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Foul Play

by Charles Reade · English · Gutenberg #3702 · 865,615 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Foul Play

Author: Charles Reade
        Dion Boucicault


        
Release date: February 1, 2003 [eBook #3702]
                Most recently updated: January 8, 2021

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3702

Credits: Produced by James Rusk.  HTML version by Al Haines.


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FOUL PLAY ***




Produced by James Rusk.  HTML version by Al Haines.









[Transcriber's note:  Italics are indicated by the
underscore character (_). Accent marks are ignored.]





FOUL PLAY.


by

Charles Reade and Dion Boucicault




CHAPTER I.

THERE are places which appear, at first sight, inaccessible to romance;
and such a place was Mr. Wardlaw's dining-room in Russell Square. It was
very large, had sickly green walls, picked out with aldermen, full
length; heavy maroon curtains; mahogany chairs; a turkey carpet an inch
thick: and was lighted with wax candles only.

In the center, bristling and gleaming with silver and glass, was a round
table, at which fourteen could have dined comfortably; and at opposite
sides of this table sat two gentlemen, who looked as neat, grave,
precise, and unromantic, as the place: Merchant Wardlaw, and his son.

Wardlaw senior was an elderly man, tall, thin, iron-gray, with a round
head, a short, thick neck, a good, brown eye, a square jowl that
betokened resolution, and a complexion so sallow as to be almost
cadaverous. Hard as iron: but a certain stiff dignity and respectability
sat upon him, and became him.

Arthur Wardlaw resembled his father in figure, but his mother in face. He
had, and has, hay-colored hair, a forehead singularly white and delicate,
pale blue eyes, largish ears, finely chiseled features, the under lip
much shorter than the upper; his chin oval and pretty, but somewhat
receding; his complexion beautiful. In short, what nineteen people out of
twenty would call a handsome young man, and think they had described him.

Both the Wardlaws were in full dress, according to the invariable custom
of the house; and sat in a dead silence, that seemed natural to the great
sober room.

This, however, was not for want of a topic; on the contrary, they had a
matter of great importance to discuss, and in fact this was why they
dined _tete-a-tete._ But their tongues were tied for the present; in the
first place, there stood in the middle of the table an epergne, the size
of a Putney laurel-tree; neither Wardlaw could well see the other,
without craning out his neck like a rifleman from behind his tree; and
then there were three live suppressors of confidential intercourse, two
gorgeous footmen and a somber, sublime, and, in one word, episcopal,
butler; all three went about as softly as cats after a robin, and
conjured one plate away, and smoothly insinuated another, and seemed
models of grave discretion: but were known to be all ears, and bound by a
secret oath to carry down each crumb of dialogue to the servants' hall,
for curious dissection and boisterous ridicule.

At last, however, those three smug hypocrites retired, and, by good luck,
transferred their suffocating epergne to the sideboard; so then father
and son looked at one another with that conscious air which naturally
precedes a topic of interest; and Wardlaw senior invited his son to try a
certain decanter of rare old port, by way of preliminary.

While the young man fills his glass, hurl we in his antecedents.

At school till fifteen, and then clerk in his father's office till
twenty-two, and showed an aptitude so remarkable, that John Wardlaw, who
was getting tired, determined, sooner or later, to put the reins of
government into his hands. But he conceived a desire that the future head
of his office should be a university man. So he announced his resolution,
and to Oxford went young Wardlaw, though he had not looked at Greek or
Latin for seven years. He was, however, furnished with a private tutor,
under whom he recovered lost ground rapidly. The Reverend Robert Penfold
was a first-class man, and had the gift of teaching. The house of Wardlaw
had peculiar claims on him, for he was the son of old Michael Penfold,
Wardlaw's cashier; he learned from young Wardlaw the stake he was playing
for, and instead of merely giving him one hour's lecture per day, as he
did to his other pupils, he used to come to his rooms at all hours, and
force him to read, by reading with him. He also stood his friend in a
serious emergency. Young Wardlaw, you must know, was blessed or cursed
with Mimicry; his powers in that way really seemed to have no limit, for
he could imitate any sound you liked with his voice, and any form with
his pen or pencil. Now, we promise you, he was one man under his father's
eye, and another down at Oxford; so, one night, this gentleman, being
warm with wine, opens his window, and, seeing a group of undergraduates
chattering and smoking in the quadrangle, imitates the peculiar grating
tones of Mr. Champion, vice-president of the college, and gives them
various reasons why they ought to disperse to their rooms and study.
"But, perhaps," says he, in conclusion, "you are too blind drunk to read
Bosh in crooked letters by candle-light? In that case----"

And he then gave them some very naughty advice how to pass the evening;
still in the exact tones of Mr. Champion, who was a very, very strict
moralist; and this unexpected sally of wit caused shrieks of laughter,
and mightily tickled all the hearers, except Champion ipse, who was
listening and disapproving at another window. He complained to the
president. Then the ingenious Wardlaw, not having come down to us in a
direct line from Bayard, committed a great mistake--he denied it.

It was brought home to him, and the president, who had laughed in his
sleeve at the practical joke, looked very grave at the falsehood;
Rustication was talked of and even Expulsion. Then Wardlaw came
sorrowfully to Penfold, and said to him, "I must have been awfully cut,
for I don't remember all that; I had been wining at Christchurch. I do
remember slanging the fellows, but how can I tell what I said? I say, old
fellow, it will be a bad job for me if they expel me, or even rusticate
me; my father will never forgive me; I shall be his clerk, but never his
partner; and then he will find out what a lot I owe down here. I'm done
for! I'm done for!"

Penfold uttered not a word, but grasped his hand, and went off to the
president, and said his pupil had wined at Christchurch, and could not be
expected to remember minutely. Mimicry was, unfortunately, a habit with
him. He then pleaded for the milder construction with such zeal and
eloquence that the high-minded scholar he was addressing admitted that
construction was _possible,_ and therefore must be received. So the
affair ended in a written apology to Mr. Champion which had all the
smoothness and neatness of a merchant's letter. Arthur Wardlaw was
already a master in that style.

Six months after this, and one fortnight before the actual commencement
of our tale, Arthur Wardlaw, well crammed by Penfold, went up for his
final examination, throbbing with anxiety. He passed; and was so grateful
to his tutor that, when the advowson of a small living near Oxford came
into the market, he asked Wardlaw senior to lend Robert Penfold a sum of
money, much more than was needed. And Wardlaw senior declined without a
moment's hesitation.

This slight sketch will serve as a key to the dialogue it has postponed,
and to subsequent incidents.


"Well, Arthur, and so you have really taken your degree?"

"No, sir; but I have passed my examination. The degree follows as a
matter of course--that is a mere question of fees."

"Oh! Then now I have something to say to you. Try one more glass of the
'47 port. Stop; you'll excuse me; I am a man of business; I don't doubt
your word; Heaven forbid! but, do you happen to have any document you can
produce, in further confirmation of what you state; namely, that you have
passed your final examination at the University?"

"Certainly, sir;" replied young Wardlaw. "My Testamur."

"What is that?"

The young gentleman put his hand in his pocket and produced his Testamur,
or "We bear witness"; a short printed document in Latin, which may be
thus translated:

"We bear witness that Arthur Wardlaw, of St. Luke's College, has answered
our questions in humane letters.

  "GEORGE RICHARDSON,
  "ARTHUR SMYTHE,
  "EDWARD MERIVALE,
  _"Examiners."_

Wardlaw senior took it, laid it beside him on the table, inspected it
with his double eye-glass, and, not knowing a word of Latin, was mightily
impressed, and his respect for his son rose forty or forty-five per cent.

"Very well, sir," said he. "Now listen to me. Perhaps it was an old man's
fancy; but I have often seen in the world what a stamp these universities
put upon a man. To send you back from commerce to Latin and Greek, at
two-and-twenty, was trying you rather hard; it was trying you doubly;
your obedience, and your ability into the bargain. Well, sir, you have
stood the trial, and I am proud of you. And so now it is my turn. From
this day and from this hour look on yourself as my partner in the old
established house of Wardlaw. My balance-sheet shall be prepared
immediately, and the partnership deed drawn. You will enter on a
flourishing concern, sir; and you will virtually conduct it, in written
communication with me; for I have had five-and-forty years of it; and
then my liver, you know! Watson advises me strongly to leave my desk, and
try country air, and rest from business and its cares."

He paused a moment; and the young man drew a long breath, like one who
was in the act of being relieved of some terrible weight.

As for the old gentleman, he was not observing his son just then, but
thinking of his own career; a certain expression of pain and regret came
over his features; but he shook it off with manly dignity. "Come, come,"
said he, "this is the law of Nature, and must be submitted to with a good
grace. Wardlaw junior, fill your glass." At the same time he stood up and
said, stoutly, "The setting sun drinks to the rising sun;" but could not
maintain that artificial style, and ended with, "God bless you, my boy,
and may you stick to business; avoid speculation, as I have done; and so
hand the concern down healthy to your son, as my father there (pointing
to a picture) handed it down to me, and I to you."

His voice wavered slightly in uttering this benediction; but only for a
moment. He then sat quietly down, and sipped his wine composedly.

Not so the other. His color came and went violently all the time his
father was speaking, and, when he ceased, he sank into his chair with
another sigh deeper than the last, and two half-hysterical tears came to
his pale eyes.

But presently, feeling he was expected to say something, he struggled
against all this mysterious emotion, and faltered out that he should not
fear the responsibility, if he might have constant recourse to his father
for advice.

"Why, of course," was the reply. "My country house is but a mile from the
station. You can telegraph for me in any case of importance."

"When would you wish me to commence my new duties?"

"Let me see, it will take six weeks to prepare a balance-sheet, such as I
could be content to submit to an incoming partner. Say two months."

Young Wardlaw's countenance fell.

"Meantime you shall travel on the Continent and enjoy yourself."

"Thank you," said young Wardlaw, mechanically, and fell into a brown
study.

The room now returned to what seemed its natural state. And its silence
continued until it was broken from without.

A sharp knocking was heard at the street door, and resounded across the
marble hall.

The Wardlaws looked at one another in some little surprise.

"I have invited nobody," said the elder. Some time elapsed, and then a
footman made his appearance and brought in a card.

"Mr. Christopher Adams."

Now that Mr. Christopher Adams should call on John Wardlaw, in his
private room, at nine o'clock in the evening, seemed to that merchant
irregular, presumptuous and monstrous. "Tell him he will find me at my
place of business to-morrow, as usual," said he, knitting his brows.

The footman went off with this message; and, soon after, raised voices
were heard in the hall, and the episcopal butler entered the room with an
injured countenance.

"He says he _must_ see you; he is in great anxiety."

"Yes, I am in great anxiety," said a quavering voice at his, elbow; and
Mr. Adams actually pushed by the butler, and stood, hat in hand, in those
sacred precincts. "'Pray excuse me, sir," said he, "but it is very
serious; I can't be easy in my mind till I have put you a question."

"This is very extraordinary conduct, sir," said Mr. Wardlaw. "Do you
think I do business here, and at all hours?"

"Oh, no, sir. It is my own business. I am come to ask you a very serious
question. I couldn't wait till morning with such a doubt on my mind."

"Well, sir, I repeat this is irregular and extraordinary; but as you are
here, pray what is the matter?" He then dismissed the lingering butler
with a look. Mr. Adams cast uneasy glances on young Wardlaw.

"Oh," said the elder, "you can speak before him. This is my partner; that
is to say, he will be as soon as the balance-sheet can be prepared and
the deed drawn. Wardlaw junior, this is Mr. Adams, a very respectable
bill discounter."

The two men bowed to each other, and Arthur Wardlaw sat down motionless.

"Sir, did you draw a note of hand to-day?" inquired Adams of the elder
merchant.

"I dare say I did. Did you discount one signed by me?"

"Yes, sir, we did."

"Well, sir, you have only to present it at maturity. Wardlaw & Son will
provide for it, I dare say." This with the lofty nonchalance of a rich
man who had never broken an engagement in his life.

"Ah, that I know they will if it is all right; but suppose it is not?"

"What d'ye mean?" asked Wardlaw, with some astonishment.

"Oh, nothing, sir! It bears your signature, that is good for twenty times
the amount; and it is indorsed by your cashier. Only what makes me a
little uneasy, your bills used to be always on your own forms, and so I
told my partner; he discounted it. Gentlemen, I wish you would just look
at it."

"Of course we will look at it. Show it Arthur first; his eyes are younger
than mine."

Mr. Adams took out a large bill-book, extracted the note of hand, and
passed it across the table to Wardlaw junior. He took it up with a sort
of shiver, and bent his head very low over it; then handed it back in
silence.

Adams took it to Wardlaw senior and laid it before him by the side of
Arthur's Testamur.

The merchant inspected it with his glasses.

"The writing is mine, apparently."

"I am very glad of it," said the bill-broker, eagerly.

"Stop a bit," said Mr. Wardlaw. "Why, what is this? For two thousand
pounds! and, as you say, not my form. I have signed no note for two
thousand pounds this week. Dated yesterday. You have not cashed it, I
hope?"

"I am sorry to say my partner has."

"Well, sir, not to keep you in suspense, the thing is not worth the stamp
it is written on."

"Mr. Wardlaw!--Sir!--Good heavens! Then it is as I feared. It is a
forgery."

"I should be puzzled to find any other name for it. You need not look so
pale, Arthur. We can't help some clever scoundrel imitating our hands;
and as for you, Adams, you ought to have been more cautious."

"But, sir, your cashier's name is Penfold," faltered the holder, clinging
to a straw. "May he not have drawn--is the indorsement forged as well?"

Mr. Wardlaw examined the back of the bill, and looked puzzled. "No," said
he. "My cashier's name is Michael Penfold, but this is indorsed 'Robert
Penfold.' Do you hear, Arthur? Why, what is the matter with you? You look
like a ghost. I say there is your tutor's name at the back of this forged
note. That is very strange. Just look, and tell me who wrote these two
words 'Robert Penfold'?"

Young Wardlaw took the document and tried to examine it calmly, but it
shook visibly in his hand, and a cold moisture gathered on his brow. His
pale eyes roved to and fro in a very remarkable way; and he was so long
before he said anything that both the other persons present began to eye
him with wonder.

At last he faltered out, "This 'Robert Penfold' seems to me very like his
own handwriting. But then the rest of the writing is equally like yours,
sir. I am sure Robert Penfold never did anything wrong. Mr. Adams, please
oblige _me._ Let this go no further till I have seen him, and asked him
whether he indorsed it."

"Now don't you be in a hurry," said the elder Wardlaw. "The first
question is, who received the money?"

Mr. Adams replied that it was a respectable-looking man, a young
clergyman.

"Ah!" said Wardlaw, with a world of meaning.

"Father!" said young Wardlaw, imploringly, "for my sake, say no more
to-night. Robert Penfold is incapable of a dishonest act."

"It becomes your years to think so, young man. But I have lived long
enough to see what crimes respectable men are betrayed into in the hour
of temptation. And, now I think of it, this Robert Penfold is in want of
money. Did he not ask me for a loan of two thousand pounds? Was not that
the very sum? Can't you answer me? Why, the application came through
you."

Receiving no reply from his son, but a sort of agonized stare, he took
out his pencil and wrote down Robert Penfold's address. This he handed
the bill-broker, and gave him some advice in a whisper, which Mr.
Christopher Adams received with a profusion of thanks, and bustled away,
leaving Wardlaw senior excited and indignant, Wardlaw junior ghastly pale
and almost stupefied.

Scarcely a word was spoken for some minutes, and then the younger man
broke out suddenly: "Robert Penfold is the best friend I ever had; I
should have been expelled but for him, and I should never have earned
that Testamur but for him."

The old merchant interrupted him. "You exaggerate. But, to tell the
truth, I am sorry now I did not lend him the money you asked for. For,
mark my words, in a moment of temptation that miserable young man has
forged my name, and will be convicted of the felony and punished
accordingly."

"No, no. Oh, God forbid!" shrieked young Wardlaw. "I couldn't bear it. If
he did, he must have intended to replace it. I must see him; I will see
him directly." He got up all in a hurry, and was going to Penfold to warn
him, and get him out of the way till the money should be replaced. But
his father started up at the same moment and forbade him, in accents that
he had never yet been able to resist.

"Sit down, sir, this instant," said the old man, with terrible sternness.
"Sit down, I say, or you will never be a partner of mine. Justice must
take its course. What business and what right have we to protect a felon?
I would not take your part if you were one. Indeed it is too late now,
for the detectives will be with him before you could reach him. I gave
Adams his address."

At this last piece of information Wardlaw junior leaned his head on the
table and groaned aloud, and a cold perspiration gathered in beads upon
his white forehead.



CHAPTER II.

THAT same evening sat over their tea, in Norfolk Street, Strand, another
couple, who were also father and son; but, in this pair, the Wardlaws
were reversed. Michael Penfold was a reverend, gentle creature, with
white hair, blue eyes and great timidity; why, if a stranger put to him a
question he used to look all round the room before he ventured to answer.

Robert, his son, was a young man with a large brown eye, a mellow voice,
square shoulders and a prompt and vigorous manner. Cricketer. Scholar.
Parson.

They were talking hopefully together over a living Robert was going to
buy. It was near Oxford, he said, and would not prevent his continuing to
take pupils. "But, father," said he, "it will be a place to take my wife
to if I ever have one; and, meantime, I hope you will run down now and
then, Saturday to Monday."

"That I will, Robert. Ah! how proud _she_ would have been to hear you
preach; it was always her dream, poor thing."

"Let us think she _can_ hear me," said Robert. "And I have got _you_
still; the proceeds of this living will help me to lodge you more
comfortably."

"You are very good, Robert. I would rather see you spend it upon
yourself; but, dear me, what a manager you must be to dress so
beautifully as you do, and send your old father presents as you do, and
yet put by fourteen hundred pounds to buy this living."

"You are mistaken, sir, I have only saved four hundred; the odd
thousand-- But that is a secret for the present."

"Oh, I am not inquisitive. I never was."

They then chatted about things of no importance whatever, and the old
gentleman was just lighting his candle to go to bed, when a visitor was
ushered into the room.

The Penfolds looked a little surprised, but not much. They had no street
door all to themselves; no liveried dragons to interpose between them and
unseasonable or unwelcome visitors.

The man was well dressed, with one exception; he wore a gold chain. He
had a hooked nose, and a black, piercing eye. He stood at the door and
observed every person and thing in the room minutely before he spoke a
word.

Then he said, quietly, "Mr. Michael Penfold, I believe."

"At your service, sir.

"And Mr. Robert Penfold."

"I am Robert Penfold. What is your business?"

"Pray is the 'Robert Penfold' at the back of this note your writing?"

"Certainly it is; they would not cash it without that."

"Oh, you got the money, then?"

"Of course I did."

"You have not parted with it, have you?"

"No."

"All the better." He then turned to Michael and looked at him earnestly a
moment. "The fact is, sir," said he, "there is a little irregularity
about this bill which must be explained, or your son might be called on
to refund the cash."

"'Irregularity about--a bill?" cried Michael Penfold, in dismay "Who is
the drawer? Let me see it. Oh, dear me, something wrong about a bill
indorsed by you, Robert?" and the old man began to shake piteously.

"Why, father," said Robert, "what are you afraid of? If the bill is
irregular I can but return the money. It is in the house."

"The best way will be for Mr. Robert Penfold to go at once with me to the
bill-broker; he lives but a few doors off. And you, sir, must stay here
and be responsible for the funds, till we return."

Robert Penfold took his hat directly, and went off with this mysterious
visitor.

They had not gone many steps, when Robert's companion stopped, and,
getting in front of him, said, "We can settle this matter here." At the
same time a policeman crossed the way and joined them; and another man,
who was, in fact, a policeman in plain clothes, emerged from a doorway
and stood at Robert Penfold's back.

The detective, having thus surrounded him, threw off his disguise. "My
man," said he, "I ought to have done this job in your house. But I looked
at the worthy old gentleman and his gray hairs. I thought I'd spare him
all I could. I have a warrant to arrest you for forgery!"

"Forgery! arrest me for forgery!" said Robert Penfold, with some
amazement, but little emotion; for he hardly seemed to take it in, in all
its horrible significance.

The next moment, however, he turned pale, and almost staggered under the
blow.

"We had better go to Mr. Wardlaw," said he. "I entreat you to go to him
with me."

"Can't be done," said the detective. "Wardlaw has nothing to do with it.
The bill is stopped. You are arrested by the gent that cashed it. Here is
the warrant; will you go quietly with us, or must I put the darbies on?"

Robert was violently agitated. "There is no need to arrest me," he cried;
"I shall not run from my accuser. Hands off, I say. I'm a clergyman of
the Church of England, and you shall not lay hands on me."

But one of the policemen did lay hands on him. Then the Reverend Robert
Penfold shook him furiously off, and, with one active bound, sprang into
the middle of the road.

The officers went at him incautiously, and the head detective, as he
rushed forward, received a heavy blow on the neck and jaw that sounded
along the street, and sent him rolling in the mud; this was followed by a
quick succession of staggering facers, administered right and left on the
eyes and noses of the subordinates. These, however, though bruised and
bleeding, succeeded at last in grappling their man, and all came to the
ground together, and there struggled furiously; every window in the
street was open by this time, and at one the white hair and reverend face
of Michael Penfold looked out on this desperate and unseemly struggle
with hands that beat the air in helpless agony and inarticulate cries of
terror.

