She seized her astonished father by the hand and led him unresisting from the room.

Having hurriedly related all she knew about Billy Towler, Morley Jones, and Nora, she looked up in his face and demanded to know what _was_ to be done.

"Done, my dear child," he replied, looking perplexed, "we must go at once and see how much can be undone. You tell me you have Nora's address. Well, we'll go there at once."

"But--but," said Katie, "Nora does not know the full extent of her father's wickedness, and we want to keep it from her if possible."

"A very proper desire to spare her pain, Katie, but in the circ.u.mstances we cannot help ourselves; we must do what we can to frustrate this man's designs and save the boy."

So saying Mr Durant descended to the dining-room. He explained that some suspicious facts had come to his daughter's knowledge which necessitated instant action; said that he was sorry Mr Queeker felt it inc.u.mbent on him to maintain secrecy in regard to his mission, but that he could not think of pressing him to act in opposition to his convictions, and, dismissing his guests with many apologies, went out with Katie in search of the abode of Nora Jones.

Stanley Hall, whose curiosity was aroused by all that had pa.s.sed, went down to take a walk on the pier by way of wearing it off in a philosophical manner. He succeeded easily in getting rid of this feeling, but he could not so easily get rid of the image of Katie Durant. He had suspected himself in love with her before he sailed for India; his suspicions were increased on his return to England, and when he saw the burst of deep feeling to which she had so recently given way, and heard the genuine expressions of remorse, and beheld her sweet face bedewed with tears of regret and pity, suspicion was swallowed up in certainty.

He resolved then and there to win her, if he could, and marry her! Here a touch of perplexity a.s.sailed him, but he fought it off n.o.bly.

He was young, no doubt, and had no money, but what then?--he was strong, had good abilities, a father in a lucrative practice, with the prospect of a.s.sisting and ultimately succeeding him. That was enough, surely.

The lodging which he had taken for a few days was retaken that night for an indefinite period, and he resolved to lay siege to her heart in due form.

But that uncertainty which is proverbial in human affairs stepped within the circle of his life and overturned his plans. On returning to his rooms he found a telegram on the table. His father, it informed him, was dangerously ill. By the next train he started for home, and arrived to find that his father was dead.

A true narrative of any portion of this world's doings must of necessity be as varied as the world itself, and equally abrupt in its transitions.

From the lively supper-table Stanley Hall pa.s.sed to the deathbed of his father. In like manner we must ask the reader to turn with us from the contemplation of Stanley's deep sorrow to the observation of Queeker's poetic despair.

Maddened between the desire to tell all he knew regarding the secret mission to Mr Durant, and the command laid on him by his employers to be silent, the miserable youth rushed frantically to his lodgings, without any definite intentions, but more than half inclined to sink on his knees before his desk, and look up to the moon, or stars, or; failing these, to the floating light for inspiration, and pen the direful dirge of something dreadful and desperate! He had even got the length of the first line, and had burst like a thunderbolt into his room muttering--

"Great blazing wonder of illimitable spheres,"

when he became suddenly aware of the fact that his chair was occupied by the conchological friend with whom he had spent the earlier part of that day, who was no other than the man with the keen grey eyes.

"What! still in the poetic vein?" he said, with a grave smile.

"Why--I--thought you were off to London!" exclaimed Queeker, with a very red face.

"I have seen cause to change my plan," said Mr Larks quietly.

"I'm _very_ glad of it," replied Queeker, running his fingers through his hair and sitting down opposite his friend with a deep sigh, "because I'm in the most horrible state of perplexity. It is quite evident to me that the boy is known to Miss Durant, for she went off into _such_ a state when I mentioned him and described him exactly."

"Indeed," said Mr Larks; "h'm! I know the boy too."

"Do you? Why didn't you tell me that?"

"There was no occasion to," said the imperturbable Mr Larks, whose visage never by any chance conveyed any expression whatever, except when he pleased, and then it conveyed only and exactly the expression that he intended. "But come," he continued, "let's hear all about it, and don't quote any poetry till you have done with the facts."

Thus exhorted Queeker described the scene at the supper-table with faithful minuteness, and, on concluding, demanded what was to be done.

"H'm!" grunted Mr Larks. "They've gone to visit Nora Jones, so you and I shall go and keep them company. Come along."

He put on his hat and went out, followed by his little friend.

In a lowly ill-furnished room in one of the poorest streets of the town, where rats and dogs and cats seemed to divide the district with poverty-stricken human beings, they found Nora sitting by the bedside of her grandmother, who appeared to be dying. A large Family Bible, from which she had been reading, was open on her knee.

Mr Larks had opened the door and entered without knocking. He and Queeker stood in the pa.s.sage and saw the bed, the invalid, and the watcher through an inner door which stood ajar. They could hear the murmurings of the old woman's voice. She appeared to wander in her mind, for sometimes her words were coherent, at other times she merely babbled.

