The Channings Part 52

CHAPTER LIX.

READY.

The glorious surprise of Charley's safety greeted Hamish on his return home to dinner. In fact, he was just in time, having come in somewhat before one o'clock, to witness Charley's arrival from the college schoolroom, escorted by the whole tribe, from the first to the last. Even Gerald Yorke made one, as did Mr. William Simms. Gerald, the smart over, thought it best to put a light, careless face upon his punishment, disgraceful though it was considered to be for a senior. To give Gerald his due, his own share in the day's exploits faded into insignificance, compared with the shock of mortification which shook him, when he heard the avowal of his mother, respecting Roland. He and Tod had been the most eager of all the school to cast Arthur's guilt in Tom Channing's cheek; they had proclaimed it as particularly objectionable to their feelings that the robbery should have taken place in an office where their brother was a pupil; and now they found that Tom's brother had been innocent, and their own brother guilty! It was well that Gerald's brow should burn. "But she'd no cause to come here and blurt it out to the lot, right in one's face!" soliloquized Gerald, alluding to Lady Augusta. "They'd have heard it soon enough, without that."

Mr. William Simms, I have said, also attended Charles. Mr. William was hoping that the return of Charley would put him upon a better footing with the school. He need not have hoped it: his offence had been one that the college boys never forgave. Whether Charley returned dead or alive, or had never returned at all, Simms would always remain a sneak in their estimation. "Sneak Simms," he had been called since the occurrence: and he had come to the resolution, in his own mind, of writing word home to his friends that the studies in Helstonleigh college school were too much for him, and asking to be removed to a private one. I think he would have to do so still.

Hamish lifted Charley to him with an eager, fond movement. A weight was taken from his mind. Although really irresponsible for the disappearance of Charles, he had always felt that his father and mother might inwardly attach some blame to him--might think him to have been wanting in care. Now, all was sunshine.

Dinner over, Mr. Channing walked with Hamish to the office. They were some time in getting there. Every other person they met, stopped Mr. Channing to congratulate him. It seemed that the congratulations were never to end. It was not only Mr. Channing's renewed health that people had to speak of. Helstonleigh, from one end to the other, was ringing with the news of Arthur's innocence; and Charley's return was getting wind.

They reached Guild Street at last. Mr. Channing entered and shook hands with his clerks, and then took his own place in his private room. "Where are we to put you, now, Hamish?" he said, looking at his son with a smile. "There's no room for you here. You will not like to take your place with the clerks again."

"Perhaps I had better follow Roland Yorke's plan, and emigrate," replied Hamish, demurely.

"I wish Mr. Huntley--By the way, Hamish, it would only be a mark of courtesy if you stepped as far as Mr. Huntley's and told him of Charles's return," broke off Mr. Channing; the idea occurring to him with Mr. Huntley's name. "None have shown more sympathy than he, and he will be rejoiced to hear that the child is safe."

"I'll go at once," said Hamish. Nothing loth was he, on his own part, to pay a visit to Mr. Huntley's.

Hamish overtook Mr. Huntley close to his own home. He was returning from the town. Had he been home earlier, he would have heard the news from Harry. But Harry had now had his dinner and was gone again. He did not dine at the later hour.

"I have brought you some news, sir," said Hamish, as they entered together.

"News again! It cannot be very great, by the side of what we were favoured with last night from Mr. Roland," was the remark of Mr. Huntley.

"But indeed it is. Greater news even than that. We have found Charley, Mr. Huntley."

Mr. Huntley sprang from the chair he was taking. "Found Charley! Have you really? Where has he--Hamish, I see by your countenance that the tidings are good. He must be alive."

"He is alive and well. At least, well, comparatively speaking. A barge was pa.s.sing down the river at the time he fell in, and the man leaped overboard and saved him. Charley has been in the barge ever since, and has had brain fever."

"And how did he come home?" wondered Mr. Huntley, when he had sufficiently digested the news.

"The barge brought him back. It is on its way up again. Charley arrived under escort of the barge-woman, a red handkerchief on his head in lieu of his trencher, which, you know, he lost that night," added Hamish, laughing. "Lady Augusta, who was going out of the house as he entered, was frightened into the belief that it was his ghost, and startled them all with her cries to that effect, including the bishop, who was with my father in the drawing-room."

"Hamish, it is like a romance!" said Mr. Huntley.

"Very nearly, taking one circ.u.mstance with another. My father's return, cured; Roland's letter; and now Charley's resuscitation. Their all happening together renders it the more remarkable. Poor Charley does look as much like a ghost as anything, and his curls are gone. They had to cut his hair close in the fever."

Mr. Huntley paused. "Do you know, Hamish," he presently said, "I begin to think we were all a set of wiseacres. We might have thought of a barge."

"If we had thought of a barge, we should never have thought the barge would carry him off," objected Hamish. "However, we have him back now, and I thank G.o.d. I always said he would turn up, you know."

