“No, no, papa, not a word,” she interrupted; “I thought that was all settled last night.”
He sighed with the same weary sigh as on the night before, and seating himself at his desk, dipped a pen into the ink.
“What are you going to do, papa?”
“I’m only going to take the numbers of the notes.”
“There is no occasion.”
“There is always occasion to be businesslike,” said the old man firmly, as he checked the numbers of the notes one by one upon a sheet of paper with rapid precision.
Aurora paced up and down the room impatiently while this operation was going forward.
“How difficult it has been to me to get this money!” she exclaimed. “If I had been the wife and daughter of two of the poorest men in Christendom, I could scarcely have had more trouble about this two thousand pounds. And now you keep me here while you number the notes, not one of which is likely to be exchanged in this country.”
“I learnt to be businesslike when I was very young, Aurora,” answered Mr. Floyd, “and I have never been able to forget my old habits.”
He completed his task in defiance of his daughter’s impatience, and handed her the packet of notes when he had done.
“I will keep the list of numbers, my dear,” he said. “If I were to give it to you, you would most likely lose it.”
He folded the sheet of paper and put it in a drawer of his desk.
“Twenty years hence, Aurora,” he said, “should I live so long, I should be able to produce this paper, if it were wanted.”
“Which it never will be, you dear methodical papa,” answered Aurora. “My troubles are ended now. Yes,” she added, in a graver tone, “I pray God that my troubles may be ended now.”
She encircled her arms about her father’s neck, and kissed him tenderly.
“I must leave you, dearest, today,” she said; “you must not ask me why—you must ask me nothing! You must only love and trust me—as my poor John trusts me—faithfully, hopefully, through everything.”
XX
Captain Prodder
While the Doncaster express was carrying Mr. and Mrs. Mellish northwards, another express journeyed from Liverpool to London with its load of passengers.
Amongst these passengers there was a certain broad-shouldered and rather bull-necked individual, who attracted considerable attention during the journey, and was an object of some interest to his fellow-travellers and the railway officials at the two or three stations where the train stopped.
He was a man of about fifty years of age, but his years were worn very lightly, and only recorded by some wandering streaks and patches of gray amongst his thick blue-black stubble of hair. His complexion, naturally dark, had become of such a bronzed and coppery tint by perpetual exposure to meridian suns, tropical hot winds, the fiery breath of the simoom, and the many other trifling inconveniences attendant upon an outdoor life, as to cause him to be frequently mistaken for the inhabitant of some one of those countries in which the complexion of the natives fluctuates between burnt sienna, Indian red, and Vandyke brown. But it was rarely long before he took an opportunity to rectify this mistake, and to express that hearty contempt and aversion for all furriners which is natural to the unspoiled and unsophisticated Briton.
Upon this particular occasion he had not been half an hour in the society of his fellow-passengers before he had informed them that he was a native of Liverpool, and the captain of a merchant vessel trading, in a manner of speaking, he said, everywhere; that he had run away from his father and his home at a very early period of his life; and had shifted for himself in different parts of the globe ever since: that his Christian name was Samuel and his surname Prodder, and that his father had been, like himself, a captain in the merchant’s service. He chewed so much tobacco and drank so much fiery Jamaica rum from a pocket-pistol in the intervals of his conversation, that the first-class compartment in which he sat was odorous with the compound perfume. But he was such a hearty, loud-spoken fellow, and there was such a pleasant twinkle in his black eyes, that the passengers (with the exception of one crusty old lady) treated him with great good-humour, and listened very patiently to his talk.
“Chewin’ ain’t smokin’, you know, is it?” he said, with a great guffaw, as he cut himself a terrible block of Cavendish; “and railway companies ain’t got any laws against that. They can put a fellow’s pipe out, but he can chew his quid in their faces; though I won’t say which is wust for their carpets, neither.”
I am sorry to be compelled to confess that this brown-visaged merchant-captain, who said wust, and chewed Cavendish tobacco, was uncle to Mrs. John Mellish of Mellish Park; and that the motive for this very journey was neither more nor less than his desire to become acquainted with his niece.
He imparted this fact—as well as much other information relating to himself, his tastes, habits, adventures, opinions, and sentiments—to his travelling companions in the course of the journey.
“Do you know for why I’m going to London by this identical train?” he asked generally, as the passengers settled themselves into their places after taking refreshment at Rugby.
The gentlemen looked over their newspapers at the talkative sailor, and a young lady looked up from her book; but nobody volunteered to speculate an opinion upon the mainspring of Mr. Prodder’s actions.
“I’ll tell you for why,” resumed the merchant captain, addressing the assembly, as if in answer to their eager questioning. “I’m going to see my niece, which I have never seen before. When I ran away from father’s ship, the Ventur’some, nigh upon forty year ago, and went aboard the craft of a captain by the name of Mobley, which was a good master to me for many
