I was very stiff and sore, and there was a peculiar giddiness ready to assail me as soon as I moved, so Mary, in her double capacity of doctor and nurse, decided that I was not to attempt to walk about that day.

The consequence was that she made no scruple about dragging a little couch out of the parlour into the kitchen, and after I was dressed, making me lie down near the fire.

“If they don’t like it about the sofy, they must do the other thing,” she said, laughing. “I say, do you know what time it is?”

“No,” I replied.

“Half-past ten, and I’ve been waiting breakfast till you woke. You have had a sleep. I wouldn’t wake you, for I thought it would do you good.”

“I am better, a great deal,” I said.

“Yes; so you are. He ain’t, or pretends he ain’t. Miss Hetty’s been catching it.”

“Has she?”

“Yes; for wanting to know about you. Missus told her you were a wicked young wretch, and had half killed your master, and she was never to mention your name again.”

I was decidedly better, and in the course of the afternoon I got up and found that the various objects had ceased to waltz around. I made my way up to my bedroom, and for the first time had a look at myself in the glass, where I found that a sore feeling upon my face was caused by a couple of black marks which crossed each other at a sharp angle, and that high up above my temple, and just where the hair would cover it, there was a patch of black court-plaister, which was placed across and across in strips to cover a long and painful cut.

The days glided by; the weals on my face changed colour and began to fade, while the cut on my head grew less painful. I was thrown a good deal with Mary, for no work had been set me in the office, and Mr Blakeford kept his bed, being regularly attended by the doctor.

I found – Mary being my informant – that there was to be quite a serious case made of it, and Mrs Blakeford had told her that I was to be an important witness to the assault.

A fortnight had passed; and as I sat alone day after day in the office thinking of a plan that had suggested itself to my mind, but fearing to put it into execution, I had two visitors who completely altered my career in life.

The first came one morning as I was writing a letter to my uncle – a letter destined never to reach him – in the shape of the big farmer, Mr Wooster, who rapped sharply at the office door, and gazed sternly at me as I opened it and stood in the little passage.

“Where’s Blakeford?” he said sharply.

“Ill in bed, sir,” I said.

“It’s a lie, you young rascal,” he cried, catching me by the collar. “Here, how old are you?”

“Thirteen, sir.”

“And you can tell lies like that, eh? and without blushing?”

“It is not a lie, sir,” I said stoutly. “Mr Blakeford hasn’t been down since – since – ”

“I thrashed him, eh?” he said, laughing. “It was a good thrashing too, eh, youngster? But, hallo! what’s the matter with your head?”

“A cut, sir.”

“What! Did you tumble down?”

“No, sir. It was done the day you – you beat Mr Blakeford.”

“How?”

I was silent.

“He – he didn’t dare to do it, did he?”

I was still silent.

“Look here, youngster, tell me the truth and I’ll give you a shilling.”

“I never told a lie yet, sir,” I said stoutly, “and I don’t want your shilling.”

He looked at me intently for a few moments, and then held out his hand. “Shake hands,” he said.

I placed mine in his, and he squeezed it so that he hurt me, but I did not flinch.

“I believe you, my lad. You don’t look like a lying sort, and I wish you were out of this. Now, tell me, did he make that cut on your head?” I nodded. “What with?”

“That ruler.”

“Humph! And what for?”

“Because I let you in on that day.”

“Hang him!” he cried, striding up and down the office, for he had walked straight in, “he’s a bigger scoundrel than I thought him. Now, look here, my man, there’s going to be an action, or a trial, or something, against me, and you’ll be the principal witness. Now, what are you going to do?”

“Going to do, sir?”

“Yes,” he said impatiently; “you’ll have to appear before the magistrates, and you’ll be asked all about my thrashing your master. What are you going to say?”

“I shall tell them the truth, sir.”

“No, you won’t, my boy. You’ll say what Mr Blakeford tells you to say.”

“I shall tell the truth, sir,” I said stoutly.

“Look here, my lad, if you tell the truth, that’s all I want; if you don’t, you’ll ruin me.”

“I’m sure I shall tell the truth, sir,” I said, colouring up and speaking earnestly.

