The old clerk had on one of his most sour looks when Van Heldre raised his eyes from the ledger he was scanning, and he made no remark; but looking up again he saw the scowl apparently intensified.

“What’s the matter, Crampton? Afraid I shall discover that you have been guilty of embezzlement?” said Van Heldre, smiling.

“Not a bit,” said the old clerk, “nor you aren’t either.”

“Then what is the meaning of the black look?”

“Oh, nothing – nothing!”

“Come, out with it, man. What’s the matter?”

“Well, if you must know, sir, I want to know why you can’t keep quiet and get quite well, instead of coming muddling here.”

“Crampton!”

“Well, I must speak, sir. I don’t want you to be laid up again.”

“No fear.”

“But there is fear, sir. You know I can keep things going all right.”

“Yes, Crampton, and show a better balance than I did.”

“Well then, sir, why don’t you let me go on? I can manage, and I will manage if you’ll take a holiday.”

“Holiday, man? why it has been nothing but one long painful holiday lately, and this does me good. Now bring in the other book.”

Crampton grunted and went into the outer office to return with the cash-book, which he placed before his employer, and drew back into his old position, watching Van Heldre as he eagerly scanned the pages and marked their contents till, apparently satisfied, he looked up to see that Crampton was smiling down at him.

“What now?”

“Eh?”

“I say what now? Why are you laughing?”

“Only smiling, sir.”

“Well, what have I done that is ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous? Why I was smiling because it seemed like the good old times to have you back busy with the books.”

“Crampton, we often say that my old friend is an eccentric character, but really I think Luke Vine must give place to you.”

“Dessay,” said Crampton sourly. “You go on with these accounts. Look half-way down.”

Van Heldre did look half-way down, and paused.

“Five hundred pounds on the credit side, per the cheque I wrote for Mr Luke Vine – why, what’s this?”

“Ah! that’s what you may well say, sir. Refused to take the money, sir. I’m sure I’m not so eccentric as that.”

“But you never mentioned it, Crampton?”

“Yes, I did, sir, with my pen. There it is in black and white. Better and plainer than sounding words; and besides, you weren’t here.”

“But this is absurd, Crampton.”

“That’s what I told him, sir.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“That I was an old fool, sir.”

“Tut – tut – tut!” ejaculated Van Heldre; “but he must be paid. I can’t let him lose the money.”

“What I told him, sir. I said we couldn’t let him lose the money.”

“What did he say to that?”

“Called me an old fool again much stronger, sir. Most ungentlemanly – used words, sir, that he must have picked up on the beach.”

“I hardly like to trouble him directly he is back; but would you mind sending up to Mr Luke Vine, with my compliments, and asking him to come here.”

“Send at once, sir?”

“At once.”

“Perhaps before I leave the office, sir, I might as well call your attention to a communication received this morning.”

Van Heldre looked inquiringly at his old clerk.

“It’s rather curious, sir,” he said, handing a letter which he had been keeping back as a sort of bonne bouche for the last piece of business transacted that morning.

“Never presented yet?” said Van Heldre, nodding his head slowly.

“They must have known I stopped the notes directly,” said Crampton with a self-satisfied smile.

“I had hoped that the whole of that terrible business had been buried for good.”

“So it has, sir,” grunted Crampton; “but some one or another keeps digging it up again.”

Van Heldre made no reply, so Crampton left the office, sent off a messenger, and returned to find his employer seated with his face buried in his hands, thinking deeply, and heedless of his presence.

“Poor George!” he said aloud. “Poor misguided boy! I wish Crampton had been – ”

“I’m back here,” said Crampton.

“Ah! Crampton,” said Van Heldre starting, “sent off the message?”

“Yes, sir, I’ve sent off the message,” said the old man sternly. “Pray finish what you were saying, sir. Never mind my feelings.”

“What I was saying, Crampton? I did not say anything.”

“Oh yes, you did, sir; you wished Crampton had been – what, sir? – buried too, like the trouble?”

“My good fellow – my dear old Crampton! surely I did not say that aloud.”

“How could I have heard it, sir, if you hadn’t? I only did my duty.”

“Yes, yes, of course, of course, Crampton. Really I am very, very sorry.”

“And only just before I left the room you were complaining about people digging up the old trouble.”

“Come, Crampton, I can deny that. I apologise for thinking aloud, but it was you who spoke of digging up the old trouble.”

