"I!" repeated Ellen, the hue of her blushes becoming more intensely crimson, as her glances sank confusedly beneath those of Markham.
"Alas! Ellen," answered Richard, "I have myself been too deeply initiated in the mysteries of adversity and sorrow—I have drunk too deeply of the cup of affliction—I have experienced too much bitter, bitter anguish, not to be able to detect the presence of unhappiness in others. And by many signs, Ellen, have I discovered that you are unhappy. I speak to you as a friend—I do not wish to penetrate into your secrets;—but if there be any thing in which I can aid you—if there be aught wherein my poor services or my counsels may be rendered available—speak, command me!"
"Oh! Richard," cried Ellen, tears starting into her eyes, "how kind—how generous of you thus to think of me—you who have already done so much for my father and myself!"
"Were you not the companion of my childhood, Ellen? and should I not be to you as a brother, and you to me as a sister? Let me be your brother, then—and tell me how I can alleviate the weight of that unhappiness which is crushing your young heart!"
"A brother!" exclaimed Ellen, almost wildly; "yes—you shall—you must be a brother to me! And I will be your sister! Ah! there is consolation in that idea!"—then, after a moment's pause, she added, "But the time is not yet come when I, as a sister, shall appeal to you as a brother for that aid which a brother alone can give! And until then—ask me no more—speak to me no farther upon the subject—I implore you!"
Ellen pressed Richard's hand convulsively, and then hurried from the room.
Markham had scarcely recovered from the astonishment into which these last words had thrown him—words which, coming from the lips of a young and beautiful girl, were fraught with additional mystery and interest—when Whittingham entered the library.
"A young lad, Master Richard," said the old butler, "has called about the situation which is wacated in our household. I took the percaution of leaving word yesterday with the people at a public of most dubitable respectability called the Servants' Arms, where I call now and then when I go into town; and it appears that this young lad having called in there quite perspicuously this morning heard of the place."
"Let him step in, Whittingham," said Markham. "I will speak to him—although, to tell you the truth, I do not admire a public-house recommendation."
Whittingham made no reply, but opening the door, exclaimed, "Step in here, young man; step in here."
And Henry Holford stood in the presence of Richard Markham.
Whittingham retired.
"I believe you are in want of a young lad, sir," said Holford, "to assist in the house."
"I am," answered Markham. "Have you over served in that capacity before?"
"No, sir; but if you would take me and give me a trial, I should feel very much obliged. I have neither father or mother, and am totally dependant upon my own exertions."
These words were quite sufficient to command the attention and sympathy of the generous-hearted Richard. The lad was moreover of superior manners, and well-spoken; and there was something in his appeal to Markham which was very touching.
"What have you been before, my good lad?"
"To tell you the truth, sir," was the reply, "I have been a simple pot-boy in a public-house."
"And of course the landlord will give you a character?"
"Yes—for honesty and industry, sir; but—"
"But what?"
"I do not think it is of any use to apply to the landlord for a character, because—"
"Because what?" demanded Markham, seeing that the young man again hesitated. "If you can have a character for honesty and industry, you need not be afraid of any thing else that could be said of you."
"The truth is, sir," answered Holford, "I absented myself without leave, and remained away for two or three days: then, when I returned this morning at a very early hour I refused to give an account of my proceedings. That is the whole truth, sir; and if you will only give me a trial—"
"There is something very straightforward and ingenuous about you," said Markham: "perhaps you would have no objection to tell me how you were occupied during your absence."
"That, sir, is impossible! But I declare most solemnly that I did nothing for which I can reproach myself—unless," added Holford, "it was in leading a couple of villains to believe that I would do a certain thing which I never once intended to do."
"Really your answers are so strange," cried Richard, "that I know not what to say to you. It however appears from your last observation that two villains tempted you to do something wrong—that you lead them to believe you would fall into their plans—and that you never meant to fulfil your promise."
"It is all perfectly true, sir. They proposed a certain scheme in which I was to be an agent: I accepted the office they assigned to me, because it suited my disposition, and promised to gratify my curiosity in a way where it was deeply interested."
"And how did you explain your conduct to the two men whom you speak of?" inquired Richard, not knowing what to think of the young lad, but half inclining to believe that his bruin was affected.
"I invented certain excuses, sir," was Holford's reply, "which completely damped their ardour in the matter alluded to. And now, sir, will you give me a trial? I feel convinced you will: had I not thought so from the very beginning, I should not have spoken so freely as I have done."
"I am disposed to assist you—I am desirous to meet your wishes," said Markham. "Still, your representations are rather calculated to awaken fears than clear up doubts concerning you. What guarantee can you offer that you will never see those two villains again? what security—"
"Sir," said Holford, "your own manner is so frank and kind—so very condescending, indeed, to a poor lad like me—that I would not deceive you for the world. I had promised to meet those men to-night—for the last time—"
"To meet them again?"
"Yes, sir—to receive the reward promised for the service which I undertook—"
"Ah! young man," cried Markham, "this is most imprudent—if not actually criminal! and where was this precious interview to take place?"
"At the Dark-House, sir—"
"The Dark-House!" ejaculated Markham: "what—a low tavern in Brick Lane, Spitalfields?"
"The same, sir."
"And the names of the two men?" demanded Richard hastily.
"Their right names and those by which they are commonly known amongst their own set, are very different," said Holford.
"How are they known? what are they called in their own infamous sphere?" cried Markham, his impatience amounting almost to a fever: "speak!"
"I do not know whether I shall be doing right," said Holford, hesitating—"perhaps I have already told you too much—"
"Speak, I say!" cried Richard, taking Holford by the collar of his jacket; "speak. You do not know—you cannot guess how necessary it is for me to have my present suspicions cleared up! Speak—I swear no harm shall happen to you: on the contrary—I will reward you, if it should turn out as I suppose. Once more, who are these villains?"
"They are called—"
"What? speak—speak!"
"The Resurrection Man—"
"Ah!"
"And the Cracksman."
"Then I am right—my suspicions are confirmed!" ejaculated Markham, relinquishing his hold upon Holford's jacket, and throwing himself upon a chair. "Sit down, my good