"O Morley, Morley, give it up," she said, during one of her lucid intervals; "it has been the curse of our family. Your grandfather died of it; your father--ah! he _was_ a man, tall and straight, and _so_ kind, till he took to it; oh me! how it changed him! But the Lord saved his soul, though he let the body fall to the dust. Blessed be His holy name for that. Give it up, Morley, my darling boy; give it up, give it up--oh, for G.o.d's sake give it up!"

She raised her voice at each entreaty until it almost reached a shriek, and then her whole frame seemed to sink down into the bed from exhaustion.

"Why don't 'ee speak to me, Morley?" she resumed after a short time, endeavouring to turn her head round.

"Dearest granny," said Nora, gently stroking one of her withered hands, which lay on the counterpane, "father is away just now. No doubt he will be back ere long."

"Ay, ay, he's always away; always away," she murmured in a querulous tone; "always coming back too, but he never comes. Oh, if he would give it up--give it up--"

She repeated this several times, and gradually dwindled off into unintelligible mutterings.

By this time Mr Larks had become aware of whispering voices in a part of the room which he could not see. Pushing the door a little farther open he entered softly, and in a darkened corner of the apartment beheld Mr Durant and Katie in close conversation with James Welton. They all rose, and Nora, seeing that the old woman had fallen into a slumber, also rose and advanced towards the strangers. Mr Durant at once explained to her who Queeker was, and Queeker introduced Mr Larks as a friend who had come to see them on important business.

"I think we know pretty well what the business is about," said Jim Welton, advancing and addressing himself to Mr Larks, "but you see," he added, glancing towards the bed, "that this is neither the time nor place to prosecute your inquiries, sir."

Mr Larks, who was by no means an unfeeling man, though very stern, said that he had no intention of intruding; he had not been aware that any one was ill in the house, and he would take it as a favour if Mr Welton would go outside and allow him the pleasure of a few words with him. Of course Jim agreed, but before going took Nora aside.

"I'll not be back to-night, dearest," he said in a low whisper.

"To-morrow, early, I'll return."

"You will leave no stone unturned?" said Nora.

"Not one. I'll do my best to save him."

"And you have told me the worst--told me _all_?" asked Nora, with a look of intense grief mingled with anxiety on her pale face.

"I have," said Jim, in a tone and with a look so earnest and truthful that Nora required no further a.s.surance. She gave him a kindly but inexpressibly sad smile, and returned to her stool beside the bed. Her lover and Mr Larks went out, followed by Queeker.

"We won't intrude on you longer to-night," said Katie, going up to Nora and laying her hand quietly on her shoulder.

"Your visit is no intrusion," said Nora, looking up with a quiet smile.

"It was love that brought you here, I know. May our dear Lord bless you and your father for wishing to comfort the heart of one who needs it so much--oh, so much." She put her hands before her face and was silent.

Katie tried in vain to speak. The tears coursed freely down her cheeks, but never a word could she utter. She put her arm round the neck of the poor girl and kissed her. This was a language which Nora understood;-- many words could not have expressed so much; no words could have expressed more.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MR. JONES IS OUTWITTED, AND NORA IS LEFT DESOLATE.

When Morley Jones found himself suddenly deserted by his ally Billy Towler, he retired to the privacy of a box in a low public-house in Thames Street, and there, under the stimulus of a stiff gla.s.s of grog, consulted with himself as to the best mode of procedure under the trying circ.u.mstances in which he found himself placed. He thought it probable, after half an hour of severe meditation, that Billy would return to the Grotto, but that, for his own sake, he would give a false account of his absence, and say nothing about the loss of the Skylark. Feeling somewhat relieved in mind by his conclusions on this head, he drank off his grog, called for another gla.s.s, and then set himself to the consideration of how far the disappearance of the boy would interfere with his obtaining payment of the various sums due by the Insurance Offices. This point was either more knotty and difficult to unravel than the previous one, or the grog began to render his intellect less capable of grappling with it. At all events it cost him an hour to determine his course of action, and required another gla.s.s of grog to enable him to put the whole matter fairly before his mental vision in one comprehensive view. This, however, accomplished, he called for a fourth gla.s.s of grog "for luck," and reeled out of the house to carry out his deep-laid plans.

His first act was to proceed to Greenwich, where a branch of his fish-curing business existed, or was supposed to exist. Here he met a friend who offered to treat him. Unfortunately for the success of his schemes he accepted this offer, and, in the course of a debauch, revealed so much of his private affairs that the friend, after seeing him safely to his lodging, and bidding him an affectionate farewell, went up to London by the first boat on the following morning, and presented himself to the managers of various Insurance Companies, to whom he made revelations which were variously received by these gentlemen; some of them opening their eyes in amazement, while others opened their mouths in amus.e.m.e.nt, and gave him to understand that he was very much in the position of a man who should carry coals to Newcastle-- they being then in possession of all the information given, and a great deal more besides.