The Story of Antony Grace. George Manville Fenn

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The Story of Antony Grace - George Manville Fenn

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answer the young lady rose and went and laid her hands in one of his.

      “If you please, Mr. Ruddle,” she said in a low musical voice, “it will be a kindly act.”

      “God bless you, my dear,” he said tenderly. “I believe if I were with you long you’d make me as much your slave as you have John Lister.”

      “Then you will?”

      “Yes, my dear, yes, if it is really as he says.”

      She darted an intelligent look at me, and then hastily pulled down her crape veil as Mr. Lister followed her to her chair.

      “Come here, my lad,” said Mr. Ruddle, in quiet business-like tones. “We want boys here, but boys used to the printing trade, for it does not answer our purpose to teach them; we have no time. But as you seem a sharp, respectable boy, and pretty well educated, you might, perhaps, be willing to try.”

      “Oh, if you’ll try me, I’ll strive so hard to learn, sir!” I cried excitedly.

      “I hope you will, my boy,” he said drily, “but don’t profess too much; and mind this, you are not coming here as a young gentleman, but as a reading-boy—to work.”

      “Yes, sir. I want to work,” I said earnestly.

      “That’s well. Now, look here. I want to know a little more about you. If, as you say, you came from near Rowford, you can tell me the names of some of the principal people there?”

      “Yes, sir; there’s Doctor Heston, and the Reverend James Wyatt, and Mr. Elton.”

      “Exactly,” he said gruffly; and he opened a large book and turned over a number of pages. “Humph! here it is,” he said to himself, and he seemed to check off the names. “Now, look here, my man. What is the name of the principal solicitor at Rowford?”

      “Mr. Blakeford, sir,” I said with a shiver, lest he should want to write to him about me.

      “Oh, you know him?” he said sharply.

      “Yes, sir. He managed papa’s—my father’s—affairs,” I said, correcting myself.

      “Then I’m sorry for your poor father’s affairs,” he said, tightening his lips. “That will do, my lad. You can come to work here. Be honest and industrious, and you’ll get on. Never mind about having been a gentleman, but learn to be a true man. Go and wait outside.”

      I tried to speak. I wanted to catch his hands in mine. I wanted to fling my arms round Miss Carr, and kiss and bless her for her goodness. I was so weak and sentimental a boy then. But I had to fight it all down, and satisfy myself by casting a grateful glance at her as I went out to wait.

      I was no listener, but I heard every word that passed as the ladies rose to go.

      “Are you satisfied, my dear?” said Mr. Ruddle.

      “God bless you?” she said; and I saw her raise her veil and kiss him.

      “God bless you, my dear!” he said softly. “So this little affair has regularly settled it all, eh? And you are to be John’s wife. Well, well, well, my dear, I’m glad of it, very glad of it. John, my boy, I would my old partner were alive to see your choice; and as for you, my child, you’ve won a good man, and I hope your sister will be as fortunate.”

      “I hope I shall, Mr. Ruddle,” said the other lady softly.

      “If I were not sixty, and you nineteen, my dear, I’d propose for you myself,” he went on laughingly. “But come, come, I can’t have you giddy girls coming to our works to settle your affairs. There, be off with you, and you dine with us on Tuesday next. The old lady says you are to come early. I’m afraid John Lister here won’t be able to leave the office till twelve o’clock; but we can do without him, eh?”

      “Don’t you mind what he says, Miriam,” said Mr. Lister. “But stop, here’s the parcel. I’ll send it on.”

      “No, no. Please let that youth carry it for us,” said Miss Carr.

      “Anything you wish,” he whispered earnestly; and the next moment he was at the door.

      “You’ll carry this parcel for these ladies,” he said; “and to-morrow morning be here at ten o’clock, and we’ll find you something to do.”

      “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I said eagerly; and taking the parcel, I followed the ladies into Holborn, and then along Oxford Street to a substantial row of houses near Cavendish Square, where the one I looked upon as my friend paused at a large door and held out her hand to me.

      “I shall hope to hear from Mr. Lister that you have got on well at the office,” she said in her sweet musical voice. “Recollect that you are my protégé, and I hope you will do me credit. I shall not forget to ask about you. You will try, will you not?”

      “Oh yes,” I said hoarsely, “so hard—so very hard!”

      “I believe you will,” she said, taking the parcel from my hand; “and now good-bye.”

      The next moment I was standing alone upon the pavement, feeling as if a cloudiness had come over the day, while, as I looked down into my hand, it was to see there a bright new sovereign.

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