"Well, go then, my boy; and, see, take these two ten-pound notes to your poor sister. It is not fair that all the burden should fall upon you.

These notes will at any rate keep her from want for a time; she can put them into safe keeping with her landlady. And tell her"--here his voice faltered--"that they are sent her with her father's love, and that there is a place for her here in her old home still."

"Oh, thank you, thank you, dear father," cried Amos; "you _have_ made me glad!"

"Yes," continued the squire, "tell her that from me; yet, of course, that does not include _him_."

"Oh no! I thoroughly understand that," replied his son; "and I see, of course, many difficulties that lie in the way; but still, I believe that brighter and happier days are coming for us all."

"May it be so, my dear boy," said the other, again drawing him closely to him. "It will not be _your_ fault, at any rate, if they do not come."

So that morning Amos left on his work of love.

He had not been gone many minutes, when Walter knocked at his aunt's door. "Aunt Kate," he began, when he had seated himself at her feet, "I want your advice about a little scheme of mine. It's a good scheme, and perhaps a little bit of moral courage on my part will come out of it."

"Well, my dear boy, let me hear it."

"Father, I know, has been talking to you about Amos," he went on; "all about his n.o.ble and self-denying conduct towards my poor dear sister, and that he is going, in consequence of that horrid letter, to see her and those children of hers. I gather this partly from a few words I had with Amos before he started. But then, n.o.body knows where Julia lives, and n.o.body knows what that scamp of a fellow may be up to against my dear good brother."

"Yes, Walter," said his aunt, "I understand all that; and I must say that I feel a little anxious about your brother, though I know that he is in better hands than ours."

"Well, auntie, shall I tell you what I have thought of?"

"Do, dear boy."

"If father will let me, I should like to go and keep guard over Amos till he comes back."

"But how can you do that?" asked Miss Huntingdon. "You said just now that no one knows where your poor sister lives except Amos himself; and it would hardly do for you to overtake him, if that could be done, and join yourself to him whether he would or no."

"No, Aunt Kate, that is not my idea. Now, though n.o.body but Amos knows where Julia lives, I think I know."

"What do you mean?" asked the other, laughing.

"Why, just this. I don't know properly. I'm not supposed to know, and so I take it for granted that I don't know; and yet really I believe I do know."

"My boy, you speak in riddles."

"Ah yes, Aunt Kate, I do; and I see you will never guess the answers to them, so you must give up, and I will tell you. You know that for some time now it has been Amos's place to unlock the post-bag of a morning and give out the letters. The other day, however, he made a mistake, and threw me two which were really directed to him. I gave them back to him, and I saw him turn red when he saw the mistake he had made. I couldn't help noticing the post-mark at the time, and I thought I knew the handwriting on one of the envelopes. The post-mark was the same on each. I am sure now that one was directed by my sister; I know her handwriting well, for I have two little hymns in my desk which she wrote out for me before--before she left us, and I often look at them. And so, putting two and two together, I believe the other was most likely directed by the person in whose house she is living."

"And what was the post-mark?"

"Ah, auntie, I don't think I ought to tell, not even you. It seems like a breach of confidence towards Amos, though it really is not. At any rate, I am not sure that he would like me to tell."

"Quite right, my dear Walter; I had no idle curiosity in asking; and if Amos wishes it still to be a secret, of course you ought not to disclose it."

"Thank you, auntie, for looking at it in that light. Now it can be no breach of confidence on my part to go over to that place from which the letters came, as shown by the post-mark, and just keep my eyes and ears open, and see if I can get within sight or hearing of Amos without making myself known. I would not intrude myself into my poor sister's house if I can find it out, but I would just keep a bit of a watch near it, and look if I can see anything of that miserable man who has given us so much trouble; and then I might be able to give him a little of my mind, so as to induce him to take himself clean off out of the country.

At any rate, I would watch over Amos, that no harm should come to him.

What do you think?"

"Well, dear boy," replied his aunt, "it is very generous of you to make such a proposal, and good might come out of your plan; but what will your father say to it?"

"Ah, that's the point, auntie. I must get you to persuade him to let me go. Tell him how it is--tell him I'll be as prudent as a policeman, or a stationmaster, or any one else that's particularly prudent, or ought to be; and, if I don't find Amos where I imagine he will be, I'll be back again before bed-time to-morrow."

Miss Huntingdon spoke to her brother, and put Walter's scheme before him; but at first he would not hear of it. "The boy must be crazy," he said; "why, he's not fit to be out all by himself on such an errand as this. That scoundrel of a man might be getting hold of him, and no one knows what might happen then. It's absurd,--it's really quite out of the question."

"Don't you think, Walter," replied his sister calmly, "that G.o.d, who has put such a loving thought into the heart of Walter, will keep him from harm? Would it be right to check him when he is bent on such a work?

Besides, as to the wretched and unhappy man who has caused all this trouble, are not such characters, with all their bl.u.s.ter, commonly arrant cowards when they find themselves firmly confronted?"