"I must come and see him," said Mr. Huntley. "I was at the college school this morning, therefore close to your house, but I did not call. I thought your father would have enough callers, without me."

Hamish laughed. "He has had a great many. The house, I understand, has been like a fair. He is in Guild Street this afternoon. It looks like the happy old times, to see him at his post again."

"What are you going to do, now your place is usurped?" asked Mr. Huntley. "Subside into a clerk again, and discharge the one who was taken on in your stead, when you were promoted?"

"That's the question--what is to be done with me?" returned Hamish, in his joking manner. "I have been telling my father that I had perhaps better pay Port Natal a visit, and join Roland Yorke."

"I told your father once, that when this time came, I would help you to a post."

"I am aware you did, sir. But you told me afterwards that you had altered your intention--I was not eligible for it."

"Believing you were the culprit at Galloway's."

Hamish raised his eyebrows. "The extraordinary part of that, sir, is, how you could have imagined such a thing of me."

"Hamish, I shall always think so myself in future. But I have this justification--that I was not alone in the belief. Some of your family, who might be supposed to know you better than I, entertained the same opinion."

"Yes; Constance and Arthur. But are you sure, sir, that it was not their conduct that first induced you to suspect me?"

"Right, lad. Their conduct--I should rather say their manner--was inexplicably mysterious, and it induced me to ferret out its cause. That they were screening some one, was evident, and I could only come to the conclusion that it was you. But, Master Hamish, there were circ.u.mstances on your own part which tended to strengthen the belief," added Mr. Huntley, his tone becoming lighter. "Whence sprang that money wherewith you satisfied some of your troublesome creditors, just at that same time?"

Once more, as when it was alluded to before, a red flush dyed the face of Hamish. Certainly, it could not be a flush of guilt, while that ingenuous smile hovered on his lips. But Hamish seemed attacked with sudden shyness. "Your refusal to satisfy me on this point, when we previously spoke of it, tended to confirm my suspicions," continued Mr. Huntley. "I think you might make a confidant of me, Hamish. That money could not have dropped from the clouds; and I am sure you possessed no funds of your own just then."

"But neither did I steal it. Mr. Huntley"--raising his eyes to that gentleman's face--"how closely you must have watched me and my affairs!"

Mr. Huntley drew in his lips. "Perhaps I had my own motives for doing so, young sir."

"I earned the money," said Hamish, who probably penetrated into Mr. Huntley's "motives;" at any rate, he hoped he did so. "I earned it fairly and honourably, by my own private and special industry."

Mr. Huntley opened his eyes. "Private and special industry! Have you turned shoemaker?"

"Not shoemaker," laughed Hamish. "Book-maker. The truth is, Mr. Huntley--But will you promise to keep my secret?"

"Ay. Honour bright."

"I don't want it to be known just yet. The truth is, I have been doing some literary work. Martin Pope gave me an introduction to one of the London editors, and I sent him some papers. They were approved of and inserted: but for the first I received no pay. I threatened to strike, and then payment was promised. The first instalment, I chiefly used to arrest my debts; the second and third to liquidate them. That's where the money came from."

Mr. Huntley stared at Hamish as if he could scarcely take in the news. It was, however, only the simple truth. When Martin Pope paid a visit to Hamish, one summer night, frightening Hamish and Arthur, who dreaded it might be a less inoffensive visitor; frightening Constance, for that matter, for she heard more of their dread than was expedient; his errand was to tell Hamish that in future he was to be paid for his papers: payment was to commence forthwith. You may remember the evening, though it is long ago. You may also remember Martin Pope's coming hurriedly into the office in Guild Street, telling Hamish some one was starting by the train; when both hastened to the station, leaving Arthur in wonder. That was the very London editor himself. He had been into the country, and was taking Helstonleigh on his way back to town; had stayed in it a day or two for the purpose of seeing Martin Pope, who was an old friend, and of being introduced to Hamish Channing. That shy feeling of reticence, which is the characteristic of most persons whose genius is worth anything, had induced Hamish to bury all this in silence.

"But when have you found time to write?" exclaimed Mr. Huntley, unable to get over his surprise. "You could not find it during office hours?"

"Certainly not. I have written in the evening, and at night. I have been a great rake, stopping up later than I ought, at this writing."

"Do they know of it at home?"

"Some of them know that I sit up; but they don't know what I sit up for. By way of a blind--I suppose it may be called a justifiable deceit," said Hamish, gaily--"I have taken care to carry the office books into my room, that their suspicions may be confined to the accounts. Judy's keen eyes detected my candle burning later than she considered it ought to burn, and her rest has been disturbed with visions of my setting the house on fire. I have counselled her to keep the water-b.u.t.t full, under her window, so that she may be safe from danger."

"And are you earning money now?"

