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diff --git a/42499-8.txt b/42499-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index f9036a6..0000000 --- a/42499-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5687 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Miracle Gold (Vol. 3 of 3), by Richard Dowling - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: Miracle Gold (Vol. 3 of 3) - A Novel - -Author: Richard Dowling - -Release Date: April 8, 2013 [EBook #42499] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRACLE GOLD (VOL. 3 OF 3) *** - - - - -Produced by Charles Bowen - - - - - - - - - - -Transcriber's Notes: - - 1. Page scan source: - http://books.google.com/books?id=tT4VAAAAQAAJ - (Oxford University) - - - - - - - MIRACLE GOLD. - - - - - - - New Novels at the Libraries. - - * * * * * - - MARVEL. By the Author of "Molly Bawn." 3 vols. - FOR FREEDOM. By TIGHE HOPKINS. 2 vols. - MOLLY'S STORY; a Family History. 3 vols. - AN ADVENTURESS. 2 vols. - LADY STELLA AND HER LOVER. 3 vols. - ONE MAID'S MISCHIEF. By G. M. FENN. 3 vols. - UNCLE BOB'S NIECE. By LESLIE KEITH. 3 vols. - A VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS. By C. FOTHERGILL. 3 vols. - - * * * * * - - WARD & DOWNEY, PUBLISHERS, LONDON. - - - - - - - MIRACLE GOLD. - - - A Novel. - - - - - - BY - - RICHARD DOWLING, - - AUTHOR OF - - "The Mystery of Killard," "The Weird Sisters," - "Tempest Driven," "Under St. Paul's," &c. - - - - - _IN THREE VOLUMES_. - - - VOL. III. - - - - - - LONDON: - - WARD AND DOWNEY, - - 12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C. - - 1888. - - [_All rights reserved_.] - - - - - - - PRINTED BY - KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, - AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. - - - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - CHAP. - - XXVII.--New Relatives. - - XXVIII.--Leigh at his Bench. - - XXIX.--Strong Smelling Salts. - - XXX.--Dora Ashton Alone. - - XXXI.--Winding up the Clock. - - XXXII.--The Morning After. - - XXXIII.--Leigh confides in Timmons. - - XXXIV.--The Wrong Man. - - XXXV.--The Ruins. - - XXXVI.--Open Confession. - - XXXVII.--Free. - - XXXVIII.--Doctor Shaw's Verdict. - - XXXIX.--Patient and Nurse. - - XL.--The Two Patients. - - XLI.--Fugitives. - - XLII.--The End. - - - - - - MIRACLE GOLD. - - - - - - - MIRACLE GOLD. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII. - - NEW RELATIVES. - - -When John Hanbury turned his face homeward to Chester Square from -Grimsby Street that evening, the long summer day was at last ended, -and it was dusk. - -He had, before setting out for the country that morning, written a -note to his mother explaining whither he was going, and left it with -the document she had given him the night before. He wound up his note -by telling her he was still, even after the night, so confused and -hurried in his thoughts that he would make no comment on the discovery -except that it was one of the most extraordinary that had ever -befallen man. He was going into the country to find what confirmation -he could, if any, of the marvellous tale. - -On getting back to London he had had a strange meeting with his -mother. Both were profoundly moved, and each, out of mercy to the -other, affected to be perfectly calm, and fell to discussing the new -aspect of affairs as though the news into which they had just come was -no more interesting than the ordinary surprises that awaken interest -once a week in the quietest family. Beyond an embrace of more warmth -and endurance than usual, there was no sign that anything very unusual -had occurred since their last meeting. Then Mrs. Hanbury sat down, and -her son, as was his custom when excited, walked up and down the room -as he told his Derbyshire experience. - -"In a few hours," he went on, after some introductory sentences, "I -found out all that is to be found out about the Graces near their -former place, Gracedieu. It exactly corresponds with all my father -says. The story of Kate Grace's disappearance and marriage to a -foreign nobleman (by the tradition he is French), is still told in the -place, and the shop in which her father formerly carried on his -business in wool can still be pointed out, unaltered after a hundred -and thirty years. There is Gracedieu itself, a small house in a -garden, such as a man who had made money in trade in a country town -would retire to. There is also the tradition that Grace, the wool -dealer, did not make his money in trade, but came into it through his -rich son-in-law, whose name is not even guessed at, the people there -being content as a rule to describe him as a foreigner, while those -who pride themselves on their accuracy, call him a Frenchman, and the -entirely scrupulous say he was a French count." - -"And do these Graces still live at Gracedieu, John?" - -"No, mother. They left it years ago--generations ago. And now I want -to tell you a thing almost as incredible as the subject of my father's -letter. No longer since than yesterday I met, in London, the -representative of these Graces, the only surviving descendant." - -"That is truly astonishing," said Mrs. Hanbury. "Yesterday was a day -of wonders." - -"A day of miracles," said the young man thoughtfully. - -For the first time in his life he had a secret from his mother, and he -was at this moment in doubt as to whether he should impart to her, or -not, all the circumstances of his going to Grimsby Street yesterday. -He had no inclination to speak now of the quarrel or disagreement with -Dora. That incident no longer occupied a front and illumined position -in his mind. It was in a dim background, a quiet twilight. - -"How did you come across them? What are they like?" - -"I came across them quite by accident. It is much too long a tale to -tell now. Indeed, it would take hours to tell fully, and I want not to -lose any time at present." - -"As you please, John. This is a day when wonders come so quick that we -lose all sense of their importance. Tell me just what you like. I am -only concerned about one thing." - -"And what is that, mother?" He asked in a troubled voice. He was -afraid she was about to make some reference to Dora. - -"That you do not allow yourself to become too excited or carried -away," she said, with pleading solicitude. - -He kissed her, and said cheerfully: "Trust me, mother, I am not going -to lose my head or knock myself up. Well, when I met Mrs. and Miss -Grace yesterday----" - -"Oh, the representatives are women?" - -"Yes, mother, and gentlewomen too; though I should think far from well -off----" - -"If," said Mrs. Hanbury promptly, "narrow circumstances are all the -drawback they labour under that could be soon put right." - -"God bless you, my good mother," cried the son with affectionate -pride. "Well, when I saw them yesterday in their place in Grimsby -Street I had, of course, no notion whatever that they were in any way -related to us. I took no particular notice of them beyond observing -that they were ladies. The strangest thing about them is that the -younger is--is----" He hesitated, not knowing how much of yesterday's -events must come out. - -"What?" said the mother with a smile. - -"Is, as I said, a perfect lady." - -"Yes; but why do you hesitate?" - -"Well, mother, I don't know how to put it," he laughed lightly, and -coloured impatiently at his own blundering stupidity. - -"I will help you. That the younger is fifty, wears corkscrew curls, -and teaches the piano in that awful Grimsby Street. Never mind, John, -I am not afraid of an old maid, even if you are." - -"Good heavens! I don't mean that, mother! I'll put it in this way. It -is not to say that there is a strong likeness, but, if you saw Miss -Grace, you would be prepared to swear it was Miss Ashton." - -"What? So like Dora Ashton! Then, indeed, she must be not only -ladylike but a beauty as well." - -"The two would be, I think, quite indistinguishable to the eye, -anyway. The voices are not the same." - -"Now, indeed, you do interest me. And was it because of this -extraordinary resemblance you sought the young lady's acquaintance?" - -"Well, as I said, it is too long a story, much too long a story to -tell now. I did not seek the lady's acquaintance. A man who knew us -both, and whom I met yesterday by accident, was so struck by the -similarity between Miss Ashton and Miss Grace that he insisted upon my -going with him to the house of this Mrs. Grace." - -"Oh, I understand. You were at Mrs. Ashton's Thursday, met some man -there, and he carried you off. Upon my word you seem to be in a whirl -of romances," she said gaily. - -"That was not exactly the way the thing arose. The man who introduced -me was at Ashton's, but we shall have the whole story out another -day." - -"Then what do you think of doing now? You seem in a great hurry." - -"I'm not, mother, in a great hurry anywhere in particular. - -"You, of course, are wishing to run away to Curzon street?" - -"No. They are not at home this evening. Mrs. Ashton said they were to -dine at Byngfield's. I am in a hurry, but in a hurry nowhere. I am -simply in a blaze of excitement, as you may imagine." He paused, and -wiped his forehead with his handkerchief. The worst was over. There -had been a reference to Dora and no explanation, a thing he wished to -avoid at any expense just now. There had been a statement that he had -met the Graces, and no mention of Leigh. His mind had been in a wild -whirl. He had in the first burst of his interview with his mother -magnified to himself the unpleasant episodes of yesterday, as far as -Leigh was concerned at all events. Now he was more at rest. He had got -breathing space, and he could between this and the next reference -decide upon the course he should pursue in that most uncomfortable -affair. There would be ample excuse for almost any irregularity on his -part with regard to her in the amazing news which had come upon him. -His mind was calmer and more unclouded now. - -"Well, perhaps if you talk to me a while you may grow cooler. Tell me -anything you like or nothing. You will wear yourself out, John, if you -don't take care. To judge from your father's letter to you he attached -on practical importance to the secret it contained, to the only object -he had in communicating it was to keep you still. It has had so far an -effect the very opposite of what he desired." - -"I know I am very excitable. I will try to be more calm. Let me see. -What can we talk about? Of course I can neither think nor speak about -anything which does not bear on the disclosure." - -"Tell me then what you heard of the Graces in Derbyshire, and why you -think them not well off. That may have a practical use, and will take -your mind off your own place in the affair." - -"Oh! yes. Well, you see Castleton isn't a very big place, and Mr. -Coutch is the most important professional man in it, so I found my way -to him, and he told me he had been making inquiries for a widow and -her granddaughter who lived in London, and I asked where they lived -and so on, and found out that Mrs. Grace who was making the inquiries -was the very Mrs. Grace I had met yesterday. I told Coutch that I was -the person he was looking for, that I represented the other branch of -the Grace family, and that I was most anxious to befriend my relatives -by giving them what information they might desire. I did not say -anything to him about the Polish affair, or the man whom Kate Grace -had married, beyond informing Coutch that he had not been a French -nobleman, and that I was a descendant of that marriage. - -"Then he told me he feared from what his London correspondent had -written him that the Graces were in distress, or anyway were far from -well off, as Mrs. Grace had lately lost a large sum of money, and Miss -Grace every penny she had in the world. His correspondent said he -thought the only object of the inquiry was to find out if by any -chance there might be ever so remote a chance of tracing the other -branch of the family with a view to finding out if by will or failure -of that line some property might remain to those who bore the name of -Grace, and were direct in the line of the wool-dealer of the -eighteenth century. I then told him that I was not either exactly poor -or rich, and that I would be most happy to do anything in my power for -my distant relatives. He said that there was not even a trace of -property in his neighbourhood to which either of the branches had the -shadow of a claim, as Gracedieu had generations ago passed away from -the family by sale, and they had never owned anything else there." - -"I am delighted you told this man we would be happy to be of any use -we could to this poor old lady, and her granddaughter. Of course, -John, in this case you must not do anything in which I am not a -sharer. All I have will be yours legally one day, and in the mean time -is yours with my whole heart and soul. Apart altogether from my desire -to aid in this matter because these people are your people, it would, -of course, be my duty to do so, because they are your dead father's -people. You own you are restless. Why not go to them and tell them -all? Say they have friends and well-wishers in us, and that I will -call upon them to-morrow." - -So mother and son parted, and he went to Grimsby Street. He had left -Chester Square in a comparatively quiet state of mind, but as he drove -in the hansom his imagination took fire once more, and when he found -himself in Mrs. Grace's sitting-room he was highly excited. - -When he returned to Chester Square he sought his mother's room. He -found her sitting alone in the twilight. In a hasty way he described -the interview between himself, Mrs. and Miss Grace, and said he had -conveyed his mother's promise of a visit the next day. - -Then he said: "Do you know, I think we had better keep all this to -ourselves?" - -"I am glad, my son, you are of that opinion. Up to this I have spoken -to no one, not even to your aunt Preston or Sir Edward, who were here -to-day. I don't remember ever having heard that the Hanburys were -related to people called Grace, and I suppose if I did not hear it, no -one among our friends did. I hope you cautioned Mrs. and Miss Grace. -But, remember, John, this is not wholly our secret. It is theirs quite -as much, if not more, than ours. All we can do for the present is to -keep our own tongues quiet." - -"I am sure you will like Mrs. and Miss Grace. They are very quiet -people and took my news very well. Good news or news of this kind -tries people a great deal more than calamitous news. They seem to be -simple and well-bred." - -"Well, when people are simple and well-bred, and good-natured, and not -selfish----" - -"I think they are all that," he interjected. - -"There is no merit in getting on with them. The only thing to consider -John, is, will they get on with me? Am I to be got on with by them?" - -"Why, my mother would get on with the most disagreeable women ever -known." - -"Yes, but then these two may not be the most disagreeable. At all -events I'll do my best. Do you intend staying in or are you going to -the club or to Curzon Street?" - -"The Curzon Street people are dining out at Byngfields' as I told you -earlier in the day. I am too restless to stay in the house and the -club seems too trivial for an evening like this. I think I'll go out -and walk to that most delightful of all places." - -"Where is that?" - -"Nowhere in particular. I am too tired and excited to decide upon -anything to-night. I'll just go for a stroll and think about nothing -at all. I'll say good night, as I may not be back early." - -And so mother and son parted. - -He left the house. It was almost dark. He wandered on in an easterly -direction, not caring or heeding where he went. He tried to keep his -mind from hurrying by walking at a leisurely rate, and he tried to -persuade himself he was thinking of nothing by employing his eyes -actively on all things that came his way as he strolled along. But -this device was only an attempt and scarcely a sincere attempt. - -"A king," he would think, insensibly holding his head high, "one of my -people, my great grandfather's grandfather, has been king of an old -monarchy and millions of men. It is a long time ago, no doubt, but -what does all blood pride itself upon if not former splendours? A -king! And the king of no miserable Balkan state or Christian fragment -of the Turkish empire, but a king of an ancient and powerful state -which stood powerful and stubborn in the heart of fierce, military, -warlike Europe and held its own! Poniatowski was no doubt an elected -king, but so were the others, and he was a Lithuanian nobleman before -he became King. The kingdom over which he ruled exists no longer -except in history, and even if the infamous partitions had never taken -place and Stanislaus had owned his English marriage and taken his -English family with him, I should have no more claim to the throne -than to that of the Queen. But I am the lineal descendant of a king -who reigned for a generation, and neither the malignity of to-day nor -the lies of history can destroy that fact. - -"Still the whole thing is, of course, only moonshine now, and if I -went to Lithuania, to Wolczyn itself, they would laugh at my -pretensions. The family estates and honours had been vapourized before -that last of the Poniatowskis fell under Napoleon. So my father -asserts, and he took some trouble to enquire. Therefore, no doubt it -would be best to keep the whole thing secret. But can we?" - -He put the thought away from him as having no immediate urgency. It -would be best for him to think of nothing at all, but to watch the gas -lamps and the people and the cabs and carriages hurrying through the -free air of England. - -But Dora? What of Dora? Dora had said good night to him and then good -bye. He had behaved badly, shamefully, no doubt. There was no excuse -for him or for any man allowing himself to be carried away by temper -in speaking to a lady, above all in speaking to a lady whom he thought -and intended to make his wife. Could Dora ever forgive him? It was -more than doubtful. If she did, what assurance had he for the future? -How would Dora take this discovery about the husband of Kate Grace in -the eighteenth century? She would think little or nothing about it. -She had no respect for hereditary honours or for old blood. She judged -all men by their deeds and by their deeds alone. Hence she had -tolerated him, doubtless, when she believed him to be no more than the -son of a City merchant possessing some abilities. She had tolerated -him! It was intolerable to be tolerated! And by the woman he intended -asking to be his wife. - -He had asked her to be his wife and she had hung back because he had -not yet done anything important, had not yet even taken up a -well-defined position in politics. - -If he told her to-night that he was descended from Stanislaus II. King -of Poland she would not be impressed ever so little. He did not attach -much importance to his old Lithuanian blood or the transient gleam of -kingship which had shone upon his race. But there was, in spite of -Dora, something in these things after all, or all the world was wrong. - -Dora was really too matter-of-fact. No doubt the rank is but the -guinea stamp and the man is the gold for all that. But in our complex -civilization the stamp is very convenient; it saves the trouble of -assaying and weighing every piece of yellow metal we are offered as -gold, and Burns himself, in his letters at least, shows anything but -this fierce democratic spirit. Why Burns' letters erred the other way, -and were full of sickening tuft-hunting and sycophancy. - -What a marvellous likeness there was between the appearance of those -two young girls. Now, if anyone had said there was a remote cousinship -between the girls all who saw would say cousinship! Sisterhood! No -twins could be more alike. And yet the resemblance was only -accidental. - -He would like to see them together and compare them. - -Like to see them together? Should he? - -Well, no. - -Dora was generous, there was no question of that; and she was not -disposed to be in the least jealous. But she could scarcely help -wondering how he felt towards another girl who was physically her -counterpart and seemed to think more of blood and race. - -It might occur to Dora to look at the likeness between herself and his -cousin Edith in this way: To me John Hanbury is merely a young man of -promising ability, who may if he likes forward causes in which I take -a great interest. I sometimes cross him and thwart him, but then he is -my lover, and, though I despise rank, I am his social superior in -England now anyway. How would it be with him if this young girl whose -appearance is so like mine cares' for him, apart from his abilities -and possible usefulness in causes interesting to me, and sets great -store by noble race and royal blood? - -That would be an inquiry upon which Dora might not care to enter. Or -it might be she would not care? Might it be she was glad to say -good-bye? - -"Perhaps Dora has begun to think she made a mistake in listening to me -at all. After yesterday and my cowardly weakness and vacillation -during the afternoon, and my unpardonable outburst after dinner, she -may not care to send me away from her because she pities me! Good God! -am I going to marry a woman who pities me? - -"I will put Dora away from my thoughts for the present. - -"The Graces must come to live with us, that's certain. - -"Fancy that odious dwarf and Dora pitying me! I cannot bear the -thought! I could not breathe five minutes in an atmosphere of pity. -There are good points in my character, but I must take care of them or -they might deteriorate into baseness. I must take care of myself, -beware of myself. I am not perfect, I am not very vile. I should like -to be a god. Let me try." - -He had told his mother he was going Nowhere in particular. It was -quite plain his reflections were bringing him no nearer to Curzon -Street. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII. - - LEIGH AT HIS BENCH. - - -Tom Stamer was afraid of only two people, namely, John Timmons and the -policeman. Of both he had experience. In his fear of Timmons were -mingled love and admiration. No such diluting sentiments qualified his -feelings towards the guardians of law and order. He had "done time," -and he did not want to do it again. He was a complete stranger to -anything like moral cowardice. He had never even heard of that -weakness by that name. He was a burglar and a thief without any code -at all, except that he would take anything he wished to take, and he -would die for John Timmons. He did not look on dying as a very serious -thing. He regarded imprisonment as a monstrous calamity, out of all -proportion to any other. He would not go out of his way to kill a -policeman, but if one stood in his way he would kill him with as -little compunction and as much satisfaction as a terrier kills a rat. -If up to the present his hands were clean of blood, it was because -shedding it had never seemed to him at once expedient and safe. If he -were made absolute king he would like to gather all the police of the -kingdom into a yard with high walls and shoot them from a safe -balcony. - -Although his formulated code was limited to the two articles mentioned -above, certain things he had not done wore the air of virtue. He never -quarrelled with any man, he never ill-treated his wife, he never -cheated anyone. When drunk he was invariably amiable and good-natured, -and gave liberally to others. He was a completely loyal friend, and an -enemy all the more merciless and horrible because he was without -passion. - -He had little or no mind, but he was on that account the more terribly -steadfast. Once he had resolved upon a thing nothing could divert -him from trying to accomplish it. His was one of those imperfect, -half-made intellects that are the despair of philanthropists. You -could do nothing whatever with him; he could rob and murder you. If he -had all those policemen in that high-walled court he would not have -inflicted any torture upon them. He would have shot them with his own -hand merely to make sure the race was extirpated. His fidelity was -that of an unreasoning beast. He knew many men of his own calling, and -by all of them he was looked upon as being the most mild and true, and -dangerous and deadly burglar in London. He was morally lower than the -lowest of the uncorrupted brutes. - -Stamer had made up his mind that Oscar Leigh was in league with the -police, and that this postponement of buying the gold from Timmons was -merely part of some subtle plan to entrap Timmons and himself. - -This conviction was his way of deciding upon taking Oscar Leigh's -life. He did not even formulate the dwarfs death to himself. He had -simply decided that Leigh meant to entrap Timmons in the interest of -Scotland Yard. Timmons and himself were one. - -Wait a week indeed, and be caught in a trap! Not he! Business was -business, and no time was to be lost. - -When he left Tunbridge Street that morning, he made straight for -Chelsea. This was a class of business which did not oblige him to keep -his head particularly clear. He would lay aside his ordinary avocation -until this affair was finished. The weather was warm, so he turned -into a public-house in the Vauxhall Bridge Road and sat down at a -table to think the matter over while cooling and refreshing himself -with a pint of beer. - -One thing puzzled him. How was it that the dwarf pretended to be with -Timmons half-a-mile away, at the time he himself, and half-a-dozen -other men who knew Leigh's appearance thoroughly, saw him as plain as -the sun at noonday winding up his clock at the second floor window of -the house opposite the Hanover? There could, of course, not be the -least doubt that Timmons had been deceived, imposed upon in some way. -But how was it done? Timmons knew the dwarf well, knew his figure, -which could not easily be mistaken, and knew his voice also. They had -met several times before Timmons even broached the gold difficulty to -him. Leigh had told Timmons that he was something of a magician. That -he could do things no other man could do. That he had hidden knowledge -of metals, and so on, and could do things no other man living could do -with metals, and that he had books of fortune-telling and magic and -the stars, and so on. - -Stamer's education had been neglected. He had read little, and knew -nothing of magic and these things, but he had heard it was only -foolishness. Timmons was an honourable man and wouldn't lie. He had -said the plan of getting rid of the gold was to be that Leigh was to -pretend to make it and sell it openly or with very little secrecy. -That was a good notion if Leigh could persuade people he made it. -Unfortunately gold could not be run into sovereigns. It had to be -stamped cold and that could only be managed by machinery. - -Well, anyway, if this man, this Leigh, knew a lot of hidden things he -might know a lot about chloroform and laudanum and other drugs he -heard much about but that did not come in his way of business. Leigh -might know of or have invented something more sudden and powerful than -chloroform and have asked Timmons to smell a bottle, or have waved a -handkerchief in Timmons's face, and Timmons might have there and then -gone off into a sleep and dreamed all he believed about the walk at -midnight and the church clock. - -That looked a perfectly reasonable and complete explanation. In fact -it was the explanation and no other was needed. This was simplicity -itself. - -But what was the object of this hocussing of Timmons, and, having -hocussed the man, why didn't he rob him of the gold he had with him, -or call the police? That was a question of nicer difficulty and would -require more beer and a pipe. So far he was getting on famously, doing -a splendid morning's work. - -He made himself comfortable with his tobacco and beer and resumed -where he had left off. - -The reason why the dwarf didn't either take the gold or hand over -Timmons to the police was because he hadn't all he wanted. When he got -Timmons asleep he left him somewhere and went back to wind his clock -just to show he wasn't up to anything. What was it Timmons hadn't? -Why, papers, of course. Timmons hadn't any papers about Stamer or any -of them, and the only thing Leigh would have against Timmons, if he -gave him up then, would be the gold, out of which by itself they could -make nothing! That was the whole secret! Leigh knew the time when -Timmons would come to his senses to a minute, and had him out in the -street half a mile from the house before he knew where he was. - -If confirmation of this theory were required had not Timmons told him -that Leigh carried a silver bottle always with him, and that he was -ever sniffing up the contents of the bottle? Might not he carry -another bottle the contents of which, when breathed even once, were -more powerful, ten times more powerful, than chloroform? - -This explanation admitted of no doubt or even question. But if a -clincher were needed, was it not afforded by what he had heard the -landlord and frequenters of the Hanover say last night about this -man's clock? They said that when the clock was wound up by night the -winding up _always_ took place in the half hour between midnight and -half-past twelve, and furthermore that on no occasion but one, and -that one when Leigh was out of town, that one and singular occasion -being the night before his visit to the Hanover, had a soul but the -dwarf been seen in the clock room or admitted to it. - -This affair must be looked after at once. It admitted of no delay. He -would go to the Hanover and early enough to try some of their rum hot, -of which he had heard such praises last night. - -This was the substance of Stamer's thinking, though not the words of -his thought. - -On his way to Chetwynd Street he thought: - -"He wants to get evidence against Timmons, and he wants to get -evidence against _me_ for the police. If he doesn't get it from -Timmons pockets next Thursday, he'll get it some other way soon, and -then Timmons and I will be locked up. That must be prevented. He is -too clever for an honest, straightforward man like Timmons. It isn't -right to have a man like that prying into things and disturbing -things. It isn't right, and it isn't fair, and it must be stopped, and -it shall be stopped soon, or my name isn't Tom Stamer. I may make -pretty free in this get-up. It belonged to a broken-down bailiff, and -I think I look as like a broken-down bailiff as need be. When Timmons -didn't guess who I was, I don't think anyone else will know, even if I -met a dozen of the detectives." - -He was in no hurry. He judged it to be still early for the Hanover. He -wanted to go there when people were in the private bar, some time -about the dinner hour would be the best part of the day for his -purpose, and it was now getting near that time. - -When he reached Welbeck Place he entered the private bar of the -Hanover, and perching himself by the counter opposite the door, on one -of the high stools, asked for some rum hot. There was no one in this -compartment. The potman served him. As a rule Williams himself -attended to the private compartment, but he was at present seated on a -chair in the middle of the bar, reading a newspaper. He