“Who is this Mr. Tresham, who signs the letter?”
“My father's partner”--(your own good father, Will)--“but he is little in
the habit of acting personally in the business of the house.”
“He writes here,” said Miss Vernon, “of various letters sent to you
previously.”
“I have received none of them,” I replied.
“And it appears,” she continued, “that Rashleigh, who has taken the full
management of affairs during your father's absence in Holland, has some
time since left London for Scotland, with effects and remittances to take
up large bills granted by your father to persons in that country, and
that he has not since been heard of.”
“It is but too true.”
“And here has been,” she added, looking at the letter, “a head-clerk, or
some such person,--Owenson--Owen--despatched to Glasgow, to find out
Rashleigh, if possible, and you are entreated to repair to the same
place, and assist him in his researches.”
“It is even so, and I must depart instantly.”
“Stay but one moment,” said Miss Vernon. “It seems to me that the worst
which can come of this matter, will be the loss of a certain sum of
money;--and can that bring tears into your eyes? For shame, Mr.
Osbaldistone!”
“You do me injustice, Miss Vernon,” I answered. “I grieve not for the
loss of the money, but for the effect which I know it will produce on the
spirits and health of my father, to whom mercantile credit is as honour;
and who, if declared insolvent, would sink into the grave, oppressed by a
sense of grief, remorse, and despair, like that of a soldier convicted of
cowardice or a man of honour who had lost his rank and character in
society. All this I might have prevented by a trifling sacrifice of the
foolish pride and indolence which recoiled from sharing the labours of
his honourable and useful profession. Good Heaven! how shall I redeem the
consequences of my error?”
“By instantly repairing to Glasgow, as you are conjured to do by the
friend who writes this letter.”
“But if Rashleigh,” said I, “has really formed this base and
unconscientious scheme of plundering his benefactor, what prospect is
there that I can find means of frustrating a plan so deeply laid?'
“The prospect,” she replied, “indeed, may be uncertain; but, on the other
hand, there is no possibility of your doing any service to your father by
remaining here. Remember, had you been on the post destined for you, this
disaster could not have happened: hasten to that which is now pointed
out, and it may possibly be retrieved.--Yet stay--do not leave this room
until I return.”
She left me in confusion and amazement; amid which, however, I could
find a lucid interval to admire the firmness, composure, and presence of
mind which Miss Vernon seemed to possess on every crisis, however sudden.
In a few minutes she returned with a sheet of paper in her hand, folded
and sealed like a letter, but without address. “I trust you,” she said,
“with this proof of my friendship, because I have the most perfect
confidence in your honour. If I understand the nature of your distress
rightly, the funds in Rashleigh's possession must be recovered by a
certain day--the 12th of September, I think is named--in order that they
may be applied to pay the bills in question; and, consequently, that if
adequate funds be provided before that period, your father's credit is
safe from the apprehended calamity.”
“Certainly--I so understand Mr. Tresham”--I looked at your father's
letter again, and added, “There cannot be a doubt of it.”
“Well,” said Diana, “in that case my little Pacolet may be of use to you.
You have heard of a spell contained in a letter. Take this packet; do not
open it until other and ordinary means have failed. If you succeed by
your own exertions, I trust to your honour for destroying it without
opening or suffering it to be opened;--but if not, you may break the seal
within ten days of the fated day, and you will find directions which may
possibly be of service to you. Adieu, Frank; we never meet more--but
sometimes think of your friend Die Vernon.”
She extended her hand, but I clasped her to my bosom. She sighed as she
extricated herself from the embrace which she permitted--escaped to the
door which led to her own apartment--and I saw her no more.