CHAP.XXVI.

Clutha Leader, Volume I, Issue 33, 25 February 1875, Page 6

CHAP. XXVI.

A JOYOUS RETURN. Mr Andrew Gilbert was sincerely to be pitied. His quite, smooth-going life had been disturbed in a manner altogether exceptional and fearful. Hitherto of a methodical and uneventful ebaracfer it bad suddenly changed into anxitty and excitement which threatened to overmaster him. That thingshad got fearfully out of joint with him might be inferred from the fact that he was in his own private room long after the business of the day was over — long after the office was shut and the clerks had departed. Such a thing was almost unknown. The oldest clerk in the establishment did not remember of it, for it had been Mr Gilbert's invariable custom for years, so soon as the clock struck four, to lock up his drawers and take his departure. No exigency of business had been allowed to interfere with this practice, whatever he might have in hands. When the hour came it was set aside at once, and not taken up again till the following day. Yet it was now sunset on an evening near the end of July, and be had not quitted his private room. Not that he was getting through aoy pressing work there. He was not writiug, he was not examining papers, he was doing nothing but sitting absorbed in more distracting thoughts than he had ever known. We do not require to explain what was the suHect of these. Matters connected with M'Dougal and Menzies were assuming ; frightful shape now. That day had accumulated evidence which allowed him no longer to doubt that the two men had been j. engaged in the perpetration of crimes the character of which was considered by the law and by the community as specially atrocious. In the eye of the law it was indeed a capital crime— an offence in which death alone was considered an adequate j punishment. To find he was the destined instrument for bringing such a crime to light, and drawing i*.s merited punishment on two well-known and hitherto esteemed Glasgow merchants was in itself a most disquieting situation, but it was infinitely increased and complicated by what bad taken place in relation to Victor Moredant. Tbat was a secret still confined to his own bosom, but he knew it must soon be divulged-—in fact, the truth should have been made known to the youth's father the moment the news of the disaster reached himself, yet he had delayed from day to day, till delay had become not only culpable, but impracticable. A few hours ago, when in the Tontine News room, his eye had lighted on an advertisement in the * Herald ' which had for him a startling and painful signficance. It wa9 short hut not to be misunderstood. "V. M. is earnstly requested by his father to return to B. without delay, as important changes have taken place which render his presence esfential.". A deep groan had escaped the underwriter when he read this announcement, and reflected tbat -- V. M," would return to "B" no more. When he reached the privacy of his own room he turned up his own copy of tbe ' Herald,' which lay there, and it was now spread out at bis elbow with the advertisement in view. On every hand the old man was surrounded by difficulty, anxiety, perplexity— super-added to which was a bitter grief —and the whole combined had thrown him into a state of utter wretchedness. He was recalled somewhat from his ab straction by a sound in the office. It was a slight, subdued sound, Ike the gentle shutting of a door, but, in the deep silence, it reached his ear very distinctly, and was immediately followed by a footfall in the passage leading to the room in which he was. This rather surprised him, for he knew the clerks were all gone, and if anyone had come in, they must have entered by tbe private door — a way of access which no one used but himself. Yes, there was afootsteep in the passage, and it seemed a slow and stealthy one. In some alarm Mr Gilbert rose aad opened the door, when instantly he threw up his arms, and with a horrified ejaculation, staggard back into the room, over the threshold of which came clad in a dirty, tattered seaman's grab, Victor Moredant, alias Charles Wingate. * That it was the spirit of the dead youth which had appeared befor him the underwriter implicitly believed, and the thought filled him with a terror which bereft him of strength and motion. Yet, for a spirit from the awful land of shades, the eager smile and animated expression of the i countinance was extraordinary. ! On seeing the powerful effect produced Dy his appearance, Victor stopped short and gazed in momentary a9tom9hmet; then, divining the cause of Mr Gilbert's terror, he burst into a loud laugh, "Ha, ha, ha, you take me for my spirit, do you, Mr Gilbert. Give me your hand, and I will let you feel that I am no impalpable shadow, but a solid substance of flesh and blood. Nay, sir," he added more seriously, as he saw how the other trembled " I am sorry to have given ycu such a shock. It has no doubt been reported to you that I was dead. I saw the lyiDg story in a paper at Greenock to day ; but the tale of Jack and Jeff and myself being blown from a rock into the sea is an utter falsehood. Here I am, sir, safe and sound, with my mission fully accomplished." " Not dead 1 safe and sound !"■ The words had all tbe effect of a galvanic battery. With a jerk the old man shook himself out of his horrified rigidity, and rushed foward with outstretched hands. These Victor grasped with a force well calculated to dissipate any remaining doubt ; and as his hands had been made as hard as iron with sailor's work, the force of the grasp sent the blood quite out of Mr Gilbert's fingers. What ensusd was grotesque, and, to a stranger, must have seemed highly redicu- ' lous. The underwriter began to dance and caper like one out of his senses. "Not dead, safe and sound," he repeated and repeated at the utmost pitch of his voice. His wig went one wny, his spectacles an? other, as he leapt round and round Victor with 1 amazing agility.-' Then he threw his .arms Tound him and hugged him. frantic? 1 ally, and danced and leaped again, till breathlessness and exhaustion compelled him to moderate bis motions.

