I am afraid Randolph thought more of the simple-minded girl who, in the
midst of her excitement, turned to him half unconsciously, than he did
of Sir William. Had it not been for the necessity of seeing the captain,
he would probably have taken the next train to the rectory. Perhaps
he might later. He thought little of Sir William's illness, and was
inclined to accept the young girl's naive suggestion of its cause.
He read and reread the letter, staring at the large, grave, childlike
handwriting--so like herself--and obeying a sudden impulse, raised the
signature, as gravely as if it had been her hand, to his lips.
Still the day advanced and the captain came not. Randolph found the
inactivity insupportable. He knew not where to seek him; he had no
more clue to his resorts or his friends--if, indeed, he had any
in London--than he had after their memorable first meeting in San
Francisco. He might, indeed, be the dupe of an impostor, who, at the
eleventh hour, had turned craven and fled. He might be, in the captain's
indifference, a mere instrument set aside at his pleasure. Yet he could
take advantage of Miss Eversleigh's letter and seek her, and confess
everything, and ask her advice. It was a great and at the moment it
seemed to him an overwhelming temptation. But only for the moment.
He had given his word to the captain--more, he had given his youthful
FAITH. And, to his credit, he never swerved again. It seemed to him,
too, in his youthful superstition, as he looked at the abandoned
portmanteau, that he had again to take up his burden--his “trust.”
It was nearly four o'clock when the spell was broken. A large packet,
bearing the printed address of a London and American bank, was brought
to him by a special messenger; but the written direction was in
the captain's hand. Randolph tore it open. It contained one or two
inclosures, which he hastily put aside for the letter, two pages of
foolscap, which he read breathlessly:--
DEAR TRENT,--Don't worry your head if I have slipped my cable without
telling you. I'm all right, only I got the news you are bringing me,
JUST AFTER YOU LEFT, by Jack Redhill, whom I had sent to Dornton Hall
to see how the land lay the night before. It was not that I didn't trust
YOU, but HE had ways of getting news that you wouldn't stoop to. You
can guess, from what I have told you already, that, now Bobby is gone,
there's nothing to keep me here, and I'm following my own idea of
letting the whole blasted thing slide. I only worked this racket for
the sake of him. I'm sorry for him, but I suppose the poor little beggar
couldn't stand these sunless, God-forsaken longitudes any more than
I could. Besides that, as I didn't want to trust any lawyer with my
secret, I myself had hunted up some books on the matter, and found that,
by the law of entail, I'd have to rip up the whole blessed thing, and
Bill would have had to pay back every blessed cent of what rents he had
collected since he took hold--not to ME, but the ESTATE--with interest,
and that no arrangement I could make with HIM would be legal on account
of the boy. At least, that's the way the thing seemed to pan out to me.
So that when I heard of Bobby's death I was glad to jump the rest, and
that's what I made up my mind to do.
But, like a blasted lubber, now that I COULD do it and cut right away,
I must needs think that I'd like first to see Bill on the sly, without
letting on to any one else, and tell him what I was going to do. I'd no
fear that he'd object, or that he'd hesitate a minute to fall in with my
plan of dropping my name and my game, and giving him full swing, while I
stood out to sea and the South Pacific, and dropped out of his mess for
the rest of my life. Perhaps I wanted to set his mind at rest, if he'd
ever had any doubts; perhaps I wanted to have a little fun out of him
for his d----d previousness; perhaps, lad, I had a hankering to see the
old place for the last time. At any rate, I allowed to go to Dornton
Hall. I timed myself to get there about the hour you left, to keep
out of sight until I knew he was returning from the horse show, and to
waylay him ALONE and have our little talk without witnesses. I daren't
go to the Hall, for some of the old servants might recognize me.
I went down there with Jack Redhill, and we separated at the station. I
hung around in the fog. I even saw you pass with Sibyl in the dogcart,
but you didn't see me. I knew the place, and just where to hide where
I could have the chance of seeing him alone. But it was a beastly job
waiting there. I felt like a d----d thief instead of a man who was
simply visiting his own. Yet, you mayn't believe me, lad, but I hated
the place and all it meant more than ever. Then, by and by, I heard him
coming. I had arranged it all with myself to get into the yew hedge, and
step out as he came to the garden entrance, and as soon as he recognized
me to get him round the terrace into the summer house, where we could
speak without danger.
I heard the groom drive away to the stable with the cart, and, sure
enough, in a minute he came lurching along toward the garden door. He
was mighty unsteady on his pins, and I reckon he was more than half
full, which was a bad lookout for our confab. But I calculated that the
sight of me, when I slipped out, would sober him. And, by ---, it
did! For his eyes bulged out of his head and got fixed there; his jaw
dropped; he tried to strike at me with a hunting crop he was carrying,
and then he uttered an ungodly yell you might have heard at the station,
and dropped down in his tracks. I had just time to slip back into the
hedge again before the groom came driving back, and then all hands were
piped, and they took him into the house.
And of course the game was up, and I lost my only chance. I was thankful
enough to get clean away without discovering myself, and I have to trust
now to the fact of Bill's being drunk, and thinking it was my ghost that
he saw, in a touch of the jimjams! And I'm not sorry to have given him
that start, for there was that in his eye, and that in the stroke he
made, my lad, that showed a guilty conscience I hadn't reckoned on. And
it cured me of my wish to set his mind at ease. He's welcome to all the
rest.
And that's why I'm going away--never to return. I'm sorry I couldn't
take you with me, but it's better that I shouldn't see you again, and
that you didn't even know WHERE I was gone. When you get this I shall
be on blue water and heading for the sunshine. You'll find two letters
inclosed. One you need not open unless you hear that my secret was
blown, and you are ever called upon to explain your relations with me.
The other is my thanks, my lad, in a letter of credit on the bank, for
the way you have kept your trust, and I believe will continue to keep
it, to