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diff --git a/old/62465-0.txt b/old/62465-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 9221ec2..0000000 --- a/old/62465-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3325 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prodigals and their Inheritance; vol. 2, by -Mrs. Margaret Oliphant - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: The Prodigals and their Inheritance; vol. 2 - -Author: Mrs. Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: June 24, 2020 [EBook #62465] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGALS VOL. 2 *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - THE PRODIGALS - - MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. - - - - - THE PRODIGALS - - _AND THEIR INHERITANCE_ - - - BY - - MRS. OLIPHANT - - AUTHOR OF - “CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD” “THE WIZARD’S SON” - ETC. ETC. - - - IN TWO VOLUMES - - VOL. II - - - Methuen & Co. - 36 ESSEX STREET, LONDON, W.C. - 1894 - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -Edward came out to meet her, and took her hand and drew it through his -arm. He led her in tenderly, holding that hand in his, without a vestige -of the reserve and restraint in which they had been living of late. -Winifred was greatly surprised. She drew away her hand, half-angry, -half-astonished. “Why is this?” she said. “Is it because it is so early -that you forget”-- - -“It is because there is no longer any need of precaution,” he said very -gravely, pressing her arm close to his side. - -She gazed at him with an incapacity to understand, which would have -been incredible did it not happen so often at the great crises of life. -“I don’t know what you mean; nothing is changed,” she said. “But you -have not come to talk of you and me. Edward, how is my father?” She -asked the question with scarcely a fear. Then suddenly looked in his -face, flung his support from her, and flew upstairs without a word. - -The door of her father’s room was closed; she rushed at it breathless. -It was half-opened after a little interval by old Hopkins, who barred -the entrance. - -“You can’t come in yet, Miss Winifred, not yet,” he said, shaking his -head. Hopkins was full of the solemn importance and excitement of one -who has suddenly become an actor in a great event. He closed the door -upon her as he spoke, and there she stood, gazing at it blankly, her -brain swimming, her heart beating. That door had closed not only upon -her father dead, but upon a completed chapter of her own life. - -Edward had hurried upstairs after her, and was now close by to console -her. But she would not give him her hand, which he sought. She walked -before him to the door of her own sitting-room, which stood wide open, -with an early glow of the newly-risen sun showing from the open windows. -Then she sat down and motioned him to a chair, but not beside her. A -more woeful countenance never lamented the most beloved of fathers. Her -dark outer garment was wet with dew, and clung closely about her; her -hair had a few drops of the same dew glimmering upon it; her face was -entirely destitute of colour. - -“Tell me how it was,” she said. - -“It was as I told you it would be. We must be thankful that no act of -ours, no contention of ours, quickened the catastrophe. He was in -perfectly good spirits last night, I hear. By the time I arrived, all -was over. Winifred”-- - -“Oh, do not touch me!” she said. “We deceived him, we lied to him! if -not in words, yet in deeds. And now you are glad that he is dead.” - -“Not glad,” said the young man. - -“Not glad! and I?” she cried, with an exclamation of despair. - -“Winnie, do not make yourself more miserable than you need be; you are -not glad. And you will reproach yourself and be wretched for many a day, -without reason. I declare before Heaven without reason, Winnie! All that -you have done has been for his sake. And there is nothing for which you -can justly blame yourself. All that has been done has been sacrifice on -your part.” He came to her side and put his arm round her to console -her. But his touch was more than she could bear. She put out her hand -and put his away. He looked at her for a moment without saying anything, -and then asked, with a little bitterness, “Do you mean to cast me off -then, Winnie, because I denied myself for his sake?” - -“Oh, Edward!” she said, giving him her hand; “don’t say a word of you -and me. I cannot tell you what I mean, or what I feel, not now. To be as -strangers while he lived, and the moment--the very moment he is gone”-- - -She rose up and began to walk about the room in a feverish misery which -was more like personal despair than the grief of a child for a father; -angry, miserable even because of the very sense of deliverance which -mingled with the anguish. The painful interview was broken by the rush -into the room of Miss Farrell, her white locks all disordered about her -pretty old head, stumbling over her long dressing-gown, and throwing -herself with tears and caresses upon Winifred’s shoulder. - -“Oh, my darling, your dear father! Oh, my child, come to me and let me -comfort you!” she said. - -Edward Langton withdrew without a word. There were a thousand ways in -which he could serve Winifred without insisting upon the office of -consoler, which indeed he gave up with a pang, yet heroically. A man, -when he makes a sacrifice, perhaps does it more entirely, more silently -than a woman. He made no stand for his rights, but gave up without a -word, and went forth to the external matters which there was no one but -he to manage. Mr. Chester had died as his young physician had known he -would do. He had forgotten the rules of life which had been prescribed -to him in his triumph and satisfaction on the previous night. He had -said to himself, “Soul, take thine ease,” and the catastrophe had been -as prompt as that of the parable. The alarmed and startled household was -all up and about by this time, the maids huddled in a corner discussing -the dreadful event, and comparing notes, now all was over, as to their -respective apprehensions and judgment of master’s looks. The men -wandered about, sometimes paying a fitful attention to their ordinary -work, but most frequently going up and downstairs to see if Mr. Hopkins -wanted anything, or if something new to report could be gleaned -anywhere. Dr. Langton took command of the household with instant -authority, awakening at once a new interest in the bosoms of the little -eager crowd. He was the new master, they all felt, some with a desire to -oppose, and some to conciliate. He sent off telegrams with a sort of -savage pleasure to the Dowager Countess and the other expected guests, -and he summoned Mr. Babington, who was the official authority, under -whose directions all immediate steps had to be taken. But Langton had no -idea of abnegation in respect to his own rights, any more than he had -any sense of guilt in respect to the dead man, out of consideration for -whom he had temporarily ignored them. He had made a great sacrifice to -preserve Mr. Chester’s health and life, but now that this life was over, -without any blame to any one, he did not deny that the relief was great. -Alas! even to Winifred, whose sensations of self-reproach were so -poignant, the smart was intensified while it was relieved, by a sense of -deliverance too. - -When she came a little to herself, she insisted that her brothers should -be telegraphed for instantly. This was before Mr. Babington’s arrival, -and it is possible that Edward would have objected had he been able to -do so. He was not entirely above consideration of his own interests, and -he had believed that Mr. Chester from his point of view had not behaved -unwisely, nor even perhaps unkindly, in sending his sons away. That -Winifred should relinquish all the advantages which her father’s will -had secured cost him perhaps a pang. It would not have been unpleasant -to Edward Langton to find himself master of Bedloe. He knew he would -have filled the post better than either of the two thoughtless and -unintelligent young men whom their father himself had sent off, and who -probably would have sold it before the year was out. For his own part, -he should have liked to compromise, to give to each of them a sufficient -compensation and keep the estate, and replace in Bedloe the old name -that had been associated with it so long. That he should have had this -dazzling possibility before him, and yet have obeyed her wishes and sent -off these telegrams, said much for Edward’s self-denial. He knew that -Mr. Babington when he came would probably have objected strongly to such -a proceeding, and with reason. The doctor saw all the danger of it as he -rode into the little town to carry out Winifred’s instructions. The two -brothers would hurry home, each with the conviction that he was the -heir, and rage and disappointment would follow. Nevertheless, it seemed -to him that the very objections that rose in his own mind pledged him -all the more to carry out Winifred’s wishes. He was not disinterested as -she was. He did not feel any tie of affection to her brothers. He -thought them much more supportable at the other side of the world than -he had ever found them near. And there were few things he would not -have done, in honour, to secure Bedloe. All these arguments, however, -made it more necessary that he should do without hesitation or delay -what she wished. This was his part in the meantime, whether he entirely -approved or not. Afterwards, when they were man and wife, he might have -a more authoritative word to say. He telegraphed not only to George and -Tom, but through the banker, that money should be provided for their -return; and having done so, went back again with a mind full of anxiety, -the sense of deliverance of which his heart had been full clouding over -with this sudden return of the complications and embarrassments of life. - -Mr. Babington did not arrive till next day. And he looked very grave -when he heard what had been done. - -“Of what use is it?” he said; “the poor young fellows will find -themselves out of it altogether. They will come thinking that the -inheritance is theirs, and there is not a penny for them. Why did not -you wait till I came?” - -“I should have preferred to do so,” said Langton; “but at such a moment -Miss Chester’s wish was above all.” - -“Miss Chester’s wish?” said the lawyer, with a doubtful glance. “Perhaps -you think Miss Chester can do what she pleases? Poor thing, it is very -natural she should wish to do something for her brothers. But what if -she were making a mistake?” - -“If you mean that after all the money is not to be hers”--said Langton, -with a slight change of colour. - -“Before we go farther I ought to know--perhaps her father’s death has -brought about some change--between her and you?” - -“No change at all. We were pledged to each other two years ago without -any opposition from him. I cannot say that he ever gave his formal -consent.” - -“But it was all broken off--I heard as much from him--by mutual -consent.” - -“It was never broken off. I saw what was coming, and I remained -perfectly quiet on the subject, and advised Miss Chester to do the -same.” - -“Ah! and he was taken in!” the lawyer said. - -This brought the colour to Langton’s face. - -“I am not aware that there was any taking in in the case. I knew that -agitation was dangerous for him. It was better for us to wait, at our -age, than to have the self-reproach afterwards.” This was all true, yet -it was embarrassing to say. - -“I see,” said Mr. Babington; “a waiting game doesn’t always recommend -itself to the lookers-on, Dr. Langton. It might have lasted for years.” - -“I did not think,” said Langton hastily, “that it could have lasted for -weeks. He has lived longer than I expected.” - -“And you were there at one side of him, and his daughter at the other, -waiting. I think I’d rather not have my daughter engaged to a doctor, -meaning no disrespect to you.” - -“It sounds like something more than disrespect,” said Langton, with -offence. “If you think I did not do my duty by my patient”-- - -“Oh no, I don’t think that; but I think you will be disappointed, Dr. -Langton. I don’t quite see why you have sent for the boys. If the one -was for your interest, the other was dead against it. It is a -disagreeable business altogether. If they were to set up a plea against -you of undue influence”-- - -“I think,” said Langton, “that this is not a subject to be discussed -between us. You know very well that my influence with Mr. Chester was”-- - -“About the same as every other man’s, and that was nothing at all,” said -the lawyer, with a laugh. It is unseemly to laugh in a house all draped -and shrouded in mourning, and the sound seemed to produce a little stir -of horror in the silent place, all the more that Winifred came in at the -moment, as white as a spectre, in her black dress. Her look of -astonished reproach made the lawyer in his turn change countenance. - -“I beg your pardon, Miss Winifred, I beg you a thousand pardons. It was -not any jest, I assure you, it was in very sober earnest. My dear young -lady, I need not say how shocked I was and distressed”-- - -The sudden change of aspect, the gloom which came over Mr. Babington’s -cheerful countenance, would have been more comical than melancholy to -an unconcerned spectator; but Winifred accepted it without criticism. -She said, “Did you know how ill he was?” with tears in her eyes. - -“I--well, I cannot say that I thought he was strong; but a stroke like -this is always unexpected. In the midst of life”--said Mr. Babington -solemnly. But here he caught Langton’s eye and was silenced. “I hear you -have sent for your brothers.” - -“Oh, at once! What could I do else? I am sure _now_ that he would have -wished me to do it.” - -Mr. Babington shook his head. “I don’t think he would have wished it, -Miss Winifred. I don’t think they would care to come if they knew the -property is all left away from them.” - -“He said it was left to me. But what could that be for? only to be given -back to them,” said Winifred, with a faint smile. “My father knew very -well what I should do. He will know now, and I know that he will -approve,” she said, with that exaltation which the wearied body and -excited soul attain to by times, a kind of ecstasy. “Even,” she cried, -“if he did not see what was best in this life, he will see it _now_.” - -Mr. Babington looked on with a blank countenance. He did not realise -easily this instant conversion of the man he knew so well to higher -views. He could not indeed conceive of Mr. Chester at all except in the -most ordinary human conditions; but he knew that it was right to speak -and think in an exalted manner of those whom death had removed. - -“We will hope so,” he said; “but in the meantime, my dear young lady, -you will find he has made it very difficult for you, as he had not then -attained to these enlightened views. Couldn’t you send another -telegram? They’re expensive, but in the circumstances”-- - -“We have made up our minds,” said Winifred, with a certain solemnity; -“do you know what we had to do, Mr. Babington? We had to deceive him, to -pretend that I would do as he wished. Oh, Edward, I cannot bear to think -of it. I never said it in so many words. I did not exactly tell a lie, -but I let him suppose--I wonder--do you think he hears what I say? -surely he knows;” and here, worn out as she was, the tears which had -been so near her eyes burst forth. - -Langton brought her a chair, and made her sit down and soothed her; but -his face was blank like that of the lawyer, who was altogether taken -aback by this sudden spiritualising of his old friend. - -“I daresay it will all come right,” Mr. Babington said. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -Mr. Babington remained in the house, or at least returned to it -constantly, passing most of his time there till the funeral was over; -after which he read the will to the little company, consisting only of -Winifred, Edward, and Miss Farrell, who remained in the house. It was a -will which excited much agitation and distress, and awoke very different -sentiments in the minds of the two who were chiefly concerned. Winifred -received its stipulations like so many blows, while in the mind of her -lover they raised a sort of involuntary elation, an ambition and -eagerness of which he had not been hitherto sensible. The condition -under which Winifred inherited her father’s fortune was, that she was -not to divide or share it with her brothers; that Mr. Chester had meant -to add many other bonds and directions which would have left her without -any freedom of individual action at all, mattered little; but this one -stipulation had been appended at once to the will, and was not to be -avoided or ignored. In case she attempted to divide or share her -inheritance, or alienate any part of it, she was to forfeit the whole. -No latitude was allowed to her, no power of compromise. This information -crushed Winifred’s courage and spirits altogether. It made the gloom of -the moment tenfold darker, and subdued in her the rising tide of life. -That tide had begun to rise involuntarily even in the first week, while -the windows were still shrouded and the house full of crape and -darkness. She had shed those few natural tears, which are all that in -many cases the best parents have to look for, and, though moved by -times with a compunction equally natural, was yet prepared to dry them -and go on to the sunshine that awaited her, and the setting of all -things right which had seemed to her the chief object in life. But when -she saw this great barrier standing up before her, and knew that her -brothers were both on their way, hoping great things, to be met on their -arrival only by this impossibility, her heart failed her altogether. She -had no courage to meet the situation. She felt ill, worn out by the -agitations of the previous period and the blank despair of this, and for -a time turned away from the light, and would not be comforted. - -Upon Edward Langton a very different effect was produced; while -Winifred’s heart sank in her bosom, his rose with a boundless -exhilaration and hope. What he saw before him was something so entirely -unhoped for, so unthought of, that it was no wonder if it turned his -head, as the vulgar say. Mr. Chester, who had acquired the property of -his ancestors in their moment of need, unrighteously as he believed, -trading upon their necessities, seemed to him now, with all the force of -a dead hand, to thrust compensation upon him. It was not to Winifred but -to him that the fortune seemed to be given. That this was the reverse of -the testator’s intention, that he had meant something totally different, -did not affect Langton’s mind. It gave him even an additional grim -satisfaction, as the jewels of gold and of silver borrowed from his -Egyptian master might have satisfied the mind of a fierce Hebrew, -defrauded for a lifetime of the recompense of his toil. The -millionaire’s plunder, his gain which had been extracted from the sweat -of other men, was to return into the hands of one of the families at -least of which he had taken advantage. For once the revenges of time -were fully just and satisfactory. He went about his parish work and -visited his poor patients with this elation in his mind, instinctively -making notes as to things which he would have done and improvements -made. Mr. Chester, who had the practical instincts of a man whose first -thought has always been to make money, had, indeed, done a great deal -for the estate; but he had spent nothing, neither thought nor money, -upon the condition of the poor, for whom he cared much less than for -their cattle. Langton’s interests were strong in the other way. He -thought of sanitary miracles to be performed, of disease to be -extirpated, of wholesome houses and wholesome faces in the little -clusters of human habitation that were dotted here and there round the -enclosure of the park. Different minds take their pleasures in different -ways. He was not dull to the delights of a well-preserved cover; but -with a more lively impulse he anticipated a grand battue of smells and -miasmas, draining of stagnant ponds, and destruction to the agues and -fevers