Page:All the Year Round - Series 2 - Volume 1.djvu/320

310[February 27, 1869] how shall I meet her, my lost ruined Dora. Returning home quite restored in health, to work for my family! Why I return with a knife in my heart! I look at that ridiculous "avis" to the travellers, stuck up there in three languages, and it is as dim and confused as the figures in a ledger the day before I set out. God Almighty look down on me in this agony—have mercy and pity on me!

I saw the merchant; he was very stiff, and asked what did I want—was not the transaction concluded? I explained that I had exceeded my instructions, and would return him the money he had paid in excess.

"That comes a little late," he said; "your principal has heard, I see, of my transferring my commissions to another house."

I became very earnest and almost passionate about the matter, assuring him it was my fault, that I was in ill-health, and was suffering, and had a great deal on my mind, and hoped he would not injure me in this way.

He looked at me hard, and taking me by the arm, turned me suddenly to the light, "Ah! I see—the colour has lost!"

My eyes fell on the ground.

"You are hardly the agent," he went on, "I would have chosen. You want resolution. No matter. I won't add to your troubles. So I will take back the money. I'll write a receipt now."

"I shall go and fetch it," I said.

"What, not brought it?" he said, laying down his pen.

"I shall be back in half an hour," I said.

"Then I can't wait longer," he replied.

I went out hurriedly, but the demons that had pursued me from the tables were waiting in the street and joined me. It was they, I know, who made me lose my way almost at once, which I could have sworn I had by heart. I asked it, and seemed to get more and more astray. Suddenly at a corner I came upon Grainger, smoking. For a second I felt glad.

"Why," he said, "you here? Ah! I see, you have taken my advice—come for more money, like myself."

"Nothing of the kind," I said, shortly. "I have come in on business."

"Money is the only business. Are you going to the train?"

"No," I said, rudely. "I am on some private affairs of my own."

"O, I see," he said, smiling; "a hint to mind my own business. Losers are always privileged. Still I will do you a good turn. If you are looking for the bank, it is merely round the corner—that yellow building."

He was so good-humoured that I took his hand, and said: "O, Grainger, have indulgence; I am in a wretched, miserable way."

"So I see," he said; "and in an absurd way too. Now, see. You go off and arrange your affairs, whatever they may be. I shall wait for you at the Place here. You are a cup too low to begin with."

I went into the bank—it was just closing—and drew out the money. I remembered Mr. B.'s express wish, and asked for an order on London, less, of course, the sum I was to return to the merchant. The clerks were not very civil, and there was a crowd, owing to some fair that was going on. Then, when they did attend to me, they told me it was too late, that their letters were sealed up, and I could have no order that day. I was irritable, and, indeed, the thought before my mind was the weary journey on the railway, in company with the weight on my heart; and I said, I would take the money and try at another bank, where I would find more civility. The thousand franc notes were tossed over to me, and I came away. I buttoned them up carefully in my pocket, and as I looked at them, trembled.

I found Grainger, not at the Place, but outside.

"Now," he said, "you are my prisoner. I have ready cash; and before you take a step you must turn into this restaurant, and have a half bottle of real German wine. I want it myself desperately. Why, man, you are in a fever. It is all weakness and nervousness, and this will put heart, I hope, into you."

I was indeed weak, and I own I thought with pleasure of something that would raise my sinking, sinking heart, which used periodically to leap downwards, as it were, and make me think I was going to die. I felt that there is a stage when you are in a deep and desperate trouble, when all you ask for is a little respite, a little repose; though the trial itself—too awful to think of—is as fixed as fate, and must be accepted. I was glad to have him, and we went in. It was a burning hot day. To "have something on your mind," on a bright, sunny, oppressive day, in a great, strange, white town, makes everything yet more dismal. The wine was very good, and did put some heart into me. In truth,