The March morning was so splendid in its freshness and bright glittering sunlight, that Mr. Effingham, although little given to admiring the beauties of nature, could not resist occasionally stopping and looking round him. The old elms forming the avenue were just putting forth their first buds; far away on either side stretched broad alternations of turf in level, hill, and glade, all glistening with the morning dew; while on the horizon fronting him, and behind the house, could be seen the outline of the great Redmoor. The jolly old house stood like some red-faced giant, its mullioned windows winking at the sunlight, the house itself just waking into life. From the stable-yard came a string of rugged and hooded horses for exercise. The gardeners were crossing from the conservatory bearing choice flowers for the decoration of the rooms. At the porch was standing the head-keeper, accompanied by two splendid dogs; a groom on horseback, with the swollen post-bag slung round him, passed Mr. Effingham in the avenue; everywhere around were signs of wealth and prosperity.
"Yes," said Mr. Effingham to himself, as he stopped and surveyed the scene, "this is better than my lodgings in Doory Lane, this is! No end better! And why should this fellow have it, and not me--that's what I want to know? I could do it up pretty brown, here, I'm thinkin'; not like him--not in the same way, that is, but quite as good. There mighn't be so many nobs, but there'd be plenty of good fellers; and as for the nobs, Lord bless you, when they found there was plenty of good grub and drink, and good fun to be had, they'd come fast enough. I should just like to try it, that's all; I'd show him. And why shouldn't I try it? Not in this way, perhaps--not to cut it quite so fat as this, but still reg'lar comfortable and nice. A nice little box at Finchley or Hampstead, with a bit o' lawn, and a pony-trap, and chickens, and a spare bed for a pal,--that's my notion of comfort! And why shouldn't I have it, if I play my cards properly? Damme, I will have it! I'm sick of cadgin' about from hand to mouth, never knowin' what's goin' to turn up next. This bit o' stiff ought to be worth anything to me--anything in reason, that is to say. So, when I've once got it from our friend here, and that won't be just yet,--I must get her away from here, and have her well under my thumb, before I try that on,--when I once get, that docyment, I'll take it straight to Sir Charles, and let him have it for a sum down--must be a big sum too--and then I'll cut the whole lot of 'em, and go and live somewhere in the country by myself! That's what I'll do!"
L'appétit vient en mangeant. When Mr. Effingham was utterly destitute he accommodated himself to his position, and lived on, from hand to mouth, in the best way he could. He retired to the back-ways and slums then, and seeing very few people much better off than he was himself, his envy and jealousy were not excited. Sir Charles's ten pounds had disturbed the little man's mental equilibrium; the readiness with which they melted in his grasp showed him how easily he could get rid of a hundred, of a thousand, of ten thousand. The sight of the comfort and luxury of Redmoor contrasted horribly with the wretchedness of his own lodging, and lashed him into a storm of rage.
"It's too bad!" said he, striking his stick against the tree by which he was standing,--"it's too bad that there should be all this lot of money in the world, and that I should have none of it, while this cove here--O yes, if you please, my horses goin' out with the grooms; my gardeners a bringin' pines and melons and all the rest of it; my keeper a-waitin' to know how many pheasants I'm going to kill to-day! Damme, it's sickening!" Mr. Effingham struck the tree again, pushed his hat over his eyes, and started off in his walk. When he had proceeded about half-way up the avenue, he climbed the iron fence, and started off to the right over the park, until he reached a little knoll, on the top of which were two magnificent cedars. On the other side of these cedars, and completely hidden by them from the house, was a carved rustic seat. On reaching the top of the knoll, Mr. Effingham looked round, and seeing nobody, sat down, put his feet up, and made himself most comfortable.
A lengthened contemplation of the cedars, however, instead, as might have been expected, of bringing calm to his perturbed soul, served only to remind him that they, in common with all the surroundings, were the property of somebody else, and that on that somebody else he had a tremendous hold, provided he went properly to work.
"And I'll do it!" said he, taking his feet off the bench, and pushing the felt wideawake hat into all kinds of shapes in his excitement,--"I'll do it too! Now, let me see! My friend will be here presently--let me just run through what's to be done. Quiet's the game with her, I think; no bullyrag and bluster--quiet and soft. No connection with any one here--never even heard the name--sent by the other parties--I'm so innocent. Yes, I think that will do; then, when we've once started together, I can make my own terms.--How late she is! She must be awfully down on her luck at being spotted down here, and she must suspect something by the quick way in which she agreed to meet me here when I spoke to her yesterday as she was walkin' with the young 'un,--made no bones about it at all. She won't fail me, I suppose."
Oh no, she would not fail him. There she was, crossing the park apparently from the back of the stables, and making straight for the cedars. Could it be she? A figure bent nearly double, dressed in an old-fashioned black-silk cloak and a poke-bonnet, and leaning on a thick umbrella. It was not until she was well under the shadow of the cedars, that she straightened herself, pushed back her bonnet, and stood revealed as Miss Gillespie.
"Good-morning," said she, so crisply and blithely that Mr. Effingham, who had expected she would adopt a very, different tone, was quite astonished; "I'm afraid I'm a little late, Mr. ----; you did not favour me with your name; but the fact is, as you probably know, I am not my own mistress, and my services were required just as I was about to start."
"All right, miss," said Mr. Effingham, taking off his hat, and making a bow as near as possible after the manner of walking-gentlemen on the stage--a proceeding with which the limpness of the wideawake's brim interfered considerably; "my name's Effingham."
"Indeed! what a pretty name! so romantic. You would not mind my sitting down, would you? No; that's all right. And now, Mr. Effingham, I suppose you want something of me, don't you, after that mysterious communication which you made to me yesterday when I was walking with my pupil? Poor child! she's been in a state of wonderment ever since; and I've had to invent such stories about you. And what is it you want, Mr. Effingham?"