Amos Huntingdon

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

  WALTER TO THE RESCUE.

  The day after his return home Amos sought his father in the library.Mr Huntingdon's manner to him had become so much more warm andaffectionate, that he now ventured on a course which a few days beforehe could not have brought himself to adopt.

  "Father," he said, "can you spare me a few minutes? I have something onmy mind which I feel that I ought to consult you about."

  "Sit down, sit down, my dear boy; what is it?" said his father.

  Thus encouraged, Amos unburdened his mind. "Father," he proceeded, "Imust ask you to excuse my absence for a day or two, or perhaps evenmore. You are aware now that I have taken upon myself, for the presentat any rate, the charge of my poor sister Julia's little children. AndI may also say, as I suppose I ought not to conceal the state of thingsfrom you, that her miserable husband has left her utterly destitute, sothat I am doing what I can to keep her from want. The man has desertedher more than once; and more than once, when he returned and found moneyin her possession, he forced it from her. So I have placed what I canspare for her in the hands of a thoroughly trustworthy and Christianwoman with whom she lodges, and through this good landlady of hers I seethat she does not want such necessaries and comforts as are essential toher health."

  He was proceeding with his explanation, but was checked by the deepemotion of Mr Huntingdon, who, resting his head between his hands,could not restrain his tears and sobs. Then, springing up from hisseat, he clasped Amos to him, and said, in a voice almost choked by hisfeelings, "My dear, noble boy! and I have misunderstood, andundervalued, and treated you with harshness and coldness all this time!Can you forgive your unworthy father?"

  Poor Amos! Such a speech from his father almost stunned him for themoment. At last, recovering himself, he cried, "O father, dear father,don't say such a thing! There is not--there cannot be anything for meto forgive. And, oh! the kindness you have shown me the last few dayshas made up a thousand times for any little trouble in days gone by."

  "You are a dear good boy to say so," replied Mr Huntingdon, kissing himwarmly. "Well, now tell me all."

  "You see, dear father," continued Amos when they were again both seated,"I am afraid, from poor Julia's letter, that she is in some specialtrouble. It is true that the latter part of her letter looks very muchas if the wretched man had forced her to write it, but the first part isclearly written as she herself felt. I have the letter here. You see,she writes,--`Amos, I'm mad; and yet I am not. No; but he will drive memad. He will take them both away; he will ruin us all, body and soul.'So far the letter is plainly her own, and there can be no doubt what itmeans. That vile man has been ill-treating her, and has threatened totake the children from under my charge, though he pledged his honour tomyself a short time back that he would not remove them; but, of course,the honour of such a man is worth nothing."

  "Yes; I see it all," said the squire with a sigh; "but what can be done?I suppose this unprincipled fellow has a right to the children as theirfather, and to poor Julia too, as she is his wife."

  "True, father; but it will never do to leave her as she is; and I cannotbear the thought of those dear children being left to the tender merciesof such a man."

  "Well, and where is your poor sister herself at this time?" asked MrHuntingdon.

  "There, again, I am in a difficulty," said Amos. "When I first got toknow how my dear sister was situated, and where she was living, she mademe promise that I would not let any one know where the place was, andspecially not you. I suppose she was afraid that something would bedone against her husband, whom she had a great affection for, if ourfamily knew where she lived; and she also indulged, I grieve to say,much bitterness of feeling towards yourself, which I have done my bestto remove. So she would not hear of my telling any one where she isliving; and indeed she has moved about from place to place. But I amstill under the promise of secrecy."

  "Well," said his father, with a sigh, "I will not of course ask you tobreak your word to her; but better times will come for her, poor thing,I hope."

  "I hope so too, dear father. But you will understand now, I feel sure,why I wish to be absent for a day or two, that I may see how things arereally going on with her and with the poor children."

  "But will it be safe for you to go?" asked his father anxiously. "Willnot that villain entrap you again, or do you some bodily harm?"

