“Your poor husband? Surely, Mrs. Callender, he received no serious injury from the fire?”
“The firemen rescued him under circumstances of peril,” she answered, “and at his great age he sank under the shock. I have lost the kindest and best of men. Do you remember how you parted from him—burned and bruised in saving me? He liked to talk of it in his last illness. ‘At least’ (he said to you), ‘tell me the name of the man who has preserved my wife from a dreadful death.’ You threw your card to him out of the carriage window, and away you went at a gallop to catch your train! In all the years that have passed I have kept that card, and have vainly inquired for my brave sea-captain. Yesterday I saw your name on the list of speakers at the Mansion House. Need I say that I attended the meeting? Need I tell you now why I come here and interrupt you in business hours?”
She held out her hand. Mr. Lismore took it in silence, and pressed it warmly.
“You have not done with me yet,” she resumed with a smile. “Do you remember what I said of my errand, when I first came in?”
“You said it was an errand of gratitude.”
“Something more than the gratitude which only says ‘Thank you,’” she added. “Before I explain myself, however, I want to know what you have been doing, and how it was that my inquiries failed to trace you after that terrible night.”
The appearance of depression which Mrs. Callender had noticed at the public meeting showed itself again in Mr. Lismore’s face. He sighed as he answered her.
“My story has one merit,” he said; “it is soon told. I cannot wonder that you failed to discover me. In the first place, I was not captain of my ship at that time; I was only mate. In the second place, I inherited some money, and ceased to lead a sailor’s life, in less than a year from the night of the fire. You will now understand what obstacles were in the way of your tracing me. With my little capital I started successfully in business as a ship-owner. At the time, I naturally congratulated myself on my own good fortune. We little know, Mrs. Callender, what the future has in store for us.”
He stopped. His handsome features hardened—as if he was suffering (and concealing) pain. Before it was possible to speak to him, there was a knock at the door. Another visitor, without an appointment, had called; the clerk appeared again, with a card and a message.
“The gentleman begs you will see him, sir. He has something to tell you which is too important to be delayed.”