The Master of Greylands. Mrs. Henry Wood
more ominously near: and now it is close at hand, ready to crush me."
"I seem not to understand it," said poor Hill.
"And there are times when I cannot," returned Mr. Peter Castlemaine.
"In the old days, sir, everything you handled turned to gold. You had but to take up a speculation, and it was sure to prove a grand success. Why, sir, your name has become quite a proverb for luck. If Castlemaine the banker's name is to it, say people of any new undertaking, it must succeed. But for some time past things have changed, and instead of success, it has been failure. Sir, it is just as though your hand had lost its cunning."
"Right, Hill," sighed his master, "my hand seems to have lost its cunning. It is--I have said it over and over again to myself--just as though some curse pursued me. Ill-luck; nothing but ill-luck! If a scheme has looked fair and promising to-day, a blight has fallen on it to-morrow. And I, like a fool, as I see now, plunged into fresh ventures, hoping to redeem the last one. How few of us are there who know how to pull up in time! Were all known the public would say that the mania of gambling must have taken hold of me----"
"No, no," murmured the clerk.
"----When it was but the recklessness of a drowning man. Why, Hill--if I could get in the money at present due to me, money that I think will come in, perhaps shortly, though it is locked up now, we should weather the storm."
"I trust it will be weathered, sir, somehow. At the worst, it will not be a bad failure; there'll be twenty shillings in the pound if they will but wait. Perhaps, if you called a private meeting and pointed things out, and showed them that it is only time you want, they'd consent to let you have it. Matters would go on then, and there'd be no exposure."
"It is the want of time that will crush me," said Peter Castlemaine.
"But if they will allow you time, sir?"
"All will not," was the significant answer, and Mr. Peter Castlemaine lowered his voice as he spoke it, and looked full at his clerk. "You know those Armannon bonds?"
Whether it was the tone, the look, or the question, certain it was that in that instant an awful dread, an instinct of evil, seized upon the old man. His face turned white.
"I had to use those bonds, Hill," whispered his master. "To mortgage them, you understand. But, as I am a living man, I believed when I did it that in less than a week they would be redeemed and replaced."
"Mortgaged the Armannon bonds!" ejaculated Thomas Hill, utterly unable to take in the fact, and looking the picture of horror.
"And they are not yet redeemed."
The clerk wrung his hands. "My master! my friend and master! How could you? Surely it was done in a moment of madness!"
"Of weakness, of wickedness, if you will, Thomas, but not madness. I was as sane as I am now. You remember the large payment we had to make last August? It had to be made, you know, or things would have come to a crisis then. I used the bonds to raise the money."
"But I--I cannot comprehend," returned the clerk slowly, after casting his recollection back. "I thought you borrowed that money from Mr. Castlemaine."
"No. Mr. Castlemaine would not lend it me. I don't know whether he smelt a rat and got afraid for the rest I hold of his. What he said was, that he had not so large a sum at his disposal. Or, it may be," added the banker in a dreamy kind of tone, "that James thought I was only going into some fresh speculation, and considers I am rich enough already. How little he knows!"
"Oh, but these deeds must be redeemed!" cried the old clerk, rising from his seat in excitement. "At all sacrifice they must be got back, sir. If you have to sell up all, houses, land, and everything, they must be returned to their safe resting-place. You must not longer run this dreadful risk, sir: the fear of it would bring me down in suspense and sorrow to my grave."
"Then, what do you suppose it has been doing for me?" rejoined Mr. Peter Castlemaine. "Many a time and oft since, I have said to myself, 'Next week shall see those bonds replaced.' But the 'next week' has never come: for I have had to use all available cash to prop up the falling house and keep it from sinking. Once down, Hill, the truth about the bonds could no longer be concealed."
"You must sell all, sir."
"There's nothing left to sell, Thomas," said his master. "At least, nothing immediately available. It is time that is wanted. Given that, I could put things straight again."
A trying silence. Thomas Hill's face was full of pain and dread. "I have a little accumulated money of my own, sir: some of it I've saved, some came to me when my brother died," he said. "It is about six thousand pounds, and I have neither chick nor child. Every shilling of it shall be yours, sir, as soon as I can withdraw it from where it is invested."
His master grasped his hands. "Faithful man and friend!" he cried, the tears of emotion dimming his brown eyes. "Do you think I would accept the sacrifice and bring you to ruin as I have brought myself? Never that, Hill."
"The money shall be yours, sir," repeated the clerk firmly.
"Hush, hush!" cried Mr. Peter Castlemaine. "Though I were dying of shame and hunger, I would not take it. And, do you not see, my friend, that it would be a useless sacrifice? Six thousand pounds would be swallowed up unheeded in the vortex: it would be but as a drop of water to the heaving ocean."
It was even so. Thomas Hill saw it. They sat down together and went into the books: the banker showing him amounts and involvements that he had never suspected before. The ruin seemed to be close at hand; there seemed to be no possible way out of it. Common ruin Thomas Hill might have got over in time; but this ruin, the ruin that threatened his master, would have turned his hair white in a night had time not already turned it.
And crimes were more heavily punished in those days than they are in these.
At a quarter to six o'clock, Peter Castlemaine was in his dining-room, dressed for dinner. He often had friends to dine with him on market-days, and was expecting some that night: a small social party of half a dozen, himself included. He stood with his back to the fire, his brow smoothed, his aspect that of complete ease; he could hear his butler coming up the stairs to show in the first guest. All the dwelling-rooms were on this first floor, the ground-floor being entirely appropriated to business.
"Mr. Castlemaine."
The two brothers met in the middle of the room and shook hands. Mr. Castlemaine was the elder by two years, but he did not look so, and there was a very great likeness between them. Fine, upright, handsome men, both; with clear, fresh faces, well-cut features, and keen, flashing, dark eyes. Very pleasant men to talk to; but silent men as to their own affairs. Mr. Castlemaine had just come in from his residence, Greylands' Rest: it was in contradistinction to him that the banker was invariably called Mr. Peter Castlemaine.
"All well at home, James?"
"Quite so, thank you."
"You were not in at market, to-day."
"No: I had nothing particular to call me in. Are you expecting a large party this evening?"
"Only six of us. Here comes another."
The butler's step was again heard. But this time he came, not to announce a guest, but to bring a note, just delivered. Peter Castlemaine's hand shook slightly as he opened it. He dreaded all letters now. It proved, however, to be only an excuse from one of the expected guests: and a strange relief sat on his face as he turned to his brother.
"Lawrence can't come, James. So there'll be but five of us."
"Lawrence is not much loss," said Mr. Castlemaine, "You don't look quite yourself, Peter," he added, to his brother; something in the latter's countenance having struck his observant eye. "I think you are working too hard; have thought so for some time. Don't let the love of money take all pleasure out of life. Surely you must have made enough, and might now take some rest."
The banker laughed. "As to taking rest, that's