Chapter VI: Part 6

He forgot it the next moment as he entered his room, to be followed directly after by his landlady, who drew his attention to a note upon the chimney-piece in Thickens's formal, clerkly hand.

"One of the school children brought this, sir; and, begging your pardon," cried the woman, colouring indignantly, "if it isn't making too bold to ask such a thing of you, sir, don't you think you might say a few words next Sunday about Poll-prying, and asking questions?"

"Really," said Bayle, smiling; "I'm afraid it would be very much out of place, Mrs Pinet."

"Well, I'm sorry you say so, sir, for the way that Gemp goes on gets to be beyond bearing. He actually stopped that child, took the letter from him, read the direction, and then asked the boy who it was from, and whether he was to wait for an answer."

"Never mind, Mrs Pinet; it is very complimentary of Mr Gemp to take so much interest in my affairs."

"It made me feel quite popped, sir," cried the woman; "but of course it be no business of mine."

Bayle read the letter, and changed colour, as he connected it with Sir Gordon's questions, for it was a request that the curate would come up and see Thickens that evening on very particular business.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SIX.

JAMES THICKENS MAKES A COMMUNICATION.

"Master's in the garden feeding his fish," said the girl, as she admitted Bayle. "I'll go and tell him you're here, sir."

"No; let me go to him," said Bayle quietly.

The girl led the way down a red-bricked floored passage, and opened a door, through which the visitor passed, and then stood looking at the scene before him.

There was not much garden, but James Thickens was proud of it, because it was his own. It was only a strip, divided into two beds by a narrow walk of red bricks--so many laid flat with others set on edge to keep the earth from falling over, and sullying the well-scrubbed path, which was so arranged by its master that the spigot of the rain-water butt could be turned on now and then and a birch broom brought into requisition to keep all clean.

Each bed was a mass of roses--dwarf roses that crept along the ground by the path, and then others that grew taller till the red brick wall on either side was reached, and this was clambered, surmounted, and almost completely hidden by clusters of small blossoms. No other flower grew in this patch of a garden; but, save in the very inclement weather, there were always buds and blossoms to be picked, and James Thickens was content.

From where Bayle stood he could just see Thickens at the hither side of the great bricked and cemented tank that extended across the bottom of his and the two adjoining gardens, while beyond was the steam-mill, where Mawson the miller had introduced that great power to work his machinery. He it was who had contrived the tank for some scheme in connection with the mill, and had then made some other plan after leading into it through a pipe the clear water of the dam on the other side of the mill, and arranging a proper exit when it should be too full. Then he had given it up as unnecessary, merely turning into it a steam-pipe, to get rid of the waste, and finally had let it to Thickens for his whim.

There was a certain prettiness about the place seen from the bank clerk's rose garden. Facing you was the quaintly-built mill, one mass of ivy from that point of view, while numberless strands ran riot along the stone edge of the tank, and hung down to kiss the water with their tips. To the left there was the great elder clump, that was a mass of creamy bloom in summer, and of clustering black berries in autumn, till the birds had cleared all off.

As Bayle stood looking down, he could see the bank clerk upon his knees, bending over the edge of the pool, and holding his fingers in the water.

Every now and then he took a few crumbs of broken well-boiled rice from a basin at his side, and scattered them over the pool, while, when he had done this, he held the tips of his fingers in the water.

He was so intent upon his task, that he did not hear the visitor's approach, so that when Bayle was close up, he could see the limpid water glowing with the bright scales of the golden-orange fish that were feeding eagerly in the soft evening light. Now quite a score of the brilliant metallic creatures would be making at the crumbs of rice. Then there would be as many--quite a little shoal--that were of a soft pearly silver, while mingled with them were others that seemed laced with sable velvet or purple bands.

The secret of the hand-dipping was plain too, for, as Thickens softly placed his fingers to the surface, first one and then another would swim up and seem to kiss the ends, taking therefrom some snack of rice, to dart away directly with a flourish of the tail which set the water all a ripple, and made it flash in the evening light.

Thickens was talking to his pets, calling them by many an endearing name as they swam up, kissed his finger tips, and darted away, till, becoming conscious of the presence of some one in the garden, he started to his feet, but stooped quickly again to pick up the basin, dip a little water, rinse out the vessel, and throw its contents far and wide.

"I did not hear you come, Mr Bayle," he said hastily.

"I ought to have spoken," replied the curate gravely. "How tame your fishes are!"

"Yes, sir, yes. They've got to know people from being petted so. Dip your fingers in the water and they'll come."

The visitor bent down and followed the example he had seen, with the result that fish after fish swam up, touched a white finger tip with its soft wet mouth, and then darted off.

"Strange pets, Mr Thickens, are they not?"

"Yes, sir, yes. But I like them," said Thickens with a droll sidewise look at his visitor. "You see the water's always gently warmed from the mill there, and that makes them thrive. They put one in mind of gold and silver, sir, and the bank. And they're nice companions: they don't talk."

He seemed then to have remembered something. A curious rigidity came over him, and though his visitor was disposed to linger by the pool where, in the evening light, the brightly-coloured fish glowed like dropped flakes of the sunset, Thickens drew back for him to pass, and then almost backed him into the house.

"Sit down, please, Mr Bayle," he said, rather huskily; and he placed a chair for his visitor. "You got my note, then?"

"Yes, and I came on. You want my--"

"Help and advice, sir; that's it. I'm in a cleft stick, sir--fast."

