Chapter 18

on't."

Mr. Spriggins reasoned thus, and the upshot of it was that next morning, after he had got a man to take his place, set off to town, a distance of twenty-two miles.

A pallor overspread the countenance of Mr. Lawson as he glanced at the missive which Mr. Spriggins placed in his hand, with the impression that it was business.

"Yes, it is indeed business, Mr. Spriggins, and I am your debtor for life," said the young man, extending his hand to the obliging Moses and giving him that hearty shake which often betokens lasting gratitude.

"Call on me at any time, Mr. Spriggins; you will be in again soon, I presume."

"After hayin', sir."

"Very well," and bowing the visitor out the lawyer once more took up the letter and read it slowly through.

"Heavens!" exclaimed the young man, excitedly. "I have it in my power to bring the scoundrel to justice. Thank God, I have not fallen a victim to the villains. And to think of the simple way by which it is brought about. Oh! Heavenly Father! to Thee I am truly grateful." The speaker raised his eyes upwards, and a light shone upon the broad manly brow--a light that seemed really to descend from Heaven.

Phillip Lawson buried his face in his hands and remained thus for some time.

During these moments what a rush of thought passed through the busy brain. What a change from the last fortnight, when he had made up his mind to leave for a distant town in the far West.

"And yet, if it had not been for the second part of the offence, I could have borne it; aye, it might have been better for me in the end. But the dreadful pit into which I was inevitably to fall--God forgive them. Hubert Tracy--we may never meet again, and if we do, you shall never know. And all engaged in it were of the profession. No wonder lawyers are denounced in the holy writ--"

"My dear old brother looks as if he had lost every friend in the world."

Looking up Phillip Lawson saw a _petite_ figure in white cambric frock standing at his elbow. The child put her arms around her brother's neck and looked steadily into the honest grey eyes, so full of thought and so striking in their depths.

"Phillip, you are troubled, and you are hiding it from me. Dearest and best of brothers, can I not help you? I am not the little child you think me. Oh! Phillip; I can be a woman when I am needed," and the large bright eyes filled with tears.

"What nonsense, Puss. What an imaginary little creature you are. Now please drive away such silly thoughts, and when Brother Phillip is in need of sympathy he will ask none other than his little sunbeam."

The young man then kissed back the sunny smiles and listened to the playful prattle which fell from the bright lips. Then he thought of the lines--

"The tear down childhood's cheek that flows Is like the dew-drop on the rose; When next the summer breeze comes by And waves the bush, the flower is dry."

"What have you there, Puss?" said Phillip, glancing at the volumes in the child's hand.

"I can scarcely tell you, but I believe they are good, for Miss Lewis recommended them."

Mr. Lawson took up one of the volumes. It was Miss Alcott's first work--"Moods."

"It is very good, indeed, but I fear you are too young to appreciate it. There is an analysis of character that requires much mind knowledge, and that is why so many young girls consider it dry. If I were to explain it fully you would not understand; but you can read the volume through, and we will have a little chat when you have finished. I hope my little sister will not be impulsive and moody as the heroine."

Phillip then patted the golden curls, and as he stooped to kiss the pretty pouting lips he saw a fair vision of a lovely maiden, no longer a child on her brother's knee, but a sweet and amiable maiden, with a subdued and thoughtful look that showed she had struck a sympathetic chord in a fond brother's breast and given him the devotion of her first and purest love.

Then the dreamer vainly tried to draw another picture; but all was chaos. No bright form could be exorcised from the conglomerate heap. All was disorder--a ruined mound of buried hopes!--a blackness dark as the Stygian shore.

"Is it not nice that we have a Public Library now!" cried the child in gleeful tone, so sadly in contrast to her brother's thoughts.

"It is, indeed, Puss. I wonder how you young ladies got along before we had one?"

"We did not get along at all, Brother Phillip. Annie Morrison says that it was not living, only staying."

"I suppose Miss Annie must be right," said the lawyer, turning to the other volume.

