Thereby Hangs a Tale Part 75

"How dare you stand there like that, Frank, and not answer me?" cried Fin.

"Call me Frank again, darling, and I'll say anything you wish."

"I won't," said Fin. "You shall tell me without."

"I don't like telling tales about poor d.i.c.k," said Pratt.

"If you care for me, sir, it's your duty to tell me the honest truth about everything. Am I less than Richard Trevor?"

Bodily, of course, she was; but as she meant in his regards, he said she was all the world to him.

"Now, then," said Fin, "does he go to see that girl now?"

"Yes," said Pratt; "but I'm sure it's all in innocence. The poor girl is in a dying state. I went to see her with him once, and a sweeter creature you never saw."

"Then she has captivated you, too?" cried Fin, viciously.

"Oh, come--I say!" exclaimed Pratt. "Fin, that goes right to my heart."

"And now about Vanleigh. You've boasted over and over again that you could produce something which would put a stop to his pretensions--where is it?"

"You are so hard on a poor fellow," said Pratt. "I am trying my best, and I feel quite sure that he has no right to pretend to the hand of your sister; but then, you know, before one makes such a charge, there must be good personal and doc.u.mentary evidence."

"Well," exclaimed Pin, "and where is it?"

"I haven't got it yet," said Pratt; "but I have tried very, very hard.

I shall succeed, though, yet, I know."

"And while you are succeeding, poor Tiny is to be sacrificed?"

"Oh no; not so bad as that. I don't despair of seeing d.i.c.k back at Penreife, and your dear sister its mistress."

"Then I do," cried Pin, bitterly; "for she's drifting into a state of melancholy, and will let them persuade her to do what they wish. She thinks Richard has given her up, and deceived her; and soon she won't care whether she lives or dies."

"But, Fin--" said Pratt.

"Miss Rea, if you please, Mr Pratt," said the girl, formally.

"Don't be hard on me," he pleaded. "I'm trying my best, and if I can only get some one to speak, I shall have the whole thing at my finger's ends."

"Then the sooner you do the better," said Fin, sharply. "Good-bye."

"One moment, dear," whispered Pratt.

"Well, what is it?" said Fin.

"Give me one kind look, you beautiful little darling," whispered Pratt.

Fin made a grimace, and then, as if in spite of herself, her bright eyes beamed on him for a moment ere she withdrew them.

"And now tell me this," whispered Pratt; "if they say any more to you about Landells, or if he speaks to you, you'll--you'll--you'll--"

"There, good-bye!" cried Fin. "How can you be such a goose? I haven't patience with you--good-bye."

There was a look accompanying that good-bye that sent a thrill through Frank Pratt, and he went back to his musty briefs as light as if treading on air.

On reaching his chambers, though, it was to find Barnard, the solicitor, waiting for him.

"Well, what news?" was Pratt's greeting.

"Nothing more," was the reply. "I've sent, and I've been myself. That this Vanleigh has compromised himself in some way, so that his marriage is impossible, I feel convinced; but a solution of the matter can only come from one pair of lips."

"Well?"

"And they remain obstinately silent."

Volume 3, Chapter XIV.

A VISIT.

And the months glided on. Winter came, and in its turn gave place to the promise of spring; that came, though, with its harsh eastern blasts that threatened to extinguish the frail lamp of life still burning opposite Richard's rooms.

He had responded to Pin's letter soon after its receipt, but he had heard no more. His attempts at obtaining an engagement had proved failures still; and so he had accepted his fate, and spent his time reading hard, his sole pleasures being a visit across the road, or a dinner with Frank Pratt.

Of the acts of the Rea family he knew little, save that they had wintered in Cornwall, from which a letter came occasionally from Humphrey or Mr Mervyn, both sent to the care of Frank Pratt, Esq.; and in his, Humphrey had twice over expressed a wish to divide the property with his old companion.

"I don't see why you shouldn't do so," Pratt had said. "It's Quixotic not to accept his offer."

"Aut Caesar, aut nullus," was Richard's reply. "No, Franky, I'm too proud. I could never go to Cornwall again but as master. Those days are gone."

"But, d.i.c.k, old man!"

"My dear Franky," said Richard, dropping something of the misanthropical bitterness that had come over him of late, "I am quite content as I am-- content to wait; some of these days a chance will turn up. I'll abide my time."

"He's gone back to her," said Pratt, shaking his head. "Poor old d.i.c.k!--some people would misjudge him cruelly. Well, time will show."

Pratt was quite right, Richard had gone back to Netta; for it promised to be a fine afternoon, and on such days it had grown to be his custom to devote the few s.h.i.+llings he could spare from his scanty income to the payment of Sam Jenkles.

It was so this day. Sam was at the door by two, with the old horse brushed up, and every worn buckle s.h.i.+ning. Then Richard would go upstairs, to find Netta with a bright spot in each cheek, and an eager welcome in her eye. She had gained ground during the autumn, but in the winter it had all been lost; and now the time had come when Richard raised her in his arms, and had to carry her--grown so light--down to the cab, wherein he tenderly placed her, and took her for one of the drives of which she was never weary.

It seemed a strange taste, but her desire was always for the same spot-- the little wood where the fallen tree was lying. Here, on sunny days, she would sit for an hour, while he read to her; and then the quiet, slow journey was taken back, when the little ceremony had to be gone through in reverse, there was a grateful pressure of the hand, and Richard took his leave.

Twenty or thirty times was this little excursion made, and always with a foreboding on Richard's part that it was to be the last. But still she lingered, brightening with the balmy April weather that came by fits, and then fading again under the chilling blasts.

By some means Netta had informed herself of the return of the Rea family to town for the season, and she prepared to execute a little plan that had been long deferred. She had possessed herself of the note sent by Fin--the note which Richard had let fall. Probably Mrs Jenkles was the bearer of her messages, and had obtained the information she required.

Suffice it that Tiny Rea, now somewhat recovered, but still pale and dejected, received one morning a note, which she read, and then placed in her mother's hands.

It was as follows:--