“Ah! well, it doesn’t matter, sir. It was my birthday just as you were at your worst. Seventy-five, Mr Van Heldre, sir, and you can’t be troubled with such a blundering old clerk much longer.”

“My dear Crampton – ”

“May I come in?” followed by three thumps with a heavy stick.

Crampton hurried to the outer office to confront Uncle Luke.

“Met your messenger just outside, and saved him from going up. How much did you give him? He ought to pay that back.”

“Oh, never mind that, Luke. How are you?”

“How am I?”

“Yes. Getting settled down again?”

“How am I? Well, a little better this morning. Do I smell of yellow soap?”

“No.”

“Wonder at it. I spent nearly all yesterday trying to get off the London dirt and smoke. Treat to get back to where there’s room to breathe.”

“Ah, you never did like London.”

“And London never liked me, so we’re even there. Well,” he continued after a pause filled up by a low muttering grunt, “what do you want? You didn’t send for me to come and tell you that I had caught a cold on my journey down or got a rheumatic twinge.”

“No, no, Luke, of course not.”

“Nice one, ’pon my word!” muttered Crampton.

“Well, what is it?”

Crampton moved towards the door, his way lying by Uncle Luke; but just as he neared the opening, the visitor made a stab at the wall with his heavy stick, and, as it were, raised a bar before the old clerk, who started violently.

“Bless my heart, Mr Luke Vine!” he cried; “what are you about? Don’t do that.”

“Stop here, then. Who told you to go?”

“No one, sir, but – ”

“How do I know what he wants. I may be glad of a witness.”

“Oh, yes! You need not go, Crampton,” said Van Heldre. “Sit down, Luke.”

“No, thankye. Sit too much for my health now. Come: out with it. What do you want? There is something.”

“Yes, there is something,” said Van Heldre quietly. “Look here, my dear Luke Vine.”

“Thought as much,” sneered the old man. “You want to borrow money, my dear Van Heldre.”

“No; I want to pay money, Luke Vine. It seems that you have returned that five hundred pounds to Crampton.”

“What five hundred pounds?”

“The money you – there, we will not dwell upon that old trouble, my dear Luke. Come: you know what I mean.”

“Oh, I see,” said the old man with much surprise. “That five hundred pounds. Well, what about it?”

“How could you be so foolish as to return my cheque?”

“Because you didn’t owe me the money.”

“Nonsense, my dear fellow! We are old friends, but that was entirely a business transaction.”

“Yes, of course it was.”

“Five hundred pounds were stolen.”

“Yes, and I was all right.”

“Exactly. Why should you suppose it was your money?”

“Suppose? Because it was mine – my new Bank of England notes.”

“How do you know that?”

“Never mind how I know it, and never mind talking about the money I didn’t lose.”

“But you did, Luke Vine, and heavily. Of course I am going to refund you the money.”

“You can’t, man.”

“Can’t?”

“No; because I’ve got it safely put away in my pocket-book.”

Van Heldre made an impatient gesticulation.

“I tell you I have. The same notes, same numbers, just as you laid them all together.”

“Nonsense, man! Come, Luke Vine, my dear old friend, let me settle this matter with you in a business-like way; I shall not be happy till I do.”

“Then you’ll have to wait a long time for happiness, John,” said Uncle Luke, smiling, “for you are not going to pay me.”

“But, my dear Luke.”

“But, my dear John! you men who turn over your thousands are as careless as boys over small amounts, as you call them.”

“Oh, come, Mr Luke Vine, sir,” said Crampton sturdily; “there’s no carelessness in this office.”

“Bah! Clerk!” cried Uncle Luke. “Careful, very. Then how was it the money was stolen?”

“Well, sir, nobody can guard against violence,” said Crampton sourly.

“Yes, they can, you pompous old antiquity. I could. I’m not a business man. I don’t have ledgers and iron safes and a big office, but I took care of the money better than you did.”

“My dear Luke Vine, what do you mean?” cried Van Heldre, after giving Crampton a look which seemed to say, “Don’t take any notice.”

“Mean? Why, what I said. You people were so careless that I didn’t trust you. I had no confidence.”

“Well, sir, you had confidence enough to place five hundred pounds in our house,” said Crampton gruffly.

“Yes, and you lost it.”

“Yes, sir, and our house offered you a cheque for the amount, and you sent it back.”

“Of course I did. I didn’t want my money twice over, did I?”

“Is this meant for a riddle, Luke?” said Van Heldre, annoyed, and yet amused.

