CHAPTER CII.
A SORROWFUL HOUSEHOLD--NEWS AT LAST.
Change we the scene to England, and to that particular part of theisland where old Jack and his friends were living.
Though surrounded by every luxury that money could procure, they werenot happy.
"No news yet!" was the first question that Mrs. Harkaway would ask herhusband in the morning, and he with a shake of the head, wouldrespond--
"None yet, my dear; but do not despond."
But the fond mother vainly endeavoured to hope against hope.
Little Emily, too, went about in a most listless, melancholy manner,wondering why it was that Jack did not write, and Paquita, too, wasquite despondent at not hearing any thing of Harry Girdwood.
Dick Harvey did all he could to cheer up everybody, but it was a hardtask, for he was working against his own convictions, which were thatthe youngsters had got into some trouble from which they were unable toextricate themselves.
Letters had been written to young Jack at Marseilles, but these hadnever reached him, having fallen into the hands of Herbert Murray, whohad applied at the post office, in the name of Harkaway, for them.
Paquita and little Emily, though still firm friends, were not in eachother's society so much as formerly, as they both preferred to enduretheir sorrows in solitude.
Paquita, in particular, was fond of a sequestered nook in the grounds,where, half hidden by shrubs, she could command a view of the longstraight road leading from the nearest railway station.
She had a notion that she would be the first one to see the absentees,and had chosen that as a place of observation, where she would sit forhours watching and trying to hope.
Harvey found out her retreat, and employed the photographer who tookEmily's portrait, to give a good likeness of the southern beauty.
Paquita knew nothing of this, so absorbed was she in her ownmeditations, till a few days afterwards Uncle Dick, as she had learntto call him, gave her some copies of it.
She thanked him, and, hurrying off to her own room, enclosed one in anenvelope, which she addressed to Harry. There was no letter with it,but underneath the portrait she wrote--
"_With Paquita's dearest love. As she waits for one who comes not._"
This she posted herself, registering it for extra safety.
* * * *
Still came no tidings, as day after day passed, till one morning thepostman brought a large official-looking letter, addressed in a strangehandwriting, and bearing foreign post-marks.
Despite all his hardihood, Harkaway's hand trembled as he took it up,and, eager as he was for news, it was some seconds before he couldnerve himself to break the seal.
His wife sat watching with breathless expectation, feeling convincedthat at length there was news.
"Are they safe?" she asked, when she had followed her husband's eye tothe conclusion of the lengthy epistle.
"They _are_ safe, for the _present_."
"Thank Heaven!" she exclaimed, giving way to woman's greatrelief--tears.
"But _where_ are they?" she continued a minute afterwards.
"At Marseilles, where they have been for some time, so the Britishconsul tells me, and where they are likely to be till we go to releasethem."
"Release them! What do you mean? Don't keep back anything from me, dearhusband."
"Well, if you must know the worst, they are in prison, on a charge ofcoining."
"What an infamous charge to make against them?" exclaimed a couple ofindignant feminine voices, belonging to little Emily and Paquita, whohad just come into the room.
"Husband, you don't believe our boy to be guilty of such a crime?"
"No; but----"
"But what?"
"Appearances are very much against them, the consul says. The greatthing is to establish their identity, as the boy is supposed to haveassumed the name he bears."
At this moment Harvey appeared, and the news was instantly imparted tohim.
"It is a very serious affair, and it is certain we must go at once. Butreally it is ridiculous to fancy old Mole and those black rascalsaccused of coining."
"It will not be ridiculous, if they are condemned and sent to thegalleys, pa," said little Emily.
"True, little girl, therefore we will see about starting at once. Yousee about packing my things, while I run up to town to get passportsfor the lot of us."
"Passports are not required for travelling," said Emily.
"Certainly not for travelling; but what can establish our identitybetter than passports signed by the British Secretary of State forforeign affairs?"
There was no answering this question; so Dick started off for London,while the rest busied themselves with preparations for a continentaltrip.
Within forty-eight hours they were crossing the Channel; six hourslater they had entered Paris, where they took a brief rest, and thencontinued their journey towards Marseilles.
For just as they were starting Harkaway received a telegram from theconsul at Marseilles--
"Come as soon as you possibly can, or you may be too late."
Need it be said that, after such a message, they lost no time inspeeding to their destination?