The Vast Abyss Part 69

"Told him? No, no one but you, boy."

"I must tell him, sir."

"Yes, but not here--not till you get home. Leave me now; I can bear no more. Go down and send up your aunt. I must take something--and sleep.

I have had no rest for nights and nights, and I thought I should die before I had time to confess to you, Tom. But you forgive me, my boy-- you forgive me?"

"Yes, uncle, once again I forgive you."

"Now go," cried the invalid, catching at and kissing the boy's cold hand. "Don't stop here; go back home, for fear, Tom."

"For fear of what, uncle? you are not so bad as that."

"For fear," panted the sick man, with a strange cough, "for fear I should try to get them back. Quick! go.--Now I can sleep and rest."

Tom went down, looking very strange, and found his aunt waiting anxiously.

"He is better, aunt," said Tom quietly. "You are to go up to him at once."

Aunt f.a.n.n.y almost ran out of the room, and as soon as they were alone Tom turned to his uncle.

"We are to go back home directly," he said.

"What, with him so bad! What about your business?"

"It is all done, uncle; and I am to take you back home, and tell you there."

"Pish! why so much mystery, Tom?"

"It is Uncle James's wish, Uncle Richard," said Tom gravely.

"It was business then?"

"Very important."

"And we are to go?"

"Yes, at once. I want to go too, uncle, for I feel as if I could not breathe here. Don't speak to me; don't ask me anything till we get back, and then I'll tell you all."

"This is a strange business, Tom," said Uncle Richard, "but it is his wish then. Well, we will go."

That night Tom sat in his uncle's study, and told of his interview with the sick man, while his hearer slowly turned his head more and more away, till the little narrative was at an end. Once, as he spoke, Tom heard the words muttered--

"A scoundrel! My own brother too."

Then Uncle Richard was very silent, and his face was pale and strange, as he took the packet from his nephew's hand.

"He must have been half mad, my boy," he said huskily, "or he would not have done this thing. This must be our secret, Tom--a family secret, never mentioned for all our sakes. We'll put the deeds in the old bureau to-morrow, and try and forget it all till the proper time comes.

There, I'm better now. Glad too, very glad, Tom. First that he repented of the wrong-doing, and glad that you are so independent, my boy. It was always a puzzle to me that your poor mother should have left you so badly off. I said nothing, for I thought she must have foolishly frittered away what should have been yours."

"I wish I had never known this, uncle," said Tom bitterly.

"Why, my boy? it is best you should. I am glad your poor, foolish, weak uncle has tried to make amends. The next thing we shall hear will be that, with a load off his mind, he has grown better. Why, Tom, he must have come down here to be near you, and confess the truth. Well, good-night, boy. It has been a trying day--and night. Sleep on it and forget it; but first--"

He held the boy's hand in his for a few moments, and his voice was very husky when he spoke again.

"A family secret, Tom. Your uncle--my own brother. We must not judge the tempted. Good-night; and when alone by your bedside--'Forgive us our trespa.s.ses, as we forgive them that trespa.s.s against us.'

Good-night."

Uncle Richard led the way to the door, opened it, and half thrust him without.

Tom stood for a few moments in the dark hall, and then went slowly up to his room.

The next minute he had run down again, to silently enter the study, and find Uncle Richard seated with his face buried in his hands, and his breast heaving with the terrible emotion from which he suffered.

"Uncle."

"Tom."

The next instant he was clasped to the old man's breast, and held tightly there.

For some minutes not a word more was said; then both rose, as if a great weight had been lifted away.

"Good-night, Tom."

"Good-night, uncle."

And those two were closer together in heart than they had ever before been, since Heatherleigh had become Tom Blount's home.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

Uncle Richard made no further reference to the past day's business, but Tom noticed that he looked very serious and dejected. He caught him gazing too in a peculiar way, and upon their eyes meeting Tom saw his uncle draw himself up rather stiffly, as if he were saying to himself--"Well, it was not my fault--my honour is not smirched."

Tom felt that his uncle must have some such thought as this, and exerted himself to make him see that this sad business had only drawn them closer together.

The plan of turning the laboratory into more of a study had been gradually working, and that morning, after their return from town, a couple of book-cases were moved up, with a carpet and chairs, making the circular room look cosy.

"Yes," said Uncle Richard, as they looked round that evening; "the place looks quite snug, Tom. My old study was just right for one; but when it was invaded by a great rough boy like you there was not room to move.

This will do capitally; you can take possession of some of the shelves for your specimens that you collect, and we can make it a museum as well."

"You won't mind, uncle, if I do bring things up here?"

"I shall mind if you do not, boy. This is our room, mind, where we can be quite independent, and make it as littery as we like without being called to account by Mrs Fidler every time there is a mess."

As he spoke Uncle Richard unlocked the old walnut bureau, and took the large envelope from his breast--the doc.u.ment which Tom had handed to him over-night being within.

"Your papers, Tom," he said, rather huskily. "They will be as safe here as in my room; I will put them with these leases and things. Of course you can have my keys if you wish to see them."