"We are indeed deeply sensible of your kindness towards us, Mr. Gammon," replied Miss Aubrey, with her usual sweetness and fascinating frankness of manner whichnowhe could not bear to behold.
"Suffer me, Miss Aubrey, but one word more," he continued eagerly, apprehensive that she was about to check him. "Were you but aware of the circumstances under which I come to throw myself at your feet—myself, and all I have—nor is that little, for I am independent of the worldas far as fortune is concerned—I shall soon be in the House of Commons"—Miss Aubrey exhibited still more unequivocal symptoms of impatience—"and forever have abandoned the hateful walk in life to which for the last few years"——
"I suppose Imustlisten to you, sir, however uselessly to yourself and disagreeable and painful to me. If, after all I have said, you choose to persevere," said Miss Aubrey, with calm displeasure——
But Gammon proceeded—"I say, Miss Aubrey, that could you but catch a glimpse—one momentary glimpse—of the troubles—the dangers which lurk around you all—infinitely greater than any which you have even yet experienced, severe and terrible though these have been—which are every day coming nearer and nearer to you"——
"Whatdoyou mean, Mr. Gammon?" interrupted Miss Aubrey, alarmedly.
"—And which, eager and anxious as may, and shall be, my efforts, I may be unable any longer to avert from you—you would at least appreciate the pure and disinterested motives with which I set out upon my truly disastrous mission."
"Once more, Mr. Gammon, I assure you that I feel—that we all of us feel—a lively gratitude towards you for the great services you have rendered us; but howcanthat possibly vary my resolution? Surely, Mr. Gammon, you will not require me to enter again upon a most unpleasant"——Gammon heaved a profound sigh—"With regard to your intimation of the danger which menaces us—alas! we have seen much trouble—and Providence may design us to see much more—I own, Mr. Gammon, that I am disturbed by what you have said to me on that subject."
"I have but one word more to say, madam," said Gammon, in a low impassioned tone, evidently preparing to sink upon one knee, and to assume an imploring attitude; on which Miss Aubrey rose from her chair, and, stepping back a pace or two, said with great resolution, and in an indignant manner—"If you do not instantly resume your seat, sir, I shall ring the bell; for you are beginning to take advantage of my present defenceless position—you arepersecutingme, and I will not suffer it.—Sir, resume your seat, or I summon the servant into the room—a humiliation I could have wished to spare you."
Her voice was not half so imperative as was her eye. He felt that his cause was hopeless—he bowed profoundly, and said in a low tone—"I obey you, madam."
Neither of them spoke for some moments. At length—"I am sure, sir," said Miss Aubrey, looking at her watch, "you will forgive me for reminding you that when you entered I was engaged writing letters"—and she glanced at her desk—"for which purpose alone it is that I am not now accompanying my sister and the children."
"I feel too painfully, madam, that I am intruding; but I shall soon cease to trouble you. Every one has some great bitterness to pass through at some time or other of his life—and I have this instant passed through mine," replied Gammon, gloomily. "I will not say thatthe bitterness of death is past; but I feel that life has henceforth, as far as I am concerned, nothing worth pursuing."—Miss Aubrey remained silent while he spoke.—"Before we part, Miss Aubrey, and close, as far as I—nay, as far, it may be, as both of us are concerned—a very memorable interview, I have yet one communication to make, to which you will listen with absorbing interest. It will be made to you in such confidence as, having heard it, you may consider yourself at libertyconscientiously to keep from every person upon earth; and I shall leave it to produce such effect upon you as it may."
"I shall not disguise from you, sir, that your demeanor and your language alarm me terribly," said Miss Aubrey, peculiarly struck by the sinister expression of his eye—one quite inconsistent with the sad, subdued, gentle tone and manner of his address. "I am notanxiousto receive so dark and mysterious a communication as you hint at; and, if you think proper to make it, I shall use my own discretion as to keeping it to myself, or mentioning it to any one whom I may choose—ofthatI distinctly apprise you, sir. You see that I am agitated; I own it," she added, dropping her voice, and pressing her left hand against her side; "but I am prepared to hear anything you may choose to tell me—that Ioughtto hear.—Have mercy, sir," she added in a melting voice, "on a woman whose nerves you have already sufficiently shaken!"
Gammon gazed at her with a bright and passionate eye that would have drunk her very soul. After a moment's pause—"Madam, it is this," said he, in a very low tone: "I have the means—I declare in the presence of Heaven, and on the word and honor of a man"—[Oh, Gammon! Gammon! Gammon! have you forgotten what occurred between you and your friend Titmouse one short week ago? Strange, infatuated man! what can you mean? What if she should take you at your word?]—"of restoring to your brother all that he has lost—the Yatton property, Miss Aubrey—immediately—permanently—without fear of future disturbance—by due process of law—openly and most honorably."
"You are trifling with me, sir," gasped Miss Aubrey, faintly, very faintly—her cheek blanched, and her eye riveted upon that of Gammon.
"Before God, madam, I speak the truth," replied Gammon, solemnly.
Miss Aubrey seemed struggling ineffectually to heave a deep sigh, and pressed both hands upon her left side, over her heart.
"You are ill, very ill, Miss Aubrey," said Gammon, with alarm, rising from his chair. She also arose, rather hastily; turned towards the window, and with feeble trembling hands tried to open it, as if to relieve her faintness by the fresh air. But it was too late; poor Kate had been at length overpowered, and Gammon reached her just in time to receive her inanimate figure, which sank into his arms. Never in his life had he been conscious of the feelings he that moment experienced, as he felt her pressure against his arm and knee, and gazed upon her beautiful but death-like features. He felt as though he had been brought into momentary contact with an angel. Every fibre within him thrilled. She moved not; she breathed not. He dared not kiss her lip, her cheek, her forehead, but raised her soft white hand to his lips, and kissed it with indescribable tenderness and reverence. Then, after a moment's pause of irresolution, he gently drew her to the sofa, and laid her down, supporting her head and applying her vinaigrette, till a deep-drawn sigh evidenced returning consciousness. Before she had opened her eyes, or could have become aware of the assistance he had rendered her, he had withdrawn to a respectful distance, and was gazing at her with deep anxiety. It was several minutes before her complete restoration—which, however, the fresh air entering through the windows, which Gammon hastily threw open, added to the incessant use of her vinaigrette, greatly accelerated.
"I hardly know, sir," she commenced in a very low and faint tone of voice, and looking languidly at him, "whether I really heard you say, or only dreamed that I heard you say, something most extraordinary aboutYatton?"
"I pray you, madam, to wait till you are completely restored; but it was indeed no dream—it was my voice which you heard utter the words you allude to; and when you can bear it, I am ready to repeat them as the words, indeed, of truth and soberness."
"I am ready now, sir—I beg you will say quickly what you have to say," replied Miss Aubrey, with returning firmness of tone and calmness of manner; at the same time passing her snowy handkerchief feebly over her forehead.
He repeated what he had said before. She listened with increasing excitement of manner; her emotions at length overmastered her, and she burst into tears, and wept for some moments unrestrainedly.
Gammon gazed at her in silence; and then, unable to bear the sight of her sufferings, turned aside his head, and gazed towards the opposite corner of the room. How little he thought, that the object on which his eyes accidentally settled, a most splendid harp, had been, only a few days before, presented to Miss Aubrey by Mr. Delamere!
"What misery, Miss Aubrey, has the sight of your distress occasioned me!" said Gammon, at length; "and yet why should my communication have distressed you?"
"I cannot doubt, Mr. Gammon, the truth of what you have so solemnly told me," she replied in a tremulous voice; "but will you not tell my unfortunate, my high-minded, my almost broken-hearted brother?" Again she burst into a fit of weeping.
