"I do not think it will come to that," said Harry, in his grave tones. "I believe that he will yet thank us for what we have done."
Hugh stood outside the bank door one moment, the impersonification of hate and despair. His heart cried out for revenge, but was met with the utter inability to gratify its wish. This state of the mind, of all the tortures which can be ours, is undoubtedly that most akin to the torment which Christians believe shall be adjudged to sinners hereafter. The only comparison that can be made is a lost sinner standing on the confines of the place of doom, watching afar off the happiness in Heaven of those whom he hated and ill-used on earth.
Suddenly he started like a guilty thing, and cowering as if struck, slunk down a back lane, and with hurried steps rushed away, and did not stop until he reached a distant street. Here he paused, and glanced around to see if he was followed. There was a hoarding near at hand, and on it the bill-posters of the city had exercised all their talents. Big letters and little letters strove to express the astonishment they felt at the talents of such a one, or the efficacy of So-and-so's Eternal Pills, while wretched wood engravings attempted to convey to the beholder as idea of wonders which never existed except in the imagination of the artist. Hugh ran over them with the avidity of one who seeks to distract the attention of his mind from a dreadful pain and agonising anxiety. But when his eye met one of these announcements ho gave a short gasp, and his face Become ghastly. Then steadying himself he read it over carefully. It ran thus:—
£500 REWARD.
Whereas, on the night of ——, —— —— , a woman, whose name is at present unknown, was murdered in the scrub on the banks of the Yarra, by some person or persons also unknown, the above reward will be paid to any person giving such information as will lead to the conviction of the murderer. A pardon is offered to an accomplice.
Such was the proclamation in effect, expunging the legalities. Hugh seemed to breathe more freely after he had read it. Then the overmastering passion for food and rest returned with a thousandfold force. Food he must have. He thought with horror of the place which had sheltered him for a while, the Immigrants' Home; how he had been huddled, up with eighty others of the wretched and miserable, with clothes enough to shiver in, and—but we will pause. Even that had been denied him, for he had been turned out as one who would do no good. Once more the passion for food over-mastered shame and fear, and he sought Collins-street to see if he could meet any old friend who would give him something.
Collins-street was now in all its glory. Crowds of people streamed backwards and forwards, as if only bent on one thing—seeing and being seen. Business was over; the banks and offices were turning out their young men, who were sallying forth to meet their companions and make off to rowing or other amusements, or to dance attendance on the young ladies with whom they were flirting. At the doors of fashionable shops little knots of ladies were gathered, obstructing the foot-ways, and discussing the latest fashion and scandal. Portly dowagers, who ten or twenty years since had done service at the washtub, now lounged back in their carriages with all the grace imaginable, as if seeking to strike all carriageless and moneyless beholders with unutterable envy, whereas laughter was only evoked. It was a vanity fair on a small scale. Hugh sought a little lane, where he stood like a Ghoul looking out on the fair scene. He drew back hastily when Harry and Robert passed by arm in arm. Their day's work was over, and, no doubt, they were strolling up to the Athenaeum, to get the latest books wherewith to pass the evening hours, just as they three used to do years ago. They seemed without a care, without a trouble. How the man cursed them in his heart, and what would have become of them if his curses only had power? His eyes followed them eagerly, and flashed with lurid light when the two stopped before a bevy of fashionable ladies. Yes—that was Linda whose little hand was held so tenderly by Robert, whose blue eyes looked into his so lovingly, whose golden ringlets fluttered in the breeze, as she tossed her dainty head while chiding him, and whose clipsome waist looked as if it had been made to be clasped by the dear, handsome fellow, who gazed on her with as much ardor as decorum allowed. Yes; it was Linda, light-hearted, frolicsome Linda, whom they three had known and loved from childhood, who had grown up with them, and whose heart, sought so eagerly by each, had been surrendered wholly and unconditionally to the curled darling, Robert, the "Bobs" of that quadrilateral. His heart swelled as he looked on that happy scene, and he turned his face aside, for it was not for him. She would turn with loathing from him now.
