Eli's Children Part 91

Luke shook his head.

"Do you--do you think,"--the old man held his son's hand in both his own, and looked timidly in his face, "do you think about her still, my boy?"

"Every day, father," said the young man, sternly. "I always shall."

"Yes, yes, my boy. That is why I came up. I came to tell you, my boy: she's in very great trouble."

"Trouble!" said Luke, quickly; and his voice sounded hoa.r.s.e and strange--"again?"

"Yes, yes, my boy. I knew you would like to know."

Luke s.n.a.t.c.hed his hand away, and paced up and down the room several times before stopping in front of the old man once more. "Has--has she been down, father?"

"Yes, my boy, she came down with her two little girls."

"Did you see her?" said Luke, hoa.r.s.ely. "Yes, my boy. I had to go to Churchwarden Portlock about some skins, and he took me into the room where she was, and she shook hands. Poor girl, poor girl, she's strange and changed."

"Changed, father?"

"Yes; old and careworn, and as if she'd suffered a deal of trouble."

Luke Ross's head went down upon his breast, and his voice was almost inaudible as he said--

"What is her trouble now?"

"You have heard nothing, then, my boy?"

"No, father, nothing."

"Not that the wine merchant's business has all come to bankruptcy?"

"No, father; but I am not surprised. He will always be a beggar. That is her trouble, then. She is back home?"

"Oh, no, my boy; she is in London. She would not leave her husband.

Churchwarden Portlock came up with her, for it is a terrible trouble this time."

"Indeed, father! Why?"

"They say he has committed forgery, my boy, and done no end of ill, and--and--"

"And what, father?" cried Lake, whose eyes were flas.h.i.+ng with eagerness.

"He has been cast into prison, my boy, and they say it is a terribly bad case."

PART THREE, CHAPTER FOUR.

AN IMPORTANT BRIEF.

Luke Ross sat on the edge of his table for a few minutes gazing into vacancy, and at times it was with a look akin to triumph that he pondered upon the fall of the man who had been his one enemy--him who had seemed to turn the whole current of his life.

But as the old man watched his countenance, a sadder, softer mood came over it, and he said, as he turned once more to meet his father's eyes--

"Poor girl! It is terrible, indeed."

"Very, very terrible, my boy; and they say poor Mrs Mallow is dying.

Surely our poor parson has much to bear--much, indeed, to bear."

There was a few minutes' silence, and then Luke turned to his father, and his lips moved to speak, but no words came for a time. At last he said--

"Do you know where Mrs Cyril Mallow is staying, father?"

"Yes, my boy. Portlock told me, and asked me to go and see them if I came up."

"Go, then, father, and if you can help him, do so. I cannot go, but you--you could. Help Mr Portlock if you can, and come to me for what you require. Poor girl," he added, to himself, "what a fate it is.

Poor girl--poor girl!"

"I--I didn't think you would take on about it quite so much, my boy; but I thought I ought to tell you about it all."

"Yes, yes, father; it was quite right. I am glad you came up."

"It's--it's all about money, my boy, that Cyril Mallow has got into trouble."

"Yes, father, I suppose so," said Luke, whose thoughts were evidently in another direction.

"I liked Sage Portlock--I always did like her, my boy; and as you are getting on so well, and don't want the money I've sc.r.a.ped up for you, I wouldn't mind helping her in her trouble."

"It's very good of you, father," said the young man, smiling sadly.

"But it would be like pouring money into a well if her husband gets hold of it."

"If it is a case such as you describe, father," said Luke, thoughtfully, "I doubt whether money would be of much good."

The old man looked very anxiously at his son, even with a kind of awe, as if he were afraid of him.

"I don't like to ask him," he muttered, "I don't like to ask him;" and he took out his old faded handkerchief and began nervously wiping his hands upon it, till Luke, in his abstraction, turned his eyes upon him with a vacant look that gradually became intense, as his father grew more nervous and troubled of mien.

As the old man shrank and avoided the gaze which drew him back, as it were, to look appealingly in the stern, searching eyes of his son, Luke spoke to him with the sharpness of one trying to master an evading witness, so that the old man started as the young barrister exclaimed--

"What is it, father? You are keeping something back."

"I--I hardly liked to say it, my boy. Don't be angry with me."

"Angry with you! What nonsense, father. But speak out. What is it?

You want to say something to me."

"Ye-es, my boy, I do. But give me your hand, and don't speak so sharp and angrily to me. I'm--I'm getting old and nervous now, and a very little seems to upset me. I don't even like to walk amongst the tan-pits now, where I used to run without being a bit afraid. Thank you, my boy, thank you," he continued, nervously, as Luke caught and held his hand.