Part 10 (1/2)

”No!!” said Isaac Levi in the midst. ”No!!” repeated he to John Meadows.

Meadows understood perfectly what ”No” meant; a veto upon all his plans, hopes and wishes.

”Young man,” said Isaac to George, ”you shall not wander forth from the home of your fathers. These old eyes see deeper than yours (and he sent an eye-stab at Meadows); you are honest--all men say so--I will lend you the money for your rent, and one who loves you (and he gave another eye-stab at Meadows) will bless me.”

”Oh! yes, I bless you,” cried Susan innocently.

The late exulting Meadows was benumbed at this.

”Surely Heaven sends you to me,” cried Susan. ”It is Mr. Levi, of Farnborough.”

Here was a diversion. Meadows cursed the intruder, and his own evil star that had raised him up so malignant an enemy.

”All my web undone in a moment,” thought he, and despair began to take possession of him.

Susan, on the other hand, was all joy and hope; William more or less despondent.

The old Jew glanced from one to another, read them all, and enjoyed his triumph.

But when his eye returned to George Fielding he met with something he had not reckoned upon.

The young man showed no joy, no emotion. He stood immovable, like a statue of a man, and when he opened his lips it was like a statue speaking with its marble mouth.

”No! Susan. No! old man. I am honest, though I'm poor--and proud, though you have seen me put to shame near my own homestead more than once to-day. To borrow without a chance of paying is next door to stealing; and I should never pay you. My eyes are opened in spite of my heart. I can't farm 'The Grove' with no gra.s.s, and wheat at forty s.h.i.+llings. I've tried all I know, and I can't do it. Will there is dying to try, and he shall try, and may Heaven speed his plow better than it has poor George's.”

”I am not thinking of the farm now, George,” said William. ”I'm thinking of when we were boys, and used to play marbles--together--upon the tombstones.” And he faltered a little.

”Mr. Levi! seems you have a kindness for me. Show it to my brother when I'm away, if you _will_ be so good.”

”Hum?” said Isaac doubtfully. ”I care not to see your stout young heart give way, as it will. Ah, me! I can pity the wanderer from home. I will speak a word with you, and then I will go home.”

He drew George aside, and made him a secret communication.

Merton called Susan to him, and made her promise to be prudent, then he shook hands with George and went away.

Now Meadows, from the direction of Isaac's glance, and a certain half-surprised half-contemptuous look that stole over George's face, suspected that his enemy, whose sagacity he could no longer doubt, was warning George against him.

This made him feel very uneasy where he was, and this respectable man dreaded some exposure of his secret. So he said hastily, ”I'll go along with you, farmer,” and in a moment was by Merton's side, as that worthy stopped to open the gate that led out of George's premises. His feelings were anything but pleasant when George called to him:

”No, sir! stop. You are as good a witness as I could choose of what I have to say. Step this way, if you please, sir.”

Meadows returned, clinched his teeth, and prepared for the worst, but inwardly he cursed his uneasy folly in staying here, instead of riding home the moment George had said ”Yes!” to Australia.

George now looked upon the ground a moment; and there was something in his manner that arrested the attention of all.

Meadows turned hot and cold.

”I am going--to speak--to my brother, Mr. Meadows!” said he, syllable by syllable to Meadows in a way brimful of meaning.

”To me, George?” said William, a little uneasy.