BETRAYAL OF JOHN FORDHAM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIII, Issue 10091, 28 March 1896, Page 3 (Supplement)

BETRAYAL OF JOHN FORDHAM.

BY I(. I. PARJKON, Author of "No. 119, Great Perl Square," " Grif," "Tho March of Pate," " l-'or the Defence,"" Aaron the Jew," etc.

(All Rights Kkserved.)

CHAPTER XIX.

At my request the chemist wrote the addross of a doctor in the neighbourhood, and instructed jne how to tind him. Then I joined the ybung woman. " You must accept my escort," I said. " It is hardly safo for you to bo out on such a night. I am sincerely sorry fur your trouble. I may bo able to lighten it," Sho trembled so violently that I feared sho would fall, bub she did not accopt my arm. Wo walked side by side, in silence, till wo reached one of the poorest hoqees in one of the poorest streets. Thsre sho stopped, and wishod mo good-night, and thanked me for my services. " I am going to fetch a doctor to your mother," 1 said. " How shall we obtain admittance?" " I am afraid I must refuse, sir," she said. " We aro not in a position to pay him." " Leave that to me," I replied. " When one dear to you is in peril you cannot refuse to accept assistance even from a stranger. I can sympathise with honest pride, but suroly this would bo carrying it too far. Your inothor needs a doctor, She shall see one," I looked up at the windows, and in one at the top of the house I could faintly distinguish a glimmer of light. Is that your room ?" "Yes, sir." " Shall I knock or ring when I come back with the doctor ?" " If you will give agontle knock, sons nob to disturb the other lodgers, I will come down." Then, after a momentary pauso, "I did not believe there was such goodness in the world." " You overralo my services. If you knew what you have saved me from"—l did not finish, but aakod her to give me the r.ame of the street and the number of tho house, which she did. " And your name " Cameron, sir." " Thank you. The trust) you repose in me shall not be abused." I " I waited till she had let herself in with j a latch-key, «ud then A departed on my ' errand,

By this time the fog was so thick that I doubt whether I should havo found the street to which I had been directed had it not been for the assistance of a policeman, who accompanied ine to the doctor's house. The doctor himself answered my summons, an elderly gentleman with a careworn benignant face, who, when he learned what was required of him, said ho would come with me at once. Wo conversed on I lie way, and ho informed me that he had some knowledge of the Camerons, who had called him two or three months ago to prescribe for the mother. They wero respectable people, he told me, who had, like numbers of others in the locality, a hard fight to keep the wolf from the door. They belonged to the class who slaved and suffered patiently and silently; everybody spoke well of them, and the daughter was specially modest and gentle in her manners. Except that they appeared to be superior, in point of conduct and education, to their neighbours, he knew nothing more of them. He wan surprised, the mother being so ill, that the daughter had not come to him; but yet, on second thoughts, he was not surprised, their peculiar delicacy in money matters stopping the way. It was often so with the poor, who wero hypersensitive in their prido. I then explained what it) was I wished him to do—to attend to the sick woman regularly, and to presoribo what was necessary in the shape of food and medicine. Ho was to relieve their minds in respect of his fees, which, with all other expense*, I would pay. In token of my sincerity ami ability to carry out my desire 1 begged him to accept a couple of sovereigns in advance, to which ho very willingly consented. "My patients are not quite regular in their payments," lie said in a gentle tone, "and.it is not in my nature to press them. So far as gratitude goes, I am richly repaid. You are, perhaps, a relative of the Camerons."

" I am not in any way related to them," I replied. " A friend of long standing, then." "I havo never seen the mother, and scarcely an hour ago I saw Miss Cameron for the first time—by chance," I added. "A singular hour," he observed, "and a strange night for a chance meeting." " Yes—but so it happened." And I relatod how ib came about, saying nothing of myself or of tho circumstances which caused mo to be perambulating the streets at such a time.

He was silent for a littlo while, and I fancied I hoard him sigh. Thon ho said, " You are a gentleman." " I hope I may lay claim to the title.'' "In station, by which 1 mean worldly circumstances, far above tho Camerons—at least, so 1 judge.' "Well?"

" They are poor and lowly. Miss Cameron is young, and not unattractive." " I understand you. My motives arc open to suspicion," " Is it not natural ?"

"Quito, and I do not blame you for doubting me, but you must not do Miss Cameron an injustice. She is absolutely blameless. I have related the simple truth, and were you acquainted with my story— which I do not consider myself free to disclose—your doubts would vanish. Can you not credit mo with a sincere desire to serve two poor and deserving persons without, harbouring a base thought toward" them':" As my sad voice had won Miss Cameron's confidence, so it now won the confidence of the good doctor. " It is a censorious world," ho said, "and I spoke outof its mouth. Forgive mo." Miss Cameron must have been keeping watch for us, for my soft tap on the street door was almost immediately answered. Standing in the passage, her hand shading the candle from the night air, she seemed to hesitate whether to invite mo in, and I, divining—which was the case—that she and her mother occupied but one room, solved tho difficulty by saying, " I will see you by-and-by, doctor," and pulling tho street door to.

