Part 8 (1/2)

He is pinioned from behind by a vigorous hand, and a voice he knows cries in his ear--”Help, Bill, or you'll be shot!”

The gun goes off in the scuffle, but hurts n.o.body, and Lee running up, George finds the tables completely turned, and himself lying, after a few desperate struggles, helplessly pinioned on the ground.

d.i.c.k had merely blinded him by appearing to go to Exeter. They both thought it likely that he would attack Lee, but neither supposed he would have stolen on him so treacherously. d.i.c.k had just noticed him in time, and sprung upon him, or Lee's troubles would have been over for ever.

”You treacherous young sweep, you shall hang for this,” were Lee's first words. ”Ten thousand pounds would not save you now. d.i.c.k, you're a jewel. If I had listened to you, I shouldn't have trusted my life to the murdering vagabond. I'll remember to-night, my boy, as long as I live.”

Although it appeared at first that ten thousand pounds would not prevent Lee handing George over to justice, yet, after a long and stormy argument, it appeared that the lesser sum of five hundred would be amply sufficient to stay any ulterior proceedings, provided the money was forthcoming in a week. So that ultimately George found himself at liberty again, and, to his great astonishment, in higher spirits than he could have expected.

”At all events,” said he to himself, as he limped back, lame and bruised, ”I have not got THAT on my mind. Even if this other thing was found out, there is a chance of getting off. Surely my own father wouldn't prosecute--though I wouldn't like to trust to it, unless I got Madge on my side.”

His father, I think I have mentioned, was too blind to read, and George used to keep all his accounts; so that nothing would seem at first to look more easy than to imitate his father's signature, and obtain what money he wished. But George knew well that the old man was often in the habit of looking through his banker's book, with the a.s.sistance of Madge, so that he was quite unsafe without her. His former embezzlement he had kept secret, by altering some figure in the banker's book; but this next one, of such a much larger amount, he felt somewhat anxious about. He, however, knew his woman well, and took his measures accordingly.

On the day mentioned, he met Lee, and gave him the money agreed on; and having received his a.s.surances that he valued his life too much to trouble him any more, saw him depart, fully expecting that he should have another application at an early date; under which circ.u.mstances, he thought he would take certain precautions which should be conclusive.

But he saw Lee no more. No more for many, many years. But how and when they met again, and who came off best in the end, this tale will truly and sufficiently set forth hereafter.

Chapter VII

MAJOR BUCKLEY GIVES HIS OPINION ON TROUT-FIs.h.i.+NG, ON EMIGRATION, AND ON GEORGE HAWKER.

Spring had come again, after a long wet winter, and every orchard-hollow blushed once more with appleblossoms. In warm sheltered southern valleys hedges were already green, and even the tall hedgerow-elms began, day after day, to grow more shady and dense.

It was a bright April morning, about ten o'clock, when Mary Thornton, throwing up her father's studywindow from the outside, challenged him to come out and take a walk; and John, getting his hat and stick, immediately joined her in front of the house.

”Where is your aunt, my love?” said John.

”She is upstairs,” said Mary. ”I will call her.”

She began throwing gravel at one of the upper windows, and crying out, ”Auntie! Auntie!”

The sash was immediately thrown (no, that is too violent a word--say lifted) up, and a beautiful old lady's face appeared at the window.

”My love,” it said, in a small, soft voice, ”pray be careful of the windows. Did you want anything, my dear?”

”I want you out for a walk, Auntie; so come along.”

”Certainly, my love. Brother, have you got your thick kerchief in your pocket?”

”No,” said the Vicar, ”I have not, and I don't mean to have.”

Commencement of a sore-throat lecture from the window, cut short by the Vicar, who says,--

”My dear, I shall be late if you don't come;” (jesuitically on his part, for he was going nowhere.)

So she comes accordingly, as sweet-looking an old maid as ever you saw in your life. People have no right to use up such beautiful women as governesses. It's a sheer waste of material. Miss Thornton had been a governess all her life; and now, at the age of five-and-forty, had come to keep her brother's house for him, add her savings to his, and put the finis.h.i.+ngtouch on Mary's somewhat rough education.