  "I am not afraid, father. My own opinion is that the unhappy man willnot remain long in this country; and that, after what has happened theselast two days, he will feel it to be his wisdom to keep as clear of meas possible."

  "Perhaps so; but I must say I don't like the thoughts of your goingalone on such an expedition, after what has already happened."

  "Nay, dear father, I believe I ought to go. I believe that duty callsme; and so I may expect that God will take care of me."

  "Well, go then, my boy; and, see, take these two ten-pound notes to yourpoor sister. It is not fair that all the burden should fall upon you.These notes will at any rate keep her from want for a time; she can putthem into safe keeping with her landlady. And tell her"--here his voicefaltered--"that they are sent her with her father's love, and that thereis a place for her here in her old home still."

  "Oh, thank you, thank you, dear father," cried Amos; "you _have_ made meglad!"

  "Yes," continued the squire, "tell her that from me; yet, of course,that does not include _him_."

  "Oh no! I thoroughly understand that," replied his son; "and I see, ofcourse, many difficulties that lie in the way; but still, I believe thatbrighter and happier days are coming for us all."

  "May it be so, my dear boy," said the other, again drawing him closelyto him. "It will not be _your_ fault, at any rate, if they do notcome."

  So that morning Amos left on his work of love.

  He had not been gone many minutes, when Walter knocked at his aunt'sdoor. "Aunt Kate," he began, when he had seated himself at her feet, "Iwant your advice about a little scheme of mine. It's a good scheme, andperhaps a little bit of moral courage on my part will come out of it."

  "Well, my dear boy, let me hear it."

  "Father, I know, has been talking to you about Amos," he went on; "allabout his noble and self-denying conduct towards my poor dear sister,and that he is going, in consequence of that horrid letter, to see herand those children of hers. I gather this partly from a few words I hadwith Amos before he started. But then, nobody knows where Julia lives,and nobody knows what that scamp of a fellow may be up to against mydear good brother."

  "Yes, Walter," said his aunt, "I understand all that; and I must saythat I feel a little anxious about your brother, though I know that heis in better hands than ours."

  "Well, auntie, shall I tell you what I have thought of?"

  "Do, dear boy."

  "If father will let me, I should like to go and keep guard over Amostill he comes back."

  "But how can you do that?" asked Miss Huntingdon. "You said just nowthat no one knows where your poor sister lives except Amos himself; andit would hardly do for you to overtake him, if that could be done, andjoin yourself to him whether he would or no."

  "No, Aunt Kate, that is not my idea. Now, though nobody but Amos knowswhere Julia lives, I think I know."

  "What do you mean?" asked the other, laughing.

  "Why, just this. I don't know properly. I'm not supposed to know, andso I take it for granted that I don't know; and yet really I believe Ido know."

  "My boy, you speak in riddles."

  "Ah yes, Aunt Kate, I do; and I see you will never guess the answers tothem, so you must give up, and I will tell you. You know that for sometime now it has been Amos's place to unlock the post-bag of a morningand give out the letters. The other day, however, he made a mistake,and threw me two which were really directed to him. I gave them back tohim, and I saw him turn red when he saw the mistake he had made. Icouldn't help noticing the post-mark at the time, and I thought I knewthe handwr
iting on one of the envelopes. The post-mark was the same oneach. I am sure now that one was directed by my sister; I know herhandwriting well, for I have two little hymns in my desk which she wroteout for me before--before she left us, and I often look at them. Andso, putting two and two together, I believe the other was most likelydirected by the person in whose house she is living."

  "And what was the post-mark?"

  "Ah, auntie, I don't think I ought to tell, not even you. It seems likea breach of confidence towards Amos, though it really is not. At anyrate, I am not sure that he would like me to tell."

  "Quite right, my dear Walter; I had no idle curiosity in asking; and ifAmos wishes it still to be a secret, of course you ought not to discloseit."

