Volume Two—Chapter Seven.Christie Bayle Changes his Mind.“God help me! What shall I do?” groaned Christie Bayle, as he paced his room hour after hour into the night. A dozen times over he had been on the point of going to Thickens, awakening him and forcing him to declare that he would keep the fearful discovery a secret until something could be done.“It is too horrible,” he said. “Poor Millicent! The disgrace! It would kill her.”He went to the desk and began to examine his papers and his bank-book.Then he relocked his desk and paced the room again. “Julie, my poor little child, too. The horror and disgrace to rest upon her little innocent head. Oh, it is too dreadful! Will morning never come?”The hours glided slowly by, and that weary exclamation rose to his lips again and again:“Will morning never come?”It seemed as if it never would be day, but long before the first faint rays had streaked the east he had made his plans.“It is for her sake; for her child’s sake. At whatever cost, I must try and save them.”His first ideas were to go straight to Hallam’s house; but such a course would have excited notice. He felt that Millicent would think it strange if he went there early. Time was of the greatest importance, but he felt that he must not be too hasty, so seated himself to try and calm the throbbings of his brain, and to make himself cool and judicial for the task he had in hand.Soon after seven he walked quietly downstairs, and took his hat. It would excite no surprise, he thought, for him to be going for a morning walk, and, drawing in a long breath of the sweet refreshing air, he began to stride up the street.“How bright and beautiful is thy earth, O God!” he murmured, as the delicious morning sunshine bathed his face, “and how we mar and destroy its beauties with our wretched scheming and plans! Ah! I must not feel like this,” he muttered, as a restful hopefulness born of the early day seemed to be infusing itself throughout his being.He had no occasion to check the feeling of content and rest, for he had not gone a dozen yards before the whole force of his position flashed upon him. He felt that he was a plotter against the prosperity of the town—that scores of the people whose homes he was passing were beginning the day in happy ignorance that perhaps the savings of a life were in jeopardy. Ought he not to warn them at once, and bid them save what they could out of the fire?For his conscience smote him, asking him, how he, a clergyman, the preacher of truth and justice and innocence, could be going to temporise, almost to join in the fraud by what he was about to do?“How can I meet my people after this?” he asked himself; and his face grew careworn and lined. The old reproach against him had passed away. No one could have called him young and boyish-looking now.“Morning, sir,” cried a harsh voice.Bayle started, and flushed like some guilty creature, for he had come suddenly upon old Gemp as he supposed, though the reverse was really the case.“Going for a walk, sir?” said Gemp, pointing at him, and scanning his face searchingly.“Yes, Mr Gemp. Fine morning, is it not?”Gemp stood shaving himself with one finger, as the curate passed on, and made a curious rasping noise as the rough finger passed over the stubble. Then he shook his head and began to follow slowly and at a long distance.“I felt as if that man could read my very thoughts,” said Bayle, as he went along the street, past the bank, and out into the north road that led towards the mill.He shuddered as he passed Dixons’, and pictured to himself what would happen if the doors were closed and an excited crowd of depositors were hungering for their money.“It must be stopped at any cost,” he muttered; and once more the sweet sad face of Millicent seemed to be looking into his for help.“I ought to have suspected him before,” he continued; “but how could I, when even Sir Gordon could see no wrong? Ha! Yes. Perhaps Thickens is mistaken after all. It may be, as he said, only suspicion.”His heart seemed like lead, though, the next moment, as he neared the clerk’s house. Thickens was too just, too careful a man to have been wrong.He stopped, and rapped with his knuckles at the door directly after, to find it opened by Thickens himself, and, as the clerk drew back, he passed in, ignorant of the fact that Gemp was shaving himself with his rough forefinger a hundred yards away, and saying to himself, “Which is it? Thickens going to marry skinny Heathery on the sly; or something wrong? I shan’t be long before I know.”The brightness of the morning seemed to be shut out as the clerk closed the door, and followed his visitor into the sitting-room.“Well, Mr Bayle,” he said, for the curate was silent. “You’ve come to say something particular.”“Yes,” said Bayle firmly. “Thickens, this exposure would be too horrible. It must not take place.”“Ah,” said Thickens in his quiet, grave way, “you’re the Hallams’ friend.”“I hope I am the friend of every one in this town.”“And you advise me to keep this quiet and let your friends be robbed?”“Silence, man! How dare you speak to me like that?” cried Bayle furiously, and he took a step in advance. “No, no,” he said, checking himself, and holding out his hand; “we must be calm and sensible over this, Thickens. There must be no temper. Now listen. You remember what I said you must do last night.”“Yes; andI’mgoing directly after breakfast to Sir Gordon.”“No; I retract my words. You must not go.”“And the people who have been robbed?”“Wait a few moments, Thickens,” cried Bayle, flushing, as he saw that his hand was not taken. “Hear me out. You—yes, surely, you have some respect for Mrs Hallam—some love for her sweet child.”Thickens nodded.“Think, then, man, of the horrible disgrace—the ruin that would follow your disclosures.”“Yes; it is very horrid, sir; but I must do my duty. You owned to it last night.”“Yes, man, yes; but surely there are times when we may try and avert some of the horrors that would fall upon the heads of the innocent and true.”“That don’t sound like what a parson ought to say,” said Thickens dryly.Bayle flushed angrily again, but he kept down his wrath.“James Thickens,” he said coldly, “you mistake me.”“No,” said Thickens, “you spoke out like a man last night. This morning, sir, you speak like Robert Hallam’s friend.”“Yes; as his friend—as the friend of his wife; as one who loves his child. Now listen, Thickens. To what amount do you suppose Hallam is a defaulter?”“How can I tell, sir? It is impossible to say. It can’t be hushed up.”“It must, it shall be hushed up,” said Bayle sternly. “Now, look here; I insist upon your keeping what you know quiet for the present.”Thickens shook his head.“I did not tell you, but Sir Gordon suspects something to be wrong.”“Sir Gordon does, sir?”“Yes; he consulted me about the matter.”“Then my course is easy,” said Thickens brightening.“Not so easy, perhaps, as you think,” said Bayle coldly. “You must be silent till I have seen Hallam.”“Seen him, sir? Why, it’s giving him warning to escape.”“Seen him and Sir Gordon, James Thickens. It would be a terrible scandal for Dixons’ Bank if it were known, and utter ruin and disgrace for Hallam.”“Yes,” said Thickens, “and he deserves it.”“We must not talk about our deserts, Thickens,” said Bayle gravely. “Now listen to me. I find I can realise in a very few days the sum of twenty-four thousand pounds.”Thickens’s eyes dilated.“Whatever amount of that is needed, even to the whole, I am going to place in Robert Hallam’s hands, to clear himself and redeem these securities, and then he must leave the town quietly, and in good repute.”“In good repute?”“For his wife’s sake, sir. Do you understand?”“No,” said Thickens quietly. “No man could understand such a sacrifice as that. You mean to say that you are going to give up your fortune—all you have—to save that gambling scoundrel from what he deserves?”“Yes.”“But, Mr Bayle—”“Silence! I have made my plans, sir. Now, Mr Thickens, you see that I am not going to defraud the customers of the bank, but to replace their deeds.”“God bless you, sir! I beg your pardon humbly. I’m a poor ignorant brute, with no head for anything but figures and—my fish. And just now I wouldn’t take your hand. Mr Bayle, sir, will you forgive me?”“Forgive! I honour you, Thickens, as a sterling, honest man—shake hands. There, now you know my plans.”“Oh yes, sir, I understand you!” cried Thickens; “but you must not do that, sir. You must not indeed!”“I can do as I please with my own, Thickens. Save for my charities, money is of little use to me. There, now I must go. I shall see Hallam as soon as he is at the bank. I will not go to his house, for nothing must be done to excite suspicion. You will help me?”Thickens hesitated.“I ask it for Mrs Hallam’s sake—for the sake of Doctor and Mrs Luttrell. Come, you will help me in this. You came to me for my advice last night. I have changed it during the past few hours. There, I have you on my side?”“Yes, sir; but you must hold me free with Sir Gordon. Bah! no; I’ll take my chance, sir. Yes: I’ll help you as you wish.”“I trust you will, Thickens,” said Bayle quietly.“And you are determined, sir?—your fortune—all you have?”“I am determined. I shall see you at the bank about ten.”
“God help me! What shall I do?” groaned Christie Bayle, as he paced his room hour after hour into the night. A dozen times over he had been on the point of going to Thickens, awakening him and forcing him to declare that he would keep the fearful discovery a secret until something could be done.
“It is too horrible,” he said. “Poor Millicent! The disgrace! It would kill her.”
He went to the desk and began to examine his papers and his bank-book.
Then he relocked his desk and paced the room again. “Julie, my poor little child, too. The horror and disgrace to rest upon her little innocent head. Oh, it is too dreadful! Will morning never come?”
The hours glided slowly by, and that weary exclamation rose to his lips again and again:
“Will morning never come?”
It seemed as if it never would be day, but long before the first faint rays had streaked the east he had made his plans.
“It is for her sake; for her child’s sake. At whatever cost, I must try and save them.”
His first ideas were to go straight to Hallam’s house; but such a course would have excited notice. He felt that Millicent would think it strange if he went there early. Time was of the greatest importance, but he felt that he must not be too hasty, so seated himself to try and calm the throbbings of his brain, and to make himself cool and judicial for the task he had in hand.
Soon after seven he walked quietly downstairs, and took his hat. It would excite no surprise, he thought, for him to be going for a morning walk, and, drawing in a long breath of the sweet refreshing air, he began to stride up the street.
“How bright and beautiful is thy earth, O God!” he murmured, as the delicious morning sunshine bathed his face, “and how we mar and destroy its beauties with our wretched scheming and plans! Ah! I must not feel like this,” he muttered, as a restful hopefulness born of the early day seemed to be infusing itself throughout his being.
He had no occasion to check the feeling of content and rest, for he had not gone a dozen yards before the whole force of his position flashed upon him. He felt that he was a plotter against the prosperity of the town—that scores of the people whose homes he was passing were beginning the day in happy ignorance that perhaps the savings of a life were in jeopardy. Ought he not to warn them at once, and bid them save what they could out of the fire?
