Mr Merton was sitting in the private office of his counting-house with
a large book open before him. Just as he was in the middle of some
calculation which, to judge from the expression of his face, was pretty
abstruse, the door opened and a clerk entered. The banker looked up
with no appearance of being pleased at the interruption.
'What is it, Mr Chester?' he said, rather angrily.
'There is a young lady, sir, who says she must see you as soon as
possible, and alone.'
'O nonsense. I can't possibly attend to her. Don't you know who she is?'
'No, sir; she wouldn't give me her name, nor tell me her business.
I said that I was sure you couldn't see her; but she said it was
absolutely necessary that you should do so, and that you would know her
directly.'
'You must tell her that it is out of the question for me to see her, if
she will not send word who she is, or what she wants.'
'There's no good, sir; I have told her so. But she is quite determined
to come; and I thought I had better speak to you, as it seemed so
strange to have her waiting about there.'
'Well, in that case I suppose you must shew her in.'
The clerk withdrew, and in an instant returned with a young lady who
had a thick veil over her face. Having ushered her into the room, he
withdrew and shut the door, leaving Mr Merton and his visitor alone.
No sooner was the door closed than the lady put up her veil and
disclosed the features of Mabel Colherne.
'Why, Mabel!' said Mr Merton, appearing considerably more surprised
than pleased at finding who his visitor was; 'what in the world brings
you here?'
Mabel for her only answer put Wilfred's letter into his father's hands.
He read it through without shewing any signs of either surprise or
regret, and when he had finished it, handed it back to her without
speaking.
'Well, Mr Merton?' she said, feeling impatient at his silence.
'Well, Mabel?' he returned.
'Have you read the letter?'
'Most certainly.'
'And have you nothing to say?'
'What _am_ I to say?'
'Mr Merton,' exclaimed Mabel, hardly able to control herself, 'can you
read such a letter from your son, and not care about it?'
'I have given up thinking of Wilfred as my son at all, Mabel. I gave
him the chance of rising in his odious profession by sending him to
Paris, and what has been his conduct in return for my kindness? He has
done nothing but amuse himself, and get into all kinds of disreputable
mischief. I should have told you all this before, and tried to persuade
you to break off with him; but I did not do so; in the first place,
because I was sure you would not listen to me; and in the second,
because I did not want to be the means of cutting him off from your
affection, and thus rendering his amendment impossible.'
'I have been afraid that something has been going wrong with Wilfred
lately. I wish you had told me before; I might have been able to
influence him for good.'
'I don't believe that any influence in the world would be useful to
him; he is a thoroughly worthless fellow. I paid his debts once upon
condition that he would contract no more, but I might have saved myself
the trouble; within a month he wanted more money. I was not going to be
guilty a second time of the weakness of saving him from difficulties he
had brought upon himself, in spite too of all my warnings; so I wrote
back to say that I would have no more to do with him.'
'Mr Merton, you will not keep to such a cruel resolution now, with such
a letter as this before you?'
'Are you so weak, Mabel, as to be taken in by such nonsense as this?
Don't you see that being unable to get at me, he is simply trying what
he can do with you?'
'No, Mr Merton; I don't believe that, and won't for a moment. I trust
my own instinct, which is a woman's natural guide, and generally a
very sure one, and I am certain that Wilfred intends doing something
desperate.'
'I have told you before now that my son is a foolish weak fellow, and
not worth anybody's love.'
'What is that to me, Mr Merton?' exclaimed Mabel, exasperated beyond
endurance. '_I_ love him, and I can hardly be expected to stand quietly
by and let him be ruined, because the affection you ought to bear your
son is wanting in your nature. Who knows but that the treatment he thus
received under his own father's roof may have'----
'What do you wish me to do? What is there that _can_ be done?' cried Mr
Merton, interrupting the girl's impassioned burst.
'I want you to go with me to Paris to see Wilfred, that we may take him
away from harm, if it be not too late. If papa had been at home now,
he would, I am sure, have gone with me; but I could not wait till he
comes.'
