had given him up on that account, and the sting rankled in Harry’s breast.
“Money goes to the bank every day, you say?” said Pradelle.
“Yes. Crampton takes it.”
“But that sum of money in notes? How much is there of that?”
“Five hundred.”
“Why don’t that go to the bank?”
“I don’t know. A deposit, I think; likely to be called for.”
“May be; but that’s our game, Harry. The other could not be managed without being missed; this, you see, is not in use.”
“Pradelle, it’s madness.”
“Say Vic, dear boy.”
“Well, Vic, I say it’s madness.”
“Nothing of the kind. It’s making use of a little coin that you can get at easily. Why, hang it, old fellow, you talk as if I were asking you to steal the money.”
“Hush! Don’t talk like that.”
“Well, you aggravate me so. Now, am I trying to serve you, or am I not?”
“To serve me, of course.”
“Yes, and you behave like a child.”
“I want to behave like an honourable man to my father’s friend.”
“Oh, if you are going to preach I’m off.”
“I’m not going to preach.”
“Then do act like a man. Here is your opportunity. You know what the old chap said about the tide in the affairs of men?”
Harry nodded.
“Well, your tide is at its height. You are going to seize your opportunity, and then you can do as you like. Why you might turn the tables on Miss Madelaine.”
“If you don’t want to quarrel just leave her name alone,” said Harry, with a bulldog-like growl.
“Oh, I’ll never mention it again if you like. Now, then, once for all, is it business?”
Harry was silent for a few minutes, and then replied—
“Yes.”
“Your hand on it.”
Harry stretched out his hand unwillingly, and it was taken and held.
“I shall hold you to it now, my lad. Now, then, when is it to be?”
“Oh, first opportunity.”
“No: it’s going to be now—to-night—as soon as it’s dark.”
“Nonsense, it must be some day—when Crampton is not there.”
“That means it will not be done at all, for Crampton never leaves; you told me so. Look here, Harry Vine, if you borrow the amount then, and it’s missed, of course you are asked directly, and there you are. No, my lad, you’ll have to go to-night.”
“But it will be like housebreaking.”
“Bah! You’ll go quietly in by the back way, make your way along the passage to Van Heldre’s room, take the keys down from the hook—”
“How did you know that the keys hung there?”
“Because, my dear little man, I have wormed it all out of you by degrees. To continue; you will go down the glass passage, open the office door, go to the safe, open that, get the two hundred—”
“Two hundred! You said fifty would do.”
“Yes, but then I said a hundred, and now I think two will be better. Easier paid back. You can work more spiritedly with large sums than with small. You’ve got to do this, Harry Vine, so no nonsense.”
Harry was silent.
“When you have the notes, you will lock all up as before, and then if they are missing before we return them, which is not likely, who can say that you have been there? Bah! don’t be so squeamish. You’ve got to do that to-night. You have promised, and you shall. It is for your good, my lad.”
“Yes, and yours,” said Harry gloomily.
“Of course. Emancipation for us both.”
Harry was silent, and soon after they rose and strolled back to the old house, where through the open window came the strains of music, and the voices of Madelainc and Louise harmonised in a duet.
“One less at Van Heldre’s, lad. The old man will be having his evening pipe, and the doors open. Nothing could be better. Half-past nine, mind, while they are at tea. It will be quite dark then.”
Harry was silent, and the two young men entered and sat down, their coming seeming to cast a damp on the little party, for the music was put aside and work taken up, Vine being busy with some notes of his day’s observations of the actions of a newly-found mollusc.
Tea was brought in at about a quarter past nine, and Pradelle rose and went to the window.
“What a beautiful night, Harry,” he said. “Coming for half an hour’s stroll before bed?”
“Don’t you want some tea?” said Harry, loudly.
“No. Do you?”
“No,” said Harry shortly; and he rose and went out, followed by his friend.
“You mean this then,” he said, as soon as they were out on the cliff.
“No; but you do. There is just time for it, so now go.”
Harry hesitated for a few minutes, and then strode off down toward the town, Pradelle keeping step with him, till they reached the street where a lane branched off, going round by the back of Van Heldre’s house, but on a higher level, a flight of steps leading down into the half garden, half yard, overlooked by the houses at the back, whose basements were level with Van Heldre’s first floor.
