by Fergus Hume
One day, while Hagar was seated rather disconsolately in the back parlor, the side-door, which had been used by Dix for such of his friends as wished to dispose of stolen goods—a form of business which Hagar had abandoned—was opened boldly, and a tall man strode into the room. Hagar rose indignantly to repel the intruder, who had no right to enter by that way, when suddenly she saw his countenance, and fell back a step.
“Goliath!” she said with a pale face.
The tall man—he was almost a giant in point of height and size— nodded and smiled. He had closely-cropped red hair, and a rather brutal cast of countenance, by no means prepossessing. Again familiarily nodding to Hagar, who recoiled from him in aversion, he seated himself in a large armchair by the fire, which had formerly been used by dead Jacob Dix.
“My father’s chair,” said he, with a grin. “I have come to take possession of it, my dear.”
“I am very glad to hear it,” replied Hagar, recovering the use of her tongue. “Certainly it was about time, Mr. Dix.”
“Don’t call me Mister, or Dix, my dear! To you I shall always be Goliath—your Goliath.”
“Indeed you shan’t!” retorted Hagar, in a spirited manner. “I hate you now just as much as I did when you forced me to leave my people.”
“That is uncommon cruel of you, seeing as you have been wearing my shoes all this time!”
“I have been wearing your father’s shoes, you mean, and for your benefit solely. I did so simply because your father was good enough to take me in, after you had exiled me from the Romany.”
“Oh, I know all about that, Cousin Hagar. We’re cousins, ain’t we?”
“Yes; and we are likely to continue cousins. But I’m tired of this sparring, Goliath. Where have you been all this time? and how did you learn that your father was dead?”
“Where I’ve been I’ll tell you later,” replied Goliath, rendered surly by the attitude of Hagar, “and as to how I knowed the old ‘un was gone—why, a cove called Lorn told me just after I got out.”
“Got out!” cried Hagar, noting the queer wording of the phrase; “so you have been in prison, Goliath!”
“You’re a sharp one, you are!” grinned the red-haired man. “Yes, I’ve been in quod though I didn’t intend to tell you so yet. I was Number Forty-three till a week ago, and they ticketed me for horse-coping. I got two years, and was took just arter you gave me the slip in New Forest; so now you know how I didn’t see your noospaper notice about the old ‘un kicking the bucket.”
“You might speak of your father with more respect!” said Hagar, in a disdainful tone; “but what can one expect from a convict?”
“Come, none of that, cousin, or I’ll twist your neck.”
“You dare to lay a finger on me, and I’ll kill you!” retorted Hagar, fiercely.
“Yah! You’re as much a spitfire as ever!”
“More so—to you!” replied the girl. “I hate you now as I did when I left my tribe. Now you have come back, I’ll go.”
“And who is to look after the shop?”
“That is your business. My task here is ended. To-morrow I’ll show you all the accounts ——”
“Won’t you share the property with me?” asked Goliath, in a wheedling tone.
“No, I shan’t! To-morrow you must come with me and see Vark, to ——”
“Vark!” echoed Goliath, starting to his feet; “is it that old villain who is to hand me over my tin?”
“Yes; your father employed him, so I thought ——”
“Don’t think! there ain’t no time for thinking! Job! I’d better get my money afore the head of old Vark is stove in!”
“What do you mean?” asked Hagar, bewildered by his tone.
“Mean!” echoed Goliath, pausing at the door. “Well, I was in quod, as I told ye; there I came across Bill Smith ——”
“The mandarin customer?”
“Yes; we managed to talk—how it don’t matter to you; but I guess, when Bill Smith’s out of quod, that Vark is bound for Kingdom-come! And Bill Smith is out!”
“What!” shrieked Hagar, alive at once to the danger which threatened the lawyer. “Out! Escaped?”
“That’s the case. He got away last week, and they ain’t got him yet. I’d best go and tell Vark to load his pistols. I don’t want the old villain choked until I get my property square. You come too, cousin.”
“Not just now. To-morrow.”