  "Thank you, auntie, for looking at it in that light. Now it can be nobreach of confidence on my part to go over to that place from which theletters came, as shown by the post-mark, and just keep my eyes and earsopen, and see if I can get within sight or hearing of Amos withoutmaking myself known. I would not intrude myself into my poor sister'shouse if I can find it out, but I would just keep a bit of a watch nearit, and look if I can see anything of that miserable man who has givenus so much trouble; and then I might be able to give him a little of mymind, so as to induce him to take himself clean off out of the country.At any rate, I would watch over Amos, that no harm should come to him.What do you think?"

  "Well, dear boy," replied his aunt, "it is very generous of you to makesuch a proposal, and good might come out of your plan; but what willyour father say to it?"

  "Ah, that's the point, auntie. I must get you to persuade him to let mego. Tell him how it is--tell him I'll be as prudent as a policeman, ora stationmaster, or any one else that's particularly prudent, or oughtto be; and, if I don't find Amos where I imagine he will be, I'll beback again before bed-time to-morrow."

  Miss Huntingdon spoke to her brother, and put Walter's scheme beforehim; but at first he would not hear of it. "The boy must be crazy," hesaid; "why, he's not fit to be out all by himself on such an errand asthis. That scoundrel of a man might be getting hold of him, and no oneknows what might happen then. It's absurd,--it's really quite out ofthe question."

  "Don't you think, Walter," replied his sister calmly, "that God, who hasput such a loving thought into the heart of Walter, will keep him fromharm? Would it be right to check him when he is bent on such a work?Besides, as to the wretched and unhappy man who has caused all thistrouble, are not such characters, with all their bluster, commonlyarrant cowards when they find themselves firmly confronted?"

  "Perhaps so, Kate. Well, send Walter to me."

  "My boy," exclaimed the squire, when Walter made his appearance, "whatwild scheme is this? Why, surely you can't be serious?"

  "Indeed I am, father. You needn't be afraid for me. It was not my ownthought,--I'm sure it was put into my mind; besides, it will be capitalfun just having to look after myself for a night or two, and a littleroughing it will do me good."

  "And where do you intend to sleep and to put up, I should like to know?"asked Mr Huntingdon, half seriously and half amused.

  "Oh, I'll find a shakedown somewhere; and I'm sure to be able to getlots of eggs and bacon and coffee, and I could live on them for a week."

  "And I suppose I am to be paymaster," said his father, laughing.

  "Oh no, father, not unless you like. I've a sovereign still left; I'llmake that pay all, and I must do without things till I get my nextquarter's allowance."

  "Very well, my boy; but hadn't you better take Harry or Dick with you?"

  "O father! take old Harry! why, I might as well take the town-crier. Ohno, let me go alone. I know what Amos would say if it were he that wasin my place; he would say that we may trust to be taken care of while weare in the path of duty.--May I go, then, father?"

  "Well--yes," said Mr Huntingdon, but rather reluctantly; and then hesaid, "But how shall I be sure that you haven't got into any trouble?for I understand from your aunt that you make it a point of honour notto let us know where you are going to."

  "All right, father: if I don't turn up some time to-morrow afternoon,I'll manage to send a letter by some means or other."

  After luncheon Walter set out on his self-imposed expedition, on his ownpony, with a wallet strapped behind him which Miss Huntingdon had takencare should be furnished with such things as were needful. His fatheralso thrust some money into his hand as they parted. And now we mustleave him as he trots briskly away, rather proud of his solitaryjourney, and follow his brother, who little suspected that a guard andprotector was pursuing him in the person of his volatile brother Walter.