The time selected by Pradelle for the carrying out of his scheme happened to be Crampton’s club night, and, according to his weekly custom, he had gone to the old-fashioned inn where it was kept, passing a muffled-up figure as he went along, the said figure turning in at one of the low entrances leading to dock premises as the old clerk came out, so that he did not see the face.
It was a trifling matter, but it was not the first time Crampton had seen this figure loitering about at night, and it somehow impressed him so that he did not enjoy his one glass of spirits and water and his pipe. But the matter seemed to have slipped his memory for the time that he was transacting his club business, making entries and the like. Later on it came back with renewed force.
Harry and Pradelle parted in the dark lane with very few more words spoken, the understanding being that they should meet at home at half-past nine.
As soon as the former was alone, he walked slowly on round the front of Van Heldre’s house, and there, according to custom, sat the merchant, smoking his nightly pipe, resting one arm upon the table, with the shaded lamp shining down on his bald forehead, and a thoughtful, dreamy look in his eyes. Mrs Van Heldre was seated opposite, working and respecting her husband’s thoughtful mood, for he was in low spirits respecting the wreck of his ship. Insurance made up the monetary loss, but nothing could restore the poor fellows who had gone down.
Harry stood on the opposite side, watching thoughtfully.
“It would be very easy,” he said to himself. “Just as we planned, I can slip round to the back, drop in the garden, go in, take the keys, get the money, lock up again, and go and hang up the keys. Yes; how easy for any one who knows, and how risky it seems for him to leave his place like that. But then it is people’s want of knowledge which forms the safest lock.”
“Yes,” he said, after a pause, as he stood there in profound ignorance of the fact that the muffled-up figure which had taken Crampton’s attention was in a low dark doorway, watching his every movement. “Yes; it would be very easy; and in spite of all your precious gloss, Master Victor Pradelle, I should feel the next moment that I had been a thief; and I’ll drudge as a clerk till I’m ninety-nine before I’ll do anything of the kind.”
He thrust his hands into his pockets and turned off down by the harbour side, and hardly had he reached the water when Pradelle walked slowly up to the front of the house, noted the positions of those within by taking his stand just beneath the arched doorway opposite, and so close to the watcher that they nearly touched.
The next moment Pradelle had passed on.
“I knew he hadn’t the pluck,” he muttered bitterly. “A contemptible hound! Well, he shall see.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, and as if he were quite at home about the place, Pradelle went round to the narrow back lane and stood by the gate leading down the steps into the yard. As he pressed the gate it gave way, and he could see that the doorway into the glazed passage was open, for the light in the hall shone through.
There was no difficulty at all; and after a moment’s hesitation he stepped lightly down, ready with an excuse that he was seeking Harry, if he should meet any one; but the excuse was not needed. He walked softly and boldly into the passage, turned to his right, and entered the back room, which acted as Van Heldre’s private office and study. The keys lay where he knew them to be—in a drawer, which he opened and took them out, and then walked straight along the glazed passage to the office. The door yielded to the key, and he entered. The inner office was locked, but that was opened by a second key, and the safe showed dimly by the reflected lights which shone through the barred window.
“How easy these things are!” said Pradelle to himself, as he unlocked the safe; “enough to tempt a man to be a burglar.”
The iron door creaked faintly as he drew it open, and then began to feel about hastily, and with the perspiration streaming from his forehead. Books in plenty, but no notes.
With an exclamation of impatience, he drew out a little match-box, struck a light, and saw that there was an iron drawer low down. The flame went out, but he had seen enough, and stooping he dragged out the drawer, thrust in his hand, which came in contact with a leaden paper weight, beneath which, tied round with tape, was a bundle of notes.
“Hah!” he muttered with a half laugh, “I can’t stop to count you. Yes, I must, or they’ll miss ’em. It’s tempting though. Humph! tied both—”
Thud!
One heavy blow on the back of Victor Pradelle’s head which sent him staggering forward against the door of the safe: then he felt in a confused, half-stunned way that something had been snatched from his hand. A dead silence followed, during which his head swam, but he had sufficient sense left to totter across the outer office, and along the passage to the garden yard.
