Chapter IV

STEPHEN HASTINGS had passed triumphantly, and would follow his letter immediately. There was just a chance that he would reach Overford by the last train. This was the news contained in the letter.

There was great sympathy between Norman and me, and we rejoiced in each other's joy, but the thought of approaching separation was the one drawback. When I became Stephen's wife, I must bid farewell to my only brother, perhaps for many years to come. He, dear fellow, forgot this, I think, as he said, "We shall have the double wedding, and you will look like a princess in Uncle Bernard's bequest. You will outshine Lucy, who will wear no jewels on her marriage day."

I turned from the subject of wedding bravery to speak of Stephen. I was naturally very proud of the position he had won, and I said so, while from my heart went up thanksgiving to God for the success vouchsafed him.

Again came words of joyous congratulation from Norman, and a proposition that we should go together to the station, on the chance of meeting Stephen.

"We will start early, for I want to make things right with Frith," added Norman. "He is a good fellow, though a little overbearing, and I am too happy to remain at enmity with any one."

I took alarm at these words, and exclaimed, "Surely you did not touch the mail-bag again, after being warned!"

"Yes, dear, I did. The shunting of the train took so much time that I lost patience and helped myself to your letter. Frith was in a rage, but I shall make things straight with him by a handshake and a promise not to offend again."

"I am so grieved, Norman. You have incurred a risk for my sake, and I fear we shall have trouble," I said. Tears came to my eyes, for I felt it would be too dreadful to have our happiness clouded over by this freak of my dear but rash brother.

"No crying, Berty. You attach too much importance to such a trifling matter. I tell you I will speak to Frith."

There was no help for it. I could only hope for the best, and the sight of Stephen's beaming face, as he leaped from the train, made me for the moment forget all but present happiness.

"You two will like to walk to the Court," said Norman, after the first hand-shakings and congratulations were over. "Parks will see to the luggage, and I want a word with the station-master."

Stephen and I gladly obeyed, and left the station together. Norman turned to Frith, and in his frank way, said—

"I owe you an apology for having meddled with the mail-bag. I was wrong, and you were right; shake hands and receive my pledge never to repeat the offence. Here is the letter I took. Examine the date—the contents, if you like-and satisfy yourself that I took only my own property."

Norman's apology, his friendly manner, and bright, happy face, drove away all bitter feeling from Frith's mind. He would have liked to grasp the hand so frankly offered, but held back, knowing what he had written to head-quarters about the raid on the letter-bag.

"Surely you bear no malice, Frith," said Norman. "I own I was wrong, and I think all the more of you for fearlessly doing your duty and rebuking me."

"It is not that, sir. I had a duty to perform—"

"Yes, yes; and you did it. No need for another word."

"But you are not, perhaps, aware that I felt compelled to report what had passed. My letter must have reached head-quarters by this time, and there will be an inquiry."

"Do you think the knowledge that you have reported me makes me less anxious to shake hands with you, Frith? Not a bit of it."

Again Norman extended his hand, and Frith grasped it, feeling the while woefully concerned at the trouble which was hanging over the kindhearted but impetuous young squire.

"There, now; that is done with, and I do not mind telling you why I was so eager to get hold of the letter, to which I so improperly helped myself this morning. You are a young man, and have just won a good and pretty wife, so you will be pleased to know that we shall soon have a double wedding at the Court. At Overford we are very clannish—something like one great family, and we talk over probable social changes very freely, without troubling ourselves about little differences in means and position. You are not Overford born, but you can claim affinity through your wife, and I am sure will sympathize with us in our happy prospects."

Poor Frith looked rueful enough as he stammered out his congratulations, then added, "I have something to confess and to regret. I was very angry when I wrote that report."

"And did not try to soften matters. I am hasty myself, and can quite understand how you felt when I defied you. What shall I get, Frith—a stern reprimand, or have to pay heavily in coin of the realm?"

"Neither, sir, I am afraid. I hope the actual penalty incurred may not be enforced."

"Well, good night; I must await my punishment with what patience I may. I hope it may be a sentence to matrimony in a fortnight instead of a month."

