Daddy's Girl Part 42

"You--you terrify me," said Mrs. Ogilvie; "what are you talking about?

Rest.i.tution! What have you to give back?"

"Listen, and I will explain. You knew, Mildred--oh, yes, you knew it well enough--that I went to Australia on no honorable mission. You did not care to inquire, you hid yourself behind a veil of pretended ignorance; but you _knew_--yes, you did, and you dare not deny it--that I went to Queensland to commit a crime. It would implicate others if I were to explain things more fully. I will not implicate others, I will stand alone now, in this bitter moment when the fruit of my sin is brought home to me. I will bear the responsibility of my own sin. I will not drag anybody else down in my fall, but it is sufficient for you to know, Mildred, that the Lombard Deeps Mine as a speculation is worthless."

"Worthless!" she cried, "impossible!"

"Worthless," he repeated.

"Then why, why did you send a cablegram to say the mine was full of gold? Lord Grayleigh told me he had received such a message from you."

"I told a dastardly lie, which I am about to put straight."

"But, but," she began, her lips white, her eyes s.h.i.+ning, "if you do not explain away your lie (oh, Phil, it is such an ugly word), if you do not explain it away, could not the company be floated?"

"It could, and the directors could reap a fortune by means of it. Do you understand, Mildred, what that implies?"

"Do I understand?" she replied. "No, I was always a poor little woman who had no head for figures."

"Nevertheless you will, I think, take it in when I explain. You are not quite so stupid as you make yourself out. The directors and I could make a fortune--it would be easy, for there is enough gold in the mine to last for at least six months, and the public are credulous, and can be taken in. We should make our fortunes out of the widows and orphans, out of the savings of the poor clerks, and from the clergyman's tiny stipend. We could sweep in their little earnings, and aggrandize our own wealth and importance, and _lose our souls_.

Yes, Mildred, we could, but we won't. I shall prevent that. I have a task before me which will save this foulest crime from being committed."

Mrs. Ogilvie dropped into a chair; she burst into hysterical weeping.

"What you say can't be true, Phil. Oh, Phil, darling, do have mercy."

"How?" he asked.

"Don't do anything so mad, so rash. You always had such a queer, troublesome sort of conscience. Phil, I cannot stand poverty, I cannot stand being dragged down; I must have this place; I have set my heart on it."

He came up to her and took both her hands.

"Is it worth evil?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Is anything under the sun worth evil?" She made no answer. He dropped her hands and left the room.

CHAPTER XX.

Ogilvie went up to Sibyl. Suffering and love had taught him many lessons, amongst others those of absolute self-control. His face was smiling and calm as he crossed the room, bent over the child and kissed her. Those blue eyes of hers, always so full of penetration and of knowledge, which was not all this earth, could detect no sorrow in her father's.

"I must go to town, I shall be away for as short a time as possible.

As soon as I come back I will come to you," he said. "Look after her, please, Miss Winstead. If you cannot remain in the room, send nurse.

Now, don't tire yourself, my little love. Remember that father will be back very soon."

"Don't hurry, father darling," replied Sibyl "'cos I am quite happy thinking about you, even if you are not here."

He went away, ran downstairs, put on his hat and went out. His wife was standing in the porch.

"One moment, Phil," she called, "where are you going?"

"To town."

"To do what?"

"To do what I said," he answered, and he gave her a strange look, which frightened her, and caused her to fall back against the wall.

He disappeared down the avenue, she sank into a chair and began to weep. She was thoroughly miserable and frightened. Philip had returned, but all pleasant golden dreams were shattered, for although he had sent a cablegram to Lord Grayleigh, saying that all was well, better than well, his conscience was speaking to him, that troublesome terrible conscience of his, and he was about to destroy his own work.

"What fearful creatures men with consciences are," moaned Mrs.

Ogilvie.

Meanwhile Ogilvie walked quickly up the avenue. Just at the gates he met an old couple who were coming in. They were a queer-looking old pair, dressed in old-fas.h.i.+oned style. Ogilvie did not know them, but the woman paused when she saw him, came forward, dropped a curtsey and said:

"I beg your pardon, sir."

"What can I do for you?" said Ogilvie. He tried to speak courteously, but this delay, and the presence of the old couple whose names he did not even know, irritated him.

"If you please, sir, you are Mr. Ogilvie?"

"That is my name."

"We know you," continued the old woman, "by the likeness to your little daughter."

The mention of Sibyl caused Ogilvie now to regard them more attentively.

"May I inquire your names?" he asked.

"Holman, sir," said the woman. "This is my husband, sir. We heard only yesterday of dear little Missie's illness, and we couldn't rest until we came to enquire after her. We greatly 'opes, sir, that the dear little lamb is better. We thought you wouldn't mind if we asked."

"By no means," answered Ogilvie. "Any friends of Sibyl's, any real friends, are of interest to me."

He paused and looked into the old woman's face.

"She's better, ain't she, dear lamb?" asked Mrs. Holman.

Ogilvie shook his head; it was a quick movement, his face was very white, his lips opened but no words came. The next instant he had hurried down the road, leaving the old pair looking after him.

Mrs. Holman caught her husband's hand.

"What do it mean, John?" she asked, "what do it mean?"

"We had best go to the house and find out," was Holman's response.