“To-morrow won’t do for me!” growled Goliath. “You come to-day, quick!”
“Oh,” said Hagar, very disdainfully, “it is no use your taking that tone with me, Goliath. I must get ready my accounts to-night; and tomorrow, if you come here, I’ll take them with you to Vark. When everything is set out to your satisfaction, you can enter into your property at once.”
“Then you won’t come now?”
“No; I have given you my answer.”
“You’d best give me a pound or two,” said Goliath, crossly. “I’m cleaned out, and I need money to get a bed for the night. You are as obstinate as ever, I see; but if you won’t come, you won’t. But I’ll go and see Vark myself, and tell him about Bill Smith.”
After which speech Goliath, with money in his pocket, went off to see the lawyer, cursing Hagar freely for her obstinacy. The man entirely forgot how she had devoted herself these many months to looking after his property; all he thought of was, that he loved her now, as much as he had done in the old days, and that she was still set on having nothing to do with him. Had she been an ordinary girl, he might have broken her spirit; but it was useless to attempt bullying with Hagar. She could give as good as she get; and this great, hulking Goliath could only admire and desire this spirited gipsy girl who disdained him and his money.
“Well,” said Hagar to herself as she saw the last of him, “I have had one unexpected visitor; so by all the laws of coincidence I should have another to-day. I never knew one strange event happen without another following on its heels.”
Hagar did not think precisely in so bookish a fashion, but the gist of her ideas was as above; and this proved correct before nightfall, at which time the unexpected second event duly occurred. This was none other than the arrival of Eustace Lorn, who entered the shop with a smile on his lips and a love light in his eyes. The girl knew his step — by some intuition of love, no doubt—and rushed to meet him with outstretched hands. These Eustace clasped ardently in his own; but as yet—so dignified was the attitude of Hagar—he did not venture to kiss her. His speech was warmer than his actions.
“Hagar! my dear Hagar!” he cried, in rapture, “at last I have come back. Are you not glad to see me?”
“I am delighted!” replied Hagar, beaming with pleasure—“more delighted than I was to see Goliath.”
“Ah! he has returned, then? I found him at last, you see; and I recognized him from your description.”
“He did not tell me of your meeting, Eustace.”
“Oh, it was in this way,” replied Lorn, as they entered the parlor together. “I had searched for him everywhere, as you know, but could not find him. Where he has been all these months I cannot say, as at our interview he refused to tell me.”
“Perhaps he had a good reason for his silence,” said Hagar, noting the fact that Goliath had kept quiet concerning his prison experiences.
“I dare say,” laughed Lorn. “He looks a scamp. Well, I was down near Weybridge, resting by the roadside, when I saw a tall red-haired man passing. Remembering your description of Jimmy Dix, I felt sure that it was him; and I called out the name ‘Goliath.’ To my surprise, instead of stopping, he took to his heels.”
“Ah, he had a good reason for that also.”
“Not an honest one, I am afraid. Well; I ran after him, and in spite of his long legs I managed to catch him up. Then he showed fight; but when I explained who I was, and who you were, and how his father had died and left a fortune, Goliath grew quiet and friendly. He fraternized with me, accepted the loan of a few shillings
—which was all I could spare—and took himself off to London. You have seen him?”
“Yes; and to-morrow I make up my accounts and give him over his property. Then I shall be free—free! Oh!” cried Hagar, stretching her arms, “how delicious it will be to be free once more—to leave this weary London, and see the sky and stars, sunrise and sunset—to hear the birds, and breathe the fresh air of the moors! I am going back to my tribe, you know.”
“I don’t know,” said Eustace, taking her hand; “but I do know that I love you, and I have an idea that you love me. In this case, I think that instead of going back to your tribe you should come to your husband.”
“My husband—you!” cried Hagar, with a charming blush.
“If you love me,” said Eustace, and then was quiet.