“You’ll tell the magistrates, then, that I snatched up the poker and beat Mr Blakeford with that, eh?”

“No, sir, it was your walking-stick.”

“Was it anything like that?” he said, holding out the one he carried.

“Yes, sir, just like it. Here are the pieces, sir,” I said; and I took them out of my desk, where I had placed them.

“You’re a brave boy,” he cried, rubbing his hands; “so they are. Now look here, my boy: Mr Blakeford says I assaulted him with the poker. Just you button those pieces of stick up in your socket – no, give them to me; I’ll take them. Now; when the day comes, and I ask you to tell the truth about it, you speak out honestly, or, better still, go and hide yourself and never come near the court at all. There’s half-a-crown for you. What, you won’t take it! Well, just as you like. Good-bye!”

He shook hands with me again, and nodding in a friendly way, left the office.

He had not been, gone more than an hour when there was another knock at the door, and on opening it, I admitted Mr Rowle, who smiled at me as he took off his hat and smoothed his thin streaky hair across his bald head.

“Well, young un,” he said, “why, you’re growing quite a man. But what’s the matter with your forehead?”

I told him, and he gave a low, long whistle.

“I say, young un,” he said, “I dare say it ain’t no business of mine, but if I was you, I should look after another place. Perhaps, though, he wouldn’t let you go.”

“Mr Blakeford often says, Mr Rowle, that he wishes I was out of his sight.”

“Gammon!” said my visitor; “don’t you believe him. You do as you like; but if I was a boy like you, I wouldn’t stay here.”

I looked up at him guiltily, and he stared hard at me, as if reading my thoughts.

“Why, what’s wrong?” he said; “you look as red as a turkey cock!”

“Please, Mr Rowle – but you won’t tell Mr Blakeford?”

“Tell Mr Blakeford? Not I.”

“I mean to go up to London, and try and find my uncle.”

“Try and find him? What, don’t you know where he lives?”

“No, sir.”

“Humph! London’s a big place, you know.”

“Yes, sir, but I dare say I could find him.”

“What is he – a gentleman?”

“Yes, sir, I think so.”

“So don’t I, my boy, or he’d never have left you in charge of old Pouncewax. But lookye here now; out with it! What do you mean to do – give notice to leave, or are you going to cut?”

“Cut what, sir?”

“Cut what! Why, cut away – run up to London.”

I hesitated for a few moments and hung my head; then, looking up in my old friend’s face, as he thrust his hand into his cuff – and I expected to see him draw his pipe – I felt that I had nothing to fear from him, and I spoke out.

“Please, Mr Rowle, I’m so unhappy here, that I was going to run away.”

He caught me by the collar so sharply that I thought he was going to punish me; but it was only touring down his other hand with a sharp clap upon my shoulder.

“I’m glad of it, young un. Run away, then, before he crushes all the hope and spirit out of you.”

“Then you don’t think it would be very wrong, sir?”

“I think it would be very right, young un; and I hope if you find your uncle, he won’t send you back. If he wants to, don’t come: but run away again. Look here; you’ll want a friend in London. Go and see my brother.”

“Your brother, sir?”

“Yes, my brother Jabez. You’ll know him as soon as you see him; he’s just like me. How old do you think I am?”

“I should think you’re fifty, sir.”

“Fifty-eight, young un; and so’s Jabez. There, you go and put his name and address down. Fifty-eight he is, and I’m fifty-eight, so there’s a pair of us. Now, then, write away: Mr Jabez Rowle, Ruddle and Lister.”

“Mr Jabez Rowle,” I said, writing it carefully down, “Good. Now Ruddle and Lister.”

“Ruddle and Lister.”

“Commercial printers.”

“Com-mer-cial prin-ters.”

“Short Street, Fetter Lane.”

“Fetter Lane.”

“And now let’s look.” I handed him the scrap of paper.

“Why, it’s lovely. Copper-plate’s nothing to it, young un. There, you go up and see him, and tell him you’ve come up to London to make your fortune, and he’ll help you, I went up to London to make mine, young un.”

“And did you make it, sir?” I said eagerly. He looked down at his shabby clothes, smoothed his hair, and then, with a curious smile upon his face —

“No, young un, I didn’t make it. I made something else instead.”