\ " Oh, my stars, but this is a joy to me," he cried ; " I'm like the Pilgrim lifted out of the Slough of Despond ; I'm like a condemned criminal reprieved at the foot of the gallows. My boy— my boy, I have not words to speak my feelings. I have b en mourning for you like a mother for her child, and to see you thus is tb receive you back from the dead, and to have my bitter grief turned into unspeakable joy. Don't laugh at "me, Victor ; if you only knew how the sorrow was killing me you would not think my conduct extravagant. Thank God, you have turned up before I conveyed the heavy tidiogs to your father." " Ah, he has not been told, then. lam glad of that— l feared you would have inflicted on him unnecessary grief." " But, now that I am beginning to come ,to myself, what does it all mean ?" exclaimed Mr Gilbert. . "Did Duncan invent an utter lie when he told that you and other two ofthe crew had perished ?".. "A lie, and yet not a lie. He did believe us to, be dead, though he carefully concealed the manner of our death. Had he told tbe truth on that head, he must have said that we were as good as rnurdercl." " Good God— murdered ?"• "'An act done, at least, which was meant to compass our deaths and which they never doubted secured that object. But that and all else will come into the story which I have to tell you; if you will first allow me to change these rags for my own clothes." "To be euFe, my boy— to be Bure. Go into the next room; You will find your things where you left them. What a horrible time you must have had of it, and how I have reproached myself for allowing you to do." •■Well, you will now have reason to congratulate yourself for having consented, for your suspicion has been confirmed. The vessel was scuttled." " I know it,, Victor. Proofs have turned up this very day-^-proofs to show not only that the versel was scuttled, but that the cargo was never shipped. " Ha! some of the crew must have suspected it, and given information. "Nothing of the kind.. The proofs I speak ol have been strangely forthcoming.' Providence, it seems tome, has beeh interposing to bring these men's crime to light." But you shall hear -what I have to tell when you have got rid of that horrid dress, and made yourself comfortable.' Meanwhile, I'll go out to Rae's and tell them to eend in supper." " A capital idea," laughed Victor, " for I'm frightfully hungry, having eaten no-, thing for twelve hours, and very little then." " My gracious, why didn'tyou go into an eating house the moment you reached town. ■■ " Why 1 Because we had no money to pay for anything." "No money Ob, horrible." "That's not wonderful in the case of shipwrecked sailors is it," returned Victor, with another laugh. "Why, where are you going sir," he cried, as Mr Gilbert made a dash for the door. "To Rae's of course. No food, no money! Merciful goodness/ " Stay, sir, you are going without either hat or wig, and what will people think, if you appear iv the street in that fashion .?'•" " Bless me, I — was not aware of it. But positively I don't know what I am doing, I'm in such a state of happy excitement. Your return has made me joyful beyond measure, but the state to which you have been redued horrifies me — no food for twelve hours J'' "Pooh, that isn't much. And to show you that I am not in such extremity I'll detain you for a moment to ask one ques« tion— Have you heard anything of my father since I left ?" ♦'Nothing ; but your cousin was married a few days ago." " Married ! and to that scoundrel Menzies 1" 11 Yes, to Menzies, I was deeply sorry to learn it." " Oh, the poor deluded girl, she is lost, ruined. Would to God I had been in time to prevent this. Only a few days ago, you say." " Not more than .a.week at longest — in fact, just when the news came of the loss of the Friends. And— oh, by the way, here is something in this dry's ' Herald ' which refers to you." " To me F " From your father," " Ah ! what is it ?" Mr Gilbert handed him the paper, and pointed to the short advertisement, which Victor read at a glance. " What can it mean ? Why can. he wish metore'urn? What are the important changes which requires my presence ?" " Impossible to say, my boy. But you had better go." *■ I shall — I must. He cannot learn too soon the crimes of which Menzies has been guilty, and the dreadful punishment which must soon overtake: him. He will now find that my dislike of the man has been more than