"I do not think the gain to me would be at all equal to the loss to them," said Archie. "Exposure would be ruin and heartbreak there, and I don't see what it would do for me."
"My dear Archie!" exclaimed both Mrs. Poynsett and Joanna, in amazement.
"So long as you and Mr. Bowater are satisfied, I care for little else," said Archie.
"But your position, my dear," said Mrs. Poynsett.
"We don't care much about a man's antecedents, within a few years, out in the colonies, dear Aunt Julia," said Archie, smiling.
"You aren't going back?"
"That depends," said Archie, his eyes seeking Joanna's; "but I don't see what there is for me to do here. I'm spoilt for a solicitor anyway-"
"We could find an agency, Miles, couldn't we?-or a farm-"
"Thank you, dear aunt," said Archie; "I don't definitely answer, because Mr. Bowater must be consulted; but I have a business out there that I can do, and where I can make a competence that I can fairly offer to Jenny here. If I came home, as I am now, I should only prey on you in some polite form, and I don't think Jenny would wish for that alternative. I must go back any way, as I have told her, and whether to save for her, or to make a home for her there, it must be for her to decide."
They looked at Jenny. She was evidently prepared; for though her colour rose a little, her frank eyes looked at him with a confiding smile.
"But we must have justice done to you, my dear boy, whether you stay with us or not," said Mrs. Poynsett.
"That might have been done if I had not been fool enough to run away," said Archie; "having done so, the mass of people will only remember that there has been something against me, in spite of any justification. It is not worth while to blast Moy's character, and show poor old Proudfoot what a swindler his son was, just for that. The old man was good to me. I should like to let it rest while he lives. If Moy would sign such an exculpation of me as could be shown to Mr. Bowater, and any other whom it might concern, I should be quite willing to have nothing told publicly, at least as long as the old gentleman lives."
"I think Archie is right," said Miles, in the pause, with a great effort.
"Yes, right in the highest sense of the word," said Julius.
"It is Christian," Anne breathed across to her husband.
"I don't like it," said Mrs. Poynsett.
"Let that scoundrel go unhung!" burst from Frank, who had failed to catch the spirit of his interpreter.
"I don't like it in the abstract, mother," said Miles; "but you and Frank have not seen the scoundrel in his beaten down state, and, as Archie says, it is hard to blacken the memory of either poor George Proudfoot or Tom Vivian, who have fathers to feel it for them."
"Poor Tom Vivian's can hardly be made much blacker," said Mrs. Poynsett, "nor are Sir Harry's feelings very acute; but perhaps poor old Proudfoot ought to be spared, and there are considerations as to the Vivian family. Still, I don't see how to consent to Archie going into exile again with this stigma upon him. I am sure Raymond would not, and I do not think Mr. Bowater will."
"Dear Aunt Julia," said Archie, affectionately, coming across to her, "it was indeed exile before, when I was dead to all of you; but can it be so now the communication is open, and when I am making or winning my home?" and his eyes brought Jenny to him by her side.
"Yes, dear Mrs. Poynsett," she said, holding her hand, "I am sure he is right, and that it would spoil all our own happiness to break that poor old father's heart, and bring him and his wife to disgrace and misery. When I think of the change in everything since two days back-dear Herbert wrung a sort of forgiveness out of me-I can't bear to think of anybody being made miserable."
"And what will your papa say, child?"
"I think he will feel a good deal for old Proudfoot," said Jenny. "He rather likes the old man, and has laughed at our hatred of Miss Moy's pretensions."
"Then it is settled," said Archie; "I will write to Moy, for I suppose he had rather not see me, that I will say nothing about it publicly while Mr. Proudfoot lives, and will not show this confession of his, unless it should be absolutely necessary to my character. Nor after old Proudfoot's death, will I take any step without notice to him."
"Much more than he ought to expect," said Mrs. Poynsett.
"I don't know," said Archie. "If he had refused, it would not have been easy to bring him to the point, I suppose I must have surrendered to take my trial, but after so many years, and with so many deaths, it would have been awkward."
"And the money, mother," said Miles, producing a cheque. "Poor Moy, that was a relief to him. He said he had kept it ready for years." Mrs. Poynsett waved it off as if she did not like to touch it.
"I don't want it! Take it, Archie. Set up housekeeping on it," she said. "You are not really going back to that place?"
"Yes, indeed I am; I sail on Tuesday. Dear good Aunt Julia, how comfortable it is to feel any one caring for me again; but I am afraid even this magnificent present, were it ten times as much, could not keep me; I must go back to fulfil my word to my partner out there, even if I returned at once."
"And you let him go, Jenny?"
"I must!" said Jenny. "And only think how different it is now! For the rest, whether he comes back for me at once, or some years hence, must depend on papa and mamma."
She spoke with grave content beaming in her eyes, just like herself. The restoration was still swallowing up everything else.
CHAPTER XXXV. Herbert's Christmas
And when the self-abhorring thrill
Is past-as pass it must, When tasks of life thy spirit fill, Then be the self-renouncing will
The seal of thy calm trust.-Lyra Apostolica
By Christmas Day Archie Douglas was in the Bay of Biscay; but even to Joanna it was not a sorrowful day, for did not Herbert on that day crawl back into his sitting-room, full dressed for the first time, holding tight by her shoulder, and by every piece of furniture on his way to the sofa, Rollo attending in almost pathetic delight, gazing at him from time to time, and thumping the floor with his tail? He had various visitors after his arrival-the first being his Rector, who came on his way back from church to give his congratulations, mention the number of convalescents who had there appeared, and speak of the wedding he had celebrated that morning, that of Fanny Reynolds and her Drake, who were going forth the next day to try whether they could accomplish a hawker's career free from what the man, at least, had only of late learnt to be sins. It was a great risk, but there had been a penitence about both that Julius trusted was genuine. A print of the Guardian Angel, which had been her boy's treasure, had been hung by Fanny in her odd little bedroom, and she had protested with tears that it would seem like her boy calling her back if she were tempted again.
"Not that I trust much to that," said Julius. "Poor Fanny is soft, and likes to produce an effect; but I believe there is sterling stuff in Drake."
"And he never had a chance before," said Herbert.
"No. Which makes a great difference-all indeed between the Publicans, or the Heathens, and the Pharisees. He can't read, and I doubt whether he said the words rightly after me; but I am sure he meant them."
"I suppose all this has done great good?" said Jenny.
"It will be our fault if it do not do permanent good. It ought," said Julius, gravely. "No, no, Herbert, I did not mean to load you with the thought. Getting well is your business for the present- not improving the occasion to others."
To which all that Herbert answered was, "Harry Hornblower!" as if that name spoke volumes of oppression of mind.
That discussion, however, was hindered by Mrs. Hornblower's own arrival with one of her lodger's numerous meals, and Julius went off to luncheon. The next step on the stairs made Herbert start and exclaim, "That's the dragoon! Come in, Phil."