A Cornhill Casuist

Oamaru Mail, Volume XIX, Issue 5906, 30 March 1894, Page 4

A Cornhill Casuist

A NOVEL IN A NUTSHELL. By B. A. Clarke. (Sketch.) The circumstances that led to Ernest Marsden's withdrawal from London have never been properly explained. His disappearance excited some comment, for he was a well-known political organiser and speaker, as well as an occasional contributor, upon economic questions, to the monthly reviews. By day he was employed at an office in Cornhill. It was there that I made his acquaintance. Our duties brought us a good deal together, and a considerable intimacy sprang up between us. Marsden's relations were all dead, .and he was once good enough to say that I was the only friend he possessed in the whole world.

Things were in this condition when I called one night at my employer's private house on a business matter that had been oveilooked. I was shown into the draw-ing-room. From an adjoining apartment I could hear at intervals the voices of two men in violent altercation. After a time Mr Henderson appeared in the drawinsroom, and asked me to accompany him into the other room. Ernest Marsden, the only occupant, received me with a grateful smile. "I have asked you to take I part in this coversation," said my employer, " because I believe you to be a friend of Mr Marsden's, and likely to advise him helpfully at a very critical moment in his career. You were away this afternoon from the office, and are, therefore, ignorant of what has occurred. I have been robbed, and your friend is the only possible culprit. At half : past twelve this morning an amount of L6O was paid to me personally in cold and notes. Before going out I locked it up in the safe in my private room, a safe to which you and Mr Marsden have the only other keys. Mr Marsden, whom I left at work in my room, went out about ten minutes later. lam assured by the clerks in the outer office that no one else entered the room during my absence. I returned in half an hour. The safe was locked ; but when I opened it I found that the gold (L4O) had disappeared. I have told Mr Marsden that if he will makje a clean breast of everything and restore the money he may retire from my employment quietly and without scandal." This statement upset me a good deal. I hoped, of course, that my friend could clear himself of the accusation. My own position in the matter was none too pleasant. Although I had had leave of absence for the day, I had been obliged to come back for my purse, whfch by a strange oversight I had left in the pocket of my office jacket. Unfortunately,! had returned to the office about 12.30 o'clock. Finding the door of Mr Henderson's sanctum unlocked —the door, I mean, opening directly into the passage—l had slipped in and out without, apparently, those in the outer office having noticed my return. Marsden, however, had met me upon the stairs. To make things more ugly, I had that very day come into possession of a sum of money under circumstances that could not have been made public. To my great relief, Maisden made no reference to our meeting, although aware, no doubt, of the effect it would have in diverting suspicion from himself.

The scene' tbafc followed was a very painful one. Marsden insisted upon his innocence, and bitter speeches passed on both sides. I fancied at one time, during a lull in the storm, that I caught the sound of someone weeping in the next room. The conference broke up, having come to no conclusion. Mr Henderson, whom contradiction always lashed into a fury, followed Marsden iato the hall, threatening him with exposure and imprisonment. Suddenly the oiawing-room door burst open, and a tall, jwou'd-looking girl swept into the hall. I will not attempt to repeat verbatim w?aat she said. Some of it had escaped me, and the rest, without her dark eyes andl. impassioned bearing, seems ordinary eno ugh. Marsden had proposed to had been refused. His constancy in-the face of every discouragement had touched her deeply, and lately she had 'come to realise that her feelings to wardshim were .completely changed. Un-der ordinary cir oumstances she would have waited for him to address her-again. Of his continued devotion he had given'her many eloquent, if silent, denrionstrfitiotiß, and

now that his fortunes were at the lowest she asked-as'a--favor to Be allowed to stand by his sideand to fight bis battles against all the woild. Atthevetiddof this speech, which was : delivered with an inconceivable elevation of the girl would have flung herself upon her lover's breast, but he repulsed her with a strange gesture. "Don't touch me, Lucy!" he cried passionately: ''l'stole it." Two hours later I went round to Marsden's lodgings, for, in spite of his confess sion, I felt sure that my friend was not guilty of this base thing. I found him busily engaged putting his belongings together. " I am glad you have come," he said, after an embarrassing silence. Other people may think what they like ; but I could not bear that you should consider me a thief." " But the confession?" I stammered.

"Sit down," Marsden replied, "and I will explain everything." His explanation was briefly this. Twelve months before he had made Miss Henderson an offer of marriage, under the impression that the girl was madly devoted to him. Whether he loved her, he was not at that time sure. Within a week of his rejection—he had been refused —he. knew for certain that he did not. After that he had met Lucy Henderson frequently, and had found the mixture of : friendliness and pity with which; she treated him exactly to his fancy. He knew that the girl thought she had darkened his existence ever, and he had encouraged her in this notion. He felt that he was acting the part of a glorified Major Dobbin, and playing it uncommonly well. On one occasion he had'sung "The Devout Lover" in her presence with so much feeling as to have affected even himself. That he was doing a great evil by this posing he had never reflected. He had not even dreameditbat Miss Henderson's feelings towards him were undergoing any change. When she had proclaimed her love for him that night he had been for a second dizzy at the chasm that had opened before him. "And now you know," he concluded, " why I confessed to the robbery."

"But what the devil has all this to do with it?" I replied angrily.' "What would you have done in my place ?" "I—l"—progress was by no means rapid—"l suppose you couldn't have told her straight out that you no longer loved her ?" "Insult her at the moment when she was standing up for me so magnificently ?" " Well, then, have married her ?"

" Quite out of the question. Impossible !" "As it is," he said, "the connection has been severed, and her maidenly: pride has not been wounded. As for me, I can go to another town and start afresh. Henderson has accepted the L4O I have sent him, and you, he, and his daughter are all who will know anything of this affair."

I took up ray hat to leave. "You won't let this interfere with our friendship?" said Marsden, holding out his hand.

"Ernest Marsden," I replied, "you are either the greatest saint in creation or the meanest hound ; I will write to you when I have ascertained tfhich." Since then Marsden has written to me once or twice, but I have never replied to him. I cannot make up my mind about his behavior. That he was wrong to have followed Miss Henderson when he knew that he did not love her is beyond question. This being so, it is clear to me—sometimes that he ought to .have married her, and his subsequent conduct appears mean beyond credence. To escape an unpleasant duty he dishonored his own name. At other times it is equally obvious to me that he ought not to have married her—a return of her affection was not to be expected—and that he chose a Quixotically heroic method of sparing her self-pride. As I have said, I am as far from a decision as ever, and all this while Marsden, my old chum, is suffering acutely from my neglect. There is one question that demands an answer. How was it that, in spite of his confession, I at no time believed in my friend's guilt 1 I had stolen the money myself.