“Oh, she would have none of me. She told me I was a beggar and a fool both, and she spake but the bitter truth. Yet it was bitter when she said it.”
“My poor boy!” said Mr Marshall, compassionately.
“I thought Hans but a fool when he went and bound himself to yon mercer—he, the son of a Dutch Baron! But I see now—I was the fool, not he. Had I spent my days in selling silk stockings instead of wearing them, and taken my wages home to my mother like a good little boy, it had been better for me. I see, now,—now that the doors are all shut against me, and I dare not go home.”
“Yet tell me, Aubrey, for I scarce understand it—why dare you not go home?”
As Aubrey laid the matter before him from the point of view presented by Lady Oxford, Mr Marshall’s face grew graver every moment. He began to see that the circumstances were much more serious than he had apprehended. There was silence for a few minutes when Aubrey finished his account. Then the clergyman said—
“’Tis a tangle, and a tight one, my boy. Yet, by God’s blessing, we may see our way out. Let us take one point at a time. These debts of yours—will you tell me, are they ‘debts of honour,’ falsely so-called?”
“Only twenty pounds. The rest is due partly to Patrick the tailor and others for goods, and partly to Tom Rookwood for money I borrowed of him.”
“How much to Tom Rookwood?”
“Twenty pounds.”
“I will see what I can do with him,” said Mr Marshall, thoughtfully. “If these Rookwoods are in no wise dragged into the plot, so that they have no land escheated, nor fines to pay, then I think he can afford to wait for his money—better, very like, than the tradesfolk. But, Aubrey, you must get another place. Bear with me if I ask you,—Could you bring your pride down to serve in a shop?”