'You can hardly be serious in proposing for me to go on such a wild
expedition as that, I think?'
'Mr Merton, I am quite sure that that letter means more than you think;
and I am determined that he shall not be left to be ruined without an
attempt to save him. If you will not come I must and will go alone.'
'You are mad, Mabel! Go to Paris alone, and to see this worthless
fellow! What do you suppose the world would say of such conduct?'
'I can't think of that when the person I love best on earth is in such
danger, as I am sure Wilfred is now, and there is a chance, however
faint it may be, of my saving him. I can answer to heaven and my own
conscience for what I am going to do, and I must brave the world. I
shall write and tell papa what I have done, and I am sure that he will
follow me as soon as possible. Good-bye, Mr Merton; there is no use in
my stopping here longer.'
'Stay, Mabel!' he began, detaining her as she rose. 'I cannot possibly
allow you to go alone, and I have of course no power of interfering
with your actions. If you really are bent upon this scheme, which
I still think an utterly mad one, I must, for the sake of my own
reputation as much as for yours, accompany you.'
'Believe me that my fears are not uncalled for. I am sure something
dreadful is going to happen to Wilfred, and I only dread being too late
even now. I am very thankful you are going with me; and am certain that
you will never repent it.'
'No thanks: it is only necessity that makes me do it. When do you
start?'
'To-night, if possible.'
Mr Merton looked into a Bradshaw that was lying upon the table. 'The
train to meet the night-boat leaves London at half-past eight; to catch
that you must start from your house at half-past seven.'
'I will do that. Will you meet me at the station?'
'Yes; I will be there at a quarter past eight.'
'Good-bye till then; and thank you again a thousand times.'
Mr Merton attended her to the outer door of the office, and she drove
home well satisfied with her mission. Writing to her father, to tell
him everything, and what she was going to do, she packed a small box
to take with her, and then did little else but wish the day, which
seemed interminable, gone. Long before it was necessary, she was at the
station; and punctual to the appointed minute, Mr Merton appeared.
After a journey that to Mabel seemed endless, they at length reached
Paris, and drove straight to the hotel in which Wilfred lived.
As they stopped, Mr Merton said: 'You may depend upon it we shall
find our trouble wasted, and that the object of your anxiety is out
somewhere amusing himself.'
Mabel did not answer. She could hear her heart beat as she sprang
out of the cab; and without waiting for her companion, entered the
court-yard of the hotel, and went to the den appropriated to the
_concierge_. That gentleman was reading a newspaper, in which he seemed
much interested, and did not look up as she came near him.
'Monsieur Merton, est-il chez-lui?' she asked breathlessly.
The concierge put his finger against the word he was reading, in mute
protest against being interrupted, and looking slowly up, said rather
dreamily: 'Plaît-il, Madame?'
'Monsieur Merton, est-il chez-lui?' she repeated more eagerly than
before.
The man turned round, and walking with the most provoking deliberation
to the other end of the room, where numerous keys were hanging, looked
at the place appropriated to the one belonging to Wilfred's room, and
seeing that it was unoccupied, came back to Mabel and answered: 'Oui,
Madame.'
'Quel est le numéro de sa chambre?'
'Soixante-deux, au cinquième,' said the concierge, returning to his
paper as he finished speaking.
Mr Merton had paid the driver and joined Mabel as this conversation
came to an end, and they started to mount the stairs to the fifth floor
as directed.
Even Mabel's youth and energy could not prevent her from getting out
of breath in that long climb; and by the time she and Mr Merton had
arrived at the fourth floor, they were obliged to stop and rest.
Before they had stood an instant, they were startled by a loud report
of a pistol coming from the floor above them. With a loud scream,
Mabel sped up the remaining stairs and entered the room named by the
concierge.
Mr Merton came almost instantly after her, and found Wilfred lying
insensible on the floor, and Mabel kneeling by his side, trying to
restore consciousness.