It happened that, during the week in which these occurrences took place, Mr. Temple was absent from London. On the night of his return he was more than usually elated. Everything was prospering with him. Arthur's ingenuous manner found favour wherever he appeared, and his introduction into society promised the most favourable results. In addition to this cause for satisfaction, Mr. Temple had reason to believe that his public services were likely, nay, almost certain, to be rewarded with a title, which his son would bear after him.
"There is practically no limit to our fortunes, my boy," he said to Arthur; "the current will carry us on."
To which Arthur replied:
"I trust I shall not disappoint you, sir."
"I am satisfied as to that," said Mr. Temple. "My chief desire now is that you should choose a definite career. I do not wish to press you, but the sooner you enter public life the wider will be your experience and the greater your chances. Our name shall be a famous one in the country."
On his return to his town house, Mr. Temple, after a few minutes' conversation with his wife, proceeded to the library. He had been expected home the previous evening, and his correspondence for two days lay upon his writing-table. He looked over the letters hurriedly, and paused at one which seemed to give him uneasiness. It was brief and to the point.
"The writer of these lines, Seth Dumbrick by name, wishes for a personal interview with Mr. Temple, on a matter of vital importance to himself and the gentleman he addresses. He will call on Mr. Temple at eight o'clock this evening, and hopes not to be denied."
Mr. Temple glanced at the clock. It was a quarter-past eight. He struck a bell, and a servant entered.
"Is any person waiting to see me?"
"Yes, sir; he is in the hall."
"Giving any name?"
"Dumbrick, sir."
"Did he come yesterday?"
"Yes, sir, and was informed you would not return till to-night."
"What sort of a person?"
"A common person, sir--a very common person."
"Show him in."
The next moment Seth Dumbrick entered, hat in hand, and stood near the door. From his seat at the table, Mr. Temple desired him to come near. Seth Dumbrick obeyed, and the men faced each other.
"You are the writer of this note," said Mr. Temple haughtily.
"I am, sir."
"Explain it, and briefly. Stay--have I not seen your face somewhere?"
Seth Dumbrick made no immediate reply. He had no desire to recall to Mr. Temple's memory the circumstances of the unpleasant interview that had taken place between them many years ago. He himself had recognised Mr. Temple the moment he entered the room, his cause for remembrance being the stronger of the two. Mr. Temple had an unerring memory for faces, but his meeting with Seth Dumbrick lay so far in the past, and his life was so varied and full of colour, that he could not for the moment connect the face with the circumstance.
"Answer me," he said peremptorily. "Have I not seen you before?"
"You have, sir."
"Where?"
"Years ago--at Springfield--when I, with two children, was taking a holiday in the country."
"Ah, I remember perfectly. Our meeting was not a pleasant one."
"It was not my fault that it was not so."
"I remember also that you gave me the address of an inn at which you were stopping, and that I informed you I should call there. I did call, and you had gone. You ran away, I presume."
"I followed my course, being a free man, and not bound to wait for strangers."
"It is a matter of no importance. Two children! Yes; I should know them again, I think. One, a child, with a very beautiful face. Is she living?"
"She is, sir; as a woman, though she is scarcely yet out of her girlhood, she is more beautiful than she was as a child. I am here on her behalf."
"On her behalf!" exclaimed Mr. Temple, taking the note from the table. "You use the words 'vital importance.'"
"They are correctly used, as you will perhaps admit when you hear me."
"I will hear you. Of vital importance to yourself and to me?"
"That is so, sir."
Mr. Temple considered for a moment. His career had been one which necessitated rapid conclusions.
"Write your name, trade, and address on this paper."
Seth Dumbrick did as he was desired. His manner was closely watched by Mr. Temple, who expected to detect a reluctance to give the information. But Seth Dumbrick wrote unhesitatingly, and with decision.
"This is your true name and address?"
"I have no other. I am here to speak the truth."
"Say what you have to say."