For his conscience smote him, asking him, how he, a clergyman, the preacher of truth and justice and innocence, could be going to temporise, almost to join in the fraud by what he was about to do?
“How can I meet my people after this?” he asked himself; and his face grew careworn and lined. The old reproach against him had passed away. No one could have called him young and boyish-looking now.
“Morning, sir,” cried a harsh voice.
Bayle started, and flushed like some guilty creature, for he had come suddenly upon old Gemp as he supposed, though the reverse was really the case.
“Going for a walk, sir?” said Gemp, pointing at him, and scanning his face searchingly.
“Yes, Mr Gemp. Fine morning, is it not?”
Gemp stood shaving himself with one finger, as the curate passed on, and made a curious rasping noise as the rough finger passed over the stubble. Then he shook his head and began to follow slowly and at a long distance.
“I felt as if that man could read my very thoughts,” said Bayle, as he went along the street, past the bank, and out into the north road that led towards the mill.
He shuddered as he passed Dixons’, and pictured to himself what would happen if the doors were closed and an excited crowd of depositors were hungering for their money.
“It must be stopped at any cost,” he muttered; and once more the sweet sad face of Millicent seemed to be looking into his for help.
“I ought to have suspected him before,” he continued; “but how could I, when even Sir Gordon could see no wrong? Ha! Yes. Perhaps Thickens is mistaken after all. It may be, as he said, only suspicion.”
His heart seemed like lead, though, the next moment, as he neared the clerk’s house. Thickens was too just, too careful a man to have been wrong.
He stopped, and rapped with his knuckles at the door directly after, to find it opened by Thickens himself, and, as the clerk drew back, he passed in, ignorant of the fact that Gemp was shaving himself with his rough forefinger a hundred yards away, and saying to himself, “Which is it? Thickens going to marry skinny Heathery on the sly; or something wrong? I shan’t be long before I know.”
The brightness of the morning seemed to be shut out as the clerk closed the door, and followed his visitor into the sitting-room.
“Well, Mr Bayle,” he said, for the curate was silent. “You’ve come to say something particular.”
“Yes,” said Bayle firmly. “Thickens, this exposure would be too horrible. It must not take place.”
“Ah,” said Thickens in his quiet, grave way, “you’re the Hallams’ friend.”
“I hope I am the friend of every one in this town.”
“And you advise me to keep this quiet and let your friends be robbed?”
“Silence, man! How dare you speak to me like that?” cried Bayle furiously, and he took a step in advance. “No, no,” he said, checking himself, and holding out his hand; “we must be calm and sensible over this, Thickens. There must be no temper. Now listen. You remember what I said you must do last night.”
“Yes; andI’mgoing directly after breakfast to Sir Gordon.”
“No; I retract my words. You must not go.”
“And the people who have been robbed?”
“Wait a few moments, Thickens,” cried Bayle, flushing, as he saw that his hand was not taken. “Hear me out. You—yes, surely, you have some respect for Mrs Hallam—some love for her sweet child.”
Thickens nodded.
“Think, then, man, of the horrible disgrace—the ruin that would follow your disclosures.”
“Yes; it is very horrid, sir; but I must do my duty. You owned to it last night.”
“Yes, man, yes; but surely there are times when we may try and avert some of the horrors that would fall upon the heads of the innocent and true.”
“That don’t sound like what a parson ought to say,” said Thickens dryly.
Bayle flushed angrily again, but he kept down his wrath.
“James Thickens,” he said coldly, “you mistake me.”
“No,” said Thickens, “you spoke out like a man last night. This morning, sir, you speak like Robert Hallam’s friend.”
“Yes; as his friend—as the friend of his wife; as one who loves his child. Now listen, Thickens. To what amount do you suppose Hallam is a defaulter?”
“How can I tell, sir? It is impossible to say. It can’t be hushed up.”
“It must, it shall be hushed up,” said Bayle sternly. “Now, look here; I insist upon your keeping what you know quiet for the present.”
Thickens shook his head.
“I did not tell you, but Sir Gordon suspects something to be wrong.”
“Sir Gordon does, sir?”
“Yes; he consulted me about the matter.”
“Then my course is easy,” said Thickens brightening.
“Not so easy, perhaps, as you think,” said Bayle coldly. “You must be silent till I have seen Hallam.”
“Seen him, sir? Why, it’s giving him warning to escape.”
“Seen him and Sir Gordon, James Thickens. It would be a terrible scandal for Dixons’ Bank if it were known, and utter ruin and disgrace for Hallam.”
“Yes,” said Thickens, “and he deserves it.”
“We must not talk about our deserts, Thickens,” said Bayle gravely. “Now listen to me. I find I can realise in a very few days the sum of twenty-four thousand pounds.”
Thickens’s eyes dilated.
“Whatever amount of that is needed, even to the whole, I am going to place in Robert Hallam’s hands, to clear himself and redeem these securities, and then he must leave the town quietly, and in good repute.”
“In good repute?”
“For his wife’s sake, sir. Do you understand?”
“No,” said Thickens quietly. “No man could understand such a sacrifice as that. You mean to say that you are going to give up your fortune—all you have—to save that gambling scoundrel from what he deserves?”
“Yes.”
“But, Mr Bayle—”
“Silence! I have made my plans, sir. Now, Mr Thickens, you see that I am not going to defraud the customers of the bank, but to replace their deeds.”
“God bless you, sir! I beg your pardon humbly. I’m a poor ignorant brute, with no head for anything but figures and—my fish. And just now I wouldn’t take your hand. Mr Bayle, sir, will you forgive me?”
“Forgive! I honour you, Thickens, as a sterling, honest man—shake hands. There, now you know my plans.”
“Oh yes, sir, I understand you!” cried Thickens; “but you must not do that, sir. You must not indeed!”
“I can do as I please with my own, Thickens. Save for my charities, money is of little use to me. There, now I must go. I shall see Hallam as soon as he is at the bank. I will not go to his house, for nothing must be done to excite suspicion. You will help me?”
Thickens hesitated.
“I ask it for Mrs Hallam’s sake—for the sake of Doctor and Mrs Luttrell. Come, you will help me in this. You came to me for my advice last night. I have changed it during the past few hours. There, I have you on my side?”
“Yes, sir; but you must hold me free with Sir Gordon. Bah! no; I’ll take my chance, sir. Yes: I’ll help you as you wish.”
“I trust you will, Thickens,” said Bayle quietly.
“And you are determined, sir?—your fortune—all you have?”
“I am determined. I shall see you at the bank about ten.”
Volume Two—Chapter Eight.Brought to Book.“He—he—he—he—he! how cunning they do think themselves! What jolly owd orstridges they are!” chuckled old Gemp, as he saw Bayle leave the clerk’s house, and return home to his breakfast. “Dear me! dear me! to think of James Thickens marrying that old maid! Ah well! Of course, he didn’t go to her house for nothing!”He was in the street, again, about ten, when the curate came out, and, as soon as he saw him, Gemp doubled down one of the side lanes to get round to the church, and secure a good place.“They won’t know in the town till it’s over,” he chuckled. “Sly trick! He—he—he!”The old fellow hurried round into the churchyard, getting before Bayle, as he thought, and posting himself where he could meet the curate coming in at the gate, and give him a look which should mean, “Ah! you can’t get over me!”An observer would have found old Gemp’s countenance a study, as he stood there, waiting for Bayle to come, and meaning afterwards to stay and see Thickens and Miss Heathery come in. But from where he stood he could see the bank, and, to his surprise, he saw James Thickens come out on the step, and directly after the curate went up to him, and they entered the place together.Gemp’s countenance lengthened, and he began shaving himself directly, his eyes falling upon one of the mouldering old tombstones, upon which he involuntarily read:“Lay not up for yourselves treasure—” The rest had mouldered away.“Where thieves break through and steal,” cried Gemp, whose jaw dropped. “They’re a consulting—parson and Sir Gordon—parson and Thickens twiced—parson at the bank—Hallam up to his eyes in debt!”He reeled, so strong was his emotion, but he recovered himself directly.“My deeds! my money!” he gasped, “my—”He could utter no more, for a strange giddiness assailed him, and after clutching for a moment in the air, he fell down in a fit.“Yes, he’s in his room, sir,” said Thickens, meeting Bayle at the bank door. “I’ll tell him you are here.”Hallam required no telling. He had seen Bayle come up, and he appeared at the door of his room so calm and cool that his visitor felt a moment’s hesitation.“Want to see me, Bayle? Business? Come in.”The door closed behind the curate, and James Thickens screwed his face into wrinkles, and buttoned his coat up to the last button, as he seated himself upon his stool.“Well, what can I do for you, Bayle?” said Hallam, seating himself at his table, after placing a chair for his visitor, which was not taken.Bayle did not answer, but stood gazing down at the smooth, handsome-looking man, with his artificial smile and easy manner; and it seemed as if the events of the past few years—since he came, so young and inexperienced, to the town—were flitting by him.“A little money?—a little accommodation?” said Hallam, as his visitor did not speak.Could Thickens be wrong? No: impossible. Too many little things, that had seemed unimportant before, now grew to a vast significance, and Bayle cast aside his hesitancy, and, taking a step forward, laid his hand upon the table.“Robert Hallam!” he said, in a low, deep voice, full of emotion, “are you aware of your position—how you stand?”The manager started slightly, but the spasm passed in a moment, and he said calmly, with a smile:“My position? How I stand? I do not comprehend you! My dear Bayle, what do you mean?” The curate gazed in his eyes, a calm, firm, judicial look in his countenance; but Hallam did not flinch. And again the idea flashed across the visitor’s mind, “Suppose Thickens should be wrong!”Again, though, he cast off his hesitation, and spoke out firmly.“Let me be plain with you, Robert Hallam, and show you the precipice upon whose edge you stand.”“Good heavens, Mr Bayle, are you ill?” said Hallam in the coolest manner.“Yes; sick at heart, to find of what treachery to employers, to wife and child, a man like you can be guilty. Hallam, your great sin is discovered! What have you to say?”“Say!” cried Hallam, laughing scornfully, “say, in words that you use so often, ‘Who made you a ruler and a judge?’ What do you mean?”