The detective got up and sat upon Robert Penfold's chest; and at last the
three forced the handcuffs upon him and took him in a cab to the
station-house.

Next day, before the magistrate, Wardlaw senior proved the note was a
forgery, and Mr. Adams's partner swore to the prisoner as the person who
had presented and indorsed the note. The officers attended, two with
black eyes apiece, and one with his jaw bound up, and two sound teeth in
his pocket, which had been driven from their sockets by the prisoner in
his desperate attempt to escape. Their evidence hurt the prisoner, and
the magistrate refused bail.

The Reverend Robert Penfold was committed to prison, to be tried at the
Central Criminal Court on a charge of felony.

Wardlaw senior returned home, and told Wardlaw junior, who said not a
word. He soon received a letter from Robert Penfold, which agitated him
greatly, and he promised to go to the prison and see him.

But he never went.

He was very miserable, a prey to an inward struggle. He dared not offend
his father on the eve of being made partner. Yet his heart bled for
Robert Penfold.

He did what might perhaps have been expected from that pale eye and
receding chin--he temporized. He said to himself, "Before that horrible
trial comes on, I shall be the house of Wardlaw, and able to draw a check
for thousands. I'll buy off Adams at any price, and hush up the whole
matter."

So he hoped, and hoped. But the accountant was slow, the public
prosecutor unusually quick; and, to young Wardlaw's agony, the
partnership deed was not ready when an imploring letter was put into his
hands, urging him, by all that men hold sacred, to attend at the court as
the prisoner's witness.

This letter almost drove young Wardlaw mad. He went to Adams and
entreated him not to carry the matter into court. But Adams was
inexorable. He had got his money, but would be revenged for the fright.

Baffled here, young Wardlaw went down to Oxford and shut himself up in
his own room, a prey to fear and remorse. He sported his oak, and never
went out. All his exercise was that of a wild beast in its den, walking
restlessly up and down.

But all his caution did not prevent the prisoner's solicitor from getting
to him. One morning, at seven o'clock, a clerk slipped in at the heels of
his scout, and, coming to young Wardlaw's bedside, awoke him out of an
uneasy slumber by serving him with a subpoena to appear as Robert
Penfold's witness.

This last stroke finished him. His bodily health gave way under his
mental distress. Gastric fever set in, and he was lying tossing and
raving in delirium, while Robert Penfold was being tried at the Central
Criminal Court.

The trial occupied six hours, and could easily be made rather
interesting. But, for various reasons, with which it would not be good
taste to trouble the reader, we decide to skim it.

The indictment contained two counts; one for forging the note of hand,
the other for uttering it knowing it to be forged.

On the first count, the Crown was weak, and had to encounter the evidence
of Undercliff, the distinguished expert, who swore that the hand which
wrote "Robert Penfold" was not, in his opinion, the hand that had written
the body of the instrument. He gave many minute reasons in support of
this. And nothing of any weight was advanced contra. The judge directed
the jury to acquit the prisoner on that count.

But, on the charge of uttering, the evidence was clear, and on the
question of knowledge it was, perhaps, a disadvantage to the prisoner
that he was tried in England, and could not be heard in person, as he
could have been in a foreign court; above all, his resistance to the
officers eked out the presumption that he knew the note had been forged
by some person or other, who was probably his accomplice.

The absence of his witness, Wardlaw junior, was severely commented on by
his counsel; indeed, he appealed to the judge to commit the said Wardlaw
for contempt of court. But Wardlaw senior was recalled, and swore that he
had left his son in a burning fever, not expected to live. And declared,
with genuine emotion, that nothing but a high sense of public duty had
brought _him_ hither from his dying son's bedside. He also told the court
that Arthur's inability to clear his friend had really been the first
cause of his illness, from which he was not expected to recover.

The jury consulted together a long time; and, at last, brought in a
verdict of "GUILTY"; but recommended him to mercy on grounds which might
fairly have been alleged in favor of his innocence; but, if guilty,
rather aggravated his crime.

Then an officer of the court inquired, in a sort of chant or recitative,
whether the prisoner had anything to say why judgment should not be given
in accordance with the verdict.

It is easy to divest words of their meaning by false intonation; and
prisoners in general receive this bit of singsong in dead silence. For
why? the chant conveys no idea to their ears, and they would as soon
think of _replying_ to the notes of a cuckoo.

But the Reverend Robert Penfold was in a keen agony that sharpened all
his senses; he caught the sense of the words in spite of the speaker, and
clung wildly to the straw that monotonous machine held out. "My lord! my
lord!" he cried, "I'll tell you the real reason why young Wardlaw is not
here."

The judge put up his hand with a gesture that enforced silence.
"Prisoner," said he, "I cannot go back to facts; the jury have dealt with
them. Judgment can be arrested only on grounds of law. On these you can
be heard. But, if you have none to offer, you must be silent and submit
to your sentence." He then, without a pause, proceeded to point out the
heinous character of the offense, but admitted there was one mitigating
circumstance; and, in conclusion, he condemned the culprit to five years'
penal servitude.

At this the poor wretch uttered a cry of anguish that was fearful, and
clutched the dock convulsively.

Now a prisoner rarely speaks to a judge without revolting him by bad law,
or bad logic, or hot words. But this wild cry was innocent of all these,
and went straight from the heart in the dock to the heart on the judgment
seat. And so his lordship's voice trembled for a moment, and then became
firm again, but solemn and humane.

"But," said he, "my experience tells me this is your first crime, and may
possibly be your last. I shall therefore use my influence that you may
not be associated with more hardened criminals, but may be sent out of
this country to another, where you may begin life afresh, and, in the
course of years, efface this dreadful stain. Give me hopes of you; begin
your repentance where now you stand, by blaming yourself, and no other
man. No man constrained you to utter a forged note, and to receive the
money; it was found in your possession. For such an act there can be no
defense in law, morality, or religion."

These words overpowered the culprit. He burst out crying with great
violence.

But it did not last long. He became strangely composed all of a sudden;
and said, "God forgive all concerned in this--but one--but one."

He then bowed respectfully, and like a gentleman, to the judge and the
jury, and walked out of the dock with the air of a man who had parted
with emotion, and would march to the gallows now without flinching.

The counsel for the Crown required that the forged document should be
impounded.

"I was about to make the same demand," said the prisoner's counsel.

The judge snubbed them both, and said it was a matter of course.

Robert Penfold spent a year in separate confinement, and then, to cure
him of its salutary effect (if any), was sent on board the hulk
_Vengeance,_ and was herded with the greatest miscreants in creation.
They did not reduce him to their level, but they injured his mind. And,
before half his sentence had expired, he sailed for a penal colony, a man
with a hot coal in his bosom, a creature imbittered, poisoned; hoping
little, believing little, fearing little, and hating much.

He took with him the prayer-book his mother had given him when he was
ordained deacon. But he seldom read beyond the fly-leaf. There the poor
lady had written at large her mother's heart, and her pious soul aspiring
heavenward for her darling son. This, when all seemed darkest, he would
sometimes run to with moist eyes. For he was sure of his mother's love,
but almost doubted the justice of his God.



CHAPTER III.

MR. WARDLAW went down to his son and nursed him. He kept the newspapers
from him, and, on his fever abating, had him conveyed by easy stages to
the seaside, and then sent him abroad.

The young man obeyed in gloomy silence. He never asked after Robert
Penfold, now; never mentioned his name. He seemed, somehow, thankful to
be controlled mind and body.

But, before he had been abroad a month, he wrote for leave to return home
and to throw himself into business. There was, for once, a nervous
impatience in his letters, and his father, who pitied him deeply, and was
more than ever inclined to reward and indulge him, yielded readily
enough; and, on his arrival, signed the partnership deed, and,
Polonius-like, gave him much good counsel; then retired to his country
seat.

At first he used to run up every three days, and examine the day-book and
ledger, and advise his junior; but these visits soon became fewer, and at
last he did little more than correspond occasionally.

Arthur Wardlaw held the reins, and easily paid his Oxford debts out of
the assets of the firm. Not being happy in his mind, he threw himself
into commerce with feverish zeal, and very soon extended the operations
of the house.

One of his first acts of authority was to send for Michael Penfold into
his room. Now poor old Michael, ever since his son's misfortune, as he
called it, had crept to his desk like a culprit, expecting every day to
be discharged. When he received this summons he gave a sigh and went
slowly to the young merchant.

Arthur Wardlaw looked up at his entrance, then looked down again, and
said coldly, "Mr. Penfold, you have been a faithful servant to us many
years; I raise your salary fifty pounds a year, and you will keep the
ledger."

The old man was dumfounded at first, and then began to give vent to his
surprise and gratitude; but Wardlaw cut him short, almost fiercely.
"There, there, there," said he, without raising his eyes, "let me hear no
more about it, and, above all, never speak to me of that cursed business.
It was no fault of yours, nor mine neither. There--go--I want no thanks.
Do you hear? leave me, Mr. Penfold, if you please."

The old man bowed low and retired, wondering much at his employer's
goodness, and a little at his irritability.

Wardlaw junior's whole soul was given to business night and day, and he
soon became known for a very ambitious and rising merchant. But, by and
by, ambition had to encounter a rival in his heart. He fell in love;
deeply in love; and with a worthy object.

The young lady was the daughter of a distinguished officer, whose merits
were universally recognized, but not rewarded in proportion. Wardlaw's
suit was favorably received by the father, and the daughter gradually
yielded to an attachment the warmth, sincerity and singleness of which
were manifest. And the pair would have been married but for the
circumstance that her father (partly through Wardlaw's influence, by the
by) had obtained a lucrative post abroad which it suited his means to
accept, at all events for a time. He was a widower, and his daughter
could not let him go alone.

This temporary separation, if it postponed a marriage, led naturally to a
solemn engagement; and Arthur Wardlaw enjoyed the happiness of writing
and receiving affectionate letters by every foreign post. Love, worthily
bestowed, shed its balm upon his heart, and, under its soft but powerful
charm, he grew tranquil and complacent, and his character and temper
seemed to improve. Such virtue is there in a pure attachment.

Meanwhile the extent of his operations alarmed old Penfold; but he soon
reasoned that worthy down with overpowering conclusions and superior
smiles.

He had been three years the ruling spirit of Wardlaw & Son, when some
curious events took place in another hemisphere; and in these events,
which we are now to relate, Arthur Wardlaw was more nearly interested
than may appear at first sight.


Robert Penfold, in due course, applied to Lieutenant-General Rolleston
for a ticket of leave. That functionary thought the application
premature, the crime being so grave. He complained that the system had
become too lax, and for his part he seldom gave a ticket-of-leave until
some suitable occupation was provided for the applicant. "Will anybody
take you as a clerk? If so, I'll see about it."

Robert Penfold could find nobody to take him into a post of confidence
all at once, and wrote the general an eloquent letter, begging hard to be
allowed to labor with his hands.

Fortunately, General Rolleston's gardener had just turned him off; so he
offered the post to his eloquent correspondent, remarking that he did not
much mind employing a ticket-of-leave man himself, though he was resolved
to protect his neighbors from their relapses.

The convict then came to General Rolleston, and begged leave to enter on
his duties under the name of James Seaton. At that General Rolleston
hem'd and haw'd, and took a note. But his final decision was as follows:
"If you really mean to change your character, why, the name you have
disgraced might hang round your neck. Well, I'll give you every chance.
But," said this old warrior, suddenly compressing his resolute lips just
a little, "if you go a yard off the straight path _now,_ look for no
mercy, Jemmy Seaton."

So the convict was re-christened at the tail of a threat, and let loose
among the warrior's tulips.

His appearance was changed as effectually as his name. Even before he was
Seatoned he had grown a silky mustache and beard of singular length and
beauty; and, what with these and his workingman's clothes, and his cheeks
and neck tanned by the sun, our readers would never have recognized in
this hale, bearded laborer the pale prisoner that had trembled, raged,
wept and submitted in the dock of the Central Criminal Court.

Our universities cure men of doing things by halves, be the things mental
or muscular; so Seaton gardened much more zealously than his plebeian
predecessor: up at five, and did not leave till eight.

But he was unpopular in the kitchen--because he was always out of it.
Taciturn and bitter, he shunned his fellow-servants.

Yet working among the flowers did him good; these his pretty companions
and nurslings had no vices.

One day, as he was rolling the grass upon the lawn, he heard a soft
rustle at some distance, and, looking round, saw a young lady on the
gravel path, whose calm but bright face, coming so suddenly, literally
dazzled him. She had a clear cheek blooming with exercise, rich brown
hair, smooth, glossy and abundant, and a very light hazel eye, of
singular beauty and serenity. She glided along, tranquil as a goddess,
smote him with beauty and perfume, and left him staring after her
receding figure, which was, in its way, as captivating as her face.

She was walking up and down for exercise, briskly, but without effort.
Once she passed within a few yards of him, and he touched his hat to her.
She inclined her head gently, but her eyes did not rest an instant on her
gardener; and so she passed and repassed, unconsciously sawing this
solitary heart with soft but penetrating thrills.

At last she went indoors to luncheon, and the lawn seemed to miss the
light music of her rustling dress, and the sunshine of her presence, and
there was a painful void; but that passed, and a certain sense of
happiness stole over James Seaton--an unreasonable joy, that often runs
before folly and trouble.

The young lady was Helen Rolleston, just returned home from a visit. She
walked in the garden every day, and Seaton watched her, and peeped at
her, unseen, behind trees and bushes. He fed his eyes and his heart upon
her, and, by degrees, she became the sun of his solitary existence. It
was madness; but its first effect was not unwholesome. The daily study of
this creature, who, though by no means the angel he took her for, was at
all events a pure and virtuous woman, soothed his sore heart, and
counteracted the demoralizing influence of his late companions. Every day
he drank deeper of an insane but purifying and elevating passion.

He avoided the kitchen still more; and that, by the by, was unlucky; for
there he could have learned something about Miss Helen Rolleston that
would have warned him to keep at the other end of the garden whenever
that charming face and form glided to and fro among the minor flowers.

A beautiful face fires our imagination, and we see higher virtue and
intelligence in it than we can detect in its owner's head or heart when
we descend to calm inspection. James Seaton gazed on Miss Rolleston day
after day, at so respectful a distance that she became his goddess. If a
day passed without his seeing her, he was dejected. When she was behind
her time, he was restless, anxious, and his work distasteful; and then,
when she came out at last, he thrilled all over, and the lawn, ay, the
world itself, seemed to fill with sunshine. His adoration, timid by its
own nature, was doubly so by reason of his fallen and hopeless condition.
He cut nosegays for her; but gave them to her maid Wilson for her. He had
not the courage to offer them to herself.

One evening, as he went home, a man addressed him familiarly, but in a
low voice. Seaton looked at him attentively, and recognized him at last.
It was a convict called Butt, who had come over in the ship with him. The
man offered him a glass of ale; Seaton declined it. Butt, a very clever
rogue, seemed hurt. So then Seaton assented reluctantly. Butt took him to
a public house in a narrow street, and into a private room. Seaton
started as soon as he entered, for there sat two repulsive ruffians, and,
by a look that passed rapidly between them and Butt, he saw plainly that
they were waiting for him. He felt nervous; the place was so uncouth and
dark, the faces so villainous.

However, they invited him to sit down, roughly, but with an air of good
fellowship; and very soon opened their business over their ale. We are
all bound to assist our fellow-creatures, when it can be done without
trouble; and what they asked of him was a simple act of courtesy, such as
in their opinion no man worthy of the name could deny to his fellow. It
was to give General Rolleston's watchdog a piece of prepared meat upon a
certain evening. And, in return for this trifling civility, they were
generous enough to offer him a full share of any light valuables they
might find in the general's house.

Seaton trembled, and put his face in his hands a moment. "I cannot do
it," said he.

"Why not?"

"He has been too good to me."

A coarse laugh of derision greeted this argument; it seemed so irrelevant
to these pure egotists. Seaton, however, persisted, and on that one of
the men got up and stood before the door, and drew his knife gently.

Seaton glanced his eyes round in search of a weapon, and turned pale.

"Do you mean to split on us, mate?" said one of the ruffians in front of
him.

"No, I don't. But I won't rob my benefactor. You shall kill me first."
And with that he darted to the fireplace, and in a moment the poker was
high in air, and the way he squared his shoulders and stood ready to hit
to the on, or cut to the off, was a caution.

"Come, drop that," said Butt, grimly; "and put up _your_ knife, Bob.
Can't a pal be out of a job, and yet not split on them that is in it!"

"Why should I split?" said Robert Penfold. "Has the law been a friend to
me? But I won't rob my benefactor--and his daughter."

"That is square enough," said Butt. "Why, pals, there are other cribs to
be cracked besides that old bloke's. Finish the ale, mate, and part
friends."

"If you will promise me to crack some other crib, and let that one
alone."

A sullen assent was given, and Seaton drank their healths, and walked
away. Butt followed him soon after, and affected to side with him, and
intimated that he himself was capable of not robbing a man's house who
had been good to him, or to a pal of his. Indeed this plausible person
said so much, and his sullen comrades had said so little, that Seaton,
rendered keen and anxious by love, invested his savings in a Colt's
revolver and ammunition.

He did not stop there; after the hint about the watch-dog, he would not
trust that faithful but too carnivorous animal; he brought his blankets
into the little tool-house, and lay there every night in a sort of dog's
sleep. This tool-house was erected in a little back garden, separated
from the lawn only by some young trees in single file. Now Miss
Rolleston's window looked out upon the lawn, so that Seaton's watchtower
was not many yards from it; then, as the tool-house was only lighted from
above, he bored a hole in the wooden structure, and through this he
watched, and slept, and watched. He used to sit studying theology by a
farthing rushlight till the lady's bedtime, and then he watched for her
shadow. If it appeared for a few moments on the blind, he gave a sigh of
content and went to sleep, but awaked every now and then to see that all
was well.

After a few nights, his alarms naturally ceased, but his love increased,
fed now from this new source, the sweet sense of being the secret
protector of her he adored.

Meantime, Miss Rolleston's lady's maid, Wilson, fell in love with him
after her fashion; she had taken a fancy to his face at once, and he had
encouraged her a little, unintentionally; for he brought the nosegays to
her, and listened complacently to her gossip, for the sake of the few
words she let fall now and then about her young mistress. As he never
exchanged two sentences at a time with any other servant, this flattered
Sarah Wilson, and she soon began to meet and accost him oftener, and in
cherrier-colored ribbons, than he could stand. So then he showed
impatience, and then she, reading him by herself, suspected some vulgar
rival.

Suspicion soon bred jealousy, jealousy vigilance, and vigilance
detection.

Her first discovery was that, so long as she talked of Miss Helen
Rolleston, she was always welcome; her second was, that Seaton slept in
the tool-house.

She was not romantic enough to connect her two discoveries together. They
lay apart in her mind, until circumstances we are about to relate
supplied a connecting link.

One Thursday evening James Seaton's goddess sat alone with her papa,
and--being a young lady of fair abilities, who had gone through her
course of music and other studies, taught brainlessly, and who was now
going through a course of monotonous pleasures, and had not accumulated
any great store of mental resources--she was listless and languid, and
would have yawned forty times in her papa's face, only she was too
well-bred. She always turned her head away, when it came, and either
suppressed it, or else hid it with a lovely white hand. At last, as she
was a good girl, she blushed at her behavior, and roused herself up, and
said she, "Papa, shall I play you the new quadrilles?"

Papa gave a start and a shake, and said, with well-feigned vehemence,
"Ay, do, my dear," and so composed himself--to listen; and Helen sat down
and played the quadrilles.

The composer had taken immortal melodies, some gay, some sad, and had
robbed them of their distinctive character and hashed them till they were
all one monotonous rattle. But General Rolleston was little the worse for
all this. As Apollo saved Horace from hearing a poetaster's rhymes, so
did Somnus, another beneficent little deity, rescue our warrior from his
daughter's music.

She was neither angry nor surprised. A delicious smile illumined her face
directly; she crept to him on tiptoe, and bestowed a kiss, light as a
zephyr, on his gray head. And, in truth, the bending attitude of this
supple figure, clad in snowy muslin, the virginal face and light hazel
eyes beaming love and reverence, and the airy kiss, had something
angelic.

She took her candle, and glided up to her bedroom. And, the moment she
got there, and could gratify her somnolence without offense, need we say
she became wide-awake? She sat down and wrote long letters to three other
young ladies, gushing affection, asking questions of the kind nobody
replies to, painting, with a young lady's colors, the male being to whom
she was shortly to be married, wishing her dear friends a like demigod,
if perchance earth contained two; and so to the last new bonnet and
preacher.

She sat over her paper till one o'clock, and Seaton watched and adored
her shadow.

When she had done writing, she opened her window and looked out upon the
night. She lifted those wonderful hazel eyes toward the stars, and her
watcher might well be pardoned if he saw in her a celestial being looking
up from an earthly resting place toward her native sky.

At two o'clock she was in bed, but not asleep. She lay calmly gazing at
the Southern Cross and other lovely stars shining with vivid but chaste
fire in the purple vault of heaven.

While thus employed she heard a slight sound outside that made her turn
her eyes toward a young tree near her window. Its top branches were
waving a good deal, though there was not a breath stirring. This struck
her as curious, very curious.

While she wondered, suddenly an arm and a hand came in sight, and after
them the whole figure of a man, going up the tree.