  The little town to which Amos leisurely made his way was about twentymiles from Flixworth Manor. It was one of those exceedingly quietplaces which, boasting no attractions in the way of either architectureor situation, and being on the road to or from no places of note or busytraffic, are visited rarely by any but those who have their permanentabode in the neighbourhood. Neither did coach pass through it norrailway near it, so that its winding street or two, with theirstraggling masses of dingy houses, would be suggestive to any accidentalvisitor of little else than unmitigated dulness. It had, of course, itspost office, which was kept at a miscellaneous shop, and did not tax theenergies of the shopkeeper to any great degree by the number of letterswhich passed through his hands. The stamp, however, of this office wasthat which Walter had noticed on the letters which had furnished himwith a clew.

  The heart of Amos was very sad as he rode along, and yet it was filledwith thankfulness also. Yes, he could now rejoice, because he saw thedawning of a better day now spreading into broad flushes of morninglight. His father's kindness to him, so unexpected and so precious,and, almost better still, his father's altered feeling to his sisterJulia--how thoughts of these things gladdened him, spite of his sadness!Oh, if only he could rid the family of that miserable husband of hissister's in some lawful way! Of course it might be possible to put thepolice on his track; but then, if he were caught and brought to justice,what a lamentable and open disgrace it would be to them all, and mightperhaps be the means of partially closing the opening door for hissister to her father's heart.

  With such thoughts of mingled cloud and sunshine chasing one anotherthrough his mind, he reached, about two o'clock in the afternoon, thelittle town of Dufferly, and drew rein at the dusky entrance to theQueen's Hotel, as it was somewhat ambitiously called. Having secured abed, he walked out into the pebbly street, and strolled into the market-place. He might have proceeded at once to his sister's lodgings, but hehad no wish to encounter her husband there if he could avoid it; but howto ascertain whether he was in the town or no he could not tell. Thathe was not likely to remain many days at once in the place he was prettysure; and yet his sister's letter implied that he had been lately withher, and had been taking some steps towards removing the children fromtheir present place of abode. So he walked up and down the little townin all directions, thinking that if Mr Vivian should be anywhere about,and should catch sight of him, he might retire from the place for aseason, and give him an opportunity of visiting his sister unmolested.At length, after returning to his inn and refreshing himself, he made uphis mind to call at his sister's home, trusting that he should find heralone.

  All was quiet as could be in the little street or lane down which he nowmade his way. Knocking at the door of the neat but humble dwellingwhere his sister lived, she herself answered the summons. "Oh! is ityou, Amos?" she cried, clasping her hands passionately together. "Oh, Iam so glad, so glad! I want to tell you all, it has been so terrible;come in, come in." Amos entered the little parlour and looked round.He had himself furnished it with a few extras of comfort and refinement."O Amos, dear, dear Amos," cried his sister, throwing her arms roundhis neck and weeping bitterly, "it has been so dreadful. Oh pardon me,pray pardon me!"

  "What for, dearest Julia?" he asked.

  "Why, for writing that last part of the letter. He stood over me; hemade me
do it. He stood over me with a whip; yes, he struck me over andover again--look at my neck here--he struck me till the blood came, whenI refused at first to write as he dictated. But oh! I hope no harmcame of that letter?"

  "None, dear sister, none. No; the Lord took care of me and deliveredme.--But the children--what of them?"

  "Oh, I don't know, I'm sure; but I rather think he doesn't mean to movethem after all."

  "And where is he himself--I mean your--"

  "My husband, as he calls himself," she said bitterly. "Oh, he isanywhere and everywhere; sometimes here for a day or two, and thenabsent for weeks. Indeed, he hardly dares stay for any length of timein any one place, for fear of the police getting hold of him."

  "My poor sister!" exclaimed Amos with a sigh; "but, at any rate, _all_is not dark," he added. "I am bringing a little gladness with me. Mydear father sends you his love--"

  "What--what, Amos!" she exclaimed, interrupting him with almost ashriek. "Oh, say it again! Oh, can it really be?--my father send mehis love! Oh, dearest Amos, was it really so?"

  "Yes; he knows nearly all now, and his heart has opened to you, and hebids me tell you there is a place for you in the old home still."

