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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9e7ec1 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #62466 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62466) diff --git a/old/62466-0.txt b/old/62466-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 82e209c..0000000 --- a/old/62466-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5993 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prodigals and their Inheritance; -Complete, 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; Complete - -Author: Mrs. Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: June 24, 2020 [EBook #62466] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGALS COMPLETE *** - - - - -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. - - Complete - - Methuen & Co. - 36 ESSEX STREET, LONDON, W.C. - 1894 - - - - - THE PRODIGALS - - - - -CHAPTER I - - -“Is it to-night he is coming, Winnie?” - -“Yes, father. I have sent the dog-cart to the station.” - -“It was unnecessary, quite unnecessary. What has he to do with dog-carts -or any luxury? He should have been left to find his way as best he -could. It is not many dog-carts he will find waiting at his beck and -call. That sort of indulgence, it is only putting nonsense in his head, -and making him think I don’t mean what I say.” - -“But, father”-- - -“Don’t father me. Why don’t you speak like other girls in your -position? You have always been brought up to be a lady; you ought to use -the same words that ladies use. And mind you, Winifred, don’t make any -mistake, I mean what I say. Tom can talk, none better, but he will not -get over me; I have washed my hands of him. So long as I thought these -boys were going to do me credit I spared nothing on them; but now that I -know better--Don’t let him try to get over me, for it is no use.” - -“Oh, papa, he is still so young; he has done nothing very bad, only -foolishness, only what you used to say all young men did.” - -“Things are come to a pretty pass,” said the father, “when girls like -you, who call themselves modest girls, take up the defence of a -blackguard like Tom.” - -“He is not a blackguard,” cried the girl colouring to her hair. - -“You are an authority on the subject, I suppose? But perhaps I know a -little better. He and his brother have taken me in--me, a man that never -was taken in in my life before! but now I wash my hands of them both. -There’s the money for his journey and the letter to Stafford. No--on -second thoughts I’ll not give him the money for his journey; he’d stay -in London and spend it, and then think there was more where that came -from. Write down the office of the Cable Line in Liverpool--he’ll get -his ticket there.” - -“But you’ll see him, papa?” - -“Why should I see him? I know what would happen--you and he together -would fling yourselves at my feet, or some of that nonsense. Yes, you’re -right--on the whole, I think I will see him, and then you’ll know once -for all how little is to be looked for from me.” - -“Oh, papa! you do yourself injustice; your heart is kinder than you -think,” cried Winifred, with tears. - -Mr. Chester got up and walked from one end to the other of the long -room. It was lighted up as if for a great entertainment, though the -father and daughter were alone in it. He drew aside the curtains at the -farther end and looked out into the night. - -“Raining,” he said. “He would have liked a fly from the station much -better than the dog-cart. These puppies with their spoiled -constitutions, they can’t support a shower. I am kinder than I think, am -I? Don’t let Tom presume on that. If I’m better than I think myself, I’m -a deal worse than you think me. And he’s cut me to the heart, he’s cut -me to the heart!” This was said with a little vehemence which looked -like feeling. He resumed, a few minutes after: “What a fine thing it -seemed for a man like me, that began in a small way, to have two sons to -be educated with the best, just as good as dukes, that would know how to -make a figure in the world and do me credit. Credit! two broken-down -young profligates, two cads that have never held up their heads, never -made friends, never done anything but spend money all their lives! What -have I done that this should happen to me? Your mother was but a poor -creature, and her family no great things; but that my boys, my sons, -should take after the Robinsons and not after me! Hold your tongue and -let me speak. It should be a warning to you whom you marry; for, mind -you, it’s not only your husband he’ll be, but the father of your -children, taking after him, perhaps, to wring your heart.” He had been -walking about the room all this time, growing more and more vehement. -Now he flung himself heavily into his chair. “Yes,” he said, “it will be -better that I should see him. He’ll know then, once for all, how much he -has to expect from me.” - -“Papa,” cried Winifred, drying her eyes, “if my mother had lived”-- - -“If she had lived!” he said, with a tone in which it was difficult to -distinguish whether regret or contempt most predominated. Perhaps it was -because he was taken by surprise that there was any conflict of feeling. -“We should have had some fine scenes in that case,” he added, with a -laugh. “She would have stuck to the boys through thick and thin; and -perhaps you would have been more on my side, Winnie; they say the girls -go with their father. True enough, you are the only one that takes after -me.” - -“Oh, papa! George is the image of you.” - -He got up again from his chair as if stung by some intolerable touch. - -“Hold your tongue, child!” he said hoarsely; then, seating himself with -a forced laugh, “Kin in face, sworn enemies in everything else,” he -said. - -The room in which this conversation went on was large but not lofty, -occupying the whole width of the house, which was an old country house -of the composite character, so usual in England, where generation after -generation adds and remodels to its fancy. It had been two rooms -according to the natural construction of the house, and the separation -between the two was marked by two pillars, one at either side, of -marble, which had been brought from some ruinous Italian palace, and -were as much out of place as could be conceived in their present -situation. The room, in general, bore the same contradictory character; -florid ornament and gilt work of the most _baroque_ character -alternating with articles of the latest fashion, and with pieces of -antiquity such as have become the test of taste in recent years. Mr. -Chester preferred cost above all other qualifications in the decoration -of his house, and his magnificence was bought dearly at the expense not -only of much money, but of every rule of harmony. He did not himself -mind this. It need scarcely be added that he was not the natural -proprietor of the manor-house which he had thus made gorgeous. He was a -man of great ambition who had made his fortune in trade, and whom the -desire, so universal and often so tragically foolish, though so natural, -of founding a family, had seized in a somewhat unusual way. His two sons -had received “the best education”; that is, they had been sent to a -public school and afterwards to Oxford in the most approved way. They -had not been used to much literature nor to a very refined atmosphere -at home, and it is possible that the very ordinary blood of the -Robinsons, their mother’s family, had more influence in their -constitutions than that fluid which their father thought of so much more -excellent quality, which came to them from the Chester fountain. - -The Chesters had been pushing men for at least two generations. From the -fact that their name was the same as that of their native place, it was -uncharitably reported that Mr. Chester’s grandfather had been a -foundling picked up in the streets. But as he figured in the pedigree -which hung in the hall as George Chester, Esq., of the Cloisters, -Chester, strangers at least had no right to lend an ear to any such -tale, nor to inquire whether, as report said, it was as a lay clerk that -he had found a place in that venerable locality. William Chester, the -link between this mythical personage and Mr. Chester of Bedloe Manor, -had begun the family fortunes in Liverpool half a century before, and -his son, whose education was that of a choir boy in Chester Cathedral, -as his father’s had been, established upon that foundation a solid and, -indeed, large fortune, which he had fondly hoped by means of George and -Tom to hand down to a whole prosperous family of Chesters, transformed -into landowners, great proprietors, perhaps--who could tell?--Lord -Chancellors and Prime Ministers. The disappointment which comes upon -such a man when his children, instead of doing him honour, turn out the -proverbial spendthrifts and consumers of the newly-made fortune, does -not meet with any great degree of sympathy in the world. A tacit “serve -him right” is in the minds of most people. Much righteous indignation -has been expended upon a very different matter, upon the ambition even -of such a man as Scott to found a family: the moralist has been almost -glad that it came to nothing, that the children of the great man were -nobodies, that his hope was a mere dream. And how much more when the man -had, like George Chester, nothing but his money and a certain strenuous -determination and force of character to recommend him! - -But the disappointment was not less bitter to the new man than if he had -been a monarch mourning over a degenerate son. Neither George nor Tom -did anything but get into scrapes at the University. They had no heads -for books, and they had the habit of rash expenditure, of -self-indulgence, of considering themselves masters of everything that -could be bought. Mr. Chester would have taken their extravagance in -perfectly good part, he would have winked at their peccadilloes and -forgiven everything had they done him credit as he said: nor was he -very particular as to the nature of the credit; had either manifested -any capacity for taking university prizes, or a good degree, that, -though he would have understood it little, would have delighted him. Had -they rowed in the eight or played in the eleven, he would have been -doubly proud of the distinction. Failing those legitimate paths to -honour, had they brought a rabble of the young aristocracy to Bedloe, -had they gone visiting to great houses, had they found a place even -among the train of any young duke or conspicuous person, he was so -easily pleased that he would have been content. But they did none of -these things. George, with the beautiful voice, of which his father was -not proud, since it awakened memories of hereditary talent which he did -not wish to keep before men’s minds, had not used this gift as a way of -making entrance into select circles, but roared it out in undergraduate -parties made up of clergymen’s sons, of young schoolmasters, of people, -as he said bitterly, no better, nay, not so good as himself; and made -friends with the lower class of the musical people, the lay clerks at -the Cathedral, the people who gave local concerts. He was quite ready to -join them, to sing with them, to take his pleasure among them, with a -return to all the old habits of the singing men at Chester, which was -bitterness to the father’s soul. It scarcely made it any worse that -George fell into ways of dissipation and went wrong as well. _That_ his -father, perhaps, might have forgiven him had it been done in better -company; but as it was, the sin was unpardonable. When news came to -Bedloe that George was about to marry a poor organist’s daughter, the -proceedings Mr. Chester took were very summary; he stopped his son’s -allowance instantly, provided him with a clerkship at Sydney, and sent -him off to the end of the world, requesting only that he might see him -no more. - -Then Tom became his hope. Tom had aspirations higher than George’s, but -he went, if possible, more hopelessly astray. Tom had, or seemed to -have, something more of fancy and imagination than belonged to the rest -of his family. He was the clever one, bound, or so at least his father -hoped, to make a figure in the world; but he was idle, he was sarcastic -and hot-tempered, he quarrelled with everybody whom he ought to have -conciliated, and supported the company only of those who flattered and -agreed with him, and helped him to gratify his various tastes and -inclinations, which were not virtuous. If George had fallen among the -lower class of professionals, Tom’s company was, his father declared, -composed of the out-scourings of the earth. And when the inevitable -moment came in which Tom was plucked (or ploughed, as the word varies), -his father’s bitter disappointment and disgust came to the same result -as in his brother’s case. The civil letter in which his tutor lamented -Tom’s foolishness exasperated Mr. Chester almost to madness. No doubt he -had bragged in his day of his two boys who were to carry all before -them, and his humiliation was all the more hard to bear. He was -uncompromising and remorseless in the revenge he took. According to his -code, he who failed was the most criminal of mankind. Whatever a man -might do, so long as he attained something, if it were no more than -notoriety, there were hopes of him; but failure was insupportable to the -man of business--the self-made, and self-sustaining. - -It was with a pang that he gave up the idea of all possibility as -regarded his sons; but he did so with the same decision and promptitude -with which he would have rejected a bad investment. He had still a -child, who was, indeed, one of the inferior sex, a mere girl, not for a -moment to be considered in the same light as a son, had the sons been -worthy, but something to fall back upon when they failed. Winifred, so -long as the boys were in the foreground of their father’s life, had cost -him little trouble. She had been so fortunate as to be provided with a -good governess when her mother died; and, unnoticed, unthought of, had -grown up into fair and graceful womanhood--in mind and manners the child -of the poor gentlewoman who had trained her, and who still remained in -the house as her companion and friend. Insensibly it had become apparent -to Mr. Chester that Winnie was the one member of his family who was not -a failure. The society around, the people whom he reverenced as county -people, but despised as not so rich as himself, received her with -genuine regard and friendship, even when they received himself with but -formal civility. As for George and Tom, not even their prospective -wealth during their time of favour had commended them to the county -neighbours, whose pride Mr. Chester cursed, yet regarded with -superstitious admiration. Winifred had broken through the stiffness of -these exclusive circles, but no one else; and even while he fumed over -the downfall of Tom, he had begun to console himself with the success of -Winnie. At the recent county ball she had been, if not the beauty, at -least the favourite of the evening. Lord Eden himself had complimented -her father upon her looks. He had tasted the sweetness of social success -for the first time by her means. All was not then lost. He condemned -Tom, as he had condemned George, by attainder and confiscation of all -his rights; and Winifred was elected to the post of heir and -representative of the Chesters. Perhaps the decision gave the father -himself a pang. It was coming down in the world. A man with his sons -about him has something of which to be glorious--but a mere girl! At the -best it was a humiliation. But in default of anything better it was -still a mode of triumph, after all. It secured his revenge upon the -worthless boys who had done nothing for his name, and a place among -those who recognised in Winnie, if not in any other member of the -family, their equal in one way, their superior in another. - -He was a man of rapid conclusions, and he had made up his mind on this -point on the evening of the day on which he had heard of Tom’s -disgrace--for disgrace he had felt it to be, accepting no consolation -from the fact that many young men not thereafter to be despised met -with the same fate. He would not allow his son to return home, but had -his fate intimated to him at once by the solicitor whom Mr. Chester -chose to employ in business of this sort. It was to New Zealand this -time that the unfortunate was to be sent. His passage-money and fifty -pounds, and a desk in an office when he reached his destination--this -was the fate of the unhappy youth, fresh from all indulgences and -follies. No hope even was held out to him of ever retrieving his lost -position; and Tom knew with what remorseless decision George had already -been cut off. Perhaps he had not lamented as he might have done his -brother’s punishment, which left such admirable prospects to himself, -but it left no doubt on his mind as to his own fate. He had asked, what -George had not had the courage to ask, that he might come home and take -farewell of his sister, at least. And this had been granted to him. If -any forlorn hope was in his mind of being able to touch the heart of his -father, it was a very forlorn hope indeed, and one which he scarcely -ventured to whisper even to himself. - -He had arrived at the country station which was nearest Bedloe while his -father and sister were talking of him, and had been received by the -groom with that somewhat ostentatious sympathy and regard for his -comfort with which servants are wont to show a consciousness of the -situation. The groom was very anxious that Mr. Tom should be protected -from the rain, the soft, continuous drizzle of a spring night. “I’ve -brought your waterproof, sir; the roads is heavy, and we’ll be a long -time getting home”-- - -“Never mind the waterproof,” said Tom; “I like the rain.” - -“It’s cooling, sir; but after a while, when you’re soaked through--if -you get a chill, sir?” - -“It don’t matter much,” said Tom. “How are they all at home?” - -“Pretty nicely,” said the man, “though Mrs. Pierce do say that she don’t -like master’s looks, and Miss Winifred is that pale except when she -flushes up”-- - -“How’s Bayleaf?” This was Tom’s hunter which he never mounted, yet felt -a certain property in all the same. - -“Nothing to brag of, sir. That poor animal, he’s like a Christian. He -knows as well when there’s something up”-- - -“You had better drive on,” said Tom. “How dark it is!” - -“It’s all the rain, sir, like as if the skies themselves--But we’re glad -as the equinoctials is over, and you’ll have a good season for your -voyage. Shall you see Mr. George, sir, where you are going?” - -At this Tom laughed, with a most unmirthful outburst. “No,” he said; -“that’s the fun of the thing--he in one country and I in another. It’s -all very nicely settled for us.” - -“Let’s hope, sir,” said the man, “that when things get a little more -civilised there will be a railway or something. We should all like to -send our respects and duty to Mr. George.” - -To this Tom made no reply. He was not in a very cheerful mood, nor did -this conversation tend to elevate his spirits. There was nothing -adventurous in his disposition. The distant voyage, the new world, the -banishment from all those haunts in which he could find his favourite -enjoyments, with an occasional compunction, indeed, but nothing strong -enough to disturb the tenor of his way, were terrible anticipations to -him. Some lurking hope there was still in his mind that his fate was -impossible; that such a catastrophe could not really be about to happen; -that his father would relent at the sight of him or at Winnie’s prayers. -It did not enter into Tom’s thoughts that Winnie would ever forsake him. -The thought of her own advantage would not move her. He was aware that, -in the question of George, it had more or less moved himself, and that -he had not, perhaps, thrown all that energy into his intercession for -his brother which he hoped and believed Winnie would employ for himself. -But then he had feared to irritate his father, who would bear more from -Winnie than from any one. At this moment, while he drove shivering -through the rain,--shivering with nervous depression rather than with -cold, for the evening was mild enough,--he had no doubt that she was -doing her best for him. And was it possible that his father could hold -out, that he could see the last of his sons go away to the ends of the -earth without emotion? The very groom was sorry for him, Bayleaf was -drooping in sympathy, the skies themselves weeping over his fate. When -the fate is our own, it is wonderful how natural it seems that heaven -and earth should be moved for us. In George’s case he had seen the other -side of the question. In his own the pity of it was far the most -powerful. His mind was almost overwhelmed by the prospect before him, -but as he drove along in the rain, with the groom’s compassionate voice -by his side in the dark, expressing now and then a respectful and veiled -sympathy, there flickered before Tom’s eyes a faint little light of -hope. Surely, surely, this, though it had happened to his brother, could -not happen to him? Surely the father’s heart was not hard enough, or -fate terrible enough, to inflict such a punishment upon _him_? Others, -perhaps, might deserve it, might be able to bear it; but he--how could -he bear it? Tom said to himself that in his case it was impossible, and -could not be. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -In family troubles such as that which we have indicated, it is generally -a woman who is the chief sufferer. She stands between the conflicting -parties, and, whether she is mother or sister, suffers for both, unable -to soften judgment on one hand, or to reduce rebellion on the other; or -else securing a ground of reconciliation by entreaties and tears which -she would not use on her own behalf, and often by the sacrifice of her -own reason and power of judging, and conscious humiliation to all the -imbecilities of peace-making. A woman in such circumstances has to -pledge herself for reformations in which, alas! her heart has but -little faith. She has to persuade the angry father that his son has -erred less than appears, to invent a thousand excuses, to exhaust -herself in palliation of offences which are far more offensive and -terrible to her than to him whose wrath she deprecates; and she has to -convince the impatient and resentful son that his father is acting -rather in love than in anger, and that his sins have wounded as much as -they have exasperated. Those women who have no judgment of their own to -exercise, and who can believe everything, are the happiest in this -ever-returning necessity: and indeed in many complications of life it is -much better for all parties that the woman should be without judgment, -the soft and boneless angel of conventional romance. Winifred Chester -was not of this kind. She was a just and tender-hearted woman, full of -affection and compassion, to whom nature gave the hard task of -mediating between two parties whose conflicting errors she was, alas! -but too well able to estimate--the father, whose indignation and rage -were in fact sufficiently just, yet so little righteous, and her -brothers, of whom she knew that they neither felt any real compunction -nor intended any amendment. There is, let us hope, some special -indulgence for those luckless advocates of erring men who have to -promise amendment which they can put no faith in, and plead excuses -which to their own minds have no validity. - -After the conversation which had been held in the great drawing-room, -when Mr. Chester settled himself to a study of the evening papers which -had just been brought in, Winifred left the room softly, and stole -upstairs to the window of her brother’s room, which commanded the -avenue, and from which she could see his approach. The room was faintly -lit with firelight and full of all the luxurious contrivances for -comfort to which a rich man’s sons are accustomed. Poor Tom! what would -he do without them all, without the means of procuring them? Poor -George! what was he doing, he who now had some years’ experience of work -and poverty? She stole behind the drawn curtains and looked out upon the -darkness and the falling rain. There was little light in the wild -landscape, and no sound but that of the rain pattering upon the thick -ivy which clothed the older part of the house, and streaming silently -down upon the trees, which were still bare, though swelling at every -point with the sap of spring. The air was soft and warm; the rain and -the darkness full of a wild sense of fertility and growth. Winifred’s -imagination depicted to her only too clearly the state of half-despair, -yet unconviction, in which her brother’s mind would be. He would not -believe it was possible, and yet he would know. He was very well aware -that his father was remorseless, yet he would not be able to understand -how ruin could overtake _him_. The circumstances brought back before her -vividly the other occasion on which she had implored in vain the -reversal of the sentence on her elder brother. George, too, had been -taken by surprise. He had not believed it, and when at last he was -convinced, had burst forth into wild defiance and consuming wrath. But -Tom would probably be less simple, and not manly at all: he would never -believe that all was over, that it was not possible to make another and -another appeal. - -Winifred stood and watched for his coming, feeling that if by any will -of hers she could bring about an accident, either to delay her brother’s -arrival, or even to bring him into the house in a condition which would -compel a prolonged stay, she would have done it. Tom would have -arrived, it is to be feared, with a broken leg, or the beginnings of a -fever, could his sister have procured it or he would not have come at -all. Railway accidents occur in many cases when they do harm without -doing any good, but a railway accident which should awake some natural -movement in her father’s mind, which should perhaps make him anxious, -which would force him to exert himself on Tom’s behalf--what an -advantage that would be! Alas! such things do not come when people wish -for them. A broken arm or leg, what a small price to pay for the moral -advantages of reawakened interest, anxiety, the softening charm of an -illness and convalescence! No father could turn out of his house the -wounded boy who was brought home to be cured. - -But Winifred’s wishes, it need not be said, were quite unavailing. By -and by she heard the steady tread of the horse, the roll of the wheels -over those little heaps of gravel with which the avenue was being -mended. Evidently Tom was coming, without any interposition of -Providence, to his fate. She ran softly down the stairs to meet him and -prevent any unnecessary sound or attempt to usher the returning prodigal -into his father’s presence. The door was open, the waterproof of the -groom glistening in the light, and Tom scrambling down from the dog-cart -with that drenched and dejected look which is the result of a long drive -through steady and persistent rain. He scarcely looked at the butler as -he stepped past, saying, “Is my father in?” in a voice as despondent as -his appearance, and not pausing to listen as the man began to explain-- - -“Master is at home, sir, but”-- - -“Tom! Oh, how wet you are! You must run upstairs and change first of -all.” - -“I shall do nothing of the kind. I suppose there is a fire somewhere,” -said Tom. “Where are you sitting? in the dining-room? No supper for me. -I don’t want any supper. To arrive like this is calculated to give a -fellow an appetite, don’t you think?” - -Winifred put her arm through her brother’s, wet though he was. She -whispered, “Don’t say anything before the servants,” as she led him -towards the open door of the room in which the table was laid for him -before the shining fire. Tom was mollified by the second glance at its -comfort and brightness. - -“It looks warm here,” he said, suffering her to guide him. “Though why I -should mind warm or cold I don’t know. Look here, Winnie. There is this -interview with the governor; I’d better get it over, don’t you think?” - -“Oh, Tom, come in and get warmed and eat something.” - -“Is it going to be very bad, then?” the young man said. - -“I think,” said Winifred anxiously, “you had much better change those -wet clothes; your room is ready.” - -“Look here!” he cried; “all that about New Zealand, that’s all nonsense, -of course?” He watched the changes of her countenance as he spoke. - -Winifred shook her head. “Oh, Tom, I told you long ago you must never -take what my father says as nonsense. He is not that sort of man. Come -to the fire, then, if you will not change your clothes. And here is -Hopkins coming with the tray. Don’t say anything before Hopkins, Tom.” - -“Why shouldn’t I? If he means that, they’ll know soon enough. I don’t -believe he means it. The governor--the governor”--Tom’s voice died away -in his throat, partly because it trembled, partly because of Hopkins’ -presence. “Yes, yes, that’ll do,” he said fretfully, as the butler -placed a chair for him, and stood waiting. “I don’t want anything to -eat, thank you. I’ll have a drink if you like. The governor,” he -resumed, with a sort of laugh, as Hopkins, knowing the nature of the -drink required, went off to fetch it, “would never repeat himself, -Winnie. He is not such a duffer as that. All very well once perhaps; but -to send George to Sydney and me to New Zealand--oh, that’s too much of a -good thing! I can’t believe he means it. Thank you, that’s more to the -purpose,” he added, as he took a large fizzing glass out of Hopkins’ -hand. - -“You need not wait. We have everything my brother will want,” said -Winifred. “Oh, Tom, what can I say to you? You know how my father had -set his heart on your success--success anyhow, he did not mind what -kind.” - -“Well, well,” said Tom sulkily; “you women are always harping on what is -past. I know very well I have been an ass. But there is no such dreadful -harm done after all. I’m not fifty, if you come to that, and this time -I’ll work, I really will, and get through.” - -Winifred said no more for the moment. She persuaded him to seat himself -at the table, to fortify himself with food. “We can talk it all over -when you have had your supper. There is plenty of time; and what a -wretched journey you must have had, Tom!” - -“Wretched enough, but nothing so bad as the drive from the station, with -the rain pouring down upon one, and that fellow Short pitying one all -the way. Talk of not speaking before the servants--he knew as well as I -did I was in disgrace with the governor, and was sorry for me--my own -groom! Why didn’t you let me get a fly from the station? It would have -been twenty times more comfortable.” - -“That is what my father said,” said Winifred, with a smile. - -“Oh, he thought of that, did he? The governor has a great deal of -sense,” said Tom, brightening a little. “He understands a fellow better -than you can. I don’t say anything against you, Win; you are always as -good as you know how.” - -Winifred looked at her brother with a tremulous smile of wonder and -pity. Nothing could be more forlorn than his appearance; the steam -rising from his wet coat, his hair limp on his forehead, his colourless -face more eloquent of anxiety and suspense than his words were. He -swallowed with difficulty the dainty food, the dish he specially liked, -and pushed his chair from the table with relief. - -“Am I to see him to-night?” he said. “If it’s got to be, the sooner the -better. It will be a thing well over.” - -“Tom,”--Winifred’s voice faltered, she could hardly say what she had to -say,--“I am afraid it is all a great deal worse than you think. He did -not want to see you at all, and if he has consented at last, it is -chiefly because he thinks you will then be convinced how little you have -to expect.” - -Tom’s countenance fell, and then he made an effort to recover himself, -and laughed. “Nobody ever was so hard as the governor looks,” he said; -“he wants to frighten me, I know that.” - -He looked anxiously in her eyes, and Winifred’s eyes were not -encouraging. Her brother broke out again with a stifled oath. “You can’t -mean me to suppose that that about New Zealand is true, Winnie? You -don’t mean that?” - -“Dear Tom!” Winifred said, with tears in her eyes. - -“Don’t dear Tom me! That’s not natural, you don’t mean it. Good heavens! -I’d sooner you were taking your fun out of me, if it was a moment for -that. I won’t go! I’m not a child to be ordered about like that. I tell -you I won’t go!” - -“Oh, Tom! if you could but do anything at home; if you would but let him -see that you could manage for yourself! That might be of some use, if -you could do it, Tom.” - -“I won’t go,” he repeated hoarsely, “to the other end of the world, away -from everything I care for! There is a limit to everything. You can tell -him I won’t do that. And all for what? For having been unlucky about my -books, as half the men in the university have been one time or the -other. What does it matter being ploughed? It happens every day. -Winnie, I swear to you I’ll work like--like a navvy, if I can only have -another chance.” - -“Oh, Tom, I have said everything, I have tried every way. I think if you -were to do as you said just now, say to him that you won’t go to New -Zealand, that you can manage for yourself at home, that would be your -best chance. Show him that you can maintain yourself, do something, -write something, it does not matter what it is”-- - -“Maintain myself?” said Tom. He had left his seat, and was standing in -front of the fire, his pale face and dishevelled, damp hair showing -against the black marble of the mantelpiece; his eyes had a bewildered -and discomfited look. “Do something? It is so easy to talk. What am I to -do? Write? I am not one of the fellows that can write. I have never been -used to that sort of thing. I say, Winnie, for God’s sake speak to my -father! I can’t, I can’t go to that dreadful place.” - -“Oh, Tom!” she cried, turning her head away. - -To see him standing there, helpless, feeble, sure only of one thing, and -that that he himself was good for nothing, was like a sword in this -young woman’s heart. It is the most horrible of all the tortures that -women have to bear, to see the men belonging to them, whom they would so -fain look up to, breaking down into ruinous failure. He gave her a -distracted look, and when she withdrew her eyes, went and plucked her by -the sleeve. “Winnie, for Heaven’s sake tell my father! It’s all dreadful -to me: I can’t work in an office; I can’t go a long voyage. I hate the -sea, I am not strong, not a man that can rough it and knock about. -George was different, he was always that sort of fellow; and then he’s -married. Winnie, speak for me. You can do it if you like.” - -“I have done nothing else ever since he told me, Tom, and I dare not say -any more. He will not listen, he says he will send me away too. I -shouldn’t care for that if I could help you, but I can’t--I can’t. It is -almost worse for me, for I can do nothing--nothing!” - -“Oh no,” said Tom; “don’t make believe, Winnie. Worse for you?--Why, -what does it matter to you? While I am out at sea, perhaps in danger of -my life, you’ll be snug at home, with everything that heart can desire. -And who is he going to leave his money to, if he casts me off? You? Oh, -I see it all now! Why should you speak for me? It’s against your own -interests. I see it all now.” - -She could only look at him with an appeal for pity in her eyes. She -could not protest that her own interests were little in her mind. There -are some things which it is impossible to say, as it ought to be -needless to say them. Tom for his part worked himself up to an outburst -of miserable, artificial rage which it is to be supposed was a relief to -his excitement. - -“Oh, it is you that are to be his heir?” he cried. “A girl! I might have -known. No wonder you don’t speak up for me, when it’s all in your own -favour. I’m to be cut off, and George is to be cut off, all for you! Oh, -I might have known! A girl is always at home, wriggling and wriggling -into favour, cutting out the lawful heirs. And what does he think he’s -going to make of you, that haven’t even a name of your own, that are no -more good for the family than a stranger? George wasn’t enough, I might -have had the sense to see that--there was me that had to be got rid of -too, and now you’ve done it; now you have succeeded. Yes, yes! and this -is Winnie!” he cried in a burst of despairing rage. “Winnie! I thought -Winnie was my friend whoever failed me; and all this time you were -plotting to get rid of me too!” - -Tom had been advancing towards her, gesticulating with fury, his hand -raised, his blood-shot eyes gleaming, when the door opened suddenly. In -a moment he fell back, his hand dropped by his side, the look as of a -beaten hound came into his eyes. Mr. Chester had come in, and set his -back against the door. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -They were little, and he was tall; they were slight of form, and he was -massive and big--a vigorous man with a great “wind of going” about him, -like one who could push through every difficulty, and make his way. He -stood against the door, and looked at them; a man who felt more life in -him than was in both put together, to whom they were nobodies, -insignificant creatures whom he could make or unmake at his pleasure. He -looked at his son with contempt unmixed with pity. He was not touched by -Tom’s miserable looks, his air of hopeless dejection, or furtive, -trembling hope. And for the moment Winifred’s want of size and -importance struck him more than the fact which had been forced upon him, -that she had done him credit. He despised them both, the products of a -smaller race than his own, taking after their mother, like the -Robinsons. The Chesters were a better race in point of thews and sinews, -though nobody knew very well from what illegitimate source these sinews -came. - -“Look here!” he said; “I don’t permit you to bully your sister. What’s -she done to you? She has always stood up for you a deal more than you -deserve. If I let you come here at all, it was because she insisted upon -it. I never could see what was the use of it, for my part.” - -Tom’s rage had been subdued in a moment. He was supposed to be a being -of small will, unable to restrain himself; but he was capable of an -effort of the will when it was necessary, as most people are. He looked -at his father with a piteous desire to conciliate and touch his heart. -“I thought,” he said, “papa,--I hope you’ll forgive me,--that I had a -right to come here.” - -“Don’t call me papa, sir. I like _her_ to do it, since others do it; but -when do you ever find a man with such a word in his mouth? Not that I -have to learn for the first time to-day that you are no man, and nothing -manlike is to be expected from you. No, I don’t see what right you have -here. If it had been your great-grandfather’s house, as many people -think, you might have had a certain right; but it’s my house, bought -with my money--and I have washed my hands of you.” He had been a little -vehement at first, but now was perfectly calm, delivering his sentences -with his hands in his pockets, looking down contemptuously upon his -son. - -“I know, sir, that you have a right to be angry”--Tom began. - -“I am not angry. I don’t care enough about it. So long as there was some -hope of you, I might be angry, but now that you’ve gone and made a fool -of me--the rich man that tried to make a gentleman of his son!--I might -as well have tried to make a gentleman of Winnie. As soon as I -understand it, that’s enough, and I’ve learned my lesson, thank you. You -are no good, and I have washed my hands of you.” - -“Father, I know I have been an ass. You can’t say more to me than I have -said to myself. And I’ve learned my lesson too. Give me another chance, -and I’ll do all you wish,” he cried, holding up his hands, almost -falling on his knees. - -“Come, I’m not going to have a scene out of the theatre,” said Mr. -Chester roughly. “I’ve given you all you have a right to ask of me--a -start in the world. When I was your age, fifty pounds in my pocket would -have seemed a fortune to me. And if you like,--there’s no better field -for a young man than New Zealand,--you may come home in twenty years -with as many thousands as you have pounds to take with you, or hundreds -of thousands if you have luck. The only thing is to exert yourself. -You’d thank me for the chance if you had any spirit. That’s all, I -think, there is to say. Winnie will tell you the rest. Cable Line, -Liverpool--I’ve taken you a first-class cabin, though on principle I -should have sent you in the steerage. Good luck to you, my boy! Work and -you’ll do well. Winnie will tell you the rest.” - -“Father, you are not going to throw me overboard like this?” cried the -miserable young man, rushing forward as Mr. Chester turned round to open -the door. - -“You are going to the bottom as fast as you can, and I throw you into -the lifeboat, which is a very different matter. You’ll find a decent -salary and an honest way of getting your living on the other side. Only -don’t think any more of Bedloe and that sort of thing. Good-bye. If you -do well, you can send Winnie word; if not”--He gave a shrug of his -shoulders. “Farewell to you, once for all: don’t think I am either to be -coaxed or bullied. What’s done is done, and I make no new beginnings. -Get him up in time once in his life, and let him leave to-morrow by the -first train, Winnie. I shall have to speak to Hopkins if I cannot trust -you.” - -“Let him stay to-morrow. Oh, papa! don’t you see how ill he is -looking--how miserable he is? Let him stay to-morrow; let him get used -to the idea, papa.” - -“I must speak to Hopkins, I see,” Mr. Chester said. “Hopkins, Mr. Tom -is going off to-morrow by the first train--see that he is not late. If -he misses that, he will lose his ship; and if you let him miss it, it -will be the worse for you. That’s enough, I hope. Tom, good-bye.” - -“I can’t--I can’t get ready at a day’s notice. I have got no outfit--I -have nothing”-- - -“All that’s been thought of,” said Mr. Chester, waving his hand. “Winnie -will tell you. Good-bye!” - -He left the brother and sister alone with a light step and a hard heart. -They could hear him whistling to himself as he went away. When Mr. -Chester whistled, the household trembled. The sound convinced Tom more -than anything that had been said. He threw himself down in the great -easy-chair by the fire, and covered his face with his hands. What the -sounds were that misery brought from his convulsed bosom we need not -pause to describe. Sobs or curses, what does it matter? He was in the -lowest deep of wretchedness--wretchedness which he had never believed -in, which had seemed to him impossible. He could not say that it was -impossible any longer, but still it seemed incredible, beyond all powers -of belief. His sister flew to him to comfort him, and wept over him, -notwithstanding the insult he had offered her; and he himself forgot, -which was more wonderful, and clung to her as to his only consolation. -Misery of this kind which has no nobleness in it, but only weakness, -cowardice--compunction in which is no repentance--are of all things in -the world the most terrible to witness. And Winnie loved her brother, -and felt everything that was unworthy in him to the bottom of her heart. - -Next morning he went away with red eyes and a pallid face and quivering -lips. It was all he could do to keep up the ordinary forms of composure -as he crossed the threshold of his father’s house. He was sorry for -himself with an acute and miserable anguish, broken down, without any -higher thought to support him. He never believed it would have come to -this. He could not believe it now, though it had come. He feared the -voyage, the unknown world, the unaccustomed confinement, every thing -that was before him; that he should be no longer the young master, but a -mere clerk; that he should have to work for his living; that all his -little false importance was gone; that he should be presently, he who -could not endure the sea, sick and miserable on a long voyage. All these -details drifted across his mind in the midst of the current of miserable -consciousness that all was over with him, and the impulse of frenzied -resistance that now and then rose in his mind, resistance that meant -nothing, that could make no stand against inexorable fact. - -Winifred stood at the door as long as he was in sight; but the horse was -fresh and went fast, which was a relief. She stood there still with the -fresh damp morning air in her face, after the wheels had ceased to sound -in the avenue. It was a dull morning after the rain, but the air was -full of the sensation of spring, the grass growing visibly, the buds -loosening from their brown husks on the trees, the birds twittering -multitudinous, all full of hope in the outside world, all dismal in that -which was within. Many people envied Winifred Chester--and if her father -carried out his intention, and made her the heir of all his wealth, many -more would envy and many court the young mistress of Bedloe; but Winnie -felt there was scarcely any woman she knew with whom she might not -profitably change places at this moment of her life. There was old Miss -Farrell, sitting serenely among her wools and silks, anxious about -nothing but a new pattern, amusing herself with the recollections of the -past which she recounted to her favourite and best pupil, day after day, -as they sat together. Winifred knew them all, yet was never tired of -these chapters in life. Though Miss Farrell was sixty and Winnie only -twenty-three, she thought she would gladly change places with her -companion--or with the woman at the lodge who had sick children for whom -to work and mend. No one in the world, she thought, had at that moment a -burden so heavy as her own. She was called in after a while to Mr. -Chester’s room, which was a large and well-filled library, though its -books were little touched except by herself. He was seated there as -usual surrounded by local papers,--attending the moment when the _Times_ -should arrive with its more authoritative views,--with many letters and -telegrams on his table; for though he went seldom to business, he still -kept the threads in his hand. He demanded from her an account of Tom’s -departure, listening with an appearance of enjoyment. - -“It is the best thing that could happen to him,” he said, “if there is -anything in him at all. If there isn’t, of course he will go to the -wall--but so he would do anyhow.” - -“Oh, papa! He is your son.” - -“And what of that? He’s no more like me than Hopkins is. You are the -only one that is like me. I have sent for Babington to make another -will.” - -“I do not want your money, papa.” - -“Softly, young woman; nobody is offering it to you. I don’t mean to be -like King Lear. Indeed, for anything I know, I may marry, and put all -your noses out of joint. But in the meantime”-- - -“I will never supplant my brother,” said Winifred. “I will never take -what does not belong to me. I wish you would dispose of it otherwise, -father. It is yours to do what you like with it; but I have a will of my -own too.” - -“That you have,” he said with a smile; “that’s one of the things I like -in you. Not like that cur, that could do nothing but shiver and cringe -and cry.” - -“Tom did not cry,” she exclaimed indignantly. “He did not think you -could have the heart. And how could you have the heart? Your own son! I -ask myself sometimes whether you have any heart at all.” - -“Ask away; you are at liberty to form your own opinion,” he said -good-humouredly. “If that fellow had faced me as you do, now--but mind -you, Winnie, if you go against me, I am not so partial to you but that I -shall take means to have my own way. What I have, nobody in this world -has any right to but myself. I have made it every penny, and I shall -dispose of it as I please. If you think you will be able to do what you -like with it after I am gone, you’re mistaken; take care--there are ways -in which you can displease me now, as much as Tom has done. So you had -better think a little of your own affairs.” - -She looked at him with startled eyes. - -“I don’t wish to displease you, papa--I don’t know”-- - -“Not what I mean perhaps? Remember that the sort of match which might be -good enough for Winnie with two brothers over her head, might not be fit -for Miss Chester of Bedloe. I don’t want to say any more.” - -This silenced Winifred, whatever it might mean. She said no more, but -withdrew hastily, with a paleness and discomfiture which was little -like the grief and indignation with which she entered the room. Her -father looked after her with a chuckle. - -“That has settled her, I hope,” he said to himself. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -Miss Farrell came home next day from her visit. She was a little old -lady of the period when people became old early, and assumed the dress -and the habits of age before it was at all necessary. She was about -sixty, but she had been distinctly an old lady for ten years. She wore a -cap coming close round her face, and tied under her chin. Whenever she -had the least excuse for doing so, she wore a shawl, an article the -putting on of which she considered to afford one of many proofs whether -or not the wearer was “a lady,” which was to Miss Farrell something more -than a mere question of birth. She was very neat, very small, very -light-hearted, seeing the best in everything. Even Mr. Chester, though -she saw as little of him as possible, she was able to talk about as -“your dear father” to her pupil; for, to be sure, whatever might be the -opinion of other people, every father ought to be dear to his own child. -Miss Farrell had gone on living at Bedloe since Winifred’s education was -finished, for no particular reason,--at least, for no reason but love. -She was a person full of prejudices in favour of aristocracy and against -persons of low birth, but she was sufficiently natural to be quite -inconsistent, and contradict herself whenever it pleased her--for, as a -matter of fact, she preferred Winifred Chester, who was of no family at -all, to several young ladies of the caste of Vere de Vere, whom she had -formerly had under her care. How she had managed to “get on” with Mr. -Chester was a problem to many people, and why she could choose to stay -in the house of an individual so little congenial. As a matter of fact, -it was not so difficult as people supposed. She was a woman who -systematically put the best interpretation upon everything, moved -thereto not only by natural inclination, but by profound policy; for it -did not consist with Miss Farrell’s dignity ever to suppose, or to allow -any one to suppose, that it was possible for her to be slighted. She -would permit no possibility of offence to herself. It occasionally -happened that people had bad manners, which was so very much worse for -themselves than for any one else. Miss Farrell had made up her mind from -the beginning of her career never to accept a slight, nor to look upon -herself as a dependant. If offence was so thrust upon her that she could -not refuse to be aware of it, she left the house at once; but on less -serious occasions presented a serene obtuseness, apologising to others -for the peculiarities which were “such a pity,” or the “want of tact” -which was so unfortunate. In this way she had overawed persons more -confident in their own _savoir faire_ than Mr. Chester. She had always -been admirable in her own sphere, and the alarm of an anxious mother who -had obtained such a treasure, lest the peace of the house should be -endangered by the sudden departure of the governess, may be supposed. -Once it had occurred to her in her life to be compelled to take this -strong step. She never required to do it again. As for Winifred, it was -long since the relation of pupil and teacher had been over between them; -but the motherless girl of the _parvenu_, to whom she went with -reluctance, and chiefly out of compassion, had entirely gained the heart -of the proud and tender little woman. She did not hesitate to say that -Winifred was beyond all rules. - -“It does not matter who her father was--I have always thought the mother -must have been a lady,” Miss Farrell said, with a conception of the case -very different from that of the master of the house. “But at all events -Winifred is--born. I never said I insisted upon a number of quarterings. -I don’t care who was her great-grandfather--nothing could be worse than -the father, if you come to that; but she is a lady--as good as the -Queen.” - -“You have made her so,” said the wife of the Rector, who was her -confidante. - -“No one can make a lady, except the Almighty. It is a thing that has to -be born,” was the prompt reply. - -But, notwithstanding, Miss Farrell was able to speak to Winifred about -“your dear father,” and to look upon all the proceedings of the boys -with an indulgence which sometimes almost exasperated their sister, yet -was an unspeakable consolation and support to her in the troubles of -the past years. For to have some one who will not believe any evil, who -will never appear conscious of the existence of anything that needs -concealing, who will know exactly how not to ask too many questions, yet -not to refrain from questions altogether, is, in the midst of family -trouble, a help and comfort unspeakable. Winifred’s mind was full to -overflowing when her friend came back. She had felt that it was almost -impossible to exist without speaking to some one, delivering herself of -the burden that weighed upon her. It had been a relief to have Miss -Farrell away at the moment of Tom’s visit, and to feel that no eye but -her own had looked upon her brother’s discomfiture, but it was a relief -now to meet her frank look and unhesitating question-- - -“Well, my dear, and how about poor Tom?” - -“He is gone,” Winifred said, the tears coming to her eyes. “He is to -sail from Liverpool to-day.” - -“My dear,” said Miss Farrell, “it is very natural for you to feel it, -but do you know it is the very best thing that could have happened for -him? It will no doubt be the making of him. He has never had any need to -rely on himself, he has always felt his father behind him. Now that he -is sent into the world on his own account, it will rouse all his -strength. Yes, cry, my dear, it will do you good. But I approve, for my -part. Your dear father has been very wise. He has done what was the best -for Tom.” - -“Do you think so? Perhaps if that were all--But it does not seem to have -been the best thing for George, and how can we tell if it will answer -with Tom?” - -“George, you see, has married, which brings in a new element--a great -deal more comfortable for him, but still what the gentlemen call a new -factor, you know, that we are not acquainted with. Besides, he is a -different kind of boy. But Tom wants to be thrown on his own resources. -Depend upon it, my dear, it is the very best thing for him. I should -have thought that you would have seen that with your good sense.” - -“Oh, Miss Farrell, if that were all!” - -“And is there something more? Don’t tell me unless you like; but you -know you take a darker view than I do.” - -“There is but one view to take,” Winifred said. “It makes me miserable. -My father--I hope he does not intend it to be known, but I cannot -tell--anyhow you must know everything. My father says he has made up his -mind to cut off both the boys, and to leave everything to me.” - -Miss Farrell grew a little pale. She was old-fashioned and strong upon -the rights of sons and the inferior importance of girls. She paused -before she spoke, and then said, with a little catching of her breath, -“If it is because you are the most worthy, my dear, I can’t say but he -is right. A girl of your age is always more worthy than the boys. You -have never been exposed to any temptation.” - -“But that is no virtue of mine. Think what it is for me--the boys that -were brought up to think everything was theirs--and now cast away, one -after another, and everything fixed upon me.” - -“My dear,” said Miss Farrell, recovering her courage, “you must not -disturb yourself too soon. Your father will live to change the -disposition of his property a hundred times. It is a sort of thing that -only wants a beginning.” - -“But don’t you see,” said Winifred, with great seriousness, “that is -poor comfort; for he may be displeased with me next, and leave it all -to some stranger. And then, who would care for George and Tom?” - -“I see what you mean--you are going to share with them, Winnie. My dear, -you may take my word for it, that will be better for them, far better -than if they got your father’s immense fortune into their hands.” - -“But injustice can never be best,” she said. - -They were in Miss Farrell’s pretty sitting-room, seated together upon -the sofa, and here Winifred, losing courage altogether, threw her arms -round her old friend, and put her head down upon the breast that had -always sympathy for her in all her troubles. - -“I am very unhappy,” she said. “I do not see any end to it. My brothers -both gone and I alone left, and nothing but difficulty before me -wherever I move. How can I tell how my father’s mind may change in other -ways, now that he has made up his mind to put me in this changed -position--and how can I tell--even if that were not so”-- - -These broken expressions would have conveyed little enlightenment to any -stranger, but Miss Farrell understood them well enough. She pressed -Winifred in her arms, and kissed the cheek which was so near her own. - -“Has anything been said about Edward?” she asked in a low tone. - -“Nothing yet; but how can I tell? Oh yes! there was something. I can’t -remember exactly what--only a sort of hint; but enough to show--Miss -Farrell, you always think the best of every one. What can make him do -it? He must love us--a little--I suppose?” - -The doubt in her tone was full of pathos and wondering bewilderment. -Winnie, though she had already many experiences, had not reached the -length of understanding that love itself can sometimes torture. - -“Love you, my dear? why, of course he loves you! Whom has he else to -love? You must not let such foolish thoughts get into your mind. Thank -Heaven, since you were a child you have never had any doubt that I loved -you, Winnie, and yet I often made you do things you didn’t like, and -refused to let you do things you did like. Don’t you remember? Oh, I -could tell you a hundred instances. A man like your dear father, who has -been a great deal in the world, naturally forms his own ideas. And I can -tell you, Winnie, it is very, very difficult when one has the power, and -when one sees that young people are silly, not to take matters into -one’s own hand, and do for them what one knows to be best. But, -unfortunately, one never can get the young people to see it--they prefer -their own way. If they went according to the ideas of their fathers and -mothers, perhaps there would be less trouble in the world.” - -“You don’t really think so,” cried Winnie, indignant. “You would never -have one go against one’s own heart.” - -“I say perhaps, my dear,” said Miss Farrell mildly,--“only perhaps. It -is a thing no one can be arbitrary about. To have one’s own way is the -most satisfactory thing, so long as it lasts, but often ‘thereof comes -in the end perplexity and madness.’ Then one thinks, if one had but -taken the other turn! Nobody knows, till time shows, which is for the -best.” - -“Is that a proverb?” asked Winnie, with some youthful scorn. - -“It sounds a little like it,” said the cheerful old lady, with a little -laugh, “but, the rhyme was quite unintentional; and, as a matter of -fact, we know that whatever happens to us in God’s providence is for the -best.” - -“Is my father’s hardheartedness God’s providence?” said Winifred, her -face becoming almost severe in youthful gravity. - -It was not a question easy to answer. She scarcely listened to the -little lecture Miss Farrell gave, as to the wickedness of condemning her -father, or calling that hardheartedness which probably was the highest -exercise of watchful tenderness. “I don’t know that I should have had -the strength of mind to carry it out; but, my dear,” she said, “I have -not the very slightest doubt that this is by far the best thing for Tom. -He will come home a better man; he will have found out that life is -different from what he thinks. It may be the making of him. Your dear -father, who is stronger-minded than we are, does it, you may be sure, -for the best.” - -“And if I am ordered to give up everything I care for, perhaps you will -think that for the best too,” said the girl, withdrawing, half -sorrowful, half indignant. The elder woman gave her a look full of love -and sorrow. Behind the smiling of her cheerful little countenance there -was that consciousness which belongs to experience, that teaching of a -long life which at her age throws confusing lights upon much that is -plain and simple to the uninstructed. Miss Farrell in her heart answered -this last indignant question in a manner which would have confounded -Winifred; but she said nothing. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil -thereof.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -Winifred, it will be divined, was not without affairs of her own, which -were indeed kept in the background by the more urgent complications of -her family life, but yet were always there; and in every moment of -repose came in to fill up with sweetness mingled with pain all the -intervals of her thoughts. A few years before, when Mr. Chester had -retired from business and had come to live permanently at Bedloe, he had -begun his life of ease by a long illness, an illness at once dangerous -and tedious, which he had been “pulled through” by a young doctor, still -quite unknown to fame, who had devoted himself to the case of his -patient with an absorbing attention such as elderly gentlemen of -mercantile connections rarely call forth. Mr. Chester was a man who was -always sensible of services rendered personally to himself, and as young -Dr. Langton gave up both time and ease to him, watched by his bedside at -the crisis of the disease, and never grudged to be called out of bed or -disturbed at any moment of the day or night, it was natural that a -grateful patient should form the highest idea of the man who had saved -his life. - -It did not detract from the merits of the young doctor that he belonged, -though remotely, to a county family, the ancient owners of Bedloe, and -that he held a higher place in the general estimation than the new -millionaire himself, whose advent had not been received with enthusiasm. -Dr. Langton, indeed, was of considerable use to the new-established -household. He decided several important people to call who had no -immediate intention of calling, and described with so much fervour the -sweetness and good manners of the young lady of the house, that the way -had thus been smoothed for that universal acceptance of Winifred which -had opened her father’s eyes to the fact that she alone of all the -family did him credit. Unfortunately, Dr. Langton went a little farther -than this. He was young, and Winifred was but just taking upon her the -independent position of mistress of her father’s house. They saw each -other every day, watched together at the sick-bed, and met in the most -unrestrained intimacy--and the natural result followed. Had Winifred -been poor, all his friends would have protested that she was a very bad -match for Edward Langton, who was believed to have what is called a fine -career before him; but as she was, instead, the daughter of a very rich -man, it was permissible that on her side of the question Edward Langton -should be supposed a very poor match for Winifred. It had been -accordingly with very doubtful feelings and a great screwing up of his -courage that the young doctor had presented himself before the rich man -and asked him for his daughter. The reception he received was less -terrible than he feared, but more embarrassing. Mr. Chester had received -the proposal as a joke, a strange but extremely amusing pleasantry. -“Marry Winnie?” he had said; “you must wait till she is out of long -clothes--or of short frocks, is it?” And this had been the utmost that -could be extracted from him. But, at the same time, he had taken no -steps to discourage or separate the lovers. They had gone on seeing each -other constantly, and had been sufficiently confident that no serious -obstacle was to be placed in their way--but never had been able to -extract a more definite decision or anything that could be called -consent. For some time, in the freshness of their mutual enchantment, -the two young people had gone on very gaily with this imperfect -sanction; but there had then come a time when Edward, impatient, yet not -venturing to risk a definite negative by using pressure upon the father, -had filled Winifred’s life with agitation, urging upon her the claims of -his faithful love, and even now and then proposing to carry her off, and -trust to the chance of pardon afterwards, rather than bear that -tantalising, unnecessary delay. Winifred, with mingled happiness and -distress, had spent many an hour in curbing this impetuosity, and it was -strange to her, a relief, but yet a surprise and wonder, when he -suddenly ceased all instances of the kind, and assumed the aspect of a -man quite satisfied with the present state of affairs, though very -watchful of all that happened, and curious to know the details of -everything. The change in him filled her with surprise, and at first -with a vague uneasiness. But there was no appearance of any failure in -his devotion to herself, and it was in many respects less embarrassing -than the constant entreaties which she had found it so difficult to -resist. Still she would wonder sometimes, accepting, as women so often -accept, the unexplained decision of the men who are most near to them, -with that silent despair of ever understanding the motives of the other -half of humanity which men too so often feel in respect to women. - -As for Miss Farrell, who had seen so much both of men and women, she -divined, or thought she divined, what Dr. Langton meant. But she said -not a word to her pupil of her divinations. She said, “What a good thing -that Edward has made up his mind to it. You never would have given in -to him, Winnie?” - -“Oh, never!” said the girl, with a silent, unexpressed sense that -perhaps it might have been better if she could. - -“No, you never would have done it; it is against your nature, and it -would have been the worst policy. Your dear father is a man of very -strong principles, and he never would have forgiven you. It would have -been quite past all hoping for. It is such a good thing Edward perceives -that at last.” - -Winifred did not receive this explanation with all the satisfaction that -her friend hoped. She felt uneasily the existence of some other with -which she was not acquainted; but so long as there was no doubt of -Edward’s love, what did it matter? And she was not herself impatient. -She saw him every day; she knew (or supposed she knew) all his -thoughts; she had his confidence, his full trust, his unbroken devotion; -what more can a woman want? It is sometimes aggravating in the highest -degree to a man that she should want no more, that she should be content -with relations which stop so far short of his wishes, and Edward had -often expressed this fond exasperation. But now he took it quietly -enough, seeing possibilities which Winifred had not begun to see. - -Now, however, the calm of this unexpected content was interrupted from -the other side. Tom was scarcely gone, shaking off the dust from his -shoes as he crossed for the last time the threshold of his father’s -house, when Winifred learned all that was involved in the disastrous -promotion which had already made her so miserable--not only to supplant -her brothers (which yet it might be possible to turn to their -advantage), but to expose herself to risks which were worse than theirs, -to fall perhaps in her turn and make herself incapable of helping them, -or for their sake to resign all that was to herself best in life. -Winifred had retired from her father’s presence with this sword in her -heart. And Miss Farrell’s consolations, though they soothed her for the -moment, did not draw it out. She felt the pang and quivering anguish -through all her being. It was now her turn: she was about to be called -upon to act the heroic part which is so admirable to hear about, so -terrible to perform: to give up love and life for the sake of family -affection lightly returned, or not returned at all, rewarded with -suspicions and unkindness by those for whom she sacrificed everything. -To give up her love, her husband, for her brothers! She did what those -who are disturbed in mind instinctively learn to do. She went out by -herself into the park, and took a long solitary walk, communing with -herself. She had looked forward to Miss Farrell’s return as to something -which would help and strengthen her. And for the moment that new event, -and all the gentle philosophies that had come from her old friend’s -lips, had helped her a little. But at the end every one must bear his -own burden. She went out into the park, which, though the sun had come -out, was still wet and sodden with last night’s rain. The half-opened -leaves were all sparkling with wet, the sky had that clear and keen -sweetness of light which is like the serenity which comes into a human -face after many tears. The sod was soft and spongy under her feet; but -Winifred was not in a mood to observe anything. She walked fast and far, -carrying her thoughts with her, passing everything in review with the -simplicity and frankness which is impossible when we have to clothe our -thoughts in words. She would not have said, even to herself, that George -and Tom would never understand her motives, never believe in her -affection; but she knew it very well, just as she knew that the grass -was damp and that she was wetting her feet, a consciousness that neither -in one case nor the other meant any blame. She knew, too, that her -feelings and her happiness would matter little more to her father than -did to herself the feelings, if they had any, of the thorns which she -put out of her way. To put these consciousnesses into words is to -condemn; but in one’s thoughts one takes such known facts for granted -without any opinion. - -To leap into the midst of such complications all at once is very hard -for a young soul. Ordinarily, the girl to whom it suddenly becomes -apparent that she may be called upon to give up her love, has at least -something to rest upon in the way of compensation; when it is in -fiction, she has to save her father from ruin, and often it happens in -real life that the delight of all her friends, the approbation of her -parents, the satisfaction of all who love her, is the reward for her -sacrifice. But poor Winifred was without any such consolation. If she -gave up her happiness for the sake of retaining and restoring their -inheritance to her brothers, they would revile her in the meantime, and -take it as the mere restitution of something stolen from them, in the -future. Or she might find that the inheritance came to her under -restrictions which made her sacrifice useless, and her desire to do -justice impossible. What was she then to do? There came into her mind a -sudden wish that Edward was still as he was six months ago, vehement, -impatient, almost desperate. Oh, if he would but take the matter into -his own hands, risk everything, carry her away, make it impossible once -for all that she should be the one who had to set all right! She said to -herself that she ought to have consented when he had urged this upon -her. Why should she have hesitated? They had been held in suspense for -two years, a long time in which to exercise patience, to linger on the -threshold of life. And it was not as if her father wanted her love, or -would feel his house vacant and miserable without her. He who could cut -off his sons without a compunction had never shown any particular love -for his daughter. His thoughts were concentrated upon himself. She was -not so necessary to him as old Hopkins was, who understood all his -tastes. - -When Winifred suffered herself for a moment to think of herself, to leap -in imagination from Bedloe, with all its luxuries, from the sombre life -at home, undisturbed now by any joyous expectation of the boys, with no -hope even of family letters that would afford anything but pain--to the -doctor’s little house full of sunshine and pleasantness, the life of two -which is the perfection of individual existence--her heart, too, seemed -to leap out of her bosom towards that other world. Oh, if she could but -be liberated without any action of her own, carried away, transported -from her own dim life to that of him to whom above all others she -belonged! This flight of fancy lifted her up in a momentary exaltation -above all her troubles. Then she tumbled down, down to the dust. She -knew very well it would not be. He could not, even if he wished it, -which now it seemed he did not, carry her away without consulting her, -without her consent. And she could never give that consent. She could -not abandon her home, her duties, the possibility of serving her -brothers, the necessity of serving her father. One must act according -to one’s nature, however clearly one may see a happier way, however -certain one may be of the inefficiency of self-denial. Sometimes even -duty becomes a kind of immorality, a servile consent to the tyranny of -others; but still to the dutiful it is a bond which cannot be broken. -Winifred felt herself look on like a spectator, and sadly assent to the -possible destruction of her own life and all her hopes. It might be -delayed, it might not come at all, but still it was impending over her, -and she did not know how she was to escape, even in that one impossible -way. - -She had reached the edge of the park without knowing it in the fulness -of her preoccupation, when the sound of a dog-cart coming along the road -awoke her attention. It was no wonderful thing that Edward should be -passing at that moment, though she had not thought of it. Neither was -it extraordinary that he should throw the reins to his servant and join -her. “I have just time to walk back with you,” he said. