Chapter XV · —BAD NEWS FROM BRIGHTON.

When Mr. Murray left the dining-room at Gore House, Mr. Gregory followed him as far as the hall door, then he returned for a moment, and looked at Bertie angrily. It seemed as if he were going to say something of importance, but suddenly checked himself with a hasty stamp of his foot; then he said, more quietly, "Get to bed as soon as possible, and be down in good time in the morning, and see that you don't fall asleep out of doors again," and left the dining-room.

Bertie was not very long after him, and though he felt much better for his supper, he was still so stiff and chilled that the warm bath was a real luxury. His head was scarcely on the pillow before he was sound asleep, but he was troubled and restless, and awoke in the morning feeling dull and unrefreshed, and with the uncomfortable sense of something having happened that he vainly tried to recall. However, he got up and was downstairs before his uncle.

Mr. Gregory spoke to him coldly, without looking up from his pile of letters, and Bertie ate his breakfast in silence: that is, he drank his coffee, but food seemed to hurt his throat strangely, and in spite of the brilliant sunshine, he shivered nervously once or twice. Just as breakfast was finished there came a telegram for Mr. Gregory, which, when he had read it, he handed over to Bertie.

The message was from Aunt Amy, saying that Uncle Clair was ill, and wished to see Bertie, if his Uncle Gregory would permit him to go. The paper fell from his trembling fingers as he looked at the unconcerned features of his uncle, and he gasped, rather than asked, "May I go, sir?"

"Certainly, if you wish it," was the cold reply, "though I fail to see what possible good you can do. You can come into the City with me, and go down by the noon express; telegraph to that effect when you reach the office."

"Thank you, Uncle Gregory; and if you please, will you let me have some money?" Bertie faltered, blushing, and looking very much confused. "I'm afraid it would take me too long to get my own out of the savings' bank."

Mr. Gregory took a sovereign from his pocket. "That will be sufficient for your expenses. Watts shall get your ticket;" and Mr. Gregory rose from the table, and rang for his hat and gloves. The dog-cart was already at the door, and presently Bertie was beside his uncle driving City-wards.

Mr. Gregory looked very stern and angry, and once or twice seemed on the point of asking Bertie some questions, but always checked himself. The fact was, Mr. Gregory felt very curious as to what Mr. Murray had said to Bertie, whether he had made him any fine promises, or, in short, shown the lad himself the keen interest that he took in him, and how resolved he was to do something to alter his condition. Mr. Gregory had very confidently hoped that one of his own sons would have been the old gentleman's favourite, and but for the unfortunate encounter with the Rivers' lads, he felt quite confident that such would have been the case. Then the finding of the papers and the immediate return of them annoyed Mr. Gregory very much. If he could have kept them back for one day it would have been considerably to his interest; and though he liked and fully appreciated a boy who was quick to think and prompt to act, he liked the quickness and promptitude to be for, not against, himself. In fact, though he would not acknowledge it, even to himself, Mr. Gregory's business affairs just then were in a very critical condition: during the summer many of his ventures had failed; many large firms with which he did business had also failed; and though the credit of his house was as yet above suspicion, trade was very dull, and matters generally looked threatening. It was that that caused Mr. Gregory to court an alliance in any shape with the firm of Murray and Co., that enjoyed a reputation second only to the Bank of England. With one of his sons in the office, and treated as the adopted child of the head of the firm, Mr. Gregory felt as if he could face a financial earthquake; therefore he did not care to see Bertie rendering important services, did not care to hear him praised for exceptional business capacity, least of all did he like to hear his old friend Mr. Murray almost reproach himself for the lad's dependent position, and say sadly that in a great measure he was the cause of their father's ruin. Such a statement from an enormously wealthy, Quixotically generous man meant possible reparation; there was really no telling what he might not do for Bertie and Eddie Rivers; so Mr. Gregory determined very prudently, as he thought, to keep the boys as much as possible out of the old gentleman's way. Therefore he allowed Bertie to go to Brighton, with permission to remain as long as his uncle and aunt required him, and telegraphed to his wife to send his second son Dick up to town without delay.