“Did you, sir?”

“Yes, young un – a mess of it. Look here, I might have got on, but I learned to drink like a fish. Don’t you. Mind this: drink means going downwards into the mud; leaving it alone means climbing up to the top of the tree. Bless your young heart, whatever you do, don’t drink.”

“No, sir,” I said, “I will not;” but I did not appreciate his advice.

“There, you stick to that paper. And now, how much money have you got?”

“Money, sir?”

“Yes, money. London’s a hundred miles away, and you can’t walk.”

“I think I could, sir.”

“Well, try it; and ride when you’re tired. How much have you got?”

I took out my little blue silk purse, and counted in sixpences half-a-crown.

He looked at me for some few moments, and then stood thinking, as if trying to make up his mind about something.

“I’ll do it,” he muttered. “Look here, young un, you and I are old friends, ain’t we?”

“Oh, yes!” I said eagerly.

“Then I will do it,” he said, and untying his neckerchief, he, to my great surprise, began to unroll it, to show me the two ends that were hidden in the folds. “For a rainy day,” he said, “and this is a rainy day for you. Look here, young un; this is my purse. Here’s two half-sovs tied up in these two corners – that’s one for you, and one for me.”

“Oh, no, sir,” I said, “I’d rather not take it!” and I shrank away, for he seemed so poor and shabby, that the idea troubled me.

“I don’t care whether you’d rather or not,” he said, untying one corner with his teeth. “You take it, and some day when you’ve made your fortune, you give it me back – if so be as you find I haven’t succeeded to my estate.”

“Do you expect to come in for an estate some day, sir?” I said eagerly.

“Bless your young innocence, yes. A piece of old mother earth, my boy, six foot long, and two foot wide. Just enough to bury me in.”

I understood him now, and a pang shot through me at the idea of another one who had been kind to me dying. He saw my look and nodded sadly.

“Yes, my lad, perhaps I shall be dead and gone long before then.”

“Oh, sir, don’t; it’s so dreadful!” I said.

“No, no, my boy,” he said quietly; and he patted my shoulder, as he pressed the half-sovereign into my hand. “Not so dreadful as you think. It sounds very awful to you youngsters, with the world before you, and all hope and brightness; but some day, please God you live long enough, you’ll begin to grow very tired, and then it will seem to you more like going to take a long rest. But there, there, we won’t talk like that. Here, give me that money back?”

I handed it to him, thinking that he had repented of what he had done, and he hastily rolled the other half-sovereign up, and re-tied his handkerchief.

“Here,” he said, “stop a minute, and don’t shut the door. I shall soon be back.”

He hurried out, and in five minutes was back again to gaze at me smiling.

“Stop a moment,” he said, “I must get sixpence out of another pocket. I had to buy an ounce o’ ’bacco so as to get change. Now, here you are – hold out your hand.”

I held it out unwillingly, and he counted eight shillings and four sixpences into it.

“That’s ten,” he said; “it’s better for you so. Now you put some in one pocket and some in another, and tie some up just the same as I have, and put a couple of shillings anywhere else you can; and mind and never show your money, and never tell anybody how much you’ve got. And mind this, too, when anybody asks you to give him something to drink, take him to the pump. That’s all. Stop. Don’t lose that address. Gov’nor’s not down, I s’pose?”

“No, sir,” I said.

“All right then, I shan’t stay. Good-bye, young un. When are you going?”

“I’m not quite sure yet, sir.”

“No? Well, perhaps I shan’t see you again. Jabez Rowle, mind you. Tell him all about yourself, mind, and – good-bye.”

He trotted off, but came back directly, holding out his hand.

“God bless you, young un,” he said huskily. “Good-bye.”

Before I could speak again, the door closed sharply, and I was alone.

Chapter Eight.
I Take a Bold Step

My head was in a whirl as soon as Mr Rowle had gone, and I sat at my desk thinking over my project, for I had felt for days past that I could not stay where I was – that I would sooner die; and night after night I had lain awake thinking of the, to me, terrible step I proposed to take. My life at Mr Blakeford’s had been such a scene of misery and torture, that I should have gone long enough before, had I dared. Now that I had grown older, and a little more confident, I had gradually nurtured the idea as my only hope, and the events of the past weeks had pretty well ripened my scheme.