  Sinking on the ground, the bewildered, agitated creature clasped herhands across her forehead, as though the swollen veins would burst withthe intensity of her emotion. At last, yielding to her brother's tendercaresses, she grew calmer, and allowing him to draw her close to him,she wept a full flood of tears, which brought with them a measure ofpeace in their flow. "Oh! can it be?" she cried again, but now morehopefully--"a place for me yet in the dear old home, and my father'ssmile on me once more." Then she added in a scared, hoarse whisper,"But that doesn't include _him_?"

  "No, not your unhappy husband; my father could not receive him."

  "Of course not, Amos. Oh that I had never married him! Every spark oflove for him has died out of my heart now. I hate him, and I loathemyself."

  "Nay, nay, dear sister," said Amos soothingly, "don't say so. He hassinned, greatly sinned, but all may yet be well."

  "Never, never," she cried, "while he claims me for his wife!"

  "Well, well," said Amos, "calm yourself, dear Julia. See, here is proofvisible of my father's love to you: he has bid me put these two ten-pound notes into Mrs Allison's hands for you. He sends them toyourself, but I am to place them with her, lest they should be takenfrom you."

  "Let me look at them with my own eyes," she cried; and when Amosproduced them, she pressed them eagerly to her lips, exclaiming, "Dear,dear father, God bless you for this!"

  "And now," said her brother, when she had sufficiently recovered herselfto listen to him quietly, "we must consider next what is best to bedone. Do you think your husband is likely to be here again soon? and ifso, will it be of any use your speaking to him on the subject of yourfather having expressed his willingness to receive you without him?Would he be willing to leave you to us now, and to go abroad himself tosome distant land? and do you yourself really desire this separation?"

  "Desire it, Amos! how can I help desiring it? Though marrying him lostme home and almost everything I once loved, yet I could have followedhim all the world over if he had really loved me. But he hates me; hetakes a spiteful pleasure in ill-treating me. He would never come nearme at all, if he did not think that he could manage to squeeze somemoney out of me. How _can_ I have any love left for such a wretch?"

  "But will he be willing to leave you in our hands? Remember you arestill his wife, and he has therefore a claim upon you."

  "I know it, Amos, too well. Oh! what can I do?"

  "Well, I can hardly tell; but I am remaining in the town to-night, andas it is now getting late, I will go to my room at the inn, and willcome and see you again to-morrow morning, by which time I shall have gotmore light on the subject, I have no doubt." So they parted.

  As Amos walked into the inn-yard to have a last look at his pony, he sawa young man advancing towards him; but as it was now getting dark, hecould not at first make out his features. A moment more, and herecognised his brother.

  "What, Walter!" he exclaimed in astonishment; "how did _you_ come here?"

  "Oh, very comfortably indeed!" was the reply. "I have ridden over on alittle private business of my own--in fact, I may tell you in confidencethat I am at present a member of the mounted police force, and am onduty to-night in the noble town of Dufferly, keeping my eye on a certainperson who is running his head into danger, and wants carefully lookingafter, lest he get himself into mischief." Amos looked puzzled. "Inother words," continued his brother, "I could not bear the thought ofyour getting again into the clutches of that horrid man; so I have comeover, not to be a spy upon you, or any fetter on your movements, butjust to be at hand, to give you a help if you want it."

  "How generous of you, dear Walter!" cried his brother, shaking himwarmly by the hand; "but does my father know?"

  "Of course he does, and my aunt too. It's all right. You are captain,and I'm only lieutenant; and now, what's the next move?"

  "Well, to have some tea together in my room, Walter. But really yourcoming was quite unnecessary. I shall be taken care of without yourneeding to put yourself to all this trouble. However, as you _are_here, I begin to see that good may come of it. So let us have tea, andthen you must tell me how you found me out, after which I will tell youwhat is in my mind." So the brothers had a cozy meal together, and thenAmos told Walter about his interview with their sister, and having takenhim fully into his confidence, discussed with him what was best to bedone under the sad circumstances.

