I am certain,” reflected Isa Gritton, as she retired to rest on that night, “that Lottie Stone bears a clear conscience, whatever her reason for silence may be. How her poor face, worn and anxious as it looked at first, brightened when she heard of the support which God gives to the faith of His people in time of need. I wish that I had had an opportunity of speaking to her after the service was ended, but when I rose from my knees and looked for her, she was gone. I trust her—yes, I will trust her. Is there not a certain degree of faith which Christians should extend one to another, as it is the property of charity that it thinketh no evil?”
Lottie and her strange conduct had been much on the mind of Isa, and when she came to breakfast on the following morning it was with the intention of proposing again to drive over to Axe for a second interview with her truant little maid. But thoughts of Lottie were driven away for the time by a subject of closer personal interest.
When Isa entered the breakfast-room a little later than usual, she found Gaspar there already, pacing up and down the apartment with a letter in his hand, which had come by the early post. He looked restless, excited, and angry, and Isa saw that no light cause of annoyance disturbed him, before he broke forth with the angry question, “Is this your doing, Isa; have I to thank you for this?” and thrust into the hand of his sister the note which he had just received.
The epistle did not look at all formidable; it was brief, written on tinted paper, and in a lady’s handwriting. It was no formal law document, yet had it been read with much the same emotions as a summons to the bar of justice might have been. With anxiety, mingled with interest, Miss Gritton read as follows:—
LONDON, MAY 1.
SIR,—I have just received information which has greatly surprised me, to the effect that the £4000 which I had been led to believe had been invested in property lost in the Orissa was actually invested in the cargo of the St. Christopher, which safely arrived at its destination, and, as I am given to understand, realized a profit of fifty per cent. I shall place the affair in the hands of my lawyer unless I receive a satisfactory explanation from yourself. As a personal interview is desirable, I shall go immediately to Axe, which is, I understand, in your neighbourhood, and either appoint an hour for meeting you at the hotel, or, as I am acquainted with your sister, call on Miss Gritton and see you in her presence.—I have the honour to be, &c.,
CORA MADDEN.
“Gaspar, I had nothing to do with this; Cora has learned nothing from me,” said Isa, as she returned the note to her brother.
He looked at her with a keen, suspicious gaze; but she met it with that frank, open glance which carries conviction of truthfulness even to the sceptical mind.
Gaspar pressed his hand to his brow, which was furrowed with deep lines of perplexity and care. “It must have been through the captain,” he muttered to himself; “and yet I thought—but no matter, she’s on the scent now, wherever she took it up. Isa, you must stand by me,” nervously added Mr. Gritton; “you must help me through this difficulty.”
“How can I help you?—I do not fully understand even the nature of the difficulty,” said Isa. She paused to give her brother an opportunity for explanation, but he only had recourse to his snuff-box. Isa pressed him no further; she had a painful conviction, as she looked upon her unhappy brother, that he was unable to give any explanation which would satisfy her own sense of honour.
GASPAR’S ALARM.
The state of the case may be briefly laid before the reader. Gaspar had already invested largely himself in the cargo of the Orissa, when he had received directions in regard to the money of Miss Madden. Unwilling that her interests should clash with his own, the Orissa being the fastest sailer on the line, and the hope of large profits depending much on being first in the market, Gaspar had placed the property of his client in the St. Christopher, intending to apprise the lady that he had been unable to ship in the vessel which had first started. While yet in the Channel, the Orissa had foundered in a storm, with Gaspar’s investment in her hold. The loss of so much property had been a great shock to one whose soul was bent upon gain; Gaspar had been overwhelmed by the unexpected misfortune, when the Tempter had suggested to him a means by which the loss might actually be converted into profit. Few knowing anything of the circumstances of Cora’s investment, still fewer having any interest in the subject, it might be possible, by an exercise of craft, to make it appear that the lady’s property had been in the Orissa, and that Gaspar’s own had been embarked in the ship which had safely arrived.
Gaspar had at first shrunk from the wicked suggestion. Though he was not a very scrupulous man, there was yet a sufficient sense of honour left within his breast to make him aware of the enormity of the crime to which he was tempted. But the love of money is the root of all evil, and with Gaspar it had become an absorbing passion; he was also proud of the possession of that miserable cunning which some deem cleverness, but which is foolishness indeed in the sight of a holy God. Conscience and a feeling of honour,—these were the barriers which, for a short time, had resisted the pressure of strong temptation; for Gaspar had a conscience, though by covetousness long-indulged its power had been greatly weakened. But the barriers had given way, and Gaspar having once grasped unlawful gain, and added to his stores the gold which rightfully belonged to another, soon experienced the natural consequence of yielding to sin. His heart had become hardened, his nature debased, and he had fallen more and more completely under the dominion of the vice of covetousness which he had once suffered to subdue him. A hard and merciless task-master he had found it! While haunted with a perpetual dread of disgrace, and fear of losing his ill-gotten wealth, Gaspar could not enjoy it. He was poor in the midst of riches, miserable in the possession of that for which he had sold his conscience. Notwithstanding every precaution, Gaspar’s secret had oozed out, and fears of exposure—ruin—shame—rose up before him like phantoms.
“She may be here this very day,” were the first words from the miserable man which broke the oppressive silence. “Isa, you must not quit the house—you must remain beside me—you know Miss Madden, and may influence her mind.”
