Part 8 (1/2)
”If he does anything against the laws,” said Jim in a low voice. ”It isn't that I'm afraid of my good name--I'd even let that go, for _your_ sake, if by so doing I could get him out of mischief; and as long as I know nothing against him _for certain_, I'll stand by him. But if he does fall, and I come to know it, I _must_ leave him, Nora, because I won't be art and part in it. I could no longer go on my knees to pray for him if I did that, Nora. Moreover, if anything o' that sort should happen, I must leave the country, because he'd be sure to be caught and tried, and I will never stand witness against _your_ father if I can avoid it by fair means.”
Poor Nora hung her head as she asked in a low voice if Jim really thought her father was engaged in illegal practices.
”I can't say that I do,” replied the youth earnestly. ”Come, cheer up, dearest Nora. After all, it is chiefly through reports that my suspicions have been aroused, and we all know how easy it is for an enemy to raise an evil report. But, Nora, I wish you had not bound me to secrecy as to my reason for sticking by your father. Why should I not say boldly that it's all for love of you?”
”Why should you wish to give any reason at all, Jim, and above all, _that_ reason?” asked Nora, looking up with a blush.
”Because,” said the youth, with a perplexed look, ”my secrecy about the matter has puzzled my father to such an extent that his confidence in me is entirely shaken. I have been all my life accustomed to open all my heart to him, and now, without rhyme or reason, as he thinks, I have suddenly gone right round on the other tack, and at the same time, as he says, I have taken up with doubtful company. Now, if--”
The sound of approaching footsteps here brought the interview to an abrupt close. Nora ran back to her poor home, and Jim Welton, directing his steps towards the harbour, returned on board the little sloop which had been named after the girl of his heart.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
TREATS OF QUEEKER AND OTHERS--ALSO OF YOUTHFUL JEALOUSY, LOVE, POETRY, AND CONFUSION OF IDEAS.
Returning, now, to the moon-struck and Katie-smitten Queeker, we find that poetic individual walking disconsolately in front of Mr George Durant's mansion.
In a previous chapter it has been said that, after composing his celebrated lines to the lantern of the floating light, he resolved to drop in upon the Durants about tea-time--and well did Queeker know their tea-time, although, every time he went there uninvited, the miserable hypocrite expressed surprise at finding them engaged with that meal, and said he had supposed they must have finished tea by that time!
But, on arriving at the corner of the street, his fluttering heart failed him. The thought of the cousin was a stumbling-block which he could not surmount. He had never met her before; he feared that she might be witty, or sarcastic, or sharp in some way or other, and would certainly make game of him in the presence of Katie. He had observed this cousin narrowly at the singing-cla.s.s, and had been much impressed with her appearance; but whether this impression was favourable or unfavourable was to him, in the then confused state of his feelings, a matter of great uncertainty. Now that he was about to face her, he felt convinced that she must be a cynic, who would poison the mind of Katie against him, and no power within his unfortunate body was capable of inducing him to advance and raise the knocker.
Thus he hung in torments of suspense until nine o'clock, when--in a fit of desperation, he rushed madly at the door and committed himself by hitting it with his fist.
His equanimity was not restored by its being opened by Mr Durant himself.
”Queeker!” exclaimed the old gentleman in surprise; ”come in, my dear sir; did you stumble against the door? I hope you haven't hurt yourself?”
”Not at all--a--no, not at all; the fact is, I ran up the steps rather hastily, and--how do you do, Miss Durant? I hope you are _quite_ well?”
Poor Queeker said this and shook hands with as much earnestness as if he had not seen Katie for five years.
”Quite well, thank you. My cousin, f.a.n.n.y Hennings--Mr Queeker.”
f.a.n.n.y bowed and Mr Queeker bowed, and, with a flushed countenance, asked her about the state of her health with unnatural anxiety.
”Thank you, Mr Squeeker, I am very well,” replied f.a.n.n.y.
The unhappy youth would have corrected her in regard to his name, but hesitated and missed the opportunity, and when, shortly afterwards, while engaged in conversation with Mr Durant, he observed f.a.n.n.y giggling violently in a corner by herself, he felt a.s.sured that Katie had kindly made the correction for him.
The announcement of supper relieved him slightly, and he was beginning to calm down over a piece of bread and cheese when the door-bell rang.
Immediately after a heavy foot was heard in the pa.s.sage, the parlour door was flung open, the maid announced Mr Hall, and a tall elegant young man entered the room. His figure was slender, but his chest was deep and his shoulders were broad and square. An incipient moustache of fair hair floated like a summer cloud on his upper lip, which expanded with a hearty smile as he advanced towards Mr Durant and held out his hand.
”You have forgotten me, I fear,” he said.
”Forgotten you!” exclaimed the old gentleman, starting up and seizing the young man's hand, which he shook violently--”forgotten Stanley Hall--little Stanney, as I used to call you? Man, how you _are_ grown, to be sure. What a wonderful change!”
”For the worse, I fear!” exclaimed the youth, laughing.
”Come, no fis.h.i.+ng for compliments, sir. Let me introduce you to my daughter Katie, my niece f.a.n.n.y Hennings, and my young friend Queeker.