One morning Peggy brought in the letters, and Jane saw one in Alfred's handwriting. She snatched it up, and cried "Papa, from Alfred!" And she left off making the tea, while her father opened it with comparative composure.
This coolness, however, did not outlast the perusal: "The young ruffian!"said he; "would you believe it Jenny, he accuses me of being the cause of his last business.""Let me see, papa."He held her out the letter; but hesitated and drew it back. "My dear, it would give you pain to see your poor father treated so. Here's a specimen: 'What could they expect but that the son of a sharper would prove a traitor? You stole her money; I her affections, of which I am unworthy.' Now what do you think of that?""Unhappy Alfred!" said Jane. "No, papa, I would not read it, if you are insulted in it. But where is he?""The letter is dated Paris. See! " And he showed her the date. "But he says here he is coming back to London directly; and he orders me in the most peremptory way to he ready with my accounts, and pay him over his fortune. Well, he is alive, at all events: really my good, kind, interfering, pragmatical friend Sampson, with his placards, made me feel uneasy, more uneasy than I would own to you, Jenny.""Unhappy Alfred!" cried Jane, with the tears in her eyes; "and poor papa!""Oh, never mind me," said Mr. Hardie; "now that I know no harm has come to him, I really don't care a straw: I have got one child that loves me, and that I love.""Ah yes, dear, dear papa, and that will always love you, and never, never disobey you in small things or great." She rose from the table and sealed this with a pious kiss; and, when she sat down with a pink flush on her delicate cheek, his hard eye melted and dwelt on her with beaming tenderness. His heart yearned over her, and a pang went through it: to think that he must deceive even her, the one sweet soul that loved him!
It was a passing remorse: the successful plotter soon predominated, and it was with unmixed satisfaction he saw her put on her bonnet directly after breakfast and hurry off to Albion Villa to play the part of his unconscious sieve.
He himself strolled in the opposite direction, not to seem to be watching her.
He was in good spirits: felt like a general, who, after repulsing many desperate attacks successfully, orders an advance, and sees the tide of battle roll away from his bayonets. His very body seemed elastic, indomitable; he walked lustily out into the country, sniffed the perfumed hedges, and relished life. To be sure he could not walk away from all traces of his misdeeds; he fell in with objects that to an ordinary sinner might have spoiled the walk, and even marred the spring-time. He found his creditor Maxley with grizzly beard and bloodshot eyes, belabouring a milestone; and two small boys quizzing him, and pelting him with mud: and soon after he met his creditor, old Dr. Phillips, in a cart, coming back to Barkington to end his days there, at the almshouse.
But to our triumphant Bankrupt and Machiavel these things were literally nothing: he paced complacently on, and cared no more for either of those his wrecks than the smiling sea itself seems to care for the dead ships and men it washed ashore a week ago.
He came home before luncheon for his gossip with Jane; but she had not returned. All the better; her budget would be the larger.
To while the time he got his file of the _Times,_ and amused himself noting down the fluctuations in Peruvian bonds, While thus employed he heard a loud knock at his door, and soon after Peggy's voice and a man's in swift collision. Hasty feet came along the passage, the parlour door opened, and a young man rushed in pale as ashes, and stared at him; he was breathless, and his lips moved, but no sound came.
It was Edward Dodd.
Mr. Hardie rose like a tower and manned himself to repulse this fresh assault.
The strange visitor gasped out, "You are wanted at our house."
