Part 38 (1/2)

For a moment or two he struggled to preserve his self-control, and then went on in a stern, cold voice:

”Still, there is some reason in what you urge. It shows the selfish cunning that has been your ruin.”

”Let me finish, sir,” Gerald begged hoa.r.s.ely. ”The note must be met. If I take it up on presentation, the matter ends there; but you can see the consequences if it's dishonored.”

”They include your arrest and imprisonment. It's unthinkable that your mother and sister should be branded with this taint!” Mowbray clenched his hand. ”The trouble is that I cannot find the money. You have already brought me to ruin.”

There was silence for the next minute, and the las.h.i.+ng of the rain on the s.h.i.+p-lap boards sounded harshly distinct.

Gerald saw a possible way of escape, but, desperate as he was, he hesitated about taking it. It meant sacrificing his sister; but the way seemed safe. His father would stick at nothing that might save the family honor.

”There's Brand,” he suggested, knowing it was the meanest thing he had ever done. ”Of course, one would rather not tell an outsider; but he can keep a secret and might help.”

”Ah!” Mowbray exclaimed sharply, as if he saw a ray of hope. Then he paused and asked with harsh abruptness: ”Whose name did you use on the note?”

”Harding's.”

Mowbray lost his self-control. Half rising in his chair, he glared at his son.

”It's the last straw!” he said, striking the table furiously. ”How the low-bred fellow will triumph over us!”

”He can't,” Gerald pointed out cunningly, using his strongest argument in an appeal to his father's prejudice. ”He will know nothing about the note if I can take it up when due.”

Mowbray sank back in his chair, crushed with shame.

”It must be managed somehow,” he said in a faltering voice. ”Now--go; and, for both of our sakes, keep out of my way.”

Gerald left him without a word, and Mowbray sat alone in the darkness, feeling old and broken as he grappled with the bitterest grief he had known. There had, of course, been one or two of the Mowbrays who had led wild and reckless lives, but Gerald was the first to bring actual disgrace upon the respected name. The Colonel could have borne his extravagance and forgiven a certain amount of dissipation, but it humbled him to the dust to realize that his son was a thief and a coward.

CHAPTER XXII

THE PRICE OF HONOR

It was very quiet in the drawing-room of the Grange, where Mrs. Mowbray sat with an exhausted look, as if she had made an effort that had cost her much. She had just finished speaking, and was watching Beatrice, whose face was white and strained.

”But what has Gerald done? I think I have a right to know,” the girl broke out.

”He wrote somebody else's name on the back of a promise to pay some money, which meant that the other man, who really knew nothing about it, guaranteed that the payment would be made.”

”But that is forgery!” Beatrice cried, aghast.

”Yes,” said Mrs. Mowbray with a shudder; ”I'm afraid it's forgery of a very serious kind, because it enabled him to obtain a good deal of money which he could not otherwise have got.”

”Oh, how dreadful!” Beatrice impulsively crossed the floor and, kneeling down beside her mother, put her arm round her. ”I know how you must feel it. And now I can understand Father's troubled look. He has been very quiet and stern since Gerald came home.”

”Your father has more trouble than you know. Perhaps I'd better tell you about it, as you must grasp the situation. You heard that G.o.dfrey Barnett was dead, but you don't know that he died ruined by the failure of the bank.”

”Ah! All our money was in Barnett's, wasn't it?”

”Yes,” said Mrs. Mowbray. ”It has all gone.”