Only One Love, or Who Was the Heir Part 82

He, too had come to Spider Court, and expressed profound grief at Jack's disappearance, and had gone away after wringing Leonard's hand sympathetically.

Leonard sat thinking over this far more than was good to the work he had in hand, when he heard the door open, and half starting, said absently:

"Nothing more wanted tonight, Mrs. Brown."

But a step, certainly not Mrs. Brown's, crossed the room, and a heavy hand was laid on his shoulder, and looking up, he saw Jack's face above him.

"Jack!" he exclaimed, clutching him as if he expected to see him disappear again. "It is you, really you? Great Heaven!"

There was reason for the exclamation; for though it was Jack, he was so altered as to have rendered the description of him in the advertis.e.m.e.nts quite useless. Thin, pale, careworn, it was no more the old Jack than the living skeleton is Daniel Lambert.

"Great Heaven! Is it really you, Jack?"

"Yes, it is I! what is left of me, Len. You--you are looking well, old man. And the old room; how cheery it seems."

And he laughed--the shadow of the old laugh--even more pitiable than tears.

"For Heaven's sake be quiet; don't speak just yet," said Len, with a husky voice. "Sit down. You've frightened me, Jack. Have you been ill?"

"Slightly," said Jack, with a smile.

"And where have you been? Tell me all about it--no, don't tell me anything yet."

And he went to the cupboard, and brought out the whisky, and mixed a stiff gla.s.s.

"Now, then, old man, where's the cigars? here--here's a light. Now then--no; take off your boots. I'll tell Mrs. Brown to air the bed and get your dressing-gown. And what about supper?"

And with a suspicious moisture in his eyes, Len turned from the room.

"Staunch as a woman, tender as a man." It was a wise saying, whoever wrote it.

Jack sipped his whisky and water, and smoked his cigar, and pulled himself together, which was just what Len wanted to get him to do; and then Len came back.

"Now then, old man, out with it. Where have you been?"

"I've been to America," said Jack. "Don't ask me any particulars, Len; I wouldn't tell you much if you did. I've been nearly out of my mind half the time, and down with one of their charming fevers the remainder. You won't get enough information out of me to write even a magazine article, old man."

And he smiled, with a faint attempt at badinage.

"Great Heaven!" exclaimed Len, again; "and--and is that all?"

"That's all it amounts to," said Jack, wearily. "You want to know how I came back, and why? Well, I can scarcely tell why. I got so sick of trying to get knocked on the head, and failing miserably, that I got disgusted with the country, weary of wandering about, and resolved that it would be better to come and give Levy Moss his revenge. He's still alive, I hope?"

"And you got back?" said Len.

"I worked my pa.s.sage over," said Jack, curtly. "I was a bad hand, and caught cold on the top of the last affair, and just managed to pull myself together to reach London, and here I am. Not very lucid, Len, is it? But there's no more to tell."

Leonard looked at him with infinite pity, and mixed another gla.s.s of whisky.

"Poor old Jack," he murmured.

"And now it's your turn," said Jack, lighting another cigar. "Tell me all the news, Len, about yourself first. How are Hetley, and Dalrymple, and the rest of them? But yourself first, Len. You look well--better than when I left. Things have gone right with you."

"Then you have not forgotten?" said Len, gratefully.

"It is not likely," he said, quietly. "I have thought of you many a night as I lay burning with that confounded fever. Are you married?" and he looked round the room as if he expected to see Mrs. Dagle in some dim corner.

Leonard blushed.

"Nonsense! No, Jack, I'm not married. But--I'm very happy, old man--should have been quite happy, but for missing you."

Jack nodded.

"I'm glad of that. Glad it has all worked round, and that you have missed me, too. Where is she--Laura Treherne? You see I remember her name."

Leonard hesitated, and looked troubled.

"I--I'm afraid I mustn't tell you. You see, Jack, there's still some kind of mystery hanging about this love affair of mine. It is Laura's wish that I should keep silent as to her whereabouts. I give you my word I don't understand why. But I don't want to talk of myself and my affairs, Jack. There is something and someone else you want to hear about."

Jack looked up with a sudden start, and held up his hand.

"No, not a word!" he said. "Don't tell me a word. I--that affair is over--dead and buried. Don't speak her name, Len, for Heaven's sake. Let that rest forever between us."

Len sighed.

"Tell me more about yourself," said Jack, impatiently, as if anxious to get away from the other subject. "There is some mystery, secret, you say."

"Yes," said Leonard, humoring him, "there is a mystery and secret, which, much as I love her, and I hope and believe she loves me, Laura will not trust--well, I will not say 'trust'--which she does not feel authorized to confide to me."

"I remember," said Jack, "your telling me that she had some task, or mission, or something to accomplish--sounds strange."

"Yes," said Leonard, with a sigh, "and that mission is still unaccomplished, and blocks the marriage. But I am content to wait and trust, and I am happy."

Jack sighed.

"You deserve to be, old fellow!" he said.

"No, I don't!" exclaimed Leonard, remorsefully, "for flaunting my happiness in your face, Jack. And now, here's the supper," he added, as a waiter from a neighboring chop-house brought in a tray.

Jack sat down, and Leonard waited upon him, hanging over him, and watching him as if every mouthful he ate did him, Leonard, good; meanwhile chatting cheerfully.

"London pretty full, Jack; lots of people up this year."

"Yes," said Jack, then he looked up. "I suppose I shan't be able to show up, because of Moss, Len?"

"Oh, he won't know you are here! And we'll cut it. We'll go down to the country somewhere, Jack, before anyone sees you. You haven't met anyone, have you?"

"Met them, no. But I have seen Stephen."