"Perhaps so, Kate. Well, send Walter to me."

"My boy," exclaimed the squire, when Walter made his appearance, "what wild scheme is this? Why, surely you can't be serious?"

"Indeed I am, father. You needn't be afraid for me. It was not my own thought,--I'm sure it was put into my mind; besides, it will be capital fun just having to look after myself for a night or two, and a little roughing it will do me good."

"And where do you intend to sleep and to put up, I should like to know?"

asked Mr Huntingdon, half seriously and half amused.

"Oh, I'll find a shakedown somewhere; and I'm sure to be able to get lots of eggs and bacon and coffee, and I could live on them for a week."

"And I suppose I am to be paymaster," said his father, laughing.

"Oh no, father, not unless you like. I've a sovereign still left; I'll make that pay all, and I must do without things till I get my next quarter's allowance."

"Very well, my boy; but hadn't you better take Harry or d.i.c.k with you?"

"O father! take old Harry! why, I might as well take the town-crier. Oh no, let me go alone. I know what Amos would say if it were he that was in my place; he would say that we may trust to be taken care of while we are in the path of duty.--May I go, then, father?"

"Well--yes," said Mr Huntingdon, but rather reluctantly; and then he said, "But how shall I be sure that you haven't got into any trouble?

for I understand from your aunt that you make it a point of honour not to let us know where you are going to."

"All right, father: if I don't turn up some time to-morrow afternoon, I'll manage to send a letter by some means or other."

After luncheon Walter set out on his self-imposed expedition, on his own pony, with a wallet strapped behind him which Miss Huntingdon had taken care should be furnished with such things as were needful. His father also thrust some money into his hand as they parted. And now we must leave him as he trots briskly away, rather proud of his solitary journey, and follow his brother, who little suspected that a guard and protector was pursuing him in the person of his volatile brother Walter.

The little town to which Amos leisurely made his way was about twenty miles from Flixworth Manor. It was one of those exceedingly quiet places which, boasting no attractions in the way of either architecture or situation, and being on the road to or from no places of note or busy traffic, are visited rarely by any but those who have their permanent abode in the neighbourhood. Neither did coach pa.s.s through it nor railway near it, so that its winding street or two, with their straggling ma.s.ses of dingy houses, would be suggestive to any accidental visitor of little else than unmitigated dulness. It had, of course, its post office, which was kept at a miscellaneous shop, and did not tax the energies of the shopkeeper to any great degree by the number of letters which pa.s.sed through his hands. The stamp, however, of this office was that which Walter had noticed on the letters which had furnished him with a clew.

The heart of Amos was very sad as he rode along, and yet it was filled with thankfulness also. Yes, he could now rejoice, because he saw the dawning of a better day now spreading into broad flushes of morning light. His father's kindness to him, so unexpected and so precious, and, almost better still, his father's altered feeling to his sister Julia--how thoughts of these things gladdened him, spite of his sadness!

Oh, if only he could rid the family of that miserable husband of his sister's in some lawful way! Of course it might be possible to put the police on his track; but then, if he were caught and brought to justice, what a lamentable and open disgrace it would be to them all, and might perhaps be the means of partially closing the opening door for his sister to her father's heart.

With such thoughts of mingled cloud and sunshine chasing one another through his mind, he reached, about two o'clock in the afternoon, the little town of Dufferly, and drew rein at the dusky entrance to the Queen's Hotel, as it was somewhat ambitiously called. Having secured a bed, he walked out into the pebbly street, and strolled into the market- place. He might have proceeded at once to his sister's lodgings, but he had no wish to encounter her husband there if he could avoid it; but how to ascertain whether he was in the town or no he could not tell. That he was not likely to remain many days at once in the place he was pretty sure; and yet his sister's letter implied that he had been lately with her, and had been taking some steps towards removing the children from their present place of abode. So he walked up and down the little town in all directions, thinking that if Mr Vivian should be anywhere about, and should catch sight of him, he might retire from the place for a season, and give him an opportunity of visiting his sister unmolested.

At length, after returning to his inn and refreshing himself, he made up his mind to call at his sister's home, trusting that he should find her alone.

All was quiet as could be in the little street or lane down which he now made his way. Knocking at the door of the neat but humble dwelling where his sister lived, she herself answered the summons. "Oh! is it you, Amos?" she cried, clasping her hands pa.s.sionately together. "Oh, I am so glad, so glad! I want to tell you all, it has been so terrible; come in, come in." Amos entered the little parlour and looked round.

He had himself furnished it with a few extras of comfort and refinement.

"O Amos, dear, dear Amos," cried his sister, throwing her arms round his neck and weeping bitterly, "it has been so dreadful. Oh pardon me, pray pardon me!"

"What for, dearest Julia?" he asked.

"Why, for writing that last part of the letter. He stood over me; he made me do it. He stood over me with a whip; yes, he struck me over and over again--look at my neck here--he struck me till the blood came, when I refused at first to write as he dictated. But oh! I hope no harm came of that letter?"