“No,” said Doctor Lawrence gruffly, “I came without,” and he seated himself in one of the old, worn, leather covered chairs in the lawyer’s private room at Lincoln’s Inn.

“But I’m right as a trivet, Lawrence, and if I was not, I should not consult you.”

“I know that. You never did.”

“Well, you never came to me about your legal affairs.”

“Of course I did not. If I had we should never have remained friends.”

“Humph! Then you think I should have ruined you.”

“Well, you think I should have poisoned you.”

“There! get out. What’s the matter, Lawrence?”

“I’ve come to consult you.”

“You have? Then hang it all, old chap, I’ll have jaundice or gout next week.”

“About The Mynns’ affairs.”

“Oh! Then I’ll keep quite well. What’s the matter now?”

“Sit down, Hampton, and let’s talk quietly, old fellow, as friends.”

The old lawyer sat down, took a penknife from a drawer, and throwing himself back in his chair, began to pare his nails.

“Well, what is it?” he said.

“I’m very uncomfortable about the state of affairs down yonder.”

“So am I, and I get no peace of my life.”

“How’s that?”

“The wife!”

“Oh! Shouldn’t have married.”

“Too late to alter that now.”

“But what do you mean?”

“Mean? Why, of course, situated as we were, the wife agreed to poor little Gertrude’s wishes, and stayed at The Mynns to play propriety till those two were married; and now I want to get home to my own fireside, but we seem regularly stuck, and the worst of it is, we are unwelcome visitors.”

“Yes, I saw that.”

“Then can you imagine a more unpleasant position for a well-to-do old chap like myself; staying at a house where your host always shows you that you are not wanted?”

“No. It is hard; and for unselfish reasons.”

“I wouldn’t stop another hour with the rowdy Yankee scoundrel, only Mrs Hampton says I must.”

“For Gertrude’s sake, of course.”

“Oh, hang your of ‘course,’” cried the lawyer angrily.

“Call yourself a friend! Why don’t you advise me to go?”

“Can’t,” said the doctor, putting his hat upon the top of his cane, and spinning it slowly round.

“Don’t do that, man. It fidgets me.”

The doctor took his hat off the cane meekly, and set it on the table, after which he laid his cane across his knees, and began to roll it slowly to and fro, as if he were making paste.

“I say, Lawrence,” cried the old lawyer querulously, “don’t do that. You give me the creeps.”

The doctor meekly laid his stick beside his hat, and put his hands in his pockets.

“Look here,” he said, “what about that poor girl?”

“Well, what about her?”

“Are we to standstill and see her throw herself away upon this wretched man?”

“Can you show me a way out of the difficulty? If so, for goodness’ sake speak out.”

“Your wife! Cannot she influence her?”

“No. She has done everything. The poor girl looks upon it as a duty to the old man, and to his grandson; and she has made up her mind.”

“Tut – tut – tut – tut – tut!”

“She believes that she can bring the fellow round to a better way of life.”

“I don’t, Hampton.”

“No more do I.”

“Think she loves him?”

“No. Not a bit. She doesn’t dislike him though, for he can make himself agreeable when he chooses.”

“Then she will marry him?”

“Not a doubt about it, doctor.”

There was a pause, broken by the lawyer doubling his fist and striking the table so heavy a blow that there was a cloud of pungent dust directly after in the doctor’s nostrils, and he sneezed violently again and again.

“Oh, you old fool!” cried the lawyer.

“I beg your pardon,” said the doctor, blowing his nose upon a great yellow silk handkerchief. “It was your dust.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean for not letting the brute die when you had him in your hands. It would have been a blessing for everybody.”

“Saul Harrington included, eh? I wonder what he would have given me to have let him die.”

“Five thousand at least!”

“Don’t talk nonsense, man. Let’s see if we cannot do something.”

