“Nonsense, Shylock! you can’t fool me like that,” replied Markworth, and he tried unsuccessfully to get more out of the Jew. He had to be contented for the present with a couple of hundreds. Solomonson knew, however, the stake for which he was playing, and told him that as soon as he was really married to Susan Hartshorne he would advance him more. Until then he would not let him have another penny. So Markworth was forced to content himself with what he had got, and he was not pleased when he recollected that he would have to give the governess half.
He was, however, provided with the sinews of war, so he wished Solomonson good day, cheerfully as he went out, and told him he would soon see him back again.
“Good daysh!” replied the Jew. “Don’t forget to send me the weddingsh cakesh, my dearsh! I likesh weddingsh cakesh!”
The last visit Markworth paid before leaving London was to the curate of a small church in the city, with whom he was acquainted—how he had made his acquaintance I cannot say; and to this gentleman he made some explanation about a forthcoming marriage which appeared to be highly satisfactory to both parties.
Everything was now settled but the great event itself, and so Markworth returned to Hartwood by the afternoon train. To shew that he did not forget even trifles in considering everything for his plot, he bought an odd volume of the recently revived “Essays and Reviews,” at the railway book stall, for the personal edification of the Dowager Mrs Hartshorne, who had been speaking of the book in connection with her now favourite topic of ritualism. This he presented to her the same evening, much to her surprise, and peculiarly snappishly-expressed pleasure and thanks. The old lady had recently been over head and ears in pre-adamite geology, and nothing interested her so much as a secular essay on theological truths.
Tom was delighted to see him back in such good time, and planned out all sorts of pleasant things for the pic-nic, which was in everybody’s thoughts—little knowing how Markworth intended to dispose of his day. All the Sussex world was going to be there. A pair of violet eyes comprised “all the world” to Tom now.
Some time that evening Markworth had a long conversation with Miss Kingscott, preparing for “the end.” Both—strange anomaly!—had worked together for once, and not for good. He gave her a hundred pounds, the first instalment of the “hush money,” and their compact was nearly completed.
To one who had not marked out every phase in Susan Hartshorne’s treatment, the change that had been worked in her since Markworth had devoted his energies to her care, was nothing less than marvellous.
From dull, irksome melancholia the patient had been transported to the fields of reason. A constantly unchanged vacuity of expression on her face had given place to mobility of feature. Instead of void animal eyes, the windows of the soul now looked out of her face. From an idiot she had been changed nearly if not quite into a reasoning being. Markworth had done all this, aided by Miss Kingscott acting under him and by his directions. It is true the girl had only got back the germ of reason, the reason of a child in nature, and measured by the experience of years. But it was a germ which, although now of delicate growth, and requiring every fostering and care, might yet expand into the fullness of moral culture.
No one had any idea how poor Susan had improved, for she saw no one to speak to as yet; and although Tom and Mrs Hartshorne noticed some change in her, yet the former was too much engaged with observing another to notice much in his sister, and as for the mother she really, I believe, did not care either way. She had so long looked upon Susan as insane, that the possibility of her ever recovering her reason now after the lapse of so many years, was put beyond the pale of consideration altogether.