MY TREASURE RECOVERED—COUSIN DOROTHY'S CONSISTENCY.
DESPITE a tiring day and a sleepless night, I was hardly conscious of
weariness when I went to the office. I was too much excited to think
about myself.
By the earliest train came Cartwright and his son. They had been
tricked into leaving the platform the night before, probably by a
confederate of Black Mike's, and were greatly concerned at what had
happened.
Betsy carried out our directions, and found Mike making himself
perfectly comfortable in his old quarters, though intensely disgusted
at the failure of the previous night, which he attributed to "the
screeching of that girl," and avowed his intention of "paying her out
yet."
I took advantage of the first opportunity to call on Cousin Dorothy,
though it was not easy to get to the house on account of the many
excited inquirers who stopped me on the way. Mr. Burford and Rose were
there, the former delighted at my presence under that roof, the latter
ready with an extended hand and a mock reverence, as she inquired after
the hero of the night.
Nelly, dear Nelly, came towards me with her hands closed, but stretched
in my direction.
"Which will you have, Jack?" she demanded, in the old childish fashion,
and waited for me to choose.
"This," said I, taking the left.
She opened it, and on the palm lay my old sixpence, with the words,
"Work, Wait, Win." as plain as ever on its surface.
"Where did you find it, Nelly?" I said, delighted to receive my
treasure a second time from her hand.
"Inside the strong-room, close to the door of the safe at which the
men were working when 'we' surprised them." She emphasised the "we,"
as if proud to have been one of the three; and, indeed, she had shown
marvellous courage and presence of mind through a trying time.
I told her so, and she blushed charmingly at my praises. Then I said,
"This furnishes a most important link, and leaves no doubt what ever
that one of the men who attempted to rob the safes last night, is
identical with the thief who carried off this along with my gold chain
and money."
Mr. Burford had to be informed of all that had come to my knowledge
respecting Black Mike's doings and present whereabouts. I had little
time to spend at the Hall. Indeed, I had found it very difficult to
leave the station in order to go there, but I told all I knew, and left
Mr. Burford to make what arrangements he thought best for preventing
the escape of Black Mike from the cottage.
I only ventured to suggest that the place should not be approached in
open daylight, as I felt assured the man would deem his present retreat
beyond suspicion, and, relying on Betsy's silence, remain there quietly
until the first excitement was over. He would argue that Oakhill was
the last place in which he would be sought for.
I was on the platform that afternoon, and the 4.15 train was just
moving out, when a man rushed forward and made a leap towards a
carriage. He clutched the door-handle, but missed the step and slipped
down in a sitting posture, with his lower limbs between the train and
the platform.
He clung in desperation to the carriage, and was dragged along for some
distance before the train could be brought to a standstill. By keeping
hold, he saved himself from instant death, for had he loosed it, he
would have been drawn bodily underneath it and crushed horribly. As it
was, the suffering must have been terrible, for his lower limbs were
much injured, and those who saw him, felt convinced that he would never
be able to walk again.
"I knew my luck was gone when I lost the charm," he muttered, and then
I felt sure that the speaker was indeed Black Mike.
Contrary to my suggestion and Mr. Burford's advice, the police had
approached the cottage by daylight and attempted to capture him. They
saw him dash through the side window and make for the station. When
they reached it, they found that the hospital was the only place to
which the helpless prisoner could be conveyed, and thither he was
carried.
Mike was never tried for this last offence by an earthly judge. He died
two days after the accident—died as he had lived, without expressing
any regret except for his ill success at Lint Hall, and the being
"caught for nothing." He attached great importance to the loss of that
innocent little coin of mine, and had, it seems, regarded it with
superstitious reverence, deeming that the possession of it meant luck,
the loss ruin.
Mike's confederate was never captured.
Sarah forgot her indignation on account of the rough treatment to which
she had been subjected by Mike, and shed many tears when she heard of
his terrible end. She even retrimmed with black that best bonnet in
which she had probably intended to figure as a bride, and wore the same
as mourning on two consecutive Sundays.
Mike had made the girl believe that he intended to make her his wife,
and the scrap of paper found by me proved to be part of a letter to
him, in which she accepted his proposal, and promised to meet him at an
appointed time on the road "tords the stashun."
Sarah's grief proved short-lived. Black did not suit her complexion, so
she soon replaced the gayer bonnet-trimming, and was heard to own that
hers had been a lucky escape, seeing it would have been a let-down for
a decent girl to marry a man that had been in prison, and was going the
way to get in again.
Under good influences and through Miss Flint's forbearance, Sarah is
fast becoming a wiser and better girl, and is still in Cousin Dorothy's
service.
I am anticipating, however, and must go back a little. Shall I ever
forget the Sunday which followed the attempted robbery? I went to
church as usual, and at the door I met Miss Flint.
"Come with me, Cousin Jack," she said; "come and sit where you sat as a
lad."
She placed her hand on my arm, and thus we walked up the aisle
together, thereby creating a sensation hitherto unknown amongst the
worshippers in Oakhill Church.
I held the door open for her, and when she had taken what was once my
mother's place, I took that which had been my own, close beside her.