"Must I—dareI—say it, Miss Aubrey," presently inquired Gammon, in a broken voice; "can I say it without occasioning what I dread more than I can express—your displeasure? The use to be made of my powerrests with you alone."
She shook her head bitterly and despairingly, and hid her face in her handkerchief while he proceeded.
"One word—one blessed word from your lips—and before this very day shall have passed away, I strike down the wretched puppet that at present defiles Yatton—replace your noble-minded brother there—restore you all to its delicious shades—Oh, Miss Aubrey, how you will love them! A thousand times dearer than ever! Every trace of the wretched idiot now there shall vanish; and let all this come to passbeforeI presume to claim"——
"It is impossible, sir," replied Miss Aubrey, with the calmness of despair, "even were you to place my brother on the throne of England. Is it not cruel—shocking—that if you know my brother is really entitled—nay, it is monstrous injustice!—What maybe the means at your command I know not—I shall not inquire; if to be purchased only on the terms you mention"—she involuntarily shuddered—"be it so—I cannot help it; and if my brother and his family must perish because I reject your addresses"——
"Say not that word, Miss Aubrey! Do not shut outallhope—Recall it! For God's sake consider the consequences to your brother—to his family! I tell you that malice and rapacity are at this moment gleaming like wild wolves within a few paces of you—ready to rush upon you. Did you but see them as distinctly as I do, you would indeed shudder and shrink"——
"I do, sir; but we trust in a merciful Providence," replied Miss Aubrey, clasping together her hands, "and resign ourselves to the will of Heaven."
"May not Heaven have brought aboutthis meetingbetween us as a mode of"——
"Monstrous!" exclaimed Miss Aubrey, in a voice and with a look which for a moment silenced him.
"It is high time that you should leave me, sir," presently said Miss Aubrey, determinedly. "I have suffered surely sufficiently already; and my first answer is also my last. I beg now, sir, that you will retire."
"Madam, you are obeyed," replied Gammon, rising, and speaking in a tone of sorrowful deference. He felt that his fate was sealed. "I now seem fully aware, to myself even, of the unwarrantable liberty I have taken, and solicit your forgiveness—" Miss Aubrey bowed to him loftily.—"I will not presume to solicit your silence to Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey concerning the visit I have paid you?" he continued very anxiously.
"I am not in the habit, sir, of concealinganythingfrom my brother and sister; but I shall freely exercise my own discretion in the matter."
"Well, madam," said he, preparing to move towards the door, while Miss Aubrey raised her hand to the bell—"in taking leave of you," he paused—"let me hope, not forever—receive my solemn assurance, given before Heaven! that, haughtily as you have repelled my advances this day, I will yet continue to do all that is in my power to avert the troubles now threatening your brother—which I fear, however, will be but of little avail! Farewell, farewell, Miss Aubrey!" he exclaimed; and was the next moment rapidly descending the stairs. Miss Aubrey, bursting afresh into tears, threw herself again upon the sofa, and continued long in a state of excessive agitation. Mr. Gammon walked eastward at a rapid pace, and in a state of mind which cannot be described. How he loathed the sight of Saffron Hill, and its disgusting approaches! He merely looked into the office for a moment, saying that he felt too much indisposed to attend to business that day; and then betook himself to his solitary chambers—a thousand times more solitary and cheerless than ever they had appeared before—where he remained in a sort of reveryfor hours. About eleven o'clock that night, he was guilty of a strange piece of extravagance; for his fevered soul being unable to find rest anywhere, he set off for Vivian Street, and paced up and down it, with his eye constantly fixed upon Mr. Aubrey's house; he saw the lights disappear from the drawing-room, and reappear in the bedrooms: them also he watched out—still he lingered in the neighborhood, which seemed to have a sort of fatal fascination about it; and it was past three o'clock before, exhausted in mind and body, he regained his chamber, and throwing himself upon the bed, slept from mere weariness.
Let us now turn to a man of a very different description—Mr. Aubrey. He had spent nearly a year in the real study of the law; during which time I have not the least hesitation in saying that he had made—notwithstanding all his dreadful drawbacks—at least five times the progress that is generally made by even the most successful of those who devote themselves to the legal profession. He had, moreover, during the same period, produced five or six exceedingly able political dissertations, and several important contributions to historical literature; and the reader will not be surprised to learn, that such exertions as these, and such anxieties as were his, had told visibly on the appearance of Mr. Aubrey. He was very thin; his cheek had lost its color; his eye was oppressed; his spirits had lost their buoyancy, except in the few intervals which he was permitted, by his harassing labors, of domestic enjoyment. He still bore up, however, against his troubles with an unyielding resolution; feeling that Providence had called upon him to do his uttermost, and await the result with patience and faith. Nothing had occurred during this long interval to brighten his prospects—to diminish his crushing load of liability by a hair's weight. But his well-disciplined mind now stood him in noble stead, andenabled him to realize a daily consciousness of advancement in the pursuits to which he had devoted himself. Well indeed may it be said, that there is no grander spectacle for angels or men, than a great mind struggling with adversity. To us, indeed, it is consolatory, encouraging, ennobling. Therefore, O Aubrey! do we now continue to contemplate you with profound interest, nor the less, because we perceive the constant presence with thee ofOnewhose mighty assistance is dependentupon thy confidence in it. Hope ever, therefore, and struggle on!
The reader may imagine the alarm occasioned Mr. Aubrey on his return from the Temple on the evening of the day on which Gammon had paid his remarkable visit to Miss Aubrey, which I have been describing, by the sight of the troubled countenances of his wife and sister. Mrs. Aubrey had returned home within about half an hour after Gammon's leaving Vivian Street, and to her Miss Aubrey instantly communicated the extraordinary proposal which he had made to her, all, in fact, that had passed between them—with the exception of the astounding information concerning the alleged possibility of their restoration to Yatton. The two ladies had, indeed, determined on concealing the whole affair from Mr. Aubrey—at all events for the present; but their perceptible agitation increasing as he questioned them concerning the cause of it, rendered suppression impossible, and they told him frankly (excepting only the matter above mentioned) the singular and most embarrassing incident which had happened in his absence. Blank amazement was succeeded by vivid indignation in Mr. Aubrey, as soon as he had heard of this attempt to take advantage of their circumstances; and for several hours he was excessively agitated. In vain they tried to soothe him; in vain did Kate throw her arms fondly round him, and implore him, for alltheir sakes, to take no notice to Mr. Gammon of what had happened; in vain did she protest that she would give him instant intelligence of any future attempt by that person to renew his absurd and presumptuous offer; in vain did they both remind him, with great emotion, of the fearful power over all of them which was in Mr. Gammon's hands. Aubrey was peremptory and inflexible, and, moreover, frank and explicit; and told them, on quitting home the next morning, that, though they might rely on his discretion and temper, he had resolved to communicate that day, either personally or by letter, with Mr. Gammon; not only peremptorily forbidding any renewal of his proposals, but also requesting him to discontinue his visits in Vivian Street.
"Oh, Charles! Charles! be punctually home by six!" exclaimed they, as he embraced them both at parting, and added, bursting afresh into tears, "do consider the agony—the dreadful suspense we shall be in all day!"
"I will return by six, to a minute! Don't fear forme!" he replied with a smile—which, however, instantly disappeared, as soon as he had quitted their presence.