Helen sat up now, glaring with terror, and was so paralyzed she did not
utter a sound. About a foot below her window was a lead flat that roofed
the bay-window below. It covered an area of several feet, and the man
sprang on to it with perfect ease from the tree. Helen shrieked with
terror. At that very instant there was a flash, a pistol-shot, and the
man's arms went whirling, and he staggered and fell over the edge of the
flat, and struck the grass below with a heavy thud. Shots and blows
followed, and all the sounds of a bloody struggle rung in Helen's ears as
she flung herself screaming from the bed and darted to the door. She ran
and clung quivering to her sleepy maid, Wilson. The house was alarmed,
lights flashed, footsteps pattered, there was universal commotion.

General Rolleston soon learned his daughter's story from Wilson, and
aroused his male servants, one of whom was an old soldier. They searched
the house first; but no entrance had been effected; so they went out on
the lawn with blunderbuss and pistol.

They found a man lying on his back at the foot of the bay window.

They pounced on him, and, to their amazement, it was the gardener, James
Seaton. Insensible.

General Rolleston was quite taken aback for a moment. Then he was sorry.
But, after a little reflection, he said very sternly, "Carry the
blackguard indoors; and run for an officer."

Seaton was taken into the hall and laid flat on the floor.

All the servants gathered about him, brimful of curiosity, and the female
ones began to speak all together; but General Rolleston told them sharply
to hold their tongues, and to retire behind the man. "Somebody sprinkle
him with cold water," said he; "and be quiet, all of you, and keep out of
sight, while I examine him." He stood before the insensible figure with
his arms folded, amid a dead silence, broken only by the stifled sobs of
Sarah Wilson, and of a sociable housemaid who cried with her for company.

And now Seaton began to writhe and show signs of returning sense.

Next he moaned piteously, and sighed. But General Rolleston could not
pity him; he waited grimly for returning consciousness, to subject him to
a merciless interrogatory.

He waited just one second too long. He had to answer a question instead
of putting one.

The judgment is the last faculty a man recovers when emerging from
insensibility; and Seaton, seeing the general standing before him,
stretched out his hands, and said, in a faint, but earnest voice, before
eleven witnesses, "Is she safe? Oh, is she safe?"



CHAPTER IV.

SARAH WILSON left off crying, and looked down on the ground with a very
red face. General Rolleston was amazed.

"Is she safe? Is who safe?" said he. "He means my mistress," replied
Wilson, rather brusquely; and flounced out of the hall.

"She is safe, no thanks to you," said General Rolleston. "What were you
doing under her window at this time of night?" And the harsh tone in
which this question was put showed Seaton he was suspected. This wounded
him, and he replied doggedly, "Lucky for you all I was there."

"That is no answer to my question," said the general sternly.

"It is all the answer I shall give you."

"Then I shall hand you over to the officer without another word."

"Do, sir, do," said Seaton bitterly; but he added more gently, "you will
be sorry for it when you come to your senses."

At this moment Wilson entered with a message. "If you please, sir, Miss
Rolleston says the robber had no beard. Miss have never noticed Seaton's
face, but his beard she have; and, oh, if you please, sir, she begged me
to ask him--Was it you that fired the pistol and shot the robber?"

The delivery of this ungrammatical message, but rational query was like a
ray of light streaming into a dark place. It changed the whole aspect of
things. As for Seaton, he received it as if Heaven was speaking to him
through Wilson. His sullen air relaxed, the water stood in his eyes, he
smiled affectionately, and said in a low, tender voice, "Tell her I heard
some bad characters talking about this house--that was a month ago--so
ever since then I have slept in the tool-house to watch. Yes, I shot the
robber with my revolver, and I marked one or two more; but they were
three to one; I think I must have got a blow on the head; for I felt
nothing--"

Here he was interrupted by a violent scream from Wilson. She pointed
downward, with her eyes glaring; and a little blood was seen to be
trickling slowly over Seaton's stocking and shoe.

"Wounded," said the general's servant, Tom, in the business-like accent
of one who had seen a thousand wounds.

"Oh, never mind that," said Seaton. "It can't be very deep, for I don't
feel it;" then, fixing his eyes on General Rolleston, he said, in a voice
that broke down suddenly, "There stands the only man who has wounded me
to-night, to hurt me."

The way General Rolleston received this point-blank reproach surprised
some persons present, who had observed only the imperious and iron side
of his character. He hung his head in silence a moment; then, being
discontented with himself, he went into a passion with his servants for
standing idle. "Run away, you women," said he roughly. "Now, Tom, if you
are good for anything, strip the man and stanch his wound. Andrew, a
bottle of port, quick!"

Then, leaving him for a while in friendly hands, he went to his daughter
and asked her if she saw any objection to a bed being made up in the
house for the wounded convict.

"Oh, papa," said she, "why, of course not. I am all gratitude. What is he
like, Wilson? for it is a most provoking thing, I never noticed his face,
only his beautiful beard glittering in the sunshine ever so far off. Poor
young man! Oh, yes, papa! send him to bed directly, and we will all nurse
him. I never did any good in the world yet, and so why not begin at
once?"

General Rolleston laughed at this squirt of enthusiasm from his staid
daughter, and went off to give the requisite orders.

But Wilson followed him immediately and stopped him in the passage.

"If you please, sir, I think you had better not. I have something to tell
you."

She then communicated to him by degrees her suspicion that James Seaton
was in love with his daughter. He treated this with due ridicule at
first; but she gave him one reason after another till she staggered him,
and he went downstairs in a most mixed and puzzled frame of mind,
inclined to laugh, inclined to be angry, inclined to be sorry.

The officer had just arrived, and was looking over some photographs to
see if James Seaton was "one of his birds." Such, alas! was his
expression.

At sight of this, Rolleston colored up; but extricated himself from the
double difficulty with some skill. "Hexham," said he, "this poor fellow
has behaved like a man, and got himself wounded in my service. You are to
take him to the infirmary; but, mind, they must treat him like my own
son, and nothing he asks for be denied him."

Seaton walked with feeble steps, and leaning on two men, to the
infirmary; and General Rolleston ordered a cup of coffee, lighted a cigar
and sat cogitating over this strange business and asking himself how he
could get rid of this young madman and yet befriend him. As for Sarah
Wilson, she went to bed discontented and wondering at her own bad
judgment. She saw too late that if she had held her tongue Seaton would
have been her patient and her prisoner; and as for Miss Rolleston, when
it came to the point, why, she would never have nursed him except by
proxy, and the proxy would have been Sarah Wilson.

However, the blunder blind passion had led her into was partially
repaired by Miss Rolleston herself. When she heard, next day, where
Seaton was gone, she lifted up her hands in amazement. "What _could_ papa
be thinking of to send our benefactor to a hospital?" And, after
meditating awhile, she directed Wilson to cut a nosegay and carry it to
Seaton. "He is a gardener;" said she innocently. "Of course he will miss
his flowers sadly in that miserable place."

And she gave the same order every day, with a constancy that, you must
know, formed part of this young lady's character. Soup, wine and jellies
were sent from the kitchen every other day with equal pertinacity.

Wilson concealed the true donor of all those things and took the credit
to herself. By this means she obtained the patient's gratitude, and he
showed it so frankly she hoped to steal his love as well.

But no! his fancy and his heart remained true to the cold beauty he had
served so well, and she had forgotten him, apparently.

This irritated Wilson at last, and she set to work to cure him with
wholesome but bitter medicine. She sat down beside him one day, and said
cheerfully, "We are all _'on the keyfeet'_ just now. Miss Rolleston's
beau is come on a visit."

The patient opened his eyes with astonishment.

"Miss Rolleston's beau?"

"Ay, her intended. What, didn't you know, she is engaged to be married?"

"She engaged to be married?" gasped Seaton.

Wilson watched him with a remorseless eye.

"Why, James," said she, after awhile, "did you think the likes of her
would go through the world without a mate?"

Seaton made no reply but a moan, and lay back like one dead, utterly
crushed by this cruel blow.

A buxom middle-aged nurse now came up and said, with a touch of severity,
"Come, my good girl, no doubt you mean well, but you are doing ill. You
had better leave him to us for the present."

On this hint Wilson bounced out and left the patient to his misery.

At her next visit she laid a nosegay on his bed and gossiped away,
talking of everything in the world except Miss Rolleston.

At last she came to a pause, and Seaton laid his hand on her arm
directly, and looking piteously in her face spoke his first word.

"Does she love him?"

"What, still harping on _her?"_ said Wilson. "Well, she doesn't hate him,
I suppose, or she would not marry him."

"For pity's sake don't trifle with me! Does she love him?"

"La, James, how can I tell? She mayn't love him quite as much as I could
love a man that took my fancy" (here she cast a languishing glance on
Seaton); "but I see no difference between her and other young ladies.
Miss is very fond of her papa, for one thing; and he favors the match.
Ay, and she likes her partner well enough. She is brighter like, now he
is in the house, and she reads all her friends' letters to him ever so
lovingly; and I do notice she leans on him out walking, a trifle more
than there is any need for."

At this picture James Seaton writhed in his bed like some agonized
creature under vivisection; but the woman, spurred by jealousy, and also
by egotistical passion, had no mercy left for him.

"And why not?" continued she; "he is young and handsome and rich and he
dotes on her. If you are really her friend you ought to be glad she is so
well suited."

At this admonition the tears stood in Seaton's eyes, and after awhile he
got strength to say, "I know I ought, I know it. If he is only worthy of
her, as worthy as any man could be."

"That he is, James. Why, I'll be bound you have heard of him. It is young
Mr. Wardlaw."

Seaton started up in bed. "Who? Wardlaw? what Wardlaw?"

"What Wardlaw? why, the great London merchant, his son. Leastways he
manages the whole concern now, I hear; the old gentleman, he is retired
by all accounts."

"CURSE HIM! CURSE HIM! CURSE HIM!" yelled James Seaton, with his eyes
glaring fearfully and both hands beating the air.

Sarah Wilson recoiled with alarm.

"That angel marry _him!"_ shrieked Seaton. "Never, while I live. I'll
throttle him with these hands first."

What more his ungovernable fury would have uttered was interrupted by a
rush of nurses and attendants, and Wilson was bundled out of the place
with little ceremony.

He contrived, however, to hurl a word after her, accompanied with a look
of concentrated rage and resolution.

"NEVER, I TELL YOU--WHILE I LIVE."

At her next visit to the hospital Wilson was refused admission by order
of the head surgeon. She left her flowers daily all the same.

After a few days she thought the matter might have cooled, and, having a
piece of news to communicate to Seaton with respect to Arthur Wardlaw,
she asked to see that patient.

"Left the hospital this morning," was the reply.

"What, cured?"

"Why not? We have cured worse cases than his."

"Where has he gone to? Pray tell me."

"Oh, certainly." And inquiry was made. But the reply was, "Left no
address."

Sarah Wilson, like many other women of high and low degree, had swift
misgivings of mischief to come. She was taken with a fit of trembling,
and had to sit down in the hall.

And, to tell the truth, she had cause to tremble; for that tongue of hers
had launched two wild beasts--Jealousy and Revenge.

When she got better she went home, and, coward-like, said not a word to
living soul.

That day, Arthur Wardlaw dined with General Rolleston and Helen. They
were to be alone for a certain reason; and he came half an hour before
dinner. Helen thought he would, and was ready for him on the lawn.

They walked arm-in-arm, talking of the happiness before them, and
regretting a temporary separation that was to intervene. He was her
father's choice, and she loved her father devotedly; he was her male
property; and young ladies like that sort of property, especially when
they see nothing to dislike in it. He loved her passionately, and that
was her due, and pleased her and drew a gentle affection, if not a
passion, from her in return. Yes, that lovely forehead did come very near
young Wardlaw's shoulder more than once or twice as they strolled slowly
up and down on the soft mossy turf.

And, on the other side of the hedge that bounded the lawn, a man lay
crouched in the ditch and saw it all with gleaming eyes.

Just before the affianced ones went in, Helen said, "I have a little
favor to ask you, dear. The poor man, Seaton, who fought the robbers and
was wounded--papa says he is a man of education, and wanted to be a clerk
or something. _Could_ you find him a place?"

"I think I can," said Wardlaw; "indeed, I am sure. A line to White & Co.
will do it; they want a shipping clerk."

"Oh, how good you are!" said Helen; and lifted her face all beaming with
thanks.

The opportunity was tempting; the lover fond. Two faces met for a single
moment, and one of the two burned for five minutes after.

The basilisk eyes saw the soft collision; but the owner of those eyes did
not hear the words that earned him that torture. He lay still and bided
his time.

General Rolleston's house stood clear of the town at the end of a short
but narrow and tortuous lane. This situation had tempted the burglars
whom Seaton baffled; and now it tempted Seaton.

Wardlaw must pass that way on leaving General Rolleston's house.

At a bend of the lane two twin elms stood out a foot or two from the
hedge. Seaton got behind these at about ten o'clock and watched for him
with a patience and immobility that boded ill.

His preparations for this encounter were singular. He had a
close-shutting inkstand and a pen, and one sheet of paper, at the top of
which he had written "Sydney," and the day of the month and year, leaving
the rest blank. And he had the revolver with which he had shot the robber
at Helen Rolleston's window; and a barrel of that arm was loaded with
swan shot.



CHAPTER V.

THE moon went down; the stars shone out clearer.

Eleven o'clock boomed from a church clock in the town.

Wardlaw did not come, and Seaton did not move from his ambush.

Twelve o'clock boomed, and Wardlaw never came, and Seaton never moved.

Soon after midnight General Rolleston's hall door opened, and a figure
appeared in a flood of light. Seaton's eye gleamed at the light, for it
was young Wardlaw, with a footman at his back holding a lighted lamp.

Wardlaw, however, seemed in no hurry to leave the house, and the reason
soon appeared; he was joined by Helen Rolleston, and she was equipped for
walking. The watcher saw her serene face shine in the light. The general
himself came next; and, as they left the door, out came Tom with a
blunderbuss and brought up the rear. Seaton drew behind the trees, and
postponed, but did not resign, his purpose.

Steps and murmurings came, and passed him, and receded.

The only words he caught distinctly came from Wardlaw, as he passed. "It
is nearly high tide. I fear we must make haste."

Seaton followed the whole party at a short distance, feeling sure they
would eventually separate and give him his opportunity with Wardlaw.

They went down to the harbor and took a boat; Seaton came nearer, and
learned they were going on board the great steamer bound for England,
that loomed so black, with monstrous eyes of fire.

They put off, and Seaton stood baffled.

Presently the black monster, with enormous eyes of fire, spouted her
steam like a Leviathan, and then was still; next the smoke puffed, the
heavy paddles revolved, and she rushed out of the harbor; and Seaton sat
down upon the ground, and all seemed ended. Helen gone to England!
Wardlaw gone with her! Love and revenge had alike eluded him. He looked
up at the sky and played with the pebbles at his feet, stupidly,
stupidly. He wondered why he was born; why he consented to live a single
minute after this. His angel and his demon gone home together! And he
left here!

He wrote a few lines on the paper he had intended for Wardlaw, sprinkled
them with sand, and put them in his bosom, then stretched himself out
with a weary moan, like a dying dog, to wait the flow of the tide, and,
with it, Death. Whether or not his resolution or his madness could have
carried him so far cannot be known, for even as the water rippled in,
and, trickling under his back, chilled him to the bone, a silvery sound
struck his ear. He started to his feet, and life and its joys rushed back
upon him. It was the voice of the woman he loved so madly.

Helen Rolleston was on the water, coming ashore again in the little boat.

He crawled, like a lizard, among the boats ashore to catch a sight of
her. He did see her, was near her, unseen himself. She landed with her
father. So Wardlaw was gone to England without her. Seaton trembled with
joy. Presently his goddess began to lament in the prettiest way. "Papa!
papa!" she sighed, "why must friends part in this sad world? Poor Arthur
is gone from me; and, by and by, I shall go from you, my own papa." And
at that prospect she wept gently.

"Why, you foolish child!" said the old general tenderly, "what matters a
little parting, when we are all to meet again in dear old England. Well
then, there, have a cry; it will do you good." He patted her head
tenderly as she clung to his warlike breast; and she took him at his
word; the tears ran swiftly and glistened in the very starlight.

But, oh, how Seaton's heart yearned at all this!

What? mustn't _he_ say a word to comfort her; he who, at that moment,
would have thought no more of dying to serve her or to please her than he
would of throwing one of those pebbles into that slimy water.

Well, her pure tears somehow cooled his hot brain, and washed his soul,
and left him wondering at himself and his misdeeds this night. His
guardian angel seemed to go by and wave her dewy wings, and fan his hot
passions as she passed.

He kneeled down and thanked God he had not met Arthur Wardlaw in that
dark lane.

Then he went home to his humble lodgings, and there buried himself; and
from that day seldom went out, except to seek employment. He soon
obtained it as a copyist.

Meantime the police were on his track, employed by a person with a gentle
disposition, but a tenacity of purpose truly remarkable.

Great was Seaton's uneasiness when one day he saw Hexham at the foot of
his stair; greater still, when the officer's quick eye caught sight of
him, and his light foot ascended the stairs directly. He felt sure Hexham
had heard of his lurking about General Rolleston's premises. However, he
prepared to defend himself to the uttermost.

Hexham came into his room without ceremony, and looking mighty grim.
"Well, my lad, so we have got you, after all."

"What is my crime now?" asked Seaton sullenly.

"James," said the officer, very solemnly, "it is an unheard-of crime this
time. You have been running away from a pretty girl. Now that is a
mistake at all times; but, when she is as beautiful as an angel, and rich
enough to slip a flyer into Dick Hexham's hands, and lay him on your
track, what _is_ the use? Letter for _you,_ my man."

Seaton took the letter, with a puzzled air. It was written in a clear but
feminine hand, and slightly scented.

The writer, in a few polished lines, excused herself for taking
extraordinary means to find Mr. Seaton; but hoped he would consider that
he had laid her under a deep obligation, and that gratitude will
sometimes be importunate. She had the pleasure to inform him that the
office of shipping clerk at Messrs. White & Co.'s was at his service, and
she hoped he would take it without an hour's further delay, for that she
was assured that many persons had risen to wealth and consideration in
the colony from such situations.

Then, as this wary but courteous young lady had no wish to enter into a
correspondence with her ex-gardener, she added:


"Mr. Seaton need not trouble himself to reply to this note. A simple
'yes' to Mr. Hexham will be enough, and will give sincere pleasure to Mr.
Seaton's

"Obedient servant and well-wisher,

"HELEN ANNE ROLLESTON."


Seaton bowed his head over this letter in silent but deep emotion.

Hexham respected that emotion, and watched him with a sort of vague
sympathy.

Seaton lifted his head, and the tears stood thick in his eyes. Said he,
in a voice of exquisite softness, scarce above a whisper, "Tell her,
'yes' and 'God bless her.' Good-by. I want to go on my knees, and pray
God to bless her as she deserves. Good-by."

Hexham took the hint and retired softly.



CHAPTER VI.

WHITE & CO. stumbled on a treasure in James Seaton. Your colonial clerk
is not so narrow and apathetic as your London clerk, whose two objects
seem to be to learn one department only, and not to do too much in that;
but Seaton, a gentleman and a scholar, eclipsed even colonial clerks in
this, that he omitted no opportunity of learning the whole business of
White & Co., and was also animated by a feverish zeal that now and then
provoked laughter from clerks, but was agreeable as well as surprising to
White & Co. Of that zeal his incurable passion was partly the cause.
Fortunes had been made with great rapidity in Sydney; and Seaton now
conceived a wild hope of acquiring one, by some lucky hit, before Wardlaw
could return to Helen Rolleston. And yet his common sense said, if I was
as rich as Croesus, how could she ever mate with me, a stained man? And
yet his burning heart said, don't listen to reason; listen only to me.
Try.

And so he worked double tides; and, in virtue of his university
education, had no snobbish notions about never putting his hand to manual
labor. He would lay down his pen at any moment and bear a hand to lift a
chest or roll a cask. Old White saw him thus multiply himself, and was so
pleased that he raised his salary one third.

He never saw Helen Rolleston, except on Sunday. On that day he went to
her church, and sat half behind a pillar and feasted his eyes and his
heart upon her. He lived sparingly, saved money, bought a strip of land
by payment of ten pounds deposit, and sold it in forty hours for one
hundred pounds profit, and watched keenly for similar opportunities on a
larger scale; and all for her. Struggling with a mountain; hoping against
reason, and the world.


White & Co. were employed to ship a valuable cargo on board two vessels
chartered by Wardlaw & Son; the _Shannon_ and _Proserpine._

Both these ships lay in Sydney harbor, and had taken in the bulk of their
cargoes; but the supplement was the cream; for Wardlaw in person had
warehoused eighteen cases of gold dust and ingots, and fifty of lead and
smelted copper. They were all examined and branded by Mr. White, who had
duplicate keys of the gold cases. But the contents as a matter of habit
and prudence were not described outside; but were marked _Proserpine_ and
_Shannon,_ respectively; the mate of the _Proserpine,_ who was in
Wardlaw's confidence, had written instructions to look carefully to the
stowage of all these cases, and was in and out of the store one afternoon
just before closing, and measured the cubic contents of the cases, with a
view to stowage in the respective vessels. The last time he came he
seemed rather the worse for liquor; and Seaton, who accompanied him,
having stepped out for a minute for something or other, was rather
surprised on his return to find the door closed, and it struck him Mr.
Wylie (that was the mate's name) might be inside; the more so as the door
closed very easily with a spring bolt, but it could only be opened by a
key of peculiar construction. Seaton took out his key, opened the door,
and called to the mate, but received no reply. However, he took the
precaution to go round the store, and see whether Wylie, rendered
somnolent by liquor, might not be lying oblivious among the cases; Wylie,
however, was not to be seen, and Seaton, finding himself alone, did an
unwise thing; he came and contemplated Wardlaw's cases of metal and
specie. (Men will go too near the thing that causes their pain.) He eyed
them with grief and with desire, and could not restrain a sigh at these
material proofs of his rival's wealth--the wealth that probably had
smoothed his way to General Rolleston's home and to his daughter's heart;
for wealth can pave the way to hearts, ay, even to hearts that cannot be
downright bought. This reverie no doubt, lasted longer than he thought,
for presently he heard the loud rattle of shutters going up below. It was
closing time; he hastily closed and locked the iron shutters, and then
went out and shut the door.