I am afraid my lips did not follow the service very closely that day,
but my heart was full of thankfulness, and He who reads all hearts knew
what was in mine.
Nelly and Rose sat with their father, but after service, I walked to
Lint Hall with the two girls, their father and Miss Flint following,
for we were to make one little party at dinner.
"Jack, you and I have been creating a false impression this morning,"
said my kinswoman. "To-morrow, if not sooner, everybody in the place
will be saying that I have adopted you, and that you are coming to live
at Lint Hall. Mind you contradict it, for it is not true."
"I will," was my answer, and I had to keep the promise often in the
days that followed.
As we all sat together that evening, my cousin told us her own
love-story. I need not repeat it.
"You know now what attracted me to Herbert Kenningham," she added. "At
first, I cared for the lad because he brought before me the living
image of one that was gone. He deserves to be loved for his own sake,
and you and he will be friends, Cousin Jack, when you meet." The
prophecy proved a true one.
Then turning to Rose and Nelly, she said, "Children, you, like myself,
will be enriched whilst you are young, through neither work nor effort
of your own. Do not let wealth deprive you of a better gift, as mine
did. Some girls have admirers who look past them to their money-bags.
Mine saw in these a wall which parted him from me."
"'I' shall not let money come between Herbert and me," said Rose,
looking up at Miss Flint with a bright smile.
The latter nodded approval, and patted the girl's blushing cheek.
At that instant I thought of the needless torment I had suffered
through my jealous doubts and fears, and of my folly in imagining that
no one could look at Nelly with other eyes than I did, or past her at
Rose.
Nelly told me that her sister and young Kenningham were engaged, with
the full consent of her parents; that they had intended to wait until
Herbert's position was more assured, but now their marriage would take
place soon after Rose came of age.
It was hard to keep the secret of my own good fortune from Nelly, but
I succeeded. And when I asked her to be my wife, she was still in
ignorance of it. I hardly needed to tell her the story of my almost
life-long love for her. Nelly was nobler, larger-souled than I, and
had not only been true to me, but she had never doubted my truth for a
moment.
"I always knew you loved me first and best, dear Jack," she said; "and
if you had never told me, I should have guessed why, and waited on till
I was a grey old woman, or until death, if it had come first."
I drew my darling to my heart, and her head rested on my shoulder for a
little while, for we were too happy to utter a word, though I am sure
we were just brimming over with glad thankfulness.
"Jack, you will have to take my money now or leave me." And she looked
up with a little, triumphant smile.
"True, my darling. And the money is such a trifle in comparison that
the thought causes me no trouble, especially as I am equally rich;" and
I told her my secret then.
I am not sure that she was glad of it in one sense, but, as she
subsequently remarked—
"I was willing to be your wife, dear Jack, when I thought you were
poor; and you to take me when you knew I should have quite a lot of
money. There was no room for false pride on either side. How can there
be, when love and faith are in the ascendant?"
I did not ask for my Nelly until even Mrs. Burford had given her
consent. Whether she was moved by my deference to her maternal
rights, or influenced by her husband, children, and Cousin Dorothy
in combination, I cannot tell. All I know is, that there was no
dissentient voice, and that we are very, very happy, though our
marriage will not take place for a year or two. Most likely the
interval will be spent in study and travel, to fit me for a different
sphere of work from that I have hitherto filled. I trust the possession
of ample means will not make me self-indulgent. If I did not hope to
live usefully in the future, I should wish myself in my old post at
Oakhill Station.
Whether in England or elsewhere, Nelly and I will not be long parted,
for in travelling Miss Flint will be one of the party, and will act as
deputy-mother to my darling.
My coming of age was actually celebrated at Lint Hall, and on that
occasion Cousin Dorothy wore a dress selected by Nelly, according to
promise, and looked, what she is, a very dignified and charming old
lady. Moreover, from that date she laid aside her eccentricities of
dress and manner once and for all, reserving, I am glad to say, all her
amusing characteristics.
I had a disappointment, but it did not last long. Nelly was most
anxious to buy back the Hall and a portion of the old estates, but on
naming the subject to Mr. Burford, he told me they were already sold to
Cousin Dorothy.
It is an open secret that my whimsical kinswoman has chosen this mode
of keeping her vow never to leave me a penny. She has made a will
disposing of such personal property as she still retains, how, and in
whose favour, I know not. But as the real estate is not even mentioned,
it will come to me in due course as next-of-kin. Long may it be before
I own it.
Mr. Burford pulled down the old cottage after Black Mike's death,
and removed every trace of it. I am building a new one on the old
site, exactly in accordance with the ideas of comfort and convenience
expressed by Jabez and Betsy, and there George will find a home with
his parents. So far he has gone on steadily and industriously, and for
the sake of the old folk and the service rendered on the night of the
burglary at the Hall, Oakhill people seem inclined to forget all that
was so much to be regretted in his past life.
I use the old armorial bearings of my family now, but I carefully
preserve Nelly's sixpence. And if I had to choose a motto, it should
still be—
"Work, Wait, Win."
THE END.
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ONE LITTLE VEIN OF DROSS.
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