Old Mr. Quirk was the next morning, about ten o'clock, over head and ears in business of all kinds—and sadly missed the clear-headed and energetic Gammon; so, fearing that that gentleman's indisposition must still continue, inasmuch as there were no symptoms of his coming to the office as usual, he took off his spectacles, locked his room door, in order to prevent any one by any possibility looking on any of the numerous letters and papers lying on his table; and set off to make a call upon Mr. Gammon—whose countenance, flushed and harassed, strongly corroborated his representations concerning the state of his health. Still, he said, he could attend to any business which Mr. Quirk was prepared then to mention; whereupon Mr. Quirk took from his pocket a piece of paper, drew on his glasses, and put questions to him from anumber of memoranda which he had made for the purpose. Gammon's answers were brief, pointed, and explicit, on all matters mentioned, as might have been expected from one of his great ability and energy—but his muddle-headed companion could not carry away a single clear idea of what had been so clearly told him; and without avowing the fact, of which he felt, however, a painful consciousness, simply determined to do nothing that he could possibly avoid doing, till Mr. Gammon should have made his reappearance at the office, and reduced the little chaos there into something like form and order.
Before he quitted Mr. Gammon, that gentleman quietly and easily led the conversation towards the subject of the various outstanding debts due to the firm.
"Ah, drat it!" quoth the old gentleman, briskly—"the heaviest, you know, is—eh?—I suppose, however," he added apprehensively, and scratching his head, "I mustn't namethat—I mean that fellow Aubrey's account—without our coming to words."
"Why—stay! stay," said Mr. Gammon, with a gravely thoughtful air—"I don't seethat, either, Mr. Quirk. Forbearance has its limits. It may be abused, Mr. Quirk."
"Ecod! I should think so!" quoth Mr. Quirk, eagerly—"and I know who's abusedsomebody'sforbearance—eh, Gammon?"
"I understand you, my dear sir," replied Gammon, with a sigh—"I fear I must plead no longer for him—I have gone already, perhaps, much farther than my duty to the firm warranted."
"It's a heavy balance, Gammon—a very heavy balance, £1,446 odd, to be outstanding so long—he agreed to pay interest on't—didn't he, eh?—But really something ought to be done in it; and—come, Gammon, as you havehadyourturn so long, now comes mine!—Tip him over tome."
"I should be very sorry to distress him, poor devil!"
"Distress him? Our bill must be paid. D—n him! why don't he pay his debts? I pay mine—you pay yours—he must pay his."
"Certainly. By the way," said Gammon, suddenly, "if you were to take bold and decided steps, his friends would undoubtedly come forward and relieve him."
"Ay! ay!—What think you of three days—give him three days to turn about in?—There he's living all the while in a d—d fine house at the West End, like a gentleman—looks down, I'll be sworn, on us poor attorneys already, beggar as he is, because he's coming to the bar. Now mind, Gammon, no nonsense! I won't stand your coming in again as you did before—if I write—honor between thieves! eh?"
"I pledge my honor to you, my dear sir, that I will interfere no more; the law must take its course."
"That's it!" said Mr. Quirk, rubbing his hands gleefully; "I'll tip him a tickler before he's a day older that shall wake him up—ah, ha!"
"You will do me one favor, Mr. Quirk, I am sure," said Mr. Gammon, with that civil but peremptory manner of his, which invariably commanded Quirk's assent to his suggestions—"you will insert a disclaimer in the letter of its emanating fromme—or being with my consent."
"Oh lud, yes! yes! anything."
"Nay—ratheragainst my wish, you know—eh? Just for appearance's sake—as I have always appeared so infernally civil to the man, till now."
"Will you draw it up yourself? And then, so as theothermatter's all right—no flinching—stick in as muchpalaver, Gammon!—aha!—as you like!" replied Quirk; who, as the proposal involved only a greater measure of discourtesy onhispart, without any sacrifice of hisinterest, regarded it with perfect indifference. He took his leave of Gammon in better spirits than those which he had carried with him. It having been thus determined on by the partners, that within a day or two's time, Mr. Aubrey should be required to pay the whole balance, under penalty of an arrest—Gammon, on being left alone, folded his arms as he sat beside his breakfast-table—and meditated on the probable results of this his first hostile move against Mr. Aubrey. "I wonder whether she's told him," thought he, with a slight palpitation—which was somewhat increased by a pretty sharp knock at his outer door. The color suddenly deserted his cheek as he started from his seat, scattering on the floor nearly a dozen unopened letters which had been lying at his elbow, on the table: and he stood still for a moment to subdue a little of his agitation, so as to enable him to present himself with some show of calmness before the visitor whom he felt perfectly certain that he should see on opening the door. He was right. The next minute beheld him ushering into his room, with a surprising degree of self-possession, Mr. Aubrey, whose countenance showed embarrassment and agitation.
"I have called upon you, Mr. Gammon," commenced Aubrey, taking the seat to which Mr. Gammon, with great courtesy, motioned him, and then resumed his own, "in consequence of your visit yesterday in Vivian Street—of your surprising interview with my sister—your most unexpected, extraordinary proposal to her."
Mr. Gammon listened respectfully, with an air of earnest attention, evidently not intending to make any reply.
"It cannot surprise you, sir, that I should have been made acquainted with it immediately on my return home yesterday evening. It wasundoubtedly my sister'sdutyto do so; but she did it, I am bound to acknowledge to you, sir, with great reluctance, as a matter of exquisitely painful delicacy. Sir, she has told me all that passed between you."
"I cannot presume, Mr. Aubrey, to find fault with anything Miss Aubrey may have thought proper to do; shecannotdo wrong," replied Gammon, calmly, though Mr. Aubrey's last words had occasioned him lively anxiety as to the extent of Miss Aubrey's communications to her brother. He observed Mr. Aubrey's eyes fixed upon him steadfastly, and saw that he was laboring under much excitement. "If I have done anything calculated to inflict the slightest pain upon a lady for whom I have so profound"—he saw the color mounting into Mr. Aubrey's cheek, and a sterner expression appearing in his eye—"a respect, or uponyou, or any of your family, I am distressed beyond measure."
"I perfectly appreciate, Mr. Gammon, the position in which we stand with regard to each other," said Mr. Aubrey, with forced calmness. "Though I am fearfully changed in respect of fortune, I am not a whit changed—we are none of us changed," he continued proudly, "in respect of personal feelings and character."
He paused: Gammon spoke not. Presently Mr. Aubrey resumed—"I am, as we are all, very deeply sensible of the obligation which you have conferred upon us, and at the same time feel, that we are, to a great extent, placed at your mercy."
"Pray—I beg, Mr. Aubrey, that you will not speak in a strain which really hurts my feelings," interrupted Gammon, earnestly; "and which nothing on, my part has justified, nor can justify."
"Sir," continued Mr. Aubrey, firmly, "I meant nothing in the least calculated to wound your feelings, but merely to express my own; andlet me, Mr. Gammon, without the least reserve or circumlocution, inform you that both my sister and I have felt vivid dissatisfaction at your conduct of yesterday; and I have deemed it expedient to lose no time in informing you that your proposals are utterly out of the question, and can never be entertained, under any circumstances, for one moment."
Had Aubrey been, instead of the mere pauper he really was, and in the presence of one whom he knew to be able to cast him instantly into prison, at that moment in the position he had formerly occupied, of wealth and greatness, he could not have spoken with an air of more dignified determination, and evenhauteur: which Gammon perceived, and fully appreciated.
"I am undoubtedly aware, sir, of the disparity between Miss Aubrey and myself in point of position," said he, coldly.
"I have said nothing of the kind that I am aware of, nor would I, on any account, say anything offensive to you, Mr. Gammon; but it is my duty to speak explicitly and decisively. I therefore now beg you to understand that your overtures must not, in any shape, or at any time, be renewed; and this I must insist upon without assigning or suggesting any reason whatever."
Gammon listened attentively and silently.
"I presume, Mr. Gammon, that I cannot be misunderstood?" added Mr. Aubrey, with a very perceptibly increased peremptoriness of manner.