Left alone in the dark street, I fell to musing upon the events of tho last twenty- J four hours. I could scarcely see a dozen yards before mo, and even at that distance a moving form would have presented the semblance of a shadow created by the spreading fog ; not a sound but that of my own footsteps disturbed tho stillness of the dreary scene. And vet, dismal as were my surroundings, I was conscious that my spirits had assumed a more healthy tone. 1 whs devoutly grateful for the change that had come over mo, and 1 did not stop to consider whethor it was due to chance or to a merciful interposition of Providence at the most critical period of my life. A heavy weight was lifted from my heart, 1 had been savod by a woman's face, a woman's voice ; she has set free tho sealed springs of sympathy and pity—l was once more human.

Do not misunderstand mo. Tho brief interview with Miss Cameron, tho few words wo had exchanged, had not inspired me with love for her—that was in the future, and to be reared upon a more reasonable foundation ; but it had had revealei to ma that there was still some worthy work for me to do, that having xinno'l through self indulgence in a vice I abhorred, and having contemplated a (loud tho thought of which now sent a shudder through me, 1 might work out my redemption by simple act* of kindness to beings even more forlorn than myseif. No, it was nob lovo I felt, but deep gratitude that an example of sclf-^aciitic" and devotion should have crushed for ever out of me the impious doubt of the existence of a beneficent Creator. It was to this I owed my saltation, and as I paced the foggy street I thought of the daughter toiling for her sick mother. I saw her patient face of suffering, hoard her wistful voice saying, " I will pay you to-morrow ; I have Homo work to take back." Ah, what ft story is here revealed ! I dwelt upon the modesty which caused her to shrink from the compassionate advances of a stranger, and with tears in my eyes dwelt also upon the child like confidence she had reposed in me. She became to 1110 an incarnation of purity. Thero were good women in tho world-thank Cod for that. Through her spirit my faith in human goodness was restored, and 1 saw my life in n clearer light, unstained and unclouded by vice and degradation. Peace, if not happiness, might yet be mine. To one course 1 pledged myself, and vowed that nothing should turn mo from it. I would never live with my wife again ; her revolting duplicities, her shameful debasement, should no longer torture me. I would bo done with her, so far as personal association went, and with those other relatives who had systematically persecuted me and maligned me. Tho infamous law—wickedly and falsely called the law of God—which bound me to a living curse, to a moral post, could not compel mo to inhabit the house in which she indulged in her depravities. Of so much of my fortune as was left she should have a share, and should recoive it through an agent. One visit only would I pay to what was in mockery called my home, ami that for tho purpose of removing my private papers. Then would I shake the duxt of that earthly hell from my feet, and turn my back upon it for ever. To this end I must effaco myself, and must be known henceforth by another name than Fordham, That was easy, and I was stung by no reproach as to justification. If ever a man was justified in practising such u deceit it was I.

My musings were interrupted by the unclosing of tho street door. Tho doctor was there, and Miss Cameron; he was bidding her tako some ropose. " Wo must not have you break down," he said. " Ah, hero is our friend. The fog has not swallowed him up." "How can I thank you?" sho said to mo, holding out her hand. It trembled as it lay for a moment in mine, and hor eyes shone with tears.

"By following the doctor's advico," I replied, " and by allowing me to call when I have had some rest myself. Your mother is no worse, I hope ?" The doctor—one of those sensible practitioners who help their patients to get well by bright words—answered for her. " No, not worse, not at all, not at all. With Heaven's help wo'll set her up again. There, there, my dear, don't cry ; and what are you about, stopping hero in the cold ? Go and lie down. I will send the medicine at nine o'clock."

As we walked away together he said, "It would be cruel to tell her the truth."

" Then there is no hope," I said. It seemed to me as if in those few words he had pronounced a sentence of death, and aa if I were about to sustain a personal loss. " Oh, yes, there is hope," ho repliod; " but for poor people the gates are closed." I begged him to explain, and he did so. Mrs. Cameron was suffering not only from debility, brought on by want of nourishing food, but from acbest aud throat) complaint

which would certainly rosult fatally if sho remained in London. The pestilential air, the poisonous fog—they spelt death, She could not possibly live through the coming winter. She needed purer air, wine, and better food, and those were out) of her reach. By slaving day and night at her needle the mother and daughter earned eight or nine shilling a week. They had no rich friends ? What could they do ? " It is a question of money?" I said. "Yes, it is a question of money, though oven then I do not say she will reoover. The privations she has endured have made terrible inroads upon her constitution." " But there would bo a clnuics of recovery ?" " Undoubtedly a chance of recovery. In fact, the only chance. It is painful to witnosa such cases, to stand by a bedside and seo a life passing away which money would probably save ; but there is no help for it. The poor girl will suffer terribly. I have seldom witnessed such love, such devotion. It is surprising how she keeps up." "There is help for it, doctor, I said, "and I should like to we you to-morrow to

speak about: it." v "I am at home for consultations till twelve. .May 1 ask your name?" " Fletcher," I replied. Thus was the first stone in my selfbanishment laid.

