Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 3).djvu/298

 "Sir," said Campion, indignantly, "I am at least entitled to my costume, I am fully ordained, and—"

"Well, well," said the other, "I have neither time nor inclination to listen to your private affairs." Then he struck a bell, and as his clerk entered, said—

"Johnson, show this person out."

Campion retired, feeling terribly humiliated; as he opened the office door he heard the clerk, with a laugh, say to his colleague, "I thought he looked too seedy to be up to much."

Utterly dejected, Campion walked back towards London bridge. It was five o'clock, and the streets were, comparatively speaking, quiet. The snow was still falling, and an east wind drove it fiercely into the faces of the pedestrians. He had tasted nothing since breakfast, and paused as he came to a confectioner's. The simple cakes looked very tempting to the hungry man, but heroically he moved on, determined not to lessen his small store. Just then an elderly gentleman came out of the shop, and turned up the street in front of the curate. The young man followed aimlessly, and almost unconsciously kept his eyes fixed on the figure before him. Suddenly the stranger placed his hand in his pocket and drew out his handkerchief, apparently to wipe the snow from his face. As he did so Campion noticed something fall into the snow with a dull thud. He quickened his steps, uttering a feeble "Stop, sir!" but the wind carried away his voice. He stopped and picked up the article, and shuddered violently when he found a purse in his hand, that from its weight seemed to be well filled. Visions of the importance of the treasure to him flashed through his mind, and for a moment he determined to retain it. Then the natural honesty of his pure nature asserted itself, and he looked round for the owner. The delay, however, had been fatal; he just caught sight of the old gentleman stepping into a hansom, and then the vehicle rolled off, leaving the young man too bewildered to follow it.

With mingled feelings that he could not analyse, the curate walked homewards. He forgot his weariness and his hunger; even the biting wind and cold driving sleet affected him not, for he was at war with himself. A terrible temptation was before him. On the one side was his upright nature, and on the other his love for his helpless wife and child. Unconsciously he passed onwards until he reached his home.

In his own room once more Oswald took out the purse, and examined its exterior carefully. Then he opened it, and turned its contents out on the table. His head swam as he saw the unusual glitter of gold; and with amazement he counted the coins.