JASPER'S TERROR.
Uncle Jasper, too, left Charlotte on that special morning with some
displeasure, some surprise, and some anxiety. Remorse, as I have said,
did not visit the man. Long ago, a very long time ago now, he and his
brother John had touched an evil thing. For both men the natural
consequences followed; but how differently? John wanted to fling the
base defilement from his soul; Jasper wanted so to bury it there, so
deftly, so cleverly to hide it within his very heart of hearts, that it
should not appear to dishonor him in the eyes of his fellow-men. Of the
final judgment and its disclosure he never thought. It was his inability
to cover up the secret; it was his ever-growing knowledge that the
garment was neither long enough nor broad enough to wrap it round, that
caused his anxiety from day to day. In spite of his cheerful and ruddy
face he was feeling quite worn and old. If this continues, if these
people will insist on pulling the house down over their heads, I shall
fall ill like John, he reflected. He was very angry with these stupid
and silly people, who were bringing such shame and dishonor on
themselves. He often found himself wishing that his niece Charlotte had
not been the fine and open character she was. Had Charlotte been
different he might have ventured to confide in her. He felt that with
Charlotte on his side all might yet be well. This, however, was
absolutely impossible. To tell Charlotte would be to tell the world. Bad
as her father was in keeping this ugly secret quiet, Charlotte would be
ten times, twenty times, worse. What an unfortunate thing it was that
Charlotte had put that advertisement in the papers, and that Mrs. Home
had answered it! Mrs. Home of all people! Well, well, it came of that
dreadful meddling of women in literature. _He_, Jasper, had known no
peace since the day that Charlotte had wished for an amanuensis to help
her with her silly book.
Jasper on this particular morning, as he hurried off from the Harman
house, felt less and less comfortable. He was sure, by Charlotte's
manner, that her engagement was something very particular. He feared she
was going to meet Mrs. Home. He came, with all his surmises, very far
short of the real truth, but he was in that state of mind when the
guilty fly, with no man pursuing. It had been an awful moment for old
Jasper Harman when, a week ago, he had suddenly knocked up against that
solitary, foreign-looking man. He had heard his voice and seen his face,
and he had felt his own heart standing still. Who _was_ this man? Was he
a ghost? the ghost of the long-dead trustee? Jasper began to hope that
it was but an accidental likeness in voice and manner. For was not this
man, this Alexander Wilson, named in his father's will, dead and buried
for many a day? Had not he, Jasper, not, indeed, seen him die, but had
he not stood on his grave? Had not he travelled up some hundreds of
miles in that wild Australian country for the sole purpose of standing
on that special grave? And had not he read name and age, and date of
death, all fully corroborating the story which had been sent to him?
Yes, Jasper hoped that it was but a very remarkable likeness--a ghost of
the real man. How, indeed, could it be anything but a ghost when he had
stood upon the man's very grave? He hoped this. He had brought himself
almost to believe it; but for all that, fear and uneasiness were
becoming more and more his portion, and he did not like to dwell even in
thought upon that night's adventures. He walked on fast. He disliked
cabs, and never took them. One of his great secrets of health was
exercise, and plenty of it; but he was rather in a hurry; he had an
appointment in town for a comparatively early hour, and he wanted to
call at his club for letters. He reached his destination, entered the
building, and found a little pile awaiting him. He turned slowly into
the reading-room to read them. One after the other he tore them open.
They were not very interesting, and a rapid glance of his quick, deep
eye was sufficient to enable him to master the contents. In ten minutes
he had but one letter left to read, and that was in a strange
handwriting. "Another begging epistle," he said to himself. He felt
inclined to tear it up without going to the trouble of opening it. He
had very nearly slipped it into his pocket, to take its chance at some
future time, for he remembered that he was already late. Finally he did
neither; he opened the letter and read it where he sat. This was what
his eyes rested on--
10, TREMINS ROAD, KENTISH TOWN.
SIR:--
According to your wish I write to you at your club. My wife
returned from Torquay last night, and I told her of your visit and
your proposal. She desires me to say, and this I do, both from her
and myself, that she will not accept your offer, for reasons which
we neither of us care to explain. We do not wish for the three
thousand pounds you are willing to settle on my wife.