looked up on -the entrance of Stamer, and seeing only a low-sized man, in very seedy -black, and wearing blue spectacles, he called out to Tom to serve the -gentleman. - -Mr. Stamer paid for his steaming rum, tasted it, placed the glass -conveniently at his right elbow, lit his pipe, and stretched himself -to show he was quite at his ease, about to enjoy himself, and in no -hurry. Then he took off his blue spectacles, and while he wiped the -glasses very carefully, looked around and about him, and across the -street at the gable of Forbes's bakery, with his naked eyes. - -He saw with satisfaction that Oscar Leigh was sitting at the top -window opposite, working away with a file on something held in a -little vice fixed on his clockmaker's bench. - -Oscar Leigh, at his bench in the top room of Forbes's bakery, -overlooking Welbeck Place, was filing vigorously a bar of brass held -in a little vice attached to the bench. He was unconscious that anyone -was watching him. He was unconscious that the file was in his hand, -and that the part of the bar on which he was working gradually grew -flatter and flatter beneath the fretting rancour of the file. He was -at work from habit, and thinking from habit, but his inattention to -the result of his mechanical labour was unusual, and the thoughts -which occupied him were far away from the necessities of his craft. - -When he put the rod in the vice, and touched its dull yellow skin into -glittering ribs and points sparkling like gold, he had had a purpose -in his mind for that rod. Now he had shaved it down flat, and the rod -and the purpose for which it had been intended were forgotten. The -brazen dust lay like a new-fallen Danäe shower upon the bench before -him, upon his grimy hands, upon his apron. He was watching the -delicate sparkling yellow rain as it fell from the teeth of inexorable -steel. - -Oscar Leigh was thinking of gold--Miracle Gold. - -Stamer had resumed his blue spectacles. He was furtively watching out -of the corners of his eyes behind the blue glasses the man at the -window above. He too was thinking of a metal, but not of the regal, -the imperial yellow monarch of the Plutonian realms, but of a livid, -dull, deadly, poisonous metal--lead, murderous lead. - -The gold-coloured dust fell from the dwarf's file like a thin, -down-driven spirt of auriferous vapour. - -"Miracle Gold," he thought, "Miracle Gold. All gold is Miracle Gold -when one tests it by that only great reagent, the world. The world, -the world. In my Miracle Gold there would be found an alloy of copper -and silver. Yes, a sad and poisonous alloy. Copper is blood-red, and -silver is virgin white, and gold is yellow, a colour between the two, -and infinitely more precious than they, the most precious of all -metals is gold. - -"The men who sought for the elixir of life sought also for the -philosopher's stone. They placed indefinite prolongation of life and -transmutation of the baser metals into gold side by side in -importance. And all the time they were burying in their own graves -their own little capital of life; they were missing all the gold of -existence! - -"They ceaselessly sought for endless life and found nothing but the -end of the little life which had been given them! They ceaselessly -sought to make gold while gold was being made all round them in -prodigal profusion! They seared up their eyes with the flames of -furnaces and the fumes of brass, to make another thing the colour of -flame, the colour of brass! Was there no gold made by the sunlight or -the motion of men's hearts? - -"I cannot make this Miracle Gold. I can pretend to make it and put the -fruit of violence and rapine abroad as fruit of the garden of the -Hesperides. The world will applaud the man who has climbed the wall -and robbed the garden of the Hesperides, providing that wall is not in -London, or England, or the British Empire. - -"I am not thinking of making this gold for profit; but for fame; for -fame or infamy? - -"I am in no want of money, as the poor are in want of money, and I do -not value money as the rich value it. From my Miracle Gold I want the -fame of the miracle not the profit of the gold. But why should I -labour and run risk for the philosopher's stone, when I am not greedy -of pelf? For the distinction. For the glory. - -"Mine is a starved life and I must make the food nature denies me. - -"But is this food to be found in the crucible? or on the filter? - -"I am out of gear with life, but that is no reason why I should invent -a dangerous movement merely to set me going in harmony with something -that is still more out of gear with life. - -"The elixir of life is not what is poured into life, but what is -poured out of it. We are not rich by what we get, but by what we give. -Tithonus lived until he prayed for death. - -"And Midas starved. He would have given all the gold in the world for -a little bread and wine or for the touch of a hand that did not harden -on his shoulder. - -"Here is a golden shower from this brass bar. - -"Miracle Gold! Miracle Gold does not need making at my hands. It is -made by the hands of others for all who will stretch forth their hands -and take it. It is ready made in the palm of every hand that touches -yours in friendship. It is the light of every kindly eye. - -"It is on the lips of love for lovers. - -"One touch of God's alchemy could make it even in the breast of a -hunchback if it might seem sweet to one of God's angels to find it -there!" - -He dropped the file, swept the golden snow from the bench, rose and -shook from his clothes the shower of golden sparks of brass. Then he -worked his intricate way deftly through the body of the clock and -locking the door of the clock-room behind him, descended the stairs -and crossed Welbeck Place to the Hanover public house. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX. - - STRONG SMELLING SALTS. - - -Stamer had by this time been provided with a second glass of the -Hanover's famous rum hot. Mr. Williams the proprietor was still -immersed in his newspaper, although Stamer's implied appreciation of -the hot rum, in the order of a second glass, had almost melted the -host into the benignity of conversation with the shabby-looking -stranger. On the appearance of the dwarf, Williams rose briskly from -his chair and greeted the new-comer cordially. Stamer did not stir -beyond drawing back a little on his stool. Out of his blue spectacles -he fixed a steady and cat-like gaze upon Leigh. - -"How warm the weather keeps," said Leigh, climbing to the top of a -stool, with his back to the door of the compartment and directly -opposite Stamer. "Even at the expense of getting more dust than I can -manage well with, I think I must leave my window open," pointing -upwards to the clock-room. "The place is suffocating. Hah! -Suffocating." - -"Why don't you get a fine muslin blind and then you could leave the -window open, particularly if you wet the blind." - -"There's something in that, Mr. Williams; there's a great deal in what -you say, Mr. Williams. But, you see, the water would dry off very soon -in this broiling weather, and then the dust would come through. But if -I soaked the blind in oil, a non-drying oil, it would catch all the -dust and insects. Dust is as bad for my clock as steel filings from a -stone are for the lungs of a Sheffield grinder. Hah! Yes, I must get -some gauze and steep it in oil. Would you lend me the potman for a few -minutes? He would know what I want and I am rather tired for -shopping." - -"Certainly, with pleasure, Mr. Leigh. Here, Binns, just put on your -coat and run on an errand for Mr. Leigh, will you." - -The potman who was serving the only customer in the public bar -appeared, got his instructions and money from the clock-maker and -skipped off with smiling alacrity. The little man was open-handed in -such matters. - -"Yes; the place is bad enough in the daytime," went on Leigh as he was -handed a glass of shandy-gaff, "but at night when the gas is lighted -it becomes choking simply." - -"It's a good job you haven't to stay there long at night. No more than -half-an-hour with the gas on." - -"Yes, about half-an-hour does for winding up. But then I sometimes -come there when you are all in bed. I often get up in the middle of -the night persuaded something has gone wrong. I begin to wonder if -that clock will get the better of me and start doing something on its -own account." - -"It's twice too much to have on your mind all by yourself. Why don't -you take in a partner?" asked Williams sympathetically, "or," he -added, "give it up altogether if you find it too much for you?" If -Leigh gave up his miserable clock, Leigh and Williams might do -something together. The two great forces of their minds might be -directed to one common object and joined in one common fame. - -"Partner! Hah!" cried Leigh sharply, "and have all my secrets blown -upon in twenty-four hours." Then he added significantly. "The only man -whom I would allow into that room for a minute should be deaf and dumb -and a fool." - -"And not able to read or write," added Williams with answering -significance. - -"And not able to read or write," said the dwarf, nodding his head to -Williams. - -The publican stood a foot back from the counter and expanded his chest -with pride at the thought of being trusted by the great little man -with the secret of the strange winder of two nights ago. Then he -added, by way of impressing on Leigh his complete trustworthiness -respecting the evening which was not to be spoken of, "By-the-way Mr. -Leigh, we saw you wind up last night, sure enough." - -"Oh yes, I saw you. I nodded to you." - -"Yes, at ten minutes past twelve by my clock, a quarter past twelve by -my watch; for I looked, Mr. Leigh. You nodded. I told the gentlemen -here how wonderfully particular you were about time, and how your -clock would go right to a fraction of a second. If I am not mistaken -this gentleman was here. Weren't you here, sir?" Williams said, -addressing Stamer for the first time, but without moving from where he -stood. - -"I happened to be here at the time, and I saw the gentleman at the -window above," said Stamer in a meek voice. - -Then a remarkable thing happened. - -The partition between the private bar and the public bar was about six -feet high. Just over the dwarf's head a pair of long thin hands -appeared on the top of the partition, and closed on it with the -fingers pointing downward. Then very slowly and quite silently a -round, shabby, brown hat stole upwards over the partition, followed by -a dirty yellow-brown forehead, and last of all a pair of gleaming blue -eyes that for a moment looked into the private bar, and then silently -the eyes, the forehead, and the hat, sank below the rail, and finally -the hands were withdrawn from the top of the partition. From the -moment of the appearance of the hands on the rail until they left it -did not occupy ten seconds. - -No one in the private bar saw the apparition. - -"Well," said Leigh, who showed no disposition to include Stamer in the -conversation, "I can have a breath of air to-night when I am winding -up. I am free till then. I think I'll go and look after that mummy. -Oh! here's Binns with the muslin. Thank you, Binns, this will do -capitally." - -He took the little silver flask out of his pocket, and poured a few -drops from it into his hand and sniffed it up, and then made a noisy -expiration. - -"Very refreshing. Very refreshing, indeed. I know I needn't ask you, -Williams. I know you never touch it. You have no idea of how -refreshing it is." - -The smell of eau-de-cologne filled the air. - -Stamer watched the small silver flask with eyes that blazed balefully -behind the safe screen of his blue glasses. - -"Would you oblige me," he said in a timid voice, holding out his hand -as he spoke. - -Leigh was in the act of returning the tiny flask to his waistcoat -pocket. He arrested it a moment, and then let it fall in out of sight, -saying sharply: "You wouldn't like it, sir. Very few people do like -it. You must be used to it." - -Stamer's suspicions were now fully roused. This was the very drug -Leigh had used with Timmons. It produced little or no effect on the -dwarf, for as he explained, he was accustomed to it, but on a man who -had never inhaled it before the effect would be instant, and long and -complete insensibility. "I should like very much to try. I can stand -very strong smelling salts." - -"Oh! indeed. Can you? Then you would like to try some strong smelling -salts?" said Leigh with a sneer as he scornfully surveyed the shabby -man who had got off his stool and was standing within a few feet of -him. "Well, I have no more in the flask. That was the last drop, but I -have some in this." Out of his other waistcoat pocket he took a small -glass bottle with a ground cap and ground stopper. He twisted off the -cap and loosened the stopper. "This is very strong, remember." - -"All right." If he became insensible here and at this time it would do -no harm. There was plenty of help at hand, and nothing at stake, not -as with Timmons last night in that house over the way. - -"Snuff up heartily," said the dwarf, holding out the bottle towards -the other with the stopper removed. - -Stamer leaned on one of the high stools with both his hands, and put -his nose over the bottle. With a yell he threw his arms wildly into -the air and fell back on the floor as if he were shot. - -Williams sprang up on the counter and cried: "What's this! He isn't -dead?" in terror. - -The potman flew over the counter into the public bar, and rushed into -the private compartment. - -The solitary customer in the public bar drew himself up once more and -stared at the prostrate man with round blue eyes. - -Leigh laughed harshly as he replaced the stopper and screwed on the -cap. - -"Dead! Not he! He's all right! He said he could stand strong salts. I -gave him the strongest ammonia. That's all." - -The potman had lifted Stamer from the ground, propped him against the -wall and flung half a bottle of water over his head. - -Stamer recovered himself instantly. His spectacles were in pieces on -the floor. He did not, considering his false beard and whiskers, care -for any more of the potman's kindnesses. He stooped, picked up his hat -and walked quickly out of the Hanover. - -"I like to see a man like that," said Leigh, calmly blowing a dense -cloud of cigar-smoke from his mouth and nodding his head in the -direction Stamer had taken. - -"You nearly killed the man," said Williams, dropping down from the -counter inside the bar and staring at Leigh with frightened eyes that -looked larger than usual owing to the increased pallor of his face. - -"Pooh! Nonsense! That stuff wouldn't kill anyone unless he had a weak -heart or smashed his head in his fall. I got it merely to try the -effect of it combined with a powerful galvanic battery, on the nasal -muscles of my mummy. Now, if that man were dead we'd get him all right -again in a jiffy with one sniff of it. I was saying I like a man like -him. You see, he was impudent and intruded himself on me when he had -no right to do anything of the kind, and he insisted on smelling my -strong salts. Well, he had his wish, and he came to grief, and he -picked himself up, or rather Binns picked him up, and he never said -anything but went away. He knew he was in the wrong, and he knew he -got worsted, and he simply walked away. That is the spirit which makes -Englishmen so great all the world over. When they are beaten they -shake hands and say no more about the affair. That's true British -pluck." Leigh blew another dense cloud of smoke in front of him and -looked complacently at Williams. - -"Well," said the publican in a tone of doubt, "he didn't exactly shake -hands, you know. He does look a bit down in the world, seems to me an -undertaker's man out of work, but I rather wonder he didn't kick up a -row. Many another man would." - -"A man of any other nationality would, but not a Britisher. If, -however, you fancy the poor chap is out of work and he comes back and -grumbles about the thing, give him half-a-sovereign from me." - -"Mr. Leigh, I must say that is very handsome of you, sir," said -Williams, thawing thoroughly. He was a kind-hearted man, and did think -the victim of the trick ought to get some sort of compensation. - -Meanwhile, Stamer had reached the open air and was seemingly in no -great hurry to go back to the Hanover to claim the provision Leigh had -made for his injury. He did not seem in a hurry to go anywhere, and a -person who knew of what had taken place in the private bar, and seeing -him move slowly up Welbeck Place with his left shoulder to the wall -and his eyes on the window of the workshop, would think he was either -behaving very like a kicked cur and slinking away with the desire of -attracting as little attention as possible, or that he was meditating -the mean revenge of breaking the dwarf's window. - -But Stamer was not sneaking away. He was simply taking observations in -a comprehensive and leisurely manner. Above all, he was not dreaming -of breaking the clockmaker's window. On the contrary he was hugging -himself with delight at the notion that he would not have to break -Leigh's window. No, there would not be the least necessity for that. -As the window was now no doubt it would be necessary to smash one pane -at least. But with that muslin blind well-soaked in oil stretched -across the open, caused by the raising of the lower sash there would -be no need whatever of injuring the dwarf's glass. - -He passed very slowly down Welbeck Place towards the mews under the -window which lighted the private bar, and through which he had watched -the winding up of the clock last night. His eyes, now wanting the blue -spectacles, explored and examined every feature of Forbes's with as -close a scrutiny as though he were inspecting it to ascertain its -stability. - -When he had deliberately taken in all that eyes could see in the gable -of Forbes's bakery, he turned his attention to his left, and looked -with care unmingled with anxiety at the gable or rather second side of -the Hanover. Then he passed slowly on. It might almost be fancied from -his tedious steps that he had hurt his back or his legs in his fall, -but he did not limp or wriggle or drag his legs. - -Beyond the Hanover, that is on this side between the end of the public -house and the Welbeck Mews, were two poor two-storey houses, let in -tenements to men who found employment about the mews. These houses -Stamer observed closely also, and then passed under the archway into -the mews. Here he looked back on the gables of the tenement houses. -They were, he saw, double-roofed, with a gutter in the middle, and -from the gutter to the mews descended a water-pipe into the ground. - -When there was nothing more to be noted in the outside of the gables, -Stamer pulled his hat over his eyes and struck out briskly across the -mews, which he quitted by the southern outlet. - -As he finished his inspection and left the mews he thought: - -"So that was the stuff he gave Timmons, was it? I suppose it had more -effect on him or he got more of it. It didn't take my senses away for -more than a flash of lightning, but more of it might knock me silly -for a while. Besides, Timmons is not as strong a man as I. It is a -wonder it did not kill him. I felt as if the roof of my skull was -blown off. I felt inclined to draw and let him have an ounce. But -then, although he may be playing into the hands of the police, he -isn't a policeman. He couldn't have done the drill, although his boots -are as big as the regulation boots. Then, even if I did draw on him I -couldn't have got away. There were too many people about. - -"So he'll wind up his clock to-night between twelve and half-past, -will he? It will take him the longest half-hour he ever spent in all -his life! There's plenty of time to get the tools ready, and for a -little practice too." - -Stamer had no personal resentment against Leigh because of the trick -put upon him. A convict never has the sense of the sacred -inviolateness of his person that belongs to men of even the most -depraved character who have never "done time." He had arrived at his -deadly intent not from feelings of revenge but from motives of -prudence. Leigh possessed dangerous information, and Leigh was guilty -of treason and was trying to compass betrayal; therefore he must be -put away, and put away at once. - -Meanwhile the man who drew himself up by his hands, and looked over -the partition between the public and private bar, had left the -Hanover. He was a very tall man with grizzled, mutton-chop whiskers -and an exceedingly long, rusty neck. He wore a round-topped brown hat, -and tweed clothes, a washed-out blue neckerchief, the knot of which -hung low on his chest. He had no linen collar, and as he walked -carried his hands thrust deep into his trousers' pockets. - -He too, had come to Chetwynd Street, to the Hanover, to gather any -facts he might meet about this strange clockmaker and his strange -ways. He had gone into the public bar for he did not wish to encounter -face to face the man about whom he was inquisitive. He had sent a boy -for Stamer's wife and left her in charge of his marine store in -Tunbridge Street, saying he was unexpectedly obliged to go to the -Surrey Dock. He told her of the visit Stamer had paid him that -morning, and said he thought her husband was getting a bit crazy. Then -he left her, having given her instructions about the place and -promising to be back in a couple of hours. - -Timmons was more than three hours gone, and when he re-entered -Tunbridge Street Mrs. Stamer came in great excitement to meet him, -saying she had no notion he would be so long and that if Tom came back -during her absence he would be furious, as she had left no word where -she was to be found. To this Timmons replied shortly that he didn't -suppose Stamer would have come back, and parted from her almost -rudely, which showed he was in a mind far from ordinary, for he was -always jocular and polite after his fashion to the woman. - -When he was alone in his own place he began walking up and down in a -state of great perturbation. - -"I don't know what to make of it--I don't know what to make of it," he -thought. "Stamer is no fool, and I know he would not lie to me. He -says he saw Leigh wind up the clock at the time Leigh was standing -with me under the church tower. The landlord of that public-house says -he saw him, and Leigh himself says he nodded to the landlord at a -quarter past twelve! I'm not mad, and I wasn't drunk. What can it -mean? I can make nothing of it. - -"There may be something in what Stamer says after all. This miserable, -hump-backed creature may be only laying a trap for us. If I thought I -was to be caught after my years of care and caution by a mannikin like -that, I'd slit his wizand for him. I did not like his way last night, -and the more I think of it the less I like it. I think I had better be -off this job. I don't like it, but I don't care to fail, particularly -after telling Stamer all about it. - -"What business had that fool Stamer to walk straight into the lion's -mouth? What did he want in Chetwynd Street? No doubt he went there on -the same errand as I, to try to find out something more about last -night. Well, a nice thing he did find out. What infernal stuff did the -dwarf give Stamer to smell? It was a mercy it did not kill the man. If -it had killed Stamer, and there had been an inquest, it would have -made a nice mess. No one could tell what might have come out about -Stamer, about the whole lot, about myself! - -"It is plain no one ought to have further dealings with that little -man. Anyone who could give stuff like that to a man to smell in broad -daylight, and in the presence of witnesses, would not stick at a -trifle in the dark and when no one was by. Yes, I must cut the dwarf. -Fortunately, there is nothing in Leigh's possession he can use against -me. I took good care of that. - -"How will Stamer take the affair? Will he cherish anger? Will he want -revenge? - -"Well, if he will let him." - -These were not the words in which Timmons thought, but they represent -the substance of his cogitations. - -Meanwhile, Oscar Leigh had left Chetwynd Street, and gone back to the -clock-room to fix the new blind Binns, the potman, had bought for him. -He had not intended returning that day, but he had nothing special to -do, and the blind was a new idea and new ideas interested him. - -He let himself in by the private door, and went straight to the -clock-room. He had a bottle of sweet oil, and the roll of muslin. He -oiled the muslin, and having stretched and nailed it in position, -raised the lower sash of the window about two feet from the sill. The -muslin was double, and the two sheets were kept half an inch apart by -two rods, so that any dust getting through the outer fold might be -caught by the inner one. Having settled this screen to his -satisfaction, he left the room and descended once more. - -"My clock," he thought, "will be enough for fame. I will not meddle -with this Miracle Gold. I am committed to nothing, and anything -Timmons may say will be only slander, even if he did dare to speak." - -He reached the street, and wandered on aimlessly. - -"My clock when it is finished will be the most perfect piece of -mechanism ever designed and executed by one man. It will be classed -among the wonders of the world, and be spoken of with admiration as -long as civilization lasts. - -"But I must take care it does not get the upper hand of me. Already -the multiplicity of the movements confuse my head at times when I am -not near it. I must be careful of my head, or my great work will -suffer. Sometimes I see those figure of time all modelled and -fashioned and in their proper dispositions executing their assigned -evolutions. At times I am in doubt about them. They grow faint, and -cobwebby, and misty, as though they were huddled together in some dim -room, to which one ray of light was suddenly admitted. I must be -careful of my head. - -"Long ago, and also until not very long ago, when I added a new effect -or movement it fell into its proper place and troubled me no more. -Now, when I am away from my clock, when I cannot see and touch it, I -often forget a movement, or give it a wrong direction, draw from it a -false result. - -"I am too much a man of one idea. I have imagination enough for a score -of hands and ten stout bodies, and I have only a pair of hands and -THIS!" - -He paused and looked down at his protuberant chest and twisted trunk, -and shrunken, bent legs, and enormous feet. - -"I am a bad specimen of the work of Nature's journeyman, to put it as -some one does, and I am abominably made--all except the head!" - -He threw up his head and glanced around with scornful challenge in his -eye. - -"Hey!" cried a man's voice in alarm. - -He looked up. - -The chest of a horse was within a hand's breadth of his shoulder. The -horse's head was flung aloft. The horse snorting and quivering, and -bearing back upon his haunches. - -Leigh sprang aside and looked around. He was in the middle of -Piccadilly at Hyde Park Corner. He had almost been ridden over by a -group of equestrians. - -The gentleman whose horse had nearly touched him, took off his hat and -apologised. - -"You stopped suddenly right under the horse's head," said the -gentleman. "I am extremely sorry." - -Leigh raised his stick to strike the head of the horse. - -The rider pulled his horse sharply away and muttered something under -his breath. - -"Oh, Sir Julius," cried a voice in terror, "it's Mr. Leigh!" - -The dwarf's stick fell from his hand. "God's mercy in Heaven!" he -cried in a whisper, as he took off his hat slowly, "Miss Ashton!" - -Then, bareheaded and without his stick, he went up to the side of her -horse, and said in a hoarse whisper, "I will have nothing to do with -that Miracle Gold!" - -A groom who had dismounted handed him his stick, and putting on his -hat, he hastened away through the crowd which had begun to gather, -leaving Dora in a state of mingled alarm and pity. - -"Is he mad?" said Sir Julius Whinfield as the dwarf disappeared and -the equestrians moved on. - -"I'm sure I don't know. I think not. For a moment he terrified me, and -now he breaks my heart!" - -"Breaks your heart?" - -"Oh, he ought not to be human! There surely can be no woe like his!