"It looks cheerless, Sir," said the owner, "but then we have not had any regular lodger for years; it is just the same as when Mr. Clarke lived here. But bless you, Sir, he made the dull rooms look gay enough. He was a blithesome gentleman. He and his friends, Mr. Houseman especially, used to make the walls ring again when they were over their cups!"
"It might have been better for Mr. Clarke," said the Curate, "had he chosen his comrades with more discretion. Houseman was not a creditable, perhaps not a safe companion."
"That was no business of mine then," quoth the lodging-letter; "but it might be now, since I have been a married man!"
The Curate smiled, "Perhaps you, Mr. Moor, bore a part in those revels?"
"Why, indeed, Mr. Clarke would occasionally make me take a glass or so,
Sir."
"And you must then have heard the conversations that took place between Houseman and him? Did Mr. Clarke, ever, in those conversations, intimate an intention of leaving the town soon? and where, if so, did he talk of going?"
"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."