George could not continue; the nervous twitching of his face showed the struggle within, and it was a relief when the hot tears broke through and coursed down his cheek. Hardy was greatly affected. He loved George with an intensity of love like that which knit together the soul of Jonathan and David; he had been to him more than a brother ever since they had been acquainted; in hours of business and recreation, in joys and sorrows, in plans and aims, they had been one; and now the tie was to be severed, and severed under such sad circumstances.
There is a solemnity about sorrow which speech desecrates. Not another word was spoken by either—both hearts were too full for that; but as the tears ran thickly down their cheeks, they grasped each other's hand, and then, fairly sobbing, George hurried from the office.
Chapter IX.
In Exile.
George went direct from the office to the railway station, and took a ticket to Plymouth. He had but a short time to wait before the train left, and bore him away. The green fields and smiling country were nothing to him; he felt no pleasure in seeing the merry, happy children playing in the lanes, as the train whizzed past. The greetings of friends on the platforms at the different stations only made him sigh. Who would greet him on his journeys? Tired and worn out with sleepless nights and anxious days, he tried to doze, but the attempt was vain. He feared lest some one might have tracked his steps to the station, and have telegraphed for him to be stopped at the terminus. Then, when he had thought and pondered over such probabilities as these, and endeavoured to dismiss them, he tried to form some plans for the future; but all the future was dark—no ray of light, however faint or distant, could be seen, and every plan he would make must be left to circumstances. When the passengers alighted at one of the stations to take refreshments, George got out too, for the purpose of breaking his long fast. He tried to eat a biscuit, but he could not get it down,—all appetite was gone; so, drinking a glass of ale, he wandered to the book stall, and purchased a newspaper to read during the remainder of the journey. The train started off again, and George settled himself to read. The first thing that met his eye was an account of the assizes, and the first case was headed, "Forgery by a Banker's Clerk." This brought back to remembrance, more vividly than ever, the sad scenes of the past few days; he threw the paper out of the window, and abandoned himself to thought.
At last the train arrived at Plymouth. George hastened on to the platform, and walked rapidly into the town, fearing lest any one should recognize him, or lest any official should wish to detain him. With his bag in hand, he wandered through the streets, uncertain what to do or where to go. Presently he came to a small house, in an obscure street, with a placard in the window stating that apartments were to let. He knocked, and was answered by the landlady, a respectable looking woman, who told him that she had a bedroom and sitting-room to let, and would accommodate him on reasonable terms. George said he should not require the room more than a few days, or a week, as he was about to leave by one of the vessels in the port. The terms were arranged, and he at once took possession. As it was very late, he thought he would go to bed without delay.
"Will you not have some supper first?" asked the landlady.
"No, thank you," said George: "I am tired with my journey, and shall be glad to get to sleep as soon as I can."
"But, sir, you really look ill," persisted the landlady, who was a kind, motherly woman; "will you let me make you a little spirits and water?"