which haunted the surrounding country. This idea blended with the -intense subdued pleasure of anticipation with which he thought of the -estate returning to the old name, and himself to the house of his -fathers: there was nothing ignoble in the elation that filled his mind. -Perhaps, according to the sentiment of romance, it would have been a -more lofty position had he endured tortures from the idea of owing this -elevation to his marriage; or even had he refused, at the cost of her -happiness and his own, to accept so much from his wife; but Langton was -of a robust kind, and not easily affected by those prejudices, which -after all are not very respectful to women. He would have married -Winifred with nothing. Why should he withdraw from her when she had -much? So far as this went, he accepted the good fortune which she -seemed about to bring him without a question, with a satisfaction which -filled his whole being. Bedloe had not been the better of the Chesters -hitherto, but it should be the better for him. - -And if there came over him a little chill occasionally when he thought -of the two helpless prodigals whom he despised, coming over the sea, -each from his different quarter, full of hopes which were never to be -realised, Langton found it possible to push them aside out of his mind, -as it is always possible to put aside an unpleasant subject. Sometimes -there would come over him a chill less momentary when the thought that -Winifred might hold by her decision on this subject crossed his mind. -But she was very gentle, very easily influenced, not the sort of woman -to assert herself. She had yielded to him in respect to her father, -even when the course of conduct he recommended had been odious to her. -That she should have felt so strongly on the subject had seemed somewhat -ridiculous to him at the time, but, notwithstanding, she had yielded to -his better judgment and had followed the directions he had given her. -And there did not seem any reason to believe that she would not do the -same again. She was of a very tender nature, poor Winnie! She could not -bear to hurt any one. It was not to be expected, probably it was not -even to be desired, that the real advantages of this arrangement should -strike her as they did himself. She had a natural clinging to her -brothers. She declined to see them in their true light. It was terrible -to her to profit by their ruin. But Langton, though acknowledging all -this, could not conceive the possibility that Winnie would actually -resist his guidance, and follow her own conclusions. She could not do -it. She would do as he indicated, though it might cost her some tears, -and perhaps a struggle with herself, tears which Langton was fully in -the mind to repay by such love and care when she was his wife as would -banish henceforward all other tears from her eyes. Like so many other -clever persons, he shut his own in the meantime. He was aware that the -position in which she was placed, the thought of the future, lay at the -bottom of her illness, and even that until the constant irritation thus -caused was withdrawn or neutralised, her mind would not recover its -tone. At least he would have been fully aware of this had his patient -been any other than Winifred. She was suffering, no doubt, he allowed, -but by and by she would get over it, the disturbing influence would work -itself out, and all would be well. - -And in the meantime there were moments of sweetness for both in the -interval that followed. As Winifred recovered slowly, the subduing -influence of bodily weakness hushed her cares. For the moment she could -do nothing, and, anxious as she was, it was so soothing to have the -company, and sympathy, and care of her lover, that she too pushed aside -all disturbing influences, and almost succeeded while he was with her in -forgetting. Instinctively she was aware that on this point his mind and -hers would not be in accord--on every other point they were one, and she -listened to the suggestions he made as to improvements and alterations -with that sensation of pleasure ineffable which arises in a woman’s mind -when the man whom she loves shows himself at his best. He had too much -discretion and good feeling to do more than suggest these beneficial -changes, and above all he never betrayed the elation in his own views -and intention in his own mind to carry them out himself. But from her -sofa, or from the terrace, where presently she was able to walk with the -support of his arm, Winifred listened to his description of all that -could be done, and looked at the little sketches he would make of -improved houses, and new ways of effectual succour to the poor, with a -pleasure which was more near what we may suppose to be angelic -satisfaction than any other on earth. When he went away, a cloud would -come over the landscape. She would say to herself that George would be -little likely to carry out these plans, and again with a keener pang -would be conscious that Edward was as yet unconvinced of her -determination on the subject. But when he came back to her, all that -could possibly come between them was by common instinctive accord put -away, and there was a happiness in those days of waiting almost like the -pathetic happiness which softens the ebbing out of life. Miss Farrell, -who was more than ever like a mother to the poor girl who had so much -need of her, looked forward, as a mother so often does, with almost as -much happiness as the chief actors in that lovers’ meeting to Edward’s -coming. Every evening, when his work was over, the two ladies would -listen for his quick step, or the sound of his horse’s hoofs over the -fallen leaves in the avenue. He came in, bringing the fresh air with -him, and the movement and stir of life, with such news as was to be had -in that rural quiet, with stories of his humble patients, and all the -humours of the countryside. It was something to expect all day long and -make the slow hours go by as on noiseless wings. There is perhaps -nothing which makes life so sweet. This is half the charm of marriage to -women; and before marriage there is a delicacy, a possibility of -interruption, a voluntary and spontaneous character in the intercourse -which makes it even more delightful. In the moonlight evenings, when the -yellow harvest moon was resplendent over all the country, and Winifred -was well enough for the exertion, the two would stray out together, -leaving the gentle old spectator of their happiness almost more happy -than they, in the tranquillity of her age, to prepare the tea for them, -or with Hopkins’s assistance (given with a little contemptuous -toleration of her interference) the “cup” which Langton had the bad -taste to prefer to tea. - -This lasted for several weeks, even months, and it was not till October, -when the woods were all russet and yellow, and a little chill had come -into the air, that the tranquillity was disturbed by a telegram which -announced the arrival of Tom. It was dated from Plymouth, and even in -the concise style demanded by the telegraph there was a ring of -satisfaction and triumph to Winifred’s sensitive ear. She trembled as -she read--“Shall lose no time expect me by earliest train to-morrow.” -This intimation came tingling like a shot into the calm atmosphere, -sending vibrations everywhere. In the first moment it fell like a -death-blow on Winifred, severing her life in two, cutting her off from -all the past, even, it was possible, from Edward and his love. When he -came in the evening she said nothing until they were alone upon the -terrace in the moonlight, taking the little stroll which had become so -delightful to her. It was the last time, perhaps, that, free from all -interruption, they would spend the tranquil evening so. She walked about -for some time leaning upon him, letting him talk to her, answering -little or nothing. Then suddenly, in the midst of something he was -saying, without sequence or reason, she said suddenly, “Edward, I have -had a telegram from Tom.” - -He started and stopped short with a quick exclamation--“From Tom!” - -“He is coming to-morrow,” Winifred said; and then there fell a silence -over them, over the air, in which the very light seemed to be affected -by the shock. She felt it in the arm which supported her, in the voice -which responded with a sudden emotion in it, and in the silence which -ensued, which neither of them seemed able to break. - -“I fear,” said Edward at last, “that it will be very agitating and -distressing for you, my darling. I wish I could do it for you. I wish I -could put it off till you were stronger.” - -She shook her head. “I must do it myself,” she said, “not even you. We -have been very quiet for a long time--and happy.” - -“We shall be happy still, I hope,” he said,--“happier, since the time -is coming when we are always to be together, Winnie.” - -She did not make any reply at first, but then said drearily, “I don’t -feel as if I could see anything beyond to-night. Life will go on again, -I suppose, but between this and that there seems to me, as in the -parable, a gulf fixed.” - -“Not one that cannot be passed over,” he said. - -But he did not ask her what she meant to say to her brother, nor had she -ever told him. Perhaps he took it for granted that only one thing could -be said, and that to be told what their father’s will was, would be -enough for the young men; or perhaps, for that was scarcely credible, he -supposed that Mr. Babington would be called upon to explain everything, -and the burden thus taken off her shoulders. Only when she was bidding -him good-night he ventured upon a word. - -“You must husband your strength,” he said, “and not wear yourself out -more than you can help. Remember there is George to come.” - -“I will have to say what there is to say at once, Edward. Oh, how could -I keep them in suspense?” - -“But you must think a little, for my sake, of yourself, dear.” - -She shook her head, and looked at him wistfully. “It is not I that have -to be thought of, it is the boys that I have to think of. Oh, poor boys! -how am I to tell them?” she cried. - -And he went away with no further explanation. He could not ask in so -many words, What do you intend to say to them? And yet he had made up -his mind so completely what ought to be said. He said to himself as he -went down the avenue that he had been a fool, that it was false delicacy -on his part not to have had a full explanation of her intentions. But, -on the other hand, how could he suggest a mode of action to her? There -was but one way--they must understand that she could not sacrifice -herself for their sakes. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Winifred scarcely slept all that night. She had enough to think of. Her -entire life hung in the balance. And, indeed, that was not all, for -there remained the doubtful possibility that she might deprive herself -of everything without doing any good by her sacrifice. The necessity to -be falsely true seemed, once having been taken up, to pursue her -everywhere. Unless she could find some way of accomplishing it -deceitfully, and frustrating her father’s will, while she seemed to be -executing it, she would be incapable of doing anything for her brothers, -and would either be compelled to accept an unjust advantage over them, -or give up everything that was in her own favour without advantaging -them. She lay still in the darkness and thought and thought over this -great problem, but came no nearer to any solution. And she was separated -even from her usual counsellors in this great emergency. In respect to -Edward, she divined his wishes with a pang unspeakable, yet excused him -to herself with a hundred tender apologies. It was not that he was -capable of wronging any one, but he felt--who could help feeling -it?--that all would go better in his hands. She, too, felt it. She said -to herself, it would be better for Bedloe, better for the people, that -he, through her, should reign, instead of George or Tom, who, if they -did well at all, would do well for themselves only, and who, up to this -time, even in that had failed. To give it over to two bad or indifferent -masters, careless of everything, save what it produced; or to place it -under the care of a wise and thoughtful master, who would consider the -true advantage of all concerned: who, she asked herself, could hesitate -as to which was best? But though it would be best, it would be founded -on wrong, and would be impossible. Impossible! that was the only word. -She was in no position to abolish the ordinary laws of nature, and act -upon her own judgment of what was best. It was impossible, whatever good -might result from it, that she should build her own happiness upon the -ruin of her brothers. Even Miss Farrell did not take the same view of -the subject. She had wept over the dethronement of the brothers, but she -could not consent to Winifred’s renunciation of all things for their -sake. “You can always make it up to them,” she had said, reiterating the -words, without explaining how this was to be done. How was it to be -done? Winifred tried very hard through all to respect her father. She -tried to think that he had only exposed her to a severe trial to prove -her strength. She thought that now at least, even if never before, he -must be enlightened, he must watch her with those “larger, other eyes -than ours,” with which natural piety endows all who have passed away, -whether bad or good. Even if he had not intended well at the time, he -must know better now. But how was she to do it? How succeed in thwarting -yet obeying him? The problem was beyond her powers, and the hours would -not stop to give her time to consider it. They flowed on, slow, yet -following each other in a ceaseless current; and the morning broke which -was to bring her perplexities to some sort of issue, though what she did -not know. - -Tom arrived by the early morning train. He also had not slept much in -the night, and his eyes were red, and his face pale. He was tremulous -with excitement, not unmingled with anxiety; but an air of triumph over -all, and elation scarcely controlled, gave a certain wildness to his -aspect, almost like intoxication. It was an intoxication of the spirit, -however, and not anything else, though, as he leapt out of the dog-cart -and made a rush up the steps, Winifred, standing there to meet him, -almost shrank from the careless embrace he gave her. “Well, Win, and so -here we are back again,” he said. He had no great reason, perhaps, to be -touched by his father’s death. It brought him back from unwilling work, -it gave him back (he thought) the wealth and luxury which he loved, it -restored him to all that had been taken from him. Why should he be -sorry? And yet, at the moment of returning to his father’s house, it -seemed to his sister that some natural thought of the father, who had -not always been harsh, should have touched his heart. But Tom did not -show any consciousness of what nature and good feeling required, which -was, after all, as Winifred reflected next moment, better, perhaps, as -being more true than any pretence at fictitious feeling. He gave nods of -acknowledgment, half boisterous, half condescending, to the servants as -he passed through the hall to the dining-room, which stood open, with -the table prepared for breakfast. He laughed at the sight, and pointed -to his sister. “It was supper you had waiting for me the last time I was -here,” he said, with a laugh, and went in before her, and threw himself -down in the large easy chair, which was the seat Mr. Chester had always -occupied. Probably Tom forgot, and meant nothing; but old Hopkins -hastened to thrust another close to the table, indicating it with a wave -of his hand. - -“Here, sir, this is your place, sir,” the old butler said. - -“I am very comfortable where I am,” cried Tom. “That’s enough, Hopkins; -bring the breakfast.” Hopkins explained to the other servants when he -left the room that Mr. Tom was excited. “And no wonder, considering all -that’s happened,” he said. - -“Well,” repeated Tom, when he and his sister were left alone, “so here -we are again. You thought it was for good when I went away, Winnie.” - -“I thought it would be--for a longer time, Tom.” - -“You thought it was for good; but you might have known better. The poor -old governor thought better of it at the last?” - -“I don’t think that he changed--his opinion,” Winifred said, hesitating, -afraid to carry on the deception, afraid to undeceive him, tired and -excited as he was. - -“Well,” said Tom, addressing himself to the good things on the breakfast -table, “whatever his opinion was, it don’t matter much now, for here I -am, at all events, and that horrible episode of New Zealand over. It -didn’t last very long, thank Heaven!” - -It was, perhaps, only because the conversation was so difficult that she -asked him then suddenly whether, perhaps, on the way he had seen -anything of George. - -“Of George?” Tom put down his knife and fork and stared at her. “How, in -the name of Heaven, could I see anything of George--on my way home?” - -“I--don’t know, Tom. I am not clear about the geography. I thought -perhaps you might have come by the same ship.” - -“By the same ship?” It was only by degrees that he took in what she -meant. Then he thrust back his chair from the table and exclaimed, -“What! is George coming too?” in a tone full of disgust and dismay. - -“I sent for him at the same time,” she replied, in spite of herself, in -a tone of apology. “How could I leave him out?” - -“_You_ sent for him?” said Tom, with evident relief. “Then I think you -did a very silly thing, Winnie. Why should he come here, such an -expensive journey, stopping his work and everything? Some one told me he -was getting on very well out there.” - -“I thought it indispensable that he should come back, that we should all -meet to arrange everything.” - -“To arrange everything?” There was a sort of compassionate impatience in -Tom’s tone. “I suppose that is how women judge,” he said. “What can -there be to arrange? You may be sure the governor had it all set down -clear enough in black and white. And now you will have disturbed the -poor beggar’s mind all for nothing; for he is sure to build upon it, -and think there’s something for him. I hope, at least, you made that -point clear.” - -“Tom, if you would but listen to me! There is no point clear. I felt -that I must see you both, and talk it all over, and that we must decide -among us”-- - -“You take a great deal upon you, Winnie,” said Tom. “You have got -spoilt, I think. What is there to decide about? The thing that vexes me -is for George’s own sake. That you might like to see him, and give him a -little holiday, that’s no harm; and I suppose you mean to make it up to -him out of your own little money, though I should think Langton would -have a word to say on that subject. But how do you know what ridiculous -ideas you may put into the poor beggar’s head? He may think that the -governor has altered his will again. He is sure to think something -that’s absurd. If it’s not too late, it would be charity to telegraph -again and tell him it was not worth his while.” - -“Tom,” said Winifred, faltering, “he is our brother, and he is the -eldest. Whatever my father’s will was, do you think it would be right to -leave him out?” - -“Oh, that is what you are after!” said Tom. “To work upon me, and get me -to do something for him! You may as well understand once for all that -I’ll be no party to changing the governor’s will--I’ll not have him -cheated, poor old gentleman! in his grave.” - -He had risen up from the table full of angry decision, pushing his chair -away, while Winifred sat weak and helpless, more bewildered at every -word, gazing at him, not knowing how to reply. - -“He was a man of great sense, was the governor,” said Tom. “He was a -better judge of character than either you or I. To be sure, he made a -little mistake that time about me; but it hasn’t done me any harm, and -I wouldn’t be the one to bring it up against him. And I’ll be no party -to changing his will. If you bring George here, it is upon your own -responsibility. He need not look for anything from me.” - -“Tom, I don’t ask anything from you; but don’t you think--oh, is not -your heart softer now that you know what it is to suffer