"I am sorry," said Bayle earnestly, for Thickens paused. "Is it anything serious?"

Thickens nodded, sat down astride a Windsor chair, holding tightly by the curved back, and rested his upper teeth on the top, tapping the wood gently.

Bayle waited a few moments for him to go on; but he only began rubbing at the top of the chair back, and stared at his visitor.

"You say it is serious, Mr Thickens."

"Terribly, sir."

"Is it--is it a monetary question?"

Thickens raised his head, nodded, and lowered it again till his teeth touched the chair back. "Some one in difficulties?"

Thickens nodded.

"Not you, Mr Thickens? You are too careful a man."

"No: not me, sir."

"Some friend?"

Thickens shook his head, and there was silence for a few moments, only broken by the dull sound of the clerk's teeth upon the chair.

"Do you want me to advance some money to a person in distress?"

Thickens raised his head quickly, and looked sharply in his visitor's eye; but only to lower his head again.

"No. No," he said.

"Then will you explain yourself?" said the curate gravely.

"Yes. Give me time. It's hard work. You don't know."

Bayle looked at him curiously, and waited for some minutes before Thickens spoke again.

"Yes," he said suddenly and as if his words were the result of deep thought; "yes, I'll tell you. I did think I wouldn't speak after all; but it's right, and I will. I can trust you, Mr Bayle?"

"I hope so, Mr Thickens."

"Yes, I can trust you. I used to think you were too young and boyish, but you're older much, and I didn't understand you then as I do now."

"I was very young when I first came, Mr Thickens," said Bayle smiling. "It was almost presumption for me to undertake such a duty. Well, what is your trouble?"

"Give me time, man; give me time," said Thickens fiercely. "You don't know what it is to be in my place. I am a confidential clerk, and it is like being torn up by the roots to have to speak as I want to speak."

"If it is a matter of confidence ought you to speak to me, Mr Thickens?" said Bayle gravely. "Do I understand you to say it is a bank matter?"

"That's it, sir."

"Then why not go to Mr Dixon?"

Thickens shook his head.

"Mr Trampleasure? or Sir Gordon Bourne?"

"They'll know soon enough," said Thickens grimly. A curious feeling of horror came over Bayle, as he heard these words, the cold, damp dew gathered on his brow, his hands felt moist, and his heart began to beat heavily.

He could not have told why this was, only that a vague sense of some terrible horror oppressed him. He felt that he was about to receive some blow, and that he was weak, unnerved, and unprepared for the shock, just when he required all his faculties to be at their strongest and best.

And yet the clerk had said so little--nothing that could be considered as leading up to the horror the hearer foresaw. All the same though, Bayle's imagination seized upon the few scant words--those few dry bones of utterance, clothed them with flesh, and made of them giants of terror before whose presence he shook and felt cowed.

"Tell me," he said at last, and his voice sounded strange to him, "tell me all."

There was another pause, and then Thickens, who looked singularly troubled and grey, sat up.

"Yes," he said, "I'll tell you all. I can trust you, Mr Bayle. I don't come to you because you are a priest, but because you are a man--a gentleman who will help me, and I want to do what's right."

"I know--I believe you do, Thickens," said the curate huskily, and he looked at him almost reproachfully, as if blaming him for the pain that he was about to give.

He felt all this. He could not have explained why, but as plainly as if he had been forewarned, he knew that some terrible blow was about to fall.

Thickens sat staring straight before him now, gnawing hard at one of his nails, and looking like a man having a hard struggle with himself.

It was a very plainly-furnished but pleasant little room, whose wide, low window had a broad sill upon which some half-dozen flowers bloomed, and just then, as the two men sat facing each other, the last glow of evening lit up the curate's troubled face, and left that of Thickens more and more in the shade.

"That's better," he said with a half laugh. "I wish I had left it till it was dark. Look here, Mr Bayle, I've been in trouble these five years past."

"You?"

"Yes, sir. I say it again: I've been in trouble these six or seven years past, and it's been a trouble that began like a little cloud as you'd say--no bigger than a man's hand; and it grew slowly bigger and bigger, till it's got to be a great, thick, black darkness, covering everything before the storm bursts."

"Don't talk riddles, man; speak out."

"Parables, Mr Bayle, sir, parables. Give me time, sir, give me time. You don't know what it is to a man who has trained himself from a boy to be close and keep secrets, to have to bring them out of himself and lay them all bare."

"I'll be patient; but you are torturing me. Go on."

"I felt it would, and that's one of the things that's kept me back, sir; but I'm going to speak now."

"Go on."

"Well, sir, a bank clerk is trained to be suspicious. Every new customer who comes to the place is an object of suspicion to a man like me. He may want to cheat us. Every cheque that's drawn is an object of suspicion because it may be a forgery, or the drawer may not have a balance to meet it. Then money--the number of bad coins I've detected, sir, would fill a big chest full of sham gold and silver, so that one grows to doubt and suspect every sovereign one handles. Then, sir, there's men in general, and even your own people. It's a bad life, sir, a bad life, a bank clerk's, for you grow at last so that you even begin to doubt yourself."

"Ah! but that is a morbid feeling, Thickens."

"No, sir, it's a true one. I've had such a fight as you couldn't believe, doubting myself and whether I was right: but I think I am."

"Well," said the curate, smiling a faint, dejected smile; "but you are still keeping me in the dark."

"It will be light directly," said Thickens fiercely, "light that is blinding. I dread almost to speak and let you hear."