"In-one sense, I am: I am writing for it. My former papers were for the most part miscellaneous--essays, and that sort of thing; but I am about a longer work now, to be paid for on completion. When it is finished and appears, I shall startle them at home with the news, and treat them to a sight of it. When all other trades fail, sir, I can set up my tent as an author."

Mr. Huntley's feelings glowed within him. None, more than he, knew the value of silent industry--the worth of those who patiently practise it. His heart went out to Hamish. "I suppose I must recommend you to Bartlett's post, after all," said he, affecting to speak carelessly, his eye betraying something very different.

"Is it not gone?" asked Hamish.

"No, it is not gone. And the appointment rests with me. How would you like it?"

"Nay," said Hamish, half mockingly: "the question is, should I be honest enough for it?"

Mr. Huntley shook his fist at him. "If you ever bring that reproach up to me again, I'll--I'll--You had better keep friends with me, you know, sir, on other scores."

Hamish laughed. "I should like the post very much indeed, sir."

"And the house also, I suppose, you would make no objection to?" nodded Mr. Huntley.

"None in the world. I must work away, though, if it is ever to be furnished."

"How can you tell but that some good spirit might furnish it for you?" cried Mr. Huntley, quaintly.

They were interrupted before anything more was said. Ellen, who had been out with her aunt, came running in, in excitement. "Oh, papa! such happy news! Charles Channing is found, and--"

She stopped when she saw that she had another auditor. Hamish rose to greet her. He took her hand, released it, and then returned to the fire to Mr. Huntley. Ellen stood by the table, and had grown suddenly timid.

"You will soon be receiving a visit from my mother and Constance," observed Hamish, looking at her. "I heard certain arrangements being discussed, in which Miss Ellen Huntley's name bore a part. We are soon to lose Constance."

Ellen blushed rosy red. Mr. Huntley was the first to speak. "Yorke has come to his senses, I suppose?"

"Yorke and Constance between them. In a short time she is to be transplanted to Hazledon."

"It is more than he deserves," emphatically declared Mr. Huntley. "I suppose you will be for getting married next, Mr. Hamish, when you come into possession of that house we have been speaking of, and are your own master?"

"I always intended to think of it, sir, as soon as I could do so," returned saucy Hamish. And Ellen ran out of the room.

That same afternoon Arthur Channing was seated at the organ in pursuance of his duty, when a message came up from the dean. He was desired to change the selected anthem, taken from the thirty-fifth Psalm, for another: "O taste, and see, how gracious the Lord is!"

It was not an anthem in the cathedral collection, but one recently composed and presented to it by a private individual. It consisted of a treble solo and chorus. Why had the dean specially commanded it for that afternoon? Very rarely indeed did he change the services after they were put up. Had he had Arthur in his mind when he decided upon it? It was impossible to say. Be it as it would, the words found a strange echo in Arthur's heart, as Bywater's sweet voice rang through the cathedral. "O taste, and see, how gracious the Lord is, blessed is the man that trusteth in him. O fear the Lord, ye that are his saints. for they that fear him lack nothing. The lions do lack, and suffer hunger: but they who seek the Lord shall want no manner of thing that is good. The eyes of the Lord are over the righteous: and his ears are open unto their prayers. Great are the troubles of the righteous; but the Lord delivereth him out of all. The Lord delivereth the souls of his servants: and all they that put their trust in him shall not be dest.i.tute."

Every word told upon Arthur's heart, sending it up in thankfulness to the Giver of all good.

He found the dean waiting for him in the nave, when he went down at the conclusion of the service. Dr. Gardner was with him. The dean held out his hand to Arthur.

"I am very glad you are cleared," he said. "You have behaved n.o.bly."

Arthur winced. He did not like to take the faintest meed of praise that was not strictly his due. The dean might have thought he deserved less, did he know that he had been only screening Hamish; but Arthur could not avow that tale in public. He glanced at the dean with a frank smile.

"You see now, sir, that I only spoke the truth when I a.s.sured you of my innocence."

"I do see it," said the dean. "I believed you then." And once more shaking Arthur's hand, he turned into the cloisters with Dr. Gardner.

"I have already offered my congratulations," said the canon, good humouredly, nodding to Arthur. This was correct. He had waylaid Arthur as he went into college.

Arthur suffered them to go on a few steps, and then descended to the cloisters. Old Ketch was shuffling along.

"What's this I've been a hearing, about that there drownded boy having come back?" asked he of Arthur, in his usual ungracious fashion.

"I don't know what you may have heard, Ketch. He has come back."

"And he ain't dead nor drownded?"

"Neither one nor the other. He is alive and well."

