They act under the pressure of circumstances. They don’t mean to do any wrong — they don’t intend to rob any body of a sixpence. But that first false step is the starting point upon the road that leads to the gallows; and the worst that can happen to a man is for him to succeed in his first crime. Happily for you, detection has speedily overtaken you. Why did you do this?’
“The young man stammered out some rambling excuse about his turf losses, debts of honour which he was compelled to pay. Then Mr. Hugh asked him whether the forged signature was his own doing, or the work of any body else. The cornet hesitated for a little, and then told his uncle the name of his accomplice. I thought this was cruel and cowardly. He had tempted my brother to do wrong, and the least he could have done would have been to try to shield him.
“One of the messengers was sent to fetch poor Joseph. The lad reached the banking house in an hour’s time, and was brought straight into the private room, where we had all been sitting in silence, waiting for him.
“He was as pale as his master, but he didn’t tremble, and he had altogether a more determined look than Mr. Henry.
“Mr. Hugh Dunbar taxed him with what he had done.
“‘Do you deny it, Joseph Wilmot?’ he asked.
“‘No,’ my brother said, looking contemptuously at the cornet. ‘If my master has betrayed me, I have no wish to deny anything. But I dare say he and I will square accounts some day.’
“‘I am not going to prosecute my nephew,’ Mr. Hugh said; ‘so, of course I shall not prosecute you. But I believe that you have been an evil counsellor to this young man, and I give you warning that you will get no character from me. I respect your brother Sampson, and shall retain him in my service in spite of what you have done; but I hope never to see your face again. You are free to go; but have a care how you tamper with other men’s signatures, for the next time you may not get off so easily.’
“The lad took up his hat and walked slowly towards the door.
“‘Gentlemen — gentlemen!’ I cried, ‘have pity upon him. Remember he is little more than a boy; and whatever he did, he did out of love for his master.’
“Mr. Hugh shook his head. ‘I have no pity,’ he answered, sternly: ‘his master might never have done wrong but for him.’
“Joseph did not say a word in answer to all this; but, when his hand was on the handle of the door, he turned and looked at Mr. Henry Dunbar.
“‘Have you nothing to say in my behalf, sir?’ he said, very quietly; ‘I have been very much attached to you, sir, and I don’t want to think badly of you at parting. Haven’t you one word to say in my behalf?’
“Mr. Henry made no answer. He sat with his head bent forward upon his breast, and seemed as if he dare not lift his eyes to his uncle’s face.
“‘No!’ Mr. Hugh answered, as sternly as before, ‘he has nothing to say for you. Go; and consider this a lucky escape.’
“Joseph turned upon the banker, with his face all in a crimson flame, and his eyes flashing fire. ‘Let him consider it a lucky escape,’ he said, pointing to Mr. Henry Dunbar — ‘let him consider it a lucky escape, if when we next meet he gets off scot free.’
“He was gone before any body could answer him.
“Then Mr. Hugh Dunbar turned to his nephew.
“‘As for you,’ he said, ‘you have been a spoilt child of fortune, and you have not known how to value the good things that Providence has given you. You have begun life at the top of the tree, and you have chosen to fling your chances into the gutter. You must begin again, and begin this time upon the lowest step of the ladder. You will sell your commission, and sail for Calcutta by the next ship that leaves Southampton. To-day is the 23rd of August, and I see by the Shipping Gazette that the Oronoko sails on the 10th of September. This will give you little better than a fortnight to make all your arrangements.”
“The young cornet started from his chair as if he had been shot.
“‘Sell my commission!’ he cried; ‘go to India! You don’t mean it, Uncle Hugh; surely you don’t mean it. Father, you will never compel me to do this.’
“Percival Dunbar had never looked at his son since the young man had entered the room. He sat with his elbow resting upon the arm of his easy-chair, and his face shaded by his hand, and had not once spoken.
“He did not speak now, even when his son appealed to him.
“‘Your father has given me full authority to act in this business,’ Mr. Hugh Dunbar said. ‘I shall never marry, Henry, and you are my only nephew, and my acknowledged heir. But I will never leave my wealth to a dishonest or dishonourable man, and it remains for you to prove whether you are worthy to inherit it. You will have to begin life afresh. You have played the man of fashion, and your aristocratic associates have led you to the position in which you find yourself to-day. You must turn your back upon the past, Henry. Of course you are free to choose for yourself. Sell your commission, go to India, and enter the counting-house of our establishment in Calcutta as a junior clerk; or refuse to do so, and renounce all hope of succeeding to my fortune or to your father’s.’
“The young man was silent for some minutes, then he said, sullenly enough —
“‘I will go. I consider that I have been harshly treated; but I will go.’”
“And he did go?” said Mr. Balderby.
“He did, sir,” answered the clerk, who had displayed considerable emotion in relating this story of the past. “He did go, sir — he sold his commission, and left England by the Oronoko. But he never took leave of a living creature, and I fully believe that he never in his heart forgave either his father or his uncle. He worked his way up, as you know, sir, in the Calcutta counting-house, and by slow degrees rose to be manager of the Indian branch of the business. He married in 1831, and he has an only child, a daughter, who has been brought up in England since her infancy, under the care of Mr. Percival.”
“Yes,” answered Mr. Balderby, “I have seen Miss Laura Dunbar at her grandfather’s country seat. She is a very beautiful girl, and Percival Dunbar idolized her. But now to return to business, my good Sampson. I believe you are the only person in this house who has ever seen our present chief, Henry Dunbar.”
“I am, sir.”
“So far so good. He is expected to arrive at Southampton in less than a week’s time, and somebody must be there to meet him and receive him. After five-and-thirty years’ absence he will be a perfect stranger in England, and will require a business man about him to manage matters for him, and take all trouble off his hands. These Anglo–Indians are apt to be indolent, you know, and he may be all the worse for the fatigues of the overland journey. Now, as you know him, Sampson, and as you are an excellent man of business, and as active as a boy, I should like you to meet him. Have you any objection to do this?”
“No, sir,” answered the clerk; “I have no great love for Mr. Henry Dunbar, for I can never cease to look upon him as the cause of my poor brother Joseph’s ruin; but I am ready to do what you wish, Mr. Balderby. It’s business, and I’m ready to do anything in the way of business. I’m only a sort of machine, sir — a machine that’s pretty nearly worn out, I fancy, now — but as long as I last you can make what use of me you like, sir. I’m ready to do my duty.”
“I am sure of that, Sampson.”
“When am I to start for Southampton, sir?”
“Well, I think you’d better go to-morrow, Sampson. You can leave London by the afternoon train, which starts at four o’clock. You can see to your work here in the morning, and reach your destination between seven and eight. I leave everything in your hands. Miss Laura Dunbar will come up to town to meet her father at the house in Portland Place. The poor girl is very anxious to see him, as she has not set eyes upon him since she was a child of two years old. Strange,