"Go on, man; go on."

"I will, sir. Well, for years past I've been in doubt about our bank."

"Dixons', that every one trusts?"

"Yes, sir, that's it. Dixons' has been trusted by everybody. Dixons', after a hundred years' trial, has grown to be looked upon as the truth in commerce. It has been like a sort of money mill set going a hundred years ago, and once set going it has gone on of itself, always grinding coin."

"But you don't mean to tell me that the bank is unsafe? Man, man, it means ruin to hundreds of our friends!"

He spoke in an impassioned way, but at the same time he felt more himself; the vague horror had grown less.

"Hear me out, sir; hear me out," said Thickens slowly. "Years ago, sir, I began to doubt, and then I doubted myself, and then I doubted again, but even then I couldn't believe. Doubts are no use to a man like me, sir; he must have figures, and figures I couldn't get to prove it, sir. I must be able to balance a couple of pages, and then if the balance is on the wrong side there's something to go upon. It has taken years to get these figures, but I've got them now."

"Thickens, you are torturing me with this slow preamble."

"For a few minutes, sir," said the clerk pathetically, "for an hour. It has tortured me for years. Listen, sir. I began to doubt--not Dixons' stability, but something else."

The vague horror began to increase again, and Christie Bayle's hands grew more damp.

"I have saved a little money, and that and my writings were in the bank. I withdrew everything. Cowardly? Dishonest? Perhaps it was; but I doubted, sir, and it was my little all. Then you'll say, if I had these doubts I ought to have spoken. If I had been sure perhaps I might; but I tell you, sir, they were doubts. I couldn't be false to my friends though, and where here and there they've consulted me about their little bits of money I've found out investments for them, or advised them to buy house property. A clergyman for whom I changed a cheque one day, said it would be convenient for him to have a little banking account with Dixons', and I said if I had an account with a good bank in London I wouldn't change it. Never change your banker, I said."

"Yes, Thickens, you did," said the curate eagerly, "and I have followed your advice. But you are keeping me in suspense. Tell me, is there risk of Dixons' having to close their doors?"

"No, no, sir; it's not so bad as that. Old Mr Dixon is very rich, and he'd give his last penny to put things straight. Sir Gordon Bourne is an honourable gentleman--one who would sacrifice his fortune so that he might hold up his head. But things are bad, sir, bad; how bad I don't know."

"But, good heavens, man! your half-yearly balance-sheets--your books?"

"All kept right, sir, and wonderfully correct. Everything looks well in the books."

"Then how is it?"

"The securities, sir," said Thickens, with his lip quivering. "I've done a scoundrelly thing."

"You, Thickens? You? I thought you were as honest a man as ever trod this earth!"

"Me, sir?" said the clerk grimly. "Oh, no! oh, no! _I'm_ a gambler, I am."

The vague horror was dissolving fast into thin mist. "You astound me!" cried Bayle, as he thought of Sir Gordon's doubts of Hallam. "You, in your position of trust! What are you going to do?"

The grim smile on James Thickens's lips grew more saturnine as he said:

"Make a clean breast of it, sir. That's why I sent for you."

"But, my good man!--oh, for heaven's sake! go with me at once to Sir Gordon and Mr Hallam. I ought not to listen to this alone."

"You're going to hear it all alone," said James Thickens, growing still more grim of aspect; "and when I've done you're going to give me your advice."

Bayle gazed at him sternly, but with the strange oppression gone, and the shadow of the vague horror fading into nothingness.

"I'm confessing to you, sir, just as if I were a Roman Catholic, and you were a priest."

"But I decline to receive your confession on such terms, James Thickens," cried Bayle sternly. "I warn you that, if you make me the recipient of your confidence, I must be free to lay the case before your employers."

"Yes, of course," said Thickens with the same grim smile. "Hear me out, Mr Bayle, sir. You'd never think it of me, who came regularly to church, and never missed--you'd never think I had false keys made to our safe; but I did. Two months ago, in London."

Bayle involuntarily drew back his chair, and Thickens laughed--a little hard, dry laugh.

"Don't be hard on the man, Mr Bayle, who advised you not to put your money and securities in at Dixons'."

"Go on, sir," said the curate sternly.

"Yes: I will go on!" cried Thickens, speaking now excitedly, in a low, harsh voice. "I can't carry on that nonsense. Look here, sir," he continued, shuffling his chair closer to his visitor, and getting hold of his sleeve, "you don't know our habits at the bank. Everything is locked up in our strong-room, and Hallam keeps the key of that, and carefully too! I go in and out there often, but it's always when he's in the room, and when he is not there he always locks it, so that, though I tried for years to get in there, I never had a chance."

"Wretched man!" cried Bayle, trying to shake off his grip, but Thickens's fingers closed upon his arm like a claw.

"Yes, I was wretched, and that's why I had the keys made, and altered again and again till I could get them to fit. Then one day I had my chance. Hallam went over to Lincoln, and I had a good examination of the different securities, shares, deeds--scrip of all kinds--that I had down on a paper, an abstract from my books."

"Well, sir?"

"Well, sir? Half of them are not there. They're dummies tied up and docketed."

"But the real deeds?"

"Pledged for advances in all sorts of quarters. Money raised upon them at a dozen banks, perhaps, in town."

"But--I don't understand you, Thickens; you do not mean that you--"

"That I, Mr Bayle!" cried the clerk passionately. "Shame upon you!--do you think I could be such a scoundrel--such a thief?"