hardship -yourself?” - -“That’s all sentimental nonsense,” said Tom hastily. He went to the -fireplace and warmed himself, for there is always a certain chill in -excitement. Then he returned to the table to finish his breakfast. He -had a feverish appetite, and the meal served to keep in check the fire -of expectation and restlessness in his veins. After a few minutes’ -silence he looked up with a hurried question. “Babington has been sent -for to meet me, I suppose?” - -“He is coming on Monday. We did not think you could arrive before -Monday, and George perhaps by that time”-- - -“Always George!” he said, with an angry laugh. - -“Always both of you, Tom. We are only three in the world, and to whom -can I turn but to my brothers to advise me? Oh, listen a little! I want -you to know everything, to judge everything, and then to tell me”-- - -It was natural enough, perhaps, that Tom should think of her personal -concerns. “Oh, I see,” he said; “you and Langton don’t hit it off, -Winnie? That’s a different question. Well, he is not much of a match for -you. No doubt you could do much better for yourself; but that’s not -enough to call George for, from the Antipodes. I’ll advise you to the -best of my ability. If you mean to trust for advice to George”-- - -“It is not about myself,” said Winifred. “Oh, Tom, how am I to tell you? -I cannot find the words--my father--oh, listen to me for a -little--don’t go away!” - -“If you say anything--to make me think badly of the governor, I will -never forgive you, Winnie!” he said. His face grew pale and then almost -black with gloom and excitement. “I’ve been travelling all night,” he -added. “I want a bath, and to make myself comfortable. It’s too soon to -begin about your business. Where have you put me? In the old room, I -suppose?” - -“All your things have been put there,” replied Winifred. It was a relief -to escape from the explanation, and yet a disappointment. He turned away -without looking at her. - -“Oh, all right! there is plenty of time to change when I have made up my -mind which I like best,” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -George arrived by the next mail. He did not travel all night, but came -in the evening, driving up the avenue with a good deal of noise and -commotion, with two flys from the station carrying him and the two -children and the luggage they brought, in addition to the brougham which -had been sent out of respect to the lady. She occupied it by herself, -for it was a small carriage, and she was a large woman, and thus was the -first to arrive, stumbling out with a large cage in her hand containing -a pair of unhappy birds with drooping feathers and melancholy heads. She -would not allow any one to take them from her hand, but stumbled up the -steps with them and thrust them upon Winnie, who had come out to the -door to receive her brother, but who did not at first realise who this -was. - -“Here, take ’em,” said Mrs. George; “they’re for you, and they’ve been -that troublesome! I’ve done nothing but look after them all the voyage. -I suppose you’re Winnie,” she added, pausing with a momentary doubt. - -“I hope you are not very tired,” Winifred said, with that imbecility -which extreme surprise and confusion gives. She took the cage, which was -heavy, and set it on a table. “And George--where is George?” she said. - -“Oh, George is coming fast enough; he’s in the first fly with the -children. But you don’t look at what I’ve brought you. They’re the true -love-birds, the prettiest things in the world. I brought them all the -way myself. I trusted them to nobody. George said you would think a -deal of them.” - -“So I shall--when I have time to think. It was very kind,” said Winnie. -“Oh, George!” She ran down to meet him as he stepped out with a child on -his arm. - -George was not fat, like his wife, but careworn and spare. - -“How do you do, Winnie?” he said, taking her outstretched hand. “Would -you mind taking the baby till I get Georgie and the things out of the -fly?” - -The baby was a fat baby, and like his mother. He gazed at her with a -placid aspect, and did not cry. There was something ludicrous in the -situation, which Winifred faintly perceived, though everything was so -serious. George was not like the long-lost brother of romance. He had -shaken hands with her as if he had parted from her yesterday. He -scarcely cast a glance at the house to which he was coming back, but -turned quickly to the fly, and lifted out first a little fat boy of -three, then parcel after parcel, with a slightly anxious but quite -business-like demeanour. - -“The maid and the boxes can go round to the other door,” he said, paying -serious attention to every detail. “I suppose I can leave these things -to be brought upstairs, Winnie? Now, Georgie, come along. There’s mamma -waiting.” He did not offer to take the baby, which was a serious weight -upon Winifred’s slight shoulder, but looked with a certain grave -gratification at his progeny. “He is quite good with you,” he said, with -pleased surprise. There was nothing in the fact of his return home that -affected George so much. “Look at baby, how good he is with Winnie! I -told you the children would take to her directly.” - -“Well, I suppose it’s natural your sister should look to you first,” -said the wife; “but I’ve taken a great deal of trouble bringing the -birds to her, and she hasn’t given them hardly a glance.” - -“It was very kind,” said Winnie; “but the children must come first. This -is the way; don’t you remember, George? Bring your wife here.” - -“I don’t believe she knows my name, or perhaps she’s proud, and won’t -call me by it, George?” - -“Winnie proud? Look how good baby is with her!” said George. - -They discussed Winifred thus, walking on either side of her, while she -tottered under the weight of the big baby, from which neither dreamt of -relieving her. Winifred began to feel a nervous necessity to laugh, -which she could not control. She drew a chair near the fire for her -sister-in-law, and put down the good-humoured baby, in whose contact -there seemed something consolatory, though he was very heavy, on the -rug. “I should like to give the other one a kiss,” she said--“is he -George too?--before I give you some tea.” - -“Yes, I should like my tea,” said Mrs. George; “I’m ready for it after -that long journey. Have you seen after Eliza and the boxes, George? -We’ve had a good passage upon the whole; but I should never make a good -sailor if I were to make the voyage every year. Some people can never -get over it. Don’t you think, Miss Winnie, that you could tell that old -gentleman to bring the birds in here?” - -“Is it old Hopkins?” said George. “How do you do, Hopkins? There is a -cage with some birds”-- - -“I hope I see you well, sir?” said the old butler. “I’m glad as I’ve -lived to see you come home. And them two little gentlemen, sir, they’re -the first little grandsons? and wouldn’t master have been pleased to see -them!” Hopkins had been growing feeble ever since his master’s death, -and showed a proclivity to tears, which he had never dared to indulge -before. - -“Well, I think he might have been,” said George, with a dubious tone. -But his mind was not open to sentiment. “They might have a little bread -and butter, don’t you think?--it wouldn’t hurt them,--and a cup of -milk.” - -“No, George,” said his wife; “it would spoil their tea.” - -“Do you think it would spoil their tea? I am sure Winnie would not mind -them having their tea here with us, the first evening, and then Eliza -might put them to bed.” - -“Eliza has got my things to look to,” said Mrs. George; “besides being -put out a little with a new place, and all that houseful of servants. I -shouldn’t keep up half of them, when once we have settled down and see -how we are going to fit in.” - -“Some one must put the children to bed,” said George, with an anxious -countenance. This conversation was carried on without any apparent -consciousness of Winnie’s presence, who, what with pouring out tea and -making friends with the children, did her best to occupy the place of -spectator with becoming unconsciousness. Here, however, she was suddenly -called into the discussion. “Oh, Winnie,” said her brother, “no doubt -you’ve got a maid, or some one who knows a little about children, who -could put them to bed?” - -“He is an old coddle about the children,” said his wife; “the children -will take no harm. Eliza must see to me first, if I’m to come down to -dinner as you’d wish me to. But George is the greatest old coddle.” - -She ran into a little ripple of laughter as she spoke, which was fat and -pleasant. Her form was soft and round, and prettily coloured, though her -features, if she had ever possessed any, were much blunted and rounded -into indistinctness. A sister is, perhaps, a severe judge under such -circumstances; yet Winifred was relieved and softened by the new -arrival. She made haste to offer the services of her maid, or even her -own, if need were. The house was turned entirely upside down by this -arrival. The two babies sent a thrill of excitement through all the -female part of the household, from Miss Farrell downwards, and old -Hopkins was known to have wept in the pantry over the two little -grandsons, whom master would have been so proud to see. Winifred alone -felt her task grow heavier and heavier. The very innocence and -helplessness of the party whom she had thus taken in hand, and whom, -after all, she was likely to have so little power to help, went to her -heart. She was not fitted to play the part of Providence. And certain -looks exchanged between George and his wife, and a few chance words, had -made her heart sick. They had pointed out to each other how this and -that could be changed. “The rooms in the wing would be best for the -nurseries,” George had said and “There’s just the place for you to -practise your violin,” his wife had added. They looked about them with a -serene and satisfied consciousness (though George was always anxious) -that they were taking possession of their own house. Winifred felt as -she came back into the hall, where Mrs. George’s present was still -standing, the cage with the two miserable birds, laying their drooping -heads together, that this simplicity was more hard to deal with than -even Tom’s discontent and sullen anger. She felt that she had collected -elements of mischief together with which she was quite unable to deal, -and stood in the midst of them discouraged, miserable, feeling herself -disapproved and unsupported. Not even Edward stood by her. Edward, least -of all, whose want of sympathy she felt to her soul, though it had never -been put into words. And Miss Farrell’s attempts to make the best were -almost worse than disapproval. She was entirely alone with those -contending elements, and what was she to do? - -Tom had chosen to be absent when his brother arrived; he did not appear -even at dinner, to which Mrs. George descended, to the surprise of the -ladies, decked in smiles and in an elaborate evening dress, which (had -they but known) she had spent all the spare time on the voyage in -preparing out of the one black silk which had been the pride of her -heart. She had shoulders and arms which were worth showing had they not -been a trifle too fat, so white and rosy, so round and dimpled. She made -a little apology to Winifred for the absence of crape. “It was such a -hurry,” she said, “to get away at once. George would not lose a day, and -I wouldn’t let him go without me, and such things as that are not to be -got on a ship,” she added, with a laugh. Mrs. George’s aspect, indeed, -did not suggest crape or gloom in any way. - -“No, I wouldn’t let him come without me,” she continued, while they sat -at dinner. “I couldn’t take the charge of the children without him to -help me, and then I thought he might be put upon if he came to take -possession all alone. I didn’t know that Miss Winnie was as nice as she -is, and would stand his friend.” - -“She is very nice,” said Miss Farrell, to whom this remark was -addressed, looking across the table at her pupil with eyes that -glistened, though there was laughter in them. The sight of this pair, -and especially of the wife with her innocence and good-humour, had been -very consoling to the old lady. And she was anxious to awaken in -Winifred a sense of the humour of the situation to relieve her more -serious thoughts. - -“But then I had never seen her,” said Mrs. George; “and it’s so natural -to think your husband’s sister will be nasty when she thinks herself a -cut above the like of you. I thought she might brew up a peck of -troubles for George, and make things twice as hard.” - -“I wish you wouldn’t talk so much,” her husband said under his breath. - -“Why shouldn’t I talk? I’m only saying what’s agreeable. I am saying I -never thought she would be so nice. I thought she might stand in -George’s way. I am sure it might make any one nasty that was likely to -marry and have children of her own, to see everything going past her to -a brother that had behaved like George has done and taken his own way.” - -This innocent conversation went on till Winifred felt her part become -more and more intolerable. Her paleness, her hesitating replies, and -anxious air at last caught George’s attention, though he had little to -spare for his sister. “Have you been ill, Winnie?” he said abruptly, as -he followed them into the drawing-room when dinner was over. - -“Yes, George,” she put her hand on his arm timidly; “and I am ill now -with anxiety and trouble. I have something to say to you.” - -George was always ready to take alarm. He grew a little more depressed -as he looked at her. “Is it anything about the property?” he said. - -“I never thought to deceive you,” she cried, losing command of herself. -“I did not know. I thought it would be all simple, George--oh, if you -will hear me to the end! and let us all consult together and see what -will be best.” - -George did not make her any reply. He looked across at his wife, and -said, “I told you there would be something,” with lips that quivered a -little. Mrs. George got up instantly and came and stood beside him, all -her full-blown softness reddening over with quick passion. “What is it? -Have I spoke too fast? Is there some scheme against us after all?” she -cried. - -“George,” said Winifred, “you know I am in no scheme against you. I want -to give you your rights--but it seems I cannot. I want you to know -everything, to help me to think. Tom will not hear me, he will not -believe me; but you, George!” - -“Tom?” George cried. The news seemed so unexpected that his astonishment -and dismay were undisguised. “Is Tom here?” - -“I sent for you both on the same day,” said Winifred, bowing her head as -if it were a confession of guilt. - -“Oh,” he said; he did not show excitement in its usual form, he grew -quieter and more subdued, standing in a sort of grey insignificance -against the flushed fulness of his astonished wife. “If it is Tom,” he -said, “you might as well have let us stay where we were. He never held -up a finger for me when my father sent me away. You did your best, -Winnie; oh, I am not unjust to you. Whatever it is, it’s not your fault. -But Tom--if Tom has got it! though I thought he had been sent about his -business too.” - -“But, George, George!” cried his wife, almost inarticulate with -eagerness to speak. “George, you’re the eldest son. I want to know if -you’re the eldest son, yes or no? And after that, who--who has any -right? I’m in my own house and I’ll stay. It’s my own house, and nobody -shall put me out,” she cried, with a hysterical laugh, followed by a -burst of tears. - -“Stop that,” said George, with dull quiet, but authoritatively. “I don’t -mean to say it isn’t an awful disappointment, Winnie; but if it’s Tom, -why did you go and send for me?” - -Winifred stood between the two, the wife sobbing wildly behind her, her -brother looking at her in a sort of dull despair, and stretched out her -hands to them with an appeal for which she could find no words. But at -that moment the door opened harshly and Tom came in, appearing at the -end of the room, with a pale and gloomy countenance, made only more -gloomy by wine and fatigue, for he had ridden far and wildly, dashing -about the country to exhaust his rage and disappointment. All that he -had done had been to increase both. “Oh, you have got here,” he said, -with an angry nod to his brother. “It is a nice home-coming ain’t it, -for you and me? Shake hands; we’re in the same boat now, whatever we -once were. And there stands the supplanter, the hypocrite that has got -everything!” cried the excited young man, the foam flying from his -mouth. And thereupon came a shriek from Mrs. George, which went through -poor Winifred like a knife. For some minutes she heard no more. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -Winifred had never fainted before in her life, and it made a great -commotion in the house. Hopkins, without a word to any one, sent off for -Dr. Langton, and half the maids in the house poured into the room -eagerly to help, bringing water, eau de Cologne, everything they could -think of. Mrs. George’s hysterics fled before the alarming sight, the -insensibility, and pallor, which for a moment she took for death, and -with a cry of horror and pity, and the tears still standing upon her -flushed cheeks, she flung herself on her knees on the floor by -Winifred’s side. The two brothers stood and looked on, feeling very -uncomfortable, gazing with a half-guilty aspect upon the fallen figure. -Would any one perhaps say that it was their fault? They stood near each -other, though without exchanging a word, while the sudden irruption of -women poured in. Winifred, however, was not long of coming to her -senses. She woke to find herself lying on the floor, to her great -astonishment, in the midst of a little crowd, and then struggled back -into full consciousness again with a head that ached and throbbed, and -something singing in her ears. She got to her feet with an effort and -begged their pardon faintly. “What has happened?” she said; “have I done -any thing strange? what have I done?” - -“You have only fainted,” said Miss Farrell, “that is all. Miss Chester -is better now. She has no more need of you, you may all go. Yes, my -dear, you have fainted, that is all. Some girls are always doing it; but -it never happened to you before, and it ought to be a proof to you, -Winnie, that you are only mortal after all, and can’t do more than you -can.” - -Winifred smiled as best she could in the face of her old friend. “I did -not know I could be so foolish,” she said; “but it is all over now. Dear -Miss Farrell, leave me with them. There is something I must say.” - -“Oh, put it off till to-morrow,” said Mrs. George; “whether you’ve been -our enemy or not, you are only a bit of a girl; and it can’t hurt to -wait till to-morrow. I know what nerves are myself, I’ve always been a -dreadful sufferer. A dead faint like that, it is very frightening to -other people. Don’t send the old lady away.” - -“I am going to stay with you, Winnie--unless you will be advised by me, -and by Mrs. George, who has a kind heart, I am sure she has--and go to -bed.” - -Winifred placed herself in a deep easy-chair which gave her at least a -physical support. She gave her hand to Miss Farrell, who stood by her, -and turned to the brothers, who were still looking on uneasily, -half-conscious that it was their fault, half-defiant of her and all that -she could say. She lifted her eyes to them, in that moment of weakness -and uncertainty before the world settled back into its place. Even their -faces for a little while were but part of a phantasmagoria that moved -and trembled in the air around her. She felt herself as in a dream, -seeing not only what was before her, but many a visionary scene behind. -She had been the youngest, she had always yielded to the boys; and as -they stood before her thus, though with so few features of the young -playfellows and tyrants to whom all her life she had been more or less -subject, it became more and more impossible to her to assume the -different part which an ill fate had laid upon her. As she looked at -them, so many scenes came back. They had been fond of her and good to -her in their way, when she was a child. She suddenly remembered