“And do you for a moment imagine, or would have me, that Clifton—” Mr. St. James hesitated.
“Stole it? Certainly.”
Another sob from Alice, with the cry:
“Don’t—don’t, mamma!”
“Tut, tut, tut, wife. Hush, Alice, love. There is some mistake. I’d risk all my worldly possessions—aye, and my life—on Gerald’s honesty and noble nature,” said Mr. St. James.
“You would lose both, then. There is no mistake, my dear. You know he has been much embarrassed in money matters. I know no one entered this room but him; and I know the porte-monnaie is gone, and in it a hundred pounds. You can call it by what name you choose. I have my own idea about the matter. However, should you put it in the mildest form, kleptomania would not be a very desirable acquisition to our family. Alice, I think, feels fully sensible of that. Why you have thought so much of him I cannot tell.”
“Why?” and the dark brown eyes of Sydney St. James grew more earnest, and glowed with a tender, loving light; and in a voice full of emotion, he said: “Why? Because I, who have no son of my own, see in this young man a reproduction of myself—the struggles of my youth. So much he brings to my mind those years of trial—oh, those long, weary heart-sickening years!—when, alone in my humble, cheerless room, I brewed my own coffee, broiled my chops, and worked—worked, day and night, so long before I could get any production accepted, and then for many months after, before I received any remuneration. And then how small it was! how meagerly dealt out! Aye, and in the very act of which you accuse him, most forcibly I see the great resemblance between us.
“At the time when the ‘Prison Reform Bill’ was very much engrossing the public mind, my fortunes took a favorable turn. I wrote a leader on that subject. It was published, and although I am sure it was no better than many I had written before, pleased the people. A few days after, when in the office of the editor of the journal in which my productions were principally published, that gentleman handed me a note, which opening I found was from the Secretary of the Premier, saying his lordship would be pleased to see me, and appointing the next day for my call. Lord Cedarcliff received me most kindly, complimenting me on that article, that really proved the making of my present success. That call was the beginning of my intimacy with his lordship. A few days after, I was invited to a dinner party given by Lord Cedarcliff. There I met many of the noble and distinguished men of the time. It was my first dinner party, and naturally I was considerably embarrassed. However, his lordship’s kindness, and the marked attention of many of his guests, placed me more at ease. During the dinner, Lord Cedarcliff called our attention to a gold spoon, curiously wrought and very valuable. It was said to have belonged to the camp equipage of Napoleon. The conversation then, from the Emperor and his battles, naturally turned to those of the Crimea, and the prolonged siege of Sebastopol. Several of the gentlemen expressed their views as to how the city might have been taken; and I, considerably excited by the wine, and like most young men, possessing my full share of egotism, had my ideas about the matter. So I began to explain how Sebastopol might have been taken very speedily. With the handle of the Emperor’s spoon, I marked my plan on the table-cloth. After a little I became conscious that a silence more than profound, really painful, had fallen upon the company. I felt confident it could not have been occasioned by their great interest in my theme. I had wearied them, most likely, or perhaps I had said or done something very outré. The embarrassment was somewhat relieved by his lordship’s making the move for our adjournment to the drawing-room. There, however, I could not fail to observe that I had in some way lost favor. His lordship was too polite, frigidly so. In truth, the whole atmosphere seemed changed. At length I excused myself, and left, sadly mystified as to the change, in not only his lordship’s treatment of me, but likewise of most of his guests.
“A few days after, I called on Lord Cedarcliff, but was told by the butler that his lordship was engaged; again, the next day, with the same result; a third time, with no better success. Determining to press the matter a little, and find out, if possible, what such treatment meant, I asked:
“ ‘When can I see his lordship?’