"But these deeds, and this scrip, what are they all?"

"Valuable securities placed in Dixons' hands for safety."

"And they are gone?"

"To an enormous amount."

"But, tell me," panted Bayle, with the horror vague no longer, but seeming to have assumed form and substance, and to be crushing him down, "who has done this thing?"

"Who had the care of them, sir?"

"Thickens," cried Bayle, starting from his chair, and catching at the mantelpiece, for the room seemed to swim round, and he swept an ornament from the shelf, which fell with a crash, "Thickens, for heaven's sake, don't say that."

"I must say it, sir. What am I to do? I've doubted him for years."

"But the money--he has lived extravagantly; but, oh! it is impossible. It can't be much."

"Much, sir? It's fifty thousand pounds if it's a penny!"

"But, Thickens, it means felony, criminal prosecution, a trial."

He spoke hoarsely, and his hands were trembling. "It means transportation for one-and-twenty years, sir--perhaps for life."

Bayle's face was ashy, and with lips apart he stood gazing at the grim, quiet clerk.

"Man, man!" he cried at last; "it can't be true."

"Do you doubt too, sir? Well, it's natural. I used to, and I tried to doubt it; a hundred times over when I was going to be sure that he was a villain, I used to say to myself as I went and fed my fish, it's impossible, a man with a wife and child like--"

"Hush! for God's sake, hush!" cried Bayle passionately, and then with a burst of fury, he caught the clerk by the throat. "It is a lie; Robert Hallam could not be such a wretch as that!"

"Mr Bayle, sir," said Thickens calmly, and in an appealing tone; "can't you see now, sir, why I sent to you? Do you think I don't know how you loved that lady, and how much she and her bright little fairy of a child are to you? Why, sir, if it hadn't been for them I should have gone straight to Sir Gordon, and before now that scoundrel would have been in Lincoln jail."

"But you are mistaken, Thickens. Man, man, think what you are saying. Such a charge would break her heart, would brand that poor innocent child as the daughter of a felon. Oh, it cannot be!" he cried excitedly. "Heaven would not suffer such a wrong."

"I've been years proving it, sir; years," said Thickens slowly; "and until I was sure, I've been as silent as the dead. Fifty thousand pounds' worth of securities at least have been taken from that safe, and dummies filled up the spaces. Why, sir, a score of times people wanted these deeds, and he has put them off for a few days till he could go up to London, raise money on others, and get those wanted from the banker's hands."

"But you knew something of this, then?"

"Yes, I knew it, sir--that is, I suspected it. Until I got the keys made, I was not sure."

"Does--does any one else know of this?"

"Yes, sir."

"Ah!" ejaculated Bayle, with quite a moan.

"Robert Hallam, sir."

"Ah!" ejaculated Bayle, drawing a breath full of relief. "You have not told a soul?"

"No, sir. I said to myself there's that sweet lady and her little child; and that stopped me. I said to myself, I must go to the trustiest friend they have, sir, and that was you. Now, sir, I have told you all. The simple truth. What am I to do?"

Christie Bayle dropped into a chair, his eyes staring, his blanched face drawn, and his lips apart, as he conjured up the scene that must take place--the arrest, the wreck of Mrs Hallam's life, the suffering that would be her lot. And at last, half maddened, he started up, and stood with clenched hands gazing fiercely at the man who had fired this train.

"Well, sir," said Thickens coldly, "will you get them and the old people away before the exposure comes?"

"No," cried Bayle fiercely, "this must not--shall not be. It must be some mistake. Mr Hallam could not do such a wrong. Man, man, do you not see that such a charge would break his wife's heart?"

"It was in the hope that you would do something for them, sir, that I told you all this first."

"But we must see Mr Dixon and Sir Gordon at once."

"And they will--you know what."

"Hah! the matter must be hushed up. It would kill her!" cried Bayle incoherently. "Mr Thickens, you stand there like this man's judge; have you not made one mistake?"

Thickens shook his head and tightened his lips to a thin line.

"Do you not see what it would do? Have you no mercy?"

"Mr Bayle, sir," said Thickens slowly, "this has served you as it served me. It's so stunning that it takes you off your head. Am I, the servant of my good masters, knowing what I do, to hide this from them till the crash comes first--the crash that is only a matter of time? Do you advise--do you wish me to do this?"

Christie Bayle sat with his hands clasping his forehead, for the pain he suffered seemed greater than he could bear. He had known for long enough that Hallam was a harsh husband and a bad father; but it had never even entered his dreams that he was other than an honest man. And now he was asked to decide upon this momentous matter, when his decision must bring ruin, perhaps even death, to the woman he esteemed, and misery to the sweet, helpless child he had grown to love.

It was to him as if he were being exposed to some temptation, for even though his love for Millicent had long been dead, to live again in another form for her child, Christie Bayle would have gone through any suffering for her sake. As he bent down there the struggle was almost greater than he could bear.

And there for long he sat, crushed and stunned by the terrible stroke that had fallen upon him, and was about to fall upon the helpless wife and child. His mind seemed chaotic. His reasoning powers failed, and as he kept clinging to little scraps of hope, they seemed to be snatched away.

It was with a heart full of grief mingled with rage that he started to his feet at last, and faced Thickens, for the clerk had again spoken in measured tones. "Mr Bayle, what am I to do?"

The curate gazed at him piteously, as he essayed to speak; but the words seemed smothered as they struggled in his breast.

