An Enemy in Redman’s Dell.

Jos. Larkin grew more and more uncomfortable about the unexpected interposition of Rachel Lake as the day wore on. He felt, with an unerring intuition, that the young lady both despised and suspected him. He also knew that she was impetuous and clever, and he feared from that small white hand a fatal mischief — he could not tell exactly how — to his plans.

Jim Dutton’s letter had somehow an air of sobriety and earnestness, which made way with his convictions. His doubts and suspicions had subsided, and he now believed, with a profound moral certainty, that Mark Wylder was actually dead, within the precincts of a mad-house or of some lawless place of detention abroad. What was that to the purpose? Dutton might arrive at any moment. Low fellows are always talking; and the story might get abroad before the assignment of the vicar’s interest. Of course there was something speculative in the whole transaction, but he had made his book well, and by his ‘arrangement’ with Captain Lake, whichever way the truth lay, he stood to win. So the attorney had no notion of allowing this highly satisfactory arithmetic to be thrown into confusion by the fillip of a small gloved finger.

On the whole he was not altogether sorry for the delay. Everything worked together he knew. One or two covenants and modifications in the articles had struck him as desirable, on reading the instrument over with William Wylder. He also thought a larger consideration should be stated and acknowledged as paid, say 22,000_l. The vicar would really receive just 2,200_l. ‘Costs’ would do something to reduce the balance, for Jos. Larkin was one of those oxen who, when treading out corn, decline to be muzzled. The remainder was — the vicar would clearly understand — one of those ridiculous pedantries of law, upon which our system of crotchets and fictions insisted. And William Wylder, whose character, simply and sensitively honourable, Mr. Larkin appreciated, was to write to Burlington and Smith a letter, for the satisfaction of their speculative and nervous client, pledging his honour, as a gentleman, and his conscience, as a Christian, that in the event of the sale being completed, he would never do, countenance, or permit, any act or proceeding, whatsoever, tending on any ground to impeach or invalidate the transaction.

‘I’ve no objection — have I? — to write such a letter,’ asked the vicar of his adviser.

‘Why, I suppose you have no intention of trying to defeat your own act, and that is all the letter would go to. I look on it as wholly unimportant, and it is really not a point worth standing upon for a second.’

So that also was agreed to.

Now while the improved ‘instrument’ was in preparation, the attorney strolled down in the evening to look after his clerical client, and keep him ‘straight’ for the meeting at which he was to sign the articles next day.

It was by the drowsy faded light of a late summer’s evening that he arrived at the quaint little parsonage. He maintained his character as ‘a nice spoken gentleman,’ by enquiring of the maid who opened the door how the little boy was. ‘Not so well — gone to bed — but would be better, everyone was sure, in the morning.’ So he went in and saw the vicar, who had just returned with Dolly from a little ramble. Everything promised fairly — the quiet mind was returning — the good time coming — all the pleasanter for the storms and snows of the night that was over.

‘Well, my good invaluable friend, you will be glad — you will rejoice with us, I know, to learn that, after all, the sale of our reversion is unnecessary.’

The attorney allowed his client to shake him by both hands, and he smiled a sinister congratulation as well as he could, grinning in reply to the vicar’s pleasant smile as cheerfully as was feasible, and wofully puzzled in the meantime. Had James Dutton arrived and announced the death of Mark — no; it could hardly be that — decency had not yet quite taken leave of the earth; and stupid as the vicar was, he would hardly announce the death of his brother to a Christian gentleman in a fashion so outrageous. Had Lord Chelford been invoked, and answered satisfactorily? Or Dorcas — or had Lake, the diabolical sneak, interposed with his long purse, and a plausible hypocrisy of kindness, to spoil Larkin’s plans? All these fanciful queries flitted through his brain as the vicar’s hands shook both his, and he laboured hard to maintain the cheerful grin with which he received the news, and his guileful rapacious little eyes searched narrowly the countenance of his client.

