A LETTER AND ITS REPLY.
John Brancker's abrupt departure left Mr. Avison in no very enviable
frame of mind. He was thoroughly dissatisfied with John; nay, more, as
he told himself, he was deeply offended with him; but none the less
was he conscious of a certain sense of dissatisfaction with himself.
Although he had laid such stress on the fact that the trial had failed
to clear up certain points of evidence which told strongly against
John, and had brought forward that fact as an excuse for getting rid
of him, and although he still failed to understand how the crime could
possibly have been the work of a stranger, he was possessed by a
secret conviction, which the recent interview had not failed to
strengthen, that John Brancker was as innocent as he, Benjamin Avison,
was of any participation either in the death of Mr. Hazeldine, or in
the robbery which had formed part and parcel of the mysterious affair.
Therefore he was dissatisfied with himself. The scales of justice
which he prided himself on holding with such an even balance in his
dealings with his fellows, inclined for once a little more to one side
than the other, and he was conscious that their doing so was owing
entirely to his own bias in the affair.
Such thoughts were not comforting, and with a strong wrench he broke
away from them. John Brancker had taken his own headstrong course, and
he must abide by the consequences. "For the future, I wash my hands of
him entirely," said Mr. Avison, as he touched the bell at his elbow.
The death of Mr. Hazeldine and the enforced absence of John had
necessitated several changes in the Bank staff. Such changes, however,
in view of John's probable resumption of his duties, had only been of
a makeshift and temporary character; but now the time had come for
them to be made permanent. Mr. Avison had taken upon his own shoulders
a great part of the duties of his dead manager. The next clerk to John
Brancker in point of seniority was a Mr. Howes, who was a protégé of
Mr. Avison, and, consequently, somewhat of a favorite, although no
signs of his being so had ever been detected by the rest of the staff.
Mr. Howes, who had performed John's duties while the latter was in
prison, was now confirmed in the position at a considerable advance of
salary. When he had given expression to his thanks and was dismissed,
Ephraim Judd and Frank Derison were sent for.
Mr. Avison had never liked Ephraim, although no one, except perhaps
the object of his dislike, had any cognizance of the fact. The Banker,
in matters of dress and personal appearance, was one of the most
fastidious of men, whereas Ephraim was careless to the verge of
slovenliness. His clothes were of coarse material and badly made; one
collar and one pair of cuffs were made to do duty for a week; while
his necktie was usually either awry, or had its ends loosely flying.
Both his nails and his teeth would have repaid more attention than he
chose to bestow on them, while his lank, black hair, which he wore
several inches longer than is customary nowadays, only tended to
accentuate the general untidiness of his appearance. All these things,
each one a trifle in itself, had yet, when taken in the aggregate, an
irritating effect on the nerves of Mr. Avison. Then there were those
terrible ears of his, and his peculiar mode of progression--although,
of course, the fellow could not help it--something between a hop and a
skip when unassisted by his stick. Taking him all in all, the Banker
desired to see as little as possible of Ephraim Judd.
But, on the other hand, Ephraim was one of the best of clerks,
industrious, painstaking, conscientious. Mr. Avison told himself that
it would never do--that it was contrary to all his principles--to
allow personal prejudices to stand in the way of doing what was right
by the other. It may be that he felt the more determined to deal with
him in a thoroughly just spirit because he was not without his secret
doubts whether that was altogether the spirit in which he had dealt
with John Brancker. Accordingly, the Banker now proceeded to inform
Judd that he might consider himself as being permanently installed in
the position lately filled by Mr. Howes, while Frank Derison was to
succeed Ephraim. A substantial increase of salary would follow in each
case as a matter of course.
Both the young men were profuse in their professions of thanks, which,
however, Mr. Avison deprecated with a gentle motion of his hand. Then
he said: "If you can see your way, Judd, if you really can see your
way to pay a little more attention to the details of your attire,
and--and to your personal appearance generally, upon my word, I shall
esteem it a favor." There was something that verged on the pathetic in
the way he spoke. Then he added: "That will do for the present, Judd.