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXX. - - DORA ASHTON ALONE. - - -Dora Ashton was greatly shocked and distressed by the peril of Oscar -Leigh and his subsequent behaviour. - -"I am sure, Miss Ashton, I hope you will not imagine for a moment -either that I was riding carelessly or that I recognised Mr. Leigh -until you spoke. I saw him plainly enough as he was crossing the road. -He was not minding in the least where he was going. He would have got -across us in good time if he had only kept on; but he pulled up -suddenly right under my horse's nose. I am sure I was more frightened -than he. By Jove! how he glared at me. I think he would have killed me -there and then if he could. He was going to strike my horse with that -dreadful bludgeon of his. I am sure I was much more frightened than he -was," said Sir Julius, in a penitential tone of voice, as the two rode -on side by side. - -The other members of the party, including Mr. Ashton, had fallen -behind and were also discussing the incident among themselves. - -"You were quite blameless," said the girl, who was still pale and -trembling. "I don't suppose the poor man was much afraid. Of what -should he be afraid?" - -"Well," said the baronet, stroking the arching neck of his bay, "he -was within an ace of being ridden over, you know." - -"And suppose he had been knocked down and ridden over, what has he to -fear, poor man?" she said. Her eyes were fixed, and she was speaking -as if unconscious she uttered her words. The group had turned out of -the noise of Piccadilly and were riding close together. - -"He might have been hurt, I mean seriously hurt. Particularly he?" - -"Hurt! How could he be hurt? You might be hurt, or I might be hurt, -but how could he be hurt. Particularly he! You fancy because he is -maimed and misshapen he is more likely to be hurt than a sound man?" - -"Assuredly." - -"I cannot see that. When people say a man was hurt, they do not mean -merely or mostly that he endured pain. They mean that he was injured -or disabled in some way. How can you injure or disable him? He is as -much injured and disabled as a man can be and live." - -"That is very true; but he might have been killed. Miss Ashton, you do -not mean to say you think it would be better he had been killed?" -cried Sir Julius in a tone of one shocked and surprised. - -"I do not know. Surely death and Heaven must be conditions of greater -ease and happiness for him than for ordinary mortals." - -"I am entirely of your opinion there. But from what I saw and heard -of this man yesterday and to-day, I am disposed to think he has -self-esteem enough to sustain him in any difficulty and carry him -through any embarrassment." - -"How are we to know how much of this self-esteem is assumed?" - -"It does not matter whether it is assumed or not, so long as it is -sustaining." - -"What! Does it not matter at what expense it is hired for use? You -amaze me, Sir Julius. You are generally sympathetic and sound, I think -you have not been taking your lessons regularly under Lady Forcar. She -would be quicker sighted in a matter of this kind." The girl shook off -her air of abstraction and smiled at the young man. - -"No, Miss Ashton, I am not neglecting the lectures of Lady Forcar, but -of late they have not been much concerned with man. I deeply deplore -it, but she has taken to pigs. Anyway she would talk of nothing but -pigs yesterday, at your mother's. And even the improvement of my mind -does not come within her consideration under the head of pigs, -although I begged of her to be gracious and let it." - -"That is very sad indeed. You must feel sorely slighted. And what has -she to say about pigs?" - -"Oh, I really couldn't think of half the distractingly flattering -things she has to say about them. She made me miserably jealous, I -assure you. She says she is going to write an article for one of the -heavy, of the very heaviest, magazines, and she is going to call her -article 'Dead Pigs and the Pigs that eat them,' and such harmless -people as you and I are to be considered among the latter class in the -title. Isn't that fearful. She says from this forth, her mission is -pigs." - -"I shall certainly read this wonderful article when it appears," said -the girl with a laugh. "Can you tell me anything more about this -article?" - -"No; except that it was Mr. Leigh started the subject between her and -me." - -"Mr. Leigh?" said Dora gravely. - -"Yes. When she saw him eat all your bread and butter, she said he was -a man who, in the hands of a clever wife, might act the part of a -Napoleon the Great in social matters." - -The grave look on Dora's face changed to one of sadness. At first, -when Sir Julius mentioned the dwarf's name, she thought some unkind -reference was about to be made to his unhappy physical deformities. -Now her anxiety was relieved on that score only to have her feelings -aroused anew over the spectacle of his spiritual desolation. He marry! -How could he marry? And yet he had told them he had found the model -for his Pallas-Athena. She was not so simple as to think the mere -intellectual being was represented to him by the model for his -Pallas-Athena. Suppose he used the name of Pallas-Athena only out of -shyness for what struck him as mere loveliness in woman, mere good -looks and kindliness of nature? What a heart-breaking thought! What an -awful torture it must be to be hungry for love and beauty in such a -form! - -Sir Julius Whinfield left her at the house in Curzon Street, and she -went up to her own room to change her dress. She had nothing arranged -for between that and dinner. Her father had gone away on foot from the -house, and her mother had taken the carriage before luncheon to pay a -visit to some people in whom Dora was not interested. The girl had all -the afternoon to herself, and she had plenty of thought to occupy it. -She threw herself in a large easy chair by the open window. Her room -was at the back of the house, and looked out on a space of roofs and -walls and tiny gardens. There was nothing in view to distract the eye. -There was much within to exercise the spirit. - -"It would be madness," was the result of deep and long thought, "to go -any further. I like him well enough and admire him greatly, and I -daresay--no, let me be quite candid--I _know_ he likes me. I daresay -we are better disposed towards each other than one tenth of the people -who marry, but that is not enough. - -"We did not fall in love with one another at first sight. It was no -boy and girl attachment. We were attracted towards one another by the -intellectual sides of our characters. I thought I was wiser than other -girls in not allowing my fancy to direct my fate. I thought he and I -together might achieve great things. I am now afraid it is as great, -even a greater, mistake to marry for intellect than to marry for money -or position. - -"I have made up my mind now. Nothing shall change me. My decision is -as much for his good as my own. Last night was not the climax of what -would be. It was only the first of a long line of difficulties or -quarrels that would increase as time went on. - -"We have been enduring one another out of admiration for one another, -not loving one another for our own and love's own sake. - -"It will cost me many a pang, but it must be done. I shall make no -sign. I shall make no announcement. No one has been formally told we -are engaged, and no one has any business to know. If people have -guessed it, let them now guess the engagement has been broken off. I -am not bound to enlighten them." - -Then she rose and found materials for a letter, and wrote: - - -"Dear Mr. Hanbury, - -"I have been thinking a great deal of the talk we had last night after -dinner, and I have come to the conclusion that it was all for the -best. We should never be able to agree. I think the least said now the -better. Our engagement has not been announced to anyone. Nothing need -be said about its being broken off. I hope this arrangement will be -carried out with as little pain to either as possible. I shall not -send you back your letters. I am sure getting back letters is always -painful, and ought to be avoided. I shall burn yours, and I ask you to -do the same with any notes you may have of mine. Neither will I return -the few things that cannot be burned. None of them is, I think, of any -intrinsic value to you beyond the value it had between you and me. I -shall keep them for a week and then destroy them. - -"Believe me, Mr. Hanbury, I take this step with a view to our mutual -good, and in no haste or pique. I shall always think of you, with the -greatest interest and respect. I should like, if you think well of it, -that we may remain friends in appearance as I hope we may always be in -spirit. - -"I ask you for only one favour. Pray do not make any attempt whatever -to treat this decision as anything but final and irrevocable. - - "Yours very sincerely, - - "Dora Ashton." - - -She determined not to post this letter until late that night. -To-morrow she was dining out. She should leave home early and not come -back until she had to go straight to her room to dress. After dinner, -they were going to the theatre, so she should avoid all chance of -meeting him if he disregarded her request and called. - -So far the difficult parts of the affair had been done, and done too -with much less pain than she could have imagined. She had taken the -two great steps without faltering. She had made up her mind to end the -engagement between her and John Hanbury, and she had written to him -saying the engagement was at an end. If ill-matched people who found -themselves engaged to one another only acted with her decision and -promptness what an infinity of misery would be avoided. She was almost -surprised it had required so little effort for her to make up her mind -and to put her decision on paper. She had often heard of the miseries -such a step entailed, and here she was now sitting alone in her own -room after doing the very thing and feeling little the worse of it. -She was but twenty-one, and she had broken with the only man she had -ever seriously thought of as a lover, and it had not caused her -anything like the pang she had suffered last night when he reproached -her so bitterly and told her he could expect nothing but betrayal at -her hands. - -And now that the important part of the affair had been disposed of in -a business-like way, what had she to do? - -Nothing. - -She could do nothing else whatever. It wanted some hours of -dinner-time, and no one ever called upon them of Fridays except--him, -and he would not call to-day. She should have the whole of the -afternoon to herself. That was fortunate, for although she did not -feel greatly depressed or cast down, she was not inclined towards -company of any kind. It had been arranged early yesterday that she -should ride with her father in the Park to-day, and she had not cared -to plead any excuse, for she did not want to attract attention to -herself, and besides, she did not feel very much in need of any excuse -since she knew he would not be there. He knew they were to ride there. -In fact he had promised to meet her there, but after last night he -would not of course go, for he would not like the first meeting after -last night to occur in so public a place and so soon after that scene. - -Yes, everything was in perfectly regular order now and she had the -afternoon to herself without any fear of interruption. So she could -now sit down and rest, and--think. - -Then she remained quite still for a long time in her easy chair, quite -still, with her hand before her face and her eyes closed. The -difficulties had been faced and overcome in a wise and philosophical -way, and nothing remained to be done but to do nothing, and as she sat -and thought this doing of nothing became harder than all that had gone -before. She had told herself she was a person of convictions and -principles when she was resolving on action and acting on resolve. She -had no further need of her convictions and principles. She laid them -aside with the writing materials out of which she had called forth -that letter to Jack--to Mr. Hanbury. She did not realize until this -moment, she had not had time to realize it, that she was a woman, a -young girl who had given her heart to a young man, and that now he and -she had parted to meet no more on the old terms. - -It was easy to shut up the ceremonious gates of the temple and say -worship was at an end in that place for ever. But how fared it in the -penetralia of her heart? How did she face the inner chambers of her -soul where the statue of her hero stood enshrined for worship? It cost -but little effort to say that the god was deposed, but could she all -at once effectually forbid the priestess to worship? - -Ah, this doing of nothing when all had been done, was ten thousand -times harder than action! - -All the faculties of her reason were in favour of her decision, but -what has the reason to do with the glance of an eye, or the touch of a -hand, of the confiding commune of a soul in sympathy with one's own? - -She understood him better than any other woman ever should. It was her -anxiety that he should stand high in his own regard that made her -jealous of his little weaknesses, and they were little, and only -weaknesses after all, and only weaknesses in a giant, not the -weaknesses of a man of common clay. If she had loved more what he was -to her than what she dreamed he might be to himself and all the world, -she would have taken no trouble in these matters that angered him to -fury. - -And why should he not be angered with her for her poor, feeble woman's -interference with his lion nature? Why should he not turn upon her and -revile her for coming across his path? Who was she that she must -irritate him that was all the world to her, and deferred to by all men -who came his way? Why should she thwart or impede him? - -He was not perfect, no doubt, but who had set her the task of -perfecting him? - -Her haughty love. - -Yes, the very intensity of her love had ended in the estrangement of -the lover. She found noble qualities in the man, and she had tried to -make him divine. Not because he was _her_ lover, but because she -_loved him_. She had given him her heart and soul, and now she had -sacrificed her love itself upon the altar of her devotion. - -That was the heroic aspect of the affair, and as in all other sorrows -that take large shape, the heroic aspect elevated above pain and -forbade the canker of tears. - -But this girl saw other aspects too. - -She should miss him--oh, so bitterly! She should miss him the whole of -her life forth from that hour! She should miss him in the immediate -future. She had missed him that day in the Park. She should miss him -tomorrow. He always came on Saturdays. He used to say he always came -to Curzon Street on Saturday afternoon, like any other good young man, -to see his sweetheart when the shop was shut. She should miss him on -Sunday, too, for he always came on Sunday, saying, the better the day -the better the deed. On Mondays he made it a point to stay away, but -contrived to meet her somewhere, in the Park, or at a friend's place, -or in Regent Street, and now he would stay away altogether, not making -a point of it, but because she had told him to make an observance of -always staying away. - -She should miss his voice, his marvellous voice, which could be so -clarion toned and commanding among men, and was so soft and tunable -for her ear. When he spoke to her it always seemed that the -instrumental music designed to accompany his words had fined off into -silence for shame of its inadequacy. How poor and thin and harsh all -voices would sound now. They would merely make idle sounds to the idle -air. Of old, of that old which began its backward way only yesterday, -all voices had seemed the prelude of his. They sounded merely as notes -of preparation and awakening. They were only the overture, full of -hints and promises. - -She should miss his eyes. She should miss the clear vivid leap of -flame into his eyes when he glanced at her with enthusiasm, or joy, or -laughter. She should miss the gleam of that strange light which, once -having caught his eye in moments of enthusiasm, appeared to bathe his -face while he looked and spoke. She should miss the sound of his -footstep, that fleet herald of his impatient love! - -Oh, it was hard--hard--hard to be doomed to miss so much! - -And all this was only what she should miss in the immediate future. - -In the measure of her after life would be nothing but idle air. In her -dreams of the future she had pictured him going forth from her in the -morning radiant and confident, to mingle in some worthy strife, and -coming back in the evening suffused with glory, to draw breaths of -peaceful ease in her society, in her home, her new home, their joint -home. She had thought of the reverse of this picture. She had thought -of him returning weary and unsuccessful, coming home to her for rest -now, and soothing service of love and inspiriting words of hope. - -She had visions of later life and visions of their gradual decay, and -going down the hill of life hand in hand together. She had dreamed -they should never, never, never be parted. - -And now they were parted for ever and ever and ever, and she should -miss him to-day and to-morrow and all the days of the year now half -spent, and of all the after years of her life. - -She should miss him in death. She should not lie by his side in the -grave. She should not be with him in the Life to Come. - -All the glory of the world was only a vapour, a mist. The sunlight was -a purposeless weariness. The smell of the flowers in the window-sill -was thin and foretold decay. What was the use of a house and servants -and food. Lethe was a river of Hell. Why? Why not a river of Paradise? - -She should not be with him even in the grave--even in the grave where -he could have no fear of her betraying him! - -She would now take any share of humbleness in life if she might count -on touching his hand and being for ever near him in the tomb. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI. - - WINDING UP THE CLOCK. - - -It was eleven o'clock that night when Tom Stamer, dressed in the seedy -black clothes and wearing the false beard and whiskers he had on in -the morning, started from the Borough once more for the West. He had -not replaced the spectacles broken in his fall at the Hanover in -Chetwynd Street. He carried a very substantial-looking walking-stick -of great thickness and weight. It was not a loaded stick, but it would -manifestly be a terrible weapon at close quarters, for, instead of -consisting of metal only in one part of one end, it was composed of -metal throughout. The seeming stick was not wood or leaded wood, but -iron It was not solid, but hollow like a gas pipe, and at the end -intended to touch the ground, the mouth of the tube was protected by a -brass ferrule to which a small tampion was affixed. The handle was -massive and crooked, and large enough to give ample hold to the -largest hand of man. About a couple of inches from the crook there was -a joining where the stick could be unscrewed. - -Stamer accounted to the eyes of observers for carrying so massive a -stick by affecting a lameness of the right leg. When he entered a -dense crowd or came upon a point at which the people were hurrying, he -raised the stick up from the ground and laid aside his limp. But where -people were few and close observation of him possible, his lameness -grew very marked, and not only did his stick seem indispensable, but -he put it down on the pavement as gingerly as though the least jar -caused him pain. Sympathetic people who saw him fancied he had but -just come out of hospital, and were inclined to be indignant that he -had not been supplied with more effectual support, such as crutches. - -One old gentleman asked him if he ought not to have a second stick; -Stamer snivelled and said he knew he ought, but declared with a sigh -he had no money to buy another one. The old gentleman gave Stamer a -shilling. Stamer touched his hat, thanked the old gentleman for his -kindness and his gift, and requested Heaven to bless him. The old -gentleman wore a heavy gold chain and, no doubt, a watch. But Stamer -had important business on hand, and there were a great number of -people about, and he did not want to run, for running would make his -arm unsteady, so he asked Heaven to bless the old gentleman and -forebore to rob him. - -But the thought of that missed opportunity rankled in him. The feeling -that he had been obliged to neglect business and accept charity -fretted and vexed him. The thought of the mean squalid shilling made -him sick, and as soon as he came to a quiet place he threw it with a -curse into the middle of the road. He had shillings of his own, and -didn't want charity of any man. If he had stolen the shilling that -would have been a different affair. Then it would have come to him in -a straightforward business-like way, and would, doubtless, be the best -he could have done under the circumstances. But now it seemed the -result of a fraud committed upon him, to which he had been forced to -consent. It was the ransom he had under duress accepted for a gold -watch and chain, and was, therefore, loathsome and detestable in his -sight. Its presence could not be endured. It was abominable. Foh! He -was well rid of it? - -He did not approach Welbeck Place by Chetwynd Street. He did not -intend repeating his visit to Mr. Williams's house. He had got there -all he wanted and a little more. He kept along by the river and then -retraced the way he had come that afternoon after leaving the Hanover. -On his previous visit to-day to this locality he had been silent and -watchful as a cat, and he had a cat's strong sense of locality. He -never forgot a place he was once in; and, piercing northward from the -river through a network of mean streets he had never seen until today, -he hit upon the southward entrance to Welbeck Mews with as much ease -and certainty as though he had lived there for twenty years. - -The mews were lonely after nightfall, and the road through them little -used. When Stamer found himself in the yard, the place was absolutely -deserted. They were a cabman's mews and no one would, in all -likelihood, have business there for a couple of hours. The night was -now as dark as night ever is at that time of the year, and the place -was still. It wanted about twenty minutes of twelve yet. - -When Stamer came to the gable of the house next but one to the -Hanover, and the wall of which formed one half of the northern -boundary of the yard, he paused and listened. He could hear no sound -of life or movement near him beyond the snort or cough of a horse now -and then. - -The ostler who waited on the cabmen lived in the house at the gable of -which he stood, and at this hour he had to be aroused in case of any -man returning because of accident, or a horse knocked up by some long -and unexpected drive. As a rule, the ostler slept undisturbed from -eleven at night till half-past four or five in the morning. - -After a pause of two or three minutes, Stamer stooped, slipped off his -boots, slung them around his neck, and having hitched the crook of his -heavy stick to a belt he wore under his waistcoat, he laid hold of the -waterpipe that descended from the gutter of the double roof to the -yard, and began ascending the gable of the house with surprising -agility and speed. - -In less than two minutes from the time he first seized the waterpipe -he disappeared in the gutter above. He crawled in a few yards from the -edge and then reclined against the sloping slates of the roof to rest. -The ascent had taken only a couple of minutes, but the exertion had -been very great, and he was tired and out of breath. - -Then he unscrewed the ferrule and withdrew the tampion and unscrewed -the handle of his stick, and was busy in the darkness for a while with -the weapon he carried. Overhead the stars looked pale and faint and -wasting in the pall of pale yellow cloud that hangs by night over -London in summer, the glare of millions of lights on the vapour rising -up from the great city. - -He particularly wished to have a steady hand and arm that night, in a -few minutes, so he made up his mind to rest until five minutes to -twelve. Then he should get into position. He should creep down the -gutter until he came to the wall of the Hanover, the gable wall of the -Hanover standing up over the roofs of the houses on which he now was -lying. He should then be almost opposite the window at which he last -night saw the dwarf wind up his clock. He should be a little out of -the direct line, but not much. The width of Welbeck Place was no more -from house to house than fifty feet. The distance from the wall of the -house he should be on then, and the wall of Forbes's bakery could not -be more than sixty feet. The weapon he carried was perfectly -trustworthy at a hundred, a hundred-and-fifty yards, or more. He -had been practising that afternoon and evening at an old hat at forty -yards, and he had never missed it once. Forty yards was just double -the distance he should be from that window if he were on a parapet -instead of being at the coping tile, lying on the inside slope of the -roof. Allow another ten feet for that. This would bring the distance -up to seventy feet at the very outside, and he had never missed once -at a hundred and twenty feet. He had given himself now and then a good -deal of practice with the gun, for he enjoyed peculiar facilities; -because the factory wall by which the lane at the back of his place -ran, prevented anyone seeing what he was doing, and the noise of the -factory drowned the whurr of the gun and the whizz of the bullet. - -There was to be a screen, or curtain, or blind up to-night, but that -was all the better, for it made no difference to the aim or bullet, -and it would prevent anything being noticed for a while, perhaps until -morning no one would know. - -The work would go on at the window until half-past twelve. It would be -as well not to _do it_ until very near half-past; for then there would -be the less time for anyone in the Hanover to spy out anything wrong, -At half-past would come the noise and confusion of closing time. There -would then be plenty of people about, and it would be quite easy to -get away. - -It was a good job there were no windows in the Hanover gable, though -no one was likely to be upstairs in the public-house until after -closing time. The landlord was not a married man. It was a good job -there was no moon. - -It would be a good job when this was done. - -It was a good job he thought of waiting until just half-past twelve, -for then everything would be more favourable below, and his hand and -arm would have more time to steady. - -It was a good job that in this country there were some things stronger -than even smelling-salts! - -At half-past eleven that night the private bar of the Hanover held -about half-a-dozen customers. The weather was too warm for anything -like a full house. Three or four of the men present were old -frequenters, but it lacked the elevating presence of Oscar Leigh, who -always gave the assembly a distinctly intellectual air, and it was not -cheered and consoled by the radiation of wealth from Mr. Jacobs, the -rich greengrocer of Sloane Street. - -The three or four frequenters present were in no way distinguished -beyond their loyalty to the house. They came there regularly night -after night, drank, in grave silence, a regular quantity of beer and -spirits, and went away at closing time with the conviction that they -had been spending their time profitably attending to the improvement -of their minds. They had no views on any subjects ever discussed. -They had, with reference to the Hanover, only one opinion, and it -was that the finishing touches of a liberal education could nowhere -else in London be so freely obtained without derogation and on the -self-respecting principle of every man paying his way and being -theoretically as good as any other. If they could they would put a -stop to summer in these islands, for summer had a thinning and -depreciating effect on the company of the private bar. - -A few minutes later, however, the spirits of those present rose, for -first Mr. Jacobs came in, smiling and bland, and then Mr. Oscar Leigh, -rubbing his forehead and complaining of the heat. - -Mr. Jacobs greeted the landlord and the dwarf affably, as became a man -of substance, and then, knowing no one else by name, greeted the -remainder of the company generally, as became a man of politeness and -consideration. - -"I'll have three-pennyworth of your excellent rum hot," said Mr. -Jacobs to the landlord, in a way which implied that, had not the -opinion of an eminent physician been against it, he would have ordered -ten times the quantity and drunk it with pleasure. Then he sat down on -a seat that ran along the wall, took out of his pocket a cigar-case, -opened it carefully, and, having selected a cigar, examined the weed -as though it was not uncommon to discover protruding through the side -of these particular cigars a diamond of priceless value or a deadly -drug. Then he pierced the end of his cigar with a silver piercer which -he took out of a trouser's pocket, pulled down his waistcoat, and -began to smoke, wearing his hat just a trifle on one side to show that -he was unbent. - -Just as he had settled himself comfortably, the door of the public -department opened, and a tall, thin man, with enormous ears, -wearing long mutton-chop whiskers, a brown round hat, and dark -chocolate-coloured clothes, entered and was served by the potman. - -"I have only a minute or two. I must be off to wind up," said Leigh. -"Ten minutes to twelve by your clock, Mr. Williams, that means a -quarter to right time. I'll have three of rum hot, if you please." - -"That's quite right, Mr. Leigh," said the landlord, proceeding to brew -the punch and referring to his clock. "We always keep our clock a few -minutes fast to avoid bother at closing time. The same as always, Mr. -Jacobs, I see, and I _smell_." - -"I beg your pardon?" said the greengrocer, as though he hadn't the -least notion of what the landlord alluded to. - -"A good cigar, sir. That is an excellent cigar you are smoking." - -It was clear that up to that moment Mr. Jacobs had not given a thought -to the quality of his cigar, for he took it from his lips, looked at -it as though he was now pretty certain this particular one did not -exude either priceless diamonds or deadly drugs, and said with great -modesty and satisfaction, "Yes, it's not bad. I get a case now and -then from my friend Isaacs of Bond Street. They cost me, let me see, -about sixpence a piece." - -There was a faint murmur of approval at this statement. It was most -elevating to know that you were acquainted with a man who smoked -cigars he bought in Bond Street, and that he did not buy them by the -dozen or the box even, but by the case! If a man bought cigars by the -case from a friend in Bond Street at the rate of sixpence each, what -would be the retail price of them across the counter? It was -impossible to say exactly and dangerous to guess, but it was certain -you could not buy one for less than a shilling or eighteen-pence, that -is, if a man like Mr. Jacobs' friend Mr. Isaacs would bemean himself -by selling a single one at any price to a chance comer. - -"Still working at your wonderful clock, Mr. Leigh?" said the -greengrocer from Sloane Street, with the intention of sharing his -conversation fairly between the landlord and the dwarf, the only men -present who were sitting above the salt. - -"Well, sir, literally speaking, I cannot be said to be working at it -now. But I am daily engaged upon it, and before a quarter of an hour I -shall be busy winding it up." - -"Have you to wind it every day?" - -"Yes. St. Paul's clock takes three quarters of an hour's winding every -day with something like a winch handle. My clock takes half an hour -every night. It must be wound between twelve and one, and I have made -it a rule to wind it in the first half hour. My one does not want -nearly so much power as St. Paul's. It is wound by a lever and not a -winch handle. By-and-by, when it is finished and placed in a proper -position in a proper tower, and I can increase the power, once a week -will be sufficient." - -"It is, I have heard, the most wonderful clock in London?" - -"In London! In London! In the worlds sir. It is the most wonderful -clock ever conceived by man." - -"And now suppose you forgot to wind it up, what would happen?" - -"There is no fear of that." - -"It must be a great care on your mind." - -"Immense. I have put up a curtain today, so that I may be able to keep -the window open and get a breath of air this hot weather." - -"Are you not afraid of fire up there and so near a bakehouse?" - -"I never thought of fire. There is little or no danger of fire. Mr. -Forbes is quite solvent." - -"But suppose anything were to happen, it is so high up, it could not -be got down?" - -"Got down! Got down! Why, my dear sir, it is twelve feet by nine, and -parts of it are so delicate that a rude shake would ruin them. Got -down! Why it is shafted to the wall. All my power comes through the -wall, from the chimney. When it is shifted no one will be able to stir -bolt or nut but me. _I_ must do it, sir. No other man living knows -anything about it. No other man could understand it. Fancy anyone but -myself touching it! Why he might do more harm in an hour than I could -put right in a year, ay, in three years. Well, my time is up. Good -night, gentlemen." - -He scrambled off his high stool and was quickly out of the bar. It was -now five minutes to twelve o'clock right time. - -He crossed Welbeck Street and opening the private door of Forbes's in -Chetwynd Street went in, closing the door after him. - -As he came out John Timmons emerged from the public bar of the -Hanover, and turned into Welbeck Place. He went on until he came -opposite the window of the clock-room. Here he stood still, thrust his -hands deep down in his trousers' pockets, and leaning his back against -the wall, prepared to watch with his own eyes the winding of the -clock. - -In less than five minutes the window of the top room, which had been -dark, gradually grew illumined until the light came full through the -transparent oiled muslin curtain. Timmons could see for all practical -purposes as plainly as through glass. - -"There Leigh is, anyway," thought Timmons, "working away at his lever. -Can it be he was doing the same thing at this hour last night? -Nonsense. He was walking away from this place with me at this hour -last night as sure as I am here now. But what did he say himself -to-day? I shouldn't mind Stamer, for he is a fool. But the landlord -and Stamer say the same thing, and Leigh himself said it too this day. -I must be going mad. - -"There, he is turning round now and nodding to the men in the bar. -They said he did the same last night, and, as I live, there's the -clock we were under striking the quarter past again! I must be going -mad. I begin to think last night must have been all a dream with me. I -don't think he's all right. I don't believe in witchcraft, but I do -believe in devilry, and there's something wrong here. I'll watch this -out anyway. I must bring him to book over it. I'll tell him straight -what I know--that is if I know anything and am not going mad----" - -Whurr--whizz! - -"Why what's that over head?" - -Timmons looked up, but saw nothing. - -"It's some young fellows larking." - -He glanced back at the window. - -"What a funny way he's nodding his head now. And there's a hole in the -curtain and there seems to be a noise in the room. There goes the gas -out. I suppose the clock is wound up now. Well, it's more than I can -understand and a great deal more than I like, and I'll have it out of -him. It would be too bad if that fool Stamer were right after all, -and--but the whole thing is nonsense. - -"Strange I didn't hear the clock strike the hour and yet Leigh's light -is out. I suppose his half hour winding was only another piece of his -bragging. - -"Is the light quite out? Looks now as if it wasn't. He must have put -it out by mistake or accident, for surely it hasn't struck half-past -twelve yet. - -"Ah, what's that? He is lighting a match or something. No, my eyes -deceive me. There is no light. Everything here seems to deceive me. -I'll go home. - -"Ah, there's the half-hour at last!" - -And John Timmons walked out of Welbeck Place, and took his way -eastward. