Life in London Part 16

To Ashton's relief the door opened, and Mr. Compton entered. Hastily taking up his hat, he bade adieu to Mr. Brunton, glad of this opportunity to beat a retreat.

"Confound those Methodists!" he uttered to himself, as he walked up Fleet-street; "speak to them, they talk sermons; strike them, and they defend themselves with sermons; cut them to the quick, and I believe they would bleed sermons. But why should he pounce upon me? What have I done? A pretty life George would have led if it hadn't been for me, and this is all the thanks I get. I wish to goodness he had not made such a fool of himself; I shall have to answer all inquiries about him, and it is no honour to be linked in such a.s.sociations."

The meeting between Mr. Compton and Mr. Brunton was one of mingled feelings of pain and mortification. One had lost a valuable clerk, for whom he cherished more than ordinary feelings of regard, and upon whom he had hoped some day the whole management of the business would devolve; the other had lost almost all that was dear to him on earth, one whom he had watched, and loved, and worked for, and to whose bright future he had looked forward with increasing pleasure, until it had become a dream of life. Both were aggrieved, both were injured; but both felt, in their degree, such strong feelings in favour of George, despite his disgrace and crime, that they could look with more sorrow than anger on the offender, and deal more in kindness than in wrath.

Mr. Compton could not but agree with Mr. Brunton that he must be discovered, if possible; and although he could never receive him under any circ.u.mstances into his office again, nor could ever have for him the feelings he once entertained, still he felt free to adhere to his first determination not to prosecute or take any steps in the case, nor allow it to have more publicity than could be helped.

"He is still young," said he; "let him try to redeem the past. But it is right he should feel the consequences of his actions, and no doubt he will, as he has to encounter the difficulties which will meet him in seeking to retrieve the position he has lost. You know me too well, Brunton, to imagine that I do not estimate aright the extent of his guilt; and you will give me credit for possessing a desire to do as I would be done by in this case. I believe many a young man has been ruined through time and eternity, by having been dealt with too harshly--though in a legal sense quite justly; at the same time it has been the only course to check a growing habit of crime in others. I know well that in some instances it would be a duty to prosecute, if only as a protection from suspicion of upright persons. But there are exceptional cases, and I consider this to be one of them, although perhaps many of our leading citizens might think me culpable in my clemency; but I think I know your nephew sufficiently well to be warranted in the belief that he feels his criminality, and will take a lasting warning from this circ.u.mstance. And now, what do you intend to do, since you know my determination?"

Mr. Brunton explained the plans he had formed, and the valuable a.s.sistance which Hardy had rendered him. He was pleased to hear from his injured friend the heartily expressed wish that the end in view might be accomplished. Mr. Brunton had surmounted one great difficulty, and he could not feel sufficiently thankful at the issue. Although he had known Mr. Compton for many years, and had seen innumerable evidences of his benevolence and good nature, he knew, too, that he was the very personification of honesty and uprightness; and he dreaded lest, incensed against George for his ingrat.i.tude, and fearing the influence of his conduct might spread in the office, he would take measures against him which, although perfectly just, would, by their severity, prove deeply injurious in such a case, and reduce George, who was naturally sensitive of shame, to a position from which he might never be restored.

At the very earliest opportunity Mr. Brunton went down to Plymouth.

Business of the greatest importance, which he could not set aside, had detained him in London until Friday, and his uneasiness had been increased during that time by two notes he had received--one from Mrs.

Weston, and the other from Hardy--telling him of the unsuccessful issue of their search. With an anxious heart he alighted at the station at Plymouth, and walked to the hotel, where his sister and Hardy were staying. The look of despair he read in Mrs. Weston's countenance, as they met, told him that no favourable result had been obtained.

"We have been everywhere, and tried every possible plan to find poor George," she said, when Mr. Brunton sat down beside her and Hardy to hear the recital of their efforts. "I should have broken down long ago, had it not been for our dear friend here, who has been night and day at work, plotting schemes and working them out, and buoying me up with hopes in their result. But I feel sure George cannot be in Plymouth, and our search is vain."

