Текст книги "Beyond The Blue Mountains"

Автор книги: Jean Plaidy

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 36 страниц)

The illuminations, like constellations, had been wonderful. They had enchanted her; and indeed there had been much in the sylvan scene to enchant her; the delightful paths, the hedges, the trees; and in addition the picturesque pavilions and colonnades; the porticos, the statues, the paintings, the ornate pillars. There had been so much on which to feast the eyes that they grew weary. And the people … a never-ending stream of them, loud-voiced ladies and their gallants, merchants, apprentices; everyone there had been bent on pleasure.

And then that ugly little incident to spoil it all! Who else had seen? Had Kitty? No, definitely not. She had been too enthralled by the glamorous scenes about her. Darrell? She did not think so. But she, Carolan, had seen … and so had Jonathan Crew.

Now she must go over it all again leaving the shop in the hired cabriolet, laughing a good deal at nothing in particular, because the excursion put them all in such high spirits. Darrell included; and so to Vauxhall.

It had been late afternoon when they arrived.

“Wait,” Darrell had said, ‘until the lamps are lighted; it is then that Vauxhall can enchant the eye.”

It had enchanted Carolan right from the beginning; also Kitty. Dear Mamma, in her hat with the big plumes which she imagined made her look very much as Mrs. Fitzherbert had looked in her heyday.

“They say, my dear, that I am the dead spit of what she was! And in this hat … and in this gown … Look! Are not people glancing this way?”

“We must see everything,” said Darrell.

“We must miss nothing!” countered Carolan.

Delightful it was to sit in carved wooden seats under gracious trees, eating sliced ham and sipping syllabub. She had told herself then that she would enjoy telling Everard all about this when she was with him in the country. The day we went to Vauxhall!” It would stand out in her memory as a golden day, and she would remember Darrell faintly flushed with the pleasure he was giving his family, and Mamma, proud in her plumed hat and the knowledge that her resemblance to Mrs. Fitzherbert was indeed remarkable; and herself from the country, drinking in all the excitements of the place.

Such a lot of people seemed to know Darrell. There were nods from some; others exchanged a few words with him; and not one of them did he introduce to his wife and daughter.

“Business acquaintances, my dead’ he whispered.

“Not the kind for you to meet.”

“Ah!” Carolan laughed.

“Big ideas you have of your family since bringing them by cabriolet to Vauxhall Gardens!”

They were sitting at a table under the trees when they saw Jonathan Crew coming towards them. Even he, thought Carolan, was affected by the scene. The faintest colour showed beneath his tight skin; excited, he seemed, and his eyes glittered more brightly than usual, or perhaps that was the light, for the lights had been lit at that time.

He was almost shy with Darrell, half apologetic. Kitty had watched them from under her long lashes. Piquant scene I she was thinking, Carolan knew. Poor darling Mamma, who had been so very beautiful and sought after in her youth that her confidence in her charms was as sturdy a growth as that of the young oak tree behind them!

“Unusual to meet you here!” said Jonathan.

“Do you often pass an hour or two in the gardens?”

Darrell said it was a treat for the little girl, who would so soon be returning to the country.

Kitty was demure, eyes cast down. She did not say that she had told Jonathan they would be here. This was intrigue such as Kitty loved. Carolan did not greatly care for it, but it seemed harmless enough.

“May I join in your feast of ham and syllabub?” Jonathan asked humbly, and Kitty looked modestly askance at Darrell as though, without his consent, she would not dare to ask the newcomer to sup with them.

They talked lightly of the weather, of the gardens, of the poor quality of the champagne which was served here, of the elegance of the grottoes and rotundas, of the charm of the music to be heard from not far off.

Perhaps, but for her sharp eyes, Carolan would not have seen what she did see. It had seemed a trivial incident. Kitty did not notice it; she was too busy noting the dresses of the women, the glances of the men; Darrell’s eyes were short-sighted, so he contented himself with admiring his Kitty in her Fitzherbert hat.

