London's Heart: A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold
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the silver cup, and her eyes brightened.
"Take a little, Lily," he said; "it will do you good."
She drank a little, and felt stronger at once.
"Where's grandfather?" she asked then.
"He will be with you presently," replied Felix. "I am going into him. I will tell him to come to you. But before I go," and here his voice faltered, and became more earnest, "I want you to say that you forgive me for any pain that you may have felt in-in there," pointing in the direction of the room they had left.
"Forgive you!" said Lily, in surprise. "Why, you have been kind to us It was not you who said those dreadful words to grandfather. There is nothing to forgive in you."
"There is much to forgive," said Felix impetuously; "much, very much, if it be true that the sins of the father shall be visited on the children. I am in that state of remorse that I feel as if I had been the cause of your suffering and your pain."
"Nay, you must not think that," she said, in a very gentle voice; "I am not well, and we have come a long, long way."
"Well, but humour my whim," he persisted; "it will please me. Say, 'I forgive you.'"
"I forgive you," she said, with a sad sweet smile.
"Thank you," he said gravely, and touched her hand: and as he walked into the house again, and into the study where his father and old Wheels were, Lily's sad smile lingered with him, and made him, it may be presumed, more unreasonably remorseful.
While this scene was being enacted outside the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell's house, the conversation between the minister and old Wheels was proceeding. When Lily was out of the room, the old man said,
"Will you please detain me here as short a time as possible, sir, as we have much to do and far to go?"
"I will not detain you long," said the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, in the tone of a man who is about to smite his enemy on the hip; "possibly you would not have remained, had you not been curious to know what I have to say respecting your son-in-law."
"Possibly not, sir; you may guess the reason why I wished the tender girl who was here just now not to be present while you spoke."
"Because I might say something unpleasant. Well, it is not a creditable story. Searching among the papers of a deceased man, having warranty to do so, his effects being the property of my son, I came upon this paper. It recites a singular story of an embezzlement, which took place-let me see; ah, yes-which took place nearly eighteen years ago. You know the story, probably?"
"There are so many stories of embezzlement. Is my name mentioned?"
"Otherwise I should not have spoken of the matter to you. After reciting the manner of the embezzlement and the name of the criminal, it speaks of intercession by you on his behalf, and how, somewhat out of compassion and somewhat out of policy, criminal proceedings were withheld. You undertook to repay the money, and after the payment of one large sum, dates are set down on which smaller sums were paid on account from time to time."
"Anything to deny?" asked the minister.
At this point Felix entered the room.
"Nothing to deny. The story is true."
"And you," exclaimed the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell loftily, "the father of a criminal who should be expiating his crime in prison, presume to lift your voice against me! Truly, I should but be doing my duty to society if I were to make the matter public."
"Do I understand that the man from whom the money was embezzled is dead?"
"He is dead."
"There is a balance still due," said old Wheels; "one hundred pounds. Has he left the claim to any one?"
"My son is heir to the property," said the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell.
"Your son!" There were traces of disappointment in the old man's voice as he looked at Felix. "Is this he?"
"This is he."
"You shall be repaid, sir," said the old man humbly to Felix, "to the last farthing." Felix, who had stood before the old man with head inclined, turned away abruptly at these words, and looked out of window. "It is but just," continued the old man in firm and gentle tones, "that you and he should know, that no one was to blame but the unfortunate man who committed the crime-for crime it was undoubtedly, although the law judged it not. The children who were here awhile ago were babes at the time, and it was to save all of us from shame and misery that I undertook to repay the money. I have been all my life paying it, as you may see by the statement in your hand. I did not know that such a document was in existence. I have a signed quittance for the money at home, and have had from the time I paid the first instalment, which, as you see, was large enough to wipe off at once three-fourths of the debt. But the moral claim remained and remains. It is my pride to think that some part of my dear granddaughter's earnings have gone towards the clearing of her father's shame, of which, up to the present moment, she has never heard. Depend upon it, sir, the balancer that remains shall be faithfully paid. Have you anything farther to say to me?"
"Nothing farther. You can go."
The old man lingered as though he were wishful to say a word to Felix; but that young gentleman, standing with his back to him, gave him no opportunity, and he left the study in silence. Then the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell rose and, paced the room, indulging in bitter meditations. It had been an unfortunate afternoon for him; everything but this last small triumph had gone wrong with him; he had been crossed, almost defied, at every turn. First, his son; then, this presumptuous old man, whose words were still burning in his mind. And his son's silence now irritated him. Every moment added to his irritation. Felix, standing with his face to the window, looking out upon the churchyard, and upon the figures of the old man and his grandchildren walking towards the grave, showed no disposition to move or to speak. In the eyes of his father this implied disrespect. He was not destitute of a certain decision of character, and in harsh tones he called upon Felix, to speak.
"I have been considering, sir," said Felix. "I ask your pardon for keeping you waiting."
"Considering what?" demanded the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell.
"The proposition you made to me before these persons intruded upon us. You offered me a shelter here, until I determined upon a profession.
"On the express understanding that you conform to my rules."
"I do not forget, sir. Those were your very words. Will you permit me?" He took from the table the document which had been referred to in the conversation that had lately taken place. "And this old man has been all his life paying a debt for which he was not liable! There is hope yet for human nature, sir." A queer smile came upon his lips as he uttered these words in a half-gentle, half-bantering tone.
"Speak plainly," was the stern rejoinder of the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell.
"I will try to do so. My uncle left a request that all his papers should be burnt, and I am my uncle's heir. Why was this preserved?"
"You have heard: for your good. It is worth money to you. The man admits the claim."
"Money!" exclaimed Felix, with a light laugh, in which there was bitterness: "But the dead must be obeyed."
He went to the fireplace, struck a match, and applied the light to the paper. The Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, with face white with anger, watched the burning of the paper. Felix let the ashes fall into the fender, and tapped his fingers lightly together, with the air of one wiping away a soil.
"So!" he said. "I wash my hands of that."
"You know what you have done?" said the Reverend Emanuel Creamwell, placing his hand upon the table to steady himself.
"Yes, sir," answered, Felix gravely; "I shall never trouble you again."
Then he left the room quietly and sadly.
CHAPTER XI
FELIX, DISSATISFIED WITH THE REALITY, SETS UP AN IDOL, AND WORSHIPS IT
In the passage Felix was confronted by the colourless housekeeper. He had a kindly feeling for her. She had been his father's