He had been gone about two hours, and that part of the street, so noisy
in business hours, was hushed in silence, all but an occasional footstep
on the flags outside, when something mysterious occurred in the
warehouse, now as dark as pitch.

At an angle of the wall stood two large cases in a vertical position,
with smaller cases lying at their feet. These two cases were about eight
feet high, more or less. Well, behind these cases suddenly flashed a
feeble light, and the next moment two brown and sinewy hands appeared on
the edge of one of the cases--the edge next the wall; the case vibrated
and rocked a little, and the next moment there mounted on the top of it
not a cat, nor a monkey, as might have been expected, but an animal that
in truth resembles both these quadrupeds, viz., a sailor; and need we say
that sailor was the mate of the _Proserpine?_ He descended lightly from
the top of the case behind which he had been jammed for hours, and
lighted a dark lantern; and went softly groping about the store with it.

This was a mysterious act, and would perhaps have puzzled the proprietors
of the store even more than it would a stranger. For a stranger would
have said at once this is burglary, or else arson; but those acquainted
with the place would have known that neither of those crimes was very
practicable. This enterprising sailor could not burn down this particular
store without roasting himself the first thing; and indeed he could not
burn it down at all; for the roof was flat, and was in fact one gigantic
iron tank, like the roof of Mr. Goding's brewery in London. And by a neat
contrivance of American origin the whole tank could be turned in one
moment to a shower-bath, and drown a conflagration in thirty seconds or
thereabouts. Nor could he rifle the place; the goods were greatly
protected by their weight, and it was impossible to get out of the store
without raising an alarm, and being searched.

But, not to fall into the error of writers who underrate their readers'
curiosity and intelligence, and so deluge them with comments and
explanations, we will now simply relate what Wylie did, leaving you to
glean his motives as this tale advances.

His jacket had large pockets, and he took out of them a bunch of eighteen
bright steel keys, numbered, a set of new screwdrivers, a flask of rum,
and two ship biscuits.

He unlocked the eighteen cases marked _Proserpine,_ etc., and, peering in
with his lantern, saw the gold dust and small ingots packed in parcels,
and surrounded by Australian wool of the highest possible quality. It was
a luscious sight.

He then proceeded to a heavier task; he unscrewed, one after another,
eighteen of the cases marked _Shannon,_ and the eighteen so selected,
perhaps by private marks, proved to be packed close, and on a different
system from the gold, viz., in pigs, or square blocks, three, or in some
cases four, to each chest. Now, these two ways of packing the specie and
the baser metal, respectively, had the effect of producing a certain
uniformity of weight in the thirty-six cases Wylie was inspecting.
Otherwise the gold cases would have been twice the weight of those that
contained the baser metal; for lead is proverbially heavy, but under
scientific tests is to gold as five to twelve, or thereabouts.

In his secret and mysterious labor Wylie was often interrupted. Whenever
he heard a step on the pavement outside he drew the slide of his lantern
and hid the light. If he had examined the iron shutters he would have
seen that his light could never pierce through them into the street. But
he was not aware of this. Notwithstanding these occasional interruptions,
he worked so hard and continuously that the perspiration poured down him
ere he had unscrewed those eighteen chests containing the pigs of lead.
However, it was done at last, and then he refreshed himself with a
draught from his flask. The next thing was, he took the three pigs of
lead out of one of the cases marked _Shannon,_ etc., and numbered
fifteen, and laid them very gently on the floor. Then he transferred to
that empty case the mixed contents of a case branded _Proserpine_ 1,
etc., and this he did with the utmost care and nicety, lest gold dust
spilled should tell tales. And so he went on and amused himself by
shifting the contents of the whole eighteen cases marked _Proserpine,_
etc., into eighteen cases marked _Shannon,_ etc., and refilling them with
the _Shannon's_ lead. Frolicsome Mr. Wylie! Then he sat down on one of
the cases _Proserpine'd,_ and ate a biscuit and drank a little rum; not
much; for at this part of his career he was a very sober man, though he
could feign drunkenness, or indeed anything else.

The gold was all at his mercy, yet he did not pocket an ounce of it; not
even a penny-weight to make a wedding-ring for Nancy Rouse. Mr. Wylie had
a conscience. And a very original one it was; and, above all, he was very
true to those he worked with. He carefully locked the gold cases up again
and resumed the screwdriver, for there was another heavy stroke of work
to be done; and he went at it like a man. He carefully screwed down
again, one after another, all those eighteen cases marked. _Shannon,_
which he had filled with gold dust, and then, heating a sailor's needle
red-hot over his burning wick, he put his own secret marks on those
eighteen cases--marks that no eye but his own could detect. By this time,
though a very powerful man, he felt much exhausted and would gladly have
snatched an hour's repose. But, consulting his watch by the light of his
lantern, he found the sun had just risen. He retired to his place of
concealment in the same cat-like way he had come out of it--that is to
say, he mounted on the high cases, and then slipped down behind them,
into the angle of the wall.

As soon as the office opened, two sailors, whom he had carefully
instructed overnight, came with a boat for the cases; the warehouse was
opened in consequence, but they were informed that Wylie must be present
at the delivery.

"Oh, he won't be long," said they; "told us he would meet us here."

There was a considerable delay, and a good deal of talking, and presently
Wylie was at their back, and put in his word.

Seaton was greatly surprised at finding him there, and asked him where he
had sprung from.

"Me!" said Wylie, jocosely, "why, I hailed from Davy Jones's locker
last."

"I never heard you come in," said Seaton, thoughtfully.

"Well, sir," replied Wylie, civilly, "a man does learn to go like a cat
on board ship, that is the truth. I came in at the door like my betters;
but I thought I heard you mention my name, so I made no noise. Well, here
I am, anyway, and--Jack, how many trips can we take these thundering
chests in? Let us see, eighteen for the _Proserpine,_ and forty for the
_Shannon._ Is that correct, sir?"

"Perfectly."

"Then, if you will deliver them, I'll check the delivery aboard the
lighter there; and then we'll tow her alongside the ships."

Seaton called up two more clerks, and sent one to the boat and one on
board the barge. The barge was within hail; so the cases were checked as
they passed out of the store, and checked again at the small boat, and
also on board the lighter. When they were all cleared out, Wylie gave
Seaton his receipt for them, and, having a steam-tug in attendance, towed
the lighter alongside the _Shannon_ first.

Seaton carried the receipt to his employer. "But, sir," said he, "is this
regular for an officer of the _Proserpine_ to take the _Shannon's_ cargo
from us?"

"No, it is not regular," said the old gentleman; and he looked through a
window and summoned Mr. Hardcastle.

Hardcastle explained that the _Proserpine_ shipped the gold, which was
the more valuable consignment; and that he saw no harm in the officer who
was so highly trusted by the merchant (on this and on former occasions)
taking out a few tons of lead and copper to the _Shannon._

"Well, sir," said Seaton, "suppose I was to go out and see the chests
stowed in those vessels?"

"I think you are making a fuss about nothing," said Hardcastle.

Mr. White was of the same opinion, but, being too wise to check zeal and
caution, told Seaton he might go for his own satisfaction.

Seaton, with some difficulty, got a little boat and pulled across the
harbor. He found the _Shannon_ had shipped all the chests marked with her
name; and the captain and mate of the _Proserpine_ were beginning to ship
theirs. He paddled under the _Proserpine's_ stern.

Captain Hudson, a rough salt, sang out, and asked him roughly what he
wanted there.

"Oh, it is all right," said the mate; "he is come for your receipt and
Hewitt's. Be smart now, men; two on board, sixteen to come."

Seaton saw the chests marked _Proserpine_ stowed in the _Proserpine,_ and
went ashore with Captain Hewitt's receipt for forty cases on board the
_Shannon,_ and Captain Hudson's of eighteen on board the _Proserpine._

As he landed he met Lloyds' agent, and told him what a valuable freight
he had just shipped. That gentleman merely remarked that both ships were
underwritten in Sydney by the owners; but the freight was insured in
London, no doubt.

There was still something about this business Seaton did not quite like;
perhaps it was in the haste of the shipments, or in the manner of the
mate. At all events, it was too slight and subtle to be communicated to
others with any hope of convincing them; and, moreover, Seaton could not
but own to himself that he hated Wardlaw, and was, perhaps, no fair judge
of his acts, and even of the acts of his servants.

And soon a blow fell that drove the matter out of his head and his heart.
Miss Helen Rolleston called at the office, and, standing within a few
feet of him, handed Hardcastle a letter from Arthur Wardlaw, directing
that the ladies' cabin on board the _Shannon_ should be placed at her
disposal.

Hardcastle bowed low to Beauty and Station, and promised her the best
possible accommodation on board the _Shannon,_ bound for England next
week.

As she retired, she cast one quiet glance round the office in search of
Seaton's beard. But he had reduced its admired luxuriance, and trimmed it
to a narrow mercantile point. She did not know his other features from
Adam, and little thought that young man, bent double over his paper, was
her preserver and _protege;_ still less that he was at this moment cold
as ice, and quivering with misery from head to foot, because her own lips
had just told him she was going to England in the _Shannon._


Heartbroken, but still loving nobly, Seaton dragged himself down to the
harbor, and went slowly on board the _Shannon_ to secure Miss Rolleston
every comfort.

Then, sick at heart as he was, he made inquiries into the condition of
the vessel which was to be trusted with so precious a freight; and the
old boatman who was rowing him, hearing him make these inquiries, told
him he himself was always about, and had noticed the _Shannon's_ pumps
were going every blessed night.

Seaton carried this intelligence directly to Lloyds' agent; he overhauled
the ship, and ordered her into the graving dock for repairs.

Then Seaton, for White & Co., wrote to Miss Rolleston that the _Shannon_
was not seaworthy and could not sail for a month at the least.

The lady simply acknowledged Messrs. White's communication, and Seaton
breathed again.

Wardlaw had made Miss Rolleston promise him faithfully to sail that month
in his ship, the _Shannon._ Now she was a slave to her word and constant
of purpose; so when she found she could not sail in the _Shannon,_ she
called again on Messrs. White, and took her passage in the _Proserpine._
The essential thing to her mind was to sail when she had promised, and to
go in a ship that belonged to her lover.

The _Proserpine_ was to sail in ten days.

Seaton inquired into the state of the _Proserpine._ She was a good, sound
vessel, and there was no excuse for detaining her.

Then he wrestled long and hard with the selfish part of his great love.
Instead of turning sullen, he set himself to carry out Helen Rolleston's
will. He went on board the _Proserpine_ and chose her the best stern
cabin.

General Rolleston had ordered Helen's cabin to be furnished, and the
agent had put in the usual things, such as a standing bedstead with
drawers beneath, chest of drawers, small table, two chairs, washstand,
looking-glass, and swinging lamp.

But Seaton made several visits to the ship, and effected the following
arrangements at his own cost. He provided a neat cocoa-mat for her cabin
deck, for comfort and foot-hold. He unshipped the regular six-paned stern
windows, and put in single-pane plate glass; he fitted venetian blinds,
and hung two little rose-colored curtains to each of the windows; all so
arranged as to be easily removed in case it should be necessary to ship
dead-lights in heavy weather. He glazed the door leading to her bath-room
and quarter gallery with plate glass; he provided a light easy-chair,
slung and fitted with grommets, to be hung on hooks screwed into the
beams in the midship of the cabin. On this Helen could sit and read, and
so become insensible to the motion of the ship. He fitted a small
bookcase, with a button, which could be raised when a book might be
wanted; he fixed a strike-bell in her maid's cabin communicating with two
strikers in Helen's cabin; he selected books, taking care that the
voyages and travels were prosperous ones. No "Seaman's Recorder,"
"Life-boat Journal," or "Shipwrecks and Disasters in the British Navy."

Her cabin was the after-cabin on the starboard side, was entered through
the cuddy, had a door communicating with the quarter gallery, two stern
windows and a dead-eye on deck. The maid's cabin was the port
after-cabin; doors opened into cuddy and quarter-gallery. And a fine
trouble Miss Rolleston had to get a maid to accompany her; but at last a
young woman offered to go with her for high wages, demurely suppressing
the fact that she had just married one of the sailors, and would have
gladly gone for nothing. Her name was Jane Holt, and her husband's
Michael Donovan.

In one of Seaton's visits to the _Proserpine_ he detected the mate and
the captain talking together and looking at him with unfriendly
eyes--scowling at him would hardly be too strong a word.

However, he was in no state of mind to care much how two animals in blue
jackets received his acts of self-martyrdom. He was there to do the last
kind offices of despairing love for the angel that had crossed his dark
path and illumined it for a moment, to leave it now forever.

At last the fatal evening came; her last in Sydney.

Then Seaton's fortitude, sustained no longer by the feverish stimulus of
doing kindly acts for her, began to give way, and he desponded deeply.

At nine in the evening he crept upon General Rolleston's lawn, where he
had first seen her. He sat down in sullen despair upon the very spot.

Then he came nearer the house. There was a lamp in the dining-room; he
looked in and saw her.

She was seated at her father's knee, looking up at him fondly; her hand
was in his; the tears were in their eyes; she had no mother; he no son;
they loved one another devotedly. This, their tender gesture, and their
sad silence, spoke volumes to any one that had known sorrow. Poor Seaton
sat down on the dewy grass outside and wept because she was weeping.

Her father sent her to bed early. Seaton watched, as he had often done
before, till her light went out; and then he flung himself on the wet
grass and stared at the sky in utter misery.

The mind is often clearest in the middle of the night; and all of a
sudden he saw, as if written on the sky, that she was going to England
expressly to marry Arthur Wardlaw.

At this revelation he started up, stung with hate as well as love, and
his tortured mind rebelled furiously. He repeated his vow that this
should never be; and soon a scheme came into his head to prevent it; but
it was a project so wild and dangerous that, even as his heated brain
hatched it, his cooler judgment said, "Fly, madman, fly! or this love
will _destroy_ you!"

He listened to the voice of reason, and in another minute he was out of
the premises. He fluttered to his lodgings.

When he got there he could not go in; he turned and fluttered about the
streets, not knowing or caring whither; his mind was in a whirl; and,
what with his bodily fever and his boiling heart, passion began to
overpower reason, that had held out so gallantly till now. He found
himself at the harbor, staring with wild and bloodshot eyes at the
_Proserpine,_ he who, an hour ago, had seen that he had but one thing to
do--to try and forget young Wardlaw's bride. He groaned aloud, and ran
wildly back into the town. He hurried up and down one narrow street,
raging inwardly, like some wild beast in its den.

By-and-by his mood changed, and he hung round a lamp-post and fell to
moaning and lamenting his hard fate and hers.

A policeman came up, took him for a maudlin drunkard, and half-advised,
half-admonished, him to go home.

At that he gave a sort of fierce, despairing snarl and ran into the next
street to be alone.

In this street he found a shop open and lighted, though it was but five
o'clock in the morning. It was a barber's whose customers were working
people. HAIRCUTTING, SIXPENCE. EASY SHAVING, THREEPENCE. HOT COFFEE,
FOURPENCE THE CUP. Seaton's eye fell upon this shop. He looked at it
fixedly a moment from the opposite side of the way and then hurried on.

He turned suddenly and came back. He crossed the road and entered the
shop. The barber was leaning over the stove, removing a can of boiling
water from the fire to the hob. He turned at the sound of Seaton's step
and revealed an ugly countenance, rendered sinister by a squint.

Seaton dropped into a chair and said, "I want my beard taken off."

The man looked at him, if it could be called looking at him, and said
dryly, "Oh, do ye? How much am I to have for that job?"

"You know your own charge."

"Of course I do. Threepence a chin."

"Very well. Be quick then."

"Stop a bit. That is my charge to working folk. I must have something
more off you."

"Very well, man, I'll pay you double."

"My price to you is ten shillings."

"Why, what is that for?" asked Seaton in some alarm; he thought, in his
confusion, the man must have read his heart.

"I'll tell ye why," said the squinting barber. "No, I won't. I'll show
ye." He brought a small mirror and suddenly clapped it before Seaton's
eyes. Seaton started at his own image; wild, ghastly, and the eyes so
bloodshot. The barber chuckled. This start was an extorted compliment to
his own sagacity. "Now wasn't I right?" said he; "did I ought to take the
beard off such a mug as that--for less than ten shillings?"

"I see," groaned Seaton; "you think I have committed some crime. One man
sees me weeping with misery; he calls me a drunkard; another sees me pale
with the anguish of my breaking heart; he calls me a felon. May God's
curse light on him and you, and all mankind!"

"All right," said the squinting barber, apathetically; "my price is ten
bob, whether or no."

Seaton felt in his pockets. "I have not got the money about me," said he.

"Oh, I'm not particular; leave your watch."

Seaton handed the squinting vampire his watch without another word and
let his head fall upon his breast.

The barber cut his beard close with the scissors, and made trivial
remarks from time to time, but received no reply.

At last, extortion having put him in a good humor, he said, "Don't be so
down-hearted, my lad. You are not the first that has got into trouble and
had to change faces."

Seaton vouchsafed no reply.

The barber shaved him clean, and was astonished at the change, and
congratulated him. "Nobody will ever know you," said he; "and I'll tell
you why; your mouth, it is inclined to turn up a little; now a mustache
it bends down, and that alters such a mouth as yours entirely. But, I'll
tell you what, taking off this beard shows me something. _You are a
gentleman!!_ Make it a sovereign, sir."

Seaton staggered out of the place without a word.

"Sulky, eh?" muttered the barber. He gathered up some of the long hair he
had cut off Seaton's chin with his scissors, admired it, and put it away
in paper.

While thus employed, a regular customer looked in for his cup of coffee.
It was the policeman who had taken Seaton for a convivial soul.



CHAPTER VII.

GENERAL ROLLESTON'S servants made several trips to the _Proserpine,_
carrying boxes, etc.

But Helen herself clung to the house till the last moment. "Oh, papa!"
she cried, "I need all my resolution, all my good faith, to keep my word
with Arthur, and leave you. Why, why did I promise? Why am I such a slave
to my word?"

"Because," said the old general, with a voice not so firm as usual, "I
have always told you that a lady is not to be inferior to a gentleman in
any virtue except courage. I've heard my mother say so often; and I've
taught it to my Helen. And, my girl, where would be the merit of keeping
our word, if we only kept it when it cost us nothing?"

He promised to come after, in three months at furthest, and the brave
girl dried her tears as well as she could, not to add to the sadness he
fought against as gallantly as he had often fought the enemies of his
country.

The _Proserpine_ was to sail at two o'clock. At a little before one, a
gentleman boarded her and informed the captain that he was a missionary,
the Rev. John Hazel, returning home, after a fever; and wished to take a
berth in the _Proserpine._

The mate looked him full in the face; and then told him there was very
little accommodation for passengers, and it had all been secured by White
& Co. for a young lady and her servants.

Mr. Hazel replied that his means were small and moderate accommodation
would serve him; but he must go to England without delay.

Captain Hudson put in his gracious word: "Then jump off the jetty at high
tide and swim there; no room for black coats in my ship."

Mr. Hazel looked from one to the other piteously. "Show me some mercy,
gentlemen; my very life depends on it."

"Very sorry, sir," said the mate; "but it is impossible. There's the
_Shannon,_ you can go in her."

"But she is under repairs; so I am told."

"Well, there are a hundred and fifty carpenters on to her; and she will
come out of port in our wake."

"Now, sir," said Hudson roughly, "bundle down the ship's side again if
you please; this is a busy time. Hy!--rig the whip; here's the lady
coming off to us."

The missionary heaved a deep sigh and went down into the boat that had
brought him. But he was no sooner seated than he ordered the boatmen,
somewhat peremptorily, to pull ashore as fast as they could row. His boat
met the Rollestons, father and daughter, coming out, and he turned his
pale face and eyed them as he passed. Helen Rolleston was struck with
that sorrowful countenance, and whispered her father, "That poor
clergyman has just left the ship." She made sure he had been taking leave
of some beloved one, bound for England. General Rolleston looked round,
but the boats had passed each other, and the wan face was no longer
visible.

They were soon on board and received with great obsequiousness. Helen was
shown her cabin, and, observing the minute and zealous care that had been
taken of her comfort, she said, "Somebody who loves me has been here,"
and turned her brimming eyes on her father. He looked quite puzzled; but
said nothing.

