VERY HARD CASH.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND."

CHAPTER XLVI.

IF we could always know at the time what we
are doing!

Two ladies carried a paper to Whitehall out
of charity to a stranger.

Therein the elder was benefactress to a man
she never spoke of but as "the Wretch;" the
younger held her truant bridegroom's heart, I
may say, in her hand all the road, and was his
protectress. Neither recognised the handwriting:
for no man can write his own hand with a toothpick.

They reached Whitehall, and were conducted
up-stairs to a gentleman of pleasant aspect but
powerful brow, seated in a wilderness of letters.
He waved his hand, and a clerk set them chairs:
he soon after laid down his pen, and leaned
gravely forward to hear their business. They
saw they must waste no time; Julia looked at
her mother, rose, and took Alfred's missive to
his desk, and handed it him with one of her
eloquent looks, grave and pitiful. He seemed
struck by her beauty and her manner.

"It was pinned on my parasol, sir, by a poor
prisoner at Drayton House," said Mrs. Dodd.

"Oh, indeed," said the gentleman, and began
to read the superscription with a cold and wary
look. But it thawed visibly as he read. He
opened the missive, and ran his eye over it. The
perusal moved him not a little: a generous flush
mounted to his brow; he rang the bell sharply.
A clerk answered it; the gentleman wrote on a
slip of paper, and said earnestly, "Bring me
every letter that is signed with that name, and
all our correspondence about him."

He then turned to Mrs. Dodd, and put her a
few questions, which drew out the main facts I
have just related. The papers were now brought
in. "Excuse me a moment," said he, and ran
over them. "I believe the man is sane," said
he, "and that you will have enabled us to baffle
a conspiracy, a heartless conspiracy."

"We do hope he will be set free, sir," said
Mrs. Dodd piteously.

"He shall, madam, if it is as I suspect. I will
stay here all night but I will master this case;
and lay it before the Board myself without
delay."

Julia looked at her mother, and then asked if
it would be wrong to inquire "the poor gentleman's
name."

"Humph!" said the official; "I ought not to
reveal that without his consent. But stay! he
will owe you much, and it really seems a pity he
should not have an opportunity of expressing his
gratitude. Perhaps you will favour me with
your address; and trust to my discretion: of
course, if he does not turn out as sane as he
seems, I shall never let him know it."

Mrs. Dodd then gave her address; and she
and Julia went home with a glow about the
heart selfish people, thank Heaven, never know.

Unconsciously these two had dealt their enemy
and Alfred's a heavy blow; had set the train to
a mine. Their friend at the office was a man of
another stamp than Alfred had fallen in with.*

* THE CONDUCTOR OF THIS JOURNAL DESIRES TO TAKE
THIS OPPORTUNITY OF EXPRESSING HIS PERSONAL BELIEF
THAT NO PUBLIC SERVANTS DO THEIR DUTY WITH GREATER
ABILITY, HUMANITY, AND INDEPENDENCE, THAN THE
COMMISSIONERS IN LUNACY.

Meantime Alfred was subjected to hourly
mortifications and irritations. He guessed the
motive, and tried to baffle it by calm self-possession:
but this was far more difficult than
heretofore, because his temper was now exacerbated
and his fibre irritated by broken sleep (of this
poor David was a great cause), and his heart
inflamed and poisoned by that cruel, that corroding
passion, jealousy.

To think, that while he was in prison, a rival
was ever at his Julia's ear, making more and
more progress in her heart! This corroder was
his bitter companion day and night; and perhaps
of all the maddeners human cunning could have
invented this was the worst. It made his
temples beat and his blood run boiling poison.
Indeed, there were times when he was so                                                        distempered by passion that homicide seemed but
an act of justice, and suicide a legitimate relief.
For who could go on for ever carrying Hell in
his bosom up and down a prison yard? He
began to go alone: to turn impatiently from the
petty troubles and fathomless egotism of those
afflicted persons he had hitherto forced his sore
heart to pity. Pale, thin, and wo-begone, he
walked the weary gravel, like the lost ones in