Then, by a supreme effort, he mastered his emotion, and drew himself up.

"Once more, sir, what am I to do?"

"Your duty," said Christie Bayle, and with throbbing brain he turned and left the house.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER SEVEN.

CHRISTIE BAYLE CHANGES HIS MIND.

"God help me! What shall I do?" groaned Christie Bayle, as he paced his room hour after hour into the night. A dozen times over he had been on the point of going to Thickens, awakening him and forcing him to declare that he would keep the fearful discovery a secret until something could be done.

"It is too horrible," he said. "Poor Millicent! The disgrace! It would kill her."

He went to the desk and began to examine his papers and his bank-book.

Then he relocked his desk and paced the room again. "Julie, my poor little child, too. The horror and disgrace to rest upon her little innocent head. Oh, it is too dreadful! Will morning never come?"

The hours glided slowly by, and that weary exclamation rose to his lips again and again:

"Will morning never come?"

It seemed as if it never would be day, but long before the first faint rays had streaked the east he had made his plans.

"It is for her sake; for her child's sake. At whatever cost, I must try and save them."

His first ideas were to go straight to Hallam's house; but such a course would have excited notice. He felt that Millicent would think it strange if he went there early. Time was of the greatest importance, but he felt that he must not be too hasty, so seated himself to try and calm the throbbings of his brain, and to make himself cool and judicial for the task he had in hand.

Soon after seven he walked quietly downstairs, and took his hat. It would excite no surprise, he thought, for him to be going for a morning walk, and, drawing in a long breath of the sweet refreshing air, he began to stride up the street.

"How bright and beautiful is thy earth, O God!" he murmured, as the delicious morning sunshine bathed his face, "and how we mar and destroy its beauties with our wretched scheming and plans! Ah! I must not feel like this," he muttered, as a restful hopefulness born of the early day seemed to be infusing itself throughout his being.

He had no occasion to check the feeling of content and rest, for he had not gone a dozen yards before the whole force of his position flashed upon him. He felt that he was a plotter against the prosperity of the town--that scores of the people whose homes he was passing were beginning the day in happy ignorance that perhaps the savings of a life were in jeopardy. Ought he not to warn them at once, and bid them save what they could out of the fire?

For his conscience smote him, asking him, how he, a clergyman, the preacher of truth and justice and innocence, could be going to temporise, almost to join in the fraud by what he was about to do?

"How can I meet my people after this?" he asked himself; and his face grew careworn and lined. The old reproach against him had passed away. No one could have called him young and boyish-looking now.

"Morning, sir," cried a harsh voice.

Bayle started, and flushed like some guilty creature, for he had come suddenly upon old Gemp as he supposed, though the reverse was really the case.

"Going for a walk, sir?" said Gemp, pointing at him, and scanning his face searchingly.

"Yes, Mr Gemp. Fine morning, is it not?"

Gemp stood shaving himself with one finger, as the curate passed on, and made a curious rasping noise as the rough finger passed over the stubble. Then he shook his head and began to follow slowly and at a long distance.

"I felt as if that man could read my very thoughts," said Bayle, as he went along the street, past the bank, and out into the north road that led towards the mill.

He shuddered as he passed Dixons', and pictured to himself what would happen if the doors were closed and an excited crowd of depositors were hungering for their money.

"It must be stopped at any cost," he muttered; and once more the sweet sad face of Millicent seemed to be looking into his for help.

"I ought to have suspected him before," he continued; "but how could I, when even Sir Gordon could see no wrong? Ha! Yes. Perhaps Thickens is mistaken after all. It may be, as he said, only suspicion."

His heart seemed like lead, though, the next moment, as he neared the clerk's house. Thickens was too just, too careful a man to have been wrong.

He stopped, and rapped with his knuckles at the door directly after, to find it opened by Thickens himself, and, as the clerk drew back, he passed in, ignorant of the fact that Gemp was shaving himself with his rough forefinger a hundred yards away, and saying to himself, "Which is it? Thickens going to marry skinny Heathery on the sly; or something wrong? I shan't be long before I know."

The brightness of the morning seemed to be shut out as the clerk closed the door, and followed his visitor into the sitting-room.

"Well, Mr Bayle," he said, for the curate was silent. "You've come to say something particular."

"Yes," said Bayle firmly. "Thickens, this exposure would be too horrible. It must not take place."

"Ah," said Thickens in his quiet, grave way, "you're the Hallams' friend."

"I hope I am the friend of every one in this town."

"And you advise me to keep this quiet and let your friends be robbed?"

"Silence, man! How dare you speak to me like that?" cried Bayle furiously, and he took a step in advance. "No, no," he said, checking himself, and holding out his hand; "we must be calm and sensible over this, Thickens. There must be no temper. Now listen. You remember what I said you must do last night."

"Yes; and _I'm_ going directly after breakfast to Sir Gordon."

"No; I retract my words. You must not go."

"And the people who have been robbed?"

"Wait a few moments, Thickens," cried Bayle, flushing, as he saw that his hand was not taken. "Hear me out. You--yes, surely, you have some respect for Mrs Hallam--some love for her sweet child."

Thickens nodded.

"Think, then, man, of the horrible disgrace--the ruin that would follow your disclosures."

"Yes; it is very horrid, sir; but I must do my duty. You owned to it last night."

"Yes, man, yes; but surely there are times when we may try and avert some of the horrors that would fall upon the heads of the innocent and true."

