CONSCIENCE.
"I must rouse myself to attend to business, doctor," said Arthur
Franklyn, while at breakfast the morning after meeting Mr. Armstrong in
the churchyard. "I may be absent a week or more, can I leave the
children with you for that time? I shall feel such perfect comfort in
the reflection that they are under your roof, and managed so kindly by
Kate."
"Of course they can stay, my dear Arthur," said the old gentleman
tremulously, "it is a great comfort to me to have dear Fanny's children
here. I have only one regret, that is, that her dear mother did not live
to see her grandchildren. Clara reminds me greatly of her grandmother;"
and he looked fondly at the young girl whose womanly appearance and
manners had so startled Mary Armstrong.
"Would you like to stay with us a little longer, my child?" continued
the old man, laying his hand on Clara's shoulder as she sat in her usual
place by his side.
"Oh yes, grandpapa, I should indeed, we all should be glad to stay;" and
she looked at her sisters and brothers as she spoke. Mabel assented
timidly; the gentle little girl was becoming daily more dear to Kate
Marston, who at the same time lavished upon her cousin Fanny's youngest
child, Albert, the tenderest fondness.
Albert seemed to consider himself required in some way to answer Clara's
questioning look, so he said--
"Me too, grandpa, me stay with you and Kate."
"Papa, am I to go to school in England?" asked James.
"Yes, my boy, certainly, and if grandpapa consents you shall stay and be
a pupil at Englefield Grange."
"Oh, jolly!" said the boy, "it's ever so much better being here than at
my school in Melbourne. Oh! I shall be happy, especially when uncle
Henry comes home."
And so it was settled that during their father's absence his children
should remain at Kilburn under their grandfather's roof.
"I must make a home for them as soon as I can turn myself round," he
said a few hours after, when talking the matter over with Kate Marston.
"I have to settle the business which brought me to England, and to
ascertain what claim I have on my wife's property."
"What! did you not do so before you married her?" asked Kate, in
astonishment.
"No," he replied, "she was very reticent on the subject, and I did not
like to question her, or indeed her friends--she appeared to have
perfect control over her property. However, she may have left a will. At
all events, I must go to the apartments I have taken for three months,
and look over her papers. Unfortunately, her lawyer is in Australia, and
he may have a will in his possession. But, dear Kate," he continued,
with a shudder, "her death is so recent, and the money subject too
painful to be talked about yet. I know you will take care of my
children, and that is a great relief to my mind."
"Indeed, indeed I will," she replied in a tone of sympathy; the paleness
and the shudder had not escaped her. Had she known the pangs of
conscience which caused that shudder, horror instead of sympathy would
have filled her heart.
And yet the conscience of Arthur Franklyn could only at times arouse him
to doubt the rectitude of his own conduct. By fallacious arguments, and
false reasoning with himself, he had acquired confused ideas of right
and wrong. He had still at times the appearance of being under the
effects of some powerful sedative; and at others the flashing eye and
the flushed face would have denoted the presence of some strong
stimulant to less unsuspecting people than the residents at the Grange.
Arthur Franklyn with all his faults had never given way to intemperance,
therefore the brandy flask which he now carried in his pocket or kept
locked up in his bedroom was more potent in its effects, leaving behind
it, after the first moments of excitement, an opiate-like stupor and
stolidity of manner, very unlike that of the bright and fascinating
Arthur Franklyn of former times.
When he left the little breakfast-parlour, in which we first met three
of the residents of Englefield Grange, Dr. Halford and Kate Marston were
alone.
"Uncle," said the latter, "Arthur is very much changed since the death
of his second wife."
"Well, my dear, perhaps he is, but it's very natural under the painful
circumstances in which she died. I cannot be surprised at his marrying
again; of course he wanted a companion, and a mother for his children.
The lady he chose appeared to me very pleasing and agreeable, and
perhaps her money was a great temptation, although I do not think a
marriage for money alone can ever insure happiness."
Kate said nothing; she had seen enough of the second Mrs. Franklyn to
create a doubt respecting her suitableness to be a second mother to any
children, especially to one so high-spirited as Clara, and she could not
tell her uncle of the difficulties already in the way respecting Louisa
Franklyn's fortune.
Arthur came in presently with his carpet bag in his hand, to wish them
farewell.
"I have said good-by to the children, Kate; I am glad I sent nurse to
you; they are with her now, and seem quite happy; you will find her very
useful."
"I have found her so already, Arthur," she replied, "and Clara manages
her little brother famously, so make yourself quite comfortable about
the children."
"Arthur is going, uncle," she said gently, for the old gentleman sat
dozing in his arm-chair.
"Eh? what?" he said, "Arthur going? Good-by my son; God bless you and
keep you in the right path."
A few more hasty farewells, and then Arthur Franklyn started at a quick
pace to catch the four o'clock train to London, with the last words of
his poor Fanny's father--"Keep you in the right path"--ringing in his
tars.
The sad and sudden death and the inquest on Mrs. Franklyn had appeared
in most of the daily and weekly papers, therefore when Arthur knocked at
the door of the house in which he had taken apartments, the landlady met
him with a doleful face.
