“Oh! first to London. I have often heard him talk of going to London, and then taking a trip to see some relations of his in a distant part of the country. I remember his caressing a little boy of my brother’s; you know Jack, Sir, not a little boy now, almost as tall as this gentleman. ‘Ah,’ said he with a sort of sigh, ‘ah! I have a boy at home about this age,—when shall I see him again?’”
“When indeed!” thought Walter, turning away his face at this anecdote, to him so naturally affecting.
“And the night that Clarke left you, were you aware of his absence?”
“No! he went to his room at his usual hour, which was late, and the next morning I found his bed had not been slept in, and that he was gone—gone with all his jewels, money, and valuables; heavy luggage he had none. He was a cunning gentleman; he never loved paying a bill. He was greatly in debt in different parts of the town, though he had not been here long. He ordered everything and paid for nothing.”
Walter groaned. It was his father’s character exactly; partly it might be from dishonest principles superadded to the earlier feelings of his nature; but partly also from that temperament at once careless and procrastinating, which, more often than vice, loses men the advantage of reputation.
“Then in your own mind, and from your knowledge of him,” renewed the Curate, “you would suppose that Clarke’s disappearance was intentional; that though nothing has since been heard of him, none of the blacker rumours afloat were well founded?”
“I confess, Sir, begging this gentleman’s pardon who you say is a relation, I confess I see no reason to think otherwise.”
“Was Mr. Aram, Eugene Aram, ever a guest of Clarke’s? Did you ever see them together?”
“Never at this house. I fancy Houseman once presented Mr. Aram to Clarke; and that they may have met and conversed some two or three times, not more, I believe; they were scarcely congenial spirits, Sir.”
Walter having now recovered his self-possession, entered into the conversation; and endeavoured by as minute an examination as his ingenuity could suggest, to obtain some additional light upon the mysterious subject so deeply at his heart. Nothing, however, of any effectual import was obtained from the good man of the house. He had evidently persuaded himself that Clarke’s disappearance was easily accounted for, and would scarcely lend attention to any other suggestion than that of Clarke’s dishonesty. Nor did his recollection of the meetings between Houseman and Clarke furnish him with any thing worthy of narration. With a spirit somewhat damped and disappointed, Walter, accompanied by the Curate, recommenced his expedition.