There was one letter still left unopened. He took it up and looked first at the address, as he always made a point of doing. There was a familiar look about the writing, and yet he could not call to mind whose it was. Without more ado he tore open the envelope, and then he saw in a moment that the letter inside was in his father's writing. He was startled, to say the least. His father had not written to him since he was a schoolboy, unless it was now and then two lines of invitation to dinner, or on some equally trivial matter. What could he possibly have to say to him now? Before beginning to read the letter, he took up the envelope again and saw that it bore the London post-mark of the day before; then he turned to the signature as if to make sure that it really was his father's writing. Then he drew his chair a little nearer the window and began to read.
[CHAPTER VIII.]
MR. HAZELDINE'S LETTER.
The following is a copy of Mr. Hazeldine's letter to his son:
Oct. 5, 18--,
"My Dear Edward,
"When these lines reach you, he who writes them will be no longer among the living. The end of my days is at hand. I am about to go hence, and be no more seen.
"Three months ago I consulted two eminent London specialists with reference to the state of my health. For some time I had had reason to believe that my heart was seriously affected, but I had shrank from turning doubt into certainty. At length, however, I did so, and the verdict proved to be little more than a confirmation of my own secret fears. Both the men I consulted gave me to understand that, with great care, I might live for some time to come, but that there was a possibility of my being taken off at any moment. Rest and perfect quiet were essential to my case, and a complete release from the cares and worries of business--all of which you will say might have been mine had I so willed it--and indeed it is quite true that I might have retired to some restful spot, and there, 'far from the madding crowd,' have eked out the poor remainder of my days, but for certain circumstances which rendered such a step an impossibility. What those circumstances were, I will now tell you.
"Edward, from youth upward I have been a gambler--a secret gambler--but so well have I kept the knowledge to myself that not even your mother has known of it, whatever she may have suspected. When I was a schoolboy I used to gamble for halfpence. When I grew older I was in the habit of venturing my half-crowns, and afterwards my sovereigns, on this race or the other. When I was a young man, and supposed to be taking my autumn holidays in Scotland or at the seaside, I generally contrived to find my way to Doncaster for the St. Leger; and over and over again I have gone through the whole gamut of a gambler's hopes, fears, exultations, and despair.
"Of late years, however, I have given up having anything to do with the Turf, and have confined myself to transactions on the Stock Exchange. Three years ago I was worth twenty thousand pounds: to-day I am a ruined man. I wanted to turn my twenty thousand into fifty, and it seemed so easy to do it that I had not the courage to withhold my hand. Even now I have faith to believe that I could retrieve my fortunes were time given me to do so, but time is the one thing I can no longer call my own. The anxieties of the last few months have told terribly upon me, and I feel that the end may come at any moment. Besides which, Mr. Avison will be at home in the course of a few days.