Page:All the Year Round - Series 2 - Volume 1.djvu/321

Charles Dickens] I have been too low, and have eaten scarcely at all these few days. We came out, and then I went straight back to the merchant. He was a punctual man, and had gone away precisely as the clock had struck, at the end of the half hour he had given me. Where had he gone? To his villa in the country; his carriage had been waiting ready at the door. No. There was no one left to take a message, or receive anything.

Everything was going wrong—taking a crooked turn. But what did a trifle like this signify? In the carriage Grainger began at me.

"You are in a strange way, and if you don't take care, my friend, you will go off and die. I know you will say what matter; but think of leaving her to fight the battle, to face the debts and duns, the results of your folly, as I must call it. It would be highly selfish, would it not? You safe and out of the confusion, gone to reap the reward of your piety and good works in a glorious kingdom, while that poor angel of a Dora was left to suffer."

He might say what he liked, in what cold sneering way he pleased. It was all one to me. What he said was reasonable though.

"I come back," he went on, "to what I said this morning. You must do something—you must make an exertion, however disagreeable, and, as I said, try and get back some. Think of all the long hours of agony before you—nights, days, weeks, months. What is to become of you? Perhaps this very night you might reverse everything, and leave that room happy. I don't say do this, but think of it."

Nine o'clock.—God Almighty in his infinite goodness be praised. I come in with a heart something lighter. Grainger, you are my saviour. There they are—fifteen golden napoleons torn from the clutches of these villains. He was right—it was a duty to make some exertion, and though I felt a shudder as we drew near the fatal rooms, still I was not now to spare myself, or indulge my delicacies. I went so far as to accept his loan. After all, what was I going to do? This was a different state of things from the original one. Was I not going to get my own money from robbers? That nerved me; and shall I own it? I said a heartfelt prayer to Heaven, as I took the first piece of money in my fingers. Grainger was good and generous, after all.

"I have done you wrong," I said, "but I have tried hard to repair it. You have a noble nature and a forgiving one."

"Don't be too sure of that," he said; "spare compliments until the play is over. But how curious you should be borrowing money of me, and that money what you called, I think, the wages of sin!"

We were in the room, and I did not mind much what he was saying. I shrank back as I heard the accursed burr of the robbing wheel.

"I can't go in. My heart droops and sinks."

I saw black demons coming up and offering to take my hand. I covered my face and rushed out on the terrace, where the innocent and virtuous were taking coffee.

"Are you mad, or a fool?" Grainger said to me. "What exhibition are you going to make?"

"I can't face it," I said; "it will kill me."

"Then give me my money back," he said, roughly; "I suppose you don't mean to rob me, too?"

I did not heed the malignant look he gave me: for the word, rob, unconsciously persuaded.

"Come in, come in," I said, hurriedly.

"No fear of being late," he said; "they'll wait for us."

My wretched heart seemed to thump as I laid down my first piece, and yet I was indifferent. I doubt if I would have even gasped had it been swept off. The man broken on the wheel feels little after the first strokes. But with that came fortune back. I do believe it was the blessing I had invoked, or perhaps the prayers of my pet at home, to whom, if things brighten, and we live over all this, and the clouds may break one of these days, I shall show these pages—this strange analysis of a soul—at a time when distance has made all less painful to look back to.

When I showed Grainger what I had got, he was ill-natured and sneering. That is his way. People are welcome to sneer at me now.

"A wonderful winning," he said, "but put it beside what you have lost. It won't help you much, my friend, when you offer it as a composition to the bank. I should like to be present on the occasion."

"Take your money at any rate," I said, bitterly; "you are behaving very strangely to me."

"You will only be asking me again," he said, smiling, "and that would be