On the other side of the portico sat a lady, her face half covered by a mask. Now Carolan knew she was a lady of fashion in spite of the long, dark, concealing cloak she wore. Carolan had had a glimpse of a fine leather slipper and a rich gown. She was talking to a man who sat beside her, leaning towards her as though to catch every word she uttered. Carolan guessed that the lady was here clandestinely meeting her lover, and the concealing cloak and the mask pointed to the fact that she did not wish to be recognized. That would account for her choosing Vauxhall Gardens as a rendezvous, for so few of her own class would come there on a Saturday evening. She was wondering about them when the man came by. He was a thick-set man wearing the most elegant of coats, and his breeches were so tight that they seemed like a dark skin about his legs. So deep in thought he appeared, that he walked straight into the table where the lady and gentleman sat. The lady gave a little cry, while the man in the elegant coat gripped the table as though to steady himself. For half a second Carolan saw his hands, and then looked up at his face. She was about to speak, but he had apologized and moved on. Then she was aware of Jonathan’s watching her. Not a word did she say of this. If she told Kitty, Kitty would say: “In an elegant coat, did you say? Ah! I knew it! Then Marcus Markham is a gentleman of fashion who amuses himself by taking a cup of tea with us now and then.” And she would weave fresh dreams about the man.

There the incident would have ended, had they left the table and gone on their way as they might so easily have done, having finished their repast. But they sat on until that moment when the lady started up from her seat and cried: “My purse! I swear it was here a moment ago. Where can it be?”

Then Carolan went cold with fear, for she had seen those long, tapering fingers resting on the table, and she remembered that occasion when she had first seen Marcus and he had pointed the way while he so deftly extracted her handkerchief. There was now no doubt in her mind; Marcus was a practised thief!

She wished they had gone before the lady had cried out that she had lost her purse; she wished she need not know. That was foolish and illogical; Everard had once said she was illogical. But I liked him, she thought, I liked him! I did not want to know that he was a thief. She seemed to heat the cool voice of Everard saying: “But if he was, it was better to know it.”

“No, no, no.” she persisted illogically and ridiculously. So he went about stealing, and she had thought of him as her friend! He had said to her, of the handkerchief: “This was the first offence.” He was a liar; he was a rogue; but he had such merry eyes, and she had laughed with him as she had never really laughed with Everard.

Everard was perfect in her eyes; Marcus far from perfect. But she had liked him; perhaps she was vain and foolish, but his admiration had pleased her. The throbbing note in his voice, the passionate glances … well, she had not wished to respond to them in the slightest but it had been good to know that he thought her comely. And now she was angry, not so much perhaps because he was a thief, but because he was a cheat. He had lied to her about the handkerchief; so therefore it was most likely that his admiring glances, the note of tenderness in his voice, were just a part he was playing. He was a libertine, a thief and a rogue; and he had fooled her.

If he were standing before her now, she would flay him with her tongue, she would tell him she despised him.

But she could not get out of her mind the picture of Marcus, hanging by the neck, and a crowd of laughing, jeering people looking on. Then her anger melted before her fear, and she wept for the folly of Marcus, for the stupidity of the man.

The gentleman had said: “Genevra, calm yourself! You cannot make a fuss here. Forget your purse…”

“Forget it! I had taken my pearls off because the clasp was weak; they were in my purse.”

“Hush, Genevra! You cannot stir up trouble here. Remember …”

And listening, Carolan felt glad … glad that those two were engaged in some clandestine intrigue, that they dared do nothing… glad … glad, and all for that rogue, Marcus!

When they left their table, Jonathan put his hand lightly on her arm, to detain her, and Kitty and Darrell walked ahead.

He said to her: “I wonder if you saw what I saw?”

“And what was that?” she asked, trying to force a note of unconcern into her voice.

“The little fracas at the table near us. Did you see it? Did you hear it?”

“It would have been impossible not to and we so near.”

“Her purse was stolen. Did you see by whom?”

“If I had,” she said defiantly, “I should have called stop thief! I should not have sat by and watched the thief make off with the lady’s purse!”

“We saw the thief,” said Jonathan slowly, ‘but we did not actually see the theft. They are clever, those rogues, and sleight of hand is the first lesson they learn.”

Carolan shrugged her shoulders.

“An incident that must happen time and time again in such a place as this.”

“Indeed you are right, but this particular incident would interest us more, since … we are aware of the identity of the thief.”

Carolan was too guileless to hide her dismay.

He said: “May I speak to you frankly?”

“Of course.”

“We recognized him, did we not? He is the man who stole your handkerchief. He has called on you since; I have seen him, leaving your house. Your mother has mentioned him to me; he is, she says, a friend of your father’s. Now we have discovered that he is a rogue, a common thief.”

“I am not at all sure …” began Carolan, but he interrupted her.

