CHAPTER LVII.
WHEN Joseph Wylie disappeared from the scene, Nancy Rouse made adiscovery which very often follows the dismissal of a suitor--that shewas considerably more attached to him than she had thought. The housebecame dull, the subordinate washerwomen languid; their taciturnityirritated and depressed Nancy by turns.
In the midst of this, Michael Penfold discovered that Helen had come backsafe. He came into her parlor, beaming with satisfaction, and told her ofthe good news. It gave her immense delight at first. But, when she hadgot used to her joy on that score, she began to think she had used JoeWylie very ill. Now that Helen was saved, she could no longer realizethat Wylie was so very much to blame.
She even persuaded herself that his disappearance was the act of a justlyoffended man; and, as he belonged to a class of whose good sense she hada poor opinion, she was tormented with fears that he would do somedesperate act--drown himself, or go to sea; or, worst of all, marry sometrollop. She became very anxious and unhappy. Before this misfortune sheused to go about singing the first verse of a song, and whistling thenext, like any plowboy; an eccentric performance, but it made the housegay. Now both song and whistle were suspended! and, instead, it was allhard work and hard crying; turn about.
She attached herself to Michael Penfold because he had known trouble, andwas sympathetic. And these two opened their hearts to one another, andformed a friendship that was very honest and touching.
The scene of their conversation and mutual consolation was Nancy'sparlor; a little mite of a room she had partitioned off from herbusiness. "For," said she, "a lady I'll be--after my work is done--if itis only in a cupboard." The room had a remarkably large fireplace, whichhad originally warmed the whole floor, but now was used as a ventilatoronly. The gas would have been stifling without it. As for lighting a firein it, that was out of the question.
On a certain evening, soon after Mr. Penfold's return from Scotland, thepair sat over their tea, and the conversation fell on the missingsweetheart. Michael had been thinking it over, and was full ofencouragement. He said:
"Miss Rouse, something tells me that, if poor Mr. Wylie could only knowyour heart, he would turn up again directly. What we ought to do is tosend somebody to look for him in all the sailors' haunts--some sharpfellow-- Dear me, what a knocking they keep up next door!"
"Oh, that is always the way when one wants a quiet chat. Drat the woman!I'll have her indicted."
"No, you won't, Miss Rouse. She is a poor soul, and has got no businessexcept letting lodgings; she is not like you. But I do hope she will beso kind as not to come quite through the wall."
"Dear heart!" said Nancy, "go on, and never mind her noise, which it isworse than a horgan-grinder."
"Well, then, if you can't find him that way, I say--Advertise."
"Me!" cried Nancy, turning very red. "Do I look like a woman as wouldadvertise for a man?"
"No, ma'am. Quite the reverse. But what I mean is, you might put insomething not too plain. For instance: If J. W. will return to N. R., allwill be forgotten and forgiven."
"He'd have the upper hand of me for life," said Nancy. "No, no; I won'tadvertise for the fool. What right had he to run off at the first word?He ought to know my bark is worse than my bite by this time. You can,though."
"Me bite, ma'am?" said the old gentleman.
"Bite? no. Advertise, since you're so fond of it. Come, you sit down andwrite one; and I'll pay for it, for that matter."
Michael sat down, and drew up the following: "If Mr. Joseph Wylie willcall on Michael Penfold, at No. 3 E. C., he will hear of something to hisadvantage."
"To his advantage?" said Nancy, doubtfully. "Why not tell him the truth?"
"Why, that is the truth, ma'am. Isn't it to his advantage to bereconciled to an honest, virtuous, painstaking lady, that honors him withher affection--and me with her friendship? Besides, it is the commonform; and there is nothing like sticking to form."
"Mr. Penfold," said Nancy, "any one can see you was born a gentleman; andI am a deal prouder to have you and your washing than I should him aspays you your wages. Pale eyes--pale hair--pale eyebrows--I wouldn'ttrust him to mangle a duster."
"Oh, Miss Rouse! Pray don't disparage my good master to me."
"I can't help it, sir. Thought is free, especially in this herecompartment. Better speak one's mind than die o' the sulks. So shut yourear when my music jars. But one every other day is enough. If he won'tcome back for that, why, he must go, and I must look out for another;there's as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. Still, I'll notdeny I have a great respect for poor Joe. Oh, Mr. Penfold, what shall Ido! Oh, oh, oh!"