justified; but' what will become of Olive I know not. From my soul I pity l?er, and my father will reproach me more than ever for my refusal to marry her ?" "It is a frightful business throughout," returned ,Mr Gilbert. " But there, there ; we shall have time to think of it all ere long. Your comfort is the first thing to attend to." • With wig and hat now in their proper places, Mr Gilbert rusbed. off again, and Victor went in to the inner room to" lay aside his stained and tattered seaman's dress. Most. thankful was he to get rid of 't, and the character which belonged to it. Tbe object for which he had assnmed both had been successfully accomplished, but at a cost of personal suffering and privation which he would shudder from again encountering. The hardships of the last two or three weeks had been of a most disagreeable kind. He and^his two companions had been made tcnlo the work of common seamen on. the passage to Greenock; had been hardly used and insufficiecVy. fed during the voyage ; and were finally landed at Greenock in dirt amlragSj without ie? ceiving a farthing to bring them to Glasgow. „ After remaining a day .or. two in a state of destitution, they got a passage -up •the: river in a vessel laden with lime, and when they reached; the Bromielaw, Jeff made off to an old haunt in the Brigg|te, promising to keep himself, concealed, .were, for the present out of the sight and know-, ledg% rjo£ Captain Duncan and. his . ,^nate Bannatyhe. Jack, of course, made straight for Ship Row, and fain would Charleshave accompanied him thither, but as Mary and

May knew nothing ff him having assumed; , the disguise of a sailor, he could not present himself before thed in such a delapidated attire. Besides, it! was all important thai he should communicate with Mr Gilbert without delay. Therefore, however eager he was to meet his; bethrothed, he had to deny himself the gratification, and leave Tack to go home atyne to allay the anxiety which they knew tie two must be suffering on their account, and relate to them the astounding nature of their adventures on board the Friends.] He promised, moreover, to come to S!np Row after his interview wi h Mr Gilbert,, however la'e the : hour might be. Then on parting with Jack at the corner he proceeded by the obscurest path he could find to the private entrance of the office, and made his app earance before Mr Gilbert in the way we have described.. Long before the process of washing, scrubbing, and dressing was completed Mr Gilbert had returned, and along with him ! came a waiter from Rae's, bearing materials for a royal supper— such " a feast of fat things and wines on the lees well refined," as Victor had not partaken of for many a day, and to which he was in a rare position for doing ample justice. In this he was well supported by the underwriter himself, for he, too-, had been able to eat little for days, but by reason of the immense relief which he had experienced, he was now ready to show nearly as keen an appetite !aa the famished youth, and between them Jhey made savoury viands disappear at a rapid . rate — Victor proceeding with his story at the same time, rousing alternately ' the. interest and the indignation of his listener as he narrated all that he had seen and suffered du,ring his absence. When he had done, Mr Gilbert related to him in turn the events of the same day — i the facts deponed to by Johnny Hutcheson, and the discovery of the nun- shipment of the cargo through the accidental upsetting of Old Betty M'Neieh's basket, when he and Mr Gillespie and Mr Dalgleish were at hand to take note of its content*-. " There," exclaimed Victor ; "T take it that the proof is complete. What action do you propose to take, and when do you propose to take it ?" "Ay, that's the rub," returned M? Gilbert,, with a sigh and a grave look. "Of course there v s only one course to follow, and there can be no delay. Dalgleish wanted me to go with him to the Fiscal and the Justice this afternoon, but, then, we had no convincing proof, and I showed him the uselessness of so doing. Now it is different, very different, and when I mention to him and Gillespie what ad ditional evidence I have received, I know they will insist on immediate application for a warrant to apprehend M'Dougal and Menzies." * l Ancl would they not do well to insist on this ?" asked Victor, noting the regretful and even tone in which the other spoke. . "No doubt, but how