how -George used to carry her up and down-stairs when she was recovering from -the fever which was the great event in her childish life, and in how -many rides and rows she had been Tom’s companion, grateful above measure -for his notice. These facts, with a hundred trivial incidents which she -had forgotten, rushed back upon her mind. “Boys,” she said, and then -paused, her eyes growing clearer and clearer, but tears getting into her -voice. - -“Come, Winnie,” said George, “Tom and I are a little too old for that.” - -“You will never be too old for that to me,” she said. “Oh, if you would -but look a little kind, as you used to do! It was against my will and -my prayers that it was left to me. I said that I would not accept it, -that I would never, never, take what was yours. I never deceived him in -that. Oh, boys! do you think it is not terrible for me to be put into -your place, even for a moment? And that is not the worst. I thought when -I sent for you that I could give it you back, that it would all be easy; -but there is more to tell you.” - -They looked at her, each in his different way. Tom sullenly from under -his eyebrows, George with his careworn look, anxious to get to an end of -it, to consult with his wife what they were to do; but neither said a -word. - -“After,” she said with difficulty, struggling against the rising in her -throat, “after--it was found that I could not give it you back. If I did -so, I too was to lose everything. Oh, wait, wait, till I have done! What -am I to do? I put it in your hands. If I try to give you any part, it -is lost to us all three. What am I to do? I can take no advice from any -but you. What I wish is to restore everything to you; but if I attempt -to do so, all is lost. What am I to do? What am I to do?” - -“Winnie, what you will do is to make yourself ill in the meantime.” - -“What does it matter?” she cried wildly; “if I were to die, I suppose it -would go to them as my heirs.” - -The blank faces round her had no pity in them for Winnie. They were for -the moment too deeply engrossed with the news which they had just heard. -Miss Farrell alone stooped over her, and stood by her, holding her hand. -Mrs. George, who had been listening, bewildered, unable to divine what -all this could mean, broke the silence with a cry. - -“She don’t say a word of Georgie. Is there nothing for Georgie? I don’t -know what you mean, all about giving and not giving--it’s our right. -George, ain’t it our right?” - -“There are no rights in our family,” said George; “but I don’t know what -it means any more than you.” - -Here Tom stepped forward into the midst of the group, lifting his sullen -eyebrows. “I know what it means,” he said. “It is easy enough to tell -what it means. If she takes you in, she can’t take me in. I saw how -things were going long ago. First one was got out of the house and then -another, but she was always there, saying what she pleased, getting over -the old man. Do you think if he had been in his right senses, he would -have driven away his sons, and put a girl over our heads? I’ll tell you -what,” he cried with passion, “I am not going to stand it if you are. -She was there always at one side of him, and the doctor at the other. -The daughter and the doctor and nobody else. Every one knows how a -doctor can work upon your nerves; and a woman that is always nursing -you, making herself sweet. If there ever was undue influence, there it -is. And I don’t mean to stand it for one.” - -George was not enraged like his brother: he looked from one to another -with his anxious eyes. “If you don’t stand it, what can you do?” he -said. - -“I mean to bring it to a trial. I mean to take it into court. There -isn’t a jury in England but would give it in our favour,” said Tom. “I -know a little about the law. It is the blackest case I ever knew. The -doctor, Langton, he is engaged to Winnie. He has put her up to it; I -don’t blame her so much. He has stood behind her making a cat’s-paw of -her. Oh, I’ve found out all about it. He belongs to the old family that -used to own Bedloe, and he has had his eye on this ever since we came -here. The governor was very sharp,” said Tom, “he was not one to be -beaten in the common way. But the doctor, that was always handy, that -came night and day, that cured him--the _first_ time,” he added -significantly. - -Tom, in his fury, had not observed, nor had any of his agitated hearers, -the opening of the door behind, the quiet entry into the room of a -new-comer, who, arrested by the words he heard, had stood there -listening to what Tom said. At this moment he advanced quickly up the -long room. “You think perhaps that I killed him--the second time?” he -said, confronting the previous speaker. - -Winifred rose from her chair with a low cry, and came to his side, -putting her arm through his. - -“Edward! Edward! he does not know what he is saying,” she cried. - -The other pair had stood bewildered during all this, Mrs. George gasping -with her pretty red lips apart, her husband, always careworn, looking -anxiously from one face to another. When she saw Winnie’s sudden -movement, Mrs. George copied it in her way. She was cowed by the -appearance of the doctor, who was so evidently a gentleman, one of those -superior beings for whom she retained the awe and admiration of her -youth. - -“Oh, George, come to bed! don’t mix yourself up with none of them--don’t -get yourself into trouble!” she cried, doing what she could to drag him -away. - -“Let alone, Alice,” he said, disengaging himself. “I suppose you are Dr. -Langton. My brother couldn’t mean that; but if things are as he says, -it’s rather a bad case.” - -A fever of excitement, restrained by the habit of self-command, and -making little appearance, had risen in Langton’s veins. “Winifred,” he -cried, with the calm of passion, “you have been breaking your heart to -find out a way of serving your brothers. You see how they receive it. -Retire now, you are not able to deal with them, and leave it to me.” - -She was clinging to him with both hands, clasping his arm, very weak, -shaken both in body and mind, longing for quietness and rest; but she -shook her head, looking up with a pathetic smile in his face. - -“No, Edward,” she said. - -“No?” he looked at her, not believing his ears. She had never resisted -him before, even when his counsels were most repugnant to her. A sudden -passionate offence took possession of him. “In that case,” he said, -“perhaps it is I that ought to withdraw, and allow your brother to -accuse me of every crime at his ease.” - -“Oh, Edward, don’t make it harder! It is hard upon us all, both them and -me. It is desperate, the position we are in. I cannot endure it, and -they cannot endure it. What are we to do?” - -“Nor can I endure it,” he said. “Let them contest the will. It is the -best way; but in that case they cannot remain under your roof.” - -“Who gave you the right to dictate what we are to do?” cried Tom, who -was beside himself with passion. “This is my father’s house, not yours. -It is my sister’s, if you like, but not yours. Winnie, let that fellow -go; what has he got to do between us? Let him go away; he has got -nothing to do here.” - -“You are of that opinion too?” Langton said, turning to her with a pale -smile. “Be it so. I came to look after Miss Chester’s health, not to -disturb a family party.” - -“Edward!” Winifred cried. The name he gave her went to her heart. He had -detached himself from her hold; he would not see the hand which she held -out to him. His ear was deaf to her voice. She had deserted him, he said -to himself. She had brought insult upon him, and an atrocious -accusation, and she had not resented it, showed no indignation, rejected -his help, prepared to smooth over and conciliate the miserable cad who -had permitted himself to do this thing. Beneath all this blaze of -passion, there was no doubt also the bitterness of disappointment with -which he saw the destruction of those hopes which he had been foolishly -entertaining, allowing himself to cherish, although he knew all the -difficulties in the way. He saw and felt that, right or wrong, she would -give all away, that Bedloe was farther from him than ever it had been. -He loved Winifred, it was not for Bedloe he had sought her; but -everything surged up together at this moment in a passion of -mortification, resentment, and shame. She had not maintained his cause, -she had refused his intervention, she had allowed these intruders to -regard him as taking more upon him than she would permit, claiming an -authority she would not grant. He neither looked at her, nor listened to -the call which she repeated with a cry that might have moved a savage. A -man humiliated, hurt in his pride, is worse than a savage. - -“Take care of her,” he said, wringing Miss Farrell’s hand as he passed -her, and without another look or word went away. - -Winifred, standing, following with her eyes, with consternation -unspeakable, his departing figure, felt the strength ebb out of her as -he disappeared. But yet there was relief in his departure, too. A woman -has often many pangs to bear between her husband and her family. She has -to endure and maintain often the authority which she does not -acknowledge, which in her right he assumes over them, which is a still -greater offence to her than to them; and an instinctive sense that her -lover should not have any power over her brothers was strong in her -notwithstanding her love. Her agitated heart returned after a moment’s -pause to the problem which was no nearer solution than before. She said -softly-- - -“All that I can do for your sake I will do, whatever I may suffer. There -is one thing I will not do, and that is, defend myself or him. If you do -not know that neither I nor he have done anything against you, it is not -for me to say it. It is hard, very hard for us all. If you will advise -with me like friends what to do, I shall be very, very thankful; but if -not, you must do what you will, and I will do what I can, and there is -no more to say.” - -The interruption, though it had been hard to bear, had done her good. -She went back to her chair, and leant back, letting her head rest on -good Miss Farrell’s faithful shoulder. A kind of desperation had come to -her. She had sent her lover away, and nothing remained for her, but only -this forlorn duty. - -“Edward will not come back,” she said in Miss Farrell’s ear. - -“To-morrow, my darling, to-morrow,” the old lady said, with tears in her -eyes. - -Winifred shook her head. No one could deceive her any more. She seemed -to have come to that farthest edge of life on which everything becomes -plain. After a while she withdrew, leaving the others to their -consultation; they had been excited by Edward’s coming, but they were -cowed by his going away. It seemed to bring to all a strange -realisation, such as people so often reach through the eyes of others, -of the real state of their affairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -Enough had been done and said that night. They remained together for -some time in the drawing-room, having the outside aspect of a family -party, but separated, as indeed family parties often are. Winifred, very -pale, with the feeling of exhaustion both bodily and mental, sat for a -time in her chair, Miss Farrell close to her, holding her hand. They -said nothing to each other, but from time to time the old lady would -bend over her pupil with a kiss of consolation, or press between her own -the thin hand she held. She said nothing, and Winifred, indeed, was -incapable of intercourse more articulate. On the other side of the -fireplace George and his wife sat together, whispering and consulting. -She was very eager, he careworn and doubtful, as was his nature. -Sometimes he would shake his head, saying, “No, Alice,” or “It is not -possible.” Sometimes her eager whispering came to an articulate word. -Their anxious discussion, the close union of two beings whose interests -were one, the life and expectation and anxiety in their looks, made a -curious contrast to the exhaustion of Winnie lying back in her chair, -and the sullen loneliness of Tom, who sat in the centre in front of the -fire, receiving its full blaze upon him in a sort of ostentatious -resentment and sullenness, though his hand over his eyes concealed the -thought in his face. The only sound was the whispering of Mrs. George, -and the occasional low word with which her husband replied. Further, no -communication passed between the different members of this strange -party. They separated after a time with faint good-nights, Mrs. George -eager, indeed, to maintain the forms of civility, but the brothers each -in his way withdrawing with little show of friendship. After this, -Winifred too went upstairs. Her heart was very full. - -“Did you ever,” she said to her companion “feel a temptation to run -away, to bear no more?” - -“Yes, I have felt it; but no one can run away. Where could we go that -our duty would not follow us? It is shorter to do it anyhow at first -hand.” - -“Is it so?” said Winifred, with a forlorn look from the window into the -night where the stars were shining, and the late moon rising. “‘Oh that -I had the wings of a dove!’--I don’t think I ever understood before what -that meant.” - -“And what does it mean, Winnie? The dove flies home, not into the -wilds, which is what you are thinking of.” - -“That is true,” said the girl, “and I have no home, except with you. I -have still you”-- - -“He will come back to-morrow,” Miss Farrell said. - -“No, he will not come back. They insulted him, and I--did not want him. -That is true. I did not want him. I wanted none of his advice. I -preferred to be left to do what I had to do myself. It is true, Miss -Farrell. Can a man ever forgive that? It would have been natural that he -should have done everything for me, and instead of that--Are not these -all great mysteries?” said Winifred after a pause. “A woman should not -be able to do so. She should put herself into the hands of her husband. -Am I unwomanly?--you used to frighten me with the word; but I could not -do it. I did not want him. My heart rose against his interference. If I -knew that he felt so to me, I--I should be wounded to death. And yet--it -was so--it is quite true. I think he will never forgive me.” - -“It is a mystery, Winnie. I don’t know how it is. When you are married -everything changes, or so people say. But love forgives everything, -dear.” - -“Not that,” Winifred said. - -She sat by her fire, when her friend left her, in a state of mind which -it is impossible to describe in words. It was despair. Despair is -generally tragical and exalted; and perhaps that passion is more easy to -bear with the excitement that belongs to it than the quiet consciousness -that one has come to a dead pause in one’s life, and that neither on one -side or the other is there any outlet. Winifred was perfectly calm and -still. She sat amid all the comfort of her chamber, gazing dimly into -the cheerful fire. She was rich. She was highly esteemed. She had many -friends. And yet she had come to a pass when everything failed her. Her -brothers stood hostile about her, feeling her with justice to be their -supplanter, to stand in their way. Her lover had left her, feeling with -justice that she wronged his love and rejected his aid. With -justice--that was the sting. To be misunderstood is terrible, yet it is -a thing that can be surmounted; but to be guilty, whether by any fault -of yours, whether by terrible complication of events, whether by the -constitution of your mind, which is the worst of all, this is despair. -And there was no way of deliverance. She could not make over her -undesired wealth to her brothers, which had at first seemed to be so -easy a way; and also, far worse, far deeper, far more terrible, she -could not make Edward see how she could put him away from her, yet love -him. She felt herself to sit alone, as if upon a pinnacle of solitude, -regarding all around and seeing no point from which there could come any -help. It is seldom that the soul is thus overwhelmed on all sides. When -one hope fails, another dawns upon the horizon; rarely, rarely is there -no aid near. But to Winifred it seemed that everything was gone from -her. Her lover and friends stood aloof. Her life was cut off. To -liberate every one and turn evil into good, the thing best to be done -seemed that she should die. But she knew that of all aspirations in the -world that is the most futile. Death does not come to the call of -misery. Those who would die, live on: those who would live are stricken -in the midst of their happiness. Perhaps to a more cheerful and buoyant -nature the crisis would have been less terrible; but to her it seemed -that everything was over, and life come to a standstill. She was -baffled and foiled in all that she wished, and that which she did not -desire was forced upon her. There seemed no strength left in her to -fight against all the adverse forces around. Her heart failed -altogether, and she felt in herself no power even to meet them, to begin -again the discussion, to hear again, perhaps, the baseless threat which -had driven Edward away. Ah, it was not that which had driven him away. -It was she herself who had been the cause; she who had not wanted him, -who even now, in the bitterness of the loss, which seemed to her as if -it must be for ever, still felt a faint relief in the thought that at -least no conflict between his will and hers would embitter the crisis, -and that she should be left undisturbed to do for her brothers all that -could be done, alone. - -Next day she was so shaken and worn out with the experiences of that -terrible evening, that she kept her room and saw no one, save Miss -Farrell. Edward made no appearance; he did not even inquire for her, and -till the evening, when Mr. Babington arrived, Winifred saw no one. The -state of the house, in which George and his family held a sort of -encampment on one side, and Tom a hostile position on the other, was a -very strange one. There was a certain forlorn yet tragi-comic separation -between them. Even in the dining-room, where they sat at table together, -Mrs. George kept nervously at one end, as far apart as she could place -herself from her brother-in-law. The few words that were interchanged -between the brothers she did everything in her power to interrupt or -stop. She kept George by her side, occupied him with the children, -watched over him with a sort of unquiet care. Tom had assumed his -father’s place at the foot of the table before the others perceived -what that meant. They established themselves at the head, George and -his wife together, talking to each other in low voices, while there was -no one with whom Tom could make up a faction. The servants walked with -strange looks from the one end to the other, serving the two groups who -were separated by the white stretch of flower-decorated table. Old -Hopkins groaned, yet so reported the matter that the company in the -housekeeper’s room shook their sides with mirth. “It was for all the -world like one of them big hotels as I’ve been to many a time with -master. Two lots, with a scoff and a scowl for everything that each -other did.” Notwithstanding this disunion, however, the two brothers had -several conferences in the course of the day. They had a common -interest, though they thus pitted themselves against each other. It was -Tom who was the chief spokesman in these almost stealthy interviews. -Tom was so sore and resentful against his sister, that he was willing to -make common cause with George against her. - -“If it is as she says,” he said, “there’s no jury in England but would -find undue influence, and perhaps incapacity for managing his own -affairs. We have the strongest case I ever heard of.” - -“I don’t believe you’ll get a jury against Winnie,” said George, shaking -his head. - -“Why shouldn’t we get a jury against Winnie? She has stolen into my -place and your place, and set the governor against us.” - -“Perhaps she has,” said George; “but you won’t get a jury against her.” - -“Why not? There is no man in the world that would say otherwise than -that ours was a hard case.” - -“Oh yes, it is a very hard case; but you would not get a jury against -Winnie,” George repeated, with that admirable force of passive -resistance and blunted understanding which is beyond all argument. - -This was what they talked of when they walked up and down the -conservatory together in the afternoon. Tom was eager, George doubtful; -but yet they were more or less of accord on this subject. It was a hard -case--no one would say otherwise; and though George could not in his -heart get himself to believe that any argument would secure a verdict -against Winnie, yet it was a case, it was evident, in which something -ought to be done, and he began to yield to Tom’s certainty. When Mr. -Babington arrived, they both met him with a certain expectation. - -“We can’t stand this, you know,” said Tom. “It is not in nature to -suppose that we could stand it.” - -“Oh, can’t you?” Mr. Babington said. - -“Tom thinks,” his brother explained in his slow way, “that there has -been undue influence.” - -“The poor old governor must have been going off his head. It is as clear -as daylight: he never could have made such a will if he hadn’t been off -his head; and Winnie and this doctor one on each side of him. Such a -will can never stand,” said Tom. - -“But I say he’ll never get a jury against Winnie,” said George, with his -anxious eyes fixed on Mr. Babington’s face. - -The lawyer listened to this till they had done, and then he said, “Oh, -that is what you think!” and burst into a peal of laughter. “Your father -was the sort of person, don’t you think, to be made to do what he didn’t -want to do? I don’t think I should give much for your chance if that is -what you build upon.” - -This laugh, more than all the reasoning in the world, took the courage -out of Tom, and George had never had any courage. They listened with -countenances much cast down to Mr. Babington’s narrative of their -father’s proceedings, and of how Winnie was bound, and how Mr. Chester -had intended to bind her. They neither of them were clever enough to -remark that there were some points upon which he gave them no -information, though he seemed so certain and explicit. But they were -both completely lowered and subdued after an hour of his society, -recognising for the first time the desperate condition of affairs. - -That evening, when Winnie, weary of her day’s seclusion, sick at heart -to feel her own predictions coming true, and to realise that Edward had -let the day pass without a word, was sitting sadly in her dressing-gown -before her fire, there came a knock softly at her door, late in the -evening, when the household in general had gone to bed. She turned -round with a little start and exclamation, and her surprise was not -lessened when she perceived that her visitor was Tom. He came in with -scarcely a word, and drew a chair near her, and sat down in front of the -fire. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -There is, among the members of many families, a frank familiarity which -dispenses with all those forms which keep life on a level of courtesy -with persons not related to each other. Tom did not think it necessary -to ask his sister how she was, or to show any anxiety about her health. -He drew his chair forward and seated himself near her, without any -formulas. - -“You know how to make yourself comfortable,” he said, with a glance -round the room, which indeed was very luxuriously furnished, like the -rest of the house, and with some taste, which was Winifred’s own. The -tone in which he spoke conveyed a subtle intimation that Winifred made -herself comfortable at his expense, but he did not say so in words. He -stretched out his feet towards the fire. Perhaps he found it a little -difficult to come to the point. - -“I am sorry,” said Winifred, “to have been shut up here. If I had been -stronger--but you must remember I have had an illness, Tom; and to feel -that you were both against me”-- - -“Oh, it doesn’t matter about that,” said Tom, with a wave of his hand. -Then, after a pause, “In that you’re mistaken, Winnie. I’m not against -you. A fellow could not but be disappointed to find what a different -position he was in, after the telegram and all. But when one comes to -hear all about it, I’m not against you: I’m rather--though perhaps you -won’t believe me--on your side.” - -“Oh, Tom!” cried Winifred, laying her hand upon his arm; “I am too glad -to believe you. If you will only stand by me, Tom”-- - -“Oh yes,” he said, “I’ll stand by you. I’ve been thinking it over since -last night. You want some one to be on your side, Winnie. When I saw the -airs of--But never mind, I have been thinking it all over, and I am on -your side.” - -“If that is so, I shall be able to bear almost anything,” said Winifred -faintly. - -“You will have George to bear and his wife. They say women never can put -up with other women. And, good heavens, to think that for a creature -like that he should have stood out and lost his chances with the -governor! I never was a fool in that way, Winnie. If I went wrong, it -was for nobody else’s sake, but to please myself. I should never have -let a girl stand in my way--not even pretty, except in a poor sort of -style, and fat at that age.” Here Tom made a brief pause. “But of -course you know I shall want something to live on,” he said. - -“I know that you shall have everything that I can give you,” Winifred -cried. - -“Ah! but that’s easier said than done. We must not run against the will, -that is clear. I’ve been thinking it over, as I tell you, and my idea -is, that after a little time, when you have taken possession and got out -of Mr. Babington’s hands and all that, you might make me a present, as -it were. Of course your sense of justice will make it a handsome -present, Winnie.” - -“You shall have half, Tom. I have always meant you should have half.” - -“Half?” he said. “It’s rather poor, you’ll allow, to have to come down -to that after fully making up one’s mind that one was to have -everything!” - -“But, Tom, you would not have left George out--you would not have had -the heart!” - -“Oh, the heart!” said Tom. “I shouldn’t have stood upon ceremony, -Winnie; and besides, I always had more respect for the poor old governor -than any of you. It suits my book that you should go against him, but I -shouldn’t have done it, had it been me. Well, half! I suppose that’s -fair enough. You couldn’t be expected to do more. But you must be very -cautious how you do it, you know. It’s awfully unbusiness-like, and -would have made the governor mad to think of. You must just get the -actual money, sell out, or realise, or whatever they call it, and give -it to me. Nothing that requires any papers or settlements or anything. -You will have to get the actual money and give it me. You had better do -it at different times, so many thousand now, and so many thousand then. -It will feel awfully queer getting so much money actually in one’s -hand--but nice,” Tom added, with a little laugh. He got up and stood -with his back to the fire, looking down upon her. “Nice in its way, if -one could forget that it ought to have been so much more.” - -“Tom, you will be careful and not spend too much--you will not throw it -all away?” - -“Catch me!” he said. “I’ll tell you what I mean to do, Winnie. I’ll go -on the Stock Exchange. The governor’s old friends will lend me a hand, -thinking mine a hard case, as it is. And then it’s easy to make them -believe I’ve been lucky, or inherit (as I believe I do) the governor’s -head for business. It would be droll if some of us hadn’t got that, and -I am sure it’s neither George nor you. Well, then, that’s settled, -Winnie. It will be easy to find out from Babington what the half is: a -precious big figure, I don’t doubt,” he added, with a triumph which for -the moment he forgot to disguise. Then he added after a moment, in a -more indifferent tone, “There is no telling what may happen when a man -is once launched. If you give me your share to work the markets with, -you can do anything on the Stock Exchange with a lot of money. I’ll -double your money for you in a year or two, which will be as good as -giving it all back.” - -“I don’t know anything about the Stock Exchange, Tom; only don’t lose -your money speculating.” - -“Oh, trust me for that!” he said. “I tell you I am the one that has got -the governor’s head.” Then it seemed to strike him for the first time -that it would not be amiss to show some regard for his sister. He -brought his hand down somewhat heavily on her shoulder, which made her -start violently. - -“Come,” he said, “you must not be down-hearted, Win. If I was a little -nasty at first, can’t you understand that? And now I’ve made up my mind -to it, there’s nothing to look so grave about. I’ll stand by you -whatever happens.” - -“Thank you, Tom,” she said faintly. - -“You needn’t thank me; it’s I that ought to thank you, I suppose. I -might have known you would behave well, for you always did behave well, -Winnie. And look here, you must not make yourself unhappy about -everybody as you do. George, for instance: I would be very careful of -what I gave him, if I were you. Let them go out to their own place -again, they will be far better there than here. And don’t give them too -much money: enough to buy a bit of land is quite enough for them; and -when the boys are big enough to help him to work it, he’ll do very -well.” This prudent advice Tom delivered as he strolled, pausing now and -then at the end of a sentence, towards the door. He was, perhaps, not -very sure that it was advice that would commend itself to Winnie, or -that it came with any force from his mouth; nevertheless he had a sort -of conviction, which was not without reason, that it was sensible -advice. “By the bye,” he added, turning short round and standing in the -half dark in the part of the room which was not illuminated by the -lamp--“by the bye, I suppose you will have to sell Bedloe, before you -can settle with me?” - -“Sell Bedloe!” Winifred was startled out of the quiescence with which -she had received Tom’s other proposals. “Why should there be any -occasion to do that, Tom?” - -“My dear,” he said, with a sort of amiable impatience, “how ignorant you -are of business! Don’t you see that before you halve everything with me -as you promise, all the property must be realised? I mean to say, if you -don’t understand the word, sold. That is the very first step.” - -“Sell Bedloe?” she repeated. “Dear Tom, that is the very last thing my -father would have consented to do. Oh no, I cannot sell Bedloe. He hoped -it was to descend to his children, and his name remain in the county; he -intended”-- - -“Do you think he intended to preserve the name of the Langtons in the -county, Winnie? You can’t be such a fool as that. And, as I suppose your -children, when you have them, will be Langtons, not Chesters”-- - -She interrupted him eagerly, her face covered with a painful flush. “I -am going to carry out my father’s will against his will, Tom; and, oh, I -feel sure where he is now he will forgive me. He has heirs of his own -name--I mean them to have Bedloe. Where he is he knows better,” she -said, with emotion; “he will understand, he will not be angry. Bedloe -must be for George.” - -Tom came forward close to her, within the light of the lamp, with his -lowering face. “I always knew you were a fool, but not such a fool as -that, Winnie. Bedloe for George! a fellow that has disgraced his family, -marrying a woman that--why, even Hopkins is better than she is; they -wouldn’t have her at table in the housekeeper’s room. I thought you were -a lady yourself, I thought you knew--why, Bedloe, Winnie!” he seized her -by the arm; “if you do this you will show yourself an utter idiot, -without any common sense, not to be trusted. If you don’t sell Bedloe, -how are you to pay me?” he cried, with an honest conviction that in -saying this righteous indignation had reached its climax, and there was -nothing more to add. - -“Tom,” said Winifred, “leave me for to-night. I am not capable of -anything more to-night. Don’t you feel some pity for me,” she cried, -“left alone with no one to help me?” - -But how was he to understand this cry which escaped from her without any -will of hers? - -“To help you? whom do you want to help you? I should have helped you if -you had shown any sense. Bedloe to George! Then it is the half of the -_money_ only that is to be for me? Oh, thank you for nothing, Miss -Winnie, if you think I am to be put off with that. Look here! I came to -you thinking you meant well, to show you a way out of it. But I’ve got a -true respect for the governor’s will, if no one else has. Don’t you know -that for years and years he had cut George out of it altogether, and -that it was just Bedloe--Bedloe above everything--that he was not to -have?” - -Winifred shrank and trembled as if it were she who was the criminal. -“Yes,” she said almost under her breath, “I know; but, Tom, think. He -is the eldest, he has children who have done no wrong.” - -“I don’t think anything about it,” said Tom. “The governor cut him out; -and what reason have you got for giving him what was taken from him? -What can you say for yourself? that’s what I want to know.” - -“Tom,” said Winifred, trembling, with tears in her eyes, “there are the -children: little George, who is called after my father, who is the real -heir. His heart would have melted, I am sure it would, if he had seen -the children.” - -“Oh, the children! that woman’s children, and the image of her! Can’t -you find a better reason than that?” - -“Tom,” said Winifred again, “my father is dead, he can see things now in -a different light. Oh, what is everything on the earth, poor bits of -property and pride, in comparison with right and justice? Do you think -_they_ don’t know better and wish if they could to remedy what has been -wrong here?” - -“I don’t know what you mean by _they_,” said Tom sullenly. “If you mean -the governor, we don’t know anything about him; whether--whether it’s -all right, you know, or if”--Here he paused for an appropriate word, -but, not finding one, cried out, as with an intention of cutting short -the subject, “That’s all rubbish! I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you go -on with this folly, to drag the governor’s name through the mud, by -Jove! I’ll tell Babington. I’ll put him up to what you’re after. Against -my own interest? What do I care? I’ll tell Babington, by Jove! to spite -you if nothing more!” - -“I think you will kill me!” cried Winifred, at the end of her patience; -“and that would be the easiest of all, for you would be my heirs, George -and you.” - -He stared at her for a moment as if weighing the suggestion, then, -saying resentfully, “Always George,” turned and left her, shutting the -door violently behind him. The noise echoed through the house, which was -all silent and asleep, and Winifred, very lonely, deserted on all sides, -leaned back in her chair and cried to herself silently, in prostration -of misery and weakness. What was she to do? to whom was she to turn? She -had nobody to stand by her. There was nothing but a blank and silence on -every side wherever she could turn. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -This interview did not calm the nerves of the agitated girl or bring her -soothing or sleep. It was almost morning before the calm of exhaustion -came, hushing the thoughts in her troubled brain and the pulses in her -tired body. She slept without comfort, almost without unconsciousness, -carrying her cares along with her, and when she awoke suddenly to an -unusual sound by her bedside, could scarcely make up her mind that she -had been asleep at all, and believed at first that the little babbling -voice close to her ear was part of a feverish dream. She started up in -her bed, and saw on the carpet close to her the little three-year-old -boy, a small, square figure with very large wide-open blue eyes, who was -altogether new to her experiences, and whom she only identified after a -moment’s astonished consideration as little George, her brother’s child. -The first clear idea that flashed across her mind was that, as Tom said, -he was “the image of his mother,” not a Chester at all, or like any of -her family, but the picture, in little, of the very overblown beauty of -George’s wife. This sensation checked in Winifred’s mind, mechanically, -without any will of hers, the natural impulse of tenderness towards the -child, who, staring at her with his round eyes, had been making -ineffectual pulls at the counterpane, and calling at intervals, “Auntie -Winnie!” in a frightened and reluctant tone. Little George had “got on” -very well with his newly-found relative on the night of his arrival, but -to see an unknown lady in bed, with long hair framing her pale face, -and that look of sleep which simulates death, had much disturbed the -little boy. He fulfilled his _consigne_ with much faltering bravery, but -he did not like it; and when the white lady with the brown hair started -up suddenly, he recoiled with a cry which was very nearly a wail. She -recovered and came to herself sooner than he did, and, smiling, held out -a hand to him. - -“Little George, is it you? Come, then, and tell me what it is,” she -said. - -Here the baby recoiled a step farther, and stared with still larger -eyes, his mouth open ready to cry again, the tears rising, his little -person drawn together with that instinctive dread of some attack which -seems natural to the helpless. Winnie stretched out her arm to him with -a smile of invitation. - -“Come to me, little man, come to me,” she cried. Tears came to her eyes -too, and a softening to her heart. The little creature belonged to her -after a fashion; he was her own flesh and blood; he was innocent, not -struggling for gain. She did not ask how he came there, nor notice the -straying of his eyes to something behind, which inspired yet terrified -him. She was too glad to feel the unaccustomed sensation of pleasure -loosen her bonds. “It is true I am your Aunt Winnie. Come, Georgie, -don’t be afraid of me. Come, for I love you,” she said. - -Half attracted, half forced by the influence behind, which was to Winnie -invisible, the child made a shy step towards the bed. “Oo send Georgie -away,” he stammered. “Oo send Georgie back to big ship. Mamma ky. -Georgie no like big ship.” - -“Come and tell me, Georgie.” She leant towards him, holding out arms in -which the child saw a refuge from the imperative signs which were being -addressed to him from behind the bed. He came forward slowly with his -little tottering steps, his big eyes full of inquiry, wonder, and -suspicion. - -“Oo take care of Georgie?” he said, with a little whimper that went to -Winifred’s heart; then suffered himself to be drawn into her arms. The -touch of the infant was like balm to her. - -“Yes, dear,” she cried, with tears in her eyes; “as far as I can, and -with all my heart I will take care of Georgie.” It was a vow made, not -to the infant, who had no comprehension, but to Heaven and her own -heart. - -But there was some one else who heard and understood after her fashion. -As Winifred said these words with a fervour beyond description, a sudden -running fire of sobs broke forth behind the head of her bed. Then with a -rush and sweep something heavy and soft fell down by her side, almost -crushing Georgie, who began to cry with fright and wonder. - -“Oh, Miss Winnie! God bless you! I knew that was what you would say,” -cried Mrs. George, clasping Winifred’s arm with both her hands, and -laying down her wet, soft cheek upon it. “_He_ thought not; he said we -should have to go back again in that dreadful ship; but oh, bless you! I -knew you weren’t one of that kind!” - -“Is it you, Mrs. George?” said Winifred faintly. The sudden apparition -of the mother gave her a shock; and she began to perceive that the -little scene was melodramatic, got up to excite her feelings. She drew -back a little coldly; but the baby gazing at her between his bursts of -crying, and pressing closer and closer to her shoulder, frightened by -his mother’s onslaught, was no actor. She began to feel after a moment -that the mother herself, crying volubly like a schoolgirl, and -clutching her arm as if it were that of a giant, was, if an actor so -very simple an actor, with devices so transparent and an object so -little concealed, that moral indignation was completely misplaced -against her artless wiles, and that nature was far stronger in her than -guile. In the first revulsion she spoke coldly; but after a moment, with -a truer insight, “Stand up,” she said. “Don’t cry so. Get a chair and -come and sit by me. You must not go on your knees to me.” - -“Oh, but that I will,” cried Mrs. George, “as if you were the Queen, -Miss Winnie; for you have got our lives in your hands. Look at that poor -little fellow, who is your own flesh and blood. Oh, will you listen to -what worldly folks say, and send him away to be brought up as if he was -nobody, and him your own nephew and just heir?