  "If I could only get hold of that rascally scamp!" said Walter, with aninclination of his head which implied that nothing would give him moreintense satisfaction.

  "I am afraid," said his brother, "that would not help us much: the thingthat would do us all good is not to get hold of him, but to get rid ofhim. Unfortunately, however, he knows the hold he has upon us throughpoor Julia, and I fear that he will leave no stone unturned toaccomplish his own objects through her directly or indirectly."

  "And can't we set the police on him?"

  "I daresay we could, Walter; but what a disgrace it would be to have himexposed and brought to justice!"

  "Ah, I see that. Well, Amos, we must see if we cannot frighten him awayfor good and all."

  His brother shook his head. "He knows very well, you may be sure," hesaid, "that for Julia's sake and our own we shall not drag him out intothe light, with all his sins and misdemeanours, for the public to gazeat, if we can help it; and yet I think he may perhaps be induced toretire of his own accord and settle abroad, if he finds that we are bothof us determined to keep him in view. Suppose, then, we go together topoor Julia's to-morrow. Oh, how delighted she will be to see you onceagain! And we can get her to make her husband understand that we areboth of us keeping our eyes open about him, and that unless he takeshimself off at once, and gives up his poor abused wife into our keeping,and leaves her there, we shall bring him to justice, let the disgrace bewhat it may."

  "Well, Amos," replied Walter, "I can see no better plan; so if agreeableto you I will have the happiness of going with you to-morrow to my dearsister's."

  The next morning, accordingly, the two brothers stood at the door ofJulia Vivian's humble dwelling. The landlady answered the bell, andsaid that her lodger was still in her bedroom, having passed a verydisturbed night, but that, if they would come in, she would soon comedown to them. In a few minutes the parlour door slowly opened, andJulia, deadly pale, a wild light in her eyes, and her hands tremblingwith excitement, made her appearance. She advanced with hesitatingsteps towards Amos, behind whom stood Walter, partly hidden by hisbrother; but as his sister caught sight of her younger brother, thecolour rushed into her face, and with a wild cry she sprang into hisarms. "Walter! O Walter, Walter! is it really you? Oh, this is toomuch happiness.--Amos, you never told me of this."

  "No, my dear sister, because I did not know of it myself
. But calmyourself now. You look so very ill, I am afraid the excitement has beentoo much for you."

  "No, no!" she cried, with a look of terror in her eyes, "it is notthat,--seeing you both is nothing but joy; it would make me well andready for anything. But--but _he_ has been here since I saw youyesterday, Amos. He found out from my manner that something hadhappened, and he made me tell that you had been here. And then he askedif you had said anything about money; and, when I hesitated, hethreatened and threatened till he forced it out of me that my dearfather had sent me those notes. He went off again last night, and saidthat he should like to meet you this morning, and that perhaps somethingmight be arranged to the satisfaction of all parties."

  "Then you told him that I was coming again this morning?"

  "Yes; he dragged it from me by his sharp and cruel questioning. But heis not coming till twelve o'clock."

  "And where is he now?"

  "I cannot tell. He never lets me know where he is going to, or how longhe means to stay away."

  "I will meet him here, then," said Amos; "perhaps we may now really cometo some understanding which will get us out of our difficulties."

  "And what about me?" asked Walter. "I have come over here in thecharacter of a policeman in plain clothes to watch over my brother Amos,and I don't want that precious blackguard--I beg your pardon, Julia, Imean your husband--to have any more _tete-a-tetes_ with my charge unlessI am by. Can you hide me away in some corner where I can hear and seeall that is going on without being seen myself?"

  "Would that be right?" asked his brother hesitatingly.

  "Perfectly right," said Walter, "so long as _you_ are willing that Ishould hear what passes between you. I'm not fond of acting the spy,but this is simply taking reasonable precautions to prevent an honestman being entrapped or injured by a rogue."