“I came neither as ruler nor judge, but as the friend of your wife and child. There—as your friend. Man, it is of no use to dissimulate!”“Dissimulate, sir!”“Am I to be plainer?” cried Bayle angrily, “and tell you that but for my interposition James Thickens would at this moment be with Sir Gordon and Mr Dixon, exposing your rascality.”“My rascality! How dare—”“Dare!” cried Bayle sternly. “Cast off this contemptible mask, and be frank. Do I not tell you I come as a friend?”“Then explain yourself.”“I will,” said Bayle; and for a few minutes there was a silence almost appalling. The clock upon the mantelpiece ticked loudly; the stool upon which James Thickens sat in the outer office gave a loud scroop; and a large bluebottle fly shut in the room beat itself heavily against the panes in its efforts to escape.Bayle was alternately flushed and pale. Hallam, perfectly calm, paler than usual, but beyond seeming hurt and annoyed, there was nothing to indicate the truth of the terrible charge being brought against him.“Well, sir,” he said at last, “why do you not speak?”Bayle gazed at him wonderingly, for all thought of his innocence had passed away.“I will speak, Hallam,” he said. “Tell me the amount for which the deeds you have abstracted from that safe are pledged.”“The deeds I have abstracted from that safe?” said Hallam, rising slowly, and standing at his full height, with his head thrown back.“Yes; and in whose place you have installed forgeries, dummies—imitations, if you will.”That blow was too straight—too heavy to be resisted. Hallam dropped back in his chair; while James Thickens, at his desk behind the bank counter, heard the shock, and then fidgeted in his seat, and rubbed his right ear, as he heard Hallam speak of him in a low voice, and say hoarsely:“Thickens, then, has told you this?”“Yes,” said Bayle in a lower tone. “He came to me for advice, and I bade him do his duty.”“Hah!” said Hallam, and his eyes wandered about the room.“This morning I begged him to wait.”“Hah!” ejaculated Hallam again, and now there was a sharp twitching about his closely-shaven lips. “And you said that you came as our friend?”“I did.”“What do you mean?”Bayle waited for a few moments, and then said slowly: “If you will redeem those deeds with which you have been entrusted, and go from here, and commence a new career of honesty, I will, for your wife and child’s sake, find the necessary money.”“You will? You will do this, Bayle?” cried Hallam, extending his hands, which were not taken.“I have told you I will,” said Bayle coldly. “But—the amount?”“How many thousands are they pledged for?—to some bank, of course?”“It was to cover an unfortunate speculation. I—”“I do not ask you for explanations,” said Bayle coldly. “What amount will clear your defalcations?”“Twenty to twenty-one thousand,” said Hallam, watching the effect of his words.“I will find the money within a week,” said Bayle.“Then all will be kept quiet?”“Sir Gordon must be told.”“No, no; there is no need of that. The affairs will be put straight, and matters can go on as before. It was an accident; I could not help it. Stop, man, what are you going to do?”“Call in Mr Thickens,” said Bayle.“To expose and degrade me in his eyes!”Bayle turned upon him a withering contemptuous look.“I expose you? Why, man, but for me you would have been in the hands of the officers by now. Mr Thickens!”Thickens got slowly down from his stool and entered the manager’s room, where Hallam met his eye with a look that made the clerk think of what would have been his chances of life had opportunity served for him to be silenced for ever.“I have promised Mr Hallam to find twenty-one thousand pounds within a week—to enable him to redeem the securities he has pledged.”“And under these circumstances, Mr Thickens, there is no need for this trouble to be exposed.”“Not to the public perhaps,” said Thickens slowly, “but Sir Gordon and Mr Dixon ought to know.”“No, no,” cried Hallam, “there is no need. Don’t you see, man, that the money will be made right?”“No, sir, I only see one thing,” said Thickens sturdily, “and that is that I have my duty to do.”“But you will ruin me, Thickens.”“You’ve ruined yourself, Mr Hallam; I’ve waited too long.”“Stop, Mr Thickens,” said Bayle. “I pay this heavy sum of money to save Mr Hallam from utter ruin. The bank will be the gainer by twenty thousand pounds.”“Twenty-one thousand you offered, sir,” said Thickens.“Exactly. More if it is needed. If you expose this terrible affair to Sir Gordon and Mr Dixon they may feel it their duty to hand Mr Hallam over to the hands of justice. He must be saved from that.”“What can I do, sir? There, then,” said Thickens, “since you put it so I will keep to it, but only on one condition.”“And what is that?”“Mr Hallam must go away from the bank and leave all keys with me and Mr Trampleasure.”“But what excuse am I to make?” said Hallam huskily.“I don’t think you want teaching how to stop at home for a few days, Mr Hallam,” said Thickens sternly; “you can be ill for a little while. It will not be the first time.”“I will agree to anything,” said Hallam excitedly, “only save me from that other horror. Bayle, for our old friendship’s sake, for the sake of my poor wife and child, save me from that.”“Am I not fighting to save you for their sake?” said Bayle bitterly. “Do you suppose that I am as conscienceless as yourself, and that I do not feel how despicable, how dishonest a part I am playing in hindering James Thickens from exposing your rascality? There, enough of this: let us bring this terribly painful meeting, with its miserable subterfuges, to an end. Thickens is right; you must leave this building at once and not enter it again. He must take all in charge until your successor is found.”“As you will,” said Hallam, humbly. “There are the keys, Thickens, and I am really ill. When Mr Bayle brings the money I will help in every way I can. There.”Bayle hesitated a moment, and then mastered his dislike. “Come,” he said to Hallam, “there must be no whisper of this trouble in the town. I will walk down with you to your house.”“As my gaoler?” said Hallam with a sneer.“As another proof of what I am ready to sacrifice to save you,” said Bayle. He walked with him as far as his door.“Stop a moment,” said Hallam in a whisper. “You will do this for me, Bayle?”“I have told you I would,” replied the curate coldly. “And at once?”“At once.”“You will have to bring me the money. No, you must go up to town with me, and we can redeem the papers. It will be better so.”“As you will,” said Bayle. “I have told you that I will help you, will put myself at your service. I will let you know when I can be ready. Rest assured I shall waste no time in removing as much of this shadow as I can from above their heads.”He met Hallam’s eyes as he spoke, just as the latter had been furtively Measuring, as it were, his height and strength, and then they parted.End of Volume One.
“He—he—he—he—he! how cunning they do think themselves! What jolly owd orstridges they are!” chuckled old Gemp, as he saw Bayle leave the clerk’s house, and return home to his breakfast. “Dear me! dear me! to think of James Thickens marrying that old maid! Ah well! Of course, he didn’t go to her house for nothing!”
He was in the street, again, about ten, when the curate came out, and, as soon as he saw him, Gemp doubled down one of the side lanes to get round to the church, and secure a good place.
“They won’t know in the town till it’s over,” he chuckled. “Sly trick! He—he—he!”
The old fellow hurried round into the churchyard, getting before Bayle, as he thought, and posting himself where he could meet the curate coming in at the gate, and give him a look which should mean, “Ah! you can’t get over me!”
An observer would have found old Gemp’s countenance a study, as he stood there, waiting for Bayle to come, and meaning afterwards to stay and see Thickens and Miss Heathery come in. But from where he stood he could see the bank, and, to his surprise, he saw James Thickens come out on the step, and directly after the curate went up to him, and they entered the place together.
Gemp’s countenance lengthened, and he began shaving himself directly, his eyes falling upon one of the mouldering old tombstones, upon which he involuntarily read:
“Lay not up for yourselves treasure—” The rest had mouldered away.
“Where thieves break through and steal,” cried Gemp, whose jaw dropped. “They’re a consulting—parson and Sir Gordon—parson and Thickens twiced—parson at the bank—Hallam up to his eyes in debt!”
He reeled, so strong was his emotion, but he recovered himself directly.
“My deeds! my money!” he gasped, “my—”
He could utter no more, for a strange giddiness assailed him, and after clutching for a moment in the air, he fell down in a fit.
“Yes, he’s in his room, sir,” said Thickens, meeting Bayle at the bank door. “I’ll tell him you are here.”
Hallam required no telling. He had seen Bayle come up, and he appeared at the door of his room so calm and cool that his visitor felt a moment’s hesitation.
“Want to see me, Bayle? Business? Come in.”
The door closed behind the curate, and James Thickens screwed his face into wrinkles, and buttoned his coat up to the last button, as he seated himself upon his stool.
“Well, what can I do for you, Bayle?” said Hallam, seating himself at his table, after placing a chair for his visitor, which was not taken.
Bayle did not answer, but stood gazing down at the smooth, handsome-looking man, with his artificial smile and easy manner; and it seemed as if the events of the past few years—since he came, so young and inexperienced, to the town—were flitting by him.
“A little money?—a little accommodation?” said Hallam, as his visitor did not speak.
Could Thickens be wrong? No: impossible. Too many little things, that had seemed unimportant before, now grew to a vast significance, and Bayle cast aside his hesitancy, and, taking a step forward, laid his hand upon the table.
“Robert Hallam!” he said, in a low, deep voice, full of emotion, “are you aware of your position—how you stand?”
The manager started slightly, but the spasm passed in a moment, and he said calmly, with a smile:
“My position? How I stand? I do not comprehend you! My dear Bayle, what do you mean?” The curate gazed in his eyes, a calm, firm, judicial look in his countenance; but Hallam did not flinch. And again the idea flashed across the visitor’s mind, “Suppose Thickens should be wrong!”
Again, though, he cast off his hesitation, and spoke out firmly.
“Let me be plain with you, Robert Hallam, and show you the precipice upon whose edge you stand.”
“Good heavens, Mr Bayle, are you ill?” said Hallam in the coolest manner.
“Yes; sick at heart, to find of what treachery to employers, to wife and child, a man like you can be guilty. Hallam, your great sin is discovered! What have you to say?”
“Say!” cried Hallam, laughing scornfully, “say, in words that you use so often, ‘Who made you a ruler and a judge?’ What do you mean?”