“Come. Let us be frank with each other; we have to be, if we are to help him. You recognized him, did you not? I knew him at once. Do you not understand that when I discovered he was visiting your house, I felt I had to know something of him? There have been other times when I have seen him.”

Carolan shivered. There was a burning self-righteousness about Jonathan now; a certain fire was creeping into his words; he moved nearer to her.

“Do not think,” he said, ‘that I wish to condemn him. I wish to stop his career of crime; do you understand? I was wondering … Could you speak to him? Your mother has told me that he sets a certain store by you…”

“Oh!” cried Carolan angrily.

“Is there anything my mother has not told you!”

He smiled.

“She has a nature that is scarcely secretive. Listen, dear young lady. Could you plead with him? Could you make him see that to pursue a life of crime means the gallows or transportation? I think he may listen to you, whereas he would not to others.”

Now she was sorry that she had been angry with Jonathan, when all he wished to do was to help Marcus. Marcus was a lovable fool; but Jonathan was a wise, good man.

“Speak to him,” went on Jonathan.

“Perhaps he has some good reason for behaving as he does. Perhaps he was led into temptation and finds it difficult to extricate himself. Ask him. Try to understand, for it is only by understanding that you can help him.”

“You talk like a preacher.”

“I wish to help the friends of my friends.”

“You are very good. I will think about it … Perhaps I will speak to him.”

He pressed her hand; his fingers were cold, and yet they seemed to tingle. He was a very good man, she thought, to feel so deeply for poor, foolish Marcus.

She was remembering it all so vividly as she sat, looking down on the street, that when Marcus appeared suddenly she felt for a second or two that he was part of her imaginings.

She stared down at him. He was strolling along the street, as though well pleased with himself. He had changed his elegant clothes for coat and breeches of worsted. How he angered her! The complacent fool! No doubt he was congratulating himself on a fine haul. Angrily she got to her feet. She would speak to him; she would tell him that he was a fool a ridiculous fool -nay, a criminal and a rogue, and she and her family had done with him.

She sped downstairs. There was no one in the parlour. Her mother had retired to bed; her father was probably working down in the basement and would not hear him. She was glad of that.

She opened the front door, and Marcus was standing there.

“Why… Miss Carolan!” he said.

“Indeed, yes!” she spoke severely.

“Pray come in. I would have a word with you.”

He looked alarmed.

“I trust I have not offended you.”

“Offended me! That is a mild way of expressing it.”

“You alarm me.”

“You should be alarmed! Speak quietly; I do not wish my father to hear. He would not have you in this house if he knew …” She drew herself up to her full height she was almost as tall as he was and her eyes flashed in scorn.

“We have just returned from Vauxhall.”

“I trust you spent a pleasant time there.”

“A most pleasant time, until one incident spoiled the whole day for me!”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

She noticed with a grim satisfaction that he was shaken.

“And well you may be. Please lower your voice. Come over here behind these old clothes; they will muffle our voices.”

“It is you who are speaking loudly, Miss Carolan!” He smiled at her tenderly.

“My dear, how upset you are!”

“Upset!” She was finding it difficult to keep back the tears.

“I was sitting near a masked lady who lost her purse.”

“But why should you care so deeply for a masked lady’s loss?”

“I saw you. Oh! You were elegant, a young gentleman of fashion, but I saw through your disguise! All the fine coats in the world would not deceive me into thinking you were anything but a thief! If my father knew, he would never allow you to set foot inside this house again.”

He stared down at his hands. He was guilty but unrepentant, disturbed only because he had been found out.

“You are a fool, Marcus,” she hissed at him.

“Well I know it, Carolan.”

“Where do you think this life is leading you?”

“Well, can any of us see the end of the road we are treading?”

“One day I shall retire from this life. Then I shall be a rich man, and the only way to be a safe man is to be a rich man. Did you know that, Carolan?”

“I know that the way to be unsafe is the way you are going, Marcus! I would not have believed it of you. Had you told me you had not taken the purse, I should have believed you.”

“But you said you saw!”

“I did not see you take it.”

“You did not see me take it!” There was relief in his eyes.

“I was afraid my hands had lost their cunning.”

She looked down at his long white hands.

“It is a pity you do not put them to a better purpose.”

“Carolan, do you despise me now?”

“I am deeply disappointed in you.”

“That is a pity. I had my dreams.”

“Dreams? What dreams?”

“Of the days of my safety… But what matter?”

She clasped her hands.

“Oh, Marcus, must you do these things?”

