Mattie:-A Stray Volume III Part 9

Was it true?--was it likely?--was it to be helped, if true or likely?

Could it be possible that it lay in his power to promote the happiness of any living being still? Could he make happy, above all, the girl whom he had known so long, and who had served him so faithfully? He did not think of himself, or ask if it were possible to love her; possibly for the first time in his life, he was wholly unselfish, and thought only of a return for all the sacrifices _she_ had made. He could remember now that hers had been a life of abnegation--that she had risked her good name once for Harriet Wesden--once, and in the latter days, for himself.

All this simply Mattie's grat.i.tude for the kindness extended in the old days--nothing more. It was not likely that that ignorant woman below could know all that had been unfathomable to brighter, keener intellects.

But if true, what better act on his part than to gladden her heart, and add to the content of his own? He began a new existence with his loss of sight--the old world vanished away completely, and left him but one friend from it--let him not lose that one by his perversity or pride.

Still, let him do nothing hastily and shame both him and her. He would wait!

CHAPTER VI.

MR. GRAY'S SCHEME.

Mr. Gray and his daughter Mattie re-commenced housekeeping together on a different principle. Mattie's flitting had impressed Mr. Gray with the consciousness of his daughter possessing a will a trifle more inflexible than his own, and he respected her opinions in consequence. He treated her less like a child, and more like a woman whose remarks were worth listening to. In plain truth, he had become a little afraid of Mattie.

He had learned to love her, and was afraid of losing her. Her stern determination to keep her promise--even part with him, rather than break it--had won his respect; for he was a firm man himself, and in his heart admired firmness in others.

Father and daughter settled down to home-matters, and worked together in many things; if the daughter had one secret from her father, it was the woman's natural aversion to confess to an attachment not likely to be returned, and was scarcely a secret, considering that Mr. Gray had more than an inkling of the truth.

The father did not care to solve the problem that was so easy of solution; he objected to showing any interest in such trivial mundane matters as love-making. He had a soul himself above love-making; which he considered vain, frivolous, and worldly, leading the thoughts astray from things divine. He saw Mattie's perplexity, and even hoped in the good time to alter it, if separation did not have its proper effect.

"Presently--we shall see," was Mr. Gray's motto; and though he had spoken hopefully to Mattie, as Mattie had fancied, yet when they were at home again--two prosaic home figures--he kept the subject in the background.

Still he was watchful, and when Mattie began to alter, to become more grave and downcast, as though his home was not exactly the place where she experienced happiness--when she brightened up at any suggestion to visit Sidney Hinchford, he thought less of his own comfort, and more of his daughter's, like a good father as he was, after all.

One afternoon, without apprising that daughter of his intentions, he walked over to Camberwell, to see Sidney Hinchford. That young gentleman had ventured forth into the street, and therefore Mr. Gray had leisure to put things in order during his absence; arrange the mantel-piece, and wheel the table into the exact centre of the room. Anything out of order always put him in an ill temper, and he wanted to discuss business matters in an equable way, and with as little to disturb him as possible. If anything besides business leaked forth in the course of conversation, he should not be sorry; but he would take no mean advantage of Sidney Hinchford's position. He had a scheme to propose, which might be accepted or declined--what that scheme might end in, he would not say just then. It might end in his daughter marrying Sidney, or it might only tend to that singular young man's comfort and peace of mind--at all events, harm could not evolve from it, and possibly some personal advantage to himself, though he considered that _that_ need not be taken into account.

Sidney Hinchford returned, and his face lit up at the brisk "Good afternoon" of Mr. Gray. He turned a little aside from him, as if expecting a smaller, softer hand in his, a voice more musical, asking if he were well, and then his face lost a great deal of its brightness with his disappointment.

"Alone?" he said.

"This time, Mattie is very busy--has a large dress-making order to fulfil."

"She'll kill herself with that needlework," he remarked; "it is a miserable profession, at the best."

"You're quite right, Mr. Sidney. And talking about professions, have you thought of yours lately?"

"Oh! I have thought of a hundred things. I must invest my capital--such as it is--in something."

"Will you listen patiently to a little plan of mine? I am of the world, worldly to-day, G.o.d forgive me!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, piously.

"What plan is that? Let us sit down and talk it over."

The local preacher, lithographer, &c., sat down facing Sidney, on whose face was visible an expression of keen interest. In matters of religion, Mr. Gray was long and prosy; in matters of business, quick and terse, a man after Sidney's own heart. Two "straightforward" men like them got through a deal of business in a little time.

"How much money have you at command?"

"A hundred pounds, perhaps."

"So have I."

"What's that to do with it?"

"A great deal, if you like my scheme--nothing, if you don't."

"Go on."

"A hundred pounds might start a business, but it's a risk--two hundred is better. How does Gray and Hinchford sound, now?"

"A partnership?"

"Why not? You're not fit to manage a business by yourself--I'm inclined to think the two of us might make a success of it--the three of us, if Mattie has to a.s.sist. I don't see why we should go on like this any longer--you can't stand at this rent--one house may as well hold all of us--why not?"

"You are very kind. I shall be a great trouble to you."

"I hope not. If you are--I like trouble. I shall make a bright light of you in good time!"

Sidney thought of the sermons in store for him, but hazarded no comment.

Beyond them, and before all, was the preacher's daughter--the woman who understood him, and who had even rendered blindness endurable.

"You were speaking a short while since of going abroad. Have you changed your mind?"

"They changed theirs at the chapel. Bless you! they thought they could pitch upon a man so much more suitable! You hear that--so much more suitable!"

"Ah!--a good joke."

"I don't see where the joke lies," he said quickly.

"I beg pardon. No, not exactly a joke--was it?"

"I should say not."

"Well--and this business--what is it to be?"

"I fancy the old idea of a bookseller and stationer's. I can bring a little connection from our chapel together--and there's your friends at the bank."

"No--don't build on them--I have done with them."

"Ah! I had forgotten. But we must not bear enmity in our hearts against our fellow-men."

"True--and this business--where is it to be?"

"We'll look out, Mattie and I, at once."

"Nothing settled yet, then?" said Sidney, with a sigh, who was anxious to be stirring in life once more.

"Nothing yet, of course. I did not know whether you would approve of the scheme. Whether Mattie and I would be exactly fitting company for you."

"Is that satire?"