"O Mr Gray, sir! how could you suspect me?" cried Jared.

"Weakness, sir, weakness. I am but an erring man. We all err; and but for my faithful old friend Purkis, I should have gone on erring."

Mr Purkis grunted again, and continued dabbing himself.

"He set me right," continued the vicar, still shaking at the organist's hands.

"And me," broke in Timson. "I helped, to put him right. But there's my hand, Mr Pellet--there it is, sir, and I'm glad to shake hands with you once more. I always wanted to; but I kept my hands to myself on principle, sir. But I always said it wasn't you--I told him so, sir, scores of times, but he wouldn't believe me."

"O Timson, Timson!" said the vicar, reprovingly; "you know that you were one of the first to suspect him."

"Well, how could I help it, when it looked so suspicious?" cried the churchwarden, fiercely. "Don't get putting it all on my shoulders, John Gray--don't, please."

"Shake hands, Timson--shake hands; and let's say fervently, 'Thank G.o.d, it is all found out at last.'"

"So we will," said Timson, "so we will; but really, you know," he said, "if I had given my honest opinion--honest opinion you know," and his eyes twinkled,--"I should have declared that it was that old rogue of a beadle of ours in the corner."

Mr Purkis ceased his dabbing, and stared.

"But we could not afford to lose so great an ornament to our church, eh?

Mr Gray, sir, eh?" he chuckled; and, by that time, Mr Purkis saw through the joke, and chuckled too, though he had at first thought it rather a serious matter.

Jared was too agitated and too unnerved with the proceedings of the past few hours to do more than shake hands again and again with his visitors.

He wanted to tell them of his adventure at the church, but he could not speak; and besides, there were Mrs Jared and Patty looking perfectly astounded as they tried to interpret the meaning of the scene.

"There, there, there!" exclaimed the vicar, kindly, "It is late, and they want to be alone, Timson. Let us go, for you are such a boisterous youth. Let them be, Timson, and come away. But tell me first that you forgive me for my injustice, Mr Pellet."

"Forgive you, sir!" said Jared, in a choking voice.

"There, there!" said the vicar, shaking hands again. "What does it all mean, Mrs Pellet? What! don't you know? More reason for us to go.

Come away, Timson, come away. There! you'll wake the children," he exclaimed, as a wail came from up-stairs. "Come away, and let Mr Pellet set the heart of his wife at rest. That's right, Purkis, go first. We should not have been so late; but I was in the country when these two came down after me; and then the snow stopped us."

"And he said it was too late to come on to-night," cried Timson, again; "but I would have my way. There's my hand, Mr Pellet, sir. There it is, and--there, I never felt happier in my life." And to prove it, Timson made a charge at Patty, who escaped him, however, by running up to quiet the children, who were like skittles, and upsetting one another till there was quite a chorus.

"G.o.d bless all here!" said the vicar, fervently, by way of benediction, as he stood in the pa.s.sage; and then they would have departed, but for Timson, who turned back to shake hands once more with Jared, exclaiming--

"There's my hand, Mr Pellet, sir: I always declared it wasn't you."

And again, as Jared stood at the door, watching the two down the street, Timson turned again to shout,--"I always said it wasn't;" while the gentle, reproving voice of the old vicar was heard to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e--

"Oh, Timson!"

Volume 3, Chapter XIII.

AN ACCIDENT.

"No news," day after day--day after day, till Harry was weary of repeating the words to the troubled father. Sergeant Falkner came often enough to repeat his story, that so far he had done everything possible; but that he had scent of something which he felt sure must turn out right.

At last Harry was wandering one evening towards Decadia, he knew not why, he said, but it always appeared to him as if elucidation of the mystery must come from that direction; and though he would not own to it, he made this surmise his excuse for going often to Brownjohn Street, seeing Janet but seldom--Canau often--quite an intimacy having arisen between the latter and himself.

Harry wandered thoughtfully on, till, nearing the end of St Martin's Lane, he started back, for from out of a busy street there came a sharp rattling of wheels, a shout, a dull heavy sound; then the customary rush of sight-seers till a crowd had collected.