--oh, I don’t mean that! -It appears he’s got no rights, though I always thought--the eldest son’s -eldest son! But no; I don’t say that. George pleased himself marrying -me, and if he lost his place for that, ain’t it more than ever my duty -to do what I can for him? And I don’t make no claim. I don’t talk about -rights. You’ve got the right, Miss Winnie, and there’s an end of it. -Whoever opposes, it will never be George and me. But oh,” cried the -young woman, rising from her knees, and addressing to Winifred all the -simple eloquence of her soft face, her blue eyes blurred with tears, -which flowed in half a dozen channels over the rosy undefined outline of -her cheeks,--“oh, if you only knew what life was in foreign parts! It -don’t suit George. He was brought up a gentleman, and he can’t abear -common ways. And the children!--oh, Miss Winnie, the little boys! Would -you stand by and see them brought up to hold horses and to run -errands--them that are your own flesh and blood?” - -Little Georgie had ceased to whimper. The sight of his mother’s crying -overawed the baby. He was too safe and secure in Winifred’s arms to move -at once--but, reflecting in his infant soul, with his big eyes turned to -his mother all the while she spoke, was at last touched beyond his -childish capacity of endurance, forsook the haven in which he had found -shelter, and, flinging his arms about her knees, cried out, “Mamma, -don’t ky, mamma, me love you!” burying his face in the folds of her -dress. Mrs. George stooped down and gathered him up in her arms with a -sleight of hand natural to mothers, and then, child and all, -precipitated herself once more on the carpet at the bedside. - -Winifred, too, was carried out of herself by this little scene. She -dried the fast-flowing tears from the soft face so near to her as if -the young mother had been no more serious an agent than Georgie. “You -shall not go back. You shall want nothing that I can do for you,” she -cried, soothing them. It was some time before the tumult calmed; but -when at last the fit of crying was over, Mrs. George began at once to -smile again, with an easy turn from despair to satisfaction. She held -her child for Winifred to kiss, her own lips trembling between joy and -trouble. - -“I don’t ask you to kiss me, for I’m not good enough for you to kiss; -but Georgie--he is your own flesh and blood.” - -“Do not say so,” said Winifred, kissing mother and child. “And now sit -beside me and talk to me, and do not call me miss, for I am your sister. -I am sure you have been a good wife to George.” - -“I should be that and more: since he lost his fortune, and his ’ome, and -all, for me,” she cried. - -The scene which ensued was the most unexpected of all. Mrs. George -placed the child upon Winifred’s bed and began, without further ado, a -baby game of peeps and transparent hidings, her excitement turning to -laughter, as it had turned to tears. Winifred, too, though her heart was -heavy enough, found herself drawn into that sudden revulsion. They -played with little Georgie for half an hour in the middle of all the -care and pain that surrounded them, the one woman with her heart -breaking, the other feeling, as far as she could feel anything, that the -very life of her family hung in the balance--moving the child to peals -of laughter, in which they shared after their fashion, as women only -can, interposing this episode of play into the gravest crisis. It was -only when Georgie’s laughter began to show signs of that over-excitement -that leads to tears, that Winifred suddenly said, almost to herself, -“But how am I to do it? how am I to do it?” with an accent of weary -effort which almost reached the length of despair. - -“Oh dear! you that are so good and kind,” cried Mrs. George, changing -also in a moment, “just let us stay with you, dear Winnie--it’s a -liberty to call you Winnie; but oh dear, dear! why can’t we just live -all together? That would do nobody any harm. That would go against no -one’s will. It wasn’t said you were not to give me and George and the -children an ’ome. Oh, only think! it’s such a big, big house! If you -didn’t like the noise of the children,--but you aren’t one of that sort, -not to like the noise of the children, and so I told George,--they could -have their nursery where you would never hear a sound. And George would -be a deal of use to you in managing the estate, and I would do the -housekeeping, and welcome, and save you any trouble. And why, why--oh, -why shouldn’t we just settle down all together, and be, oh, so -comfortable, Miss Winnie, dear?” - -This suggestion, it need scarcely be said, struck Winifred with dismay. -The face, no longer weeping, no longer elevated by the passionate -earnestness of the first appeal, dropping to calculations which, -perhaps, were more congenial to its nature, gave her a chill of -repulsion while still her heart was soft. She seemed to see, with a -curious second sight, the scene of family life, of family tragedy, which -might ensue were this impossible plan attempted. It was with difficulty -that she stopped Mrs. George, who, in the heat of success, would have -settled all the details at once, and it was only the entrance of Miss -Farrell, tenderly anxious about her pupil’s health, and astounded to -find Mrs. George and her child established in her room, that finally -delivered poor Winnie. - -“You would have no need of strangers eating you up if you had us,” her -sister-in-law said, as she stooped to kiss her ostentatiously, and held -the child up to repeat the salute ere she went away. - -Winifred had kissed the young mother almost with emotion in the midst of -her pleading; but somehow this return of the embrace gave a slight shock -both to her delicacy and pride. She laughed a little and coloured when -Miss Farrell, after the door closed, looked at her astonished. “You -think I have grown into wonderful intimacy with Mrs. George?” she said. - -“I do indeed, Winnie. My dear, I would not interfere, but you must not -let your kind heart carry you too far.” - -“Oh, my kind heart!” cried the girl, feeling a desperate irony in the -words. “She suggests that they should live with me,” she added, turning -her head away. - -“Live with you? Winnie! my dear!” Miss Farrell gasped, with a sharp -break between each word. - -“She thinks it will arrange itself so, quite simply--oh, it is quite -simple! Dear Miss Farrell, don’t say anything. I have been pushing it -off. I have been pretending to be ill because I was miserable. Let me -get up now--and don’t say anything,” she added after a moment, with lips -that trembled in spite of herself. “There are no--letters; no one--has -been here?” - -“Nothing, Winnie.” Her friend did not look at her; she dared not betray -her too profound sympathy, her personal anguish, even by a kiss. - -When Winifred came downstairs she found Mr. Babington waiting for her. -He was a very old acquaintance, whom she had not been used to think of -as a friend; but trouble makes strange changes in the aspect of things -around us, turning sometimes those whom we have loved most into -strangers, and lighting up faces that have been indifferent to us with -new lights of compassion and sympathy. Mr. Babington’s formal manner, -his well-known features, so composed and commonplace, his grey, keen -eyes under their bushy eyebrows, suddenly took a new appearance to -Winifred. They seemed to shine upon her with the warmth of ancient -friendship. She had known him all her life, yet, it seemed, had never -known him till to-day. He came to meet her, holding out his hand, with -some kind, ordinary questions about her health, but all the while a -light put out, as it were, at the windows of his soul, to help her, -another poor soul stumbling along in the darkness. It was not anything -that he said, nor that she said. She did not ask for any help, nor he -offer it; and yet in a moment Winifred felt herself, in her mind, -clinging to him with the sense that here was an old, old friend, -somebody, above all doubt and uncertainty, in whom she could trust. - -“Miss Winifred,” he said, “I am afraid, though you don’t seem much like -it, that we must talk of business.” - -“Yes; I wish it, Mr. Babington. I am only foolish and troubled--not ill -at all.” - -“I am not so sure about that; but still--Your brother Tom has been -warning me, Miss Winifred--I hope to save you from a false step; that -you are thinking of--going against your father’s will”-- - -“Did Tom tell you so, Mr. Babington?” - -“He did. I confess that I was not surprised. I have expected you to do -so all along; but so fine a fortune as you have got is not to be lightly -parted with, my dear young lady. Think of all the power it gives you, -power to do good, to increase the happiness, or at least the comfort, -perhaps of hundreds of people. If it was in your brothers’ hands, do you -think it would be used as well? We must think of that, Miss Winifred, we -must think of that.” - -“If it was in my power,” she said, looking at him wistfully, “I should -think rather of what is just. Can anything be good that is founded upon -injustice? Oh, Mr. Babington, put yourself in my place! Could you bear -to take away from your brother, from any one, what was his by nature--to -put yourself in his seat, to take it from him, to rob him?” - -“Hush, hush, my dear girl! I am afraid I have not a conscience so -delicate as yours. I could bear a great deal which does not seem -bearable to you. And you must remember it is no doing of yours. Your -father thought, and I agree with him, that you would make a better use -of his money, and do more credit to his name, than either of your -brothers. It throws a fearful responsibility upon you, we may allow; -but still, my dear Miss Winifred”-- - -“Mr. Babington,” she cried, interrupting him, “you are my oldest -friend--oh yes, my oldest friend! You know, if I am forced to do this, -it will only be deceiving from beginning to end. I will only pretend to -obey. I will be trying all the time, as I am now, to find out ways of -defeating all his purposes, and doing--what he said I was not to do!” - -Her eyes shone almost wildly through the tears that stood in them. She -changed colour from pale to red, from red to pale; her weakness gave her -the guise of impassioned strength. - -“Miss Winifred,” said the lawyer very gravely, “do you know that you are -guilty of the last imprudence in saying this, of all people in the -world, to me?” - -“Oh,” she cried, “you are my friend, my old friend! I never remember the -time when I did not know you. It is not imprudent, it is my only hope. -Think a little of me first, whom you knew long before this will was -made. Tell me how I can get out of the bondage of it. Teach me, teach me -how to cheat everybody, for that is all that is left to me! how to keep -it from them so as best to give it to them. Teach me! for there is no -one I can ask but you.” - -The lawyer looked at her with a very serious face. Her great emotion, -her trembling earnestness, the very force of her appeal, as of one -consulting her only oracle, hurt the good man with a sympathetic pain. -“My dear,” he said, “God forbid I should refuse you my advice, or -misunderstand you, you who are far too good for any of them. But, Miss -Winifred, think again, my dear. Are you altogether a free agent? Is -there not some one else who has a right to be consulted before you take -a step--which may change the whole course of your life?” - -Winifred grew so pale that he thought she was going to faint, and got up -hurriedly to ring the bell. She stopped him with a movement of her hand. -Then she said firmly, “There is no one; no one can come between me and -my duty. I will consult nobody--but you.” - -“My dear young lady, excuse me if I speak too plainly; but want of -confidence between two people that are in the position of”-- - -“You mean,” she said faintly yet steadily, “Dr. Langton? Mr. Babington, -he has no duty towards George and Tom. I love them--how can I help it? -they are my brothers; but he--why should he love them? I don’t expect -it--I can’t expect it. I must settle this by myself.” - -“And yet he will be the one to suffer,” said the lawyer reflectively in -a parenthesis. “My dear Miss Winifred, take a little time to think it -over, there is no cause for hurry; take a week, take another day. Think -a little”-- - -“I have done nothing but think,” she said, “since you told me first. -Thinking kills me, I cannot go on with it; and you can’t tell--oh, you -can’t tell how it harms _them_, what it makes them do and say! -Tom”--(here her voice was stifled by the rising sob in her throat) “and -all of them,” she cried hastily. “Oh, tell me how to be done with it, to -settle it so that there shall be no more thinking, no more struggling!” -She clasped her hands with a pathetic entreaty, and looked imploringly -at him. And she bore in her face the signs of the struggle which she -pleaded to be freed from. Her face had the parched and feverish look of -anxiety, its young, soft outline had grown pinched and hollow, and all -the cheerful glow of health had faded. The lawyer looked at her with -genuine tenderness and pity. - -“My poor child,” he said, “one can very well see that this great -fortune, which your poor father believed was to make you happy, has -brought anything but happiness to you.” - -She gave him a little pathetic smile, and shook her head; but she was -not able to speak. - -“Then, Miss Winifred,” he said cheerfully, “since you are certain that -you don’t want it, and won’t have it, and have made up your mind to do -nothing but scheme and plot to frustrate the will, even when you are -seeming to obey it,--I think I know a better way. Write down what you -mean to do with the property, and leave the rest to me.” - -She looked at him, roused by his words, with an awakening thrill of -wonder. “Write down--what I mean to do? But that will make me helpless -to do it; that will risk everything; or so you said.” - -“I said true. Nevertheless, if you are sure you wish, at the bottom of -your heart, to sacrifice yourself to your brothers”-- - -She shook her head half angrily, with a gesture of impatience. “To give -them back their rights.” - -“That means the same thing in your phraseology. If that is what you -really wish, do what I say, and leave the rest to me.” - -She looked at him for a moment, bewildered, then rose up hastily and -flew to the writing-table. How easy it was to do it! how blessed if only -it were possible to throw this weight once for all off her shoulders, -and be free! - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -This was in the morning, and nothing further happened until the -afternoon. Winifred, though she was tremulous with weakness, had her -pony carriage brought round, and went out, taking Miss Farrell with her. -They went sometimes slowly, sometimes like the wind, as their -conversation flagged or came to a point of interest. They had much to -say to each other, and argued over and over again the same question. -They went round and round the park, and along a bit of road between the -Brentwood gate and the one that was called the Hollyport. Winifred’s -ponies seemed to take that way without any will of hers. Was it without -her will? But, if not, it was quite ineffectual. The long road stretched -white on either side, disappearing here and there round the corner of -the woods; but there was no one visible, one way or the other--no one -whom the ladies wished to see. Once, indeed, as they approached the -farthest gate on their return, some one riding quickly, at a pace only -habitual to one person they knew, appeared on the brow of the Brentwood -hill coming towards them. The reins shook in Winifred’s hands. She let -her ponies fall into a walk, not so much of set purpose as because her -wrists had lost all power; and the reins lay on the necks of the little -pair, who, like other pampered servants, did no more work than they were -obliged to do. The horseman came steadily down the hill, and disappeared -in the hollow, from which he would naturally reappear again and meet -them before many minutes. But he did not reappear. The ladies lingered, -the ponies took advantage of the moment of weakness to draw aside to the -edge of the road and munch grass, as if they were uncertain of their -daily corn. But no one came by that way. They had not said anything to -each other, nor had either said a word to show that she was aware of any -meaning in this pause. When, however, there was no disguising that it -was futile, Winifred said, almost under her breath, “He must have gone -round by the other way.” - -“I heard there was some one ill at the Manor Farm,” said Miss Farrell, -with a quick catching of her breath. - -“That will be the reason,” Winifred said, with a dreary calm, and she -said no more, nor was any name mentioned between them as they drove -quietly home. Old Hopkins came out to the steps as she gave the groom -the reins. - -“If you please, Miss Winifred, Mr. Babington has been asking for you. -He said, would you please step into the library as soon as you came -back. The gentlemen,” Hopkins added after a pause, with much gravity, -“is both there.” - -“Will you come, Miss Farrell?” Winifred said. - -“If I could be of any use to you, my darling; but I could not, and you -would rather that no one was there.” - -“Perhaps,” said Winifred, with a sigh. Yet it was forlorn to see her in -her deep mourning, walking slowly in her weakness, alone and deserted, -though with so much depending on her. She went into the library without -even taking off her hat. Mr. Babington was seated there at what had been -her father’s writing-table, and Tom and George were both with him. Tom -stood before the fire, with that air of assumption which he had never -put off--the rightful-heir aspect, determined to stand upon his rights. -George had his wife with him as usual, and sat with her whispering and -consulting at the other end of the room. Mr. Babington had been writing; -he had a number of papers before him, but evidently, from the silence, -only broken by the undertones of George and his wife, which prevailed, -had put off all explanations until Winifred was present. Neither of the -brothers stirred when she entered. George had forgotten, in the -composure of a husband whose wife requires none of the delicacies of -politeness from him, those civilities which men in other circumstances -instinctively pay to women, and Tom was too much out of temper and too -deeply opposed to his sister to show her any attention. Mr. Babington -rose and gave her a chair. - -“Sit here, Miss Winifred. I shall want to place various things very -clearly before you,” he said. “Now, will you all give me your -attention?” His voice subdued Mrs. George, who had sprung up to go to -her sister-in-law with a beaming smile of familiarity. She fell back -with a little alarm into her chair at her husband’s side. - -“You are all aware of the state of affairs up to this point,” Mr. -Babington said. “Your father’s large fortune, left in succession, first -to one and then to the other of his sons, to be withdrawn from both as -they in turn displeased him, has been finally left to Miss Winifred, -whom he thought the most likely of his three children to do him credit -and spend his money fitly. Exception may be taken to what he did, but -none, in my opinion, to the reason. He thought of that more than -anything else, and he chose what seemed to him the best means to have -what he wanted.” - -“He must have been off his head; I shall never believe anything else, -though there may not be enough evidence,” Tom said. - -“I daresay my father was right,” said George in his despondent voice. - -“I think, from his point of view, your father was quite right; but there -are many things that men, when they make their wills, don’t take into -consideration. They think, for one thing, that their heirs will feel as -they do, and that they have an absolute power to make themselves obeyed. -This, unfortunately, they very often fail to do. Miss Winifred becomes -heir under a condition with which she refuses to comply.” - -“Mr. Babington!” Winifred said, putting her hand on his arm. - -“You may trust to me, my dear. The condition is, that she is not, under -any circumstances, to share the property with her brothers, or to -interfere in any way with the testator’s arrangements for them. This she -refuses to do.” - -“Don’t be a fool, Winnie!” cried Tom. “Pass over that, please. We all -know what you mean, and that she’s to pose as our benefactor, and to -receive our eternal gratitude, and so forth.” - -“I think it would be a great pity if Winnie took any rash step,” George -said. - -Mr. Babington looked round upon them with a smile. “She wishes,” he -said, “to give the landed property, Bedloe, to her brother George, and -to make up an equivalent to it in money for Mr. Tom there. These are the -arrangements she proposes to me--the sole executor, you will observe, -charged to carry your father’s will into effect.” He took up one of the -papers as he spoke, and with a smile, caught in his own the hand which -she once more tremulously put forth to interrupt him. “Here is the -proposal written in her own hand,” he said. “Miss Winifred, you must -trust to me; I am acting for the best. Naturally this puts an end to -her, as her father’s heir.” - -Here there arose a confused tumult round the little group in the middle -of the room. Mrs. George was the first to make herself heard. She burst -forth into sobs and tears. - -“Oh! after all she’s promised to do for us! after all she’s said for the -children! Oh, George! go and do something, stand up for your sister. -Don’t let it be robbed away from her, after all she’s promised. Oh, -George! Oh, Miss Winnie! remember what you’ve promised!