“We can do nothing, sir. The wedding-day is fixed, and the poor little girl is going to swear she will love, honour, and obey a scoundrel, who will break her pretty little heart while she sees him squander away that magnificent estate.”

“It’s very, very terrible,” said Doctor Lawrence thoughtfully; “and I came here this morning in the hope that as co-executors we might do something to save the girl, even if we cannot save the estate.”

“There’ll be nothing to save in half-a-dozen years, if he goes on as he’s going now. In the past three months there are ten thousand pounds gone spang!”

“Spent?”

“Heaven knows! Gambled away, I suppose. I have to keep on selling stock, regardless of losses, and I do the best I can for him. If the applications were made to some shady firm, they’d plunder him wholesale.”

“It’s very sad,” said the doctor, meekly.

“Sad, sir! It’s criminal. I don’t know what he does with it all, but, between ourselves, Lawrence, I’ve a shrewd suspicion that he is remitting a good deal to the States.”

“What for?”

“How should I know, sir? To pay old debts, perhaps. Ah, it’s a sorry business.”

“But surely we can do something.”

“Bah!”

“Now, don’t be angry, Hampton. If it was a leg or a wing diseased, I should know what to do, but in these legal matters I am a perfect child.”

“You are, Lawrence, you are.”

“Well,” said the doctor tartly, “knowing that, I came to you, as a legal light, to give me your opinion. Do you mean to tell me that we, as old Harrington’s executors, cannot interfere to stop this man from wasting his substance and wrecking the life of that poor girl?”

“Yes, sir, I do, plump and plain. Our duties were limited to seeing that, after all bequests were paid, this gentlemanly young fellow from the Far West had all the money his old lunatic of a grandfather left him.”

“But – ”

“There, butt away till you break your skull, if you like, against the stone wall of the law. I, as a lawyer, can do nothing, but perhaps you can – as a doctor.”

“In heaven’s name, then, tell me what, for I feel heartbroken to see the way things are going.”

“Kill him.”

“What?”

“I mean as you nearly did before, and blamed the chemist.”

“My dear Hampton, surely you acquit me of that business.”

“Oh, yes, if you like, but if I were you I’d get him into such an awful state of health that he should not want to spend money, and, as to wedding, that’s the last thing he should think of.”

“Absurd! absurd!” cried Doctor Lawrence angrily. “You non-professional men get the maddest notions into your heads.”

“Very well, then, try that.”

“Try what?”

“That which you were hinting about – madness.”

“What?”

“Can’t you contrive to make it appear that the man is non compos mentis. Then we lawyers could come in and get some one appointed to administer the estate – I mean a judge would do that.”

“My dear Hampton, I came to you for good advice, and you talk trash to me.”

“I’ve told you – trash or not – the only way of getting out of the difficulty, and I can do no more,” said the lawyer pettishly. “There, Lawrence, old fellow, we will not quarrel over this unfortunate affair. We can do nothing but look on and advise. George Harrington will tell us to go to Jericho if we say a word; and as to the lady, when a good, pure-minded young girl takes it into her head that it is her duty to do something or another, the more you preach at her, and try to get her to think as you do, the more she looks upon you as a worldly-minded old sinner, and persists in going her own gait. I can only see one thing to do.”

“Yes? What is it?” cried the doctor.

“Ram a lot of legal jargon into the scoundrel, and frighten him into making ample settlements on the poor girl, tying it down so that he can’t touch it, nor she neither, except as payments fall due. Then she’ll be safe when he dies of delirium tremens, or gets killed in some drunken brawl.”

“You think you can manage that, Hampton?” cried the doctor eagerly.

“Yes, I fancy I can contrive that, but if he proves to be obstinate, you must help me.”

“In any way I can.”

“That’s right. Well, then, you’ll have to bring him nearly to death’s door.”

“What?”

“Not near enough to make your conscience uneasy, but just enough to make him soft and workable. Sick men are the ones to make their wills, I can tell you. A hale, hearty man is as obstinate as a bull.”