“I live by them, Carolan.”

“You live by robbery?”

“I have tried other methods.”

She pictured Everard’s face then, cool, a little stern; she could hear his calm voice.

“A man’s life,” she said, quoting him, ‘is surely what he makes it?”

“He has a hand in shaping his destiny certainly.”

“Well then…?”

“There are other considerations. There are people who are born in mansions; there are people born in Grape Street. It is not easy to be an honest man in Grape Street, Carolan.”

There was banter in his eyes, but they had lost some of their merriment.

“Carolan,” he said, coming closer to her, “I would like to tell you what I have told no one else. Will you listen to me?”

“Of course.”

“I want to give you a brief outline of my life. I am wicked; I am a criminal; I am unworthy to be called your friend. That is the truth, but I would have you know how it is I have sunk so low. Perhaps, later on when I am a rich, safe man, I shall call upon you and your husband in your happy home. I should like to do that, Carolan. I should like to see if you are happy. The parson will accept me because he will not know the secrets of my past, and his wife will accept me because, I hope, she will understand why I took to such evil ways. That will warm my heart, Carolan, if she will understand.”

Carolan was silent, her heart beating rapidly. She was realizing now how fervently she had hoped he would deny all knowledge of the purse.

“I must make it brief, Carolan. But you must understand that I cannot convey everything in the short time I have. You must see beyond my words. You must visualize a happy childhood; you must see everything that was mine. A good home, tender parents, an excellent education … right up to the time I was fourteen. Then my father died. My mother was a dear woman, a tender woman, but an unwise woman. A year after my father’s death, she sought to replace him. My stepfather? Ah! What stories I could tell you of that man. But I waste my words. Suffice it that, in less than a year after that disastrous marriage, my mother was dead. Her money was his; I had nothing. He had arranged it so. Sometimes I think he arranged her death. That sounds melodramatic, Carolan, but it is nevertheless true. I was alone; I was penniless. I stole some money from my stepfather and came to London. What dreams I had. You can well imagine what they were. I would make a fortune at the gaming-table, for were there not fortunes to be made in London! I will not harass you with my adventures; perhaps one day, in the secure, rich times ahead I may tell you. I will not tell you how I sank and sank. There is a life here in this great city of which I hope you will never know. I shall not tell you. Have you ever heard of a thieves’ kitchen, Carolan? It is a place… they abound here… where one is taught to pick pockets. These hands of mine -sensitive, are they not? Once they were to have been a musician’s hands; now they are pickers of pockets. They learned well. Ah! I was as apt a pupil with a pocket as I ever was with the spinet. I was caught, Carolan.” He paused to smile at her. Here “We can at least guide our footsteps upon the safest paths!”

He laid his hands on her shoulders.

“Why, you tremble, child! I am safe now; I am not such a fool as I was … I shall not again be so easily caught. I am too wily now. The memory of that is too strong within me. You thought I was thirty, Carolan, and I am barely twenty-four. You see the lines about my face, do you not?

That is what transportation does to you, Carolan. That is what stifling in the stinking hold of a convict ship for months on end does for you, Carolan. Oh, Carolan … Carolan, see me as I might have been had my father lived. A happy youth … for twenty-four is not so very old. A young man of substance, a fit companion for you, Carolan. And see me now … see me now.

See me as I should have been… not as life has made me!”

Her eyes were swimming with tears.

“You have suffered very much, Marcus. And I have hurt you; I am so stupid, so ignorant! There is so much I do not know.”

“And never shall know! I am sorry I had to speak of these things to you, Carolan. I would have it that you never knew of their existence.”

“Life is very cruel to some, Marcus.”

“It is also kind.”

“You can say that?”

“I can say it now, because I see that though I have told you so little, you have seen beyond my words. I see that when I come to that happy parsonage home I shall be welcomed in like an old friend.”

“You will,” said Carolan.

“You will! But, Marcus, this is folly surely! To go on with this … after that…”

His eyes lit up.

“The risk! The excitement! The adventure! And the hope, of course, that one day… one day … I shall settle down to security; that is when my eyes are not so sharp and my hands not so quick. Tonight you have made me wonder if that day is not approaching!”

“Marcus, how I wish I could do something! Words are such inadequate things; it is easy to talk sympathy … but I feel it, Marcus, I feel it.”

“You are right when you say words are inadequate; there can be so much behind them .. or just nothing at all. If! What a word! If my father had not died! If I had been an honest man, and if you had not been engaged to many a parson. Ah, Carolan! What a word it is!”

