"It is not that. I should know by his letters. Oh, if I could see him for five minutes! What will you do, papa?"
"I?—Nothing. What can I do or say? I know it was a hopeless experiment; he has tried it, and failed. Tell him to give it up, and come home."
"But, papa, do you never think what it will end in? If we all stay at home doing nothing, what is to become of us? Yet we are your children—do you not care, papa, if we beg or starve when you leave us?"
"Clarice, you forget yourself. I leave you the letter. Do as you think best."
When Aymer and Helen came in, they had a long and anxious talk. It was decided that Clarice should write to Guy, saying that she felt sure there was something amiss, and begging him not to conceal any trouble from those who loved him so tenderly. She even ventured to say that perhaps he wanted a little money—further she dared not go, as she might have betrayed Mrs. Browne.
Guy answered at once.
"MY DEAR CLARICE,
"I have amused Mrs. Browne, and she has confessed her sin. I knew she was up to something, she was so supernaturally light-hearted and fussy. Dear little woman, she has really done me a service—though not in the way she intended. Your letter was such a cheer up to her, Clarice; and it will cheer you all to know that I have only been a young donkey—nothing worse. Now that you know anything, you had better know all.
"I told you how kind Tom Price has always been to me. I made his acquaintance at the place I go to for my dinner; lots of clerks dine there. While the rest only stared at my country looks and coat, Toni took me by the hand, and was really kind to me. But as far back as May, he borrowed a few shillings from me. His father is well off, and makes him an allowance besides his salary, so I fancied my money was quite safe. He went on borrowing, however, until he got even the money I had laid by to pay my rent; and now he has quarrelled with his father, and left home, so of course he cannot pay. He stays with me a good deal, and it makes my expenses mount up in the most wonderful manner; besides, he borrows every shilling I can lend him. I know it is foolish of me, but Price is the only friend I have made in London, and but for him I should be terribly lonely. He takes me sometimes to meet some friends of his, and we chat and play billiards a little. Latterly I generally go with him, because the poor fellow is inclined to take too much to drink, and I can keep him from doing it. When he goes home (which I am trying to persuade him to do), his father will perhaps pay me. I hope so, for I owe Mrs. Browne two months' rent, and must pay her before I leave her. I shall get cheaper lodgings if I can.
"You will all think me very silly about Tom; indeed my conduct looks silly, now that I have put it all down in black and white. But you do not know the misery of not having a soul to speak to, and that was my case; for Dr. M. never addresses a syllable to me except about my work. Oh, Clarice, I have never let myself write it, but if you knew what the loneliness is! What would I give for one of our cosy chats? I used to think I would get you to come and live with me, for you could get work here, and we could get on very well. But I am afraid I have proved myself unfit to have the care of you. There is a little room off mine where I could sleep. I shut my eyes and fancy you at the other side of the table—but this is all nonsense. The 'beloved bag' will not be the fatter for my savings until Tom pays me, or goes home and lets me begin to save again. Now you know all about it, and don't, any of you, make yourselves unhappy about me. Love to Aggie and a kiss to Frank. Good-bye, you three.
"Your loving brother,
"GUY EGERTON."
When this letter reached Ballintra, the whole family were in the parlour, dinner being just over. Clarice read it, and silently gave it to Helen and Aymer.
Mr. Egerton looked up from his book and asked, "Have you heard from Guy?"
"Yes, papa. Should you like to read it?"