“This way, Miss, W’ere’s the genlman?” She looked quickly at the porter; then towards the crowd in which her father had disappeared; then, after a moment of painful hesitation, at Jack, who was still standing near.
“Never mind the gentleman,” she said to the porter: “he is not coming with me.” And as he turned to lead the way to the cab, she pulled off her glove; took a ring from her finger; and addressed Jack with a burning but determined face.
“I have no money to pay for my cab. Will you give me some in exchange for this ring — a few shillings will be enough? Pray do not delay me. Yes or no?”
Jack lost only a second in staring amazedly at her before he thrust his hand in his pocket, and drew out a quantity of gold, silver and bronze coin, more than she could grasp with ease. “Keep the ring,” he said. “Away with you.”
“You must take it,” she said impatiently. “And I do not need all this money.”
“Thousand thunders!” exclaimed Jack with sudden excitement, “here is your father. Be quick.”
She looked round, scared; but as Jack pushed her unceremoniously towards the cab, she recovered herself and hurried into the hansom.
“Here, porter: give this ring to that gentleman,” she said, giving the man a shilling and the ring. “Why doesn’t he drive on?” she added, as the cab remained motionless, and the porter stood touching his cap.
“Whereto, Miss?”
“Bond Street,” she cried. “As fast as possible. Do make him start at once.”
“Bond Street, “ shouted Jack commandingly to the driver. “Make haste. Double fare. Prestissimo!” And the cab dashed out of the station as if the horse had caught Jack’s energy.
The lady gev me this for you, sir,” said the porter. Yes,” said Jack, “Thank you.” It was an oldfashioned ring, with a diamond and three emeralds, too small for his little finger. He pocketed it, and was considering what he should do next, when the old gentleman, no longer impatient and querulous, but pale and alarmed, came by, looking anxiously about him. When he saw Jack he made a movement as though to approach him, but checked himself and resumed his search in another direction. Jack began feel compunction; for the gentleman’s troubled expression was changing into one of grief and fear. The crowd and bustle were diminishing. Soon there was no difficulty in examining separately all the passengers who remained on the platform. Jack resolved to go lest he betray the young lady’s destination to her father; but he had walked only a few yards, when, hearing a voice behind him say “This is him, sir,” he turned and found himself face to face with the old gentleman. The porter stood by, saying, “How could I know, sir? I seen the gen’lman in the carriage with you, an’ I seen the lady speakin to him arterwards. She took money off him and gev him a ring, as I told you. If youd left the luggage to me, sir, ‘stead of going arter it to the wrong van, you wouldnt ha’ lost her.
“Very well: that will do.” The porter made a pretence of retiring but remained within hearing.
“Now, sir,” continued the gentleman, addressing Jack, “I know what you are, If you dont tell me once at once, the name and address of the theatrical scoundrels to whom you are spy and kidnapper: by — by — by God! I’ll give you to the nearest policeman.”
“Sir,” said Jack sternly: “if your daughter has run away from you. it is your own fault for not treating her kindly. The porter has told you what happened between us. I know no more of the matter than he does.”
“I don’t believe you. You followed her from Windsor. The porter saw you give her” (here the old gentleman choked)— “saw what passed here just now.”
“Yes, sir. You leave your daughter penniless, and compel her to offer her ornaments for sale to a stranger at a railway station. By my soul, you are a nice man to have charge of a young girl.”
“My daughter is incapable of speaking to a stranger. You are in the pay of one of those infernal theatrical agents with whom she has been corresponding. But I’ll unmask you, sir. I’ll unmask you.”
“If you were not an inveterately wrongheaded old fool,” said Jack hotly, “you would not mistake a man of genius for a crimp. You ought to be ashamed of your temper. You are collecting a crowd too. Do you want the whole railway staff to know that you have driven your daughter away?”
“You lie, you villain,” cried the gentleman, seizing him by the collar, “you lie. How dare you, you — you — pock-marked ruffian, say that I drove away my daughter? I have been invariably kind to her — no parent more so. She was my special favorite. If you repeat that slander, I’ll — I’ll “ He shook his fist in Jack’s face, and released him. Jack, who had suffered the grasp on his collar without moving, turned away deeply offended, and buttoned his coat. Then, as the other was about to recommence, he interrupted him by walking away. The gentleman followed him promptly.
“You shall not escape by running off,” he said, panting.
You have insulted me, sir,” said Jack. “If you address another word to me, I’ll hand you to the police. As I cannot protect myself against a man of your years, I will make the law protect me.”
The gentleman hesitated. Then his eyes brightened; and he said, “Then call the police. Call them quickly. You have a ring of mine about you — an heirloom of my family. You shall account for it. Ah! I have you now, you vagabond.”
“Pshaw!” said Jack, recovering from a momentary check, “she sent me the ring by the hands of that porter, although I refused it. I might as well accuse her of stealing my money.”
“It shall be refunded at once,” said the gentleman, reddening and pulling out his purse. “How much did you give her”’
“How should I know?” said Jack with scorn. “I do not count what I give to women who are in need. I gave her what I found in my pocket. Are you willing to give me what you find in yours?”
“By heaven, you are an incredibly impudent swindler,” cried the gentleman, looking at him with inexpressible feeling.
“Come, gentlemen. “ said an official, advancing between them, “couldn’t you settle your little difference somewhere else?*
“I am a passenger,” said Jack; “and am endeavoring to leave the station. If it is your business to keep order here, I wish you would rid me of this gentleman. He has annoyed me ever since the train started from Slough.”
“I am in a most painful position,” said the old gentleman, with emotion. “I have lost my child here; and this man knows her whereabouts. He will tell me nothing; and I — I don’t know what to do.” Then, turning to Jack with a fresh explosion of wrath, he cried, “Once for all, you villain, will you tell me who your employers are?”
“Once for all,” replied Jack, “I will tell you nothing, because I have nothing to tell you. You refuse to believe me; you are infernally impertinent to me; you talk about my employers and of spying and kidnapping: I think you are mad.”
“Are you not a theatrical agent? Answer that.”
“No. I am not a theatrical agent. As I told you before, I am a composer and teacher of music. If you have any pupils for me, I shall be glad to teach them: if not, go your way, and let me go mine. I am tired of you.”
“There, sir,” said the official, “the gentleman can’t answer you no fairer nor that. If you have a charge to make against him, why, charge him. If not, as he says, you had better move on. Let me call you a cab, and you can follow the young lady. That’s the best thing you can do. She might run as far as Scotland while you’re talking. Send down a ‘ansom there, Bill, will you?”
The man laid his hand persuasively on the arm of the old gentleman, who hesitated, with his lip trembling.
“Sir,”