"I am sorry to say it is true," he replied as he entered, "and it will make a great change in my arrangements; however, you shall not be a loser, Mrs. Mills; and now if you will bring me some tea I shall be glad of a cup to refresh myself, I can't get over such a shock all at once."
"No, sir, I should think not; and indeed you're not looking at all well, and no wonder. Yes, sir," she added quickly, seeing a look of impatience pass over his face, "I'll go at once and see about your tea, it will be ready in no time."
Very glad indeed was Arthur Franklyn when, the tea being removed and his landlady's restless tongue banished from the room, he could feel himself alone. He first drew the table near the window, which he closed notwithstanding the heat; then he emptied his pockets of various letters, and at length drew forth an ominous-looking document tied with red tape, which he opened and spread on the table. Yes, there the name stood, clear and distinct, in his wife's handwriting, "Louisa Ellen Franklyn. Witness—Henry Halford."
For some minutes Arthur Franklyn seemed fascinated to the writing before him. He turned the leaf and read the legally worded document through. There was no hesitation necessary there, Louisa had intended him to have this two thousand pounds, her trustees had consented and signed. Morally it belonged to him if not quite legally; what moral law would be transgressed by claiming it? None. Then for the sake of his own credit, for the sake of his children, he was justified in this act. It would injure no one; the bulk of his wife's fortune might go to another, and virtually this two thousand pounds had been already taken from it and placed in the bank till the document before him should be properly signed. Yes, it was all right, and as he thus thought he folded it carefully, re-tied it and placed it in his pocket-book.
On a table near stood Louisa's desk—her keys had been given into his hands, with her rings and jewels and a few other articles found in the pocket of the deceased lady. He took the small bunch of keys from his own pocket, but as he rose to fetch the desk, there flashed across his memory the words of the old doctor, "God bless you, my son, and keep you in the right path."
Conscience awoke and made itself heard. "You are out of the right path already, Arthur Franklyn," said the small still voice. "All your false reasoning, all your absurd sophistry is vain; you have no right to that money, and if you claim it on the document in your possession, you know by what name the laws of your country will call you it you are found out; and even if you obtain the money undiscovered, you will never know another happy hour. Burn the paper, Arthur Franklyn, and throw off the power of the evil spirit that entices you."
The conscience-stricken man staggered to his seat; he drew the paper from his pocket, and forgetting for a moment that it was summer-time, he turned towards the empty fireplace. Then an impulse came upon him to tear the document to atoms, and throw from his mind the fearful incubus; but his hand was arrested by a sudden memory of his debts in Australia, which if not paid must, he knew, end in the disgrace of bankruptcy. Again the tempter reminded him of his children, his eldest daughter growing into womanhood; poverty, disgrace for her portion. No, no, it could not be, he must risk all. There was nothing to fear. He would arrange all matters of business in England, a few days or a week would suffice for that, and then he would return to Melbourne. Where he was so well known he could easily get the papers cashed by paying a good amount of interest. His children were safe for the present. He should be able to send over payment for their board. Yes, this plan must be adopted, it was the best and the only one; and with this resolution strong in his mind conscience was crushed, its voice silenced for a time, and Arthur Franklyn left to follow the downward road on which he had made the first false step.
He again rose to fetch Louisa's desk, and placing it on the table before him, eagerly examined its contents. Letters from friends, a banker's book, a cheque for seventy-four pounds which he had given her at the time of the transfer of her ready cash to his name, about fifty pounds in ready money, and at last a little packet of his own letters written before their marriage, carefully and neatly tied together, several little articles of jewellery, and others of no importance, but no will.
Arthur Franklyn as he made this discovery knew that all hope of his late wife's fortune was lost to him, unless she had left a will with her lawyers in Melbourne, and this appeared another urgent reason why he should return thither.
The money he had found, with the balance of a few hundreds still lying at the Australian bank in London, would pay his passage, and help him to carry out his plans. He replaced the various articles in the desk excepting the jewels and the money; her watch and chain he had left at his father-in-law's for Clara. But as he placed his hand on the packet of his own letters a pang of remorse shot through his heart, which almost threatened him with another attack of conscience. He hastily drew the flask from his pocket, and seizing a wineglass which stood on the sideboard filled it nearly to the brim with the so often fatal stimulant, and drank it off.