"Oh, sir, is it true? have you lost your dear lady as we read in the
papers?"
"I am sorry to say it is true," he replied as he entered, "and it will
make a great change in my arrangements; however, you shall not be a
loser, Mrs. Mills; and now if you will bring me some tea I shall be glad
of a cup to refresh myself, I can't get over such a shock all at once."
"No, sir, I should think not; and indeed you're not looking at all well,
and no wonder. Yes, sir," she added quickly, seeing a look of impatience
pass over his face, "I'll go at once and see about your tea, it will be
ready in no time."
Very glad indeed was Arthur Franklyn when, the tea being removed and his
landlady's restless tongue banished from the room, he could feel himself
alone. He first drew the table near the window, which he closed
notwithstanding the heat; then he emptied his pockets of various
letters, and at length drew forth an ominous-looking document tied with
red tape, which he opened and spread on the table. Yes, there the name
stood, clear and distinct, in his wife's handwriting, "LOUISA ELLEN
FRANKLYN. Witness--HENRY HALFORD."
For some minutes Arthur Franklyn seemed fascinated to the writing before
him. He turned the leaf and read the legally worded document through.
There was no hesitation necessary there, Louisa had intended him to have
this two thousand pounds, her trustees had consented and signed. Morally
it belonged to him if not quite legally; what moral law would be
transgressed by claiming it? None. Then for the sake of his own credit,
for the sake of his children, he was justified in this act. It would
injure no one; the bulk of his wife's fortune might go to another, and
virtually this two thousand pounds had been already taken from it and
placed in the bank till the document before him should be properly
signed. Yes, it was all right, and as he thus thought he folded it
carefully, re-tied it and placed it in his pocket-book.
On a table near stood Louisa's desk--her keys had been given into his
hands, with her rings and jewels and a few other articles found in the
pocket of the deceased lady. He took the small bunch of keys from his
own pocket, but as he rose to fetch the desk, there flashed across his
memory the words of the old doctor, "God bless you, my son, and keep you
in the right path."
Conscience awoke and made itself heard. "You are out of the right path
already, Arthur Franklyn," said the small still voice. "All your false
reasoning, all your absurd sophistry is vain; you have no right to that
money, and if you claim it on the document in your possession, you know
by what name the laws of your country will call you it you are found
out; and even if you obtain the money undiscovered, you will never know
another happy hour. Burn the paper, Arthur Franklyn, and throw off the
power of the evil spirit that entices you."
The conscience-stricken man staggered to his seat; he drew the paper
from his pocket, and forgetting for a moment that it was summer-time, he
turned towards the empty fireplace. Then an impulse came upon him to
tear the document to atoms, and throw from his mind the fearful incubus;
but his hand was arrested by a sudden memory of his debts in Australia,
which if not paid must, he knew, end in the disgrace of bankruptcy.
Again the tempter reminded him of his children, his eldest daughter
growing into womanhood; poverty, disgrace for her portion. No, no, it
could not be, he must risk all. There was nothing to fear. He would
arrange all matters of business in England, a few days or a week would
suffice for that, and then he would return to Melbourne. Where he was so
well known he could easily get the papers cashed by paying a good amount
of interest. His children were safe for the present. He should be able
to send over payment for their board. Yes, this plan must be adopted, it
was the best and the only one; and with this resolution strong in his
mind conscience was crushed, its voice silenced for a time, and Arthur
Franklyn left to follow the downward road on which he had made the first
false step.
He again rose to fetch Louisa's desk, and placing it on the table before
him, eagerly examined its contents. Letters from friends, a banker's
book, a cheque for seventy-four pounds which he had given her at the
time of the transfer of her ready cash to his name, about fifty pounds
in ready money, and at last a little packet of his own letters written
before their marriage, carefully and neatly tied together, several
little articles of jewellery, and others of no importance, but no will.
Arthur Franklyn as he made this discovery knew that all hope of his late
wife's fortune was lost to him, unless she had left a will with her
lawyers in Melbourne, and this appeared another urgent reason why he
should return thither.
The money he had found, with the balance of a few hundreds still lying
at the Australian bank in London, would pay his passage, and help him to
carry out his plans. He replaced the various articles in the desk
excepting the jewels and the money; her watch and chain he had left at
his father-in-law's for Clara. But as he placed his hand on the packet
of his own letters a pang of remorse shot through his heart, which
almost threatened him with another attack of conscience. He hastily drew
the flask from his pocket, and seizing a wineglass which stood on the
sideboard filled it nearly to the brim with the so often fatal
stimulant, and drank it off.
For a time it produced a false courage which enabled him to finish his
search of the desk; and after closing and locking it he remained at the
table and proceeded to sketch out his future movements, made a list of
the boxes to be sent next day to Kilburn, and also of the articles he
wished to take with him on his voyage. By this time the twilight of a
June evening was fading into night; Arthur looked at his watch and rang
the bell, it was nearly half-past nine. The landlady herself appeared
with what she termed a nice little supper, to tempt Mr. Franklyn's
appetite. She lighted the gas and uncovered the tray for his inspection,
but the supper failed to produce the result she expected. Mr. Franklyn
could eat nothing but a biscuit, and she left the room in great distress
of mind to expatiate in the kitchen on the dreadful event which had "so
altered the gentleman upstairs and quite took away his appetite."
