At the appointed hour I met Miss Cameron, and giving her written particulars of the place I had taken for her, and instructions as to trains, I bade her good-bye and God-speed. I had debated whether I should accompany them to the railway station, and had decided not to do so. They were accustomed to look after themselves, and my presence would embarrass them, and add to their sense of obligation.
"Write to me as soon as you are settled," I said, "and let me know whether you are comfortable. If you are not, we will soon find another place for you. And mind, you are going down for your mother's health, and you are not to worry. Leave everything to me."
I pressed an envelope into her hand, and to cut short her thanks, hastily took my departure.
I had now plenty to occupy me. My first visit was to a solicitor, to entrust him with the execution of the plan I had laid down with respect to my wife—before doing which I had devoted some time to a careful survey of my pecuniary position. There had been much waste and extravagance on Barbara's part, and my little fortune had dwindled. I decided to allow her £300 a year, quite sufficient for her to live upon in comfort. That I should have to encroach upon my capital for the payment of this sum and for my own expenses did not cause me anxiety. I did not go beyond the next few years in my calculations; meanwhile I might be able to earn money. Whatever was my income, Barbara should have an equal share of it; she could not reasonably ask for more, having only herself to support. If a court of law were called upon to decide the matter she would probably have less. Upon £300 a year the house in Kensington could not be kept up, and I determined that it should be sold. All household debts contracted to date were to be discharged, and so much of the furniture as Barbara would not need in her new quarters was to be disposed of by auction. The solicitor undertook the management of this troublesome business, and I bound him down to absolute secrecy. Upon no consideration whatever was the slightest clue to my movements, and to the name I had assumed to be given to inquirers. I left him to prepare the necessary documents, and proceeded to my house, armed with written discharges of the servants in my employ. A cab I had engaged stood at the door, and a porter accompanied me into the house.
All the evil crew were there—Maxwell, my stepmother, Louis and Barbara. Her bloated face filled me with loathing. She gave me a sullen look.
"The prodigal son has returned," said Maxwell. "Where's the veal?"
I rang the bell, and the parlor-maid entered the room.
"Send all the servants up," I said to the girl, "and tell that woman, Annette, I wish to see her."
"What do you want the servants for?" demanded Barbara.
"You will see."