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -It was scarcely in nature that the appearance of her betrothed, coming -so suddenly in the midst of her thoughts, should be disagreeable to -Winifred, but it was an embarrassment to her, and rather added to than -lessened the trouble on her mind. He led her back into the park, which -she had been coming out of, scarcely knowing where she wandered. As was -his way when they were beyond the reach of curious eyes, he took her arm -instead of offering her his. There was something more caressing, more -close in this manner of contact. When they were safe beyond all -interruption, he bent over her tenderly. - -“Something is the matter,” he said. - -“Nothing new, Edward.” - -“Only the trouble of yesterday, Tom’s going away?” - -“It is not the trouble of yesterday. It is a trouble which lasts, which -is going on, which may never come to an end. I don’t think you can say -of any trouble that it is only of yesterday.” - -“That is very true; still, you and I are not given to philosophising, -Winnie, and I thought there might be some new incident. I suppose he -sails to-day?” - -“Yes, he sails to-day: and when will he come back again? Will he ever -come back? The two of them? Oh, Edward, life is very hard, very -different from what one thought.” - -“At your age people are seldom so much mixed up in it. But there is the -good as well as the bad.” - -“Perhaps,” said the girl, faltering, “I am looking through spectacles, -not rose-coloured, all the other way. I don’t see very much of the -good.” - -He pressed her arm close to his side. - -“Am not I a little bit of good; is not our life all good if it were only -once begun?” - -“But what if it never begins?” - -“Winnie!” he cried, startled, standing still and drawing her suddenly in -front of him so that he could look into her face. - -“Oh, Edward, don’t add to my troubles; I don’t see how it is ever to -begin. My father means to put me in Tom’s place, as he put Tom in -George’s place, and already he has said”-- - -“What has he said?” - -“Perhaps it means nothing,” she went on after a pause; “I should have -kept it to myself.” - -“Winnie, that is worse than anything he can have said. What he says I -can bear, but not that you should keep anything to yourself.” - -“It was not much. It was a sort of a threat. He said the match that was -good enough for Winnie might not be good enough for”-- - -“His heiress. He is right enough,” young Langton said. - -At this, Winifred, who had been anticipating in her own mind all that -was involved, trembled as if it had never occurred to her before, and -turned upon him with an air, and indeed with the most real sentiment of -grieved surprise. - -“Right?” she said, with wonder and reproach in her voice. - -“A country doctor,” said the young man, “a fellow with nothing, is not a -match for the heiress of Bedloe. He is right enough. We cannot -contradict him. You ought to make an alliance like a princess with some -one like yourself.” - -“I did not think,” said Winnie, raising her head with a flush of anger, -“that you would have been the one to make it all worse.” - -He smiled upon her, still holding her closely by the arm. “Did you think -I had not thought of that before now? Of course, from his point of view, -and, of course, from all points of view except our own, Winnie”-- - -“I am glad you make that exception.” - -“It is very magnanimous of me to do so, and you will have to be all the -more good to me. I am not blind, and I have seen it all coming, from the -moment of Tom’s failure. Why was he so silly as to fail, when a hundred -boobies get through every year?” - -“Poor Tom!” she said, with a little gush of tears. - -“Yes; poor Tom! I suppose he never for a moment thought--But, for my -part, I have seen it coming. I have seen for a long time what way the -tide was turning. At first there was not much thought of you; you were -only the little girl in the house. If it had not been so, I should have -run away, I should not have run my head into the net, and exposed myself -to certain contempt and rejection. But I saw that nobody knew there was -in the house an angel unawares.” - -“Edward, you make me ashamed! You know how far I am”-- - -“From being an angel? I hope so, Winnie. If I saw the wings budding, I -should get out my instruments and clip them: it would be a novel sort -of an operation. I thought their ignorance was my opportunity.” - -She was partly mollified, partly alarmed. “You did not think all this -before you let yourself--care for me, Edward?” - -“I did before I allowed myself to tell you that I--cared for you, as you -say. One does not do such a thing without thinking. There was a time -when I thought that I must give up the splendid practice of Bedloe, with -Shippington into the bargain; the rich appointment of parish doctor, the -fat fees of the Union”-- - -“You can laugh at it,” she said, “but it is very, very serious to me.” - -“And so it is very, very serious to me. So much so that six months ago I -wanted to throw everything up, if you would only have consented to come -with me, and seek our fortune, I did not mind where”-- - -“Ah!” she said. There was in the exclamation a world of wistful meaning. -What an escape it would have been from all after peril! Winifred said -this with the slight shiver of one who sees the means of safety which -she could never have taken advantage of. - -“But now,” he said, “it is too late for that.” - -His tone of conviction went to Winifred’s heart like a stone. She would -never have consented to it; but yet why did he say it was too late? She -gave him a wistful glance, but asked no question. To do so would have -been contrary to her pride and every feeling. They went on for a few -minutes in silence, she more cast down than she could explain--he adding -nothing to what he had said. Why did he add nothing? Things could not be -left now as they were, without mutual explanation and decision what they -were to do. Too late? She felt in her heart, on the contrary, that now -was the only moment in which it could have been done, in which she could -have wound herself up to the possibility--if it were not for other -possibilities, which, alas! would thrust themselves into the way. - -“I have something to tell you,” he said, “something which you will think -makes everything worse. I might have kept you in ignorance of it, as I -have been doing; but the knowledge must come some time, and it will -explain what I have said”-- - -She withdrew a little from him, and drew herself up to all the height -she possessed, which was not very much. There went to her heart a quick -dart like the stab of a knife. She thought he was about to tell her that -his own mind had changed, or that her coming wealth and importance had -made it incompatible with his pride to continue their engagement. -Something of this kind it seemed certain that it must be. In the sudden -conviction of the moment it did not occur to Winifred that such a new -thing could scarcely be told while he held her so closely to him, and -clasped her hand and arm so firmly. But it was not a moment for the -exercise of reason. She did not look up, but she raised her head -instinctively and made an effort to loosen her hand from his clasp. But -of these half-involuntary movements he took no note, being fully -occupied with what was in his mind. - -“Winnie,” he said in a serious voice, “your father talks at his ease of -making wills and changing the disposition of his property. I don’t -suppose he thinks for a moment how near he may be--how soon these -changes may come into effect.” - -A little start, a little tremor ran through her frame. Her attitude of -preparation for a blow relaxed. She did not understand what he meant in -the relief of perceiving that it was not what she thought. - -“My father? I don’t understand you, Edward.” - -“No, I scarcely expected you would. He looks what people call the -picture of health.” - -She started now violently and drew her arm out of his in the shock of -the first suggestion. “My father!” she stammered--“the picture of -health--you do not mean, you cannot mean”-- - -“I have been cruel,” he said, drawing tenderly her arm into his. “I have -given you a great shock. My darling, it had to be done sooner or later. -Your father, though he looks so well, is not well, Winnie. I never was -satisfied that he got over that illness as he thought he did. But even I -was not alarmed for a long time. Now for several months I have been -watching him closely. If he does not make this new will at once, he may -never do it. If he does, it will not be long before you are called on to -assume your place.” - -“Edward! you do not mean that my father--You don’t mean that there is -absolute danger--to his life--soon--now? Edward! you do not think”-- - -“Dear, you must show no alarm. You must learn to be quite calm. You must -not betray your knowledge. It may be at any moment--to-day, to-morrow, -no one can tell. It is not certain--nothing is certain--he may go on for -a year.” - -The light seemed to fail in Winifred’s eyes. She leant against her lover -with a rush and whirl of hurrying thoughts that seemed to carry away her -very life. It was not the awful sensation of a calamity from which there -is no escape, such as often overwhelms the tender soul when first -brought face to face with death; but rather a horrible sense of what -that doom would be to him, the cutting off of everything in which, so -far as she knew, he took any pleasure or ever thought of. The idea of a -spiritual life beyond would not come into any accordance with her -consciousness of him. Mr. Chester was one of those men whom it is -impossible to think of as entering into rest, or attaining immediate -felicity by the sudden step of death. There are some people whom the -imagination refuses to connect with any surroundings but those of -prosaic humanity. They must die, too, like the most spiritually-minded; -but there comes upon the soul a sensation of moral vertigo when we think -of them as entering the life of an unseen world. This, though it may -seem unnatural to say so, was the first sensation of Winifred, a sense -of horror and alarm, an immediate realisation of the terrible -inappropriateness of such a removal. What would become of him when -removed from earth, the only state of existence with which he had any -affinities? It sent a shiver over her, a chill sense of the unknown and -unimaginable which seemed to freeze the blood in her veins. It was only -when she recovered from this that natural feeling gained utterance. She -had leant against her lover in that first giddiness, with her head -swimming, her strength giving way. She came slowly back to herself, -feeling his arm which supported her with a curious beatific sense that -everything was explained between him and her, mingled with the sensation -of natural grief and dismay. - -“I do not feel as if it could be possible,” she said faintly. Then, with -trembling lips, “My father?” and melted into tears. - -“My dearest, it is right you should know. It is for this reason I have -tried to persuade you not to go against him in anything. The more -tranquillity he has, the better are his chances for life. Let him do as -he threatens. Perhaps if you withdraw all opposition he will delay the -making of another will, as almost all men do--for there seems time -enough for such an operation, and nothing to hurry for. Get him into -this state of mind if you can, Winnie. Don’t oppose him; let it be -believed that you see the justice of his intention, that you are willing -to do what he pleases.” - -“Even”--she said, and looked up at him, pausing, unable to say more. - -He took both her hands in his, and looked at her, smiling. “Even,” he -said, “to the length of allowing him to believe that you have given up a -man that was never half good enough for you; but who believes in you -all the same like heaven.” - -“Believes in me--when I pretend to give up what I don’t give up, and -pretend to accept what I don’t accept? Is that the kind of woman you -believe in?” she cried, drawing away her hands. “How can I do so? How -can I consent to cheat my father, and he perhaps--perhaps”-- - -She stood faltering, trembling, crying, but detaching herself with -nervous force from his support, in a passion of indignation and trouble -and dismay. - -He answered her with a line in which is the climax of heart-rending -tragedy, holding out to her the hands from which she had escaped-- - - “Faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.” - -“That may do for poetry,” she said; “but for me, I am not great enough -or grand enough to--to--to be able to brave it. Edward, do not ask me. -I must tell the truth. If I tried to do anything else, my face, my looks -would betray me. Oh, don’t be so hard on me. Ask me something less than -this, ask me now to”-- - -She stopped terror-stricken, not knowing what she had said; but he only -looked at her tenderly, shaking his head. “If I had ever persuaded you -to that,” he said, “I should have been a cad and a rascal, for it would -have broken your heart. But now I should be worse--I might be a -murderer. Winnie, you must yield for his sake. You must let him live as -long as God permits.” - -“And deceive him?” she said, almost inaudibly. “Oh, you don’t know what -you are asking of me! You are asking too much cleverness, too much -power. I can only say one thing or another. I cannot be falsely true.” - -“You can do everything that is necessary, whatever it may be, for those -you love,” he said. - -She stood faltering before him for a moment, turning her eyes from one -side to the other, as if in search of help. But there was nothing that -could give her any aid. The heavens seemed to close in above her, and -the earth to disappear from under her feet. If she had ever consented to -an untruth in her life, it had been to shield and excuse her brothers, -for whom there were always apologies to be made. And how to deceive she -knew not. - -They went on together across the park, not noticing the wetness of the -grass or the threatening of the sky, upon which clouds were once more -blowing up for rain, so much absorbed in their consultation that they -were close to the house before they were aware, and started like guilty -things surprised when Mr. Chester came sharply upon them round a corner, -buttoned up to the chin, and with an umbrella in his hand. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -“Why don’t you come to the house and have your talk out? She has got her -feet wet, and if she does not look sharp, we shall all be caught in the -rain--a doctor should know better than to expose a young lady to -bronchitis. Besides, her life is more important than it ever was -before.” - -“We forgot how the skies were looking. You should not be out of doors -either; it is worse for you than for her. I told you this morning you -had a cold.” - -“You are always telling me I have a cold. I shan’t live a day the less -for that,” said Mr. Chester, with a jauntiness which made Winifred’s -heart sick. - -“I hope not, but we must take care,” said young Langton. “Come back -now--don’t go any farther. I hope you were coming only to bring Miss -Chester back.” - -“I was coming to bring Miss Chester back--and for other things,” said -her father significantly. He put a little emphasis on the name, and -Winifred had already been painfully affected by hearing her name -pronounced so formally by her lover. He had never addressed her -familiarly in her father’s presence, but now there seemed a meaning in -everything, and as her father repeated it, there seemed in it a whole -new world and new disposition of affairs. “But as it is going to be a -wet night,” he added, “and we shall have a dull time of it, nothing but -myself and two females at dinner, you had better come and dine with us, -doctor, if you have nothing better to do.” - -“I will come with pleasure,” Langton said. He had perfect command of -himself, and yet he could not refrain from a momentary glance at -Winifred, which said much. - -She, too, divined, with a sinking of her heart, that it was not merely -for dinner, or to relieve himself from the society of “two females,” -that her father gave the invitation. He was unusually gracious and -smiling. - -“You know you’re always welcome,” he said. “The ladies spoil you. A -young doctor is something like a curate, he is always spoiled by the -ladies; but they shan’t have so much of your company as they expect, for -I have got several things to talk to you about.” - -“As many as you like,” said Langton, “but let me entreat you to go in -now.” - -“You see how anxious our friend is about my health, Winnie; he does not -care half so much for yours, and you are a deal more liable to take cold -than ever I was. You take that from your mother, who was always a feeble -creature. The stamina is on the Chester side. Very well, doctor, very -well. I don’t like the wet any more than you do. I’m going in, don’t be -afraid. Dinner at seven, sharp, and don’t keep us waiting.” - -Mr. Chester’s laugh seemed to the young pair to mean much; the very wave -of his hand as he turned away, his insistance upon the hour of dinner, -all breathed of fate. The two young people exchanged one look as they -shook hands; on his side it was a look at once of encouragement and -entreaty--on hers of terror and wistfulness. She was afraid and yet -anxious to be left alone with her father. It seemed to Winifred that she -could bear what he said to herself, however painful it might be, but -that an insulting dismissal of Edward was more than she could bear. She -could not linger, however, nor say a word to him beyond what ordinary -civility required. Even the momentary pause did not pass without remark. - -“Some last words?” Mr. Chester said; “one would think you had seen -enough of each other. You should make your appointments a little earlier -in the day.” - -“It was no appointment, papa. I was walking, and Dr. Langton came up in -his dog-cart.” - -“Oh, very likely; these things fall in so pat, don’t they? I suppose I -am past the age for encountering people in dog-carts just when I want -them. But you must not calculate too much on that,” he said with a -laugh. “There’s no reason why I shouldn’t marry and provide myself with -another family, that might be more to my mind than you.” - -To this Winnie made no reply. The threat had offended her on other -occasions; now it affected her with that dreadful sense of the -intolerable to which words can give no expression; it brought the blood -in a rush to her face, and she looked at him in spite of herself with -eyes in which pity and horror were mingled. He met her look with a -laugh. - -“You are horrified, are you? That’s all very well for you; but let me -tell you, many an older man than I, and less pleasing, perhaps, has got -a pretty young wife before now. It has to be paid for, like every other -luxury; but women are plenty, my dear, though you mayn’t think so.” - -“Papa, do you think this is a subject to discuss with me?” - -“Why not? You are the only one except myself that would be much affected -by it. It might interfere with your comforts, and it would interfere -very much with your importance, I can tell you, Miss Winnie.” - -“Then, father,” the girl said, “for Heaven’s sake do it, and don’t talk -of it any more. Rather that a thousand times than to be forced to agree -to what I abhor, than to be put in another’s place, than to have to give -up”-- - -He turned round and looked at her somewhat sternly. “What do you expect -to be obliged to give up?” he said. - -Between her fear of doing harm to him, whose tranquillity she had been -charged to preserve, and her fear of precipitating matters and bringing -upon herself at once the prohibition she feared--and that natural -nervous desire to forestall a catastrophe which was entirely -contradictory of the other sentiments, Winifred paused and replied to -him with troubled looks rather than with speech. When she found her -voice, she answered, faltering-- - -“What you said to me yesterday, meant giving up the truth and all I have -ever cared for in my life. I have always wanted, desired, more than my -life, to be of use to--the boys--and to be made to appear as if I were -against them”-- - -Her voice was interrupted with sobs. Ah, but was not this the beginning -of treachery? It was the truth, but not the whole truth; the boys were -much, but there was something which was still more. Already in the first -outset and beginning she was but falsely true. - -“This is all about the boys, is it?” he said coldly--“as you call them. -I should say the men--who have taken their own way, and had their own -will, and like it, I hope. If it comes to a bargain between you and me, -Winnie, there must be something more than that.” - -“There can be no bargain between you and me,” said Winifred. In the -meantime, looking at him, she had thought his colour varied, and that a -slight stumble he made over a stone was a sign of weakness; and her -heart sank with sudden compunction. “Oh, no bargain, papa! It is yours -to tell me what to do, and mine to--to obey you.” Her voice weakened and -grew low as she said these words. She felt as if it were a solemn -promise she was making, instead of the most ordinary of dutiful -speeches. He nodded his head repeatedly as she spoke. - -“That’s as it should be, Winnie,--that’s as it should be; continue like -that, my dear, and you shall hear no more of the new wife. So long as -you are reasonable, I am quite content with my daughter, who does me -credit. It is your duty to do me credit. I am going to do a great deal -for you, and I have more claim than just the ordinary claim. Go in now, -the rain’s coming. As for me, for all that young fellow says, I don’t -believe it matters. I feel as fit as ever I did in my life. Still, -bronchitis is a nuisance,” he added, coughing a little, as he followed -her indoors. - -Winifred did not appear again till the hour of dinner. She was, like -every one who hears a sentence of death for the first time, apprehensive -that the event which seemed at one moment incredible might happen the -next, and she stole along the corridor at least half a dozen times, to -make sure that her father was in the room called the library, in which -he read his newspapers. If any sound was heard in the silence of the -house, she conjured up terrible visions of a sudden fall and -catastrophe. - -How was it possible to oppose him in anything? If he told her to abandon -Edward, she would have to reply--as if he had asked her to go out for a -walk, or drive with him in his carriage--“Yes, papa.” It would not -matter what he asked, she must make the same answer, conventional, -meaning as little as if it had been a request for a cup of tea. And -about his will the same assent would have to be necessary. She must -appear to him and to the world to be very willing to supplant her -brothers; she must appear to give up her lover because now she was too -great and too rich to marry a poor man. This was the charge her lover -himself had laid upon her. She must consent to everything. The true -feelings of her mind, and all her intentions and hopes, must be laid -aside, and she must appear as if she were another woman, a creature -influenced by the will of others without any of her own. - -Even that was a possible position. A girl might give up all natural will -and impulse. She might be a passive instrument in other people’s hands. -She might take passively what was given to her, and passively allow -something else to be taken away: that might be weak, miserable, and -unworthy--but it need not be false. What was required of her was more -than this. It was required of her that she should pretend to be all this -till her father should die, and then turn round and deceive him in his -grave. The thought made Winifred shiver with a chill which penetrated -her very heart. After, could she undo all she had done, baulk him after -he was dead, proclaim to all the world that she had deceived him? Was -that what Edward meant by being falsely true? She said to herself that -she could not do it, that it would be impossible. In the case of her -brothers, perhaps, where only renunciation was necessary, she might do -it; but to gain happiness for herself she could not do it. “I cannot, I -cannot!” she cried to herself under her breath; and then lower still, -with an anguish of resolution and determination, “I will not!” If she -gave him up, it should be for ever. She would not play a part, and -pretend submission, and deceive. - -But, to the astonishment of both these young people, Mr. Chester that -evening did not say a word on the subject. During dinner he was more -agreeable than usual; but when the ladies went out of the room, young -Langton, as he met the eyes of his betrothed, gave her a look which told -that he knew what was coming. He was so nervous when he was left behind -that for the first few minutes he hardly knew what was being said to -him; but when he calmed down and came to himself, an astonished sense -that nothing was being said took the place of his dread, and bewildered -him altogether. All that Mr. Chester had to say was to ask for some -information about a small estate which was to be sold in another part of -the country which was better known to the doctor than to himself. He -asked his advice, indeed, as to whether he should or should not become -its purchaser, in a way which made young Langton’s head go round, for it -was the manner of a man who was consulting one of those who were -concerned, an intimate friend, perhaps a son-in-law. He said to himself, -after a moment, when this subject was exhausted, that now it must be -coming. But, on the contrary, there was not a word. - -When the two gentlemen went into the drawing-room, Winifred asked him -with her eyes a question which was full of the anguish of suspense. He -managed behind the cover of a book to say to her, “Nothing has been -said;” but this was so wonderful that the relief was too much, and -neither could she believe in that. They both felt that the pause, though -almost miraculous, could not be real, and that the coming storm was all -the more certain because of this delay. - -Late that night Mr. Chester felt unwell, and sent into the village for -the doctor just as he was going to bed. Langton put on his coat, and -jumped into the dog-cart which had been sent for him, with a sudden -quickening of all his pulses, and the sense of a miraculous escape more -distinctly in his mind than solicitude for his patient. Winifred met him -at the door with wild anxiety and terror, and followed him to her -father’s room, with all her nerves strung for the great and terrible -event of which she had been warned. She thought nothing less than that -the hour of calamity had come, and the whole house was moved with a -vague horror of anticipation, although no one knew that there was -anything to fear. The doctor’s practised eye, however, saw in a moment -that it was a false alarm, and it was with a pang almost of -disappointment that he reassured her. He could only appear glad, but -there was no doubt in his own mind that it was a distinct mistake of -Providence. Had Mr. Chester died then, he would have left the world with -one or two sins the less on his conscience, and a great deal of human -misery would have been spared. - -“You think I should not have roused you out of your comfortable bed -without the excuse of dying, or at least something more in it?” the -patient said; “but you will find I am a tough customer, and likely to -give you more trouble before you are done with me.” - -“It is no trouble,” the doctor said, with a grave face; “but you must -learn to be careful.” - -“Pshaw!” said the rich man. “I tell you I am a tough customer. It is not -a bit of an evening walk that will free you of me.” - -“We will do our best to fortify you for evening walks; but you must be -careful,” Langton said. - -Upon which his patient gave a chuckle, and turned round in his bed and -went to sleep like a two-years child. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -A threatened life is said to last long. Winifred Chester lived in great -alarm and misery for a week or two, watching every movement and every -look of her father, expecting almost to see him fall and die before her -very eyes. The horror of a catastrophe which she could not avert, which -nothing could be done to stave off, intensified the natural feeling -which makes the prospect of another’s death, even of an indifferent -person, overawing and terrible. And though it was impossible to believe -that a man like Mr. Chester could inspire his daughter with that -impassioned filial love which many daughters bear to their parents, yet -he was her father, and all the habits of her life were associated with -him: so that the idea of his sudden removal conveyed almost as great a -shock to her mind as if the warmest bonds of love, instead of a natural -affection much fretted by involuntary judgments given in her heart -against him, had been the bond between them. - -And there can be nothing in the world more dreadful to the mind than to -watch the life and actions of a human creature whom we know to be on the -brink of the grave, but who neither suspects nor anticipates any danger, -and lives every day as though he were to live for ever. To hear him say -what he was going to do in the time to come, the changes he meant to -make, the improvements, the new furnishings, the plantings, all that was -to be done during the next ten years, filled Winifred with a thrill of -misery which was not unmingled with compunction. Could she say nothing -to him, give him no hint, whisper in his ear no intimation that his days -were numbered? She shrank within herself at the thought of presuming to -do so; and yet to be with him and walk by him, and listen to all his -anticipations, and never do it, seemed horrible. All his thoughts were -of the world in which he had, as he did not know, so precarious a -footing. He was a man who wanted no other, whose horizon was bounded by -the actual, whose aspirations did not exceed what human life could give -him. He had met with disappointments and probably had felt them as -bitterly as other men, but his active spirit had never been arrested, he -had turned to something else in which he expected compensation. The -something else at present was Winifred; she had done him credit, and -might do so still in a higher degree than had been possible to her -brothers. She might marry anybody. As for the doctor, when the moment -came, Mr. Chester knew very well how to make short work of the doctor. -And Winnie, of whom there could be no doubt that she was a lady, should -marry a lord and satisfy her father’s pride, and make up for everything. - -His mind had taken refuge in this with an elasticity which minds of -higher tone and better inspirations do not always possess; and those -plans which to her were so frightful, those arrangements of years which -he should never see, were all with a view to this satisfaction which he -had promised himself. He was going to preserve the game strictly, a duty -which he had not much thought of hitherto: he was going to enlarge the -house--to build a new wing for my lord, as he began within himself to -name his unknown son-in-law. In these arrangements he forgot his own -sons, putting them aside altogether, as if they had never existed, and -forgot also, or at least never took into consideration, any uncertainty -in life, any thought of consolations less positive. - -To see a man so terribly off his guard is always a spectacle very -terrible and surprising when the mind of the spectator is roused to it, -just as the sight of any indifferent passer-by going lightly along a -road on which death awaits him round the next corner, is almost more -appalling than the sight of death itself, especially if we cannot warn -him or do anything to save. And how could he die? A man who cared for -nothing that was not in the life he knew, how was he to adapt himself to -another, to anything so different? Winifred’s brain swam, the light -faded before her as she sat watching him, unable to take her eyes from -him, full of terror, compassion, pity. - -“What are you staring at so?” he asked on more than one occasion. - -“Nothing, papa,” Winifred replied incoherently, consciousness suddenly -coming back to her as his voice broke the giddiness and throng of -intolerable thoughts. - -“One would think you saw a ghost behind me,” he said, with a laugh. -“That’s the new æsthetic fashion of absent-mindedness, I suppose;” and -this explanation satisfied and even pleased him, for he wished Winnie to -be of the latest fashion and “up to everything” with the best. - -Miss Farrell, on the other hand, scolded her pupil, as much as she could -scold any one, for this sudden alarm which had seized her. “It is just a -fad,” the old lady said. “Edward has his fads like other people: doctors -have; they are fond of a discovery that leads to nothing. I never saw -your dear father look better in his life.” - -“He does not look ill,” Winifred allowed, with a faint movement of -relief. - -“Ill? he looks strong, younger than he did five years ago, and such a -colour, and an excellent appetite. But I am glad to hear that is what -Edward thinks, for it explains everything.” - -“Glad?” it was Winifred’s turn to exclaim. - -“My dear, when you are my age you will know that one is sometimes glad -of an explanation of things that have puzzled one, even though the -explanation itself is not cheerful. I think this fright of Edward’s is a -piece of folly, but yet it explains many things. As for your dear -father, if he were a little unwell from time to time, that would be -nothing to wonder at. Gout, for instance--one is always prepared for -gout in a man of his age. But he is up early and late, he has the -complexion of a ploughboy, and can eat everything without even a thought -of his digestion. I envy him,” she said, with fervour. Then, giving -Winifred a kiss as she leant over her, “You are seeing everything _en -noir_, my dear, and Edward is giving in to you. Don’t think any more -about it for three days; in the meantime I will watch him; give me three -days, and promise me to be happy in the meantime.” - -This time Winifred did not repeat the inappropriate expression, but only -looked at her old friend with tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I have -very much to be happy about,” she said. - -“You have life before you, and youth and hope; and you have Edward; and -your dear father, so far as I can see, in perfect health; and the -others--in the hands of Providence Winnie.” - -“Are we not all in the hands of Providence,” said the girl; “those who -live and those who die, those who do well and those who do ill? and it -does not seem to make any difference.” - -“That is because we see such a little way, such a little way--never what -to-morrow is going to bring forth,” Miss Farrell said. - -But this conversation did not do very much to reassure Winifred, and at -the end of the three days the old lady said nothing. Her experienced -eyes saw, after a close investigation, certain trifles which brought her -to the young doctor’s opinion, or at least made her acknowledge to -herself that he might possibly be right. It is to be feared that Miss -Farrell did not look upon this possibility with horror. She was calmer, -not so much interested, and less full of that instinctive horror and awe -of death which is most strong in the young. She had seen a great many -people die; perhaps she was not for that more reconciled to the idea of -it in her own person than others; but she had come to look upon it with -composure where others were concerned. She thought it likely enough that -Edward might be right; and she thought that, perhaps, this was not the -conclusion which would be most regrettable. It would leave Winifred -free. If he did not alter his will, it would restore the boys to their -rights; and if he did alter his will, Winifred would restore them to -their rights. On making a balance of the greatest happiness of the -greatest number, no doubt it would be for the best that Mr. Chester -should end his career. - -After these three days, at the end of which Winifred asked no -explanation from her friend, many other days followed, with nothing -happening. The force of the impression was softened in her mind, and -though the appearance of Mr. Chester’s man of business on two or three -several occasions gave her a renewed thrill of terror, yet her father -said nothing on the subject of his will, and she was glad on her side to -ignore it, feeling that nothing she could say or do would have any -effect upon his resolution. On the last evening, when Mr. Babington, -after a long afternoon with Mr. Chester in the library, stayed to -dinner, the cheerfulness and satisfaction of the master of the house -were visible to everybody. He had the best wine in his cellar out for -his old friend, and talked to him all the evening of “old days,” as he -said, days when he himself had little expectation of ever being the -Squire of Bedloe. - -“But many things have changed since that time,” he added, “and the last -is first and the first last, eh, Babington, in more senses than one.” - -“Yes, in more senses than one,” the lawyer said gravely, sipping the old -port which had been disinterred for him with an aspect not half so -jovial as that of his patron, though it was wine such as seldom appears -at any table in these degenerate days. - -“In more senses than one,” Mr. Chester repeated. “Fill your glass again, -old Bab; and, Miss Farrell, stay a moment, and let me give you a little -wine, for I am going to propose a toast.” - -“I am not in the habit of drinking toasts,” said Miss Farrell, who had -risen from her chair; “but as I am sure it is one which a lady need not -hesitate about, since you propose it”-- - -“No lady need hesitate,” said Mr. Chester, “for it is to one that is a -true lady, as good a lady as if she had royal blood in her veins. You -would not better her, I can tell you, if you were to search far and -wide; and as you have had some share in making her what she is, Miss -Farrell, it stands to reason you should have a share in her advancement. -I have a great mind to call in all the servants and make them drink it -too.” - -“Don’t,” said the lawyer hurriedly; “a thing is well enough among -friends that is not fit for strangers, or servants either. For my part, -I wish everything that is good to Miss Winifred; but yet”-- - -“Hold your tongue, Babington; it is none of your business. Here’s the -very good health of the heiress of Bedloe, and good luck to her, and a -fine title and a handsome husband, and everything that heart can -desire.” - -The two ladies had risen, and still stood, Miss Farrell with the glass -of wine which Mr. Chester had given her in her hand, Winifred standing -very straight by the table, and white as the dress she wore. Miss -Farrell grew pale too, gazing from one to the other of the two -gentlemen, who drank their wine, one with a flushed and triumphant -countenance, the other in little thoughtful gulps. “I can’t refuse to -drink the health of Winifred, however it is put,” she said tremulously. -“But if this is what you mean, Mr. Chester”-- - -“Yes, my old girl,” cried Mr. Chester, “this is what I mean; and I don’t -know what anybody can have to say against it--you, in particular, that -have brought her up, and done your duty by her, I must say. She has -always been a good friend to you, and always will be, I can answer for -her, and you shall never want a home as long as she has one. But if you -have anything to say against my arrangements, or what I mean to do for -her”-- - -Miss Farrell put down the wine with a hand that trembled slightly. She -towered into tremulous height, or so it seemed to the lookers-on. “I say -nothing about the term which you have permitted yourself to apply to me, -Mr. Chester,” she said. “I can make allowance for bad breeding; but if -you think you can prevent me from forming an opinion, and expressing -it”-- - -“Be quiet, Chester,” cried the lawyer, kicking him under the table; but -in the height of his triumph he was not to be kept down. - -“You may form your opinions as you please, and express them too; but, by -George! if you express anything about my affairs, or take it upon you to -criticise, it will have to be in some one else’s house.” - -“That is quite enough,” said the old lady. “I am not in the habit of -receiving affronts. This day is the last I shall spend in your house. I -bid you good evening, Mr. Babington.” She waved her hand majestically as -she went away. As for Winnie, who had endeavoured to stop him with an -indignant cry of “Father!” she turned upon Mr. Chester a pair of eyes, -large and full of woe, which blazed out of her pale face in passionate -protestation as she hurried after her friend. The exit of the ladies was -so sudden after this swift and hot interchange of hostilities that it -left the two men confounded. Mr. Chester gave vent to an exclamation or -two, and turned to his supporter on the other side. - -“What did I say?” he cried. “I haven’t said anything, have I, to make a -tragedy about?” - -“It would have been a great deal better to say nothing at all,” was all -the comfort Babington gave him. The lawyer went on with the port, which -was very good. He thought quarrels were always a nuisance, but that -Chester did indeed--there could be no doubt of it--want some one to take -him down a peg or two. - -“If your daughter does not much like it herself, as seems to be the -case, it’s a pity to set the old lady on to make her worse. And Miss -Winifred wants a lady with her,” he said between the gulps. - -He gave no support to the angry man, hot with excitement and triumph, to -whom this sudden check had come in the midst of his outburst of angry -satisfaction. - -Mr. Chester’s countenance fell. - -“You don’t mean,” he cried, “that she will be such a fool as to go away? -Pshaw! she’s not such a fool as that. She knows on what side her -bread’s buttered. She’s lived at Bedloe these dozen years.” - -“Everybody knows Miss Farrell,” said the lawyer. “She’s as proud as -Lucifer, and as fiery, if she is set ablaze.” - -“Pooh!” said the other; “it is nothing but a breeze; we’ll be all right -again to-morrow. She knows me, and I know her. She is not such a fool as -to throw away a comfortable home, because I called her old girl. Are you -determined, after all, that you won’t stay the night?” - -“I must get home--I must indeed. To-morrow early I have half a dozen -appointments.” - -“Then, if you will go,” said Mr. Chester,--“which I take unkind of you, -for, of course, the appointments could stand, if you chose;--but if you -must go, it’s time for your train.” - -“Thank you for telling me,” said Mr. Babington. He jumped up with a -slight resentment, though he had been quite determined about going away -that night; but then he had not known that there would be this quarrel, -which he should have liked to see the end of, or that the port would be -so good. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -The sound of the brougham rolling along down the avenue, and of the -closing of the great door upon the departing guest, came to Winifred, as -she sat alone, with a dreary sound. Mr. Babington was no particular ally -of hers, and yet it felt like the going away of a friend. Presently her -father came into the room, talking over his shoulder to old Hopkins -about the hot water and lemons which were to be placed in the library -ready for him. “Ten o’clock will do,” he said. It was only about nine, -and Winifred felt, not with transport, that she was to have her father’s -society for the next hour. It was by this time too warm to have a fire -in the evening, but yet they sat habitually, when the lamp was lighted, -near the fireplace. Mr. Chester came up to this central spot, and drew a -chair near to his daughter and sat down. He brought a smell of wine with -him, and a sensation of heat and excitement. “Why are you sitting by -yourself,” he said, “like a sparrow on the housetop? It seems to me you -are always alone.” - -“I shall have to be alone in future, papa. Miss Farrell”--Winifred could -not say any more for the sob in her throat. - -“Oh, this is too much!” said Mr. Chester. “Couldn’t she or any one see -that I was a little excited? She must know I don’t mean any harm. That -is all nonsense, Winnie. You shall say something pretty to her from me, -and make an end of it. Why, what’s all this fuss about a hasty word? She -_is_ an old girl if you come to that--But I don’t want any botheration -now. I want everything to be straight and pleasant. We are going to have -company, people staying in the house, and you can’t do without her, that -is clear.” - -“Oh, papa,” said Winifred, “I wish you would not have any one staying in -the house. I don’t know what you meant to-night, but if it is anything -about me, I--I don’t feel able for company. It is so short a time since -poor Tom”-- - -“You had better let poor Tom alone. I want to hear nothing more of him,” -said the father. “Mind what I say. I mean to make a lady of you, Winnie; -but if you turn upon me like the rest, I am just as fit to do the same -to you.” - -“I would rather you did than have what should be theirs,” said Winifred. -Her heart was beating wildly in her breast with apprehension and dismay, -and she could not be prudent as she had been bidden to be, nor consent -to be what was so odious to her; but even in the warmth of her protest -Edward’s words occurred to her, and she faltered and stopped, with an -alarmed look at her father. He was flushed, and his eyes were fiery and -red. - -“You are going a little too fast,” he said. “It is neither theirs nor -yours, but mine; and I should like to know who has any right to take it -from me. Now that we’ve begun on this subject, we’ll have it out, -Winnie. You’ve been having your own way more than was good for you. -Perhaps, after all, Miss Farrell, who has let you do as you pleased, can -go, and somebody else be got who knows better what is suitable to a -young lady like you. I can have no more flirtations with doctors, or -curates, or that sort. You are old enough to be married, and I want no -more nonsense. That sort of thing, though it means nothing, is bad for -a girl settling in life.” - -Winifred had turned from white to red, sitting gazing at him, yet -shrinking from his eyes. “Papa,” she said, “I don’t know what you mean,” -in a voice so low and troubled that he curved his hand over his ear, -half in pretence, half in sincerity, to hear what she had to say. - -“What I mean?--oh, that is very easy--you are not a child any longer, -and you must throw aside childish things. I have asked a few people for -the week after next. It’s too early for the country, but I know some -that are soon tired of town; and there is a young fellow among them -who--well, who is very well disposed towards you, and well worth your -catching were you twenty times an heiress. So I hope you’ll mind what -you’re about, and play your cards well, and make me father-in-law to an -earl. That’s all that I require of you, my dear; and it’s more for your -own advantage than mine, when all is said.” - -He was very much flushed, she thought, and his eyes almost starting from -his head. Terror seized her, as though some dreadful catastrophe might -happen before her eyes. “Papa,” she said, with an effort, “this is all -very new, and there is so much to think of. Please let it be for -to-morrow. There has been so much to-night--my head is quite confused, -and I don’t seem to understand what you say.” - -“You shall understand what I say, and it is better to be clear about it -once for all. Here is the young Earl coming, as I tell you. He would -suit me very well, and I mean him to suit you, so let us have no -nonsense. If Miss Farrell thinks fit to leave you just when you want -her, she is an ungrateful old-- But we’ll find another woman. I mean -everything to be on a right footing when these people turn up.” - -“Papa, of course I shall do all I can to--please your friends.” - -“Well, that’s the first step,” he said. “And it’s very much for your own -advantage. You would not be my daughter if you did not think of that.” - -She made no reply. If this was all, she was pledging herself to nothing, -she thought, with natural inconsistency. But Mr. Chester was not -satisfied. He drew his chair close, so that the odour of his wine and -the excitement in his mind seemed to make a haze in the air around. - -“And look here, Winnie. It doesn’t suit me to send Edward Langton away. -He’s been a fool in respect to you, and you’ve been a fool, and so have -I, for not putting a stop to it at once. But the fellow knows what’s -what better than most. And he knows my constitution. I am not going to -part with him as a doctor because he’s been a presuming prig, and -thought himself good enough for my daughter. It’s for you to let him see -that that’s all over. Come, a word is as good as a wink.” - -“Father,” Winnie said: she looked at him piteously, clasping her hands -with the unconscious gesture of anguish--“oh, don’t take everything from -me in a moment!” she cried. - -“What am I taking from you? I am giving you a fortune, a title probably, -a husband far above anything you could have looked for.” - -“I want no one, papa, but you. Let me take care of you. I will ask for -nothing but only to stay at home quietly and make you comfortable.” - -Mr. Chester pushed back his chair noisily with a loud exclamation. “Do -you take me for a fool?” he said. “Have I ever asked you to stay at -home and make me comfortable? I can make myself comfortable, thank you. -What I want is that you should do me credit. Your confounded humility -and domesticity, and all that, may be very fine in a woman’s novel. -Taking care of her old father, the sweet girl! a ministering angel, and -so forth. Do you think I go in for that sort of rubbish? I can make -myself a deuced deal more comfortable than you could ever make me. Come, -Winnie, no more of this folly. You can make me father-in-law to a -British peer, and that is the sort of comfort I want.” - -His eyes were red with heat and excitement, the blood boiling in his -veins. The girl’s spirit was cowed as she looked at him, not by his -violence, but by the signs of physical disturbance, which took all power -from her. - -“Oh, papa,” she said, “don’t say anything more to-night! I am very -unhappy. I will do anything rather than make you angry, rather -than--disturb you. Have a little pity upon me, papa, and let me off for -to-night.” - -“To-night?” he said; “to-night ought to be the proudest day of your -life. Who could ever have expected that you would be the heiress of -Bedloe, a little chit of a girl? Most fathers would have married you off -to the first comer that would take you and your little bit of fortune. -But I have behaved very different. I have made you as good as an eldest -son--not that I can’t take it all away again, as easily as I gave it, if -you don’t do your best for me.” - -He swayed forward a little as he spoke, in his excitement, and Winifred, -whose terrified eyes were quite prepared to see him fall down at her -feet, rose up hastily, with a little cry. She put out her hands -unconsciously to support him. - -“Oh, papa, I will do whatever you please!” she cried. - -Mr. Chester pushed the outstretched hands away. “You think, perhaps, I -want something to steady me,” he said. “That’s a delusion. I am as -steady as you are, and more so, and know quite as well what I am saying. -However, as long as you have come to your senses and obey me, that’s all -I care for. Look here, Winnie!” he said, again sitting down suddenly and -pushing her back into her chair; “I don’t want to be hard upon you. If -old Farrell wants an apology I’ll make it--to a certain extent. I meant -no offence. She’s very useful in her way. She’s a lady, I always said -so; and she’s made you a lady, and I am grateful to her--more or less. -You can say whatever’s pretty on my part; or I’ll even say a word -myself, if you insist upon it. To have her go now would be deuced -awkward. Tell her I meant no offence. I was a little elevated, if you -like. You may take away my character, if that will please her,” he -added, with a laugh. “Say what you like, I can bear it. Getting -everything done as I wished had gone to my head.” - -“Oh, papa, if you had but wished something else! I am not--good enough. -I am not--strong enough.” - -“Hold your tongue. I hope I’m the best judge of my own affairs,” her -father said. Then he yawned largely in her face. “I think I’ll go and -have my whisky and water. It is getting near bedtime, and I’ve had an -exciting day, what with old Bab, and old Farrell, and you. I’ve been on -the go from morning to night. But you’ve all got to knock under at the -last,” he added, nodding his head, “and the sooner the better, you’ll -find, my dear, if you have any sense.” - -Winifred sat and listened to his heavy step as he went across the hall -to the library and down the long corridor. It seemed to be irregular and -heavier than its wont, and it was an effort of self-restraint not to -follow him, to see that all was safe. When the door of his room closed -behind him, which it did with a louder clang than usual, rousing all the -echoes in the silent house, another terror seized her. Shut into that -library, with no one near him, what might happen? He might fall and die -without any one being the wiser; he might call with no one within -hearing. She started to her feet, then sat down again trembling, not -knowing what to do. She dared say nothing to him of the terror in her -mind. She dared not set the servants to watch over him or take them into -her confidence--even Hopkins, what could she say to him? But she could -not go to her own room, which would be entirely out of the way of either -sight or hearing. Sometimes Mr. Chester would sit up late, after even -Hopkins had gone to bed. The terror in her mind was so great that -Winifred watched half the night, leaving the door of the drawing-room -ajar, and sometimes starting out into the darkness of the hall, at one -end of which a feeble light was kept burning. The hours went by very -slowly while she thus watched and waited, trembling at all the creakings -and rustlings of the night. She forgot the pledge she had given, the new -life that was opening upon her in the midst of these terrors. Visions -flitted before her mind, things which she had read in books of dead men -sitting motionless, with the morning light coming in upon their pallid -faces, or lying where they had fallen till some unthinking servant -stumbled in the morning over the ghastly figure. It was long past -midnight when the library door opened, and, shrinking back into the -darkness, she saw her father come out with his candle. He had probably -fallen asleep in his chair, and the light glowing upon his face showed -it pallid and wan after the flush and heat of the evening. He came -slowly, she thought unsteadily, along the passages, and climbed the -stairs towards his room with an effort. It seemed to her excited -imagination almost a miracle when the door of his bedroom closed upon -him, and the pale blueness of dawn stealing through the high staircase -window proved to her that this night of watching was almost past. But -what might the morning bring forth? - -The morning brought nothing except the ordinary routine of household -life at Bedloe. Mr. Chester got up at his usual hour, in his usual -health. He sent for the doctor, however, in the course of the day, -partly because he wanted him, partly to see how Winnie would behave. - -“I have the stomach of an ostrich,” he said, “but still that port was a -little too much. To drink port with impunity, one should drink it every -day.” - -“It is a great deal better never to drink it at all,” said the doctor; -but Mr. Chester patted him on the back, and assured him that good port -was a very good thing, and much better worth drinking than thin claret. - -“I believe it is that sour French stuff that takes all the spirit out of -you young fellows,” he said. - -Winifred was compelled to be present during this interview. She heard -her father give an account to Edward of the expected guests. - -“You shall come up and dine one evening,” he said. “You must make -acquaintance with the Earl, who may be of use to you. I shouldn’t wonder -if we had him often about here.” - -To Winifred, looking on, saying nothing, but vividly alive to her -father’s offensive tone of patronage, and to the significance of this -intimation, there was torture in every word. But Edward looked at her -with an unclouded countenance, and laughingly assured her father that he -had known the Earl all his life. - -“He is a very good fellow; but he is not very bright,” he said. - -“He may not be very bright, but he is a peer of the realm, and that is -the sort of society that is going to be cultivated at Bedloe. I have had -enough of the little people,” Mr. Chester replied. - -Edward Langton laughed, with the slightest, but only the very slightest, -tinge of colouring in his face. “The little people must take the hint, -and disappear,” he said. - -“But, of course, present company is always excepted. That has nothing to -do with you. You’re professional; you’re indispensable.” - -Young Langton gave Winifred a look. It was swift as lightning, but it -told her more than a volume could have done. The indignation and -forbearance and pity that were in it made a whole drama in themselves. -“I hope I shall prove myself worthy of the exception in my favour,” was -all he said. - -“I have no doubt you will; you were always one that knew your own -place,” said Mr. Chester. - -“Father!” cried Winnie, crimson with shame and indignation. - -“Hold your tongue!” he cried. “The doctor knows what I mean, and I know -what he means; we want no interference from you.” - -It was the first trial of the new state of affairs. She had to shake -hands with him in her father’s presence, with nothing but a look to -express all the trouble in her mind. But Edward on his part was -entirely calm, with a shade of additional colour, but no more. He played -his part more thoroughly than she did--upon which, with the usual -self-torture of women, a cold thought arose in her that perhaps it was -not entirely an assumed part. From every side she had much to bear. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -Miss Farrell did not add to her pupil’s trouble. When she heard the -state of affairs, she gave up with noble magnanimity her intention of -going away. “You must not ask me to meet any one--till the visitors -come,” she said. “I shall remain to give you what help I can; but you -know my rule. When I am treated with rudeness, I make no complaint, I -take no offence, but I go away.” - -“You would not have the heart to desert me,” Winifred said. - -“No, that is just how it is--I have not the heart; but I will take my -meals in my room, my dear. Your dear father”--habit was too strong in -Miss Farrell’s mind even for resentment--“no doubt his meaning was quite -innocent; but we can’t meet again--at all events for the present,” she -added, with much dignity. - -“So long as you do not forsake me,” cried Winnie, and Miss Farrell, -touched, declared “I will never forsake you!” with fervour. - -This added an element which was tragi-comic to Winifred’s distress. With -all the grave and terrible things that surrounded her, the misery of her -new position, the sense of falsehood in her tacit acceptance of all her -father was doing, her fears for him, the chill of alarm of another kind -with which Edward’s composure filled her--there was something ludicrous -in having to provide for Miss Farrell’s retirement into her own rooms, -and the two different spheres thus established in the house. Perhaps it -gave her a little relief in the more serious miseries that were always -so near. It threw a slight aspect of the fictitious into the sombre air -of the house, which seemed charged with trouble. - -But in the meantime the preparations went on for the expected guests. -Mr. Chester meant that they should be received magnificently. Some of -the rooms were entirely refurnished with a luxury and wealth of -upholstering enough to fill even a millionaire with envy. Nothing so -fine existed in the county as the two rooms which were being ornamented -for the use of the very active-minded and energetic woman who was the -young Earl’s mother. To describe the sensation with which Winifred saw -all this is well-nigh impossible. She had been made to consent in -consequence of the arguments used by the very man whose interests were -assailed. But for Edward she would have refused to be any party to the -proposed arrangement--and now she asked herself how far it was to go? -Was she to be forced to consent if a further proposal were made to her? -Was she to be driven to the very church door, in order to avert an evil -which began, to her, every day to appear more visionary? Could it be -that Edward--Edward himself, who had always been the soul of honour in -her eyes--had lent himself to the conspiracy against her? Her heart -cried out so against the coil of falsehood in which her feet seemed to -be caught that life truly became a misery to her--false to her brothers, -false to her father, false to herself. She could not say false to -Edward, since it was Edward himself who exacted this extraordinary proof -of devotion. Every principle in her being rose up against it as it went -on from day to day. She asked herself whether it was doing a less wrong -to her father thus to deceive him by pretended submission than to tell -him the truth even at the risk of an illness. And he had not to her the -least air of being ill. He was a strong man, stronger than almost any -other man of his age, more ruddy, more active. Her head swam with the -multitude of her thoughts. Winifred’s mind was too simple and -straightforward to accept that idea of faith unfaithful. It became like -a yoke of iron upon her shoulders. Mr. Chester grew stronger and more -active, and louder and gayer every day; while she faded and shrank -visibly, unable to make any head against that sea of troubles that -carried her soul away. - -The eve of the appointed visit had arrived, and all the preparations -were complete. Mr. Chester insisted that his daughter should go with him -over all the redecorated rooms to see the effect. “You think perhaps -that this is all for my lady’s gratification,” he said; “that’s a -mistake. It’s for the gratification of Winifred, the new Countess, when -she comes home.” - -“If you mean me, papa”-- - -“Oh no, of course not! how could I mean you?” cried her father, rubbing -his hands. “I mean Miss Chester, who is going to marry the Earl. Perhaps -you don’t know that young lady? She will bring her husband a pretty -estate and a pretty bit of money in her apron, and please her father -down to the ground.” - -“But, papa-- Oh, I cannot, I cannot deceive you! It is deceiving you even -to seem to--even to pretend to”-- - -“You had better hold your tongue, Winnie,” he said sternly. “You had -better not go any farther or you may be sorry for it. You should know -very well by this time what I’m capable of when I’m crossed. But I don’t -mean to be crossed this time, I can tell you. It would be hard if a man -couldn’t do what he likes with his own daughter. Go along with you, and -don’t speak back to me.” - -“But, papa”-- - -“Go, I tell you, before you put me in a passion,” her father cried. And -Winifred was terrified by the glare in his eyes, and the quick recurring -fear that she might harm him took all power from her. She hurried away, -leaving him to admire his upholstery by himself. And that afternoon and -evening her distress reached its climax. She would not consult Miss -Farrell. She would not see Edward. Things had gone too far indeed to be -talked of, or submitted to any other decision than that of her own -heart. Once or twice, nay a hundred times, the desire of the coward, to -run away, occurred to her. But how could she, to think of nothing more, -leave her father in the lurch, and expose him to all the comments of -the recent unfriendly acquaintances whom he thought friends? Winifred -was one of those to whom the abandonment of a post was impossible; but -such was the confusion of her misery, that flight, now or at another -moment,--flight alone, hopeless, without leaving any trace behind -her,--seemed to be the only way of escape. At dinner her father seemed -to have forgotten her attempt at rebellion. He talked incessantly of the -guests, rolling their titles with an enjoyment which was half ludicrous, -half pitiful. “You must try and persuade old Farrell to show,” he said. -“She’s very well thought of by all these grandees, and she can talk to -them of people they know--besides, there’s her music, Winnie, that’s -first rate. I’ll come and apologise if she pleases, but we must take -care my lady’s not dull of an evening, and she must show.” He was in -such good spirits that after dinner, with much clearing of his throat, -and something like a blush, he made her sit down to the piano and -accompany him in one of the old songs for which he had been famous -before he began to fear the memory of the singing man at Chester -Cathedral. He had the remains of a beautiful voice, and still sang well -in the old-fashioned style which he had learned when a boy. To hear him -carolling forth a love-song of that period when Moore was monarch, was -to Winnie a wonder and portent which took away her very breath. She -trembled so in her part of the performance that the piano became -inaudible in competition with the fine roll of Mr. Chester’s -grace-notes. “Why, I thought you could play at least,” he said roughly. -“I’ll have old Farrell--she knows what she’s about--to-morrow night.” - -“Well, my dear,” Miss Farrell said, when this conversation was reported -to her, “you know what my feelings are; but I am not dull to the credit -of the family. It being fully understood what my motive is, I shall -certainly appear to-morrow evening, and do my very best to make things -go off well. I will play your dear father’s accompaniment with the -greatest pleasure. He has the remains of a very fine voice, and he has -science, too, though it is old-fashioned. So has your brother George a -beautiful voice; I always wished him to cultivate it. We must do -everything, Winnie, both you and I, to make things go off well. You are -not in good spirits, it is true,--neither am I,--but we must forget all -that for the credit of the house. And how do you think he is himself?” -she added after a pause. - -“He looks very well,” said Winnie. “I see no signs of illness. -Edward”--she paused a little with a faint smile,--“I think I should say -Dr. Langton, for I never see him”-- - -“Oh, my dear, don’t judge him unjustly!--he thinks that is necessary.” - -“You all think it is necessary,” cried Winnie, with a little outburst of -feeling, “to make me as unhappy as possible. I mean to say that I -think--I hope he is mistaken. Even doctors,” she said, with a smile, -“have been mistaken before now.” - -“That is very true,” said Miss Farrell gravely, and then she rose and -kissed the pale face opposite to her. “Anyhow, my dear, you and I will -do our best for him as long as there are strangers in the house.” - -Winifred was worn out by the strain of these troubled days, and by the -self-controversy that had been going on within her. She fell asleep -early in profound exhaustion, the dead sleep of forces overstrained and -heart stupefied with trouble. She woke suddenly in the early dawn of -the morning, while as yet everything was indistinct. What had woke her, -or if it was any external incident at all that had done so, she could -not tell at first; there seemed a tingle and vibration in the pale air. -Was it the early twittering which had begun faintly among the thick -foliage outside? She listened, rising up in her bed, with an intensity -for which there seemed no reason, for no definite alarm occurred to her -mind. Everything was still, not a sound audible but those first faint -chirpings, interrogative, tentative, from the trees. She was about to -compose herself to rest again, when suddenly there sounded tingling -through the silence the sound of a bell, a little angry, impatient -jingle repeated, tearing the stillness. Winifred was too much startled -and confused to realise what it was, but she got up hastily, and, -throwing her dressing-gown round her, opened her door to hear better. -The thought that came first to her mind was, that the summons was at the -door, and that it meant one of the boys coming home. Her heart leaped to -her throat with excitement. The boys had come home at all sorts of hours -in the time which was past, but now, what could this summons be? It came -again while she stood trembling, wondering; and then, with a cry, -Winifred flew along the corridor. Mr. Chester’s room was in the wing, at -some distance from the other sleeping-rooms of the house. Everything was -silent, an atmosphere of profound sleep, calm tranquillity in the dim -air, through which the night-lamp in the hall below burned with a weird -glimmer. The blueness of the dawn in its faint pervasion seemed more -ghostly than the night. - -As Winifred hurried along, another door opened with a hasty sound, and -old Hopkins stumbled forth. “What is it, Miss Winifred?” - -She had no breath to reply. She put him before her, trembling as they -reached Mr. Chester’s door. She was terrified by the thoughts of what -she might see. But there was nothing that was terrible to see. A voice -came out of the curtains, querulous, with an outburst of abuse at old -Hopkins, who never could be made to hear. - -“Send for Langton,” Mr. Chester said. - -“It’s the middle of the night, please sir,” old Hopkins replied. - -“Send for Langton,” repeated the voice. It had a curious stammer in it; -a sibilant sound. “S--s--send for Langton,” with another torrent of -exclamations. - -The old butler hurried out of the room, muttering to himself, “It will -be half an hour before I can wake one of those grooms, and he’ll take -the skin off me before that. Miss Winifred, oh, it’s only the doctor he -wants; it’s nothing out of the common!” - -“I will go,” she said. - -“You? But it’s the middle of the night, and not a soul awake.” - -“Is he very ill? Tell me the truth. I will go quicker than any one -else.” - -“Miss Winifred, you’ve no call to be frightened. He’s been the same -fifty times. He don’t want the doctor no more than I do. Oh, goodness, -there he is at it again!” - -Then the bell sent a wild, irritated peal into the air, which evidently -ended abruptly in the breaking of the bell-rope. - -“I will go!” Winifred said, and the old man, relieved, hurried back to -his master. She put on quickly a long ulster, which covered her from -head to foot, and hurried out into the strange coolness and freshness of -the unawakened world. There was no need, she said to herself, but it -was a relief and almost pleasure to do something. The great stillness, -the feeling of the dawn, the faint blue-tinted atmosphere, a something -which came before the light, all breathed peace about her. It was like a -disembodied world, another state of existence in which nothing real or -tangible was. She flew along, the only creature moving save those too -early, questioning birds, and felt in herself a curious elevation above -mortal boundaries, as if she too was disembodied and could move like a -spirit. The strange abstractedness of the atmosphere, the keen yet soft -coolness, the unimaginable solitude possessed her like a vision. She -felt no sensation of anxiety or fear, but seemed carried along upon her -errand like a creature of the air, unfamiliar with the emotions of the -world. As it happened, Langton’s groom was already preparing his -master’s horse for some early visit. He stared at Winifred as if she -had dropped from the skies, but made no remark, except that his master -would be ready instantly; and she turned back through the sleeping -village, still wrapped in the same abstraction, walking along as in a -dream. One labourer, setting out to work at distant fields, passed, and -stared dumb and awe-stricken at her, as if she had been a ghost. His was -the only figure save her own that was visible. When she was half-way -home, Edward galloped past, waving his hand to her as he hastened on. -For her part, Winifred felt that there was no longer any need to hurry. -She wandered on under the trees, where now all the birds were awake, -chatting to each other--forming their little plans for the endless -August day, the age of sunshine and sweet air before them, now that -night once more was over--before they began to sing. She was -unspeakably eased, consoled, rested by that universal tranquillity. The -dew fell upon her very heart. She lingered to look at a hundred things -which she had seen every day all her life, which she had never noticed -before. It was not sunrise as yet; the world was still a land of dreams, -waiting the revelation of the reality to come. Thus it was some time -before she reached the house, and yet she was surprised when she reached -it, having got so far away from that centre of human life with all its -throbbings, into the great quiet of the morning world. - -Something, an indefinable disturbance, a change of a kind which made -itself felt, was in the place. The door stood wide open, a scared groom -was walking Langton’s horse up and down, the windows were still closed, -except one, at which two or three indistinct figures seemed looking out. -There arose a flutter, she could not tell why, in Winifred’s breast. -She almost smiled at herself for the involuntary sensation which marked -her return from a world of visions to that of real life. Then Edward -Langton appeared coming out, as if to meet her in the open door. - - - - -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; -Complete, by Mrs. Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGALS COMPLETE *** - -***** This file should be named 62466-0.txt or 62466-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/4/6/62466/ - -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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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; Complete - -Author: Mrs. Margaret Oliphant - -Release Date: June 24, 2020 [EBook #62466] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGALS COMPLETE *** - - - - -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) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<hr class="full" /> - -<div class="c"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" height="550" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_1" id="page_1">{1}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_2" id="page_2">{2}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c">T H E P R O D I G A L S</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_3" id="page_3">{3}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c"><small>MORRISON AND GIBB, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.</small></p> - -<h1> -THE PRODIGALS<br /> -<small><small> -<i>AND THEIR INHERITANCE</i></small></small></h1> - -<p class="c"><small>BY</small><br /> -<br /> -MRS. OLIPHANT<br /> -<br /> -<small>AUTHOR OF<br /> -“CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD” “THE WIZARD’S SON”<br /> -ETC. ETC.</small><br /> -<br /> -<br /> -Complete<br /> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="eng">Methuen & Co.</span><br /> -36 ESSEX STREET, LONDON, W.C.<br /> -1894<br /></p> - -<p class="cb" style="border:3px double gray;padding:1em; -max-width:10em;margin:2em auto auto auto;"> -<a href="#CHAPTER_I">Chapter: I, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_II"> II, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_III"> III, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IV"> IV, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_V"> V, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VI"> VI, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VII"> VII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII"> VIII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_IX"> IX, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_X"> X, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XI"> XI, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XII"> XII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII"> XIII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV"> XIV, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XV"> XV, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI"> XVI, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII"> XVII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII"> XVIII, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX"> XIX, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XX"> XX, </a> -<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI"> XXI. </a> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_4" id="page_4">{4}</a></span> </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_5" id="page_5">{5}</a></span> </p> - -<p class="c">T H E P R O D I G A L S</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“I</span>S it to-night he is coming, Winnie?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, father. I have sent the dog-cart to the station.”</p> - -<p>“It was unnecessary, quite unnecessary. What has he to do with dog-carts -or any luxury? He should have been left to find his way as best he -could. It is not many dog-carts he will find waiting at his beck and -call. That sort of indulgence, it is only putting nonsense in his head, -and making him think I don’t mean what I say.”