Arthur Franklyn, totally unmindful of her sympathy, escaped to his
bedroom soon after the clock struck ten. But there was no thought of Him
on whom we are told to cast our burden. There arose in his heart no
prayer for guidance in the right path. It might be said of him at this
period of his life that "God was not in all his thoughts." To him in
this hour of fierce temptation there was no solace but the fiery spirit,
so valuable as a medicine, so dangerous as a stimulant. He took another
supply before seeking his pillow, and sunk at once into an unhealthy
sleep, from which he awoke in the morning unrefreshed and with a
throbbing headache. During the next three days Arthur Franklyn, with a
kind of unnatural energy, went through the tasks he had allotted to
himself. From the lawyer to the banker's; from the West End to the City,
in cabs and in omnibuses; to the shipping offices to secure a berth; to
the railway station to send boxes to Kate Marston and his daughter, and
to write letters in the evening--so passed the next three days.
One discovery he made while at the lawyer's office. From a remark made
by Mr. Norton, to whom Henry Halford had introduced him, he found that
gentleman had made a mistake, and here he took the second step in the
downward path.
After expressing his regret and sympathy, Mr. Norton said--
"You are fortunate in one thing, Mr. Franklyn; I hear that Mrs. Franklyn
signed her name to the document on the morning before she died at her
own lawyer's, so the two thousand pounds are yours to all intents and
purposes."
"It may be so," replied Arthur, languidly; "but I have been so upset and
so full of business I have not had time to examine it."
"Well, do so, my dear sir, when you get home; no doubt you will find it
all right."
This mistake of Mr. Norton's, which will be hereafter explained, sent
Arthur from the lawyer's office in a tremble of excitement. He had
nothing to fear now; all would end well, and he should overcome every
difficulty.
The fact that he had spoken falsely to Mr. Norton, and helped to mislead
that gentleman, he entirely overlooked.
And so the time passed on, and the morning of the Friday on which he was
to sail for Melbourne rose in its summer brightness.
But the excitement, the at times clamorous voice of conscience, and the
unusual amount of stimulant he took, were together combining to produce
fever of the blood and irritation of the brain in Arthur Franklyn.
When he started in a cab from his lodgings his landlady remarked, "Well,
if this rushing about every day don't soon kill that poor gentleman, he
must be made of iron."
No idea of the truth entered her mind. To conceal his intention of
leaving England it had been necessary for him to invent and prevaricate
and deceive in a way that twelve months before he would have shrunk from
with shame and disgust. But principles of truth, honour, and rectitude,
without the foundation of religion and the fear of God, are never to be
relied on. In the hour of fierce temptation they had proved to Arthur
Franklyn no stronger than a broken reed.
He reached the landing-place just below London Bridge at about noon,
wishing to get on board early, as the vessel was timed to sail at seven
in the evening.
He had been unable to resist another supply of the fiery fluid, early as
it was, consoling himself with the reflection, "When I am on board I
shall get over this unnatural craving for stimulants, and give up taking
it."
But he had taken it once too often. His boxes were all on board, and he
carried in his hand a carpet bag, containing among other things the
fatal document which had already worked him so much evil.
He alighted from the cab, paid the driver, and proceeded towards the
Australian packet, which lay alongside the wharf at a little distance
from the shore. A plank stretched across from the gangway of the vessel
rested on land, and men with boxes and other packages were passing to
and fro upon it. Arthur Franklyn waited till the way was clear, then he
placed his foot on the plank and approached the vessel. A very small
portion of this frail bridge passed over water, the shore end resting on
rising ground, and to a man with clear head and steady step there could
be no possible danger.
But Arthur Franklyn's head was not clear, neither was his step steady,
and as he approached the middle of the plank many persons on the bridge
and about the wharf saw him totter and turn pale.
Speechless from alarm, and fearful of hastening a catastrophe by a
warning word, no one moved or spoke as he raised his foot to go forward.
The next moment, amidst the screams and shouts of the lookers-on, Arthur
Franklyn lost his balance and fell with his carpet bag into the water,
which closed over him pitilessly, as if in his helpless condition every
effort to save him would be useless.
There were running to and fro, cries for ropes, and many eager hands
stretched out when he rose to the surface; but the drowning man had
neither sense nor power to help himself or seize the offered aid.
By this time more than one swimmer was in the water diving for the
drowning man. Minutes which seemed hours passed, and then amidst the
crowds of excited spectators Arthur Franklyn's apparently lifeless body
was drawn from the water, hastily placed in a cab, and carried off
across London Bridge to Guy's Hospital.
But the carpet bag had sunk to the bottom, to be drawn up weeks after by
the Thames' searchers; while in one corner, soaked into a pulp by the
action of the water, lay the fatal document which had brought upon
Arthur Franklyn such terrible results.