'I retained my name because, in my opinion, I had done nothing to disgrace it, and because I abhor deceit. I was neither elated nor depressed at the step I had taken. It is said that the springtime of life is bright with sunshine. The springtime of my life was joyless and gloomy. I had no hope in anything, no belief in anything, no faith in anything. I had no special ambition and no desire to become rich; all that I desired was to earn a decent living by the labour of my hands and the exercise of my abilities. I determined to make no friendships, and to live only in myself and by myself. Although I had no thought of it at the time, I can see now that the rules I laid down for myself were just the rules, with fair opportunities, to lead to success in life.

'In my determination to sever myself entirely from my family, I wandered away from my native place until I was distant from it hundreds of miles. Then, a stranger among strangers, I applied myself to the task of obtaining a situation. I could read, I could write, and I was a fair bookkeeper; but these qualifications did not avail me, and I was driven to hard shifts. Had I been shipwrecked on a lonely land I should have fared better. I did nothing dishonest, nor would I have done it to save my life; but I shrunk from nothing to earn a few pence. I accepted employment in whatever shape it was offered; no toil was too low for me, so long as it would buy me bread. The hardships which the world dealt out to me did not dishearten me, did not humble me; I bore them with pride, and in my bitter frame of mind I found a certain pleasure even in misery. My unmerited sufferings were arguments to convince me that I was right in my estimate of things. Look where I would, I could nowhere find morality and humanity exercised in their larger sense; where charity was most due, it was least given; virtue and goodness were terms; all over the civilised world religious precepts were being preached; all over the civilised world religious precepts were being violated; what was good in the Bible was turned to bad account--its power was so used as to teach people to fear, not to love. During these days I used to creep into the churches and laugh at the moralities there laid down. It was a hard bitterly-sweet time; I did not repine; in my pride I exulted in my condition. Many a night did I walk the streets homeless and hungry, laughing at my sufferings. Life had no attractions for me, and I did not desire to live. But I was part of a scheme--I recognised that, although I could not solve the problem--and I would do nothing to myself; I would simply wait. From men and women in as miserable a position as myself I rejected all overtures of friendship; I had nothing in common with them. But on a starless night I met one to whom was drawn by humanity, if you like to call it by that name. A woman this, a girl indeed, homeless as I was, friendless as I was. Nay, you may listen, Emma. I became like a brother to her, and she like a sister to me. Neither knew how the other lived, neither asked; and when we were specially unfortunate we wandered by instinct to a certain street, and met by premeditated chance. Then we would talk together for hours, or sit in silence in the shadow of a friendly refuge. She told me her story--a pitiful story, but common: it hardened me the more. I never saw her face by daylight; a dark shadow encompassed her and her history. "I am so tired of life!" she said to me; "these stones must be happier than I, for they cannot feel. Would it be wrong to die?" I drove the thought from her mind. "Be brave, and play your part," I said aloud, and added mentally, "It will not be for long." I can hear now the faint echo of her dreary laugh at my words, and the strangely-pitiful tone in which she repeated, "Be brave, and play my part!" I knew she would not live long; a desperate cold had settled on her lungs, and her cough, as we walked the desolate streets or sat in them after midnight, was a sound to cause the stars to weep. She died in my arms during one of these wanderings. I had no special foreboding of her death, nor had she, I believe; she was seized with a violent fit of coughing, and she clung to me, as she had often done, for support, then suddenly she fell to the ground, and I saw blood coming from her mouth. "Don't leave me," she sighed, almost with her last breath; "you can do me no good. Thank God it is over!" An inquest was held, and I gave evidence. Necessarily some particulars concerning my own mode of life came out, and after the inquest a man offered me money. I rejected it; I had resolved never to accept charity. The man was surprised; questioned me; and learning that I was willing to work, offered me employment. I remained with him long enough to clothe myself decently and to save a little money, and then I turned my back upon a place which had become hateful to me. It must have been a rumour of my connection with the poor girl who died in my arms that was twisted to my discredit in my native town, and it was your mention of it that has caused me to drift into details which, when I commenced, I had no intention of relating.'

[CHAPTER XIX.]

STRANGE REVELATIONS IN UNCLE BRYAN'S LIFE.

So, without a friend in the world, I wandered still further away from the town in which I was born. I tarried here and tarried there, and found no rest for the sole of my foot until I reached a city where, before my means were exhausted, I obtained employment in the office of an accountant. It was by the merest chance that I obtained the situation, for there were many applicants; but I was quick at figures, and that quality served me. The position was not a distinguished one; I was not destined to occupy it long, however, for being coldly interested in my work--simply because it enabled me to live--I performed the tasks set for me to do, not only expeditiously, but with the exactitude of a machine. This was precisely what was required of me, and I rose into favour with my employer. Some of the clients who came to us for advice in their difficulties were afflicted with a kind of moral disease, which for their credits' sake it was necessary should not be exposed to the world. It was not the business of our office to be nice as to our clients' honesty and integrity, and it did not trouble me to see rogues walking about in broadcloth. It was of a piece with the rest. Many delicate matters of figures were intrusted to me; my lonely habits, my reserved manner, and the circumstance of my having no connections or friends, were high recommendations, and I heard my employer say, more than once, to his clients, 'Mr. Carey is as secret as the grave; you may confide anything to him.' No wonder, therefore, that in the course of years I became manager of the business. I began to save money, simply because I was earning more than I required for my necessities. I had no extravagances, I never went into society, and I did not see that any pleasure was to be derived from following the ordinary pursuits of men of my own age. I set down a rigid course of life for myself, and I spent my leisure in solitude; walked and read and lived entirely in myself. One fancy alone I indulged in; I loved flowers, and I made them my companions. An occupation of some kind for my leisure was forced upon me, I suppose, by natural necessity; the mind, if its balance is to be maintained, must have something to feed upon, and I tended my flowers and watched them through their various stages with much interest; I had, and have a real affection for them. Every year that passed fixed my habits more firmly, and I had no desire to change them. Apart from my mute and beautiful friends, life was tasteless for me; there was no sweetness in it that I could see. It consisted of dull plodding day after day, of growing older day after day. I reflected upon it with scornful curiosity, and made myself, as it were, a text for speculative commentary. I knew what would be the end of it: in the natural order of things I should live until I grew old, when, in the natural order of things, I should die and pass away, fading into absolute nothingness--that was all. It seemed to me a poor affair, so far as it was presented to me in the different aspects with which I had been made familiar. I often thought of the poor girl who had been the only friend I had ever had in the world, and in that remembrance was comprised all the tenderness I had ever felt towards my species.