"It would be difficult to misunderstand what you say, sir," replied Gammon, in whose dark bosom Mr. Aubrey's words had, as it were, stung and roused the serpentPRIDE—which might have been seen with crest erect, and glaring eyes. But Mr. Gammon's external manner was calm and subdued.
"It gives me pain to be forced to add, Mr. Gammon," continued Mr.Aubrey, "that after what has taken place, we all of us feel—that—it will be better for you to discontinue your visits at my house. I am sure your own sense of delicacy will appreciate the necessity which exists for such a suggestion on my part?"
"I perfectly understand you, Mr. Aubrey," replied Gammon, in the same grave and guarded manner which he had preserved throughout their interview. "I shall offer no apology, sir, for conduct which I do not feel to require one. I conceive that I had a perfect right to make, with all due deference and respect, the offer which it appears has given you so much offence; for reasons, it may be, which justify you, but which I cannot speculate upon, nor do I wish to do so. It is impossible ever to see Miss Aubrey without becoming sensible of her loveliness, both of person and character. I have paid them homage: for the rest, the issue is simply—unfortunate. While I may not feel disposed, even if inclined, to disregard your strict and solemn injunctions, I take leave to say that my feelings towards Miss Aubrey cannot alter; and if in nootherway they can be gratified, there is yetonewhich"—here he looked greatly moved, and changed color—"yet remains open to me, to exhibit my regard for her in a tenfold anxiety to preserve her—to preserve all of you, Mr. Aubrey, from the approach of difficulty and danger. That much Miss Aubrey may have also told to you, of what passed between us yesterday." He paused—from emotion apparently; but he was only considering intently whether he should endeavor toascertainif Mr. Aubrey had been put by his sister in possession of his—Gammon's, last communication to her; and then, however that might be, whether he should himself break the matter to Mr. Aubrey. But he decided both questions in the negative, and proceeded, with a little excitement of manner—"Therearedangers menacing you, I grieve to say, Mr. Aubrey, of the mostserious description, which I may possibly be unable to avert from you! I fear I am losing that holdupon otherswhich has enabled me hitherto to save you from rapacity and oppression! I regret to say that I cananswerfor others no longer; but all that man can do, still will I do. I have been most bitterly—most fearfully disappointed; but you shall ever find me a man of my word—of as high and rigid honor, perhaps, even, Mr. Aubrey, as yourself"—he paused, and felt that he had made an impression on his silent auditor—"and I hereby pledge myself, in the presence of God, that so far as inmelies, there shall not a hair of any of your heads be touched." Again he paused. "I wish, Mr. Aubrey, you knew the pressure which has been for some time upon me—nay, even this very morning"——he cast a melancholy and reluctant eye towards the letters which he had gathered up, and which he had placed beside him on the breakfast-table—"I have received a letter—here it is—I know the handwriting; I almost dread to open it." Mr. Aubrey changed color.
"I am at a loss to know to what,in particular, you are alluding, Mr. Gammon?" he interrupted anxiously.
"I will not at present say more on the subject; I devoutly hope my negotiations may be successful, and that the affair may not for many months, or even years, beforcedupon your attention! Still,wereI to do so, one effect, at least, it would have—to satisfy you of my honorable anddisinterestedmotives in the offer which I presumed to make Miss Aubrey."
"Well, sir," replied Mr. Aubrey, with a melancholy air, and sighing deeply, "I can only place my trust in Providence—and Ido. I have suffered much already; and if it be the will of Heaven that I should suffer more, I hope it will be proved that I have not suffered already—in vain!"
"Mr. Aubrey," said Gammon, gazing at him with a brightening eye, "my very soul owns the sublime presence ofVIRTUE, in your person! It is exalting—it is ennobling—merely to be permitted to witness so heroic an example of constancy as you exhibit!"—He paused, and for some moments there was silence—"You do not distrust me, Mr. Aubrey?" said Gammon, at length, with a confident air.
"No, Mr. Gammon!" replied Mr. Aubrey, eying him steadfastly. "I'm not aware that I ever had any reason for doing so."
Shortly afterwards he took his departure; and as he bent his steps slowly, and with thoughtful air, towards the Temple, he saw one or two things, on his own part, during his interview with Gammon, to regret—namely, his sternness and pride; but nothing on the part of Gammon, that had not been admirable. Could Mr. Aubrey, however, but have seen the satanic smile which settled upon Mr. Gammon's features, as soon as, after cordially shaking his hand, he calmly shut the door upon Mr. Aubrey, it might have occasioned some few misgivings as to Mr. Gammon's sincerity. He resumed his seat, and meditated upon their recent interview. Almost the first glance which he had caught of Mr. Aubrey's countenance, and the very first tones of his voice which had fallen on Gammon's ear, had inspired him with a deadly animosity against poor Aubrey, whose pride Gammon resolved to trample upon and crush into the dust. He was acquainted with the state of Aubrey's little finances, almost to a pound; for Aubrey had, under the circumstances, felt it even a duty to be frank with him upon that subject. He turned over in his mind, with great anxiety, the matter of the two promissory notes for five thousand pounds each, which he held in his hands, and which would be the best mode of setting into motion,but with the hands ofanother, those two dreadful instruments of torture and oppression—which, judiciously applied, might have the effect of humbling the pride and breaking the determination of Aubrey and of his sister. Long he considered the subject, in every point of view; and at length—"Ay, that will do!" said he to himself aloud; sighed, smiled, and gently tapped his fingers upon his ample forehead. Shortly afterwards, having ordered his laundress to take away the breakfast things, he took pen, ink, and paper, and sketched off the following draft of a letter, to be copied by Mr. Quirk, and signed in the name of the firm, and sent, Gammon finally determined, early in the ensuing week:—
"Saffron Hill, 9th July 18—."Dear Sir,—Owing to a most serious and unexpected pecuniary outlay which we are called upon to make, we feel ourselves compelled to avail ourselves of whatever resources lie within our reach. Having been disappointed in several quarters, we are obliged to remind you of the heavy balance we have against you of £1,446, 14s. 6d. You must be aware of the length of time during which it has been standing; and trust you will forgive us if we at length apprise you that it is absolutely impossible for us to allow of any more delay. Unless, therefore, the whole of the above balance, or at least £1,000 of it, be paid within three days of the date hereof, we regret to inform you we have finally made up our minds to let the law take its usual course. We feel the less hesitation in saying thus much, because we are persuaded that, with a little exertion, you might long ago have liquidated this heavy balance, or the greater part thereof." (Mr. Gammon wrote as nearly in the peculiar style of Mr. Quirk as he could.)"In writing thus, Messrs. Quirk and Snap feel it only due to their partner, Mr. Gammon, to add that he is no party to this application. Messrs. Q. and S. have felt, however, in making it, that the interests of the firm have already suffered long enough, through their deference to the personal wishes and feelings ofoneof the members of the firm; and but for whom, their heavy balance would have been called for long ago, and, no doubt, in due course discharged.
"Saffron Hill, 9th July 18—.
"Dear Sir,—Owing to a most serious and unexpected pecuniary outlay which we are called upon to make, we feel ourselves compelled to avail ourselves of whatever resources lie within our reach. Having been disappointed in several quarters, we are obliged to remind you of the heavy balance we have against you of £1,446, 14s. 6d. You must be aware of the length of time during which it has been standing; and trust you will forgive us if we at length apprise you that it is absolutely impossible for us to allow of any more delay. Unless, therefore, the whole of the above balance, or at least £1,000 of it, be paid within three days of the date hereof, we regret to inform you we have finally made up our minds to let the law take its usual course. We feel the less hesitation in saying thus much, because we are persuaded that, with a little exertion, you might long ago have liquidated this heavy balance, or the greater part thereof." (Mr. Gammon wrote as nearly in the peculiar style of Mr. Quirk as he could.)