“Riddle? No. I only want to prick that old bubble Crampton, who is so proud of the way in which he can take care of money, and who has always been these last ten years flourishing that iron safe in my face.”

“Really, Mr Luke Vine!”

“Hold your tongue, sir! Wasn’t my five hundred pounds – new, crisp Bank of England notes – in your charge?”

“Yes, sir, in our charge.”

“Then why didn’t you watch over them, and take care of ’em? Where are they now?”

“Well, sir, it is hard to say. They have never been presented at any bank.”

“Of course they haven’t, when I’ve got ’em safe in my pocket-book.”

“In your pocket-book, sir?”

“Yes. Don’t you believe me? There; look. Bit rubbed at the edges with being squeezed in the old leather; but there are the notes; aren’t they? Look at the numbers.”

As the old man spoke he took a shabby old pocket-book from his breast, opened it, and drew out a bundle of notes, held together by an elastic band, and laid them on the office table with a bang.

“Bless my heart!” cried Crampton excitedly, as he hastily put on his spectacles and examined the notes, and compared them with an entry in a book. “Yes, sir,” he said to Van Heldre; “these are the very notes.”

“But how came you by them, Luke Vine?” cried Van Heldre, who looked as much astounded as his clerk.

“How came I by them?” snarled Uncle Luke. “Do you think five hundred pounds are to be picked up in the gutter. I meant that money, and more too, for that unfortunate boy; and the more careless he was the more necessary it became for me to look after his interests.”

“You meant that money for poor Harry?”

“To be sure I did, and by the irony of fate the poor misguided lad sent his companion to steal it.”

“Good heavens!” ejaculated Van Heldre, while Crampton nodded his head so sharply that his spectacles dropped off, and were only saved from breaking by a quick interposition of the hands.

“And did the foolish fellow restore the money to you?” said Van Heldre.

“Bah! no! He never had it.”

“Then how – ”

“How? Don’t I tell you I watched – hung about the place, not feeling satisfied about my property, and I came upon my gentleman just as he was escaping with the plunder.”

“And – ” exclaimed Crampton excitedly.

“I knocked him down – with that ruler, and got my money out of his breast. Narrow escape, but I got it.”

“Why did you not mention this before, Luke Vine?”

“Because I had got my money safe – because I wanted to give clever people a lesson – because I did not want to see my nephew in gaol – because I did not choose – because – Here, you Crampton, give me back those notes. Thank ye, I’ll take care of them in future myself.”

He replaced the notes in the case, and buttoned it carefully in his breast.

“Luke, you astonish me,” cried Van Heldre.

“Eccentric, my dear sir, eccentric. Now, then, you see why I returned you the cheque. Morning.”

Crampton took out his silk pocket-handkerchief, and began to polish his glasses as he gazed hard at his employer after following Uncle Luke to the door, which was closed sharply.

“Poor Harry Vine!” said Van Heldre sadly. “Combining with another to rob himself. Surely the ways of sin are devious, Crampton?”

“Yes,” said the old man thoughtfully. “I wish I had waited till you got well.”

“Too late to think of that, Crampton,” said Van Heldre sadly. “When do you go to Pradelle’s trial?”

“There, sir, you’ve been an invalid, and you’re not well yet. Suppose we keep that trouble buried, and let other people dig it up, and I’ll go when I’m obliged. I suppose you don’t want to screen him?”

“I screen him?”

“Hah!” ejaculated the old clerk, who began rubbing his hands, “then I’m all right there. I should like to see that fellow almost hung – not quite.”

“Poor wretch!”

“Know anything about – eh?”

“Harry Vine? Not yet. Only that he has escaped somewhere, I hope, for good.”

“Yes, sir, I hope so too – for good.”

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Four.
Tried in the Fire

After, as it were, a race for life, the breathless competitors seemed to welcome the restful change, and the sleep that came almost unalloyed by the mental pangs which had left their marks upon the brows of young and old. And swift tides came and went with the calms and storms of the western coast, but somehow all seemed to tell of rest and peace.

It was a year after Victor Pradelle had been placed in what Sergeant Parkins facetiously termed one of her Majesty’s boarding-schools, under a good master, that John Van Heldre wrote the following brief letter in answer to one that was very long, dated a month previous to the response, and bearing the post-mark of the Straits Settlements: —

“Harry Vine, – I quite appreciate what you say regarding your long silence. I am too old a man to believe in a hasty repentance forced on by circumstances. Hence, I say, you have done wisely in waiting a year before writing as fully as you have. George and Luke Vine have always been to me as brothers. You know how I felt toward their son. I say to him now, you are acting wisely, and I am glad that you have met such a friend as Richard Leslie.