"So Mrs. Weston has said all along," said Hardy; "but I cannot agree with her; at all events, I will not believe it until we find out where he has gone. He has not taken a pa.s.sage in any of the vessels, as far as we can ascertain; he is not in any of the inns in the town, I think, for we have made the most searching inquiries at all of them; but in this large place it is difficult to find any one without some positive clue."

"Have you been able to find out whether he really arrived here?" asked Mr. Brunton.

"I think I have. One of the porters rather singularly recollected a person, answering to the description, arriving by the train in which George left London. It seems he was hastening away from the station without giving up his ticket No doubt he was nervous and absent in mind; and when the porter called to him, he started and seemed as if he were alarmed: but in a minute he produced his ticket and went out The porter looked suspiciously, I suppose, at the ticket, and evidently so at George, for he was able to give a full description of him."

"That is so far satisfactory," said Mr. Brunton; "but have you made any more discoveries to render you tolerably sure he is still in Plymouth."

"Yes, I have been to every shop where they fit out pa.s.sengers for a sea voyage, and have found out one where he purchased some articles of clothing. But the clearest trace I have of him is from the shipping agents. He was certainly looking over vessels on the morning after his arrival here, for one or two captains have described him to me. I have been a great many times down among the shipping, but have not made more discoveries, and I cannot get any information from the shipping offices; but in this you will probably meet with more success, sir, than I have, for a young man is not of sufficient importance to command attention from business men."

Mr. Brunton was fully conscious of the difficulties which were in the way of finding George, even supposing he was still in Plymouth: but he was not without hope. He could not find words enough to express his strong approbation of all that Hardy had done, and he felt sure that he could have no better a.s.sistant in the undertaking than he. A series of plans were soon formed: Hardy was to keep watch upon those vessels which he thought it probable George might choose, and offer rewards to sailors and others for information. Mr. Brunton was to try and discover the names and descriptions of pa.s.sengers booked at the shipping offices; and Mrs. Weston was to keep a general lookout on outfitters' warehouses, and other places where it might be probable George would visit.

But every plan failed. Sat.u.r.day night came, and, worn out with fatigue, the anxious trio sat together to discuss the incidents of the day, and propose fresh arrangements for the morrow. Sunday was not a day of rest to them; from early morning they were all engaged in different directions in prosecuting their search, and not until the curtain of night was spread over the town, and the hum of traffic and din of bustle had ceased, did they return to the hotel.

After supper, Mr. Brunton took out his pocket Bible, and read aloud some favourite pa.s.sages. They seemed to speak with a voice of hope and comfort, and inspired fresh faith in the unerring providence of Him who doeth all things well.

Very earnest were the prayers offered by that little party, as they knelt together and commended the wanderer, wherever he might be, to the care and guidance of the good providence of G.o.d. They felt how useless were all plans and purposes unless directed by a higher source than their own; and while they prayed for success upon the efforts put forth, if in accordance with His will, they asked for strength and resignation to bear disappointment Nor were their prayers merely that he whom they were seeking might be found, but that he might find pardon and acceptance with G.o.d, and that the evil which they lamented might, in the infinitely wise purposes of Providence, be controlled for good.

With fresh zeal and renewed hope the three set forth on the following morning to prosecute their several plans. Hardy had learned that one or two vessels would sail that day, and he was full of expectation that he might meet with some tidings.

Mr. Brunton felt rather unwell that morning--the press of business which had detained him in London, the excitement of the journey, and the fatigue of the previous days, had told upon his health. As he was pa.s.sing through a quiet part of the town, he called in at an apothecary's to get a draught, which he hoped might ward off any serious attack of sickness. While the draught was being prepared, Mr. Brunton, who was intent upon his object and never left a stone unturned, interrogated the apothecary, a gentlemanly and agreeable man, upon the neighbourhood, the number of visitors in that locality, and other subjects, ending by saying he was trying to discover the residence of a relative, but without any knowledge of his address.

In the midst of the conversation, a servant-girl, without bonnet or shawl, came hurriedly into the shop, out of breath with running.

"Oh, sir, if you please, sir, missus says, will you come at once to see the young gentleman as stays at our house?--he's taken bad."

"Who is your mistress, my girl?" asked the chemist.

"Oh, sir, it's Mrs. Murdoch, of ---- Street; and the young gentleman is a lodger from London, and he's going away to-morrow to the Indies or somewheres; but do come, sir, please--missus'll be frightened to death, all by herself, and him so dreadful bad."

