It seemed that great as was his loss by W--'s failure,it was not absolute ruin to him.In effect,he was at this moment perfectly solvent,and by calling in mortgages,etc.could meet both the accounts of the gentry who banked with him,together with all his own notes now afloat in the country,principally among the humbler ranks,petty tradespeople,and such like,if only both classes of customers would give him time to pay them.
"But they will not.There will be a run upon the bank and then all's over with me.It's a hard case--solvent as I am--ready and able to pay every farthing--if only I had a week's time.As it is I must stop payment to-day.Hark!they are at the door again!Mr.Halifax,for God's sake quiet them!""I will;only tell me first what sum,added to the cash you have available,would keep the bank open--just for a day or two."At once guided and calmed,the old man's business faculties seemed to return.He began to calculate,and soon stated the sum he needed;Ithink it was three or four thousand pounds.
"Very well;I have thought of a plan.But first--those poor fellows outside.Thank Heaven,I am a rich man,and everybody knows it.
Phineas,that inkstand,please."
He sat down and wrote:curiously the attitude and manner reminded me of his sitting down and writing at my father's table,after the bread riot--years and years ago.Soon a notice,signed by Josiah Jessop,and afterwards by himself,to the effect that the bank would open,"without fail,"at one o'clock this day,--was given by John to the astonished clerk,to be posted in the window.
A responsive cheer outside showed how readily those outside had caught at even this gleam of hope.Also--how implicitly they trusted in the mere name of a gentleman who all over the country was known for "his word being as good as his bond,"--John Halifax.
The banker breathed freer;but his respite was short:an imperative message came from the gentlemen above-stairs,desiring his presence.
With a kind of blind dependence he looked towards John.
"Let me go in your stead.You can trust me to manage matters to the best of my power?"The banker overwhelmed him with gratitude.
"Nay,that ought to be my word,standing in this house,and remembering"--His eyes turned to the two portraits--grimly-coloured daubs,yet with a certain apology of likeness too,which broadly smiled at one another from opposite walls--the only memorials now remaining of the good doctor and his cheery little old wife."Come,Mr.Jessop,leave the matter with me;believe me,it is not only a pleasure,but a duty."The old man melted into senile tears.
I do not know how John managed the provincial magnates,who were sitting in council considering how best to save,first themselves,then the bank,lastly--If the poor public outside had been made acquainted with that ominous "lastly!"Or if to the respectable conclave above-stairs,who would have recoiled indignantly at the vulgar word "jobbing,"had been hinted a phrase--which ran oddly in and out of the nooks of my brain,keeping time to the murmur in the street,"Vox populi,vox Dei"--truly,I should have got little credit for my Latinity.
John came out in about half an hour,with a cheerful countenance;told me he was going over to Coltham for an hour or two--would I wait his return?
"And all is settled?"I asked.
"Will be soon,I trust.I can't stay to tell you more now.
Goodbye."
I was no man of business,and could assist in nothing.So I thought the best I could do was to pass the time in wandering up and down the familiar garden,idly watching the hoar-frost on the arbutus leaves,and on the dry stems of what had been dear little Mrs.Jessop's favourite roses--the same roses I had seen her among on that momentous evening--the evening when Ursula's bent neck flushed more crimson than the sunset itself,as I told her John Halifax was "too noble to die for any woman's love."No--he had lived for it--earned it--won it.And musing over these long-ago times,my heart melted--foolish old heart that it was!with a trembling joy,to think that Providence had,in some way,used my poor useless hand to give to him this blessing,a man's chiefest blessing of a virtuous and loving wife--which had crowned his life for all these wonderful years.
As it neared one o'clock,I could see my ancient friend the Abbey clock with not a wrinkle in his old face,staring at me through the bare Abbey trees.I began to feel rather anxious.I went into the deserted office;and thence,none forbidding,ensconced myself behind the sheltering bank blinds.
The crowd had scarcely moved;a very honest,patient,weary crowd dense in the centre,thinning towards the edges.On its extremest verge,waiting in a curricle,was a gentleman,who seemed observing it with a lazy curiosity.I,having like himself apparently nothing better to do,observed this gentleman.
He was dressed in the height of the mode,combined with a novel and eccentric fashion,which had been lately set by that extraordinary young nobleman whom everybody talked about--my Lord Byron.His neckcloth was loose,his throat bare,and his hair fell long and untidy.His face,that of a man about thirty--I fancied I had seen it before,but could not recall where,--was delicate,thin,with an expression at once cynical and melancholy.He sat in his carriage,wrapped in furs,or looked carelessly out on the scene before him,as if he had no interest therein--as if there was nothing in life worth living for.
