But Peter Pash looked proud at the confidence placed in him, and, following rather than walking by the side of his lady, he accompanied her to Finsbury-square, in one corner of which place lived Tom Brough.

All the same, though, Peter Pash was not comfortable, for he did not know the object of Keziah's mission. What was she going to Mr Brough's for? It was not because she was sent--she had declared that before starting, and when pressed for her reason she said that she was "going because she was going," and Peter did not feel satisfied. In fact, before they were half-way to Finsbury, Peter was fiercely jealous, and telling himself that he was being made a fool of.

"You'd better let me carry that umbrella if you are going to bring it down thump at every step like that," said Keziah.

"No, thank you, I can manage it," said Peter, as, tucking it once more beneath his arm, he trotted on by her side, trying to make up his mind how he should find out the truth of his suspicions.

"It only wants a little looking into," said Peter to himself, "and then you can find out anything. I can see it all now. And do they think they are going to deceive me? No, I've boiled down and purified too much not to be able to separate the wrong from the right. She's going to ask him if he means to marry her instead of Miss Richards, and if he don't, she'll fall back on me. But she won't, for I don't mean to be fallen on, and so I tell her."

"Here we are," said Keziah, stopping short in front of Mr Brough's house.

"Yes, here we are," said Peter, with what he meant for a searching look.

"Now, look here, Peter," said Keziah, "I'm going to see Mr Brough, and you'll wait outside till I come back."

"But what are you going for?" said Peter.

There was no reply save what was conveyed in a hitch of Keziah's shawl, and then, her summons being responded to, she entered, leaving Peter perspiring on the door-step, brandishing the great umbrella and peering at the door with eyes that threatened to pierce the wood--varnish, paint, and all.

Meanwhile, Keziah was ushered into the room where Tom Brough was seated, rosy and hearty, over his decanter and gla.s.s.

"Well, Keziah," he said, "and how are all at home? Take a chair."

The visitor did not condescend to reply until the door was shut, when, folding her arms, she stood looking at him with a fierce uncompromising aspect.

"I've come about that poor girl," she said at last.

"About what poor girl?" said Tom Brough.

"That poor girl whose heart's being broken up into tiny bits by you and him--her father," cried Keziah, fiercely, "and I've come to know if you ain't ashamed of yourself. There, hold your tongue, and listen to what I've got to say; I haven't said anything to him at home, because it's like talking to stone and marbles. But I've come to talk to you."

"Talk away, then," said Tom Brough, pleasantly.

"I'm going to," said Keziah, angrily, "and don't you think, Mr Brough, that you're going to get rid of me like that, because you are not, so now then. This marriage can't go on."

"Why not?" said Tom Brough, offering a gla.s.s of wine, which was refused.

"Because I'm not going to see my darling that I've nursed and tended ever since she was a baby driven into her grave to please you. There, keep off--gracious, if the man isn't mad!"

Keziah half shrieked the last words, for, leaping from his seat, Tom Brough made a rush at her, chased her round the table with an activity hardly to have been expected from one of his years, followed her out on to the landing as she hastily beat a retreat, down the stairs, along the pa.s.sage, and caught her on the door-mat, where, after a sharp scuffle, he succeeded in imprinting a couple of sounding kisses upon her cheek before she got the door open, and, panting and tumbled, rushed out nearly to the oversetting of Peter Pash, who, with his eye to the keyhole, had seen the chase in part, heard the scuffle in full, and now stood gazing grandly at the panting object of his affections.

"Keziah!" he exclaimed at length, "I thought better of you."

"What do you mean by that?" exclaimed the irate dame.

"I thought you had been a woman as could be trusted," he said, sadly.

"Trusted, indeed!" cried Keziah. "Why, he's a madman, that's what he is. He's off his head because of this wedding: see if he ain't."

"Keziah!" said Peter, loftily, "I've done with you."

"Give me that umbrella," cried Keziah, s.n.a.t.c.hing the great gingham from his hand. "Now just you speak to me again like that, young man, and I'll talk to you."

"I'll see you home. I won't be mean," said Peter. "But you've broken a true and trusting heart, Keziah."

"Hold your tongue, do," she cried; "just as if I hadn't enough to bother me without your silly clat. I did think he'd be open to reason," she added half aloud.

Peter did not answer, but walked by Keziah's side till they turned down by the Mansion House and entered Walbrook, when with a start the latter caught Peter by the arm and pointed down the deserted way to where a light figure was seen to hurriedly leave John Richards' door, and then to flit beneath lamp after lamp in the direction of Cannon-street.

"Where's she going?" exclaimed Keziah, hoa.r.s.ely. "What is she out for to-night?"

"Who is it?" said Peter, though it was for the sake of speaking, for he knew.

"She's mad, too, and we're all mad, I believe," cried Keziah. "O, Peter, if you love me as you say, hold by me now, for there's something going wrong; don't lose sight of her for an instant, if you value me.

Make haste, man, and come on."

"That's cool!" said Peter, "and after me seeing some one else kissing and hugging you."

"Quick, quick!" cried Keziah, excitedly catching Peter's hand in hers; and then together they pa.s.sed down Walbrook and across the street at the bottom, both too fat and heavy to keep the light figure in sight without great exertion.

Down one of the hilly lanes and into Thames-street they panted, with the light drapery now lost sight of, now seen again at some corner, and then to disappear down one of the dark fog-dimmed openings, up which came the faint odour of the river and the low lapping noise of its waters against the slimy steps below.

"Quick, quick!" said Keziah hoa.r.s.ely, "or we shall be too late."

Her earnest manner more than her words seemed to impress Peter Pash, and hurrying along he was the first to catch sight of the light figure they chased now standing motionless on the edge of a wharf, while the wind came mournfully sighing off the river, in whose inky breast, all blurred and half-washed-out, shone the light of star and Keziah's breath seemed drawn in deep groans, as for a few minutes she stood, as it were, paralysed. Then recovering herself, and motioning Peter back, she advanced quickly, and just as the light figure gave a start and seemed about to step forward, she threw her arms round it and held it tightly, sobbing hysterically the while.

But only for a few seconds.

"Here, Peter, quick," she cried, "that shawl. And were you looking for me, my pet? We've been walking. But never mind, we've found you now, and I won't leave you again. Don't talk--don't say anything, only come home quickly!"

Without a word, without resistance, May Richards suffered herself to be led homeward, merely gazing from time to time at her old servant in a half-dazed way as if she could not understand the meaning of it all, nor yet why she was being led with Keziah's arm so tightly holding hers.

And so they walked back to find the door in Walbrook ajar, with Tom Brough standing in the entry.

"Go back now, Peter," whispered Keziah, "and not a word of this to a soul."

"But what's he here for?" said Peter, in the same tone.

"You miserable jealous pate," whispered the old servant fiercely, "if you don't be off--"

She said no more, for Peter _was_ off, and then she turned to Mr Brough.

"You may well look," she whispered to him, as he said a few unnoticed words to May. "All your doing--all your doing. Another minute, and the poor lamb would have been sleeping in the river."

Tom Brough started, and then caught May in his arms, and bore her up-stairs, where for quite an hour she sat in a dazed, heedless way that troubled Keziah more than would a pa.s.sionate outburst.

"If she'd only cry," she whispered at last to Mr Brough, "But you won't press for it now, Mr Brough; you won't, sir, I'm sure. People say you're a good man, and that you're kind and charitable. Look at the poor thing; her heart's broke--it is indeed."