"What sort of a hand do you write, Clary?"

"Why, cousin Anthony, it just hangs between the two extremes. Not good enough to deserve much praise, nor bad enough to call forth much censure. In this respect it corresponds more with my character than Juliet's does."

"You are no judge of your mental qualifications, Clary, and I am not going to make you vain by enumeration. Can you compose music for this little ballad?" and he placed one before her.

"That? Oh, no, I can do nothing with that. But hark! I hear my brother calling me from the house. Let us go to him." She ran forward, and Anthony was about to follow her, when he was addressed in a rude familiar manner, and turning round, he beheld the burly form of William Mathews, leaning over the slight green paling that separated the lawn from the road.

"Good day to you, Mr. Anthony. You have been hiding from us of late. A pleasant place this."

"Have you any business with me, Mr. Mathews?" said Anthony, in a voice, and with a look, which rendered his meaning unmistakeable.

"Ahem! Not exactly. But 'tis natural for one to inquire after the health of an old neighbor. Are you living here, or with the old 'un?"

"Good morning, Mr. Mathews," said Anthony, turning coldly upon his heel.

"I make a point of never answering impertinent questions."

"Curse you for a proud fool," muttered the ruffian, as Anthony entered the house. "If Bill Mathews does not soon pull you down from your high horse, may his limbs rot in a jail." And calling to an ugly black cur, that was prowling round the garden, and whose physiognomy greatly resembled his own, the poacher slunk off.

"Anthony," said Frederic Wildegrave, as his cousin, in no very gentle mood, entered the house, "unexpected business calls me away for some weeks to a distant county. You must make yourself as comfortable as you can during my absence. Clary will do the honors of the house. By-the-by, I have just received four hundred pounds for the sale of the big marsh.

I have not time to deposit the money in the bank; but will you see to it some time during the week. There is the key of my desk. You will find the money and the banker's book in the second drawer. And now, Clary, don't look so grave, but give me a kiss, and wish me back."

"I don't think that you will have any," said Clary flinging her arms round his neck. "My heart fills with gloom at the thought of your going away--and so suddenly."

"I shall come back as soon as I possibly can. What in tears. Silly child!"

"Don't go, dear Fred."

"Nonsense! Business must not be neglected."

"Something tells me that this journey is not for good."

"Dear Clary, I could quarrel with you for these superst.i.tious fears.

Farewell, my own darling--and joy be with you."

Kissing again and again the tears from Clarissa's cheek, and shaking Anthony warmly by the hand, the young master of the mansion sprang to his saddle and was gone, leaving Anthony and Clary to amuse themselves in the best manner they could.

"You must not forget, Anthony, that Fred has left you his banker. He is so generous that the money will be safer in your hands than in his own."

Anthony laughed, and put the key of the desk into his pocket. What to him was the money? had it been four thousand, or forty thousand, he would not, in all probability have given it a second thought.

The next morning Clary was seriously indisposed, and her cousin took his breakfast alone. After making many anxious inquiries about her, and being a.s.sured by old Ruth that she only required rest to be quite well again, he retired to Frederic's study; and taking up a volume of a new work that was just out, he was soon buried in its contents.

A loud altercation in the pa.s.sage, between some person who insisted upon seeing Mr. Hurdlestone and old Ruth, broke in upon his studies.

"Will you please to send up your name, sir?" said Ruth, in no very gentle tones; "Mr. Hurdlestone is busy."

"No. I told you before that I would announce myself."

Anthony instantly recognised the voice, and before he could lay aside the book, G.o.dfrey Hurdlestone stood before him.

How changed--how dreadfully changed he was, since they last met. The wicked career of a few months had stamped and furrowed his brow with the lines of years. His dress was mean and faded. He looked dirty and slovenly, and little of his former manly beauty and elegance of person remained. So utterly degraded was his appearance, that a cry of surprise broke from Anthony's lips, so inexpressibly shocked was he at an alteration so startling.

"I suppose you know me, Anthony," said G.o.dfrey, with a sarcastic smile; "I can't be so changed as all that?"

"You are greatly changed."

"For the worse, of course. Yes, poverty soon brings a man down who has never been used to work. It has brought me down--down to the very dust."

"I am sorry to hear you say so. I thought that you were comfortably settled with the Whitmores until you could procure a tutorship. With your education and abilities, G.o.dfrey, you should not appear thus."

