"Do all you can to comfort them, Mrs Barclay, please," said Morton, as
he left the house. "It's all so shocking, I don't know what to say or
do."
"You've done quite right in coming here, my dear," said Mrs Barclay,
whose eyes were red with weeping.
"I'm afraid I've done more harm than good," said Morton dolefully.
"Poor Claire, she's half crazy with what she has to bear."
"You told her, then, about your brother Fred?" said Mrs Barclay, in a
whisper.
The lad nodded.
"It was quite right; she would have heard of it, and it was better it
should come from you, my dear. Are you--are you going to see your poor
father in prison?"
"Yes," said Morton firmly. "I've got an order to see him, and I'm going
at once."
He turned round sharply, for he had received a hearty clap on the
shoulder, and found that Barclay had approached him unperceived; and he
now took the young fellow's hand and shook it warmly.
"Good lad!" he exclaimed. "That's brave. Go and see him; and if you
like you may tell him that Mr Linnell and I have got the best lawyer in
London to defend him."
"You have, Mr Barclay?"
"Yes; we have. There, don't stare at me like that. Your father once
did me a good turn; and do you suppose a money-lender has no bowels?
You tell him--no, don't tell him. He is in a queer, obstinate way just
now, and you've got your work cut out to tell him about your brother's
trouble. That's enough for one day, but you may give him a bit of
comfort about your sisters. You can tell him that my stupid, obstinate
old wife has got 'em in hand, and that as long as there's a roof over
Mrs Barclay's head, and anything to eat, Miss Denville will share them.
No, no; don't shake hands with me. I've nothing to do with it. It's
all her doing."
Morton could not speak, but gripped the money-lender's hand tightly
before turning to Mrs Barclay. He held out his hand and took hers, his
lips trembling as he gazed in the plump, motherly face. Then, with
something like a sob of a very unmanly nature, he threw his arms round
her and kissed her twice.
"God bless you!" he cried; and he turned and ran out of the room.
Barclay's face puckered up as his wife sank down in a chair sobbing,
with her handkerchief to her eyes, and rocking herself to and fro, but
only to start up in alarm as Barclay dashed to the fireplace, and caught
up the poker, before running towards the door.
"Jo-si-ah!" she cried, catching his arm.
"Just got away in time, a scoundrel--and before my very face! You
suffered it, too, madam."
"Oh--oh--oh--oh!" sobbed Mrs Barclay hysterically, as she took the
poker away, and replaced it in the fender before throwing herself on her
husband's breast. "My own dear old man! I won't ever say a word again
about money. The best and dearest fellow that ever lived!"
Barclay drew her close to him and played the elderly lover very
pleasantly and well, leading his plump wife to a sofa, and sitting down
by her with her head resting upon his shoulder.
"Hush, old lady, don't cry so," he whispered. "What's the good of
having money if you don't try and do some good with it? I like little
Claire; she's about as near an angel as we find them in Saltinville; and
as for poor old Denville, he has been the most unlucky of men. He's not
a bad fellow at heart, and as for that affair about old Lady Teigne--
well, there's no knowing what a man may do when tempted by poverty and
with a lot of jewels twinkling before his eyes."
"Oh, hush, Jo-si-ah, you don't think--you can't think--"
"Hush, old girl! we must not think it of him aloud. We must get him
off, but I'm very much afraid."
"Oh, Jo-si-ah, don't say it, dear."
"Only to you, my gal. I'm afraid the poor old fellow was trying to--
well, say borrow a few diamonds, and what happened afterwards was an
accident."
"Oh, my dear! my dear!"
"It looks sadly like it."
"But this Fred Denville says he did it."
"Yes, poor lad, to get clear of his officers, and to save his father's
life. That will go for nothing. Soldiers often charge themselves with
crimes to get out of the army. That story will never be believed."
Morton Denville shivered as he approached the prison, and felt half
disposed to turn back as he encountered a couple of men of his regiment;
but he mastered his nervousness and walked boldly up to the gate and was
admitted.
He found his father in much the same despondent attitude as he had
occupied when Fred Denville came to the prison, and Morton stood with
his lip quivering and breast heaving, looking down for some minutes at
the wasted form.
"Father," he said at last, but there was no reply, and when the lad went
and laid a hand upon his shoulder, the old man did not start, but raised
his head in a dazed manner, as if he did not quite realise who it was.
Then, recognising him, he rose from his stool, smiling sadly.
"You, Morton!" he said. "You have come!"
Morton did not answer for a few moments, struggling as he was with
intense emotion, and the Master of the Ceremonies looked at him keenly
now. His face changed directly, though, as Morton threw his arms round
him and stood with his head bowed down upon the old man's shoulder.
"I'm glad: very glad. Egad, Morton, my son," said Denville, trying to
assume his old parade manner, but with his piping voice quavering, and
sounding forced and strained, "you make me feel very proud of you. It
is, of course--yes, egad--of course--a very painful thing for a
gentleman--an officer--to have to visit--a relative in prison--a man
situated as I am--to a man in your position, it is a terrible thing--
and--and you'll pardon me--my son--I could not have felt--er--surprised
if you had--stayed away; but--but--you have come; and--God bless you, my
boy--my boy."
