"Oh, Roland, you're the best friend any fellow ever had! Indeed, you may be sure I'll never try such a thing again! My heart's been like lead, ever since I did it. But you're hurt now—and I know it's all up with Kitty!" he groaned.
"And, Hermann, whatever happens, never again try that cowardly plan of shirking the consequences of your own actions. It was only making bad ten times worse. Think of the stain it would have left on your name; and how your friends would have felt!"
Happily no one else slept near, and no one but Mr. Dunlop had been alarmed by the noise. Roland quietly retired to his own apartment, where Waldberg would not leave him, until he had seen him settled for the night as comfortably as possible; and then went to try to sleep off his own excitement: while Roland, now suffering a good deal, lay awake—satisfied, however, with having, in a double sense, saved the life of his friend. He got up and dressed next morning, though unable to move his arm, and, in reply to all inquiries, would vouchsafe no further explanation than that he had given to Mr. Dunlop. And, somehow, the story got about that he had discovered a burglar who was intending to rob the rich old Scotchman, had wrested his pistol from his grasp and frightened him away. Mr. Dunlop, whose shrewdness suspected more than he knew, said nothing, and asked no questions, even when the loan was asked for without explanation. He had learned to trust Roland, absolutely, and he at once granted his request. But he insisted that Roland should have medical treatment for his shoulder, which was now giving him a good deal of trouble, and himself sent for Dr. Blanchard.
"I don't much care whether ye pay me or not, lad," he said, as he handed Roland his cheque for the sum asked for. "I don't expect to need this world's goods very long. I've always thought I should go off suddenly, like the snuff of a candle; or what's happened to Farrell may happen to me, too."
For, on the evening of the "crash," Mr. Farrell had had a paralytic, stroke, evidently the result of his anxiety and disappointment. It did not, however, seem likely to be fatal; but he was completely helpless, and no hope was given of his ever being less so. His losses had been, very heavy, and, as his business would now have to be wound up, he would be left with only a small proportion of the fortune he had been supposed to possess.
Nora, before she left town, paid a visit of condolence to Kitty, whom, to her surprise, she found by no means overwhelmed by the sudden reverse of fortune. Except for her natural sorrow for her father's helpless condition, indeed, Nora would have thought her rather brighter than when she had last seen her. And, by and by, she learned the secret.
"It's all over between Harold Pomeroy and me, Nora. I think he was very glad to get out of it, when I told him he could have his freedom and his rings back. Hermann can't give me a diamond ring," she said, holding up her finger, "but this is a signet ring his mother gave him, and I'm to keep it till he can give me a plain gold one."
"Why, Kitty!" exclaimed Nora. "Is that how it is?"
"Yes," said Kitty, "when Hermann heard of papa's misfortune he came to sympathize. And, of course, we've known we've loved each other this long time, only I didn't know how I could break with Harold; it would vex father so, though I knew he didn't care very much. But since poor papa's been ill, he doesn't seem to mind about anything.—And so it's all settled. Hermann and I are to be married just as soon as he's able to take a little cottage by the river, and papa and mamma are to live with us. And I'm to sweep and dust, and make my own dresses, and be as happy as the day is long. I'm sick of doing nothing!"
Nora could not help laughing outright at the idea of the petted Kitty, whose forefinger had hardly ever been pricked by a needle, making her own dresses, and finding it delightful. However, she kissed her, and said she hoped she would be as happy as she expected;—forgetting altogether the slighted affections of Mr. Harold Pomeroy.