"Oh, my love!" I cried. "It will all come right with us yet. We are
after all only half ruined. We can let the Hall and go abroad for
several years. Don't trouble about it any more. If you could only
know how happy I am to think I shall have you back once again, all to
myself as of old, you would be happy too. We will live in some quiet
French or Swiss town, and be everything to one another again."
So I talked to him and comforted him, until he grew more composed,
and, kissing me, owned that life was still worth having, even if
shorn of half its wealth.
That night I slept more happily than I had slept for months.
The morning's post brought a letter from Leach and Vincent. It was
couched in legal terms, and stated that unless the amount due was
paid in notes or gold by Saturday at noon, they would take the
threatened steps. Walter at once despatched a telegram, saying the
money would be paid, and requesting that the necessary release might
be prepared in order to avoid any delay. Then he started for London,
in quest of ten thousand pounds.
I had little fear as to the result of his expedition. I can read
faces; and long ago I had read in Mr. Mainwaring's face the kindness
of his disposition. I knew he was rich, and that his clients were
also rich men; moreover, he had a high opinion of Walter, and held
him in what might almost be termed affection. When he congratulated
me upon my marriage, he told me, in unmistakable words, what he
thought of my husband. So I was not surprised when, on the Friday
evening, Walter returned with a semblance of the old joyous smile on
his face; and, after locking a pocketful of bank-notes in the safe,
sat down by me, and for the rest of the evening built airy castles,
or rather cottages, full of peacefulness and love.
When I awoke next morn, my heart was light; trouble, it seemed, had
been, but passed away so swiftly that its traces scarce remained. I
threw the window open, and the fresh, sweet air of spring brought
gladness on its wings. The honeysuckle, old and great, that clothed
the wall beneath my window, just gave signs of breaking into blossom;
leaning out, I plucked some sprays and pinned them in my dress. A
thrush sung from a bush below; my heart kept echoing his notes of
love and joy. What cared I for the money, or its loss? Should I not
have my own love back again, and watch his face regain its old bright
look of health and happiness? Passed by his side, and with our
children round, would not my life be pleasant in some quaint old town
of France? And we would live so carefully, and save money as years
went on, until some day might bring us to the dear old Hall again.
Unhappy?--no! few moments in my life had happier been than these.
And Walter was cheerful. He would soon be out of the clutches of his
obliging friends. The shock was over. He had told me what had been
gnawing at his heart for so long; he was now looking his troubles
fairly in the face, and, as usually happens, found them not so
terrible in aspect as he had imagined. He buttoned his bank-notes in
his breast-pocket and started for the railway station. He felt
better and stronger to-day, and, as the morning was so beautifully
fine, was tempted to walk the five miles, instead of driving, as he
usually did.
We were early risers, so he had plenty of time, and I thought the
walk would do him good. Perhaps it was the feeling of newly restored
confidence--perfect and true--which now existed between us that made
his farewell to me that morning even more affectionate than it was
wont to be--made him insist upon having all the children brought
down, and taking many a kiss from those little rosy pursed-up
lips--made him pause when he reached the furthest point to which my
eyes could follow him, and turning, waft me one more farewell.
I should have walked with him, at any rate, part of the way; but
household duties had to be attended to; so, after watching his tall
figure disappear at the turning of the drive, I reentered the house,
hoping that the day would pass quickly, and hasten the evening which
would bring him back again.
Months and months ago I had promised a friend, who sighed in far-away
lands for English fields again, to make, this spring, a little
collection of dried ferns and send it to her. The anxiety of the
last few months had driven the promise from my mind, but as, this
morning, I pictured our own projected emigration, my thoughts turned
to my distant friend, and my broken promise came back to me. I
determined that on the first opportunity I would make amends for my
neglect.