He had moved closer to her, and his eyes were brilliant.

“Oh, come!” she said coldly, for she was a little afraid of that passion in him.

“I know you well, Marcus; you have had many adventures of all kinds. You seek adventure right and left; at Vauxhall Gardens and here in my father’s shop among these musty old coats. Do not think I cannot understand.”

His hands hung at his sides, and a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

“An adventurer! That is what you think of me, eh?”

“I fear so, Marcus. What would happen to you if they found the purse in your possession?”

He made a gesture to indicate the tying of a rope about his neck.

“Or,” he added, “I might be sent back to Botany Bay.”

“Marcus, you have suffered a good deal. You would prefer the hanging?”

“Never! Life is sweet; it is only those who have been in danger of losing it who know how sweet. Carolan, but now you know this, what now?”

“I cannot say. But of one thing I am certain; you must give this up. If you were caught, Marcus, if you were caught…”

“You would care so much?”

“One does not like to think of a friend with a noose about his neck!”

“You still think of me as a friend?”

“What rubbish you talk!”

“Carolan, I shall always remember.”

“And you will not… run these risks ?”

“I will think on it very seriously.”

“You have some money?”

“A little.”

“It is cheap, living in the country. You could work.”

He looked down at his hands, and grimaced.

“Perhaps there will be one very like you, Carolan.”

“I think you do not take this very seriously.”

“It is a mistake to take life seriously. Is it not by laughing at things serious that we render them ridiculous?”

“I wish you had not lied about the handkerchief you stole from me.”

“I… lied?”

“You said it was the first offence.”

“Indeed it was!”

“And the purse? And the many, many others?”

Those were stolen from society, a society which is rotten and decayed, a society which made me what I am. The handkerchief was stolen from you.”

Then you are sorry for having stolen it?”

“I could wish that you had given it.”

“You anger me, Marcus. You are no fool; surely there are ways in which you could earn a living!”

“A man who returns from Botany Bay has not much chance, Carolan.”

“But surely, having taken your punishment…”

He smiled at her wistfully.

“Carolan, one day I shall tell you the story of my life. It will run into many chapters.”

“I shall look forward to hearing it. I want to understand. But in the meantime you frighten me … What if…”

“Never fear, Carolan! I shall not be caught; I am too old a hand! It is not the hardened sinner who is most frequently caught, believe me!”

She shivered, and he went on softly: “Carolan, it is sweet to see you so concerned for me. I could almost be glad I am what I am, to so earn your sweet sympathy.”

She stamped her foot.

“How foolish you are! How ridiculous! I dislike that exaggerated talk, those honeyed compliments. You are glad you are a thief so that I can be sorry for you! I assure you I am not… not in the least, when you talk in that strain!”

“Now I adore you! Why is it that an angry woman can be so enchanting … if she is beautiful? Of course an ugly angry woman is a vile object, but if she be beautiful… If, again, you see… that little word!”

Carolan turned away, tears smarting in her eyes. She felt weary and depressed.

“Why did you come here tonight?” she demanded. To see my father?”

“When I come here,” he said slowly, ‘it is always in the hope of seeing you.”

“I believe I heat his footsteps. He is coming up from below.”

“Carolan …” He caught her hand and looked at her pleadingly.

“Let me tell you more fully, Carolan. Let me explain everything. There are terrible things I could tell you, Carolan.”

“Oh, Marcus!” Her lips trembled.

“Marcus, I will do everything I can to help you. Please, you must believe that, Marcus.”

“I will believe it, Carolan. I will carry the memory of this moment with me to the grave.”

“And you will promise…?”

“I will explain.”

“But I must have your promise. Marcus, be careful. What if you were caught again?”

“I will explain. Tomorrow we must meet, Carolan. Quick … where shall it be? Tomorrow afternoon at three? I will be waiting outside the shop. I shall take you somewhere quiet, and we will talk. For there is much I must say to you…”

“Here is my father,” she said, and went towards him.

“Father, here is Marcus to see you.”

She ran to her room; she was trembling. She threw herself onto the bed; she shut her eyes, but she could not shut out the face of Marcus. I should have nothing to do with him, she told herself. He is a thief, a convict! He should not be in my father’s house. But I must help him, I must!

She spoke into her pillow.