“You leave the burden of proposing on me,” cried Hagar, again. “Well, my dear, I will not hide from you that I do love you. Hush! let me go on. I have seen but little of you, yet what I have seen I have loved, every inch of it. I can read faces and estimate character better than most, and I know that you are a true, good, honorable man, who will make me, a poor gipsy, a better husband than I dared to expect. Yes, Eustace, I love you. If you care I will marry you ——”
“Care! Marry me!” said Lorn, in rapture. “Why, my angel ——”
“One moment,” interrupted Hagar more seriously. “You know that I have no money, Eustace. Jacob Dix did not leave me a penny. I refuse to take anything from Goliath, who wants to marry me; and to-morrow I leave this shop as poor as when I came into it two years ago. Now, you are poor also; so two paupers are foolish to marry.”
“But I am not poor!” cried Eustace, smiling—“that is, I am not rich, but I have sufficient for you and me to lead the life we love.”
“But the life I love is the gipsy life,” objected Hagar.
“I also am Romany by instinct,” said Eustace joyously. “Have I not led the life of a vagabond these many months while looking for Goliath? See here, my dearest girl; when I left you I sold the Florentine Dante to a collector of books for a goodly sum. With the money I sought a caravan, and stocked it with books suitable for the country folk. All this time, my dear, I have been traveling with my caravan from town to town, earning my living by selling books; and I find it, really and truly, a very profitable concern. I ask you to be my wife—to share my caravan and gipsy life; so if you ——”
“Eustace!” cried Hagar, joyfully, and threw her arms round his neck. That was all; the situation adjusted itself between them without further words. When the pair stepped out into Carby’s Crescent to see the caravan—it was round the corner—they were already betrothed. For once in this world the course of true love was running smoothly. To marry Eustace; to live in a caravan; to wander about the country in true Bohemian fashion—Hagar could conceive of no sweeter existence. At last she was rewarded for her toils in the pawn-shop.
“This is our future home, Hagar,” said Eustace, and pointed to the caravan.
It was a very spick and span vehicle, painted a light canary color, picked out with pale blue; and on either side was inscribed—also in azure—the legend, ” E. Lorn, Bookseller.” A sleek gray horse in brown harness was between the shafts; and the windows of the caravan were barred with brass rods and curtained with the whitest of curtains. Hagar fell in love with this delightful Noah’s ark—as Eustace playfully called it—and clapped her hands. As it was about six o’clock and twilight, the street was almost emptied of people, so Hagar could indulge in her raptures to her heart’s content.
“O Eustace, Eustace! ‘Tis beautiful! ‘tis perfect!” she cried. “If it is as neat within as without, I shall love it dearly!”
“You’ll make me jealous of the caravan,” said Eustace, rather uneasily. “But don’t look inside, Hagar.”
“Why not?” said she, with a wondering look.
“Oh, because, because ——” he began, in confusion, and then stopped. Hagar looked at the door of the caravan, and Eustace turned his eyes in the same direction. It opened slowly, and a face—a brutal white face — looked out. The man to whom this visage—it was covered with a hairy growth of some days—belonged peered out at Eustace; then his gaze wandered to Hagar. As the light fell on his sullen looks, she gave a cry; the man on his side uttered an oath, and the next moment, dashing open the door, he had leaped out, and brushing past the pair, was racing down the street which led from Carby’s Crescent into the larger thoroughfare.
Eustace looked surprised at this sudden flight, and turned an inquiring look on Hagar, who was pale as sculptured stone.
“Why are you so pale?” he said, taking her hand; “and why did my friend run away at the sight of you?”
“Your friend?” said Hagar, faintly.
“Yes; for the time being at all events. He is only a poor tramp I found near Esher the other day. He was lying in a ditch half-dead for want of food, so I took him into my caravan, and looked after him till he got better. He asked me to take him up to London; and I was about to tell you about him when he ran away.”
“Why did you not wish me to look into the caravan?”
“Well,” said Eustace, “this tramp seemed rather nervous; I’m afraid a hard life has told on the poor soul. A strange face always made him afraid, and I thought that if you looked in suddenly, he might be alarmed. As it is ——”
“As it is, he was alarmed when he did see me,” burst out Hagar. “He well might be, as I know him!”