I hope I do not distress you by my words; but it has come upon me in some odd way to give you as exact a portrait of myself, as I was at that time, as I can produce; perhaps for the reason that I wish you to understand the wonderful change that took place in me not long afterwards. Years ago I buried as in a grave all the records of my life, with the intention of never speaking of them, of never thinking of them if I could help it. But man proposes, chance disposes. Even to-night I intended to pluck out only one remembrance, but I have been overpowered.

When I was thirty years of age I was taken into partnership, and five years afterwards my partner died, and I was sole master. Before I was taken into partnership I had been a machine, paid to perform certain duties; but when I was a partner I considered myself responsible for the nature of the business we undertook, and I purified the office, sending all clients away who came with a dishonest intent. This change resulted, strangely enough, to my advantage, and the business increased. I conducted it steadily, without in any respect changing my mode of life. The money I was making was in every way valueless to me. I had no one to whom I cared to leave it, and no pet scheme which I wished to be carried out after my death. I remember thinking that it would be a fine thing to fling the money into the sea before I died.

I come now to the most eventful page in the history of my life. If I could blot out the record, and could stamp it into oblivion, I would gladly do so; but it is out of my power, and I can only look upon it with wonder, and upon myself with contempt for the part I played in it.

It was a cold day in November, and a miserable sleet was falling. I was sitting alone in my private office, looking over some papers, when my clerk announced a Mr. Richard Glaive, who had written that he wished to consult me upon his affairs. He entered--a tall sleek man, well fed, well dressed, about fifty years of age--a man, I judged, who had seen but little of the troubles of the world. But there was trouble in his face on the occasion of my first introduction to him. With the air of one who was suffering from a deep injustice, he explained to me the nature of his inheritance. I learnt that he was, as I had supposed, a man who had never worked, who had never done anything useful, and who had lived all his life upon a moderate income which he had inherited. Wishing to increase his income, for the purpose, as I understood, of being able the better to enjoy life--'surely an innocent and laudable desire,' he said--he had been tempted to take a large number of shares in a company which had been established with a great flourish of promises--had been tempted to become a director for the sake of the fees; 'nothing to do, my dear sir,' he explained to me, and so much a year for it; the very thing to suit a gentleman.' His money hitherto had yielded five per cent, invested in safe securities; the new company promised from twenty to thirty. The temptation was too great to be resisted, and, blinded by his cupidity, he had walked into the pit. As was to be expected, the company was a bubble, the crash came, and the gulls were swooped upon by the creditors. Lawyers' letters were pouring in upon him, and actions were about to be taken against him. There were other complications, also, in the shape of long-standing debts upon which he had been paying interest, but a full settlement of which was now demanded. There was a manifest sense of injury in his tone as he spoke of these debts--'youthful follies,' he called them; adding immediately, with an easy smile, 'youth must have its fling;' conveying the idea that he did not consider himself responsible for them, for the reason that they had been so long standing. Altogether the case was a common one enough, and when he had concluded the catalogue of his embarrassments, I said that the first thing to be done was to prepare a statement of his affairs from his papers, so that he might really see how he stood with the world. He thanked me effusively, as though I had suggested something which would not have occurred to an ordinary mind, and said that he had been advised to consult me, as I should most certainly be able to steer him safely through his difficulties. I replied that I would do the best I could, and on the following day he brought to the office a mass of papers, letters, and accounts. He had received other threatening letters since our first interview, and he was in a fever of perplexity. 'I depend entirely upon you, my dear sir,' he said. I suggested that I should write to his creditors to the effect that he had placed his affairs in my hands, and that in a short time he would be able to make a proposal to them, asking them to be patient in the mean while. He assented, saying, in words which sounded queerly in my ears, that all he wanted was to be relieved of his liabilities, and to be allowed to go on enjoying life in his old way; and before he left he asked me not to intrust the business to the hands of my clerks, but to undertake it personally myself. I promised that I would do so, and in a week I had the statement prepared--a statement which showed his affairs to be in the worst possible condition. He was insolvent to the extent of not being able to pay one quarter of what he owed. I was surprised at this result, for I had expected something very different from his manner and statements. On the morning of the day on which it had been arranged that Mr. Glaive should call, I received a note from him, saying that he was very unwell, and that he would regard it as a favour if I would come to his house and explain matters to him. In the ordinary course of business I should have sent a clerk with the statement; but I could not do so in this instance, as it was necessary I should tell him what course he had best pursue. At seven o'clock in the evening I was at his house, a pretty little villa in the suburbs embedded in a garden. I was shown at once into what Mr. Glaive called his study, where he sat expecting me. He glanced carelessly down the columns of figures in the statement.

'I don't understand figures,' he said; 'will you please explain them to me?'