A week later, Lorn and his pawning of the book were recalled to her mind by a stranger who entered the shop shortly after midday. This man was short, stout, elderly and vulgar. He was much excited, and spoke badly, as Hagar noted when he laid a pawn-ticket number eight hundred and twenty on the counter.
"'Ere, girl," said he in rough tones, "gimme the book this ticket's for."
"You come from Mr. Lorn?" asked Hagar, remembering the Dante.
"Yes; he wants that book. There's the brass. Sharp, now, young woman!"
Hagar made no move to get the volume, or even to take the money. Instead of doing either, she asked a question. "Is Mr. Lorn ill, that he could not come himself?" she demanded, looking keenly at the man's coarse face.
"No; but I've bought the pawn-ticket off him. 'Ere, gimme the book!"
"I cannot at present," replied Hagar, who did not trust the looks of this man, and who wished, moreover, to see Eustace again.
"Dash yer imperance! Why not?"
"Because you did not pawn the Dante; and as it is a valuable book, I might get into trouble if I gave it into other hands than Mr. Lorn's."
"Well, I'm blest! There's the ticket!"
"So I see; but how do I know the way you became possessed of it?"
"Lorn gave it me," said the man, sulkily, "and I want the Dante!"
"I'm sorry for that," retorted Hagar, certain that all was not right, "for no one but Mr. Lorn shall get it. If he isn't ill, let him come and receive it from me."
The man swore and completely lost his temper--a fact which did not disturb Hagar in the least. "You may as well clear out," she said, coldly. "I have said that you shan't have the book, so that closes the question."
"I'll call in the police!"
"Do so; there's a station five minutes' walk from here."
Confounded by her coolness, the man snatched up the pawn-ticket, and stamped out of the shop in a rage. Hagar took down the Dante, looked at it carefully, and considered the position. Clearly there was something wrong, and Eustace was in trouble, else why should he send a stranger to redeem the book upon which he set such store? In an ordinary case, Hagar might have received the ticket and money without a qualm, so long as she was acting rightly in a legal sense; but Eustace Lorn interested her strangely--why, she could not guess--and she was anxious to guard his interests. Moreover, the emissary possessed an untrustworthy face, and looked a man capable, if not of crime, at least of treachery. How he had obtained the ticket could only be explained by its owner; so, after some cogitation, Hagar sent a message to Lorn. The gist of this was, that he should come to the pawn-shop after closing time.
All the evening Hagar anxiously waited for her visitor, and--such is the inconsequence of maids--she was angered with herself for this very anxiety. She tried to think that it was sheer curiosity to know the truth of the matter that made her impatient for the arrival of Lorn; but deep in her heart there lurked a perception of the actual state of things. It was not curiosity so much as a wish to see the young man's face again, to hear him speak, and feel that he was beside her. Though without a chaperon, though not brought up under parental government, Hagar had her own social code, and that a strict one. In this instance, she thought that her mental attitude was unmaidenly and unworthy of an unmarried girl. Hence, when Eustace made his appearance at nine o'clock, she was brusque to the verge of rudeness.
"Who was that man you sent for your book?" she demanded, abruptly, when Lorn was seated in the back-parlor.
"Jabez Treadle. I could not come myself, so I sent him with the ticket. Why did you not give him the Dante?"
"Because I did not like his face, and I thought he might have stolen the ticket from you. Besides, I"--here Hagar hesitated, for she was not anxious to admit that her real reason had been a desire to see him again--"besides, I don't think he is your friend," she finished, lamely.
"Very probably he is not," replied Lorn, shrugging his shoulders. "I have no friends."
"That is a pity," said Hagar, casting a searching glance at his irresolute face. "I think you need friends--or, at all events, one staunch one."
"May that staunch one be of your own sex," said Lorn, rather surprised at the interest this strange girl displayed in his welfare---"yourself, for instance?"
"If that could be so, I might give you unpalatable advice, Mr. Lorn."
"Such as--what?"
"Don't trust the man you sent here--Mr. Treadle. See, here is your Dante, young man. Pay me the money, and take it away."
"I can't pay you the money, as I have none. I am as poor as Job, but hardly so patient."
"But you offered the money through that Treadle creature."
"Indeed no!" explained Eustace, frankly. "I gave him the ticket, and he wished to redeem the book with his own money."
"Did he really?" said Hagar, thoughtfully. "He does not look like a student--as you do. Why did he want this book?"
"To find out a secret."
"A secret, young man--contained in the Dante?"
"Yes. There is a secret in the book which means money."
"To you or Mr. Treadle?" demanded Hagar.
Eustace shrugged his shoulders. "To either one of us who finds out the secret," he said, carelessly. "But indeed I don't think it will ever be discovered--at all events by me. Treadle may be more fortunate."
"If crafty ways can bring fortune, your man will succeed," said Hagar, calmly. "He is a dangerous friend for you, that Treadle. There is evidently some story about this Dante of yours which he knows, and which he desires to turn to his own advantage. If the story means money, tell it to me, and I may be able to help you to the wealth. I am only a young girl, it is true, Mr. Lorn; still, I am old in experience, and I may succeed where you fail."
"I doubt it," replied Lorn, gloomily; "still, it is kind of you to take this interest in a stranger. I am much obliged to you, Miss?--"
"Call me Hagar," she interrupted, hastily. "I am not used to fine titles."
"Well, then, Hagar," said he, with a kindly glance, "I'll tell you the story of my Uncle Ben and his strange will."
Hagar smiled to herself. It seemed to be her fate to have dealings with wills--first that of Jacob; now this of Lorn's uncle. However, she knew when to hold her tongue, and saying nothing, she waited for Eustace to explain. This he did at once.
"My uncle, Benjamin Gurth, died six months ago at the age of fifty-eight," said he, slowly. "In his early days he had lived a roving life, and ten years ago he came home with a fortune from the West Indies."
"How much fortune?" demanded Hagar, always interested in financial matters.
"That is the odd part about it," continued Eustace; "nobody ever knew the amount of his wealth, for he was a grumpy old curmudgeon, who confided in no one. He bought a little house and garden at Woking, and there lived for the ten years he was in England. His great luxury was books, and as he knew many languages--Italian among others--he collected quite a polyglot library."
"Where is it now?"
"It was sold after his death along with the house and land. A man in the city claimed the money and obtained it."
"A creditor. What about the fortune?"