"Harry must go to Oxford and get into Parliament," he said to himself, "and I must sacrifice Dick to his interest and advancement." It was a singular thing Mr. Gregory never thought it the least sacrifice to place Bertie Rivers in his office, even when he was younger and worse educated than his own son. "Bertie is a smart, industrious lad, with better business capacity than Dick," he reflected, as he watched Bertie go through his morning's work, apparently oblivious to everything outside, forgetful of his stiff limbs, sore throat, hard words, and, worst of all, the terrible telegram from Brighton; he simply crushed the thoughts down and did his work steadily, till his uncle told him it was time to go to the station.

"Good-bye. I hope you will find Mr. Clair better," he said, ungraciously enough. "Watts, get a hansom, and be quick."

Bertie needed no second bidding to go, and as he left the office it was with an earnest wish that he might never have to enter it again. He little knew that his uncle's thoughts at the same moment were, "I hope he may never come back; or if he does, I hope Dick will be with Mr. Murray."

That gentleman meantime had driven round to Gore House about eleven o'clock, with the intention of taking Bertie out for a couple of hours, and so studying his manners and temper, but to his astonishment, he learned the boy had driven into town with his uncle, and was going down to Brighton to see his other uncle, who was dangerously ill. James had consulted the telegram he found on the breakfast-table, and from it and the fragments of conversation he picked up, knew pretty accurately what Master Bertie's movements were going to be. "He's going down by the twelve train, sir, but he looks more fit to be in his bed," James continued. "I believe he's caught a violent cold: he was that hoarse to-day, and his face as white as milk; and he had no breakfast."

Mr. Murray listened in silence, only nodding his head gravely every few seconds, then he told his coachman to drive him at once to London Bridge Station; there he would find out the truth as to whether Bertie was ill or going to Brighton, and act accordingly. But the City was very crowded, his carriage frequently got blocked, and he only reached the station in time to jump into a carriage, where he fancied he caught a glimpse of Bertie's head in a corner. He had not even time to get a ticket or give his servants any instructions; but then, Mr. Murray was known to be eccentric, and he always paid most liberally for his whims.

Bertie, who was alone in the carriage, looked first surprised, and then very pleased. He was terribly low-spirited, his head ached, his throat was sore, worst of all, he was cold, and would probably have sobbed the whole way to Brighton had he been alone, and so made himself very ill. But Mr. Murray cheered him up wonderfully, chatted briskly all the way about everything a boy could be expected to take an interest in, and in fact made the time pass so pleasantly that they were at Brighton long before Bertie thought they were half-way. When they reached the house (for Mr. Murray went too), the blinds were all down, and that gave Bertie a sudden chill; and as he knocked at the door he glanced with terrified, appealing eyes at Mr. Murray, who drew a step nearer, and took Bertie by the hand. It was a firm, reassuring clasp, and the boy glanced at him gratefully, and when the door was opened, thus hand in-hand they went upstairs, and were met just at the drawing-room door by Mrs. Clair. One glance at her face was sufficient to tell them something dreadful had happened. Bertie was in her arms in a moment, while Eddie and Agnes—white, wild-eyed, terror-stricken—clung on either side. It was a heartrending picture of sorrow and despair, and Mr. Murray could not witness it unmoved. He just shook hands with Mrs. Clair, whispered a few words that he would telegraph at once to Mr. Gregory, and would call again in a few hours, to ask if he could be of any service.

"Remember, my dear Mrs. Clair, you are not alone here. I will see to everything for you: Rely on me, command me, and remember I was your brother's dearest friend. I will call as soon as I get Gregory's answer. By the way, that boy Bertie is very ill; he has a violent cold, he has eaten nothing to-day, he is very unhappy; if you can, forget' your own sorrow for an hour in comforting him;" and then Mr. Murray hurried away, having left a ray of sunshine in a very shady place, and cheered and comforted Mrs. Clair, who was alone, helpless, bewildered, in her terrible and sudden affliction. Surely Heaven had sent her a friend in her direst distress, and she was truly grateful.

(To be continued.)