The old man would have sunk upon his seat quivering with emotion, but
Morton held him in his clasp.
"No, no, father," he said with spirit, "you must not give way. We must
meet this trouble like men. You must advise with me. I've been playing
the boy too long. There, sit down and let's talk. What shall I do
about your trial?"
Denville took his son's hand, and looked at him proudly, but he shook
his head.
"What do you mean, father?" cried Morton, the lad flushing and looking
manly as he spoke. "This is no time for indecision. I have seen Mr
Barclay and Mr Linnell. They have engaged counsel, and what we want
now is your help over your defence."
Denville smiled sadly, and again shook his head,
"No, my boy, no," he said, "you can do nothing. It is very brave and
true of you."
"But, father--"
"Hush, my son! Let me speak and act as my knowledge and experience
dictate. I am glad you have come, for you have been much in my mind;
and I want to get you as free as I can from this horrible disgrace."
"My dear old father, don't think of me," pleaded Morton, "but of
yourself."
"Of myself, my boy? No, I am only an old worn-out stock, and I am quite
resigned to my fate--to my duty. I am old; you are young. There is
your future to think of, and your sister's. Look here--"
"But, my dear father," cried Morton, "I must insist. I am only a mere
boy, I know, but I am forced to take command."
"Not yet, Morton; I have not resigned. You'll pardon me, my son--
wounded, but not unfit to command--as yet. Morton, my boy, Lord
Carboro' has always been my friend. Go to him, my son, and ask him to
use his influence to get you an exchange into some other regiment. Try
foreign service, my boy, for a few years. It will be taking you clear
of the stain upon our name. Claire has friends, I have no fear for
her--good, true woman. It is about you I am concerned. You must
exchange and get right away from here. Go at once. Carboro' will see
the necessity, and advise and help you."
"And leave you here in prison--in peril of your life; charged with a
crime you did not commit? Father, you don't know me yet."
The old man's lip quivered, and he grasped his son's hand firmly.
"It is my wish, my boy. For your sake and for your sister's," he said
firmly. "You must go at once."
"And leave you here--like this, father?"
"Yes, my boy--it is my fate," said the old man sadly. "I can bear it.
You must go."
"And leave Fred in his trouble?"
"Silence! Don't name him. Don't let me hear his name again," said the
old man, firing up.
But it was only a flash of the old fire which died out at once, and he
grew pale and weak again, his head sinking upon his breast.
"Father!" cried Morton, "I can't bear this. You are too bitter against
poor Fred, and it seems doubly hard now."
"Hush! Say no more, my boy. You do not know," cried the old man
angrily. "You do not know."
"It is you who do not know, father. You have not heard that he has been
shot down."
"Fred--my son--shot?"
"Yes, while attempting to escape from arrest, father. He is dangerously
wounded. Forgive me for telling you at such a time, but you seem so
hard upon him."
"Hard, my boy? You do not know."
"I know he is dangerously wounded, and that he is your son."
"My God!" muttered Denville, with his lip quivering--"a judgment--a
judgment upon him for his crime."
"And that in his misery and pain he raised his voice bravely to try and
save you, father, by charging himself with the murder of Lady Teigne."
"What?" cried the old man excitedly. "Fred--my son--charged himself
with this crime?"
"Yes; he boldly avowed himself as the murderer."
"Where--where is he?" cried Denville excitedly.
"In the infirmary; weak with his wound. Father, you will forgive the
past, and try to be friends with him when--when you meet again."
The Master of the Ceremonies looked up sadly in his son's face and bowed
his head slowly.
"Yes," he said sadly; "I will try--when we meet again. But tell me, my
boy," he cried agitatedly; "they do not believe what he says--this--this
charge against himself?"
"No; they look upon it as what it is--a brave piece of self-denial to
save his father from this terrible position. Oh, father! you did not
think he could be so staunch and true."
"They don't believe it," muttered Denville. "No; they would not. It
does not alter the situation in the least. I shall suffer, and he will
be set free."
"You shall not suffer, father," cried Morton impetuously. "Surely there
is justice to be had in England. No, I will not have you give way in
this weak, imbecile manner. There: no more now; I must go, and I shall
consult with your friends."
"No; I forbid it," cried the old man sternly. "You will not be
disobedient to me now that I am helpless, Morton, my son. You cannot
see it all as I see it."
"No, father; I hope I see it more clearly."
"Rash boy! you are blind, while it is my eyes that are opened. Morton,
one of us must die for this crime. I tell you I could not live, knowing
that I did so at the expense of your brother who had gone, young in
years and unrepentant, to his account."
"Unrepentant, father?"
"Hush, hush, my boy! No more. I can bear no more."
"Time, sir," said the voice of the gaoler, and Morton went sadly back to
join his sisters.
Volume Three, Chapter XX.