  "Yes," said his sister, "I am afraid what you say is too true. I wouldnot answer for what Orlando might do at any time. So I think I canplace you where you can observe and hear what is going on without beingobserved yourself."

  Having said this, she led the way into another room on the opposite sideof the passage, which was usually occupied by the owner of the house,but which she had this morning lent to her lodger for her use, as it wasrather larger than the one Mrs Vivian occupied, and more convenient forthe reception of a visitor. On the farther side of this apartment was adoor leading out to the back part of the house. It was seldom used now,and a curtain hung before it, as the weather was cold and a strongcurrent of air came through it. In an upper panel of this door was asmall glass window, now disused, for some alterations had been made inthe back premises which blocked out the light. The panes of this windowhad been pasted over and covered by paper similar in colour to the door,so that the existence of any glass there would not have been suspectedby any ordinary observer.

  When this door and its window had been shown to Walter, what he shoulddo flashed upon him at once. "May we take the landlady in a measureinto our confidence?" he asked.

  "Yes," said his sister, "I am sure you may. She knows my trials andtroubles too well."

  Amos having assented, Mrs Allison was called, and it was explained toher that Walter wished to watch behind the door unobserved, and to beable, if possible, to see as well as hear what was going on in the roomduring the interview between his brother and brother-in-law. The goodwoman, at once comprehending the situation, gave cheerful leave toWalter to take his stand where he proposed, promising that no one shouldinterrupt; and then with her own hands scratched with an old pair ofscissors two small round holes in the paper which had been pasted on thesmall window, such as would not attract the notice of any one in theroom, but through which Walter would be able to see everything that wasgoing on inside.

  A few minutes before twelve he duly took his stand behind this disuseddoor. The curtain had previously been removed by the landlady, so thatany conversation in the room could be readily heard through the not overtight-fitting woodwork. Anxiously did the young man wait for the cominginterview. He was not kept long in suspense. A loud ring at the frontdoor was followed by the sound of a heavy stalking tread. Mr OrlandoVivian entered the other parlour, whither Amos and his sister hadretired, and saluted the former with an offhand, swaggering assumptionof politeness.

  "Your servant, Mr Huntingdon," he said. Whose ever _servant_ he mightbe, at that moment he was clearly the _slave_ of strong drink.

  Amos bowed.

  "I hope you find your sister well, Mr Huntingdon," he added; "it isvery kind of you to visit us in our humble dwelling."

  The other replied that he did not find his sister looking as well as hehad hoped, but trusted that she might soon be better.

  "The better for my absence, I suppose you mean," said his brother-in-lawsneeringly.

  Amos made no reply.

  "Well, sir," continued the wretched stroller, whose swaggering mannerwas evidently merely assumed, "every man's house is his castle, andtherefore mine must be so too. I haven't much to offer you in the wayof welcome just now, but, before we part, I should like a word inprivate with you.--Is the other room occupied?" he asked of his wife.

  "No; Mrs Allison has put it at my service this morning."

  "Then, Mr Huntingdon, will you be so good as to follow me?" Sayingwhich, he led the way to the other parlour, and, when they had entered,locked the door, to the surprise and not particular satisfaction ofAmos, who gave just one glance at the little window, and thought he sawtwo eyes peeping through the little holes.

  "Pray be seated," said the player.

  Amos accepted the invitation and sat.

  "You have brought some money, I understand, from my father-in-law forhis daughter," began Mr Vivian abruptly.

  "I have," said the other, after his questioner had waited a minute or sofor a reply.

  "Would you have the goodness to hand it to me?" continued the player.

  "I brought it," replied Amos, "for my sister's own private use andbenefit, and cannot therefore give it to you."

  "Ah, indeed!" said the other sarcastically; "but you know, sir, that awife's goods belong to her husband, who, as I think the Bible has it, isthe head of the wife, so that what is hers is his, and indeed his morethan hers."