disagreeable and dreadful a thing to bring such a charge on two such well-known Glasgow. merchants. What a sensation it will cause throughout the city, where' no two men are held in such repute. And then think, my boy, of the result if they are^convicted." " Transportation,! suppose ?" " Worse— death." "Death," echoed Victor, turning pale.' " Good heaven ! is the penalty so severe." "It was made a capital offence in 1789 by a statute specially ebacted. This is why I am so reluctant- to institute proceedings, but the trade .of the country must be protected. Such frauds on underwriters are ruinou*-, and would soon render insurance impossible. Oh, the folly, the infatuation, which led them into such a fatal course. Who would have imagined it of either of them ? What will Finlay say when such a crime is brought home to his hand- and- glove friend, M'Dougal f "And what will my father say when he finds ; that Olive's husband i 9 likely to die on the gallows ?" added Victor. " I hope he has used no undue influence to bring about the marriage." " You will soon learn that and put him in possession of the sad truth, for I suppose you mean to go to Beechwood to-morrow ?" " Why, yes • I .suppose I had better, and see what is meant by this advertisement. The marriage, deplorable though it be, releases me from the importunity which forced 'me away. But I don't expect to remain long at Beechwood. May I consider a stool in yOur office still mine?" ' * . ' "A what P echoed^ Mr Gilbert. "A stool — a mere clerkship — when you have done and suffered so much in my interest. No, ho. If Beechwood is really lost to you-i-as, indeed,' it must be by this lamentable marriage come back to Glasgow as soon as you choose, and become my partner. Gilbert and Moredant — how will that sound — eh?" "Your partner?" echoed Victor in amazement. "My dear sir, you forget. I have no funds— no " " No fiddlestick," interrupted the other "If funds were necessary, you have at least twenty- five thousand pounds." "I, sir ? Indeed, you are mistaken." " No, lam not. M'Dougal insured with with' me to that amount, arid you having saved it by your mission, it becomes rightfully arid properly yours. But' in this matter, my dear boy, let there be no ques tion of funds. I have" ho 'son of my own, and no near relative to share my business ; I therefore wrong nobody, and do myself a "pleasure and a service by making you my partner. So we' shall consider that settled." " How can I possibly thank you for such generosity?" returned Victor, his face flushing with emotion. "By accepting 1 my offer and considering, it your due," was the curt response, meant to close the subject for the present. "Bless me, how Mate', it is !" added Mi- Gilber', looking at his watch. . "I declare I have not been iv the office at this honr for the last ' twenty years ; but then I never hacl such cause— never. This has been, without exception, the mest'evehtful day of my.lifeJ But} oh; my hoy; what a weighty has been 1 taken off njiy mind. 7 , 1 / would .not endure the same thing again for theinsurance i of any number of ships." ; ' A" :i ' .«• Wel^'Viau^hed'theyouth; 'J t?),tellyou the ti-uth I should not care to engage agaih^ in.a: umj)]ar Enterprise', 1 'and no more woiild nay! friend '.'Jack blossom, 1 ". hardy sailor jfla^;wifer , :r;:^.::.;?. , v '■'■ x - ! v-v : : r 4 MAhy by the ;way, that; is ■ well" mihded, ! eTClara^4he7o;th§r. ; ?* Tye Ja^tb and reward fb* his' brafe ['services. jYou 1 shall help to devise" ' the 'Tje^'moW 'of rendering them. And now, my hoy, you

shall come with me to Yprkbill and spend the night there. You can leave at any hour you choose for Beechwood." ; Victor coloured and hesitated. " I pro* naised to see Jack to-night — and — and T hope you will excuse me from accepting your kind invitation." Mr Gilbert regarded him with astonishment, and a light suddenly dawned on his mind. The blush, the confusion, the besita--1 tion of speech were signs which the old man quickly interpreted. " Wh m I There's a lady in the case, is there ?", he exclaimed, opening his eyes very wide. " I had no idea of this. Ho, ho { So one of our Glasgow belles. has captivated you. For heaven's sake, don't let me keep you a moment longer. If she knew of you baying sailed in '. the Friends her state of mind for a week past must have been dreadful. Go-go to her at once, and change her mourning into joy. If your appearance gives her anything