Of High Descent Part 54

"Dying," said the old man, shortly.

"No, no, not so bad as that," cried Louise and her father in a breath.

"Doctor Knatchbull said--"

"What doctors always say, Miss Louise, that while there's life, there's hope. 'Tisn't true. There's often life and no hope, and it's so here."

"Crampton, you are taking too black a view of the matter," said Vine, quickly. "It's very good of you to be so much moved as his old and faithful servant, but let's all, as a duty, look on the best side of things."

"There is no best side," said Crampton bitterly. "The whole world's corrupt. Well: what do you people want to say?"

"To say! We have come to be of help if we can. Come, Louise, my dear."

He took a step forward, but the old man stood fast.

"You know all there is to know," said the old clerk sourly, as he looked half angrily at Vine, and then, totally ignoring Harry, he turned his eyes on Louise, when the hard look softened a little. "Send in by and by if you want to hear, or I'll send to you--if he dies."

"Dies!" cried Vine, with a start of horror. "No, no; he is not so bad as that."

"As bad as a man can be to live."

"You forget yourself, Crampton," said Vine, with dignity. "You forget yourself. But there, I can look over it all now. I know what you must feel. Go and tell Mrs Van Heldre or Miss Madelaine that we are here."

The old man hesitated for a few moments, and then drew back to allow Louise and her father to pa.s.s; but as Harry stepped forward hastily to follow, the old man interposed, and fiercely raised his hand.

"No!" he said. "I'm master now. Go back! Go back!"

Harry shrank from him as Crampton stood pointing down the street, and then strove hard to master the abject sensation of dread which made him feel that all the old man said was true. He was master now; and with an angry gesture he turned and walked swiftly away, to turn as he reached the end of the street and see Crampton watching him from the doorstep, and with his hand still raised.

"Am I such an abject coward that I am frightened of that old man?" he muttered, as he recalled how only a few hours back he used to treat him with a flippant condescending contempt. "Yes, he's master now, and means to show it. Why did I not go in boldly?"

He knew why, and writhed in his impotence and dread. The task of keeping a bold face on the matter was harder than he thought. He wandered about the town in an objectless way hour after hour, and then went home. His father and sister had not returned, but Aunt Marguerite was down, ready to rise in her artificial manner and extend her hand.

"Ah, Henri, my child," she said; "how pale and careworn you look! Where are they all?"

"Van Heldre's," said Harry shortly.

"Ah, poor man! Very bad, I hear. Yes, it's very sad, but I do not see why his accident should so reverse our regular lives at home. Henri, dear, you must break with Mr Van Heldre after this."

"I have broken with him, aunt," cried the young man fiercely.

"Ah! that's right; that is spoken as one of our race should speak. Good boy. And, Henri, my darling, of course there will be no more silly flirtings with your sister's friend. Remember what I have told you of the fair daughters of France, and let the fraulein marry that man Leslie."

"Aunt, you'll drive me mad," exclaimed Harry, grinding his teeth; and without another word he dashed out of the house. His first thought was to go up the cliff-path on to the wild granite plain and moors which overlooked the town, but he could not stir in that direction. There was the haunting dread of that locket being found, and he went on down again into the town, and looked about the sh.o.r.e for hours.

The afternoon was growing old, and his mind was becoming better able to bear the brunt of all that was to come.

He raised his eyes, and was on the point of going back home to see if his father and sister had returned, when he caught sight of old Crampton coming out of the post-office, after which the old man walked on in the direction of his home.

The opportunity at last! The office would be unguarded; and, walking swiftly in the direction of Van Heldre's, he turned round into the back lane, and, strung up to act firmly and determinedly, he pressed the back gate.

It was fast.

Desperate and determined now, he went round to the princ.i.p.al office door, but it was locked. Harry drew a long breath, and walked straight to the front door and rang.

The maid who opened drew back to let him pa.s.s.

"My father--sister here?"

"In the drawing-room; in with my mistress."

"No, no," said Harry hastily, as the maid moved towards the door; "never mind me; I'll go in soon."

The woman left him in the hall, and he waited till he heard the kitchen door close, when he walked swiftly and softly to the gla.s.s window, and hurried into the office.

The inner office door was open, and he darted in, to hastily look all round, under table, chairs, beneath the book-shelves, among the newspapers that lay in places in a heap; but there was no sign of the missing trinket, and an icy feeling of dread began to grow upon him.

The waste-paper basket!

It was half full, and the locket might easily have dropped in there, but a hasty examination was without avail.

The fireplace!

He looked there, in the ready-laid fire, beneath the grate, in the fender; he even raised it, but without avail.

"It must be here somewhere," he muttered fiercely; and he looked round again, and in amongst the papers on the table.

Still without avail.

"It is in the waste-paper basket," he said, with a feeling of conviction upon him, as, trembling in every limb, he went to the other side of the table where it stood.

"What's that?"

A faint sound. Was it Crampton returning?

He stood listening, his brow glistening with the cold perspiration; and as he remained breathless and intent, he seemed to see again the office as it was on the previous night, almost totally dark, the safe opened, and the shadowy figure of Van Heldre das.h.i.+ng at him.

Was it fancy, or was the place really dark? A curious mist was before his eyes, but all was silent; and he went down on his knees, turned the waste-paper basket upside down--the torn letters, envelopes, and circulars forming a heap on the well-worn Turkey carpet; but no piece of metal fell out with a low pat.

"It is here; it is here; it shall be here," he panted; and then he sprang to his feet s.h.i.+vering with shame and dread, face to face with Madelaine Van Heldre, who, pale with emotion, heavy-eyed with weeping, but erect and stern, flashed upon him a look full of anger and contempt.

"Ah, Madelaine!" he stammered, "have you seen a half-written letter-- must be here somewhere--left on my desk?"

"Henri des Vignes--the soul of honour!" she said bitterly. "Have you fallen so low as this?"

"I--I don't understand you."

"You coward! And you can lie to me--the woman you professed to love!"

"Madelaine, for pity's sake."