CHAPTER VII.

RETURNED.

Mattie dispatched her letter to Harriet that same evening; in her epistle she expressed surprise that they had not seen each other since the meeting at Dr. Bario's--should she visit her, or would Harriet walk over to Peckham to-morrow afternoon? She would be entirely alone, her father had business in town to attend to, and she was very anxious to see her old friend.

Mr. Gray's business in town did not take him from home till twelve in the morning; prior to that he went to work at his stock. When he returned home, he would endeavour to write a few lines to Sidney Hinchford; and whilst he was thinking what he should say, and whilst, despite his efforts to keep these thoughts back, they would intrude upon his figures, and throw him out in his accounts, Sidney Hinchford himself walked into the shop and stood before the counter, waiting for his partner to look up.

Mr. Gray, unmindful of Sid's propinquity, still bent over the books on his counter, and scratched away with his pen; Sidney, with his gla.s.ses on--the old Sidney of Suffolk Street days--stood very erect and still, smiling to himself at the surprise he should create.

Mr. Gray looked up at last.

"G.o.d bless me!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and swept pens, ink, and account books on to the floor in his amazement, "it is you, then!--it _must_ be you!"

"It looks like me somewhat, I hope," said Sidney, laughing and extending his hand, which the other warmly shook.

"Yes," said Mr. Gray, "and what a time it is since we have seen you! We were beginning to think that you had quite forgotten us."

"I never forget my best friends," Sidney replied, "and you and Mattie are the best that ever I have had. Did Mattie think that I was likely to forget her?"

"Well, not exactly," said Mr. Gray, "and if you'll wait a moment I'll run up-stairs and call her----"

"No, you'll stay here," said Sidney, firmly; "don't disturb her on my account. I shall see her presently, and I want to enjoy the luxury of her surprise. Besides, there's no hurry."

"Isn't there?" Mr. Gray asked dreamily.

"Why should there be? I'm here for good."

Mr. Gray had just stooped to pick up his books and inkstand; he dropped them again at this, and then emerged like a phantom above the counter once more.

"You don't mean that?"

"This is my home again. _They_ were very kind to me at Red-Hill, but it wasn't like home, and it never felt like home to me. After Maurice had left for London this morning, I told them my mind very plainly--it's no good telling that harum-scarum fellow anything--expressed my thanks, my grat.i.tude for all that they had done for me, packed up and came away. I was unsettled, dissatisfied, unhappy, somehow--and here I am."

Mr. Gray sank behind the counter again, this time to hide his confusion, which, it was evident, was visibly expressed on his countenance. Sidney back again! Sidney, without preliminary warning, once more entering his home as a friend who expected to be heartily welcomed, and as a partner whom he had no right to ask to go away! Mr. Gray did not see his way very clearly to the end; Sidney's "straightforward" habit of doing things had completely discomfited him for the nonce. He must take his time, and think of this!

He re-emerged from his hiding-place, and laid the _debris_ he had collected on the counter.

"I was taking stock when you came in, Sidney," he said; "just seeing what each share would be, and so on."

"Indeed! what was that for?"

"Why, you--you are going back to the bank again as clerk. I believe you promised that," said Mr. Gray.

"When my sight will allow me--that will be in a month or two's time--I shall return to the old life, G.o.d willing. But what is that to do with taking stock?"

"We shall give up this partnership together, of course."

"I don't see why," said Sidney; "I shall still want a home after business-hours, and there is no home but this that I shall ever care for. The business has not become so large an undertaking that Mattie and you cannot manage it."

"No, it's not that."

"And when--when I am married, we can talk about giving it up then, or making it over to you, or anything you like," said Sidney--"and so we'll dismiss the subject."

"For the present--we shall have to talk of it again. Mattie and I are tired of it, and have thought of something new, Sidney. But, we'll explain all presently. Mattie, I have no doubt, would rather tell you herself."

Sidney looked surprised, even discomfited. He did not comprehend the hint which Mr. Gray had thrown out; he did not entirely see the drift of Mr. Gray's conversation, or understand very clearly what was the difference in his partner's manner, which rendered his return something more than an agreeable surprise. He thought that he had discovered the solution to the mystery, and said,

"Old friend, you are vexed at my long silence; you have been hara.s.sing yourself--perhaps Mattie and you together--about my anxiety to get away from here, after G.o.d has pleased to give me back my sight. And I have been struggling and scheming to get back, and escape the kindness of my relations! Why, Mr. Gray, this will not do--this is not like you to mistrust true friends, and think uncharitably of them after their backs are turned! You should have known me better, and have had more faith in me by this time."

"My dear Sidney," exclaimed Mr. Gray, "I have never had an uncharitable thought towards you. I knew that you would always think well of us--that--that you were not likely to forget us. Until yesterday, I have been building upon your return here, and thinking how happy we should all be together."

"Until yesterday--what happened yesterday?"

"Mattie will tell you, Sidney--I cannot--I must not."

"Very well, we will wait," said Sidney, gravely; "there is nothing she can tell me which I cannot explain away."

"Are you sure?" was the father's eager question.

"Sure," he answered; but there was something in the tone which wavered, and Mr. Gray fancied that he detected it. He said no more, however; he was glad to see Sidney disinclined to elicit further information. Sidney paced the shop once or twice, looked round it, and then went into the parlour, without waiting for Mr. Gray's invitation, and looked carefully and curiously round the room also.

Mr. Gray followed him.

"I see the home for the first time, if you remember," said Sidney; "here, in the darkness, a fair life was spent, thanks to you and _her_.

Here you both first taught me that there was comfort even in affliction; and here stood by my side, and fought my battle, two dear friends. What has altered them?"

"Nothing has altered their love and esteem for you, Sidney," said Mr.

Gray; "whatever happens, you must believe that."

"And what has altered my love and esteem for them?" was the quick rejoinder.

"Nothing, I hope--I believe."

"Then let us settle down into our old positions here. I have come in search of peace and rest; of the old comforts which my uncle's grandeur could not give me, and which by contrast only rendered me more restless.

I find them here, or nowhere. I take my stand here and expect them, or the disappointment will be a bitter one. This is home!"

He took off his hat, and seated himself by the table--a home-like figure, which Mr. Gray felt was in its place again. He leaned his forehead on his hand, and looked down thoughtfully--an old position in his blindness, which Mr. Gray had often watched, and which drew again more forcibly the heart of the watcher towards him. That heart might have been a little estranged since yester-night; it had borne no malice, but it had thrilled a little at his daughter's confession, and the thought had crossed it that Sidney Hinchford might have spared Mattie an avowal of such weak love as had been borne towards her. Sid had guessed Mattie's secret, perhaps, and taken pity upon her; he was generous enough for that, but he had forgotten that Mattie was not humble enough to accept it. Mr. Gray could almost believe now that all had been a mistake, which Sidney's presence there would satisfactorily explain; and yet Sidney's thoughtfulness and restlessness forebade it.

Sidney looked towards him suddenly.

"What are you thinking of?"

"Of the change in you, Sidney--and of the home that it really looks again for a little while."

"For a little while," echoed Sidney; "oh! you will not explain--call Mattie, then, and let us end this. I always hated mystery," he added, a little peevishly.