“I came neither as ruler nor judge, but as the friend of your wife and child. There—as your friend. Man, it is of no use to dissimulate!”
“Dissimulate, sir!”
“Am I to be plainer?” cried Bayle angrily, “and tell you that but for my interposition James Thickens would at this moment be with Sir Gordon and Mr Dixon, exposing your rascality.”
“My rascality! How dare—”
“Dare!” cried Bayle sternly. “Cast off this contemptible mask, and be frank. Do I not tell you I come as a friend?”
“Then explain yourself.”
“I will,” said Bayle; and for a few minutes there was a silence almost appalling. The clock upon the mantelpiece ticked loudly; the stool upon which James Thickens sat in the outer office gave a loud scroop; and a large bluebottle fly shut in the room beat itself heavily against the panes in its efforts to escape.
Bayle was alternately flushed and pale. Hallam, perfectly calm, paler than usual, but beyond seeming hurt and annoyed, there was nothing to indicate the truth of the terrible charge being brought against him.
“Well, sir,” he said at last, “why do you not speak?”
Bayle gazed at him wonderingly, for all thought of his innocence had passed away.
“I will speak, Hallam,” he said. “Tell me the amount for which the deeds you have abstracted from that safe are pledged.”
“The deeds I have abstracted from that safe?” said Hallam, rising slowly, and standing at his full height, with his head thrown back.
“Yes; and in whose place you have installed forgeries, dummies—imitations, if you will.”
That blow was too straight—too heavy to be resisted. Hallam dropped back in his chair; while James Thickens, at his desk behind the bank counter, heard the shock, and then fidgeted in his seat, and rubbed his right ear, as he heard Hallam speak of him in a low voice, and say hoarsely:
“Thickens, then, has told you this?”
“Yes,” said Bayle in a lower tone. “He came to me for advice, and I bade him do his duty.”
“Hah!” said Hallam, and his eyes wandered about the room.
“This morning I begged him to wait.”
“Hah!” ejaculated Hallam again, and now there was a sharp twitching about his closely-shaven lips. “And you said that you came as our friend?”
“I did.”
“What do you mean?”
Bayle waited for a few moments, and then said slowly: “If you will redeem those deeds with which you have been entrusted, and go from here, and commence a new career of honesty, I will, for your wife and child’s sake, find the necessary money.”
“You will? You will do this, Bayle?” cried Hallam, extending his hands, which were not taken.
“I have told you I will,” said Bayle coldly. “But—the amount?”
“How many thousands are they pledged for?—to some bank, of course?”
“It was to cover an unfortunate speculation. I—”
“I do not ask you for explanations,” said Bayle coldly. “What amount will clear your defalcations?”
“Twenty to twenty-one thousand,” said Hallam, watching the effect of his words.
“I will find the money within a week,” said Bayle.
“Then all will be kept quiet?”
“Sir Gordon must be told.”
“No, no; there is no need of that. The affairs will be put straight, and matters can go on as before. It was an accident; I could not help it. Stop, man, what are you going to do?”
“Call in Mr Thickens,” said Bayle.
“To expose and degrade me in his eyes!”
Bayle turned upon him a withering contemptuous look.
“I expose you? Why, man, but for me you would have been in the hands of the officers by now. Mr Thickens!”
Thickens got slowly down from his stool and entered the manager’s room, where Hallam met his eye with a look that made the clerk think of what would have been his chances of life had opportunity served for him to be silenced for ever.
“I have promised Mr Hallam to find twenty-one thousand pounds within a week—to enable him to redeem the securities he has pledged.”
“And under these circumstances, Mr Thickens, there is no need for this trouble to be exposed.”
“Not to the public perhaps,” said Thickens slowly, “but Sir Gordon and Mr Dixon ought to know.”
“No, no,” cried Hallam, “there is no need. Don’t you see, man, that the money will be made right?”
“No, sir, I only see one thing,” said Thickens sturdily, “and that is that I have my duty to do.”
“But you will ruin me, Thickens.”
“You’ve ruined yourself, Mr Hallam; I’ve waited too long.”
“Stop, Mr Thickens,” said Bayle. “I pay this heavy sum of money to save Mr Hallam from utter ruin. The bank will be the gainer by twenty thousand pounds.”
“Twenty-one thousand you offered, sir,” said Thickens.
“Exactly. More if it is needed. If you expose this terrible affair to Sir Gordon and Mr Dixon they may feel it their duty to hand Mr Hallam over to the hands of justice. He must be saved from that.”
“What can I do, sir? There, then,” said Thickens, “since you put it so I will keep to it, but only on one condition.”
“And what is that?”
“Mr Hallam must go away from the bank and leave all keys with me and Mr Trampleasure.”
“But what excuse am I to make?” said Hallam huskily.
“I don’t think you want teaching how to stop at home for a few days, Mr Hallam,” said Thickens sternly; “you can be ill for a little while. It will not be the first time.”
“I will agree to anything,” said Hallam excitedly, “only save me from that other horror. Bayle, for our old friendship’s sake, for the sake of my poor wife and child, save me from that.”
“Am I not fighting to save you for their sake?” said Bayle bitterly. “Do you suppose that I am as conscienceless as yourself, and that I do not feel how despicable, how dishonest a part I am playing in hindering James Thickens from exposing your rascality? There, enough of this: let us bring this terribly painful meeting, with its miserable subterfuges, to an end. Thickens is right; you must leave this building at once and not enter it again. He must take all in charge until your successor is found.”
“As you will,” said Hallam, humbly. “There are the keys, Thickens, and I am really ill. When Mr Bayle brings the money I will help in every way I can. There.”
Bayle hesitated a moment, and then mastered his dislike. “Come,” he said to Hallam, “there must be no whisper of this trouble in the town. I will walk down with you to your house.”
“As my gaoler?” said Hallam with a sneer.
“As another proof of what I am ready to sacrifice to save you,” said Bayle. He walked with him as far as his door.
“Stop a moment,” said Hallam in a whisper. “You will do this for me, Bayle?”
“I have told you I would,” replied the curate coldly. “And at once?”
“At once.”
“You will have to bring me the money. No, you must go up to town with me, and we can redeem the papers. It will be better so.”
“As you will,” said Bayle. “I have told you that I will help you, will put myself at your service. I will let you know when I can be ready. Rest assured I shall waste no time in removing as much of this shadow as I can from above their heads.”
He met Hallam’s eyes as he spoke, just as the latter had been furtively Measuring, as it were, his height and strength, and then they parted.
End of Volume One.
Volume Two—Chapter Nine.A Few Words on Love.“What has papa been doing in the lumber-room, mamma?” asked Julia that same evening.“Examining some of the old furniture there, my dear,” said Millicent, looking up with a smile. “I think he is going to have it turned into a play-room for you.”“Oh!” said Julia indifferently; and she turned her thoughtful little face away, while her mother rose with the careworn look that so often sat there, giving place to the happy, maternal smile that came whenever she was alone with her child.“Why, Julie darling, you seem so quiet and dull to-night. Your little head is hot. You are not unwell, dear?”She knelt down beside the child, and drew the soft little head to her shoulder, and laid her cheek to the burning forehead.“That is nice,” said the child, with a sigh of content. “Oh! mamma, it does do me so much good. My head doesn’t ache now.”“And did it ache before?”“Yes, a little,” said the child thoughtfully, and turning up her face, she kissed the sweet countenance that was by her side again and again. “I do love you so, mamma.”“Why of course you do, my dear.”“I don’t think I love papa.”“Julie!” cried Millicent, starting from her as if she had been stung. “Oh I my child, my child,” she continued, with passionate energy, “if you only knew how that hurts me. My darling, you do—you do love him more than you love me.”Julia shook her head and gazed back full in her mother’s eyes, as Millicent held her back at arm’s length, and then caught her to her breast, sobbing wildly.“Ido try to love him, mamma,” said the child, speaking quickly, in a half-frightened tone; “but when I put my arms round his neck and kiss him he pushes me away. I don’t think he loves me; he seems so cross with me. But if it makes you cry, I’m going to try and love him ever so much. There.”She kissed her mother with all a child’s effusion, and nestled close to her.“He does love you, my darling,” said Millicent, holding the child tightly to her, “as dearly as he loves me, andI’mgoing to tell you why papa looks so serious sometimes. It is because he has so many business cares and troubles.”“But why does papa have so many business cares and troubles?” said the child, throwing back her head, and beginning to toy with her mother’s hair.“Because he has to think about making money, and saving, so as to render us independent, my darling. It is because he loves us both that he works so hard and is so serious.”“I wish he would not,” said the child. “I wish he would love me ever so instead, like Mr Bayle does. Mamma, why has not Mr Bayle been here to-day?”“I don’t know, my child; he has been away perhaps.”“But he did walk to the door with papa, and then did not come in.”“Maybe he is busy, my dear.”“Oh! I do wish people would not be busy,” said the child pettishly, “it makes them so disagreeable. Thibs is always being busy, and then oh! she is so cross.”“Why, Julie, you want people always to be laughing and playing with you.”“No, no, mamma, I like to work sometimes—with Mr Bayle and learn, and so I do like the lessons I learn with you. You never look cross at me, and Mr Bayle never does.”“But, my darling, the world could not go on if people were never serious. Why, the sun does not always shine: there are clouds over it sometimes.”“But it’s always shining behind the clouds, Mr Bayle says.”“And so is papa’s love for his darling shining behind the clouds—the serious looks that come upon his face,” cried Millicent. “There, you must remember that.”“Yes,” said the child, nodding, and drawing two clusters of curls away from her mother’s face to look up at it laughingly and then kiss her again and again. “Oh! how pretty you are, mamma! I never saw any one with a face like yours.”“Silence, little nonsense talker,” cried Millicent, with her face all happy smiles and the old look of her unmarried life coming back as she returned the child’s caresses.“I never did,” continued Julia, tracing the outlines of the countenance that bent over her, with one rosy finger. “Grandma’s is very, very nice, and I like grandpa’s face, but it is very rough. Mamma!”“Well, my darling.”“Does papa love you very, very much?”“Very, very much, my darling,” said her mother proudly.“And do you love him very, very much?”“Heaven only knows how dearly,” said Millicent in a deep, low voice that came from her heart.“But does papa know too?”“Why, of course, my darling.”