It Is Never Too Late to Mend Part 161

"He has kept my ring!"

"I was there before you, Mr. Meadows--but I won't stand upon that; I don't believe there is a man in the world loves a woman in the world better than I love Susan; but still I would not give a snap of the finger to have her if her will was toward another. So please yourself, my la.s.s, and don't cry like that; only this must end. I won't live in doubt a moment, no, nor half a moment. Speak your pleasure and nothing else; choose between John Meadows and George Fielding."

"That is fair," cried one of the bridegrooms. The women secretly admired George. This is a man, thought they--won't stand our nonsense.

Susan looked up in mute astonishment. "What choice can there be? The moment I saw your face, and truth still s.h.i.+ning in it, I forgot there was a John Meadows in the world!"

With these words Susan cast a terrified look all round, and, losing every other feeling in a paroxysm of shame, hid her burning face in her hands, and made a sudden bolt into the house and upstairs to her room, where she was followed and discovered by one of her bridesmaids tearing off her wedding-clothes, and laughing and crying all in a breath.

1st Bridegroom. "Well, Josh, what d'ye think?"

2d Bridegroom. "Why, I think there won't be a wedding to-day."

1st Bridegroom. "No, nor to-morrow neither. Sal, put on your bonnet and let's you and I go home. I came to Meadows' wedding; mustn't stay to anybody's else's."

These remarks were delivered openly, _pro bono,_ and dissolved the wedding party. Four princ.i.p.al parties remained--Meadows, old Merton, and the two friends.

"Well, uncle, Susan has spoken her mind, now you speak yours."

"George, I have been an imprudent fool, I am on the brink of ruin. I owe more than two thousand pounds. We heard you had changed your mind, and Meadows came forward like a man, and said he would--"

"Your word, uncle, your promise. I crossed the seas on the faith of it."

An upper window was gently opened, and a blus.h.i.+ng face listened, and the hand that they were all discussing and disposing of drew back a little curtain, and clutched it convulsively.

"You did, George," said the old farmer.

"Says you, 'Bring back a thousand pounds to show me you are not a fool, and you shall have my daughter,' and she was to have your blessing. Am I right, Mr. Meadows? you were present."

"Those were the words," replied Meadows.

"Well! and have you brought back the thousand pounds?"

"I have."

"John, I must stand to my word; and I will--it is justice. Take the girl, and be as happy as you can with her, and her father in the work-house."

"I take her, and that is as much as to say that neither her father nor any one she respects shall go to the workhouse. How much is my share, Tom?"

"Four thousand pounds."

"No, not so much."

"Yes, it is. Jacky gave you his share of the great nugget, and you gave him sheep in return. Here they are, lads and la.s.ses, seventy of them varying from one five six naught to one six two nine, and all as crimp as a muslin gown new starched. Why? I never put this," and he took pieces of newspaper out of his pocketbook, and looked stupidly at each as it came out.

"Why, Tom?"

"Robbed!"

"Robbed, Tom?"

"Robbed! oh! I put the book under my pillow, and there I found it this morning. Robbed! robbed! Kill me, George, I have ruined you."

"I can't speak," gasped George. "Oh, what is the meaning of this?"

"But I can speak! Don't tell me of a London thief being robbed!!! George Fielding, if you are a man at all, go and leave me and my daughter in peace. If you had come home with money to keep her, I was ready to give you Susan to my own ruin. Now it is your turn to show yourself the right stuff. My daughter has given her hand to a man who can make a lady of her, and set me on my legs again. You can only beggar us. Don't stand in the poor girl's light; for pity's sake, George, leave us in peace."

"You are right, old man; my head is confused;" and George put his hand feebly to his brow. "But I seem to see it is my duty to go, and I'll go." George staggered. Robinson made toward him to support him. "There, don't make a fuss with me. There is nothing the matter with me--only my heart is dead. Let me sit on this bench and draw my breath a minute--and then--I'll go. Give me your hand, Tom. Never heed their jibes. I'd trust you with more gold than the best of them was ever worth."

Robinson began to blubber the moment George took his hand, spite of the money lost. "We worked hard for it, too, good folks, and risked our lives as well as our toil;" and George and Robinson sat hand in hand upon the bench, and turned their heads away--that it was pitiful to see.

But still the pair held one another by the hand, and George said, faltering: "I have got this left me still. Ay, I have heard say that friends.h.i.+p was better than love, and I dare say so it is."

As if to plead against this verdict, Susan came timidly to her lover in his sorrow, and sat on his other side, and laid her head gently on his shoulder. "What signifies money to us two?" she murmured. "Oh, I have been robbed of what was dearer than life this bitter year, and now you are down-hearted at loss of money. How foolish to grieve for such nonsense when I am so hap--hap--happy!" and again the lovely face rested light as down on George's shoulder, weeping deliciously.

"It is hard, Tom," gasped George; "it is bitter hard; but I shall find a little bit of manhood by and by to do my duty. Give me breath! only give me breath! We will go back again where we came from, Tom; only I shall have nothing to work for now. Where is William, if you please? Has he forgotten me, too?"

"William is in prison for debt," said old Merton, gravely.

"No, he is not," put in Meadows, "for I sent the money to let him out an hour ago."

"You sent the money to let my brother out of jail? That sounds queer to me. I suppose I ought to thank you, but I can't."

"I don't ask your thanks, young man."

"You see, George," said old Merton, "ours is a poor family, and it will be a great thing for us all to have such a man as Mr. Meadows in it, if you will only let us."

"Oh, father, you make me blush," cried Susan, beginning to get her first glimpse of his character.

"He doesn't make me blush," cried George; "but he makes me sick. This old man would make me walk out of heaven if he was in it. Come, let us go back to Australia."

"Ay, that is the best thing you can do," cried old Merton.

"If he does, I shall go with him," said Susan, with sudden calmness. She added, dropping her voice, "If he thinks me worthy to go anywhere with him."

"You are worthy of better than that, and better shall be your luck;" and George sat down on the bench with one bitter sob that seemed to tear his manly heart in two.

There was a time Meadows would have melted at this sad sight, but now it enraged him. He whispered fiercely to old Merton: "Touch him on his pride; get rid of him, and your debts shall be all paid that hour; if not--" He then turned to that heart-stricken trio, touched his hat, "Good-day, all the company," said he, and strode away with rage in his heart to set the law in motion against old Merton, and so drive matters to a point.

But before he had taken a dozen steps he was met by two men who planted themselves right before him. "You can't pa.s.s, sir."

Meadows looked at them with humorous surprise. They had hooked noses. He did not like that so well.

"Why not?" said he, quietly, but with a wicked look.

One of the men whistled, a man popped out of the churchyard and joined the two; he had a hooked nose. Another came through the gate from the lane; another from behind the house. The scene kept quietly filling with hooked noses till it seemed as if the ten tribes were rea.s.sembling from the four winds.

"Are they going to pitch into me?" thought Meadows; and he felt in his pocket to see if his pistol was there.