How he got outside into the little lane he could not afterwards remember, his next recollection being of sitting down on the steps by the water-side bathing his face.
Five minutes before Harry Vine had been in that very spot, from which he turned to go home.
“Let him say what he likes,” muttered the young man; “I must have been mad to listen to him. Why—”
Harry Vine stopped short, for a thought had struck him like a flash.
How it was—why he should have such a suspicion he could not tell; but a terrible thought had seemed to burn into his brain. Then he felt paralysed as he shivered, and uttering an ejaculation full of rage and anger, he started off at a run towards Van Heldre’s place.
“Nonsense!” he said to himself, and he checked his headlong speed. “What folly!”
He walked on past a group of seamen, who had just quitted a public-house, and was about to turn up the lane which led to his home, when the thought came once more.
“Curse him!” he said, half aloud, “I’d sooner kill him,” and hurrying back, he made straight for the lane behind Van Heldre’s.
The gate yielded, he stepped down quickly into the yard, walked to the open door, looked to the right toward the hall, and then to the left toward the office. A dim light shone down the passage, and his heart seemed to stand still. The office door was open, and without hesitation he turned down the passage panting with horror, as he felt that his suspicions were confirmed. He crossed the outer room, the inner door was shut, and entering he paused for a moment.
“Vic!” he whispered harshly.
All was still.
Trembling now with agitation, he was rapidly crossing to the safe when he stepped on something which gave beneath his feet, and he nearly fell headlong.
Recovering himself, he stooped down to pick up the heavy ebony ruler used by old Crampton, and polished by rubs of his coat-tail till it shone.
Harry felt giddy now with excitement, but he went to the safe door, felt that it was swung open, and groaning to himself, “Too late, too late!” he bent his head and felt for the drawer.
Empty!
“You scoundrel!” he groaned; “but he shall give up every note, and—”
Once more he felt as if paralysed, for as he turned from the safe he knew that he was not alone in the office.
Caught in the act! Burglary—the open safe—the notes gone, who would believe in his innocence?
He could think of nothing else, as he heard Van Heldre’s voice in the darkness—one fierce angry utterance—“Who’s there?”
“He does not know me,” flashed through Harry Vine’s brain.
“You villain!” cried Van Heldre, springing at him.
It was the instinctive act of one smitten by terror, despair, shame, and the desire to escape—a mad act, but prompted by the terrible position. As Van Heldre sprang at him and grasped at his breast, Harry Vine struck with all his might, the heavy ruler fell with a sickening crash upon the unguarded head, he felt a sudden tug, and with a groan his father’s friend sank senseless on the floor.
For one moment Harry Vine stood bending over his victim; then uttering a hoarse sigh, he leaped over the body and fled.
Volume Two—Chapter One.In the Black Shadow.Mrs Van Heldre let her work fall in her lap and gazed across at her husband.“I suppose Harry Vine will walk home with Madelaine?” she said.“Eh? Maddy? I’d forgotten her,” said Van Heldre, laying down his pipe. “No; I’ll go up and fetch her myself.”“Do, dear, but don’t stay.”“Not I,” was the reply; and going out of the dining-room, where he always sat when he had his evening pipe, the merchant went into the study, where by the dim light he saw that his writing-table drawer was open,“How’s that?” he thought. “Did I—No.”He ran out into the passage, saw that his office door was open, and entered to receive the blow which laid him senseless before the safe.Van Heldre did not lie there long.Crampton came away from the old inn, stick in hand, conscious of having done a good evening’s work over the business of the Fishermen’s Benefit Club, the men having paid up with unusual regularity; but all the same, he did not feel satisfied. Those pedlar sailor men troubled him. They had been hanging about the town for some time, and though he knew nothing against them, he had, as a respectable householder, a confirmed dislike to all nomadic trading gentry. To him they were, whether Jew or Gentile, French or German, all gipsies, and belonging to a class who, to use his words, never took anything out of their reach.He felt sure that the man he had seen in the darkness was one of these, and warning himself now for not having taken further notice of the matter, he determined to call at his employer’s on his way home to mention the fact.