Foul Play [190]
it myself."
"Well, let me _see_ the advertisement."
"You shall. I have no doubt we shall recover it."
Next morning the _Times_ contained an advertisement offering twenty guineas for a prayer-book lost in Hanover Square, and valuable, not in itself, but as a relic of a deceased parent.
In the afternoon Arthur called to know if anybody had brought the prayer-book back.
Helen shook her head sadly, and said, "No."
He seemed very sorry and so penitent, that Helen said:
"Do not despair. And if it is gone, why, I must remember you have forgiven me something, and I must forgive you."
The footman came in.
"If you please, miss, here is a woman wishes to speak to you; says she has brought a prayer-book."
"Oh, show her up at once," cried Helen.
Arthur turned away his head to hide a cynical smile. He had good reasons for thinking it was not the one he had flung out of the window yesterday.
A tall woman came in, wearing a thick veil, that concealed her features.
She entered on her business at once.
"You lost a prayer-book in this Square yesterday, madam."
"Yes."
"You offer twenty guineas reward for it."
"Yes."
"Please to look at this one."
Helen examined it, and said with joy it was hers.
Arthur was thunderstruck. He could not believe his senses.
"Let me look at it," said he.
His eyes went at once to the writing.
He turned as pale as death and stood petrified.
The woman took the prayer-book out of his unresisting hand, and said:
"You'll excuse me, sir; but it is a large reward, and gentlefolks sometimes go from their word when the article is found."
Helen, who was delighted at getting back her book, and rather tickled at Arthur having to pay twenty guineas for losing it, burst out laughing, and said:
"Give her the reward, Arthur; I am not going to pay for your misdeeds."
"With all my heart," said Arthur, struggling for composure.
He sat down to draw a check.
"What name shall I put?"
"Hum! Edith Hesket."
"Two t's?"
"No, only one."
"There."
"Thank you, sir."
She put the check into her purse, and brought the prayer-book to Helen.
"Lock it up at once," said she, in a voice so low that Arthur heard her murmur, but not the words. And she retired, leaving Helen staring with amazement, and Arthur in a cold perspiration.
CHAPTER LXV.
WHEN the _Springbok_ weighed anchor and left the island, a solitary form was seen on Telegraph Hill.
When she passed eastward, out of sight of that point, a solitary figure was seen on the cliffs.
When her course brought the island dead astern of her, a solitary figure stood on the east bluff of the island, and was the last object seen from the boat as she left those waters forever.
What words can tell the sickening sorrow and utter desolation that possessed that yearning bosom!
When the boat that had carried Helen away was out of sight, he came back with uneven steps to the cave, and looked at all the familiar objects with stony eyes, and scarce recognized them, for the sunshine of her presence was there no more. He wandered to and fro in a heavy stupor, broken every now and then by sharp pangs of agony that almost made him scream. And so the poor bereaved creature wandered about all day. He could not eat, he could not sleep, his misery was more than he could bear. One day of desolation succeeded another. And what men say so hastily was true for once. "His life was a burden." He dragged it about with him he scarce knew how.
He began to hate all the things he had loved while she was there. The beautiful cave, all glorious with pearl, that he had made for her, he could not enter it, the sight killed him, and she not there.
He left Paradise Bay altogether at last and anchored his boat in a nook of Seal Bay. And there he slept in general. But sometimes he would lie down, wherever he happened to be, and sleep as long as he could.
To him to wake was a calamity. And when he did wake, it was always with a dire sense of reviving misery, and a deep sigh at the dark day he knew awaited
"Well, let me _see_ the advertisement."
"You shall. I have no doubt we shall recover it."
Next morning the _Times_ contained an advertisement offering twenty guineas for a prayer-book lost in Hanover Square, and valuable, not in itself, but as a relic of a deceased parent.
In the afternoon Arthur called to know if anybody had brought the prayer-book back.
Helen shook her head sadly, and said, "No."
He seemed very sorry and so penitent, that Helen said:
"Do not despair. And if it is gone, why, I must remember you have forgiven me something, and I must forgive you."
The footman came in.
"If you please, miss, here is a woman wishes to speak to you; says she has brought a prayer-book."
"Oh, show her up at once," cried Helen.
Arthur turned away his head to hide a cynical smile. He had good reasons for thinking it was not the one he had flung out of the window yesterday.
A tall woman came in, wearing a thick veil, that concealed her features.
She entered on her business at once.
"You lost a prayer-book in this Square yesterday, madam."
"Yes."
"You offer twenty guineas reward for it."
"Yes."
"Please to look at this one."
Helen examined it, and said with joy it was hers.
Arthur was thunderstruck. He could not believe his senses.
"Let me look at it," said he.
His eyes went at once to the writing.
He turned as pale as death and stood petrified.
The woman took the prayer-book out of his unresisting hand, and said:
"You'll excuse me, sir; but it is a large reward, and gentlefolks sometimes go from their word when the article is found."
Helen, who was delighted at getting back her book, and rather tickled at Arthur having to pay twenty guineas for losing it, burst out laughing, and said:
"Give her the reward, Arthur; I am not going to pay for your misdeeds."
"With all my heart," said Arthur, struggling for composure.
He sat down to draw a check.
"What name shall I put?"
"Hum! Edith Hesket."
"Two t's?"
"No, only one."
"There."
"Thank you, sir."
She put the check into her purse, and brought the prayer-book to Helen.
"Lock it up at once," said she, in a voice so low that Arthur heard her murmur, but not the words. And she retired, leaving Helen staring with amazement, and Arthur in a cold perspiration.
CHAPTER LXV.
WHEN the _Springbok_ weighed anchor and left the island, a solitary form was seen on Telegraph Hill.
When she passed eastward, out of sight of that point, a solitary figure was seen on the cliffs.
When her course brought the island dead astern of her, a solitary figure stood on the east bluff of the island, and was the last object seen from the boat as she left those waters forever.
What words can tell the sickening sorrow and utter desolation that possessed that yearning bosom!
When the boat that had carried Helen away was out of sight, he came back with uneven steps to the cave, and looked at all the familiar objects with stony eyes, and scarce recognized them, for the sunshine of her presence was there no more. He wandered to and fro in a heavy stupor, broken every now and then by sharp pangs of agony that almost made him scream. And so the poor bereaved creature wandered about all day. He could not eat, he could not sleep, his misery was more than he could bear. One day of desolation succeeded another. And what men say so hastily was true for once. "His life was a burden." He dragged it about with him he scarce knew how.
He began to hate all the things he had loved while she was there. The beautiful cave, all glorious with pearl, that he had made for her, he could not enter it, the sight killed him, and she not there.
He left Paradise Bay altogether at last and anchored his boat in a nook of Seal Bay. And there he slept in general. But sometimes he would lie down, wherever he happened to be, and sleep as long as he could.
To him to wake was a calamity. And when he did wake, it was always with a dire sense of reviving misery, and a deep sigh at the dark day he knew awaited