A Little World

by George Manville Fenn

The End of a Journey.

“Perhaps, after all, he has not come,” said Harry to his silent companion, for no word left her lips; she only restlessly led him from place to place, pressing his arm with her hand when she wished him to speak to porter or guard. Once he heard her mutter a few words—“To escape and hide—taken her there;” but she made no reply to his remark.

They had searched the waiting-rooms of the station and hotel, paced up and down the wharf, boarded the steamer, and examined every labelled berth, but there was no sign of either Richard Pellet or his luggage. Then they returned to the pier, and watched in the direction that would be taken by any one coming from the little hotel in the town, till a blinding storm of wind-borne snow would have made Harry lead his companion into shelter, but she seemed not to pay the slightest heed to the weather, as she gazed incessantly here and there, trying to catch a glimpse of the missing man.

The mooring cables creaked and groaned as the steamer rose and fell upon the swell in the little harbour, the water rushing fiercely past, black and angry, save where it broke and glistened now and again upon the bows of a boat, or upon the piles and piers around, while the snow fell fitfully in great soft pats, whirled here and there, each flake darting from its fellow when they passed the lamps, which flickered and danced as the squalls penetrated every nook and cranny. Now the platform and pier would be white, but in a few moments a black patch would break out here, another there, growing rapidly larger, till, once more, all would be a wet, slippery, blackened sheet, upon whose surface the rays of the lamps flickered and blinked.

A bitter night—cold, dark, and dreary; the men about, clad in oilskin wrappers, which glistened with the wet that streamed down them as the snow melted. Nearly every one carried a lanthorn to swing about as a signal to guide his steps amongst the railway trucks. Dark clouds floated by, to halt now and then, and send shimmering down what seemed a winding-sheet of snow. Then would come a moaning gust of wind, sweeping the heavier clouds away, to leave the heavens but little lighter. The few passengers bound for Dieppe hurried across the pier, and made the best of their way on board to secure their berths, perhaps with no very pleasant anticipations of the coming night, and, saving for here and there a railway official with a lanthorn, scarcely a soul was to be seen as Harry and his companion still kept watch in the direction of the town.

The time had nearly expired, so nearly, that if Richard Pellet were to take his departure by that steamer, he must be there within the next five minutes, while upon their once more going on board, and questioning the steward respecting the advent of a short, stout, grey gentleman, that functionary, evidently put somewhat out of temper by the weather, and the poor array of passengers, incontinently cursed the stout gentleman, and turned his back upon the querists, who made their way back over the slippery deck, crossed the gangway, and again began to pace up and down upon the landing-stage.

If Richard Pellet had come down, which Harry now very much doubted, he must, as the waiter had suggested, have gone into the town, and Harry now repented that he had not at once hurried on there, and made inquiries. For, though he kept scouting the idea as absurd, and telling himself that his stepfather had some other reason for coming down here, his imagination was full of horrors suggested by his memory of destroyed directions and cards, and of men who had sought hotels in remote places to do some deed which should only produce an inquest on the body of a man unknown, unrecognised, unclaimed, so that the memory of the horror might soon pass away, and relatives only know that one of their family was missing.

His fears must though, he felt, be groundless, for Richard Pellet, wealthy, prosperous, was not the man to make an end of his life; but then he might not after all be prosperous; his affairs might be in a hopeless state of confusion; and now this strange connection with the woman at his side might have urged him to flight or the commission of the crime at which she had hinted.

But might not the woman be deceiving him? A glance, though, at the anxious, pallid face at his side, showed him plainly enough that even if she believed not the words she had uttered, she was moved by some strong impulse to overtake his stepfather; and, after all, what she had whispered might be true.

At last he determined to speak—to question her; but it was in vain, for he could obtain no answer. In fact, she had, in her eagerness to overtake the man whom she believed to have her child, forgotten the ruse that she had used to set Harry in search of his stepfather. It was the half insane prompting of her fevered brain; but as soon as her object was effected, it was entirely forgotten—crushed out of her memory by the intense desire to overtake him. Richard Pellet and her child: there seemed room for nothing else in her thoughts; and once only had she spoken to Harry during the last quarter of an hour of their watch, and then only to inquire whether there was any other boat, and when answered in the negative, she relapsed into her former silence.