“Better late than never,” he said, and he stumped steadily down the main street as a man walks who is possessed of a firm determination to do his duty.As he went on he peered down every one of the dark, narrow alleys which led to the waterside places, all reeking of tar and old cordage, and creosoted nets, and with more than a suspicion of the celebrated ancient and fish-like smell so often quoted.“If I had my way,” said Crampton, “I’d have a lamp at each end of those places. They’re too dark—too dark.”But though he scanned each place carefully, he did not see any lurking figure, and he went on till he reached his employer’s house, where, through the well-lit window, he could see Mrs Van Heldre looking plump, rosy, and smiling, as she busied herself in putting away her work.Crampton stopped at the opposite side, took off his hat and scratched his head.“Now if I go and tell him what I think, he’ll call me a nervous old fool, and abuse me for frightening his wife.”He hesitated, and instead of going to the front door, feeling that perhaps, after all, he had taken an exaggerated view of things, he went on to the corner of the house and lane, with the intention of having a look round and then going on home.He had just gone about half-way, when there was a loud rap given by the gate leading down into Van Heldre’s yard. Some one had thrown it violently back against the wooden stop, and that somebody had sprung out and run down the lane in the opposite direction to that by which the old clerk had come.“Hah!” he ejaculated, and hurrying on he hastily descended the steps, entered the passage, and trembling now in every limb, made his way into the office, where, with all the regular method of the man of business, he quickly took a box of matches from the chimney-piece, and turned on and lit one of the gas-burners.The soft light from the ground-glass globe showed nothing wrong as he glanced round.Yes: something was missing—the heavy ebony ruler which always reposed on the two brass hooks like a weapon of war at the end of his desk. That was gone.Crampton’s brow knitted, and his hands shook so that he could hardly strike a second match, as he pushed open the door and entered the inner office, where, forcing himself not to look round, he lit another gas-jet before taking in the scene at a glance.There lay Van Heldre, bleeding profusely from a terrible cut on the forehead, the safe was open, and in a very few minutes the old clerk knew that the packet of bank-notes was gone.“But I’ve got all their numbers entered,” he said to himself, as he went down on his knee by his master’s side, and now, knowing the worst, growing moment by moment more calm and self-contained.His first act was to take his voluminous white cravat from his neck, and bind it tightly round Van Heldre’s temples to staunch the bleeding.“I knew no good would come of it,” he muttered. “I felt it from the first. Are you much hurt, sir?” he said aloud, with his lips close to the injured man’s ear.There was no reply: just a spasm and a twitching of the hands.“What shall I do?” thought Crampton. “Give the alarm? No: only frighten those poor women into fits. Fetch the doctor.”He hurried out by the back way as quietly as he could, and caught the principal medical man just as he was going up to bed for a quiet night.“Eh? Van Heldre?” he said. “Bless my soul! On directly. Back way?”“Yes.”Crampton hurried out, displaying wonderful activity for so old a man, and took the police station on his way back.The force in Hakemouth was represented by a sergeant and two men, the former residing at the cottage which bore the words “Police Station” over the door.“Where is your husband?” said Crampton to a brisk-looking woman.“On his rounds, sir.”“I want him at our office. Can I find him? Can you?”“I know where he’ll be in about ten minutes, sir,” said the woman promptly, as if she were a doctor’s helpmate.“Very well,” said Crampton. “Get him and send him on.”The divergence had taken so long that he had hardly reached the office and poured out some water from a table filter, to bathe the injured man’s face, when he heard the doctor’s step.“Hah!” said the latter, after a brief examination, “we must get him to bed, Mr Crampton.”“Is he much hurt, sir?”“Badly. There is a fracture of the skull. It must have been a terrible blow. Thieves, of course?”“Or thief, sir,” said the old clerk, with his lip quivering. “My dear master! what would his poor father have said?”