“Look here, Hampton, if you expect me to degrade my noble profession by aiding and abetting in any dishonourable act, you are confoundedly mistaken, sir, and I wish you a very good morning.”

The doctor seized his hat and stick, put on the former with a bang which threatened injury to the skin of his forehead, and was going out of the room when he received a slap on the back, and faced round fiercely, to find the lawyer smiling as he held out his hand.

“What a confounded old pepper-box you are, Lawrence! Hang it, man! who wants to do anything dishonourable? Do you think I do? Now, after knowing me all these years, do you think it likely?”

“No,” cried the doctor, slapping his hand loudly into that of his friend; “but you shouldn’t look so serious when you are cracking a joke.”

“That’s the perfection of joking, my dear boy. Seriously, though, I shall try and force him into making heavy settlements upon that poor girl.”

“By all means do; and I’d give something if we could break off the match.”

“What do you say to forging a new will, forbidding the banns – eh?”

The doctor looked into the dry and mirthful countenance before him, shook his head, and went to the door.

“See you at dinner at The Mynns on Wednesday, I suppose?”

“Oh, yes,” said the lawyer, “for certain. We live there now, and if it was not for poor little Gertrude, I should be very glad when emancipation day came.”

Chapter Eighteen
Saul’s Invitation

Mr Hampton was quite right; Gertrude had nerved herself to the sacrifice, and looked forward to the wedding-day, although with apprehension, still with something akin to eagerness.

“But you don’t love him, my dear,” said Mrs Hampton, “and is it right for you to go to the altar like that?”

Gertrude was silent and thoughtful for some minutes before she raised her large clear eyes, and gazed full in the old lady’s face.

“Yes,” she said, “I think it is right. I shall have influence over him which will grow, and I shall then have the right to speak with authority – as his wife.”

Mrs Hampton sighed and shook her head.

“You have no faith,” said Gertrude, smiling, “I have. The real nature of which my dear guardian spoke is only hidden away, crusted over by the rough life George has led. Once we are married, he will think of his duties toward me, and he will change back to what he was.”

“Well, I hope so, my dear, for your sake, and you must forgive me because I am not so sanguine as I was at your age. I tell you what I would do first, though, if I were you.”

“Yes?”

“Get rid of Saul Harrington.”

“Yes, I should be glad to do that, and I shall try it,” said Gertrude, with a dreamy look in her eyes which changed to one of dislike and dread as a step was heard outside upon the gravel walk, and the two women looked at each other curiously.

“Talk of some one – ” said Mrs Hampton at last.

At that moment the door was opened, and Saul Harrington ushered in.

“Ah, ladies,” he said cheerily, “both indoors upon a day like this. Well, I’m glad to find you at home. Come to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye?” said Gertrude.

“Yes. I am going to the Continent for a month, and I have come down to try and persuade George to go with me. Do him no end of good. Where is he?”

“I think he is in the study,” said Gertrude.

“What do you say to my scheme? Can you spare him for a fortnight?”

“Spare who for a fortnight?” said the object of their debate, entering.

“You, old fellow. I’m going to Paris, and then on to Switzerland, and back by the Rhine and Amsterdam. Come with me.”

“What, and do all the paying?”

Saul flushed up, snatched his pocket-book from his breast and tore it open.

“Well, I shan’t ask you to pay for my circular ticket anyhow,” he said, taking out a tiny book; “and here are my hotel coupons. Hang it all! how fond you men with coin are of insulting those without.”

“Well, we’re cousins,” said the other, with a sneering laugh. “All right, little one; I’ll apologise before he goes,” he continued, as Gertrude looked at him appealingly; and Saul winced as if it was painful to him to have Gertrude interfere on his behalf.

“Then you will not come?” said Saul, leaning forward to show Gertrude the tickets.

“No, thanks; I’m going to spend my last bachelor fortnight here.”