</p> - -<p>“But, father”—</p> - -<p>“Don’t father me. Why don’t you speak<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_6" id="page_6">{6}</a></span> like other girls in your -position? You have always been brought up to be a lady; you ought to use -the same words that ladies use. And mind you, Winifred, don’t make any -mistake, I mean what I say. Tom can talk, none better, but he will not -get over me; I have washed my hands of him. So long as I thought these -boys were going to do me credit I spared nothing on them; but now that I -know better—Don’t let him try to get over me, for it is no use.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa, he is still so young; he has done nothing very bad, only -foolishness, only what you used to say all young men did.”</p> - -<p>“Things are come to a pretty pass,” said the father, “when girls like -you, who call themselves modest girls, take up the defence of a -blackguard like Tom.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_7" id="page_7">{7}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“He is not a blackguard,” cried the girl colouring to her hair.</p> - -<p>“You are an authority on the subject, I suppose? But perhaps I know a -little better. He and his brother have taken me in—me, a man that never -was taken in in my life before! but now I wash my hands of them both. -There’s the money for his journey and the letter to Stafford. No—on -second thoughts I’ll not give him the money for his journey; he’d stay -in London and spend it, and then think there was more where that came -from. Write down the office of the Cable Line in Liverpool—he’ll get -his ticket there.”</p> - -<p>“But you’ll see him, papa?”</p> - -<p>“Why should I see him? I know what would happen—you and he together -would fling yourselves at my feet, or some of that nonsense. Yes, you’re -right—on the whole, I think I will see him, and then you’ll know<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_8" id="page_8">{8}</a></span> once -for all how little is to be looked for from me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa! you do yourself injustice; your heart is kinder than you -think,” cried Winifred, with tears.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chester got up and walked from one end to the other of the long -room. It was lighted up as if for a great entertainment, though the -father and daughter were alone in it. He drew aside the curtains at the -farther end and looked out into the night.</p> - -<p>“Raining,” he said. “He would have liked a fly from the station much -better than the dog-cart. These puppies with their spoiled -constitutions, they can’t support a shower. I am kinder than I think, am -I? Don’t let Tom presume on that. If I’m better than I think myself, I’m -a deal worse than you think me. And he’s cut me to the heart, he’s cut -me to the heart!” This was said with a little<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_9" id="page_9">{9}</a></span> vehemence which looked -like feeling. He resumed, a few minutes after: “What a fine thing it -seemed for a man like me, that began in a small way, to have two sons to -be educated with the best, just as good as dukes, that would know how to -make a figure in the world and do me credit. Credit! two broken-down -young profligates, two cads that have never held up their heads, never -made friends, never done anything but spend money all their lives! What -have I done that this should happen to me? Your mother was but a poor -creature, and her family no great things; but that my boys, my sons, -should take after the Robinsons and not after me! Hold your tongue and -let me speak. It should be a warning to you whom you marry; for, mind -you, it’s not only your husband he’ll be, but the father of your -children, taking after him, perhaps, to wring your heart.” He had been -walking about the room all this time,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_10" id="page_10">{10}</a></span> growing more and more vehement. -Now he flung himself heavily into his chair. “Yes,” he said, “it will be -better that I should see him. He’ll know then, once for all, how much he -has to expect from me.”</p> - -<p>“Papa,” cried Winifred, drying her eyes, “if my mother had lived”—</p> - -<p>“If she had lived!” he said, with a tone in which it was difficult to -distinguish whether regret or contempt most predominated. Perhaps it was -because he was taken by surprise that there was any conflict of feeling. -“We should have had some fine scenes in that case,” he added, with a -laugh. “She would have stuck to the boys through thick and thin; and -perhaps you would have been more on my side, Winnie; they say the girls -go with their father. True enough, you are the only one that takes after -me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa! George is the image of you.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_11" id="page_11">{11}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>He got up again from his chair as if stung by some intolerable touch.</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue, child!” he said hoarsely; then, seating himself with -a forced laugh, “Kin in face, sworn enemies in everything else,” he -said.</p> - -<p>The room in which this conversation went on was large but not lofty, -occupying the whole width of the house, which was an old country house -of the composite character, so usual in England, where generation after -generation adds and remodels to its fancy. It had been two rooms -according to the natural construction of the house, and the separation -between the two was marked by two pillars, one at either side, of -marble, which had been brought from some ruinous Italian palace, and -were as much out of place as could be conceived in their present -situation. The room, in general, bore the same contradictory character; -florid ornament and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_12" id="page_12">{12}</a></span> gilt work of the most <i>baroque</i> character -alternating with articles of the latest fashion, and with pieces of -antiquity such as have become the test of taste in recent years. Mr. -Chester preferred cost above all other qualifications in the decoration -of his house, and his magnificence was bought dearly at the expense not -only of much money, but of every rule of harmony. He did not himself -mind this. It need scarcely be added that he was not the natural -proprietor of the manor-house which he had thus made gorgeous. He was a -man of great ambition who had made his fortune in trade, and whom the -desire, so universal and often so tragically foolish, though so natural, -of founding a family, had seized in a somewhat unusual way. His two sons -had received “the best education”; that is, they had been sent to a -public school and afterwards to Oxford in the most approved way. They -had not been used to much litera<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_13" id="page_13">{13}</a></span>ture nor to a very refined atmosphere -at home, and it is possible that the very ordinary blood of the -Robinsons, their mother’s family, had more influence in their -constitutions than that fluid which their father thought of so much more -excellent quality, which came to them from the Chester fountain.</p> - -<p>The Chesters had been pushing men for at least two generations. From the -fact that their name was the same as that of their native place, it was -uncharitably reported that Mr. Chester’s grandfather had been a -foundling picked up in the streets. But as he figured in the pedigree -which hung in the hall as George Chester, Esq., of the Cloisters, -Chester, strangers at least had no right to lend an ear to any such -tale, nor to inquire whether, as report said, it was as a lay clerk that -he had found a place in that venerable locality. William Chester, the -link between this mythical<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_14" id="page_14">{14}</a></span> personage and Mr. Chester of Bedloe Manor, -had begun the family fortunes in Liverpool half a century before, and -his son, whose education was that of a choir boy in Chester Cathedral, -as his father’s had been, established upon that foundation a solid and, -indeed, large fortune, which he had fondly hoped by means of George and -Tom to hand down to a whole prosperous family of Chesters, transformed -into landowners, great proprietors, perhaps—who could tell?—Lord -Chancellors and Prime Ministers. The disappointment which comes upon -such a man when his children, instead of doing him honour, turn out the -proverbial spendthrifts and consumers of the newly-made fortune, does -not meet with any great degree of sympathy in the world. A tacit “serve -him right” is in the minds of most people. Much righteous indignation -has been expended upon a very different matter, upon the ambition even -of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_15" id="page_15">{15}</a></span> such a man as Scott to found a family: the moralist has been almost -glad that it came to nothing, that the children of the great man were -nobodies, that his hope was a mere dream. And how much more when the man -had, like George Chester, nothing but his money and a certain strenuous -determination and force of character to recommend him!</p> - -<p>But the disappointment was not less bitter to the new man than if he had -been a monarch mourning over a degenerate son. Neither George nor Tom -did anything but get into scrapes at the University. They had no heads -for books, and they had the habit of rash expenditure, of -self-indulgence, of considering themselves masters of everything that -could be bought. Mr. Chester would have taken their extravagance in -perfectly good part, he would have winked at their peccadilloes and -forgiven everything had they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_16" id="page_16">{16}</a></span> done him credit as he said: nor was he -very particular as to the nature of the credit; had either manifested -any capacity for taking university prizes, or a good degree, that, -though he would have understood it little, would have delighted him. Had -they rowed in the eight or played in the eleven, he would have been -doubly proud of the distinction. Failing those legitimate paths to -honour, had they brought a rabble of the young aristocracy to Bedloe, -had they gone visiting to great houses, had they found a place even -among the train of any young duke or conspicuous person, he was so -easily pleased that he would have been content. But they did none of -these things. George, with the beautiful voice, of which his father was -not proud, since it awakened memories of hereditary talent which he did -not wish to keep before men’s minds, had not used this gift as a way of -making entrance into select circles, but roared it out in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_17" id="page_17">{17}</a></span> undergraduate -parties made up of clergymen’s sons, of young schoolmasters, of people, -as he said bitterly, no better, nay, not so good as himself; and made -friends with the lower class of the musical people, the lay clerks at -the Cathedral, the people who gave local concerts. He was quite ready to -join them, to sing with them, to take his pleasure among them, with a -return to all the old habits of the singing men at Chester, which was -bitterness to the father’s soul. It scarcely made it any worse that -George fell into ways of dissipation and went wrong as well. <i>That</i> his -father, perhaps, might have forgiven him had it been done in better -company; but as it was, the sin was unpardonable. When news came to -Bedloe that George was about to marry a poor organist’s daughter, the -proceedings Mr. Chester took were very summary; he stopped his son’s -allowance instantly, provided him with a clerk<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_18" id="page_18">{18}</a></span>ship at Sydney, and sent -him off to the end of the world, requesting only that he might see him -no more.</p> - -<p>Then Tom became his hope. Tom had aspirations higher than George’s, but -he went, if possible, more hopelessly astray. Tom had, or seemed to -have, something more of fancy and imagination than belonged to the rest -of his family. He was the clever one, bound, or so at least his father -hoped, to make a figure in the world; but he was idle, he was sarcastic -and hot-tempered, he quarrelled with everybody whom he ought to have -conciliated, and supported the company only of those who flattered and -agreed with him, and helped him to gratify his various tastes and -inclinations, which were not virtuous. If George had fallen among the -lower class of professionals, Tom’s company was, his father declared, -composed of the out-scourings of the earth. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_19" id="page_19">{19}</a></span> when the inevitable -moment came in which Tom was plucked (or ploughed, as the word varies), -his father’s bitter disappointment and disgust came to the same result -as in his brother’s case. The civil letter in which his tutor lamented -Tom’s foolishness exasperated Mr. Chester almost to madness. No doubt he -had bragged in his day of his two boys who were to carry all before -them, and his humiliation was all the more hard to bear. He was -uncompromising and remorseless in the revenge he took. According to his -code, he who failed was the most criminal of mankind. Whatever a man -might do, so long as he attained something, if it were no more than -notoriety, there were hopes of him; but failure was insupportable to the -man of business—the self-made, and self-sustaining.</p> - -<p>It was with a pang that he gave up the <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_20" id="page_20">{20}</a></span>idea of all possibility as -regarded his sons; but he did so with the same decision and promptitude -with which he would have rejected a bad investment. He had still a -child, who was, indeed, one of the inferior sex, a mere girl, not for a -moment to be considered in the same light as a son, had the sons been -worthy, but something to fall back upon when they failed. Winifred, so -long as the boys were in the foreground of their father’s life, had cost -him little trouble. She had been so fortunate as to be provided with a -good governess when her mother died; and, unnoticed, unthought of, had -grown up into fair and graceful womanhood—in mind and manners the child -of the poor gentlewoman who had trained her, and who still remained in -the house as her companion and friend. Insensibly it had become apparent -to Mr. Chester that Winnie was the one member of his family who was not -a failure. The society around, the people whom<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_21" id="page_21">{21}</a></span> he reverenced as county -people, but despised as not so rich as himself, received her with -genuine regard and friendship, even when they received himself with but -formal civility. As for George and Tom, not even their prospective -wealth during their time of favour had commended them to the county -neighbours, whose pride Mr. Chester cursed, yet regarded with -superstitious admiration. Winifred had broken through the stiffness of -these exclusive circles, but no one else; and even while he fumed over -the downfall of Tom, he had begun to console himself with the success of -Winnie. At the recent county ball she had been, if not the beauty, at -least the favourite of the evening. Lord Eden himself had complimented -her father upon her looks. He had tasted the sweetness of social success -for the first time by her means. All was not then lost. He condemned -Tom, as he had condemned George, by attainder and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_22" id="page_22">{22}</a></span> confiscation of all -his rights; and Winifred was elected to the post of heir and -representative of the Chesters. Perhaps the decision gave the father -himself a pang. It was coming down in the world. A man with his sons -about him has something of which to be glorious—but a mere girl! At the -best it was a humiliation. But in default of anything better it was -still a mode of triumph, after all. It secured his revenge upon the -worthless boys who had done nothing for his name, and a place among -those who recognised in Winnie, if not in any other member of the -family, their equal in one way, their superior in another.</p> - -<p>He was a man of rapid conclusions, and he had made up his mind on this -point on the evening of the day on which he had heard of Tom’s -disgrace—for disgrace he had felt it to be, accepting no consolation -from the fact that many young men not thereafter to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_23" id="page_23">{23}</a></span> be despised met -with the same fate. He would not allow his son to return home, but had -his fate intimated to him at once by the solicitor whom Mr. Chester -chose to employ in business of this sort. It was to New Zealand this -time that the unfortunate was to be sent. His passage-money and fifty -pounds, and a desk in an office when he reached his destination—this -was the fate of the unhappy youth, fresh from all indulgences and -follies. No hope even was held out to him of ever retrieving his lost -position; and Tom knew with what remorseless decision George had already -been cut off. Perhaps he had not lamented as he might have done his -brother’s punishment, which left such admirable prospects to himself, -but it left no doubt on his mind as to his own fate. He had asked, what -George had not had the courage to ask, that he might come home and take -farewell of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_24" id="page_24">{24}</a></span> his sister, at least. And this had been granted to him. If -any forlorn hope was in his mind of being able to touch the heart of his -father, it was a very forlorn hope indeed, and one which he scarcely -ventured to whisper even to himself.</p> - -<p>He had arrived at the country station which was nearest Bedloe while his -father and sister were talking of him, and had been received by the -groom with that somewhat ostentatious sympathy and regard for his -comfort with which servants are wont to show a consciousness of the -situation. The groom was very anxious that Mr. Tom should be protected -from the rain, the soft, continuous drizzle of a spring night. “I’ve -brought your waterproof, sir; the roads is heavy, and we’ll be a long -time getting home”—</p> - -<p>“Never mind the waterproof,” said Tom; “I like the rain.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_25" id="page_25">{25}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“It’s cooling, sir; but after a while, when you’re soaked through—if -you get a chill, sir?”</p> - -<p>“It don’t matter much,” said Tom. “How are they all at home?”</p> - -<p>“Pretty nicely,” said the man, “though Mrs. Pierce do say that she don’t -like master’s looks, and Miss Winifred is that pale except when she -flushes up”—</p> - -<p>“How’s Bayleaf?” This was Tom’s hunter which he never mounted, yet felt -a certain property in all the same.</p> - -<p>“Nothing to brag of, sir. That poor animal, he’s like a Christian. He -knows as well when there’s something up”—</p> - -<p>“You had better drive on,” said Tom. “How dark it is!”</p> - -<p>“It’s all the rain, sir, like as if the skies themselves—But we’re glad -as the equinoctials is over, and you’ll have a good season for your<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_26" id="page_26">{26}</a></span> -voyage. Shall you see Mr. George, sir, where you are going?”</p> - -<p>At this Tom laughed, with a most unmirthful outburst. “No,” he said; -“that’s the fun of the thing—he in one country and I in another. It’s -all very nicely settled for us.”</p> - -<p>“Let’s hope, sir,” said the man, “that when things get a little more -civilised there will be a railway or something. We should all like to -send our respects and duty to Mr. George.”</p> - -<p>To this Tom made no reply. He was not in a very cheerful mood, nor did -this conversation tend to elevate his spirits. There was nothing -adventurous in his disposition. The distant voyage, the new world, the -banishment from all those haunts in which he could find his favourite -enjoyments, with an occasional compunction, indeed, but nothing strong -enough to disturb the tenor of his way, were terrible<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_27" id="page_27">{27}</a></span> anticipations to -him. Some lurking hope there was still in his mind that his fate was -impossible; that such a catastrophe could not really be about to happen; -that his father would relent at the sight of him or at Winnie’s prayers. -It did not enter into Tom’s thoughts that Winnie would ever forsake him. -The thought of her own advantage would not move her. He was aware that, -in the question of George, it had more or less moved himself, and that -he had not, perhaps, thrown all that energy into his intercession for -his brother which he hoped and believed Winnie would employ for himself. -But then he had feared to irritate his father, who would bear more from -Winnie than from any one. At this moment, while he drove shivering -through the rain,—shivering with nervous depression rather than with -cold, for the evening was mild enough,—he had no doubt that she was -doing her best for him. And was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_28" id="page_28">{28}</a></span> it possible that his father could hold -out, that he could see the last of his sons go away to the ends of the -earth without emotion? The very groom was sorry for him, Bayleaf was -drooping in sympathy, the skies themselves weeping over his fate. When -the fate is our own, it is wonderful how natural it seems that heaven -and earth should be moved for us. In George’s case he had seen the other -side of the question. In his own the pity of it was far the most -powerful. His mind was almost overwhelmed by the prospect before him, -but as he drove along in the rain, with the groom’s compassionate voice -by his side in the dark, expressing now and then a respectful and veiled -sympathy, there flickered before Tom’s eyes a faint little light of -hope. Surely, surely, this, though it had happened to his brother, could -not happen to him? Surely the father’s heart was not hard enough, or -fate terrible enough, to inflict such<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_29" id="page_29">{29}</a></span> a punishment upon <i>him</i>? Others, -perhaps, might deserve it, might be able to bear it; but he—how could -he bear it? Tom said to himself that in his case it was impossible, and -could not be.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_30" id="page_30">{30}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>N family troubles such as that which we have indicated, it is generally -a woman who is the chief sufferer. She stands between the conflicting -parties, and, whether she is mother or sister, suffers for both, unable -to soften judgment on one hand, or to reduce rebellion on the other; or -else securing a ground of reconciliation by entreaties and tears which -she would not use on her own behalf, and often by the sacrifice of her -own reason and power of judging, and conscious humiliation to all the -imbecilities of peace-making. A woman in such circumstances has to -pledge herself for reformations in which, alas! her heart has but<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_31" id="page_31">{31}</a></span> -little faith. She has to persuade the angry father that his son has -erred less than appears, to invent a thousand excuses, to exhaust -herself in palliation of offences which are far more offensive and -terrible to her than to him whose wrath she deprecates; and she has to -convince the impatient and resentful son that his father is acting -rather in love than in anger, and that his sins have wounded as much as -they have exasperated. Those women who have no judgment of their own to -exercise, and who can believe everything, are the happiest in this -ever-returning necessity: and indeed in many complications of life it is -much better for all parties that the woman should be without judgment, -the soft and boneless angel of conventional romance. Winifred Chester -was not of this kind. She was a just and tender-hearted woman, full of -affection and compassion, to whom nature gave the hard task of -mediating<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_32" id="page_32">{32}</a></span> between two parties whose conflicting errors she was, alas! -but too well able to estimate—the father, whose indignation and rage -were in fact sufficiently just, yet so little righteous, and her -brothers, of whom she knew that they neither felt any real compunction -nor intended any amendment. There is, let us hope, some special -indulgence for those luckless advocates of erring men who have to -promise amendment which they can put no faith in, and plead excuses -which to their own minds have no validity.</p> - -<p>After the conversation which had been held in the great drawing-room, -when Mr. Chester settled himself to a study of the evening papers which -had just been brought in, Winifred left the room softly, and stole -upstairs to the window of her brother’s room, which commanded the -avenue, and from which she could see his approach. The room was faintly -lit with firelight and full of all the luxurious<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_33" id="page_33">{33}</a></span> contrivances for -comfort to which a rich man’s sons are accustomed. Poor Tom! what would -he do without them all, without the means of procuring them? Poor -George! what was he doing, he who now had some years’ experience of work -and poverty? She stole behind the drawn curtains and looked out upon the -darkness and the falling rain. There was little light in the wild -landscape, and no sound but that of the rain pattering upon the thick -ivy which clothed the older part of the house, and streaming silently -down upon the trees, which were still bare, though swelling at every -point with the sap of spring. The air was soft and warm; the rain and -the darkness full of a wild sense of fertility and growth. Winifred’s -imagination depicted to her only too clearly the state of half-despair, -yet unconviction, in which her brother’s mind would be. He would not -believe it was possible, and yet he would know. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_34" id="page_34">{34}</a></span> was very well aware -that his father was remorseless, yet he would not be able to understand -how ruin could overtake <i>him</i>. The circumstances brought back before her -vividly the other occasion on which she had implored in vain the -reversal of the sentence on her elder brother. George, too, had been -taken by surprise. He had not believed it, and when at last he was -convinced, had burst forth into wild defiance and consuming wrath. But -Tom would probably be less simple, and not manly at all: he would never -believe that all was over, that it was not possible to make another and -another appeal.</p> - -<p>Winifred stood and watched for his coming, feeling that if by any will -of hers she could bring about an accident, either to delay her brother’s -arrival, or even to bring him into the house in a condition which would -compel a prolonged stay, she would have done it. Tom<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_35" id="page_35">{35}</a></span> would have -arrived, it is to be feared, with a broken leg, or the beginnings of a -fever, could his sister have procured it or he would not have come at -all. Railway accidents occur in many cases when they do harm without -doing any good, but a railway accident which should awake some natural -movement in her father’s mind, which should perhaps make him anxious, -which would force him to exert himself on Tom’s behalf—what an -advantage that would be! Alas! such things do not come when people wish -for them. A broken arm or leg, what a small price to pay for the moral -advantages of reawakened interest, anxiety, the softening charm of an -illness and convalescence! No father could turn out of his house the -wounded boy who was brought home to be cured.</p> - -<p>But Winifred’s wishes, it need not be said, were quite unavailing. By -and by she heard<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_36" id="page_36">{36}</a></span> the steady tread of the horse, the roll of the wheels -over those little heaps of gravel with which the avenue was being -mended. Evidently Tom was coming, without any interposition of -Providence, to his fate. She ran softly down the stairs to meet him and -prevent any unnecessary sound or attempt to usher the returning prodigal -into his father’s presence. The door was open, the waterproof of the -groom glistening in the light, and Tom scrambling down from the dog-cart -with that drenched and dejected look which is the result of a long drive -through steady and persistent rain. He scarcely looked at the butler as -he stepped past, saying, “Is my father in?” in a voice as despondent as -his appearance, and not pausing to listen as the man began to explain—</p> - -<p>“Master is at home, sir, but”—</p> - -<p>“Tom! Oh, how wet you are! You must run upstairs and change first of -all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_37" id="page_37">{37}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I shall do nothing of the kind. I suppose there is a fire somewhere,” -said Tom. “Where are you sitting? in the dining-room? No supper for me. -I don’t want any supper. To arrive like this is calculated to give a -fellow an appetite, don’t you think?”</p> - -<p>Winifred put her arm through her brother’s, wet though he was. She -whispered, “Don’t say anything before the servants,” as she led him -towards the open door of the room in which the table was laid for him -before the shining fire. Tom was mollified by the second glance at its -comfort and brightness.</p> - -<p>“It looks warm here,” he said, suffering her to guide him. “Though why I -should mind warm or cold I don’t know. Look here, Winnie. There is this -interview with the governor; I’d better get it over, don’t you think?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Tom, come in and get warmed and eat something.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_38" id="page_38">{38}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Is it going to be very bad, then?” the young man said.</p> - -<p>“I think,” said Winifred anxiously, “you had much better change those -wet clothes; your room is ready.”</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he cried; “all that about New Zealand, that’s all nonsense, -of course?” He watched the changes of her countenance as he spoke.</p> - -<p>Winifred shook her head. “Oh, Tom, I told you long ago you must never -take what my father says as nonsense. He is not that sort of man. Come -to the fire, then, if you will not change your clothes. And here is -Hopkins coming with the tray. Don’t say anything before Hopkins, Tom.”</p> - -<p>“Why shouldn’t I? If he means that, they’ll know soon enough. I don’t -believe he means it. The governor—the governor”—Tom’s voice died away -in his throat, partly because it<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_39" id="page_39">{39}</a></span> trembled, partly because of Hopkins’ -presence. “Yes, yes, that’ll do,” he said fretfully, as the butler -placed a chair for him, and stood waiting. “I don’t want anything to -eat, thank you. I’ll have a drink if you like. The governor,” he -resumed, with a sort of laugh, as Hopkins, knowing the nature of the -drink required, went off to fetch it, “would never repeat himself, -Winnie. He is not such a duffer as that. All very well once perhaps; but -to send George to Sydney and me to New Zealand—oh, that’s too much of a -good thing! I can’t believe he means it. Thank you, that’s more to the -purpose,” he added, as he took a large fizzing glass out of Hopkins’ -hand.</p> - -<p>“You need not wait. We have everything my brother will want,” said -Winifred. “Oh, Tom, what can I say to you? You know how my father had -set his heart on your success—success anyhow, he did not mind what -kind.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_40" id="page_40">{40}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” said Tom sulkily; “you women are always harping on what is -past. I know very well I have been an ass. But there is no such dreadful -harm done after all. I’m not fifty, if you come to that, and this time -I’ll work, I really will, and get through.”</p> - -<p>Winifred said no more for the moment. She persuaded him to seat himself -at the table, to fortify himself with food. “We can talk it all over -when you have had your supper. There is plenty of time; and what a -wretched journey you must have had, Tom!”</p> - -<p>“Wretched enough, but nothing so bad as the drive from the station, with -the rain pouring down upon one, and that fellow Short pitying one all -the way. Talk of not speaking before the servants—he knew as well as I -did I was in disgrace with the governor, and was sorry for me—my own -groom! Why didn’t you let<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_41" id="page_41">{41}</a></span> me get a fly from the station? It would have -been twenty times more comfortable.”</p> - -<p>“That is what my father said,” said Winifred, with a smile.</p> - -<p>“Oh, he thought of that, did he? The governor has a great deal of -sense,” said Tom, brightening a little. “He understands a fellow better -than you can. I don’t say anything against you, Win; you are always as -good as you know how.”</p> - -<p>Winifred looked at her brother with a tremulous smile of wonder and -pity. Nothing could be more forlorn than his appearance; the steam -rising from his wet coat, his hair limp on his forehead, his colourless -face more eloquent of anxiety and suspense than his words were. He -swallowed with difficulty the dainty food, the dish he specially liked, -and pushed his chair from the table with relief.</p> - -<p>“Am I to see him to-night?” he said. “If<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_42" id="page_42">{42}</a></span> it’s got to be, the sooner the -better. It will be a thing well over.”</p> - -<p>“Tom,”—Winifred’s voice faltered, she could hardly say what she had to -say,—“I am afraid it is all a great deal worse than you think. He did -not want to see you at all, and if he has consented at last, it is -chiefly because he thinks you will then be convinced how little you have -to expect.”</p> - -<p>Tom’s countenance fell, and then he made an effort to recover himself, -and laughed. “Nobody ever was so hard as the governor looks,” he said; -“he wants to frighten me, I know that.”</p> - -<p>He looked anxiously in her eyes, and Winifred’s eyes were not -encouraging. Her brother broke out again with a stifled oath. “You can’t -mean me to suppose that that about New Zealand is true, Winnie? You -don’t mean that?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_43" id="page_43">{43}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Dear Tom!” Winifred said, with tears in her eyes.</p> - -<p>“Don’t dear Tom me! That’s not natural, you don’t mean it. Good heavens! -I’d sooner you were taking your fun out of me, if it was a moment for -that. I won’t go! I’m not a child to be ordered about like that. I tell -you I won’t go!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Tom! if you could but do anything at home; if you would but let him -see that you could manage for yourself! That might be of some use, if -you could do it, Tom.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t go,” he repeated hoarsely, “to the other end of the world, away -from everything I care for! There is a limit to everything. You can tell -him I won’t do that. And all for what? For having been unlucky about my -books, as half the men in the university have been one time or the -other. What does it matter being ploughed? It happens every<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_44" id="page_44">{44}</a></span> day. -Winnie, I swear to you I’ll work like—like a navvy, if I can only have -another chance.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Tom, I have said everything, I have tried every way. I think if you -were to do as you said just now, say to him that you won’t go to New -Zealand, that you can manage for yourself at home, that would be your -best chance. Show him that you can maintain yourself, do something, -write something, it does not matter what it is”—</p> - -<p>“Maintain myself?” said Tom. He had left his seat, and was standing in -front of the fire, his pale face and dishevelled, damp hair showing -against the black marble of the mantelpiece; his eyes had a bewildered -and discomfited look. “Do something? It is so easy to talk. What am I to -do? Write? I am not one of the fellows that can write. I have never been -used to that sort of thing. I say, Winnie, for Go<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_45" id="page_45">{45}</a></span>d’s sake speak to my -father! I can’t, I can’t go to that dreadful place.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Tom!” she cried, turning her head away.</p> - -<p>To see him standing there, helpless, feeble, sure only of one thing, and -that that he himself was good for nothing, was like a sword in this -young woman’s heart. It is the most horrible of all the tortures that -women have to bear, to see the men belonging to them, whom they would so -fain look up to, breaking down into ruinous failure. He gave her a -distracted look, and when she withdrew her eyes, went and plucked her by -the sleeve. “Winnie, for Heaven’s sake tell my father! It’s all dreadful -to me: I can’t work in an office; I can’t go a long voyage. I hate the -sea, I am not strong, not a man that can rough it and knock about. -George was different, he was always that sort of fellow; and then he’s -married. Winnie, speak for me. You can do it if you like.