London's Heart: A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

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СКАЧАТЬ this point Felix entered the room.

      "Nothing to deny. The story is true."

      "And you," exclaimed the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell loftily, "the father of a criminal who should be expiating his crime in prison, presume to lift your voice against me! Truly, I should but be doing my duty to society if I were to make the matter public."

      "Do I understand that the man from whom the money was embezzled is dead?"

      "He is dead."

      "There is a balance still due," said old Wheels; "one hundred pounds. Has he left the claim to any one?"

      "My son is heir to the property," said the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell.

      "Your son!" There were traces of disappointment in the old man's voice as he looked at Felix. "Is this he?"

      "This is he."

      "You shall be repaid, sir," said the old man humbly to Felix, "to the last farthing." Felix, who had stood before the old man with head inclined, turned away abruptly at these words, and looked out of window. "It is but just," continued the old man in firm and gentle tones, "that you and he should know, that no one was to blame but the unfortunate man who committed the crime-for crime it was undoubtedly, although the law judged it not. The children who were here awhile ago were babes at the time, and it was to save all of us from shame and misery that I undertook to repay the money. I have been all my life paying it, as you may see by the statement in your hand. I did not know that such a document was in existence. I have a signed quittance for the money at home, and have had from the time I paid the first instalment, which, as you see, was large enough to wipe off at once three-fourths of the debt. But the moral claim remained and remains. It is my pride to think that some part of my dear granddaughter's earnings have gone towards the clearing of her father's shame, of which, up to the present moment, she has never heard. Depend upon it, sir, the balancer that remains shall be faithfully paid. Have you anything farther to say to me?"

      "Nothing farther. You can go."

      The old man lingered as though he were wishful to say a word to Felix; but that young gentleman, standing with his back to him, gave him no opportunity, and he left the study in silence. Then the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell rose and, paced the room, indulging in bitter meditations. It had been an unfortunate afternoon for him; everything but this last small triumph had gone wrong with him; he had been crossed, almost defied, at every turn. First, his son; then, this presumptuous old man, whose words were still burning in his mind. And his son's silence now irritated him. Every moment added to his irritation. Felix, standing with his face to the window, looking out upon the churchyard, and upon the figures of the old man and his grandchildren walking towards the grave, showed no disposition to move or to speak. In the eyes of his father this implied disrespect. He was not destitute of a certain decision of character, and in harsh tones he called upon Felix, to speak.

      "I have been considering, sir," said Felix. "I ask your pardon for keeping you waiting."

      "Considering what?" demanded the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell.

      "The proposition you made to me before these persons intruded upon us. You offered me a shelter here, until I determined upon a profession.

      "On the express understanding that you conform to my rules."

      "I do not forget, sir. Those were your very words. Will you permit me?" He took from the table the document which had been referred to in the conversation that had lately taken place. "And this old man has been all his life paying a debt for which he was not liable! There is hope yet for human nature, sir." A queer smile came upon his lips as he uttered these words in a half-gentle, half-bantering tone.

      "Speak plainly," was the stern rejoinder of the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell.

      "I will try to do so. My uncle left a request that all his papers should be burnt, and I am my uncle's heir. Why was this preserved?"

      "You have heard: for your good. It is worth money to you. The man admits the claim."

      "Money!" exclaimed Felix, with a light laugh, in which there was bitterness: "But the dead must be obeyed."

      He went to the fireplace, struck a match, and applied the light to the paper. The Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, with face white with anger, watched the burning of the paper. Felix let the ashes fall into the fender, and tapped his fingers lightly together, with the air of one wiping away a soil.

      "So!" he said. "I wash my hands of that."

      "You know what you have done?" said the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, placing his hand upon the table to steady himself.

      "Yes, sir," answered, Felix gravely; "I shall never trouble you again."

      Then he left the room quietly and sadly.

      CHAPTER XI

      FELIX, DISSATISFIED WITH THE REALITY, SETS UP AN IDOL, AND WORSHIPS IT

      In the passage Felix was confronted by the colourless housekeeper. He had a kindly feeling for her. She had been his father's housekeeper ever since he could remember. She was a young woman and well-looking when he was a little child. When he came home, a man, she had addressed him in the old familiar way, and he was surprised at the change in her; but he soon recognised that living all her life within the influence of his father's house had made her what she was. Now, as, she confronted him, he gave her a kind nod, and would have passed her: but she laid her hand upon his arm to detain him.

      "Where are you going?" she asked.

      "Into the churchyard," he answered.

      "Where, after that?"

      "A subtle question, Martha. Who knows where he goes to after he gets into the churchyard?"

      "Where, after that?" she repeated.

      "Ask the worms," he replied; and added, somewhat bitterly, "or the preachers."

      "Answer me, Felix," she said.

      "I can't;" and again he attempted to pass her.

      "Nay," she said, almost entreatingly; "let me speak to you for a minute or two."

      "Come outside, then; I cannot speak to you here."

      She followed him into the porch. The chair which he had brought for Lily was there, but Lily was gone. The fragrance of the scented water he had sprinkled upon his handkerchief lingered in the air. He placed his hand upon the chair, and in his fancy the sweet air became associated with the tender girl who had rested there awhile ago. He smiled, half gladly, half sadly, as the fancy came upon him. The housekeeper watched him earnestly, as if striving to read his thoughts.

      "Now, Felix, where are you going afterwards?"

      "I can't tell you, Martha," he replied-softly, for he was thinking of Lily. "My plans are unformed."

      "When do you return?"

      "Never; unless something dearer than life brings me back."

      "You have had a quarrel with your father?"

      "You are a witch," he said lightly, "and ought to be burnt."

      "You have had a quarrel with your father," she repeated, showing no temper at his light manner, but even seeming to take pleasure СКАЧАТЬ