As I sat there, I laid my arms on the big desk, and my head down upon them, trembling at my daring, as the idea took a far more positive shape than ever; and now a feeling of reluctance to leave had come upon me. Mary had been so kind; and then there was little Hetty, who had silently shown me so many tokens of her girlish goodwill.

I felt as I sat there, with the money and address in my pocket, that I must go now; and to act as a spur to my intentions, the words of Mr Wooster came trooping across my memory.

Would Mr Blakeford want me to go to the magistrates and say what was not true?

In imagination, I saw his threatening dark face before me, and his thin lips just parting to display his white teeth in that doglike smile of his, and I shuddered, as I felt how I feared him. It would be horrible to be threatened till I promised to say what he wished, and to lie to the magistrates with Mr Wooster’s threatening face watching me the while.

But he would not ask me to tell a lie, I thought, and I could not run away. Mary would never forgive me, and Hetty would think that I really did cause her father to be so beaten. No: I felt I could not go, and that somehow I must get away from the house, go straight to Mr Rowle’s lodgings, and give him back the money, which I had received upon such a false pretence.

It was all over. I felt the idea of freeing myself from my wretched slavery was one that could never be carried out, and I must wait patiently and bear my miserable lot.

Crack!

I leaped up as if I had been shot, to see Mr Blakeford, in dressing-gown and slippers, his hair cut short, and looking very pale, standing in the office, the ruler in his hand, with which he had just struck the table and made me start.

“Asleep?” he said sharply.

“No, sir,” I said, trembling as I looked at him over the partition. “No, sir, I was not asleep.”

“It’s a lie, sir, you were asleep. Come here.”

I descended from the stool, and opening the partition door, went slowly into his part of the office, and stood by the table, his dark eyes seeming to pierce me through and through.

“Been worked so hard since I was ill, eh?” he said sneeringly.

“No, sir, I – ”

“Hold your tongue. What’s the matter with your head?”

“My head, sir?” I stammered.

“Yes, that half-healed cut. Oh, I remember, you fell down didn’t you?”

“Fell down, sir! No, I – ”

“You fell down – pitched down – I remember, while climbing.”

“No, sir, I – ”

“Look here, you dog,” he hissed between his teeth; “you fell down, do you hear? and cut your head when climbing. Do you understand?”

“No, sir, I – ”

“Once more, Antony Grace, listen to me. If anyone asks you how you came by that cut, mind – you fell down when climbing – you fell down when climbing. If you forget that – ”

He did not finish, but seemed to hold me with his eye as he played with the ruler and made it go up and down.

“Look here, my boy, you are my clerk, and you are to do exactly as I tell you. Now, listen to me. The day after to-morrow there is to be a case of assault brought before the magistrates, and you will be sworn as a witness. You let Mr Wooster in – curse him! – and you saw him come up to my table where I was sitting, and make a demand for money.”

“Please, sir, I did not hear him ask for money.”

“You did, sir,” he thundered; “and you saw him strike me with his stick.”

“Yes, sir, I saw him strike you,” I cried hastily. “Oh, you did see that, did you?” he said in sneering tones.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you see the stick break?”

“Yes, sir,” I said eagerly.

“Oh, come; I’m glad you can remember that. Then he caught up the poker and beat me with it heavily across the body, till the poker was bent right round; and at last, when I was quite stunned and senseless, and with the blood streaming from my lips, he left me half dead and went away.”

There was a pause here, during which I could not take my eyes from his. “You saw all that, didn’t you?”

“No, sir,” I said, “he did not take the poker.”

“What?”

“He did not take the poker, sir.”

“Oh! and he did not beat me with it till it was bent?”

“No, sir.”

“Go and fetch that poker,” he said quietly; and I went trembling, and picked it up, to find it quite bent. “There, you see?” he said.

“Yes, sir, it is bent.”

“Of course it is, Antony. You don’t remember that he struck me with it, eh?”

