Part 17 (2/2)
Miss Huntingdon spoke to her brother, and put Walter's scheme before him; but at first he would not hear of it. ”The boy must be crazy,” he said; ”why, he's not fit to be out all by himself on such an errand as this. That scoundrel of a man might be getting hold of him, and no one knows what might happen then. It's absurd,--it's really quite out of the question.”
”Don't you think, Walter,” replied his sister calmly, ”that G.o.d, who has put such a loving thought into the heart of Walter, will keep him from harm? Would it be right to check him when he is bent on such a work?
Besides, as to the wretched and unhappy man who has caused all this trouble, are not such characters, with all their bl.u.s.ter, commonly arrant cowards when they find themselves firmly confronted?”
”Perhaps so, Kate. Well, send Walter to me.”
”My boy,” exclaimed the squire, when Walter made his appearance, ”what wild scheme is this? Why, surely you can't be serious?”
”Indeed I am, father. You needn't be afraid for me. It was not my own thought,--I'm sure it was put into my mind; besides, it will be capital fun just having to look after myself for a night or two, and a little roughing it will do me good.”
”And where do you intend to sleep and to put up, I should like to know?”
asked Mr Huntingdon, half seriously and half amused.
”Oh, I'll find a shakedown somewhere; and I'm sure to be able to get lots of eggs and bacon and coffee, and I could live on them for a week.”
”And I suppose I am to be paymaster,” said his father, laughing.
”Oh no, father, not unless you like. I've a sovereign still left; I'll make that pay all, and I must do without things till I get my next quarter's allowance.”
”Very well, my boy; but hadn't you better take Harry or d.i.c.k with you?”
”O father! take old Harry! why, I might as well take the town-crier. Oh no, let me go alone. I know what Amos would say if it were he that was in my place; he would say that we may trust to be taken care of while we are in the path of duty.--May I go, then, father?”
”Well--yes,” said Mr Huntingdon, but rather reluctantly; and then he said, ”But how shall I be sure that you haven't got into any trouble?
for I understand from your aunt that you make it a point of honour not to let us know where you are going to.”
”All right, father: if I don't turn up some time to-morrow afternoon, I'll manage to send a letter by some means or other.”
After luncheon Walter set out on his self-imposed expedition, on his own pony, with a wallet strapped behind him which Miss Huntingdon had taken care should be furnished with such things as were needful. His father also thrust some money into his hand as they parted. And now we must leave him as he trots briskly away, rather proud of his solitary journey, and follow his brother, who little suspected that a guard and protector was pursuing him in the person of his volatile brother Walter.
The little town to which Amos leisurely made his way was about twenty miles from Flixworth Manor. It was one of those exceedingly quiet places which, boasting no attractions in the way of either architecture or situation, and being on the road to or from no places of note or busy traffic, are visited rarely by any but those who have their permanent abode in the neighbourhood. Neither did coach pa.s.s through it nor railway near it, so that its winding street or two, with their straggling ma.s.ses of dingy houses, would be suggestive to any accidental visitor of little else than unmitigated dulness. It had, of course, its post office, which was kept at a miscellaneous shop, and did not tax the energies of the shopkeeper to any great degree by the number of letters which pa.s.sed through his hands. The stamp, however, of this office was that which Walter had noticed on the letters which had furnished him with a clew.
The heart of Amos was very sad as he rode along, and yet it was filled with thankfulness also. Yes, he could now rejoice, because he saw the dawning of a better day now spreading into broad flushes of morning light. His father's kindness to him, so unexpected and so precious, and, almost better still, his father's altered feeling to his sister Julia--how thoughts of these things gladdened him, spite of his sadness!
Oh, if only he could rid the family of that miserable husband of his sister's in some lawful way! Of course it might be possible to put the police on his track; but then, if he were caught and brought to justice, what a lamentable and open disgrace it would be to them all, and might perhaps be the means of partially closing the opening door for his sister to her father's heart.
With such thoughts of mingled cloud and suns.h.i.+ne chasing one another through his mind, he reached, about two o'clock in the afternoon, the little town of Dufferly, and drew rein at the dusky entrance to the Queen's Hotel, as it was somewhat ambitiously called. Having secured a bed, he walked out into the pebbly street, and strolled into the market- place. He might have proceeded at once to his sister's lodgings, but he had no wish to encounter her husband there if he could avoid it; but how to ascertain whether he was in the town or no he could not tell. That he was not likely to remain many days at once in the place he was pretty sure; and yet his sister's letter implied that he had been lately with her, and had been taking some steps towards removing the children from their present place of abode. So he walked up and down the little town in all directions, thinking that if Mr Vivian should be anywhere about, and should catch sight of him, he might retire from the place for a season, and give him an opportunity of visiting his sister unmolested.
At length, after returning to his inn and refres.h.i.+ng himself, he made up his mind to call at his sister's home, trusting that he should find her alone.
All was quiet as could be in the little street or lane down which he now made his way. Knocking at the door of the neat but humble dwelling where his sister lived, she herself answered the summons. ”Oh! is it you, Amos?” she cried, clasping her hands pa.s.sionately together. ”Oh, I am so glad, so glad! I want to tell you all, it has been so terrible; come in, come in.” Amos entered the little parlour and looked round.
He had himself furnished it with a few extras of comfort and refinement.
”O Amos, dear, dear Amos,” cried his sister, throwing her arms round his neck and weeping bitterly, ”it has been so dreadful. Oh pardon me, pray pardon me!”
”What for, dearest Julia?” he asked.
”Why, for writing that last part of the letter. He stood over me; he made me do it. He stood over me with a whip; yes, he struck me over and over again--look at my neck here--he struck me till the blood came, when I refused at first to write as he dictated. But oh! I hope no harm came of that letter?”
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