"In writing thus, Messrs. Quirk and Snap feel it only due to their partner, Mr. Gammon, to add that he is no party to this application. Messrs. Q. and S. have felt, however, in making it, that the interests of the firm have already suffered long enough, through their deference to the personal wishes and feelings ofoneof the members of the firm; and but for whom, their heavy balance would have been called for long ago, and, no doubt, in due course discharged.
"We regret being unable to vary or depart from the determination above expressed; and most sincerely hope your resources are of that nature that we shall be spared the unpleasantness of commencing legal proceedings."And we remain, dear sir,"Yours most respectfully,Quirk, Gammon, & Snap."Charles Aubrey, Esquire,"Vivian Street."
"We regret being unable to vary or depart from the determination above expressed; and most sincerely hope your resources are of that nature that we shall be spared the unpleasantness of commencing legal proceedings.
"And we remain, dear sir,
"Yours most respectfully,
Quirk, Gammon, & Snap.
"Charles Aubrey, Esquire,
"Vivian Street."
Exactly on the seventh day from that on which Mr. Gammon had made his ill-omened advances towards Miss Aubrey, did the above dreadful and heartless letter reach its destination—being delivered into Mr. Aubrey's hands while he was intently perusing a very heavy set of papers, which, at his request, Mr. Weasel had allowed him to take home. The painful scene which ensued I shall spare the reader—only mentioning that poor Miss Aubrey became almost frantic, treating herself as the sole occasion of this disaster. That very morning, at breakfast, had he been talking of selling out, of their precious remnant in the funds, the sum of £105, to enable him to become a pupil with Mr. Crystal, at the suggestion of the Attorney-General.
What was to be done in this fearful emergency none of them knew—except consenting to an immediate sale of all their plate, books, and furniture. Their affliction, indeed, knew no bounds. Even Mr. Aubrey, though for a long time he bore up heroically, was at length overcome by the agonies of the dear beings whose ruin was involved in his own.
Had not Gammon been prompt in his vengeance? So thought they all.
Whatwasto be done? A word will suffice to explain Mr. Aubrey's position fully. It will be recollected, that about a twelvemonthbefore, he had been left in possession of a balance of £1,063, after paying the sum of £4,000 to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, Messrs. Runnington, and Mr. Parkinson, in the way which has been already mentioned. Since then, by his incessant exertions, he had realized the sum of £150 by his contributions to literary journals; and, by means of a severe and systematic economy, this sum, together with about £200 taken from his store of £1,063, had sufficed to cover their whole year's expenditure. 'Twas impossible to carry economy farther than they did, without, poor souls, positive injury to their health, and stinting the little children, as Mr. and Mrs. Aubrey often said to each other when alone, with tears and sighs of anguish.
Alas! misfortune followed him like a bloodhound, let him turn his steps whithersoever he might! Naturally anxious to make the most of his little store of £1,063, so long as any considerable portion of it could be spared from their immediate personal necessities, he looked about in all directions for some safe and profitable investment, which might produce him a little more income than could be derived from the funds. He cautiously avoided having the slightest, connection with any of the innumerable joint-stock speculations then afloat, and of which he saw distinctly the mischievous and ruinous tendency; and this, moreover, in spite of the artful occasional representations of Mr. Gammon. Having consulted his banker, and also a member of the House of Commons—one of the city members—a man of immense wealth, and great mercantile experience and sagacity, and with whom he had been intimate while in the House—confirmed by their approval, and also that of Mr. Weasel and Messrs. Runnington, all of whom poor Aubrey anxiously consulted concerning the disposal of this his littleALL; about six weeks after the period of his settlement with Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, heinvested five hundred pounds in the purchase of a particular foreign stock. Safe and promising as it appeared, however, at the very moment when it was in the highest repute, with capitalists of all descriptions both at home and abroad—from scarce any assignable reason, but forming one of the many unaccountable instances of fluctuation to which property of that kind is proverbially liable—Aubrey had hardly held his scrip for a month, when—alas!—to his dismay, he found the stock falling—falling—falling; down, down, down, it went, till his scrip was so much waste paper! His loss was irretrievable. The wealthy member whom he had consulted, lost nearly one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, and was driven to the very verge of ruin. Mr. Weasel even—caution personified, in dealing with the little accumulation of his hard earnings—lost upwards of a thousand pounds; and Mr. Runnington, about double that sum. It required a great stretch of fortitude on the part of Mr. Aubrey to sustain this severe and sudden blow with anything like equanimity.—You should have seen and heard Mrs. Aubrey and Miss Aubrey, on that occasion, in order fully to appreciate the rich and melting tenderness of woman's love, sympathy, and fortitude.
This catastrophe—for surely such it was—had left him about £350 only in the funds, and in his banker's hands a little balance of some fifty or sixty pounds to meet his current expenses. The above amount, at the time when Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap's letter reached him, had been necessarily diminished to about £290; which was positively all the money he had in the world, to save himself, and those dependent on him, from absolute destitution. Yet he was now peremptorily called upon, within three days' time, to pay the sum of £1,446, 14s. 6d.
He hurried off, early the next morning, in consternation, to Messrs. Runnington. Mr. Runnington, with a heavy heart and a gloomy countenance, set off instantly, alone, to the office of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. He saw Mr. Gammon, who told him, with a well-dissembled air of disgust, to go in to Mr. Quirk, or Mr. Snap. He did so, and found them inexorable. Mr. Quirk doggedly told Mr. Runnington that he had been out of pocket long enough, and would not be fooled by one of his own partners any longer. Mr. Runnington quitted them, fairly at his wits' end; and, on his return, told Mr. Aubrey, whom he had left at his office, that he had done, and could do, "nothing with the vultures of Saffron Hill." Mr. Runnington felt that his unhappy client, Mr. Aubrey, was far too critically situated with respect to Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, to admit of his threatening, on Mr. Aubrey's behalf, to refer their exorbitant and monstrous bill to taxation. He knew not, in fact, what suggestion to offer—what scheme to devise—to extricate Mr. Aubrey from his present dreadful dilemma. As for applying for pecuniary assistance from friends, Mr. Aubrey's soul revolted at the bare thought. What—borrow! Overwhelmed as he already was, it would be indeed grossly unprincipled! Was not one alone of his generous friends at that moment under a liability on his behalf of more than ten thousand pounds! No; with gloomy composure he felt that, at last,his hour was come; that a prison wall must soon intervene between him—poor broken-hearted soul!—and the dear beloved beings from whom, as yet, he had never been once separated—no! not for one moment deprived of blessed intercourse and communion with them—his wife—Kate—his unconscious little children——
Kate, however, got desperate; and, unknown to her brother, though with the full privity of his weeping wife, wrote off a long—a heart-rendingletter to good old Lady Stratton, whose god-daughter she was, telling her everything. Kate sat up half the night writing that letter, and it was blistered with her tears. She took it very early in the morning, herself, to the post-office, and she and Mrs. Aubrey awaited the issue with the most trembling and fearful solicitude.
I have hardly heart to recount the events which followed upon poor Kate's adventure; but they form a striking exemplification of the mysterious manner in which frequently Providence, for its own awful and wise purposes, sees fit to accumulate troubles and sorrows upon the virtuous.