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_46" id="page_46">{46}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I have done nothing else ever since he told me, Tom, and I dare not say -any more. He will not listen, he says he will send me away too. I -shouldn’t care for that if I could help you, but I can’t—I can’t. It is -almost worse for me, for I can do nothing—nothing!”</p> - -<p>“Oh no,” said Tom; “don’t make believe, Winnie. Worse for you?—Why, -what does it matter to you? While I am out at sea, perhaps in danger of -my life, you’ll be snug at home, with everything that heart can desire. -And who is he going to leave his money to, if he casts me off? You? Oh, -I see it all now! Why should you speak for me? It’s against your own -interests. I see it all now.”</p> - -<p>She could only look at him with an appeal for pity in her eyes. She -could not protest that her own interests were little in her mind. There -are some things which it is impossible to say, as it ought to be -needless to say them.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_47" id="page_47">{47}</a></span> Tom for his part worked himself up to an outburst -of miserable, artificial rage which it is to be supposed was a relief to -his excitement.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it is you that are to be his heir?” he cried. “A girl! I might have -known. No wonder you don’t speak up for me, when it’s all in your own -favour. I’m to be cut off, and George is to be cut off, all for you! Oh, -I might have known! A girl is always at home, wriggling and wriggling -into favour, cutting out the lawful heirs. And what does he think he’s -going to make of you, that haven’t even a name of your own, that are no -more good for the family than a stranger? George wasn’t enough, I might -have had the sense to see that—there was me that had to be got rid of -too, and now you’ve done it; now you have succeeded. Yes, yes! and this -is Winnie!” he cried in a burst of despairing rage. “Winnie! I thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_48" id="page_48">{48}</a></span> -Winnie was my friend whoever failed me; and all this time you were -plotting to get rid of me too!”</p> - -<p>Tom had been advancing towards her, gesticulating with fury, his hand -raised, his blood-shot eyes gleaming, when the door opened suddenly. In -a moment he fell back, his hand dropped by his side, the look as of a -beaten hound came into his eyes. Mr. Chester had come in, and set his -back against the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_49" id="page_49">{49}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HEY were little, and he was tall; they were slight of form, and he was -massive and big—a vigorous man with a great “wind of going” about him, -like one who could push through every difficulty, and make his way. He -stood against the door, and looked at them; a man who felt more life in -him than was in both put together, to whom they were nobodies, -insignificant creatures whom he could make or unmake at his pleasure. He -looked at his son with contempt unmixed with pity. He was not touched by -Tom’s miserable looks, his air of hopeless dejection, or furtive, -trembling hope. And for the moment Winifred’s want of size<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_50" id="page_50">{50}</a></span> and -importance struck him more than the fact which had been forced upon him, -that she had done him credit. He despised them both, the products of a -smaller race than his own, taking after their mother, like the -Robinsons. The Chesters were a better race in point of thews and sinews, -though nobody knew very well from what illegitimate source these sinews -came.</p> - -<p>“Look here!” he said; “I don’t permit you to bully your sister. What’s -she done to you? She has always stood up for you a deal more than you -deserve. If I let you come here at all, it was because she insisted upon -it. I never could see what was the use of it, for my part.”</p> - -<p>Tom’s rage had been subdued in a moment. He was supposed to be a being -of small will, unable to restrain himself; but he was capable of an -effort of the will when it was necessary,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_51" id="page_51">{51}</a></span> as most people are. He looked -at his father with a piteous desire to conciliate and touch his heart. -“I thought,” he said, “papa,—I hope you’ll forgive me,—that I had a -right to come here.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t call me papa, sir. I like <i>her</i> to do it, since others do it; but -when do you ever find a man with such a word in his mouth? Not that I -have to learn for the first time to-day that you are no man, and nothing -manlike is to be expected from you. No, I don’t see what right you have -here. If it had been your great-grandfather’s house, as many people -think, you might have had a certain right; but it’s my house, bought -with my money—and I have washed my hands of you.” He had been a little -vehement at first, but now was perfectly calm, delivering his sentences -with his hands in his pockets, looking down contemptuously upon his -son.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_52" id="page_52">{52}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I know, sir, that you have a right to be angry”—Tom began.</p> - -<p>“I am not angry. I don’t care enough about it. So long as there was some -hope of you, I might be angry, but now that you’ve gone and made a fool -of me—the rich man that tried to make a gentleman of his son!—I might -as well have tried to make a gentleman of Winnie. As soon as I -understand it, that’s enough, and I’ve learned my lesson, thank you. You -are no good, and I have washed my hands of you.”</p> - -<p>“Father, I know I have been an ass. You can’t say more to me than I have -said to myself. And I’ve learned my lesson too. Give me another chance, -and I’ll do all you wish,” he cried, holding up his hands, almost -falling on his knees.</p> - -<p>“Come, I’m not going to have a scene out of the theatre,” said Mr. -Chester roughly. “I’ve given you all you have a right to ask of me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_53" id="page_53">{53}</a></span>—a -start in the world. When I was your age, fifty pounds in my pocket would -have seemed a fortune to me. And if you like,—there’s no better field -for a young man than New Zealand,—you may come home in twenty years -with as many thousands as you have pounds to take with you, or hundreds -of thousands if you have luck. The only thing is to exert yourself. -You’d thank me for the chance if you had any spirit. That’s all, I -think, there is to say. Winnie will tell you the rest. Cable Line, -Liverpool—I’ve taken you a first-class cabin, though on principle I -should have sent you in the steerage. Good luck to you, my boy! Work and -you’ll do well. Winnie will tell you the rest.”</p> - -<p>“Father, you are not going to throw me overboard like this?” cried the -miserable young man, rushing forward as Mr. Chester turned round to open -the door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_54" id="page_54">{54}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You are going to the bottom as fast as you can, and I throw you into -the lifeboat, which is a very different matter. You’ll find a decent -salary and an honest way of getting your living on the other side. Only -don’t think any more of Bedloe and that sort of thing. Good-bye. If you -do well, you can send Winnie word; if not”—He gave a shrug of his -shoulders. “Farewell to you, once for all: don’t think I am either to be -coaxed or bullied. What’s done is done, and I make no new beginnings. -Get him up in time once in his life, and let him leave to-morrow by the -first train, Winnie. I shall have to speak to Hopkins if I cannot trust -you.”</p> - -<p>“Let him stay to-morrow. Oh, papa! don’t you see how ill he is -looking—how miserable he is? Let him stay to-morrow; let him get used -to the idea, papa.”</p> - -<p>“I must speak to Hopkins, I see,” Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_55" id="page_55">{55}</a></span> Chester said. “Hopkins, Mr. Tom -is going off to-morrow by the first train—see that he is not late. If -he misses that, he will lose his ship; and if you let him miss it, it -will be the worse for you. That’s enough, I hope. Tom, good-bye.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t—I can’t get ready at a day’s notice. I have got no outfit—I -have nothing”—</p> - -<p>“All that’s been thought of,” said Mr. Chester, waving his hand. “Winnie -will tell you. Good-bye!”</p> - -<p>He left the brother and sister alone with a light step and a hard heart. -They could hear him whistling to himself as he went away. When Mr. -Chester whistled, the household trembled. The sound convinced Tom more -than anything that had been said. He threw himself down in the great -easy-chair by the fire, and covered his face with his hands. What the -sounds were that misery brought from his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_56" id="page_56">{56}</a></span> convulsed bosom we need not -pause to describe. Sobs or curses, what does it matter? He was in the -lowest deep of wretchedness—wretchedness which he had never believed -in, which had seemed to him impossible. He could not say that it was -impossible any longer, but still it seemed incredible, beyond all powers -of belief. His sister flew to him to comfort him, and wept over him, -notwithstanding the insult he had offered her; and he himself forgot, -which was more wonderful, and clung to her as to his only consolation. -Misery of this kind which has no nobleness in it, but only weakness, -cowardice—compunction in which is no repentance—are of all things in -the world the most terrible to witness. And Winnie loved her brother, -and felt everything that was unworthy in him to the bottom of her heart.</p> - -<p>Next morning he went away with red eyes and a pallid face and quivering -lips. It was all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_57" id="page_57">{57}</a></span> he could do to keep up the ordinary forms of composure -as he crossed the threshold of his father’s house. He was sorry for -himself with an acute and miserable anguish, broken down, without any -higher thought to support him. He never believed it would have come to -this. He could not believe it now, though it had come. He feared the -voyage, the unknown world, the unaccustomed confinement, every thing -that was before him; that he should be no longer the young master, but a -mere clerk; that he should have to work for his living; that all his -little false importance was gone; that he should be presently, he who -could not endure the sea, sick and miserable on a long voyage. All these -details drifted across his mind in the midst of the current of miserable -consciousness that all was over with him, and the impulse of frenzied -resistance that now and then rose in his mind, resistance that meant<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_58" id="page_58">{58}</a></span> -nothing, that could make no stand against inexorable fact.</p> - -<p>Winifred stood at the door as long as he was in sight; but the horse was -fresh and went fast, which was a relief. She stood there still with the -fresh damp morning air in her face, after the wheels had ceased to sound -in the avenue. It was a dull morning after the rain, but the air was -full of the sensation of spring, the grass growing visibly, the buds -loosening from their brown husks on the trees, the birds twittering -multitudinous, all full of hope in the outside world, all dismal in that -which was within. Many people envied Winifred Chester—and if her father -carried out his intention, and made her the heir of all his wealth, many -more would envy and many court the young mistress of Bedloe; but Winnie -felt there was scarcely any woman she knew with whom she might not -profitably change places at this moment of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_59" id="page_59">{59}</a></span> life. There was old Miss -Farrell, sitting serenely among her wools and silks, anxious about -nothing but a new pattern, amusing herself with the recollections of the -past which she recounted to her favourite and best pupil, day after day, -as they sat together. Winifred knew them all, yet was never tired of -these chapters in life. Though Miss Farrell was sixty and Winnie only -twenty-three, she thought she would gladly change places with her -companion—or with the woman at the lodge who had sick children for whom -to work and mend. No one in the world, she thought, had at that moment a -burden so heavy as her own. She was called in after a while to Mr. -Chester’s room, which was a large and well-filled library, though its -books were little touched except by herself. He was seated there as -usual surrounded by local papers,—attending the moment when the <i>Times</i> -should arrive with its more authoritative<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_60" id="page_60">{60}</a></span> views,—with many letters and -telegrams on his table; for though he went seldom to business, he still -kept the threads in his hand. He demanded from her an account of Tom’s -departure, listening with an appearance of enjoyment.</p> - -<p>“It is the best thing that could happen to him,” he said, “if there is -anything in him at all. If there isn’t, of course he will go to the -wall—but so he would do anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa! He is your son.”</p> - -<p>“And what of that? He’s no more like me than Hopkins is. You are the -only one that is like me. I have sent for Babington to make another -will.”</p> - -<p>“I do not want your money, papa.”</p> - -<p>“Softly, young woman; nobody is offering it to you. I don’t mean to be -like King Lear. Indeed, for anything I know, I may marry, and put all -your noses out of joint. But in the meantime<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_61" id="page_61">{61}</a></span>”—</p> - -<p>“I will never supplant my brother,” said Winifred. “I will never take -what does not belong to me. I wish you would dispose of it otherwise, -father. It is yours to do what you like with it; but I have a will of my -own too.”</p> - -<p>“That you have,” he said with a smile; “that’s one of the things I like -in you. Not like that cur, that could do nothing but shiver and cringe -and cry.”</p> - -<p>“Tom did not cry,” she exclaimed indignantly. “He did not think you -could have the heart. And how could you have the heart? Your own son! I -ask myself sometimes whether you have any heart at all.”</p> - -<p>“Ask away; you are at liberty to form your own opinion,” he said -good-humouredly. “If that fellow had faced me as you do, now—but mind -you, Winnie, if you go against me, I am not so partial to you but that I -shall take means<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_62" id="page_62">{62}</a></span> to have my own way. What I have, nobody in this world -has any right to but myself. I have made it every penny, and I shall -dispose of it as I please. If you think you will be able to do what you -like with it after I am gone, you’re mistaken; take care—there are ways -in which you can displease me now, as much as Tom has done. So you had -better think a little of your own affairs.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him with startled eyes.</p> - -<p>“I don’t wish to displease you, papa—I don’t know”—</p> - -<p>“Not what I mean perhaps? Remember that the sort of match which might be -good enough for Winnie with two brothers over her head, might not be fit -for Miss Chester of Bedloe. I don’t want to say any more.”</p> - -<p>This silenced Winifred, whatever it might mean. She said no more, but -withdrew hastily, with a paleness and discomfiture which was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_63" id="page_63">{63}</a></span> little -like the grief and indignation with which she entered the room. Her -father looked after her with a chuckle.</p> - -<p>“That has settled her, I hope,” he said to himself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_64" id="page_64">{64}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>ISS FARRELL came home next day from her visit. She was a little old -lady of the period when people became old early, and assumed the dress -and the habits of age before it was at all necessary. She was about -sixty, but she had been distinctly an old lady for ten years. She wore a -cap coming close round her face, and tied under her chin. Whenever she -had the least excuse for doing so, she wore a shawl, an article the -putting on of which she considered to afford one of many proofs whether -or not the wearer was “a lady,” which was to Miss Farrell something more -than a mere question of birth. She was very neat,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_65" id="page_65">{65}</a></span> very small, very -light-hearted, seeing the best in everything. Even Mr. Chester, though -she saw as little of him as possible, she was able to talk about as -“your dear father” to her pupil; for, to be sure, whatever might be the -opinion of other people, every father ought to be dear to his own child. -Miss Farrell had gone on living at Bedloe since Winifred’s education was -finished, for no particular reason,—at least, for no reason but love. -She was a person full of prejudices in favour of aristocracy and against -persons of low birth, but she was sufficiently natural to be quite -inconsistent, and contradict herself whenever it pleased her—for, as a -matter of fact, she preferred Winifred Chester, who was of no family at -all, to several young ladies of the caste of Vere de Vere, whom she had -formerly had under her care. How she had managed to “get on” with Mr. -Chester was a problem to many people, and why she could<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_66" id="page_66">{66}</a></span> choose to stay -in the house of an individual so little congenial. As a matter of fact, -it was not so difficult as people supposed. She was a woman who -systematically put the best interpretation upon everything, moved -thereto not only by natural inclination, but by profound policy; for it -did not consist with Miss Farrell’s dignity ever to suppose, or to allow -any one to suppose, that it was possible for her to be slighted. She -would permit no possibility of offence to herself. It occasionally -happened that people had bad manners, which was so very much worse for -themselves than for any one else. Miss Farrell had made up her mind from -the beginning of her career never to accept a slight, nor to look upon -herself as a dependant. If offence was so thrust upon her that she could -not refuse to be aware of it, she left the house at once; but on less -serious occasions presented a serene obtuseness, apologising to others -for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_67" id="page_67">{67}</a></span> the peculiarities which were “such a pity,” or the “want of tact” -which was so unfortunate. In this way she had overawed persons more -confident in their own <i>savoir faire</i> than Mr. Chester. She had always -been admirable in her own sphere, and the alarm of an anxious mother who -had obtained such a treasure, lest the peace of the house should be -endangered by the sudden departure of the governess, may be supposed. -Once it had occurred to her in her life to be compelled to take this -strong step. She never required to do it again. As for Winifred, it was -long since the relation of pupil and teacher had been over between them; -but the motherless girl of the <i>parvenu</i>, to whom she went with -reluctance, and chiefly out of compassion, had entirely gained the heart -of the proud and tender little woman. She did not hesitate to say that -Winifred was beyond all rules.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_68" id="page_68">{68}</a></span></p> - -<p>“It does not matter who her father was—I have always thought the mother -must have been a lady,” Miss Farrell said, with a conception of the case -very different from that of the master of the house. “But at all events -Winifred is—born. I never said I insisted upon a number of quarterings. -I don’t care who was her great-grandfather—nothing could be worse than -the father, if you come to that; but she is a lady—as good as the -Queen.”</p> - -<p>“You have made her so,” said the wife of the Rector, who was her -confidante.</p> - -<p>“No one can make a lady, except the Almighty. It is a thing that has to -be born,” was the prompt reply.</p> - -<p>But, notwithstanding, Miss Farrell was able to speak to Winifred about -“your dear father,” and to look upon all the proceedings of the boys -with an indulgence which sometimes almost exasperated their sister, yet -was an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_69" id="page_69">{69}</a></span> unspeakable consolation and support to her in the troubles of -the past years. For to have some one who will not believe any evil, who -will never appear conscious of the existence of anything that needs -concealing, who will know exactly how not to ask too many questions, yet -not to refrain from questions altogether, is, in the midst of family -trouble, a help and comfort unspeakable. Winifred’s mind was full to -overflowing when her friend came back. She had felt that it was almost -impossible to exist without speaking to some one, delivering herself of -the burden that weighed upon her. It had been a relief to have Miss -Farrell away at the moment of Tom’s visit, and to feel that no eye but -her own had looked upon her brother’s discomfiture, but it was a relief -now to meet her frank look and unhesitating question—</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear, and how about poor Tom?”</p> - -<p>“He is gone,” Winifred said, the tears coming<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_70" id="page_70">{70}</a></span> to her eyes. “He is to -sail from Liverpool to-day.”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Miss Farrell, “it is very natural for you to feel it, -but do you know it is the very best thing that could have happened for -him? It will no doubt be the making of him. He has never had any need to -rely on himself, he has always felt his father behind him. Now that he -is sent into the world on his own account, it will rouse all his -strength. Yes, cry, my dear, it will do you good. But I approve, for my -part. Your dear father has been very wise. He has done what was the best -for Tom.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think so? Perhaps if that were all—But it does not seem to have -been the best thing for George, and how can we tell if it will answer -with Tom?”</p> - -<p>“George, you see, has married, which brings in a new element—a great -deal more comfortable for him, but still what the gentlemen call a new<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_71" id="page_71">{71}</a></span> -factor, you know, that we are not acquainted with. Besides, he is a -different kind of boy. But Tom wants to be thrown on his own resources. -Depend upon it, my dear, it is the very best thing for him. I should -have thought that you would have seen that with your good sense.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Miss Farrell, if that were all!”</p> - -<p>“And is there something more? Don’t tell me unless you like; but you -know you take a darker view than I do.”</p> - -<p>“There is but one view to take,” Winifred said. “It makes me miserable. -My father—I hope he does not intend it to be known, but I cannot -tell—anyhow you must know everything. My father says he has made up his -mind to cut off both the boys, and to leave everything to me.”</p> - -<p>Miss Farrell grew a little pale. She was old-fashioned and strong upon -the rights of sons and the inferior importance of girls. She paused<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_72" id="page_72">{72}</a></span> -before she spoke, and then said, with a little catching of her breath, -“If it is because you are the most worthy, my dear, I can’t say but he -is right. A girl of your age is always more worthy than the boys. You -have never been exposed to any temptation.”</p> - -<p>“But that is no virtue of mine. Think what it is for me—the boys that -were brought up to think everything was theirs—and now cast away, one -after another, and everything fixed upon me.”</p> - -<p>“My dear,” said Miss Farrell, recovering her courage, “you must not -disturb yourself too soon. Your father will live to change the -disposition of his property a hundred times. It is a sort of thing that -only wants a beginning.”</p> - -<p>“But don’t you see,” said Winifred, with great seriousness, “that is -poor comfort; for he may be displeased with me next, and leave it all -to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_73" id="page_73">{73}</a></span> some stranger. And then, who would care for George and Tom?”</p> - -<p>“I see what you mean—you are going to share with them, Winnie. My dear, -you may take my word for it, that will be better for them, far better -than if they got your father’s immense fortune into their hands.”</p> - -<p>“But injustice can never be best,” she said.</p> - -<p>They were in Miss Farrell’s pretty sitting-room, seated together upon -the sofa, and here Winifred, losing courage altogether, threw her arms -round her old friend, and put her head down upon the breast that had -always sympathy for her in all her troubles.</p> - -<p>“I am very unhappy,” she said. “I do not see any end to it. My brothers -both gone and I alone left, and nothing but difficulty before me -wherever I move. How can I tell how my father’s mind may change in other -ways, now that he has made up his mind to put me in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_74" id="page_74">{74}</a></span> changed -position—and how can I tell—even if that were not so”—</p> - -<p>These broken expressions would have conveyed little enlightenment to any -stranger, but Miss Farrell understood them well enough. She pressed -Winifred in her arms, and kissed the cheek which was so near her own.</p> - -<p>“Has anything been said about Edward?” she asked in a low tone.</p> - -<p>“Nothing yet; but how can I tell? Oh yes! there was something. I can’t -remember exactly what—only a sort of hint; but enough to show—Miss -Farrell, you always think the best of every one. What can make him do -it? He must love us—a little—I suppose?”</p> - -<p>The doubt in her tone was full of pathos and wondering bewilderment. -Winnie, though she had already many experiences, had not reached the -length of understanding that love itself can sometimes torture.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_75" id="page_75">{75}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Love you, my dear? why, of course he loves you! Whom has he else to -love? You must not let such foolish thoughts get into your mind. Thank -Heaven, since you were a child you have never had any doubt that I loved -you, Winnie, and yet I often made you do things you didn’t like, and -refused to let you do things you did like. Don’t you remember? Oh, I -could tell you a hundred instances. A man like your dear father, who has -been a great deal in the world, naturally forms his own ideas. And I can -tell you, Winnie, it is very, very difficult when one has the power, and -when one sees that young people are silly, not to take matters into -one’s own hand, and do for them what one knows to be best. But, -unfortunately, one never can get the young people to see it—they prefer -their own way. If they went according to the ideas of their fathers and -mothers, perhaps there would be less trouble in the world.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_76" id="page_76">{76}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You don’t really think so,” cried Winnie, indignant. “You would never -have one go against one’s own heart.”</p> - -<p>“I say perhaps, my dear,” said Miss Farrell mildly,—“only perhaps. It -is a thing no one can be arbitrary about. To have one’s own way is the -most satisfactory thing, so long as it lasts, but often ‘thereof comes -in the end perplexity and madness.’ Then one thinks, if one had but -taken the other turn! Nobody knows, till time shows, which is for the -best.”</p> - -<p>“Is that a proverb?” asked Winnie, with some youthful scorn.</p> - -<p>“It sounds a little like it,” said the cheerful old lady, with a little -laugh, “but, the rhyme was quite unintentional; and, as a matter of -fact, we know that whatever happens to us in God’s providence is for the -best.”</p> - -<p>“Is my father’s hardheartedness God’s provi<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_77" id="page_77">{77}</a></span>dence?” said Winifred, her -face becoming almost severe in youthful gravity.</p> - -<p>It was not a question easy to answer. She scarcely listened to the -little lecture Miss Farrell gave, as to the wickedness of condemning her -father, or calling that hardheartedness which probably was the highest -exercise of watchful tenderness. “I don’t know that I should have had -the strength of mind to carry it out; but, my dear,” she said, “I have -not the very slightest doubt that this is by far the best thing for Tom. -He will come home a better man; he will have found out that life is -different from what he thinks. It may be the making of him. Your dear -father, who is stronger-minded than we are, does it, you may be sure, -for the best.”</p> - -<p>“And if I am ordered to give up everything I care for, perhaps you will -think that for the best too,” said the girl, withdrawing, half -sorrowful, half indignant. The elder woman gave her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_78" id="page_78">{78}</a></span> a look full of love -and sorrow. Behind the smiling of her cheerful little countenance there -was that consciousness which belongs to experience, that teaching of a -long life which at her age throws confusing lights upon much that is -plain and simple to the uninstructed. Miss Farrell in her heart answered -this last indignant question in a manner which would have confounded -Winifred; but she said nothing. “Sufficient unto the day is the evil -thereof.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_79" id="page_79">{79}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INIFRED, it will be divined, was not without affairs of her own, which -were indeed kept in the background by the more urgent complications of -her family life, but yet were always there; and in every moment of -repose came in to fill up with sweetness mingled with pain all the -intervals of her thoughts. A few years before, when Mr. Chester had -retired from business and had come to live permanently at Bedloe, he had -begun his life of ease by a long illness, an illness at once dangerous -and tedious, which he had been “pulled through” by a young doctor, still -quite unknown to fame, who had devoted himself to the case of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_80" id="page_80">{80}</a></span> -patient with an absorbing attention such as elderly gentlemen of -mercantile connections rarely call forth. Mr. Chester was a man who was -always sensible of services rendered personally to himself, and as young -Dr. Langton gave up both time and ease to him, watched by his bedside at -the crisis of the disease, and never grudged to be called out of bed or -disturbed at any moment of the day or night, it was natural that a -grateful patient should form the highest idea of the man who had saved -his life.</p> - -<p>It did not detract from the merits of the young doctor that he belonged, -though remotely, to a county family, the ancient owners of Bedloe, and -that he held a higher place in the general estimation than the new -millionaire himself, whose advent had not been received with enthusiasm. -Dr. Langton, indeed, was of considerable use to the new-established -household.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_81" id="page_81">{81}</a></span> He decided several important people to call who had no -immediate intention of calling, and described with so much fervour the -sweetness and good manners of the young lady of the house, that the way -had thus been smoothed for that universal acceptance of Winifred which -had opened her father’s eyes to the fact that she alone of all the -family did him credit. Unfortunately, Dr. Langton went a little farther -than this. He was young, and Winifred was but just taking upon her the -independent position of mistress of her father’s house. They saw each -other every day, watched together at the sick-bed, and met in the most -unrestrained intimacy—and the natural result followed. Had Winifred -been poor, all his friends would have protested that she was a very bad -match for Edward Langton, who was believed to have what is called a fine -career before him; but as she was, instead, the daughter of a very rich<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_82" id="page_82">{82}</a></span> -man, it was permissible that on her side of the question Edward Langton -should be supposed a very poor match for Winifred. It had been -accordingly with very doubtful feelings and a great screwing up of his -courage that the young doctor had presented himself before the rich man -and asked him for his daughter. The reception he received was less -terrible than he feared, but more embarrassing. Mr. Chester had received -the proposal as a joke, a strange but extremely amusing pleasantry. -“Marry Winnie?” he had said; “you must wait till she is out of long -clothes—or of short frocks, is it?” And this had been the utmost that -could be extracted from him. But, at the same time, he had taken no -steps to discourage or separate the lovers. They had gone on seeing each -other constantly, and had been sufficiently confident that no serious -obstacle was to be placed in their way—but never had been able to -extract<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_83" id="page_83">{83}</a></span> a more definite decision or anything that could be called -consent. For some time, in the freshness of their mutual enchantment, -the two young people had gone on very gaily with this imperfect -sanction; but there had then come a time when Edward, impatient, yet not -venturing to risk a definite negative by using pressure upon the father, -had filled Winifred’s life with agitation, urging upon her the claims of -his faithful love, and even now and then proposing to carry her off, and -trust to the chance of pardon afterwards, rather than bear that -tantalising, unnecessary delay. Winifred, with mingled happiness and -distress, had spent many an hour in curbing this impetuosity, and it was -strange to her, a relief, but yet a surprise and wonder, when he -suddenly ceased all instances of the kind, and assumed the aspect of a -man quite satisfied with the present state of affairs, though very -watchful of all that happened, and curious to know<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_84" id="page_84">{84}</a></span> the details of -everything. The change in him filled her with surprise, and at first -with a vague uneasiness. But there was no appearance of any failure in -his devotion to herself, and it was in many respects less embarrassing -than the constant entreaties which she had found it so difficult to -resist. Still she would wonder sometimes, accepting, as women so often -accept, the unexplained decision of the men who are most near to them, -with that silent despair of ever understanding the motives of the other -half of humanity which men too so often feel in respect to women.</p> - -<p>As for Miss Farrell, who had seen so much both of men and women, she -divined, or thought she divined, what Dr. Langton meant. But she said -not a word to her pupil of her divinations. She said, “What a good thing -that Edward has made up his mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_85" id="page_85">{85}</a></span> to it. You never would have given in -to him, Winnie?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, never!” said the girl, with a silent, unexpressed sense that -perhaps it might have been better if she could.</p> - -<p>“No, you never would have done it; it is against your nature, and it -would have been the worst policy. Your dear father is a man of very -strong principles, and he never would have forgiven you. It would have -been quite past all hoping for. It is such a good thing Edward perceives -that at last.”</p> - -<p>Winifred did not receive this explanation with all the satisfaction that -her friend hoped. She felt uneasily the existence of some other with -which she was not acquainted; but so long as there was no doubt of -Edward’s love, what did it matter? And she was not herself impatient. -She saw him every day; she knew<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_86" id="page_86">{86}</a></span> (or supposed she knew) all his -thoughts; she had his confidence, his full trust, his unbroken devotion; -what more can a woman want? It is sometimes aggravating in the highest -degree to a man that she should want no more, that she should be content -with relations which stop so far short of his wishes, and Edward had -often expressed this fond exasperation. But now he took it quietly -enough, seeing possibilities which Winifred had not begun to see.</p> - -<p>Now, however, the calm of this unexpected content was interrupted from -the other side. Tom was scarcely gone, shaking off the dust from his -shoes as he crossed for the last time the threshold of his father’s -house, when Winifred learned all that was involved in the disastrous -promotion which had already made her so miserable—not only to supplant -her brothers (which yet it might be possible to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_87" id="page_87">{87}</a></span> turn to their -advantage), but to expose herself to risks which were worse than theirs, -to fall perhaps in her turn and make herself incapable of helping them, -or for their sake to resign all that was to herself best in life. -Winifred had retired from her father’s presence with this sword in her -heart. And Miss Farrell’s consolations, though they soothed her for the -moment, did not draw it out. She felt the pang and quivering anguish -through all her being. It was now her turn: she was about to be called -upon to act the heroic part which is so admirable to hear about, so -terrible to perform: to give up love and life for the sake of family -affection lightly returned, or not returned at all, rewarded with -suspicions and unkindness by those for whom she sacrificed everything. -To give up her love, her husband, for her brothers! She did what those -who are disturbed in mind instinctively learn to do. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_88" id="page_88">{88}</a></span> went out by -herself into the park, and took a long solitary walk, communing with -herself. She had looked forward to Miss Farrell’s return as to something -which would help and strengthen her. And for the moment that new event, -and all the gentle philosophies that had come from her old friend’s -lips, had helped her a little. But at the end every one must bear his -own burden. She went out into the park, which, though the sun had come -out, was still wet and sodden with last night’s rain. The half-opened -leaves were all sparkling with wet, the sky had that clear and keen -sweetness of light which is like the serenity which comes into a human -face after many tears. The sod was soft and spongy under her feet; but -Winifred was not in a mood to observe anything. She walked fast and far, -carrying her thoughts with her, passing everything in review with the -simplicity and frankness which is impossible<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_89" id="page_89">{89}</a></span> when we have to clothe our -thoughts in words. She would not have said, even to herself, that George -and Tom would never understand her motives, never believe in her -affection; but she knew it very well, just as she knew that the grass -was damp and that she was wetting her feet, a consciousness that neither -in one case nor the other meant any blame. She knew, too, that her -feelings and her happiness would matter little more to her father than -did to herself the feelings, if they had any, of the thorns which she -put out of her way. To put these consciousnesses into words is to -condemn; but in one’s thoughts one takes such known facts for granted -without any opinion.</p> - -<p>To leap into the midst of such complications all at once is very hard -for a young soul. Ordinarily, the girl to whom it suddenly becomes -apparent that she may be called upon to give up her love, has at least -something to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_90" id="page_90">{90}</a></span> rest upon in the way of compensation; when it is in -fiction, she has to save her father from ruin, and often it happens in -real life that the delight of all her friends, the approbation of her -parents, the satisfaction of all who love her, is the reward for her -sacrifice. But poor Winifred was without any such consolation. If she -gave up her happiness for the sake of retaining and restoring their -inheritance to her brothers, they would revile her in the meantime, and -take it as the mere restitution of something stolen from them, in the -future. Or she might find that the inheritance came to her under -restrictions which made her sacrifice useless, and her desire to do -justice impossible. What was she then to do? There came into her mind a -sudden wish that Edward was still as he was six months ago, vehement, -impatient, almost desperate. Oh, if he would but take the matter into -his own hands, risk everything,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_91" id="page_91">{91}</a></span> carry her away, make it impossible once -for all that she should be the one who had to set all right! She said to -herself that she ought to have consented when he had urged this upon -her. Why should she have hesitated? They had been held in suspense for -two years, a long time in which to exercise patience, to linger on the -threshold of life. And it was not as if her father wanted her love, or -would feel his house vacant and miserable without her. He who could cut -off his sons without a compunction had never shown any particular love -for his daughter. His thoughts were concentrated upon himself. She was -not so necessary to him as old Hopkins was, who understood all his -tastes.</p> - -<p>When Winifred suffered herself for a moment to think of herself, to leap -in imagination from Bedloe, with all its luxuries, from the sombre life -at home, undisturbed now by any joyous<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_92" id="page_92">{92}</a></span> expectation of the boys, with no -hope even of family letters that would afford anything but pain—to the -doctor’s little house full of sunshine and pleasantness, the life of two -which is the perfection of individual existence—her heart, too, seemed -to leap out of her bosom towards that other world. Oh, if she could but -be liberated without any action of her own, carried away, transported -from her own dim life to that of him to whom above all others she -belonged! This flight of fancy lifted her up in a momentary exaltation -above all her troubles. Then she tumbled down, down to the dust. She -knew very well it would not be. He could not, even if he wished it, -which now it seemed he did not, carry her away without consulting her, -without her consent. And she could never give that consent. She could -not abandon her home, her duties, the possibility of serving her -brothers, the necessity of serving<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_93" id="page_93">{93}</a></span> her father. One must act according -to one’s nature, however clearly one may see a happier way, however -certain one may be of the inefficiency of self-denial. Sometimes even -duty becomes a kind of immorality, a servile consent to the tyranny of -others; but still to the dutiful it is a bond which cannot be broken. -Winifred felt herself look on like a spectator, and sadly assent to the -possible destruction of her own life and all her hopes. It might be -delayed, it might not come at all, but still it was impending over her, -and she did not know how she was to escape, even in that one impossible -way.</p> - -<p>She had reached the edge of the park without knowing it in the fulness -of her preoccupation, when the sound of a dog-cart coming along the road -awoke her attention. It was no wonderful thing that Edward should be -passing at that moment, though she had not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_94" id="page_94">{94}</a></span> thought of it. Neither was -it extraordinary that he should throw the reins to his servant and join -her. “I have just time to walk back with you,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_95" id="page_95">{95}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">I</span>T was scarcely in nature that the appearance of her betrothed, coming -so suddenly in the midst of her thoughts, should be disagreeable to -Winifred, but it was an embarrassment to her, and rather added to than -lessened the trouble on her mind. He led her back into the park, which -she had been coming out of, scarcely knowing where she wandered. As was -his way when they were beyond the reach of curious eyes, he took her arm -instead of offering her his. There was something more caressing, more -close in this manner of contact. When they were safe beyond all -interruption, he bent over her tenderly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_96" id="page_96">{96}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Something is the matter,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Nothing new, Edward.”</p> - -<p>“Only the trouble of yesterday, Tom’s going away?”</p> - -<p>“It is not the trouble of yesterday. It is a trouble which lasts, which -is going on, which may never come to an end. I don’t think you can say -of any trouble that it is only of yesterday.”</p> - -<p>“That is very true; still, you and I are not given to philosophising, -Winnie, and I thought there might be some new incident. I suppose he -sails to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he sails to-day: and when will he come back again? Will he ever -come back? The two of them? Oh, Edward, life is very hard, very -different from what one thought.”</p> - -<p>“At your age people are seldom so much mixed up in it. But there is the -good as well as the bad.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_97" id="page_97">{97}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps,” said the girl, faltering, “I am looking through spectacles, -not rose-coloured, all the other way. I don’t see very much of the -good.”</p> - -<p>He pressed her arm close to his side.</p> - -<p>“Am not I a little bit of good; is not our life all good if it were only -once begun?”</p> - -<p>“But what if it never begins?”</p> - -<p>“Winnie!” he cried, startled, standing still and drawing her suddenly in -front of him so that he could look into her face.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Edward, don’t add to my troubles; I don’t see how it is ever to -begin. My father means to put me in Tom’s place, as he put Tom in -George’s place, and already he has said”—</p> - -<p>“What has he said?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it means nothing,” she went on after a pause; “I should have -kept it to myself.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_98" id="page_98">{98}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Winnie, that is worse than anything he can have said. What he says I -can bear, but not that you should keep anything to yourself.”</p> - -<p>“It was not much. It was a sort of a threat. He said the match that was -good enough for Winnie might not be good enough for”—</p> - -<p>“His heiress. He is right enough,” young Langton said.</p> - -<p>At this, Winifred, who had been anticipating in her own mind all that -was involved, trembled as if it had never occurred to her before, and -turned upon him with an air, and indeed with the most real sentiment of -grieved surprise.</p> - -<p>“Right?” she said, with wonder and reproach in her voice.</p> - -<p>“A country doctor,” said the young man, “a fellow with nothing, is not a -match for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_99" id="page_99">{99}</a></span> heiress of Bedloe. He is right enough. We cannot -contradict him. You ought to make an alliance like a princess with some -one like yourself.”</p> - -<p>“I did not think,” said Winnie, raising her head with a flush of anger, -“that you would have been the one to make it all worse.”</p> - -<p>He smiled upon her, still holding her closely by the arm. “Did you think -I had not thought of that before now? Of course, from his point of view, -and, of course, from all points of view except our own, Winnie”—</p> - -<p>“I am glad you make that exception.”</p> - -<p>“It is very magnanimous of me to do so, and you will have to be all the -more good to me. I am not blind, and I have seen it all coming, from the -moment of Tom’s failure. Why was he so silly as to fail,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_100" id="page_100">{100}</a></span> when a hundred -boobies get through every year?”</p> - -<p>“Poor Tom!” she said, with a little gush of tears.</p> - -<p>“Yes; poor Tom! I suppose he never for a moment thought—But, for my -part, I have seen it coming. I have seen for a long time what way the -tide was turning. At first there was not much thought of you; you were -only the little girl in the house. If it had not been so, I should have -run away, I should not have run my head into the net, and exposed myself -to certain contempt and rejection. But I saw that nobody knew there was -in the house an angel unawares.”</p> - -<p>“Edward, you make me ashamed! You know how far I am”—</p> - -<p>“From being an angel? I hope so, Winnie. If I saw the wings budding, I -should get out my instruments and clip them: it would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_101" id="page_101">{101}</a></span> a novel sort -of an operation. I thought their ignorance was my opportunity.”</p> - -<p>She was partly mollified, partly alarmed. “You did not think all this -before you let yourself—care for me, Edward?”</p> - -<p>“I did before I allowed myself to tell you that I—cared for you, as you -say. One does not do such a thing without thinking. There was a time -when I thought that I must give up the splendid practice of Bedloe, with -Shippington into the bargain; the rich appointment of parish doctor, the -fat fees of the Union”—</p> - -<p>“You can laugh at it,” she said, “but it is very, very serious to me.”</p> - -<p>“And so it is very, very serious to me. So much so that six months ago I -wanted to throw everything up, if you would only have consented to come -with me, and seek our fortune, I did not mind where<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_102" id="page_102">{102}</a></span>”—</p> - -<p>“Ah!” she said. There was in the exclamation a world of wistful meaning. -What an escape it would have been from all after peril! Winifred said -this with the slight shiver of one who sees the means of safety which -she could never have taken advantage of.</p> - -<p>“But now,” he said, “it is too late for that.”</p> - -<p>His tone of conviction went to Winifred’s heart like a stone. She would -never have consented to it; but yet why did he say it was too late? She -gave him a wistful glance, but asked no question. To do so would have -been contrary to her pride and every feeling. They went on for a few -minutes in silence, she more cast down than she could explain—he adding -nothing to what he had said. Why did he add nothing? Things could not be -left now as they were, without mutual explanation and decision what they -were to do. Too late? She felt in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_103" id="page_103">{103}</a></span> heart, on the contrary, that now -was the only moment in which it could have been done, in which she could -have wound herself up to the possibility—if it were not for other -possibilities, which, alas! would thrust themselves into the way.</p> - -<p>“I have something to tell you,” he said, “something which you will think -makes everything worse. I might have kept you in ignorance of it, as I -have been doing; but the knowledge must come some time, and it will -explain what I have said”—</p> - -<p>She withdrew a little from him, and drew herself up to all the height -she possessed, which was not very much. There went to her heart a quick -dart like the stab of a knife. She thought he was about to tell her that -his own mind had changed, or that her coming wealth and importance had -made it incompatible with his pride to continue their engagement. -Something of this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_104" id="page_104">{104}</a></span> kind it seemed certain that it must be. In the sudden -conviction of the moment it did not occur to Winifred that such a new -thing could scarcely be told while he held her so closely to him, and -clasped her hand and arm so firmly. But it was not a moment for the -exercise of reason. She did not look up, but she raised her head -instinctively and made an effort to loosen her hand from his clasp. But -of these half-involuntary movements he took no note, being fully -occupied with what was in his mind.</p> - -<p>“Winnie,” he said in a serious voice, “your father talks at his ease of -making wills and changing the disposition of his property. I don’t -suppose he thinks for a moment how near he may be—how soon these -changes may come into effect.”</p> - -<p>A little start, a little tremor ran through her frame. Her attitude of -preparation for a blow<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_105" id="page_105">{105}</a></span> relaxed. She did not understand what he meant in -the relief of perceiving that it was not what she thought.</p> - -<p>“My father? I don’t understand you, Edward.”</p> - -<p>“No, I scarcely expected you would. He looks what people call the -picture of health.”</p> - -<p>She started now violently and drew her arm out of his in the shock of -the first suggestion. “My father!” she stammered—“the picture of -health—you do not mean, you cannot mean”—</p> - -<p>“I have been cruel,” he said, drawing tenderly her arm into his. “I have -given you a great shock. My darling, it had to be done sooner or later. -Your father, though he looks so well, is not well, Winnie. I never was -satisfied that he got over that illness as he thought he did. But even I -was not alarmed for a long time.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_106" id="page_106">{106}</a></span> Now for several months I have been -watching him closely. If he does not make this new will at once, he may -never do it. If he does, it will not be long before you are called on to -assume your place.”</p> - -<p>“Edward! you do not mean that my father—You don’t mean that there is -absolute danger—to his life—soon—now? Edward! you do not think”—</p> - -<p>“Dear, you must show no alarm. You must learn to be quite calm. You must -not betray your knowledge. It may be at any moment—to-day, to-morrow, -no one can tell. It is not certain—nothing is certain—he may go on for -a year.”</p> - -<p>The light seemed to fail in Winifred’s eyes. She leant against her lover -with a rush and whirl of hurrying thoughts that seemed to carry away her -very life. It was not the awful sensation of a calamity from which there -is no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_107" id="page_107">{107}</a></span> escape, such as often overwhelms the tender soul when first -brought face to face with death; but rather a horrible sense of what -that doom would be to him, the cutting off of everything in which, so -far as she knew, he took any pleasure or ever thought of. The idea of a -spiritual life beyond would not come into any accordance with her -consciousness of him. Mr. Chester was one of those men whom it is -impossible to think of as entering into rest, or attaining immediate -felicity by the sudden step of death. There are some people whom the -imagination refuses to connect with any surroundings but those of -prosaic humanity. They must die, too, like the most spiritually-minded; -but there comes upon the soul a sensation of moral vertigo when we think -of them as entering the life of an unseen world. This, though it may -seem unnatural to say so, was the first sensation of Winifred, a sense -of horror and alarm, an<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_108" id="page_108">{108}</a></span> immediate realisation of the terrible -inappropriateness of such a removal. What would become of him when -removed from earth, the only state of existence with which he had any -affinities? It sent a shiver over her, a chill sense of the unknown and -unimaginable which seemed to freeze the blood in her veins. It was only -when she recovered from this that natural feeling gained utterance. She -had leant against her lover in that first giddiness, with her head -swimming, her strength giving way. She came slowly back to herself, -feeling his arm which supported her with a curious beatific sense that -everything was explained between him and her, mingled with the sensation -of natural grief and dismay.</p> - -<p>“I do not feel as if it could be possible,” she said faintly. Then, with -trembling lips, “My father?” and melted into tears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_109" id="page_109">{109}</a></span></p> - -<p>“My dearest, it is right you should know. It is for this reason I have -tried to persuade you not to go against him in anything. The more -tranquillity he has, the better are his chances for life. Let him do as -he threatens. Perhaps if you withdraw all opposition he will delay the -making of another will, as almost all men do—for there seems time -enough for such an operation, and nothing to hurry for. Get him into -this state of mind if you can, Winnie. Don’t oppose him; let it be -believed that you see the justice of his intention, that you are willing -to do what he pleases.”</p> - -<p>“Even”—she said, and looked up at him, pausing, unable to say more.</p> - -<p>He took both her hands in his, and looked at her, smiling. “Even,” he -said, “to the length of allowing him to believe that you have given up a -man that was never half good enough for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_110" id="page_110">{110}</a></span> you; but who believes in you -all the same like heaven.”</p> - -<p>“Believes in me—when I pretend to give up what I don’t give up, and -pretend to accept what I don’t accept? Is that the kind of woman you -believe in?” she cried, drawing away her hands. “How can I do so? How -can I consent to cheat my father, and he perhaps—perhaps”—</p> - -<p>She stood faltering, trembling, crying, but detaching herself with -nervous force from his support, in a passion of indignation and trouble -and dismay.</p> - -<p>He answered her with a line in which is the climax of heart-rending -tragedy, holding out to her the hands from which she had escaped—</p> - -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">“Faith unfaithful kept him falsely true.”<br /></span> -</div></div> -</div> - -<p>“That may do for poetry,” she said; “but for me, I am not great enough -or grand enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_111" id="page_111">{111}</a></span> to—to—to be able to brave it. Edward, do not ask me. -I must tell the truth. If I tried to do anything else, my face, my looks -would betray me. Oh, don’t be so hard on me. Ask me something less than -this, ask me now to”—</p> - -<p>She stopped terror-stricken, not knowing what she had said; but he only -looked at her tenderly, shaking his head. “If I had ever persuaded you -to that,” he said, “I should have been a cad and a rascal, for it would -have broken your heart. But now I should be worse—I might be a -murderer. Winnie, you must yield for his sake. You must let him live as -long as God permits.”</p> - -<p>“And deceive him?” she said, almost inaudibly. “Oh, you don’t know what -you are asking of me! You are asking too much cleverness, too much -power. I can only say one thing or another. I cannot be falsely true.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_112" id="page_112">{112}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You can do everything that is necessary, whatever it may be, for those -you love,” he said.</p> - -<p>She stood faltering before him for a moment, turning her eyes from one -side to the other, as if in search of help. But there was nothing that -could give her any aid. The heavens seemed to close in above her, and -the earth to disappear from under her feet. If she had ever consented to -an untruth in her life, it had been to shield and excuse her brothers, -for whom there were always apologies to be made. And how to deceive she -knew not.</p> - -<p>They went on together across the park, not noticing the wetness of the -grass or the threatening of the sky, upon which clouds were once more -blowing up for rain, so much absorbed in their consultation that they -were close to the house before they were aware, and started like<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_113" id="page_113">{113}</a></span> guilty -things surprised when Mr. Chester came sharply upon them round a corner, -buttoned up to the chin, and with an umbrella in his hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_114" id="page_114">{114}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">“W</span>HY don’t you come to the house and have your talk out? She has got her -feet wet, and if she does not look sharp, we shall all be caught in the -rain—a doctor should know better than to expose a young lady to -bronchitis. Besides, her life is more important than it ever was -before.”</p> - -<p>“We forgot how the skies were looking. You should not be out of doors -either; it is worse for you than for her. I told you this morning you -had a cold.”</p> - -<p>“You are always telling me I have a cold.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_115" id="page_115">{115}</a></span> I shan’t live a day the less -for that,” said Mr. Chester, with a jauntiness which made Winifred’s -heart sick.</p> - -<p>“I hope not, but we must take care,” said young Langton. “Come back -now—don’t go any farther. I hope you were coming only to bring Miss -Chester back.”</p> - -<p>“I was coming to bring Miss Chester back—and for other things,” said -her father significantly. He put a little emphasis on the name, and -Winifred had already been painfully affected by hearing her name -pronounced so formally by her lover. He had never addressed her -familiarly in her father’s presence, but now there seemed a meaning in -everything, and as her father repeated it, there seemed in it a whole -new world and new disposition of affairs. “But as it is going to be a -wet night,” he added, “and we shall have a dull time of it, nothing but -myself and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_116" id="page_116">{116}</a></span> two females at dinner, you had better come and dine with us, -doctor, if you have nothing better to do.”</p> - -<p>“I will come with pleasure,” Langton said. He had perfect command of -himself, and yet he could not refrain from a momentary glance at -Winifred, which said much.</p> - -<p>She, too, divined, with a sinking of her heart, that it was not merely -for dinner, or to relieve himself from the society of “two females,” -that her father gave the invitation. He was unusually gracious and -smiling.</p> - -<p>“You know you’re always welcome,” he said. “The ladies spoil you. A -young doctor is something like a curate, he is always spoiled by the -ladies; but they shan’t have so much of your company as they expect, for -I have got several things to talk to you about.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_117" id="page_117">{117}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“As many as you like,” said Langton, “but let me entreat you to go in -now.”</p> - -<p>“You see how anxious our friend is about my health, Winnie; he does not -care half so much for yours, and you are a deal more liable to take cold -than ever I was. You take that from your mother, who was always a feeble -creature. The stamina is on the Chester side. Very well, doctor, very -well. I don’t like the wet any more than you do. I’m going in, don’t be -afraid. Dinner at seven, sharp, and don’t keep us waiting.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Chester’s laugh seemed to the young pair to mean much; the very wave -of his hand as he turned away, his insistance upon the hour of dinner, -all breathed of fate. The two young people exchanged one look as they -shook hands; on his side it was a look at once of encouragement and -entreaty—on hers of terror and wistfulness. She was afraid and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_118" id="page_118">{118}</a></span> yet -anxious to be left alone with her father. It seemed to Winifred that she -could bear what he said to herself, however painful it might be, but -that an insulting dismissal of Edward was more than she could bear. She -could not linger, however, nor say a word to him beyond what ordinary -civility required. Even the momentary pause did not pass without remark.</p> - -<p>“Some last words?” Mr. Chester said; “one would think you had seen -enough of each other. You should make your appointments a little earlier -in the day.”</p> - -<p>“It was no appointment, papa. I was walking, and Dr. Langton came up in -his dog-cart.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, very likely; these things fall in so pat, don’t they? I suppose I -am past the age for encountering people in dog-carts just when I want -them. But you must not calculate<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_119" id="page_119">{119}</a></span> too much on that,” he said with a -laugh. “There’s no reason why I shouldn’t marry and provide myself with -another family, that might be more to my mind than you.”</p> - -<p>To this Winnie made no reply. The threat had offended her on other -occasions; now it affected her with that dreadful sense of the -intolerable to which words can give no expression; it brought the blood -in a rush to her face, and she looked at him in spite of herself with -eyes in which pity and horror were mingled. He met her look with a -laugh.</p> - -<p>“You are horrified, are you? That’s all very well for you; but let me -tell you, many an older man than I, and less pleasing, perhaps, has got -a pretty young wife before now. It has to be paid for, like every other -luxury; but women are plenty, my dear, though you mayn’t think so.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_120" id="page_120">{120}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Papa, do you think this is a subject to discuss with me?”</p> - -<p>“Why not? You are the only one except myself that would be much affected -by it. It might interfere with your comforts, and it would interfere -very much with your importance, I can tell you, Miss Winnie.”</p> - -<p>“Then, father,” the girl said, “for Heaven’s sake do it, and don’t talk -of it any more. Rather that a thousand times than to be forced to agree -to what I abhor, than to be put in another’s place, than to have to give -up”—</p> - -<p>He turned round and looked at her somewhat sternly. “What do you expect -to be obliged to give up?” he said.</p> - -<p>Between her fear of doing harm to him, whose tranquillity she had been -charged to preserve, and her fear of precipitating matters<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_121" id="page_121">{121}</a></span> and bringing -upon herself at once the prohibition she feared—and that natural -nervous desire to forestall a catastrophe which was entirely -contradictory of the other sentiments, Winifred paused and replied to -him with troubled looks rather than with speech. When she found her -voice, she answered, faltering—</p> - -<p>“What you said to me yesterday, meant giving up the truth and all I have -ever cared for in my life. I have always wanted, desired, more than my -life, to be of use to—the boys—and to be made to appear as if I were -against them”—</p> - -<p>Her voice was interrupted with sobs. Ah, but was not this the beginning -of treachery? It was the truth, but not the whole truth; the boys were -much, but there was something which was still more. Already in the first -outset and beginning she was but falsely true.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_122" id="page_122">{122}</a></span></p> - -<p>“This is all about the boys, is it?” he said coldly—“as you call them. -I should say the men—who have taken their own way, and had their own -will, and like it, I hope. If it comes to a bargain between you and me, -Winnie, there must be something more than that.”</p> - -<p>“There can be no bargain between you and me,” said Winifred. In the -meantime, looking at him, she had thought his colour varied, and that a -slight stumble he made over a stone was a sign of weakness; and her -heart sank with sudden compunction. “Oh, no bargain, papa! It is yours -to tell me what to do, and mine to—to obey you.” Her voice weakened and -grew low as she said these words. She felt as if it were a solemn -promise she was making, instead of the most ordinary of dutiful -speeches. He nodded his head repeatedly as she spoke.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_123" id="page_123">{123}</a></span></p> - -<p>“That’s as it should be, Winnie,—that’s as it should be; continue like -that, my dear, and you shall hear no more of the new wife. So long as -you are reasonable, I am quite content with my daughter, who does me -credit. It is your duty to do me credit. I am going to do a great deal -for you, and I have more claim than just the ordinary claim. Go in now, -the rain’s coming. As for me, for all that young fellow says, I don’t -believe it matters. I feel as fit as ever I did in my life. Still, -bronchitis is a nuisance,” he added, coughing a little, as he followed -her indoors.</p> - -<p>Winifred did not appear again till the hour of dinner. She was, like -every one who hears a sentence of death for the first time, apprehensive -that the event which seemed at one moment incredible might happen the -next, and she stole along the corridor at least half a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_124" id="page_124">{124}</a></span> dozen times, to -make sure that her father was in the room called the library, in which -he read his newspapers. If any sound was heard in the silence of the -house, she conjured up terrible visions of a sudden fall and -catastrophe.</p> - -<p>How was it possible to oppose him in anything? If he told her to abandon -Edward, she would have to reply—as if he had asked her to go out for a -walk, or drive with him in his carriage—“Yes, papa.” It would not -matter what he asked, she must make the same answer, conventional, -meaning as little as if it had been a request for a cup of tea. And -about his will the same assent would have to be necessary. She must -appear to him and to the world to be very willing to supplant her -brothers; she must appear to give up her lover because now she was too -great and too<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_125" id="page_125">{125}</a></span> rich to marry a poor man. This was the charge her lover -himself had laid upon her. She must consent to everything. The true -feelings of her mind, and all her intentions and hopes, must be laid -aside, and she must appear as if she were another woman, a creature -influenced by the will of others without any of her own.</p> - -<p>Even that was a possible position. A girl might give up all natural will -and impulse. She might be a passive instrument in other people’s hands. -She might take passively what was given to her, and passively allow -something else to be taken away: that might be weak, miserable, and -unworthy—but it need not be false. What was required of her was more -than this. It was required of her that she should pretend to be all this -till her father should die, and then turn round and deceive him in his -grave. The thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_126" id="page_126">{126}</a></span> made Winifred shiver with a chill which penetrated -her very heart. After, could she undo all she had done, baulk him after -he was dead, proclaim to all the world that she had deceived him? Was -that what Edward meant by being falsely true? She said to herself that -she could not do it, that it would be impossible. In the case of her -brothers, perhaps, where only renunciation was necessary, she might do -it; but to gain happiness for herself she could not do it. “I cannot, I -cannot!” she cried to herself under her breath; and then lower still, -with an anguish of resolution and determination, “I will not!” If she -gave him up, it should be for ever. She would not play a part, and -pretend submission, and deceive.</p> - -<p>But, to the astonishment of both these young people, Mr. Chester that -evening did not say<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_127" id="page_127">{127}</a></span> a word on the subject. During dinner he was more -agreeable than usual; but when the ladies went out of the room, young -Langton, as he met the eyes of his betrothed, gave her a look which told -that he knew what was coming. He was so nervous when he was left behind -that for the first few minutes he hardly knew what was being said to -him; but when he calmed down and came to himself, an astonished sense -that nothing was being said took the place of his dread, and bewildered -him altogether. All that Mr. Chester had to say was to ask for some -information about a small estate which was to be sold in another part of -the country which was better known to the doctor than to himself. He -asked his advice, indeed, as to whether he should or should not become -its purchaser, in a way which made young Langton’s head go round, for it -was the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_128" id="page_128">{128}</a></span> manner of a man who was consulting one of those who were -concerned, an intimate friend, perhaps a son-in-law. He said to himself, -after a moment, when this subject was exhausted, that now it must be -coming. But, on the contrary, there was not a word.</p> - -<p>When the two gentlemen went into the drawing-room, Winifred asked him -with her eyes a question which was full of the anguish of suspense. He -managed behind the cover of a book to say to her, “Nothing has been -said;” but this was so wonderful that the relief was too much, and -neither could she believe in that. They both felt that the pause, though -almost miraculous, could not be real, and that the coming storm was all -the more certain because of this delay.</p> - -<p>Late that night Mr. Chester felt unwell, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_129" id="page_129">{129}</a></span> sent into the village for -the doctor just as he was going to bed. Langton put on his coat, and -jumped into the dog-cart which had been sent for him, with a sudden -quickening of all his pulses, and the sense of a miraculous escape more -distinctly in his mind than solicitude for his patient. Winifred met him -at the door with wild anxiety and terror, and followed him to her -father’s room, with all her nerves strung for the great and terrible -event of which she had been warned. She thought nothing less than that -the hour of calamity had come, and the whole house was moved with a -vague horror of anticipation, although no one knew that there was -anything to fear. The doctor’s practised eye, however, saw in a moment -that it was a false alarm, and it was with a pang almost of -disappointment that he reassured her. He could only appear glad, but -there was no doubt in his own mind that it was a distinct mistake<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_130" id="page_130">{130}</a></span> of -Providence. Had Mr. Chester died then, he would have left the world with -one or two sins the less on his conscience, and a great deal of human -misery would have been spared.