"That don't sound like what a parson ought to say," said Thickens dryly.

Bayle flushed angrily again, but he kept down his wrath.

"James Thickens," he said coldly, "you mistake me."

"No," said Thickens, "you spoke out like a man last night. This morning, sir, you speak like Robert Hallam's friend."

"Yes; as his friend--as the friend of his wife; as one who loves his child. Now listen, Thickens. To what amount do you suppose Hallam is a defaulter?"

"How can I tell, sir? It is impossible to say. It can't be hushed up."

"It must, it shall be hushed up," said Bayle sternly. "Now, look here; I insist upon your keeping what you know quiet for the present."

Thickens shook his head.

"I did not tell you, but Sir Gordon suspects something to be wrong."

"Sir Gordon does, sir?"

"Yes; he consulted me about the matter."

"Then my course is easy," said Thickens brightening.

"Not so easy, perhaps, as you think," said Bayle coldly. "You must be silent till I have seen Hallam."

"Seen him, sir? Why, it's giving him warning to escape."

"Seen him and Sir Gordon, James Thickens. It would be a terrible scandal for Dixons' Bank if it were known, and utter ruin and disgrace for Hallam."

"Yes," said Thickens, "and he deserves it."

"We must not talk about our deserts, Thickens," said Bayle gravely. "Now listen to me. I find I can realise in a very few days the sum of twenty-four thousand pounds."

Thickens's eyes dilated.

"Whatever amount of that is needed, even to the whole, I am going to place in Robert Hallam's hands, to clear himself and redeem these securities, and then he must leave the town quietly, and in good repute."

"In good repute?"

"For his wife's sake, sir. Do you understand?"

"No," said Thickens quietly. "No man could understand such a sacrifice as that. You mean to say that you are going to give up your fortune-- all you have--to save that gambling scoundrel from what he deserves?"

"Yes."

"But, Mr Bayle--"

"Silence! I have made my plans, sir. Now, Mr Thickens, you see that I am not going to defraud the customers of the bank, but to replace their deeds."

"God bless you, sir! I beg your pardon humbly. I'm a poor ignorant brute, with no head for anything but figures and--my fish. And just now I wouldn't take your hand. Mr Bayle, sir, will you forgive me?"

"Forgive! I honour you, Thickens, as a sterling, honest man--shake hands. There, now you know my plans."

"Oh yes, sir, I understand you!" cried Thickens; "but you must not do that, sir. You must not indeed!"

"I can do as I please with my own, Thickens. Save for my charities, money is of little use to me. There, now I must go. I shall see Hallam as soon as he is at the bank. I will not go to his house, for nothing must be done to excite suspicion. You will help me?"

Thickens hesitated.

"I ask it for Mrs Hallam's sake--for the sake of Doctor and Mrs Luttrell. Come, you will help me in this. You came to me for my advice last night. I have changed it during the past few hours. There, I have you on my side?"

"Yes, sir; but you must hold me free with Sir Gordon. Bah! no; I'll take my chance, sir. Yes: I'll help you as you wish."

"I trust you will, Thickens," said Bayle quietly.

"And you are determined, sir?--your fortune--all you have?"

"I am determined. I shall see you at the bank about ten."

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER EIGHT.

BROUGHT TO BOOK.

"He--he--he--he--he! how cunning they do think themselves! What jolly owd orstridges they are!" chuckled old Gemp, as he saw Bayle leave the clerk's house, and return home to his breakfast. "Dear me! dear me! to think of James Thickens marrying that old maid! Ah well! Of course, he didn't go to her house for nothing!"

He was in the street, again, about ten, when the curate came out, and, as soon as he saw him, Gemp doubled down one of the side lanes to get round to the church, and secure a good place.

"They won't know in the town till it's over," he chuckled. "Sly trick! He--he--he!"

The old fellow hurried round into the churchyard, getting before Bayle, as he thought, and posting himself where he could meet the curate coming in at the gate, and give him a look which should mean, "Ah! you can't get over me!"

An observer would have found old Gemp's countenance a study, as he stood there, waiting for Bayle to come, and meaning afterwards to stay and see Thickens and Miss Heathery come in. But from where he stood he could see the bank, and, to his surprise, he saw James Thickens come out on the step, and directly after the curate went up to him, and they entered the place together.

Gemp's countenance lengthened, and he began shaving himself directly, his eyes falling upon one of the mouldering old tombstones, upon which he involuntarily read:

"Lay not up for yourselves treasure--" The rest had mouldered away.

"Where thieves break through and steal," cried Gemp, whose jaw dropped. "They're a consulting--parson and Sir Gordon--parson and Thickens twiced--parson at the bank--Hallam up to his eyes in debt!"

He reeled, so strong was his emotion, but he recovered himself directly.

"My deeds! my money!" he gasped, "my--"

He could utter no more, for a strange giddiness assailed him, and after clutching for a moment in the air, he fell down in a fit.

"Yes, he's in his room, sir," said Thickens, meeting Bayle at the bank door. "I'll tell him you are here."

Hallam required no telling. He had seen Bayle come up, and he appeared at the door of his room so calm and cool that his visitor felt a moment's hesitation.

"Want to see me, Bayle? Business? Come in."

The door closed behind the curate, and James Thickens screwed his face into wrinkles, and buttoned his coat up to the last button, as he seated himself upon his stool.

