Mr Carter hurried home about six o'clock. He had spent a busy day in
Newcastle, and had gone through a few worries. He took the worries of
life hard. He was exacting on all nice points of honour, and one of his
clerks had deceived him. His mind, therefore, was especially sore as he
sank back in the luxurious carriage which was to convey him back to
Court Prospect. Halfway back he also remembered the affair of the
sovereign. The loss of the sovereign was a mere nothing, but the fact
that one of his dependents could steal from a private purse kept in one
of his drawers, meant a great deal.
"Of course, it's that girl," he thought. "She's as bad in her way as
young Hanson is in his. I am sorry for them both, of course, but as I
said to Hanson, if he had told me that he was in money difficulties, I
would have helped him out; but instead of that he thought he'd help
himself. Well, he has helped himself out of my service for ever; that's
plain, that's only justice, and that girl, Betty Wren, if she doesn't
confess, she'll go the same road; I vow it, and I'm a man who never yet
broke my word."
But as he got nearer to the house, more pleasurable thoughts succeeded
the dismal ones. There was Jim--his eldest son, his pride, his boy. He
had had a business letter from Jim that morning which had not arrived at
Court Prospect, but had been sent to his father's big offices in
Newcastle, and in that letter it turned out that Jim had done
splendidly. He had acted with tact and diplomacy, and would soon be
back again.
"Won't I give him a good time for this?" thought the father. "He is a
lad to be proud of. Hullo, though, who's that?"
He had turned into the avenue now; the horses were going under the
beautiful beech trees at a spanking trot, and a girl was coming slowly
to meet him.
"Why, if that isn't my own Pen," he said.
He was so amazed and startled that he pulled the check string, and the
carriage stopped.
"Hullo, Pen!" he said. "What in the name of wonder are you doing here?
What is the matter? Here, jump in, child."
Pen obeyed.
"I want you, father," she spoke in a tremulous voice--"I want you to
come into the study the very minute you get home. I have something to
say to you."
Mr Carter turned round and gazed at Pen in surprise.
"Have you been ill?" he asked. "Why didn't you go with the others to
Whitby?"
"I'll tell you when we get in the study."
He looked at her again, and a frown came between his brows. He did not
know why he was suddenly reminded of young Hanson and of Betty Wren, but
he was. Oh, of course it was all nonsense, his little Pen--and yet she
kept her face averted.
Presently they reached the house. Her father helped her out of the
carriage.
"Now, come along, child," he said with a sort of gentle roughness. "I
guess by your manner that you have got into a bit of a scrape. I cannot
make out what it is, but you are right to come to the old father; the
old father will help you, if he can. What on earth are you trembling
for?"
"Oh, come at once to the study, father."
Pen pulled him along. He was tired, he had gone through a hard day; he
wanted his customary cup of tea; he wanted to go into the garden and
talk to Archer. He loved his garden, he enjoyed counting his peaches
and gloating over his fruit trees, and considering how he could make
more and more money out of the old place. He was terribly keen about
money making. He was interested in money, it was a power, and he meant
to have it whatever else he failed in.
But there was Pen, why had she not gone with the others to Whitby?
Something ailed her; she was his youngest. He was fonder of Penelope
than of any of his other children, except Jim. Jim, of course, was
altogether on a different platform; there was no one like Jim in the
world. It was worth struggling hard to make a fortune for a boy like
Jim.
So he hurried as fast as Pen could wish, and presently she burst open
the door of his study. There, standing by the window, was the
white-robed vision which had so startled, so stirred, so moved Pen
herself a few hours ago. The white vision came forward slowly, and Mr
Carter looked with dazzled eyes at the girl he most wished to know,
Angela St Just. She was in his study, she was coming to meet him.
"I must introduce myself," she said. "You have, of course, met my
father in business matters, Mr Carter, but I want to see you on quite a
different subject."
"Miss St Just," said the startled man.
"Yes, I am Angela St Just, Penelope's friend."
Mr Carter turned and looked at Pen as though he suddenly loved her
passionately.
"Penelope's friend; and I trust I may be able to help her through a
rather difficult matter."
"Now, what in the name of fortune does this mean?" said Mr Carter.
"You here, Miss St Just, you here in your old home, when they said that
neither you nor your father could abide to come near the place, and yet
you are here! What does it mean? I don't understand."
"Penelope will explain," said Angela very gently. Then Penelope came
forward. She made a valiant struggle, and after a minute or two some
words came to her lips.
"Clay says that perhaps you will kill me. I don't think you can forgive
me. Father, it was I who took that sovereign out of your purse--the
purse you always put money in to pay the men's wages. I took it in the
middle of the week, father."
