'Then you have travelled fast,' said the young lady.
'I haven't seen a bed, of course,' said John.
The young lady immediately afterwards told her father. 'I suppose he must be one of the Foreign Office messengers,' said the young lady.
'Anything but that,' said the gentleman. 'People never talk about their own trades. He's probably a clerk with a fortnight's leave of absence, seeing how many towns he can do in the time. It's the usual way of travelling nowadays. When I was young and there were no railways, Iremember going from Paris to Vienna without sleeping.' Luckily for his present happiness, John did not hear this.
He was still fast asleep when a servant came to him from Mrs Arabin to say that she would see him at once. 'Yes, yes; I'm quite ready to go on,' said Johnny, jumping up, and thinking of the journey to Rome. But there was no journey to Rome before him. Mrs Arabin was almost in the next room, and there he found her.
The reader will understand that they had never met before, and hitherto knew nothing of each other. Mrs Arabin had never heard the name of John Eames till John's card was put into her hands, and would not have known of his business with her had he not written those few words upon it.
'You have come about Mr Crawley?' she said to him eagerly. 'I have heard from my father that somebody was coming.'
'Yes, Mrs Arabin; as hard as I could travel. I had expected to find you at Venice.'
'Have you been to Venice?'
'I have just arrived from Venice. They told me at Paris I should find you here. However, that does not matter, as I have found you here. Iwonder whether you can help us?'
'Do you know Mr Crawley? Are you a friend of his?'
'I never saw him in my life; but he married my cousin.'
'I gave him the cheque, you know,' said Mrs Arabin.
'What!' exclaimed Eames, literally almost knocked backwards by the easiness of the words which contained a solution for so terrible a difficulty. The Crawley case had assumed such magnitude, and the troubles of the Crawley family had been so terrible, that it seemed to him to be almost sacrilegious that words so simply uttered should suffice to cure everything. He had hardly hoped--had at least barely hoped--that Mrs Arabin might be able to suggest something which would put them all on a track towards the discovery of the truth. But he found that she had the clue in her hand, and that the clue was one which required no further delicacy of investigation. There would be nothing more to unravel; no journey to Jerusalem would be necessary!
'Yes,' said Mrs Arabin, 'I gave it to him. They have been writing to my husband about it, and never wrote to me; and till I received a letter about it from my father, and another from my sister, at Venice the day before yesterday, I knew nothing of the particulars of Mr Crawley's trouble.'
'Had you not heard that he had been taken before the magistrates?'
'No; not so much even as that. I had seen in "Galignani" something about a clergyman, but I did not know what clergyman; and I heard that there was something wrong about Mr Crawley's money, but there has always been something wrong about money with poor Mr Crawley; and as I knew that my husband had been written to also, I did not interfere, further than to ask the particulars. My letters have followed me about, and Ionly heard at Venice, just before I came here, what was the nature of the case.'
'And did you do anything?'
'I telegraphed at once to Mr Toogood, who I understand is acting as Mr Crawley's solicitor. My sister sent me his address.'
'He is my uncle.'
'I telegraphed to him, telling him that I had given Mr Crawley the cheque, and then I wrote to Archdeacon Grantly giving him the whole history. I was obliged to come here before I could return home, but Iintended to start this evening.'
'And what is the whole history?' asked John Eames.
The history of the gift of the cheque was very ******. It has been told how Mr Crawley in his dire distress had called upon his old friend at the deanery asking for pecuniary assistance. This he had done with so much reluctance that his spirit had given way while he was waiting in the dean's library, and he had wished to depart without accepting what the dean was quite willing to bestow upon him. From this cause it had come to pass there had been no time for explanatory words, even between the dean and his wife--from whose private funds had in truth come the money which had been given to Mr Crawley. For the private wealth of the family belonged to Mrs Arabin, and not to the dean; and was left entirely in Mrs Arabin's hands, to be disposed of as she might please.
Previously to Mr Crawley's arrival at the deanery this matter had been discussed between the dean and his wife, and it had been agreed between them that a sum of fifty pounds should be given. It should be given by Mrs Arabin, but it was thought that the gift would come with more comfort to the recipient from the hands of his old friend than from those of his wife. There had been much discussion between them as to the mode in which this might be done with the least offence to the man's feelings--for they knew Mr Crawley and his peculiarities well. At last it was agreed that the notes should be put into an envelope, which envelope the dean should have ready with him. But when the moment came the dean did not have the envelope ready, and was obliged to leave the room to seek his wife. And Mrs Arabin explained to John Eames that even she had not had it ready, and had been forced to go to her own desk to fetch it. Then, at the last moment, with the desire of increasing the good to be done to people who were so terribly in want, she put the cheque for twenty pounds, which was in her possession as money of her own, along with the notes, and in this way the cheque had been given by the dean to Mr Crawley. 'I shall never forgive myself for not telling the dean,' she said. 'Had I done that all this trouble would have been saved.'
'But where did you get the cheque?' Eames asked with natural curiosity.