Mr. Brunton had been an anxious listener. Was it possible that the young gentleman from London could be George?

"How long has your lodger been with you?" he asked the girl.

"A week come Wednesday--leastways, come Tuesday night,"--was the accurate answer.

Mr. Brunton, with eyes flashing with excitement, turned to the medical man. "Will you allow me to accompany you on this visit?" he asked; "I have reason to believe that your patient may be the relative for whom I am searching."

"Then come, by all means," answered the doctor; and, preceded by the girl, who was all impatience to get home, and kept up a pace which made Mr. Brunton puff l.u.s.tily, they reached the house of Mrs. Murdoch.

CHAPTER XI.

THE SICK CHAMBER.

The sun had gone down, and the twilight was fast losing itself in night.

The pale moon was struggling to look out upon the world through the dark, heavy clouds which had collected around, as if expressly to prevent this purpose. The hum of traffic in the street had ceased, and the only sounds that came in at the open window were strains of music, and the confused clamour of voices from a neighbouring tavern. The room was a picture of neatness. The bed was draped in snowy furniture, and the coverlid bore evidence of good taste and the ingenuity of industrious hands. The mantlepiece was adorned with a few photographs and a vase of fresh-gathered flowers.

Upon a table in the corner of the room stood a lamp, with a green shade over it to screen the light from the bed. Beside it were bottles, phials, and other appliances of a sick chamber.

A group stood round the bed, watching, with thrilling anxiety, the face of the doctor as he held the inanimate hand of George Weston.

You might have heard the ticking of his watch as he stood there and gazed in the face of the patient, while Mrs. Weston and Mr. Brunton and Charles Hardy waited motionless, almost breathless, to hear his verdict.

"It is a more serious case than I imagined at first," said the doctor; "I do not wish unnecessarily to alarm you, but it is my duty to say that the condition of the patient is one of great danger, but I trust not past recovery."

"What is the nature of the illness--tell me candidly?" asked Mr.

Brunton, when he could command speech.

"Brain fever," was the laconic answer.

For a long time George Weston lay in that awful state which is neither death nor life--when the spirit seems to be hovering round the body, uncertain whether to wing its flight for ever from the tenement of earth, or return to sojourn still longer in its old familiar dwelling-house. Sometimes he would rave in the frenzy of madness, and then sink in exhaustion with scarcely the power to draw a breath.

Never was a sick-bed tended with greater care than his. Night after night Mrs. Weston sat beside him, bathing the fevered head and cooling the parched lips. Nor would she leave that post for a moment, until Mr.

Brunton was obliged to insist upon her taking rest.

"Reserve your strength," he said; "we know not what is before us; it may be--but we have nothing to do with the future," he added, interrupting himself; "that must be left in His hands."

Hardy was not able to remain in Plymouth longer than Wednesday. Mr.

Compton had written to him to say that, being short of hands, he was very much pressed in business, and now that the main object of his journey had been attained--for Mr. Brunton communicated with him almost immediately--he should be glad if he would return as soon as possible.

As he stood beside the bed of George Weston on the morning of his departure, and gazed into those pale and haggard features, which had always beamed with a friendly smile for him, but which he might never see again, he could not restrain the impulse of clasping his hand, and uttering solemnly the prayerful wish, "G.o.d preserve and bless you, George!"

The words were not heard by George--his ears were closed in dull insensibility--but they were caught by Mr. Brunton and Mrs. Weston, who that moment entered the room, and Hardy was startled to hear the earnest response to his prayer in their united "Amen!"

"And that prayer shall ever be offered for you, Charles," said Mrs.

Weston; "I owe you a debt of grat.i.tude which can never be repaid. I shudder to think of what would have happened, had it not been for your kind, n.o.ble, manly friendship. Poor George would have suffered in this lonely place, away from all who loved him, and without proper care, perhaps have died--died afoot."

"You do not know how thankful I feel, Mrs. Weston, that our efforts have not been in vain. Pray write to me every day, to say how he is going on--if it is only just one line; and should there be any change for the--for the better, do let me know at once, that I may come down again, if only for a day, just to congratulate him."