Great floods have flown
From simple sources; and great seas have dried;
When miracles have by the greatest been denied.
Oft expectation fails, and most oft there,
Where most it promises; and oft it hits
Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits.
--Shakspere.
Mr. Grahame entered his library, on the morning following his interview
with Chewkle, at least an hour before the time appointed for the return
of that individual, with the deed which he had promised to obtain, and
of which he had possessed himself--to use as an instrument of extortion.
There was no sound in the library, save the ticking of the valuable and
exquisitely finished specimen of handicraft, the skeleton timepiece,
upon the broad marble mantel-shelf, for Mr. Grahame sat with hands
clasped before him, plunged in profound, and uneasy thought.
But though a death-like stillness pervaded the apartment, there was a
terrible storm raging within his bosom.
Mr. Grahame’s position was perilous and critical.
On attaining his majority, he had inherited landed property, from
which he derived an income of nearly ten thousand a year, and personal
property to the value of thirty thousand pounds. He married a near
relative of a Scotch Duke, also a Grahame, and kin of many of the
proudest--if poorest--families in Scotland. With her he had a dowry
of ten thousand pounds; and thus he may be said to have commenced his
married life in a station of affluence, and with the brightest prospects
of happiness.
But he had, during his minority, been brought up in parsimonious
seclusion. Like the majority of his race, he was burdened with an
arrogant pride--a pride that would eat toasted herrings and potatoes in
state, that would look down in ineffable scorn upon the tradesmen it
was too poor to pay--a pride that was essentially inflation, and wholly
devoid of true dignity.
When approaching manhood, provided with the narrowest allowance, he had
preferred to be chiefly in the glen or on the mountain, where but little
money was needed, to mixing with the gay world into which his narrow
stipend would have introduced him--slightly above the condition of a
beggar. And thus he passed his minority away, yearning for the death of
his miserly father, who scraped, and saved, and accumulated, without a
thought crossing him that some day the mean and acquisitive spirit which
inhabited his frame would take its flight suddenly to the unknown land;
and, with the old and withered trunk it had inhabited, leave all the
savings, and dirty hoardings and scrapings behind.
So it turned out. One morning old Grahame was found at the threshold
of his bed-room door--a stiff, stark, grinning corpse--and Claverhouse
Grahame was declared the inheritor of ten thousand a year, and thirty
thousand pounds besides.
Shortly after this, he encountered Margaret Grahame. As she was
marriageable, and had ten thousand pounds by way of dowry, he proposed
for her hand. How could she refuse ten thousand a year? The possibility
of liking Claverhouse Grahame never entered her imagination. She took
him as part of the fortune--rather because she could not have the
fortune without him, and because the married state was not altogether
complete without a husband.
Of love, in its purity and holiness, she had no conception. She
considered her father and mother as grand and dignified persons,
entitled to filial respect and deference from her. She was passionately
fond of state, and pomp, and display, of jewels, of dress, of
genealogy--whatever pertained to an elevated position; but an emotion
purely disinterested, one equal to a self-sacrifice, she never
possessed. She gave her hand to Grahame, because the act brought her ten
thousand a year. Her heart was only so far involved in the transaction
that it vibrated with pleasure at the prospect of the situation in which
such an income would place her.
It was a natural consequence of Grahame’s probation, and his wife’s
immeasurable pride--a pride which, like his, had been confined by the
economical style of living adopted by her parents, to enable them
to give such a wedding portion with her as he had received--that his
imagination should convert the capabilities of ten thousand a year into
those of five times the amount, and that, by the same process of mental
exaggeration, his forty thousand pounds, should appear inexhaustible.
He proceeded to live as though his income possessed an elasticity which
enabled it to stretch to any length, and was startled, at the end of
some few years, to find that his forty thousand pounds had not only
evaporated, but that his liabilities more than exceeded three years’
income. He was too proud to make his wife acquainted with this
unpleasant state of his affairs, because it would necessitate
suggestions of retrenchment. Now she had formed so large an estimate
of her dowry, that he was quite aware she would taunt him with having
unjustifiably made away with it, although she had herself spent every
shilling of it, and a large sum in addition, in the indulgence of her
overweening pride.