Ferns, many of them scarce ones, grew plentifully in our pleasant
country; but on the road that Walter must take on his way to the
station they flourished in unusual abundance. I could obtain many
varieties close at hand, but some few grew further off; so I asked
Walter, if he should chance to meet with any specimens of these
particular sorts, to pick a frond or two, which he could place
between the leaves of the book he carried. I wanted, especially, a
specimen of the Northern Shield Fern, which even here is not very
common, growing as it does in little patches, sometimes miles apart.
He laughed at my idle request, but promised to attend to it.
The day wore on, and the sun got low. It was time to send the
dog-cart to meet the train. Long, long before the time had elapsed
in which, by any chance, it could return, I was waiting at the window
to welcome Walter home again. I waited and waited, until so many
weary minutes crawled away that I was fain to conclude he had been
detained in Bristol until the next and last train.
I nursed my disappointment, and killed the time as best I could. The
hour when I might surely expect him came and passed. The train must
be late. I opened the window, and waited and listened for the sound
of his coming.
At last I heard the ring of the horse's hoofs, and saw the
approaching dog-cart dimly by the light of the stars. I ran to the
door, eager to greet my husband; but as the horse drew up on the
gravel, I could see only one figure in the dog-cart--that of James,
our groom. He told me that his master had come by neither train, so,
after waiting, he had driven back alone.
I turned away, very miserable and sad at heart, but, strange to say,
felt no fear of evil. Business had, of course, detained him. It
seemed unkind not to have let me know in some way, but perhaps he
could find no means of doing so. There was not the slightest chance
of his returning to-night, the distance being far too great for
driving. I must wait until to-morrow.
It was only when I went to bed--alone, for almost the first time
since we were married--that fear fell upon me, and fancy brought
horrid ideas to my mind--that the possibility of evil having befallen
my husband came to me. The large sum of money he carried, the lonely
road, the black-faced colliers about the neighborhood--all combined
to fill me with a nameless dread--a terror which I could scarcely put
into thoughts, much less into words. Yet I strove with my fears,
trying to strangle each one as it was born.
"I shall see him to-morrow. To-morrow I shall see him," I repeated
over and over again; and as that morning at last dawned, I fell into
a restless sleep.
But morning brought him not; noon brought him not--neither letter nor
message. So my heart died within me; and taking a maid with me, I
started for Bristol by the afternoon train. It was Sunday; the
streets of the large town looked dreary and deserted as we passed
through them. Knowing Mr. Leach's private address, we drove straight
to his house. After some delay I was shown into a room.
By and by Mr. Leach entered, with his fat forefinger closed in a book
of sermons, which, I felt instinctively, he had been engaged in
reading for the benefit of his young vultures. His smooth face was
full of gentle astonishment that any one should wish to confer with
him on business matters on that particular evening in the week. As I
looked at him and read through his mask of hypocrisy, I knew that the
man was a rogue and capable of committing any crime. When he saw who
his visitor was, his astonished look changed to one of annoyance. He
closed his book entirely, laying it on the table with the edifying
title turned toward me.
It seems childish to mention such trivial incidents; but during that
terrible time every word, every detail, seems graven upon my memory
in deep lines that will never be effaced.
"I have called, Mr. Leach--" I began.
"My dear Mrs. Linton, I know why you have called. But I am sorry to
be obliged to say that your errand is useless--utterly useless. Mr.
Linton made a promise he has not kept. He can not blame us for the
steps we have taken."
"A promise not kept?" I echoed.
"Certainly not. He undertook to pay us a large sum of money
yesterday. He has not been near us--I conclude he fa ill," he added,
with an approach to a sneer.
I sunk back in the wildest grief. Then all my fears of the night,
all my forebodings of the day, were true! I knew that never--never
again should I look on Walter's face. He had been murdered--but by
whom?
Mr. Leach endeavored, after the manner of his kind, to comfort me.
He placed his fat hand in a soothing way upon my arm. This action
restored my senses to me.
"My husband left me only yesterday morning with the money you claim
in his pocket. I know it for certain. He was going straight to you.
Where is he? Tell me?"