"Well, what can I do for you, Bayle?" said Hallam, seating himself at his table, after placing a chair for his visitor, which was not taken.

Bayle did not answer, but stood gazing down at the smooth, handsome-looking man, with his artificial smile and easy manner; and it seemed as if the events of the past few years--since he came, so young and inexperienced, to the town--were flitting by him.

"A little money?--a little accommodation?" said Hallam, as his visitor did not speak.

Could Thickens be wrong? No: impossible. Too many little things, that had seemed unimportant before, now grew to a vast significance, and Bayle cast aside his hesitancy, and, taking a step forward, laid his hand upon the table.

"Robert Hallam!" he said, in a low, deep voice, full of emotion, "are you aware of your position--how you stand?"

The manager started slightly, but the spasm passed in a moment, and he said calmly, with a smile:

"My position? How I stand? I do not comprehend you! My dear Bayle, what do you mean?" The curate gazed in his eyes, a calm, firm, judicial look in his countenance; but Hallam did not flinch. And again the idea flashed across the visitor's mind, "Suppose Thickens should be wrong!"

Again, though, he cast off his hesitation, and spoke out firmly.

"Let me be plain with you, Robert Hallam, and show you the precipice upon whose edge you stand."

"Good heavens, Mr Bayle, are you ill?" said Hallam in the coolest manner.

"Yes; sick at heart, to find of what treachery to employers, to wife and child, a man like you can be guilty. Hallam, your great sin is discovered! What have you to say?"

"Say!" cried Hallam, laughing scornfully, "say, in words that you use so often, `Who made you a ruler and a judge?' What do you mean?"

"I came neither as ruler nor judge, but as the friend of your wife and child. There--as your friend. Man, it is of no use to dissimulate!"

"Dissimulate, sir!"

"Am I to be plainer?" cried Bayle angrily, "and tell you that but for my interposition James Thickens would at this moment be with Sir Gordon and Mr Dixon, exposing your rascality."

"My rascality! How dare--"

"Dare!" cried Bayle sternly. "Cast off this contemptible mask, and be frank. Do I not tell you I come as a friend?"

"Then explain yourself."

"I will," said Bayle; and for a few minutes there was a silence almost appalling. The clock upon the mantelpiece ticked loudly; the stool upon which James Thickens sat in the outer office gave a loud scroop; and a large bluebottle fly shut in the room beat itself heavily against the panes in its efforts to escape.

Bayle was alternately flushed and pale. Hallam, perfectly calm, paler than usual, but beyond seeming hurt and annoyed, there was nothing to indicate the truth of the terrible charge being brought against him.

"Well, sir," he said at last, "why do you not speak?"

Bayle gazed at him wonderingly, for all thought of his innocence had passed away.

"I will speak, Hallam," he said. "Tell me the amount for which the deeds you have abstracted from that safe are pledged."

"The deeds I have abstracted from that safe?" said Hallam, rising slowly, and standing at his full height, with his head thrown back.

"Yes; and in whose place you have installed forgeries, dummies-- imitations, if you will."

That blow was too straight--too heavy to be resisted. Hallam dropped back in his chair; while James Thickens, at his desk behind the bank counter, heard the shock, and then fidgeted in his seat, and rubbed his right ear, as he heard Hallam speak of him in a low voice, and say hoarsely:

"Thickens, then, has told you this?"

"Yes," said Bayle in a lower tone. "He came to me for advice, and I bade him do his duty."

"Hah!" said Hallam, and his eyes wandered about the room.

"This morning I begged him to wait."

"Hah!" ejaculated Hallam again, and now there was a sharp twitching about his closely-shaven lips. "And you said that you came as our friend?"

"I did."

"What do you mean?"

Bayle waited for a few moments, and then said slowly: "If you will redeem those deeds with which you have been entrusted, and go from here, and commence a new career of honesty, I will, for your wife and child's sake, find the necessary money."

"You will? You will do this, Bayle?" cried Hallam, extending his hands, which were not taken.

"I have told you I will," said Bayle coldly. "But--the amount?"

"How many thousands are they pledged for?--to some bank, of course?"

"It was to cover an unfortunate speculation. I--"

"I do not ask you for explanations," said Bayle coldly. "What amount will clear your defalcations?"

"Twenty to twenty-one thousand," said Hallam, watching the effect of his words.

"I will find the money within a week," said Bayle.

"Then all will be kept quiet?"

"Sir Gordon must be told."

"No, no; there is no need of that. The affairs will be put straight, and matters can go on as before. It was an accident; I could not help it. Stop, man, what are you going to do?"

"Call in Mr Thickens," said Bayle.

"To expose and degrade me in his eyes!"

Bayle turned upon him a withering contemptuous look.

"I expose you? Why, man, but for me you would have been in the hands of the officers by now. Mr Thickens!"

Thickens got slowly down from his stool and entered the manager's room, where Hallam met his eye with a look that made the clerk think of what would have been his chances of life had opportunity served for him to be silenced for ever.

"I have promised Mr Hallam to find twenty-one thousand pounds within a week--to enable him to redeem the securities he has pledged."

"And under these circumstances, Mr Thickens, there is no need for this trouble to be exposed."

"Not to the public perhaps," said Thickens slowly, "but Sir Gordon and Mr Dixon ought to know."

"No, no," cried Hallam, "there is no need. Don't you see, man, that the money will be made right?"

"No, sir, I only see one thing," said Thickens sturdily, "and that is that I have my duty to do."