“I influence Cora!” exclaimed Isa; “I know her, indeed—perhaps too well—but ours was never the intimacy of friendship!” The young lady spoke with some emotion, for every recollection connected with Cora was bitter. It is true that Isa no longer regarded her separation from Lionel as a misfortune. Since she had come so near to the place of his former sojourn, light had been thrown on his character which had revealed something of its selfishness and hollowness, and upon the young maiden purer hopes were dawning than even those of first love; but still, of all beings upon earth, Cora Madden was the one whom Isa regarded with most fear and aversion. She looked upon Cora as an impersonification of malice; as a dangerous woman; the bearer of the apple of discord; one who delighted to turn into ridicule all whose standard of duty was higher than her own. Isa had struggled to keep down the feelings of restraint which swelled in her heart, and, like Edith, never to speak of her enemy save to her God; she had tried to banish Cora even from her memory; but now it appeared that she might be brought into close contact with Miss Madden, and in a way most painful. Isa could not close her eyes to the fact that her brother stood in a humiliating position, and innocent as she herself was, she must yet share his humiliation. She must see scorn—just scorn—on that haughty lip whose sneer had already stung her like a scorpion; she might have to ask indulgence from one to whom she could with difficulty accord forgiveness. All Isa’s natural pride rose up in arms against this. Why should she endure the shame when innocent of the guilt? Let Gaspar abide the consequences of his own conduct, whatever that conduct might have been; she would leave him to make what explanation, arrange what compromise he could; she would go to the Castle, where no word of reproach, no glance of scorn would ever reach her, where she would be welcomed by relatives whose behaviour had never brought a blush to her cheek. This was Isa’s thought for a moment, but it was instantly put aside as selfish, ungenerous, unkind. Her brother, at this time of all others, had need of her sympathy, counsel, and support. She might help him to struggle not only against outward difficulties, but the inward enemies—the Midianites—that had brought him into this strait—that had struck at his honour, and destroyed his peace. Might not the disclosure which had covered him with shame be a means of loosening his fetters? The social worship of the preceding evening, the prayers which she had heard uttered by one whom, of all men, she most honoured, had braced the spirit of Isa. The whole history of Gideon was to her as a commentary on the text, Be strong in the Lord, and in the power of His might. She would, in her maiden meekness, stand at the post where God had placed her, stand against the spiritual foes of her soul; she would not sink under disappointment, yield to discontent, or harbour distrust of her Lord. She would ask for strength, and look for strength, and believe that strength would be given.
Isa’s first struggle was against the feeling of contempt inspired by the conduct of Gaspar. If it were wrong to desert her brother, was it not also wrong to despise him; and yet how closely did her very pity seem to be allied with scorn! Now that for the first time Gaspar turned to her for sympathy, he must find it; not sympathy with his wretched grasping at gain, but with him in the pain and perplexity into which that grasping had brought him. Mr. Gritton was in a miserable state of indecision, and Isa was the sole confidante of his troubles; as she already knew so much, he almost unconsciously let her know all. Now he clung to the hope that what Cora suspected she would find it impossible to prove, that he might safely abide even the issue of a lawsuit: then all his thoughts were turned towards a compromise which might save his honour without too far trenching on his interests; much might be done in a personal interview; an inexperienced woman might easily be induced to compound for the restoration of part of her property, by yielding up her claim to the residue. After long, restless pacing up and down the room, revolving various plans and expedients, Gaspar threw himself on a chair by his sister, and nervously opened to her his views, concluding by saying in an embarrassed tone, “You will explain—you will soften—you will induce Miss Madden to listen to reason.”
“Gaspar, dear Gaspar, suffer me to speak freely and openly to you,” said Isa, whose mind had been as actively engaged as that of her brother as she had sat silent by the casement, with her untouched work lying on her knee. “When we have gone out of the straight way, surely, surely our first care should be to retrace our steps; if any wrong has been done, should it not be set right without further delay?”
“I want your help, and not your advice,” muttered Gaspar.
“Yet hear me,” said Isa earnestly, for she felt that something more precious than her brother’s interests, more dear than even his reputation, was at stake. “I know that you have been unhappy—I have seen it; your better, your nobler nature, has been oppressed by a burden which—which you may now throw off and for ever. Oh, deal frankly and fairly by Cora Madden! Give her what is her due, principal and interest, even to the utmost farthing: poverty is no evil, want itself is no evil, compared with the gnawing consciousness of possessing that which cannot have God’s blessing upon it.”
Gaspar pressed his thin bloodless lips together, as if suppressing a groan. He felt his sister’s fervent appeal—it found an echo in his own conscience; but he was not yet prepared to throw down his idol, to burst from the yoke which galled. Mr. Gritton rose hastily, without replying, and resumed his restless walk. Isa could but guess the nature of the struggle going on within, and silently pray that God might strengthen the faith of the tempted one, and give victory to the right.
If not the most painful, that was certainly one of the most tedious days that had ever been passed by Isa Gritton. Gaspar was irritable, nervous, wretched; vacillating as a pendulum, never in the same mind for twenty minutes together. He appeared to be constantly on the watch; never left the house, stood often gazing forth from the window, and nervously started at every unusual sound. There seemed to Isa to be a spell on the hands of her watch, they moved so slowly; she could not pursue her accustomed occupations, for Gaspar was unwilling to have her out of his sight, and was perpetually interrupting her with snatches of conversation. But the long day closed at last—closed in mist and rain; a dull white fog blotted out the landscape, and ere the hour of sunset, twilight closed in. Isa tried to beguile the evening by reading aloud, but even the work on commercial statistics entirely failed to interest Gaspar. His mind was abstracted, his ear painfully on the strain for other sounds than those of his sister’s melodious voice. Glad was Isa when the hour at length arrived when she could retire, and prepare herself, by devotional reading, prayer, and then rest, for whatever the morrow might bring.
