it need not be said that the coldstreams awaited with more than interest the important reply to oscar’s letter, though they never spoke about it. there were but two mails in the course of each week. carefully had the days been calculated the lapse of which would render an acknowledgment of coldstream’s confession possible. communication between different stations in the east was comparatively slow in the time of king william.

the first day on which a reply from calcutta could be expected was the day after christmas. it was not without emotion that the letter-bag was opened by coldstream. was it a disappointment or a relief to find in it nothing but a newspaper and a note from a tradesman? io, in a fever of anxiety, had stolen into the room to learn if the dreaded despatch had come. the question was asked only in a look, and a slight shake of the head was the silent reply.

coldstream had made every arrangement for quitting moulmein after the second calcutta mail should arrive. he had taken a passage for his wife and himself in a schooner which was to start on the noon of the day when the mail would be due: better, he thought, to run the risk of forfeiting the passage money than that of having to remain in moulmein four days after his crime should be publicly known there. io had everything prepared for a start.

the next mail came on a tuesday, the last tuesday of the year. io watched the opening of the bag, and gasped with agitation as a large official despatch with a government seal was drawn forth. oscar lifted up his heart in silent prayer before he broke that seal.

the document was couched in stiff official language. mr. coldstream’s communication was acknowledged. as the affair had occurred in england, the case would be referred to the authorities at home, where doubtless a record of the inquest held on the body of mr. walter manly had been preserved. until directions should be received from england, mr. coldstream was required to surrender his person to the police authorities in calcutta.

“mine own! mine own! i will share your imprisonment,” cried io, pressing her husband’s hand to her lips.

“no, my love; you will live near, and obtain permission to visit me often,” said oscar. “we will await the final decision from england with faith, patience, and submission. and now, is all ready for our start?”

“we have not bidden good-bye to poor thud,” said io; “i have not seen him to-day.”

“no; i sent him off to the office as soon as he had had his early breakfast. as thud is close to the wharf, he will come to see us off ere the vessel starts. we wish no prolonged good-byes.”

it is not a matter of wonder that when final arrangements had to be made, the keys of the house placed in the agent’s hands, and the inventory looked over, the calcutta newspaper which had arrived that morning should lie unopened on the table, beside the packets of groceries and such like things that had been prepared for the voyage. but other copies of that newspaper had reached moulmein, and had not been equally neglected. one was in the hands of mrs. cottle as she was sitting at breakfast with her husband. being busily occupied with his fried fish and anchovy sauce, cottle had deferred the perusal of the paper, and left his wife to look out first for the paragraphs of gossip and scandal which were to her the sauce to a dry dish of politics and statistics.

“bless my heart! bless my heart! bless my heart!” exclaimed mrs. cottle, each repetition of the blessing made in a louder and more emphatic tone, which roused the attention of her spouse.

“what is it, my dear?” quoth cottle.

“i always knew it; i always said it. he was no fit company for us, the hypocritical, sneaking, bloodthirsty villain.”

“who is it, my dear?” asked cottle, laying down his knife and fork to listen with more undivided attention.

“here is a paragraph—look; it is easy enough to make out its meaning,” cried mrs. cottle, and with terrible emphasis she read aloud from the paper:—

“murder by a gentleman.—it is reported that a mr. c―― of m――n has confessed to having killed, by throwing down a cliff, a person against whom he had a grudge. as mr. c―― is said to be of very good family, with high connections, the case is likely to excite great interest in england amongst the upper ten thousand.”

“but we are not of the upper ten thousand, so what is it to us?” said honest john cottle.

“we know mr. coldstream, and it must be he!” cried his partner; “m――n must stand for moulmein.”

“it might stand for moultan or macedon,” quoth cottle. “and c is a common letter enough; it might stand for my name.”

“what nonsense you talk!” cried his irreverent spouse. “c―― is coldstream, and m――n moulmein; it does not need two grains of sense to understand that.”

cottle put on his glasses, and stretched out his hand for the paper. mrs. cottle, as she poured out the coffee, again exclaimed, “bless my heart!”

after breakfast was concluded the dame sallied forth to communicate the exciting news to others. the first person whom she chanced to meet was the chaplain.

“o mr. lawrence, have you seen the horrible news about mr. coldstream?” she cried, hoping that she might be the first person to impart it to the clergyman.

“i have seen the papers,” said mark very gravely. he wished to pass on, but mrs. cottle was determined to have out her say.

