This transaction took place so rapidly that John, in his confused state, and even Susie, scarcely understood what was taking place till they found themselves alone, watching the two other figures going quickly and quietly along the street. To Susie it seemed as if in a moment everything had come right. Mr. Cattley carried off her anxieties with him, to be solved in what was sure to be the best way. She came close to John’s side and put her arm within his, supporting him with her confidence and certainty that all would now go well, supporting him even physically with the soft backing-up which he wanted so much. They stood together silent, watching the other two disappear along the street. How it was that John gave in so easily, and let the matter be taken out of his hands, no one ever knew; the secret was that he was worn out with misery and unrest. Body and soul had become incapable of further exertion, even of further suffering. The only solution possible to his strained nerves and strength was this—that some one else should do it for him. For he was incapable of anything more.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE GREAT SCHEME.
And yet there was something for which the poor young fellow was capable still.
While this strange meeting had gone on, a telegraph boy—that familiar, common-place little sprite of the streets—had made his way to John’s door; and, unnoticed by the agitated group, had been directed by Mrs. Short putting out her head and shaking it sadly all the time by way of protest—to where John stood. This little bit of side action had been going on for a minute or two without anyone observing it; and it was not till the group had broken up and John and his sister were standing together, incapable of speech and almost of thought, watching the others as they walked away, that the telegraph boy came up and thrust his message into John’s hand. It seemed a vulgar interruption, breaking into the tragic scene; and John stood with the envelope in his hand, with a sense that he was as much beyond the reach of any communications which could reach him in that way, as if he had come to himself in the land beyond the grave. But Susie felt differently; the interruption was to her a welcome break.
‘Look at it,’ she said, holding his arm close with a woman’s keen interest in a new event. ‘It may be something of importance.’
‘There is nothing of any importance,’ he said, in the deadly languor of exhaustion. ‘Nothing can make any difference to us now.’
‘But open it,’ said Susie.
He gave her a look of reproach. What did it matter? If the telegram had been from the Queen, it could have made no difference. Nothing could alter the fact that he was his father’s son.
‘But open it,’ Susie said again.
He tore it open in a languid way, hoping nothing, caring for nothing, in the blank of despondency and helplessness. Even the words within did not rouse him. He read and crumpled it up in his hand.