"Else I had never been there!"
"But I intended it as a warning--I cautioned you, pleaded with you."
"Yes, I remember--you said I was ignorant, awkward, a novice--Mr.
Leicester; your advice was like a jeer--your caution a taunt; your words and manner were at variance; I played that night, but not of my own free will. I say to you, it was _not_ of my free will!"
"Is it me, upon whom your words reflect?" said Leicester, with every appearance of wounded feeling.
Robert was silent.
"Do you know," continued Leicester, in that deep, musical tone, that was sure to make the heart thrill--"do you know, Robert Otis, why it is that you have not been openly exposed?--why this debt has not been demanded long ago?"
"Because the note which I gave is not yet due!"
"The note--a minor"s note--what man in his senses would receive a thing so worthless? No, Robert--it was my endors.e.m.e.nt that made the paper valuable. It is from me, your old friend, Robert, that the money must come to meet the paper at its maturity."
Tears gushed into the young man"s eyes--he held out his hand across the table--Leicester took the hand and pressed it very gently.
"You know," he said, "this note becomes due almost immediately."
"I know--I know. It seems to me that every day has left a mark on my heart; oh, Mr. Leicester, how I have suffered!"
"I will not say that suffering is the inevitable consequence of a wrong act, because that just now would be unkind," said Leicester, with a soft smile, "but hereafter you must try and remember that it is so."
Robert looked upon his friend; his large eyes dilated, and his lips began to tremble; you could see that his heart was smitten to the core.
How he had wrought that man! Tears of generous compunction rushed to his eyes.
"It will be rather difficult, but I have kept this thing in my mind,"
said Leicester. "To-morrow I shall draw a large sum; a portion must redeem your debt, but on condition that you never play again!"
Robert shuddered. "Play again!" he said, and tears gushed through the fingers which he had pressed to his eyes. "Do you fear that a man who has been racked would of his own free will seek the wheel again? But how am I to repay you?"
"Confide in me; trust me. Robert, the suspicions that were in your heart but an hour since--they will return."
Robert shook his head, and swept the tears from his eyes.
"No, no! even then I hated myself for them: how good, how forgiving, how generous you are! I am young, strong, have energy. In time this shameful debt can be paid--but kindness like this--how can I ever return that?"
"Oh! opportunities for grat.i.tude are never wanting: the bird we tend gives back music in return for care, yet what can be more feeble? Give me love, Robert, that is the music of a young heart--do not distrust me again!"
"I never will!"
Leicester wrung the youth"s hand. They both arose.
"If you are going to the counting-room, I will accompany you," he said, "my business must be negotiated with your firm."
"I was first going to my room," said Robert.
"No matter, I will walk slowly--by the way, here is your old copy-book; I have just been examining it. Those were pleasant evenings, my boy, when I taught you how to use the pen."
"Yes," said Robert, receiving the book, "my dear aunt claims the old copies as a sort of heir-loom. I remembered your wish to see it, and so took it quietly away. I really think she would not have given it up, even to you."
"Then she did not know when you took it?"
"No, I had forgotten it, and so stole down in the night. She was sound asleep, and I came away very early in the morning."
"Dear old lady," said Leicester, smiling; "you must return her treasure before it is missed. Stay; fold your cloak over it. I shall see you again directly."
Leicester"s bed-chamber communicated with another small room, which was used as a dressing-closet. From some caprice he had draped the entrance with silken curtains such as clouded the windows. Scarcely had he left the room when this drapery was flung aside, revealing the door which had evidently stood open during his interview with Robert Otis.
Jacob Strong closed the door very softly, but in evident haste; dropped the curtains over it, and taking a key from his pocket, let himself out of the bed-chamber. He overtook Robert Otis, a few paces from the hotel, and touched him upon the shoulder.
"Mr. Otis, that copy-book--my master wishes to see it again--will you send it back?"
"Certainly," answered Robert, producing the book. "But what on earth can he want it for?"
"Come back with me, and I will tell you!"
"I will," said Robert; "but remember, friend, no more hints against Mr.
Leicester, I cannot listen to them."
"I don"t intend to _hint_ anything against him now!" said Jacob, dryly, and they entered the hotel together.
Jacob took the young man to his own little room, and the two were locked in together more than an hour. When the door opened, Jacob appeared composed and awkward as ever, but a powerful change had fallen upon the youth. His face was not only pale, but a look of wild horror disturbed his countenance.
"Yet I will not believe it," he said, "it is too fiendish. In what have I ever harmed him?"
"I do not ask you to _believe_, but to know. Keep out of the way a single week, it can do harm to no one."
"But in less than a week this miserable debt must be paid!"
"Then pay it!"
Robert smiled bitterly.
"How? by ruining my aunt? Shall I ask her to sell the old homestead?"
"She would do it--she would give up the last penny rather than see you disgraced, Robert Otis!"
"How can you know this?"
"I do know it, but this is not the question. Here is money to pay your debt, I have kept it in my pocket for weeks."
Robert did not reach forth his hand to receive the roll of bank-notes held toward him, for surprise held him motionless.
"Take the money, it is the exact sum," said Jacob, in a voice that carried authority with it. "I ask no promise that you never enter another gambling hall--you never will!"
"Never!" said Robert, receiving the money; "but how--why have you done this?"