“Just as you like. Better have spent it with me. I’m sure Gertie does not want you with all her dresses to see to – what do you call it, Mrs Hampton – a trousseau?”

“I believe so, Mr Saul,” said the old lady dryly; “but when I was married, I had to do without.”

“You will not come, then,” said Saul, at last, rising.

“No, thanks; but you’ll stop to dinner.”

“No; too many little preparations to make; letters to write, and that sort of thing. If I stay, will you alter your mind?”

“No, no. In me behold a converted reprobate. I’m in training for a married man.”

“Oh, very well, then; I must be off. I’ll write to you from Paris and let you know how I’m getting on, and where I stay in case you would like to join me.”

“No fear.”

“You may alter your mind, my lad. Good-bye, Gertie. Be an obedient girl. Good-bye, Mrs Hampton. Hang it all, George! you might ask a fellow to have a drink.”

“Oh, of course. Beg pardon. I’m such a teetotaller now, that I forget other people’s wants. Eh, Gertie?”

“I am sure you have been much better lately.”

“Oh, certainly! I shall not dispute it. Come along, Saul; you are case-hardened.”

He led the way to the study, and opened the closet where he kept spirit-stand and a syphon. These and glasses he placed upon the table, while Saul watched him keenly.

“There, poison yourself, my lad,” he said laughingly.

“Oh, thanks! Pleasant way of poisoning oneself though. You’ll have a drop?”

“I? No. I’ll stick to my faith now, for Gertie’s sake.”

“Just as you like,” said Saul, pouring out a portion of whiskey, and holding the glass beneath the syphon tap, to press the handle and send a bubbling stream of mineral water into the spirit.

“Your health, old fellow!” cried Saul.

“Thanks.”

Then there was a long draught, and, as he drank, Saul stood with his right hand in his pocket.

“Splendid drink. Hah! Feel all the better for it. I say, you might give me a cigar.”

“To be sure.”

Saul watched his host as he turned toward the cabinet, and quick as thought his hand was drawn from his pocket, and what seemed to be a tiny white lozenge was dropped into the whiskey decanter.

“Ah, that looks a good weed,” said Saul, taking the cigar offered to him.

“Have any more whiskey?”

“Thanks, no,” said Saul; and he proceeded to cut off the end of the cigar, while his companion took up and replaced the decanter stopper.

“Smell gets into my nose,” he said. “Tempts one.”

Saul laughed, lit his cigar, shook hands very warmly, as he raised his eyes from the decanter, after seeing that the lozenge had melted. Then looking his companion full in the eyes, he bade him “good-bye” and was gone.

The party at dinner that night was quiet and pleasant, for the host was in his best form. Doctor Lawrence came down and exchanged glances with Hampton consequent upon the alteration they perceived; and when at last the ladies left the table there was very little drinking, the host turning from the table as if in disgust.

“A good sign, Hampton,” Doctor Lawrence whispered, as he took his leave about ten. “Patience, and all may be right yet.”

“Doubt it,” muttered the lawyer, as he returned to the drawing-room, to stand chattering till the ladies said “good-night” to him, and Gertrude crossed to where her betrothed stood with his back to the fireplace.

“Going?” he said. “Good-night, little woman – good-night.”

He bent down smiling and kissed her, and this time she did not dash upstairs to her bedroom to bathe her cheek, but walked up slowly and thoughtfully, oppressed as it were by a strange sadness which made her look hurriedly round as if in search of some trouble or danger hovering near, and in place of sobbing wildly with horror and disgust, she sank upon her knees at her bedside to pray that strength might be given her to carry out her desires, and in that attitude she unwittingly dropped asleep.

Chapter Nineteen
A Business Interview

As the ladies left, the old lawyer glanced at his companion, and then drew his watch from his pocket and began to wind it up.

“Example is better than precept,” said his companion, drawing the handsome gold presentation-watch from his pocket, and winding it in turn.

