Stephen Walker turned away from Lowndes Square with a feeling of stern satisfaction. At least, the destroyer of his daughter would not go unpunished. He should pay with the loss of his expected fortune for the damage he had wrought. So far, Stephen Walker thought that his success had been all that he could have wished for; but his task was but begun yet. He had resolved upon blighting his enemy's prospects through life. He had determined that he would devote his whole life to this purpose; that he would everywhere dog his footsteps; that wherever he went, whatever he did, he would follow him, and tell the tale to all who would listen to him. Fred Bingham's friends, his work-people, everyone with whom he associated, should know that the pleasant, laughing young gentleman was a [177] heartless scoundrel. “No doubt he had imagined that there was nothing to fear from Carry's father, that the nervous old man would do him no harm, would give him no trouble. Ha, ha!—we shall see.” And Stephen Walker laughed fiercely aloud, and shook his clenched fists as he strode along across Sloane Street into Hans Place. With the dignity of a great passion in him, he felt, and was, more of a man than he had ever before been during his life. He stopped at Mr. Bingham's house and rang, sent in his name, and was shown into the study, where Mr. Bingham was engaged upon some plans. He looked up. “Ah, Mr. Walker; is it you? Haven't I paid your last quarter's account for newspapers?”
“I do not come about bills, Mr. Bingham; I come upon a very different matter.”
“Ah, indeed; and what may that be?” Mr. Bingham asked, looking up keenly at his visitor, for he saw at once, by his manner, that he had come upon no ordinary business.
“I will tell you, Mr. Bingham,” the man said, shortly.
[178]
“Will you take a seat?” Mr. Bingham put in, more and more surprised, but still bland and tranquil in his manner.
“I will not,” Stephen Walker said; “no—not if I never sit down again.”
Mr. Bingham said nothing; he still preserved his bland smile, but he felt that it was something very serious now.
“You have been to my shop, sir, and you have seen my daughter.”
Mr. Bingham made an assenting gesture; but the smile left his face. He guessed somewhat of what was coming.
“She was all I had to love in the world, and I did love her with all my heart and soul. She had grown up all I could wish her—tender, loving, happy, and bright. A villain came to the shop—a smiling, smooth-tongued villain—who told her that he loved her, promised to marry her, and who deceived and ruined her; her, so innocent of the world; her, who trusted him as she trusted her God. He married another, and she read it in the paper and went mad—went mad, and even doubted my forgiveness! I, who would have taken her to my heart [179] and comforted her, and pitied her. She went mad, sir; and her body was picked up in the Thames yesterday! The scoundrel who did it was your son, Frederick Bingham!”
Mr. Bingham had listened throughout without moving, without changing a muscle. The bland expression had died out from his face; otherwise he manifested no emotion. But all the time Stephen Walker had been speaking his brain had been busily at work. Mr. Bingham was not a very hard-hearted man, but his susceptibilities had been much blunted with long contact with the world; and he was accustomed in his business to what the world calls sharp practice. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have been greatly shocked at the story he had just heard. Perhaps he was now, but the feeling was merged in the more pressing one of actual danger. This man was dangerous. In his present state he was capable of doing any mischief. But what could he do? How would he act? And how could he be met?
These thoughts passed rapidly through his mind during the few seconds Stephen Walker was speaking; nor had he determined what [180] course to take, when he was unexpectedly relieved by the entrance of Mrs. Bingham, who, not knowing that her husband was engaged, had opened the door and entered in time to hear the closing sentence of Stephen Walker's speech. As a hen will defend her young ones when attacked by a hawk, so did Mrs. Bingham blaze out in defence of her son.
“Oh, you wicked—wicked man! Oh, you bad, abominable person! To come here to say such things against my Freddy, the dearest and best fellow in the world. What does he mean, Richard?” She turned to her husband. “Why don't you give him in charge of the police?”
“Nonsense, my dear,” Mr. Bingham said, testily, although he really felt grateful for the opportune interference of his wife. “Do be quiet and reasonable. This is Mr. Walker. A very sad business has taken place: his daughter has made away with herself, and he accuses Fred of having seduced her under promise of marriage.”
“Oh, you villain!” Mrs. Bingham said, turning again upon Stephen Walker, as he stood impassive before her. “Oh, you bad, story-telling [181] man! My Freddy, indeed! who would not hurt a fly, to be accused of doing such wicked things as this. Richard, go out directly and get a policeman. I am ashamed of you, sitting there doing nothing. Why don't you knock him down, or kick him, or do something?”
And then, from indignation and helplessness, Mrs. Bingham sat down and began to cry. By this time Mr. Bingham was sufficiently recovered from his first shock to continue the conversation.
“I suppose, Mr. Walker, before you came here to bring forward such a serious accusation as this, you were quite sure of what you are stating?”
“Quite,” Stephen Walker said, gravely.
“I am heartily sorry, Mr. Walker—more sorry than I can say. Unfortunately, there is nothing that I can say or do to alleviate your distress. Is there anything you can possibly suggest that would afford you any satisfaction?”
Stephen Walker waved his hand scornfully.
“I called, Mr. Bingham, to tell you this history—to let you know what this son of yours really is. Will you tell him, from me, that I pray God to curse him for the ruin he has [182] brought upon my house. Tell him that, although I am an old, feeble man, unable to save my daughter, I will devote the rest of my life to avenge her. That wherever he goes, with whomsoever he associates, I will take care to let them know this story. The men who work for him I will see; the men he does business with I will write to. He thought me harmless and helpless; he thought me incapable alike of protecting Carry, or of avenging her. He will find out his error. This is the second visit I have paid this morning. I have been to Lowndes Square, and have seen Captain Bradshaw, and your son one day will find that he has paid very, very dear for his frolic.”
Thus saying, and without waiting for any reply whatever from Mr. Bingham, Stephen Walker left the room. Mr. Bingham sat in a blank stupor of dismay.
“............