She would too, he knew, hurl upon him expressions of contempt, for
having inveigled her with so splendid a jointure, from her castle home
in the Highlands--where a great deal of dirty state was maintained at a
small cost--only to subject her to the degradation of being compelled,
when she formed a wish suggested for the gratification of her darling
pride, to take the means of accomplishing it into consideration.
He therefore said not a word to her, and went on as before, save that
he looked more closely into his own affairs, raised his rents where
possible to the highest limits, forgave no tenant, on any plea,
arrears, and squeezed all he could out of renewals of leases. Hard,
uncompromising, refusing to spend a shilling on his land, he was hated
by the whole tenantry, and when, to gratify the stately dreams of his
wife, he paid an annual visit to the castle, his tenants, one and all
uttered reluctantly the hurrahs which, under the dark threats of the
steward, they gave to greet his arrival.
In spite of his efforts, he found it impossible to pay off his
liabilities, and make his income support the style in which he lived.
What he contrived to save, his wife expended, growing, as her family
increased in years, more arrogantly proud than ever. It was not that she
lavished or squandered money, but her tastes were enormously expensive.
She bought as an empress, preferring to give many hundreds for rare
objects rather than single pounds for articles equally handsome, but
more common; and it was these heavy drains upon his resources which kept
Mr. Grahame in a perpetual state of embarrassment.
At length many of his debts assumed a pressing character; he shrank from
appearing in a tradesman’s eyes deficient in funds, and, to obtain ready
cash, a first mortgage on a portion of his property was executed.
Once within the vortex, rescue by the aid of his remaining property,
without the most rigid curtailment of every unnecessary expense, was
utterly hopeless, and at the moment of his forging Wilton’s name to the
deed which Chewkle had that morning stolen, a few thousand pounds at
his bankers was all he possessed to meet heavy engagements, and all
the future, for every acre of his lands was in the possession of a
mortgagee.
There was, however, an enormous property to which he preferred a claim
by right of descent. It was disputed, and in Chancery; the claimants
had been many, but they had dwindled down by death to two--himself and
Eustace Wilton.
Years back, during the lifetime of the owner of the property, Wilton had
lived upon a portion of the estate--a slice of considerable dimensions,
and held under a simple document--a deed of gift, though not drawn up
by a lawyer. The original owner died suddenly, and, as it was believed,
intestate. As he died without issue, and no will could be found, a host
of claimants sprang up, and the estate went into Chancery.
Then Wilton was called upon to prove his claim to the estate he held,
and to improve which he had expended every sixpence of the fortune he
had possessed independent of it. He produced his document. So far as the
wording of the instrument went, it had full legal force; but proof was
needed that it was in the actual handwriting of the deceased, and
that it was in all respects executed by him in favour of Wilton--given
freely, fairly, without coercion, and with the full intention that
Wilton should enjoy, have, and hold possession of the estate thus
presented to him for ever.
It had been witnessed, but the witness was gone away, no one knew where.
The handwriting of the document was questioned, and on the trial to
prove Wilton’s title to the estate, the weight of evidence for and
against its being genuine was divided--if it did preponderate, it was
rather against than for him.
The judge held the non-production of the witness to be fatal to the
claim, and a verdict was so given. The property was therefore wrested
from Wilton; he was turned homeless into the world, with his wife and
family, while the estate itself was joined to the other property, and
the whole income went into the hands of the receiver appointed by the
Court--to be held in trust, disgorged only when a claimant appeared, who
could prove his title to inherit it.
In the claim to the property as a whole, Wilton was the nearest of kin,
but here again he was debarred for want of a witness, who was believed
to be living, but who could not be found.
Grahame’s chain of evidence in support of his claim was unbroken, and
his title to the property indisputable if Wilton were out of the way.
The only thing which debarred Wilton’s obtaining the estates was a doubt
thrown upon the validity of his mother’s marriage. Grahame knew that,
and, so far as it went, it was enough to keep him out of possession. But
if Wilton signed a paper waiving all claim to the property, which was
at his finger tips, without the power to grasp it, Grahame would, as the
only other surviving claimant become entitled to it, and would obtain
it; for, as we have said, his chain of evidence proving his right to it,
next of kin failing, was complete in all its parts.
