“No,” said Frederick coldly; but it is not easy to be politely calm to a man who has you in his power, and who could “sell you up” to-morrow if he liked without benefit of clergy. He shivered as he replied, feeling such a terror of the consequences as I should vainly attempt to describe. It was like the death’s head at the feast, suddenly presenting itself when his mind was for the moment free from all dread of it. He turned round (though he had recognized the voice) with supercilious surprise, as if he could not imagine who the speaker was.
“Oh, Mr.——! You have been in Paris, I presume, ever since I saw you there?”
“Just so,” said Batty, “and some jolly evenings we’ve managed to have since, I can tell you. Not your way—unlimited, you know; but in moderation. By Jove! your way was too good to last. Made out your journey comfortable, eh, Mr. Eastwood? Got a companion now, I see.”
Oh, how Frederick blessed that companion for the opaqueness of her observation, for her want of interest in what was done and said around. “Yes, my cousin,” he said in a quiet undertone; and added, “Now I must get her into the train, and find a place for her. I am sorry I have no time to talk to you just now. Don’t be afraid that I shall forget the—the business—between us.”
“No, I don’t think you will,” said Batty, with a horse-laugh. “You couldn’t if you would, and I shouldn’t let you if you wanted to. And, by the way,” he said, keeping them back from the wished-for landing, “I recollected after I left you that I had never given you my address. Stop a moment, I’ll find it directly.”
“I will come back to you,” cried Frederick, desperate, “as soon as I have placed this lady in the train.”
“Just a moment,” said the man, pulling out his pocket-book. “I have your address, you know. There I have the advantage,” he added, with a leer into Frederick’s face.
Perhaps there is no ill-doing in this world which escapes punishment one way or other. Frederick had escaped a great deal better than he had any right to hope for till this moment. But now the Fates avenged themselves. Though he was cold and shivering, he grew red to his hair with suppressed passion.
“Let me pass, for Heaven’s sake!” he cried, bursting into involuntary entreaty.
“Here it is,” said Mr. Batty, thrusting a card into his hand, and with a chuckle he turned round to some people behind, who were with him, and let his victim go. Frederick hurried his silent companion on shore in a tumult of miserable and angry feeling. It was the first time he had felt the prick of the obligation under which he lay. He did not make the kind and pleasant little speech which he had intended to make to Innocent as he led her on to English soil. It had been driven out of his head by this odious encounter. Heavens! he thought, if it had been Nelly instead of Innocent! and next time it might be Nelly. He hurried the girl into the train without one word, and threw in his coat, and went off to get some brandy to restore his nerves and his courage. “Hallo! Eastwood!” some one else called out to him. “Bless my life, how green you are! been ill on the crossing, eh?” This is not a confession which the young Englishman is fond of making in a general way, but Frederick nodded and hurried on, ready to confess to anything, so long as he could be left alone. The brandy did him good, driving out the shuddering cold and putting some sort of spirit into him; for indeed it was quite true that, in addition to the mental shock, he had been ill on the crossing too.