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII. - - THE MORNING AFTER. - - -Mr. John Timmons was not a hard-working man in the sense of one -devoted ardently to physical labour. His domain was thought. He was a -merchant, a negotiator, not an artisan. He kept his hands in his -pockets mostly, in order that his brain might not be distracted by -having to look after them. He had a theory that it is wasteful to burn -the candle at both ends. If you employ your brain and your hands it -will very soon be all over with you. Still, he held that the -appearance of indulgence or luxury was most unbecoming in any place of -business, and particularly in a marine store, where transactions were -concerned with so stern and stubborn things as junk and old metal. He -dealt in junk, but out of regard for the feelings of gentlemen who -might have had bitter and long acquaintance with it while adorning -another sphere, Timmons kept the junk away from sight in the cellar, -to which mere callers were never admitted. Timmons had an opinion that -the mere look of junk had a tendency to damp the professional ardour -of men who had ever spent the days of their captivity in converting it -into oakum. - -On the ground floor of Timmons's premises there was no such thing as a -chair. He looked on a chair in a marine store as a token of dangerous -softening of manners. If a man allowed himself a chair in his place of -business why not also a smoking-cap and slippers? - -But Timmons had a high office stool, which was a thing differing -altogether from a chair. It was of Spartan simplicity and -uncomfortableness, and besides, it gave the solvent air of a counting -house to the place. It had also another advantage, it enabled you to -sit down without placing your eyes lower than the level of a man of -your own height standing. - -On Saturday morning about nine o'clock Timmons was reposing on the -high stool at his doorway, if any part of this establishment may be -called a doorway, where one side was all door and there was no other -means of exit. He had bought a morning paper on his way to business, -and he now sat with the advertising sheet of the paper spread out -before him on his knees. Sometimes articles in which he dealt were -offered for sale in that sheet, and once in a way he bought a paper to -have a look at this sheet, and afterwards, if he had time, scan the -news. He made it a point never to look at the reports of the police -courts or criminal trials. Every man has his own feelings, and Timmons -was not an exception. If an inquiry or trial in which he took interest -was going on in London he was certain to know more of it than the -newspapers told. He avoided the accounts of trials that did not -interest him. They had as damping effect on him as the sight of junk -had on some of his customers. - -Beyond the improvement of his mind gathered from reading the -advertisement columns of things for sale, he got no benefit out of the -advertising sheet. None of the articles offered at a sacrifice was at -all in his way. When he had finished the perusal of the marvellous -miscellany he took his eyes off the paper and stared straight at the -brick wall before him. - -He turned his mind back for the twentieth time on the events of -yesterday. - -There was not in the whole list of what had occurred a single incident -that pleased him. He was a clear-headed man, and prided himself on his -brains. He had neither the education nor the insolence to call his -brains intellect. But he was very proud of his brains, and his brains -were completely at a loss. As with all undisciplined minds, his had -not the power of consecutive abstract thought. But it had the power of -reviewing in panoramic completeness events which had come within the -reach of its senses. - -The result of his review was that he did not like the situation at -all. There was a great deal about this scheme he did not understand, -and with such minds not to understand is to suspect and fear. - -It was perfectly clear that for some purpose or other, Leigh hung back -from entering upon the matter of their agreement, and now it seemed as -though there might be a great deal in what Stamer feared, namely, that -Leigh might have the intention of betraying them all into the hands of -the police. Stamer had told him that in the talk at the Hanover, the -night before, the landlord had informed the company under the seal of -secrecy that Leigh on one occasion entrusted the winding up of the -clock to a deputy who was deaf and dumb, and not able to write. That, -no doubt, was the person they had seen in the clock-room the evening -before, and not the dwarf. Leigh had not taken him into confidence -respecting this clock, or this man who wound it up for him in his -absence, but Leigh had taken him into confidence very little. It was a -good thing that Leigh had not taken the gold from him. Of course, he -was not such a fool as to part with the buttons unless he got gold -coins to the full value of them, but still they might, if once in the -possession of the little man, be used in evidence against him. The -great thing to guard against was giving Leigh any kind of hold at all -upon him. - -He did not know whether to believe or not Leigh's account of the man -in Birmingham. It looked more than doubtful. His talk about -telegraphing and all that was only bunkum. The whole thing looked -shaky and dangerous, and perhaps it would be as well for him to get -out of it. - -At all events he was pretty sure not to hear any more of the matter -for a week or so. He should put it out of his head for the present. - -He took up the newspaper this time with a view to amusement not -business. - -He glanced over it casually for a time, reading a few lines here and -there. He passed by columns of parliamentary reports in which he took -no interest whatever. Then came the law courts which he shunned. -Finally he came upon the place where local London news was given. His -eye caught a large heading, "Fire And Loss Of Life In Chelsea." The -paragraph was, owing to the late hour at which the event took place, -brief, considering its importance. It ran as follows:-- - - -"Last night, between half-past twelve and one o'clock, a disastrous -and fatal fire broke out in the bakery establishment of Mr. Forbes at -the corner of Chetwynd Street and Welbeck Place, Chelsea. It appears -from the information we have been able to gather, that the ground -floor of the establishment is used as a baker's shop and the floor -above as a store house by Mr. Forbes. The top floor, where the -fire originated was occupied by Mr. Oscar Leigh, who has lost his -life in the burning. The top floor is divided into three rooms, a -sitting-room, a bed-room, and a workshop. In the last, looking into -Welbeck Place, the late Mr. Leigh was engaged in the manufacture of a -very wonderful clock, which occupied fully half the room, and which -Mr. Leigh invariably wound up every night between twelve and half-past -twelve. - -"Last night, at a little before twelve, Mr. Leigh left the Hanover -public house, at the opposite corner of Welbeck Place, and went into -the bakery by the private entrance beside the shop door in Chetwynd -Street. In the act of letting himself in with his latchkey he spoke to -a neighbour, who tried to engage him in conversation, but the -unfortunate gentleman excused himself, saying he hadn't a minute to -spare, as the clock required his immediate attention. After this, -deceased was seen by several people working the winding lever of the -clock in the window. At half-past twelve he was observed to make some -unusual motions of his head, so as to give the notion that he was in -pain or distress of some kind. Then the light in the clock-room was -extinguished and, as Mr. Leigh made no call or cry (the window at -which he sat was open), it was supposed all was right. Shortly -afterwards, dense smoke and flames were observed bursting through the -window of the room, and before help could arrive all hope of reaching -the unfortunate gentleman was at an end. - -"The building is an old one. The flames spread rapidly, and before an -hour had elapsed the whole was burnt out and the roof had fallen in. - -"At the rear of the house proper is an off building abutting on -Welbeck Mews. In this slept the shopman and his wife. This bakehouse -also took fire and is burned out, but fortunately the two occupants -were saved by the fire escape which had been on the spot ten minutes -after the first alarm. - -"It is generally supposed that the eccentric movements of Mr. Leigh -were the result of a fit or sudden seizure of some other kind, and -that in his struggles some inflammable substance was brought into -contact with the gas before it was turned out." - -Timmons flung down the paper with a shout, crying "Dead! Dead! Leigh -is dead!" - -At that moment the figure of a man appeared at the threshold of the -store, and Stamer, with a scowl and a stare, stepped in hastily and -looked furtively, fearfully, around. - -"What are you shoutin' about?" cried Stamer, in a tone of dangerous -menace. "What are you shoutin' about?" he said again, as he passed -Timmons and slunk behind the pile of shutters and flattened himself up -against the wall in the shadow of them. - -"Leigh is dead!" cried Timmons in excitement, and taking no notice of -Stamer's strange manner and threatening tone. - -"_I_ know all about _that_, I suppose," said Stamer from his place -of concealment. He was standing between the shutters and the old -fire-grate, and quite invisible to anyone in the street. His voice was -hollow, his eyes bloodshot and starting out of his head. -Notwithstanding the warmth of the morning, his teeth were chattering -in his head. His bloodshot eyes were in constant motion, new exploring -the gloomy depths of the store, now glancing savagely at Timmons, now -looking, in the alarm of a hunted beast, at the opening into the -street. - -Timmons took little or no notice of the other man beyond addressing -him. He was in a state of wild excitement, not exactly of joy, -but triumph. It was a hideous sight to see this lank, grizzled, -repulsive-looking man capering around the store, and exulting in the -news he had just read, of a man on whom he had fawned a day before. -"He's dead! The dwarf is dead, Stamer!" he cried again. In his wild -gyrations his hat had fallen off, disclosing a tall, narrow head, -perfectly bald on the top. - -"Shut up!" whispered Stamer, savagely, "if you don't want to follow -him. I'm in no humour for your noise and antics. Do you want to have -the coppers down on us?--do you, you fool?" He flattened himself still -more against the wall, as though he were striving to imbed himself in -it. - -Timmons paused. Stamer's words and manner were so unusual and -threatening that they attracted his attention at last. "What's the -matter?" he asked, in irritated surprise. "What's the matter?" he -repeated, with lowering look. - -"Why, you've said what's the matter," said Stamer, viciously. "And -you're shouting and capering as if you wanted to tell the whole world -the news. This is no time for laughing and antics, you fool!" - -"Who are you calling a fool?" cried Timmons, catching up an iron bar -and taking a few steps towards the burglar. - -"You, if you want to know. Put that down. Put that bar down, I say. Do -it at once, and if you have any regard for your health, for your life, -don't come a foot nearer, or I'll send you after him! By ----, I -will!" - -Timmons let the bar fall, more in astonishment than fear. "What do you -mean, you crazy thief? Have they just let you out of Bedlam, or are -you on your way there? Anyway, it's lucky the place is handy, you -knock-kneed jail-bird! Why he's shaking as if he saw a ghost!" - -"Let me alone and I'll do you no harm. I don't want to have _two_ on -me." - -"What does the fool mean? I tell you Leigh is dead." - -"Can you tell me who killed him? If you can't, _I_ can." He pointed to -himself. - -"What!" cried Timmons, starting back, and not quite understanding the -other's gesture. - -"Now are you satisfied? I thought you guessed. I wouldn't have told -you if I didn't think you knew or guessed. Curse me, but I am a fool -for opening my mouth! I thought you knew, and that, instead of saying -a good word to me, you were going to down me and give me up." - -Timmons stepped slowly back in horror. "You!" he whispered, bending -his head forward and beginning to tremble in every limb. "You! You did -it! You did this! You, Stamer!" - -Stamer merely nodded, and looked like a hunted wild beast at the -opening. He wore the clothes of last night, but was without the -whiskers or beard. All the time he cowered in the shelter of the -shutters, he kept his right hand behind his back. - -Timmons retreated to the other wall, and leaned his back against it, -and glared at the trembling man opposite. - -"For God's sake don't look at me like that. You are the only one that -knows," whined Stamer, now quite unmanned. "I should not have told you -anything about it, only I thought you knew, when I heard you say he -was dead. You took me unawares. Don't stare at me like that, for God's -sake. Say a word to me. Call me a fool, or anything you like, but -don't stand there staring at me like that. If 'twas you that did it, -you couldn't be more scared. Say a word to me, or I'll blow my brains -out! I haven't been home. I am afraid to go home. I am not used to -this--yet. I thought I had the nerve for anything, and I find I -haven't the nerve of a child. I am afraid to go home. I am afraid to -look at my wife. I thought I shouldn't be afraid of you, and now you -scare me worse than anything. For the love of God, speak to me, and -don't look at me like that. I can't stand it." - -"You infernal scoundrel, to kill the poor foolish dwarf!" whispered -Timmons. His mouth was parched and open. The sweat was rolling down -off his forehead. He was trembling no longer. He was rigid now. He was -basilisked by the awful apparition of a man who had confessed to -murder. - -Stamer looked towards the opening, and then his round, blood-shot eyes -went back to the rigid figure of Timmons. "I don't mind what you say, -if you'll only speak to me, only not too loud. No one can hear us. I -know that, and no one can listen at the door, without our seeing him. -You don't know what I have gone through. I have not been home. I am -afraid to go home. I am afraid of everything. You don't know all. It's -worse than you think. It's enough to drive one mad----" - -"You murderous villain!' - -"It's enough to drive any man mad. I've been wandering about all -night. I am more afraid of my wife than of anyone else. I don't know -why, but I tremble when I think of her, more than of the police, -or--or--or----" - -"The hangman?" - -"Yes. You don't know all. When you do, you'll pity me----" - -"The poor foolish dwarf!" - -"Yes. I was afraid he'd betray us--you----" - -"Oh, villain!" - -"And I got on a roof opposite the window, and when he was working at -the lever, I fired, and his head went so--and then so--and then -so----" - -"Stop it, you murderer!" - -"Yes. And I knew it was done. The neck! Yes, I knew the neck was -broken, and it was all right." - -"Oh! Oh! Oh, that I should live to hear you!" - -"Yes. I thought it was all right, and it was in one way. For he -tumbled down on his side, so----" - -"If you don't stop it, I'll brain you!" - -"Yes. And I got down off the roof and ran. I couldn't help running, -and all the time I was running I heard him running after me. I heard -him running after me, and I saw his head wagging so--so--so, as he -ran. Every step he took, his head wagged, so--and so--and so----" - -"If you don't stop that----" - -"Yes. I will. I'll stop it. But I could not stop _him_ last night. All -the time I ran I couldn't stop him. His head kept wagging and his lame -feet kept running after me, and I couldn't stop the feet or the head. -I don't know how long I ran, or where I ran, but I could run no more, -and I fell up against a wall, and then it overtook me! I saw _it_ as -plainly as I see you--plainer, I saw it----" - -The man paused a moment to wipe his forehead. - -"Do you hear?" he yelled, suddenly flinging his arms up in the air. -"Do you hear? Will you believe me now? The steps again! The lame steps -again. Do you hear them, you fool?" - -"Mad!" - -"Mad, you fool! I told you. Look!" - -The figure of a low-sized, deformed dwarf came into the opening and -crossed the threshold of the store. - -With a groan Stamer fell forward insensible. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIII. - - LEIGH CONFIDES IN TIMMONS. - - -Timmons uttered a wild yell, and springing away from the wall fled to -the extreme end of the store, and then faced round panting and livid. - -"Hah!" said the shrill voice of the man on the threshold. "Private -theatricals, I see. I did not know, Mr. Timmons, that you went in for -such entertainments. They are very amusing I have been told; very -diverting. But I did not imagine that business people indulged in them -in their business premises at such an early hour of the day. I am -disposed to think that, though the idea is original, the frequent -practice of such scenes would not tend to increase the confidence of -the public in the disabled anchors, or shower-baths, or invalid -coffee-mills, or chain shot, or rusty fire-grates, it is your -privilege to offer to the consideration of customers. Hah! I may be -wrong, but such is my opinion. Don't you think, Mr. Timmons, that you -ought to ring down the curtain, and that this gentleman, who no doubt -represents the villain of the piece confronted with his intended -victim, had better get up and look after his breakfast?" He pointed to -the prostrate Stamer, who lay motionless upon the sandy floor. - -Timmons did not move or speak. The shock had, for the moment, -completely bereft him of his senses. - -"I have just come back from the country," said the dwarf, "and I -thought I'd call on you at once. I should like to have a few moments' -conversation with you, if your friend and very able supporter would -have the kindness to consider himself alive and fully pardoned by his -intended victim." - -"Hush!" cried Timmons, uttering the first sound. The words of the -hunchback, although uttered in jest, had an awful significance for the -dazed owner of the place. - -"Hah! I see your friend is not fabled to be in heart an assassin, but -the poor and hard-working father of a family, who is just now -indulging in that repose which is to refresh him for tackling anew the -one difficulty of providing board and lodging and raiment for his wife -and little ones. But, Mr. Timmons, in all conscience, don't you think -you ought to put an end to this farce? When I came in I judged by his -falling down and some incoherent utterance of yours that you two were -rehearsing a frightful tragedy. Will you oblige us by getting up, sir? -The play is over for the present, and my excellent friend Timmons here -is willing to make the ghost walk." - -The prostrate man did not move. - -Timmons shuddered. He made a prodigious effort and tried to move -forward, but had to put his hand against the wall to steady himself. - -Leigh approached Stamer and touched him with his stick. Stamer did not -stir. - -"Is there anything the matter with the man? I think there must be, -Timmons. What do you mean by running away to the other end of the -place? Why this man is unconscious. I seem to be fated to meet -fainting men." - -Timmons now summoned all his powers and staggered forward. Leigh bent -over Stamer, but, although he tried, failed to move him. - -Timmons regained his voice and some of his faculties. "He has only -fainted," said he, raising Stamer into a sitting posture. - -Stamer did not speak, but struggled slowly to his feet, and assisted -by Timmons walked to the opening and was helped a few yards down the -street. There the two parted without a word. By the time Timmons got -back he was comparatively composed. He felt heavy and dull, like a man -who has been days and nights without sleep, but he had no longer any -doubt that Oscar Leigh was present in the flesh. - -"Are we alone?" asked Leigh impatiently on Timmons's return. - -"We are." - -"Hah! I am glad we are. If your friend were connected with racing I -should call him a stayer. I came to tell you that I have just got back -from Birmingham. I thought it best to go there and see again the man I -had been in treaty with. I not only saw him but heard a great deal -about him, and I am sorry to say I heard nothing good. He is, it -appears, a very poor man, and he deliberately misled me as to his -position and his ability to pay. I am now quite certain that if I had -opened business with him I should have lost anything I entrusted to -him, or, if not all, a good part. Hah!" - -"Then I am not to meet you _at the same place_, next Thursday night?" -asked Timmons, with emphasis on the tryst. He had not at this moment -any interest in the mere business about which they had been -negotiating. He was curious about other matters. His mind was now -tolerably clear, but flabby and inactive still. - -"No. There is no use in your giving me the alloy until I see my way to -doing something with it, and I feel bound to say that after this -disappointment in Birmingham, I feel greatly discouraged altogether. -Hah! You do not, I think you told me, ever use eau-de-cologne?" - -"I do not." - -"Then you are distinctly wrong, for it is refreshing, most -refreshing." He sniffed up noisily some he had poured into the palm of -one hand and then rubbed together between the two. "Most refreshing." - -"Then, Mr. Leigh, I suppose we are at a standstill?" - -"Precisely." - -"What you mean, I suppose, Mr. Leigh, is that you do not see your way -to going any further?" - -"Well, yes. At present I do not see my way to going any further." - -Timmons felt relieved, but every moment his curiosity was increasing. -There was no longer any need for caution with this goblin, or man, or -devil, or magician. If Leigh had meant to betray him, the course he -was now pursuing was the very last he would adopt. - -"You went to Birmingham yesterday. May I ask you by what train you -went down?" - -"Two-thirty in the afternoon." - -"And you came back this morning?" - -"Yes. Just arrived. I drove straight here, as I told you." - -"And you were away from half-past two yesterday until now. You were -out of London yesterday from two-thirty until early this morning?" - -"Yes; until six this morning. Why are you so curious? You do not, I -hope, suspect me of saying anything that is not strictly true?" said -Leigh, throwing his head back and striking the sandy floor fiercely -with his stick. - -"No. I don't _suspect_ you of saying anything that is not strictly -true." - -The emphasis on the word _suspect_ caught Leigh's attention. He drew -himself up haughtily and said, "What do you mean, sir?" - -"I mean, sir," said Timmons, shaking his minatory finger at him, and -frowning heavily, "not that I suspect you of lying, but that I am sure -you are lying. I was at the Hanover last night, you were there too." - -Leigh started and drew back. He looked down and said nothing. He could -not tell how much this man knew. Timmons went on: - -"I was in the public bar, against the partition that separates it from -the private bar, when you came in. You called for rum hot, and you -went away at close to twelve o'clock to wind up your clock. I went out -then and saw you at the window winding up the clock. I was there when -the light went out just at half past twelve. Now, sir, are you lying -or am I?" - -Leigh burst into a loud, long, harsh roar of laughter that made -Timmons start, it was so weird and unexpected. Then the dwarf cried, -"Why you, sir, you are lying, of course. The man you saw and heard is -my deputy." - -"You lie. I heard about your deputy. He is a deaf and dumb man, who -can't write, and is as tall as I am, a man with fair hair and beard." - -"My dear sir, your language is so offensive I do not know whether you -deserve an explanation or not. Anyway, I'll give you this much of an -explanation. I have two deputies. One of the kind you describe, and -one who could not possibly be known by sight from myself." - -"But I have more than sight, even if the two of you were matched like -two peas. I heard your voice, and all your friends in the bar knew you -and spoke to you, and called you Mr. Leigh. It was you then and there, -as sure as it is you here and now." Timmons thought, "Stamer when he -fired must have missed Leigh, and Leigh must have gone away, after, -for some purpose of his own, setting fire to the place. He is going on -just as if the place had not been burned down last night, why, I am -sure I do not know. I can't make it out, but anyway, Stamer did not -shoot him, and he is pretending he was not there, and that he was in -Birmingham. He's too deep for me, but I am not sure it would not be a -good thing if Stamer did not miss him after all." - -The clockmaker paused awhile in thought. It was not often he was -posed, but evidently he was for a moment at a nonplus. Suddenly he -looked up, and with a smile and a gesture of his hands and shoulders, -indicating that he gave in: - -"Mr. Timmons," he said suavely, "you have a just right to be angry -with me for mismanaging our joint affair, and I own I have not told -you quite the truth. I did _not_ go to Birmingham by the two-thirty -yesterday. I was at the Hanover last night just before twelve, and I -did go into Forbes's bakery as you say. But I swear to you I left -London last night by the twelve-fifteen, and I swear to you I did not -wind up my clock last night. It was this morning between four and five -o'clock I found out in Birmingham that the man was not to be trusted. -You will wonder where I made inquiries at such an hour." - -"I do, indeed," said Timmons scornfully. - -"I told you, and I think you know, that I am not an ordinary man. My -powers, both in my art and among men, are great and exceptional. When -I got to Birmingham this morning, I went to--where do you think?" - -"The devil!" - -"Well, not exactly, but very near it. I went to a police-station. It -so happens that one of the inspectors of the district in which this -man lives is a great friend of mine. He was not on duty, but his name -procured for me, my dear Mr. Timmons, all the information I desired. I -was able to learn all I needed, and catch the first train back to -town. You see now how faithfully I have attended to our little -business. I left the Hanover at five minutes to twelve, and at two -minutes to twelve I was bowling along to Paddington to catch the last -train, the twelve-fifteen." - -"That, sir, is another lie, and one that does you no good. At -twelve-fifteen I saw you as plain as I see you now--for although there -was a thin curtain, the curtain was oiled, and I could see as if there -was no curtain, and the gas was up and shining on you--I say _at -fifteen minutes after twelve I saw you turn around and nod to your -friends in the bar_. It's nothing to me now, as the business is off, -but I stick to what I say, Mr. Leigh." - -"And I stick to what I say." - -"Which of the says?" asked Timmons contemptuously. "You have owned to -a lie already." - -"Lie is hardly a fair word to use. I merely said one hour instead of -another, and that does not affect the substance of my explanation -about Birmingham. I told you two-thirty, for I did not want you to be -troubled with my friend the inspector." - -This reference to a police-station and inspector would have filled -Timmons with alarm early in the interview, but now he was in no fear. -If this man intended to betray him, why had he not done so already? -and why had he not taken the gold for evidence? - -"But if you left Forbes's, how did you get away? Through the -front-door in Chetwynd Street, or through the side-door in Welbeck -Place?" - -"Through neither. Through the door of the bakehouse into the mews." - -Timmons started. This might account for Stamer's story of the ghost. - -"But who wound the clock? I saw you do it, Mr. Leigh--I saw you do it, -sir, and all this Birmingham tale is gammon." - -"Again you are wrong. And now, to show you how far you are wrong, I -will tell you a secret. I have two deputies. One I told that fool -Williams about, and requested him as a great favour not to let a soul -know. By this, of course, I intended that every one who enjoyed the -privilege of Mr. Williams's acquaintance should know. But of my second -deputy I never spoke to a soul until now, until I told you this -moment. The other deputy is a man extremely like me from the waist up. -He is ill-formed as I am, and so like me when we sit that you would -not know the difference across your own store. But our voices are -different, very different, and he is more than a foot taller than I. -You did not see the winder last night standing up. He always takes his -seat before raising the gas." - -A light broke in on Timmons. This would explain all. This would make -Stamer's story consist with his own experience of the night before. -This would account for this man, whom Stamer said he had shot, being -here now, uninjured. This would make the later version of the tale -about Birmingham possible, credible. But--awful but!