212520_The_Adve ... _Way_Through_The_World.pdf - OUDL Home

ON HIS WAY THROUGH THE WORLD 213
my life, which you had flung it away. And I paid you back by
guarding your boy's dear life, I did, under—under Him who giveth
and taketh. And bless His name !"
" You are a good woman, and I am a bad sinful man, Caroline,"
says the other. " You saved my Philip's—our Philip's life, at the
risk of your own. Now I tell you that another immense danger
menaces him, and may come upon him any day as long as yonder
scoundrel is alive. Suppose his character is assailed; suppose,
thinking you dead, I married another ?"
" Ah, George, you never thought me dead ; though, perhaps, you
wished it, sir. And many would have died," added the poor Little
Sister.
" Look, Caroline ! If I was married to you, my wife—Philip's
mother—was not my wife, and he is her natural son. The property
he inherits does not belong to him. The children of his grandfather's
other daughter claim it, and Philip is a beggar. Philip,
bred as he has been—Philip, the heir to a mother's large fortune."
" And—and his father's too ?" asks Caroline anxiously.
" I daren't tell you—though, no, by heavens ! I can trust you
with everything. My own great gains have been swallowed up in
speculations which have been almost all fatal. There has been a
fate hanging over me, Caroline—a righteous punishment for having
deserted you. I sleep with a sword over my head, which may fall
and destroy me. I walk with a volcano under my feet, which may
burst any day and annihilate me. And people speak of the famous
Dr. Firmin, the rich Dr. Firmin, the prosperous Dr. Firmin! I
shall have a title soon, I believe. I am believed to be happy, and I
am alone, and the wretchedest man alive."
" Alone, are you ?" said Caroline. " There was a woman once
would have kept by you, only you—you flung her away. Look
here, George Brandon. It's over with us. Years and years ago it
lies where a little cherub was buried. But I love my Philip ; and I
won't hurt him, no, never, never, never !"
And as the Doctor turned to go away, Caroline followed him
wistfully into the ball, and it was there that Philip found them.
Caroline's tender " never, never," rang in Philip's memory as he
sat at Ridley's party, amidst the artists and authors there assembled.
Phil was thoughtful and silent. He did not laugh very loud. He
did not praise or abuse anybody outrageously, as was the wont of
that most emphatic young gentleman. He scarcely contradicted a
single person ; and perhaps, when Larkins said Scumble's last picture
was beautiful, or Bunch, the critic of the Connoisseur, praised
Bowman's last novel, contented himself with a scornful " Ho !" and
a pull at his whiskers, by way of protest and denial. Had he been