It may now be understood how immensely important it was to him to obtain
Wilton’s signature to a deed which he had had most carefully drawn up,
and we have seen the lengths to which he went to obtain it. It may also
be understood wherefore Wilton preferred imprisonment, under the strong
hope that his much-wanted witness would some day appear, rather than
sign a deed which excluded not only himself but his family from the
possession of wealth, which was in truth and justice, though not to the
satisfaction of the law, actually theirs.
Grahame pondered over the past down to the present despairing moment.
What was now to be done? With the payment of the two bonds given by
Wilton while trying his right to possess that which had been given him,
he had lost all power by pressure over him: and destitution, perhaps
imprisonment, stared him in the face--no, not imprisonment--no, not
that.
He opened a drawer, and took out a case, which, with a furtive glance
round the chamber, he opened.
It contained within a beautifully-finished pair of pistols. He took one
out, and examined it.
“It is loaded,” he muttered, “and in good order.”
He replaced it in the velvet compartment made to receive it, and
returned the case to the drawer, which he closed and locked.
“They are there when needful,” he said, between his clenched teeth. “A
Grahame knows how to die, but not to endure the degradation of poverty
and ignominy. I will never die a pauper’s death!” he added, with a
fearful oath.
He pressed his hands over his burning forehead, and racked his brain to
find a path by which he could conquer his difficulties.
“That usurious wretch, Gomer, has promised me funds upon the very
document which before this he must know will not be completed,” he
muttered. “What is to be done? What if I persist in affirming that the
signature has been given, and act upon the man Chewkle’s advice, suborn
the men he named, and boldly claim the whole property? It is an enormous
prize, and worth the risk. I can pay the villains well to hold their
tongues until I am fairly in possession, and then--then--who
knows--at some carouse at which _all_ are assembled to celebrate their
success--something in their drink may make them sleep--sleep to the day
of doom. I do not like the man, Chewkle; the scoundrel is beginning
to grow insultingly familiar, and will, I foresee, ere long assume a
mastery over me. I must specially direct my attention to his permanent
welfare. When, by his aid, my scheme is consummated, then--then if
he escapes what I shall prepare for him, his good fortune will be a
marvel”----
“Mr. Chewkle, sir!” exclaimed a servant, suddenly throwing open the
library door.
Mr. Grahame’s heart leaped within him, and it palpitated painfully, but
he exhibited his accustomed cold _hauteur_.
“Show him in!” he exclaimed.
Chewkle entered with the air of a chap-fallen, disappointed man. His
manner presented a strong contrast to the half-drunken, offensive, easy
indifference it had displayed the evening before.
Mr. Grahame detected it instantly; he replied to Chewkle’s bow by an
inclination of the head, and pointed to a chair upon the edge of which
Mr. Chewkle gently sank, poising himself when there with the skill of a
performer on the tight rope.
“You have obtained the deed, Chewkle,” said Mr. Grahame--“that of
course.”
“Well, no sir,” returned Chewkle, “not quite. I entertained ’igh,
very ’igh hopes, but they has been chucked down into the deeps of the
greatest disappointment. Them lawyers, sir”----
“What do you mean?--they did not refuse to give it to you?” asked Mr.
Grahame, hastily and sternly.
“Why, no, not quite that, sir.”
“Then where is it?”
“That’s jest it--where is it, sir? That’s jest what I should like to
know.”
“What do you mean?” cried Mr. Grahame, springing to his feet with a
countenance of alarm. “You do not mean to say it has been stolen?”
“Stolen!” cried Chewkle, leaping up with a face suddenly of the hue of
scarlet. “That would be too good a joke, too. Who’d prig such a thing as
that, I’d like to know?”
“Explain yourself, man! You are speaking in enigmas!” cried Mr. Grahame,
excitedly.
Mr. Chewkle drew from out of a dirty piece of light brown paper--which
had been employed in the task of enclosing half-a-pound of “moist”
sugar--the letter he received from the solicitor.