"'Tales of a Grandfather.' In this you have something nice. I read it when quite a little boy, and I can remember much at it yet."

"It is Scott's, and anything of his I love," said Lottie, with a womanly air.

"It is historical, and such books are great helps to study. You must read some of it this evening, child. I am somewhat, tired, and will be both amused and entertained. You can sit in the old chair and I will play lazybones upon the lounge."

Hand in hand went the pair in the direction of the cottage.

When Phillip Lawson sought the asylum of his own room he knelt down, and offered up a fervent prayer at the Throne of Mercy.

A sense of relief followed, and a light seemed to break forth amidst the gloom--a light that lightened the dark path of life and portended to usher in a new and happier day. The last look of Hubert Tracy received interpretation, and as Phillip Lawson thought over and over of the deep abyss into which he was so nearly to be plunged, tried hard to feel kindly towards the perpetrator of the double-sided crime.

"God forgive him! Let him pass into other hands than mine," was the young man's decision as he turned over the pages of the cruel letter. The young barrister was magnanimous in the highest degree. It was then the grandeur of his character shone in its purity and nobility, and as his sister came in with a tiny note she fancied that she heard him repeat in earnest tones the words "never-- never--never!"

"This is for you, Brother Phillip; Fred. Verne left it this afternoon."

A smile followed the reading of the note. It was from Cousin Jennie. The young lady had arrived in the city and was ready to convey him to "Gladswood," free of charge.

"Lottie, can you get Edith to stay with you this evening? I shall be out."

The girl, with all the impetuosity of her nature, set off on the gleeful message, while Phillip Lawson mapped out a letter that was energetic and full of decision.

"There will be no more solicitation from that quarter. Heavens! it was a great temptation. Well, if I had exposed them, what good could come of it."

A few hours later Mr. Lawson was announced at Sunnybank. Cousin Jennie was in her gayest mood.

"I am ready for you. Mr. Lawson; what is your verdict?" cried she, giving him a hearty shake of the hand.

"That the law must take its course," said Mr. Verne, who at that moment entered and gave the young man a warm greeting.

"You have been sadly delinquent of late, Mr. Lawson. I ask the women folks, and the answer invariably is in the negative. Now, if it were not that this little country girl is here I would carry you off to my den."

"Yes, Uncle Verne, it is just such an ungallant thing as you would do," cried Jennie, giving her head a saucy toss.

"Madge, you are just in time to support our claims."

"Pray enlighten me, dearest," said Marguerite, who, hat in hand, stood on the threshold.

A second look caused a slight blush to mantle upon her cheek, and she came forward with a sweet smile and gave her hand to the welcome guest.

"Mamma has a severe headache and wishes me to convey her regrets to you, Mr. Lawson," said Marguerite, on her return to the drawing-room a few minutes later.

After the young girl made the above speech her eyes met those of her father, and she knew that he felt annoyed. Did he think she had done wrong? She could not refuse to deliver her mother's message. And that headache! It was a purely conventional one--arranged for effect. Mr. Verne had occasion to say some hasty words to his wife. He could not sanction the steps she had taken in direct opposition to his advice, and he must speak his mind. He was a man of few words, but those words were to the point.

Thus while the rest of the family enjoyed themselves in the drawing-room Mrs. Verne gracefully reclined upon die gorgeous crimson lounge in her own room, and was as deeply interested in the heroine of the novel which she was reading as a maiden of eighteen.

"Half-past nine. How the time flies over a good book. It is better that I don't go down. I would be almost tempted to break the news. Enjoy yourself while you may, my verdant friend. Money will triumph over brains, especially when you have none of the former to back them up."

Mrs. Verne picked up the ivory-backed hand glass within her reach, and looking into its depths, exclaimed, "Mrs. Verne, of St. John, New Brunswick--not exactly beautiful, but a pretty and fascinating woman."

As Mrs. Verne laid aside the glass and once more took up the novel--but not to read--her thoughts were bent upon conquest of an important nature. Accomplish her end she must at the risk of all that was near to her, and all that ought to be dear to her.