Mr. Leach gave a start of surprise, but said nothing. I waited for
his answer.
"Where is he?" I reiterated. "Tell me!"
Mr. Leach placed his finger-tips together, and looked at me with an
expression almost like placid amusement.
"Mrs. Linton," he said slowly, "I am a man of business, and have seen
strange things in my time, so you mustn't be offended if I ask you a
question. Mr. Linton had the money ready for us, you say. In what
form was it?"
"In notes, sir," I replied. "He told me you declined taking anything
else."
"Yes, yes--except gold. So we did. We are bound to be careful.
Now, Mrs. Linton--mind, I mean no offense--do you know that your
husband was much embarrassed?"
"I know he could pay all just debts--and unjust ones, too," I
answered, with rising indignation.
"Yes, of course. All just and unjust debts. All unjust debts--very
good. Now, do you think it possible--ten thousand is a lot of
money--do you think it possible that Mr. Linton may have--well, in
plain English, decamped with it?"
I heard no more. My face was flaming. I rose and, without another
word, left the room. I was in the cab before Mr. Leach had recovered
from his surprise, and in another minute was sobbing my poor heart
out on the shoulder of my maid--a faithful, good girl who loved me.
I can not tell you of the next few days. The uncertainty of
everything, yet, to me, the utter hopelessness. The dread of what
any moment might make known to me. The searchers searching and
hoping to find--what? For I knew that the success of their quest
could only bring me the dead body of my darling--murdered, perhaps,
for the sake of the money he carried. Yet hardest of all to bear was
the knowledge that the sorrow manifested by those around me was only
assumed out of respect to me; that no one believed Walter to be dead;
that the wicked, cruel slander which had framed itself in Mr. Leach's
mind had entered into the minds of others. I could read the thought
in the faces of all who came near me during those days. I knew that
the paid seekers performed their task with a smile on their
lips--that the word went around among them that, in order to be
successful, the search should be, not for a dead, but for a living
man, to find whom it was needful to look further away. How was it I
did not go mad?
I cared nothing when some one told me that the property, house, and
all were advertised for sale in a few weeks' time. I thought of
nothing, saw nothing but the cold, still face of the one I loved. I
wished for nothing now but to see his name cleared from the stain
thrown upon it--a stain he would have heeded more than death; this
done, I wished to die--that was all. The wild thought which had at
first entered my head, that the men to whom he owed the money had
taken it and made away with him, was at last dispelled; for proof was
positive that Walter had not gone to Bristol on that fatal morning.
The passengers from the station were too few, and Walter too well
known not to have been noticed. Indeed, no ticket for the class by
which he would certainly have traveled had been issued that day. No
one had met him that morning, and he had disappeared without leaving
a trace; for people told me that every inch of the country near had
been scoured. But I knew they deceived me, and that the wicked
thought was in every heart, although no one dared to speak it in
words to me who knew him and loved him.
Mr. Mainwaring, whom I had almost forgotten in my grief, came down in
the course of a few days. Unfit as I was for business, I was
compelled to see him. The kind old man was in great distress and
anxiety, but he was very good to me. He started when he saw that I
had already put on mourning.
"It is dreadful," he said, with tears in his eyes, and taking both my
hands in his. "Not that I care for the money so much--although, of
course, I must make up any deficiency myself, having been guilty of
such irregularity. It is dreadful to think that I, who tried to help
Walter, must now strip his wife and children of their last shilling.
I trusted him so that I let him have my client's money simply on his
note-of-hand, bearing, of course, all responsibility myself. It was
most irregular; but he was so urgent, and I wanted to help him. Poor
girl! I will do what I can for you, but I am afraid it can be but
little."
I begged him not to think of us, and thanked him again and again for
his great kindness.
"I would, if only in my own interests, pay the money again and stop
the sale; but no one has the power to mortgage the property to me.
We do not even know that Walter is dead. It can not, can not be
true, what every one seems to hint at?" he added, almost shamefacedly.