like the transport it gave me you are in for a sweet reception, I can, tell you. Come, be off, sir— be! off." " I will neither deny nor confess at present," ; rejoined Victor, blushing more violently than ever. '•Denial would be useless, and, as for confession, I have no right tq_ .press it. ; You'll tell me in due time, I suppose. That's right. Ah, my boy; don't think because I'm an old bachelor that I have no sympathy with the. tender passion which glows in the bosom of youth. My friends look upon me as a withered old crab-stick, . and I suppose they are right. But I may have blossomed once, and perhaps frost came and turned the bloom to ashes. Ah, well, that is a subject which has been sepulchred in silence for forty years, and I shall not roll away the stone now. But I understand it, my boy— l understand it and—therethere. God bless you both." His voice faltered, and tears, stood in his eyes as he took Victor's hand and warmly pressed it. His 'words so evidently alluded to a sacred sorrow that the youth could ; offer no remark. But he! .pressed Mr Gibert's hand in return v and felt his respect for him increase, through- the/.glimpse he had just given him into a heart which had known suffering. It was the first and only time Mr Gilbert alluded to bis heart's disappointment; iri* early life. Had he done so oftener he WOM6? have been regarded with greater tender-: ness and reverence by those about him,, who were ignorant of the fact that he cherished the sad memory of a true and ■ holy affection, for, in human estimation, ,4 -Tis better to have loved and lost, Than never to have loved at all." They weue now outside, and walking together along the street, Mr Gilbert being in search of a cab, to take him to Yorkhill. An empty one came in sight, and he hailed it. " Good-bye, Victor. Tell Jack I will call on him to-morrow. It will be necessary for me to see him about his deposition." , ■*- 1 hope, sir," said the youth, in what seemed rather an anxious tone, " I hope you will remember that at Ship Row I am known only as Charles Wingate." "Oh, of course, I'll remember that — yes, I'll remember it. But that's a secret that cannot be kept long, you. know.. , If you have to go into the witness box, your real name and position must come out there." " Ah, well, by that time it will be of no consequence, but as yet, I am anxious to remain incog. Good bye, sir. "Goodbye, my boy, good bye. With what a light heart I return home ."' "Now, what can, he. mean by that?" mused the underwriter, as the cab whirled bim away over the causeway. -'Why does he want his trne name concea'ed at present from Jack ? Can the sailor have a daughter, I wonder, and can he be Oh, nonsense, Victor would never go and fall in love with a sailor's daughter. Not that he is a lad to stick at mere station, but his affections could be won only by something more than good looks ; and there is not the slightest probability that a sailor's daughter would have these mental and moral qualities essential to his captiva* tion. No, no, the idea is absurd. "And yet," Jbe. continued, as further reflection made him dissatisfied with this conclusion, "yet he is in love. The object of that love mu-t be somebody, and he has met her since he left Beechwood. And now that I come to think of it, how did he make the acquaintance of this Jack Blossom? EEhh — ha — that is a mystery. By Jove, I'll fiad out to-morrow if Jack has a daughter, and, if so, I'll see for myself what sort of a girl she is ; and if she is the object of his affection I'll not fail to read the signs of it in her countenance." Meanwhile Victor was, speeding towards Ship Row at a rate which hi 9 ardent love alone could prompt. By this time he knew that May would be looking for his coming, arid he longed with all a lover's impatience, quickened by absence, peril, and suffering, to behold her once again, to strain her to his heart, to hear his. assumed name murmured in sweet silvery accents by her lip o . The distance seemed long— interminable, but Ship Row was gained at last, and high up he saw the light shining brightly from Jack's window. He rushed up the stair, and the vision which his fond fancy had conjured up was realised, for May was in his arms. She was waiting for him on the landing, whither his coming, steps had drawn her, and with a cry of joy she flew to bis embrace. Oh, the delicious rapture of that moment. It repaid him for all he had undergone. , " My darliog, my darling," he murmured again arid again, each time with a kiss, which in her great love she scrupled not to.return. , " " Oh, Charles !" she whispered, "what a terrible, storyfather has told ; U8. ,f . 