--and what is to -become of Georgie?” the young mother cried. - -“Mr. Babington,” said George, “I don’t think it’s right to take -advantage of my sister because she’s foolish and generous. Who is it to -go to if you take it from her? Let one of us at least have the good of -it. I don’t want her to give me Bedloe. She could be of use to us -without that.” - -Tom had burst into a violent laugh of despite and despair. “If that’s -what it’s to come to,” he said, “we’ll go to law all of us. Winnie too, -by Jove! No one can say we’re not a united family now.” - -Winifred sat with her eyes fixed on the old lawyer’s face. She said -nothing, and if there was a tremor in her heart too, did not express it, -though already there began to arise dull whispers--Ought she to have -done it? Was it her duty? Was this in reality the way to serve them -best? - -“The law is open to whoever seeks its aid--when they have plenty of -money,” said Mr. Babington quickly. “You ask a very pertinent question, -Mr. George. It is one which never has been put to me before by any of -the persons most concerned.” - -This statement fell among them with a thrill like an electric shock. It -silenced Tom’s nervous laughter and Mrs. George’s sobs. They -instinctively drew near with a bewildering expectation, although they -knew not what their expectation was. - -“Mr. Chester,” said the lawyer, “like most men, thought he had plenty of -time before him, and he did not understand much about the law. I am -bound to add that in this particular he got little information from me; -and the consequence was that he forgot, in God’s providence, to assign -any heirs, failing Miss Winifred. It was a disgrace to my office to let -such a document go out of it,” he added, with a twinkle in his eyes, -“but so it was. He thought perhaps that he would live for ever, or that -at least he’d see his daughter’s children, or that she would do -implicitly what he told her, or something else as silly--begging your -pardon; all men are foolish where wills are concerned.” - -There was another pause. Mr. Babington leant back in his chair, so much -at his ease and leisure, that he looked like a benevolent grandfather -discoursing to his children round him. They surrounded him, a group of -silent and anxious faces. Tom was the one who thought he knew the most. -He asked, with a voice which sounded parched in his throat, moistening -his lips to get the words out, “Who gets the property, then?” bringing -out the question with a rush. - -Mr. Babington turned his back upon Tom. He addressed himself to George, -whose face had no prevision in it, but was only dully, quietly anxious, -as was habitual to him. George knew little about the law. He was not in -the way of expecting much. Whatever new thing might come, it was in all -likelihood a little worse than the old. He was vexed and grieved that -Winnie, who certainly would have been kind to him and his children, was -not to have the money; but he had not an idea in his mind as to what, -failing her, its destination would be. - -“Mr. George Chester,” he said, “you are the eldest son; your father, I -suppose, had his reasons for cutting you out, but those reasons I hope -don’t exist now. As your sister refuses to accept the condition under -which the property comes to her, and as your father made no provision -for such a contingency, it follows that the will is not worth the paper -it is written on, and that Mr. Chester as good as died intestate, if you -know what that means.” - -Tom, who had been listening intently over Mr. Babington’s shoulder, -threw up his clenched hands with a loud exclamation. Into George’s blank -face there crept a tremor as of light coming. Winifred and Mrs. George -sat unmoved except by curiosity and wonder, unenlightened, trying to -read, as women do, the meaning in the face of the speaker, but -uninformed by the words. - -“If I know what that means? Intestate? I don’t think I do know what it -means.” - -“You fool!” his brother cried. - -“It means,” said Mr. Babington, “a kind of natural justice more or less, -at least in the present circumstances. When a man dies intestate, his -landed property (I’ll spare you law terms) goes without question to his -eldest son--which you are--and natural representative. The personalty, -that is the money, you know, is divided. Do you understand now what I -mean? The personal property is far more than the real in this case, so -it will make a very just and equal division. And now, Miss Winnie, tell -me if I have not managed well for you? Are you satisfied now to have -trusted yourself to your old friend?” - -“George, George! I don’t understand. What’s to be divided? What do we -get?” cried Mrs. George, standing up, the tears only half dried in her -eyes, her rose tints coming back to her face. - -George was so startled and overwhelmed by information which entered but -slowly into an intelligence confused by ill-fortune, that for the moment -he made his wife no reply; but Tom did, who had already fully savoured -all the sweets and bitters of this astounding change of affairs. - -“Mrs. Chester,” he said, with an ironical bow, “you get Bedloe, my -father’s place, that he never would have let you set foot in, if he -could have helped it, poor old governor. And the rest of us get--our -due; oh yes, we get our due. I know I was a fool and didn’t keep his -favour when I had got it; and you, Winnie, you traitor, oh, you traitor! -There isn’t a female for the word, is there? it should be female -altogether. You that he put his last trust in, poor old governor! you’ve -served him out the best of any of us,” said Tom, with a burst of violent -laughter, “and there’s an end of him and all his schemes!” he cried. - -Winifred rose up tremulous. There was perhaps in her heart too an echo -of Tom’s rage and sense of wrong. This woman, the reverse of all that -her father’s ambition (vulgar ambition, yet so strong) had hoped for, to -be the mistress of the house! And Bedloe, which Winnie loved, to pass -away to a family which had rubbed off and forgotten even the little -gloss of artificial polish which Mr. Chester had procured for his sons. -She would have given it to them had the power been in her hands, she had -always intended it, never from the first moment meant anything else. And -yet when all was thus arranged according to her wish, above her hopes, -Winifred felt, to the bottom of her heart, that to give up her home to -Mrs. George was a thing not to be accomplished without a thrill of -indignation, a sense of wrong. And the very relief which filled her soul -brought back to her those individual miseries which this blessed -decision (for it was a blessed decision though cruel) could not take -away. She made Tom no reply. She scarcely returned the pressure of Mr. -Babington’s kind hand. She said not a word to the agitated, triumphant, -yet astonished pair, who could not yet understand what good fortune had -happened to them. She went straight out of the library to Miss Farrell’s -room. She still wore her hat and outdoor dress. She took her old -friend’s hand, and drew her out of the chair in which she had been -seated, watching for every opening of the door. “Come,” she said, “come -away.” - -“What has happened, Winnie? What has happened?” - -“Everything that is best. George has got Bedloe. It is all right, all -right, better than any one could have hoped. And I shall not sleep -another night under this roof. Dear Miss Farrell, if you love me, come -away, come away!” - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -Edward Langton had never meant to forsake his love. He intended no more -to give her up because she did not agree with him, because he thought -her mistaken, or even because she had rejected his guidance and wounded -his pride, than he meant to give up his life. But he had been very -deeply wounded by her acceptance of his withdrawal at that critical -moment. She had not chosen to put him, her natural defender, between her -brothers and herself. She had refused, so his thoughts went on to say, -his intervention. She had preferred to keep her interests separate from -his, to give him no share in what might be the most important act of -her life. He would not believe it possible when he left her. As he -crossed the hall and hurried down the avenue, he thought every moment -that he heard some one, a messenger hastening after him to bring him -back. But there was no such messenger. He expected next morning a letter -of explanation, of apology, at least of invitation imploring him not to -forsake her--but there was none. While Winifred’s heart sank lower and -lower at the absence of any communication from him, he was waiting with -a mingled sense of dismay, astonishment, and indignation for something -from her. It seemed incredible to him that she should not write to -soothe away his offence, to explain herself. His first sensation indeed -had been that the offence given to him was deadly and not to be -explained, and that she who would not have him to help her in her -trouble, could not want him in her life; but before the next morning -came he had reasoned himself into a certainty that he should have as -full an explanation as it was possible to make, that she would excuse -herself by means of a hundred arguments which his own reason suggested -to him, and call him to her with every persuasion of love. But nothing -of the kind took place--Winifred, sick and miserable, awaited on her -side the letter, the inquiry which never came, and felt herself forsaken -at the moment when every generous heart, she thought, must have felt how -much she needed support and sympathy. She did not want his interference; -she had been able to manage her family business--to do without him; he -had been _de trop_ between her brothers and herself. Then let it be so! -he said at last to himself, and plunged into his work, riding hither and -thither, visiting even patients who needed him no longer, to prove to -himself that he was too much and too seriously offended to care. To be -sure, he was not the man to stand cap in hand and plead for her favour. - -He went over all the district in those three days, dashing along the -roads, hurrying from one hamlet to another. It was not the life he had -been so foolish as to imagine to himself, the life--he felt himself -blush hotly at the recollection--of the master of Bedloe, restoring the -prestige of the old name, changing the aspect of the district, -ameliorating everything as only (he thought) a man who was born the -friend and master of the place could do. It had been an ideal life which -he had imagined for himself, not one of selfishness. He had meant to -brighten the very face of the country, to mend everything that needed -mending, to do good to the poor people, who were his own people. He -remembered now that there were those who thought it humiliating and base -for a man to be enriched by his wife, and the subtle contempt of women -embodied in that popular prejudice rose up in hot and painful shame to -his heart and his face. A man is never so sure that women are inferior, -as when a woman has neglected or played him false. Edward Langton’s -heart was very sore, but he began to say to himself that it served him -right for his meanness in depending on a woman, and that a man ought to -be indebted to his own exertions and not look for advancement in so -humiliating a way. These thoughts grew more and more bitter as the days -went on. He flung himself into his work: an epidemic would have pleased -him better than the mild little ailments or lingering chronic diseases -which were the only visitations known among those healthy country folk; -but such as they were he made the most of them, frightening the sick -people by the unnecessary energy of his attendance, and saying to -himself that this, and not a fiction of the imagination or anything so -degrading as a wife’s fortune, was his true life. That he flew about the -country without many a lingering unwilling look towards Bedloe, it would -be false to say. His way wherever he went led him past the park gates, -which he found always closed, silent, giving no sign. On the one -occasion when Winifred perceived him descending the hill, by one of -those hazards which continually arise to confuse human affairs, he, for -the moment half-happy in the entrancement of a case which presented -dangerous complications, did not see or recognise the little pony -carriage lingering under the russet trees, and thus missed the only -chance of a meeting and explanation; but he did meet, when that chance -was over, next day, in the afternoon, Mr. Babington driving his heavy -old phaeton from the gates of Bedloe. Langton’s heart gave a leap even -at this means of hearing something of Winnie; but perhaps his pride -would still have prevented any clearing up, had not the old lawyer taken -it into his own hands. He stopped his horse and waited till Edward, who -was walking home from the house of a patient in the village, came up. - -“I want to speak to you,” Mr. Babington said. “Will you jump up and come -with me along the road, or will you offer me your hospitality and a bit -of dinner? There is full moon to-night and I don’t mind being late. Oh, -if it’s not convenient, never mind.” - -Edward’s pride had made him hesitate--his good breeding came to his aid, -showing it to be inevitable that he should obey the hungry longing of -his heart. - -“Certainly it is convenient, and I am too glad--drive on to my house, -and I shall be with you in a moment.” - -Though he had felt it to be his only salvation to hold fast by his -profession and present tenor of existence, Langton’s heart beat loud as -he hurried on. Now, he said to himself, he should know what it meant, -now he should have some light thrown upon the position at least which -Winifred had assumed. - -Mr. Babington, however, ate his dinner, which was simple and not -over-abundant, having been prepared for the doctor alone, with steady -composure, and it was only when the meal was over that he opened out. -Langton had apologised, as was inevitable, for the simple fare. - -“Don’t say a word,” said the lawyer, with a wave of his hand. “It was -all excellent, and I’m glad to see you’ve such a good cook. You don’t -know what a comfort it is to come out of a confused house like _that_, -with lengthy fine dinners that nobody understands, to a comfortable chop -which a man can enjoy and which it is a pleasure to see.” - -“Bedloe was not a confused house in former days,” said Langton, with a -feeling that Winifred’s credit was somehow assailed. - -“Ah, nothing is as it was in former days,” said Mr. Babington, shaking -his head; “everything is topsy-turvy now. I suppose you know all about -the last turn the affair has taken. I wonder you were not there, though, -to support poor Miss Winifred, poor thing, who has had a great deal to -go through.” - -“You will be surprised,” said Langton, forcing a somewhat pale smile, -“if I tell you that I don’t know anything about it. Miss Chester -preferred that the question between her brothers and herself should be -settled among themselves. And perhaps she was right.” - -“My dear Langton,” said Mr. Babington, laying his hand on the young -man’s arm, “I hope there’s no coolness on this account between that poor -girl and you?” - -“I see no reason why she should be called a poor girl,” Langton said -quickly. - -“Ah, well, you have not seen her then during the last two or three days. -Poor thing! between making the best of these fellows, and struggling to -keep up a show of following her father’s directions--between acting -false and meaning true”-- - -“Mr. Babington,” said Langton, with a dryness in his throat, “unhappily, -as you say, there has been--no coolness, thank Heaven--but a little--a -momentary silence between Miss Chester and me. Perhaps I have been to -blame. I thought she--Tell me what has happened, and how everything is -settled, for pity’s sake!” - -“Yes,” said the old lawyer, “I haven’t the slightest doubt, my young -friend, that you have been to blame. That is why the poor child looked -so white and pathetic when she said to me that she had no one to -consult. When you come to have girls of your own,” Mr. Babington said -somewhat severely, “you’ll know how it feels to see a little young -creature you are fond of look like that.” - -Heaven and earth! as if all the old fogeys in the world, if they had a -thousand daughters, could feel half what a young lover feels! The blood -rose to young Langton’s temples, but he did not trust himself to reply. - -“Well,” Mr. Babington continued, “it’s all comfortably settled at the -last. I had my eye on this solution all along. I may say it was my doing -all along, for I carefully refrained from pointing out to him what of -course, in an ordinary way, it would have been my duty to point -out--that in case of Miss Winifred’s refusal there was no after -settlement. You don’t understand our law terms, perhaps? Well, it was -just this, that if she refused to accept, there was no provision for -what was to follow. I knew all along she would never accept to cut out -her brothers--so here we come to a dead stop. He had not prepared for -that contingency. I don’t believe he ever thought of it. She had obeyed -him all her life, and he thought she would obey him after he was dead. -She refused the condition, and here we are in face of a totally -different state of affairs. The other wills were destroyed, and this was -as good as destroyed by her refusal. What is to be done then but to -return to the primitive condition of the matter? He dies intestate, the -property is divided, and everybody, with the exception of that scamp -Tom, is content.” - -“I don’t understand,” Langton said: it was true so far, that the words -were like an incoherent murmur in his ears--but even while he spoke, the -meaning came to his mind like a flash of light. He had put aside all -such (as he said to himself) degrading imaginations, and had made up -his mind that his work was his life, and that a country doctor he was, -and should remain; but, all the same, the sensation of knowing that -Bedloe had become unattainable in fact and certainty, not only by the -temporary alienation of a misunderstanding, went through his heart like -a sudden knife. - -“I can make you understand in a moment,” said Mr. Babington. “Miss -Winifred made the will void by refusing to fulfil its condition, and no -provision had been made for that emergency; therefore, in fact, it is as -if poor Chester had never made a will at all: in which case the landed -property goes to the eldest son. The personalty is divided. They will -all be very well off,” the lawyer added. “There is nothing to complain -of, though Tom is wild that he is not the heir, and Miss Winifred, poor -girl--she was very anxious to do justice, but when it came to giving -over her house to that pink-and-white creature, much too solid for her -age, George’s wife--Well, it was her own doing; but she could not bear -it, you know. Her going off like that left them all very much confused -and bewildered, but I think on the whole it was the wisest thing she -could do.” - -“How going off?” cried Langton, starting to his feet. - -“My dear fellow, didn’t you know? Come now, come now,” said the old -lawyer, patting him on the arm, “this is carrying things too far. You -should not have left her when she wanted all the support that was -possible. And she should not have gone away without letting you -know--but poor thing, poor thing! I don’t think she knew whether she was -on her head or her heels. She couldn’t bear it. She just turned and fled -and took no time to think.” - -“Turned and fled? Do you mean to say--do you mean to tell me”--The -young man, though he was no weakling, changed colour like a girl: his -sunburnt, manly countenance showed a sudden pallor under the brown, -something rose in his throat. He took a turn about the room in his -sudden excitement, then came back, mastering himself as best he could. -“I beg your pardon; this news is so unexpected, and everything is so -strange. Of course,” he added, forcing himself into composure, “I shall -hear.” - -“Yes, of course you’ll hear; but if I were you, I should not wait to -hear, I should insist on knowing, my young friend. Don’t let pride spoil -your whole existence, as I’ve seen some things do with boys and girls. -She is well enough off, to be sure. I wish my girls had the half or -quarter of what she will have; but still it’s a come-down from Bedloe. -And to give it up to Mrs. George, that was harder than she thought. She -thought only of her brothers, you know, till she saw the wife. What the -wife did to disgust her, I can’t tell, but I’ve always noticed that when -there are two women in a case like this, they always feel themselves -pitted against each other, and the men count for nothing with them. As -soon as the thing was done, Miss Winnie forgot her brother: she saw only -Mrs. George, and to give up to her was a bitter pill. She is a good -girl, and meant everything that was good, but Mrs. George is a bitter -pill: when it came to that, she felt that she could not put up with it. -And you were not there, excuse me for reminding you. And she took it -into her head that everything was against her, as girls do--and fled. -That is the worst of girls, they are so hasty. You will know when you -have daughters of your own.” - -Thus the good man went on maundering, quite unconscious that his -companion could have risen and slain him every time that he mentioned -those daughters of his own. What had his daughters to do with Winnie? -Mr. Babington talked a great deal more on that and every branch of the -subject, until it seemed to him that it was time “to be driving on,” as -he said. And then Edward had leisure for the first time to contemplate -the situation in which he found himself. Self-reproach, anger, -disappointment, coursed through his veins. He was wroth with the woman -he loved, wroth with himself: one moment attributing to her a desire to -cast him off, a want of confidence in him which it was unendurable to -think of; the next, bitterly blaming his own selfish pride, which had -driven him from her at the moment of her need. The high tide of -conflicting sentiments was so hot within him that he went out to walk -off his excitement, returning, to the consternation of his household, an -hour or more after midnight, the most unhallowed of all promenadings in -the opinion of the country folk. When he got back again to his dim -little surgery and study, returning, as it seemed, to a dull life -deprived of her and of all things, and to the overmastering -consciousness that she was gone from him, perhaps by his own fault, the -young doctor had a moment of despair: then he rose up and struck his -hand upon the table, and laughed aloud at himself. “Bah!” he said to -himself; “nobody disappears at this time of day. What a fool one is! as -if these were the middle ages! Wherever she has gone, she must have left -an address!” He laughed loud and long, though his laugh was not -mirthful, at this bringing down of his despair to the easy possibilities -of modern life. That makes all the difference between tragedy, which is -mediæval, and comedy, which is of our days: though the comedy of common -living involves a great many tragedies in every age, and even in our -own. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -An address is not everything: there must be the will and the power to -write, there must be the letter produced, and the address obtained. The -very first step was hard. To go up to Bedloe and ascertain from the -brother, who was “that cad” to Langton, where Winifred had gone, and -thus betray his ignorance and the separation between them--the idea of -this was such a mortification and annoyance to him as it is difficult to -describe. He could not bear to expose himself to their remarks, to -perhaps their laughter, perhaps, worse still, their pity. A few days -elapsed before he could screw up his courage to this point, and when at -last he did so, his brief and cold note was answered by George in -person, whose dejected aspect bore none of the signs of triumph which -Langton had expected. - -“I was coming to ask you,” George said. “My sister went off in such a -hurry she left no address. She left her maid to pack up her things. I -did not even know she was going. It was a great disappointment to my -wife and me. We should have been very glad to have had her to stay with -us until--well, until her own affairs were settled. She would have been -of great use to Alice,” George continued, with an unconscious gravity of -egotism which was almost too simple to be called by that harsh name. -“She could have put my wife up to a great many things: for we haven’t -just been used, you know, to this sort of life, and it is very difficult -to get into all the ways. And then the children were so good with -Winnie, they took to her in a moment. Speaking of that, I wish you would -just come up and look at Georgie. My wife thinks he is quite well, but I -don’t quite like the little fellow’s look,” the anxious father said. - -Langton was not mollified by this unexpected invitation. The idea of -becoming medical attendant to George Chester’s children and at the beck -and call of the new household at Bedloe filled him indeed with an -unreasonable exasperation. He explained as coldly as he could that he -did not “go in for” children’s ailments, and recommended Mr. Marlitt, of -Brentwood, who was specially qualified to advise anxious parents. He was -indeed so moved by the sight of the new master of Bedloe, that the -purpose for which George had come was momentarily driven out of his -head. Why it should be a grievance to him that George Chester was master -of Bedloe he could not of course have explained to any one. He had not -been exasperated by George’s father. Disappointment, and the sharper -self-shame with which he could not help remembering his own imaginations -on the matter, joined with the sense of angry scorn with which he beheld -the place which he had meant to fill so well, filled so badly by -another. George thanked him warmly for recommending Dr. Marlitt, “though -I am very sorry, and so will my wife be, that you don’t pay attention to -that branch. Isn’t it a pity? for surely if anything is important, it’s -the children,” he said in all good faith. - -It was only after he was gone that Edward reflected that he had obtained -no information. It soothed him a little to think that she had not let -her brother know where she was going. It had been, then, a sudden -impulse of disgust, a hasty step taken in a moment when she felt herself -abandoned. Edward did not forgive her, but yet he was soothed a little, -even though excited and distressed beyond measure by his failure to know -where she was. A day or two passed in the lethargy of this -disappointment and perplexity as to what to do next. Then he thought of -Mr. Babington. He wrote immediately to the old lawyer, begging him to -find out at once where Winifred was. “I don’t ask if you can, for I know -you must be able to do it. People don’t disappear in these days.” - -But Mr. Babington, with a somewhat peevish question whether he knew how -many people did disappear, in the Thames or otherwise, and were never -heard of, in these famous days of ours, informed him that he knew -nothing about Winifred’s whereabouts. She had gone abroad, and with Miss -Farrell, that was all he knew. By this time Edward Langton had become -very anxious and unhappy, ready almost to advertise in the _Times_ or -take any other wild step. He resolved to lose no further time, not to -delay by writing, but to go off at once and find her as soon as he had -the smallest clue. This clue was found at last through the bankers (for -Langton was quite right in his certainty that people with a banking -account who draw money never do really disappear in these days), who did -not refuse to tell where the last remittances had been sent. He was so -anxious by this time that he went up to London himself to make these -inquiries, and came back again with the fullest determination to start -at once in search of Winifred. He sent to Mr. Marlitt, of Brentwood, who -was a young doctor, but recently established and much in want of -patients, to ask whether he could take charge of the few sick folk at -Bedloe, and made all his preparations to go. It was November by this -time, and all the fields were heaped with fallen leaves. He had settled -everything easily on the Saturday, and on Sunday night was going up to -town in time to catch the Continental mail next day. - -Then--according to the usual perversity of human affairs--the epidemic -came all at once, which he had invoked some time before. It broke out on -the very Saturday when all his arrangements were made--two cases in one -house, one in the house next door. He perceived in a moment that this -was no time to leave his duty. Next day there were three more cases in -the village, and in the evening, just at the moment when he should have -been starting, the brougham from Bedloe drew up at his door, with an air -of agitation about the very horses, which had flecks of foam on their -shoulders, and every indication of having been hard driven. George -Chester entered precipitately, as pale as death. - -“Oh, Langton,” he cried, “look here! don’t stand on ceremony. I never -did anything against you. You attend the children in the village; why -don’t you attend mine? Little Georgie’s got it!” the poor man cried out, -with quivering lips. - -It is not for a moment to be supposed that Edward could resist such an -appeal. He went with the distracted father, and fought night and day for -two or three weeks for little Georgie’s life, as well as for the lives -of several other little Georgies as dear in their way. Here he had what -he wanted, but not when he wanted it. When he woke up in the morning -from the interrupted sleep, which was all his anxieties allowed him, he -would remember in anguish that even the clue given by the bankers would -serve no longer. But during the day, as he went from one bedside to -another, he had too much to remember, and so the dark winter days wore -away. - -Winifred had taken refuge in the universal expedient of going “abroad.” -It is difficult to tell all that this means to simple minds. It means a -sort of cancelling of time and space, a flying on the wings of a dove, -an abstraction of one’s self and one’s affairs from the burden of -circumstances, from the questions of the importunate, from all that -holds us to a local habitation. Winifred was sick at heart of her -habitual place, and all the surroundings to which she had been -accustomed. It was not possible for her, she thought, to explain the -position, to answer all the demands, to make it apparent to the meanest -capacity how and why it was that her own heirship was at an end. She -fled from this, and from the unnatural (she said) prejudice against her -brother and his wife which seized her as soon as it became apparent that -Bedloe was in their hands--and she fled, but not so much from Edward, as -from what she thought his desertion of her. What she thought--for after -a while she too, like Edward himself, began to feel uncertain as to -whether he had deserted her--to ask herself whether she had been -blameless, to say to herself that it could not be, that it was -impossible they could part like this. What was it that had parted them? -It had been done in a moment, it had been her brother’s foolish -accusation--ah, no, not that, but her own tacit refusal of his counsel -and aid. When Winifred began to come to herself, to disentangle her -thoughts, to see everything in perspective, it became gradually and by -slow degrees apparent to her that if Edward was in the wrong, he was yet -not altogether or alone in the wrong. Her mind worked more slowly than -did Langton’s, partly because it had been far more strained and worn, -and because the complications were all on her side. She had to disengage -her mind from all that had troubled and disturbed her life for weeks -and months before, and to recover from the agitation of so many shocks -and changes before she could think calmly, or at least without the -burning at her heart of wounded feeling, hurt pride, and neglected love, -of all that concerned her lover. It was some time even before she spoke -to Miss Farrell of the subject that soon occupied all her thoughts. Miss -Farrell had felt Edward’s silence on her pupil’s account with almost -more bitterness than Winifred herself had felt it. She had put away his -name from her lips, and had concluded him unworthy. She avoided talking -of him even when Winifred began tentatively to approach the subject. “My -darling, don’t let us speak of him,” she had said. “I have not command -of myself: I might say things which I should be sorry for afterwards.” - -“But why should he have changed so?” Winifred said; “what reason was -there? He was always kind and true.” - -“I don’t know about true, Winnie.” - -Then Winifred faltered a little, remembering how he had advised her to -humour her father. She made a little pause of reflection, and then -abandoned the subject for the moment; but only to return to it a hundred -and a hundred times. She was not one of those that prolong a -misunderstanding through a lifetime. She pondered and pondered, and it -was her instinct to think herself in the wrong. She had been hasty, she -had been self-absorbed. And had he not a right to be offended when she -so distinctly, of her own will, by no one’s suggestion, put him aside -from her counsels, and let him know that she must deal with her brothers -alone? It made her shiver to think what a thing it was she had thus -done. She would have done it again, it was a necessity of the position -in which she found herself. But yet when you reflect, to put your -betrothed husband away from you in a great crisis of fate, to reject his -aid, to bid him--for it was as good as bidding him--leave her to arrange -matters in her own way, what an outrage was that! She could not think -how she could have done it, and yet she would have done it over again. -To get Miss Farrell to see this was difficult, but she succeeded at -last; and then they both trembled and grew pale together to think of -what had been done. Poor Edward! and all those days when Winifred had -sat miserable in her room, feeling that her last hope and prop had -failed her, and that she was left alone in the world, what had he been -thinking on his side? That she had thrown him off, that she would have -none of him? In their consultations these ladies made great use of the -man’s wounded pride. They allowed to each other that it was the wrong -of all others which he would be least likely to bear. It was not only a -wrong, it was an insult. How could they ever have thought otherwise? It -was he who was forsaken, and that without a word, without a reason -given. - -They had settled themselves, after some wanderings, in one of those -villages of the Riviera, which fashion and the pursuit of health have -taken out of the hands of their peasant inhabitants. It was not a great -place, full of life and commotion; but a little picturesque cluster of -houses, small and great, with an old campanile rising out of the midst -of them, and a soft background of mild olive-trees behind. They had -thought they would stay there till the winter was over, till England had -begun to grow green again, and the east winds were gone; but already, -though it was not yet Christmas, they were beginning to reconsider the -matter, to feel home calling them over the misty seas. Christmas! but -what a Christmas! with roses blooming, and all the landscape green and -soft, the sea warm enough to bathe in, the sunshine too hot at noon. -Winifred had begun to weary of the eternal greenness, of the skies which -were always clear, of the air which caressed and never smote her cheek, -before they had long been established in the little paradise which Miss -Farrell, even with all her desire to see her child happy, could not -pretend not to be pleased with. - -“I cannot believe it is Christmas,” Winifred said discontentedly. “No -frost, no cold, even flowers!” as if this were a kind of insult. -“Everything,” she cried, “is out of season. I don’t see how we can spend -Christmas here.” - -“It is not like Christmas weather,” said Miss Farrell; “but still, my -dear, neither was it in the Holy Land, I should suppose, not like what -we call Christmas,” she added, faltering a little; “but it is very nice, -Winnie, don’t you think, dear?” - -“No, I don’t think it is nice: it is enervating, it is unmeaning, it has -no character in it. It might be May,” cried Winnie; and then she added -with a sudden outburst of passion, “I don’t think I can bear it any -longer. I cannot bear it any longer. Oh, Miss Farrell, Edward! what can -he be thinking of me, if he has not given up thinking of me altogether?” - -“No, dear, not that,” Miss Farrell said, soothing her. - -“What, then? he must be beginning to hate me. I cannot let Christmas -pass and this go on. Think of him alone amongst the frost and the snow, -nothing but his sick people, no one to cheer him, called out perhaps in -the middle of the night, riding miles and miles to comfort some poor -creature, and no one, no one to comfort him!” - -“My dear child!” Miss Farrell cried, taking Winifred into her kind arms. - -At this moment there was a tinkle at the queer little bell outside--or -rather it had tinkled at the moment when Winifred spoke of the frost and -snow. When Miss Farrell rose and hastened to her, to raise her downcast -head and dry her tears, the old lady gave a start and cry, displacing -suddenly that head which she had drawn to her own breast. Winifred, too, -looked up in the sudden shock; and there, opposite to her in the -doorway, a cold freshness as of the larger atmosphere outside coming in -with him, stood Edward Langton, pale and eager, asking, “May I come in?” -with a voice that was unsteady, between deadly anxiety and certain -happiness. - -They said a great deal to each other, enough to fill volumes; but so far -as the present history is concerned, there need be no more to say. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prodigals and their Inheritance; -vol. 2, by Mrs. Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGALS VOL. 2 *** - -***** This file should be named 62465-0.txt or 62465-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/4/6/62465/ - -Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images available at The Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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