Charley, being fully recovered in body, returned to the India House as usual, and was received with tokens of much respect by all the directors.
He attempted to appear gay; but all his endeavours were vain.
He was not the same person he had been, and could not look any one fairly in the face without evident effort.
There was a worm at his heart gnawing deeply, daily and hourly.
From being a gay, light-hearted youth, of fresh colour and dashing manner, as he had always been before he knew Phillip Redgill, he now appeared like a person of age, on whose shoulders a heavy weight was pressing.
Some thought it might arise from an unfortunate disappointment in love affairs; but these hints he parried with a faint smile, and attempted to joke in his old manner.
One morning a young, bright-faced clerk was called into the Directors’ Council Room, and returned therefrom looking very pale, and with large tears standing in his eyes.
“Good day, Charley,” said he to Warbeck, with much emotion. “I’m going; they don’t want me any longer. I’ve done nothing wrong, you know; they lay no charge against me, yet I feel certain that they have formed wrong suspicions against me, on account of the unfortunate packet of counterfeit notes that was substituted for good ones in the safe a month or two ago. Good day, my boy; this will break my poor old mother’s heart. She has no one to depend upon but me. I am lost, ruined, disgraced!”
The youth leaned upon the counter, shading his face, and tears flowed from him fast and hot.
His breast heaved convulsively, and he would have fallen from weakness but that Charles placed him in a chair, and gazed upon his guileless face long and intently.