The Story of Antony Grace Part 79

There was again a deep silence in the room.

"Antony," she said again, "why do you not help your friend?"

"I do," I said eagerly. "I have worked at it all night with him sometimes, and spent all my pocket-money upon it--though he doesn't know it. He thinks I have turned some of the wheels and spindles myself, but I set some of our best workmen to do it, and cut me the cogs and ratchets."

"And paid for them yourself?"

"Yes, Miss Carr. I could not have made them well enough."

"But why not help him more substantially, Antony? With the money that is required?"

"I help him?" I said.

She did not answer for a few moments, for a struggle was going on within her breast, but she spoke at last. Her pride and feminine shrinking had given way before the love that she had been striving these many months to crush, but which was sweeping all before it now.

"Antony," she said softly, "I can trust to you, I know; and I feel that whatever I help you in will be for the best. You shall help your friend Mr Hallett. My purse shall be open to you, and you shall find the means to enable him to carry his project to success."

"Oh, Miss Carr!" I cried; and in my new delight I caught and kissed her hand.

She laid one upon my shoulder, but her head was averted still, and then she motioned me to resume my seat.

"Does that satisfy you, Antony?" she said.

"Yes--no," I cried, getting up and walking up and down the room. "He would not take the money; he would be a great deal too proud."

"Would not take the money, Antony? Why?"

"Because he would know that it came from you."

"And knowing that the money came from me, Antony, would he not take it?"

"No, I am sure he would not."

"Why?"

"Because--because--Miss Carr, should you be angry with me if I told you the truth?"

She paused again, some minutes, before she replied softly, but in so strange a tone: "No, Antony. How could I?"

"Because, Miss Carr, I am sure he loves you: and he would think it lowered him in your eyes."

She turned upon me a look that seemed hot with anger, but the next moment she had turned her face away, and I could see that her bosom was heaving with suppressed emotion.

A great struggle was evidently going on within her breast, and it was some time before she could master it. At last, however, she turned to me a face that was deadly pale, and there was something very stern in her looks as she said to me:

"Antony, we have been separated for a year, but can you speak to me with the same boyish truth and candour as of old, in the spirit taught you, my dear boy, by the father and mother you have lost?"

"Oh yes, Miss Carr," I said frankly, as I laid my hand in hers, and looked in her beautiful eyes.

"Yes, Antony, you can," she said softly. "Tell me, then, has Mr Hallett ever dared to say such a thing as--as that to you?"

"Never, Miss Carr."

"Has--has my name been made the subject of conversation amongst your friends?"

"Never, Miss Carr."

"Or been coupled with his?"

"Oh! no, no," I cried, "never. Mr Hallett has rarely mentioned your name."

"Then how can you--how can you dare to make such an a.s.sertion as you did?"

"I don't know," I replied thoughtfully. "I could not tell you how it is, but I am sure he does love you as much as I do, Miss Carr."

"I believe you do, Antony," she said, bending forward and kissing my forehead. "But, you foolish boy, drive that other notion from your head, and if you do love me, Antony--and I would have you love me, my boy, as dearly as you loved her who has gone--never speak to your dearest friend of our words to-night."

"Oh, you may trust me for that," I said proudly.

"I do trust you, Antony, and I see now that your ideas are right about the money. Still, I should like you to help your friend."

"So should I," I said; and I sat thinking dreamily over the matter, being intensely desirous of helping Hallett, till it was time to go, when an idea occurred to me which I proposed to Miss Carr, one which she gladly accepted, joining eagerly in what was, perhaps, a deception, but one most truly and kindly meant.

CHAPTER FORTY EIGHT.

AN INVITATION.

"Hallo, young Grace," said Mr Jabez Rowle, as I was shown up one evening into his room, to find him, snuff-box on the table and pen in hand, reading away at his paper, and, as I entered, smiling with satisfaction as he pounced upon a literal error, and marked it in the margin. "How are you?"

I said I was quite well, and he pointed to several pen marks at the side of the column.

"There's reading," he said contemptuously. "I'm ashamed of these daily papers, that I am. Well, how are wheels and lathes and steam-engines, eh? Bah! what a contemptible young sneak you were to leave so good a business for oil and steam and steel-filings. I give you up now. Glad to see you, though; sit down. Have a pinch or snuff?"

"No, thanks," I said, smiling.

"Humph! how you grow, you young dog; why, you'll soon be a man. Better have a pinch; capital bit of snuff."

I shook my head, and he went on, smiling grimly at me the while.

"No business to have left me, Grace. I should have made a man of you.

Well, how are you getting on?"

"Capitally," I said.

"Don't believe it. Better have stopped with me. Heard from Peter?"

"No," I said eagerly. "Have you?"