“Yes; I do not forget their value. You are not afraid to trust me, father, are you?”
“I trust you with everything, Tom, as you know.”
But Mr. Whitwell said no more; and Tom waited.
Presently she sighed, and pressed her lips to her father’s cheek. “Never mind,” she said, “if you would rather not. I am sure you know best what is right and wise.”
Mr. Whitwell arose, unlocked a safe, and took from it a parchment.
“Here it is,” he said. “Take care of it, and I think it will be prudent of you to give it back into my charge when you have looked it through.”
Tom took the paper without a word, and her father did not notice how pale she was. She kissed him, and, going swiftly to her own room, locked the parchment in a drawer.
But that night she took it out and read it through, every word. Then a strange expression came over her face, and she folded up the parchment, muttering, “If only I dared! If only I dared!” and held it above the flame of the candle, so near that it began to be scorched. And then she opened it, and spread it on the bed, and fell on her knees to pray, but burst instead into a flood of tears.
CHAPTER V.
THE DUTY THAT IS NEAREST.
Arthur Knight scarcely knew whether pleasure or pain predominated in his mind during the first days which he spent at home. London interested him intensely. The vivid life, the untiring resolution, the concentrated energy of the people amazed and delighted him. And when he saw all that was being done to further the cause of righteousness, he was as proud of his country as an Englishman ought to be. But that which had presented itself to his mind as the blot upon the picture, when he contemplated it from a distance, filled him with as much wonder and sadness when he was on the spot. Since his people could do so much, why did they not do more? They had conquered so many worlds; why did they not conquer their own? Were they as great as they used to be? Were they not rather afraid of being great? What was it that dominated most of the individuals that made up a London crowd? It needed very little discernment to discover that the one great desire of the people was to get on—not to get up, or to rise higher in intelligence or character, but to be able to pay a pound or two more of rent, and a longer bill at the tailor’s, or grocer’s, or milliner’s. Certainly there was nothing great, but everything that was infinitesimally little, in such an ambition as that! But he knew—a traveller in all lands must always know—that simple living brings as much happiness as luxurious fare, and he believed that if the spell could be broken, and the people who were so eager to get on that they had not time to think of other things could once get the fashion changed, they would rise to their own capabilities, and, completely changing their standpoint, would become really great in character and achievement. And he believed that the time for this was coming.