Mr. Grahame snatched it from him, and tore it open. He read the contents
twice, and then sat down and reflected for a minute.
“There is nothing, Chewkle,” he said, more composedly, “that I perceive
in this communication to occasion alarm: the deed will be sent here to
day by one of the clerks.”
“I hopes it may,” observed Chewkle, laconically.
“In the meantime, my good friend,” said Grahame, assuming a bland tone,
“I have been pondering over the situation, and I am afraid we have gone
a little too far to pause now, or to retrace our steps.”
“We,” echoed Chewkle, opening his eyes widely.
“Yes,” continued Mr. Grahame; “if I stand in the position of a principal
in the affair, you take the part of an accessory before the fact, and
a very important one you are, too, inasmuch as you counselled the
deed, and instructed me how to perform it, lending your assistance
throughout.”
Mr. Chewkle would have here interposed some very emphatic observations,
but that Mr. Grahame checked him, and continued speaking.
“It is not my intention,” he said, “or my wish that the conversation
should assume its present tone. I would rather that it took a shape
which, while it consulted my interest, gave liberal promise of rich
advantages to you.”
Chewkle pricked up his ears.
“Last night, if you remember,” said Mr. Grahame, slowly fixing his eye
firmly upon that of his ‘agent,’ “you threw out several suggestions
calculated to afford me, in the distress of mind under which I was
labouring, a very considerable degree of consolation. Do you remember
this?”
Chewkle caught hold of his dusty, shaggy whiskers at the roots, and drew
them out to their full extent with the tips of his fingers and thumb
several times, to appear the unconscious act of a man plunged in
reflection. Presently he said--
“Ain’t altogether certain as I does.”
Mr. Grahame now repeated the plan which he had the previous evening
proposed to accomplish by the aid of Mr. Jukes and his companions, by
which, in spite of all Wilton’s protestations and oaths to the contrary,
the signature was to be sworn to as being _bona fide_ and genuine.
Chewkle listened in silence, and when Mr. Grahame concluded by observing
that he had almost decided upon adopting it, Mr. Chewkle felt himself
to be unpleasantly situated upon the horns of a dilemma. Mr. Grahame had
been candid enough to acknowledge that, unless he obtained the estate,
he would be lost, destroyed, unable to reward the services of any
person; but that if he, by the assistance of “zealous friends,”
succeeded in securing it, the most magnificent recompense should be
bestowed upon them.
Mr. Chewkle’s difficulty consisted in having possession of the deed. If
he retained it, it seemed that Mr. Grahame would be reduced to poverty,
and his _exposé_ of the guilty act of forgery would bring him nothing,
perhaps, but the questionable advantage of being brought under the
anxious consideration of a judge and jury, as a _particeps criminis_.
If he gave it up to Mr. Grahame, he would have to account for its
possession, an acknowledgment of the truth would place him at once in
the power of Mr. Grahame, who could give him, if he pleased, into the
custody of the police as a thief.
There was, certainly, no middle course to steer, save waiting for a
little while, to see what direction matters would take. He reflected
that it would be wise not to be precipitate, but that it would be best
to carefully consider whether there was a safe way to hit upon, which
would conduct him out of his perplexing position. He began to fear he
had been too hasty in securing the deed. The possession now seemed to
be by no means so valuable to him, as it had done, when he locked it
up carefully in his iron safe. The figure of Nathan Gomer kept
dancing before his eyes, too, in the most disagreeable fashion--it was
embarrassingly suggestive, and it disturbed him.
Mr. Grahame awaited his opinion upon the adoption of the desperate
course with impatience, and at length said, hastily--
“Why are you silent? Does the intention to carry out your own suggestion
startle and terrify you?”
“No,” he replied, “it is not that; but swearing point blank in a court
of law that a signature to a deed was written by a man whose hand
never went near it, and in the teeth of his oath to the contrary,
ain’t altogether to be done without a good deal o’ consideration and
arrangement.”
“Granted.”
“And--don’t you think it will be the best plan to wait until you have
got the deed back in your own hands?”
