"God grant that George Sheldon may be at home!" Valentine said to
himself, as he hurried towards that gentleman's office. George Sheldon
was at home. In this fight against time, Mr. Hawkehurst had so far found
the odds in his favour.
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the lawyer, looking up from his desk, as
Valentine appeared on the threshold of the door, pale and breathless; "to
what do I owe the unusual honour of a visit from Mr. Hawkehurst? I
thought that rising _litterateur_ had cut all old acquaintances, and gone
in for the upper circles."
"I have come to you on a matter of life and death, George Sheldon," said
Valentine; "this is no time to talk of why I haven't been to you before.
When you and I last met, you advised me to beware of your brother Philip.
It wasn't the first, or the second, or the third time that you so warned
me. And now speak out like an honest man, and tell me what you meant by
that warning? For God's sake, speak plainly this time."
"I cannot afford to speak more plainly than I have spoken half a dozen
times already. I told you to beware of my brother Phil, and I meant that
warning in its fullest significance. If you had chosen to take my advice,
you would have placed Charlotte Halliday's fortune, and Charlotte
Halliday herself, beyond his power, by an immediate marriage. You didn't
choose to do that, and there was an end of the matter.
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