Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

“Why, how did you know?” cried Pratt.

“I always read the law reports in the Times” said Fin, demurely.

Pratt choked; he felt blind; then the railings seemed to be dancing with the trees, and the little children to be transformed into cherubs, attended by angels, with triumphant perambulating cars. He felt as if he wanted to do something frantic; and it was a minute before he came to himself, and could see that the tears were running down Fin’s cheeks.

“Thank you,” he said at last. “Finetta – Fin – may I call you Fin? – dearest Fin, say I may.”

“No, no, no,” jerked out Fin, hysterically – “you mustn’t do anything of the kind. Pa wouldn’t approve, and Aunt Matty hates you, and – and – and I’m nearly sure I do.”

“Go on hating me like this, then,” cried Pratt, rapturously. “Oh, darling, you’ve made me so happy!”

“I haven’t,” protested Fin, “and I can’t, and I won’t. How can I, when poor darling Tiny has been so treated by that odious wretch?”

“What – Vanleigh?”

“No, you know what I mean; but he’s an odious wretch, too. It’s abominable. Mr Trevor ought to be hung.”

“Why?” said Pratt.

“Why?” echoed Fin. “Hasn’t he jilted my poor darling, and behaved cruelly to her, after winning her heart, just as all men do?”

“No,” said Pratt, stoutly.

“What!” cried Fin, “didn’t I see him out with her himself, and hasn’t somebody been at our house dropping hints about it – unwillingly, of course – and made pa delighted, and Aunt Matty malicious? while poor mamma has done nothing but cry, because she liked and believed in your nice friend. As to poor Tiny, she was dangerously ill for a time.”

“I don’t care,” said Pratt, vehemently; and he arranged an imaginary wig, and waved some non-existent papers in the air. “Matters may be against my client – I mean Dick; but I’ll stake my life on his honour. I say Richard Trevor – Lloyd, as he calls himself now – is a true man of honour. Look how he gave up the estate! See how he yielded his pretensions to Miss Rea’s hand! And do you dare to tell me that this is a man who would stoop to a flirtation, or worse, when he owns to being cut up by the loss he has sustained? I say it’s impossible, and that the person who would dare to charge my cli – friend, Richard Trevor, alias Lloyd, with such duplicity is – ”

“What?” said Fin, sharply. That one little word went through Frank Pratt. He cooled on the instant, the flush of excitement passed away, and, in a crestfallen manner, he groaned —

“That’s just like me. What a fool I am! Now you’ll be cross with me.”

“No, I shan’t,” said Fin, demurely. “I like it. It’s nice of you to stand up for your friend. I like a man to be a trump.”

Fin’s face was like scarlet as soon as she made this admission; and to qualify it, she hurriedly exclaimed —

“You may like him if you please; but till I see him cleared I shall hate him bitterly; and – and – and – I don’t know how he ought to be punished. He’ll be punished enough, though, by losing my sweet sister. Why didn’t you like her, instead of some one else?” she said, archly.

“Don’t ask me,” said Pratt. “I’m so happy, I shall do something foolish.”

“You haven’t anything to be happy about,” said Fin; “for I’m going to devote myself to Tiny, and if they force her into this hateful marriage, I mean to be a nun.”

“What marriage?” said Pratt.

“Why, with that Bluebeard of a captain.”

“And are they pushing that on?”

“Yes,” said Fin, “and it’s abominable. It will kill her.”

“No, it won’t!” said Pratt, coolly.

“Then you’re a wretch!” said Fin, with flashing eyes. “I say it will.”

“And I say it won’t,” said Pratt; “because it must never come off.”

Fin stared at him.

“I’ll see to that,” said Pratt, confidently. “I have a friend busy about Master Captain Vanleigh. But, oh!” he exclaimed, as the recollection of one Barnard, solicitor, brought up a gentleman of the name of Mervyn – “but, oh! I say, tell me this, Fin – Mr Mervyn – you know – there wasn’t ever – anything – eh?”

“Oh, you goose!” cried Fin, stamping her foot. “Mr Mervyn – dear Mr Mervyn, of all people in the world! – who used to treat us like as if we were his little girls. Oh, Mr Pratt, I did think you had some sense in your head.”

“Oh no,” said Pratt, solemnly; “never – not a morsel.”

Then they looked at one another, and laughed; but only for Fin to turn preternaturally serious.

“I must go back to Tiny now,” she said.

“But when shall I see you again?” urged Pratt.

“Perhaps never,” said Fin – “unless you can come about once a week, on a Friday afternoon, here in the square, and tell me some news that will do poor Tiny good.”

“I may come and say good-bye to her, then?” said Pratt, getting hold for a moment of the little half-withdrawn hand.

“Yes, if you like. No – here’s Aunt Matty.”

In fact her herald approached in the shape of Pepine, who no sooner caught sight of the retreating form of Pratt, than he made a dash at him, chasing him ignominiously to the gate, where he stood barking long after his quarry had gone. But Pepine was no gainer in the end, for during the next week Fin never neglected an opportunity of administering to him a furtive thump.

Netta’s Appeal

Richard felt very bitter as he followed Mrs Jenkles across the road. Mingled with pity for the poor girl he was about to visit, there was a sense of resentment; for she seemed to have been the cause of pain and sorrow to one he dearly loved. And yet, how innocent and gentle she was – how unlike any one he had met before! Pity may or may not be akin to love, but certainly it was very strong in Richard’s breast at the present moment.

“If you’ll step in the kitchen just a moment, sir, I’ll see if you can go up,” said Mrs Jenkles, smoothing her apron.

She ushered the visitor into the clean, bright place, where Sam was seated by the fireside, looking very hard at his pipe.

“How do, sir, how do?” he said. “Take a cheer, sir.”

“Thanks, no, Sam, I’ll stand,” said Richard, quietly. “But where’s your pipe?”

“There it hangs, sir,” said Sam, folding his arms and looking at it.

“No tobacco?”

“Plenty, sir,” said Sam; “but I’ve put the pipe out at home, sir: cos why? It sets that poor gal a-coughing, and that spoils it. It’s a wonder, aint it, as doctors can’t do more?”

Further converse was cut short by the entrance of Mrs Jenkles, who beckoned their visitor to come, and he followed her upstairs to the neat little front room, where a pang shot through Richard as he saw the change. Netta was half lying on a couch, propped up by pillows, and beside her, on a table, were the two plants he had sent across, evidently carefully tended, – not a withered leaf to be seen amongst their luxuriant foliage, while she who had made them her care lay there, white, shrunken, and so changed.

There was a bright smile of pleasure flickering about her lips, and a ray of gladness flashing from her eyes, as she held out her hands to him – hands that he caught in his and kissed, as he sank on his knees by her side.