“Hush! Be firm, man,” said the doctor, who was busy readjusting the bandage. “Does Mrs Van Heldre know?” Crampton shook his head. “I found him like this, sir, and came over to fetch you at once.”“But she must be told.”“John, John dear, are you there? I thought you had gone on to fetch Madelaine.”Crampton rose hastily to try and bar the way; but he was too late. Mrs Van Heldre was at the door, and had caught a glimpse of the prostrate man.“Doctor Knatchbull! what is the matter—a fit?”The trouble was culminating, for another voice was heard in the glass corridor.“Papa! papa! here is Mr Vine. He walked home with me. I made him come in. Oh, what a shame to be at work so late!”“Keep her—keep her back,” gasped Mrs Van Heldre, and then with a piteous sob she sank down by Van Heldre’s side.“John, my husband! speak to me, oh, speak,” she moaned as she raised his head to her lap.“Ah, you want Brother Luke to you, John Van,” cried Vine, as with Madelaine on his arm he came to the door of the inner room.There was a moment’s silence, and then Madelaine uttered a wild cry, and ran to her father’s side.“Good heavens! Crampton, what is it?” cried Vine excitedly,—“a fit?”“No, sir, struck down by a villain—a thief—and that thief—”Crampton stopped short in the midst of his excitement, for there was a heavy step now in the passage, and the sergeant of police and one of his men came in.“Yes. I’ve had my eye on a couple of strangers lately,” he said, as he took out a book and gave a sharp look round. “P’r’aps Mr Crampton, sir, you’ll give me the information I want.”“Mr Crampton will give you no information at all,” said the keen-looking doctor angrily. “The first thing is to save the man’s life. Here, sergeant, and you, my man, help me to carry him up to his bed—or no—well, yes, he’ll be better in his own room. Pray, ladies, pray stand aside.”“Yes, yes,” cried Madelaine excitedly, as she rose. “Mother, dear, we must be calm and helpful.”“Yes; but—but—” moaned the poor woman.“Yes, dearest,” cried Madelaine, “afterwards. Dr Knatchbull wants our help.”“Good girl,” said the doctor, nodding. “Get the scissors, some old linen, and basin, sponge and water, in the bedroom.”“Yes, doctor,” said Madelaine, perfectly calm and self-contained now. “Mother, dear, I want your help.”She knelt down and pressed her lips for a moment to her father’s cheek, and then placed her arm round her mother, and led her away.An hour later, when everything possible had been done, and Mrs Van Heldre was seated by her husband’s pillow, Vine being on the other side holding his friend’s hand, Madelaine showed the doctor into the next room.“Tell me,” she said firmly. “I want to know the truth.”“My dear child,” said the doctor, “you know all that I know. Some scoundrel must have been surprised by your father, and—”“Doctor,” said Madelaine quietly, and with her clear matter-of-fact eyes gazing into his, “I have been praying for strength to help my mother and my poor father in this terrible affliction. I feel as if the strength had been given to me, so speak now as if I were a woman whom you could trust. Tell me the whole truth.”The doctor gazed at her with a look full of admiration, and taking her hand, he said kindly:“I was treating you as if you were a girl, but I will tell you the truth. I am going to telegraph to town for Mr Reston; there is a fracture and pressure on the brain.”“And great danger, doctor?”“Yes,” he said, after a pause, “and great danger. But, please God, my child, we will save his life. He is a fine, strong, healthy man. There: I can say no more.”“Thank you,” said Madelaine calmly, and she quietly left the room.“Any one might think that she did not feel it,” said the doctor slowly; “but I know better than that. It’s wonderful what a woman will suffer without making a sign. I cannot telegraph till eight o’clock, but I may as well write my message,” he muttered, as he went down-stairs. “Humph! the news is spreading. Somebody come.”
Mrs Van Heldre let her work fall in her lap and gazed across at her husband.
“I suppose Harry Vine will walk home with Madelaine?” she said.
“Eh? Maddy? I’d forgotten her,” said Van Heldre, laying down his pipe. “No; I’ll go up and fetch her myself.”
“Do, dear, but don’t stay.”
“Not I,” was the reply; and going out of the dining-room, where he always sat when he had his evening pipe, the merchant went into the study, where by the dim light he saw that his writing-table drawer was open,
“How’s that?” he thought. “Did I—No.”
He ran out into the passage, saw that his office door was open, and entered to receive the blow which laid him senseless before the safe.
Van Heldre did not lie there long.
