Let us change the scene and put back the clock. Ah, how many hearts
would rejoice if it were as easy to return on the track of Time in real
life as it is to do so in a tale!
It was the evening of the day in which Jones and Billy went to sea in
the little boat. Ramsgate, Mr Durant's supper-table, with Stanley Hall
and Robert Queeker as guests.
They were all very happy and merry, for Stanley was recounting with
graphic power some of the incidents of his recent voyage. Mr Durant
was rich enough to take the loss of his vessel with great equanimity--
all the more so that it had been fully insured. Mr Queeker was in a
state of bliss in consequence of having been received graciously by
Fanny, whose soul was aflame with sentiment so powerful that she could
not express it except through the medium of a giggle. Only once had
Fanny been enabled to do full justice to herself, and that was when,
alone with Katie in the mysterious gloom of a midnight confabulation,
she suddenly observed that size and looks in men were absolutely
nothing--less than nothing--and that in her estimation heart and
intellect were everything!
In the midst of his mirth Mr Durant suddenly turned to Queeker and
said--
"By the way, what made you so late of coming to-night, Queeker? I
thought you had promised to come to tea."
"Well, yes, but--a--that is," stammered Queeker in confusion, "in fact I
was obliged to keep an appointment in connection with the--the
particular business--"
"The secret mission, in short," observed Katie, with a peculiar smile.
"Well, secret mission if you choose," laughed Queeker; "at all events it
was that which prevented my getting here sooner. In truth, I did not
expect to have managed to come so soon, but we came to the boat--"
Queeker stopped short and blushed violently, feeling that he had
slightly, though unintentionally, committed himself.
Fanny looked at him, blushed in sympathy, and giggled.
"Oh, there's a _boat_ in the secret mission, is there?" cried Stanley;
"come, let us make a game of it. Was it an iron boat?"
"No," replied Queeker, laughing, for he felt that at all events he was
safe in answering that question.
"Was it a wooden one?" asked Katie.
"Well--ye--"
"Was it a big one?" demanded Mr Durant, entering into the spirit of the
game.
"No, it was a little one," said Queeker, still feeling safe, although
anxious to evade reply.
"Was there a man in it?" said Katie.
Queeker hesitated.
"And a boy?" cried Stanley.
The question was put unwittingly, but being so put Queeker stammered,
and again blushed.
Katie on the contrary turned pale, for her previously expressed hope
that there might be some connection between Queeker's mission and Billy
Towler's troubles flashed into her mind.
"But _was_ there a boy in it?" she said, with a sudden earnestness that
induced every one to look at her in surprise.
"Really, I pray--I must beg," said Queeker, "that you won't make this a
matter of even jocular inquiry. Of course I know that no one here would
make improper use of any information that I might give, but I have been
pledged to secrecy by my employers."
"But," continued Katie in the same anxious way as before, "it will not
surely be a breach of confidence merely to tell me if the boy was a
small, active, good-looking little fellow, with bright eyes and curly
hair."
"I am bound to admit," said Queeker, "that your description is correct."
To the amazement, not to say consternation, of every one, Katie covered
her face with her hands and burst into tears, exclaiming in an agony of
distress that she knew it; she had feared it after sending him away;
that she had ruined him, and that it was too late now to do anything.
"No, not too late, perhaps," she repeated, suddenly raising her large
beautiful eyes, which swam in tears; "oh papa, come with me up-stairs, I
must speak with you alone at once."
She seized her astonished father by the hand and led him unresisting
from the room.
Having hurriedly related all she knew about Billy Towler, Morley Jones,
and Nora, she looked up in his face and demanded to know what _was_ to
be done.
"Done, my dear child," he replied, looking perplexed, "we must go at
once and see how much can be undone. You tell me you have Nora's
address. Well, we'll go there at once."
"But--but," said Katie, "Nora does not know the full extent of her
father's wickedness, and we want to keep it from her if possible."
"A very proper desire to spare her pain, Katie, but in the circumstances
we cannot help ourselves; we must do what we can to frustrate this man's
designs and save the boy."
So saying Mr Durant descended to the dining-room. He explained that
some suspicious facts had come to his daughter's knowledge which
necessitated instant action; said that he was sorry Mr Queeker felt it
incumbent on him to maintain secrecy in regard to his mission, but that
he could not think of pressing him to act in opposition to his
convictions, and, dismissing his guests with many apologies, went out
with Katie in search of the abode of Nora Jones.
Stanley Hall, whose curiosity was aroused by all that had passed, went
down to take a walk on the pier by way of wearing it off in a
philosophical manner. He succeeded easily in getting rid of this
feeling, but he could not so easily get rid of the image of Katie
Durant. He had suspected himself in love with her before he sailed for
India; his suspicions were increased on his return to England, and when
he saw the burst of deep feeling to which she had so recently given way,
and heard the genuine expressions of remorse, and beheld her sweet face
bedewed with tears of regret and pity, suspicion was swallowed up in
certainty.
He resolved then and there to win her, if he could, and marry her! Here
a touch of perplexity assailed him, but he fought it off nobly.
He was young, no doubt, and had no money, but what then?--he was strong,
had good abilities, a father in a lucrative practice, with the prospect
of assisting and ultimately succeeding him. That was enough, surely.
The lodging which he had taken for a few days was retaken that night for
an indefinite period, and he resolved to lay siege to her heart in due
form.
But that uncertainty which is proverbial in human affairs stepped within
the circle of his life and overturned his plans. On returning to his
rooms he found a telegram on the table. His father, it informed him,
was dangerously ill. By the next train he started for home, and arrived
to find that his father was dead.
A true narrative of any portion of this world's doings must of necessity
be as varied as the world itself, and equally abrupt in its transitions.
