Sawn Off Part 44

"I say," said d.i.c.k, "what's that you're burning?"

"An old bill," was the reply--"I'm using 'em up by degrees."

"An old bill?" said d.i.c.k; for Hopper looked at him curiously.

"Yes," said Hopper, "I've done a deal in bills. This is one of ten--of Fred's: I bought 'em--for his grandmother's sake," he added softly.

d.i.c.k stretched out his hand, grasped the other's, and then turned his chair to have a look at a ship in the offing, which seemed quite blurred.

"Pick! d.i.c.k!" screamed Mrs Shingle.

"Yes, yes--what?" he cried, starting up and running in, to find Jessie lying white as ashes in her mother's arms.

"Quick!" cried Mrs Shingle; "tell--tell the doctor--this is the second time to-day! d.i.c.k--d.i.c.k!" she cried pa.s.sionately, "she's dying!"

Old Hopper was the most active of the party; and long before the doctor could be brought Jessie had revived, but only to lie back listlessly, gazing out to sea; while, when the medical man left, it was with a solemn shake of the head, which sent a chill to the hearts of d.i.c.k and his spouse.

They had been sitting by their child for about an hour, when old Hopper came in, and stood looking down at her in a quiet, unsympathising way.

"I've come to say good-bye," he said roughly.

"Good-bye?" said d.i.c.k. "Why, you only came yesterday!"

"I know, but I'm no good here. Good-bye, my girl. I wish you better."

She half raised her head to kiss him, and the old man bent down and pressed his lips to hers very tenderly, before leaving the room, closely followed by d.i.c.k.

"I know it's a dreary place to come to, Hopper," he said; "and we've only had one tune-up together; but when she's--better--Hopper, old man, if I wrote and asked Tom to come, would it be wrong?"

"Hey? Wrong? Yes. Don't do anything of the sort. Hey? What's that?"

"Only a letter for Max. I hear he's laid up. Don't let him know who sent it--that's all."

The old man nodded, and held out his hand.

"Do you know why I'm going in such a hurry?" he whispered.

"No," was the reply.

"I'll tell you," said Hopper. "If your girl's left like that, she'll die. I'm going to send her the best doctor in town." Ten minutes after Hopper was at the station, where he telegraphed one short message, climbed slowly into his seat, reached the terminus in due time, and on being driven to his chambers found some one waiting for him.

"How is she?" cried Tom eagerly, as the cats crowded round their master.

"Dying!" said Hopper briefly.

"Dying?"

"Yes. I've come for the best doctor in London."

"And you sit still there!" cried Tom. "Have you sent him?"

"No," said Hopper coolly. "Wait a minute. Tom, my lad, do you think you can throw away your pride to save her?"

"I'd throw away my life," he cried pa.s.sionately.

"That wouldn't save hers. Here, take this. Quick--there's a hundred pounds. Take it, you young fool! Go down at once to her, and throw away all nonsense. Tell her you love her; ask her to forgive you; and--"

"Yes--yes," cried Tom. "Go on."

"And marry her, you young idiot!"

"But a train?" cried Tom despairingly. "It will be too late to-night."

"You have the money: if necessary, take a special," said the old man.

"What's fifty or a hundred pounds to happiness, or life?"

Tom caught the old fellow's hand in his, and it was retained.

"Stop one moment, my lad," he said. "You feel some shrinking about your brother's disgrace. I was burning these by degrees. See--the last of the forged bills."

He took six from his pocket-book, and burned them.

"There," he said, "that business is dead, and you can go with a lighter heart. Perhaps I shall come down next week. Be off."

Tom bounded down the stairs, leaped into the first cab, and bade the man gallop to London Bridge station.

"All right, sir."

The little door in the roof was slammed down, there was a flick of the long whip, and for about half a minute the horse broke into a short canter, one which subsided into a trot a few minutes later.

A loud rattling at the top of the cab spurred the driver to fresh exertions, and once more the wretched horse cantered, but dropped again into a trot, and there was an end of it. Tom had to sit and fume, as at every turn he seemed to be hemmed in by other vehicles; and, no matter how the driver tried, there was always a huge, heavily-laden van in front, blocking up the way.

"I think I'll take a short cut round, sir," said the cabman. "The streets is werry full to-night."

"Anything to get there quickly." So the driver turned out of the main thoroughfare, and began to dodge in and out of wretched streets, all of which seemed ill lighted, and so strongly resembled the one the other, that Tom soon grew bewildered, and sat back thinking, and trying to arrange his thoughts.

His brain was in such a tumult that he could do nothing, however-- nothing but upbraid himself for his folly and madness, "What have I done?--what have I done?" he moaned, as he thought of the anguish that he must have inflicted upon the poor girl, who had slowly pined away, and was now dying--dying through his wretched blindness and want of faith.

He tried to excuse himself--pleaded his term of bitter suffering, but could get no absolution from his own stern judgment. He had doubted one who was all that was purity and truth, and here was his punishment--a bitter one indeed!

He prayed mentally that she might be spared, that he might ask her forgiveness--forgiveness that he knew he should receive--and then covered his face with his hands, as a feeling of hope came upon him that he might still be able to save her. He might, he thought, bring joy to her heart even yet.

A sudden stoppage nearly threw him out of the cab; and, looking up hastily, it was to find that a barrier was across the street, from which hung a red lantern.

The street was narrow, and he could see beyond, while the driver was sulkily backing and turning his horse, that the paving-stones were all up, and the inevitable long fosse and hill of earth lay by the side.

He sank back shuddering, for it looked as if a grave were yawning in the path; and, with a low moan of despair, he covered his face once more, and tried to reason with himself that this was merely a superst.i.tious fancy.

But all in vain. There was the long, dark cutting fixed upon the retina of his eye; and he could see nothing else as the cab slowly went back over much of the ground already traversed. What was more, his distempered fancy magnified and added to it, so that he could see trains of mourners, the clergyman, hear the solemn words of the burial service; and these the revolving wheels and the rattling cab kept repeating, till at last it settled itself down into a constant reiteration of the words, "In the midst of life we are in death,"--"In the midst of life we are in death," till he grew almost frantic, and stopped his ears in vain against the weird, funereal sound.