And Norman started homeward feeling as light-hearted and happy as possible.

Stephen and I were eagerly waiting to tell him our news, for my beloved had distanced all competitors, and every one foretold a brilliant professional future for him. After these more interesting details had been gone through, I asked if Norman had made all smooth with Frith.

"To be sure I have; and now your affair is over, Stephen, I shall not be tempted to break my word by again meddling with Her Majesty's mail-bags."

"I do not understand the allusion," said Stephen. "Berty has been worrying herself about something: I can hardly tell what. Let me have your version."

Norman coloured and looked a little ashamed, but told the story without sparing himself.

I spoke indignantly as he ended—"It was too bad of Frith to write straight off about such a ridiculous affair. He might have waited for Norman to explain."

Stephen looked, as I thought, needlessly grave.

"Frith was undoubtedly right," he said. "There could be no explanation, dear. I should have done as he did."

I took alarm, for Stephen's face was always eloquent, and I was sure he anticipated coming trouble; but Norman interposed before I could ask any further questions.

"No gloomy retrospections—no evil forebodings. Frith and I are good friends, and future misunderstandings impossible. Now for a pleasanter subject. We have fixed the week for the weddings—what about the day?"

Stephen promptly suggested Monday, but was snubbed and silenced by me, though I knew he and I must sail for the East very soon after our marriage. Finally, Thursday was agreed upon, subject to Lucy's sanction.

We three lingered until a rather late hour, but after I had retired, Norman asked Stephen why he looked so grave on hearing his story about the affair with the mail-bag.

"You are learned in the law. Tell me what my freak will cost, Stephen?"

"I am afraid it is not a matter of money," replied Stephen; "but, you know, I have had no actual experience of exactly such a case."

His unwillingness to answer directly made Norman uneasy, and, laying his hand on that of his friend, he asked—

"Is it a matter of imprisonment? Surely I shall not have to pay so dearly for what was only a piece of foolish bravado! But let me know the worst that can happen."

Stephen told him in two words—"Seven years."

Poor Norman! He was utterly unprepared for such a response, and felt certain that Steve was wrong. At the worst, he had only anticipated a heavy fine or a sharp reprimand, and he was stunned by the words. The colour forsook his face, and he dropped back on the seat from which he had risen, utterly overcome, gasping out, "You must be mistaken."

"I wish I were," said Stephen; "but I do happen to know the exact law in such a case, for I was concerned in one a few months back. There was, however, this difference between it and yours. The man who opened the mail-bag did it to obtain a letter not intended for him, and the contents of which enabled him to carry out successfully a plan for a gigantic robbery. But had the plot failed, the abstraction of the letter alone rendered him liable to seven years' imprisonment."

"There must be mitigations," said Norman.

"Unfortunately, there are none. The law has long been in existence, and has remained unaltered to the present day. The penalty for such an offence is seven years or nothing."

Norman did not speak in reply, but made a rush to the library, and began to rummage amongst a collection of law books, for the Savells had been on the Commission for generations past. After some time, he found what he wanted, and it confirmed the opinion expressed by Stephen. He laid down the book in dumb despair, and seemed to age visibly before Steve's pitying eyes, and scarcely to heed the more hopeful words he strove to utter.

Stephen, indeed, did not feel hopeful, so, naturally, his words had not a very genuine ring with them. He knew, as Norman might have done, how important it is to prevent the mails from being tampered with. Every subject of the Queen has an interest in their safe keeping, and every loyal subject should be their protector. So, with these thoughts in his mind, no wonder his words carried little consolation to Norman's.

He, poor fellow, spent an almost sleepless night, and came down in the morning looking haggard and unrefreshed. He implored Stephen not to tell either me or Lucy what was hanging over him, and awaited as best he might the result of his rashness.

It was hard to preserve a calm face and go into all the details in connection with wedding festivities without betraying his dread that his plans might never be carried out. But he went through his task with the courage of a martyr, and, after a long wearying day, lay down to dream that he was a prisoner in a felon's dress, and hopelessly severed from Lucy and the home of which she was to have been the mistress.