"I left the Whitmores a long time ago. I thought you had heard that piece of ill news, for such stories travel apace. You must know that, as ill-luck would have it, Juliet learned from Mary all the particulars of that unfortunate business, and I, of course, had to decamp. Since then the world has gone all wrong with me, and one misfortune has followed upon another, until I stand before you a lost and ruined man; and if you, Anthony, refuse to a.s.sist me, I must go headlong to destruction."

In spite of all his affected boldness, it was evident that the speaker was dreadfully agitated. His eyes were wild and bloodshot, his fine features swollen and distorted, and his face as pale as ashes.

Anthony continued to gaze upon him with eyes full of pity and astonishment, and cheeks yet paler than his own. Could it be Algernon Hurdlestone's son that stood before him--that cousin whom he had sworn to love and cherish as a brother, and to help to the uttermost in time of need? The solemn vow he had taken when a boy was the uppermost thought that moment in his mind; and his eyes slowly filled with tears as turning to G.o.dfrey he said, "If I can help you I will do so to the utmost of my power. Like you, however, I am a poor man, and my power is limited."

G.o.dfrey remained silent.

"What can have happened to agitate you thus? What have you done that can warrant such dreadful words? Sit down, cousin. You look faint. Good Heavens! how you tremble. What can occasion this terrible distress of mind?"

"I shall be better presently. Give me a gla.s.s of brandy, Tony, to make me speak steadily. I never felt nervous before."

His teeth chattered audibly and prevented him from speaking further.

Anthony gave him the stimulant he desired. It seemed to possess some miraculous power. G.o.dfrey rose from his chair, and coming quite close up to his cousin, he said with apparent calmness:

"Anthony, I have committed forgery."

Anthony recoiled backward. He caught the table convulsively to keep himself from falling, as he gasped out:

"This is too dreadful! Oh, my poor uncle! Thank Heaven, you are spared the agony of this. G.o.dfrey, G.o.dfrey, what could induce you to perpetrate such a crime?"

"Necessity. But don't torture me with questions. I am punished enough already. The deed is done and the forfeit must be paid. Haman Levi, the Jew, in whose name the check was drawn, has detected the fraud.

Fortunately for me he is a rascal, a man without any principle, in whom avarice is a more powerful feeling than justice. He knows that he will gain nothing by hanging me; but something considerable by a compromise that will save my life. The sum drawn by me was for three hundred pounds. Haman came to me this morning, and told me that if I paid him four hundred down within twelve hours he would acknowledge the order, and stop the prosecution; but if I refused to comply with his terms, the law should take its course. I have no money, Anthony. I know not where or how to obtain such a large sum in the given time, and if I suffer this day to expire, the season for mercy is past. Rescue me, Anthony, from this frightful situation--save me from a death of shame--and the rest of my life shall be devoted to your service!"

"Alas, G.o.dfrey, I have already borne your shame, and though your victim has p.r.o.nounced me innocent, the world considers me guilty. What can I do in this dreadful business? I have no money. And my cousin who might, perhaps, for my sake have helped you in this emergency, left us last night, and will be some weeks absent."

"You have a father--a rich father, Anthony!" said G.o.dfrey, writhing in despair. "Will you not go to him and make one effort--one last effort--to save my life. Think of our early years. Think of my generous father--of his love and friendship--of all he sacrificed for your sake--and will you let his son be hung like a dog, when a few words of persuasion might save him."

The criminal bowed his head upon his hands, and wept long and pa.s.sionately. Anthony was deeply affected by his misery. Had Frederic been at home, he thought, they might have done something to rescue him.

They might have gone to the miser, and together represented the necessity of the case, and by offering large interest for the loan of the money, have obtained it. What was to be done? Confounded and bewildered, he could think of no plan at all likely to succeed.

Alas for Anthony! The money which had been left in his hands by Frederic Wildegrave, at that unlucky moment flashed across his mind. It was exactly the sum. He was sure that Frederic would lend it to him at his earnest request. Anthony was young and inexperienced, he had yet to learn that we are not called upon, in such matters, to think for others, or to do evil that good may come of it. He looked doubtfully in the haggard face of the wretched suppliant.

"Have you no means of raising the money, G.o.dfrey?"

"Yes--in a few days, perhaps. But it will be too late then."

"Cannot you persuade the Jew to wait?"