then, I suppose?”
“Look here; are you going to speak, Dick, or am I to go?”
“All right, my lad. Look here; we eat your dabs, but never mind them. I shall just quietly leave a basket at your door to-night. You needn’t know anything about it, and you needn’t be too proud to take it, for a drop in the house is worth a deal sometimes, case o’ sickness. It’s real French sperit, and a drop would warm the old gentleman sometimes when he is cold.”
“Smuggling again, Dick?”
“Never you mind about that, Master Morton, and don’t call things by ugly names. But that ar’n’t all I’ve got to say. You lost your dabs, but if you’ll slip out to-night and come down the pier, the tide’ll be just right, and I’ll have the bait and lines ready, and I’ll give you as good a bit of fishing as you’d wish to have.”
“Will you, Dick?”
“Ay, that I will. They were on last night, but they’ll be wonderful to-night, and I shouldn’t wonder if we ketches more than we expex.”
“Oh, but I couldn’t go, Dick.”
“Why not, lad?”
“You see, I should have to slip out in the old way – through the drawing-room, and down the balcony pillar.”
“Same as you and Master Fred used, eh?”
“Don’t talk about him,” said the lad.
“Well, he’s your own brother.”
“Yes, but father won’t have his name mentioned,” said the boy sadly. “He’s to be dead to us. Here, what a fool I am, talking so to you!”
“Oh, I don’t know, my lad; we was always friends, since you was quite a little chap, and I used to give you rides in my boat.”
“Yes; you always were a friend, Dick, and I like you.”
“On’y you do get a bit prouder now you’re growing such a strapping chap, Master Morton.”
“I shan’t change to you, Dick.”
“Then come down to-night, say at half arter ’leven.”
Morton shook his head.
“Why, you ar’n’t afraid o’ seeing the old woman’s ghost, are you?”
“Absurd! No. But it seems so horrible to come down that balcony pillar to get out on the sly.”
“Why, you never used to think so, my lad.”
“No, but I do now. Do you know, Dick,” he said in a whisper, “I often think that the old lady was killed by some one who had watched me go in and out that way.”
“Eh?” cried the fisherman, giving a peculiar stare.
“Yes, I do,” said the lad, laying his hand on the big fellow’s shoulders. “I feel sure of it, for that murder must have been done by some one who knew how easy it was to get up there and open the window.”
“Did you ever see anyone watching of you?” said the fisherman in a hoarse whisper.
“N-no, I’m not sure. I fancy I did see some one watching one night.”
“Phew!” whistled the fisherman; “it’s rather hot, my lad, sitting here in the sun.”
“Perhaps some day I shall find out who did it, Dick.”
“Hah – yes,” said the man, staring at him hard. “Then you won’t come?”
“Yes, I will,” cried Morton. “It’s so cowardly not to come. I shall be there;” and, stopping to pick up the flower the child had again dropped, the pretty little thing smiled in his face, and he bent down and kissed it before striding away.
“Think o’ that, now,” said Mrs Miggles, coming to the door.
“Think o’ what?” growled her lord, breaking off an old sea-ditty he was singing to the child.
“Why, him taking to the little one and kissing it. How strange things is!”
Volume One – Chapter Twelve.
Mrs Burnett Makes a Call
“Gad, but the old boy’s proud of that chariot,” said Sir Matthew Bray, mystifying his sight by using an eyeglass.
“Yes,” said Sir Harry Payne, who was lolling against the railings that guarded promenaders from a fall over the cliff; and he joined his friend in gazing at an elegantly-appointed britzka which had drawn up at the side, and at whose door the Master of the Ceremonies was talking to a very young and pretty woman. “Yes; deuced pretty woman, May Burnett. What a shame that little wretch Frank should get hold of her.”
“Egad, but it was a good thing for her. I say, Harry, weren’t you sweet upon her?”
“I never tell tales out of school, Matt. ’Fore George, how confoundedly my head aches this morning.”
Just then the Master of the Ceremonies drew back, raising his hat with the greatest of politeness to the lady, and waving his cane to the coachman, who drove off, the old man going in the other direction muttering to himself, but proud and happy, while the carriage passed the two bucks, who raised their hats and were rewarded with the sweetest of smiles from a pair of very innocent, girlish-looking little lips, their owner, aptly named May, being a very blossom of girlish prettiness and dimpled innocency.
“Gad, she is pretty,” said Sir Matthew Bray. “Come along, old lad. Let’s see if Drelincourt or anyone else is on the pier.”
“Aha! does the wind blow that way, Matt? Why were you not there to save the dog?”
“Wind? what way?” said the big, over-dressed dandy, raising his eyebrows.
“Ha – ha – ha! come, come!” cried Sir Harry, touching his friend in the side with the gold knob of his cane, “how innocent we are;” and, taking Sir Matthew’s arm, they strolled on towards the pier.
“I didn’t ask you who the note was for that we left at Mother Clode’s,” said Sir Matthew sulkily.
“No; neither did I ask you where yours came from – you Goliath of foxes,” laughed Sir Harry. “But I say. ’Fore George, it was on mourning paper, and was scented with musk. Ha – ha – ha!”
Sir Matthew scowled and grumbled, but the next moment the incident was forgotten, and both gentlemen were raising their ugly beaver hats to first one and then another of the belles they passed.
Meanwhile the britzka was driven on along the Parade, and drew up at the house of the Master of the Ceremonies, where the footman descended from his seat beside the coachman, and brought envious lodging-letters to the windows on either side by his tremendous roll of the knocker and peal at the bell.
Isaac appeared directly.
Yes, Miss Denville was in, so the steps were rattled down, and Mrs Frank Burnett descended lightly, rustled up to the front door, and entered with all the