--it would mean -that the unfortunate, afflicted deputy had been sacrificed! Yes, most -of what this man had said was true. - -"What's the unfortunate deputy's name?" he asked, with a shudder. - -"That I will not tell." - -"But it must come out on the inquest, to-day or to-morrow, or whenever -they find the remains." - -"Remains of what?" asked Leigh, frowning heavily. - -"Of your deputy. They say in the paper it was you that lost your life -in the fire." - -"Fire! Fire! Fire where?" thundered the dwarf, in a voice which shook -the unceiled joists above their heads and made the thinner plates of -metal vibrate. - -"Don't you know? Haven't you seen a paper? Why Forbes's bakery was -burnt out last night, and the papers say you lost your life in the -fire." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIV. - - THE WRONG MAN. - - -When Timmons led the almost unconscious Stamer from the threshold, and -left him a few yards from the door, the latter did not go far. He had -scarcely the strength to walk away, and he certainly had not the -desire to go. He had borne two extreme phases of terror within the -last twenty-four hours; he had suffered the breathless terror of -believing he had taken human life, and he had imagined the spirit of -the murdered man was pursuing him. - -He had often, in thought, faced the contingency of having to fire on -some one who found him at his midnight depredations, but he had not, -until he formed the resolve of putting Leigh away, contemplated lying -in wait for an unsuspecting man and shooting him as if he were a bird -of prey. - -Once it had entered his mind to kill Leigh, nothing seemed simpler -than to do it, and nothing easier than to bear the burden of the deed. -He had no hint of conscience, and there were only two articles in his -code--first, that prison was a punishment not to be borne if, at any -expense, it could be avoided; and, second, that no harm was to be -allowed near Timmons. Both articles were concerned, inextricably bound -up, in Leigh's life. He saw in the dwarf the agent, the ally of the -police--the police, absolutely, in a more malignant form than the -stalwart detective who, with handcuffs in his pockets, runs a man -down. This Leigh was a traitor and a policeman together. It seemed as -though it would be impossible for one human being to possess any -characteristic which could add to the hatefulness of him who exhibited -these two. And yet this Leigh was not only a traitor and a policeman -combined, but an enemy of Timmons--a beast who threatened Timmons as -well! Shooting was too merciful a death for such a miscreant. But -then, shooting was easy and sure, so he should be shot. - -The act itself had been very easy. There had been no more difficulty -about it than about hitting the old hat in the shadow of the factory -wall. But when the silent shot was sped and the air-gun disposed of by -being carefully hung down the inside of a chimney and hooked to a -copper-wire tie of the slate chimney-top, and he was safely down the -water pipe and in the mews, the aspect of the whole deed changed, or -rather it became another thing altogether. - -Before pulling the trigger of the air-gun, he was perfectly satisfied -that Leigh deserved, richly deserved death. That was as plain as the -dome of St. Paul's from London Bridge. It had been equally plain to -him that when Leigh was dead, and dead by his hand, he should never -because of any compunction be sorry for his act. No sooner was he at -the bottom of the water-pipe than he found he had no longer any -control over his thoughts, or more correctly that the thoughts in his -mind did not belong to him at all, but were, as it might be, thoughts -hired in the interest of the dead man, hostile, relentless -mercenaries, inside the very walls of the citadel within which he was -besieged, and from which there was no escape except by flinging his -naked bosom on the bayonets of the besiegers. - -It made not the least difference now whether the man merited death a -thousand times or not, that man insisted on haunting him. It did not -now matter in the least how it pleased him to regard the provoker of -that shot, it was how the murdered man regarded him was the real -question. He had always told himself that a murdered man was only a -dead man after all. Now he had to learn that no man ever born of woman -is more awfully alive than a murdered man. He had yet to learn that -the blow of the murderer endows the victim with inextinguishable -vitality. He had yet to learn that all things which live die to the -mind of a murderer except the man who is dead. He had yet to learn -that in the mind of a murderer there is a gradually filling in and -crowding together of the images of the undamned dead that in the end -blind and block up the whole soul in stifling intimacies with the -dead, until the murderer in his despair flings himself at the feet of -the hangman shrieking for mercy, for mercy, for the mercy of violent -and disgraceful death in order to put an end to the fiendish gibes of -the dead who is not dead but living, who will not sink into hell, but -brings hell into the assassin's brain. The desire to kill is easy, and -the means of killing are easy, but the spirit of the murdered man -takes immortal form in the brain of the murderer and cleaves to him -for evermore. - -So that when Stamer descended from the roof and found himself in the -yard of the mews, he was not alone. He had seen little of Leigh, but -now all he had seen came back upon the eye of his memory with -appalling distinctness. He saw each detail of the man's body as though -it were cast in rigid bronze and pressed forcibly, painfully, -unbearably, upon his perception. He could see, he could feel, the long -yellow fingers and the pointed chin hidden in the beard, and the hairs -on the neck growing thinner and thinner as the neck descended into the -collar. He could see the wrinkles about the eyes, and a peculiar -backward motion of the lips before the dwarf spoke. He could see the -forehead wrinkled upward in indulgent scorn, or the eyes flashing with -insolent self-esteem. He could see. He could see the swift, sharp -up-tilt of the chin when a deep respiration became necessary. There -was nothing about the dwarf that he could not see, that he did not -see, that he could avoid seeing, that was not pressed upon him as by a -cold, steel die, that was not pressed and pressed upon him until his -mind ached for the vividness, until he turned within himself -frantically to avoid the features or actions of the dwarf, and found -no space unoccupied, no loop-hole of escape, no resting-place for the -eye, no variety for the mind. He was possessed by a devil, and he had -made that devil into the likeness of Leigh with his own hands out of -the blood of Leigh. - -He had run, he did not know how long, or whither, but all the time he -was running, he had some relief from the devil which possessed him, -for he heard footsteps behind him, the footsteps of the dwarf. But -what signified footsteps behind him, or the ordinary ghost one heard -of, which could not take shape in day-light, or linger after cockcrow, -compared with this internal spirit of the murdered man, this awful -presence, this agonizingly minute portraiture at the back of the -eye-balls where all the inside of the head could see it, when the eyes -were shut, when one was asleep? - -At the time Leigh overtook him, he was sure Leigh was dead. But when -he found himself exhausted against the wall, and saw the dwarf go by, -it was with a feeling of relief. This was the vulgar ghost of which he -had heard so much, but which he had always held in contempt. But he -had never heard of the other ghost before, and his spirit was goaded -with terrors, and frantic with fears. - -Then came that night of wandering, with inexpungeable features of the -dwarf sharp limned upon his smarting sight, and after that long night, -which was a repetition of the first few minutes after the deed, the -visit to Timmons, and the appearance of Leigh in the flesh! - -No wonder Stamer was faint. - -He was in no immediate fear now. He was merely worn out by the awful -night, and prostrated by the final shock. All he wanted was rest, and -to know how it came to be that the dwarf was about that morning, -seemingly uninjured. As Leigh was not dead, or hurt, he had nothing to -fear at present. He would rest somewhere from which he could watch -Timmons, and go back to his friend as soon as the clock-maker -disappeared. He sat down on the tail-board of an upreared cart to -wait. - -At length he saw the hunchback issue hastily from the store, and -hasten, with pale face and hard-drawn breath, in the direction of -London Road. Stamer kept his eyes on the little man until he saw him -hail a cab and drive away. Then he rose, and, with weary steps and a -heart relieved, hastened to the marine store. - -The murdered ghost which had haunted the secret chambers of his spirit -had been exorcised, by the sight of Leigh in the flesh, and he was at -rest. - -He found Timmons pacing up and down the store gloomily. "That's a good -job, any way, Mr. Timmons," said the shorter man when he had got -behind the shutters. This time he did not stand up with his back -against the wall; he sat down on the old fire-grate. He was much -bolder. In fact, he sought cover more from habit than from a sense of -present insecurity. - -"Good job," growled Timmons. "Worse job, you mean, you fool." - -"Worse job? Worse job, Mr. Timmons? Worse, after all you said, to see -Mr. Leigh here, than to know he was lying on the floor under the -window with a broken neck?" cried Stamer, in blank and hopeless -amazement. - -"Broken neck! Broken neck! It's you deserve the broken neck; and as -sure as you're alive, Tom Stamer, you'll get it, get it from Jack -Ketch, before long, and you deserve it." - -"Deserve it for missing Leigh?" cried Stamer, in a tone of dismay. -Nothing could satisfy Timmons this morning. First he was furious -because he had killed Leigh, and now he was savage because the bullet -had missed him! - -"No, you red-handed botch! Worse than even if you killed Leigh, who -hasn't been all straight. But you have killed an innocent man. A man -you never saw or heard of in all your life until last night. A man -that came into Leigh's place, privately, through a third door in the -mews, and wound up his clock for him, in the window, and nodded to the -Hanover bar people, as Leigh used to do, and who was so like Leigh -himself, hump and all, barring that he was taller, that their own -mothers would not know one from the other. Leigh hired him, so that he -might be able to go to Birmingham and places on _our_ business, and -seem to be in London and at his own place, if it became necessary to -prove he had not been in Birmingham, if it became necessary to prove -an alibi. And you, you blundering-headed fool, go and shoot the very -man Leigh had hired to help our business! You're a useful pal, you -are! You're a good working mate, you are! Are you proud of yourself? -Eh? You not only put your head into the halter of your own free will, -and out of the cleverness of your own brains, but you round on a chap -who was a pal after all. You go having snap shots, you do, and you bag -a comrade, a man who did no one any harm, a man who was in the swim! -Oh, you are a nice, useful, tidy working pal, you are! A useful, -careful mate! I wonder you didn't shoot me, and say you did it for the -good of my health, and out of kindness to me. Anyway, I'm heartily -sorry it wasn't yourself you shot, last night. No one would have been -sorry for that, and the country would have saved the ten pounds to -Jack Ketch for hanging you, and the cost of a new rope!" - -"Eh?" cried Stamer, not that he did not hear and understand, but in -order that he might get the story re-told. - -Timmons went over the principal points again. - -The burglar listened quite unmoved. - -"You take it coolly enough, anyhow?" - -"Why not? It was an accident." - -"An accident! An accident!" cried Timmons, drawing up in front of -Stamer and looking at him in perplexity. - -"Well, what could be plainer, Mr. Timmons? Of course, it was an -accident. Why should I hurt a man who never hurt me?" - -"But you did." - -"They have to prove that. They _can't_ prove _I_ rounded on a pal. I -can get a hundred witnesses to character." - -"Nice witnesses they would be." - -"But the coppers _know_ I'm a straight man." - -"They would hardly come to speak for you. It's someone from Portland -would give you a character. But you know you fired the shot." - -"At a screech-owl, my lord, at a screech-owl, my lord, that was flying -across the street. You don't suppose, my lord, I'd go and round on a -pal of Mr. Timmons's and my own?" - -Timmons glared at him. "But the man is dead, and someone shot him." - -"Well, my lord, except Mr. Timmons--and to save him I risked my own -life, and would lay it down, and am ready to lay it down now or any -time it may please your lordship--unless Mr. Timmons goes into the box -and swears my life away, you can prove nothing against me, my lord." - -"After all," said Timmons, looking through half-closed critical eyes -at Stamer, "after all, the man has some brains." - -"And a straight man for a friend in Mr. John Timmons." - -"Yes, Stamer, you have." - -Stamer stood up and approached Timmons. "You'll shake hands on that, -Mr. Timmons?" - -"I will." Timmons gave him his hand. "And now," he added, "I don't -think you know the good news." - -"What?" - -"Why, Forbes's bakery was burned out last night." - -"Hurroo!" cried Stamer, with a yell of sudden relief and joy. "My -lord, you haven't a single bit of evidence against Tom Stamer. My -lord, good-bye. Mr. John Timmons and Tom Stamer against the world!" - - - - - CHAPTER XXXV. - - THE RUINS. - - -The morning following Hanbury's visit to Grimsby Street saw the order -of arrival of the ladies in the sitting-room reversed. Mrs. Grace was -there first. Edith had been too excited when she went to bed after the -young man's disclosures to sleep, and it was not until the small hours -were growing big that the girl could close her eyes. As a consequence, -she was late. - -But when at last she did awake, how different were her feelings from -the day before! She could scarcely believe she was the same being, or -it was the same world. That letter from Mr. Coutch, of Castleton, had -plunged her into a depth of leaden hopelessness she had never known -before. Now all was changed. Then she was the last of a race of -shopkeepers; now she had for cousin a man whose ancestor had been a -king. Whatever fate might do against her in the future, it could never -take away that consoling consciousness. At Miss Graham's in Streatham -the girls used to say she ought to be a queen. Well, a not very remote -relative of hers would have sat on a throne if she had lived and come -into her rights! Prodigious. - -She found her grandmother waiting for her. The old lady was seated in -the window, spectacles on nose, reading the morning paper. All the -papers of that morning had not an account of the disaster at Chelsea, -because of the late hour at which it occurred. Mrs. Grace's paper was -one that did not get the news in time for insertion that morning, so -that the old lady and Edith were spared the pain of believing that a -man who sat in this room yesterday had met with a sudden and horrible -death. - -But Mrs. Grace's eye had caught a paragraph headed "The Last of the -Poles." Without a word or comment she handed the paper to the girl and -said merely, "Read that. It ought to interest you." - -Edith looked at the heading, flushed, and then read the paragraph. It -ran: - - -"The last survivor of one of the great historical families of Europe -was buried at Chone, near Geneva, four days before Christmas. The -venerable Mathilde Poniatowski, the widow of Count Szymanowski, had -just passed her ninetieth year. Her family gave to Poland its last -king, Stanislaus Augustus, under whose reign the death-struggle of the -Polish nation began, and its last hero, Prince Joseph Poniatowski, who -fell as one of Napoleon's generals when bravely attempting to cover -the retreat of the French at the battle of Leipzig. The Tzar -Alexander, with a generosity which did him credit, allowed his corpse -to be buried in the church at Cracow amongst the old Kings and heroes -of Poland. Count Szymanowski, the husband of the deceased lady, took a -prominent part in the rising of the Poles in 1831, since which time -she has lived a quiet and uneventful life in the hospitable republic -of Geneva." - - -"And think," said Mrs. Grace, "that she who is just dead represented -only the younger branch of Mr. Hanbury's family. It is all more like -an Eastern romance than anything which could take place in Europe!" - -Edith could not say much. She felt choking, and merely said it was -wonderful, and that Mr. Hanbury would no doubt know all about the -countess. - -"I don't think so. You know he said he did not know much of the -family. I must cut out this paragraph and keep it for him." - -The notion of cutting a paragraph out of a penny paper and giving it -to the head of the house here referred to, was grotesque. Besides, he -had not said that he should come again. He said his mother would call, -and he expressed a vague hope that they might be better friends. Edith -knew no practical importance was to be attached to this man's -parentage, as far as honours went; but still it could not be that he -would move about as freely now as of yore, or mingle with the people -he had formerly considered his equals. He could no more destroy the -stream of noble and kingly blood in his veins than a costermonger -could carry the arms of a Howard or a Percy. - -Edith broke bread that morning, but made little more than a formal -meal. Mrs. Hanbury would of course call. When? And what would she be -like? The son had been much too condescending and familiar for one in -his position. Would his mother make up in stateliness what he left -aside? She would drive up between three and five with powdered -footmen. The arrival of the carriage, and the footmen, and Mrs. -Hanbury, mother of the well-known Mr. Hanbury, would be an event in -Grimsby Street. Her old resolution of not knowing rich people must be -waived in this case. There was no remedy for it; for he had said his -mother would come. - -Neither grandmother nor grand-daughter was in humour for talk. Edith -was occupied with her own thoughts. They had nothing to do that day, -for Edith had made up her mind to do nothing about a new situation -until Monday. It being now Saturday, there was no time to take any -steps that week. - -They had not sat down to breakfast until half-past nine, and by ten -they had not finished. As the little clock on the mantelpiece struck -the hour the landlady's daughter entered to say a lady was below who -desired to see Mrs. and Miss Grace. - -Both rose. Whom could it be? - -Mrs. Hanbury. - -"I have taken the liberty of coming up without permission," said a -voice at the door, and a tall, stately lady, with white hair and -dressed in black, appeared at the threshold of the door left open by -the attendant. - -Mrs. Grace invited her to enter and be seated. - -"I need not introduce myself further," the visitor said with a smile, -as she sat down, after shaking hands with the two, "than to say I am -the mother of Mr. Hanbury, who had the pleasure of calling upon you -yesterday evening. I am afraid my visit this morning is as -inconveniently early as his last night was late. But the discovery of -the relationship between us is so extraordinary, and so pleasant to -me, that I could not deny myself the happiness of calling at the very -earliest moment I could get away. You have not even finished -breakfast. I fear you will find it hard to forgive me." Her words, and -smile, and manner were so friendly and unassuming, that grandmother -and grand-daughter felt at ease immediately. - -Mrs. Grace said that if the visitor would forgive the disorder of the -table, they should have no reason to feel anything but extremely -grateful to Mrs. Hanbury for coming so soon. - -Mrs. Hanbury bowed and said, "I saw my son on his return from -Derbyshire yesterday and when he came back from you last night. But he -had not come down when I was leaving home just now. I am a very -positive, self-willed old woman, and I have to ask you as a favour to -make allowances for these infirmities. I have made up my mind that the -best thing for us to do is to hold a little family council, and I have -grown so used to my own room I never can feel equal to discussing -family matters anywhere else. I have therefore come to ask you a -favour to begin with. Do humour me, please, and come with me to my -place. John will be down and done breakfast by the time we get there, -and we four can talk over all this wonderful story at our leisure." - -There were objections and demurs to this, but Mrs. Hanbury's -insistent, good-humoured determination prevailed, and the end was that -the three ladies set out together on foot for Chester Square. "And -now," said Mrs. Hanbury, as they walked along, "that I have tasted the -delights of conquest, I mean to turn from a mild and seemingly -reasonable supplicant into a rigid tyrant. Back into that dreadful -Grimsby Street neither of you shall ever go again. It is quite enough -to destroy one's zest for life merely to look down it!" - -The protests and demurs were more vehement than before. - -"We shall not argue the point now. In my capacity of tyrant, I decline -to argue anything. But we shall see--we shall see." - -When they reached Mrs. Hanbury's, they went straight, to her own room. -She left word that she was most particularly engaged, and could see no -one. On enquiring for her son, she heard with surprise that he had -come down shortly after she left and gone out without leaving any -message for her. - -That morning John Hanbury awoke to the most unpleasant thoughts -about Dora. What ought he to do in the matter? Had he not acted -badly to her in not writing the next morning after the scene in the -drawing-room?--the very night? - -Unquestionably it would have been much better if he had written at -once. But then at the time he reached home, he was in no state of mind -to write to any one, and when he read his father's letter, the -contents of it drove all other matters into the background, and made -it seem that they could easily wait. Now he had been to Derbyshire, -and knew all that was to be learned at Castleton, and had seen Mrs. -Grace and Miss Grace and told them of the discovery he had made. His -mother had undertaken to go see them, and for the present there was -nothing to press in front of his thought of Dora. - -He had behaved very badly indeed to her. At the interview he had acted -more like a lunatic brute than a sane gentleman, and afterwards his -conduct had been--yes, cowardly. Curse it! was he always to behave -like a coward in her eyes? She had reproached him with cowardice the -other day, and he fully deserved her reproach. That is, he fully -deserved the reproach of an impartial and passionless judge. But was -the attitude of an impartial and passionless judge exactly the one a -man expected from his sweetheart? Surely the ways of life would be -very dusty and dreary if a man found his severest critics always -closest to his side, if any deficiencies in the public indictment of -his character or conduct were to be supplied by a voice from his own -hearth, by his other self, by his wife? - -John Hanbury had from his first thinking of Dora more than of any -other girl he had met, looked on her as a possible wife. When he went -further and made up his mind to ask her to marry him, he had regarded -her as a future wife more than a present sweetheart. He had felt that -she would be a credit and an ornament to him and that they should get -on well together. He had never for an hour been carried away by his -feelings towards her. He had never lost his head. He told himself he -had lost his heart, because he was more happy in her society than in -the society of any other young woman he had met. - -He was an imaginative man, of good education, strong impulse, and -skilful in the use of words. Yet he had not addressed a single piece -of verse to her. She had not moved him to adopt that unfamiliar form -of expression. He had nothing in his mind about her that he could not -express in prose. This alone was a suspicious circumstance. He knew he -was not a poet, and he felt it would be absurd to try to be a poet, -because he was going to marry a woman he liked very much. - -This was ample evidence she had not touched the inner springs of love -in him. The young man who keeps his reason always about him, and won't -make a fool of himself for the woman he wants to marry, isn't in love -at all. There may be fifty words describing beautifully the excellence -of his intentions towards the young woman, but love is not one of -those words. He had felt all along that they were about to enter into -a delicious partnership; not that he was going to drink the wine of a -heavenly dream. - -This morning he was wrestling and groaning in spirit when the servant -brought the letters to his door. He recognised her writing at once, -and tore the envelope open hastily. - -He read the letter slowly and with decaying spirit. When he had -finished he folded it up deliberately and put it back into the -envelope. His face was pale, his lips were apart, his eyes dull, -expressionless. - -"Be it so," he said at length. "She is right," he added bitterly. "She -is always right. She would always be right, and I when I differed from -her always wrong. That is not the position a husband should occupy in -a wife's esteem." - -Then he sat down in the easy chair he had occupied two nights before, -and fell into a reverie. He did not heed how time went. When he roused -himself he learned that his mother had gone out. He did not want to -meet her now. He did not want to meet anyone. He wished to be alone -with his thoughts. Where can man be more alone than in the streets of -a great city? - -He went out with no definite object except to be free of interruption. -His mind ran on Dora. Now he thought of her with anger, now with -affection, now with sorrow. He had no thought of trying to undo her -resolve. He acquiesced in it. He was glad it came from her and not -from him. - -Now that all was over between them, and they were by-and-by to be good -friends, and no more, he became sentimental. - -He passed in review the pleasant hours they had spent together. He -took a melancholy delight in conjuring up the things they had said, -the places they had gone to, the balls, and theatres, and galleries -and meetings they had been at with one another. He thought of the last -walk they took, the walk which led to the present breach between them. -It was in this neighbourhood somewhere. Ah, he remembered. He would go -and see the place once more. - -Once more! Why it was only two days since they had come this way, she -leaning on his arm. What a wonderful lot of things had been crowded -into those two days! - -This was the street. What was the meaning of the crowd? When she and -he were here last, there had been a crowd too. Was there always a -crowd here? By Jove! there had been a fire. And, by Jove! the house -burned was the one against the end wall of which she and he had stood -to watch the nigger. - -Policemen were keeping people back from the front of Forbes's bakery, -which was completely gutted, standing a mere shell, with its bare, -roofless walls open to the light of Heaven. All the floors had fallen, -and a fireman with a hose was playing on the smoking rubbish within. - -"An unlucky place," thought Hanbury, as he stood to look at the ruins. -"First that unfortunate nigger meets with an accident there, and now -this house is burned quite out. An unlucky corner." - -At that moment there was a cry of dismay from the crowd. Hanbury drew -back. He thought the walls were falling. Presently the cry of dismay -changed to a cheer, and the crowd at the corner of the Hanover swayed -and opened, and through it, from a cab which had just drawn up, walked -hastily towards the smoking pile, Oscar Leigh. - -Where Hanbury stood was the nearest point from which the dwarf could -command a view of the bakery. When he reached Hanbury's side, he -stopped, looked up, dropped his stick, flung his hands aloft and -uttered an awful yell of despair. - -The people drew back from him. - -No trace of even the floor of the clock-room remained in position, -beyond a few charred fragments of joists. Everything was gone, wheels -and pulleys, and levers, and shafts, and chains, and drums, and bands. -Even the very frame itself, with its four strong pillars and thick -cross-bars, left not a trace aloft, and its very position was not -indicated in the heap of steaming rubbish. - -"All gone! All gone! The work of seven years. The result of a -lifetime. Gone! gone! gone!" - -He reeled and would have fallen but that Hanbury caught him and -supported him. - -Williams appeared and between Williams and Hanbury the dwarf was led -into the private bar in which his learning and occult knowledge had -brought him distinction and respect. - -A chair was fetched by Binns the potman and Leigh was set upon it with -his back to the window, so that his eyes might not look upon the grave -of his labour. - -"All gone! All gone! Nothing left! Nothing left! The work of seven -years day and night! Day and night! Day and night! Gone, all gone!" - -"But, Mr. Leigh," said the pale-faced Williams, in a low and very -kindly voice, "it might have been ever so much worse." - -"Worse! How could it be worse? There is nothing saved." - -"Why, thank God, Mr. Leigh, you are saved. It was said in some of the -papers and we all believed you were burned in the fire." - -"And what if I was? I wish I was." - -"You oughtn't say that, Mr. Leigh. It is not right to say that. You -ought to be grateful for being saved." - -"Grateful for being saved! Who? I! Who should be grateful that I am -saved? Not I, for one." - -"Well, your friends are very glad, any way. Didn't you hear how the -people cried out with fear first, for they thought you were a ghost, -and didn't you hear how they cheered then when they saw it was you -yourself, alive and well?" - -"I! Who am I? What am I? My clock, sir, was all I had in this whole -world. It was the savings bank of my heart, of my soul, and now the -bank is broken and I am beggared." - -"But, Mr. Leigh, you are not beggared indeed. You have plenty of money -still," said Williams in the soft tone one uses to a reasonable child. - -"Money, sir, what is money to me? I am not a pauper, but what good is -mere money to me? Can I dance at balls, or ride fine horses or shoot? -What good is money to me more than to get me food and drink for my -body? and what a body! Who will feed my soul? What will feed my soul? -How am I who am but a joke of nature to live with no spiritual food? -My clock was my life, and my soul, and my fame, my immortal part and -now--! Gone! gone! gone!" - -"But how did you escape, Mr. Leigh? We saw you winding up after you -left this, and you nodded to us as usual, when the easy part of the -winding came, half-way through." - -"I did. Curse my mandarin neck. If I had minded nothing but my clock -it would be safe now, or I should be dead with it." - -"But how did you escape, Mr. Leigh?" - -"The devil takes care of his own, Mr. Hanbury," he said, speaking for -the first time to the young man. "Whatever way you are going I should -like to go, if you would have no objection? I have no way of my own -now except the way common to us all." - -"I shall be very glad to have your company," said Hanbury, who was -sincerely moved at the loss and grief of the little clockmaker. - -"Shall we walk or would you prefer to drive?" - -"Let us drive, please. I have lost my stick. Ay, I have lost my -crutch, my stick, my prop. You are very kind to let me go with you." - -"Indeed I am very glad to be of any use I can." - -And leaning on the arm of John Hanbury, Oscar Leigh limped out of the -private bar of the Hanover. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVI. - - OPEN CONFESSION. - - -When the two men gained the open air no cab was in sight. - -"If you will rest awhile here," said Hanbury, "I'll fetch a cab. I -cannot see one up or down the street." - -"No," said Leigh, a shudder passing through his frame. "Let us walk, -if you do not mind. I could not bear to stay near this place any -longer. Is it not strange that you should have wanted a cab in this -spot forty-eight hours ago, and I should want it here now?" - -"It is strange," said Hanbury, "but the world is very small, and our -absolute wants in it are very closely circumscribed." The manner of -Leigh had changed in a marked manner since they emerged from the door -of the Hanover. His steps had become slow and more dragged, his -breathing more laboured, and he had lost all swagger and bounce, and -self-assertiveness. - -"I know I am going very slowly. But I cannot get along quicker. I have -had a great shock, and a slow step is becoming at a funeral." - -"Pray, do not apologise. I assure you I have absolutely nothing to -do." - -"Nor I, nor shall I ever have anything to do in this world again. Sir, -this slow pace befits a funeral. This is my funeral." - -"Oh, you mustn't say so. I am sure your clock must have been a -terrible loss, but not irreparable." - -"Do you mean that the clock is reparable?" - -"No. I am well aware the clock is past repair, but the loss may be -repaired." - -"No, sir. It may not. I do not want ever to see this street or that -corner again. I have lived there seven years. I have toiled and -planned there night and day for seven years, and now I am going -away shorn of the growth of all my labours. Men of my make are never -long-lived. When they meet a great shock and a great loss such as this -they die. There is a hansom, but don't call that. Call a four-wheeler. -It is more like a hearse, and this is a funeral. Let us dress the -rehearsal of the play, the real play, as well as we can. I am rather -glad I am done with life----" - -"Why, you are quite a young man yet, Mr. Leigh." - -"I am rather glad I am done with life, I was saying, for I was -beginning to tire of it. A man formed as I am has a weary up-hill -fight. He must either play the part of the subtle beast, or go under, -and a man who cannot ever stand up and fight for himself does not like -to go under. It is not fair to ask a man who has never been able to -put up his hands if he has had enough." - -"But you will begin another great clock, even a greater one." - -For a moment the little man fired up, and seemed about to regain his -old insolent combativeness. "Sir, it would be impossible to design a -greater." - -"Well, let us say as great," said the young man soothingly. He was -beginning not only to take an interest in this strange being, but to -sympathise with him. - -"No, sir. I shall begin no other clock. The sands in my own hour-glass -are running low already. When a man of my make endures a great shock -and a great disappointment he does not endure much more. He dies. I am -glad to meet you again. I am glad it was your arm kept me from -falling. I want you to be my friend. I have no friend on earth -excepting my poor mother, who is more helpless than I myself. I know -what I am asking when I say I want you for my friend. I would not ask -you to be my friend the day before yesterday. I would have preferred -you for an enemy then, for then I was strong and able to take care of -myself. Now I am too weak to be your enemy, and I am fit only to be -your friend. You will not spurn me?" He paused in their walk, and -looked up anxiously into Hanbury's face. - -"Assuredly not. I will do anything I can for you. Please let me know -what I can do for you?" - -"I may presently, I may later. I may the last thing of all. But not -now. Let us walk on. My clock is gone for ever, and on the ruins of my -clock I have found a friend. I would much rather have my clock, ten -thousand times rather have my clock, than you, but then I knew it so -long and so well. If you had made that clock as I had, and had lost it -as I have lost it, you would go mad and kill someone, maybe yourself, -or perhaps both." - -"I am sure I should feel bitterly the loss of so many years of -labour." - -"Of so many years of labour and love and confidence and pride, the -depository of so many hopes, the garden in which grew all the flowers -of my mind. Well, while I had the clock, I had a friend in which I -could confide. The clock is gone past recall. My mother cannot, poor -soul, be expected to understand me. As you have promised to be my -friend, I will confide in you. I know I may do so with safety." - -"I think you may." - -"It is past _thinking_ in me: I _know_. I told you before, I never -make mistakes about people." In all this talk Hanbury noticed that -the old self-assertive "Hah!" had no place, nor was there any use of -eau-de-cologne or reference to it. These had been nothing more than -conversational fripperies, and had been laid aside with the spirit of -aggression. The manner of aggression still prevailed in the form of -thought and manner of expression. "You will be astonished to hear that -I was attracted towards you from the moment I saw you in Welbeck -Place--the attraction of repulsion, no doubt. But still you were not -indifferent to me. I have had so long a life of loneliness and -repression, I want a few hours of companionship and free-speaking -before I die." - -"Anything you may tell me to relieve your mind, I shall treat as a -secret of my own--as a secret in keeping which my personal honour is -concerned." - -"I know. I wish I were as sure of anything else as I am of you. I tell -you I never make mistakes about people. Never. I lied to you very -considerably. I lied to everyone pretty considerably, partly because I -have imagination, or fancy, or invention, or whatever you call the -power of easily devising things that are not. I lied because I had -imagination. I lied because I had vanity. I lied because people are -such fools. How could a man tell the truth to a creature like -Williams, the owner of that public-house? The creature could not -appreciate it. Besides, lying is so amusing, and I had so little -amusement. I used lies as at once a sword and buckler. I cut down a -fool with a lie; I defended myself against the silly talk of fools by -holding up a lie with a brazen boss the shining of which dazzled their -eyes and choked their silly voices. I lied a good deal to you." - -"Pray do not pain yourself by apologies. You said what you said to me -merely for pastime." - -"No; as an indication of my contempt for you. Did you not see I had a -contempt for you? Did I not make it plain? Did you not see it?" - -"Yes, I think you made it plain." - -"I am glad of that, for my intention was to hurt you a good deal, and -I hate to fail. I am very glad you saw I had a great contempt for you. -This is my death-bed confession, and I shall keep back nothing, -without warning you I am keeping something back." - -"You are quite candid now, I am sure." - -"Quite candid, as candid as a child is in its unspoken mind. What I -said about those figures of time was mostly a lie." - -"I guessed that." - -"What I said about Miracle Gold was mostly a lie also." - -"I knew that." - -"You knew it! How could you know it? How can you _know_ a negative any -more than _prove_ it, except by the evidence of your senses?--and then -you do not _know_, you only fail to perceive." - -"Well, let us not get into metaphysics." - -"All right. _Most_ of what I told you about Miracle Gold was a lie. -_All_ I told you about making it was a lie. I was about to enter into -a league with thieves to take stolen gold, and pretend to make it. I -was going to do this for the sake of the fame, not the profit." - -"A very dangerous kind of alchemy." - -"Yes; but very common, though not in its application to real metallic -gold." - -"It would be worse for us to get into a discussion on morals than even -on metaphysics." - -"It would. Anyway I have told you what my scheme was. I told Mrs. -Ashton that my clock was independent of my hands for winding up. You -heard Williams, the publican, say they saw me wind up my clock last -night. Well I was not near my clock last night." - -"But he said he saw you." - -"He did. Now you can understand how necessary it was for me to lie." - -"I candidly confess I cannot." - -"Well to me it would be unbearable that a man like Williams should -know of all my actions. I was not near my clock, not in the same room -with it, not on the floor where it stood, from the early afternoon of -yesterday. When I conceived the notion of making Miracle Gold I knew I -ran a great risk. I thought it might become necessary to prove -_affirmatives_ at all events. The proposition of an alibi is an -affirmative, the deduction a negative. I told you my clock was my -friend. Well, I made it help me in this. I gave out in the private bar -of the Hanover that my clock had now become so complicated that I had -arranged to connect all the movements, which had hitherto been more or -less independent, awaiting removal to a tower. I said I was going to -get all my power from one force, weights in the chimney. Hitherto I -had said I used springs and weights. I said this change would involve -half-an-hour's continual winding every night, with a brief break of a -few seconds in the middle of the half hour. The clock was to be wound -up by a lever fixed near the window, at which I sat when at work, the -only window in the room. Night after night I worked at this lever for -half-an-hour, turning round exactly at a quarter-past twelve to nod at -the landlord of the Hanover and the people in the private bar. -Meanwhile, I was busy constructing two life-sized figures. One of the -body of a man in every way unlike me. The other of a man who should be -as like me as possible. I have skill, a good deal of skill, in -modelling. The face and figure unlike mine were the first finished. -Both were made to be moved by the lever, not to move it. I easily -timed the head so as to turn at a quarter-past. I inserted in the neck -of the figure like myself a movement which would make the head nod -before turning away to go on with the winding. You now see my idea?" - -"Not quite clearly. But I suspect it." - -"Suppose I had to meet one of my clients about the gold, I should make -an appointment with him at a quarter-past twelve in Islington, or -Wapping, or Wandsworth, or Twickenham. My clock, at twelve o'clock, -slowly raised the figure from the floor to the place in which I sat in -my chair, turned up the gas, which had been dimmed to the last glimmer -that would live, and then released the weight in the chimney and set -the figure moving as if working the lever, instead of the lever -working it. Thus you see I should have a dozen to swear they saw me in -my room at Chelsea, if anything went wrong in my interviews with my -clients, or if from any other cause it became necessary for me to -prove I was in my workshop between twelve and half-past twelve at -night." - -"Very ingenious indeed." - -"The night before I met you in Welbeck Place, that is to say Wednesday -night, I tried my first figure, the figure of the man unlike me." - -"May I ask what was the object of this figure? Why had you one that -was not like you?" - -"To give emphasis to the figure of myself. I at first intended going -into the Hanover on Wednesday and declaring that I had been obliged to -employ a deputy in case of anything preventing my being able to attend -between twelve and half-past. I had intended spending the half hour -the figure was visible in the bar, but I changed my mind. I went to -the country instead, and imparted as a secret to the landlord that I -was to have a deputy that night, and that he was to keep an eye on him -and see he did not shirk his work. I knew Williams could no more keep -a secret of that kind than fly. I did not want him to keep it. My -motive in cautioning him was merely that he might watch closely, for -of course I was most anxious that the delusion should be complete and -able to bear the test of strict watching from the private bar. I went -down to the country partly to be out of the way and partly for another -reason I need not mention." - -Hanbury started. The excitement of seeing the place burned out, and -meeting the dwarf and listening to his strange tale, had prevented him -recollecting the connection between Edith Grace and Leigh. "Go on," -said Hanbury, wishing the clockmaker to finish before he introduced -the name of Edith. - -"There is not much more to tell. Owing to a reason I need not mention, -I made up my mind on Thursday morning to go on with the production of -Miracle Gold. I resolved against my better judgment, and gave the word -for the first lot of the gold to be delivered at my place at midnight -exactly. You know how my afternoon was spent. While at Mrs. Ashton's, -my better judgment and my worse one had a scuffle, and I made up my -mind to decide upon nothing that night, and certainly to commit myself -to nothing that night. What you would call the higher influence was at -work." - -"Pallas-Athena?" - -"Yes, if you think that a good name. Any way I made up my mind to do -nothing definite in the interest of Miracle Gold that night. I set my -dummy figure and left my house at midnight exactly, saw my client and -told him I could do nothing for a week. Next day I heard from Williams -that I had wound up my clock and nodded at a quarter-past twelve, -right time. Last night I went into the Hanover, as you heard Williams -say, and passed into my house after speaking a while to a friend in -the street. But I did not go upstairs. I went through the house and -out into the mews at the back. I was supplied by the landlord with -keys for the doors into Chetwynd Street and Welbeck Place, but had not -one for the bakehouse door into the mews until I got one made unknown -to anyone. Thus the landlord and the people all round to whom I spoke -freely would never dream of my going through into the mews. It was my -intention they should have a distinct impression I could not do it. -Thus I had the use, as it were, of a secret door. When I got into the -mews I hastened to Victoria and caught the last train for Millway, the -12.15. I wanted to see my mother about business which I need not -mention. I had made up mind to have nothing to do with the Miracle -Gold. On my way back to town I called on my client and learned that -the place was burnt down and that I was believed to be dead. The -latter belief is only a little premature. I am going fast. Is there no -cab? I can hardly breathe. Have you seen Miss Ashton since?" - -"Since I saw you last?" - -"Yes." - -"I have." - -"Since yesterday afternoon?" - -"No." - -Leigh gave a sigh of pain and stopped. "I am done," he said. "I can go -no further. I shall walk no more." - -"Nonsense, you will be all right again. Here is a cab at last, thank -goodness!" - -"You will come with me. You will not desert me. My confession is over. -I shall speak of this matter no more to any man. It was only a -temptation, and I absolutely did no wrong. You will not desert me. I -am very feeble. I do not know what the matter is with me. I have no -strength in my body. I never had much, but the little I had is gone. -You will not desert me, Mr. Hanbury. I have only listened to the voice -of the tempter. I have not gone the tempter's ways, and mind, I was -not tempted by the love of lucre. If I had had a voice, and stature, -and figure like yours I might have been able to win fame in the big -and open world, as I was I could win it only in the world that is -little and occult. Come with me. You promised to be my friend before -you heard of my temptation. Are you less inclined to be my friend -because I was tempted and resisted the tempter, than if I had never -been tempted at all? Get in and come with me. See me under a roof -anyway. The next roof that covers me will be the last one I shall lie -under over ground." - -"I own," said Hanbury, "I was a little staggered at first, but only at -first. I am quite willing to go with you. Where shall I tell the man -to drive?" Hanbury had assisted Leigh into the cab, and was standing -on the flagway. - -Leigh gave the address, and the two drove off. - -The dwarf's confession had not benefitted his position in Hanbury's -mind. The fact that this man had been in communication with a fence, -with a view to the disposal of stolen gold, was enough to make the -average man shrink from contact with the dwarf. But then Hanbury -remembered that the secret had been divulged by the clock-maker in a -moment of extreme excitement, and after what to him must have been an -enormous calamity. To have been tempted is not to have fallen; but, -the temptation resisted, to have risen to heights proportionate to the -strength of the temptation, and the degree of self-denial in the -resistance of it. - -Yet, this was a strange companion, friend, for John Hanbury, the -well-known public speaker, a man who had made up his mind to adopt the -career of a progressive and reforming politician, the descendant of -Stanislaus II. of Poland! Contact with a man who had absolutely -entertained the notion of trading in stolen goods was a thing most -people would shun. But, then, were most people right? This man had -claimed his good offices, first, because Hanbury was in his power, and -now Leigh claimed his good offices, because he was in great affliction -and prostration. Certainly Hanbury would be more willing to fall in -with Leigh's views now, when he was supplicating, than on Thursday, -when he was threatening. Who could withhold sympathy from this -deformed, marred, wheezing, halting, sickly-looking man, who had just -seen the work of a lifetime swept away for ever? - -Then Hanbury remembered he had questions to ask Leigh, and that his -motive for keeping with him was not wholly pure. How many motives, of -the most impersonal and disinterested, are quite pure? - -The young man did not know how exactly to introduce the subject of the -Graces, and, for a moment, he hemmed and fidgetted in the cab. - -At last he began, "You have not seen Mrs. Grace, since?" - -"No; nor shall I ever again." - -"Why, you have not quarrelled with her, have you?" - -"Quarrelled with her! Not I. But I have explained to you that I am -going home, that this is a funeral; my home is not in Grimsby Street. -You did not say Grimsby Street to the cabman, I hope?" - -"I did not. I gave him 12, Barnes Street, Chelsea. Is not that right?" - -"Yes. That's right. No, I am not likely to see Mrs. Grace again. How -wonderfully like Miss Ashton Miss Grace is! Oh, I may as well tell -you, how I came to know Miss Grace, as she has really been the means -of bringing us together as we are to-day. My mother is paralyzed, and -I advertised for a companion for her. Miss Grace replied, and I -engaged her. I said she should see little of me. But at the time it -did not occur to me that I might like to see a great deal of her. I -did not explain this before, for the explanation would have -interrupted the story of my clock. Well, although you may hardly be -able to credit it, I, who had, up to that time, avoided the crowning -folly of even thinking of marriage, thought, not quite as calmly as I -am speaking now, that I should like to marry a wife, and that I should -like to marry her. She was to go to my mother on Wednesday. I was to -test my automaton on Wednesday night. I ran down to my mother's place, -and was at Eltham when Miss Grace arrived. My appearance there, after -saying she should see me little, must have frightened her. I have -often heard children call me bogie. At all events, she came back to -Town next day. Ran away, is the truth. Ran away from the sight of me, -of bogie. If she had staid with my mother, I should have had something -to think of besides Miracle Gold. It was upon seeing her and arranging -that she was to go to Eltham, that my interest in Miracle Gold began -to diminish, and I grew to think that my clock alone would suffice for -my fame, and that I might marry and leave London, and live at Eltham. -Well, she ran away, as I said, and I came back to London the same day, -and made up my mind to go on with Miracle Gold. Then I met you and -Miss Ashton, and I went to Curzon Street, and I thought, If Mrs. -Ashton will let me come on Thursdays, and breathe another atmosphere, -and meet other kinds of people, I still may be able to live without -the excitement of Miracle Gold. And so I wavered and wavered, and at -last made up my mind to give up the Gold altogether, and now the clock -is gone, and I am alone. Quite alone. This is the house. It belongs to -Dr. Shaw. He has looked after my health for years, and has promised to -let me come here and live with him, when I haven't long to live. I -have your address, and you have this one. Will you come to see me -again?" - -"Indeed I will." - -"When--to-morrow? To-morrow will be Sunday." - -"Perhaps I may come to-morrow. I shall come as soon as ever I can." - -They were standing at the door-step. Leigh had leaned his side against -the area-railings for support. His breathing was terrible, and every -now and then he gasped, and clutched his hands together. - -"If you come, perhaps you may not come alone?" - -Hanbury flushed. He did not want to make his confession just now. - -"Perhaps I may not," he said. "Good-bye, now." - -"Good-bye; and thank you for your goodness. You know whom I hope to -see with you?" - -"Yes." - -"Who?" - -"Pallas-Athena, of course." - -"Of course." - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVII. - - FREE. - - -With a feeling of relief, Hanbury walked rapidly away. The last words -of Leigh had stirred within him once more the trouble which had made -him shirk meeting his mother that morning. The burning down of Leigh's -place and the destruction of the wonderful clock, and the meeting with -the unfortunate clockmaker, would afford a story to be told when he -got home, and he might interpose that history between the first words -of meeting and the ultimate announcement that the engagement between -Dora and himself was at an end. - -Family considerations or desires had nothing to do with the -understanding which had existed between Dora and him; but to his -mother, from whom he had no secret, except that of the quarrel on -Thursday night, he must explain, and explain fully too. There was no -good in putting off the inevitable meeting any longer. He knew his -mother had great respect and liking for Dora, but she had had nothing -whatever to do with bringing about the understanding between the two -of them. They had been quite as free in their choice of one another as -though they had been the heroine and hero of a pastoral. He had never -been a fool about Dora and she had never been a fool about him. In his -life he meant to be no cypher among men; it would never do for him to -be a cypher in his own home. Dora and he had acted with great -reasonableness throughout their whole acquaintance, and with supreme -reasonableness when they agreed to separate. If he had been an -ordinary man, a man with no great public career before him, he might -have been disposed to yield more to Dora's opinion or judgment; but as -matters stood, any man with the smallest trace of common sense must -commend Dora's decision of terminating the engagement, and his -acceptance of her decision. - -When he got back to Chester Square he heard, with great relief, that -Mrs. and Miss Grace were at luncheon in the dining-room with Mrs. -Hanbury. The presence of the two visitors and the general nature of -the conversation necessary to their presence and the meal, would serve -as an admirable softener of the story he had for his mother's private -ear. - -"You see, John, I have succeeded," said Mrs. Hanbury, after greetings -were over. "I went the moment breakfast was finished and carried Mrs. -and Miss Grace away from that awful Grimsby Street. We have had a good -long chat, and, although I have done my best with Mrs. Grace, I cannot -induce her to promise not to go back to that murderous street again. I -must now ask you to join with me in forbidding her to leave us." - -Hanbury spoke in favour of his mother's proposal and urged many -arguments; but the old woman was quite firm. Back they must and would -go. Why, if no other consideration would be allowed to weigh, there -was the fact that her grand-daughter had not yet received her luggage -from Eltham House. - -This reference brought in Leigh's name, and then Hanbury told of the -fire, the destruction of the clock, his meeting that morning with the -dwarf, and the conviction of the latter that he would not long survive -the destruction of his incomparable machine. He noticed as he went on -that Miss Grace first flushed and then paled. - -The girl had hardly spoken up to this. She sat silent and timid. She -did not seem to hear quickly or to apprehend accurately. She had -hesitated in her answers like one afraid. The table was small, and -laid for four people. Hanbury sat opposite his mother, Edith opposite -her grandmother. The heat was intense. - -There was a buzzing and beating in the girl's ears. She heard as -through a sound of plashing water. The talk of Leigh had carried her -mind back to the country, back to Millway and Eltham House, and to the -unexpected and unwelcome and disquieting apparition of the dwarf at -the door of the house when she arrived there. - -Through this strange noise of splashing water she heard in a low -far-away voice the story of her fear and loneliness and desolation on -that Wednesday, separated from her old home and the familiar streets, -and the sustaining companionship of her old grandmother, who had been -all the world to her. She heard this story chanted, intoned in this -low, monotonous voice, and she had a dim feeling that all was changed, -and that she was now environed by securities through which she could -not be assailed by the attentions of that strange, ill-featured dwarf. - -But her sight was very dim, and she could not see anything clearly or -recollect exactly where she was. Gradually her sight cleared a little, -and she was under trees heavy with leaves, alone on a lonely road by -night. The rain fell unseen through the mute warm air. A thick perfume -of roses made the air heavy with richness. She felt her breath come -short, as though she had walked fast or run. The air was too rich to -freshen life to cool the fevered blood. - -Now she became dimly conscious of some sound other than the plashing -of water. It was not the voice, for the voice had ceased. The sound -was loud and distinct, and emphatic and tumultuous. - -All at once she remembered what that sound was. She hastily put one -hand to her left side, and the other to her forehead and rose, swaying -softly to and fro. - -"I--I----" she whispered, but could say no more. - -Hanbury caught her, or she would have fallen. The two ladies got up. - -"She is not well," said the old woman excitedly. "She has eaten -nothing for days!" - -The girl reclined, cold and pale as marble, in the young man's arms. -Her eyes were half closed, her lips half open. - -He half led her half lifted her to a couch. Restoratives such as stood -at hand were applied, but she did not quite recover. She was not -exactly unconscious. This was no ordinary faint. - -The women were terrified. Mrs. Grace had never seen her in any such -state before. To her knowledge the girl had never fainted. - -The ladies were terrified, and Hanbury ran off for a doctor. When he -came back, the girl had been got upstairs. She was still in the same -state, not quite conscious, and not quite insensible. - -The doctor made a long examination, and heard all that was to be told. -When he came down to the dining-room, where Hanbury was excitedly -walking up and down, he said the case was serious, but not exactly -dangerous, that is, the patient's life was in no imminent peril. She -had simply been overwrought and weakened by want of food, and jarred -by suppressed and contending emotions. There was no organic disease, -but the heart had been functionally affected by the vicissitudes of -the past few days acting on an organism of exquisite sensibility. -Quiet was the best medicine, and after quiet, careful strengthening, -and then the drugs mentioned in this prescription. But above all, -quiet. - -Could she be moved? Mrs. Grace asked. - -By no means. Moving might not bring about a fatal termination, but it -would most assuredly enhance her danger, and most certainly retard her -recovery. - -Would she recover? - -There was no reason to fear she would not. All was sound, but much was -weak. Her anxiety of mind, and the excitement of going to that -uncongenial home, and the long walk the morning she left, and the lack -of food had weakened her much, but nothing had given way or was in -immediate peril of giving way, and with care and quiet all would be -well. - -And when this was passed would she be quite well again? - -Yes. In all possible likelihood under Heaven, quite well again. - -It would leave no blemish in her life? No weak place? She would be as -well as ever? - -Well, that was asking a doctor to say a great deal, but it was -probable, highly probable, she would be quite as well as if this had -never happened. The key to her recovery lay in the one word, Quiet. -After quiet came careful nurture and, a long way from the second of -these, drugs. But recollect, Quiet. - -Hanbury took up the prescription and hastened off with it. - -The poor girl so sensitive and fragile! It was a mercy this illness -came upon her here. How would it have fared with her down in that -lonely Eltham House to which she had taken such a dislike? Why, it -would have killed her. - -What an exquisite creature she was, and so soft and gentle in her -ways. It was fortunate this illness had not overtaken her in Eltham -House, or in Grimsby Street, for that matter, because the street was -detestable, and to be ill in lodgings must be much worse than to be -ill in a public hospital, for in hospital there was every appliance -and attendance, and in lodgings only noise, and bustle, and grumbling. -It was dreadful to think of being sick in lodgings. And now Mrs. Grace -and her grand-daughter were poor. - -How horrible it would be to think of this girl lying stricken in that -other house, and requiring first of all quiet, and then cherishing, -and being able to get neither! It was dreadful to