Old Lady Stratton had been for some months in very feeble health, and the receipt of Kate's letter occasioned her infinite distress. It will be remembered that she had long before effected a policy of insurance upon her life for £15,000, always intending to bequeath it as a little portion to poor Kate. She had many months—in fact, nearly a year and a half before—given the necessary instructions to her solicitor, good Mr. Parkinson of Grilston, for making her will, so as to carry into effect her kind intentions towards Kate; bequeathing also legacies of £500 a-piece to each of Mr. Aubrey's little children. How it came to pass, however, I scarcely know—except by referring it to that sad superstitious weakness which makes people often procrastinate the execution of so all-important an instrument as a will; but at the time when Kate's letter arrived, that will had not been executed, but still lay at Mr. Parkinson's office. Feeling greatly indisposed, however, shortly after she had received Miss Aubrey's letter, she sent off an express for Mr. Parkinson to attend with her will; and a few minutes afterwards her attendants found it necessary to send off another express for her physician, Dr. Goddart. Before drawing a check for the sum of£700, or £800, which she intended instantly to place at Mr. Aubrey's disposal, she awaited Mr. Parkinson's return, that he—who managed all her affairs—might inform her of the exact balance then at her banker's. He was absent from Grilston when the express arrived; but he was followed, and about seven o'clock that evening entered Lady Stratton's residence, carrying with him her will, ready prepared for execution. His chief clerk also accompanied him, lest, by any possibility, awitnessshould be wanting. The countenances of the domestics warned him that there was not one moment to be lost; and he hastened at once into Lady Stratton's bedchamber. There she lay, venerable old lady, propped up by pillows—her long white hair partially visible from under her cap. A hasty whisper from Dr. Goddart apprised him of the very critical situation of Lady Stratton. Writing materials stood ready prepared in the room against Mr. Parkinson's arrival. She recognized him on his passing the foot of the bed, and in a feeble voice whispered—"My will!—my will!"
[Oh, hasten! delay not an instant, Mr. Parkinson! If you did but know what depends on your movements—could you but at this moment—oh me!—could you but catch a glimpse of the scene passing in Vivian Street!—Give her the pen, Mr. Parkinson—guide her hand—place it upon the paper.]
But it was too late.Before the pen could be placed within her fingers, those fingers had become incapable of holding it—for Lady Stratton at that moment experienced the paralytic seizure which Dr. Goddart had been dreading for three or four hours before. Alas, alas! 't was all useless: pen, ink, and paper were removed. She lingered till about nine o'clock the next morning, when, in the presence of Mr. Parkinson, who had not quitted the room for one instant, death released the venerable sufferer. She had thus diedintestate; and her next ofkin became entitled to her property—which consisted of personalty only. Had this event happened but two years before, Mr. Aubrey and Kate would have been Lady Stratton's only next of kin: but now—alas!—Mr. Titmouse was also one of her next of kin, and entitled, as such, to aTHIRDof all that which had been destined to the Aubreys alone!—In what a position were the Aubreys now placed? Titmouse would directly insist on his right to administer, in preference to Aubrey—and would succeed in establishing his right; for was he not equally near of kin, and moreover the creditor, to a very large extent, of Mr. Aubrey—who was, besides, utterly insolvent? What, then, would be the consequences of this move on the part of Titmouse? He would get into his possession all the property of Lady Stratton—and though not entitled to withhold payment to Mr. Aubrey and his sister of the shares due to them, he might interpose many obstacles in the way of their recovering, and avail himself of their insisting upontheirrights, as a pretext for his insisting onhisrights against Mr. Aubrey, even to the uttermost extremity!—All these, and many other similar considerations, passed quickly in review before the troubled mind of Mr. Parkinson. His fears were soon realized by events. Before the venerable deceased had been laid in Yatton churchyard, not far from her, beloved friend, Mrs. Aubrey, who had preceded her by a few months only, Mr. Parkinson received a letter from Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, as the solicitors of Mr. Titmouse, giving him formal notice of the title of their client, and requesting Mr. Parkinson to lose no time in making an inventory of the effects of her Ladyship, to whom Mr. Titmouse intended to administer immediately. Mr. Gammon himself went down, and arrived the day after the funeral. Guess his delighted astonishment on discovering the windfall which hadcome to his client, Mr. Titmouse, in the policy of £15,000, the existence of which they had, of course, never dreamed of!
But there was another discovery, which occasioned him not a little excitement, as his flushed cheek and suspended breath testified—alas! poor Aubrey'sBONDfor £2,000,with interest at five per cent!—an instrument which poor Lady Stratton, having always intended to destroy, latterly imagined that she had actually done so. It had, however, got accidentally mingled with other papers, which had found their way, in the ordinary course, to Mr. Parkinson, and who was himself ignorant of its existence, since it lay folded in a letter addressed to Lady Stratton, till it turned up while he was sorting the papers, in obedience to the request of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap. He turned pale and red by turns as he held the accursed document in his fingers; probably, thought he, no one on earth but himself knew of its existence;and—and—he knew what thedeceasedwould have done—but his sense of duty prevailed! Of course the party entitled to sue for the principal money secured by it, together with all arrears of interest which might be due upon it, was now Mr.Tittlebat Titmouse!
—Surely it is hard to imagine a more dismal and wanton freak of fortune than this—as far, at least, as concerned poor Kate Aubrey.
"Fly! Fly!—For God's sake fly! Lose not one moment of the precious respite which, by incredible efforts, I have contrived to secure you—a respite of but a few hours—and wrung from heartlessness and rapacity. In justice, much injured man! to yourself—to all you hold dear upon earth—to the precious interests intrusted to your keeping, and involved in your destruction—again I sayFly! Quit the country, if it be but for never so short a time, till you or your friends shall have succeeded in arranging your disordered affairs. Regard this hasty and perhaps incoherent note, in what light you please—but I tell you it comes,in sacred confidence, from a firm and inalienable friend, whose present desperate exertions in your behalf you will one day perhaps be able to appreciate. Once more I conjure you to fly!—From other and greater dangers than you at present apprehend.I see the rack preparing for you!—Will you stay to be tortured?—and in the presence of the incomparable beings who—but my feelings overpower me! Indeed, Mr. Aubrey, if you disregard this intimation through weak fears as to its writer's sincerity, or a far weaker, and a wild, notion of Quixotic honor and heroism—remember, in the moment of being overwhelmed,this note—and then do justice to its writer.—Your faithful, unhappy,distrustedfriend,"O. G."P.S.—For God's sake burn, or otherwise destroy, this letter, as soon as you shall have read it."
"Fly! Fly!—For God's sake fly! Lose not one moment of the precious respite which, by incredible efforts, I have contrived to secure you—a respite of but a few hours—and wrung from heartlessness and rapacity. In justice, much injured man! to yourself—to all you hold dear upon earth—to the precious interests intrusted to your keeping, and involved in your destruction—again I sayFly! Quit the country, if it be but for never so short a time, till you or your friends shall have succeeded in arranging your disordered affairs. Regard this hasty and perhaps incoherent note, in what light you please—but I tell you it comes,in sacred confidence, from a firm and inalienable friend, whose present desperate exertions in your behalf you will one day perhaps be able to appreciate. Once more I conjure you to fly!—From other and greater dangers than you at present apprehend.I see the rack preparing for you!—Will you stay to be tortured?—and in the presence of the incomparable beings who—but my feelings overpower me! Indeed, Mr. Aubrey, if you disregard this intimation through weak fears as to its writer's sincerity, or a far weaker, and a wild, notion of Quixotic honor and heroism—remember, in the moment of being overwhelmed,this note—and then do justice to its writer.—Your faithful, unhappy,distrustedfriend,
"O. G.
"P.S.—For God's sake burn, or otherwise destroy, this letter, as soon as you shall have read it."