Crampton came away from the old inn, stick in hand, conscious of having done a good evening’s work over the business of the Fishermen’s Benefit Club, the men having paid up with unusual regularity; but all the same, he did not feel satisfied. Those pedlar sailor men troubled him. They had been hanging about the town for some time, and though he knew nothing against them, he had, as a respectable householder, a confirmed dislike to all nomadic trading gentry. To him they were, whether Jew or Gentile, French or German, all gipsies, and belonging to a class who, to use his words, never took anything out of their reach.
He felt sure that the man he had seen in the darkness was one of these, and warning himself now for not having taken further notice of the matter, he determined to call at his employer’s on his way home to mention the fact.
“Better late than never,” he said, and he stumped steadily down the main street as a man walks who is possessed of a firm determination to do his duty.
As he went on he peered down every one of the dark, narrow alleys which led to the waterside places, all reeking of tar and old cordage, and creosoted nets, and with more than a suspicion of the celebrated ancient and fish-like smell so often quoted.
“If I had my way,” said Crampton, “I’d have a lamp at each end of those places. They’re too dark—too dark.”
But though he scanned each place carefully, he did not see any lurking figure, and he went on till he reached his employer’s house, where, through the well-lit window, he could see Mrs Van Heldre looking plump, rosy, and smiling, as she busied herself in putting away her work.
Crampton stopped at the opposite side, took off his hat and scratched his head.
“Now if I go and tell him what I think, he’ll call me a nervous old fool, and abuse me for frightening his wife.”
He hesitated, and instead of going to the front door, feeling that perhaps, after all, he had taken an exaggerated view of things, he went on to the corner of the house and lane, with the intention of having a look round and then going on home.
He had just gone about half-way, when there was a loud rap given by the gate leading down into Van Heldre’s yard. Some one had thrown it violently back against the wooden stop, and that somebody had sprung out and run down the lane in the opposite direction to that by which the old clerk had come.
“Hah!” he ejaculated, and hurrying on he hastily descended the steps, entered the passage, and trembling now in every limb, made his way into the office, where, with all the regular method of the man of business, he quickly took a box of matches from the chimney-piece, and turned on and lit one of the gas-burners.
The soft light from the ground-glass globe showed nothing wrong as he glanced round.
Yes: something was missing—the heavy ebony ruler which always reposed on the two brass hooks like a weapon of war at the end of his desk. That was gone.
Crampton’s brow knitted, and his hands shook so that he could hardly strike a second match, as he pushed open the door and entered the inner office, where, forcing himself not to look round, he lit another gas-jet before taking in the scene at a glance.
There lay Van Heldre, bleeding profusely from a terrible cut on the forehead, the safe was open, and in a very few minutes the old clerk knew that the packet of bank-notes was gone.
“But I’ve got all their numbers entered,” he said to himself, as he went down on his knee by his master’s side, and now, knowing the worst, growing moment by moment more calm and self-contained.
His first act was to take his voluminous white cravat from his neck, and bind it tightly round Van Heldre’s temples to staunch the bleeding.
“I knew no good would come of it,” he muttered. “I felt it from the first. Are you much hurt, sir?” he said aloud, with his lips close to the injured man’s ear.
There was no reply: just a spasm and a twitching of the hands.
“What shall I do?” thought Crampton. “Give the alarm? No: only frighten those poor women into fits. Fetch the doctor.”
He hurried out by the back way as quietly as he could, and caught the principal medical man just as he was going up to bed for a quiet night.
“Eh? Van Heldre?” he said. “Bless my soul! On directly. Back way?”
“Yes.”
Crampton hurried out, displaying wonderful activity for so old a man, and took the police station on his way back.
The force in Hakemouth was represented by a sergeant and two men, the former residing at the cottage which bore the words “Police Station” over the door.
“Where is your husband?” said Crampton to a brisk-looking woman.
“On his rounds, sir.”
“I want him at our office. Can I find him? Can you?”
“I know where he’ll be in about ten minutes, sir,” said the woman promptly, as if she were a doctor’s helpmate.
“Very well,” said Crampton. “Get him and send him on.”
The divergence had taken so long that he had hardly reached the office and poured out some water from a table filter, to bathe the injured man’s face, when he heard the doctor’s step.