“No--wherefore? It is in the custody of my solicitor”--
“I ain’t so sure about that,” suggested Chewkle, artfully but
uncomfortably. “He could not find it this morning”----
“Bah! His managing clerk has it safe enough; he will proceed by the
proper legal course to claim the estate which this waiver of Wilton’s at
once will put me in possession of. Of course Wilton will dispute it. We
shall swear he signed to be released from the judgments we held against
him, prove his signature on oath, I obtain the estate, and you and your
friends a rich reward. Therefore, having finally resolved to pursue this
plan, the deed cannot be better placed than where it is now.”
Mr. Chewkle shook his head. He had rather the deed had been anywhere
but where it now was. He, however, interposed no further objection, but
suggested that he should pay a visit to Messrs. Jukes and Nutty to sound
them upon the matter.
“You see, sir, this plan makes us commit perjury as well as forgery,”
he exclaimed, laying such emphasis on the two crimes, that Mr. Grahame
started, and involuntarily shuddered. “Now,” he continued, “it is not
every man who has the pluck to take a false oath and stick to it--stick
to it, that’s the rub, sir. Taking a false oath ain’t much, but it’s
when the counsel begins to badger you, and to ask you this question and
that, sometimes about the subjeck, and sometimes about things as has
nothen to do with it, and then comes slap back to the subjeck again,
so as to jerk a contradictory confession out on you; it’s that as tries
you. I ain’t got much doubt about Jukes; he can stand any amount
o’ cross-examining, he can, but it’s t’other I ain’t certain about.
However, I will go onto ’em at once, sound ’em cautiously without
using any names”----
“Right,” observed Mr. Grahame, approvingly.
“And if they agrees, I will come to terms with them; and if they don’t,
sir”----
“We must get some one else,” suggested Mr. Grahame.
Chewikle passed his hand over his chin. “Yes,” he replied, “that is, if
they are to be got.” Very few words more were interchanged between them
ere Mr. Chewkle quitted the house, cursing the deed which he had with
such an exercise of cunning purloined, and which would require so much
ingenuity to restore, and leave him unsuspected of the theft.
“_Perjury and Forgery!_” exclaimed Mr. Grahame, as soon as he knew
himself to be alone. “This is hastening on in the career of crime.
What if some voice were to howl in the ear of Mistress Grahame that her
husband was a perjurer and a forger! A Grahame, one of the race that has
prided itself upon never having cowered under the taint of dishonour--a
wretched criminal--liable to be dragged, with all the horrors of the
lowest degradation, to the bar of justice, thence to work out in chains
a fearful servitude, in the company of wretches the most desperate. Into
what a frightful, position has my pecuniary embarrassment hurled me?
Henceforth I shall live in perpetual horror of discovery, of being
called upon at any moment to face an officer to”----
A loud, single knock at the library door at this moment made his heart
leap into his mouth, and nearly caused him to scream with fright, but
that his voice forsook him. Before he could recover sufficiently to
accord permission to enter, Nathan Gomer walked into the room.
Pale and haggard, Mr. Grahame regarded him with any other feeling than
that of complacency. Nathan Gomer held mortgages on his property, and
had advanced money on a bond; the day of payment named in it was fast
approaching. He had also promised, upon certain security, to furnish
additional funds. Mr. Grahame could only look upon him with the eyes
of one deeply indebted to him; he believed that he would realise some
portion of the sums he had loaned, but he knew that if fate proved
adverse to him, Nathan would lose largely as well. He both hated and
feared him, and he viewed his presence now with distrust. He anticipated
that he was the harbinger of bad news: everything had gone so wrong of
late, there was nothing else to expect.
Nathan Gomer turned up his shining yellow visage, and grinned. How
Grahame loathed that grin!--it seemed to betoken only mischief.
He motioned to Nathan to take a chair, and, in a husky voice, begged to
be informed what fortunate circumstance it was to which he was indebted
for the felicity his presence thus unannounced, afforded him.
“A matter I apprehend of no small importance to you, Mr. Grahame,”
replied Nathan.
