of the lad, and I dread that he may be driven into some desperate course. I am, however, using every means to discover him, and I should be thankful if I could send him word that you are ready to look into his case.”
“No, no, Kyffin, I am resolved to wash my hands of the lad and his affairs, and I would advise you to do the same,” replied Mr Coppinger. “I find that he got into bad company, and was led into all sorts of extravagances, which of course would have made him try to supply himself with money. Had he been steady and industrious, I should have been less willing to believe him guilty.”
An expression of pain and sorrow passed over Roger Kyffin’s countenance when he heard these remarks.
“It is too true, I am afraid, that the lad was drawn into bad company, and I must confess that appearances are against him,” he answered. “I judge him, knowing his right principles, and, though in a certain sense, he wants firmness of character, I am sure that nothing would induce, him to commit the act of which he is suspected. I might tell you of many kind and generous things he has done. Since he has grown up he has shown himself to be a brave, high-minded young man.”
“I do not doubt his bravery or his generosity,” answered Mr Coppinger; “both are compatible with extravagance and dissipated conduct. But I am not prejudiced against the lad, and I would rather take your opinion of him than trust to my own. I would wish you, therefore, to follow your own course in this matter. If you think fit, get the lad up here. We will hear what he has to say for himself, and carefully go into his case. I wish that we had done so at first instead of letting him escape without further investigation.”
“Thank you, sir, thank you, Mr Coppinger; that is all I require,” exclaimed Roger Kyffin. “Where to find the lad, however, is the difficulty. He has gone through numerous adventures and dangers, and has been mercifully preserved. I had, indeed, given him up as lost, but I received a letter from him the other day, though, unfortunately, he neglected to date it. He spoke of others which he had written, but which I have not received. All I can hope now is that he will write again and let me know where he is to be found. Of one thing I am certain, that when he is found he will be well able to vindicate his character.”
Not till a late hour was the counting-house in Idol Lane closed that day. Further news of importance might arrive, and Stephen Coppinger was unwilling to risk not being present to receive it. A link boy was in waiting to light him to his handsome mansion in Broad Street. He had not yet retired, as was his custom later in the year, to his rural villa at Twickenham.
Clerks mostly lived in the city. Few, at that time, could enjoy a residence in the suburbs. Roger Kyffin, however, had a snug little abode of his own at Hampstead, from and to which he was accustomed to walk every day. In the winter season, however, when it was dark, several friends who lived in the same locality were in the habit of waiting for each other in order to afford mutual protection against footpads and highwaymen, to whose attacks single pedestrians were greatly exposed. At one time, indeed, they were accompanied by a regular guard of armed men, so audacious had become the banditti of London.
Roger Kyffin felt more than an ordinary interest in Mr Coppinger’s great-nephew – Harry Tryon – who has been spoken of. He loved him, in truth, as much as if he had been his own son.
When Roger Kyffin was a young man full of ardent aspirations, with no small amount of ambition, too, he became acquainted with a beautiful girl. He loved her, and the more he saw of her, the stronger grew his attachment. He had been trained for mercantile business, and had already attained a good situation in a counting-house. He had thus every reason to believe, that by perseverance and steadiness, he should be able to realise a competency. He hoped, indeed, to do more than this, and that wealth and honours such as others in his position had attained, he might be destined to enjoy. Fanny Ashton had, from the first, treated him as a friend. She could not help liking him. Indeed, possibly, had his modesty not prevented him at that time offering her his hand, she might have become his wife. At the same time, she probably had not asked herself the question as to how far her heart was his. She was all life and spirits, with capacity for enjoying existence. By degrees, as she mixed more and more with the gay world, her estimation of the humble clerk altered. She acknowledged his sterling qualities, but the fashionable and brilliant cavaliers she met in society were more according to her taste. An aunt, with whom she went to reside in London, mixed much in the world. Roger Kyffin, who had looked upon himself in the light of a permitted suitor, though not an accepted one, naturally called at her aunt’s house in the West End. His reception by Fanny was not as cordial as formerly. Her manner after this became colder and colder, till at last when he went to her aunt’s door he was no longer welcomed. Still his love for Fanny and his faith in her excellencies were not diminished.
“When she comes back to her quiet home she will be as she was before,” he thought to himself, and so, though somewhat sad and disappointed, he went on hoping that he might win her affection and become her husband.
At length Fanny Ashton returned home. Roger Kyffin, with the eye of love, observed a great change in her. She was no longer lively and animated as before. Her cheek was pale, and an anxious expression passed constantly over her countenance. She received him kindly, but with more formality than usual. Still Mr Kyffin ventured to speak to her. She appreciated his love and devotion, she said, and regretted she could not give her love in return.
Roger Kyffin did not further press his suit, yet went as frequently to the house as he could. Several times he had observed a gentleman in the neighbourhood. He was a fashionably-dressed, handsome man. There was something, however, in the expression of his countenance which Roger Kyffin did not like, for having seen him once, the second time they met he marked him narrowly. What brought him to that neighbourhood? One day as he was going towards Mrs Ashton’s house – Fanny’s mother was a widow, and she was her only child – he met the stranger coming out of the door. He would scarcely have been human had his jealousy not been aroused. He turned homeward, for he could not bring himself to call that day. The following evening, however, he went as usual, but great was his consternation to find that Fanny had gone to stay with her aunt. His worst fears were realised when, three weeks after this, he heard that Fanny Ashton had married Major Tryon. He could have borne his disappointment better if he could have thought that Fanny had married a man worthy of her.
To conquer his love he felt was impossible. His affection was true and loyal. He would now watch over her and be of service if he could. His inquiries as to the character of Major Tryon were thoroughly unsatisfactory. He was a gay man about town, well known on the turf, and a pretty constant frequenter of “hells” and gambling-houses. He was the son of an old general, Sir Harcourt Tryon, and so far of good family. Though a heartless and worthless roué, he seemed really to have fallen in love with Fanny Ashton, and having done his best to win her affections, he had at length resolved, as he called it, to “put his neck into the noose.” Roger Kyffin trembled for Fanny’s happiness, not without reason. Major Tryon had taken lodgings for her in London. Roger Kyffin discovered where he was residing. Unknown to her, he watched over her like a guardian angel, a fond father, or a devoted brother. In a short time her husband took her to the neighbourhood of Lynderton, in Hampshire, where Sir Harcourt and Lady Tryon resided, in the hopes, probably, that they would take notice of her. He engaged a small cottage with a pretty little garden in front of it, from which a view of the Solent and the Isle of Wight was obtained. Lady Tryon, however, and she ruled her husband, had greatly disapproved of her son’s marriage with the penniless Fanny Ashton, and consequently refused even to see his young wife.
In a short time Fanny was deserted by her worthless husband. Not many months had passed away before she received the announcement of his death in a duel. That very evening her child Harry was born. She never quite recovered from the shock she had received. Sad and dreary were the weeks she passed. No one called on her, for though it was known that Major Tryon was married, people were not aware that his young widow was residing at Sea View Cottage, which, standing at a distance from any high road, few of them ever passed. Her little boy was her great consolation. All her affections were
