"Yes, sir, in our charge."

"Then, why didn't you watch over them, and take care of 'em? Where are they now?"

"Well, sir, it is hard to say. They have never been presented at any bank."

"Of course they haven't, when I've got 'em safe in my pocket-book."

"In your pocket-book, sir?"

"Yes. Don't you believe me? There; look. Bit rubbed at the edges with being squeezed in the old leather, but there are the notes; aren't they?

Look at the numbers."

As the old man spoke he took a shabby old pocket-book from his breast, opened it, and drew out a bundle of notes held together by an elastic band, and laid them on the office table with a bang.

"Bless my heart!" cried Crampton excitedly, as he hastily put on his spectacles and examined the notes, and compared them with an entry in a book. "Yes, sir," he said to Van Heldre; "these are the very notes."

"But how came you by them, Luke Vine?" cried Van Heldre, who looked as much astounded as his clerk.

"How came I by them?" snarled Uncle Luke. "Do you think five hundred pounds are to be picked up in the gutter. I meant that money, and more too, for that unfortunate boy; and the more careless he was the more necessary it became for me to look after his interests."

"You meant that money for poor Harry?"

"To be sure I did, and by the irony of fate the poor misguided lad sent his companion to steal it."

"Good heavens!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Van Heldre, while Crampton nodded his head so sharply that his spectacles dropped off, and were only saved from breaking by a quick interposition of the hands.

"And did the foolish fellow restore the money to you?" said Van Heldre.

"Bah! no! He never had it."

"Then how--"

"How? Don't I tell you I watched--hung about the place, not feeling satisfied about my property, and I came upon my gentleman just as he was escaping with the plunder."

"And--" exclaimed Crampton excitedly.

"I knocked him down--with that ruler, and got my money out of his breast. Narrow escape, but I got it."

"Why did you not mention this before, Luke Vine?"

"Because I had got my money safe--because I wanted to give clever people a lesson--because I did not want to see my nephew in gaol--because I did not choose--because--Here, you Crampton, give me back those notes.

Thankye, I'll take care of them in future myself."

He replaced the notes in the case, and b.u.t.toned it carefully in his breast.

"Luke, you astonish me," cried Van Heldre.

"Eccentric, my dear sir, eccentric. Now, then, you see why I returned you the cheque. Morning."

Crampton took out his silk pocket-handkerchief, and began to polish his gla.s.ses as he gazed hard at his employer after following Uncle Luke to the door, which was closed sharply.

"Poor Harry Vine!" said Van Heldre sadly. "Combining with another to rob himself. Surely the ways of sin are devious, Crampton?"

"Yes," said the old man thoughtfully. "I wish I had waited till you got well."

"Too late to think of that, Crampton," said Van Heldre sadly. "When do you go to Pradelle's trial?"

"There, sir, you've been an invalid, and you're not well yet. Suppose we keep that trouble buried, and let other people dig it up, and I'll go when I'm obliged. I suppose you don't want to screen him?"

"I screen him?"

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the old clerk, who began rubbing his hands, "Then I'm all right there. I should like to see that fellow almost hung--not quite."

"Poor wretch!"

"Know anything about--eh?"

"Harry Vine? Not yet. Only that he has escaped somewhere, I hope for good."

"Yes, sir, I hope so too--for _good_."

CHAPTER SIXTY SIX.

TRIED IN THE FIRE.

After, as it were, a race for life, the breathless compet.i.tors seemed to welcome the restful change, and the sleep that came almost unalloyed by the mental pangs which had left their marks upon the brows of young and old. And swift tides came and went with the calms and storms of the western coast, but somehow all seemed to tell of rest and peace.

It was a year after Victor Pradelle had been placed in what Sergeant Parkins facetiously termed one of her Majesty's boarding schools, under a good master, that John Van Heldre wrote the following brief letter in answer to one that was very long, dated a month previous to the response, and bearing the post-mark of the Straits Settlements:--

"Harry Vine,--I quite appreciate what you say regarding your long silence. I am too old a man to believe in a hasty repentance forced on by circ.u.mstances. Hence, I say, you have done wisely in waiting a year before writing as fully as you have. George and Luke Vine have always been to me as brothers. You know how I felt toward their son.

I say to him now you are acting wisely, and I am glad that you have met such a friend as Richard Leslie.

"Certainly; stay where you are, though there is nothing to fear now from the law, I guarantee that. The years soon roll by. I say this for all our sakes.

"As to the final words of your letter--one of my earliest recollections is that of my little hands being held together by one whom you lost too soon in life. Had your mother lived, your career might have been different. What I was taught as my little hands were held together, I still repeat: 'As we forgive them that trespa.s.s against us.' Yes. Some day I hope to give you in the flesh that which I give you in the spirit now--my hand."

Six more years had pa.s.sed before a broad-shouldered, bronzed, and bearded man--partner in the firm of Leslie and Vine, Singapore and Penang--grasped John Van Heldre's hand, and asked him a question to which the old merchant replied: "Yes, all is forgiven and forgotten now.

If you can win her; yes."

But the days glided on and the question was not asked. Uncle Harry was constantly on the beach or down on the rocks with the two little prattling children of Duncan Leslie and his wife, and Uncle Luke, who seemed much the same, was rather disposed to be jealous of the favour in which the returned wanderer stood; but he indulged in a pleasant smile now and then, when he was not seen, and had taken to a habit of stopping his nephew on the beach at unexpected times, and apparently for no reason whatever.

The question was not asked, for Aunt Marguerite, who had taken to her bed for the past year, was evidently fading fast. As Dr Knatchbull said, she had been dying for months, and it was the state of her health which brought her nephew back to England, to find his old sins forgotten or forgiven, a year sooner than he had intended.

By slow degrees the vitality had pa.s.sed from the old woman step by step, till the brain alone remained bright and clear. She was as exacting as ever, and insisted upon her bed being draped with flowers and lace and silk, and her one gratification was to be propped up, with a fan in one nerveless hand and a scent-bottle in the other, listening to the reading of some old page of French history, over which she smiled and softly nodded her head.

One day Harry was down near the harbour talking to Poll Perrow, whose society he often affected, to the old woman's great delight, when Madelaine Van Heldre came to him hastily.