How It All Came Round Part 45

"Father, I know what you are now," she answered.

After these few words, she would scarcely allow him to speak again, for he was very weak, too weak to leave his bed; but later on, in the course of the day, they had a long talk together, and Charlotte told her father of her own suffering during the past weeks. There was no longer need of concealment between them, and Charlotte made none. It was a very few days later that two trustees of the late Mr. Harman's will saw each other for the first time.

Sandy Wilson had often looked forward to the moment when he could speak out his mind as to the enormity of the crime committed by Mr. Harman.

Hitherto, this worthy man had felt that in this respect circ.u.mstances had been hard on him. _His_ Daisy, his pretty little gentle sister, had been treated as hardly, as cruelly, as woman could be treated, and yet the robber--for was he not just a common robber?--had got off scot free; he was to get off scot free to the very end; he was to be let die in peace; and afterwards, his innocent child, his only daughter, must bear the brunt of his misdeeds. She must be put to grief and shame, while he, the one on whose head the real sin lay, escaped. Sandy felt that it would have been some slight relief to his wounded feelings if he could find some one to whom he could thoroughly and heartily abuse Mr. Harman.

But even this satisfaction was denied him. Mr. Home was a man who would listen to abuse of none; and even Charlotte, though her eyes did flash when his name was mentioned, even she was simply silent, and to all the rest of the world Sandy must keep the thing a secret.

There was no doubt whatever that when, the day after Mr. Harman's confession, the Homes came to Uncle Sandy and told him, not only all, but also that at any moment he might receive a summons to visit Mr.

Harman, he felt a sense of exultation; also that his exultation was caused, not by the fact that his niece would now get back her own, for he had supplied her immediate need for money, but by the joyful sense that at last, at last, he, Sandy, could speak out his full mind. He could show this bad man, about whom every one was so strangely, so absurdly silent, what _he_ thought of his conduct to his dear little sister. He went away to Prince's Gate, when at last the summons came, bristling over with a quite delightful sense of power. How well he would speak! how cleverly he would insert the arrow of remorse into that cruel heart! As he entered the house he was met by Miss Harman. She held out her hand to him without a word, and led him to the door of her father's study. Her eyes, however, as she looked at him for a moment, were eloquent. Those eyes of hers had exercised a power over him in Somerset House; they were full of pleading now. He went into Mr. Harman's presence softened, a little confused, and with his many excellent, to the point, and scathing remarks running riot in his brain.

Thus it came to pa.s.s that Sandy said no word of reproach to the broken-down man who greeted him. Nay, far from reproaching, he felt himself sharing in the universal pity. Where G.o.d's hand was smiting hard, how could man dare to raise his puny arm?

The two trustees, meeting for the first time after all these years, talked long over that neglected, that unfulfilled trust, and steps were put in train to restore to Charlotte Home what had for so many years been held back from her. This large sum, with all back interest, would make the once poor Charlotte very rich indeed. There would still be, after all was settled, something left for Charlotte Harman, but the positions of the two were now virtually reversed.

"There is one thing which still puzzles me," said Mr. Harman before they parted. "Leaving my terrible share in this matter alone, my brother and I could never have carried out our scheme if you had not been supposed to be dead. How is it you gave no sign of your existence for three and twenty years? My brother even wrote me word from Australia that he had himself stood on your grave."

"He stood on the grave of Sandy Wilson, but never on mine," answered the other trustee. "There was a fellow bearing my name, who was with me in the Bush. He was the same age. He was like me too in general outline; big, with red hair and all that kind of thing. His name was put into the papers, and I remember wondering if the news would reach home, and if my little Daisy--bless her!--would think it was me. I was frightfully poor at the time, I had scarcely sixpence to bless myself with, and somehow, your father, sir, though he did eventually trust me, as circ.u.mstances proved, yet he gave me to understand that in marrying the sister he by no means intended to take the brother to his bosom. I said to myself, 'A poor lost dog like Sandy may as well appear to be dead to those at home.

I love no one in England but my little Daisy, and she does not need me, she has abundance without me.' So I ceased to write. I had gone to a part of the country where even an English paper reached us but once or twice a year. I heard nothing of the old home; and by degrees I got out of the habit of writing. I was satisfied to be considered dead. I did wrong, I confess."

"By coming back, by proclaiming your existence, you could have exposed me years ago," said Mr. Harman; "how I dreaded exposure; how little I knew, when it did come, that it would fall lightly in comparison with----"

"What?" asked Wilson.

"The awful frown of G.o.d's displeasure. Man, to be shut away from G.o.d through your own sin is to be in h.e.l.l. I have dwelt there for three and twenty years. Until two nights ago, I have known no peace; now, I know G.o.d can forgive even such a sin as mine."

"I believe you have suffered, Mr. Harman," answered Wilson. "For the matter of that, we are all poor sinners. G.o.d have mercy upon us all!"

"Amen," said Mr. Harman.

And that was all the reproof Sandy ever found in his heart to give to his fellow trustee.

CHAPTER LVI.

MRS. HOME'S DREAM.

Still, there was a weight on Charlotte Home's mind. Much had been given to her, so much that she could scarcely believe herself to be the same woman, who a few short months ago had p.a.w.ned her engagement ring to buy her little son a pair of shoes. She was now wealthy beyond her wildest dreams; she was wealthy not only in money but in friends. Charlotte Harman was her almost daily companion. Charlotte Harman clung to her with an almost pa.s.sionate love. Uncle Sandy, too, had made himself, by his cheerfulness, his generosity, his kindness of nature, a warm place in her affections; and Mr. Harman saw her more than once, and she found that she could love even Mr. Harman. Then--how well, how beautiful her children looked! How nice it was to see them surrounded by those good things of life which, despise them as some people will, still add charms to those who possess them! Above all, how happy her dear husband was!