Mr. Grahame gulped. No doubt it was of importance to him; he expected
that--most painful importance. What else could it be.
“I think I am prepared,” he said, “for anything you may have to
communicate to me, whatever distressing features it may possess.”
“I think not,” said Nathan. “Hearken: you have a new neighbour next door
to you;” he pointed as he spoke, and asked--“Do you know his name?”
Mr. Grahame looked at him with some surprise. What did such a question
portend?
Nathan only grinned, and Mr. Grahame answered coldly--
“I am not accustomed to take any notice of my neighbours, or trouble
myself to make inquiries respecting them.”
“You would have been interested if you had, in the present instance.”
“Indeed!” ejaculated Grahame, a curl turning his lip.
“Ay! His name is Wilton--Eustace Wilton--ah, you are interested now.”
Mr. Grahame clutched Nathan by the arm.
“What?” he shouted, “the wretched man dying inch by inch in his
poverty--a day or so back in the Queen’s Prison, and now”----
“Your next door neighbour, with an income of five thousand a-year, and
cash to the tune of sixty thousand pounds.” replied Nathan Gomer, with
forcible emphasis.
“Impossible!” groaned Grahame.
“Fact!” ejaculated Gomer.
“By what magic has it been accomplished?” inquired Grahame, apparently
stupefied by what he heard.
“No magic at all,” returned Nathan Gomer, grinning. “A simple process
of law. Years ago a near relative, named Eglinton, a connection of your
own, gave to him an estate”----
“Which the law took from him, exposing a trumped up”----
“Gently, Mr. Grahame, be careful what you say until you have heard more.
When our tongues run away with us, we have sometimes occasion to lament
the want of a curb. This estate was taken from him by the Court of
Chancery, because he failed only to produce the attesting witness.”
“Tush! the witness was a fiction, an imaginary person, who”----
Has recently returned from India, a colonel in the East India Service,
and sufficiently tangible to satisfy the law. This officer has not
only sworn to the genuineness of the deed of gift, but has proved its
validity, by giving information of the existence of a duplicate lodged
by Eglinton himself in the hands of a solicitor long since retired from
practice. This has been produced, attested to the satisfaction of the
Chancellor, and the estate, together with the large arrears accumulated,
are in the process of being restored to “Wilton.”
Mr. Grahame listened in grim silence. He felt choking, with spite and
envy. The man he had pressed to the verge of despair, in the hope
to compel him to sign away his birthright, was now immeasurably his
superior in position as he was his equal in descent. He would be a
formidable antagonist to fight with the miserable deed he had forged. He
could not dare to attempt it.
He fell back in his chair with a groan. Nathan Gomer had brought him
ill news indeed. He had expected foul tidings, yet not such as this. He
could have wept scalding tears of bitterness, vexation, and rage. He
bit his white and trembling lips, and exerting himself to control his
tremulous voice, he said--
“It is to give me this information you have waited upon me, Mr. Gomer, I
suppose, and with no other object?” The misty shapes dancing before
his eyes began to take the distinct form of a pistol with which he had
resolved to anticipate the thunderbolt hovering over to crush him.
“I have another object, calculated, I think, to prove vastly
advantageous to you,” returned Nathan, with a grin. “You know I have
your interest at heart,” he grined again; “and I wish to serve you--in
my own way.” He rubbed his hands, and grinned again, then he went
on. “You and Wilton are the claimants to the whole of old Eglinton’s
property. Wilton wants a witness--you want--Wilton dead--hem! All this
time, neither of you are deriving any benefit from the property. Now
supposing you and Wilton were to unite your claims and possess it
jointly; the sum accumulated in arrears is enormous, and the yearly
rental largely improved since Eglinton’s death, is at least thirty
thousand a-year. Now, an income of fifteen thousand pounds sterling,
with half the enormous sum in cash for each, would not be so bad, I
conceive! The money would be doing more good, I suspect--administering
to the comforts, the pleasures, the enjoyments of yourselves and
respective families--than it will in swelling the millions already held
in trust by the Court of Chancery. How say you, Mr. Grahame--what is
your opinion of my proposition?”
