They returned to town on the day following ’Linda’s flight, and two days after that a letter was forwarded to Comethup by the captain—an impudent, paltry thing, which yet gave him some small satisfaction.
“My dear young Crœsus: The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. I’ve no doubt that at the present moment you are thirsting for my blood, and pouring out threats against me; yet I should be glad, for the sake of our old friendship and because I am grateful for certain services you have rendered me, that we might still be friends. You can’t have everything in this world; and once upon a time, when probably you didn’t know any better, you stole my birthright. At the present moment I have stolen what was never yours. It was a mere girlish infatuation on her part, and one which you should have been wise enough never to take seriously. You wouldn’t see that you were in the way, and you forced me to adopt the only course possible. I am convinced of one thing, and that is, that my new life with her will give me just that stimulus which has somehow been wanting in all my efforts. We were married on the day following our flight to London, so that you need not, in your innocence, blush for me or for her. We are going into the country for what is technically known as the honeymoon, and then we return to town and I start seriously to work. I will let you know my address.
“Yours sympathetically,
“Brian Carlaw.”
He tore the letter up and went about his daily life, determined, if possible, now that the matter was ended, to shut it all out of his mind. Miss Carlaw, with the same kindly object in view, proposed a flight to the Continent, and, believing that it would please her to go, he gladly fell in with the suggestion. They were absent nearly two months.
As they travelled with much the same state they had adopted on their former journeyings—putting up at the best hotels and staying in the largest cities—they were easily to be traced. This Comethup was soon to discover, for one night in Rome, after a solitary ramble through the streets, a note was handed him as he entered his hotel; he was informed that it had been left by a gentleman, who would return in half an hour. He tore it open, and discovered that it was written hurriedly in pencil and was signed by Robert Carlaw, that the writer begged for a few moments’ conversation with him on a matter of emergency. Comethup hesitated for a moment, and then strolled out into the streets again, lingering about near the entrance of the hotel. He had no desire to meet his aunt, and then arouse her suspicions by leaving her again.
In a little while he saw Mr. Robert Carlaw approaching him, swinging along with something of the old jaunty step, and setting his hat a little more rakishly on his head as he approached his destination. Yet there was, with all his jauntiness, a certain lack of confidence about the man—in his movements and in his glances—which may have been inspired by the needy life he had led. Comethup stood watching him as he neared the hotel entrance, and saw that he did not turn boldly in, but lingered for a moment outside, looking in furtively. As Comethup walked toward him a look of relief stole over his face, and he went toward the young man with both hands outstretched. Comethup grasped one of the hands, and his own was immediately covered by the other and warmly pressed.
“My dear young friend,” exclaimed Mr. Robert Carlaw, “how good it is to set eyes once again upon you! May I dare say that I have hungered for a sight of you? I trust you have not waited long here for me?”
“No,” said Comethup. “But I thought that if you wished to see me we might talk here more easily than in the hotel.”
“True—true,” murmured his uncle; “you are ever considerate. And I, who am, and have been for a long time, nothing but a houseless wanderer, a wretch who dare not meet the eye of his tailor, to say nothing of his butcher and his baker, I seem to shun the lighted halls of luxury, and to choose, as befitting my own fallen fortunes, the darker ways of life. But enough of me.” He made a dramatic gesture, sighed, and linked his arm in that of the young man and strolled on with him.
“You’re in no fresh trouble, I hope,” said Comethup. He longed to speak of ’Linda, to ask if she were happy, to be certain that all was well with her.