I remain, sir,
Yours faithfully,
ANGUS HOME.
_To_ JASPER HARMAN, ESQ.
This letter fell from the hands of Jasper. His lips came a little apart,
and a new look of terror came into his eyes. So absorbed was he, so
thoroughly frightened by this letter, that he forgot where he was. He
neither saw the looks of surprise, nor heard the words of astonishment
made by those about him. Finally he gathered up envelope and paper and
hurried out. As he walked down the street he looked by no means so young
as he had done when he got up that morning. His hat was put on crooked,
his very gait was uncertain. Jasper had got a shock. Being utterly
unable to read the minds of the people who had written to him, he could
but imagine one meaning to their words. They were not so unworldly as he
had hoped. They saw through his bribe; they would not accept it,
because--because--_they knew better_. Mrs. Home had read that will. Mrs.
Home meant to prosecute. Yes, yes, it was all as plain as that the sun
was shining overhead. Mrs. Home meant to go to law. Exposure, and
disgrace, and punishment were all close at hand. There was no doubt of
it, no doubt whatever now. Those were the reasons which neither Mr. nor
Mrs. Home cared to explain. Turning a corner he came suddenly full tilt
against Hinton. The young man turned and walked down the street with
him.
"You are on your way to Charlotte?" remarked the old man.
"No: I have been to her already. She has an engagement this afternoon.
Did she not tell you? She said you wanted her to go somewhere with you,
and this same engagement prevented it. No, I am not going to Prince's
Gate, but I am off to Paddington in about an hour to meet a friend."
Hinton spoke cheerfully, for his passing annoyance with Charlotte had
absolutely vanished under Mrs. Home's words of loving praise. When Mrs.
Home spoke as she had done of his brave and noble Charlotte the young
man had felt quite ashamed of having doubted her even for a brief
moment.
Jasper had, however, been told of little Harold's illness, and Hinton,
knowing this, continued,--
"I have just come from the Homes. You know whom I mean? Their little boy
was the one I helped to nurse through scarlet fever. Mother and boy have
come back from Torquay like different creatures from the pleasant
change. Mrs. Home looked absolutely bright. Charlotte will like to hear
of her; and by the way, a curious thing, a little bit of a romance has
happened to her. An uncle from Australia, whom she had supposed to be
dead and in his grave for over twenty years, walked in alive and hale
last night. She did not know him at first, but he managed to prove his
identity. He----good heavens! Mr. Harman, what is the matter? You are
ill; come in here."
Hinton led Jasper into a chemist's shop, which they happened to be
passing at the moment, for his ruddy face had suddenly become ghastly
white, and he had to clutch the young man's arm to keep himself from
falling.
"It is nothing," he explained, when he had been given a restorative.
"Yes, I felt faint. I hope I am not going to be taken bad like my
brother. What do you say? a hansom? Well, yes, perhaps I had better have
one."
Jasper was bowled rapidly out of sight and Hinton walked on. No dust had
been thrown in his eyes as to the cause of Jasper's agitation. He had
observed the start of almost terror with which he had turned on him when
he had first mentioned the long-lost Australian uncle of Mrs. Home's. He
had often seen how uneasy he was, however cleverly he tried to hide it,
when the Homes were mentioned. What did it all mean? Hinton felt very
uncomfortable. Much as he loved Charlotte, it was not nice to marry into
a family who kept concealed an ugly secret. Hinton was more and more
convinced that there was a secret, and that this uncle who was supposed
to be dead was in some way connected with it. Hinton was too acute, too
clever, to put down Jasper's agitation to any other cause. Instantly he
began to see a reason for Mrs. Home's joy in the recovery of this
long-lost relation. It was a reason unworthy of her, unworthy and
untrue; but nevertheless it took possession of the mind of this young
man. The uncle ceased to be an object of little interest to him. He
walked on, feeling downcast and perplexed. This day week would be his
wedding-day, and Charlotte--Charlotte, beautiful and noble, nothing
should part them. But what was this secret? Could he, dare he, fathom
it? No, because of Charlotte he must not--it would break Charlotte's
heart; because of Charlotte's father he must not, for it would cause his
death; and yet, because of Jasper, he longed to, for he owned to himself
that he disliked Jasper more and more.