Derison, I want a word with you before you go."
Ephraim left the room with a very red face, and a tingling sensation
about his ears as if someone had soundly boxed them. Frank turned not
red but white. Which of his little peccadilloes, he asked himself, was
he going to be "called over the coals" about?
"I have not conferred this promotion on you, Derison, without having
very serious doubts as to the wisdom of doing so," said Mr. Avison,
toying with a paper-knife and staring the young man straight in the
face. "I trust, however, that you will give me no cause to regret
having taken such a step; but, in order that you may not do so, it
will be needful for you at once to turn over a fresh leaf. For one
thing, you must wholly give up frequenting the 'Crown and Cushion,' or
any other tavern, and if you continue to play billiards, it must be at
private houses only. I have made it my business to ascertain in what
way you are in the habit of passing your evenings, and the result, I
am sorry to say, is one which is far from creditable to you. It is
not, however, too late for you to reform, but I need scarcely tell you
that the reformation must be both thorough and sincere, and I must
have ample proof that it is so. And now, to turn to another matter.
You are a frequent visitor, I believe, at the house of John Brancker.
I am also given to understand that Brancker has a niece--a more than
ordinarily attractive young woman. Is there any engagement, may I ask,
between yourself and the person in question?"
There was a momentary hesitation before Frank spoke. Then he said in
low, but distinct tones: "There is no engagement whatever, sir,
between me and the young lady you refer to."
"I am glad, for reasons of my own, to have your assurance of the fact.
If you will be advised by me, you will be a less frequent visitor at
Brancker's house in time to come. I don't know that I have anything
more to say to you just now, unless it be to impress upon you the fact
that your future rests entirely in your own hands, either to make or
mar."
When Frank reached home that evening he made haste to tell his mother
all that had passed between himself and Mr. Avison.
"To think that he should have set someone to play the spy on me! I
call it mean and contemptible in the extreme," concluded the young
clerk in a fine burst of indignation.
"You look at the matter from an erroneous point of view, my son,"
replied Mrs. Derison, in her unemotional way. "You may rely upon it
that Mr. Avison would not have been at the trouble to act as he has
unless your future were a matter of some concern to him. He has warned
you and told you what he expects at your hands, and you may rest
satisfied he has not done it without having a certain end in view.
That your future will be a brilliant one I think you need not doubt,
if only you will be guided by him. He has put you on your trial, and
the result rests entirely with yourself."
"All the same, it was a mean thing to set a spy to dog my footsteps,"
said Frank, sullenly.
"I do not doubt that you will live to see the wisdom of the step which
you now denounce so pettishly. And now, as to Miss Rivers?"
"Well, what about her? I consider it a piece of unwarrantable
impertinence on Mr. Avison's part to ask me whether I am engaged to
Hermy, as also to advise me to visit less frequently at John
Brancker's house. What can it possibly matter to him how often I go
there?"
"Oh! Frank, Frank! when will you be able to see an inch further than
your nose? Cannot you comprehend that Mr. Avison's interference in
your affairs is dictated by a strong desire for your ultimate good? Do
not his actions say as plainly as words, 'Only do as I want you to do,
and I will set you on the high-road to fortune?' You ought never to
forget that Mr. Avison's nearest relatives are all of my sex, and that
in view of the delicate state of his health, as well as of the fact
that he is no longer young, the question of a possible successor at
the Bank, especially now that Mr. Hazeldine is no more, is one which
must inevitably be much in his thoughts. I am glad you were able to
assure him that there is no engagement between yourself and Miss
Rivers."
"But there is an engagement between us, as you know full well. I was a
hound to tell Mr. Avison that there wasn't."
"An engagement of a sort," replied Mrs. Dersion meaningly; then after
a moment's pause, she went on: "It was only a half-and-half
provisional arrangement, look at it whichever way you will. At the end
of a year either of you could cry off that might wish to do so; and
now that the course it is to your interest to follow is put so plainly
before you, surely you would not----?"