“to think of such a wretch kneeling in the same church as ourselves! a felon having the audacity to dine with respectable people!”

mrs. cottle would have rattled on, but she was stopped by the sternest rebuke which she had ever heard from the lips of the chaplain: “judge not, that ye be not judged; condemn not, lest ye be condemned.” and with these words mark lawrence went on his way, his brow knitted as if from pain, and a heavy weight on his heart.

the paragraph in the papers had also been read by dr. pinfold, as he was lounging in his easy-chair before going out to make his round amongst his patients. he had perused a column and a half of political news before his eye was attracted by the paragraph headed in large capitals which had at once arrested the attention of mrs. cottle. pinfold’s interest in io was much stronger than hers, and, though less loudly expressed, his indignation against her husband was proportionately greater.

“the villain! and he dared to propose marriage to her; to offer the sweetest girl in england a blood-stained hand!” exclaimed the doctor, flinging down the paper and rising from his seat. “i suspected him of being a madman; i never thought of his being a murderer. my poor io! innocent, unfortunate victim, if i can i will rescue you yet.”

so as io, just about to quit her house, was buttoning on her boots, a servant placed a letter on the table before her.

“it is from dear old pinny; i know his handwriting. please read it to me, oscar. i thought that the doctor had bidden us his final good-bye last night.”

oscar opened the letter, looked surprised at its contents, and, without comment, handed it on to his wife. the doctor’s scrawl ran thus:—

“my dear child,—i always thought your marriage a mistake, but i never knew till now what a great one. you must not think of sacrificing yourself by accompanying your miserable husband. his conduct cancels all obligations entered into through ignorance of the truth. i offer you a home here in moulmein. you are my god-child, the daughter of my old friend; i will adopt you as my own. whilst i live you shall find a parent in your old pinny.”

io flushed with indignation as she read; then tore the letter into minute fragments, and trampled them under her foot.

“it was kindly meant,” observed oscar.

“what! to insult you to your own wife! to endeavour to divide me from you! o oscar, oscar, how little he knows me! i would rather never see daylight again than be separated from my husband!”

“then let us now go on our way,” said oscar, “and meet trial and misfortune together. your palanquin waits outside.”

io silently entered it. she put down the curtains on either side as she started for the place of embarkation, that no one might see her tear-bedewed face. oscar walked to the docks, but by a round-about route amongst low narrow lanes, frequented only by natives. he pulled his hat over his brow, and never raised his eyes from the path before him, for the doctor’s letter had shown to him plainly that his secret was a secret no longer. coldstream’s circuitous route brought him to the docks a little after his wife. his arrival interrupted a distressing conversation which she was having with thud, who was making a last desperate attempt to persuade his sister to take him with her to calcutta.

“you know that mother would never have treated me so,” cried the lad; “now she is gone, and you desert me. it is cruel, it is unnatural! it is because you are such a slave to—” here thud suddenly paused, for coldstream was at his side.

“farewell, thud,” said oscar, holding out his hand. “do your duty to man and to god, and may he prosper and bless you.—io, my love, enough of this; the sooner we are on board the better.”

the coldstreams were soon treading the deck of the dolphin, but the plank which connected the vessel with the shore was not yet raised. smith came to see his friend and benefactor depart, and again express hopes of his happy return. smith had not seen the newspapers; he never read them till business hours were over.

“would that we were fairly off!” thought oscar; but another good-bye was before him yet ere the keel of the dolphin should plough the green waves.

“ah, mr. lawrence!” exclaimed io.

the chaplain crossed the plank, pale with suppressed emotion. he walked up straight to oscar, and took his hand in both his own.

“you know all, and yet you do not turn from me,” said oscar.

“i have come to give you my parting blessing—to unite with you, perhaps for the last time, in prayer.” the chaplain could scarcely command his voice as he added, “i honour you for having done all that you could do to—” here mark lawrence fairly broke down; he could not finish the sentence.

“clear boards. you’d better be off, sir, unless you mean to make the voyage with us,” said the captain of the dolphin gruffly. “we’re weighing anchor, you see.”

there was no more time for conversation, for nothing but cordial pressure of hands. the plank was raised the minute after mark lawrence had passed over. the wind swelled the sails, and the vessel moved on, leaving a brief track on the waters behind her.

“even as those bubbles on the waves will earth’s darkest trials pass away,” thought the chaplain as he watched the departing ship. “there goes a man who is as a gallant vessel that has suddenly struck on a rock and been almost wrecked, that has all but sunk below the billows, but which, through god’s grace, has been given power to rise above them. its cargo of earthly reputation and earthly joy is indeed lost; but it is bravely struggling on, though with torn sail and shattered mast, towards that port where the rock cannot crush nor the tempest toss, where the pardoned penitent finds peace for ever.”

mark lawrence turned homewards, repeating to himself the well-known verse:—

“though tempest-torn, and half a wreck,

my saviour through the floods i seek;

let neither wind nor stormy main

force back my shattered bark again!”