picture such things. -And fancy, if these poor ladies had not enough money for a good doctor -and what the poor weak child wanted! Fancy if they could not pay their -rent and were obliged to leave. Oh! how fortunate it was he had come -across them so soon, and how strange to think that Leigh had been the -means of first bringing them together. He owed that good turn to -Leigh. - -On his way back from the druggist he reverted to the past of Leigh: - -"Yes, I owed the introduction to him. I freely forgive him now. -Indeed, I don't know what I have to forgive him of. He did not send or -write that paragraph to the papers. He did not even write it, as far -as I know, and although he was rough and rude, and levied a kind of -blackmail on me, the price he asked me was not disgraceful from his -point of view. If I had met him under happy circumstances, I might -have brought him to a Thursday at Curzon Street. He was interesting, -with his alchemy and clock and omniscience and insolence and -intellectual swagger. Of course, I did not at the time know he was in -treaty with a fence. According to his own account he never committed -himself in that quarter, and as he had no need to tell me of that -transaction at all, I daresay he kept pretty near the truth. How -strange that when he lost his clock, he must straightway get a -confidant! I wonder is there any truth in his own prophecy about his -health? - -"He, too, was the means of breaking off the Curzon Street affair. I -must write there at once. I have behaved badly in not doing so before. -I'll write the moment I get home. Yes, I must write when I get back, -and then I'll put the affair out of my mind altogether, for good and -ever." - -Upon getting to the house, he went to the library and read over Dora -Ashton's letter once more, slowly. He gathered no new impression from -this second reading. Her resolution to put an end to the engagement -seemed to him more strong than at first. That was the only change he -noticed in the effect of the letter upon him. It was as cool and -business-like and complete as could be. He was too much of a gentleman -to give expression in his mind to any fault-finding with the woman to -whom he had been engaged, and whom he had behaved so badly towards the -other evening, but it seemed quite certain to him now that Dora Ashton -was a girl of great cleverness and good sense and beauty--but no -heart. - -He did not at all like the task before him, but it must be done. When -the letter was finished, it ran: - - -"My Dear Miss Ashton, - -"I got your letter. It was very good of you to write to me in so kind -and unreproaching a spirit, and I thank you with all my heart for your -merciful forbearance. My conduct, my violence on Thursday evening, -must always be a sorrow and a mystery to me. I only indistinctly -recollect what I said, but I feel and know my words were perfectly -monstrous and cruelly unjust. I feel most bitterly that no apology of -mine can obliterate the impression my insanity must have made on you. -To say I am profoundly sorry is only to say that I am once more in my -right mind. I must in the most complete and abject manner beg your -pardon for my shameful violence on Thursday evening. I must not even -try to explain that violence away. I ask your pardon as an expression -of my own horror of my conduct and of my remorse. But I do not hope -for your forgiveness, I do not deserve it, I will not accept it. I -shall bear with me in expiation of my offence the consciousness of my -unpardonable conduct, and the knowledge that it remains unpardoned. -Even lenity could ask no more indulgent treatment of my monstrous -behaviour. - -"As to terminating the engagement between us I have nothing to do but -accept your decision, and since you ask it as a favour, the only -favour you ever asked of me, I must receive your decision as -irrevocable. I will not make any unpleasantness here by even referring -to the difference of the ending I had in the hope of my mind. As you -very justly say, the least said now the better. I shall say not a word -to anyone about the immediate subject of this letter except to my -mother. On that you may rely. I must tell her. You, I suppose, will -inform Mrs. and Mr. Ashton (if they do not know of it); nobody else -need hear of the abandonment of our designs. Let us by all means meet -as you suggest, as though we never had been more than the best of -friends, and were (as I hope we shall be) the best of friends still. I -also quite agree with you about the notes, &c. Burn and destroy them. -I will most scrupulously burn your letters, of which I have a few. -This letter will I suppose be the last of the series. - -"In a little time I trust we may meet again, but not just now for both -our sakes. - - "Yours ever most sincerely, - - "John Hanbury." - - -When he had finished the letter he closed it without reading it over. -"When one reads over a letter like this," he thought, "one grows nice -about phrases and tries to alter, and finally tears up. I am satisfied -that if I tried all day long I should do no better than this. I shall -post it myself when I go out. That letter is a great weight off my -mind, and now I am much less disinclined to break the matter to my -mother. When that is over I shall feel that I am free." - -He found his mother alone in her own room. Mrs. Grace was with Edith -in a room which had been hastily prepared for her. - -"She is just the same way," said Mrs. Hanbury. The young man had heard -from a servant downstairs that there was no change. "We are not to -expect much change for a while. She has quite recovered consciousness, -but is very weak, and the doctor says she is not to be allowed to stir -even a hand more than is necessary. There is no anxiety. With time and -care all will be well." - -"I am glad I found you alone, mother. I think you must have seen that -I have been a good deal excited during the past few days." - -"Yes, and very naturally too. That letter must have disturbed you a -good deal." - -The son paused in his walk and stared at her. "How did you know about -that letter? Who told you? Have you seen Dora? But that is absurd. She -would not speak of it." - -Mrs. Hanbury looked at him in amazement and alarm. "What do you mean, -John? You make me very uneasy. What has Dora Ashton to do with it? -Miss Grace may, but not Dora. Surely you do not suppose I did not read -your father's letter?" - -"Oh!" he cried, "I did not mean my father's letter. I was referring to -another letter. Upon reflection I quite agree with you and my father -in attaching little or no importance to that discovery. I was thinking -of a letter I had from Dora." - -"Yes," said Mrs. Hanbury with a sigh of relief. For a moment she -thought her son's head had been turned by the disclosure of his -pedigree. "What does she say?" - -He was walking up and down rapidly now. "Well, the fact is, mother, -the thing is off." - -"Off?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you mean?" - -"Well, the thing is over between us, the engagement, you know. The -fact is we had a scene on Thursday evening. I lost command of myself -completely, and used very violent language----" - -"To Dora!" cried the mother in bewilderment. - -"Yes, to Dora. I don't know what came over me, but I was carried quite -beyond myself and said things no gentleman, no man, ought to say to -any girl----" - -"John, I don't believe you--you are under some strange and miserable -hallucination. You said something to Dora Ashton that no man ought to -say to any girl! Impossible! Thank God, I know my son better than to -believe anything of the kind," said Mrs. Hanbury, beginning in a -manner of incredulity and ending in firm conviction. - -"Unfortunately mother it is only too true. I need not repeat what -passed, but the dispute----" - -"Dispute--dispute with Dora! Why she would not dispute with you! How -could she dispute with you? Dispute with you! It is nonsense. Why the -girl _loves_ you, John, the girl _loves_ you. It is lunacy to say it!" - -"I may have used an unhappy word----" - -"A completely meaningless word, I assure you." - -"At all events, we differed in opinion, and I completely lost my -temper and told her in the end that in certain cases of importance she -might betray me." - -"Oh, this is too bad! I will not sit and listen to this raving. You -never said such a childishly cruel thing to Dora Ashton? She is the -noblest girl I know. The noblest girl I ever met." - -"I was mad, mother." - -"Most wickedly mad." - -"Well you do not know how sorry I am I allowed myself to be carried -away. But that cannot be helped now. I must abide the consequence of -my folly and madness. She has broken off the engagement, for we were -engaged, and I have written saying I cannot disapprove of her -decision. We have agreed that as no one has known anything of the -engagement no one is to hear of its being broken off. Are you angry -with me, mother?" - -"Angry--no; but greatly disappointed. I was as happy in thinking of -Dora as your wife as if she were my own daughter, but I suppose I must -become reconciled. If you and she have agreed to part no one has any -right to say more than that it is a pity, and I think it is a pity, -and I am very sorry." - -That was the end of the interview of which the young man had stood in -such dread, and now that it was over and he was going to post his last -letter to Dora he felt relieved. The news had doubtless greatly -surprised and shocked his mother, but this meeting had not been nearly -so distressing as he had anticipated. - -When he came to the post pillar into which he had dropped most of the -letters he had written to Curzon Street, he felt an ugly twinge as -this one slid from his fingers and he turned away--free. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXVIII - - DOCTOR SHAW'S VERDICT. - - -Dr. Shaw, at whose house door Hanbury had left Oscar Leigh, was a -fresh-coloured, light haired, baldheaded, energetic man of about -fifty-five. He was always in a state of astonishment, and the -spectacles he wore over his green grey eyes seemed ever on the point -of being thrust forward out of their position by the large round -prominent dancing eyes of their wearer. He was a bachelor and had a -poor practice, but one which he preferred to hold in undisputed -ownership, rather than increase at the sacrifice of liberty in taking -a wife. - -He had just come back from his round of morning visits and was sitting -down to his simple early dinner, as Leigh knocked. When he heard who -the visitor was he rose instantly and went into the small bare -surgery, the front ground-floor room. - -"Bless my soul, Mr. Leigh, what's the matter?" - -Leigh was sitting in a wooden elbow chair breathing heavily, noisily, -irregularly. "I have come," he said in gasps and snatches, "I have -come to die." - -"Eh! Bless my soul, what are you saying?" cried the doctor approaching -the clockmaker so as to get the light upon his own back. - -"I have come to die, I tell you." - -"But that is an opinion, and it is I that am to give the opinion--not -you. You are to state the facts, I am to lay down the law. What's the -matter?" - -"In this case, I am judge and jury. The facts and the law are all -against me. I have had another seizure a few minutes ago," he laid his -hand on his chest. "In the excitement I kept up, but I know 'tis all -over. You will remember your promise about the quicklime. I never let -anyone pry into the machinery of my clock, and I won't have any -foolish young jackanapes prying into the works of this old carcase. -You will fill up the box with quicklime?" - -"Not yet anyway. What happened. Where do you feel queer?" - -Leigh pointed to his chest a little at the left of the middle line. - -"Shock?" - -"Yes." - -"What?" - -"My clock, the work of seven years, has been burned, destroyed." - -"Burned! That was hard. I'm very sorry to hear it. We'll have your -coat off. Yes, I'll lock the door. You need not be afraid. No one -comes at this time. Yes, I'll pull the blind down too. Stand up.... -That will do. Put on your coat. Let me help you. Drink this. Sit down -now and rest yourself." - -"Rest myself? Rest myself! After standing for that half a minute?" - -"Yes." - -"Did I not tell you facts and law were against me?" - -"You are not well." - -"I am dying." - -"You are very ill." - -"I had better go to bed?" - -"You would be more rested there." - -"Would it be safe for me to go to Millway, about sixty miles?" - -"No." - -"How long do you think I shall last?" - -"It is quite impossible to say." - -"Hours?" - -"Oh, yes." - -"Days?" - -"Yes." - -"Weeks?" - -"With care." - -"Months?" - -"The best thing you can do now is to go to bed. I'll see the room got -ready. You feel very weak, weaker even than when you came in here." - -"I feel I cannot walk." - -"The excitement has kept you up so far. You are now suffering from -reaction. After you have rested a while you will be better." - -"Very good. Shaw, will you send for your solicitor, I want to make my -will." - -The doctor left the surgery for a few minutes to give the necessary -orders about the room for Leigh and to send for the solicitor. Half an -hour ago he had felt very hungry, and when the clockmaker knocked he -had been thinking of nothing but his dinner. His dinner still lay -untasted. He had forgotten all about it. He was the most kind-hearted -of men, and the sight of Leigh in his present condition, and the fatal -story he had heard through the stethoscope had filled him with pity -and solicitude. - -"The room will be ready in a few minutes," he said, in a cheerful -voice and with an encouraging smile, when he again came into the -surgery. "We shall try to make you as comfortable as ever we can. I am -sorry for your sake I haven't a wife to look after you." - -"If you had a wife I shouldn't be here." - -"What! You! Why, that is the only ungallant thing I ever heard you say -in all my life." - -"I should envy you and be jealous of you." - -"Then, my dear fellow, I am very glad we are by ourselves. I suppose -your mother would not like to come up to nurse you?" - -"She cannot move about now, except in her wheeled chair." - -"Is there anyone you would wish to come to see you? This house you -will, of course, consider as your own." - -"Thank you, there is no one. I do not know anyone in the world, except -my mother, so long as I know you. The only friend likely to call I saw -to-day. There is no need for me to send for him to-day, is there?" - -"Need, no. You will be much better when you have rested a while. You -know cheerful company is always very useful to us doctors, and we like -to have all the help we can. But I daresay we shall get on famously as -we are." He would like to have heard all about the fire and the -destruction of the clock, but he refrained from asking because he -feared the excitement for his patient. - -It happened that Dr. Shaw's solicitor lived near, and was at home, so -that he came back with the boy before the room was ready. Shaw -withdrew from the surgery, and for half-an-hour the lawyer and the -clockmaker were alone. Then Leigh was carried upstairs and went to -bed, and felt, as Shaw said he would, better and easier for lying -down. - -"I have no trouble on my mind now, Shaw, and my body cannot be a -trouble to me or anybody else long. I never say thanks or make pretty -speeches, but I am not ungrateful all the same. I don't think we have -ever shaken hands yet, Shaw. Will you shake hands now?" - -"With the greatest pleasure, my dear fellow," said Shaw, grasping the -hand of the little man, and displaying his greatest pleasure by -allowing his large dancing green-grey eyes to fill up with tears -behind his unemotional spectacles. - -"That clock would have made my fame. I don't know how the fire arose. -I had the clock wound up last night by a mechanical contrivance, and -before leaving for Millway I lit the faintest glimmer of gas. Some -accident must have happened. Some accident which can now never be -explained. I left the window open for the first time last night. I had -put up a curtain for the first time last night. If any boy had thrown -a stone, and the stone got through the curtain, there is no knowing -what it might not do among the machinery; the works were so close and -complicated, it might have brought something inflammable within reach -of the flame of the gas, for the gas would not be quite out. At all -events, the clock is gone. It was getting too much for me. Often of -late, when I was away from it, the movements became reversed, and all -the works went backwards, and I often thought that kind of thing would -injure my brain." - -"It was a sure sign injury was beginning, and I think it is a good -thing for you the clock is burned," said Shaw soothingly. - -"But the shock! The shock you will say, by-and-by, killed me. How, -then, do you count the loss of the clock good?" - -"I mean if you had told me there was no way of stopping this -involuntary reversal of the movement I should have advised you to -smash the clock rather than risk the brain." - -"And I should have declined to take your advice." - -Shaw laughed. "You would not be singular in that. I can get ten people -to take my medicines for one who will take my advice." - -"What an awful mortality there would be, Shaw, if people took both!" - -"There now," said Shaw, with another laugh, "you will do now. You are -your old self again. I must run away. I shall see you in an hour or -two, and have my tea up here with you. If you want anything, ring." - -So Leigh was left alone. - -"The clothes," he thought, "of the figure must have in some way or -other come in contact with the gas-jet. If they once caught fire the -wax would burn--the wax of the head, and then there would be plenty of -material for a blaze. - -"Ah, me; the clock is gone! Even if that survived, I should not mind. -I was so jealous of it. I never let anyone examine it, and the things -it could do will not be credited when I am dead, for I often, very -often, exaggerated, and even invented, a little. - -"Ay, ay, ay, the clock is gone, and the Miracle Gold, too. I am glad I -never had anything really to do with it. I am sorry I was not always -of the mind I was yesterday--my last day at my bench. All the time I -was burying in my own grave my own small capital of life, I was -missing the real gold of existence. I sought to build up fame in my -clock and in that gold. Fame is for the dead. What are the dead to us? -What shall I be when they bury me to myself, who walked in the -sunlight and saw the trees and the flowers, and the clouds and the -sea, where there were no men to remind me of my own unshapeliness? -Nothing. Why should a man care for fame among people he has never -seen, among the dim myriads of faces yet to come out of the womb of -time, when he could have had an abiding place in the heart's ingle -among those whom he knows and whose hands he can touch? What good to -us will the voices of the strange men of the hereafter be? What a fool -I was to think of buying the applause of strange, unborn men out of -gold rent from living men, whose friend I might have been. - -"I told Hanbury I was making a dying confession to him. I suppose this -is a death-bed repentance. Very well. But I sinned only in thought. In -order to show other men I was better than they, I was willing to be -worse. Shaw is right. I am much easier here. I feel rested. I feel -quiet. I have really done nothing harmful to any man. It will be a -relief to get out of this husk. I will try to sleep. My poor old -mother! But we cannot be separated long. It is easier to die in a body -like this than to live in it." - -He was very weak, and life fluttered feebly in his veins. He closed -his eyes and ceased to think. The calm that comes with the knowledge -that one is near the end was upon him. He did not think, he did not -sleep. He lay simply gathering quiet for the great sleep. He was -learning how to rest, how to lie still, how to want not, how to wait -the sliding aside of the mysterious panel that the flesh keeps shut -against the eyes of the spirit while the two are partners in life. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXIX. - - PATIENT AND NURSE. - - -Mrs. Hanbury was greatly shocked by the news her son had given her -that day about his relations with Dora. She had a conviction that it -would be to John's advantage to be married. She held that, all other -things being reasonably taken care of, a young man of twenty-six ought -to marry and settle down to face the world in the relations and -surroundings which would govern the remainder of his life. There had -never been any consideration of John's sowing wild oats. He had always -been studious, serious, domestic. He was the very man to marry and, in -the cheerful phrase of the story book, live happy ever after. - -And where could he find a wife better suited to him than in Curzon -Street? Dora had every single quality a most exacting mother could -desire in the wife of an only son, and Mrs. Hanbury was anything but -an exacting mother. Dora's family was excellent. She was one of the -most beautiful girls in London, she was extremely clever, and although -she and he did not seem fully in accord in their views of some things, -they agreed in the main. She was extremely clever and accomplished, -and amiable, and by-and-by she should be rich. In fact, Mrs. Hanbury -might have doubled this list without nearly exhausting the advantages -possessed by Miss Ashton, and now it was all over between the pair. -This really was too bad. - -She idolized her son, and thought there were few such good young men -in the world; but she was no fool about him. She had watched his -growth with yearning interest from infancy to this day. She knew as -well, perhaps better than anyone, that he was not perfect. She knew he -was too enthusiastic, that sometimes his temper was not to be relied -on. She knew he was haughty, and at rare times even scornful. She knew -he had no mean estimate of his own merits, and was restive under -control. But what were these faults? Surely nothing to affright any -gentle and skilful woman from uniting herself with him for life. Most -of his faults were those of youth and inexperience. When he was -properly launched, and met other men and measured himself against -them, much of his haughty self-satisfaction would disappear. Most -young men who had anything in them were discontented, for they had -only vague premonitions of their powers, and they felt aggrieved that -the world would not take them on their own mere word at their own -estimate. - -What Mr. and Mrs. Ashton would say she could not fancy. Perhaps they -would imitate for once the example of younger people, and say nothing -at all. They could not, however, help thinking of the matter, and they -would be sure to form no favourable estimate of John's conduct in the -affair. The rest of the world would be certain to say that John jilted -the girl, and anyone who heard the true history of the Hanbury family, -just come to light, would say that John kept back in the hope of -making a more ambitious marriage. - -He was, every one allowed, one of the most promising young men in -England, and now the glamour of a throne was around him. All the -philosophy in the world would not make him ever again the plain John -Hanbury he was in the eyes of people a few days ago, in the eyes of -every one outside this house still. Stanislaus II. may have been -everything that was weak and contemptible, and been one of the chief -reasons why his unfortunate country disappeared from the political map -of the world, but John Hanbury was the descendant of King Stanislaus -II. of Poland, and if that monarchy had been hereditary and the -kingdom still existed, her son would be the legal sovereign, in spite -of all the Republicans and revilers in Europe. - -She herself set no store by these remote and shadowy kingly honours, -but even in her own heart she felt a swelling of pride when she -thought that the child she had borne and reared was the descendant of -a king. A pretender to the throne of England would be put in a padded -room and treated with indulgent humanity. But on the Continent it was -not so. Sometimes they put him in prison, and sometimes they put him -on the throne he claimed. She knew that her son would no more think of -laying stress upon his descent from the Poniatowskis than of asking to -be put in that padded room. But others would think of it and set value -on it. Exclusive doors might be closed against the clever speaker, -plain John Hanbury, son of an English gentleman, who for whim or greed -went into trade, when he was rich enough to live without trade; but -few doors would be closed against the gifted orator who was straight -in descent and of the elder line of the Poniatowskis of Lithuania, and -whose great grandfather's grandfather was the last King of Poland. - -After all, upon looking more closely at the affair, the discovery was -of some value. No one now could think him over ambitious for his years -if he offered himself for Parliament. Younger men than he, sons of -peers, got into Parliament merely by reason of a birth not nearly so -illustrious as his, and with abilities it would be unfair to them to -estimate against his. - -There was something in it after all. - -If now he chose to marry high, whom might he not marry? Putting out of -view that corrupt, that forced election to the throne of Poland, he -was a Poniatowski, _the_ Poniatowski, and few English families of -to-day could show such a pedigree as her son's. - -There was certainly no family in England that could refuse an alliance -with him on account of birth. - -And now vicious people would say he had been guilty, of the -intolerable meanness of giving up Dora Ashton either in order that he -might satisfy his ambition by a more distinguished marriage, or that -he might be the freer to direct his public career towards some lofty -goal. She knew her son too well to fancy for a moment any such -unworthy thought could find a home in his breast; but all the world -did not know him as she did, and no one would believe that the -breaking-off came from Dora and the cause of it arose before the -discovery of Stanislaus' secret English marriage. - -When the doctor made his second visit, he pronounced Edith Grace -progressing favourably. She was then fully conscious, but pitifully -weak. There was not, the doctor said, the least cause for uneasiness -so long as the patient was kept quite free from excitement, from -even noise. A rude and racking noise might induce another period of -semi-insensibility. Quiet, quiet, quiet was the watchword, and so he -went away. - -Mrs. Grace had protested against a hired nurse. She herself should sit -up at night, and in the daytime the child would need no attendance. -Mrs. Grace had, however, to go back to their lodgings to fetch some -things needed, and to intimate that they were not returning for the -present. Mrs. Hanbury volunteered to sit in Edith's room while the old -woman was away. Protests were raised against this, but the hostess -carried her point. "I told you," she said, with a smile, "that I am -very positive. Let this be proof and a specimen." - -So the old lady hastened off, and Mrs. Hanbury sat down to watch at -the bedside of the young girl. Speaking was strictly forbidden. Mrs. -Hanbury took a book to beguile the time, and sat with her face to the -patient, so that she could see that all was right by merely lifting -her eyes. - -The young girl lay perfectly still, with her long dark hair spread out -upon the pillow for coolness, and her white face lying in the midst of -it as white as the linen of the sheet. Her breathing was very faint, -the slight heaving of her breast barely moving the light counterpane. -The lips were slightly open, and the eyes closed. - -Edith was too weary and too weak to think. Before she had the fainting -fit or attack of weakness (she had not quite fainted), she heard the -story of the dwarfs misfortunes in a confused way through that sound -of plashing water. She was quite content now to lie secure here -without thought, in so far as thought is the result of voluntary -mental act or the subject of successive processes. But the whole time -she kept saying to herself in a way that did not weary her, "How -strange that Leigh should lose everything and I gain so much, and that -both should be lying ill, all in so short a time!" This went on in her -mind over and over again, more like the sound of a melody that does -not distress one and may be listened to or not at will, than an -inherent suggestion of the brain. It was the result of the last strong -effort of the brain at memory blending with the first awakening to -full consciousness. "How strange that Leigh should lose everything and -I gain so much, and that both should be lying ill in so short a time!" - -Mrs. Hanbury raised her eyes from her book and gazed at the pallid -face in the sea of dark hair. "She might be asleep or dead. How -exquisitely beautiful she is, and how like Dora. How very like Dora, -but she is more beautiful even than Dora. Dora owes a great deal to -her trace of colour and her animation. This face is the most lovely -one I ever saw, I think. How gentle she looks! I wonder was Kate Grace -that Poniatowski married like her. If so I do not wonder. Who could -help loving so exquisite a creature as this?" - -Both of the girl's hands were stretched outside the counterpane. - -Mrs. Hanbury leaned forward, bent and kissed the one near her, kissed -it ever so lightly. - -The lids of the girl trembled slightly but did not open. - -Mrs. Hanbury drew back afraid. She had perhaps awakened her. - -Gradually something began to shine at the end of the long lashes, and -a tear rolled down the sweet young pale face. - -"Have I awakened you?" - -"No. I was awake." - -"Are you in pain?" - -"No. Oh, no! - -"You are weeping." - -"That," she moved slightly the hand Mrs. Hanbury had kissed, "that -made me, oh, so happy." - -"Thank you, dear." - -No more words were uttered, but when Mrs. Hanbury looked down upon her -book her own eyes were full. - -The touch of the lips upon that hand had brought more quiet into the -girl's heart than all the muffling in the house or the whispered -orders to the servants or the doctor's drugs. - -"She believed I was asleep and she kissed my hand," thought the girl. -No quiet such as this had ever entered her bosom before. - - - - - CHAPTER XL. - - THE TWO PATIENTS. - - -Day followed day in Chester Square, bringing slowly, almost -imperceptibly, health and strength back to the exquisite form of Edith -Grace. The spirituality lent by illness still more refined the -delicate beauty of the girl, and when the colour came back to the -lips, and the cheeks lost their pallor she seemed more like a being -new-born of heaven to earth than a mortal of our homely race. - -At the end of a week she was still restricted to her room, although -allowed to sit up. The fear was not so much of physical weakness as of -mental excitement. There was now no need to watch her by night. She -seemed in perfect health, in that cool seraphic health of man before -the Fall. - -And what a change had taken place in the young girl's spirit! Her -grandmother had told her that Mrs. Hanbury had insisted on making good -the loss they had sustained in the failure of the bank, and more -beside. - -"I am very rich," said Mrs. Hanbury, "for