Several things interfered with Hazel's obtaining a good night's rest.
She had given up her bedroom to Percy, and the little sofa was cramped
and hard. But had she been in the most luxurious of beds, Hazel Thorne
would not have slept well, for she was haunted by the angry, vindictive
look of Mr Samuel Chute, and troubled by his threats. Next there was
the shame and mortification of knowing that her mother's weak words had
gone home, and were being used against her. Then the quiet deference of
the vicar and his peculiar way made her uneasy as she went over and over
her interview with him, and recalled the smallest matters of his
reference to Mr Chute.
Lastly there was Percy's sudden arrival, and the battle she found
herself having with the idea that, in spite of his apparent frankness,
the boy had not told her all.
At last, towards morning, she dropped into an uneasy sleep, in which she
dreamed that Mr William Forth Burge had told her he loved her, and that
he would provide for Percy and make her mother a comfortable home, if
she would be his wife.
In her trouble she awoke suddenly, to find that it was morning; and,
unwilling to tempt sleep again, she rose, dressed, and prepared the
kitchen and sitting-room for the breakfast before going upstairs and
softly awakening the two little girls, who, under her tuition, had
become adepts at dressing each other in turns.
Whispering to them to be silent and not awaken their mother, Hazel stole
down again, and went to the door to glance up the street, for it was
nearly half-past seven, and she had a strange fancy that a letter would
arrive that morning.
Sure enough, before another ten minutes had passed away she saw the
postman coming down the last row of houses towards the schools, and she
was about to hurry out and meet him, when, through the wire
window-blind, she caught sight of Mr Chute, who stepped out and
received a letter from the postman, with whom he at once entered into
conversation.
Hazel, from where she stood, could see everything that passed, and that
Chute stretched out his hand to take a large blue envelope from the
postman's hand; but this the rustic official refused to allow. He,
however, permitted the schoolmaster to peruse the address, and that of
another letter, before going on with his delivery.
Hazel felt that he was coming there, and she opened the door in time to
stop his heavy thump.
"Two letters, miss--big 'un and little 'un," he said, thrusting the
missives into her hand. The next moment Hazel was reading the
directions, both of which were to her mother.
One was from Mr Geringer--she knew his hand well. The other, the large
blue envelope, was probably from Percy's employer. She had expected
that letter; and, yes, there were the names on the back, stamped in blue
letters in an oval, "Suthers, Rubley, and Spark."
Hazel stood hesitating as to what course she should pursue. She held in
her hands, she knew, the explanation of Percy's return home. If the
letters contained painful revelations her mother would suffer terribly.
Ought she to let her see the news without reading it first?
Of late all the correspondence had fallen to her share, and Mrs Thorne,
when a letter had arrived, had been in the habit of saying, "Open that,
Hazel, and see what it is."
She hesitated a few minutes, and then opened the blue envelope.
The letter was short and stern in its diction, saying that knowing Mrs
Thorne to be a lady of good family, and one who had suffered much
trouble, the firm had felt it to be their duty to write to her before
taking further proceedings with respect to her son, who had, they
regretted to say, abused the confidence placed in him, and been guilty
of embezzlement, to what amount they were not prepared to state.
Hazel stood with her brow wrinkled, gazing straight before her for some
minutes before, with a weary sigh, she opened the second letter--Mr
Geringer's--which endorsed the information contained in the first, and
finished as follows:--
"It is very terrible, my dear Mrs Thorne; and, for my poor friend's
sake, I deeply regret that his son should so soon have shown a
disposition to go wrong. It comes the harder on me because I was the
cause of his going to these people, who took him entirely upon my
recommendation. I regret your position, of course, and beg to assure
you of my deep sympathy. Had we been related by marriage, I should
have felt it my duty to see the lad through his difficulty, the
result, I find, of folly, he having entered upon a course of betting
upon horses. As it is, you must excuse me for saying that my credit
will not allow of my having my name mixed up with the transaction."
He remained, as a matter of course, Mrs Thorne's very sincere and
attached friend; but, all the same, he had given Hazel a severe stab in
the course of the letter, which again placed her conduct in an
unsatisfactory light. Was she always to be accused of standing in the
way of her mother's and brother's prospects? And as she asked herself
that question, quietly folding the letters the while, she could not help
seeing Mr Geringer's selfishness showing through all.
But what was to be done? The people evidently meant to prosecute Percy,
and at any moment he might be taken into custody. She knew enough of
the law to see that he was in a very perilous position, and if her
mother knew, she trembled for the consequences.
"I am glad I opened the letters," she thought; "but now I know, what
shall I do?"
A host of ideas passed through her brain, for the most part wild,
impossible notions, that could not be carried out.
Percy must escape--go away somewhere; but how, and to what place?
This was unanswerable; and besides, she knew that sooner or later, the
police, if in search, would be sure to find him.
No; he must stop and face it out--it would be the most honourable
proceeding. But she wanted help--she wanted some one to cling to in
this hour of difficulty; and to all intents and purposes she was alone,
for it was impossible to ask her mother's aid and guidance at a time
like this.
What should she do?
Mr Geringer?
No; his letter showed how her refusal rankled in his breast, and if she
appealed to him he might wish to make some bargain with her to act as a
payment.
