With superhuman exertion he conducted Sir Andrew’s daughter in a fainting state to the mansion again, and assured the affrighted maiden that what she had seen was all imagination. But, meanwhile, filled with terror at the memory of old Bertram’s murder, he left the house, trembling and pale, intent upon drowning his feelings in wine.
His steps were directed to a flash gambling-house where he lost considerably at cards; and, if the truth must be confessed, he spent the rest of the night at a house of bad repute, in company of Captain Jack and others, indulging in expensive wines and general debauchery.
Having spent most of his money, except what he had paid to Captain Jack, he visited Charles Warbeck in prison, and condoled with him in an off-handed manner, and at the same time mentally chuckling at his own superior tact, and cursing Charley’s simplicity, or, as he termed it, his “stupidity.”
“Why couldn’t he have kept it to himself; he could never be found out, the fool? Conscience be hanged! Whoever heard of such a thing in these days? Well, I’m all right, that’s all I care about, let every one look after themselves; a rogue is honest till found out. If a man betrays himself, so much the bigger fool he is, say I.”
Phillip’s visit of consolation was of short duration, and as he departed from the prison walls he mused,
“So my father refuses to sanction this marriage, for some time, and for ‘special reasons,’ does he? What can be his ‘special reasons?’ He says he’s ‘considerably involved, and wishes to see his way clear first;’ the same old tune! Fathers are always the same; he never did coincide with any ideas of mine, the old brute! Well, never mind, he can’t last long, that’s certain; and I don’t think it would take much trouble to put him out of the way, if all comes to all! Lord! what a fine time I should have then, eh? I don’t care about old Sir Andrew’s daughter, not a particle; she’s rich and that’s the main point now-a-days.”
With these thoughts Phillip visited his grey-haired father, whom he found sitting before his office fire, gazing at the glowing embers, and buried in deep thought.
“How the wind blows to-night, Phillip! how fearfully it blows! I wonder how the sea is to-night? Is it rough weather, think you? How is it, stormy say you? Does the telegraph say so? The ‘Racehorse’ and ‘Eclipse’ must be fairly in the channel, or near it by this time, what think you? I hope they’ll get through safely, Phillip; if they were to go——!”
“What then?” asked Phillip, laughingly; “your prospects are not centred solely in them, surely?”
“Ah, my son, you know nothing of business yet, I see. All my prospects are in those ships, and if anything befalls them, I am ru—!”