Father and daughter were then left alone in the cabin till the ship began
to heave her anchor (she lay just at the mouth of the harbor), and then
the boatswain was sent to give General Rolleston warning. Helen came up
with him, pale and distressed. They exchanged a last embrace and General
Rolleston went down the ship's side. Helen hung over the bulwarks and
waved her last adieu, though she could hardly see him for her tears.

At this moment a four-oared boat swept alongside, and Mr. Hazel came on
board again. He presented Hudson a written order to give the Rev. John
Hazel a passage in the small berth abreast the main hatches. It was
signed "For White & Co., James Seaton;" and was indorsed with a stamped
acknowledgment of the passage money, twenty-seven pounds.

Hudson and Wylie, the mate, put their heads together over this. The
missionary saw them consulting, and told them he had mentioned their
mysterious conduct to Messrs. White & Co., and that Mr. Seaton had
promised to stop the ship if their authority was resisted. "And I have
paid my passage money, and will not be turned out now except by force,"
said the reverend gentleman quietly.

Wylie's head was turned away from Mr. Hazel's, and on its profile a most
gloomy, vindictive look; so much so that Mr. Hazel was startled when the
man turned his front face to him with a jolly, genial air and said,
"Well, sir, the truth is, we seamen don't want passengers aboard ships of
this class; they get in our way whenever it blows a capful. However,
since you are here, make yourself as comfortable as you can."

"There, that is enough palaver," said the captain, in his offensive way.
"Hoist the parson's traps aboard; and sheer off you. Anchor's apeak."

He then gave his orders in stentorian roars; the anchor was hove up,
catted and fished; one sail went up after another, the Proserpine's head
came round, and away she bore for England with a fair wind.


General Rolleston went slowly and heavily home, and often turned his head
and looked wistfully at the ship putting out wing upon wing and carrying
off his child like a tiny prey.

To change the comparison, it was only a tender vine detached from a great
sturdy elm. Yet the tree, thus relieved of its delicate encumbrance, felt
bare; and a soft thing was gone, that, seeking protection, had bestowed
warmth; had nestled and curled between the world's cold wind and that
stalwart stem.

As soon as he got home he lighted a cigar and set to work to console
himself by reflecting that it was but a temporary parting, since he had
virtually resigned his post and was only waiting in Sydney till he should
have handed his papers in order over to his successor and settled one or
two private matters that could not take three months.

When he had smoked his cigar and reasoned away his sense of desolation,
Nature put out her hand and took him by the breast and drew him gently
upstairs to take a look at his beloved daughter's bedroom, by way of
seeing the last of her.

The room had one window looking south and another west; the latter
commanded a view of the sea. General Rolleston looked down at the floor,
littered with odds and ends--the dead leaves of dress that fall about a
lady in the great process of packing--and then gazed through the window
at the flying _Proserpine._

He sighed and lighted another cigar. Before he had half finished it he
stooped down and took up a little bow of ribbon that lay on the ground
and put it quietly in his bosom. In this act he was surprised by Sarah
Wilson, who had come up to sweep all such waifs and strays into her own
box.

"La, sir," said she, rather crossly, "why didn't you tell me, and I'd
have tidied the room. It is all hugger-mugger, with miss a-leaving."

And with this she went to the washstand to begin. General Rolleston's eye
followed her movements, and he observed the water in one of the basins
was rather red. "What!" said he, "has she had an accident; cut her
finger?"

"No, sir," said Wilson.

"Her nose been bleeding, then?"

"No, sir.

"Not from her finger--nor--? Let me look."

He examined the basin narrowly, and his countenance fell.

"Good Heavens!" said he. "I wish I had seen this before; she should not
have gone to-day. Was it the agitation of parting?"

"Oh, no, sir," said Wilson; "don't go to fancy that. Why, it is not the
first time by a many."

"Not the first!" faltered Rolleston. "In Heaven's name, why was I never
told of this?"

"Indeed, sir," said Wilson, eagerly, "you must not blame me, sir. It was
as much as my place was worth to tell you. Miss is a young lady that will
be obeyed; and she gave me strict orders not to let you know. But she is
gone now. And I always thought it was a pity she kept it so dark; but, as
I was saying, sir, she _would_ be obeyed."

"Kept what so dark?"

"Why, sir, her spitting of blood at times; and turning so thin by what
she used to be, poor dear young lady."

General Rolleston groaned aloud. "And this she hid from me; from me!" He
said no more, but kept looking bewildered and helpless, first at the
basin discolored by his daughter's blood, and then at the _Proserpine,_
that was carrying her away, perhaps forever; and, at the double sight,
his iron features worked with cruel distress; anguish so mute and male
that the woman Wilson, though not good for much, sat down and shed
genuine tears of pity.

But he summoned all his fortitude, told Wilson he could not say she was
to blame, she had but obeyed her mistress's orders; and we must all obey
orders. "But now," said he, "it is me you ought to obey. Tell me, does
any doctor attend her?"

"None ever comes here, sir. But, one day, she let fall that she went to
Dr. Valentine, him that has the name for disorders of the chest."

In a very few minutes General Rolleston was at Dr. Valentine's house, and
asked him bluntly what was the matter with his daughter.

"Disease of the lungs," said the doctor simply.

The unhappy father then begged the doctor to give him his real opinion as
to the degree of danger; and Dr. Valentine told him, with some feeling,
that the case was not desperate, but was certainly alarming.

Remonstrated with for letting the girl undertake a sea voyage, he replied
rather evasively at first; that the air of Sydney disagreed with his
patient, and a sea voyage was more likely to do her good than harm,
provided the weather was not downright tempestuous.

"And who is to insure me against that?' asked the afflicted father.

"Why, it is a good time of year," said Dr. Valentine; "and delay might
have been fatal." Then, after a slight hesitation, "The fact is, sir,"
said he, "I gathered from her servant that a husband awaits Miss
Rolleston in England; and I must tell you, what of course I did not tell
her, that the sooner she enters the married state the better. In fact, it
is her one chance, in my opinion."

General Rolleston pressed the doctor's hand, and went away without
another word.

Only he hurried his matters of business; and took his passage in the
_Shannon._

It was in something of a warrior's spirit that he prepared to follow his
daughter and protect her; but often he sighed at the invisible, insidious
nature of the foe, and wished it could have been a fair fight of bullets
and bayonets, and his own the life at stake.

The _Shannon_ was soon ready for sea.

But the gentleman who was to take General Rolleston's post met with
something better, and declined it.

General Rolleston, though chafing with impatience, had to give up going
home in the _Shannon._ But an influential friend, Mr. Adolphus Savage,
was informed of his difficulty, and obtained a year's leave of absence
for him, and permission to put young Savage in as his _locum tenens;_
which, by the by, is how politic men in general serve their friends.

The _Shannon_ sailed, but not until an incident had occurred that must
not be entirely passed over. Old Mr. White called on General Rolleston
with a long face, and told him James Seaton had disappeared.

"Stolen anything?"

"Not a shilling. Indeed, the last thing the poor fellow did was to give
us a proof of his honesty. It seems a passenger paid him twenty-seven
pounds for a berth in the _Proserpine,_ just before she sailed. Well,
sir, he might have put this in his pocket, and nobody been the wiser. But
no, he entered the transaction, and the numbers of the notes, and left
the notes themselves in an envelope addressed to me. What I am most
afraid of is, that some harm has come to him, poor lad."

"What day did he disappear?"

"The 11th of November."

"The day my daughter sailed for England," said General Rolleston,
thoughtfully.

"Was it, sir? Yes, I remember. She went in the _Proserpine."_

General Rolleston knitted his brows in silence for some time; then he
said, "I'll set the detectives on his track."

"Not to punish him, general. We do not want him punished."

"To punish him, protect him, or avenge him, as the case may require," was
the reply, uttered very gravely.

Mr. White took his leave. General Rolleston rang the bell, and directed
his servant to go for Hexham, the detective.

He then rang the bell again, and sent for Sarah Wilson. He put some
searching questions to this woman; and his interrogatory had hardly
concluded when Hexham was announced. General Rolleston dismissed the
girl, and, looking now very grave indeed, asked the detective whether he
remembered James Seaton.

"That I do, sir."

"He has levanted."

"Taken much, sir?"

"Not a shilling."

"Gone to the diggings?"

"That you must find out."

"What day was he first missed, sir?"

"Eleventh of November. The very day Miss Rolleston left."

Hexham took out a little greasy notebook and examined it. "Eleventh of
November," said he, "then I almost think I have got a clew, sir; but I
shall know more when I have had a word with two parties." With this he
retired.

But he came again at night and brought General Rolleston some positive
information; with this, however, we shall not trouble the reader just
here. For General Rolleston himself related it, and the person to whom he
did relate it, and the attendant circumstances, gave it a peculiar
interest.

Suffice it to say here that General Rolleston went on board the _Shannon_
charged with curious information about James Seaton; and sailed for
England in the wake of the _Proserpine,_ and about two thousand miles
astern.



CHAPTER VIII.

WARDLAW was at home before this with his hands full of business; and it
is time the reader should be let into one secret at least, which this
merchant had contrived to conceal from the City of London, and from his
own father, and from every human creature, except one poor, simple,
devoted soul, called Michael Penfold.

There are men, who seem stupid, yet generally go right; there are also
clever men, who appear to have the art of blundering wisely--_"sapienter
descendunt in infernum,"_ as the ancients have it; and some of these
latter will even lie on their backs, after a fall, and lift up their
voices, and prove to you that in the nature of things they ought to have
gone up, and their being down is monstrous; illusory.

Arthur Wardlaw was not quite so clever as all that. Still he misconducted
the business of the firm with perfect ability from the first month he
entered on it. Like those ambitious railways which ruin a goodly trunk
with excess of branches, not to say twigs, he set to work extending, and
extending, and sent the sap of the healthy old concern flying to the ends
of the earth.

He was not only too ambitious, and not cool enough; he was also unlucky,
or under a curse, or something; for things well conceived broke down, in
his hands, under petty accidents. And, besides, his new correspondents
and agents hit him cruelly hard. Then what did he? Why, shot good money
after bad, and lost both. He could not retrench, for his game was
concealment; his father was kept in the dark, and drew his four thousand
a year, as usual, and, upon any hesitation in that respect, would have
called in an accountant and wound up the concern. But this tax upon the
receipts, though inconvenient, was a trifle compared with the series of
heavy engagements that were impending. The future was so black that
Wardlaw junior was sore tempted to realize twenty thousand pounds, which
a man in his position could easily do, and fly the country. But this
would have been to give up Helen Rolleston; and he loved her too well.
His brain was naturally subtle and fertile in expedients; so he brought
all its powers to bear on a double problem--how to marry Helen and
restore the concern he had mismanaged to its former state. For this a
large sum of money was needed, not less than ninety thousand pounds.

The difficulties were great; but he entered on this project with two
advantages. In the first place, he enjoyed excellent credit; in the
second, he was not disposed to be scrupulous. He had been cheated several
times; and nothing undermines feeble rectitude more than that. Such a man
as Wardlaw is apt to establish a sort of account current with humanity.

"Several fellow-creatures have cheated me. Well, I must get as much back,
by hook or by crook, from several fellow-creatures."

After much hard thought he conceived his double master-stroke. And it was
to execute this he went out to Australia.

We have seen that he persuaded Helen Rolleston to come to England and be
married; but, as to the other part of his project, that is a matter for
the reader to watch, as it develops itself.

His first act of business, on reaching England, was to insure the
freights of the _Proserpine_ and the _Shannon._

He sent Michael Penfold to Lloyds', with the requisite vouchers,
including the receipts of the gold merchants. Penfold easily insured the
_Shannon,_ whose freight was valued at only six thousand pounds. The
_Proserpine,_ with her cargo, and a hundred and thirty thousand pounds of
specie to boot, was another matter. Some underwriters had an objection to
specie, being subject to theft as well as shipwreck; other underwriters,
applied to by Penfold, acquiesced; others called on Wardlaw himself, to
ask a few questions, and he replied to them courteously, but with a
certain nonchalance, treating it as an affair which might be big to them,
but was not of particular importance to a merchant doing business on his
scale.

To one underwriter, Condell, with whom he was on somewhat intimate terms,
he said, "I wish I could insure the _Shannon_ at her value; but that is
impossible. The City of London could not do it. The _Proserpine_ brings
me some cases of specie, but my true treasure is on board the _Shannon._
She carries my bride, sir."

"Oh, indeed! Miss Rolleston."

"Ah, I remember; you have seen her. Then you will not be surprised at a
proposal I shall make you. Underwrite the _Shannon_ a million pounds, to
be paid by you if harm befalls my Helen. You need not look so astonished;
I was only joking; you gentlemen deal with none but substantial values;
and, as for me, a million would no more compensate me for losing her,
than for losing my own life."

The tears were in his pale eyes as he said these words; and Mr. Condell
eyed him with sympathy. But he soon recovered himself, and was the man of
business again. "Oh, the specie on board the _Proserpine?_ Well, I was in
Australia, you know, and bought that specie myself of the merchants whose
names are attached to the receipts. I deposited the cases with White &
Co., at Sydney. Penfold will show you the receipt. I instructed Joseph
Wylie, mate of the _Proserpine,_ and a trustworthy person, to see them
stowed away in the _Proserpine,_ by White & Co. Hudson is a good seaman;
and the _Proserpine_ a new ship, built by Mare. We have nothing to fear
but the ordinary perils of the sea."

"So one would think," said Mr. Condell, and took his leave; but, at the
door he hesitated, and then, looking down a little sheepishly, said, "Mr.
Wardlaw, may I offer you a piece of advice?"

"Certainly."

Then, double the insurance on the _Shannon,_ if you can.

With these words he slipped out, evidently to avoid questions he did not
intend to answer.

Wardlaw stared after him, stupidly at first, and then stood up and put
his hand to his head in a sort of amazement. Then he sat down again, ashy
pale, and with the dew on his forehead, and muttered faintly,
"Double--the insurance--of the--_Shannon!"_

Men who walk in crooked paths are very subject to such surprises; doomed,
like Ahab, to be pierced, through the joints of their armor, by random
shafts; by words uttered in one sense, but conscience interprets them in
another.


It took a good many underwriters to insure the _Proserpine's_ freight;
but the business was done at last.

Then Wardlaw, who had feigned insouciance so admirably in that part of
his interview with Condell, went, without losing an hour, and raised a
large sum of money on the insured freight, to meet the bills that were
coming due for the gold (for he had paid for most of it in paper at short
dates), and also other bills that were approaching maturity. This done,
he breathed again, safe for a month or two from everything short of a
general panic, and full of hope from his coming master-stroke. But two
months soon pass when a man has a flock of kites in the air. Pass? They
fly. So now he looked out anxiously for his Australian ships; and went to
Lloyds' every day to hear if either had been seen or heard of by
steamers, or by faster vessels than themselves.

And, though Condell had underwritten the _Proserpine_ to the tune of
eight thousand pounds, yet still his mysterious words rang strangely in
the merchant's ears, and made him so uneasy that he employed a discreet
person to sound Condell as to what he meant by "double the insurance of
the _Shannon."_

It turned out to be the simplest affair in the world; Condell had secret
information that the _Shannon_ was in bad repairs, so he had advised his
friend to insure her heavily. For the same reason, he declined to
underwrite her freight himself.

With respect to those ships, our readers already know two things, of
which Wardlaw himself, _nota bene,_ had no idea; namely, that the
_Shannon_ had sailed last, instead of first, and that Miss Rolleston was
not on board of her, but in the _Proserpine,_ two thousand miles ahead.

To that, your superior knowledge, we, posters of the sea and land, are
about to make a large addition, and relate things strange, but true.
While that anxious and plotting merchant strains his eyes seaward, trying
hard to read the future, we carry you, in a moment of time, across the
Pacific, and board the leading vessel, the good ship _Proserpine,_
homeward bound.

The ship left Sydney with a fair wind, but soon encountered adverse
weather, and made slow progress, being close hauled, which was her worst
point of sailing. She pitched a good deal, and that had a very ill effect
on Miss Rolleston. She was not seasick, but thoroughly out of sorts. And,
in one week, became perceptibly paler and thinner than when she started.

The young clergyman, Mr. Hazel, watched her with respectful anxiety, and
this did not escape her feminine observation. She noted quietly that
those dark eyes of his followed her with a mournful tenderness, but
withdrew their gaze when she looked at him. Clearly, he was interested in
her, but had no desire to intrude upon her attention. He would bring up
the squabs for her, and some of his own wraps, when she stayed on deck,
and was prompt with his arm when the vessel lurched; and showed her those
other little attentions which are called for on board ship, but without a
word. Yet, when she thanked him in the simplest and shortest way, his
great eyes flashed with pleasure, and the color mounted to his very
temples.

Engaged young ladies are, for various reasons, more sociable with the
other sex than those who are still on the universal mock-defensive. A
ship, like a distant country, thaws even English reserve, and women in
general are disposed to admit ecclesiastics to certain privileges. No
wonder then that Miss Rolleston, after a few days, met Mr. Hazel
half-way; and they made acquaintance on board the _Proserpine,_ in
monosyllables at first; but, the ice once fairly broken, the intercourse
of mind became rather rapid.

At first it was a mere intellectual exchange, but one very agreeable to
Miss Rolleston; for a fine memory, and omnivorous reading from his very
boyhood, with the habit of taking notes, and reviewing them, had made Mr.
Hazel a walking dictionary, and a walking essayist if required.

But when it came to something which, most of all, the young lady had
hoped from this temporary acquaintance, viz., religious instruction, she
found him indeed as learned on that as on other topics, but cold and
devoid of unction. So much so, that one day she said to him, "I can
hardly believe you have ever been a missionary." But at that he seemed so
distressed that she was sorry for him, and said, sweetly, "Excuse me, Mr.
Hazel, my remark was in rather bad taste, I fear."

"Not at all," said he. "Of course I am unfit for missionary work, or I
should not be here."

Miss Rolleston took a good look at him, but said nothing. However, his
reply and her perusal of his countenance satisfied her that he was a man
with very little petty vanity and petty irritability.

One day they were discoursing of gratitude; and Mr. Hazel said he had a
poor opinion of those persons who speak of the burden of gratitude, and
make a fuss about being "laid under an obligation."

"As for me," said he, "I have owed such a debt, and found the sense of it
very sweet."

"But perhaps you were always hoping to make a return," said Helen.

"That I was. Hoping against hope."

"Do you think people are grateful, in general?"

"No, Miss Rolleston, I do not."

"Well, I think they are. To me at least. Why, I have experienced
gratitude even in a convict. It was a poor man, who had been transported,
for something or other, and he begged papa to take him for his gardener.
Papa did, and he was so grateful that, do you know, he suspected our
house was to be robbed, and he actually watched in the garden night after
night. And, what do you think? the house was attacked by a whole gang;
but poor Mr. Seaton confronted them and shot one, and was wounded
cruelly; but he beat them off for us; and was not that gratitude?"

While she was speaking so earnestly, Mr. Hazel's blood seemed to run
through his veins like heavenly fire, but he said nothing, and the lady
resumed with gentle fervor, "Well, we got him a clerk's place in a
shipping-office, and heard no more of him; but he did not forget us; my
cabin here was fitted up with every comfort and every delicacy. I thanked
papa for it; but he looked so blank I saw directly he knew nothing about
it, and, now I think of it, it was Mr. Seaton. I am positive it was. Poor
fellow! And I should not even know him if I saw him."

Mr. Hazel observed, in a low voice, that Mr. Seaton's conduct did not
seem wonderful to him. "Still," said he, "one is glad to find there is
some good left even in a criminal."

"A criminal!" cried Helen Rolleston, firing up. "Pray, who says he was a
criminal? Mr. Hazel, once for all, no friend of mine ever deserves such a
name as that. A friend of mine may commit some great error or imprudence;
but that is all. The poor grateful soul was never guilty of any downright
wickedness. _That stands to reason."_

Mr. Hazel did not encounter this feminine logic with his usual ability;
he muttered something or other, with a trembling lip, and left her so
abruptly that she asked herself whether she had inadvertently said
anything that could have offended him; and awaited an explanation. But
none came. The topic was never revived by Mr. Hazel; and his manner, at
their next meeting, showed he liked her none the worse that she stood up
for her friends.


The wind steady from the west for two whole days, and the _Proserpine_
showed her best sailing qualities, and ran four hundred and fifty miles
in that time.

Then came a dead calm, and the sails flapped lazily and the masts
described an arc; and the sun broiled; and the sailors whistled; and the
captain drank; and the mate encouraged him.

During this calm Miss Rolleston fell downright ill, and quitted the deck.
Then Mr. Hazel was very sad; borrowed all the books in the ship and read
them, and took notes; and when he had done this he was at leisure to read
men, and so began to study Hiram Hudson, Joseph Wylie, and others, and
take a few notes about them.

From these we select some that are better worth the reader's attention
than anything we could relate in our own persons at this stagnant part of
the story.

  PASSAGES FROM MR. HAZEL'S DIARY.

  "CHARACTERS ON BOARD THE 'PROSERPINE.'

"There are two sailors, messmates, who have formed an antique friendship;
their names are John Welch and Samuel Cooper. Welch is a very able seaman
and a chatterbox. Cooper is a good sailor, but very silent; only what he
does say is much to the purpose.

"The gabble of Welch is agreeable to the silent Cooper; and Welch admires
Cooper's taciturnity.

"I asked Welch what made him like Cooper so much. And he said, 'Why, you
see, sir, he is my messmate, for one thing, and a seaman that knows his
work; and then he has been well eddycated, and he knows when to hold his
tongue, does Sam.'

