"No. I didn't come for that. I will finish it though." And thus he was diverted from his purpose, for the moment.
He took a carving tool, and eyed his model, but soon laid down the tool, and said: "I haven't thanked you yet. And I don't know how to thank you."
"What for?"
"For what you sent to Mr. Cheetham."
"Oh!" said Grace, and blushed. Then she turned it off, and said she thought if any body ought to thank her for that, it was Mr. Cheetham.
"Ay, for the order. But the sweet words that came with it? Do you think I don't prize them above all the orders in the world?"
She colored high again. "What! did he show you my note?"
"He did: and that has made me his friend. Shall I tell you the effect of those words on me?"
"No; never mind. But I'm glad I put them in, if they did you any good."
"Any good? They made me a new man. I was defeated by the Trades: I was broken-hearted: and I hated every body. Good Dr. Amboyne had set me work to do; to save the lives of my fellow-creatures. But I couldn't; I hated them so. The world had been too unjust to me, I could not return it good for evil. My heart was full of rage and bitterness."
"That's a great pity--at your age. But really it is no wonder.
Yes; you have been cruelly used." And the water stood in Grace's eyes.
"Ay, but it is all over; those sweet words of yours made a man of me again. They showed me you cared a little for me. Now I have found a way to outwit the Trades. Now I'm on the road to fortune. I won't be a workman this time next year. I'll be a master, and a thriving one."
"Ay, do, do. Beat them, defeat them; make them scream with envy.
But I am afraid you are too sanguine."
"No; I can do it, if you will only give me another word of hope to keep me going; and oh, I need it, if you knew all."
Grace began to look uneasy. "Mr. Little, can you doubt that you have my best wishes?" said she, guardedly, and much less warmly than she had spoken just before.
"No, I don't doubt that; but what I fear is, that, when I have gained the hard battle, and risen in the world, it will be too late.
Too late."
Grace turned more and more uncomfortable.
"Oh, pray wait a few months, and see what I can do, before you--"
Will it be believed that Mr. Carden, who seldom came into this room at all, must walk in just at this moment, and interrupt them. He was too occupied with his own affairs, to pay much attention to their faces, or perhaps he might have asked himself why the young man was so pale, and his daughter so red.
"I heard you were here, Little, and I want to speak to you on a matter of some importance."
Grace took this opportunity, and made her escape from the room promptly.
Henry, burning inwardly, had to listen politely to a matter he thought pitiably unimportant compared with that which had been broken off. But the "Gosshawk" had got him in its clutches; and was resolved to make him a decoy duck. He was to open a new vein of Insurances. Workmen had hitherto acted with great folly and imprudence in this respect, and he was to cure them, by precept as well as example.
Henry assented, to gratify a person whose good-will he might require, and to get rid of a bore. But that was not so easy; the "Gosshawk" was full of this new project, and had a great deal to say, before he came to the point, and offered Henry a percentage on the yearly premium of every workman that should be insured in the "Gosshawk."
This little bargain struck, Henry was left alone; and waited for the return of Miss Carden.
He was simple enough to hope she would come back, and have it out with him.
She kept carefully out of his way, and, at last, he went sadly home.
"Ah," said he, "Jael gave me bad advice. I have been premature, and frightened her."
He would go to work his own way again.
In forty-eight hours he moved into his new house, furnished it partly: bought a quantity of mediocre wood-carving, and improved it; put specimens in his window, and painted his name over the door.
This, at his mother's request and tearful entreaties, he painted out again, and substituted "Rowbotham."
Nor was Rowbotham a mere nom de plume. It was the real name of Silly Billy. The boy had some turn for carving, but was quite uncultivated: Henry took him into his employ, fed him, and made free with his name. With all this he found time to get a key made to fit the lock of Cairnhope old Church.
At one o'clock on Thursday morning he came to Cheetham's works, and scratched at the gate. A big workman opened it. It turned out to be Cheetham himself, in a moleskin suit, and a long beard.
The forge on wheels was all ready, also a cart containing anvil, bellows, hammers, pincers, leathern buckets, and a quantity of steel laths. They attached the forge to the tail of the cart, and went on their silent expedition. Cheetham drove the cart. Henry followed afar off until they had cleared the suburbs.
They passed "Woodbine Villa." A single light was burning. Henry eyed it wistfully, and loitered long to look at it. Something told him that light was in her bedroom. He could hardly tear himself away from contemplating it: it was his pole-star.
There was only one great difficulty in their way; a man on a horse might cross the moor, but a cart must go by "Raby Hall" to reach the church: and, before they got within a furlong of the Hall, a watch-dog began to bark.
"Stop, sir," whispered Henry. "I expected this." He then produced some pieces of thick felt, and tied them with strings round the wheels.
They then drove by the house as fast as they could. They did not deceive the dogs; but no man heard them, nor saw them.
They got to the church, opened the door, and drew the forge into the deserted building.
As soon as they got inside, Cheetham cast his eyes round and gave a shudder. "You must have a stout heart: no money should tempt me to work here by myself. Lord! What's that?"
For a low musical moan was heard.
Cheetham darted back, and got to the church-door.