CHAPTER XX.

I passed the next few hours in a common lodging-house, and laid down on a bed without undressing. I dozed, but did not sleep, my mind boin? occupied in formulating a plan with regard to the Camerous. i rose at nine o'clock, washed, and had breakfast, and then went in search of apartments in a respectable house. I had little dilliculty in finding what I required—three furnished rooms in a street inhabited by a decent class of people. The landlady murmured something about a reference, bub I satisfied her with a month's payment in advance. The rent was moderate, and I arranged for breakfast, and the occasional cooking of a dinner if I desired. I gave, of course, the same name, Fletcher, retaining my Christian name. So I began my new life as John Fletcher.

At twelve o'clock I presented myself to the worthy doctor, and unfolded my plan. It was nothing less than the removal of Mrs. and Miss Cameron toSwannage, tlifl climate of which place the doctor said would suit the invalid. I proposed that I should tro down to Swannage to arrange where they were to stay, and that they should get out of London before the end of the week.

"All this will cost a great deal of money," said tho doctor.

" Not so very much. They can liveperhaps in a farmhouso—for two or three pounds a week. I can afford it." " IJo you know what it means to them? They will look upon it as a fairy tale, and will bo afraid of waking up and finding it a dream."

"As you see, it is no dream, and it is nonsense to talk of fairy tales. Ib is plnm common-sense. They will need warm clothing. (Jive them this—it will come better from you. 1 daresay there will be sufficient left to pay their fares down." " Do you intend to accompany them ?" " No, I shall remain in London ; bat there muse be necessarily some correspondence between us."

"And still—pray don't be angry~l am puzzled and curious as to your motive." " Let mo put it to you in this way, doctor. You see now and then in the papers an acknowledgment from the Chancellor of tho Exchequer of a parcel of bank-notes from X V.Z., for unpaid income tax. It is called conscience money. The difference is that I have wronged neither man nor woman, yet what 1 am doing is an affair of the commence. Will not this content you ?" "It must." Then, after a pause, " You have seen trouble ?"

" Few men have had harder trials, bitterer disappointments." "I regret to hear it. And now, who is to acquaint) the Camerons with your scheme?" " You." " I decline. I will give them the money you have entrusted with me, and 1 will make Miss Cameron understand that it is imperatively necessary that her mother be removed without delay. The rest is in your hands." '• Very well—though I should prefer it otherwise."

" I am going now to see my patient, and I will prepare them for this change in their fortunes. You will probably see Miss Cameron in the course of the afternoon "

" Kindly tell her 1 will call at two o'clock. I shall leave tor Swannage by the five o'clock train."

I make but brief reference to my interview with Miss Cameron. Sho was profoundly grateful for the services 1 was rendering them, but seemed, indeed, as the doctor had said, to fear that it was a dream from which she would presently awake, though the small sum of money 1 hail sent her by the doctor's hands should have convinced her. I did not see her mother, our interview taking place in a lower room in the house, which the landlady placed at her disposal. It was difficult for her to understand why a stranger should step forward to befriend her, and my lame attempts at an explanation did not assist her to a better understanding of the matter.

Seeing her now in the daylight the impression 1 had formed of her was confirmed. Her features, without being handsome, were full of sensibility, and there was a pleasing refinement in her language and manners. What most attracted me in her were her eyes. Truth and resignation, and the strength which springs from a reliance upon the goodness of Clod, dwelt in their clear depths, and now, illumined by hope, they instilled in me a faith in her which from that hour has not been shaken. The faith she had in me touched me deeply. In contrast with the women it had been my ill-fortune to mi* with she was an angel from heaven

" You will hear from mo in a day or two," 1 said. " Will your mother be strong enough to travel then?" "The doctor says she will," she answered.

"Have you money enough to provide what is necessary for your journey ?" " More than enough," sho said, bursting into tears.

I had to tear myself away.

The journey down to Swannage was one of the happiest I had over taken; I had an object in lifo, and thero was seldom absent from my thoughts the light of hope that shone in Miss Cameron's eyes. Suitable accommodation for her and her mother was easily obtained in a farmhouse near to the sea. The terms were exceedingly moderate, and in a letter to Miss Cameron, I bade her get ready, and requested her to meet mo at the doctor's house on the following day. Then, for tho first time, I signed myself, " John Fletcher." At tho appointed hour I mot Miss Cameron, and giving her written particulars of tho place I had taken for her, and instructions as to trains, I bade her goodbye and God-speed. I had debated whether I should accompany them to tho railway station, and had decided not to do so. They were accustomed 10 look after themselves, and my presence would embarrass them, and add to their sense of obligation. " Writo to mo as soon as you are settled," I said, " and let me know whether you are comfortable. If you are not, we will soon find another place for you. And mind— you aro going down for your mother's health, and you are not to worry, Leave every tiling to me.' 1 I pressed an envelope into her hand, and to cub short her thanks, hastily took my departure. [To be continued on Wednesday noxt.J