ANYWHERE, ANYWHERE OUT OF THE WORLD.
When they returned to Lansdowne Cottage they the old man had not yet come in, so they walked to the beach to look for him. After a search they him, upon a of pebbles, reading a newspaper and filberts. The little boy was at some from his grandfather, in the with a spade. The the old man's hat, and the child's little black frock, to George's heart. Go where he would he met fresh of this great of his life. His wife was dead.
"Mr. Maldon," he said, as he approached his father-in-law.
The old man looked up, and, his newspaper, rose from the with a bow. His light was with gray; he had a nose; eyes, and an irresolute-looking mouth; he his dress with an of gentility; an eye-glass over his closely buttoned-up waistcoat, and he a in his hand.
"Great Heaven!" George, "don't you know me?"
Mr. Maldon started and violently, with something of a look, as he his son-in-law.
"My dear boy," he said, "I did not; for the moment I did not. That makes such a difference. You the makes a great difference, do you not, sir?" he said, to Robert.
"Great heavens!" George Talboys, "is this the way you welcome me? I come to England to my wife a week of my land, and you to to me about my beard—you, her father!"
"True! true!" the old man, his eyes; "a sad shock, a sad shock, my dear George. If you'd only been here a week earlier."
"If I had," George, in an of and passion, "I think that I would have let her die. I would have for her with death. I would! I would! Oh God! why did not the Argus go with every on her I came to see this day?"
He to walk up and the beach, his father-in-law looking at him, his with a handkerchief.
"I've a that that old man didn't his too well," Robert, as he the half-pay lieutenant. "He seems, for some or other, to be of George."
While the man walked up and in a of and despair, the child ran to his grandfather, and about the of his coat.
"Come home, grandpa, come home," he said. "I'm tired."
George Talboys at the of the voice, and looked long and at the boy.
He had his father's and dark hair.
"My darling! my darling!" said George, taking the child in his arms, "I am your father, come across the sea to you. Will you love me?"
The little pushed him away. "I don't know you," he said. "I love and Mrs. Monks at Southampton."
"Georgey has a of his own, sir," said the old man. "He has been spoiled."
They walked slowly to the cottage, and once more George Talboys told the history of that which had so cruel. He told, too, of the twenty thousand by him the day before. He had not the to ask any questions about the past, and his father-in-law only told him that a months after his they had gone from the place where George left them to live at Southampton, where Helen got a for the piano, and where they managed well till her health failed, and she into the of which she died. Like most sad it was a very one.
"The boy of you, Mr. Maldon," said George, after a pause.
"Yes, yes," answered the old man, the child's hair; "yes. Georgey is very of his grandfather."
"Then he had stop with you. The of my money will be about six hundred a year. You can a hundred of that for Georgey's education, the to till he is of age. My friend here will be trustee, and if he will the charge, I will him to the boy, him for the present to under your care."
"But why not take of him yourself, George?" asked Robert Audley.
"Because I shall sail in the very next that Liverpool for Australia. I shall be in the or the than I be here. I'm for a life from this hour, Bob."
The old man's weak as George this determination.
"My boy, I think you're right," he said, "I think you're right. The change, the wild life, the—the—" He and as Robert looked at him.
"You're in a great to of your son-in-law, I think, Mr. Maldon," he said, gravely.
"Get of him, dear boy! Oh, no, no! But for his own sake, my dear sir, for his own sake, you know."
"I think for his own he'd much in England and look after his son," said Robert.
"But I tell you I can't," George; "every of this ground is to me—I want to out of it as I would out of a graveyard. I'll go to town to-night, that about the money settled early to-morrow morning, and start for Liverpool without a moment's delay. I shall be when I've put the world me and her grave."
"Before he left the house he out to the landlady, and asked some more questions about his wife.
"Were they poor?" he asked, "were they for money while she was ill?"
"Oh, no!" the woman answered; "though the captain shabby, he has always of in his purse. The lady wanted for nothing."
George was at this, though it puzzled him to know where the half-pay have to money for all the of his daughter's illness.
But he was too by the which had him to be able to think much of anything, so he asked no questions, but walked with his father-in-law and Robert Audley to the by which they were to to Portsmouth.
The old man Robert a very adieu.
"You did not me to your friend, by-the-bye, my dear boy," he said. George at him, something indistinct, and ran the to the Mr. Maldon repeat his request. The away through the sunset, and the of the melted in the as they the opposite shore.
"To think," said George, "that two nights ago, at this time, I was into Liverpool, full of the of her to my heart, and to-night I am going away from her grave!"
The document which Robert Audley as to little George Talboys was up in a solicitor's office the next morning.
"It's a great responsibility," Robert; "I, to or anything! I, who in my life take of myself!"
"I trust in your heart, Bob," said George. "I know you will take of my boy, and see that he is well used by his grandfather. I shall only from Georgey's to take me to Sydney, and then my old work again."
But it as if George was to be himself the of his son; for when he Liverpool, he that a had just sailed, and that there would not be another for a month; so he returned to London, and once more himself upon Robert Audley's hospitality.
The him with open arms; he gave him the room with the and flowers, and had a put up in his dressing-room for himself. Grief is so selfish that George did not know the his friend for his comfort. He only that for him the sun was darkened, and the of life done. He sat all day long cigars, and at the flowers and canaries, for the time to pass that he might be out at sea.
But just as the hour was near for the of the vessel, Robert Audley came in one day, full of a great scheme.
A friend of his, another of those last is of a brief, was going to St. Petersburg to the winter, and wanted Robert to him. Robert would only go on condition that George too.
For a long time the man resisted; but when he that Robert was, in a way, upon not going without him, he gave in, and to join the party. What did it matter? he said. One place was the same to him as another; out of England; what did he where?
This was not a very way of looking at things, but Robert Audley was satisfied with having his consent.
The three men started under very circumstances, of to the most of the Russian capital.
Before England, Robert to his Alicia, telling her of his with his old friend George Talboys, he had met for the time after a of years, and who had just his wife.
Alicia's reply came by return post, and ran thus:
"MY DEAR ROBERT—How of you to away to that St. Petersburg the season! I have that people their in that climate, and as yours is a long one, I should you to return the very weather sets in. What of person is this Mr. Talboys? If he is very you may him to the Court as soon as you return from your travels. Lady Audley tells me to you to secure her a set of sables. You are not to the price, but to be sure that they are the that can be obtained. Papa is perfectly about his new wife, and she and I cannot on together at all; not that she is to me, for, as as that goes, she makes herself to every one; but she is so and silly.
"Believe me to be, my dear Robert.
"Your cousin,
"ALICIA AUDLEY."
