GONE!
The days passed on to a certain Saturday. An ominous Saturday for the
Godolphins. Rumours, vague at the best, and therefore all the more
dangerous, had been spreading in Prior's Ash and its neighbourhood. Some
said the Bank had had a loss; some said the Bank was shaky; some said
Mr. George Godolphin had been lending money from the Bank funds; some
said their London agents had failed; some actually said that Thomas
Godolphin was _dead_. The various turns taken by the rumour were
extravagantly marvellous: but the whole, combined, whispered ominously
of danger. Only let public fear be thoroughly aroused, and it would be
all over. It was as a train of powder laid, which only wants one touch
of a lighted match to set it exploding.
Remittances arrived on the Saturday morning, in the ordinary course of
business. Valuable remittances. Sufficient for the usual demands of the
day: but not sufficient for any unusual demands. On the Friday afternoon
a somewhat untoward incident had occurred. A stranger presented himself
at the Bank and demanded to see Mr. George Godolphin. The clerk to whom
he addressed himself left him standing at the counter and went away: to
acquaint, as the stranger supposed, Mr. George Godolphin: but, in point
of fact, the clerk was not sure whether Mr. George was in or out.
Finding he was out, he told Mr. Hurde, who went forward: and was taken
by the stranger for Mr. George Godolphin. Not personally knowing (as it
would appear) Mr. George Godolphin, it was a natural enough mistake. A
staid old gentleman, in spectacles, might well be supposed by a stranger
to be one of the firm.
"I have a claim upon you," said the stranger, drawing a piece of paper
out of his pocket. "Will you be so good as to settle it?"
Mr. Hurde took the paper and glanced over it. It was an accepted bill,
George Godolphin's name to it.
"I cannot say anything about this," Mr. Hurde was beginning: but the
applicant interrupted him.
"I don't want anything _said_. I want it paid."
"You should have heard me out," rejoined Mr. Hurde. "I cannot say or do
anything in this myself: you must see Mr. George Godolphin. He is out,
but----"
"Come, none of that gammon!" interposed the stranger again, who appeared
to have come prepared to enter upon a contest. "I was warned there'd be
a bother over it: that Mr. George Godolphin would deny himself, and say
black was white, if necessary. You can't do _me_, Mr. George Godolphin."
"You are not taking me for Mr. George Godolphin?" exclaimed the old
clerk, uncertain whether to believe his ears.
"Yes, I am taking you for Mr. George Godolphin," doggedly returned the
man. "Will you take up this bill?"
"I am _not_ Mr. George Godolphin. Mr. George Godolphin will be in
presently, and you can see him."
"It's a do," cried the stranger. "I want this paid. I know the claims
there are against Mr. George Godolphin, and I have come all the way from
town to enforce mine. _I_ don't want to come in with the ruck of his
creditors, who'll get a sixpence in the pound, maybe."
A very charming announcement to be made in a banking-house. The clerks
pricked up their ears; the two or three customers who were present
turned round from the counters and listened for more: for the civil
gentleman had not deemed it necessary to speak in a subdued tone. Mr.
Hurde, scared out of his propriety, in mortal fear lest anything worse
might come, hurried the man to a safe place, and left him there to await
the entrance of Mr. George Godolphin.
Whether this incident, mentioned outside (as it was sure to be), put the
finishing touch to the rumours already in circulation, cannot be known.
Neither was it known to those interested, what Mr. George did with his
loud and uncompromising customer, when he at length entered and admitted
him to an interview. It is possible that but for this untoward
application, the crash might not have come quite so soon.
Saturday morning rose busily, as was usual at Prior's Ash. However
stagnant the town might be on other days, Saturday was always full of
life and bustle. Prior's Ash was renowned for its grain market; and
dealers from all parts of the country flocked in to attend it. But on
this morning some unusual excitement appeared to be stirring the town;
natives and visitors. People stood about in groups, talking, listening,
asking questions, consulting; and as the morning hours wore on, an
unwonted stream appeared to be setting in towards the house of
Godolphin, Crosse, and Godolphin. Whether the reports might be true or
false, there would be no harm just to draw _their_ money out and be on
the safe side, was the mental remark made by hundreds. Could put it in
again when the storm had blown over--if it proved to be only a false
alarm.
Under these circumstances, little wonder that the Bank was unusually
favoured with visitors. One strange feature in their application was,
that they all wanted to draw out money: not a soul came to pay any in.
George Godolphin, fully aware of the state of things, alive to the
danger, was present in person, his words gracious, his bearing easy, his
smile gay as ever. Only to look at him eased some of them of half their
doubt.
But it did not arrest their cheques and old Hurde (whatever George might
have done) grew paralyzed with fear.
"For the love of Heaven, send for Mr. Godolphin, sir!" he whispered. "We
can't go on long at this rate."
"What good can he do?" returned George.
"Mr. George, he _ought_ to be sent for; he ought to know what's going
on; it is an imperative duty," remonstrated the clerk, in a strangely
severe tone. "In fact, sir, if you don't send, I must. I am responsible
to him."
"Send, then," said George. "I only thought to spare him vexation."
Mr. Hurde beckoned Isaac Hastings. "Fly for your life up to Ashlydyat,
and see Mr. Godolphin," he breathed in his ear. "Tell him there's a run
upon the Bank."
Isaac, passing through the Bank with apparent unconcern, easy and
careless as if he had taken a leaf from the book of George Godolphin,
did not let the grass grow under his feet when he _was_ out. But,
instead of turning towards Ashlydyat, he took the way to All Souls'
Rectory.
