by Guy Boothby
CHAPTER XVII
It was a cold and foggy day in November when the steamer which I hadboarded in Barbadoes reached the Thames. I had been absent fromEngland more than four months, and the veriest glutton for excitementcould not have desired more than had fallen to my lot.
Having bade my fellow-passengers good-bye, I caught the firstavailable train to town only to discover, when I reached FenchurchStreet, that I should have some considerable time to wait at Waterloobefore I could get on to Salisbury. I accordingly cast about me for away of employing my time. This resolved itself in a decision to callupon my old friend, Mr. Winzor, in order to obtain from him the letterI had entrusted to his charge. As I made my way along the crowdedstreets I could not help contrasting them to the sun-bathedthoroughfares of La Gloria. In my mind's eye I could see again thehappy-go-lucky _cafes_ on the tree-shaded pavement, the white houseswith their green shutters; and, behind the city, the mountainstowering up, peak after peak, into the azure sky.
At last I turned into the street I remembered so well, and approachedthe office of my old friend. I ascended the steps and pushed open theglass door. Somewhat to my surprise a strange clerk accosted me. WhenI inquired for Mr. Winzor, the surprised look upon the youth's facetold me that something unusual had happened.
"Don't you know that he is dead?" he inquired.
"Dead?" I cried, in genuine consternation. "Good heavens! you don'tmean that!"
"He died more than six weeks ago," the young man replied. "He had somepapers to sign in that room, and when his chief clerk went in to getthem he found the old gentleman stone dead."
I was more distressed than I could say at this news. The little lawyerhad been a kindly friend to me, and also to my mother.
Thanking the clerk for his information I left the office and made myway to Waterloo. There I took the train to Salisbury, and, on arrivalat the cathedral city, set out for Falstead.
At this last stage of my story I will not weary you with a longdescription of my home coming. Let it suffice that I at last reachedthe village and found myself approaching the house of my childhood.The tiny gate had scarcely closed behind me when the front-door openedand my mother hastened to greet me.
When we reached her little drawing-room I questioned her concerningMolly.
"I expect her every moment," said my mother.
As she spoke the click of the gate caused me to go to the window withall speed.
Shall I describe what followed? Would it interest you to know howMolly and I greeted each other? I think not. I will inform you,however, that I was more than repaid for all I had been through by theway in which I was received.
Later in the evening we went for a walk together.
"Dick, dear," said my sweetheart, "you have not told me how yourventure prospered."
This was the question I had been dreading.
"It has not prospered at all," I said. "The fact is, I have madenothing out of it. I am ashamed to say so, but I am poorer than when Ileft England four months ago."
To my surprise she received my information with perfect equanimity.
"But I am afraid you don't understand what it means to me, darling," Isaid. "And, before we go any further, I am going to tell you thewhole story. Though it may make you think differently of me, I feelthat I should let you know all."
I thereupon set to work and told her everything, from the moment of myfirst meeting with Silvestre on board the _Pernambuco_ to my return toFalstead that evening. I finished with the information that there wasstill upwards of five thousand pounds of Silvestre's money to mycredit in the Salisbury bank. I told her that it was my intention notto keep a halfpenny of it, but to send it anonymously to a Londonhospital.
"And I think you would be right, Dick," the sweet girl answered. "Donot keep it. It would only bring us bad luck. And now, what about ourmarriage?"
I shook my head.
"I fear, dear, we shall have to go on waiting," I said. "I must tryand get another berth, but whether or not I shall be able to do soHeaven only knows."
"Dick, dear," she said, slipping her arm through mine as she spoke, "Icannot keep the secret from you any longer. I ought to have told youbefore."
"And what is this wonderful secret?" I inquired.
"I doubt whether I look it, Dick, but I am a very rich woman."
"A rich woman!" I cried incredulously. "What do you mean by that?"
For the moment I thought she was joking, but one glance at her faceshowed me that she was serious.
"I mean what I say," she answered. "I am a very rich woman. When poorold Mr. Winzor died he left me all his fortune--nearly forty thousandpounds."
I could scarcely contain my astonishment.
"Was it not good of him?" she continued. "Forty thousand pounds atthree per cent. is twelve hundred pounds a year, is it not?"
Even then I was too much surprised by her information to be able torealize the change that had taken place in Molly's position.
"Are you not glad, dear?" she said at last.
"Yes, yes," I replied, "but I cannot quite understand it yet. It seemstoo good to be true."
"We shall be able to do so much with it," she said, drawing closer tome and lifting her sweet face to mine.
"I am luckier than I deserve to be," I answered.
And doubtless, my dear reader, you will say it was the truth.
* * * * *
Molly and I have been married five years. We have a boy of three, anda baby girl who promises to be the manager of her mother. We lead avery quiet life in a house we have built for ourselves on theoutskirts of Falstead. There is not a happier man in the world than Iam, nor has any man a sweeter wife. So far I have not returned toEquinata. As a matter of fact I do not suppose that I shall ever doso, for grievous changes have occurred there. As all the world isaware, Fernandez was assassinated while reviewing his troops on theGrand Plaza, two years after I left, while Sagana met with the sameuntimely fate a year later. Immediately on hearing the news I madeinquiries as to the whereabouts of the Senorita, only to hear that shehad fled the country and had entered a convent in the neighbourhood ofRio.
Perhaps she is happier there!
THE END
_Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._