All the time Nathan Gomer was speaking, Mr. Grahame experienced a
variety of emotions. He was cold and hot by turns--now his knees
quivered, and his teeth chattered--anon he burnt as if scorched by
fever. What burst of sunshine was this on a heart almost buried in a
dense, life-destroying gloom? What sudden saving hand was this lifting
him up out of the engulph-ing quicksands of almost fathomless debt, and
placing him upon a rock firm enough to stand the shock of any storm?
What haven of safety was this stretching out its unassailable arms to
receive him into its secure shelter, even while sinking beneath the
hurricane raging around him?
Did he hear aright? Had Nathan Gomer come hither only to taunt him? The
gold-faced dwarf, albeit he grinned, seemed to be perfectly earnest and
sincere in his proposition, and had, no doubt, good grounds for making
it.
It struck Grahame suddenly that Wilton had, perhaps, ascertained
that his chance of obtaining any of the property beyond what he had
recovered, was hopeless, and, therefore, now sought by a stratagem to
secure half. If this were the fact, there was nothing to bar Grahame’s
claim to all, and the splendid income, with the immense sum in ready
cash, roused his avarice--it dazzled his vision. Not a farthing should
Wilton have, if he could obtain all--all. What a grand thing it would
be to possess himself of all! He did not observe how keenly Nathan was
perusing his features, nor conceive with what skilled eyes he read in
their changing expression the thoughts which were passing through his
mind. He little thought how bare his base greed lay before the man from
whom, of all others, he would have most concealed it.
After a pause purposely made by him to reduce his tone of voice and his
manner to an attitude of perfect calm, he said to Nathan--
“Your friend Wilton of course suggested this proposition?”
“He does not even dream of it,” was the reply. “On the contrary, he
is most sanguine of shortly discovering the witness who can prove the
validity of his mother’s marriage with his father. Certainly his chances
of doing so are such as to bar any other claim to the property, until
it is proved to the satisfaction of the Court that all his efforts
have hopelessly failed. In the meantime, you have heavy liabilities
approaching maturity. You best know what resources you possess to
meet them, and if they are not unquestionable and beyond the reach of
casualties, it seems to me you ought to leap with gladness at the chance
of suddenly acquiring the wealth my suggestion would place within your
reach.”
Mr. Grahame thought for a moment; his present position was very ugly;
still he could not bring himself to think a proposition so extraordinary
as this would be made to him unless his chances of obtaining the
property had, in some manner unknown to himself, materially improved.
Now if he could elicit this, he would not, for an instant, hesitate to
decline to accede to the terms, and with this object he commenced to
cross-examine Nathan Gomer; but before he had completed a sentence a
servant entered with a letter.
Mr. Grahame recognised the superscription as his lawyer’s handwriting,
and saying to Gomer hastily--“Pardon me,” he tore it open, and read its
contents. They were to inform him that the managing clerk of the firm
having returned, it was ascertained that he had not had the deed; it
must, therefore, be unfortunately mislaid. Mr. Grahame was assured that
prompt steps would be taken to recover it, but if they failed, the usual
course to discover any article of importance, missing or stolen, would
be adopted without the least loss of time.
Mr. Grahame was aghast at this information. That the deed was lost
or stolen was clear. In either case, his position was painfully
embarrassing. The proposal of Nathan Gomer was, therefore, a harbour
of refuge to be secured instanter to be secured at all; so he turned to
him, and said, quickly--
“What reason have you to suppose that Wilton will meet your views, if he
is in the position in this affair which you declare him to be?”
“It is unnecessary to give my reason. Will you have an interview with
him upon the subject?”
“Oh--yes--yes--readily! When shall it take place?”
“Now!”
“Now?”
“This minute, if you will. I know that he is at home.”
“This is so sudden that”----
“I hardly imagine the possession of fifteen thousand a-year can occur
too soon for your peace and safety, Mr. Grahame.”
“Lead on, sir. I will accompany you.”
Within five minutes from that time, Nathan Gomer and Mr. Grahame were
ushered into Mr. Wilton’s library.
The persecutor and the persecuted stood face to face.