“I wish he would not say such cross things to you sometimes.”“Yes, we both wish he had not so much trouble. Why, what a little babbler it is to-night! Have you any more questions to ask before we go up and fetch papa down and play to him?”“Don’t go yet,” cried the child. “I like to talk to you this way, it’s so nice. I say, mamma, do people get married because they love one another?”“Hush, hush! what next?” said Millicent smiling, as she laid her hand upon the child’s lips. “Of course, of course.”Julie caught the hand in hers, kissed it, and held it fast.“Why does not Mr Bayle love some one?”A curious, fixed look came over Millicent’s face, and she gazed down at her babbling child in a half-frightened way.“He will some day,” she said at last.“No, he won’t,” said the child, shaking her head and looking very wise.“Why, what nonsense is this, Julie?”“I asked him one day when we were sitting out in the woods, and he looked at me almost like papa does, and then he jumped up and laughed, and called me a little chatterer, and made me run till I was out of breath. But I asked him, though.”“You asked him?”“Yes; I asked him if he would marry a beautiful lady some day, as beautiful as you are, and he took me in his arms and kissed me, and said that he never should, because he had got a little girl to love—he meant me. And oh! here’s papa: let’s tell him. No, I don’t think I will. I don’t think he likes Mr Bayle.”Millicent rose from her knees as Hallam entered the room, looking haggard and frowning. He glanced from one to the other, and then caught sight of himself in the glass, and saw that there was a patch as of lime or mortar upon his coat.He brushed it off quickly, being always scrupulously particular about his clothes, and then came towards them.“Send that child away,” he said harshly. “I want to be quiet.”Millicent bent down smiling over the child and kissed her.“Go to Thisbe now, my darling,” she whispered; “but say good-night first to papa, and then you will not have to come to him again. Perhaps he may be out.”The child’s face became grave with a gravity beyond its years. It was the mother’s young face repeated, with Hallam’s dark hair and eyes.She advanced to him, timidly putting out her hand, and bending forward with that sweetly innocent look of a child ready so trustingly to give itself into your arms as it asks for a caress.“Good-night, papa dear,” she cried in her little silvery voice.“Good-night, Julie, good-night,” he said abruptly; and he just patted her head, and was turning away, when he caught sight of the disappointed, troubled look coming over her countenance, paused half wonderingly, and then bent down and extended his hands to her.There was a quick hysteric cry, a passionate sob or two, and the child bounded into his arms, flung her arms round his neck, and kissed him, his lips, his cheeks, his eyes again and again, in a quick, excited manner.Hallam’s countenance wore a look of half-contemptuous doubt for a moment, as he glanced at his wife, and then the good that was in him mastered the ill. His face flushed, a spasm twitched it, and clasping his child to his breast, he held her there for a few moments, then kissed her tenderly, and set her down, her hair tumbled, her eyes wet, but her sweet countenance irradiated with joy, as, clasping her hands, she cried out:“Papa loves—he loves me, he loves me! I am so happy now.”Then half mad with childish joy, she turned, kissed her hands to both, and bounded out of the room.
“What has papa been doing in the lumber-room, mamma?” asked Julia that same evening.
“Examining some of the old furniture there, my dear,” said Millicent, looking up with a smile. “I think he is going to have it turned into a play-room for you.”
“Oh!” said Julia indifferently; and she turned her thoughtful little face away, while her mother rose with the careworn look that so often sat there, giving place to the happy, maternal smile that came whenever she was alone with her child.
“Why, Julie darling, you seem so quiet and dull to-night. Your little head is hot. You are not unwell, dear?”
She knelt down beside the child, and drew the soft little head to her shoulder, and laid her cheek to the burning forehead.
“That is nice,” said the child, with a sigh of content. “Oh! mamma, it does do me so much good. My head doesn’t ache now.”
“And did it ache before?”
“Yes, a little,” said the child thoughtfully, and turning up her face, she kissed the sweet countenance that was by her side again and again. “I do love you so, mamma.”
“Why of course you do, my dear.”
“I don’t think I love papa.”
“Julie!” cried Millicent, starting from her as if she had been stung. “Oh I my child, my child,” she continued, with passionate energy, “if you only knew how that hurts me. My darling, you do—you do love him more than you love me.”
Julia shook her head and gazed back full in her mother’s eyes, as Millicent held her back at arm’s length, and then caught her to her breast, sobbing wildly.
“Ido try to love him, mamma,” said the child, speaking quickly, in a half-frightened tone; “but when I put my arms round his neck and kiss him he pushes me away. I don’t think he loves me; he seems so cross with me. But if it makes you cry, I’m going to try and love him ever so much. There.”
She kissed her mother with all a child’s effusion, and nestled close to her.
“He does love you, my darling,” said Millicent, holding the child tightly to her, “as dearly as he loves me, andI’mgoing to tell you why papa looks so serious sometimes. It is because he has so many business cares and troubles.”
“But why does papa have so many business cares and troubles?” said the child, throwing back her head, and beginning to toy with her mother’s hair.
“Because he has to think about making money, and saving, so as to render us independent, my darling. It is because he loves us both that he works so hard and is so serious.”
“I wish he would not,” said the child. “I wish he would love me ever so instead, like Mr Bayle does. Mamma, why has not Mr Bayle been here to-day?”
“I don’t know, my child; he has been away perhaps.”
“But he did walk to the door with papa, and then did not come in.”
“Maybe he is busy, my dear.”
“Oh! I do wish people would not be busy,” said the child pettishly, “it makes them so disagreeable. Thibs is always being busy, and then oh! she is so cross.”
“Why, Julie, you want people always to be laughing and playing with you.”
“No, no, mamma, I like to work sometimes—with Mr Bayle and learn, and so I do like the lessons I learn with you. You never look cross at me, and Mr Bayle never does.”
“But, my darling, the world could not go on if people were never serious. Why, the sun does not always shine: there are clouds over it sometimes.”
“But it’s always shining behind the clouds, Mr Bayle says.”
“And so is papa’s love for his darling shining behind the clouds—the serious looks that come upon his face,” cried Millicent. “There, you must remember that.”
“Yes,” said the child, nodding, and drawing two clusters of curls away from her mother’s face to look up at it laughingly and then kiss her again and again. “Oh! how pretty you are, mamma! I never saw any one with a face like yours.”
“Silence, little nonsense talker,” cried Millicent, with her face all happy smiles and the old look of her unmarried life coming back as she returned the child’s caresses.
“I never did,” continued Julia, tracing the outlines of the countenance that bent over her, with one rosy finger. “Grandma’s is very, very nice, and I like grandpa’s face, but it is very rough. Mamma!”
“Well, my darling.”
“Does papa love you very, very much?”
“Very, very much, my darling,” said her mother proudly.
“And do you love him very, very much?”
“Heaven only knows how dearly,” said Millicent in a deep, low voice that came from her heart.
“But does papa know too?”
“Why, of course, my darling.”
“I wish he would not say such cross things to you sometimes.”
“Yes, we both wish he had not so much trouble. Why, what a little babbler it is to-night! Have you any more questions to ask before we go up and fetch papa down and play to him?”
“Don’t go yet,” cried the child. “I like to talk to you this way, it’s so nice. I say, mamma, do people get married because they love one another?”
“Hush, hush! what next?” said Millicent smiling, as she laid her hand upon the child’s lips. “Of course, of course.”
Julie caught the hand in hers, kissed it, and held it fast.
“Why does not Mr Bayle love some one?”
A curious, fixed look came over Millicent’s face, and she gazed down at her babbling child in a half-frightened way.
“He will some day,” she said at last.
“No, he won’t,” said the child, shaking her head and looking very wise.
“Why, what nonsense is this, Julie?”
“I asked him one day when we were sitting out in the woods, and he looked at me almost like papa does, and then he jumped up and laughed, and called me a little chatterer, and made me run till I was out of breath. But I asked him, though.”
“You asked him?”
“Yes; I asked him if he would marry a beautiful lady some day, as beautiful as you are, and he took me in his arms and kissed me, and said that he never should, because he had got a little girl to love—he meant me. And oh! here’s papa: let’s tell him. No, I don’t think I will. I don’t think he likes Mr Bayle.”
Millicent rose from her knees as Hallam entered the room, looking haggard and frowning. He glanced from one to the other, and then caught sight of himself in the glass, and saw that there was a patch as of lime or mortar upon his coat.
He brushed it off quickly, being always scrupulously particular about his clothes, and then came towards them.
“Send that child away,” he said harshly. “I want to be quiet.”
Millicent bent down smiling over the child and kissed her.
“Go to Thisbe now, my darling,” she whispered; “but say good-night first to papa, and then you will not have to come to him again. Perhaps he may be out.”
The child’s face became grave with a gravity beyond its years. It was the mother’s young face repeated, with Hallam’s dark hair and eyes.
She advanced to him, timidly putting out her hand, and bending forward with that sweetly innocent look of a child ready so trustingly to give itself into your arms as it asks for a caress.
“Good-night, papa dear,” she cried in her little silvery voice.
“Good-night, Julie, good-night,” he said abruptly; and he just patted her head, and was turning away, when he caught sight of the disappointed, troubled look coming over her countenance, paused half wonderingly, and then bent down and extended his hands to her.
There was a quick hysteric cry, a passionate sob or two, and the child bounded into his arms, flung her arms round his neck, and kissed him, his lips, his cheeks, his eyes again and again, in a quick, excited manner.
Hallam’s countenance wore a look of half-contemptuous doubt for a moment, as he glanced at his wife, and then the good that was in him mastered the ill. His face flushed, a spasm twitched it, and clasping his child to his breast, he held her there for a few moments, then kissed her tenderly, and set her down, her hair tumbled, her eyes wet, but her sweet countenance irradiated with joy, as, clasping her hands, she cried out:
“Papa loves—he loves me, he loves me! I am so happy now.”
Then half mad with childish joy, she turned, kissed her hands to both, and bounded out of the room.
