Part 62 (2/2)

All this betokened a genuine calamity. Nevertheless, one ray of suspicion rested on the case at first. The captain of the _Proserpine_ had lost a great many s.h.i.+ps; and, on the first announcement, one or two were resolved to sift the matter on that ground alone. But when five eye-witnesses, suppressing all mention of the word ”drink,” declared that Captain Hudson had refused to leave the vessel, and described his going down with the s.h.i.+p, from an obstinate and too exalted sense of duty, every c.h.i.n.k was closed; and, to cut the matter short, the insurance money was paid to the last s.h.i.+lling, and Benson, one of the small underwriters, ruined. Nancy Rouse, who worked for Mrs. Benson, lost eighteen s.h.i.+llings and sixpence, and was dreadfully put out about it.

Wylie heard her lamentations, and grinned; for now his 2,000 pounds was as good as in his pocket, he thought. Great was his consternation when Arthur told him that every s.h.i.+lling of the money was forestalled, and that the entire profit of the transaction was yet to come; viz., by the sale of the gold dust.

”Then sell it,” said Wylie.

”I dare not. The affair must cool down before I can appear as a seller of gold; and even then I must dribble it out with great caution. Thank Heaven, it is no longer in those cellars.”

”Where is it, then?”

”That is my secret. You will get your two thousand all in good time; and, if it makes you one-tenth part as wretched as it has made me, you will thank me for all these delays.”

At last Wylie lost all patience, and began to show his teeth; and then Arthur Wardlaw paid him his two thousand pounds in forty crisp notes.

He crammed them into a side pocket, and went down triumphant to Nancy Rouse. Through her parlor window he saw the benign countenance of Michael Penfold. He then remembered that Penfold had told him some time before that he was going to lodge with her as soon as the present lodger should go.

This, however, rather interrupted Wylie's design of walking in and chucking the two thousand pounds into Nancy's lap. On the contrary, he shoved them deeper down in his pocket, and resolved to see the old gentleman to bed, and then produce his pelf, and fix the wedding-day with Nancy.

He came in and found her crying, and Penfold making weak efforts to console her. The tea-things were on the table, and Nancy 's cup half emptied.

Wylie came in, and said, ”Why, what is the matter now?”

He said this mighty cheerfully, as one who carried the panacea for all ills in his pocket, and a medicine peculiarly suited to Nancy Rouse's const.i.tution. But he had not quite fathomed her yet.

As soon as ever she saw him she wiped her eyes, and asked him, grimly, what he wanted there. Wylie stared at the reception; but replied stoutly, that it was pretty well known by this time what he wanted in that quarter.

”Well, then,” said Nancy, ”Want will be your master. Why did you never tell me Miss Helen was in that s.h.i.+p? my sweet, dear mistress as was, that I feel for like a mother. You left her to drown, and saved your own great useless carca.s.s, and drowned she is, poor dear. Get out o' my sight, do.”

”It wasn't my fault, Nancy,” said Wylie, earnestly. ”I didn't know who she was, and I advised her to come with us; but she would go with that parson chap.”

”What parson chap? What a liar you be! She is Wardlaw's sweetheart, and don't care for no parsons. If you didn't know you was to blame, why didn't you tell me a word of your own accord? You kep' dark. Do you call yourself a man, to leave my poor young lady to s.h.i.+ft for herself?”

”She had as good a chance to live as I had,” said Wylie, sullenly.

”No, she hadn't; you took care o' yourself. Well, since you are so fond of yourself, keep yourself _to_ yourself, and don't come here no more.

After this, I hate the sight on ye. You are like the black dog in my eyes, and always will be. Poor, dear Miss Helen! Ah, I cried when she left--my mind misgave me; but little I thought she would perish in the salt seas, and all for want of a man in the s.h.i.+p. If you had gone out again after in the steamboat--Mr. Penfold have told me all about it--I'd believe you weren't so much to blame. But no; lolloping and looking about all day for months. There's my door, Joe Wylie; I can't cry comfortable before you as had a hand in drowning of her. You and me is parted forever. I'll die as I am, or I'll marry a _man;_ which you ain't one, nor nothing like one. Is he waiting for you to hold the door open, Mr.

Penfold? or don't I speak plain enough? Them as I gave the sack to afore you didn't want so much telling.”

”Well, I'm going,” said Wylie, sullenly. Then, with considerable feeling, ”This is hard lines.”

But Nancy was inexorable, and turned him out, with the 2,000 pounds in his pocket.

He took the notes out of his pocket, and flung them furiously down in the dirt.

Then he did what everybody does under similar circ.u.mstances, he picked them up again, and pocketed them, along with the other dirt they had gathered.

Next day he went down to the docks and looked out for a s.h.i.+p; he soon got one, and signed as second mate. She was to sail in a fortnight.

But, before a week was out, the banknotes had told so upon him that he was no longer game to go to sea. But the captain he had signed with was a Tartar, and not to be trifled with. He consulted a knowing friend, and that friend advised him to disguise himself till the s.h.i.+p had sailed.

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