“You would see that, Everard, you who are so good. That is what out life together will be, Everard; helping others, will it not? That is religion … not the beautiful sermons you will preach, not the prayers you will say … It is helping others, Everard.” How she longed for a sight of his calm and beautiful face.

“Ah!” he said.

“A little cottage under the shadow of the parsonage! A pretty picture, that. Perhaps your children will look over my garden wall and talk to me as I work in my garden.

How she longed to tell him the story of Marcus!

It was wonderful what comfort, what hope the thought of Everard could bring.

She slept, and dreamed of a country parsonage, and Marcus was there and she was leaning over the wall of a cottage garden. Distinctly she saw his long tapering fingers curled about a garden spade.

The shop door bell tinkled. Carolan said to Millie: “I will go.”

She had an idea it was Marcus. He had agreed to meet her at three that afternoon, and it was only eleven of the morning, but her thoughts were full of him. She was glad her father was out; he had gone off early that morning, having most urgent business, he said. Kitty was still a-bed: And Millie did not count; she was humming to herself while washing the dishes in the kitchen.

Carolan hastened through the door which led into the shop. It was not Marcus standing there, but Jonathan Crew.

“Good morning,” he said.

“I was passing …”

“Good morning! It was good of you to call. Will you drink a cup of chocolate? Mamma is not yet up.”

He said: “A cup of chocolate sounds most inviting.”

“Then come in, do! And I will make it.”

Millie put her head round the door, her lips formed into a round O of alarm, but when she saw who the visitor was, the O became a smile. Poor Millie was always afraid her father would come for her and take her back with him. The attic with the sloping ceiling, and the tiny window, which she occupied, was paradise to Millie.

“Here is Mr. Crew, Millie,” said Carolan, ‘come to drink a cup of chocolate.”

“Oh,” said Millie, “I will make It, Miss Carolan.”

There was nothing she would not do for Miss Carolan, for it was she who had given her that paradise under the roof up there, Millie knew. There were those who called her silly, but Millie knew.

“I can make it Millie,” said Carolan. She was disappointed, in no mood for light conversation. She had hoped to see Marcus, to hear more of his strange story.

Through the kitchen doorway she could see Jonathan Crew; he was leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed as though he were very, very tired. She thought his clerkship on the wharf must be an exacting job. He often looked tired and … what was it?… lifeless. lacking in vitality. But was that because she had unconsciously compared him with Marcus? Marcus was full of life; he was a born rogue, for whatever had driven him to the perilous life he lived, he enjoyed it. she was sure. Why did she have to like Marcus so much? A thief, a rogue and an ex-convict. And Jonathan, who was a steady clerk, a kind and sympathetic man, she did not really like.

She carried the tray into the parlour, and set it on the table.

“Ah! said Jonathan. This is very pleasant.”

She handed him the cup. and he lifted his eyes to hers. It seemed to her then that there was something behind those eyes … something that was trying to break through, and perhaps was being stopped from breaking through. She could swear he was excited.

“Would you like me to tell Mamma that you are here?” she asked.

“No. no.” He spoke so eagerly that she thought then that he had come to ask her to marry him. She could think of nothing else to account for that excitement, that eagerness to speak to her alone.

“She will be sorry to have missed you. Do you know, this is the first time you have visited us in the morning?”

“My work usually engages me in the mornings.”

“It must be very tiring work, and bad for the eyes.”

“Do you know, I did not sleep at all last night!”

Now she was sure it was going to be a declaration. Why else should he have that air of suppressed excitement?

“No,” he went on, “I could not sleep. I was thinking of… that poor young man.”

She breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was good of him to have such sympathy.

“Yes.” she said.

“I thought of him too.”

“I cannot understand it; it seems so short-sighted of him. Is he completely unaware of the risks he runs?”

“He is not unaware.”

“Ah! You have spoken to him!”

She did not want to talk of it, but how could she help it when he spoke so sympathetically, so earnestly, and she, impetuously, had already given away the fact that she had spoken to Marcus!

“Yes,” she said, “I have seen him.”

“And taxed him… with that?”

“Well…”

He did not pursue the question. He said, as though talking to himself: “I would help him. If he had a good job … well, a moderately good job .. would not that help him to … to be honest? I mean, there is a vacancy in my office. Perhaps if I put in a word … What do you think?”

Carolan turned to him with shining eyes.

“Oh! That is good of you! I am sure he would be so grateful. I know that it is just because of what happened to him that he has found it difficult. Do you think you could …”