"I asked Cooper why he was so fond of Welch. He only grunted in an uneasy
way at first; but, when I pressed for a reply, he let out two
words--'Capital company'; and got away from me.

"Their friendship, though often roughly expressed, is really a tender and
touching sentiment. I think either of these sailors would bare his back
and take a dozen lashes in place of his messmate. I too once thought I
had made such a friend. Eheu!

"Both Cooper and Welch seem, by their talk, to consider the ship a living
creature. Cooper chews. Welch only smokes, and often lets his pipe out;
he is so voluble.

"Captain Hudson is quite a character, or, I might say, two characters;
for he is one man when he is sober, and another when he is the worse for
liquor; and that, I am sorry to see, is very often. Captain Hudson,
sober, is a rough, bearish seaman, with a quick, experienced eye, that
takes in every rope in the ship, as he walks up and down his
quarter-deck. He either evades or bluntly declines conversation, and
gives his whole mind to sailing his ship.

"Captain Hudson, drunk, is a garrulous man, who seems to have drifted
back into the past. He comes up to you and talks of his own accord, and
always about himself, and what he did fifteen or twenty years since. He
forgets whatever has occurred half an hour ago; and his eye, which was an
eagle's, is now a mole's. He no longer sees what his sailors are doing
alow or aloft; to be sure he no longer cares; his present ship may take
care of herself while he is talking of his past ones. But the surest
indicia of inebriety in Hudson are these two. First, his nose is red.
Secondly, he discourses upon a seaman's _duty to his employers._ Ebrius
rings the changes on his 'duty to his employers' till drowsiness attacks
his hearers. _Cicero de officiis_ was all very well at a certain period
of one's life, but _bibulus nauta de officiis_ is rather too much.

"N. B.--Except when his nose is red not a word about his 'duty to his
employers.' That phrase, like a fine lady, never ventures into the
morning air. It is purely post-prandial, and sacred to occasions when he
is utterly neglecting his duty to his employers, and to everybody else.

"All this is ridiculous enough, but somewhat alarming. To think that
_her_ precious life should be intrusted to the care and skill of so
unreliable a captain!

"Joseph Wylie, the mate, is less eccentric but even more remarkable. He
is one of those powerfully built fellows whom Nature, one would think,
constructed to gain all their ends by force and directness. But no such
thing; he goes about as softly as a cat; is always popping out of holes
and corners; and I can see he watches me and tries to hear what I say to
her. He is civil to me when I speak to him; yet I notice he avoids me
quietly. Altogether, there is something about him that puzzles me. Why
was he so reluctant to let me on board as a passenger? Why did he tell a
downright falsehood? For he said there was no room for me; yet, even now,
there are two cabins vacant, and he has taken possession of them.

"The mate of this ship has several barrels of spirits in his cabin, or
rather cabins, and it is he who makes the captain drunk. I learned this
from one of the boys. This looks ugly. I fear Wylie is a bad, designing
man, who wishes to ruin the captain, and so get his place. But, meantime,
the ship might be endangered by this drunkard's misconduct. I shall watch
Wylie closely, and perhaps put the captain on his guard against this
false friend.

"Last night, a breeze got up about sunset, and H. R. came on deck for
half an hour. I welcomed her as calmly as I could: but I felt my voice
tremble and my heart throb. She told me the voyage tired her much; but it
was the last she should have to make. How strange, how hellish (God
forgive me for saying so!) it seems that _she_ should love _him._ But,
does she love him? Can she love him? Could she love him if she knew all?
Know him she shall before she marries him. For the present, be still, my
heart.

"She soon went below and left me desolate. I wandered all about the ship,
and, at last, I came upon the inseparables, Welch and Cooper. They were
squatted on the deck, and Welch's tongue was going as usual. He was
talking about this Wylie, and saying that, in all his ships, he had never
known such a mate as this; why, the captain was under his thumb, he then
gave a string of captains, each of whom would have given his mate a round
dozen at the gangway, if he had taken so much on him as this one does.

"'Grog!' suggested Cooper, in extenuation.

"Welch admitted Wylie was liberal with that, and friendly enough with the
men; but, still, he preferred to see a ship commanded by the captain, and
not by a lubber like Wylie.

"I expressed some surprise at this term, and said I had envied Wylie's
nerves in a gale of wind we encountered early in the voyage.

"The talking sailor explained, 'In course, he has been to sea afore this,
and weathered many a gale. But so has the cook. That don't make a man a
sailor. You ask him how to send down a to'-gallant yard or gammon a
bowsprit, or even mark a lead line, and he'll stare at ye like Old Nick,
when the angel caught him with the red-hot tongs, and questioned him out
of the Church Catechism. Ask Sam there if ye don't believe me. Sam, what
do you think of this Wylie for a seaman?'

"Cooper could not afford anything so precious, in his estimate of things,
as a word; but he lifted a great brawny hand, and gave a snap with his
finger and thumb that disposed of the mate's pretensions to seamanship
more expressively than words could have done it.

"The breeze has freshened, and the ship glides rapidly through the water,
bearing us all homeward. H. R. has resumed her place upon the deck; and
all seems bright again. I ask myself how we existed without the sight of
her.

"This morning the wind shifted to the southwest; the captain surprised us
by taking in sail. But his sober eye had seen something more than ours;
for at noon it blew a gale, and by sunset it was deemed prudent to bring
the ship's head to the wind, and we are now lying to. The ship lurches,
and the wind howls through the bare rigging; but she rides buoyantly, and
no danger is apprehended.

"Last night, as I lay in my cabin, unable to sleep, I heard some heavy
blows strike the ship's side repeatedly, causing quite a vibration. I
felt alarmed, and went out to tell the captain. But I was obliged to go
on my hands and knees, such was the force of the wind. Passing the mate's
cabin, I heard sounds that made me listen acutely; and I then found the
blows were being struck inside the ship. I got to the captain and told
him. 'Oh,' said he, 'ten to one it's the mate nailing down his chests, or
the like.' But I assured him the blows struck the side of the ship, and,
at my earnest request, he came out and listened. He swore a great oath,
and said the lubber would be through the ship's side. He then tried the
cabin door, but it was locked.

"The sounds ceased directly.

"We called to the mate, but received no reply for a long time. At last
Wylie came out of the gun-room, looking rather pale, and asked what was
the matter.

"I told him he ought to know best, for the blows were heard where he had
just come from.

"'Blows!' said he; 'I believe you. Why, a tierce of butter had got
adrift, and was bumping up and down the hold like thunder.' He then asked
us whether that was what we had disturbed him for, entered his cabin, and
almost slammed the door in our faces.

"I remarked to the captain on his disrespectful conduct. The captain was
civil, and said I was right; he was a cross-grained, unmanageable brute,
and he wished he was out of the ship. 'But you see, sir, he has got the
ear of the merchant ashore; and so I am obliged to hold a candle to the
Devil, as the saying is.' He then fired a volley of oaths and abuse at
the offender; and, not to encourage foul language, I retired to my cabin.

"The wind declined toward daybreak, and the ship recommenced her voyage
at 8 A. M.; but under treble reefed topsails and reefed courses.

"I caught the captain and mate talking together in the friendliest way
possible. That Hudson is a humbug; there is some mystery between him and
the mate.

"To-day H. R. was on deck for several hours, conversing sweetly and
looking like the angel she is. But happiness soon flies from me; a
steamer came in sight, bound for Sydney. She signaled us to heave to, and
send a boat. This was done, and the boat brought back a letter for her.
It seems they took us for the _Shannon,_ in which ship she was expected.

"The letter was from _him._ How her cheek flushed and her eye beamed as
she took it! And, oh, the sadness, the agony, that stood beside her
unheeded.

"I left the deck; I could not have contained myself. What a thing is
wealth! By wealth, that wretch can stretch out his hand across the ocean,
and put a letter into her hand under my very eye. Away goes all that I
have gained by being near her while he is far away. He is not in England
now--he is here. His odious presence has driven me from her. Oh, that I
could be a child again, or in my grave, to get away from this Hell of
Love and Hate."


At this point, we beg leave to take the narrative into our own hands
again.

Mr. Hazel actually left the deck to avoid the sight of Helen Rolleston's
flushed cheek and beaming eyes, reading Arthur Wardlaw's letter.

And here we may as well observe that he retired not merely because the
torture was hard to bear. He had some disclosures to make, on reaching
England; but his good sense told him this was not the time or the place
to make them, nor Helen Rolleston the person to whom, in the first
instance, they ought to be made.

While he tries to relieve his swelling heart by putting its throbs on
paper (and, in truth, this is some faint relief, for want of which many a
less unhappy man than Hazel has gone mad), let us stay by the lady's
side, and read her letter with her.

"RUSSELL SQUARE, Dec. 15, 1865.

"MY DEAR LOVE--Hearing that the _Antelope_ steam-packet was going to
Sydney, by way of Cape Horn, I have begged the captain, who is under some
obligations to me, to keep a good lookout for the _Shannon,_ homeward
bound, and board her with these lines, weather permitting.

"Of course the chances are you will not receive them at sea; but still
you possibly may; and my heart is so full of you, I seize any excuse for
overflowing; and then I picture to myself that bright face reading an
unexpected letter in mid-ocean, and so I taste beforehand the greatest
pleasure my mind can conceive--the delight of giving you pleasure, my own
sweet Helen.

"News, I have little. You know how deeply and devotedly you are
beloved--know it so well that I feel words are almost wasted in repeating
it Indeed, the time, I hope, is at hand when the word 'love' will hardly
be mentioned between us. For my part, I think it will be too visible in
every act, and look, and word of mine, to need repetition. We do not
speak much about the air we live in. We breathe it, and speak with it,
not of it.

"I suppose all lovers are jealous. I think I should go mad if you were to
give me a rival; but then I do not understand that ill-natured jealousy
which would rob the beloved object of all affections but the one. I know
my Helen loves her father--loves him, perhaps, as well, or better, than
she does me. Well, in spite of that, I love him too. Do you know, I never
see that erect form, that model of courage and probity, come into a room,
but I say to myself, 'Here comes my benefactor; but for this man there
would be no Helen in the world.' Well, dearest, an unexpected
circumstance has given me a little military influence (these things do
happen in the City); and I really believe that, what with his
acknowledged merits (I am secretly informed a very high personage said,
the other day, he had not received justice), and the influence I speak
of, a post will shortly be offered to your father that will enable him to
live, henceforth, in England, with comfort, I might say, affluence.
Perhaps he might live with us. That depends upon himself.

"Looking forward to this, and my own still greater happiness, diverts my
mind awhile from the one ever-pressing anxiety. But, alas! it will
return. By this time my Helen is on the seas--the terrible, the
treacherous, the cruel seas, that spare neither beauty nor virtue, nor
the longing hearts at home. I have conducted this office for some years,
and thought I knew care and anxiety. But I find I knew neither till now.

"I have two ships at sea, the _Shannon_ and the _Proserpine._ The
_Proserpine_ carries eighteen chests of specie, worth a hundred and
thirty thousand pounds. I don't care one straw whether she sinks or
swims. But the _Shannon_ carries my darling; and every gust at night
awakens me, and every day I go into the great room at Lloyd's and watch
the anemometer. O, God! be merciful, and bring my angel safe to me! O,
God! be just, and strike her not for my offenses!

"Besides the direct perils of the sea are some others you might escape by
prudence. Pray avoid the night air, for my sake, who could not live if
any evil befell you; and be careful in your diet. You were not looking so
well as usual when I left. Would I had words to make you know your own
value. Then you would feel it a _duty_ to be prudent.

"But I must not sadden you with my fears; let me turn to my hopes. How
bright they are! what joy, what happiness, is sailing toward me, nearer
and nearer every day! I ask myself what am I that such paradise should be
mine.

"My love, when we are one, shall we share every thought, or shall I keep
commerce, speculation, and its temptations away from your pure spirit?
Sometimes I think I should like to have neither thought nor occupation
unshared by you; and that you would purify trade itself by your contact;
at other times I say to myself, 'Oh, never soil that angel with your
miserable business; but go home to her as if you were going from earth to
heaven, for a few blissful hours.' But you shall decide this question,
and every other.

"Must I close this letter? Must I say no more, though I have scarcely
begun?

"Yes, I will end, since, perhaps, you will never see it.

"When I have sealed it, I mean to hold it in my clasped hands, and so
pray the Almighty to take it safe to you, and to bring you safe to him
who can never know peace nor joy till he sees you once more.

"Your devoted and anxious lover,

"ARTHUR WARDLAW."


Helen Rolleston read this letter more than once. She liked it none the
less for being disconnected and unbusiness-like. She had seen her
Arthur's business letters; models of courteous conciseness. She did not
value such compositions. This one she did. She smiled over it, all
beaming and blushing; she kissed it, and read it again, and sat with it
in her lap.

But by and by her mood changed, and, when Mr. Hazel ventured upon deck
again, he found her with her forehead sinking on her extended arm, and
the lax hand of that same arm holding the letter. She was crying.

The whole drooping attitude was so lovely, so feminine, yet so sad, that
Hazel stood irresolute, looking wistfully at her.

She caught sight of him, and, by a natural impulse, turned gently away,
as if to hide her tears. But the next moment she altered her mind, and
said, with a quiet dignity that came naturally to her at times, "Why
should I hide my care from you, sir? Mr. Hazel, may I speak to you _as a
clergyman?"_

"Certainly," said Mr. Hazel, in a somewhat faint voice.

She pointed to a seat, and he sat down near her.

She was silent for some time; her lip quivered a little; she was
struggling inwardly for that decent composure which on certain occasions
distinguishes the lady from the mere woman; and it was with a pretty firm
voice she said what follows:

"I am going to tell you a little secret; one I have kept from my own
father. It is--that I have not very long to live."

Her hazel eye rested calmly on his face while she said these words
quietly.

He received them with amazement at first; amazement that soon deepened
into horror. "What do you mean?" he gasped. "What words are these?"

"Thank you for minding so much," said she sweetly. "I will tell you. I
have fits of coughing, not frequent, but violent; and then blood very
often comes from my lungs. That is a bad sign, you know. I have been so
for four months now, and I am a good deal wasted; my hand used to be very
plump; look at it now. Poor Arthur!"

She turned away her head to drop a gentle, unselfish tear or two; and
Hazel stared with increasing alarm at the lovely but wasted hand she
still held out to him, and glanced, too, at Arthur Wardlaw's letter, held
slightly by the beloved fingers.

He said nothing, and, when she looked round, again, he was pale and
trembling. The revelation was so sudden.

"Pray be calm, sir," said she. "We need speak of this no more. But now, I
think, you will not be surprised that I come to you for religious advice
and consolation, short as our acquaintance is."

"I am in no condition to give them," said Hazel, in great agitation. "I
can think of nothing but how to save you. May Heaven help me, and give me
wisdom for that."

"This is idle," said Helen Rolleston, gently but firmly. "I have had the
best advice for months, and I get worse; and, Mr. Hazel, I shall never be
better. So aid me to bow to the will of Heaven. Sir, I do not repine at
leaving the world; but it does grieve me to think how my departure will
affect those whose happiness is very, very dear to me."

She then looked at the letter, blushed, and hesitated a moment; but ended
by giving it to him whom she had applied to as her religious adviser.

"Oblige me by reading that. And, when you have, I think you will grant me
a favor I wish to ask you. Poor fellow! so full of hopes that I am doomed
to disappoint."

She rose to hide her emotion, and left Arthur Wardlaw's letter in the
hands of him who loved her, if possible, more devotedly than Arthur
Wardlaw did; and she walked the deck pensively, little dreaming how
strange a thing she had done.

As for Hazel, he was in a situation poignant with agony; only the heavy
blow that had just fallen had stunned and benumbed him. He felt a natural
repugnance to read this letter. But she had given him no choice. He read
it. In reading it he felt a mortal sickness come over him, but he
persevered; he read it carefully to the end, and he was examining the
signature keenly, when Miss Rolleston rejoined him, and, taking the
letter from him, placed it in her bosom before his eyes.

"He loves me; does he not?" said she wistfully.

Hazel looked half stupidly in her face for a moment; then, with a candor
which was part of his character, replied, doggedly, "Yes, the man who
wrote that letter loves you."

"Then you can pity him, and I may venture to ask you the favor to-- It
will be a bitter grief and disappointment to him. Will you break it to
him as gently as you can; will you say that his Helen-- Will you tell him
what I have told you?"

"I decline."

This point-blank refusal surprised Helen Rolleston; all the more that it
was uttered with a certain sullenness, and even asperity, she had never
seen till then in this gentle clergyman.

It made her fear she had done wrong in asking it; and she looked ashamed
and distressed.

However, the explanation soon followed.

"My business," said he, "is to prolong your precious life; and making up
your mind to die is not the way. You shall have no encouragement in such
weakness from me. Pray let me be your physician."

"Thank you," said Helen, coldly; "I have my own physician."

"No doubt; but he shows me his incapacity by allowing you to live on
pastry and sweets, things that are utter poison to you. Disease of the
lungs is curable, but not by drugs and unwholesome food."

"Mr. Hazel," said the lady, "we will drop the subject, if you please. It
has taken an uninteresting turn."

"To you, perhaps; but not to me."

"Excuse me, sir; if you took that real friendly interest in me and my
condition I was vain enough to think you might, you would hardly have
refused me the first favor I ever asked you; and," drawing herself up
proudly, "need I say the last?"

"You are unjust," said Hazel, sadly; "unjust beyond endurance. I refuse
you anything that is for your good? I, who would lay down my life with
unmixed joy for you?"

"Mr. Hazel!" And she drew back from him with a haughty stare.

"Learn the truth why I cannot, and will not, talk to Arthur Wardlaw about
you. For one thing, he is my enemy, and I am his."

"His enemy? my Arthur's!"

"His mortal enemy. And I am going to England to clear an innocent man,
and expose Arthur Wardlaw's guilt."

"Indeed," said Helen, with lofty contempt. "And pray what has he done to
you?"

"He had a benefactor, a friend; he entrapped him into cashing a note of
hand, which he must have known or suspected to be forged; then basely
deserted him at the trial, and blasted his friend's life forever."

"Arthur Wardlaw did that?"

"He did; and that very James Seaton was his victim."

Her delicate nostrils were expanded with wrath, and her eyes flashed
fire. "Mr. Hazel, you are a liar and a slanderer."

The man gave a kind of shudder, as if cold steel had passed through his
heart. But his fortitude was great; he said doggedly, "Time will show.
Time, and a jury of our countrymen."

"I will be his witness. I will say, this is the malice of a rival. Yes,
sir, you forget that you have let out the motive of this wicked slander.
You love me yourself; Heaven forgive me for profaning the name of love!"

"Heaven forgive you for blaspheming the purest, fondest love that ever
one creature laid at the feet of another. Yes, Helen Rolleston, I love
you; and will save you from the grave and from the villain Wardlaw; both
from one and the other."

"Oh," said Helen, clinching her teeth, "I hope this is true; I hope you do
love me, you wretch; then I may find a way to punish you for belying the
absent, and stabbing me to the heart, through him."

Her throat swelled with a violent convulsion, and she could utter no more
for a moment; and she put her white handkerchief to her lips, and drew it
away discolored slightly with blood.

"Ah! you love me," she cried; "then know, for your comfort, that you have
shortened my short life a day or two, by slandering him to my face, you
monster. Look there at your love, and see what it has done for me."

She put the handkerchief under his eyes, with hate gleaming in her own.

Mr. Hazel turned ashy pale, and glared at it with horror; he could have
seen his own shed with stoical firmness; but a mortal sickness struck his
heart at the sight of her blood. His hands rose and quivered in a
peculiar way, his sight left him, and the strong man, but tender lover,
staggered, and fell heavily on the deck, in a dead swoon, and lay at her
feet pale and motionless.

She uttered a scream, and sailors came running.

They lifted him, with rough sympathy; and Helen Rolleston retired to her
cabin, panting with agitation. But she had little or no pity for the
slanderer. She read Arthur Wardlaw's letter again, kissed it, wept over
it, reproached herself for not having loved the writer enough; and vowed
to repair that fault. "Poor slandered Arthur," said she; "from this hour
I will love you as devotedly as you love me."



CHAPTER IX.

AFTER this, Helen Rolleston and Mr. Hazel never spoke. She walked past
him on the deck with cold and haughty contempt.

He quietly submitted to it; and never presumed to say one word to her
again. Only, as his determination was equal to his delicacy, Miss
Rolleston found, one day, a paper on her table, containing advice as to
the treatment of disordered lungs, expressed with apparent coldness, and
backed by a string of medical authorities, quoted _memoriter._

She sent this back directly, indorsed with a line, in pencil, that she
would try hard to live, now she had a friend to protect from calumny; but
should use her own judgment as to the means.

Yet women will be women. She had carefully taken a copy of his advice
before she cast it out with scorn.

He replied, "Live with whatever motive you please; only live."

To this she vouchsafed no answer; nor did this unhappy man trouble her
again, until an occasion of a very different kind arose.

One fine night he sat on the deck, with his back against the mainmast, in
deep melancholy and listlessness, and fell, at last, into a doze, from
which he was wakened by a peculiar sound below. It was a beautiful and
stilly night; all sounds were magnified; and the father of all rats
seemed to be gnawing the ship down below.

