It Is Never Too Late to Mend Part 83

"Now to business of more importance."

"At your service, sir."

But the business of more importance was interrupted by a sudden knock at the outside door of Mr. Meadows' study.

"Well!"

A young lady to see you.

"A young lady?" inquired Meadows with no very amiable air, "I am engaged--do you know who it is?"

"It is Farmer Merton's daughter, David says."

"Miss Merton!" cried Meadows, with a marvelous change of manner. "Show her up directly. Crawley, run into the pa.s.sage, quick, man--and wait for signals." He bundled Crawley out, shut the secret door, threw open both the others, and welcomed Susan warmly at the threshold. "Well, this is good of you, Miss Merton, to come and s.h.i.+ne in upon me in my own house."

"I have brought your book back!" replied Susan, coloring a little; "that was my errand, that is," said she, "that was partly my errand." She hesitated a moment--"I am going to Mr. Levi." Meadows' countenance fell.

"And I wouldn't go to him without coming to you; because what I have to say to him I must say to you as well. Mr. Meadows, do let me persuade you out of this bitter feeling against the poor old man. Oh! I know you will say he is worse than you are; so he is, a little; but then consider he has more excuse than you; he has never been taught how wicked it is not to forgive. You know it--but don't practice it."

Meadows looked at the simple-minded enthusiast, and his cold eye deepened in color as it dwelt on her, and his voice dropped into the low and modulated tone which no other human creature but this ever heard from him. "Human nature is very revengeful. Few of us are like you. It is my misfortune that I have not oftener a lesson from you; perhaps you might charm away this unchristian spirit that makes me unworthy to be your--your friend."

"Oh no! no!" cried Susan, "if I thought so should I be here?"

"Your voice and your face do make me at peace with all the world, Susan--I beg your pardon--Miss Merton."

"And why not Susan?" said the young lady kindly.

"Well! Susan is a very inviting name."

"La! Mr. Meadows," cried Susan, arching her brows, "why, it is a frightful name--it is so old-fas.h.i.+oned; n.o.body is christened Susan nowadays."

"It is a name for everything that is good and gentle and lovely--" A moment more and pa.s.sion would have melted all the icy barriers prudence and craft had reared round this deep heart. His voice was trembling, his cheek flus.h.i.+ng; but he was saved by--an enemy. "Susan!" cried a threatening voice at the door, and there stood William Fielding with a look to match.

Rage burned in Meadows' heart. He said bruskly, "Come in," and seizing a slip of paper he wrote five words on it, and taking out a book flung it into the pa.s.sage to Crawley. He then turned toward W. Fielding, who by this time had walked up to Susan. Was on the other side of the screen.

"Was told you had gone in here," said William quietly, "so I came after you."

"Now that was very attentive of you," replied Susan ironically. "It is so nice to have a sensible young man like you following forever at one's heels--like a dog."

A world of quiet scorn embellished this little remark.

William's reply was happier than usual. "The sheep find the dog often in their way, but they are all the safer for him."

"Well, I'm sure," cried Susan, her scorn giving way to anger.

Mr. Meadows put in: "I must trouble you to treat Miss Merton with proper respect when you speak to her in my house."

"Who respects her more than I?" retorted William; "but you see, Mr.

Meadows, sheep are no match for wolves when the dog is away--so the dog is here."

"I see the dog is here and by his own invitation; all I say is that if the dog is to stay here he must behave like a man."

William gasped at this. .h.i.t; he didn't trust himself to answer Meadows; in fact, a blow of his fist seemed to him the only sufficient answer--he turned to Susan. "Susan, do you remember poor George's last words to me?

with a tear in his eye and his hand in mine. Well, I keep my promise to him--I keep my eye upon such as I think capable of undermining my brother. This man is a schemer, Susan, and you are too simple to fathom him."

The look of surprise crafty Meadows put on here, and William Fielding's implied compliment to his own superior sagacity struck Susan as infinitely ludicrous, and she looked at Meadows and laughed like a peal of bells. Of course he looked at her and laughed with her. At this all young Fielding's self-restraint went to the winds, and he went on--"But sooner than that, I'll twist as good a man's neck as ever schemed in Jack Meadows' shoes!"

At this defiance Meadows wheeled round on William Fielding and confronted him with his stalwart person and eyes glowing with gloomy wrath. Susan screamed with terror at William's insulting words and at the att.i.tude of the two men, and she made a step to throw herself between them if necessary; but before words could end in blows a tap at the study door caused a diversion, and a cringing sort of voice said "May I come in?"

"Of course you may," shouted Meadows; "the place is public. Anybody walks into my room to-day, friend or foe. Don't ask my leave--come in, man, whoever you are--Mr. Crawley; well, I didn't expect a call from you any more than from this one."

"Now don't you be angry, sir. I had a good reason for intruding on you this once. Jackson!" Jackson stepped forward and touched William Fielding on the shoulder.

"You must come along with me," said he.

"What for?" inquired Fielding.

"You are arrested on this judgment," explained Crawley, letting the doc.u.ment peep a moment from his waistcoat pocket. William threw himself into an att.i.tude of defense. His first impulse was to knock the officer down and run into another county, but the next moment he saw the folly and injustice of this and another sentiment overpowered the honest simple fellow--shame. He covered his face with both his hands and groaned aloud with the sense of humiliation.

"Oh! my poor William!" cried Susan. "Oh! Mr. Meadows, can nothing be done?"

"Why, Miss Merton," said Meadows, looking down, "you can't expect me to do anything for him. If it was his brother now, Lawyer Crawley shouldn't ever take him out of my house."

Susan flushed all over. "That I am sure you would, Mr. Meadows," cried she (for feeling obscured grammar). "Now see, dear William, how your temper and unworthy suspicions alienate our friends; but father shan't let you lie in prison. Mr. Meadows, will you lend me a sheet of paper?"

She sat down, pen in hand, in generous excitement. While she wrote Mr.

Meadows addressed Crawley. "And now a word with you, Mr. Crawley. You and I meet on business now and then, but we are not on visiting terms that I know of. How come you to walk into my house with a constable at your back?"

"Well, sir, I did it for the best," said Crawley apologetically. "Our man came in here, and the street door was open, and I said, 'He is a friend of Mr. Meadows, perhaps it would be more delicate to all parties to take him indoors than in the open street.'"

"Oh, yes!" cried William, "it is bitter enough as it is, but that would have been worse--thank you for arresting me here--and now take me away and let me hide from all the world."

"Fools!" said a firm voice behind the screen.

"Fools!" At this word and a new voice Susan started up from the table and William turned his face from the wall. Meadows did more. "Another!"

cried he in utter amazement; "why my house is an inn. Ah!"

While speaking he had run round the screen and come plump upon Isaac Levi seated in a chair and looking up in his face with stern composure.

His exclamation brought the others round after him and a group of excited faces encircled this old man seated sternly composed.

"Fools!" repeated he, "these tricks were stale before England was a nation. Which of you two has the judgment?"

"I, sir," said Crawley, at a look from Meadows.

"The amount?"

"A hundred and six thirteen four."

"Here is the money. Give me the doc.u.ment."