From the lively supper-table Stanley Hall passed to the deathbed of his
father. In like manner we must ask the reader to turn with us from the
contemplation of Stanley's deep sorrow to the observation of Queeker's
poetic despair.
Maddened between the desire to tell all he knew regarding the secret
mission to Mr Durant, and the command laid on him by his employers to
be silent, the miserable youth rushed frantically to his lodgings,
without any definite intentions, but more than half inclined to sink on
his knees before his desk, and look up to the moon, or stars, or;
failing these, to the floating light for inspiration, and pen the
direful dirge of something dreadful and desperate! He had even got the
length of the first line, and had burst like a thunderbolt into his room
muttering--
"Great blazing wonder of illimitable spheres,"
when he became suddenly aware of the fact that his chair was occupied by
the conchological friend with whom he had spent the earlier part of that
day, who was no other than the man with the keen grey eyes.
"What! still in the poetic vein?" he said, with a grave smile.
"Why--I--thought you were off to London!" exclaimed Queeker, with a very
red face.
"I have seen cause to change my plan," said Mr Larks quietly.
"I'm _very_ glad of it," replied Queeker, running his fingers through
his hair and sitting down opposite his friend with a deep sigh, "because
I'm in the most horrible state of perplexity. It is quite evident to me
that the boy is known to Miss Durant, for she went off into _such_ a
state when I mentioned him and described him exactly."
"Indeed," said Mr Larks; "h'm! I know the boy too."
"Do you? Why didn't you tell me that?"
"There was no occasion to," said the imperturbable Mr Larks, whose
visage never by any chance conveyed any expression whatever, except when
he pleased, and then it conveyed only and exactly the expression that he
intended. "But come," he continued, "let's hear all about it, and don't
quote any poetry till you have done with the facts."
Thus exhorted Queeker described the scene at the supper-table with
faithful minuteness, and, on concluding, demanded what was to be done.
"H'm!" grunted Mr Larks. "They've gone to visit Nora Jones, so you and
I shall go and keep them company. Come along."
He put on his hat and went out, followed by his little friend.
In a lowly ill-furnished room in one of the poorest streets of the town,
where rats and dogs and cats seemed to divide the district with
poverty-stricken human beings, they found Nora sitting by the bedside of
her grandmother, who appeared to be dying. A large Family Bible, from
which she had been reading, was open on her knee.
Mr Larks had opened the door and entered without knocking. He and
Queeker stood in the passage and saw the bed, the invalid, and the
watcher through an inner door which stood ajar. They could hear the
murmurings of the old woman's voice. She appeared to wander in her
mind, for sometimes her words were coherent, at other times she merely
babbled.
"O Morley, Morley, give it up," she said, during one of her lucid
intervals; "it has been the curse of our family. Your grandfather died
of it; your father--ah! he _was_ a man, tall and straight, and _so_
kind, till he took to it; oh me! how it changed him! But the Lord saved
his soul, though he let the body fall to the dust. Blessed be His holy
name for that. Give it up, Morley, my darling boy; give it up, give it
up--oh, for God's sake give it up!"
She raised her voice at each entreaty until it almost reached a shriek,
and then her whole frame seemed to sink down into the bed from
exhaustion.
"Why don't 'ee speak to me, Morley?" she resumed after a short time,
endeavouring to turn her head round.
"Dearest granny," said Nora, gently stroking one of her withered hands,
which lay on the counterpane, "father is away just now. No doubt he
will be back ere long."
"Ay, ay, he's always away; always away," she murmured in a querulous
tone; "always coming back too, but he never comes. Oh, if he would give
it up--give it up--"
She repeated this several times, and gradually dwindled off into
unintelligible mutterings.
By this time Mr Larks had become aware of whispering voices in a part
of the room which he could not see. Pushing the door a little farther
open he entered softly, and in a darkened corner of the apartment beheld
Mr Durant and Katie in close conversation with James Welton. They all
rose, and Nora, seeing that the old woman had fallen into a slumber,
also rose and advanced towards the strangers. Mr Durant at once
explained to her who Queeker was, and Queeker introduced Mr Larks as a
friend who had come to see them on important business.
"I think we know pretty well what the business is about," said Jim
Welton, advancing and addressing himself to Mr Larks, "but you see," he
added, glancing towards the bed, "that this is neither the time nor
place to prosecute your inquiries, sir."
Mr Larks, who was by no means an unfeeling man, though very stern, said
that he had no intention of intruding; he had not been aware that any
one was ill in the house, and he would take it as a favour if Mr Welton
would go outside and allow him the pleasure of a few words with him. Of
course Jim agreed, but before going took Nora aside.
"I'll not be back to-night, dearest," he said in a low whisper.
"To-morrow, early, I'll return."
"You will leave no stone unturned?" said Nora.
"Not one. I'll do my best to save him."
"And you have told me the worst--told me _all_?" asked Nora, with a look
of intense grief mingled with anxiety on her pale face.
"I have," said Jim, in a tone and with a look so earnest and truthful
that Nora required no further assurance. She gave him a kindly but
inexpressibly sad smile, and returned to her stool beside the bed. Her
lover and Mr Larks went out, followed by Queeker.
"We won't intrude on you longer to-night," said Katie, going up to Nora
and laying her hand quietly on her shoulder.
"Your visit is no intrusion," said Nora, looking up with a quiet smile.
"It was love that brought you here, I know. May our dear Lord bless you
and your father for wishing to comfort the heart of one who needs it so
much--oh, so much." She put her hands before her face and was silent.
Katie tried in vain to speak. The tears coursed freely down her cheeks,
but never a word could she utter. She put her arm round the neck of the
poor girl and kissed her. This was a language which Nora understood;--
many words could not have expressed so much; no words could have
expressed more.