“Yours,

“G.  F. SHERWOOD.”

CHAPTER 15

“After all, there’s something in presentiment.”

This was the first thought that took shape in Will’s whirling mind.  The second was, that he might rationally have foreseen disaster.  All the points of strangeness which had struck him in Sherwood’s behaviour came back now with such glaring significance that he accused himself of inconceivable limpness in having allowed things to go their way—­above all in trusting Godfrey with the St. Neots cheque.  On this moment of painful lucidity followed blind rage.  Why, what a grovelling imbecile was this fellow!  To plunge into wild speculation, on the word of some City shark, with money not his own!  But could one credit the story?  Was it not more likely that Sherwood had got involved in some cunning thievery which he durst not avow?  Perhaps he was a mere liar and hypocrite.  That story of the ten thousand pounds he had lent to somebody—­how improbable it sounded; why might he not have invented it, to strengthen confidence at a critical moment?  The incredible baseness of the man!  He, who knew well all that depended upon the safe investment of the St. Neots money—­to risk it in this furiously reckless way.  In all the records of City scoundrelism, was there a blacker case?

Raging thus, Warburton became aware that Mrs. Hopper spoke to him.  She had just laid breakfast, and, as usual when she wished to begin a conversation, had drawn back to the door, where she paused.

“That Boxon, the grocer, has had a bad accident, sir.”

“Boxon?—­grocer?”

“In the Fulham Road, sir; him as Allchin was with.”

“Ah!”

Heedless of her master’s gloomy abstraction, Mrs. Hopper continued.  She related that Boxon had been at certain races where he had lost money and got drunk; driving away in a trap, he had run into something, and been thrown out, with serious injuries, which might prove fatal.

“So much the worse for him,” muttered Warburton.  “I’ve no pity to spare for fools and blackguards.”

“I should think not, indeed sir.  I just mentioned it, sir, because Allchin was telling us about it last night.  He and his wife looked in to see my sister, Liza, and they both said they never see such a change in anybody.  And they said how grateful we ought to be to you, sir, and that I’m sure we are, for Liza’d never have been able to go away without your kindness.”

Listening as if this talk sounded from a vague distance, Warburton was suddenly reminded of what had befallen himself; for as yet he had thought only of his mother and sister.  He was ruined.  Some two or three hundred pounds, his private bank account, represented all he had in the world, and all prospect of making money had been taken away from him.  Henceforth, small must be his charities.  If he gained his own living, he must count himself lucky; nothing more