"I must trespass upon your patience, but I will be as brief as it is possible for me to be. It is very many years ago--I cannot recall how many; the age of the child, if it can be ascertained, will verify that--that a little girl was strangely and mysteriously brought into my neighbourhood by a man whom I never saw, and who remained in Rosemary Lane for probably not longer than a couple of hours. This stranger took a room in the house of acquaintances of mine----"
"Write on the paper, beneath your own name, the name of these acquaintances."
Seth Dumbrick wrote the name of Chester, which Mr. Temple did not glance at. He was more engaged in observing the manner in which the man before him submitted to the tests he demanded. Seth continued:
"The stranger took a room that was to let in the house, and paid, I believe, two weeks' rent in advance. The night that he took the room he disappeared from the neighbourhood, and was never more seen in it."
"Leaving the child?"
"Leaving the child. Not long after the occurrence the persons who occupied the house fell into misfortune, and the woman into whose care the child had been strangely thrown was compelled by circumstances to give up her house, and take a situation in the country."
"All this bears upon your errand to me?"
"Every word of it. The woman had a little girl of her own, a few years older than the foundling, who contracted an absorbing love for the deserted stranger. It is not necessary to relate how I, upon the breaking up of the woman's home, took upon myself the care of her child and the child whom the villain--that is the correct word, in my opinion--deserted. These children have lived with me ever since, and under my care have grown to womanhood."
The talent Seth Dumbrick exhibited for condensation and clearness had its effect upon Mr. Temple, who knew how to appreciate the rare faculty.
The child you have referred to for her beauty is the child who was deserted. Nothing is known of her parentage or belongings. She has grown up amongst us, and is loved by all. To me, a childless man, she is as my own daughter, and I could not feel more deeply for her were she of my own blood. But it was a matter of remark from the first, and has continued so, that, from all appearance, she is superior in certain ways to those whom a strange fate has condemned her to herd with. You see, sir, that I do not rate myself and those of my order too highly. I have given her what education it was in my power to bestow. She is in all respects a lady, and as beautiful a girl as this city contains. As is natural, so bright a being has attracted the attention of those in my station of life--I do not say in hers--who desire matrimony. But she has consistently declined to entertain their proposals, and has, so to speak, set her head above them--as she has done from the first, in every possible way. Whether this comes from her parents, who, for the credit of human nature, I hope are dead, it is beyond me to say. There are mysteries which we weak mortals are powerless to probe. I come now, sir, to that part of my story which most nearly touches the object of my visit to you.
"Before you proceed, favour me with the name of this child."
"I must ask you to receive it in all seriousness, sir. I am afraid that I am principally to blame for it, but it sprung out of a whimsical fancy, and in one of those moments of extravagance for which we are scarcely accountable. The child had no name; the villain who brought her into the neighbourhood, and deserted her, left none behind him; and in such a moment as I have spoken of, the name--if it can be called so--of the Duchess of Rosemary Lane was given her. It was undoubtedly wrong, but it has clung to her, and she bears no other."
"Go on now to the immediate purport of your note to me."
"As I have said, she has attracted the attention of many suitors in my station of life, but she has turned a deaf ear to all. She has attracted other attention--the attention of a gentleman moving presumably, nay certainly, in a higher position in society than that she occupies. Have you no suspicion of the point I am coming to?"
"None."
"The person I speak of," proceeded Seth, with a heavy sigh, "meets my child regularly, and has given her such gifts as only a gentleman could afford to give."
"An old story," interrupted Mr. Temple.
"Continue to hear me patiently, sir. I have but little more to say. This gentleman writes constantly to her, but not to the home in which she has lived from childhood. I am here to ask you whether it is possible that such an intimacy will result in a manner honourable to the girl whom I, an old and childless man, love with all the earnestness and devotion of which I am capable--for whose happiness I would lay down my life as surely as every word I have spoken to you is the honest and straightforward truth."
"And it is to this point you must come at once," said Mr. Temple, whose tone would have been arrogant but for the effect which the genuine pathos of his visitor produced upon him against his will. "What interest can I have in the name of this gentleman, who, seeing a pretty girl who is flattered by his attentions, follows her, and falls into the trap she lays for him----"
But if his speech had not trailed off here, it would have been arrested by Seth's indignant protest.
