"Well, and pray what about you?"

"He came to propose, and papa gave him leave."

"To propose what?" said Keziah. "There, for goodness gracious in heaven sake, child, speak out and do not keep on riddle-me-riddle-me-reeing in that way. What did he want? Why!" she exclaimed, as a sudden light seemed to break upon her, "he ain't broke, and come after money? Not he though, he's as rich as a Jew. What does it all mean?"

"He came to propose, and papa ordered me to accept him," sobbed Mary; "and when I told papa that I considered myself engaged to poor Frank, he was ready to strike me, and he cursed him, and called him horrible names, and said he would sooner see me dead than married to such a beggar, and that I was to accept Mr Brough's offer."

"What!" exclaimed Keziah, her eyes dilating as she caught May by the shoulders, and seemed to look her through and through. "Do you mean to tell me that old Tom Brough, the sugar-baker, wants to marry you, and that master said he should?"

"Yes, yes," sobbed May. "O, 'Ziah, I'm half brokenhearted. What shall I do?"

"Do!" cried Keziah fiercely; "I'd have knocked their heads together.

Old Tom Brough! An old villain! An old rascal! He's sixty, if he's an hour. It's a good job for him he's gone. Sneaking out as he did, and giving me five shillings when he went. Ah! if I'd have known when he was with me there in the pa.s.sage, I'd have given it him!"

May clung to her, sobbing more than ever. "I'd--I'd--I'd have wrung his neck," cried Keziah furiously; and then she burst out into a contemptuous laugh, as she strove to comfort the weeping girl, kissing her, wiping her eyes, and holding her to her breast. "There--there,"

she said, "let it be now, and I'll talk to them both. I'll let them see that money is not going to do everything. Tom Brough, indeed! A carneying old rascal, with his smooth tongue and pleasant ways; an old deceiver. I thought better things of him. But I haven't done with them all yet; I don't believe there's a man under the sun good for anything.

But there goes the bell."

Keziah Bay rose to leave the room, but May clung to her imploringly.

"You will not say a word?" she said pleadingly.

"And why not, pray?" Then seeing the agitation and fear in the poor girl's face she continued, "Then I won't--not to him; for it would be like trying to turn a rushing bull;--but I'm not married yet, Peter Pash," she muttered as she left the room, "nor she isn't married yet, John Richards and Thomas Brough, alderman and big man as you are. We're a poor weak, helpless lot, that we are, and it's my belief that men are born with but one idea, and that is that they ought to persecute us women."

STORY THREE, CHAPTER TWO.

UNDER TEMPTATION.

There is, and there always was, about Walbrook something of an exasperating nature. I don't care whether you journey upon wheels, or by means of your nature-given supports, you shall always find an obstruction. The pathways are as narrow and awkward as the road; and while there is always a perky, impudent-looking, heavily-laden truck, with its handle either c.o.c.ked up in defiance, or pointed down insultingly, as it obstructs the horse-drawn traffic, there is sure to be some one carrying a box of stationery, or a bale of paper-hangings, or something or another with hard, harsh corners, to come in contact with your front or your back, to injure your hat, or tear your coat with a ragged nail, or jostle you off into the gutter. It don't matter when you go down Walbrook, pa.s.sing by the sombre Mansion House, and seeking to be at peace in the quiet shades of Budge-row, or Watling, you shall certainly have your feathers ruffled, mentally of course; therefore, it was not surprising that Frank Marr, a st.u.r.dy young fellow of goodly aspect, and some eight-and-twenty years, should look angry and frowning as he sought the house of old John Richards.

Not that it was at all surprising for people either going to or coming from John Richards' office to look lowering of brow, for interviews with that gentleman were none of the most pleasant; they had too much to do with interest, and renewing, and bill stamps, and too little to do with hard cash--unless it were for repayments--to be gratifying to any one.

But Frank Marr's business, as he thought, did not relate to money; and without hanging about the pa.s.sage in the hope of catching sight of May Richards, his old playmate and boyhood's love, he asked to be, and was shown at once into the presence of old John Richards,--"Grab-all,"--"Grind-'em,"--"Screw-bones,"--"Publican,"--for by all these pleasant sobriquets was the money-lender known.

