“So much for her spite against you, Henry.  You told her to decline Richard Raby, and so she declined him.  Spite, indeed!  The gentle pique of a lovely, good girl, who knows her value, though she is too modest to show it openly.  Well, Henry, you have lost her a husband, and she has given you one more proof of affection.  Don’t build the mountain of ingratitude any higher:  do pray take the cure that offers, and make your mother happy, as well as yourself, my son.”  In this strain she continued, and used all her art, her influence, her affection, till at last, with a weary, heart-broken sigh, he yielded as far as this:  he said that, if it could once be made clear to him there was no hope of his ever marrying Grace Carden he would wed Jael Dence at once.

Then he ordered his trap, and drove sullenly home, while Mrs. Little, full of delight, communicated her triumph to Jael Dence, and told her about the five thousand pounds, and was as enthusiastic in praise of Henry to Jael, as she had been of Jael to Henry.

Meantime he drove back to Hillsborough, more unhappy than ever, and bitter against himself for yielding, even so far, to gratitude and maternal influence.

It was late when he reached home.  He let himself in with a latch-key, and went into his room for a moment.

A letter lay on the table, with no stamp on it:  he took it up.  It contained but one line; that line made his heart leap: 

“News of G. C. Ransome.”

CHAPTER XLIII.

Late as it was, Little went to the Town-hall directly.  But there, to his bitter disappointment, he learned that Mr. Ransome had been called to Manchester by telegram.  Little had nothing to do but to wait, and eat his heart with impatience.  However, next day, toward afternoon, Ransome called on him at the works, in considerable excitement, and told him a new firm had rented large business premises in Manchester, obtained goods, insured them in the “Gosshawk,” and then the premises had caught fire and the goods been burned to ashes; suspicions had been excited; Mr. Carden had gone to the spot and telegraphed for him.  He had met a London detective there, and, between them, they had soon discovered that full cases had come in by day, but full sacks gone out by night:  the ashes also revealed no trace of certain goods the firm had insured.  “And now comes the clew to it all.  Amongst the few things that survived the fire was a photograph—­of whom do you think?  Shifty Dick.  The dog had kept his word, and gone into trade.”

“Confound him!” said Little; “he is always crossing my path, that fellow.  You seem quite to forget that all this time I am in agonies of suspense.  What do I care about Shifty Dick?  He is nothing to me.”

“Of course not.  I am full of the fellow; a little more, and he’ll make a monomaniac of me.  Mr. Carden offers L200 for his capture; and we got an inkling he was coming this way again.  There, there, I won’t mention his name to you again.  Let us talk of what will interest you.  Well, sir, have you observed that you are followed and watched?”