Monday came again, the anniversary of his sin. And there, on the office-desk, lay a letter addressed to himself in his master’s handwriting. It had been written on Saturday, and was dated from Dublin.
“I find I am at liberty to come home at once,” Mr. Elton wrote. “I have found a friend here who will look after the property for me. Strangely enough, I ran against Frank Ridley yesterday, and could scarcely believe my own eyes. He had come to Dublin in quest of an old sweetheart. He told me that he had called at the office, and had paid his old debt. He showed me your receipt when I looked incredulous. I am rather surprised that you did not mention this in your letters.”
Robert Clarris put on his hat and coat and went quietly into the outer office.
“Blake,” he said, calling the eldest of the under clerks, “I am not well, and must go home at once. I leave the keys in your charge, for I know you may be trusted.”
Blake—an honest fellow—looked into Clarris’s face, and saw that he spoke the truth.
Then followed the last miserable interview with Helen, and the hurried preparations for flight. His wife entreated that she might go away to her old home, under her uncle’s roof. She had brought him nothing but trouble, she owned piteously; and he would get on better without her. Alas, poor Helen! a sorry helpmeet she had been to the man who had loved her! These two had not asked the Lord to their marriage-feast, and had never drunk of the wine of His love. And so they parted, never to meet again till they should meet at the marriage supper of the Lamb.
In Melbourne there was one Ralph Channell, who had been the friend of Robert’s father, and the miserable man found him out. He told Mr. Channell his whole story. Nothing was concealed. The sin, in all its hideousness, was exposed to Ralph Channell’s sight. And yet he took the sinner to his heart.
But he tested the young man patiently. He let him scrape and save to pay back the money that he had stolen; he would not give him a single farthing. Every shilling of the restored sum was fairly earned in Mr. Channell’s service, and paid out of a small salary. And all that time he saw that a mighty work of grace was going on in Robert’s soul.
When Mr. Channell lay dying, a lonely, childless man, he called Robert to his side. “All my property is yours,” he said; “you are my sole heir, and you must take my name—ay, and you must make it loved and honoured in the old country.”
So Robert came to England, full of yearnings for the child whom he had never seen. From John Farren he learnt that Rhoda’s heart was hardened against him. And yet, how could he help loving her for the love that she bare to Nelly? He knew all about Rhoda from her mother’s letters. And he wanted, more than he ever acknowledged, to see this woman who could be so hard and yet so tender. The opportunity came. He bought the farm, and gave it to Farmer Farren; only stipulating that it should go to Rhoda at her father’s death. And he came to dwell amongst the Farrens as Ralph Channell.