Volume Two—Chapter Ten.Husband and Wife.There was a momentary silence, and then as the door closed, Millicent laid her hands upon her husband’s shoulders, and gazed tenderly in his face.“Robert, my own!” she whispered.No more; her eyes bespoke the mother’s joy at this breaking down of the ice between father and daughter. Then a look of surprise and pain came into those loving eyes, for Hallam repulsed her rudely.“It is your doing, yours, and that cursed parson’s work. The child has been taught to hate me. Curse him! He has been my enemy from the very first.”“Robert—husband! Oh, take back those words!” cried Millicent, throwing herself upon his breast. “You cannot mean it. You know I love you too well for that. How could you say it!”She clung to him for a few moments, gazing wildly in his face, and then she seemed to read it plainly.“No, no, don’t speak,” she cried tenderly. “I can see it all. You are in some great trouble, dear, or you would not have spoken like that. Robert, husband, I am your own wife; I have never pressed you for your confidence in all these money troubles you have borne; but now that something very grave has happened, let me share the load.”She pressed him back gently to a chair, and, overcome by her earnest love, he yielded and sank back slowly into the seat. The next instant she was at his knees, holding his hands to her throbbing breast.“No, I don’t mean what I said,” he muttered, with some show of tenderness; and a loving smile dawned upon Millicent’s careworn face.“Don’t speak of that,” she said. “It was only born of the trouble you are in. Let me help you, dear; let me share your sorrow with you. If only with my sympathy there may be some comfort.”He did not answer, but sat gazing straight before him.“Tell me, dear. Is it some money trouble? Some speculation has failed?”He nodded.“Then why not set all those ambitious thoughts aside, dear husband?” she said, nestling to him. “Give up everything, and let us begin again. With the love of my husband and my child, what have I to wish for? Robert, we love you so dearly. You, and not the money you can make, are all the world to us.”He looked at her suspiciously, for there was not room in his narrow mind for full faith in so much devotion. It was more than he could understand, but his manner was softer than it had been of late, as he said:“You do not understand such things.”“Then teach me,” she said smiling. “I will be so apt a pupil. I shall be working to free my husband from the toils and troubles in which he is ensnared.”He shook his head.“What, still keeping me out of your heart, Rob!” she whispered, with her eyes beaming love and devotion. Then, half-playfully and with a tremor in her voice, “Robert, my own brave lion amongst men, refuse the aid of the weak mouse who would gnaw the net?”“Pish, you talk like a child,” he cried contemptuously. “Net, indeed!” and in his insensate rage, he piled his hatred upon the man who had stepped in to save him. “But for that cursed fellow, Bayle, this would not have happened.”“Robert, darling, you mistake him. You do not know his heart. How true he is! If he has gone against you in some business matter, it is because he is conscientious and believes you wrong.”“And you side with him, and believe too?”“I?” she cried proudly. “You are my husband, and whatever may be your trouble, I stand with you against the world.”“Brave girl!” he cried warmly; “now you speak like a true woman. I will trust you, and you shall help me. I did not think you had it in you, Milly. That’s better.”“Then you will trust me?”“Yes,” he said, raising one hand to his face, and beginning nervously to bite his nails. “I will trust you; perhaps you can help me out of this cursed trap.”“Yes, I will,” she cried. “I feel that I can. Oh, Robert, let it be always thus in the future. Treat me as your partner, your inferior in brain and power, but still your helpmate. I will toil so hard to make myself worthy of my husband. Now tell me everything. Stop! I know,” she cried; “it is something connected with the visits of that Mr Crellock, that man you helped in his difficulties years ago.”“I helped? Who told you that?”She smiled.“Ah! these things are so talked of. Mrs Pinet told Miss Heathery, and she came and told me. I felt so proud of you, dear, for your unselfish behaviour towards this man. Do you suppose I forget his coming on our wedding-day, and how troubled you were till you had sent him away by the coach?”“You said nothing?”“Said nothing? Was I ever one to pry into my husband’s business matters? I said to myself that I would wait till he thought me old enough in years, clever enough in wisdom, to be trusted. And now, after this long probation, you will trust me, love?”He nodded.“And your troubles shall grow less by being shared. Now tell me I am right about it. Your worry is due to this Mr Crellock?”“Yes,” he said in a low voice.“I knew it,” she cried. “You have always been troubled when he came down, and when you went up to town. I knew as well as if you had told me that you had seen him when you went up. There was always the same harassed, careworn look in your eyes; and Robert, darling, if you had known how it has made me suffer, you would have come to me for consolation, if not for help.”“Ah! yes, perhaps.”“Now go on,” she said firmly, and rising from her place by his knees, she took a chair and drew it near him.“There,” she said smiling; “you shall see how business-like I will be.”He sat with his brow knit for a few minutes, and then drew a long breath.“You are right,” he said. “Stephen Crellock is mixed up with it. You shall know all. And mind this, whatever people may say—”“Whatever people may say!” she exclaimed contemptuously.“I am innocent; my hands are clean.”“As if I needed telling that,” she said with a proud smile. “Now I am waiting, tell me all.”“Oh, there is little to tell,” he said quickly. “That fellow Crellock, by his plausible baits, has led me into all kinds of speculations.”“I thought so,” she said to herself.“I failed in one, and then he tempted me to try another to cover my loss; and so it went on and on, till—”“Till what?” she said with her eyes dilating; and a chill feeling of horror which startled her began to creep to her heart.“Till the losses were so great that large sums of money were necessary, and—”“Robert!”“Don’t look at me in that way, Milly,” he said, with a half-laugh, “you are not going to begin by distrusting me?”“No, no,” she panted.“Well, till large sums were necessary, and the scoundrel literally forced me to raise money from the bank.”She felt the evil increasing; but she forced it away with the warm glow of her love.“I’ve been worried to death,” he continued, “to put these things straight, and it is this that has kept me so poor.”“Yes, I see,” she cried. “Oh, Robert, how you must have suffered!”“Ah! Yes! I have,” he said; “but never mind that. Well, I was getting things straight as fast as I could; and all would now have been right again had not Bayle and his miserable jackal, Thickens, scented out the trouble, and they have seized me by the throat.”“But, Robert, why not clear yourself? Why not go to Sir Gordon? He would help you.”“Sir Gordon does not like me. But there, I have a few days to turn myself round in, and then all will come right; but if—”He stopped, and looked rather curiously.“Yes?” she said, laying her hand in his.“If my enemies should triumph. If Bayle—”“If Mr Bayle—”“Silence!” he said. “I have told you that this man is my cruel enemy. He has never forgiven me for robbing him of you.”“You did not rob him,” she said tenderly. “But are you not mistaken in Mr Bayle?”“You are, in your sweet womanly innocency and trustfulness. I tell you he is my enemy, and trying to hound me down.”“Let me speak to him.”“I forbid it,” he cried fiercely. “Choose your part. Are you with me or the men whom I know to be my enemies? Will you stand by me whatever happens?”“You know,” she said, with a trustful smile in her eyes.“That’s my brave wife,” he said. “This is better. If my enemies do get the better of me—if, for Crellock’s faults, charges are brought against me—if I am by necessity forced to yield, and think it better to go right away from here for a time—suddenly—will you come?”“And leave my mother and father?”“Are not a husband’s claims stronger? Tell me, will you go with me?”“To the world’s end, Robert,” she cried, rising and throwing her arms about his neck. “I am glad that this trouble has come.”“Glad?”“Yes, for it has taught you at last the strength of your wife’s love.”He drew her to his heart, and kissed her, and there she clung for a time.“Now listen,” he said, putting her from him. “We must be business-like.”“Yes,” she said firmly.“The old people must not have the least suspicion that we have any idea of leaving.”“Might I not bid them good-bye?”“No. That is, if we left. We may not have to go. If we do, it must be suddenly.”“And in the meantime?”“You must wait.”Just then the door opened, and Thisbe appeared.“There’s a gentleman to see you, sir—that Mr Crellock.”“Show him in my study, and I’ll come.”Thisbe disappeared, and Millicent laid her hand upon her husband’s arm.“Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly. “I know how to deal with him now. Only trust me, and all shall be well.”“I do trust you,” said Millicent, and she sat there with a face like marble, listening to her husband’s step across the hall, and then sat patiently for hours, during which time the bell had been rung for the spirit stand and hot water, while the fumes of tobacco stole into the room.At last there were voices and steps in the hall; the front door was opened and closed, and as Millicent Hallam awoke to the fact that she had not been up to see her child since she went to bed, and that it was nearly midnight, Hallam entered the room, looking more cheerful, and crossing to her he took her in his arms.“Things are looking brighter,” he said. “We have only to wait. Now, mind this—don’t ask questions—it is better that I should not go to the bank for a few days. I am unwell.”Millicent looked at him hard. Certainly his eyes were sunken, and for answer, as she told herself that he must have suffered much, she bowed her head.
There was a momentary silence, and then as the door closed, Millicent laid her hands upon her husband’s shoulders, and gazed tenderly in his face.
“Robert, my own!” she whispered.
No more; her eyes bespoke the mother’s joy at this breaking down of the ice between father and daughter. Then a look of surprise and pain came into those loving eyes, for Hallam repulsed her rudely.
“It is your doing, yours, and that cursed parson’s work. The child has been taught to hate me. Curse him! He has been my enemy from the very first.”
“Robert—husband! Oh, take back those words!” cried Millicent, throwing herself upon his breast. “You cannot mean it. You know I love you too well for that. How could you say it!”
She clung to him for a few moments, gazing wildly in his face, and then she seemed to read it plainly.
“No, no, don’t speak,” she cried tenderly. “I can see it all. You are in some great trouble, dear, or you would not have spoken like that. Robert, husband, I am your own wife; I have never pressed you for your confidence in all these money troubles you have borne; but now that something very grave has happened, let me share the load.”
She pressed him back gently to a chair, and, overcome by her earnest love, he yielded and sank back slowly into the seat. The next instant she was at his knees, holding his hands to her throbbing breast.
“No, I don’t mean what I said,” he muttered, with some show of tenderness; and a loving smile dawned upon Millicent’s careworn face.