Such was the letter which got into Mr. Aubrey's hands just as the time which had been fixed by Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap, for payment of their bill, was expiring, and which occasioned him, as may be easily imagined, dreadful disquietude. It had found him in a state of thedeepest depression—but yet vigorously striving to preserve, in the presence of his wife and sister, a semblance of composure and cheerfulness. More to pacify them than to satisfy himself, he had walked about town during the two preceding days till nearly dropping with exhaustion, in fruitless quest of those who might be disposed to advance him a thousand pounds on his own personal security, and on terms he scarce cared how exorbitant, to free him, at all events for a while, from his present exigency. All had been, however, in vain—indeed he had had no hopes from the first. And what was then to be done? His soul seemed dying away within him. At times he almost lost all consciousness of his situation, and of what was passing around him. It appeared to be the will of Heaven that his misfortunes should press him down, as it were, by inches into the dust, and crush him. Those there were, he well knew, who needed but to be apprised of his circumstances, to step forward and generously relieve him from his difficulties. But where was all that to end? What real good could it serve? Awfully involved as he was already—one, alone, of his friends being at that moment under a liability which must be discharged within a few months, of nearlyeleven thousand pounds—was he to place others in a similar situation? What earthly prospect had he of ever repaying them? Lamentable as was his position, his soul recoiled from the bare thought. But then came before his anguished eye, his wife—his sister—his children; and he flung himself, in an ecstasy, on his knees, remaining long prostrate—and, for a while,the heaven that was over his head seemed to be brass, and the earth that was under him, iron. His heart might be wrung, however, and his spirit heavy and darkened; but no extent or depth of misery could cause him to forget those principles of honor and integrity by which all his life had been regulated. He resolved,therefore, to submit to the stroke apparently impending over him, with calmness, as to inevitable ruin; nor would he hear of any further applications to his friends, which, indeed, he felt would be only encouragement to those who held him in thraldom, to renew their exactions, when they found each succeeding pressure successful. Poor Kate had told him, as soon as her letter had been put into the post, with trembling apprehension as to the consequences, of her application to Lady Stratton; but did she think her fond broken-hearted brother could chide her? He looked at her for a moment, with quivering lip and eyes blinded with tears—and then wrung her hand, simply expressing a hope, that, since the stephadbeen taken, it might be, in some measure at least, successful.
Mr. Gammon's letter, as I have already intimated, filled Mr. Aubrey with inexpressible alarm. Again and again he read it over with increasing agitation, and at the same time uncertain as to its true character and import—as to the real motive and object of its writer. Was he guilty of the duplicity which Mrs. Aubrey and Kate so vehemently imputed to him? Was he actuated by revenge? Or was he, as represented by Mr. Quirk's letter, overpowered by his partners, and still sincere in his wishes to shield Mr. Aubrey from their rapacity? Or was Mr. Gammon suggestingflightonly as a snare? Was Mr. Aubrey to be seduced into an act warranting them in proceeding to instant extremities against him? What could be the other matters so darkly alluded to in the letter? Were they the two promissory notes of five thousand pounds each, which he had deposited with Mr. Gammon, who at length was peremptorily required by Mr. Titmouse to surrender them up, and permit them to be put in suit? They were payableon demand—he shuddered! Might it be, that Titmouse was desperately in want of money, and had therefore overpowered thescruples of Gammon, and disregarded the sacred pledge under which he assured Titmouse the notes had been given? Mr. Aubrey rejoiced that Mr. Gammon's letter had been placed in his hands by the servant when alone in his study, whither he had gone to write a note to Mr. Runnington; and resolved not to apprise Mrs. Aubrey and Kate of its arrival. Thefourthday after the receipt of Messrs. Quirk and Snap's letter had now elapsed. Mr. Aubrey did not venture to quit the house. All of them were, as may well be imagined, in a state of pitiable distress, and agitation, and suspense. Thus also passed thefifthday—still the blow descended not. Was the arm extended to inflict it, held back, still, by Mr. Gammon continuing thus the "incredible efforts" spoken of in his note?
Thesixthmorning dawned on the wretched family. They all rose at a somewhat earlier hour than usual. They could scarce touch the spare and simple breakfast spread before them, nor enjoy—nay, they could hardly bear—the prattle and gambols of the lively little ones, Charles and Agnes, whom at length they despatched back again to the nursery; for they were, in the highest possible state of excitement and anxiety, awaiting the arrival of the postman—this being the first morning on which they could, in the ordinary course, receive a letter from Lady Stratton in answer to that of Kate. 'T was now a little past ten. The breakfast things had been removed; and on hearing the agitating though long-expectedrat-tatof the postman a few doors down the street, Mrs. Aubrey and Kate started to the window. Their hearts beat violently when their eye at length caught sight of him, with his arm full of letters, knocking at the door opposite. Oh, had he a letter forthem? How long were their opposite neighbors in answering his summons, and in paying the postage! Then he stood for nearly a minute laughing with a servantin the adjoining area—intolerable indeed was all this, to the agitated beings who were thus panting for his arrival! Presently he glanced at the packet in his hand, and taking one of the letters from it, crossed the street, making for their door.
"Heavens! Hehasa letter!" cried Miss Aubrey, excitedly—"I sha'n't wait for Fanny!" and, flying to the front door, plucked it open the instant after the postman had knocked. He touched his hat on seeing, instead of a servant, the beautiful but agitated lady, who stretched forth her hand and took the letter, exclaiming, "Fanny will pay you"—but in an instant her cheek was blanched, and she nearly fell to the floor, at sight of the black border, the black seal, and the handwriting, which she did not at the instant recognize. For a moment or two she seemed to have lost the power of speech or motion; but presently her trembling limbs bore her into the parlor. "Oh! Charles—Agnes—I feel as if I were going todie—look"—she faltered, sinking into the nearest chair, while Mr. Aubrey, with much agitation, took the ominous-looking letter which she extended towards him. 'T was from Mr. Parkinson; and told the news of Lady Stratton's death, and the lamentable circumstances attending it; that—as the reader has heard—she had died intestate—and that Mr. Titmouse had, as next of kin, become entitled to administration to her effects. All this disastrous intelligence was conveyed in a very few hurried lines. "Oh, my God!" exclaimed Mr. Aubrey, on having glanced over them. His color fled, and he pressed his hand against his forehead. "She is dead!" said he, in a low tone, at the same time giving Kate the letter, and hastening to Mrs. Aubrey, who seemed nearly fainting. Each had uttered a faint scream on hearing his words. Mrs. Aubrey swooned in his arms—and Kate sat like a statue, without even glancing at the fatal letter which she held in her hand, but gazing in a sort of stupor at her brother. She was unable to rise to Mrs. Aubrey's assistance—of whose state, indeed, she appeared, from her vacant eye, to be hardly aware. At length a slight sigh announced the returning consciousness of Mrs. Aubrey; and at the same time Miss Aubrey, with a manifestly desperate effort, regained her consciousness, and with a cheek white as the paper at which she was looking, read it over.
"This is very—very—dreadful—Heaven is forsaking us!" at length she murmured, gazing wofully at her brother and sister.
