"How much is it?" I contrived to ask.
"Considerably over eighty thousand pounds," said Mr. Tipping unctuously. "Mr. Blowfield lived very simply, as you are aware, and was extremely successful in his investments generally. I congratulate you, Mr. New, with all my heart; I regret if I have been somewhat abrupt, and so have startled you."
"It is a little staggering, certainly," I said weakly.
The man made an appointment for me to see him at his office on the following day, but meanwhile left a substantial sum in my hands. When Andrew Ferkoe came back, as he did presently, I told him the great news.
"Now, look here, Andrew," I said solemnly, "I regard this money as belonging almost as much to you as it does to me. There's not the slightest doubt that my Uncle Zabdiel made your father poor, and you know well enough that he ground you pretty hard afterwards. You toiled, just as I toiled before you; and now we've got our great reward. You shall join forces with me; we'll start life together, in a better fashion than any we have yet enjoyed. Come down with me to see the lawyer to-morrow, and I'll settle a certain amount on you, and tie it up tight, so that you can get at it only in instalments; because money's a dreadful temptation. After that we'll decide what we shall do with our lives."
"I wish my poor father had been alive to know you," said the boy tearfully.
I slept but little that night; my brain was awhirl with many thoughts. Now, more than ever, there entered into me the temptation to remember only that I was a rich man, and by that right, at least, I might approach Debora. I weighed that aspect of the case carefully through the long hours of the night—almost making up my mind at times that I would throw everything else to the winds, and would go to the girl and beg her now to start life with me in a newer and a better fashion than any she or I had known. But with the cold light of the dawn hard facts asserted themselves; and I knew that the brand of my prison was on me, and could not well be washed out. I rose from my bed, determined that for the future love or thoughts of love was not for me.
In due course we called upon Mr. James Tipping, and I listened with what patience I might to a lecture from that gentleman on the sin of mistaken generosity. In the end, of course, I had my way, and Andrew Ferkoe found himself with an income, and with Mr. James Tipping as his legal guardian. I will not tell you the amount, lest you should regard me either as too generous or not generous enough; suffice it that Andrew could look forward to the prospect of passing his days in comfort, no matter what might happen to me.
A few days of splendid idleness supervened on that, and I saw London under a new aspect, and with a heart almost at peace—almost, because it was utterly impossible for me to shut out of my mind what might have been and what never could be. So difficult was it, indeed, that at last my resolution broke down; and one evening I drove straight to the little hotel near the Charterhouse where I had left Debora. I rehearsed speeches as I went along, telling myself that she should understand clearly what the position was, and what she risked, and all the rest of it; I was very full of the matter by the time the cab stopped outside the hotel.
But she was gone. So little had I expected that, that I stared in blank amazement at the porter, and asked him if he was quite sure. Yes, he was quite sure; the lady had left two days before, and had not stated where she was going.