"Once for all, I tell you," said Keziah, "that until I see poor Miss May happily settled, I won't bother about that nonsense; so you may hold your tongue, for I can see what you mean."

Peter Pash gave a great groan of despair, but the next minute he was patiently submitting to a severe cross-examination concerning the habits and customs of his lodger Frank Marr.

"He's no good, Peter," said Keziah at last, "and the sooner you get rid of him the better."

"But he pays his rent very regular," said Peter, "and that's a consideration, you know. And he's a good son, and pays no end of attention to his mother. And I say, Keziah, dear, I've seen Mr Brough, and I ain't a bit jealous now."

Keziah snorted.

"He's been to my place twice to see Mr Marr, and they're the best of friends, and he tells me it was only his fun, and Mr Marr don't seem to mind a bit. And I say, Keziah dear, now that Miss May is really going to get married and settled, sha'n't we make it right now?"

"Now I tell you what it is, young man," said Keziah fiercely, "I hate the very name of marrying, and if you say another word to me about it I'll never have you at all. When I want to be married I'll ask you, and not before, so now be off."

"But will you want to some day?" said Peter pitifully.

"Perhaps I shall, and perhaps I sha'n't; I'm seeing enough of it to satisfy me, so I tell you."

Peter groaned.

"Now don't make that noise here," cried Keziah snappishly. "If you can't behave yourself, you'd better go."

"I won't do so any more, dear," said Peter softly. "How's poor dear Miss May?"

"O, don't ask me--poor lamb!" cried Keziah.

"It is to be, isn't it?" said Peter.

"To be! Yes. They've talked her into it, now that your fine Mr Marr has proved himself such a good-for-nothing. It's to be, sure enough, and I wish them all joy of what they've done. They're killing her between them, and then they'll be happy. Get married! There, don't drive me wild, Peter Pash, but be off out of my sight, for I hate the very sound of the word, and don't you come here any more till I ask you."

Peter Pash groaned; and then rising he departed in a very disconsolate state of mind, for he considered himself to be far more worthy of pity than May Richards.

STORY THREE, CHAPTER SEVEN.

MAY'S MARRIAGE.

The wedding day, and for once in a way a crisp, bright, hearty, frosty time--cold but inspiriting; and at ten o'clock, pale and trembling, but nerved for her trial, May Richards stood suffering Keziah to give the finishing touches to her dress before starting for the church. There was to be no form; May had stipulated for that. The wedding was to be at an old City church hard by, and in place of meeting her there Tom Brough had arrived, and was in the dining-room talking to old Richards bound to an easy-chair with gout, and too ill to think of going to the church.

As May entered at last, led in by Keziah, defiant and snorting, Tom Brough, active as a young man, hurried to meet the trembling girl, caught her in his arms, and kissed her fondly, heedless of the sigh she gave.

"Don't look like that, my darling," he whispered. "I'm going to make you happy as the day is long."

May's only reply was a look so full of misery and despair, that Keziah put her ap.r.o.n to her eyes and ran out of the room.

For a moment there was a shade as of uneasiness crossed old Richards'

face--it might have been a twinge of gout--but it pa.s.sed on the instant.

"Don't look like that, May!" he exclaimed angrily. "If you don't know what is for your good you must be taught. Now, Brough, time's going-- get it over, man. She'll be happier as soon as you have her away."

"Yes, yes," said Tom Brough tenderly. "Come May, my child, have you not one look for me?"

May placed her hands in his, and looked up in his face with the faintest dawning of a smile upon her lip, and this time she did not shrink back when he kissed her forehead, but hung upon his arm as if resigned to her fate; the sound of wheels was heard in the narrow street; the friends ready to accompany them were summoned from the room below--two old friends of Mr Brough's, for old Richards had, as he often boasted, no friends; May was led out, the door was heard to close, wheels rattled away, and then, for a wonder, there fell a dead silence upon Walbrook, one which seemed to affect old Richards, even as he sat there looking haggard and drawn of feature, thinking of the past, and of the day he wed his own wife long before gold had become his care--almost his G.o.d.

For the first time remorse had seized upon him, and it wanted not the words of Keziah Bay, who now entered the room, for reproach to be heaped upon his head.

But Keziah's words were not fierce now, only the words of sorrow; and at last she sank down sobbing before him, and said:

"O, Master Richards--Master Richards--what have you done?"

He did not turn round fiercely to bid her begone, but shrank from her, farther and farther, into his great roomy chair, and at that moment, could he have done so, he would have arrested the farther progress of the ceremony, for remorse was beating strongly at his heart.

But the time was pa.s.sed now, and with him action was impossible. He sat there motionless, listening to the sobs of his old servant till nearly an hour had pa.s.sed, when suddenly Keziah rose, wiping her eyes, and saying,--

"I hadn't the heart to go and see it, and now it is too late!"

"Yes, yes," said old Richards softly; "it is now too late!"

The next moment Keziah was hurrying from the room, for there was the sound of wheels and a heavy knocking at the door, which she opened to admit old Tom Brough, red and excited, and his first act upon the door being closed was to catch Keziah round the waist, to hug her and give her a sounding kiss before waltzing her down the pa.s.sage, she struggling the while till she got free, and stood panting, trembling, and boiling over with ire.

"It's all right, 'Ziah!" he exclaimed, "the knot's tied."

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself, that you ought," panted Keziah, darting away to avoid another embrace. "And pray where's Miss May?"

Tom Brough did not answer, he only hurried into the drawing-room, where old Richards sat upright, holding on by the arms of his chair.

"Where's May?" he gasped, looking ashy pale; "why have you not brought her back?"

"Because she was not mine to bring," said Tom Brough coolly. "Flunk Marr waylaid me, and he's carried her off and married her."

"Brough! this is a plot, and you are in it," exclaimed old Richards fiercely, as he saw the serio-comic smile upon his friend's countenance.

"Well, yes, I had a little to do with it," Brough said quietly.

"And is dear Miss May really married to Mr Frank?" cried Keziah.

"Silence, woman," roared old Richards. "Brough, I'll never forgive you.

You've planned all this with that beggar, and he's swindled me out of a thousand pounds, and robbed me of my child! A rascally, lying beggar."

"Gently, gently, my dear Richards," said Tom Brough, coolly. "I don't think that now I have taken him into partnership he is quite the beggar you imagine. What with that and your thousand, and what we--_we_, friend Richards--will leave them when we die, I don't think there will be many men hold up their heads much higher in the City than Frank Marr.

On the whole, I think your child has done well."

"Brough, Brough," exclaimed old Richards excitedly, "what does this all mean? In G.o.d's name tell me, or I shall have a fit."

"In G.o.d's name," said Tom Brough, slowly and reverently, "it means that I, blessed as I have been with wealth, could not commit the grievous sin you wished against that sweet child I loved her too well to condemn her to such a fate, and Frank Marr found me more open to appeal than he did his father-in-law. I told him to come again to your office when he had been to me, and at my wish he accepted all your terms, though not without a deal of forcing on my part. He's a fine, n.o.ble-hearted young fellow, Richards, and listening to me I tried to make matters work for the good of us all."

He looked at old Richards as he spoke, but the old man was scowling at the wall.

"Would you have murdered your child, Richards?" said Tom Brough. "I tell you, man, that had your will been law the poor girl would not have lived a year, while now, with the husband she loves, she is waiting to ask your forgiveness for that for which I am solely to blame."