“Don’t you ever feel afraid of being robbed of that watch, Mr Harrington?” said the old lawyer. “It must have cost a hundred.”

“The sum exactly with the nugget chain,” said the young man sharply. “No, I never feel afraid of being robbed. I could afford it, though, if I were.”

“Yes, yes; of course – of course.”

“Come into the study. I want a chat with you.”

“About more money,” muttered the lawyer, as he followed the young man down the passage to the library-like room opening upon the garden.

Here the first thing the host did was to open the window, look out for a few moments at the soft dark night, and then draw to and fasten the outer shutters, after which he closed the window.

“You know what I want, of course,” he said shortly.

“Yes, sir; I presume it is money.”

“Well, it’s my money, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes; of course; but if you would allow me – ”

“I don’t allow you,” was the sharp reply. “I want three thousand pounds within a week. You understand – within a week.”

“Consols are very low just now, Mr Harrington; would it not be advisable to wait till they go up?”

“No, sir, it would not. You understand; I want that money within a week, and the day I am married, fifteen days from this, I shall require another thousand.”

“Certainly, Mr Harrington,” said the old lawyer. “You have nothing more to say to me to-night?”

“No, sir, nothing. That’s an end to business. Now we can be sociable and friendly. Will you have a little whiskey and a cigar?”

“No, sir, thanks. I had a busy day in town and shall be glad to get to bed. Good-night.”

“Good-night, Mr Hampton, and I suppose you will not be sorry when our relations are always of a business character.”

“For some reasons, no, Mr George Harrington – for some reasons, yes,” said the old lawyer. “Good-night.”

He left the study and began to ascend the stairs, but for some reason went down again and entered the dining-room, and in the dim light given by the turned-down lamp, the portrait of his own client seemed to be gazing down at him searchingly.

With a half shiver he went back, and again began to ascend, to feel the cool night air blowing in upon him from the open staircase window.

This he closed, but did not fasten, the clasp being too high, and the window far above the ground.

“I shall be glad when I am back home,” he muttered. “What can he do with all this money? I should like to know. Who’s that?”

He started and exclaimed aloud, for he had heard a rustling sound.

“Only me, sir. I was coming down to close that window.”

“You startled me, Denton, going about like a ghost. Good-night.”

“Good-night, sir.”

Then first one door closed, then another, and one door opened, that of the study, from which the occupant’s face appeared for a few moments with an intent listening air upon the stern features.

Then the door was closed again, the cabinet opened, and the cash-box taken from one of the drawers, over which the young man sat for quite half an hour, counting notes and calculating, before replacing the contents.

“I don’t like to leave it here,” he said thoughtfully. “It has been safe so far, but thieves might break through and steal, and that would be awkward. Let’s think it out over a cigar.”

He took the spirit-stand from the closet again, poured out a goodly portion of whiskey into a Venice glass, and after mildly lowering its strength with water, took a deep draught before lighting a choice cigar, whose pleasant perfume soon pervaded the room.

“Notes, notes. Gold so much better, but awkward to carry,” he muttered, and then burst into an unpleasant laugh.

“Shall I – shan’t I? Ten thousand safe, better than a hundred thousand doubtful, and who knows what Master Saul might do.”

A strange silence fell upon the place – a silence which seemed painful, for as a rule the low hollow rumble of market-wagons echoed from the high brick wall of The Mynns the night through.

That silence was broken by the smoker’s voice, as he said in a low, angry whisper:

“Saul Harrington is a coward and a cur. He dares nothing – nothing. A snarling dog who fears to bite. Why, if I had been in his place —

“Well, never mind,” he said after a pause. “But about this money – a bird in the hand is worth too in the bush, even if one is Gertrude – a pretty little innocent. Yes, that will be the best plan after all.”

He rose hastily, took a Bradshaw from the shelf, and rapidly turned over the leaves; but as he did so the lamp went out.