But Frank Marr, merchant, who had just pa.s.sed through the Bankruptcy Court, after five years' hard struggle with unforeseen difficulties, and paid ten shillings in the pound, after all the expenses had come out of his estate--Frank Marr knew that he had chosen a bad morning for his visit. John Richards' enemy had him by the leg; and swathed and bandaged, suffering terribly from gout, but transacting business all the same, as many a trembling client knew to his cost, he sat with a curious smile upon his face as the young man entered.

"Now for a fierce volley of rage and curses," thought Frank; "he shall hear me, though, all the same!" But to his great surprise the old man greeted him most civilly.

"Well, Mr Marr, what's in the wind, eh? Little accommodation bill, eh?

Whose names?"

"No, Mr Richards," said Frank, dashing at once into the subject nearest his heart, "I have not come about money."

"Indeed!" said the money-lender, grinning with pain, but still speaking suavely. "Pray what is it, then?"

"I have had news this morning, Mr Richards."

"Good, I hope. An opening, perhaps, for business?"

"No, sir! Bad news--vile news--cruel news!" cried the young man excitedly.

"Sorry, very sorry," said Richards, quietly. "Pray what is it, then?"

"It is the news of slave-dealing in this city, sir," said Frank. "Of a father making a contract with a rich purchaser for the sale and delivery of his only child, as if she were so much merchandise, and I come, old man, to tell you to your face that it is cruel, and a scandal to our civilisation. But I beg pardon, Mr Richards; I am hot and excited. I am deeply moved. You know I love May, that we have loved from childhood, and that we are promised to one another. Don't interrupt me, please."

"I'm not going to," said the old man, still quietly, to the other's intense astonishment.

"I know what you would say to me if I were to advance my pretensions now. But look here, Mr Richards--I am young yet, May is young. I have been very unfortunate. I have had to buy experience, in spite of my endeavours, in a very dear school; but there is time for me to retrieve my position. I shall get on--I feel a.s.sured. For heaven's sake, then, let this cruel affair be set aside: give me a few years to recover myself, and all will yet be well, I am sure. You will break her heart if you force her to marry this old man."

"Who told you of this?" said John Richards, still calmly.

"I cannot tell you," said Frank.

"Did May write to you?"

"No," said Frank warmly; "she promised you, sir, that she would not. I, too, promised you that while my affairs were in such a state I would not hold communication with her. We have kept our words, sir, even as we intend to keep those upon another point. I have neither spoken to nor heard from May for months."

"Only gone to church to sit and stare at her," said John Richards quietly.

"It were hard indeed, sir, if that poor gratification were not afforded me," said Frank. "But now, sir, pray hear me--pray listen to me. Think of the misery you would inflict."

"Stop now, and hear me," said the old money-lender quietly, though his lips quivered with pain. "Your name is Frank; now be frank with me.

You are at the present time penniless, are you not?"

Frank had hard work to suppress a groan as he bowed his head and thought of how, had he been given time, he could have paid every creditor in full, and had to spare, instead of his poor a.s.sets being more than half swallowed up in costs.

"You came here expecting a stormy interview, did you not?"

"I did!" said Frank.

"To be sure! and now I am going to show you that old Grab-all is not so black a devil as he is painted."

"Good heavens, sir!" cried Frank joyfully.

"Stop a bit--stop a bit--don't be rash, young man; for perhaps I am not going to favour you in the way you may expect, though I do feel disposed to help you. Now look here: I suppose five hundred pounds would be a great help to you just now?"

"It would start me in life again, sir," said Frank, sadly; "but I should not feel justified in commencing upon borrowed capital at high interest."

"Did I say a word about borrowed capital or high interest?"

"No, sir, but--"

"Yes, yes--of course--I know--old Grind-'em will have sixty per cent, they say, eh? But look here, suppose I were to _give_ you five hundred pounds to start with!"

"Give! give! Give me five hundred pounds in hard cash, sir! Mr Richards, why do you play with my feelings?"

"Play, young man?" said the money-lender quietly. "I am not playing--I am in earnest. I tell you that I will give you, now, this minute, five hundred pounds. There," he said, "give me that cheque book," and he pointed to a safe in the wall. "I'll write you one now this instant; and with five hundred pounds you have the key to a fortune. You may die rich as I am, Frank Marr."