"There, there," said Michael, "I'll put this into the _Times_ every day."
"You are a good soul, Mr. Penfold. Oh--oh, oh!"
When he had finished the advertisement in a clerkly hand, and she hadfinished her cry, she felt comparatively comfortable, and favored Mr.Penfold with some reflections.
"Dear heart, Mr. Penfold, how you and I do take to one another, to besure. But so we ought; for we are honest folk, the pair, and has had ahard time. Don't it never strike you rather curious that two thousandpounds was at the bottom of both our troubles, yourn and mine? I mighthave married Joe, and been a happy woman with him; but the Devil puts inmy head-- There you go again hammering! Life ain't worth having next doorto that lodging-house. Drat the woman, if she must peck, why don't she goin the churchyard and peck her own grave; which we shall never be quiettill she is there. And these here gimcrack houses, they won't stand nomore pecking at than a soap-sud. Ay, that's what hurts me, Mr. Penfold.The Lord had given him and me health and strength and honesty; ourbetters had wed for love and wrought for money, as the saying is; but Imust go again Nature, that cried 'Come couple'; and must bargain for twothousand pounds. So now I've lost the man, and not got the money, nornever shall. And, if I had, I'd burn-- Ah--ah--ah--ah--ah!"
This tirade ended in stifled screams of terror, caused by the suddenappearance of a human hand, in a place and in a manner well adapted toshake the stoutest laundress's nerves.
This hand came through the brick-work of the chimney-place, and thereremained a moment or two. Then slowly retired, and as it retiredsomething was heard to fall upon the shavings and tinsel of thefireplace.
Nancy, by a feminine impulse, put her hands before her face, to hide thissupernatural hand; and, when she found courage to withdraw them, andglare at the place, there was no aperture whatever in the brick-work;and, consequently, the hand appeared to have traversed the solidmaterial, both coming and going.
"Oh, Mr. Penfold," cried Nancy; "I'm a sinful woman. This comes oftalking of the Devil arter sunset;" and she sat trembling so that thevery floor shook.
Mr. Penfold's nerves were not strong. He and Nancy both huddled togetherfor mutual protection, and their faces had not a vestige of color left inthem.
However, after a period of general paralysis, Penfold whispered:
"I heard it drop something on the shavings."
"Then we shall be all in a blaze o' brimstone," shrieked Nancy, wringingher hands.
And they waited to see.
Then, as no conflagration took place, Mr. Penfold got up, and said hemust go and see what it was the hand had dropped.
Nancy, in whom curiosity was beginning to battle with terror, let him goto the fireplace without a word of objection, and then cried out:
"Don't go anigh it, sir; it will do you a mischief; don't touch, itwhatever. _Take the tongs."_
He took the tongs, and presently flung into the middle of the room asmall oilskin packet. This, as it lay on the ground, they both eyed liketwo deer glowering at a piece of red cloth, and ready to leap back overthe moon if it should show signs of biting. But oil-skin is notpreternatural, nor has tradition connected it, however remotely, with theEnemy of man.
Consequently, a great revulsion took place in Nancy, and she passed fromfear to indignation at having been frightened so.
She ran to the fireplace, and,
putting her head up the chimney, screamed,"Heave your dirt where you heave your love, ye Brazen!"
While she was objurgating her neighbor, whom, with feminine justice, sheheld responsible for every act done in her house, Penfold undid thepacket, and Nancy returned to her seat, with her mind more at ease, toexamine the contents.
"Bank-notes!" cried Penfold.
"Ay," said Nancy incredulously, "they do look like bank-notes, and feellike 'em; but they ain't wrote like them. Bank-notes ain't wrote blacklike that in the left-hand corner."
Penfold explained.
"Ten-pound notes are not, nor fives; but large notes are. These are allfifties."
"Fifty whats?"
"Fifty pounds."
"What, each of them bits of paper worth fifty pounds?"
"Yes. Let us count them; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14,15, 16, 17, 18--Oh, Lord!--20. Why, that is two thousand pounds--just twothousand pounds. It is the very sum that ruined me; it did not belong tome, and it's being in the house ruined my poor Robert. And this does notbelong to you. Lock all the doors, bar all the windows, and burn thembefore the police come."
"Wait a bit," said Nancy--"wait a bit." They sat on each side of thenotes; Penfold agitated and terrified, Nancy confounded and perplexed.