“No, sir,” I said, trembling.

“Ah, I shall have to refresh your memory, my boy. You remember, of course, about the blood?”

“No, sir.”

“What’s that on the floor?”

I looked down at the place to which he pointed with the bent poker, and there were some dark stains where I had fallen. Then, raising my eyes to his again, I looked at him imploringly.

“I shall soon refresh your memory, Antony,” he said, laughing silently, and looking at me so that I shivered again. “You will find, on sitting down and thinking a little, that you recollect perfectly well how Mr Wooster beat me cruelly with the poker, till it was bent like this, and left me bleeding terribly on the office floor. There, hold your tongue. You’ll recollect it all. Sit down and try and remember it, there’s a good boy. I’m better now, but I can’t talk much. Let me see, Antony, what time do you go to bed?”

“Nine o’clock, sir,” I faltered.

“Exactly. Well, don’t go to sleep, my boy. I’ll come up to you after you are in bed, and see if you remember it any better. Go back to your desk.”

I crept back, watching him the while, as he stood balancing the poker in his hand, and smiling at me in a way that made my blood turn cold. Then, throwing the poker back with a crash into the grate, he went out as silently as he had come, and I sat there thinking for quite two hours.

At the end of that time, I took a sheet of paper, and wrote upon it as well as my wet trembling hands would let me —

“My dear Mary, —

“Please don’t think me a very ungrateful boy, but I cannot, and I dare not, stay here any longer. When you read this I shall be gone, never to come back any more. Please tell Miss Hetty I shall never forget her kindness, and I shall never forget yours.

“I remain, your affectionate friend, —
“Antony Grace.

“P.S. – Some day, perhaps, we shall meet somewhere. I am very unhappy, and I cannot write any more. Mr Blakeford frightens me.”

This letter I doubled and sealed up in the old fashion, and kept in my pocket, meaning to post it, and at last, when I went into the kitchen to tea, I was half afraid to meet Mary. She noticed my pale face, and I told her the truth, that I had a bad headache, making it an excuse for going up to bed at eight o’clock, feeling as if the greatest event in my life were about to take place, and shaking like a leaf.

I felt that I had an hour to spare, and spent part of the time in making a bundle of my best clothes and linen. I tied up in a handkerchief, too, some thick slices of bread and butter, and some bread and meat that I had found that afternoon in my desk. Then, as the night grew darker, I sat thinking and asking myself, after placing my bundles ready, whether I should go at once, or wait till I heard Mr Blakeford coming.

I had just decided to go at once, feeling that I dare not face Mr Blakeford again, when I heard his voice downstairs, and started up, trembling in every limb.

“Where’s that boy?”

“Gone to bed,” said Mary surlily. Then I heard a door shut directly after, and breathed more freely. I felt that I must go at once, and stood in the middle of the room, shivering with nervous excitement, as I thought of the madness of the step I was about to undertake.

A dozen times over I felt that I dare not go, till the recollection of Mr Blakeford’s dark threatening face and sneering smile gave me strength, and made me call up the picture of myself before the magistrates telling all I knew about the assault, of course not saying anything about the poker, or my employer’s injuries; and then I began to think about meeting him afterwards.

“He’ll half kill me,” I thought; and stopping at this, I nerved myself for what I had to do, and putting on my cap, went to the door and listened.

I had spent so much time in indecision that the church clock was striking ten, and I started as I thought of Mr Blakeford being already upon the stairs.

From where I stood I could have seen the light shining out of the kitchen where Mary sat at work; but it was not there, and I knew that she must have gone up to bed.

It now flashed upon me that this was why Mr Blakeford had been waiting – he did not want Mary to interfere; and a cold chill came over me as I felt that he meant to beat me till I consented to say what he wished.

There was no time to lose, so, darting back, I caught up my two bundles, crept to the door, descended the stairs on tiptoe, and felt my heart beat violently at every creak the woodwork of the wretched steps gave.

Twice over a noise in the house made me turn to run back, but as there was silence once more, I crept down, and at last reached the mat in front of the office door.

