“Sir,” said Lionel, “rely upon it, that man you described never robbed any one—‘tis impossible.”
“No—very possible!—human nature,” said Alban Morley. “And, after all, he really owed Gunston that L100. For, out of the sum stolen, Gunston received anonymously, even before the trial, all the missing notes, minus about that L100; and Willy, therefore, owed Gunston the money, but not, perhaps, that kind, forgiving letter. Pass on—quick—the subject is worse than the gout. You have heard before the name of Losely—possibly. There are many members of the old Baronet’s family; but when or where did you hear it?”
“I will tell you; the man who holds the bill (ah, the word sickens me) reminded me when he called that I had seen him at my mother’s house—a chance acquaintance of hers—professed great regard for me—great admiration for Mr. Darrell—and then surprised me by asking if I had never heard Mr. Darrell speak of Mr. Jasper Losely.”
“Jasper!” said the Colonel; “Jasper!—well, go on.” “When I answered, ‘No,’ Mr. Poole (that is his name) shook his head, and muttered: ‘A sad affair—very bad business—I could do Mr. Darrell a great service if he would let me;’ and then went on talking what seemed to me impertinent gibberish about ‘family exposures’ and ‘poverty making men desperate,’ and ‘better compromise matters;’ and finally wound up by begging me, ‘if I loved Mr. Darrell, and wished to guard him from very great annoyance and suffering, to persuade him to give Mr. Poole an interview.’ Then he talked about his own character in the City, and so forth, and entreating me ‘not to think of paying him till quite convenient; that he would keep the bill in his desk; nobody should know of it; too happy to do me a favour’—laid his card on the table, and went away. Tell me, should I say anything to Mr. Darrell about this or not?”
“Certainly not, till I have seen Mr. Poole myself. You have the money to pay him about you? Give it to me, with Mr. Poole’s address; I will call, and settle the matter. Just ring the bell.” (To the servant entering) “Order my horse round.” Then, when they were again alone, turning to Lionel, abruptly laying one hand on leis shoulder, with the other grasping his hand warmly, cordially: “Young man,” said Alban Morley, “I love you—I am interested in you-who would not be? I have gone through this story; put myself positively to pain—which I hate—solely for your good. You see what usury and money-lenders bring men to. Look me in the face! Do you feel now that you would have the ‘moral courage’ you before doubted of? Have you done with such things for ever?”
“For ever, so help me Heaven! The lesson has been cruel, but I do thank and bless you for it.”
“I knew you would. Mark this! never treat money affairs with levity—MONEY is CHARACTER! Stop. I have bared a father’s fault to a son. It was necessary—or even in his grave those faults might have revived in you. Now, I add this, if Charles Haughton—like you, handsome, high-spirited, favoured by men, spoiled by women—if Charles Haughton, on entering life, could have seen, in the mirror I have held up to you, the consequences of pledging the morrow to pay for to-day, Charles Haughton would have been shocked as you are, cured as you will be. Humbled by your own first error, be lenient to all his. Take up his life where I first knew it: when his heart was loyal, his lips truthful. Raze out the interval; imagine that he gave birth to you in order to replace the leaves of existence we thus blot out and tear away. In every error avoided say, ‘Thus the father warns the son;’ in every honourable action, or hard self-sacrifice, say, ‘Thus the son pays a father’s debt.’”
Lionel, clasping his hands together, raised his eyes streaming with tears, as if uttering inly a vow to Heaven. The Colonel bowed his soldier-crest with religious reverence, and glided from the room noiselessly.