Ketch gave a groan of despair. "And them horrid young wretches'll escape the hangman! I'd ha' walked ten miles to see em--"

"Gracious, Sir John, what's that you are talking about?" interrupted Bywater, as the choristers trooped up, "Escaped you! so we have, for once. What an agony of disappointment it must be for you, Mr. Calcraft! Such practice for your old hands, to topple off a dozen or so of us! Besides the pay! How much do you charge a head, Calcraft?"

Ketch answered by a yell.

"Now, don't excite yourself, I beg," went on aggravating Bywater. "We are thinking of getting up a pet.i.tion to the dean, to console you for your disappointment, praying that he'll allow you to wear a cap we have ordered for you! It's made of scarlet cloth, with long ears and a set of bells! Its device is a cross beam and a cord, and we wish you health to wear it out! I say, let's wish Mr. Calcraft health! What's tripe a pound to-day, Calcraft?"

The choristers, in various stages of delight, entered on their aggravating shouts, their mocking dance. When they had driven Mr. Ketch to the very verge of insanity, they decamped to the schoolroom.

I need not enlarge on the evening of thankfulness it was at Mr. Channing's. Not one, but had special cause for grat.i.tude--except, perhaps, Annabel. Mr. Channing restored to health and strength; Mrs. Channing's anxiety removed; Hamish secure in his new prospects-for Mr. Huntley had made them certain; heaviness removed from the heart of Constance; the cloud lifted from Arthur; Tom on the pedestal he thought he had lost, sure also of the Oxford exhibition; Charley amongst them again! They could trace the finger of G.o.d in all; and were fond of doing it.

Soon after tea, Arthur rose. "I must drop in and see Jenkins," he observed. "He will have heard the items of news from twenty people, there's little doubt; but he will like me to go to him with particulars. No one in Helstonleigh has been more anxious that things should turn out happily, than poor Jenkins."

"Tell him he has my best wishes for his recovery, Arthur," said Mr. Channing.

"I will tell him," replied Arthur. "But I fear all hope of recovery for Jenkins is past."

It was more decidedly past than even Arthur suspected when he spoke. A young woman was attending to Mrs. Jenkins's shop when Arthur pa.s.sed through it. Her face was strange to him; but from a certain peculiarity in the eyes and mouth, he inferred it to be Mrs. Jenkins's sister. In point of fact, that lady, finding that her care of Jenkins and her care of the shop rather interfered with each other, had sent for her sister from the country to attend temporarily on the latter. Lydia went up to Jenkins's sick-room, and said a gentleman was waiting: and Mrs. Jenkins came down.

"Oh, it's you!" quoth she. "I hope he'll be at rest now. He has been bothering his mind over you all day. My opinion is, he'd never have come to this state if he had taken things easy, like sensible people."

"Is he in his room?" inquired Arthur.

"He is in his room, and in his bed. And what's more, young Mr. Channing, h.e.l.l never get out of it alive."

"Then he is worse?"

"He has been worse this four days. And I only get him up now to have his bed made. I said to him yesterday, 'Jenkins, you may put on your things, and go down to the office if you like.' 'My dear,' said he, 'I couldn't get up, much less get down to the office;' which I knew was the case, before I spoke. I wish I had had my wits about me!" somewhat irascibly went on Mrs. Jenkins: "I should have had his bed brought down to the parlour here, before he was so ill. I don't speak for the shop, I have somebody to attend to that; but it's such a toil and a trapes up them two pair of stairs for every little thing that's wanted."

"I suppose I can go up, Mrs. Jenkins?"

"You can go up," returned she; "but mind you don't get worrying him. I won't have him worried. He worries himself, without any one else doing it gratis. If it's not about one thing, it's about another. Sometimes it's his master and the office, how they'll get along; sometimes it's me, what I shall do without him; sometimes it's his old father. He don't need any outside things to put him up."

"I am sorry he is so much worse," remarked Arthur.

"So am I," said Mrs. Jenkins, tartly. "I have been doing all I could for him from the first, and it has been like working against hope. If care could have cured him, or money could have cured him, he'd be well now. I have a trifle of savings in the bank, young Mr. Channing, and I have not spared them. If they had ordered him medicine at a guinea a bottle, I'd have had it for him. If they said he must have wine, or delicacies brought from the other ends of the earth, they should have been brought. Jenkins isn't good for much, in point of spirit, as all the world knows; but he's my husband, and I have strove to do my duty by him. Now, if you want to go up, you can go," added she, after an imperceptible pause. "There's a light on the stairs, and you know his room. I'll take the opportunity to give an eye to the kitchen; I don't care to leave him by himself now. Finely it's going on, I know!"

Mrs. Jenkins whisked down the kitchen stairs, and Arthur proceeded up. Jenkins was lying in bed, his head raised by pillows. Whatever may have been Mrs. Jenkins's faults of manner, her efficiency as a nurse and manager could not be called into question. A bright fire burnt in the well-ventilated though small room, the bed was snowy white, the apartment altogether thoroughly comfortable. But--Jenkins!