But yet something like remorse touched his heart as he
sat there balancing himself on his chair in the private secretary's
room, and looking at the young man's open face.
"Yes; I'll write to him," said John Robarts; "but he hasn't said
anything to me about anything particular."
"Hasn't he? It does not much signify. I only mentioned it because I
thought I understood him to say that he would." And then Mr. Sowerby
went on swinging himself. How was it that he felt so averse to
mention that little sum of L500 to a young man like John Robarts,
a fellow without wife or children or calls on him of any sort, who
would not even be injured by the loss of the money, seeing that
he had an ample salary on which to live? He wondered at his own
weakness. The want of the money was urgent on him in the extreme. He
had reasons for supposing that Mark would find it very difficult to
renew the bills, but he, Sowerby, could stop their presentation if he
could get this money at once into his own hands.
"Can I do anything for you?" said the innocent lamb, offering his
throat to the butcher. But some unwonted feeling numbed the butcher's
fingers, and blunted his knife. He sat still for half a minute after
the question, and then jumping from his seat, declined the offer.
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