  "Perhaps so, under ordinary circumstances," replied Amos; "but this is afree gift from a father to a daughter, and I am sure no kind orreasonable husband would wish to deprive her of it."

  "Deprive, sir? No,--deprive is not the word. Husband and wife are one,you know: the wife is the weaker vessel, and the husband the stronger;and it is only right and natural that the stronger should have themoney, that he may use it for the benefit of the weaker."

  "Mr Vivian," said Amos firmly, "all this, and you must know it, is mereidle talk. I cannot give you the money."

  "And I on my part say, sir," replied the other, "that I must have it. Iwant it. I cannot do without it."

  "I have told you my decision," said Amos.

  "Indeed," said the other. "Then I am driven to an unpleasant line ofpersuasion, though very reluctantly."

  He rose, and Amos did the same.

  "Do you see this?" he said, taking from his pocket a revolver.

  "I do," said Amos.

  "Should I be disposed to use this by way of compulsion, what would yousay?"

  "That I am in God's hands and not in yours," replied Amos, lookingVivian full in the face, who quailed before the calm, steady gaze of theyoung man.

  Neither spoke for half a minute; then the unhappy stroller stepped back,and began to raise his right arm. The next instant the disused door wasdashed open, and Walter sprang upon his astounded brother-in-law withthe fury of a tiger. The pistol flew from Vivian's hand, and he fell tothe ground. Walter, who was full of vigour and activity, pinned himdown, and called to Amos to give him one of the bell ropes. With this,being assisted by his brother, he pinioned the prostrate man so that hewas utterly helpless.

  "Now," said Walter, "let us search the villain's pockets." He
did so,and discovered a second revolver. "What's to be done now?" he asked;"shall we hand him over at once to the police?"

  At this moment his sister, having heard the scuffle, tried the door.Amos unlocked it. What a sight presented itself! "Oh, what does it allmean?" she cried.

  "Why, just this," exclaimed her brother. "This dastardly villain--Imust call him so--has been threatening to shoot Amos because he wouldnot give him the money that was sent by my father to you."

  "Oh, misery! misery!" cried the unhappy wife, hiding her face with herhands.

  "Let me get up; untie the rope," wailed the unhappy Vivian, now utterlycrestfallen and abject. "I meant your brother no harm; I only intendedto frighten him. The pistols are neither of them loaded."

  "It may be so," said Walter. "Well, get up," and he helped him to rise."Now sit down in that chair and listen to me. You've behaved like abrute, and worse than a brute, to my poor sister; you have cruellytrapped my dear noble brother, and would have murdered him if you haddared. The simplest thing would just be to send for a policeman andgive you into his charge. But I don't want to do this for my poorsister's sake and the family's sake. But now I've made up my mind--comewhat may, disgrace or no disgrace, if you show your face amongst any ofus again, the constable shall have you, and you shall get your deserts.We've got a home for our sister at the old place, and Amos has got ahome for the children. Now if, after I've set you free, you turn upanywhere near us or the children, we'll make no more bones of thematter; you shall get your deserts, and these will be the deserts of amean, cowardly, rascally wife-beater, to say the best of you."

  Not a word of reply did the guilty man make to this speech. He writhedin his chair, and looked utterly humbled and crushed.

  When Walter--who had now, with the tacit consent of Amos, taken themanagement of matters into his own hands--had examined the pistols,which proved to be unloaded, he approached his brother-in-law once more,and said, with less excitement, "Now, Mr Orlando Vivian, I am going torelease you, and you will have the goodness to take yourself out of thistown before you are an hour older, else you will have to take theconsequences." Having said this, he proceeded to unfasten the cordwhich bound the degraded and spirit-broken wretch. When this had beenaccomplished, the baffled stroller rose, and, with head hanging down,and without a word uttered, left the house.