a woman, I have only a life -interest in most of the money my late husband left, and on my death it -all goes to John. But I have never spent anything like my income, and -John has an income of his own since he came of age. It is not that I -will listen to no refusal, but I will hear no objection. I put it to -you in this way: Do you suppose if my husband were making his will at -this moment and knew of the misfortune which had come upon you and the -child, he would insert no provision for you in his will? And do you -mean to say that I am to have no regard to what I know would be his -wish if he were alive? Remember, you represent the English side of his -house. The child is the last of the English side, as John is the last -of the Polish side. So let me hear no more of the matter. John has a -sufficient income. I have large savings with which I do nothing. Am I -to give my savings to an hospital or a charity or to the people of my -husband, who left the money?" - -Then Mrs. Grace told Edith that Mrs. Hanbury had taken a great liking -to her. - -"She always calls you 'the child' when she speaks of you, and indeed -it seems to me she cares for you nearly as much as if you were her own -daughter. She told me she never had a sister or a daughter, and that -she barely remembers her own mother, and that all her married life she -prayed for a girl-baby, but it was not given to her. And now that she -has found you, dear, and me, she says she is not going to be lonely -for womenfolk ever again, for although we are not of her own blood we -are of John's, and we are the nearest people in the world to her -except her brother, Sir Edward Preston. She says she has a right to -us, that she found us, and means to insist upon her right by keeping -us to herself." - -And all this helped to make the quiet greater in the girl and helped -to heal her. - -Then the old woman told Edith that Mrs. Hanbury wondered if she were -like that Grace of more than a hundred years back. She said this at -dinner one day, and there and then Mr. Hanbury conceived the notion of -trying to find out if, in that great portrait-painting age, any -portrait had been painted of the beautiful Kate Grace who had -fascinated the king. Mrs. Grace always spoke of Poniatowski as though -he were a king while he lived in England in the days of George II. - -The young man hunted all London to find out a portrait, and behold in -one of the great houses within a mile of where she lay, a house at -which Mr. Hanbury had often visited, was a portrait of "Mrs. Hanbury -and child," believed to be one of the Hanbury-Williams family. Mr. -John Hanbury had gone to see the portrait, and came back saying one -would fancy it was a portrait of Edy herself, only it was not nearly -so beautiful as Edy. - -This all helped to cheer and heal the girl greatly. The notion that -this Mr. John Hanbury had gone to a great house to see the portrait of -her relative, the beautiful Kate Grace, that married the man -afterwards a king, opened up fields for speculation and regions of -dreams so different from those possible when she was fronting decaying -fortune in Miss Graham's, at Streatham, or face to face with poverty -in Grimsby Street, that it was enough to pour vital strength into -veins less young and naturally healthy. - -She now breathed an atmosphere of refinement and wealth. Her mind was -no longer tortured by the thought of having to face uncongenial duties -among strange people. She had all her life denied herself friendships, -because she could not hope for friends in the class of people whom she -would care to know. - -Now all this was changed, as by a magician's wand. If in the old days -she might have had the assurance of Mrs. Hanbury's friendship, she -would have allowed her heart to go out to her, for Mrs. Hanbury, -although she was rich, did not think of money as those girls Edith met -at Streatham. The girls she met were, first of all, the daughters of -rich fathers, and then they were people of importance next. Mrs. -Hanbury was, first of all, intensely human. She was a woman first of -all, and a generous, kind-hearted, large-natured, sympathetic woman. -As her son had said of her, the greatest-hearted woman in the world. -Princes and peasants were, to her mind, men, before anything else. - -This was a revelation to Dora, who had always heard men measured by -the establishment they kept up, and the society in which they moved. -There had been only one retreat for her from feeling belittled in the -presence of these plutocrats. She would set all store by pedigree, and -make no friends. A beggar may have a pedigree equal to a Hapsburg, and -a peasant who has no friends, and goes into no society, cannot have -his poverty impressed upon him from without, however bitterly he may -suffer from within. - -And this Mrs. Hanbury, who was so kind and gentle, and who had -manifested such an interest in her, belonged to a class of society in -which no girl she ever met at Miss Graham's moved, in which any girl -she had ever met there would give anything she possessed to move. Mrs. -Hanbury's father had been a baronet, and her forefathers before him as -far as baronets reached back into history, and her father's family had -been county people, back to the Conquest, if not beyond it. - -And Mr. Hanbury, who was the son of this woman, had a pedigree more -illustrious still, a pedigree going back no one knew how far. The -family had been ennobled for centuries, and in the eighteenth century -one of them had sat on the throne of Poland, a crowned king. - -She was now under the roof of these people, not as the humble paid -companion of Mrs. Hanbury, which would have been the greatest height -of her hope a week ago, not as an acquaintance to whom Mrs. Hanbury -had taken a liking, but as a relative, as a distant relative of this -house, as one of this family! - -Oh, it was such a relief, such a deliverance to be lifted out of that -vulgar and squalid life, to be away from that odious necessity for -going among strange and dull people as a hired servant! There was no -tale in all the Arabian Nights equal to this for wonders, and all this -was true, and referred to her! - -Youth, and a mind to which are opening new and delightful vistas, are -more help to the doctor when dealing with a patient who is only -overworn than even quiet, and day by day, to the joy of all who came -near her, Edith Grace gained strength. The old stateliness which had -made her schoolfellows say she ought to be a queen, had faded, and -left scarcely a trace behind. There was no need to wear an air of -reserve, when there was nothing to be guarded against. She was Mrs. -Hanbury's relative, and to be reserved now would seem to be elated or -vain. There was no longer fear of anyone disputing her position. There -was no longer any danger of exasperating familiarity. She was -acknowledged by Mrs. Hanbury and Mr. Hanbury, who would be a nobleman -in Poland, and whose forefather had been a king. - -She did not try or desire to look into the future, her own future. The -present was too blessed a deliverance to be put aside. Up to this -there had been no delightful present in her life, and she was loath to -go beyond the immediate peace. - -While the young girl was slowly but surely mending in Chester -Square, the invalid under the care of Dr. Shaw, of Barnes Street, not -very far off, was slowly yielding to the summons he had received. The -kind-hearted and energetic doctor saw no reason to alter his original -opinion of the case. The end was approaching, and not very far off. On -the fifth day after the morning examination, Shaw said, "You arranged -everything with the solicitor? There is nothing on your mind, my dear -friend?" - -"I understand," said Leigh. "How long have I?" - -"Oh, I only wanted to know if your mind was at rest. Anxiety is always -to be avoided." - -"I tell you, Shaw, I understand. How long do you think this will -last?" - -"My dear fellow, if all your affairs are in order, and your mind is -quite free, your chance is improved, you know. That only stands to -reason." - -"I am sorry I cannot go to Eltham. But that cannot be helped now. She, -poor thing, will notice little change, for I have not been with her -much of late. Shaw, the last time I was there I promised her a -daughter-in-law, and straight-backed grandchildren, and soon she will -not have even a cripple son! Poor old woman. Well! well! But, Shaw, -send to Chester Square for my friend, Mr. John Hanbury, the man who -brought me here, you know. I want to see him alone, privately. He is -the only person who knows all my affairs." There was a flicker of the -old boasting spirit in the way he gave Hanbury's name and address, and -spoke of him as his friend. - -Hanbury came at once. - -"I sent for you because I have something on my mind; and, as you are -the only man who knows all the secret of Mystery Gold, and my deputy -winder, I want you to do me a service. Will you?" - -"Any thing that an honest and honourable man may do, I will do for you -with pleasure, if I can possibly," said Hanbury, shocked and subdued -by the change in the clock-maker's appearance. - -"That man, Timmons, who was to get me the gold, has a place in -Tunbridge Street, London Road, across the river. He believes that a -man was burned in that fire. He believes my deputy winder lost his -life in the miserable fire that destroyed my clock. Go to Timmons, and -tell him that no one was lost in that fire, that the winder of the -clock is alive, that I am dying, and that the best thing he can do is -to leave the country. He will understand, when I am dead, no secrets -will be kept. I do not want to give him up. I have no conscience. But -the country may as well be rid of him and me together." - -"But, need I go? Can I not send?" asked Hanbury, not liking the idea -of such a message from such a man to such a man. It looked like -shielding a criminal. Leigh had, according to his own account, -coquetted with crime, but kept clear of it. - -"No, it would not be nearly so good to me, for you know the secrets, -and if he showed any disposition to rebel, you could drop a word that -would convince him you were authorized by me, and knew what might be -dangerous to him." - -"You are asking me too much. I cannot do it." - -"Where is your promise of a moment ago?" - -"No honest man would assist the escape of this thief." - -"Hush! Let me think awhile." - -"It is not clear to me, that I ought not to give this villain up to -the police, and that you are not bound to give him up. I would do -anything I could, in reason, for you; but is it reasonable to ask me -to carry a message from you to a man who, you tell me, or hint to me, -is a thief, or receiver of stolen goods?" - -"I did not regard it in that way. I fancied you would like to rid the -country of such a man." - -"Yes, by locking him up. I think you are in duty bound to denounce -him." - -"But, in honour, I am bound not; and honour is more binding on a man -than any law." - -"But you cannot have any honourable bond with a man like that." - -"What about honour among thieves? Even they recognize honour." - -"But, are you a thief, that you want to shield yourself under their -code?" - -"No. I am no thief. I haven't a penny that isn't fairly mine. I told -you I have no conscience, at least nothing that people are accustomed -to call conscience; but do you think honour does not bind a man to a -thief?" - -"Surely not about the fruits of his theft." - -"I have not looked at it in that way. When a man has no conscience, -what binds him?" - -"Nothing, except the law of the land, or handcuffs." - -"Ah, that is your view. Well, it is not mine. Of course, I have not -given you the man's real name or address. I gave you merely a -fictitious name and address. Whom did I say? The Prince of Wales, was -it, and Marlborough House, or the Prime Minister, and 10, Downing -Street? Which was it? I forget." - -"Well," said Hanbury, "can I do anything for you?" - -"Are you going to Curzon Street on Thursday?" - -"No." Hanbury reddened, but he was standing with his back to the -light. "The family are leaving Town suddenly." - -"Are you going too?" - -"No." Hanbury was anything but pleased with all this, but who could be -angry with a dying man, and such a dying man too? - -"If you were going I should like to send a message. But of course you -cannot be going if they are leaving town. I told you I have some money -of my own. I have made my will since I saw you. After my mother's -death all will go, I mean the yearly interest of all will go in equal -shares to any hunchbacks that apply for shares. The conditions will be -advertised in the papers." - -"I think you could not have done better with it," said Hanbury, -cordially. - -"Yes. When you see her next, tell her I gave up all thought of making -Miracle Gold, because she said she wished me. What a wonderful -likeness there is between Miss Grace and Miss Ashton. I had not begun -to model those figures of time. That clock was getting too much for -me. Often when I was away from it, and when I was in bed, the movement -was reversed, and all went backwards until the weights were wound up -so tight against the beam, that something must give way if the -machinery did not stop. Then, all at once, the machinery would stop, -and suddenly begin running in the ordinary manner, and I used often to -shout out and cry with relief. You don't know all that clock was to -me. And yet it would have killed me. It has killed me." - -"The strain must have been very great. I wonder it did not break you -down." - -"Yes." - -"In reality, though, it was the Miracle Gold did the mischief. Only -for it I should not have been away from my clock, or left the gas -lighting. I know it is not fair of me to keep you here. You want to -go. Say good-bye to her before she leaves town. This is Wednesday. You -must not stay here any longer. Will you say good-bye to me also? Two -good-byes in one day. One to her and one to me." - -Hanbury rose and held out his hand, saying "Good-bye." - -Leigh did not stir. - -"Are we not to shake hands?" - -"Yes, in a moment." - -Hanbury waited a while. "I am going now. You have nothing more to -say?" - -He had not. - -He had nothing more to say. He would say no more to anyone. He was -dead. - - - - - CHAPTER XLI. - - FUGITIVES. - - -Hanbury had, during the past few days, carefully avoided meeting -friends or acquaintances. He went near no club and kept in the house a -good deal. When he went abroad he drove. He did not wish to be asked -questions of the most ordinary kind respecting the Ashtons. - -The discovery of his foreign extraction had not yet got abroad, but, -although Mrs. Grace and her grand-daughter were under his mother's -roof, and they were the only persons besides his mother in whom he had -confided, he felt as though every one must know. Such things got about -in most unaccountable ways. - -That morning he had seen in a newspaper that Mr., Mrs., and Miss -Ashton were leaving for a tour in Norway and Sweden. That was all the -paragraph said. - -At the very moment Hanbury was speaking to Oscar Leigh, the Ashton -family were leaving Curzon Street. - -When Dora Ashton sat that afternoon in her own room, after writing to -her lover, she knew the engagement was at an end, and realized the -knowledge. But she had not said anything of it. When she got his -answer all was over beyond any chance whatever. He had apologized -amply for his offence, and accepted her decision. - -His letter had a bracing effect upon her. She had been perfectly -sincere in writing her letter and she had never wavered in her -resolution of breaking off the engagement, yet deep down in her -nature was a formless hope, which she would not acknowledge to herself -for a moment, that he might disregard her request and insist upon her -re-consideration. But with the advent of his letter, that hope -vanished wholly, and she felt more firm and secure. Now all was plain. -She should tell her mother, and tell her, moreover, in an easy and -light manner. The letter had been a tonic. If he were so easily -dismissed, he had not been very much in earnest. - -She went to Mrs. Ashton at once, and said, "Of course, mother, you -knew that there was something between John Hanbury and me." - -"Yes, dear," said Mrs. Ashton in surprise that grew as she looked at -the girl. - -"Well, I have come to say that we have decided it would be better to -put an end to it; we have come to the conclusion it would not be for -our happiness it should go on any further. It is all over." - -"All over! my dear! All over! But I thought it was fully arranged that -you were to be married as soon as he had made a beginning in the -world." - -"I am sure, mother, you do not want me to say more than I wish to say, -and I don't think speaking about the affair can do good to anyone. He -and I understand each other fully. This is no mere quarrel. At my -suggestion the affair has been broken off. I wrote to him, saying I -desired it broken off, and gave him my reasons, and he wrote me back -saying that he is very sorry, and that it is to be as I wish." - -"But, my dear, although I judge by your manner you are not very much -distressed, I cannot help feeling a good deal of concern about you." - -"Oh," said the girl with a smile, "you must not imagine I am -desperate. I am not, I assure you. The breaking off has been done in -two very sensible letters, and we have arranged to be fast friends, -and to meet one another as though there never had been anything but -friendship between us. You see, mother, there are a great many things -upon which we don't agree, and most likely never should, and it would -never do to risk life-long bickering. I assure you we behaved more -like two elderly people with money or something else practical in -view, than two of our age. You know I am not a sentimental girl, and -although the thing is unpleasant I shall I am certain never regret the -step I have taken in putting an end to what could not otherwise end -well for either of us. And now mother do me one favour, will you?" - -"Oh, yes, my darling. My darling Dora. My own poor child." - -For a moment the girl was compelled to pause to steady her lips and -her voice. "Do not speak to me again about this until I speak to you, -and--and--and don't let father speak to me either." - -"It will kill you, child. It will kill you, my Dora." - -Again the girl was compelled to pause. "No. It will not. And mother, -don't treat me in any other way than as if it had not occurred. Be -just the same to me." - -"My darling." - -"And," again she had to stop, "above all don't be more affectionate. -That would break my heart. Promise." - -"I promise." - -The girl threw her arms round her mother's neck and kissed her, and -the mother burst out crying, and the girl hushed her and petted her, -and tried to console her, and asked her to bear up and not to cry. - -"I'll try, child, I'll try; but it's very hard, darling." - -"Yes, mother, but bear up for me, for my sake." - -"I will, dear! I will indeed. We shall not stop here. We shall go away -at once." - -"Very well. Just what you please, mother." - -"I couldn't bear to stay here and see you, my child." - -"If you wish it, mother, let us go away at once. Look at me how brave -I am. Do not give way. Do not give way, for my sake." - -"I will try--I will try." - -The grief seemed to be all the mother's, and the duty of consolation -all the daughter's duty. - -It is the sorrows of others that most hurt noble natures, and the -natures of noble women most of all. - -That night it was settled that the Ashtons should go to Norway and -Sweden for three months. Norway and Sweden had been put into Mr. -Ashton's head by the announcement of Sir Julius Whinfield months ago -that he was making up a party for his yacht to go north that summer, -and that the Dowager Lady Forcar and Mrs. Lawrence, Sir Julius's -married sister, and her husband, Mr. James Lawrence, had promised to -be of the party. "We can arrange to meet somewhere," said Mr. Ashton, -and so the expedition was arranged. - - -When John Hanbury left Dr. Shaw's, he thought that now, all being over -with Leigh, he was bound in common rectitude to disclose the source of -the gold which Leigh had intended passing off as the result of his -imaginary discovery in chemistry or alchemy. The simplest course would -be to go to Scotland Yard and there tell all he knew. Against this -course prudence suggested that perhaps the name and address given were -imaginary, and that there was no such man or street. He was not -anxious to pass through streets in which he was known, and he was glad -of anything to do. How better could he employ an hour than by driving -to London Road and trying to find out if any such man as Timmons -existed? He did not like the whole thing, but he could not rest easy -while he had the name of a man whom Leigh said dealt largely in the -fruit of robberies and thefts. At all events, supposing the whole -story told him by the dwarf was fiction, no harm could come of a visit -to Tunbridge Street. - -He jumped into a hansom and was rapidly driven to London Road, and -alighted at the end of Tunbridge Street. - -Yes, sure enough, there was the name and the place: "John Timmons, -Marine Store Dealer." But how did one get in, supposing one wanted to -get in? The place was all shut up, and he could see no door. - -A man was busy with one of the many up-ended carts. He had the wheel -off and was leisurely greasing the axletree. - -"Has Mr. Timmons left this place, please?" he asked of the man. - -"I think so. Ay, he has." - -"Do you know how long?" - -"A few days. Since Monday, I think. Anyway, the place hasn't been open -since Monday, and I hear that he is gone since Saturday night." - -"Have you any notion where he's gone?" - -The man stopped greasing the wheel and looked up curiously. "Are you -from the Yard too?" - -"What yard?" - -"Why Scotland Yard, of course." - -"No, I am not. Have people been here from Scotland Yard?" - -"Ay. And if you was in with Timmons and that crew, you'd better show a -clean pair of heels. There's something wrong about a dwarf or a -cripple that's missed down Chelsea way, burned up in a fire. Timmons -and a cracksman was seen hanging about that place, and they do say -that if they're catched they'll be hanging about somewhere else. So if -you're in with that lot, you'd better clear out too. They say Timmons -has got out of the country, but they'll ketch him by Atlantic cable, -and hang him with British rope." The man laughed at his own wit, and -resumed his work upon the axle. Hanbury thanked him and turned away. -He had nothing to do here. The police had information already. - - - - - CHAPTER XLII. - - THE END. - - -"Well," he said, "what is the matter? Oh, breakfast." He put down his -newspaper. "I see," he added, "they have given this fellow Timmons -five years, and serve him very right." - -"John, you have forgotten something!" she said, stopping him on his -way to the breakfast table and laying one of her delicate white hands -on his shoulder. - -"Eh? Forgotten something? Have I? What? I have a lot of important -things on my mind," said he, looking down on the clear sweet, oval -face, turned up to his. - -"Whatever is on your mind, sir, you ought not to forget the duties of -your lips. I have not had my good-morrow kiss, sir." - -"I never had anything so important on my mind, or on my lips, Edy, as -your kiss, dear." He took her in his arms and kissed her fondly. - -"You grow better at compliments as the days go by." - -"No dear, deeper in love." - -"With such a commonplace kind of thing as a wife?" - -"With the most un-commonplace sweetheart--wife in all the world." - -"John, I am already beginning to feel quite a middle-aged wife, and my -ring where it touches the guard is getting worn." - -"That's a desperately serious thing--about the ring, I mean. Gold was -too easily--worn a metal to marry you with, Edith. It should have been -a plain band of adamant, and even that would not last long enough, -dear." - -"Are you practising a speech to win a constituency?" - -"No. I am speaking out of my heart to keep what I have won." - -"Do you know I envy you only for one thing?" - -"And what is that?" - -"All the love that you give me." - -"But we are quits there, for I give all, you give all." - -"But yours seems so much richer than mine." - -"Does it, sweetheart? Then I am glad of that. For what I give is yours -and you cannot help yourself but give it all back to me again." - -"Oh, but what pains me is that I never seem to be able to give you any -of mine. All you have got from me seems to be only your own going back -and I long--oh, my darling, I do long--to show you that when all you -gave me is given back to you I never could exhaust my own. Indeed, I -could not, and keeping so much as I have is like a pain." - -"Then what must I do to soothe my sweetheart's pain?" - -"I do not know. I often think few people know what this love is." - -"There is nothing worth calling love that is not such as ours. Love is -more than content, more than joy, and not delusive with rapture. It is -full and steady and unbroken, like the light of day." - -"It is a pain, a pain, a pain! A secret pain. And do you know it is no -less when you are away, and no greater when you are near? And it often -seems to me that it is not exactly you as you are I love, but -something that is beyond speech and thought, and the reason I want you -is that you may hold my hand and love it too." - -"My Sibyl! My Seer!" - -"You and I are, as it were, waiting, and I should not wait if you were -not with me." - -"But I am with you, and always shall be. You are not afraid of my -leaving you?" - -"In the vulgar sense? Oh, no! Afraid of your going away and caring for -some one else? Oh, no! That could not be." - -"No, indeed. No, indeed." - -"For I should call you back and show you my heart, and how could you -leave me when you saw that there was nothing in all my heart but you? -Your pity would not let you do that. You might take something else -away, but you could not take away all that I had in my heart." - -"You dreamer of holy dreams." - -"It is by the firmness of the clasp of our hands we may know that we -shall be together at the revelation. I think people coarsen their -minds against love. I have heard that people think it is a sign -of foolishness. But it can't be. Where, I think, the harm is that -people harden their natures against it before it has time to become -all--before it has time to spiritualize the soul. It seems to me that -this love of one another that Christ taught is the beginning of being -with God." - -"Surely child, my child, my dear, you have come from some blessed -place, you have come to us from some place that is better than this." - -"No," she said softly. "No. There is no better place for me. I am -where God placed me--in my husband's arms." - -They had been married a couple of months, and it was June once more. -Not a cloud had arisen between them for these two months, or during -the months before. John Hanbury's mother said that Edith Grace had the -same witchery in appearance as that village beauty of the days of -George II., and that some quality of the blood which flowed in his -veins made him succumb at once to her; for otherwise how could it be -that he should almost immediately after parting from Dora Ashton fall -helplessly in love with a girl so extraordinarily like Dora as Edith? -How else could the fascination be accounted for? - -Edith herself could give no reason except that things of the kind -invariably arranged themselves independently of reason. All she knew -was that at first she was disposed to worship him because of his -illustrious origin, and gradually she lost this feeling and grew to -love him for himself. And with that explanation and him she was -content. - -He, being a man, could not, of course, admit he did anything without -not only a reason but an excellent reason too. He began by saying that -she was even lovelier than Dora herself, which was a thing more -astonishing in one at all like Dora that it counted for more than an -even still more wonderful beauty of another type. Then he had been -chiefly drawn towards the girl during her tardy convalescence because -of her weakness and dependence, and the thousand little services he -could render her, which kept him always watchful and attentive when -near her, and devising little pleasures of fruit or flowers, or books, -when not by her side. - -"I do not believe," he would say to himself, "that I was ever in love -with Dora. I do think we should never have got on well together, and I -am certain when she and Whinfield are married, there will not be a -happier couple in England excepting Edith and me. When I heard that -Dora was to be one of the party on the homeward cruise of Whinfield's -yacht, I knew all would be arranged before they saw England again. -They are most admirably suited to one another. - -"But she and I were not. I was always thinking of what I should like -her to do and what I should not, and her political views had a serious -interest for me, and I was perpetually trying to get her to adopt -this, and modify that, and abandon the third. Nice way of making love, -indeed! - -"I never went forth to her with song and timbrel and careless joy. My -mind ran more on propositions and principles. If at any time she said -what I did not approve, I was ready to stop and argue the point. I did -not know what love was then, and if I married Dora, I should have worn -down her heart and turned into a selfish, crusty old curmudgeon in no -time. - -"But with Edith all was different. I never thought for a moment of -what I should like her to do or say or think. I only thought of what -the girl might like. I lost hold of myself, and did not care for -searching in the mirror of the mind as to how I myself looked, or how -she and I compared together. I did not pause to ask whether I was -happy or not, so long as I saw she was happy. There was no refinement -in the other feeling. It was sordid and exacting. With Edith a -delicate subtlety was reached, undreamed-of before. An inspired accord -arose between us. She leaned upon me, and I grew strong enough to -support the burden of Atlas. I flung myself aside, so that I might not -be impeded in my services to her. And I was welcomed in the spirit I -came. She would take what I had to give, and she would like to take -it. And so she accepted me, and all I had, and I had no care in my -mind of myself or any of the gifts or graces which had been mine and -now were hers. So I had enough time to think of her and no care to -distract me from her." - -That was his way of putting it to himself when he was in a very -abstract and figurative humour. When he was not quite so abstract or -figurative, he would say to himself, "It is sympathy, nothing more -than sympathy. That is the Miracle Gold we should all try to make in -the crucible of our hearts." - - - - - THE END. - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Miracle Gold (Vol. 3 of 3), by Richard Dowling - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MIRACLE GOLD (VOL. 3 OF 3) *** - -***** This file should be named 42499-8.txt or 42499-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/2/4/9/42499/ - -Produced by Charles Bowen - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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