"But you will ruin me, Thickens."

"You've ruined yourself, Mr Hallam; I've waited too long."

"Stop, Mr Thickens," said Bayle. "I pay this heavy sum of money to save Mr Hallam from utter ruin. The bank will be the gainer by twenty thousand pounds."

"Twenty-one thousand you offered, sir," said Thickens.

"Exactly. More if it is needed. If you expose this terrible affair to Sir Gordon and Mr Dixon they may feel it their duty to hand Mr Hallam over to the hands of justice. He must be saved from that."

"What can I do, sir? There, then," said Thickens, "since you put it so I will keep to it, but only on one condition."

"And what is that?"

"Mr Hallam must go away from the bank and leave all keys with me and Mr Trampleasure."

"But what excuse am I to make?" said Hallam huskily.

"I don't think you want teaching how to stop at home for a few days, Mr Hallam," said Thickens sternly; "you can be ill for a little while. It will not be the first time."

"I will agree to anything," said Hallam excitedly, "only save me from that other horror. Bayle, for our old friendship's sake, for the sake of my poor wife and child, save me from that."

"Am I not fighting to save you for their sake?" said Bayle bitterly. "Do you suppose that I am as conscienceless as yourself, and that I do not feel how despicable, how dishonest a part I am playing in hindering James Thickens from exposing your rascality? There, enough of this: let us bring this terribly painful meeting, with its miserable subterfuges, to an end. Thickens is right; you must leave this building at once and not enter it again. He must take all in charge until your successor is found."

"As you will," said Hallam, humbly. "There are the keys, Thickens, and I am really ill. When Mr Bayle brings the money I will help in every way I can. There."

Bayle hesitated a moment, and then mastered his dislike. "Come," he said to Hallam, "there must be no whisper of this trouble in the town. I will walk down with you to your house."

"As my gaoler?" said Hallam with a sneer.

"As another proof of what I am ready to sacrifice to save you," said Bayle. He walked with him as far as his door.

"Stop a moment," said Hallam in a whisper. "You will do this for me, Bayle?"

"I have told you I would," replied the curate coldly. "And at once?"

"At once."

"You will have to bring me the money. No, you must go up to town with me, and we can redeem the papers. It will be better so."

"As you will," said Bayle. "I have told you that I will help you, will put myself at your service. I will let you know when I can be ready. Rest assured I shall waste no time in removing as much of this shadow as I can from above their heads."

He met Hallam's eyes as he spoke, just as the latter had been furtively Measuring, as it were, his height and strength, and then they parted.

End of Volume One.

VOLUME TWO, CHAPTER NINE.

A FEW WORDS ON LOVE.

"What has papa been doing in the lumber-room, mamma?" asked Julia that same evening.

"Examining some of the old furniture there, my dear," said Millicent, looking up with a smile. "I think he is going to have it turned into a play-room for you."

"Oh!" said Julia indifferently; and she turned her thoughtful little face away, while her mother rose with the careworn look that so often sat there, giving place to the happy, maternal smile that came whenever she was alone with her child.

"Why, Julie darling, you seem so quiet and dull to-night. Your little head is hot. You are not unwell, dear?"

She knelt down beside the child, and drew the soft little head to her shoulder, and laid her cheek to the burning forehead.

"That is nice," said the child, with a sigh of content. "Oh! mamma, it does do me so much good. My head doesn't ache now."

"And did it ache before?"

"Yes, a little," said the child thoughtfully, and turning up her face, she kissed the sweet countenance that was by her side again and again. "I do love you so, mamma."

"Why of course you do, my dear."

"I don't think I love papa."

"Julie!" cried Millicent, starting from her as if she had been stung. "Oh I my child, my child," she continued, with passionate energy, "if you only knew how that hurts me. My darling, you do--you do love him more than you love me."

Julia shook her head and gazed back full in her mother's eyes, as Millicent held her back at arm's length, and then caught her to her breast, sobbing wildly.

"_I_ do try to love him, mamma," said the child, speaking quickly, in a half-frightened tone; "but when I put my arms round his neck and kiss him he pushes me away. I don't think he loves me; he seems so cross with me. But if it makes you cry, I'm going to try and love him ever so much. There."

She kissed her mother with all a child's effusion, and nestled close to her.

"He does love you, my darling," said Millicent, holding the child tightly to her, "as dearly as he loves me, and _I'm_ going to tell you why papa looks so serious sometimes. It is because he has so many business cares and troubles."

"But why does papa have so many business cares and troubles?" said the child, throwing back her head, and beginning to toy with her mother's hair.

"Because he has to think about making money, and saving, so as to render us independent, my darling. It is because he loves us both that he works so hard and is so serious."

"I wish he would not," said the child. "I wish he would love me ever so instead, like Mr Bayle does. Mamma, why has not Mr Bayle been here to-day?"

"I don't know, my child; he has been away perhaps."

"But he did walk to the door with papa, and then did not come in."

"Maybe he is busy, my dear."

"Oh! I do wish people would not be busy," said the child pettishly, "it makes them so disagreeable. Thibs is always being busy, and then oh! she is so cross."

"Why, Julie, you want people always to be laughing and playing with you."

"No, no, mamma, I like to work sometimes--with Mr Bayle and learn, and so I do like the lessons I learn with you. You never look cross at me, and Mr Bayle never does."

"But, my darling, the world could not go on if people were never serious. Why, the sun does not always shine: there are clouds over it sometimes."