So after a while, Dolly assisting, and sometimes both talking together, the story was told, Rachel blessed and panegyrised, and the attorney’s congratulations challenged and yielded once more. But there was something not altogether joyous in Jos. Larkin’s countenance, which struck the vicar, and he said —

‘You don’t see any objection?’ and paused.

‘Objection? Why, objection, my dear Sir, is a strong word; but I fear I do see a difficulty — in fact, several difficulties. Perhaps you would take a little turn on the green — I must call for a moment at the reading-room — and I’ll explain. You’ll forgive me, I hope, Mrs. Wylder,’ he added, with a playful condescension, ‘for running away with your husband, but only for a few minutes — ha, ha!’

The shadow was upon Jos. Larkin’s face, and he was plainly meditating a little uncomfortably, as they approached the quiet green of Gylingden.

‘What a charming evening,’ said the vicar, making an effort at cheerfulness.

‘Delicious evening — yes,’ said the attorney, throwing back his long head, and letting his mouth drop. But though his face was turned up towards the sky, there was a contraction and a darkness upon it, not altogether heavenly.

‘The offer,’ said the attorney, beginning rather abruptly, ‘is no doubt a handsome offer at the first glance, and it may be well meant. But the fact is, my dear Mr. Wylder, six hundred pounds would leave little more than a hundred remaining after Burlington and Smith have had their costs. You have no idea of the expense and trouble of title, and the inevitable costliness, my dear Sir, of all conveyancing operations. The deeds, I have little doubt, in consequence of the letter you directed me to write, have been prepared — that is, in draft, of course — and then, my dear Sir, I need not remind you, that there remain the costs to me — those, of course, await your entire convenience — but still it would not be either for your or my advantage that they should be forgotten in the general adjustment of your affairs, which I understand you to propose.’

The vicar’s countenance fell. In fact, it is idle to say that, being unaccustomed to the grand scale on which law costs present themselves on occasion, he was unspeakably shocked and he grew very pale and silent on hearing these impressive sentences.

‘And as to Miss Lake’s residing with you — I speak now, you will understand, in the strictest confidence, because the subject is a painful one; as to her residing with you, as she proposes, Miss Lake is well aware that I am cognizant of circumstances which render any such arrangement absolutely impracticable. I need not, my dear Sir, be more particular — at present, at least. In a little time you will probably be made acquainted with them, by the inevitable disclosures of time, which, as the wise man says, “discovers all things.”’

‘But — but what’— stammered the pale vicar, altogether shocked and giddy.

‘You will not press me, my dear Sir; you’ll understand that, just now, I really cannot satisfy any particular enquiry. Miss Lake has spoken, in charity I will hope and trust, without thought. But I am much mistaken, or she will herself, on half-an-hour’s calm consideration, see the moral impossibilities which interpose between her, to me, most amazing plan and its realisation.’

There was a little pause here, during which the tread of their feet on the soft grass alone was audible.

‘You will quite understand,’ resumed the attorney, ‘the degree of confidence with which I make this communication; and you will please, specially not to mention it to any person whatsoever. I do not except, in fact, any. You will find, on consideration, that Miss Lake will not press her residence upon you. No; I’ve no doubt Miss Lake is a very intelligent person, and, when not excited, will see it clearly.’

The attorney’s manner had something of that reserve, and grim sort of dryness, which supervened whenever he fancied a friend or client on whom he had formed designs was becoming impracticable. Nothing affected him so much as that kind of unkindness.

Jos. Larkin took his leave a little abruptly. He did not condescend to ask the vicar whether he still entertained Miss Lake’s proposal. He had not naturally a pleasant temper — somewhat short, dark, and dangerous, but by no means noisy. This temper, an intense reluctance ever to say ‘thank you,’ and a profound and quiet egotism, were the ingredients of that ‘pride’ on which — a little inconsistently, perhaps, in so eminent a Christian — he piqued himself. It must be admitted, however, that his pride was not of that stamp which would prevent him from listening to oth............