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He had a fierce desire to kick this vile newcomer this Mosenthal, 'the foreigner, or 'ootner' the son of a rich Jewish Manchester tradesman out of the house, but the fellow was his guest, and he checked himself. Above all, he dreaded public bankruptcy; he, the last male descendant of the proud race of Heronsbeck. 'Think it over, said the other quietly.
He hated to think of her expression when he conveyed Mosenthal's offer to her. The Jew's notes positively burned in his fingers as he had laid them down on his dressing-table; the fellow's offer was extraordinarily tempting. Ah, welladay! This was the end, then, of Heronsbeck Hall, which he prized above every earthly possession after his daughter.
Well, all was now over. The 'lament' must sound over Heronsbeck. Mosenthal must take the estate; he himself would take Lily abroad and live forgotten, for he had rejected Mosenthal's proposal now, absolutely. Just at this decisive moment he distinctly heard the cry of a peacock sound weird and discordant without. 'The peacock's cry! It was as the wail of the banshee in his ear.
A spark of momentary fire flickered in the gambler's eye; he picked up the notes; then the frown came back to his brow; he shivered, looked at the clock, then, 'It's damned late, he said, 'and if you don't want any more to drink we'd better go to bed. So saying Heronsbeck of Heronsbeck lit a candle for his guest, showed him to his chamber, then went gloomily to his own.
Turning away from the approaching intruder, he commenced his calculation afresh. Suddenly a voice hailed him joyfully. 'Back again! Back again, Pater, at long last! Yes, the rolling stone has gathered some moss after all honourably, if luckily, come by. So here I am, Pater, like the Prodigal to crave forgiveness, and to repay you my debts. Heronsbeck turned and stared upon the speaker.
But how can it be that you're alive? he asked apprehensively, as though fearing his son might vanish again from his eyes. 'A good Samaritan this time disguised as a Jesuit Father, rescued me. Then I saved a pal myself eventually, who died of fever and left me all his pile. 'Yet I heard the peacock cry this morning, muttered Heronsbeck to himself, still apprehensive of misfortune.
'Tis not 'The Last Post, but 'Réveillé' that you must sound over Heronsbeck Hall this day." When Eric Chesters of Chesters Castle married Miss Brocklebridge the bold and handsome heiress of Sir William, ironmaster, baronet, and expectant baron, all the world and his wife clapped hands and cried 'an ideal arrangement, and foretold long years of success and happiness for the happy pair.
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