"Say not so—but rather God's will be done," faltered Mr. Aubrey, his voice and his countenance evincing the depth of his affliction. "God help us!" he added in a tone which at length, thrilling through the overcharged heart of his sister, caused her to weep bitterly; and if ever there was a mournful scene, it was that which ensued, ere this doomed family, slowly recovering from the first stunning effects of the shock which they had just received, had become aware of the full extent of their misery. They had ever felt towards Lady Stratton—who, as has been already said, had been poor Kate's godmother—as towards a parent; and their affection had been doubled after the death of Mrs. Aubrey. Now she wasgone; she who would have stood for a little while at least between them and ruin, was gone! And by an inscrutable and awful Providence, that which she had sacredly destined to them, and made great sacrifices to secure to them—and which would have effectually shielded them from the cruelty and rapacity of their enemies—had been diverted from them, into the coffers of the most selfish and worthless of mankind—who seemed, indeed, as if he had been called into existence only to effect their ruin; even, as it were,the messenger of Satan tobuffet them! At length, however, the first natural transports of their grief having subsided, their stricken hearts returned to their allegiance towards Heaven; and Mr. Aubrey, whose constancy at once strengthened and encouraged his partners in affliction, with many expressions of sincere and confident piety and resignation reminded them that they were in the hands of God, who intended all earthly suffering—however unaccountable—however harsh and apparently undeserved its infliction—to contribute infallibly to the ultimate benefit of His children. And he reminded them, on that melancholy occasion, of the example afforded by one whose griefs had far transcended theirs—the patriarch Job; on whom were suddenly—and to him apparently without any reason or motive, except the infliction of evil—accumulated almost every species of misfortune which could befall humanity. The sudden and total loss of his substance, and of all his servants, he appears to have borne with fortitude. At length, however, was announced to him the loss of all his sons and daughters——
"Then Job arose and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground and worshipped,"And said, Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord."In all this Job sinned not, nor charged God foolishly."
"Then Job arose and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground and worshipped,
"And said, Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away: blessed be the name of the Lord.
"In all this Job sinned not, nor charged God foolishly."
Out of respect to the memory of their dear, venerable, departed friend, they drew down all the blinds of their little house, thereby spreading around them a gloom similar to that within. A sad, a mournful little group they looked! This last sorrow seemed for a while to divert their thoughts from the peril which momentarily menaced them. They talked with frequent emotion, and with many tears, of their late friend—recalling,fondly, innumerable little traits of her gentle and benignant character. Towards the close of the day their souls were subdued into resignation to the will of the all-wise Disposer of events: they had, in some measure, realized the consolations of an enlightened and scriptural piety.
They met the next morning, at breakfast, with a melancholy composure. The blinds being drawn down, prevented the bright sunshine out of doors from entering into the little room where their frugal breakfast was spread, and where prevailed a gloom more in unison with their saddened feelings. To all who sat round the table, except little Charles, the repast was slight indeed: he had shortly before begun to breakfast down-stairs, instead of in the nursery; and, merry little thing!—all unconscious of the destitution to which, in all human probability, he was destined—and of the misery which oppressed and was crushing his parents—he was rattling away cheerfully, as if nothing could disturb or interrupt the light-heartedness of childhood. They all started on hearing the unexpected knock of the general postman. He had brought them a letter from Dr. Tatham; who, it seemed, was aware of that which had been the day before despatched to them by Mr. Parkinson. The little doctor's letter was exceedingly touching and beautiful; and it was a good while before they could complete its perusal, owing to the emotion which it occasioned them. 'T was indeed full of tender sympathy—of instructive incentives to resignation to the will of God.
"Is not that indeed the language of a devout and venerable minister of God?" said Mr. Aubrey—"whose figure is daily brightening with the glory reflected from the heaven which he is so rapidly approaching? In the order of nature, a few short years must see him, also, removed from us."
"Then we shall indeed be desolate!" said Miss Aubrey, weeping bitterly.
"Heaven," continued her brother, "is speaking to us through one of its ministers in this letter! Let us listen in reverent humility!" They remained silent for some moments, Mr. Aubrey re-perusing the long and closely written letter of which he had been speaking. Presently he heard a knock at the street door—an ordinary single knock—such as was by no means unusual at that period of the morning; yet he scarce knew why—it disconcerted him. He kept, however, his eye upon the letter, while he heard Fanny opening the door—then a word or two whispered—after which the parlor door was hastily opened, and Fanny stood there, pale as death, and unable, evidently from fright, to speak—a heavy step was heard in the passage—and then there stood behind the terror-stricken girl a tall stout man in a drab great-coat, with a slouched hat, and a thick walking-stick in his hand—looking over her shoulder into the parlor, whose dismayed occupants soon shared the panic of poor Fanny.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said he, civilly advancing into the room, and removing his hat—"is your name Charles Aubrey?"
"It is, sir," said Mr. Aubrey, rising from his chair—by which time a second man was standing at the door.
"You're my prisoner, sir," said the man, stepping close up to the wretched Aubrey, and touching him on the shoulder, at the same time holding out a thin slip of paper—the warrant by virtue of which he was then acting. The moment that he advanced towards Mr. Aubrey, a dreadful shriek burst from Mrs. Aubrey and Kate, who sprang forward, and threw their arms wildly round him. He implored them to restrain their feelings—though evidently greatly agitated himself.
"Will you let me look at your warrant?" said he, mildly, to the man who had arrested him, and remained standing close beside him. Mr. Aubrey, glancing over the fatal slip of paper, saw that he was arrested for fourteen hundred pounds and upwards at the suit of Messrs. Quirk, Gammon, and Snap.[6]
"You see, sir, it's only my duty to do this here," said the officer, respectfully, apparently touched by the agony of the two beautiful women who still clung wildly round one about to be torn ruthlessly from their arms;—"don't take on so, ladies—there 's no great harm done yet."
"For mercy's sake, Agnes! Kate! as you love me!—Be calm! You afflict me beyond measure," said Mr. Aubrey, who, though he had grown very pale, yet preserved under the circumstances a remarkable degree of self-possession. 'T was, however, a scene which he had been endeavoring to realize to himself, and prepare for daily, if not hourly, for the last week.
"Oh, mercy! mercy!—for God's sake have mercy on him! On us!"—exclaimed Mrs. Aubrey and Kate.
"Oh, good men! kind men!—have mercy!" cried Kate, desperately—"What are you going to do with him?"
"No harm, miss, you may depend on 't—only he must go with us, seeing we 'reobligatedto take him."
"For Heaven's sake, don't—don't, for mercy's sake!"—cried Kate, turning her agonized face towards the man—her hair partially dishevelled, and her arms still clasping her brother with frantic energy. Mrs. Aubrey had swooned, and lay insensible in her husband's arms, supported by his knee; while Fanny, herself half-distracted, was striving to restore her by rubbing her cold hands.
"Lord, ladies! don't—don't take on in this here way—you're only a-hurting of yourselves, and you don't do the gentleman any good, youknow—'cause, in course, he's all the sorrier for going," said the second man, who had by this time entered the room, and stood looking on concernedly. But Miss Aubrey repeated her inquiries with wild and frantic impetuosity, for some time not aware that Mrs. Aubrey lay insensible beside her.
"Jemmy—run and fetch the lady a sup of water from the kitchen—she's gone into a dead faint—run, my man!" said the officer to his follower, who immediately obeyed him, and presently returned with a glass of water; by which time, both Kate, and her brother, and Fanny, were endeavoring, with great agitation, to restore Mrs. Aubrey, whose prolonged swoon greatly alarmed them, and in whose sufferings, the sense of their own seemed for a while absorbed. The two men stood by, grasping their huge walking-sticks, and their hats, in silence. At length Mrs. Aubrey showed symptoms of recovery—uttering a long deep sigh.
"I say—master," at length whispered the follower, "I'll tell you what it is—this here seems a bad business, don't it?"
"Jemmy, Jemmy!" replied his master, sternly, "You a'n't got half the pluck of abum!—There's nothing in all this when one's used to it, as I am."
"P'r'aps the gemman don't rightly owe the money, after all."
"Don't he? Andthey'vesworn hedoes?—Come, come, Jem, no chaffing! The sooner (I'm thinking) we have him off from all this here blubbering, the better."
"Bless'd if ever I see'd two such beautiful women afore. I don't half like it; I wish we'd nabbed him in the street—and" he lowered his whisper—"if there'smucho' this here sort o' work to be done, I've had enough of being a bum already, an' 'll go back to my businessagain, bad as times is!"