“You know him—that tramp?”
“Tramp! He is a convict—Bill Smith—the one I wrote to you about.”
“What! that blackguard who was engaged in the mandarin swindle!” cried Eustace, taken aback—“who stole those diamonds! I thought he was in prison!”
“So he was; but he escaped last week. The police are looking for him.”
“Who told you this, Hagar?”
“Goliath. He was in prison also, for horse-stealing; but he has just been let out—a few days ago. Bill Smith—Larky Bill as they call him—broke out, and he wants to kill Vark, the lawyer.”
“Then I have unconsciously helped him to escape justice,” said Lorn, in vexed tones. “I really thought he was a tramp; had I known who he was I would not have helped him. He is a brute!”
“He’ll be a murderer soon!” cried Hagar, feverishly. “For heaven’s sake, Eustace, repair your error by going to Scotland Yard and telling them that the man is in London! You may be able to prevent a crime.”
“I’ll go,” said Eustace, getting on to the driving seat of the caravan. “I’ll see about this tonight, and return to talk to you to-morrow. One moment”—he leaped down again—“a kiss, my dear.”
“Eustace! there are people about!”
“Well, they didn’t stop Bill Smith running away, so they won’t object to a kiss between an engaged couple. Good-by, dearest, for the last time. To-morrow we meet to part no more.”
It was in considerable agitation that Hagar returned to her pawn-shop. The coming of Goliath, the arrival of Eustace, the unexpected escape of Bill Smith—all these events crowded so rapidly into her life—in the space of an hour, as one might say—that she felt unnerved and alarmed. She did not know what the next day might bring forth, and was particularly careful in locking up the house on this night, lest the escaped convict should take it into his head to enter therein as a burglar. The next twelve hours were anything but pleasant to Hagar.
With the daylight came more assurance; also Vark and Goliath. The lean lawyer was much agitated at the news of the escape, and feared— as he well might—that his miserable life was not safe from so bitter an enemy as Larky Bill. However, his fear did not prevent him from attending to business; and the whole of that morning Hagar was busy explaining accounts and payments and receipts to Vark and Goliath. The lawyer tried hard to find fault with the administration of Hagar; to pick holes in her statements; but, thanks to the rigid honesty of the girl, and the careful manner in which she had conducted her business, Vark, t
o his great disgust, was unable to harm her in any way. Everything was arranged fairly, and Goliath expressed himself quite satisfied with the statement of his property. Then he made a speech.
“It seems that I have thirty thousand quid,” said he, exultingly; “also a pop-shop, which I’ll give the kick to. With the rhino I can set up as a gent ——”
“That you can never be!” retorted Hagar, scornfully.
“Not unless you look arter me. See here, you jade, when I was poor you said naught to me; now I am rich you ——”
“I say the same, Goliath. When you were an honest man I refused you; now you are a felon I ——”
“Was a felon,” corrected Goliath. “I’m out of quod now.”
“Well, I won’t marry you. I hate you!” cried Hagar, stamping her foot; “and indeed, if you must know, I’m going to marry Eustace Lorn.”
“What! that puppy!” cried Goliath, in a rage.
“That man—which you aren’t! I’ll live in a caravan and sell books.”
Here Goliath broke out into imprecations, and was hardly restrained from violence, so enraged was he. He swore that for her years of service he would not give Hagar a penny; she would leave the pawn-shop as poor as when she entered it.
“I intend to,” said Hagar, coolly. “I shan’t even take the mourning I wore for your father. My red dress is good enough for the caravan of Eustace; and to-morrow I’ll put it on, and leave the pawn-shop forever.”
This was all that Goliath could get out of her. He offered to settle the money on her, to go in a caravan round the country if she wished it; but all to no purpose. Hagar had surrendered her stewardship in such wise that not even Vark, who hated her, could find a flaw in the accounts. These things being settled, she declared that she was going away with Eustace, after one more night in the pawn-shop. First the altar and the marriage service; then the caravan and the country; and from this program Hagar never swerved.