"I am afraid, sir, that he will but presume on your generosity and good nature."
"Ah, but he is never to know it, Mr Allcraft; I would not for the world have him hear of what I have done. Should you discover his abode, write to him, I pray—tell him that I am enraged at his proceedings—that I do not think that I can ever be reconciled to him again. Say that my anger has no bounds—that my heart is breaking—will break and kill me, if he persists in his ingratitude and cruelty. Implore him to come home and save me."
The old man stopped and wept. Michael was not yet a father and could not understand the tears: it appears that he understood business much better; for, taking leave of Brammel as soon as he could after the latter had expressed a wish to cash the cheques, he went immediately to the bank and procured the documents. He presented them with his own hand to the astounded father, from whom, also with his own hand, he received one good substantial draft in fair exchange.
So far, so good; but, in another quarter, Allcraft suddenly discovered that he had committed an egregious blunder. He had entrusted Planner with the secret of his critical position—had made him acquainted with the dishonest transactions of his father, and the consequent bankruptcy of the firm. Not that this disclosure had been made in any violent ebullition of unguarded feeling—from any particular love to Planner—from an inability on the part of the divulger to keep his own good counsel. Michael, when he raised Planner from poverty to comparative affluence, was fully sensible of the value of his man—the dire necessity for him. It was indispensable that the tragic underplot of the play should never be known to either Bellamy or Brammel, and the only safe way of concealing it from them, was to communicate it unreservedly to their common partner, and his peculiar protégé. He did so with much solemnity, and with many references to the extraordinary liberality he had himself displayed in admitting him to his confidence, and to a share of his wealth. "Maintain my secret," he said to Planner, "and your fortune shall be made; betray me, and you are thrown again into a garret. You cannot hurt me; nothing shall save you." He repeated these words over and over again, and he received from his confidant assurance upon assurance of secrecy and unlimited devotion. And up to the period of Allcraft's return from France, the gentleman had every reason to rely upon the probity and good faith of his associate; nor in fact had he less reason after his return. Were it not that "the thief doth fear each bush an officer," he had no cause whatever to suspect or tremble: his mind, for any actual danger, might have been at rest. But what did he behold? Why, Planner and Bellamy, whom he had left as distant as stage-coach acquaintances, as intimate and loving, as united and inseparable, as the tawny twins of Siam. Not a week passed which did not find the former, once, twice, or three times a guest at the proud man's table. The visits paid to the bank were rather to Mr Planner than for any other object. Mr Planner only could give advice as to the alteration of the south wing of the hall: Mr Planner's taste must decide upon the internal embellishments: then there were private and mysterious conversations in the small back room—the parlour; nods and significant looks when they met and separated; and once, Michael called to see Planner after the hours of business, and whom should he discover in his room but Mr Bellamy himself, sitting in conclave with the schemer, and manifestly intent upon some serious matter. What was the meaning of all this? Oh, it was too plain! The rebel Planner had fallen from his allegiance, and was making his terms with the enemy. Allcraft cursed himself a thousand times for his folly in placing himself at the mercy of so unstable a character, and immediately became aware that there had never been any cogent reason for such a step, and that his danger would have been infinitely smaller had he never spoken to a human being on the subject. But it was useless to call himself, by turns, madman and fool, for his pains. What could be done now to repair the error? Absolutely nothing; and, at the best, he had only to prepare himself, for the remainder of his days, to live in doubt, fear, anxiety, and torture.
In the meanwhile, Planner grew actually enamoured of the Pantamorphica Association. The more he examined it, the more striking appeared its capabilities, the fairer seemed the prospect of triumphant unequivocal success. In pursuance of his generous resolution, he communicated his designs to Allcraft. They were received with looks of unaffected fright. Without an instant's hesitation, Michael implored his partner to desist—to give up at once, and for ever, all thoughts of the delusion—to be faithful to his duty, and to think well of his serious engagement. "Your Association, sir," he exclaimed in the anger of the moment, "is like every other precious scheme you have embarked in—impracticable, ridiculous, absurd!" Planner, in these three words, could only read—ingratitude—the basest it had ever been his lot to meet. Here was a return for his frankness—his straightforward conduct—his unequalled liberality. Here was the affectionate expression of thanks which he had so proudly looked forward to—the acknowledgment of superior genius which he had a right to expect from the man who was to profit so largely by the labour of his brains. Very well. Then let it be so. He would prosecute the glorious work alone—he would himself supply the funds needful for the undertaking, and alone he would receive the great reward that most assuredly awaited him. Very delicately did Michael hint to his partner, that his—Planner's—funds existed, with his castles and associations, in the unsubstantial air, and no where else; but not so delicately as to avoid heaping fuel on the fire which he had already kindled in the breast of the offended schemer. The latter bristled at the words, lost for an instant his self-possession, said in his anger more than he intended—more than he might easily unsay—enough to bruise the already smarting soul of Allcraft. A threat escaped his lips—a reproach—a taunt. He spoke of his power, and touched cuttingly upon the deep schemes of other men, more feasible than his own perhaps, and certainly more honest. Allcraft winced, as every syllable made known the speaker's actual strength—his own dependence and utter weakness. He made no reply to the attack of the man whom he had drawn from beggary; but he looked him in the face steadily and reproachfully, and shamed him into vexation and regret.
"I did not mean to speak unkindly, Michael," he stammered with a view to apologize. "I am sorry that I lost my temper. You need not fear me. Don't remember what I have said."
"You have threatened me, Planner," answered Allcraft, trembling with irritation. "You have attempted to frighten me into compliance with your demands. I say, sir, you have threatened me. It is the first time—it shall be the last."
"It shall, Michael—I promise you it shall."
"I ask no promise from you," continued the excited and suspicious man, writhing under a sense of his helplessness. "You have betrayed the cloven foot. I thank you for it. I am aware of what is to follow—I expect it—I shall hold myself prepared!"
"Do nothing of the kind, Allcraft. You know me better. You are safe with me. I am ashamed of myself for what I have spoken. Forgive me"—