At the end of the passage was the parlour, where I knew Mr Blakeford would be sitting, and as I looked towards it in the darkness, I could see a faint glimmer of light beneath the door, and then heard Mr Blakeford cough slightly and move his chair.

Turning hastily, I felt for the handle of the office door, which was half glass, with a black muslin blind over it, and moving the handle, I found the door locked. The key was in, though, and turning it, there was a sharp crack as the bolt shot back, and then as I unclosed this door, I heard that of the parlour open, and a light shone down the passage.

“He’s coming?” I said in despair; and for a moment, my heart failed me, so great an influence over me had this man obtained, and I stood as if nailed to the floor. The next moment, though, with my heart beating so painfully that it was as if I was being suffocated, I glided into the office and closed the door, holding it shut, without daring to let the handle turn and the catch slip back.

If he came into the office, I was lost, and in imagination, I saw myself with my cap on, and my bundles under my arm, standing trembling and detected before him. Trembling, indeed, as the light came nearer, and I saw him dimly through the black blind approaching the office door.

He was coming into the office, and all was over! Closer, closer he came, till he was opposite the door, when he stopped short, as if listening.

His face was not a yard from mine, and as I gazed at him through the blind, with starting eyes, seeing his evil-looking countenance lit up by the chamber candlestick he carried, and the grim smile upon his lips, I felt that he must hear me breathe.

I was paralysed, for it seemed to me that his eyes were gazing straight into mine – fascinating me as it were, where I stood.

He was only listening, though, and instead of coming straight into the office, he turned off sharp to the left, and began to ascend the stairs leading to my bedroom.

There was not a moment to lose, but I was as if in a nightmare, and could not stir, till, wrenching myself away, I darted across the office to the outer door, slipped the bolts, and turned the key with frantic haste, just as his steps sounded overhead, and I heard him calling me by name.

The door stuck, and I could not get it open, and all the time I could hear him coming. He ran across the room, every footstep seeming to come down upon my head like lead. He was descending the stairs, and still that door stuck fast at the top.

In a despairing moment, I looked behind me to see the light shining in at the glass door as he descended, and then my hand glided to the top of the door, and I found that I had not quite shot back the bolt.

The next moment it was free, the door open, and I was through; but, feeling that he would catch me in the yard, I tore out the key, thrust it into the hole with trembling fingers, and as he dashed open the inner door I closed the one where I stood, and locked it from the outside.

I had somehow held on to my bundles, and was about to run across the yard to the pump in the corner, place one foot upon the spout, and by this means reach the top of the wall, when I stopped, paralysed once more by the fierce barking of the dog.

To my horror I found that he was loose, for his hoarse growling came from quite another part of the yard to that where his kennel was fixed; and I stood outside the door, between two enemies, as a faint streak of light shot out through the keyhole, playing strangely upon the bright handle of the key. – “Are you there, Antony? Come back this moment, sir. Unlock this door.”

I did not answer, but stood fast, as the handle was tried and shaken again and again.

“You scoundrel! come back, or it will be worse for you. Leo, Leo, Leo!”

The dog answered the indistinctly heard voice with a sharp burst of barking; and as the sound came nearer, I seemed to see the animal’s heavy bull-head, and his sharp teeth about to be fixed in my throat.

The perspiration dripped from me, and in my horror I heard Mr Blakeford exclaim —

“You are there, you scoundrel, I know. I heard you lock the door. Come in directly, or I’ll half kill you.”

My hoarse breathing was the only sound I heard. Then, directly after, there were hasty steps crossing the office, and I knew he had gone round to reach the front.

There was not a moment to lose, and I was about to risk the dog’s attack, sooner than face Mr Blakeford, when a thought struck me.

I had the little bundle loosely tied up in a handkerchief, and in it the bread and meat.

This might quiet the dog; and with a courage I did not know I possessed, I hastily tore it open, and taking a couple of steps into the yard, called out, in a loud quick voice, “Here, Leo, Leo!” throwing the bread and meat towards where I believed the dog to be.

There was a rush, a snarling whine, and the dog was close to me for the moment. The next, as I heard him in the darkness seize the meat, I was across the yard, with one foot on the pump, and as I raised myself the front door was flung open, and I heard Mr Blakeford rush out.