Hazel's curiosity was excited, and he went softly down the ladder to see
what the sound really was. But that was not so easy, for it proved to be
below decks; but he saw a light glimmering through a small scuttle abaft
the mate's cabin, and the sounds were in the neighborhood of that light.

It now flashed upon Mr. Hazel that this was the very quarter where he had
heard that mysterious knocking when the ship was lying to in the gale.

Upon this a certain degree of vague suspicion began to mingle with his
curiosity.

He stood still a moment, listening acutely; then took off his shoes very
quietly, and moved with noiseless foot toward the scuttle.

The gnawing still continued.

He put his head through the scuttle, and peered into a dark, dismal
place, whose very existence was new to him. It was, in fact, a vacant
space between the cargo and the ship's run. This wooden cavern was very
narrow, but not less than fifteen feet long. The candle was at the
further end, and between it and Hazel a man was working, with his flank
turned toward the spectator. This partly intercepted the light; but still
it revealed in a fitful way the huge ribs of the ship, and her inner
skin, that formed the right-hand partition, so to speak, of this black
cavern; and close outside those gaunt timbers was heard the wash of the
sea.

There was something solemn in the close proximity of that tremendous
element and the narrowness of the wooden barrier.

The bare place, and the gentle, monotonous wash of the liquid monster, on
that calm night, conveyed to Mr. Hazel's mind a thought akin to David's.

"As the Lord liveth, and as thy soul liveth, there is but a step between
me and death."

Judge whether that thought grew weaker or stronger, when, after straining
his eyes for some time, to understand what was going on at that midnight
hour, in that hidden place, he saw who was the workman and what was his
occupation.

It was Joseph Wylie, the mate. His profile was illuminated by the candle,
and looked ghastly. He had in his hands an auger of enormous size, and
with this he was drilling a great hole through the ship's side, just
below the water-mark; an act, the effect of which would be to let the sea
bodily into the ship and sink her, with every soul on board, to the
bottom of the Pacific Ocean.


"I was stupefied; and my hairs stood on end, and my tongue clove to my
jaws."

Thus does one of Virgil's characters describe the effect his mind
produced upon his body in a terrible situation.

Mr. Hazel had always ridiculed that trite line as a pure exaggeration;
but he altered his opinion after that eventful night.

When he first saw what Wylie was doing, _obstupuit,_ he was merely
benumbed; but, as his mind realized the fiendish nature of the act, and
its tremendous consequences, his hair actually bristled, and for a few
minutes at least he could not utter a word.

In that interval of stupor, matters took another turn. The auger went in
up to the haft. Then Wylie caught up with his left hand a wooden plug he
had got ready, jerked the auger away, caught up a hammer, and swiftly
inserted the plug.

Rapid as he was, a single jet of water came squirting viciously in. But
Wylie lost no time; he tapped the plug smartly with his hammer several
times, and then, lifting a mallet with both hands, rained heavy blows on
it that drove it in, and shook the ship's side.

Then Hazel found his voice, and he uttered an ejaculation that made the
mate look round; he glared at the man who was glaring at him, and,
staggering backward, trod on the light, and all was darkness and dead
silence.

All but the wash of the sea outside, and that louder than ever.


But a short interval sufficed to restore one of the parties to his
natural self-possession.

"Lord, sir," said Wylie, "how you startled me! You should not come upon a
man at his work like that. We might have had an accident."

"What were you doing?" said Hazel, in a voice that quavered in spite of
him.

"Repairing the ship. Found a crack or two in her inner skin. There, let
me get a light, and I'll explain it to you, sir."

He groped his way out, and invited Mr. Hazel into his cabin. There he
struck a light, and, with great civility, tendered an explanation. The
ship, he said, had labored a good deal in the last gale, and he had
discovered one or two flaws in her, which were of no immediate
importance; but experience had taught him that in calm weather a ship
ought to be kept tight. "As they say ashore, a stitch in time saves
nine."

"But drilling holes in her is not the way," said Hazel sternly.

The mate laughed. "Why, sir," said he, "what other way is there? We
cannot stop an irregular crack; we can frame nothing to fit it. The way
is to get ready a plug measured a trifle larger than the aperture you are
going to make; then drill a round hole and force in the plug. I know no
other way than that; and I was a ship's carpenter for ten years before I
was a mate."

This explanation, and the manner in which it was given, removed Mr.
Hazel's apprehensions for the time being. "It was very alarming," said
he; "but I suppose you know your business."

"Nobody better, sir," said Wylie. "Why, it is not one seaman in three
that would trouble his head about a flaw in a ship's inner skin; but I'm
a man that looks ahead. Will you have a glass of grog, sir, now you are
here? I keep that under my eye, too; between ourselves, if the skipper
had as much in his cabin as I have here, that might be worse for us all
than a crack or two in the ship's inner skin."

Mr. Hazel declined to drink grog at that time in the morning, but wished
him good-night and left him with a better opinion of him than he had ever
had till then.

Wylie, when he was gone, drew a tumbler of neat spirits, drank half, and
carried the rest back to his work.

Yet Wylie was a very sober man in a general way. Rum was his tool; not
his master.

When Hazel came to think of it all next day, he did not feel quite so
easy as he had done. The inner skin! But, when Wylie withdrew his auger,
the water had squirted in furiously. He felt it hard to believe that this
keen jet of water could be caused by a small quantity that had found its
way between the skin of the ship and her copper, or her top booting; it
seemed rather to be due to the direct pressure of the liquid monster
outside.

He went to the captain that afternoon, and first told him what he had
seen, offering no solution. The captain, on that occasion, was in an
amphibious state; neither wet nor dry; and his reply was altogether
exceptional. He received the communication with pompous civility; then
swore a great oath, and said he would put the mate in irons. "Confound
the lubber! he will be through the ship's bottom."

"But, stop a moment," said Mr. Hazel, "it is only fair you should also
hear how he accounts for his proceeding."

The captain listened attentively to the explanation, and altered his
tone. "Oh, that is a different matter," said he. "You need be under no
alarm, sir; the thundering lubber knows what he is about, at that work.
Why, he has been a ship's carpenter all his life. Him a seaman! If
anything ever happens to me, and Joe Wylie is set to navigate this ship,
then you may say your prayers. He isn't fit to sail a wash-tub across a
duck-pond. But I'll tell you what it is," added this worthy, with more
pomposity than neatness of articulation, "here's a respeckable passenger
brought me a report; do my duty to m' employers, and--take a look at the
well."

He accordingly chalked a plumb-line, and went and sounded the well.

There were eight inches of water. Hudson told him that was no more than
all ships contained from various causes: "In fact," said he, "our pumps
suck, and will not draw, at eight inches." Then suddenly grasping Mr.
Hazel's hand, he said, in tearful accents, "Don't you trouble your head
about Joe Wylie, or any such scum. I'm skipper of the _Proserpine,_ and a
man that does his duty to 'z employers. Mr. Hazel, sir, I'd come to my
last anchor in that well this moment, if my duty to m' employers required
it. D-- my eyes if I wouldn't lie down there this minute, and never move
to all eternity and a day after, if it was my duty to m' employers!"

"No doubt," said Hazel dryly. "But I think you can serve your employers
better in other parts of the ship." He then left him, with a piece of
advice; "to keep his eye upon that Wylie."

Mr. Hazel kept his own eye on Wylie so constantly, that at eleven o'clock
P.M. he saw that worthy go into the captain's cabin with a quart bottle
of rum.

The coast was clear; the temptation great. These men then were still
deceiving him with a feigned antagonism. He listened at the keyhole, not
without some compunction; which, however, became less and less as
fragments of the dialogue reached his ear.

For a long time the only speaker was Hudson, and his discourse ran upon
his own exploits at sea. But suddenly Wylie's voice broke in with an
unmistakable tone of superiority. "Belay all that chat, and listen to me.
It is time we settled something. I'll hear what you have got to say; and
then you'll _do_ what _I_ say. Better keep your hands off the bottle a
minute you have had enough for the present; this is business. I know you
are good for jaw; but what are you game to do for the governor 's money?
Anything?"

"More than you have ever seen or heard tell of, ye lubber," replied the
irritated skipper. "Who has ever served his employers like Hiram Hudson?"

"Keep that song for your quarter-deck," retorted the mate,
contemptuously. "No; on second thoughts, just tell me how you have served
your employers, you old humbug. Give me chapter and verse to choose from.
Come now, the _Neptune?"_

"Well, the _Neptune;_ she caught fire a hundred leagues from land."

"How came she to do that?"

"That is my business. Well, I put her head before the wind, and ran for
the Azores; and I stuck to her, sir, till she was as black as a coal, and
we couldn't stand on deck, but kept hopping like parched peas; and fire
belching out of her portholes forward. Then we took to the boats, and
saved a few bales of silk by way of sample of her cargo, and got ashore;
and she'd have come ashore too next tide and told tales, but somebody
left a keg of gunpowder in the cabin, with a long fuse, and blew a hole
in her old ribs, that the water came in, and down she went, hissing like
ten thousand sarpints, and nobody the wiser."

"Who lighted the fuse, I wonder?" said Wylie.

"Didn't I tell ye it was 'Somebody'?" said Hudson. "Hand me the stiff."
He replenished his glass, and, after taking a sip or two, asked Wylie if
he had ever had the luck to be boarded by pirates.

"No," said Wylie. "Have you?"

"Ay; and they rescued me from a watery grave, as the lubbers call it. Ye
see, I was employed by Downes & Co., down at the Havanna, and cleared for
Vera Cruz with some boxes of old worn-out printer's type."

"To print psalm-books for the darkies, no doubt," suggested Wylie.

"Insured as specie," continued Hudson, ignoring the interruption. "Well,
just at daybreak one morning, all of a sudden there was a rakish-looking
craft on our weather-bow. Lets fly a nine-pounder across our forefoot,
and was alongside before my men could tumble up from below. I got knocked
into the sea by the boom and fell between the ships; and the pirate he
got hold of me and poured hot grog down my throat to bring me to my
senses."

"That is not what you use it for in general," said Wylie. "Civil sort of
pirate, though."

"Pirate be d--d. That was my consort rigged out with a black flag, and
mounted with four nine-pounders on one side, and five dummies on the
other. He blustered a bit, and swore, and took our type and our cabbages
(I complained to Downes ashore about the vagabond taking the vegetables),
and ordered us to leeward under all canvas, and we never saw him
again--not till he had shaved off his mustaches, and called on Downes to
condole and say the varmint had chased his ship fifty leagues out of her
course; but he had got clear of him. Downes complimented me publicly.
Says he, 'This skipper boarded the pirate single-handed; only he jumped
short, and fell between the two ships; and here he is by a miracle.' Then
he takes out his handkerchief, and flops his head on my shoulder. 'His
merciful preservation almost reconciles me to the loss of my gold,' says
the thundering crocodile. Cleared seventy thousand dollars, he did, out
of the Manhattan Marine, and gave the pirate and me but two hundred
pounds between us both."

"The _Rose?"_ said Wylie.

"What a hurry you are in! Pass the grog. Well, the _Rose;_ she lay off
Ushant. We canted her to wash the decks; lucky she had a careful
commander; not like Kempenfelt, whose eye was in his pocket, and his
fingers held the pen, so he went to the bottom, with Lord knows how many
men. I noticed the squalls came very sudden; so I sent most of my men
ashore and got the boats ready in case of accident. A squall did strike
her, and she was on her beam-ends in a moment. We pulled ashore with two
bales of silk by way of salvage, and sample of what warn't in her hold
when she settled down. We landed; and the Frenchmen were dancing about
with excitement. 'Captain,' says one, 'you have much sang fraw.'
'Insured, munseer,' says I. 'Bone,' says he.

"Then there was the _Antelope,_ lost in charge of a pilot off the
Hooghly. I knew the water as well as he did. We were on the port tack,
standing toward the shoal. Weather it, as we should have done next tack,
and I should have failed in my duty to my employers. Anything but that!
'Look out!' said I. 'Pilot, she fore-reaches in stays.' Pilot was
smoking; those sandhead pilots smoke in bed and asleep. He takes his
cigar out of his mouth for one moment. 'Ready about,' says he. 'Hands
'bout ship. Helm's a-lee. Raise tacks and sheets.' Round she was coming
like a top. Pilot smoking. Just as he was going to haul the mainsel
Somebody tripped against him, and shoved the hot cigar in his eye. He
sung out and swore, and there was no mainsel haul. Ship in irons, tide
running hard on to the shoal, and before we could clear away for
anchoring, bump!--there she was hard and fast. A stiff breeze got up at
sunrise, and she broke up. Next day I was sipping my grog and reading the
_Bengal Courier,_ and it told the disastrous wreck of the brig
_Antelope,_ wrecked in charge of a pilot; 'but no lives lost, and the
owners fully insured.' Then there was the bark _Sally._ Why, you saw her
yourself distressed on a lee shore."

"Yes," said Wylie. "I was in that tub, the _Grampus,_ and we contrived to
claw off the Scillies; yet you, in your smart _Sally,_ got ashore. What
luck!"

"Luck be blowed!" cried Hudson, angrily. "Somebody got into the chains to
sound, and cut the weather halyards. Next tack the masts went over the
side; and I had done my duty."

"Lives were lost that time, eh?" said Wylie, gravely.

"What is that to you?" replied Hudson, with the sudden ire of a drunken
man. "Mind your own business. Pass me the bottle."


"Yes, lives was lost; and always will be lost in sea-going ships, where
the skipper does his duty. There was a sight more lost at Trafalgar,
owing to every man doing his duty. Lives lost, ye lubber? And why not
mine? Because their time was come and mine wasn't. For I'll tell you one
thing, Joe Wylie--if she takes fire and runs before the wind till she is
as black as coal, and belching flame through all her port-holes, and then
explodes, and goes aloft in ten thousand pieces no bigger than my hat, or
your knowledge of navigation, Hudson is the last man to leave her. Duty!
If she goes on her beam-ends and founders, Hudson sees the last of her,
and reports it to his employers. Duty! If she goes grinding on Scilly,
Hudson is the last man to leave her bones. Duty! Some day perhaps I shall
be swamped myself along with the craft. I have escaped till now, owing to
not being insured; but if ever my time should come, and you should get
clear, promise me, Joe, to see the owners, and tell 'em Hudson did his
duty."

Here a few tears quenched his noble ardor for a moment. But he soon
recovered, and said, with some little heat, "You have got the bottle
again. I never saw such a fellow to get hold of the bottle. Come, here's
'Duty to our employers!' And now I'll tell you how we managed with the
_Carysbrook,_ and the _Amelia."_

This promise was followed by fresh narratives; in particular, of a vessel
he had run upon the Florida reef at night, where wreckers had been
retained in advance to look out for signals, and come on board and
quarrel on pretense and set fire to the vessel, insured at thrice her
value.

Hudson got quite excited with the memory of these exploits, and told each
successive feat louder and louder.

But now it was Wylie's turn. "Well," said he, very gravely, "all this was
child's play."

There was a pause that marked Hudson's astonishment. Then he broke out,
"Child's play, ye lubber! If you had been there your gills would have
been as white as your Sunday shirt; and a d--d deal whiter."

"Come, be civil," said Wylie, "I tell you all the ways you have told me
are too suspicious. Our governor is a highflyer. He pays like a prince,
and, in return, he must not be blown on, if it is ever so little.
'Wylie,' says he, 'a breath of suspicion would kill me.' 'Make it so
much,' says I, 'and that breath shall never blow on you. No, no, skipper;
none of those ways will do for us; they have all been worked twice too
often. It must be done in fair weather, and in a way-- Fill your glass
and I'll fill mine-- Capital rum this. You talk of my gills turning
white; before long we shall see whose keeps their color best, mine or
yours, my boy."

There was a silence, during which Hudson was probably asking himself what
Wylie meant; for presently he broke out in a loud but somewhat quivering
voice: "Why, you mad, drunken devil of a ship's carpenter, red-hot from
hell, I see what you are at, now; you are going--"

"Hush!" cried Wylie, alarmed in his turn. "Is this the sort of thing to
bellow out for the watch to hear? Whisper, now."

This was followed by the earnest mutterings of two voices. In vain did
the listener send his very soul into his ear to hear. He could catch no
single word. Yet he could tell, by the very tones of the speakers, that
the dialogue was one of mystery and importance.

Here was a situation at once irritating and alarming; but there was no
help for it. The best thing, now, seemed to be to withdraw unobserved,
and wait for another opportunity. He did so; and he had not long retired,
when the mate came out staggering and flushed with liquor, and that was a
thing that had never occurred before. He left the cabin door open and
went into his own room.

Soon after sounds issued from the cabin--peculiar sounds, something
between grunting and snoring.

Mr. Hazel came and entered the cabin. There he found the captain of the
_Proserpine_ in a position very unfavorable to longevity. His legs were
crooked over the seat of his chair, and his head was on the ground. His
handkerchief was tight round his neck, and the man himself dead drunk,
and purple in the face.

Mr. Hazel instantly undid his stock, on which the gallant seaman muttered
inarticulately. He then took his feet off the chair and laid them on the
ground, and put the empty bottle under the animal's neck.

But he had no sooner done all this than he had a serious misgiving. Would
not this man's death have been a blessing? Might not his life prove
fatal?

The thought infuriated him, and he gave the prostrate figure a heavy kick
that almost turned it over, and the words, "Duty to employers," gurgled
out of its mouth directly.

It really seemed as if these sounds were independent of the mind, and
resided at the tip of Hudson's tongue, so that a thorough good kick
could, at any time, shake them out of his inanimate body.

Thus do things ludicrous and things terrible mingle in the real world;
only to those who are in the arena, the ludicrous passes unnoticed, being
overshadowed by its terrible neighbor.

And so it was with Hazel. He saw nothing absurd in all this; and in that
prostrate, insensible hog, commanding the ship, forsooth, and carrying
all their lives in his hands, he saw the mysterious and alarming only;
saw them so, and felt them, that he lay awake all night thinking what he
should do, and early next day he went into the mate's cabin, and said to
him: "Mr. Wylie, in any other ship I should speak to the captain, and not
to the mate; but here that would be no use, for you are the master, and
he is your servant."

"Don't tell him so, sir, for he doesn't think small beer of himself."

"I shall waste no more words on him. It is to you I speak, and you know I
speak the truth. Here is a ship, in which, for certain reasons known to
yourself, the captain is under the mate."

"Well, sir," said Wylie good-humoredly, "it is no use trying to deceive a
gentleman like you. Our skipper is an excellent seaman, but he has got a
fault." Then Wylie imitated, with his hand, the action of a person
filling his glass.

"And you are here to keep him sober, eh?"

Wylie nodded.

"Then why do you ply him with liquor?"

"I don't, sir."

"You do. I have seen you do it a dozen times. And last night you took rum
into his room, and made him so drunk, he would have died where he lay if
I had not loosed his handkerchief."

"I am sorry to hear that, sir; but he was sober when I left him. The fool
must have got to the bottle the moment I was gone."

"But that bottle you put in his way; I saw you. And what was your object?
To deaden his conscience with liquor, his and your own, while you made
him your fiendish proposal. Man, man, do you believe in God, and in a
judgment to come for the deeds done in the body, that you can plan in
cold blood to destroy a vessel with nineteen souls on board, besides the
live stock, the innocent animals that God pitied and spared when he
raised his hand in wrath over Nineveh of old?"

While the clergyman was speaking, with flashing eyes and commanding
voice, the seaman turned ashy pale, and drew his shoulders together like
a cat preparing to defend her life.

"I plan to destroy a vessel, sir! You never heard me say such a word; and
don't you hint such a thing in the ship, or you will get yourself into
trouble."

"That depends on you."

"How so, sir?"

"I have long suspected you."

"You need not tell me that, sir."

"But I have not communicated my suspicions. And now that they are
certainties, I come first to you. In one word, will you forego your
intention, since it is found out?"

"How can I forego what never was in my head?" said Wylie. "Cast away the
ship! Why, there's no land within two thousand miles. Founder a vessel in
the Pacific! Do you think my life is not as sweet to me as yours is to
you?"

Wylie eyed him keenly to see the effect of these words, and, by a puzzled
expression that came over his face, saw at once he had assumed a more
exact knowledge than he really possessed.

Hazel replied that he had said nothing about foundering the ship; but
there were many ways of destroying one. "For instance," said he, "I know
how the _Neptune_ was destroyed--and so do you; how the _Rose_ and the
_Antelope_ were cast away--and so do you."

At this enumeration Wylie lost his color and self-possession for a
moment; he saw Hazel had been listening. Hazel followed up his blow.
"Promise me now, by all you hold sacred, to forego this villainy; and I
hold my tongue. Attempt to defy me, or to throw dust in my eyes, and I go
instantly among the crew, and denounce both you and Hudson to them."

"Good Heavens!" cried Wylie, in unfeigned terror. "Why, the men would
mutiny on the spot."

"I can't help that," said Hazel, firmly; and took a step toward the door.

"Stop a bit," said the mate. "Don't be in such a 'nation hurry; for, if
you do, it will be bad for me, but worse for you." The above was said so
gravely and with such evident sincerity that Mr. Hazel was struck and
showed it. Wylie followed up that trifling advantage. "Sit down a minute,
sir, if you please, and listen to me. You never saw a mutiny on board
ship, I'll be bound. It is a worse thing than any gale that ever blew;
begins fair enough, sometimes; but how does it end? In breaking into the
spirit-room and drinking to madness, plundering the ship, ravishing the
women, and cutting a throat or so for certain. You don't seem so fond of
the picture as you was of the idea. And then they might turn a deaf ear
to you after all. Ship is well found in all stores; provisions served out
freely; men in good humor; and I have got their ear. And now I'll tell
you why it won't suit your little game to blacken me to the crew, upon
the bare chance of a mutiny." He paused for a moment, then resumed in a
lower tone, and revealed himself the extraordinary man he was.