"There, that's the seccun' acciden' I've seen at that there corner with my own blessed eyes," said a man. "Them cabs comes cutting along fierce, never thinking as they've got anything to do but shout, and everybody's to get out o' the way in a instan'. If its panels as scratches, they pulls up; but if its human flesh and blood, drive on.

It ought to be put a stop to--that it ought."

There was a chorus of indignant acquiescent growls, though no one said what ought to be stopped; and Harry Clayton pressed forward through the swaying crowd, in the midst of which the shiny crown of a policeman's hat was to be seen.

"Get a stretcher--Take him to the hospital--Poor creature!" exclaimed various voices; and then came a score of indignant commands: "Give him air!--Stand back, will yer!"--the speakers never seeing the necessity of themselves moving.

"Why don't you look alive, and take him to the hospital!" exclaimed a strident voice again.

"Non--non! chez moi--chez moi!" groaned the sufferer.

"What's he say? He's foreign! Any one here understand Dutch? Anybody know who he is?"

"I do," said Harry, pushing foward. "He wishes to be taken home," just as, half insensible, the sufferer babbled a few words in his native tongue, to which he seemed naturally to revert; and then, under the young man's guidance, poor Canau was borne to his lodgings, and a surgeon procured--one who came the more willingly upon Harry furnishing him with his address, and undertaking, if necessary, to defray all expense.

"I did try to get away; but I was confused, and stumbled; and ah! ma belle patrie!" muttered Canau, "I shall see thee no more."

For the surgeon had made his examination, bandaged, and done all that was possible to ease the sufferer, and then taken his departure.

"I am hurt--much hurt," said Canau, feebly, as he reached out a withered hand to Harry; "but I should like just once--"

He turned his eyes towards a violin hung upon the wall; but when Janet eagerly reached it down, and Canau tried to raise the bow, his bruised muscles refused to act, and he shook his head.

"Had you not better try and sleep?" said Harry to the injured man, who seemed momentarily to grow more feverish and excited.

"Sleep!" he exclaimed, hoa.r.s.ely, "sleep now? Shall I not soon sleep without waking? No, no--no, no! Look here! you are a gentleman--you have feelings. Listen! Years ago--many now--I fled from my country. I was sought for; I was called 'traitor!' But why? mon Dieu, why?

Because I loved my rightful monarch, and would have seen him on the throne. But might is right, even as you say it here; and I fled to beggary and wretchedness amongst these poor--I, a gentleman--to drink at last to drown my misery, till I tried to live by my violin, and then I took to that poor child, saved her from misery and death, and now she loves me."

Worn out at last, and half delirious with the fever from the injuries he had received, the Frenchman at last dozed off, when Harry rose to leave, wondering whether, after all, Canau knew what had become of Lionel, and hopeful that, if he did, his prostrate and weak state would offer opportunities for arriving at the truth.

As Harry reached the bottom, D. Wragg, pipe in hand, made his appearance, craning his neck, and thrusting his face forward in disagreeable proximity to that of his visitor, as in answer to Harry's "Good night," he exclaimed--

"I know!"

"Know what," said Harry, sharply, his thoughts instantly reverting to Lionel, and the hope that if D. Wragg knew anything, now in his state of semi-intoxication, he might divulge some clue to the mystery that had troubled them for so long. But if D. Wragg possessed a secret, it seemed to be one from which he felt in no haste to part; for, with drunken solemnity, he merely shook his head a great many times, and then drew back softly into his shop, closing the door after him; but only to open it again a few inches, so as to allow the pa.s.sage of his head as he muttered gruffly, throwing the words, as it were, at his visitor--

"Never mind!"

Volume 3, Chapter XIV.

A QUESTION.

"Been here five minutes, sir," said Sergeant Falkner, as Harry Clayton entered the pa.s.sage of the Regent Street house. "Yes, five minutes exactly," he continued, referring to his watch. "I'd allowed myself ten minutes to wait and see if Sir Richard woke up; and if he had not at the end of that time, I was off. But as you've come, sir, that'll do as well, for I promised him I'd look in and state progress every day."

"What news have you, then?" said Harry.

"I don't know as I have any as yet, sir."