7," And I am sure ..you'- do not blame us for keeping the, truth from you, till our return," he resßbrided.7 S'S'[ n 7 7. "But you might newer have returned " . was Ker shuddering7feply. ; SAS.-.S".' '< „ f" vtjell, , we "c^rtairily, 'would hpi, had matter's turned but . according "to the will and intention of others. ;;But ! that'i's air past now, and -her^ , we -are^ilafe aridsouttd;''; . .Mnjthe kitchen satrjaok,'with^ his |knee~heh boisterously , .JmtlTthe light .of gladness sparklrag in/eyes which 'had, often .b^een^^/dimned-hy anxiety , on husband's* account. j' ytb,at i£"was7wdrfJ 1 being ship-^ck^ eyery7 r year r 'fo enjoy such "a deriiOnstratioh'/of affection on his return. " ' ' Charles made them all laugh heartily at

the quandary into .which hia appearancs had thrown Mr Gilbert,- "who, by-the-- ; bye/V added the youth to Jack, when hi merriment had nj6derated.» to call on you to-morrow." ~ r 11 He aiut agoing to come here, is he ?'* cried Jack. "He is, indeed. He has got to thank you in his own way, for the important service you have rendered in this business, and also to arrange for your deposition bein* taken by the officers of law." "Oh, bother the thanks. I'll take my Davy, in course, to the sinking of the ship. May and Molly here . want to know what will be done to MSDougal and Menzies. I tells "em it will be nothing less than transportation for a pretty long term." " It' may be worse than that," returned Charles, " Mr Gilbert tells me it in a capital offence — punishable with death." "Death," gasped May, in wildest consternation. "Oh, Charles, not death — surely not death." " It is so by a statute enacted in the end of last century." " My eye, that's worse than anything I had thought oh," observed Jack very gravely. " But, in course^ its one o' tbe worst o' crimes." "Tbe very worst," assented Charjes,; " for it contains all the elements' of murder. I' see you are greatly moved at this, dear May -, and certainly tbe taking away of. life iv any circumstance is a dreadful thing." " Why, you see," exclaimed Jack, hastily " She's thinking on the one that g it married the 'fother day. But mayhap you havn't heard on it." "Oh yes," returned Charles, changing color. "I was greatly shocked when Mir Gilbert told me that Menzies is just married to — I believea young lady of— of- property • Miss Moredant iof Beechwdod. What a terrible blow this will prove to her, poor thing." . . . " Oh, I am so grieved for her," said May, whose distress was extreme — indeed, so extreme that it made Jack uneasy, and he hastened to change. the subject by a remark in reference to Mr Gilbert's visit on the following day. - • -Vi ain't used to speaking toabiggentleman like him," he went on ; " but, in course, you'll help me t to spin the yarn, and keep me from fouling toy jaw- tackle ?" "I am unable to be present, Jack. I | have to leave town in the' morning on business." "Leave town again," exclaimed May, anxiously. " Nay, there is no danger this time, and I don't expect to be more than a day or two.' I "Lor', then I wont have you to' keep . my manners straight," said Jack, apprehensively.. * " TPoob,. you don't need help to keep your manners straight. Just tell what you know in your own way. He means to see Jeff also, and it is likely M'Dougal and Menaies will be apprehended by to- morrow night. ' " Ah, so soon," cried May, with a look of horror. -•' This cannot be delayed," explained Charles, " for a hint .may reach . them of what has been discovered, and they might make their escape." "Ah, true, yes," exclaimed the fair girl, 1 with sudden animation. "• He may escape." The rest of the conversation we heed not '■■ relate. We may be sure that, before Charles took his leave it drifted back into a tender train, and that, after the youth bade Jack and Molly, good-night, he | lingered long with May upon the landing, where vows of love and constancy were | made anew, and chaste and tender expresßions of endearment, passed . between them.' At length, with a sigh, tne \last good-bye was said, and Charles passed into the silent midnight streets to seek a few hours' repose at a hotel ere he started at an early hour in. the morning, for Beechwood. ( To be Continued.) :