CHAPTER THE EIGHTEENTH.
EASTER MONDAY.
THAT evening Jabez, a clear-eyed, open-browed youth in his seventeenth year, upright, well-knit, and firmly built for his age, knocked at the parlour-door after Miss Augusta had been sent to bed. There was some trouble on his countenance, as though he was bent on an errand utterly repugnant to him. He was truly sorry to be the means, however remotely, of bringing disgrace on both an old man and a young one; but Simon had led him to the conclusion that if there was little honour in turning informer, there would be absolute dishonesty in keeping silence whilst he saw his master robbed.
Yet he hesitated, and lingered with his hand on the handle of the door, after the clear voice of Mr. Ashton had twice invited him to “come in.”
Mr. Ashton therefore opened the door, and saw Jabez with a design for a bell-rope tassel in his hand.
“Well, Jabez, what is it? Something special you have to show us?”
“No, sir; I only brought this lest any of the servants should be curious about my errand here.”
Mrs. Ashton, who was reading a romance from Mrs. Edge’s circulating library in King Street, lifted up her head at this; and Jabez came in, closing the door.
“Then what is the errand which needs such precaution?” asked Mr. Ashton, resuming his seat and looking up at the dear face of Jabez.
“I think, sir”—and he laid an emphasis on the “think”— “I have found out how you are being robbed, and who it is that robs you.”
“You—what?” exclaimed Mr. Ashton, placing his hand on the elbows of his chair, and bending forward inquiringly.