“Don’t speak of that,” she said. “It was only born of the trouble you are in. Let me help you, dear; let me share your sorrow with you. If only with my sympathy there may be some comfort.”
He did not answer, but sat gazing straight before him.
“Tell me, dear. Is it some money trouble? Some speculation has failed?”
He nodded.
“Then why not set all those ambitious thoughts aside, dear husband?” she said, nestling to him. “Give up everything, and let us begin again. With the love of my husband and my child, what have I to wish for? Robert, we love you so dearly. You, and not the money you can make, are all the world to us.”
He looked at her suspiciously, for there was not room in his narrow mind for full faith in so much devotion. It was more than he could understand, but his manner was softer than it had been of late, as he said:
“You do not understand such things.”
“Then teach me,” she said smiling. “I will be so apt a pupil. I shall be working to free my husband from the toils and troubles in which he is ensnared.”
He shook his head.
“What, still keeping me out of your heart, Rob!” she whispered, with her eyes beaming love and devotion. Then, half-playfully and with a tremor in her voice, “Robert, my own brave lion amongst men, refuse the aid of the weak mouse who would gnaw the net?”
“Pish, you talk like a child,” he cried contemptuously. “Net, indeed!” and in his insensate rage, he piled his hatred upon the man who had stepped in to save him. “But for that cursed fellow, Bayle, this would not have happened.”
“Robert, darling, you mistake him. You do not know his heart. How true he is! If he has gone against you in some business matter, it is because he is conscientious and believes you wrong.”
“And you side with him, and believe too?”
“I?” she cried proudly. “You are my husband, and whatever may be your trouble, I stand with you against the world.”
“Brave girl!” he cried warmly; “now you speak like a true woman. I will trust you, and you shall help me. I did not think you had it in you, Milly. That’s better.”
“Then you will trust me?”
“Yes,” he said, raising one hand to his face, and beginning nervously to bite his nails. “I will trust you; perhaps you can help me out of this cursed trap.”
“Yes, I will,” she cried. “I feel that I can. Oh, Robert, let it be always thus in the future. Treat me as your partner, your inferior in brain and power, but still your helpmate. I will toil so hard to make myself worthy of my husband. Now tell me everything. Stop! I know,” she cried; “it is something connected with the visits of that Mr Crellock, that man you helped in his difficulties years ago.”
“I helped? Who told you that?”
She smiled.
“Ah! these things are so talked of. Mrs Pinet told Miss Heathery, and she came and told me. I felt so proud of you, dear, for your unselfish behaviour towards this man. Do you suppose I forget his coming on our wedding-day, and how troubled you were till you had sent him away by the coach?”
“You said nothing?”
“Said nothing? Was I ever one to pry into my husband’s business matters? I said to myself that I would wait till he thought me old enough in years, clever enough in wisdom, to be trusted. And now, after this long probation, you will trust me, love?”
He nodded.
“And your troubles shall grow less by being shared. Now tell me I am right about it. Your worry is due to this Mr Crellock?”
“Yes,” he said in a low voice.
“I knew it,” she cried. “You have always been troubled when he came down, and when you went up to town. I knew as well as if you had told me that you had seen him when you went up. There was always the same harassed, careworn look in your eyes; and Robert, darling, if you had known how it has made me suffer, you would have come to me for consolation, if not for help.”
“Ah! yes, perhaps.”
“Now go on,” she said firmly, and rising from her place by his knees, she took a chair and drew it near him.
“There,” she said smiling; “you shall see how business-like I will be.”
He sat with his brow knit for a few minutes, and then drew a long breath.
“You are right,” he said. “Stephen Crellock is mixed up with it. You shall know all. And mind this, whatever people may say—”
“Whatever people may say!” she exclaimed contemptuously.
“I am innocent; my hands are clean.”
“As if I needed telling that,” she said with a proud smile. “Now I am waiting, tell me all.”
“Oh, there is little to tell,” he said quickly. “That fellow Crellock, by his plausible baits, has led me into all kinds of speculations.”
“I thought so,” she said to herself.
“I failed in one, and then he tempted me to try another to cover my loss; and so it went on and on, till—”
“Till what?” she said with her eyes dilating; and a chill feeling of horror which startled her began to creep to her heart.
“Till the losses were so great that large sums of money were necessary, and—”
“Robert!”
“Don’t look at me in that way, Milly,” he said, with a half-laugh, “you are not going to begin by distrusting me?”
“No, no,” she panted.
“Well, till large sums were necessary, and the scoundrel literally forced me to raise money from the bank.”
She felt the evil increasing; but she forced it away with the warm glow of her love.
“I’ve been worried to death,” he continued, “to put these things straight, and it is this that has kept me so poor.”
“Yes, I see,” she cried. “Oh, Robert, how you must have suffered!”
“Ah! Yes! I have,” he said; “but never mind that. Well, I was getting things straight as fast as I could; and all would now have been right again had not Bayle and his miserable jackal, Thickens, scented out the trouble, and they have seized me by the throat.”
“But, Robert, why not clear yourself? Why not go to Sir Gordon? He would help you.”
“Sir Gordon does not like me. But there, I have a few days to turn myself round in, and then all will come right; but if—”
He stopped, and looked rather curiously.
“Yes?” she said, laying her hand in his.
“If my enemies should triumph. If Bayle—”
“If Mr Bayle—”
“Silence!” he said. “I have told you that this man is my cruel enemy. He has never forgiven me for robbing him of you.”
“You did not rob him,” she said tenderly. “But are you not mistaken in Mr Bayle?”
“You are, in your sweet womanly innocency and trustfulness. I tell you he is my enemy, and trying to hound me down.”
“Let me speak to him.”
“I forbid it,” he cried fiercely. “Choose your part. Are you with me or the men whom I know to be my enemies? Will you stand by me whatever happens?”
“You know,” she said, with a trustful smile in her eyes.
“That’s my brave wife,” he said. “This is better. If my enemies do get the better of me—if, for Crellock’s faults, charges are brought against me—if I am by necessity forced to yield, and think it better to go right away from here for a time—suddenly—will you come?”
“And leave my mother and father?”
“Are not a husband’s claims stronger? Tell me, will you go with me?”
“To the world’s end, Robert,” she cried, rising and throwing her arms about his neck. “I am glad that this trouble has come.”
“Glad?”
“Yes, for it has taught you at last the strength of your wife’s love.”
He drew her to his heart, and kissed her, and there she clung for a time.
“Now listen,” he said, putting her from him. “We must be business-like.”
“Yes,” she said firmly.
“The old people must not have the least suspicion that we have any idea of leaving.”
“Might I not bid them good-bye?”
“No. That is, if we left. We may not have to go. If we do, it must be suddenly.”
“And in the meantime?”
“You must wait.”
Just then the door opened, and Thisbe appeared.
“There’s a gentleman to see you, sir—that Mr Crellock.”
“Show him in my study, and I’ll come.”
Thisbe disappeared, and Millicent laid her hand upon her husband’s arm.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly. “I know how to deal with him now. Only trust me, and all shall be well.”
“I do trust you,” said Millicent, and she sat there with a face like marble, listening to her husband’s step across the hall, and then sat patiently for hours, during which time the bell had been rung for the spirit stand and hot water, while the fumes of tobacco stole into the room.
At last there were voices and steps in the hall; the front door was opened and closed, and as Millicent Hallam awoke to the fact that she had not been up to see her child since she went to bed, and that it was nearly midnight, Hallam entered the room, looking more cheerful, and crossing to her he took her in his arms.
“Things are looking brighter,” he said. “We have only to wait. Now, mind this—don’t ask questions—it is better that I should not go to the bank for a few days. I am unwell.”
Millicent looked at him hard. Certainly his eyes were sunken, and for answer, as she told herself that he must have suffered much, she bowed her head.