"Stop!" he cried, in a ringing voice. "Hear first the name of the man who is wooing my child, and who from your own sentiments--for nature transmits good and evil qualities from father to son--is seeking to entrap an innocent girl!"
At this moment these two men--the one so high in the world, the other so low--changed positions. It was Mr. Temple who cowered, and Seth Dumbrick who raised his head to the light.
"Speak the name then," said Mr. Temple.
"Your son--Arthur Temple!"
A cold smile served at once to hide Mr. Temple's agitation and to outwardly denote the value he wished Seth Dumbrick to believe he placed upon his statement.
"And you," he said, with contemptuous emphasis, "have connived at this intimacy, and have come to me to place a price upon----"
Again he was interrupted indignantly by Seth.
"You mistake. I have never, so that I could recognise it, seen the face of your son; I have had no conversation with my child upon the subject, and she does not know of my visit to you. She has not confided in me."
"How then do you happen to be aware of the particulars you have narrated so fluently? How have you gained the knowledge of the letters and the gifts?"
"Having only the good of my child at heart, and being better versed in the villainies----"
"Be careful of your words."
"If your son has no honourable intention towards my girl, the word is in its proper place. Being better versed in the ways of the world than she, a young and inexperienced child, can possibly be, I exercised my rightful authority, and searched her trunk, to discover what she was concealing from me. I found the tokens there. The letters are written on paper stamped with a crest, surrounded by Latin words which I do not understand."
Mr. Temple, in silence, handed Seth a sheet of notepaper.
"The crest and words," said Seth, putting on his spectacles to examine them, "are the same as these."
"Is that all you have to say?"
"All--with the exception that three nights ago I witnessed the meeting between your son and my child."
"How did you discover where he lives?"
"I followed him to this house, and learnt that it was yours."
"You would have made a good detective, my man."
"What I have done," said Seth simply, "has been prompted and guided by love."
Mr. Temple, shading his face with his hand, was silent a little. He could not doubt the truth of Seth's statement, and his desire was to save his san from awkward consequences which might result from his imprudence. He raised his eyes, and said, in a hard tone:
"Your price?"
Seth Dumbrick stared at Mr. Temple, and his frame shook with agitation.
"Your price," repeated Mr. Temple, "for those letters?"
"Are you asking me," said Seth, resting his hand heavily on the table to obtain some control over his words, "to put a price upon my child's honour?"
"I will have no insolent construction placed upon my question. You have heard it. Answer it."
"It should have blistered your tongue," said Seth, with bitter emphasis, "to utter it. Is that answer sufficient?"
"Quite," replied Mr. Temple, striking the bell with a fierceness he would have shown had it been human and his enemy. A servant entered.
"Turn this person from the house," he said sternly.
The servant stood before Seth Dumbrick, who knew that there was no appeal. But before he took his departure, he said sternly:
"If Divine justice be not a delusion, you will live to repent this night. Into your home may come the desolation you would assist in bringing into mine."
He had time to say no more' for at a peremptory gesture from Mr. Temple, the servant forced him from the room.
Mr. Temple instantly touched the bell again, and another servant entered.
"Is Richards in?"
"Yes, sir."
"Send him to me immediately."
Almost on the instant, Richards made his appearance. A man of the same age as his master, tall and spare, with a manner so habitually watchful that, although he seldom looked a person in the face, not a movement or expression escaped his notice.
"A man is now being shown out of the house," said Mr. Temple hurriedly, "whom you will follow to his home. Lose not a moment. Ascertain every particular relating to himself, his life, and his domestic history. You understand?"
Richards nodded. He was a man not given to the wasting of speech.
"This is a secret and confidential service," said Mr. Temple. "Breathe not a word concerning it to a soul but myself--understand, not to a soul but myself--not even to my son. Hasten now, or you may miss him."