Angus Home's face was like the sun itself, during the days which followed Mr. Harman's confession. This sunshine with him had nothing to say to the altered and improved circ.u.mstances of his life; but it had a great deal to say to the altered circ.u.mstances of his mind. G.o.d had most signally, most remarkably, heard his prayer. He had given to him the soul for which he pleaded. Through all eternity that suffering, and once so sinful, soul was safe. Mr. Home rejoiced over that redeemed soul as one who finds great spoil. Added love to G.o.d filled his grateful heart; his faith in G.o.d became more and more, day by day, a mighty power. Thus Charlotte Home was surrounded by as much sunshine as often visits a human being in this mortal life; yet still this unreasonable woman was discontented. The fact was, success had made her bold. She had obtained what her heart had pined for. She wanted another little drop of bliss to complete her overflowing cup. Charlotte Home was unselfish in her joy. There was a shadow on another's brow. She wanted that shadow to depart; in short, she wanted Hinton and Charlotte to meet; not only to meet, but as quickly as possible to marry. Charlotte's heart was still with this lover whom she had given up, and who seemed to have forsaken her. Mrs. Home saw this, though on the subject of Hinton Charlotte still refused to speak. She said once, and only once, to her friend:

"We have parted, we have most absolutely parted. There is no use now looking back on the past; he must never share my disgrace. Yes, my dear and beloved father has repented n.o.bly: but the disgrace remains. He must never share it. He sees the wisdom of this himself, so we will not speak of him, dear Charlotte; I can bear it best so."

This little speech was made with great firmness; but there was a strained look about the lips, and a sorrow about the eyes which Mrs.

Home understood very well. She must not speak, but no one could prevent her acting. She resolved to leave no stone unturned to bring these two together again. In doing this she would act for the good of two whom she loved, for Hinton was also very dear to her. She could never forget those nights when he sat by the bed of her almost dying child. She could never forget the prompt interference which saved that child's life. She had learned enough of his character, during those few weeks which they had spent together, to feel sure that no disgrace such as Charlotte feared would influence him to cause her pain. It is true she could not in any measure account for his absence and his silence; but she was quite wise enough and quite clever enough to believe that both could be satisfactorily accounted for. She could, however, do nothing without seeing Hinton. How could she see him? She had written to his chambers, she had written to his lodgings; from both addresses had the letters been returned. She thought of advertising. She lay awake at night trying to devise some scheme. At last one night she had a dream; so far curious, in that it conducted her to the desired end. She dreamt that Hinton came to Waterloo station, not to remain in London, but to pa.s.s through to another part of England. There was nothing more in her dream; nevertheless, she resolved to go to that station on the next day. Her dream had not even pointed to any particular hour. She looked in _Bradshaw_, saw when a great express from the south was due, and started off on what might truly be called a wild-goose chase.

Nevertheless, instinct, if nothing higher, had guided Charlotte Home; for the first person she saw stepping out of a carriage of this very train was Hinton. She saw Hinton, he also saw her.

"You must come with me," she said, going up to him and laying her hand on his arm. "You must come with me, and at once, for G.o.d has sent me to you."

"But I cannot," he answered, "I am catching another train at Euston. I am going on special business to Scotland. It is important. I cannot put it off. I am ever so sorry; but I must jump into a cab at once." He held out his hand as he spoke.

Mrs. Home glanced into his face. His face was changed; it was pale and worn. There was a hard look about both eyes and mouth, which both altered and considerably spoiled his expression.

"I will not keep you if you still wish to go, after hearing my story,"

answered Mrs. Home; "but there will be room for two in your hansom. You do not object to my driving with you to Euston?"

Hinton could not say he objected to this, though in his heart he felt both annoyed and surprised.

As they were driving along, Mrs. Home said,--

"Have you heard anything lately of Mr. Harman?"

To this Hinton replied, "I have not; and pardon me, Mr. Harman does not interest me."

"Ah!" said Mrs. Home, "he interests me very much. He--he told my husband a strange tale--a tale about himself."

"Did he confess his guilt? I know that he is a very sinful man."

"He has been a great sinner, but he has repented. He has confessed that early and terrible sin of his youth. He has not only confessed, but he is taking steps to make full reparation."

"Indeed! then you will come into your rights? Let me congratulate you."

"You knew of his sin? You knew what his sin was Mr. Hinton?"

"Yes, I knew."

"Charlotte had hoped to keep that disgrace from you."

"Ah!"

"She gave you another reason for breaking off her engagement?"

"Yes, a weak and futile one. She could not expect me to believe it. I did what she had but done before me. I went to Somerset House and saw that will which has been so greatly abused."

"She never knew that."

"Pardon me, she did."

"I fear I must be rude enough to contradict you. She said most distinctly that you were fully satisfied with the reasons she had given for breaking off the engagement, that perhaps you might never now learn what her father had done."

Hinton looked at his companion in some perplexity.

"But I wrote to her," he said. "I wrote a letter which, it seemed to me, any woman who had a spark even of kindness would have answered. In that letter, I told her that I held her to her promise; that I knew all; that even if she did not write to me I would call and try to see her. She never replied to my letter, and when, after waiting for twenty-four hours, I went to the house, she absolutely refused to see me."

"She never knew you called," answered Mrs. Home, "and she never got your letter."

"Good heavens! how do you know?"