A woman's debt

by William Le Queux

Mrs. Hart, such was the name of this faithful old servant, made no comment upon this significant remark. It crossed her mind that it was more than probable Richard’s departure had been caused by this very love-affair; that fond as he was of him, the wealthy financier had resented his attentions to his niece, who, in the course of time, would be a considerable heiress.

It may be observed in passing that the same opinion was held in the servants’ hall at Deanery Street, where the young man’s sudden exit had naturally aroused a tremendous amount of interest. It had also occurred to Morrice, desirous of keeping the true facts to himself, more perhaps from respect for the dead than tenderness to the living, that he might get his wife to give some hints which would produce the same impression amongst their acquaintances.

True to her promise, in a few days Rosabelle arrived at the ivy-covered cottage, having warned her lover, in a letter received by the first post in the morning, of her visit.

He noticed that she drove up in a taxi, not, as was usual, in one of her uncle’s cars. He was, of course, overwhelmed with joy at seeing her so soon, but he was very anxious that the fidelity to himself should not entail disastrous consequences to her own fortunes. So the first question he asked was whether Mr. Morrice knew of her visit.

“Everything is straight and above-board, dear Dick,” was the girl’s answer. “I had a long talk with him yesterday morning at his early breakfast. I got up early myself in order to seize a chance of finding him alone. He seemed very sad and preoccupied, but he was not as stern and harsh as on that dreadful day. I told him a lot of things as they came into my head, how dearly we loved each other, how we had fallen in love from the first day we met—that no matter if all the world turned against you, I should still be faithful, that my one great object was that you should take steps to get yourself cleared and discover the real criminal.”

“And what did he say to all this?” asked the young man eagerly. “I can guess, my darling, that you pleaded very well.”

“He listened very attentively, and was very quiet for a long time. When I had finished, he asked me if I wished him to send for detectives from Scotland Yard. I hastily said that I did, and that I was sure you would wish it too. ‘My poor child, you don’t know what you are talking about,’ was his answer. ‘The certain result of that would be that the man in whom you believe would be arrested, and once having taken the case up, I could not drop it, I should be bound to prosecute.’ That scared me dreadfully, you may be sure. His final words were spoken in a very sad voice. ‘Let sleeping dogs lie, my poor wronged Rosabelle. Richard Croxton through his own act has passed away from my life, as he must pass away from yours. You are young, and in time your grief will heal, and some day you will meet a man worthy of your love.’”

The young man’s head sunk on his breast. Yes, Mr. Morrice was right. Appearances were too black against him; if the authorities were called in, arrest would be sure to follow.

The girl went on in a low, tearful voice. “I told him that the day to which he looked forward would never come, that if I could not marry you, no other man should be my husband. And then, Dick, I ended with the boldest thing I had said yet—I am pretty brave as a rule but I own I trembled as I said it—I told him I was coming to see you here, that I would no more forsake you in your trouble than your mother would have done. She would have clung to you in your darkest hour because she loved you, and that I did not love you less.”

“And he did not forbid you?” cried the young man in amazement. He knew Rupert Morrice so well, of a nature singularly kind and generous, but hard as flint to evil-doers, to those who betrayed his trust.