Probation

The following forenoon, while it was yet early, Myles saw Sebastian coming through the great yard, towards the office where he sat. His face wore an expression of gravity—even of trouble—and he frowned thoughtfully as he came along.

Myles took him into his private room. He could not help thinking of how he had received him on that eventful morning when he came driving up to the office at Thanshope with Hugo beside him, and Myles smiled a little sadly at the change.

‘You came on business, perhaps,’ suggested Myles.

‘Yes; but I had no idea myself, until about an hour ago, how pressing the business was. Herr Süsmeyer and I were talking about you last evening before you came. He tells me his son is on his way home, and that he intends devoting himself to business.’

‘Yes; I believe that is true.’

‘Under those circumstances, I presume, your position would be somewhat changed.’

‘Certainly. It would naturally become more subordinate.’

‘Will you like that?’

Myles shrugged his shoulders.

‘Herr Süsmeyer was talking to me about it. He gave me a very high character of you. He very much regrets your having to take a secondary position. He says he would be very sorry to part with you for many reasons, but not if you left him to your own advantage.’

‘Does Herr Süsmeyer want to get rid of me?’ asked Myles.

‘On the very contrary. He only wishes to see your position improved. I may as well come to the point. You would hear that I have been returned as the representative of Thanshope, in Parliament.’

‘Yes. I think the Thanshope people showed their good sense there, at any rate,’ said Myles, with a smile.

‘Let us hope so. But you will easily understand that such a position will take me away from home a good deal, and make me unable to attend to my business as fully as I have done.’

‘Naturally,’ said Myles, with a sudden, quick glance upwards, as he first saw the drift of Sebastian’s remarks. His face flushed, and he rose from his chair, pacing about the room.

‘For some time Mr. Sutcliffe has been quite unfit for the post he held—I mean, as regards bodily health. I have wanted very much to provide him with an assistant, but did not know how to manage it without hurting his feelings. My conversation with Herr Süsmeyer decided me to ask you to take the post. Since then—in fact, this very morning—I have a telegram from Wilson with the news of poor Sutcliffe’s death. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I liked him well. Such faithful probity, such diligence, and such capacity, are not found in one man in a hundred. But, long ago, I thought I had discovered them all in you, and my errand to you this morning is to ask if you will take Mr. Sutcliffe’s post in my business. Your energy, vigour, and the talents for business which Herr Süsmeyer tells me you have, would be invaluable to me, and without doubt the connection would be an advantageous one for you. What do you say?’

Myles had come to a stop in his restless walk, his hands plunged in his pockets, his brows knit, his eyes somewhat downcast. He did not look elated. His first words were not an explicit answer to Sebastian’s question.

‘I think you are the most generous man I ever knew, sir,’ he said at last, almost abruptly.

‘That is beside the question. There is no talk of generosity, but of a business connection, a contract entered into by us for our mutual advantage.’

‘It would at least be very much to my advantage. Have you not considered that there are plenty of men, employers like yourself, who would be glad to see sons of theirs placed with you, and would furnish capital too, as a premium?’

‘Mon Dieu! yes, I know. I have had hints to that effect from more than one already. It does not suit me to do anything of the kind. I don’t want a young gentleman with capital, whom I shall have to teach. I want a business man, who can really take commercial care off my shoulders when cares of another kind are laid upon them. I am not a fellow to do things in a hurry. The whole matter has been well considered, and it is a great object with me to secure you. As to terms, we could come to some satisfactory arrangement, I doubt not. What I want to know now is, will you come to me, and take the place of manager of my business?’

Again Myles began to pace the room, biting his lip and frowning desperately.

‘You must think me strangely callous and indifferent, not to jump at such an offer,’ he began.

‘No; I see you don’t want to come. I know your reasons. No,’ he added, as Myles started, ‘not your very reason, but I know that when you left Thanshope it was in the hope never to see it again; and that desire has not yet changed.’

‘No it has never changed,’ he owned.

‘But, if I guess rightly, there is no actual, tangible obstacle to your return. It is a strong private feeling of repugnance on your own part, arising from some cause or causes to me unknown. Is it not so?’

‘Yes, it is so.’