Mr Lambent?
No; she could not ask him. He was most kind, but she shrank from
appealing to him. She dared hardly think of him, and dismissed him at
once; for, set aside the exposure and the lowering of her position in
his eyes, he frightened her. And then there were his sisters, who would
be sure to know.
Archibald Grave's father?
No; she dared not appeal to him. And when she began to run over the
list of her relatives, there did not seem one likely to take a step to
help her in this terrible strait--help her, for everything seemed to
fall upon her shoulders.
"What shall I do? Whom shall I ask?" she said half aloud; and, as half
prayerfully she asked the question, there rose up before her the round,
simple, honest face of Mr William Forth Burge, smiling at her as was
his wont and seeming to invite her to ask his help.
"Oh no; it is impossible," she said half aloud, as Mr Chute's words of
the previous evening came back to her mind. "I could not ask him. What
would he say?"
But all the same, she could not help thinking of his amiability, the
interest he had taken in her and hers, and that even if she dared not
herself ask him, there was a mediator in the person of Miss Burge, who,
gentle, amiable little body that she was, would readily espouse her
cause.
"But what are they to me? It would not be right to ask them. I dare
not--I cannot do it."
Just then the two children came dancing down to leap up at her and kiss
her, making her sorry for their sakes that her face wore so dismal a
look. But it did not trouble them. It was, "How long will breakfast
be, sis?" and then they were off out to look at their little gardens, to
see how much the plants and seeds had progressed during the night.
Hazel went through another phase of troublous thought while the children
were in the garden, and the kettle was singing its homely song; and as
she thought she stood waiting to make the tea so as to carry up Mrs
Thorne's cup, which was always partaken of before that lady attempted to
rise in the morning.
Just as the tea was made there was a step on the stairs and, looking
very sleepy and red-eyed, Percy came into the kitchen.
"Morning, Hazel," he said rather sheepishly, as he looked at her in a
half-penitent curious way; but he made no offer to kiss her, nor she
him. "I say, what time does the post come in here?"
"The post Percy?" said Hazel quietly, as she went on preparing Mrs
Thorne's tea. "Do you expect a letter?"
"Yes," he said. "I'll go out and meet the postman, and see what the
place is like. Letters'll be here soon, I suppose?"
"Not till to-morrow morning," said Hazel, watching his changing
countenance.
"Not till to-morrow morning!" he cried wonderingly.
"No; there is only one delivery here a day. The postman has been."
Percy was taken aback, and he stood staring, unable to find words and to
meet his sister's stern, angry look.
"Percy," she said at last, "are you trying to be a man?"
"Of course I am," he said quickly. "Every fellow at my time of life
tries to be one."
"Would it not have been more manly, then, when I invited your confidence
last night, if you had told me frankly the whole truth?"
Percy's jaw dropped and he stood gazing at her with a vacant, pitiful
expression.
"Then a letter has come this morning," he said.
"Two letters have come this morning," she replied, "and I know
everything. Stop! What are you going to do?"
"Cut," he said sulkily. "It is of no use to stay here."
"Do you think the police would not find you if you went away?"
"Police!" he cried, turning pale.
"Yes. Your employers warned us in the letter that they had not settled
yet what they should do since--since--oh, heavens! is it true?--they
found out that my brother was a thief."
"No, no--not a thief, Hazy! 'Pon my soul, I only borrowed the money. I
meant to pay back every shilling. I made sure that I should win, and I
never meant to steal."
"You committed theft of the worst kind, Percy. A common thief breaks in
and steals; he has not been trusted with that which he takes. You had
been; and you not only broke your trust but stooped to the basest
ingratitude as well."
"Yes, I know, Hazy," he cried hoarsely, and with his lips white; "but
tell me, does my mother know? Oh, for pity's sake, don't tell poor ma!"
"Do you think it will pain her more than this discovery has pained me?"
"Is that why she isn't down? Has it made her ill? I meant to have been
first and got the letters; but I was so dog-tired last night I overslept
myself. I say, Hazel, does she know?"
"She does not know yet; but she must know."
"No, no! pray don't tell her! You mustn't--you shan't tell her!" he
cried. "It would only be making bad worse."
"And how am I to account for your absence when you are fetched away?"
"I say, Hazel, is it so bad as that?" he cried piteously.
"Yes; I am afraid so. There is no knowing what steps your late
employers may take."
"Set of beastly cads!" muttered Percy.
"For objecting to their clerk's dishonesty! Shame on you, if you have
any shame left."
"And now you turn against me, Hazy!" cried the lad. "I did think last
night that you were sorry for me and meant to help me."
"I am sorry for you,--sorry that you could have disgraced yourself and
us to this terrible extent I feel it bitterly that you should have kept
back what you did last night; but that cannot be changed now, and--"
"Isn't breakfast ready?" cried Cissy, coming to the door. "We are so
hungry."
"Yes, dears, come in," cried Hazel cheerfully. And the little party,
after Mrs Thorne had been diligently attended to, sat down to the
homely breakfast, Percy making a pretence of being too much troubled to
taste anything, but ending by eating with all the heartiness of a
growing lad; while it was Hazel who just managed one scrap of bread and
a cup of tea, as she sat thinking of what proceedings she had better
take.