An Elder Brother by Eglanton Thorne

MICHAEL paid the fifty pounds into his bank, and had the satisfaction of seeing them entered in his pass-book. He was so much richer than he had expected to be, yet somehow he did not feel richer, but poorer. He had rather the feeling of one who had suffered loss. There was a stain upon his conscience, and a weight upon his mind; yet, with the strange perversity of human nature, he would not own this to himself. He still professed to believe himself justified in keeping the money he had found. He clung to it, and liked to think how it had swelled his balance at the bank, even whilst he knew that he should be filled with shame, if any one should ever learn how he had come by that money.

In Michael's lonely life there was no one save Mrs. Wiggins, the charwoman, to observe how he lived, and mark the variations in his moods. She began at this time to observe a change in the bookseller. He had never been what she would call a "pleasant-speaking" gentleman. She had always found him short of speech, irritable, and disposed to snub her whenever she attempted to inform him as to the gossip of the neighbourhood; but now he was positively surly in his manner towards her, and so quick of temper that it was almost more than she could "put up" with.

One morning, she thought she was giving him intelligence in which he could not fail to be interested, when she said:

"I've 'eard where that lady, the professor's widow, as you bought so many books of, 'as gone to live."

Her words startled Michael, and he turned his eyes on her without speaking. She took his silence as an encouragement to proceed.

"She's gone to live in Clarendon Gardens. That's not a very nice place, is it? And even there, she 'as only part of a 'ouse. It seems she's quite poor now she's lost 'er 'usband. She's sent away 'er servants, and keeps only a bit of a girl now. She washes and dresses the children 'erself, and does most of the cooking-and she such a lady, too! It's 'ard, ain't it? I 'eard it all from my cousin, who works for 'er landlady."

"I wish to goodness your cousin would mind her own business, or that you would keep her gossip to yourself! " exclaimed Michael angrily. "How can I help it, if Mrs. Lavers is poor and has to do without servants? I've done what I can for her in buying her books. What more can I do?"

"Oh, lor me! Nobody would expect you to do anything for her," exclaimed Mrs. Wiggins, with unconscious satire. "I just thought you might like to know about the poor lady. You need not turn so fiercely on me, Mr. Betts, for giving you a piece of news."

"Keep your news till it's wanted, and mind your own business," responded Michael crossly.

Mrs. Wiggins took up her dust-pan and brush, and retreated with much clatter into the back premises, muttering words which were not complimentary to her employer.

"Do, indeed! I'd like to see 'im ever do anything for anybody besides 'isself, the close-fisted old curmudgeon. I'd be sorry for a mouse that had to live on 'is leavings. The idea of 'is turning on me like that, as if a body couldn't speak about nothin'."

It was impossible for Mrs. Wiggins to understand how her words had for Michael the force of an accusation. She did not know of the secret consciousness which they awakened.

"So, then, it was a poor woman whom he had defrauded," said the voice of Michael's conscience.

"Defrauded! What an absurd idea! " the voice of his other self responded. "There was no fraud in the matter; the money had never been Mrs. Lavers'. A man had a right to keep what he found, unless he knew it to belong to some one else."

But reason as he might with himself, the information imparted by Mrs. Wiggins had disturbed Michael's mind.

An incident which occurred a few days later further destroyed its peace.

Business had taken Michael to the south side of the river, and he was returning late in the evening across one of the bridges on his way back to Bloomsbury, when his attention was arrested by the appearance of a man who stood leaning against one of the parapets and coughing violently. Michael started, and a thrill ran through him. He had so long thought of his brother as dead, that the sight of this man, who bore so striking a resemblance to him, affected him almost with terror, as though he conceived him to be a ghost.

To be sure, he had grey hair, and Frank's had been brown when Michael last saw him, and his form was pitifully bent and wasted; but still the resemblance was there, and so strong that Michael involuntarily stood still as he saw him, whilst his heart began to beat more painfully than was pleasant. The same instant the man ceased coughing; he lifted his head and saw by the light of the gas-lamp on the parapet above him the man who stood at his side. A low cry of wonder-and was it of pleasure? -escaped him. He moved a step nearer, exclaiming eagerly:

"Michael! Michael!"

"You don't mean to say it is you? " exclaimed the other, in tones which expressed no pleasure at the meeting. "You, Frank, after all these years! I thought you were dead."