"You see, sir," said he, "when a man is very ready to suspect me, I
always suspect him. Now you was uncommon ready to suspect me. You didn't
wait till you came on board; you began the game ashore. Oh, what, that
makes you open one eye, does it? You thought I didn't know you again.
Knew you, my man, the moment you came aboard. I never forget a face; and
disguises don't pass on me."

It was now Hazel's turn to look anxious and discomposed.

"So, then, the moment I saw you suspected me I was down upon you. Well,
you come aboard under false colors. We didn't want a chap like you in the
ship; but you would come. 'What is the bloke after?' says I, and watches.
You was so intent suspecting me of this, that, and t'other, that you
unguarded yourself, and that is common too. I'm blowed if it isn't the
lady you are after. With all my heart; only she might do better, and I
don't see how she could do worse, unless she went to Old Nick for a mate.
Now, I'll tell you what it is, my man. I've been in trouble myself, and
don't want to be hard on a poor devil, just because he sails under an
alias, and lies as near the wind as he can, to weather on the beaks and
the bobbies. But one good turn deserves another. Keep your dirty
suspicions to yourself; for if you dare to open your lips to the men, in
five minutes, or less than that, you shall be in irons and confined to
your cabin; and we'll put you ashore at the first port that flies the
British flag, and hand you over to the authorities, till one of her
Majesty's cruisers sends in a boat for you."

At this threat Mr. Hazel hung his head in confusion and dismay.

"Come, get out of my cabin, Parson Alias," shouted the mate; "and belay
your foul tongue in this ship, and don't make an enemy of Joe Wylie, a
man that will eat you up else, and spit you out again, and never brag.
Sheer off, I say, and be d--d to you."

Mr. Hazel, with a pale face and sick heart, looked aghast at this
dangerous man, who could be fox or tiger, as the occasion demanded.

Surprised, alarmed, outwitted and out-menaced, he retired with disordered
countenance and uneven steps and hid himself in his own cabin.

The more he weighed the whole situation, the more clearly did he see that
he was utterly powerless in the hands of Wylie. A skipper is an emperor;
and Hudson had the power to iron him, and set him on shore at the nearest
port. The right to do it was another matter; but even on that head Wylie
could furnish a plausible excuse for the act. Retribution, if it came at
all, would not be severe, and would be three or four years coming. And
who fears it much, when it, is so dilatory, and so weak, and so doubtful
into the bargain?

He succumbed in silence for two days; and then, in spite of Wylie's
threat, he made one timid attempt to approach the subject with Welch and
Cooper; but a sailor came up instantly, and sent them forward to reef
topsails. And, whenever he tried to enter into conversation with the
pair, some sailor or other was sure to come up and listen.

Then he saw that he was spotted; or, as we say nowadays, picketed.

He was at his wit's end.

He tried his last throw. He wrote a few lines to Miss Rolleston,
requesting an interview. Aware of the difficulties he had to encounter
here, he stilled his heart by main force, and wrote in terms carefully
measured. He begged her to believe he had no design to intrude upon her,
without absolute necessity, and for her own good. Respect for her own
wishes forbade this, and also his self-respect.

"But," said he, "I have made a terrible discovery. The mate and the
captain certainly intend to cast away this ship. No doubt they will try
and not sacrifice their own lives and ours; but risk them they must, in
the very nature of things. Before troubling you, I have tried all I
could, in the way of persuasion and menace; but am defeated. So now it
rests with you. You alone can save us all. I will tell you how, if you
will restrain your repugnance, and accord me a short interview. Need I
say that no other subject shall be introduced by me? In England, should
we ever reach it, I may perhaps try to take measures to regain your good
opinion; but here, I am aware, that is impossible; and I shall make no
attempt in that direction, upon my honor."

To this came a prompt and feminine reply.


"The ship is Mr. Arthur Wardlaw's. The captain and the mate are able men,
appointed by him. Your suspicions of these poor men are calumnies, and of
a piece with your other monstrous slanders.

"I really must insist on your holding no further communications of any
sort with one to whom your character is revealed and odious.

H. R."


This letter benumbed his heart at first. A letter? It was a blow; a blow
from her he loved, and she hated him!

His long-suffering love gave way at last. What folly and cruelty
combined! He could no longer make allowances for the spite of a woman
whose lover had been traduced. Rage and despair seized him; he bit his
nails and tore his hair with fury, and prayed Heaven to help him hate her
as she deserved, "the blind, insolent idiot!" Yes, these bitter words
actually came out of his mouth, in a torrent of injury.

But to note down all he said in his rage would be useless; and might
mislead, for this was a gust of fury; and, while it lasted, the
long-suffering man was no longer himself.

As a proof how little this state of mind was natural to him, it stirred
up all the bile in his body, and brought on a severe attack of yellow
jaundice, accompanied by the settled dejection that marks that disorder.

Meantime the _Proserpine_ glided on, with a fair wind, and a contented
crew. She was well found in stores, and they were served out
ungrudgingly.

Every face on board beamed with jollity, except poor Hazel's. He crept
about, yellow as a guinea; a very scarecrow.

The surgeon, a humane man, urged him to drink sherry, and take strong
exercise.

But persons afflicted with that distressing malady are obstinately set
against those things which tend to cure it; this is a feature of the
disease. Mr. Hazel was no exception. And then his heart had received so
many blows it had no power left to resist the depressing effect of his
disorder. He took no exercise; he ate little food. He lay, listless and
dejected, about the deck, and let disease do what it pleased with him.

The surgeon shook his head and told Hudson the parson was booked.

"And good riddance of bad rubbish!" was that worthy's gracious comment.

The ship now encountered an adverse gale, and for three whole days was
under close-reefed topsails; she was always a wet ship under stress of
weather, and she took in a good deal of water on this occasion. On the
fourth day it fell calm, and Captain Hudson, having examined the well and
found three feet of water, ordered the men to the pumps.

After working through one watch the well was sounded again, and the water
was so much reduced that the gangs were taken off; and the ship being now
becalmed and the weather lovely, the men were allowed to dance upon deck
to the boatswain's fiddle.

While this pastime went on, the sun, large and red, reached the horizon,
and diffused a roseate light over the entire ocean.

Not one of the current descriptions of heaven approached the actual
grandeur and beauty of the blue sky, flecked with ruby and gold, and its
liquid mirror that lay below, calm, dimpled and glorified by that
translucent, rosy tint.

While the eye was yet charmed with this enchanting bridal of the sea and
sky, and the ear amused with the merry fiddle and the nimble feet that
tapped the sounding deck so deftly at every note, Cooper, who had been
sounding the well, ran forward all of a sudden and flung a thunderbolt in
the midst.

"A LEAK!"



CHAPTER X.

THE fiddle ended in mid-tune, and the men crowded aft with anxious faces.

The captain sounded the well and found three feet and a half water in it.
He ordered all hands to the pumps.

They turned to with a good heart, and pumped, watch and watch, till
daybreak.

Their exertions counteracted the leak, but did no more; the water in the
well was neither more nor less, perceptibly.

This was a relief to their minds, so far; but the situation was a very
serious one. Suppose foul weather should come, and the vessel ship water
from above as well!

Now all those who were not on the pumps set to work to find out the leak
and stop it if possible. With candles in their hands they crept about the
ribs of the ship, narrowly inspecting every corner, and applying their
ears to every suspected place, if haply they might hear the water coming
in. The place where Hazel had found Wylie at work was examined along with
the rest; but neither there nor anywhere else could the leak be
discovered. Yet the water was still coming in and required unremitting
labor to keep it under. It was then suggested by Wylie, and the opinion
gradually gained ground, that some of the seams had opened in the late
gale and were letting in the water by small but numerous, apertures.

Faces began to look cloudy; and Hazel, throwing off his lethargy, took
his spell at the main pump with the rest.

When his gang was relieved he went away, bathed in perspiration, and,
leaning over the well, sounded it.

While thus employed, the mate came behind him, with his cat-like step,
and said, "See what has come on us with your forebodings! It is the
unluckiest thing in the world to talk about losing a ship when she is at
sea."

"You are a more dangerous man on board a ship than I am," was Hazel's
prompt reply.

The well gave an increase of three inches. Mr. Hazel now showed excellent
qualities. He worked like a horse; and, finding the mate skulking, he
reproached him before the men, and, stripping himself naked to the waist,
invited him to do a man's duty. The mate, thus challenged, complied with
a scowl.

They labored for their lives, and the quantity of water they discharged
from the ship was astonishing; not less than hundred and ten tons every
hour.

They gained upon the leak--only two inches; but, in the struggle for
life, this was an immense victory. It was the turn of the tide.

A slight breeze sprung up from the southwest, and the captain ordered the
men from the buckets to make all sail on the ship, the pumps still going.

When this was done, he altered the ship's course and put her right before
the wind, steering for the island of Juan Fernandez, distant eleven
hundred miles or thereabouts.

Probably it was the best thing he could do, in that awful waste of water.
But its effect on the seamen was bad. It was like giving in. They got a
little disheartened and flurried; and the cold, passionless water seized
the advantage. It is possible, too, that the motion of the ship through
the sea aided the leak.

The _Proserpine_ glided through the water all night, like some
terror-stricken creature, and the incessant pumps seemed to be her poor
heart, beating loud with breathless fear.

At daybreak she had gone a hundred and twenty miles. But this was
balanced by a new and alarming feature. The water from the pumps no
longer came up pure, but mixed with what appeared to be blood.

This got redder and redder, and struck terror into the more superstitious
of the crew.

Even Cooper, whose heart was stout, leaned over the bulwarks and eyed the
red stream, gushing into the sea from the lee scuppers, and said aloud,
"Ay, bleed to death, ye bitch! We shan't be long behind ye."

Hazel inquired, and found the ship had a quantity of dye-wood among her
cargo. He told the men this, and tried to keep up their hearts by his
words and his example.

He succeeded with some; but others shook their heads. And by and by, even
while he was working double tides for them as well as for himself,
ominous murmurs met his ear. "Parson aboard!" "Man aboard, with t'other
world in his face!" And there were sinister glances to match.

He told this, with some alarm, to Welch and Cooper. They promised to
stand by him; and Welch told him it was all the mate's doings; he had
gone among the men and poisoned them.

The wounded vessel, with her ever-beating heart, had run three hundred
miles on the new tack. She had almost ceased to bleed; but what was as
bad, or worse, small fragments of her cargo and stores came up with the
water, and their miscellaneous character showed how deeply the sea had
now penetrated.

This, and their great fatigue, began to demoralize the sailors. The pumps
and buckets were still plied, but it was no longer with the uniform
manner of brave and hopeful men. Some stuck doggedly to their work, but
others got flurried and ran from one thing to another. Now and then a man
would stop and burst out crying; then to work again in a desperate way.
One or two lost heart altogether, and had to be driven. Finally, one or
two succumbed under the unremitting labor. Despair crept over others.
Their features began to change, so much so that several countenances were
hardly recognizable, and each, looking in the other's troubled face, saw
his own fate pictured there.

Six feet water in the hold!

The captain, who had been sober beyond his time, now got dead drunk.

The mate took the command. On hearing this, Welch and Cooper left the
pumps. Wylie ordered them back. They refused, and coolly lighted their
pipes. A violent altercation took place, which was brought to a close by
Welch.

"It is no use pumping the ship," said he. "She is doomed. D'ye think we
are blind, my mate and me? You got the long-boat ready for yourself
before ever the leak was sprung. Now get the cutter ready for my mate and
me."

At these simple words Wylie lost color, and walked aft without a word.

Next day there were seven feet water in the hold, and quantities of bread
coming up through the pumps.

Wylie ordered the men from the pumps to the boats. The long-boat was
provisioned and lowered. While she was towing astern, the cutter was
prepared, and the ship left to fill.

All this time Miss Rolleston had been kept in the dark, not as to the
danger, but as to its extent. Great was her surprise when Mr. Hazel
entered her cabin and cast an ineffable look of pity on her.

She looked up surprised, and then angry. "How dare you?" she began.

He waved his hand in a sorrowful but commanding way. "Oh, this is no time
for prejudice or temper. The ship is sinking. We are going into the
boats. Pray make preparations. Here is a list I have written of the
things you ought to take. We may be weeks at sea in an open boat." Then,
seeing her dumfounded, he caught up her carpet-bag and threw her workbox
into it for a beginning. He then laid hands upon some of her preserved
meats and marmalade and carried them off to his own cabin.

His mind then flew back to his reading, and passed in rapid review all
the wants that men had endured in open boats.

He got hold of Welch and told him to be sure and see there was plenty of
spare canvas on board, and sailing needles, scissors, etc. Also three
bags of biscuit, and, above all, a cask of water.

He himself ran all about the ship, including the mate's cabin, in search
of certain tools he thought would be wanted.

Then to his own cabin, to fill his carpet-bag.

There was little time to spare; the ship was low in the water, and the
men abandoning her. He flung the things into his bag, fastened and locked
it, strapped up his blankets for her use, flung on his pea-jacket, and
turned the handle of his door to run out.

The door did not open!

He pushed it. It did not yield!

He rushed at it. It was fast!

He uttered a cry of rage and flung himself at it.

Horror! It was immovable!



CHAPTER XI.

THE fearful, the sickening truth burst on him in all its awful
significance.

Some miscreant or madman had locked the door, and so fastened him to the
sinking ship, at a time when, in the bustle, the alarm, the selfishness,
all would be apt to forget him and leave him to his death.

He tried the door in every way, he hammered at it; he shouted, he raged,
he screamed. In vain. Unfortunately the door of this cabin was of very
unusual strength and thickness.

Then he took up one of those great augers he had found in the mate's
cabin, and bored a hole in the door; through this hole he fired his
pistol, and then screamed for help. "I am shut up in the cabin. I shall
be drowned. Oh, for Christ's sake, save me! save me!" and a cold sweat of
terror poured down his whole body.

What is that?

The soft rustle of a woman's dress.

Oh, how he thanked God for that music, and the hope it gave him!

It comes toward him; it stops, the key is turned, the dress rustles away,
swift as a winged bird; he dashes at the door; it flies open.

Nobody was near. He recovered his courage in part, fetched out his bag
and his tools, and ran across to the starboard side. There he found the
captain lowering Miss Rolleston, with due care, into the cutter, and the
young lady crying; not at being shipwrecked, if you please, but at being
deserted by her maid. Jane Holt, at this trying moment, had deserted her
mistress for her husband. This was natural; but, as is the rule with
persons of that class, she had done this in the silliest and cruelest
way. Had she given half an hour's notice of her intention, Donovan might
have been on board the cutter with her and her mistress. But no; being a
liar and a fool, she must hide her husband to the last moment, and then
desert her mistress. The captain, then, was comforting Miss Rolleston,
and telling her she should have her maid with her eventually, when Hazel
came. He handed down his own bag, and threw the blankets into the
stern-sheets. Then went down himself, and sat on the midship thwart.

"Shove off," said the captain; and they fell astern.

But Cooper, with a boat-hook, hooked on to the long-boat; and the dying
ship towed them both.

Five minutes more elapsed, and the captain did not come down, so Wylie
hailed him.

There was no answer. Hudson had gone into the mate's cabin. Wylie waited
a minute, then hailed again. "Hy! on deck there!"

"Hullo!" cried the captain, at last.

"Why didn't you come in the cutter?"

The captain crossed his arms and leaned over the stern.

"Don't you know that Hiram Hudson is always the last to leave a sinking
ship?"

"Well, you _are_ the last," said Wylie. "So now come on board the
long-boat at once. I dare not tow in her wake much longer, to be sucked
in when she goes down."

"Come on board your craft and desert my own?" said Hudson, disdainfully.
"Know my duty to m' employers better."

These words alarmed the mate. "Curse it all!" he cried; "the fool has
been and got some more rum. Fifty guineas to the man that will shin up
the tow-rope and throw that madman into the sea; then we can pick him up.
He swims like a cork."

A sailor instantly darted forward to the rope. But, unfortunately, Hudson
heard this proposal, and it enraged him. He got to his cutlass. The
sailor drew the boat under the ship's stern, but the drunken skipper
flourished his cutlass furiously over his head. "Board me! ye pirates!
the first that lays a finger on my bulwarks, off goes his hand at the
wrist." Suiting the action to the word, he hacked at the tow-rope so
vigorously that it gave way, and the boats fell astern.

Helen Rolleston uttered a shriek of dismay and pity. "Oh, save him!" she
cried.

"Make sail!" cried Cooper; and, in a few seconds, they got all her canvas
set upon the cutter.

It seemed a hopeless chase for these shells to sail after that dying
monster with her cloud of canvas all drawing, alow and aloft.

But it did not prove so. The gentle breeze was an advantage to light
craft, and the dying _Proserpine_ was full of water, and could only
crawl.

After a few moments of great anxiety the boats crept up, the cutter on
her port and the long-boat on her starboard quarter.

Wylie ran forward, and, hailing Hudson, implored him, in the friendliest
tones, to give himself a chance. Then tried him by his vanity, "Come, and
command the boats, old fellow. How can we navigate them on the Pacific
without _you?"_

Hudson was now leaning over the taffrail utterly drunk. He made no reply
to the mate, but merely waved his cutlass feebly in one hand, and his
bottle in the other, and gurgled out, "Duty to m' employers."

Then Cooper, without a word, double reefed the cutter's mainsail and told
Welch to keep as close to the ship's quarter as he dare. Wylie
instinctively did the same, and the three craft crawled on in solemn and
deadly silence, for nearly twenty minutes.

The wounded ship seemed to receive a death-blow. She stopped dead, and
shook.

The next moment she pitched gently forward, and her bows went under the
water, while her after-part rose into the air, and revealed to those in
the cutter two splintered holes in her run, just below the water-line.

The next moment her stern settled down; the sea yawned horribly, the
great waves of her own making rushed over her upper deck, and the lofty
masts and sails, remaining erect, went down with sad majesty into the
deep. And nothing remained but the bubbling and foaming of the voracious
water, that had swallowed up the good ship, and her cargo, and her
drunken master.

All stood up in the boats, ready to save him. But either his cutlass sunk
him, or the suction of so great a body drew him down. He was seen no more
in this world.

A loud sigh broke from every living bosom that witnessed that terrible
catastrophe.

It was beyond words; and none were uttered, except by Cooper, who spoke
so seldom; yet now three words of terrible import burst from him, and,
uttered in his loud, deep voice, rang like the sunk ship's knell over the
still bubbling water.

"SCUTTLED--BY GOD!"



CHAPTER XII.

"HOLD your tongue," said Welch, with an oath.

Mr. Hazel looked at Miss Rolleston, and she at him. It was a momentary
glance, and her eyes sank directly, and filled with patient tears.

For the first few minutes after the _Proserpine_ went down the survivors
sat benumbed, as if awaiting their turn to be ingulfed.

They seemed so little, and the _Proserpine_ so big; yet she was swallowed
before their eyes, like a crumb. They lost, for a few moments, all idea
of escaping.

But, true it is, that, "while there's life there's hope"; and, as soon as
their hearts began to beat again, their eyes roved round the horizon and
their elastic minds recoiled against despair.

This was rendered easier by the wonderful beauty of the weather. There
were men there who had got down from a sinking ship into boats heaving
and tossing against her side in a gale of wind, and yet been saved; and
here all was calm and delightful. To be sure, in those other shipwrecks
land had been near, and their greatest peril was over when once the boats
got clear of the distressed ship without capsizing. Here was no immediate
peril; but certain death menaced them, at an uncertain distance.

Their situation was briefly this. Should it come on to blow a gale, these
open boats, small and loaded, could not hope to live. Therefore they had
two chances for life, and no more. They must either make land--or be
picked up at sea--before the weather changed.

But how? The nearest known land was the group of islands called Juan
Fernandez, and they lay somewhere to leeward, but distant at least nine
hundred miles; and, should they prefer the other chance, then they must
beat three hundred miles and more to windward; for Hudson, underrating
the leak, as is supposed, had run the _Proserpine_ fully that distance
out of the track of trade.

Now the ocean is a highway--in law; but, in fact, it contains a few
highways and millions of byways; and, once a cockleshell gets into those
byways, small indeed is its chance of being seen and picked up by any
sea-going vessel.

Wylie, who was leading, lowered his sail, and hesitated between the two
courses we have indicated. However, on the cutter coming up with him, he
ordered Cooper to keep her head northeast, and so run all night. He then
made all the sail he could, in the same direction, and soon outsailed the
cutter. When the sun went down, he was about a mile ahead of her.

Just before sunset Mr. Hazel made a discovery that annoyed him very much.
He found that Welch had put only one bag of biscuit, a ham, a keg of
spirit and a small barrel of water on board the cutter.

He remonstrated with him sharply. Welch replied that it was all right;
the cutter being small, he had put the rest of her provisions on board
the long-boat.

"On board the long-boat!" said Hazel, with a look of wonder. "You have
actually made our lives depend upon that scoundrel Wylie again. You
deserve to be flung into the sea. You have no forethought yourself, yet
you will not be guided by those that have it."

Welch hung his head a little at these reproaches. H

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