The Vast Abyss

“You wanted to see me about business, uncle?”

“Yes,” said Uncle James, with a groan; “terrible business. Ah, Tom, my boy. But stop, go to the door, and see that no one is listening.”

Tom obeyed, opening and closing the door.

“No, uncle, there is no one there.”

“Turn the key, my boy, turn the key.”

Tom obeyed, wondering more and more, as he returned to his uncle’s side.

“Now, quick,” said the sick man; “go to that cupboard, and bring out that tin box.”

He did as he was told, and brought out an ordinary deed-box, which at a sign he placed upon a chair by his uncle’s side.

“Can I do anything else, uncle?”

“Yes, boy,” cried the sick man, “and it is my last request. Tom, I’ve been a wicked wretch to you, and I want you to forgive me before I die.”

Tom smiled.

“Of course, uncle,” he said quietly, as a feeling of pity for the wreck before him filled his breast, “I suppose I was very stupid, and made you cross.”

“He does not know, he does not know,” groaned James Brandon, as he clung to the boy’s hand, “and I must tell him. Tom, my boy, it was a sore temptation, and I did not resist it. I robbed you, my boy, dreadfully. Here, take these, it is to make amends: deeds of some property, my boy, and the mortgage of some money I have lent – nearly five thousand pounds, my boy, and all yours by rights.”

“Mine!” cried Tom, startled out of his calmness by the surprise.

“Yes, all yours, my boy. Your poor mother confided it to my care, Tom, for you, and I was tempted, and kept it all back. It was a fraud, Tom, and I am a criminal. I could not die with that on my conscience. Tell me you forgive me, Tom, before it is too late.”

Tom gazed at the convulsed face before him with a look of anger which changed into pity, and then to disgust.

“Do you hear me, boy? You must, you shall forgive me. Don’t you see I am almost a dying man?”

“My mother trusted that all to you, and you sto – kept it back, uncle,” said Tom sternly.

“Yes, my boy; yes, my boy. You are quite right – stole it all, robbed you – an orphan. But I’m punished, Tom. I haven’t had a happy hour since; and you see these – these deeds in the strong cloth-lined envelope, tied up with green silk – it is all yours, my boy. Take it and keep it till you come of age, and then it is yours to do with as you like. But tell me you forgive me.”

Tom was silent, and his uncle groaned.

“Am I to go down on my knees to you?” he cried.

“No, uncle,” said Tom sadly; “and I forgive you.”

“Ah!” cried the wretched man, “at last – at last!” and he burst out into an hysterical fit of sobbing, which was painful in the extreme to the listener, as he stood gazing down, with the great envelope in his hand, at the broken, wretched man before him, till the invalid looked up sharply.

“Put it away – in your jacket, boy, and never let me see it again. Give it to your uncle to take care of for you till you come of age. I shall be dead and gone then, Tom; but you will have forgiven me, and I shall be at rest.”

Tom said nothing, for his head was in a whirl, but he quietly buttoned up the packet in his breast.

“Have you told Uncle Richard, sir?” he said, at last.

“Told him? No, no one but you, boy.”

“I must tell him, sir.”

“Yes, but not here – not till you get home. Leave me now; I can bear no more. Go down and send up your aunt. I must take something – and sleep. I have had no rest for nights and nights, and I thought I should die before I had time to confess to you, Tom. But you forgive me, my boy – you forgive me?”

“Yes, uncle, once again I forgive you.”

“Now go,” cried the invalid, catching at and kissing the boy’s cold hand. “Don’t stop here; go back home, for fear, Tom.”

“For fear of what, uncle? you are not so bad as that.”

“For fear,” panted the sick man, with a strange cough, “for fear I should try to get them back. Quick! go. – Now I can sleep and rest.”

Tom went down, looking very strange, and found his aunt waiting anxiously.

“He is better, aunt,” said Tom quietly. “You are to go up to him at once.”

Aunt Fanny almost ran out of the room, and as soon as they were alone Tom turned to his uncle.

“We are to go back home directly,” he said.

“What, with him so bad! What about your business?”

“It is all done, uncle; and I am to take you back home, and tell you there.”

“Pish! why so much mystery, Tom?”

“It is Uncle James’s wish, Uncle Richard,” said Tom gravely.

“It was business then?”

“Very important.”

“And we are to go?”

“Yes, at once. I want to go too, uncle, for I feel as if I could not breathe here. Don’t speak to me; don’t ask me anything till we get back, and then I’ll tell you all.”

“This is a strange business, Tom,” said Uncle Richard, “but it is his wish then. Well, we will go.”

That night Tom sat in his uncle’s study, and told of his interview with the sick man, while his hearer slowly turned his head more and more away, till the little narrative was at an end. Once, as he spoke, Tom heard the words muttered —

“A scoundrel! My own brother too.”

Then Uncle Richard was very silent, and his face was pale and strange, as he took the packet from his nephew’s hand.

“He must have been half mad, my boy,” he said huskily, “or he would not have done this thing. This must be our secret, Tom – a family secret, never mentioned for all our sakes. We’ll put the deeds in the old bureau to-morrow, and try and forget it all till the proper time comes. There, I’m better now. Glad too, very glad, Tom. First that he repented of the wrong-doing, and glad that you are so independent, my boy. It was always a puzzle to me that your poor mother should have left you so badly off. I said nothing, for I thought she must have foolishly frittered away what should have been yours.”