"Stay at home all the morning and expect me to call on you."

I thanked him for the inestimable assistance which he was rendering to

me, with the gratitude that I really felt; and, declining a hospitable

invitation to sleep that night at Hampstead, returned to my lodgings in

London.

Of the day that followed, I have only to say that it was the longest day

of my life. Innocent as I knew myself to be, certain as I was that the

abominable imputation which rested on me must sooner or later be cleared

off, there was nevertheless a sense of self-abasement in my mind which

instinctively disinclined me to see any of my friends. We often hear

Advertisement..

(almost invariably, however, from superficial observers) that guilt can

look like innocence. I believe it to be infinitely the truer axiom of

the two that innocence can look like guilt. I caused myself to be denied

all day, to every visitor who called; and I only ventured out under

cover of the night.

The next morning, Mr. Bruff surprised me at the breakfast-table. He

handed me a large key, and announced that he felt ashamed of himself for

the first time in his life.

"Is she coming?"

"She is coming to-day, to lunch and spend the afternoon with my wife and

my girls."

"Are Mrs. Bruff, and your daughters, in the secret?"

"Inevitably. But women, as you may have observed, have no principles. My

family don't feel my pangs of conscience. The end being to bring you

and Rachel together again, my wife and daughters pass over the means

employed to gain it, as composedly as if they were Jesuits."

"I am infinitely obliged to them. What is this key?"

"The key of the gate in my back-garden wall. Be there at three this

afternoon. Let yourself into the garden, and make your way in by the

conservatory door. Cross the small drawing-room, and open the door

in front of you which leads into the music-room. There, you will find

Rachel--and find her, alone."

"How can I thank you!"

"I will tell you how. Don't blame me for what happens afterwards."

With those words, he went out.

I had many weary hours still to wait through. To while away the time, I

looked at my letters. Among them was a letter from Betteredge.

I opened it eagerly. To my surprise and disappointment, it began with

an apology warning me to expect no news of any importance. In the next

sentence the everlasting Ezra Jennings appeared again! He had stopped

Betteredge on the way out of the station, and had asked who I was.

Informed on this point, he had mentioned having seen me to his master

Mr. Candy. Mr. Candy hearing of this, had himself driven over to

Betteredge, to express his regret at our having missed each other. He

had a reason for wishing particularly to speak to me; and when I was

next in the neighbourhood of Frizinghall, he begged I would let him

know. Apart from a few characteristic utterances of the Betteredge

philosophy, this was the sum and substance of my correspondent's letter.

The warm-hearted, faithful old man acknowledged that he had written

"mainly for the pleasure of writing to me."




Most Popular