“Certainly: stay where you are, though there is nothing to fear now from the law, I guarantee that. The years soon roll by. I say this for all our sakes.

“As to the final words of your letter – one of my earliest recollections is that of my little hands being held together by one whom you lost too soon in life. Had your mother lived your career might have been different. What I was taught as my little hands were held together, I still repeat: ‘As we forgive them that trespass against us.’ Yes. Some day I hope to give you in the flesh that which I give you in spirit now – my hand.”

Six more years had passed before a broad-shouldered, bronzed, and bearded man – partner in the firm of Leslie and Vine, Singapore and Penang – grasped John Van Heldre’s hand, and asked him a question to which the old merchant replied: “Yes, all is forgiven and forgotten now. If you can win her: yes.”

But the days glided on and the question was not asked. Uncle Harry was constantly on the beach or down on the rocks with the two little prattling children of Duncan Leslie and his wife, and Uncle Luke, who seemed much the same, was rather disposed to be jealous of the favour in which the returned wanderer stood; but he indulged in a pleasant smile now and then, when he was not seen, and had taken to a habit of stopping his nephew on the beach at unexpected times, and apparently for no reason whatever.

The question was not asked, for Aunt Marguerite, who had taken to her bed for the past year, was evidently fading fast. As Dr Knatchbull said, she had been dying for months, and it was the state of her health which brought her nephew back to England, to find his old sins forgotten or forgiven, a year sooner than he had intended.

By slow degrees the vitality had passed from the old woman step by step, till the brain alone remained bright and clear. She was as exacting as ever, and insisted upon her bed being draped with flowers and lace and silk, and her one gratification was to be propped up, with a fan in one nerveless hand and a scent-bottle in the other, listening to the reading of some old page of French history, over which she smiled and softly nodded her head.

One day Harry was down near the harbour talking to Poll Perrow, whose society he often affected, to the old woman’s great delight, when Madelaine Van Heldre came to him hastily.

“Is anything wrong?” he asked excitedly.

She bowed her head, and for the moment could not speak.

“Aunt Marguerite?”

“Yes. I was reading to her, and you know her way, Harry; half mockingly she was telling me that I should never gain the pure French accent, when she seemed to change suddenly, and gasped out your name. Louie had not gone home; I was relieving her, as I often do now, and she is with her aunt. Leslie has gone to fetch Mr Vine, who is down on the shore with Uncle Luke.”

A few minutes later Harry was in the old lady’s room, the doctor making way for him to approach the bed, about which the rest of the family were grouped.

“There,” she said sharply, “you need not wait. I want to speak to Harry.”

He bent down to place his arm beneath the feeble neck, and she smiled up at him with the ruling passion still strong even in death, and her words came very faintly; but he heard them all:

“Remember, Harry, the hope of our family rests on you. We are the Des Vignes, say what they will. Now marry – soon – some good, true woman, one of the Haute Noblesse.”

“Yes, aunt, I will.”

An hour later she was peacefully asleep.

“Closed in death,” said Harry Vine as he laid his hand reverently across the withered lids; “but her eyes must be open now, father, to the truth.”

There was to be a quiet little dinner at Leslie’s about a fortnight later, and after a walk down through the churchyard, the party were going up the steep cliff-path. Leslie and his handsome young wife were on ahead; the old men coming slowly toiling on behind as Harry stopped with Madelaine in the well-known sheltered niche.

They stood gazing out at the sea, stretching as it were into infinity, and as they gazed they went on with their conversation, talking calmly of the quaint old lady’s prejudices and ways.

“Did you hear her last last words?” said Harry gravely.

“Yes.”

The look which accompanied the answer was frank and calm. It seemed to lack emotion, but there was a depth of patient truth and trust therein which told of enduring faith.

“She would have me marry soon – some good, true woman, one of the Haute Noblesse.”

“Yes; it would be better so.”

“I have loved one of the Haute Noblesse for seven years as a weak, foolish boy – seven years as a trusting man – and she has not changed. Maddy, is my reward to come at last?”

As Madelaine placed her hands calmly in those extended to her she seemed without emotion still; but there was a joyous light in her brightening eyes, and then a deep flush suffused her cheeks as two words were spoken by one of the trio of old men who had slowly toiled up towards where they stood. “Thank God!”

It was George Vine who spoke, and the others seemed to look “Amen.”