“Five days gone—five days. Albert, I think I will tell you a secret.”
“A secret, Harry?”
“Yes; it is a very strange one, and has made me very unhappy. Come here.”
He took the hand of his companion and led him to a corner of the room where there was a large, old-fashioned oaken chest, and taking from his breast a key, he opened it, and lifting the lid, disclosed lying at the bottom of it a roll of paper, and under that a large sealed packet.
Harry Gray lifted out the roll of paper and handed it to Albert, saying, “Read what is written there,” pointing to a few lines on the wrapper.
Albert read with surprise the following words:—
Wednesday.—Harry—If I am not with you by twelve of the clock on next Wednesday, take this roll of papers to Sir Francis Hartleton, who lives in the Bird-cage. Walk by the Park. Do not let any hand but his own take it from you.
J.G.
“That’s very odd,” said Albert. “Sir Francis Hartleton is a great man. The king knighted him lately, I heard, and he is a magistrate. This is quite a mystery, my dear Harry. I dare say you are some prince, really.”
Harry looked up with a beaming smile in the face of his young friend, as he said—
“Be I who or what I may, I shall never forget Albert Seyton.”
“You have a good heart, Harry,” cried Albert, throwing his arm affectionately round his young friend’s neck, “and when my father gets his own again, I will get him to ask your uncle to let you stay with us.”
“That would be joy,” said Harry, clasping his hands—“oh, such joy!”
“You are a little delicate thing, you know,” continued Albert, “and you want somebody to take care you are not affronted nor imposed upon; and woe to anybody who dared so much as to—”
The door was at this moment suddenly flung open, and, livid with rage, Jacob Gray stood on the threshold.
Harry gave a faint cry of alarm, and Albert started to his feet from kneeling by the box, and boldly confronted Gray.
“So,” cried Gray, striding into the room, and shutting the door violently behind him—“so, it is thus I find you engaged!”
“Sir,” said Albert Seyton, “if you have any fault to find, find it with me and not with Harry. If he has done wrong, it was my fault; and—and—”
“And what, young sir?”
“I suppose I must fight you,” added Albert.
“Brat! beggar’s brat!” shrieked Gray, rushing towards the box. “What have you seen—what have you done?”
“Seen very little, and done nothing,” said Albert.
Gray aimed a blow at Harry, which was warded by Albert, who cried—
“For shame, sir—for shame to strike him. By Heavens! Mr. Gray, if you hurt Harry I’ll just go to Sir Francis Hartleton, and tell him there is something that concerns him in your big box here.”
Jacob Gray stood with his aim uplifted, as if paralysed at this threat. He trembled violently, and sank into a chair. Several times he tried to speak, and at length he said, with a forced smile, which sat hideously upon his distorted features—
“Well—well, it’s not much matter. Never mind, Harry, I—I have come back, you see, so there need be no appeal made to the kindness of Sir Francis in your behalf. It was—that is, the papers merely say you were an orphan, and ask him to do something for you: but no matter—no matter.”
“Then you forgive Harry?” said Seyton.
“Yes, yes—oh, yes.”
“Thank you, sir—thanks; he meant no wrong. Good-bye, dear Harry. Your uncle will say no more about it now.”
Harry Gray raised his head from the edge of the box, and his eyes were filled with tears. He took Albert’s hand and pressed it to his lips.
CHAPTER X.
The Disappearance.—Mrs. Bridget Strangeways and the Old Oaken Chest.—Albert’s Grief and Despair.
There were cries of pain and deep sobs heard proceeding from the room occupied by Jacob Gray long after Albert Seyton had left them. None of the inhabitants of the house thought it necessary to interfere, although it was shrewdly suspected that Master Gray was not very kind to his poor, delicate little nephew.
It’s a true adage that what is everybody’s business turns out to be nobody’s. Surely it was everybody’s business to interfere and prevent ill-usage in any shape, and yet no one did interfere; and Albert Seyton had left home in search of his father, so that poor Harry Gray had no friend.
The night set in cold and dreary, and before the evening had far advanced, Jacob Gray left the house, locking Harry in while he was gone, and presently returned with several bottles of wine under his arm. The neighbours then heard him alternately cursing, laughing, shouting, and singing till past midnight; then all became suddenly still, and those who had been kept awake by his voice went comfortably to sleep, while Mrs. Bridget Strangeways made a mental determination and a strong vow that the next morning she would give Mr. Jacob Gray notice to quit forthwith and at the same time take the opportunity of telling him “a piece of her mind,” that she would.
Now Mrs. Strangeways enjoyed nothing better than telling people “pieces of her mind,” and, by some strange fatality, such mental extracts were never of a complimentary character, and whatever charms the mind of Mrs. Strangeways might possess as a whole, it was quite well known that, given forth in “pieces” each piece was enough to set a city by the ears, and would have most surely come under the cognizance of that clause in the New Police Act, so Mrs. Strangeways made up her mind very composedly and comfortably to give Mr. Jacob Gray such a “hearing” as he never had in his life, and never would have again, except he provoked Mrs. Strangeways on some future occasion to an equal pitch of wrath.
The morning came, and Mrs. Bridget Strangeways having communicated her intentions with respect to Mr. Jacob Gray to a select few of her lodgers and neighbours, fortified herself with a tolerable dose of “cordial,” and setting her arms a-kimbo, she walked majestically up to the room of her troublesome lodger. She knocked and knocked, and knocked again; but Jacob Gray was obstinate, and would not say “come in;” so at length Mrs. Strangeways opened the door with a rush, and entered the room, exclaiming—
“Muster Gray, I’d have you to know, Muster Gray, as this house is—”
The lady had got so far when she saw that there was no Muster Gray, to hear the piece of her mind, and her eyes dilated as she glanced round the room and saw nothing but vacancy.
On the table lay a little piece of paper, and on the little piece of paper lay some money. Mrs. Strangeways clutched at both, and, as she afterwards declared, “you might have knocked her down with a small feather” when she read—
Mrs. Strangeways’ rent. Her lodger, Jacob Gray, is going to the other end of the world, and he has taken his nephew with him.
The lady gave a great shriek (after pocketing the money), which roused the house, and in a few minutes the room was full of company, among whom was Albert Seyton, with apprehension in his looks.
“Good Heavens!” he cried, “is anything the matter with Harry?”
“What is it—what is it?” cried a dozen voices at once.
“Oh,