Volume Two—Chapter Eleven.Getting Near the Edge.“Quite out of the question,” said James Thickens.“But what is there to fear?”“I don’t know that there is anything to fear,” said Thickens dryly. “What I know is this, and I’ve thought it over. You are not going up to town with him, but by yourself, to get this money—if you still mean it.”“I still mean it! There, go on.”“Well, you will go up, and sign what you have to sign, get this money in notes, and bring it down yourself.”“But Hallam will think it so strange—that I mistrust him.”“Of course he will. So you do; so do I. And after thinking this matter over, I am going to have that money deposited here, and I’m going to redeem the bonds and deeds myself, getting all information from Hallam.”“But this will be a hard and rather public proceeding.”“I don’t know about hard, and as to public, no one will know about it but we three, for old Gemp will not smell it out. He is down with the effects of a bad seizure, and not likely to leave his bed for days.”“But, Thickens—”“Mr Bayle, I am more of a business man than you, so trust me. You are making sacrifice enough, and are not called upon to study the feelings of one of the greatest scoundrels—”“Oh! hush! hush!”“I say it again, sir—one of the greatest scoundrels that ever drew breath.”Bayle frowned, and drew his own hard.“I don’t know,” he said, “that I shall care to carry this money—so large a sum.”“Nonsense, sir, a packet of notes in a pocket-book. These things are comparative. When I was a boy I can remember thinking ninepence a large amount; now I stand on a market day shovelling out gold and fingering over greasy notes and cheques, till I don’t seem to know what a large sum is. You take my advice, go and get it without saying a word to Hallam; and I tell you what it is, sir, if it wasn’t for poor Mrs Hallam and that poor child, I should be off my bargain, and go to Sir Gordon at once.”“I will go and get the money without Hallam, Thickens; but as I undertook to go with him, I shall write and tell him I have gone.”“Very well, sir, very well. As you please,” said Thickens; “I should not: but you are a clergyman, and more particular about such things than I am.”Bayle smiled, and shook hands, leaving Thickens looking after him intently as he walked down the street.“He wouldn’t dare!” said Thickens to himself thoughtfully. “He would not dare. I wish he had not been going to tell him, though. Humph! dropping in to see poor old Gemp because he has had a fit.”He paused till he had seen Bayle enter the old man’s house, and then went on muttering to himself.“I never could understand why Gemp was made; he never seems to have been of the least use in the world, though, for the matter of that, idlers don’t seem much good. Hah! If Gemp knew what I know, there’d be a crowd round the bank in half-an-hour, and they’d have Hallam’s house turned inside out in another quarter. I don’t like his telling Hallam about his going,” he mused. “It’s a large sum of money, though I made light of it, and the mail’s safe enough. We’ve about got by the old highwayman days, but I wish he hadn’t told him, all the same.”Meanwhile the curate had turned in at Gemp’s to see how the old fellow was getting on.“Nicedly, sir, very nicedly,” said the woman in charge; “he’ve had a beautiful sleep, and Doctor Luttrell says he be coming round to his senses fast.”Poor old Gemp did not look as if he had been progressing nicely, but he seemed to recognise his visitor, and appeared to understand a few of his words.But not many, for the old man kept putting his hand to his head and looking at the door, gazing wistfully through the window, and then heaving a heavy sigh.“Oh, don’t you take no notice o’ that, sir,” said the woman; “that be only his way. He’s been used to trotting about so much that he feels it a deal when he is laid up, poor old gentleman; he keeps talking about his money, too, sir. Ah, sir, it be strange how old folks do talk about their bit o’ money when they’re getting anigh the time when they won’t want any of it more.”And so on till the curate rose and left the cottage.That night he was on his way to London, after sending a line to Hallam to say that upon second thoughts he had considered it better to go up to town alone.Three days passed with nothing more exciting than a few inquiries after Hallam’s health, the most assiduous inquirer being Miss Heathery, who called again on the third evening.“I know you think me a very silly little woman, Millicent, my dear, and I’m afraid that perhaps I am, but I do like you, and I should like to help you now you are in trouble.”“I always did, and always shall, think you one of my best and kindest friends, Miss Heathery,” replied Millicent, kissing her.“Now, that’s very kind of you, my dear. It’s touching,” said Miss Heathery, wiping her eyes. “You do think me then a very dear friend?” she said, clinging to Mrs Hallam, and gazing plaintively in her face.“Indeed I do.”“Then may I make a confidant like of you, dear?”“Yes, certainly,” said Millicent.“But first of all, can I help you nurse Mr Hallam, or take care of Julie?”“Oh, no, thank you. Mr Hallam is much better, and Julie is happiest with Thisbe.”“Or Mr Bayle,” said Miss Heathery; “but I have not seen her with him lately. Oh, I forgot, he has gone to London.”“Indeed!” said Millicent, starting, for she connected his absence with her husband’s trouble.“Yes; gone two, three days; but, Millicent dear, may I speak to you plainly?”“Of course. Tell me,” said Millicent smiling, and feeling amused as she anticipated some confidence respecting an engagement.“And you are sure you will not feel hurt?”“Trust me, I shall not,” said Millicent, with her old grave smile.“Well then, my dear,” whispered the visitor, “it is about money matters. You know I have none in the bank now, because I bought a couple of houses, but I have been asking, and I find that I can borrow some money on the security, and I thought—there! I knew you would feel hurt.”For Millicent’s eyes had begun to dilate, and she drew back from her visitor.“I only meant to say that I could not help knowing you—that Mr Hallam kept you—oh! I don’t know how to say it, Millicent dear, but—but if you would borrow some money of me, dear, it would make me so very happy.”The tears sprang to Millicent’s eyes as she rose and kissed her visitor.“Thank you, dear Miss Heathery,” she cried. “I shall never forget this unassuming kindness, but it is impossible that I can take your help.”“Oh, dear me! I was afraid you would say so, and yet it is so sad to run short. Couldn’t you really let me help you, my dear?”“No, it is impossible,” said Millicent, smiling gently. “Is it quite impossible?” said Miss Heathery.“Yes, dear; but believe me, if I were really in great need I would come to you for help.”“You promise me that, dear?” cried the little woman, rising.“I promise you that,” said Millicent, and her visitor went away overjoyed.
“Quite out of the question,” said James Thickens.
“But what is there to fear?”
“I don’t know that there is anything to fear,” said Thickens dryly. “What I know is this, and I’ve thought it over. You are not going up to town with him, but by yourself, to get this money—if you still mean it.”
“I still mean it! There, go on.”
“Well, you will go up, and sign what you have to sign, get this money in notes, and bring it down yourself.”
“But Hallam will think it so strange—that I mistrust him.”
“Of course he will. So you do; so do I. And after thinking this matter over, I am going to have that money deposited here, and I’m going to redeem the bonds and deeds myself, getting all information from Hallam.”
“But this will be a hard and rather public proceeding.”
“I don’t know about hard, and as to public, no one will know about it but we three, for old Gemp will not smell it out. He is down with the effects of a bad seizure, and not likely to leave his bed for days.”
“But, Thickens—”
“Mr Bayle, I am more of a business man than you, so trust me. You are making sacrifice enough, and are not called upon to study the feelings of one of the greatest scoundrels—”
“Oh! hush! hush!”
“I say it again, sir—one of the greatest scoundrels that ever drew breath.”
Bayle frowned, and drew his own hard.
“I don’t know,” he said, “that I shall care to carry this money—so large a sum.”
“Nonsense, sir, a packet of notes in a pocket-book. These things are comparative. When I was a boy I can remember thinking ninepence a large amount; now I stand on a market day shovelling out gold and fingering over greasy notes and cheques, till I don’t seem to know what a large sum is. You take my advice, go and get it without saying a word to Hallam; and I tell you what it is, sir, if it wasn’t for poor Mrs Hallam and that poor child, I should be off my bargain, and go to Sir Gordon at once.”
“I will go and get the money without Hallam, Thickens; but as I undertook to go with him, I shall write and tell him I have gone.”
“Very well, sir, very well. As you please,” said Thickens; “I should not: but you are a clergyman, and more particular about such things than I am.”
Bayle smiled, and shook hands, leaving Thickens looking after him intently as he walked down the street.
“He wouldn’t dare!” said Thickens to himself thoughtfully. “He would not dare. I wish he had not been going to tell him, though. Humph! dropping in to see poor old Gemp because he has had a fit.”
He paused till he had seen Bayle enter the old man’s house, and then went on muttering to himself.
“I never could understand why Gemp was made; he never seems to have been of the least use in the world, though, for the matter of that, idlers don’t seem much good. Hah! If Gemp knew what I know, there’d be a crowd round the bank in half-an-hour, and they’d have Hallam’s house turned inside out in another quarter. I don’t like his telling Hallam about his going,” he mused. “It’s a large sum of money, though I made light of it, and the mail’s safe enough. We’ve about got by the old highwayman days, but I wish he hadn’t told him, all the same.”
Meanwhile the curate had turned in at Gemp’s to see how the old fellow was getting on.
“Nicedly, sir, very nicedly,” said the woman in charge; “he’ve had a beautiful sleep, and Doctor Luttrell says he be coming round to his senses fast.”
Poor old Gemp did not look as if he had been progressing nicely, but he seemed to recognise his visitor, and appeared to understand a few of his words.
But not many, for the old man kept putting his hand to his head and looking at the door, gazing wistfully through the window, and then heaving a heavy sigh.
“Oh, don’t you take no notice o’ that, sir,” said the woman; “that be only his way. He’s been used to trotting about so much that he feels it a deal when he is laid up, poor old gentleman; he keeps talking about his money, too, sir. Ah, sir, it be strange how old folks do talk about their bit o’ money when they’re getting anigh the time when they won’t want any of it more.”
And so on till the curate rose and left the cottage.
That night he was on his way to London, after sending a line to Hallam to say that upon second thoughts he had considered it better to go up to town alone.
Three days passed with nothing more exciting than a few inquiries after Hallam’s health, the most assiduous inquirer being Miss Heathery, who called again on the third evening.
“I know you think me a very silly little woman, Millicent, my dear, and I’m afraid that perhaps I am, but I do like you, and I should like to help you now you are in trouble.”
“I always did, and always shall, think you one of my best and kindest friends, Miss Heathery,” replied Millicent, kissing her.
“Now, that’s very kind of you, my dear. It’s touching,” said Miss Heathery, wiping her eyes. “You do think me then a very dear friend?” she said, clinging to Mrs Hallam, and gazing plaintively in her face.
“Indeed I do.”
“Then may I make a confidant like of you, dear?”
“Yes, certainly,” said Millicent.
“But first of all, can I help you nurse Mr Hallam, or take care of Julie?”
“Oh, no, thank you. Mr Hallam is much better, and Julie is happiest with Thisbe.”
“Or Mr Bayle,” said Miss Heathery; “but I have not seen her with him lately. Oh, I forgot, he has gone to London.”
“Indeed!” said Millicent, starting, for she connected his absence with her husband’s trouble.
“Yes; gone two, three days; but, Millicent dear, may I speak to you plainly?”
“Of course. Tell me,” said Millicent smiling, and feeling amused as she anticipated some confidence respecting an engagement.
“And you are sure you will not feel hurt?”
“Trust me, I shall not,” said Millicent, with her old grave smile.
“Well then, my dear,” whispered the visitor, “it is about money matters. You know I have none in the bank now, because I bought a couple of houses, but I have been asking, and I find that I can borrow some money on the security, and I thought—there! I knew you would feel hurt.”
For Millicent’s eyes had begun to dilate, and she drew back from her visitor.
“I only meant to say that I could not help knowing you—that Mr Hallam kept you—oh! I don’t know how to say it, Millicent dear, but—but if you would borrow some money of me, dear, it would make me so very happy.”
The tears sprang to Millicent’s eyes as she rose and kissed her visitor.
“Thank you, dear Miss Heathery,” she cried. “I shall never forget this unassuming kindness, but it is impossible that I can take your help.”
“Oh, dear me! I was afraid you would say so, and yet it is so sad to run short. Couldn’t you really let me help you, my dear?”
“No, it is impossible,” said Millicent, smiling gently. “Is it quite impossible?” said Miss Heathery.
“Yes, dear; but believe me, if I were really in great need I would come to you for help.”
“You promise me that, dear?” cried the little woman, rising.
“I promise you that,” said Millicent, and her visitor went away overjoyed.