Mr Carter had forgotten Angela by this time. What was this--what was
the matter? He was so absorbed, so stunned by Pen's words that he could
scarcely contain himself. He made one step forward, seized her hand,
drew her to the light.
"What?" he said. "Say those words again."
"I took your sovereign."
"You--_you_, my child, stole my money!"
Angela now moved slowly across the room and put her hand on Pen's
shoulder.
"She is very, very sorry," said Angela. "She feels heartbroken; she
failed just in the one thing, she had not the courage to confess. But
because you discovered the theft she would not go to Whitby to-day; she
was determined to stay and brave it out."
"And she came," said Pen, "and she told me that I ought to tell you."
There was no word about Jim. Pen had determined that Jim was to be left
out of the matter.
But just at that moment there was a noise in the hall, a hurried step, a
cheerful tone, and Jim himself burst into the room.
"Oh, father! You here, Pen? Oh, my darling, I am ever so sorry!
Father, I forgot all about it in the other excitement, but it's all
right, it's all right. We're all right, everything is all right, and--
and Pen told me. I said I would speak to you, but when you sent me away
in such a hurry, I forgot, and Pen, I suppose she was frightened. Pen,
can you forgive me?"
"Then you never got my letter?" said Pen. "I sent it to the Holroyds',
I knew you were there."
Mr Carter looked troubled. He went up and took Jim's hand.
"I am ever so puzzled," he said. "I accused that girl, Betty Wren, and
it seems--but tell me the whole story, Pen. I must hear it from
beginning to end. Then I shall be able to decide."
So Pen told him the story. Angela stood very gravely by. She stood a
little bit in the background, and the shadow of the great curtain partly
concealed her face, but the light of evening fell across her white
dress, so that her whole appearance was like that of a pitying angel,
who was waiting for the moment when the sinner was to be forgiven. Mr
Carter looked from one of his children to the other, then at Angela.
"You have pretty high ideas of honour," he said. "You know what this
sort of thing means. Now, tell me what you would do if you were in my
shoes."
"There is no doubt whatever about what you will do," said Angela.
"You think, don't you--I believe saints always do--that sin ought to be
punished."
"We have the Divine Example," said Angela in a low tone.
Mr Carter looked at her.
"You said a strange thing a minute ago; you said you were Penelope's
friend," he remarked.
"So I am, from this day forward, as long as we both live."
"You are in rare luck," said Carter, looking gloomily at Pen, "to have a
friend like that." He walked to the other end of the room and began to
stride up and down. He was hurt beyond anything he could have imagined.
What was he to do? How was he to endure his own misery? It was bad
enough to have a servant in the house who could be dishonest, bad enough
to have a clerk who could steal, but here was his own child.
"Did I ever deny you anything?" he said.
"No, father."
"Couldn't you come to me and ask me for the money?"
"I was so terrified and afraid--oh, I have no excuse."
"That is it," said Angela. "She has no excuse whatever. It is not a
case of excuse, it is a case of a girl having done wrong, and being
bitterly sorry, and having confessed her fault. Now you come in, sir."
"I come in, pray?" he said.
He forgot that the speaker was Miss St Just, she was just a girl
addressing him. But there was wonderful power in her voice.
"Of course you come in. What would God do in such a case?"
Carter turned away.
"Oh, father, you will, you will forgive me."
"I come in, forsooth!" said the man. "I, who made a fool of myself this
morning, and told that poor girl that she certainly had done it, but
that if she confessed I would forgive her!"
"Then there is a similar case," said Angela. "Penelope has confessed,
so you ought to forgive her."
"I don't know--I don't know," he said.
"Oh, father, mayn't I bring Betty down, and may I tell her that I was
the real thief?"
"No good in that, child. No good in making it public."
"Of course, father, you'll have to forgive Pen," said Jim's sturdy young
voice at that moment.
"If you wish it, Jim--if you wish it, of course there is nothing more to
be said. What do you feel about it? You have metal in you; you're made
of the right stuff. What do you feel about this matter?"
"I feel that I have never loved Pen more than I do at this moment. I
never was so proud of her. She has grit in her, she is worth all the
rest of us, to my way of thinking."
"No, that is not so; but if you wish it, Jim, and you, Miss St Just."
"I do wish it," said Angela.
"Then I will say nothing more. Pen, I am disappointed; I am bitterly
hurt, but I will say nothing more."
He took the child's hand, held it for a minute, looked into her face,
and said:
"Why, I do believe you have suffered, you poor bit of a thing."
Then he abruptly kissed her on her forehead and left the room.