‘Well; still I ask you to come. Come and try, at least. Fight it down, and come and revisit your city of the dead. Come and try whether there may not be new life hidden for you there.’

Myles shook his head.

‘There is not that,’ said he.

‘Then, to put it in another light, come because I ask you, to oblige me. Surely all that wrath and misunderstanding which once existed between us is burnt out for ever now. I am certain we can act together in most things. And—excuse me, I have no wish to be impertinent—but let me tell you that Stonegate is always empty now; and if it were not, I have introduced you to my wife.’

Myles turned abruptly away. Stonegate always empty! Whether empty or inhabited, he had forfeited all right to approach it.

‘With the best wishes in the world for friendship, that would have divided us, would it not?’ continued Sebastian, who, when he took up the probe, was not wont to lay it down again, with the operation half finished, deterred by the anguished face or fainting mien of the patient.

‘Yes,’ was the only answer.

‘But it is gone. I know not what life may hold for you in the future; I do know that you have suffered in the past, and that places where one has had that kind of suffering are haunted, and full of ghosts; but again I urge you—come! I think you are leading a morbid, foolish life here, rendered, by the motives which prompt it, not a particularly healthy one, and——’

‘Say no more, sir. I will come. I knew I should come, as soon as you asked me. No wish of yours could be other than a command to me now. It was only that I could not force myself to say yes. But now I say it. I will go whenever you like—that is, whenever Herr Süsmeyer will spare me.’

‘That is spoken as I hoped you would speak,’ said Sebastian, heartily. ‘Let us shake hands upon it.’

‘On my agreement to take you for my lawful master, and serve you faithfully and honestly,’ said Myles, with rather a forced smile, as he grasped Sebastian’s hand.

‘I suppose that is the foundation of all such agreements, but I trust we shall be something more worthy of us both than mere master and servant. At least, you need not be afraid of rusting. I have dozens of plans which I have never had time or assistants to carry out. Now, with my wife, and I hope you to help me too, I shall get along splendidly.’

‘I am glad to hear there is plenty of work,’ said Myles. ‘I was to have left here in a couple of days for a holiday. Suppose I went to Thanshope direct, instead of Berlin, and the other places I had thought of. That would leave the field clear to Herr Süsmeyer and his son, and I could get to work at once.’

‘Better take the holiday first, hadn’t you?’ said Sebastian. ‘It may be long enough before you have the chance of another.’

‘Thank you; but I would much rather go straight to work. The holiday was none of my seeking. It was Herr Süsmeyer’s doing.’

‘Very well. I will telegraph to Wilson that you will be there in a few days, and he must have the books ready for you. I will just give you an idea of how we stand at present, and leave you to shake down before I come back, eh?’ said Sebastian, with as much nonchalance as if he had been proposing nothing more difficult than that they should take a stroll together. He knew, this astute young man, the kind of nature he was dealing with. To have proposed coming to Thanshope with Myles, and there standing by him and smoothing out his way for him, would have been in the highest degree distasteful to the latter. The charge imposed upon him was a heavy one; it promised him arduous and incessant occupation for some time, at least until Sebastian’s return from abroad. Already the idea of Thanshope looked less like a grim phantom. The way became more practicable. He brightened visibly, to Sebastian’s private amusement.

‘Yes. How soon will you return?’

‘It is impossible to say. It will depend a great deal upon the reports you send me. This is my wedding tour, really, though it has had a queer beginning, and I think my wife has a right to complain of being dragged about to German manufacturing towns in order to settle business matters, when I promised to take her to the Italian Lakes. We shall try to go on there, and to Switzerland, and make a regular holiday of it, before coming back to settle really to business. You will do the best you can.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Myles. ‘I hope and think that my reports will allow you to take a pretty long holiday.’

‘Then I can go,’ said Sebastian. ‘We leave to-morrow morning. Suppose you come up to Herr Süsmeyer’s to supper to-night, as you did last night, and we will take an hour afterwards for business—yes? And now I must be off.’

These rapidly made arrangements were all faithfully carried out. In less than a week Myles, armed with Sebastian’s explanations and instructions, was on his way to Thanshope.