“Where’s Mr Oldfield?” he gasped.
“That’s just what I was going to ask you, Mr Poole.”
“What! you don’t mean to say he’s left your house?”
“He has indeed,” was the reply. “I’ve seen nothing of him since the day after you left.”
“Seen nothing of him!” exclaimed Jacob in complete bewilderment; “but has he sent you no message—no letter?”
“No, Mr Poole, he’s neither sent nor written. He paid me all he owed me up to the last night he slept here, and that’s all I know.”
“And has he left no message, nothing to tell one where he’s gone?” asked Jacob.
“Nothing,” she said, “unless this letter’s from him—it came a few days ago.”
Jacob seized it, and tore it open. When he had read a few lines he let it drop upon the floor, and stood gazing at it as though some strange fascination glared out from it upon him. Then he took it up again, read it deliberately through, laid it on the table, and sitting down, burst into an agony of weeping. The letter was as follows:—
“Dear Jacob,—I must write to you, though I hardly can hold my pen, and every letter, as I write, seems like blood wrung out from my heart. Well, it’s no use; you shall have the naked truth at once. I have robbed you, Jacob, artfully, basely, deliberately, cruelly robbed you, and all through the cursed drink. I hate myself for it as the vilest wretch upon earth. And yet I have no excuse to make. I have been gambling with a wretched set of sharpers, who got hold of me when I was drunk. They cleaned me out of every penny. I was ruined—I was desperate—I thought if I could get hold of your nuggets I could turn them into money, win back what I had lost, and repay you with interest. I got some lead, melted it in a shovel, (I need not tell you where I did this; it was in no good place, you may be sure). I made the lead into the shape of nuggets. The night but one before you left I tried to find out where you kept your bag; you were restless and clutched at your pillow. I knew then that it was there. I got another leather bag and filled it with the leaden nuggets I had made. These I slipped behind your pillow, and took away the real ones, the night before you left; you felt for them, and fancied you had them safe. When I had got out the gold, I crouched down in the dark till you were fast asleep again. Then I drew out the bag very carefully from behind your head, and changed it for your own bag, having first filled your own bag with the leaden nuggets and one or two little bits of gold at the top, so that you had your own bag when you woke in the morning, but I had your gold in the other bag. There, you know all now, you can understand all the rest. I sold your nuggets—I spent part of the money in drink—I played again—I’ve lost all—I shall never be able to repay you—I dare not look you in the face—I dare not look my father and mother in the face—I dare not look—it’s no matter. You are an honest fellow, Jacob, and will get on, spite of my villainy. If you ever marry and have children, make them total abstainers, if you would keep them safe in body and soul. As for myself, I cannot mend—I’m past it—I’ve been cheating myself with the belief that I meant to mend, but I never did. I see it now. There, Jacob, I don’t ask you to forgive me, but I do ask one thing—grant it me for the love you once had to me—it is this: wait a month, I shall be out of the way by that time, and then post the enclosed letter to my poor mother. I have told her how I have robbed you. My father will repay you. Tell him where he can find you. I shall soon be out of everybody’s reach. And now all I have got to ask you is just to wipe me out of your thoughts altogether, and to forget that there ever was such a person as your guilty, miserable, degraded master.”