“Hah!” said the latter, after a brief examination, “we must get him to bed, Mr Crampton.”
“Is he much hurt, sir?”
“Badly. There is a fracture of the skull. It must have been a terrible blow. Thieves, of course?”
“Or thief, sir,” said the old clerk, with his lip quivering. “My dear master! what would his poor father have said?”
“Hush! Be firm, man,” said the doctor, who was busy readjusting the bandage. “Does Mrs Van Heldre know?” Crampton shook his head. “I found him like this, sir, and came over to fetch you at once.”
“But she must be told.”
“John, John dear, are you there? I thought you had gone on to fetch Madelaine.”
Crampton rose hastily to try and bar the way; but he was too late. Mrs Van Heldre was at the door, and had caught a glimpse of the prostrate man.
“Doctor Knatchbull! what is the matter—a fit?”
The trouble was culminating, for another voice was heard in the glass corridor.
“Papa! papa! here is Mr Vine. He walked home with me. I made him come in. Oh, what a shame to be at work so late!”
“Keep her—keep her back,” gasped Mrs Van Heldre, and then with a piteous sob she sank down by Van Heldre’s side.
“John, my husband! speak to me, oh, speak,” she moaned as she raised his head to her lap.
“Ah, you want Brother Luke to you, John Van,” cried Vine, as with Madelaine on his arm he came to the door of the inner room.
There was a moment’s silence, and then Madelaine uttered a wild cry, and ran to her father’s side.
“Good heavens! Crampton, what is it?” cried Vine excitedly,—“a fit?”
“No, sir, struck down by a villain—a thief—and that thief—”
Crampton stopped short in the midst of his excitement, for there was a heavy step now in the passage, and the sergeant of police and one of his men came in.
“Yes. I’ve had my eye on a couple of strangers lately,” he said, as he took out a book and gave a sharp look round. “P’r’aps Mr Crampton, sir, you’ll give me the information I want.”
“Mr Crampton will give you no information at all,” said the keen-looking doctor angrily. “The first thing is to save the man’s life. Here, sergeant, and you, my man, help me to carry him up to his bed—or no—well, yes, he’ll be better in his own room. Pray, ladies, pray stand aside.”
“Yes, yes,” cried Madelaine excitedly, as she rose. “Mother, dear, we must be calm and helpful.”
“Yes; but—but—” moaned the poor woman.
“Yes, dearest,” cried Madelaine, “afterwards. Dr Knatchbull wants our help.”
“Good girl,” said the doctor, nodding. “Get the scissors, some old linen, and basin, sponge and water, in the bedroom.”
“Yes, doctor,” said Madelaine, perfectly calm and self-contained now. “Mother, dear, I want your help.”
She knelt down and pressed her lips for a moment to her father’s cheek, and then placed her arm round her mother, and led her away.
An hour later, when everything possible had been done, and Mrs Van Heldre was seated by her husband’s pillow, Vine being on the other side holding his friend’s hand, Madelaine showed the doctor into the next room.
“Tell me,” she said firmly. “I want to know the truth.”
“My dear child,” said the doctor, “you know all that I know. Some scoundrel must have been surprised by your father, and—”
“Doctor,” said Madelaine quietly, and with her clear matter-of-fact eyes gazing into his, “I have been praying for strength to help my mother and my poor father in this terrible affliction. I feel as if the strength had been given to me, so speak now as if I were a woman whom you could trust. Tell me the whole truth.”
The doctor gazed at her with a look full of admiration, and taking her hand, he said kindly:
“I was treating you as if you were a girl, but I will tell you the truth. I am going to telegraph to town for Mr Reston; there is a fracture and pressure on the brain.”
“And great danger, doctor?”
“Yes,” he said, after a pause, “and great danger. But, please God, my child, we will save his life. He is a fine, strong, healthy man. There: I can say no more.”
“Thank you,” said Madelaine calmly, and she quietly left the room.
“Any one might think that she did not feel it,” said the doctor slowly; “but I know better than that. It’s wonderful what a woman will suffer without making a sign. I cannot telegraph till eight o’clock, but I may as well write my message,” he muttered, as he went down-stairs. “Humph! the news is spreading. Somebody come.”