"I repeat it, I was a hound to tell Mr. Avison what I did. Hermia
Rivers is the most charming girl I know, and I'm far from sure that I
want to break with her."
"Frank, you are a fool, and I have no patience with you," said Mrs.
Derison, in coldly contemptuous tones, as she got up and left the
room.
But it was only to return to the charge a little later on. She did not
in the least doubt that, in the long run, her stronger will should
overmaster Frank's weak one, and that she should ultimately carry her
point. Thus it fell out that, in the course of the next day but one
after Frank's interview with Mr. Avison, the following letter was
received by Miss Rivers:
"My Dear Hermia,
"Never before have I had so hard a task as the one which
confronts me to-day, and I scarcely know in what terms to set about
it. Pray believe me when I tell you that to me the pain is very keen,
though I cannot flatter myself that it will be anything like the same
to you. In any case, I trust that what I am about to propose will, in
the long run, prove conducive to the happiness of both.
"It is now upwards of a year since you and I entered into a kind of
semi-engagement, which by mutual consent was to be kept secret from
everyone for the time being, and was to be terminable at the end of
twelve months at the option of either or both, unless it should
meanwhile have developed into a bond of a much closer and warmer kind.
"Dear Hermia, I now write to offer you your freedom. My feelings
towards you have in no wise changed. I still love you as much as ever
I did, but I feel that it would be unfair towards you to keep you
longer under the bond of an engagement which I see no present prospect
of being able to bring to its legitimate conclusion. In brief, I am
too poor to marry, and am likely to remain so for an indefinite
period. Rather would I keep single forever than allow my wife to
deteriorate into one of those household drudges of which we can see so
many specimens around us. That sort of thing I could not reconcile
either to my conscience or my feelings; neither am I selfish enough to
wish you to wear out the best years of your life in waiting for one
who, the longer he lives, the more unworthy he feels himself to be of
the great treasure of your love.
"I do not know that I can add more, unless it be to say that, should I
ever find myself in a position to marry, you would be the one whom I
should choose before all the world; and also that my heart still
clings to you, and that, in writing as I am now, I feel that I am
cutting myself adrift from all that has been brightest and best in my
life.
"Always, dear Hermia, yours most sincerely,
"Frank Derison."
This characteristic epistle elicited the following reply:
"Dear Frank,
"The contents of your letter caused me very little surprise, and what
I did experience was of a pleasurable kind. For some time past it has
been plain to me that the tie which bound us, slight though it was,
had become irksome to you, and that its severance would be hailed by
you as a relief. To me, almost from the first, it has been as a chain
that galled and fretted me; and your having written me as you have,
has merely anticipated by a few days a step which I had fully made up
my mind to take on my own account.
"To be candid with you--and surely in such a matter candor is of the
first importance--my feelings towards you were never of a kind to
warrant me in entering into any engagement with you, nor do I believe
that time would do anything towards effecting a change in them. A year
ago I was led away by your impassioned words, and by a certain amount
of self-deception on my own part, into believing that I might, after a
while, come to care for you in the way you wanted me to do. But I was
not long in finding out that I had made a great mistake; and now you
on your side have made a similar discovery. Let us hope that, taught
by experience, both of us will be wiser in time to come.
"Always your friend and well-wisher,
"Hermia Rivers."
This was not at all the kind of answer that Frank had looked for. Far
from expressing the slightest regret, or indignation--he could have
borne a little indignation with equanimity--Hermy seemed actually to
welcome her release! But, of course, as he told himself, he knew
better than to credit her assertions. Her pride would not allow her to
let him see how deeply she was wounded; as was but natural, she tried
to carry it off with a high hand; but he was not to be so easily
hoodwinked. All the same, the tone of her reply did not fail to jar
against the self-love which was one of his most pronounced
characteristics; and not for a long time to come was he able to rid
himself of an uneasy consciousness that his treatment of Hermia had
been anything rather than that of a man of honor and a gentleman; and
Frank had a great desire to pose as both--as though the two were not
synonymous--not only before the world at large, but in the clearer
eyes of his own conscience.