Arriving panting and breathless, he dashed in, and dashed against his
brother Reginald, not five minutes arrived from a two years' absence at
sea. Scarcely giving half a moment to a passing greeting, he was
hastening from the room again in search of his father.
"Do you call _that_ a welcome, Isaac?" exclaimed Mrs. Hastings, in a
surprised and reproving tone. "What's your hurry? One would think you
were upon an errand of life and death."
"So I am: it is little short of it," he replied in agitation. "Regy,
don't stop me: you will know all soon. Is my father in his room?"
"He has gone out," said Mrs. Hastings.
"Gone out!" The words sounded like a knell. Unless his father hastened
to the Bank, he might be a ruined man. "Where's he gone, mother?"
"My dear, I have not the least idea. What is the matter with you?"
Isaac took one instant's dismayed counsel with himself: he had not time
for more. _He_ could not go off in search of him; he must hasten to
Ashlydyat. He looked up: laid summary hands upon his sister Rose, put
her outside the door, closed it, and set his back against it.
"Reginald, listen to me. You must go out and find my father. Search for
him everywhere. Tell him there's a run upon the Bank, and he must make
haste if he would find himself safe. Mother, could you look for him as
well? The Chisholms' money is there, you know, and it would be nothing
but ruin."
Mrs. Hastings gazed at Isaac with wondering eyes, puzzled with
perplexity.
"Don't you understand, mother?" he urged. "_I_ can't look for him: I
ought not to have come out of my way as far as this. He must be found,
so do your best, Reginald. Of course you will be cautious to say nothing
abroad: I put Rose out that she might not hear this."
Opening the door again, passing the indignant Rose without so much as a
word, Isaac sped across the road, and dashed through some cross-fields
and lanes to Ashlydyat. His _détour_ had not hindered him above three or
four minutes, for he went at the pace of a steam-engine. He considered
it--as Hurde had said by Mr. Godolphin--an imperative duty to warn his
father. Thomas Godolphin was not up when he reached Ashlydyat. It was
only between ten and eleven o'clock.
"I must see him, Miss Godolphin," he said to Janet. "It is absolutely
necessary."
By words or by actions putting aside obstacles, he stood within Thomas
Godolphin's chamber. The latter had passed a night of suffering, its
traces remaining on his countenance.
"I shall be down at the Bank some time in the course of the day, Isaac:
though I am scarcely equal to it," he observed, as soon as he saw him.
"Am I wanted for anything in particular?"
"I--I--am sent up to tell you bad news, sir," replied Isaac, feeling the
communication an unpleasant one to make. "There's a run upon the Bank."
"A run upon the Bank!" repeated Thomas Godolphin, scarcely believing the
information.
Isaac explained. A complete run. For the last hour, ever since the bank
opened, people had been thronging in.
Thomas paused. "I cannot imagine what can have led to it," he resumed.
"Is my brother visible?"
"Oh yes, sir."
"That is well. He can assure them all that we are solvent: that there is
no fear. Have the remittances come down?"
"Yes, sir. But they will be nothing, Mr. Hurde says, with a run like
this."
"Be so kind as to touch that bell for me, Isaac, to bring up my servant.
I will be at the Bank immediately."
Isaac rang the bell, left the room, and hastened back again. The Bank
was fuller than ever: and its coffers must be getting low.
"Do you happen to know whether my father has been in?" he whispered to
Layton, next to whom he stood.
Layton shook his head negatively. "I think not. I have not observed
him."
Isaac stood upon thorns. He might not quit his post. Every time the
doors swung to and fro--and they were incessantly swinging--he looked
for Mr. Hastings. But he looked in vain. By-and-by Mr. Hurde came
forward, a note in his hand. "Put on your hat, Layton, and take this
round," said he. "Wait for an answer."
"Let me take it," almost shouted Isaac. And, without waiting for assent
or dissent, he seized the note from Mr. Hurde's hand, caught up his hat,
and was gone. Thomas Godolphin was stepping from his carriage as he
passed out.
Isaac had not, this time, to go out of his way. The delivery of the note
would necessitate his passing the Rectory. "Rose!" he uttered, out of
breath with agitation as he had been before, "is papa not in?"
Rose was sitting there alone. "No," she answered. "Mamma and Reginald
went out just after you. Where did you send them to?"
"Then they can't find him!" muttered Isaac to himself, speeding off
again, and giving Rose no answer. "It will be nothing but ruin."
A few steps farther, and whom should he see but his father. The Reverend
Mr. Hastings was coming leisurely across the fields, from the very
direction which Isaac had previously travelled. He had probably been to
the Pollard cottages: he did sometimes take that round. Hedges and
ditches were nothing to Isaac in the moment's excitement, and he leaped
one of each to get to him; it cut off a step or two.
"Where were you going an hour ago?" called out Mr. Hastings before they
met. "You were flying as swiftly as the wind."
"Oh, father!" wailed Isaac; "did you see me?"
"What should hinder me? I was at old Satcherley's."
"If you had only come out to me! I would rather have seen you then
than--than--heaven," he panted. "There's a run upon the Bank. If you
don't make haste and draw out your money, you'll be too late."
Mr. Hastings laid his hand upon Isaac's arm. It may be that he did not
understand him; for his utterance was rapid and full of emotion. Isaac,
in his eagerness, shook it off.
"There's not a moment to lose, father. I don't fancy they can keep on
paying long. Half the town's there."
Without another word of delay, Mr. Hastings turned and sped along with a
step nearly as fleet as Isaac's. When he reached the Bank the shutters
were being put up.
"The Bank has stopped," said an officious bystander to the Rector.
It was even so. The Bank had stopped. The good old firm of Godolphin,
Crosse, and Godolphin had--GONE!