</p> - -<p>“You think I should not have roused you out of your comfortable bed -without the excuse of dying, or at least something more in it?” the -patient said; “but you will find I am a tough customer, and likely to -give you more trouble before you are done with me.”</p> - -<p>“It is no trouble,” the doctor said, with a grave face; “but you must -learn to be careful.”</p> - -<p>“Pshaw!” said the rich man. “I tell you I am a tough customer. It is not -a bit of an evening walk that will free you of me.”</p> - -<p>“We will do our best to fortify you for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_131" id="page_131">{131}</a></span> evening walks; but you must be -careful,” Langton said.</p> - -<p>Upon which his patient gave a chuckle, and turned round in his bed and -went to sleep like a two-years child.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_132" id="page_132">{132}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span> THREATENED life is said to last long. Winifred Chester lived in great -alarm and misery for a week or two, watching every movement and every -look of her father, expecting almost to see him fall and die before her -very eyes. The horror of a catastrophe which she could not avert, which -nothing could be done to stave off, intensified the natural feeling -which makes the prospect of another’s death, even of an indifferent -person, overawing and terrible. And though it was impossible to believe -that a man like Mr. Chester could inspire his daughter with that -impassioned filial love which many daughters bear to their<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_133" id="page_133">{133}</a></span> parents, yet -he was her father, and all the habits of her life were associated with -him: so that the idea of his sudden removal conveyed almost as great a -shock to her mind as if the warmest bonds of love, instead of a natural -affection much fretted by involuntary judgments given in her heart -against him, had been the bond between them.</p> - -<p>And there can be nothing in the world more dreadful to the mind than to -watch the life and actions of a human creature whom we know to be on the -brink of the grave, but who neither suspects nor anticipates any danger, -and lives every day as though he were to live for ever. To hear him say -what he was going to do in the time to come, the changes he meant to -make, the improvements, the new furnishings, the plantings, all that was -to be done during the next ten years, filled Winifred with a thrill of -misery which was not unmingled<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_134" id="page_134">{134}</a></span> with compunction. Could she say nothing -to him, give him no hint, whisper in his ear no intimation that his days -were numbered? She shrank within herself at the thought of presuming to -do so; and yet to be with him and walk by him, and listen to all his -anticipations, and never do it, seemed horrible. All his thoughts were -of the world in which he had, as he did not know, so precarious a -footing. He was a man who wanted no other, whose horizon was bounded by -the actual, whose aspirations did not exceed what human life could give -him. He had met with disappointments and probably had felt them as -bitterly as other men, but his active spirit had never been arrested, he -had turned to something else in which he expected compensation. The -something else at present was Winifred; she had done him credit, and -might do so still in a higher degree than had been possible to her -brothers. She might marry<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_135" id="page_135">{135}</a></span> anybody. As for the doctor, when the moment -came, Mr. Chester knew very well how to make short work of the doctor. -And Winnie, of whom there could be no doubt that she was a lady, should -marry a lord and satisfy her father’s pride, and make up for everything.</p> - -<p>His mind had taken refuge in this with an elasticity which minds of -higher tone and better inspirations do not always possess; and those -plans which to her were so frightful, those arrangements of years which -he should never see, were all with a view to this satisfaction which he -had promised himself. He was going to preserve the game strictly, a duty -which he had not much thought of hitherto: he was going to enlarge the -house—to build a new wing for my lord, as he began within himself to -name his unknown son-in-law. In these<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_136" id="page_136">{136}</a></span> arrangements he forgot his own -sons, putting them aside altogether, as if they had never existed, and -forgot also, or at least never took into consideration, any uncertainty -in life, any thought of consolations less positive.</p> - -<p>To see a man so terribly off his guard is always a spectacle very -terrible and surprising when the mind of the spectator is roused to it, -just as the sight of any indifferent passer-by going lightly along a -road on which death awaits him round the next corner, is almost more -appalling than the sight of death itself, especially if we cannot warn -him or do anything to save. And how could he die? A man who cared for -nothing that was not in the life he knew, how was he to adapt himself to -another, to anything so different? Winifred’s brain swam, the light -faded before her as she sat watching him, unable to take<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_137" id="page_137">{137}</a></span> her eyes from -him, full of terror, compassion, pity.</p> - -<p>“What are you staring at so?” he asked on more than one occasion.</p> - -<p>“Nothing, papa,” Winifred replied incoherently, consciousness suddenly -coming back to her as his voice broke the giddiness and throng of -intolerable thoughts.</p> - -<p>“One would think you saw a ghost behind me,” he said, with a laugh. -“That’s the new æsthetic fashion of absent-mindedness, I suppose;” and -this explanation satisfied and even pleased him, for he wished Winnie to -be of the latest fashion and “up to everything” with the best.</p> - -<p>Miss Farrell, on the other hand, scolded her pupil, as much as she could -scold any one, for this sudden alarm which had seized her. “It is just a -fad,” the old lady said. “Edward has his fads like other people: doctors -have; they<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_138" id="page_138">{138}</a></span> are fond of a discovery that leads to nothing. I never saw -your dear father look better in his life.”</p> - -<p>“He does not look ill,” Winifred allowed, with a faint movement of -relief.</p> - -<p>“Ill? he looks strong, younger than he did five years ago, and such a -colour, and an excellent appetite. But I am glad to hear that is what -Edward thinks, for it explains everything.”</p> - -<p>“Glad?” it was Winifred’s turn to exclaim.</p> - -<p>“My dear, when you are my age you will know that one is sometimes glad -of an explanation of things that have puzzled one, even though the -explanation itself is not cheerful. I think this fright of Edward’s is a -piece of folly, but yet it explains many things. As for your dear -father, if he were a little unwell from time to time, that would be -nothing to wonder<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_139" id="page_139">{139}</a></span> at. Gout, for instance—one is always prepared for -gout in a man of his age. But he is up early and late, he has the -complexion of a ploughboy, and can eat everything without even a thought -of his digestion. I envy him,” she said, with fervour. Then, giving -Winifred a kiss as she leant over her, “You are seeing everything <i>en -noir</i>, my dear, and Edward is giving in to you. Don’t think any more -about it for three days; in the meantime I will watch him; give me three -days, and promise me to be happy in the meantime.”</p> - -<p>This time Winifred did not repeat the inappropriate expression, but only -looked at her old friend with tears in her eyes. “I don’t think I have -very much to be happy about,” she said.</p> - -<p>“You have life before you, and youth and hope; and you have Edward; and -your dear father, so far as I can see, in perfect health;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_140" id="page_140">{140}</a></span> and the -others—in the hands of Providence Winnie.”</p> - -<p>“Are we not all in the hands of Providence,” said the girl; “those who -live and those who die, those who do well and those who do ill? and it -does not seem to make any difference.”</p> - -<p>“That is because we see such a little way, such a little way—never what -to-morrow is going to bring forth,” Miss Farrell said.</p> - -<p>But this conversation did not do very much to reassure Winifred, and at -the end of the three days the old lady said nothing. Her experienced -eyes saw, after a close investigation, certain trifles which brought her -to the young doctor’s opinion, or at least made her acknowledge to -herself that he might possibly be right. It is to be feared that Miss -Farrell did not look upon this possibility with horror. She was<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_141" id="page_141">{141}</a></span> calmer, -not so much interested, and less full of that instinctive horror and awe -of death which is most strong in the young. She had seen a great many -people die; perhaps she was not for that more reconciled to the idea of -it in her own person than others; but she had come to look upon it with -composure where others were concerned. She thought it likely enough that -Edward might be right; and she thought that, perhaps, this was not the -conclusion which would be most regrettable. It would leave Winifred -free. If he did not alter his will, it would restore the boys to their -rights; and if he did alter his will, Winifred would restore them to -their rights. On making a balance of the greatest happiness of the -greatest number, no doubt it would be for the best that Mr. Chester -should end his career.</p> - -<p>After these three days, at the end of which Winifred asked no -explanation from her friend,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_142" id="page_142">{142}</a></span> many other days followed, with nothing -happening. The force of the impression was softened in her mind, and -though the appearance of Mr. Chester’s man of business on two or three -several occasions gave her a renewed thrill of terror, yet her father -said nothing on the subject of his will, and she was glad on her side to -ignore it, feeling that nothing she could say or do would have any -effect upon his resolution. On the last evening, when Mr. Babington, -after a long afternoon with Mr. Chester in the library, stayed to -dinner, the cheerfulness and satisfaction of the master of the house -were visible to everybody. He had the best wine in his cellar out for -his old friend, and talked to him all the evening of “old days,” as he -said, days when he himself had little expectation of ever being the -Squire of Bedloe.</p> - -<p>“But many things have changed since that time,” he added, “and the last -is first and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_143" id="page_143">{143}</a></span> the first last, eh, Babington, in more senses than one.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, in more senses than one,” the lawyer said gravely, sipping the old -port which had been disinterred for him with an aspect not half so -jovial as that of his patron, though it was wine such as seldom appears -at any table in these degenerate days.</p> - -<p>“In more senses than one,” Mr. Chester repeated. “Fill your glass again, -old Bab; and, Miss Farrell, stay a moment, and let me give you a little -wine, for I am going to propose a toast.”</p> - -<p>“I am not in the habit of drinking toasts,” said Miss Farrell, who had -risen from her chair; “but as I am sure it is one which a lady need not -hesitate about, since you propose it”—</p> - -<p>“No lady need hesitate,” said Mr. Chester, “for it is to one that is a -true lady, as good a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_144" id="page_144">{144}</a></span> lady as if she had royal blood in her veins. You -would not better her, I can tell you, if you were to search far and -wide; and as you have had some share in making her what she is, Miss -Farrell, it stands to reason you should have a share in her advancement. -I have a great mind to call in all the servants and make them drink it -too.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t,” said the lawyer hurriedly; “a thing is well enough among -friends that is not fit for strangers, or servants either. For my part, -I wish everything that is good to Miss Winifred; but yet”—</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue, Babington; it is none of your business. Here’s the -very good health of the heiress of Bedloe, and good luck to her, and a -fine title and a handsome husband, and everything that heart can -desire.”</p> - -<p>The two ladies had risen, and still stood, Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_145" id="page_145">{145}</a></span> Farrell with the glass -of wine which Mr. Chester had given her in her hand, Winifred standing -very straight by the table, and white as the dress she wore. Miss -Farrell grew pale too, gazing from one to the other of the two -gentlemen, who drank their wine, one with a flushed and triumphant -countenance, the other in little thoughtful gulps. “I can’t refuse to -drink the health of Winifred, however it is put,” she said tremulously. -“But if this is what you mean, Mr. Chester”—</p> - -<p>“Yes, my old girl,” cried Mr. Chester, “this is what I mean; and I don’t -know what anybody can have to say against it—you, in particular, that -have brought her up, and done your duty by her, I must say. She has -always been a good friend to you, and always will be, I can answer for -her, and you shall never want a home as long as she has one. But if you -have<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_146" id="page_146">{146}</a></span> anything to say against my arrangements, or what I mean to do for -her”—</p> - -<p>Miss Farrell put down the wine with a hand that trembled slightly. She -towered into tremulous height, or so it seemed to the lookers-on. “I say -nothing about the term which you have permitted yourself to apply to me, -Mr. Chester,” she said. “I can make allowance for bad breeding; but if -you think you can prevent me from forming an opinion, and expressing -it”—</p> - -<p>“Be quiet, Chester,” cried the lawyer, kicking him under the table; but -in the height of his triumph he was not to be kept down.</p> - -<p>“You may form your opinions as you please, and express them too; but, by -George! if you express anything about my affairs, or take it upon you to -criticise, it will have to be in some one else’s house.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_147" id="page_147">{147}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“That is quite enough,” said the old lady. “I am not in the habit of -receiving affronts. This day is the last I shall spend in your house. I -bid you good evening, Mr. Babington.” She waved her hand majestically as -she went away. As for Winnie, who had endeavoured to stop him with an -indignant cry of “Father!” she turned upon Mr. Chester a pair of eyes, -large and full of woe, which blazed out of her pale face in passionate -protestation as she hurried after her friend. The exit of the ladies was -so sudden after this swift and hot interchange of hostilities that it -left the two men confounded. Mr. Chester gave vent to an exclamation or -two, and turned to his supporter on the other side.</p> - -<p>“What did I say?” he cried. “I haven’t said anything, have I, to make a -tragedy about?”</p> - -<p>“It would have been a great deal better<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_148" id="page_148">{148}</a></span> to say nothing at all,” was all -the comfort Babington gave him. The lawyer went on with the port, which -was very good. He thought quarrels were always a nuisance, but that -Chester did indeed—there could be no doubt of it—want some one to take -him down a peg or two.</p> - -<p>“If your daughter does not much like it herself, as seems to be the -case, it’s a pity to set the old lady on to make her worse. And Miss -Winifred wants a lady with her,” he said between the gulps.</p> - -<p>He gave no support to the angry man, hot with excitement and triumph, to -whom this sudden check had come in the midst of his outburst of angry -satisfaction.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chester’s countenance fell.</p> - -<p>“You don’t mean,” he cried, “that she will be such a fool as to go away? -Pshaw! she’s not such a fool as that. She knows on what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_149" id="page_149">{149}</a></span> side her -bread’s buttered. She’s lived at Bedloe these dozen years.”</p> - -<p>“Everybody knows Miss Farrell,” said the lawyer. “She’s as proud as -Lucifer, and as fiery, if she is set ablaze.”</p> - -<p>“Pooh!” said the other; “it is nothing but a breeze; we’ll be all right -again to-morrow. She knows me, and I know her. She is not such a fool as -to throw away a comfortable home, because I called her old girl. Are you -determined, after all, that you won’t stay the night?”</p> - -<p>“I must get home—I must indeed. To-morrow early I have half a dozen -appointments.”</p> - -<p>“Then, if you will go,” said Mr. Chester,—“which I take unkind of you, -for, of course, the appointments could stand, if you chose;—but if you -must go, it’s time for your train.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_150" id="page_150">{150}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Thank you for telling me,” said Mr. Babington. He jumped up with a -slight resentment, though he had been quite determined about going away -that night; but then he had not known that there would be this quarrel, -which he should have liked to see the end of, or that the port would be -so good.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_151" id="page_151">{151}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HE sound of the brougham rolling along down the avenue, and of the -closing of the great door upon the departing guest, came to Winifred, as -she sat alone, with a dreary sound. Mr. Babington was no particular ally -of hers, and yet it felt like the going away of a friend. Presently her -father came into the room, talking over his shoulder to old Hopkins -about the hot water and lemons which were to be placed in the library -ready for him. “Ten o’clock will do,” he said. It was only about nine, -and Winifred felt, not with transport, that she was to have her father’s -society for the next hour. It was by this time too warm to have a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_152" id="page_152">{152}</a></span> fire -in the evening, but yet they sat habitually, when the lamp was lighted, -near the fireplace. Mr. Chester came up to this central spot, and drew a -chair near to his daughter and sat down. He brought a smell of wine with -him, and a sensation of heat and excitement. “Why are you sitting by -yourself,” he said, “like a sparrow on the housetop? It seems to me you -are always alone.”</p> - -<p>“I shall have to be alone in future, papa. Miss Farrell”—Winifred could -not say any more for the sob in her throat.</p> - -<p>“Oh, this is too much!” said Mr. Chester. “Couldn’t she or any one see -that I was a little excited? She must know I don’t mean any harm. That -is all nonsense, Winnie. You shall say something pretty to her from me, -and make an end of it. Why, what’s all this fuss about a hasty word? She -<i>is</i> an old girl if you come to that—But I don’t want any<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_153" id="page_153">{153}</a></span> botheration -now. I want everything to be straight and pleasant. We are going to have -company, people staying in the house, and you can’t do without her, that -is clear.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa,” said Winifred, “I wish you would not have any one staying in -the house. I don’t know what you meant to-night, but if it is anything -about me, I—I don’t feel able for company. It is so short a time since -poor Tom”—</p> - -<p>“You had better let poor Tom alone. I want to hear nothing more of him,” -said the father. “Mind what I say. I mean to make a lady of you, Winnie; -but if you turn upon me like the rest, I am just as fit to do the same -to you.”</p> - -<p>“I would rather you did than have what should be theirs,” said Winifred. -Her heart was beating wildly in her breast with apprehension and dismay, -and she could not be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_154" id="page_154">{154}</a></span> prudent as she had been bidden to be, nor consent -to be what was so odious to her; but even in the warmth of her protest -Edward’s words occurred to her, and she faltered and stopped, with an -alarmed look at her father. He was flushed, and his eyes were fiery and -red.</p> - -<p>“You are going a little too fast,” he said. “It is neither theirs nor -yours, but mine; and I should like to know who has any right to take it -from me. Now that we’ve begun on this subject, we’ll have it out, -Winnie. You’ve been having your own way more than was good for you. -Perhaps, after all, Miss Farrell, who has let you do as you pleased, can -go, and somebody else be got who knows better what is suitable to a -young lady like you. I can have no more flirtations with doctors, or -curates, or that sort. You are old enough to be married, and I want no -more nonsense. That sort of thing, though<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_155" id="page_155">{155}</a></span> it means nothing, is bad for -a girl settling in life.”</p> - -<p>Winifred had turned from white to red, sitting gazing at him, yet -shrinking from his eyes. “Papa,” she said, “I don’t know what you mean,” -in a voice so low and troubled that he curved his hand over his ear, -half in pretence, half in sincerity, to hear what she had to say.</p> - -<p>“What I mean?—oh, that is very easy—you are not a child any longer, -and you must throw aside childish things. I have asked a few people for -the week after next. It’s too early for the country, but I know some -that are soon tired of town; and there is a young fellow among them -who—well, who is very well disposed towards you, and well worth your -catching were you twenty times an heiress. So I hope you’ll mind what -you’re about, and play your cards well, and make me father-in-law to an -earl.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_156" id="page_156">{156}</a></span> That’s all that I require of you, my dear; and it’s more for your -own advantage than mine, when all is said.”</p> - -<p>He was very much flushed, she thought, and his eyes almost starting from -his head. Terror seized her, as though some dreadful catastrophe might -happen before her eyes. “Papa,” she said, with an effort, “this is all -very new, and there is so much to think of. Please let it be for -to-morrow. There has been so much to-night—my head is quite confused, -and I don’t seem to understand what you say.”</p> - -<p>“You shall understand what I say, and it is better to be clear about it -once for all. Here is the young Earl coming, as I tell you. He would -suit me very well, and I mean him to suit you, so let us have no -nonsense. If Miss Farrell thinks fit to leave you just when you want -her, she is an ungrateful old— But we’ll find another woman. I mean -everything<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_157" id="page_157">{157}</a></span> to be on a right footing when these people turn up.”</p> - -<p>“Papa, of course I shall do all I can to—please your friends.”</p> - -<p>“Well, that’s the first step,” he said. “And it’s very much for your own -advantage. You would not be my daughter if you did not think of that.”</p> - -<p>She made no reply. If this was all, she was pledging herself to nothing, -she thought, with natural inconsistency. But Mr. Chester was not -satisfied. He drew his chair close, so that the odour of his wine and -the excitement in his mind seemed to make a haze in the air around.</p> - -<p>“And look here, Winnie. It doesn’t suit me to send Edward Langton away. -He’s been a fool in respect to you, and you’ve been a fool, and so have -I, for not putting a stop to it at once. But the fellow knows what’s -what better<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_158" id="page_158">{158}</a></span> than most. And he knows my constitution. I am not going to -part with him as a doctor because he’s been a presuming prig, and -thought himself good enough for my daughter. It’s for you to let him see -that that’s all over. Come, a word is as good as a wink.”</p> - -<p>“Father,” Winnie said: she looked at him piteously, clasping her hands -with the unconscious gesture of anguish—“oh, don’t take everything from -me in a moment!” she cried.</p> - -<p>“What am I taking from you? I am giving you a fortune, a title probably, -a husband far above anything you could have looked for.”</p> - -<p>“I want no one, papa, but you. Let me take care of you. I will ask for -nothing but only to stay at home quietly and make you comfortable.”</p> - -<p>Mr. Chester pushed back his chair noisily with a loud exclamation. “Do -you take me<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_159" id="page_159">{159}</a></span> for a fool?” he said. “Have I ever asked you to stay at -home and make me comfortable? I can make myself comfortable, thank you. -What I want is that you should do me credit. Your confounded humility -and domesticity, and all that, may be very fine in a woman’s novel. -Taking care of her old father, the sweet girl! a ministering angel, and -so forth. Do you think I go in for that sort of rubbish? I can make -myself a deuced deal more comfortable than you could ever make me. Come, -Winnie, no more of this folly. You can make me father-in-law to a -British peer, and that is the sort of comfort I want.”</p> - -<p>His eyes were red with heat and excitement, the blood boiling in his -veins. The girl’s spirit was cowed as she looked at him, not by his -violence, but by the signs of physical disturbance, which took all power -from her.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_160" id="page_160">{160}</a></span></p> -<p>“Oh, papa,” she said, “don’t say anything more to-night! I am very -unhappy. I will do anything rather than make you angry, rather -than—disturb you. Have a little pity upon me, papa, and let me off for -to-night.”</p> - -<p>“To-night?” he said; “to-night ought to be the proudest day of your -life. Who could ever have expected that you would be the heiress of -Bedloe, a little chit of a girl? Most fathers would have married you off -to the first comer that would take you and your little bit of fortune. -But I have behaved very different. I have made you as good as an eldest -son—not that I can’t take it all away again, as easily as I gave it, if -you don’t do your best for me.”</p> - -<p>He swayed forward a little as he spoke, in his excitement, and Winifred, -whose terrified eyes were quite prepared to see him fall down at her -feet, rose up hastily, with a little cry. She put out her hands -unconsciously to support him.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_161" id="page_161">{161}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, papa, I will do whatever you please!” she cried.</p> - -<p>Mr. Chester pushed the outstretched hands away. “You think, perhaps, I -want something to steady me,” he said. “That’s a delusion. I am as -steady as you are, and more so, and know quite as well what I am saying. -However, as long as you have come to your senses and obey me, that’s all -I care for. Look here, Winnie!” he said, again sitting down suddenly and -pushing her back into her chair; “I don’t want to be hard upon you. If -old Farrell wants an apology I’ll make it—to a certain extent. I meant -no offence. She’s very useful in her way. She’s a lady, I always said -so; and she’s made you a lady, and I am grateful to her—more or less. -You can say whatever’s pretty on my part; or I’ll even say a word -myself, if you insist upon it. To have her go now would be deuced -awkward. Tell her I meant no<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_162" id="page_162">{162}</a></span> offence. I was a little elevated, if you -like. You may take away my character, if that will please her,” he -added, with a laugh. “Say what you like, I can bear it. Getting -everything done as I wished had gone to my head.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, papa, if you had but wished something else! I am not—good enough. -I am not—strong enough.”</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue. I hope I’m the best judge of my own affairs,” her -father said. Then he yawned largely in her face. “I think I’ll go and -have my whisky and water. It is getting near bedtime, and I’ve had an -exciting day, what with old Bab, and old Farrell, and you. I’ve been on -the go from morning to night. But you’ve all got to knock under at the -last,” he added, nodding his head, “and the sooner the better, you’ll -find, my dear, if you have any sense.”</p> - -<p>Winifred sat and listened to his heavy step<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_163" id="page_163">{163}</a></span> as he went across the hall -to the library and down the long corridor. It seemed to be irregular and -heavier than its wont, and it was an effort of self-restraint not to -follow him, to see that all was safe. When the door of his room closed -behind him, which it did with a louder clang than usual, rousing all the -echoes in the silent house, another terror seized her. Shut into that -library, with no one near him, what might happen? He might fall and die -without any one being the wiser; he might call with no one within -hearing. She started to her feet, then sat down again trembling, not -knowing what to do. She dared say nothing to him of the terror in her -mind. She dared not set the servants to watch over him or take them into -her confidence—even Hopkins, what could she say to him? But she could -not go to her own room, which would be entirely out of the way of either -sight or hearing. Sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_164" id="page_164">{164}</a></span> Mr. Chester would sit up late, after even -Hopkins had gone to bed. The terror in her mind was so great that -Winifred watched half the night, leaving the door of the drawing-room -ajar, and sometimes starting out into the darkness of the hall, at one -end of which a feeble light was kept burning. The hours went by very -slowly while she thus watched and waited, trembling at all the creakings -and rustlings of the night. She forgot the pledge she had given, the new -life that was opening upon her in the midst of these terrors. Visions -flitted before her mind, things which she had read in books of dead men -sitting motionless, with the morning light coming in upon their pallid -faces, or lying where they had fallen till some unthinking servant -stumbled in the morning over the ghastly figure. It was long past -midnight when the library door opened, and, shrinking back into the -darkness, she saw her<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_165" id="page_165">{165}</a></span> father come out with his candle. He had probably -fallen asleep in his chair, and the light glowing upon his face showed -it pallid and wan after the flush and heat of the evening. He came -slowly, she thought unsteadily, along the passages, and climbed the -stairs towards his room with an effort. It seemed to her excited -imagination almost a miracle when the door of his bedroom closed upon -him, and the pale blueness of dawn stealing through the high staircase -window proved to her that this night of watching was almost past. But -what might the morning bring forth?</p> - -<p>The morning brought nothing except the ordinary routine of household -life at Bedloe. Mr. Chester got up at his usual hour, in his usual -health. He sent for the doctor, however, in the course of the day, -partly because he wanted him, partly to see how Winnie would behave.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_166" id="page_166">{166}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I have the stomach of an ostrich,” he said, “but still that port was a -little too much. To drink port with impunity, one should drink it every -day.”</p> - -<p>“It is a great deal better never to drink it at all,” said the doctor; -but Mr. Chester patted him on the back, and assured him that good port -was a very good thing, and much better worth drinking than thin claret.</p> - -<p>“I believe it is that sour French stuff that takes all the spirit out of -you young fellows,” he said.</p> - -<p>Winifred was compelled to be present during this interview. She heard -her father give an account to Edward of the expected guests.</p> - -<p>“You shall come up and dine one evening,” he said. “You must make -acquaintance with the Earl, who may be of use to you. I shouldn’t wonder -if we had him often about here.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_167" id="page_167">{167}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>To Winifred, looking on, saying nothing, but vividly alive to her -father’s offensive tone of patronage, and to the significance of this -intimation, there was torture in every word. But Edward looked at her -with an unclouded countenance, and laughingly assured her father that he -had known the Earl all his life.</p> - -<p>“He is a very good fellow; but he is not very bright,” he said.</p> - -<p>“He may not be very bright, but he is a peer of the realm, and that is -the sort of society that is going to be cultivated at Bedloe. I have had -enough of the little people,” Mr. Chester replied.</p> - -<p>Edward Langton laughed, with the slightest, but only the very slightest, -tinge of colouring in his face. “The little people must take the hint, -and disappear,” he said.</p> - -<p>“But, of course, present company is always excepted. That has nothing to -do with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_168" id="page_168">{168}</a></span> you. You’re professional; you’re indispensable.”</p> - -<p>Young Langton gave Winifred a look. It was swift as lightning, but it -told her more than a volume could have done. The indignation and -forbearance and pity that were in it made a whole drama in themselves. -“I hope I shall prove myself worthy of the exception in my favour,” was -all he said.</p> - -<p>“I have no doubt you will; you were always one that knew your own -place,” said Mr. Chester.</p> - -<p>“Father!” cried Winnie, crimson with shame and indignation.</p> - -<p>“Hold your tongue!” he cried. “The doctor knows what I mean, and I know -what he means; we want no interference from you.”</p> - -<p>It was the first trial of the new state of affairs. She had to shake -hands with him in her father’s presence, with nothing but a look to -express all<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_169" id="page_169">{169}</a></span> the trouble in her mind. But Edward on his part was -entirely calm, with a shade of additional colour, but no more. He played -his part more thoroughly than she did—upon which, with the usual -self-torture of women, a cold thought arose in her that perhaps it was -not entirely an assumed part. From every side she had much to bear.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_170" id="page_170">{170}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>ISS FARRELL did not add to her pupil’s trouble. When she heard the -state of affairs, she gave up with noble magnanimity her intention of -going away. “You must not ask me to meet any one—till the visitors -come,” she said. “I shall remain to give you what help I can; but you -know my rule. When I am treated with rudeness, I make no complaint, I -take no offence, but I go away.”</p> - -<p>“You would not have the heart to desert me,” Winifred said.</p> - -<p>“No, that is just how it is—I have not the heart; but I will take my -meals in my room,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_171" id="page_171">{171}</a></span> my dear. Your dear father”—habit was too strong in -Miss Farrell’s mind even for resentment—“no doubt his meaning was quite -innocent; but we can’t meet again—at all events for the present,” she -added, with much dignity.</p> - -<p>“So long as you do not forsake me,” cried Winnie, and Miss Farrell, -touched, declared “I will never forsake you!” with fervour.</p> - -<p>This added an element which was tragi-comic to Winifred’s distress. With -all the grave and terrible things that surrounded her, the misery of her -new position, the sense of falsehood in her tacit acceptance of all her -father was doing, her fears for him, the chill of alarm of another kind -with which Edward’s composure filled her—there was something ludicrous -in having to provide for Miss Farrell’s retirement into her own rooms, -and the two different spheres thus<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_172" id="page_172">{172}</a></span> established in the house. Perhaps it -gave her a little relief in the more serious miseries that were always -so near. It threw a slight aspect of the fictitious into the sombre air -of the house, which seemed charged with trouble.</p> - -<p>But in the meantime the preparations went on for the expected guests. -Mr. Chester meant that they should be received magnificently. Some of -the rooms were entirely refurnished with a luxury and wealth of -upholstering enough to fill even a millionaire with envy. Nothing so -fine existed in the county as the two rooms which were being ornamented -for the use of the very active-minded and energetic woman who was the -young Earl’s mother. To describe the sensation with which Winifred saw -all this is well-nigh impossible. She had been made to consent in -consequence of the arguments used by the very man whose interests<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_173" id="page_173">{173}</a></span> were -assailed. But for Edward she would have refused to be any party to the -proposed arrangement—and now she asked herself how far it was to go? -Was she to be forced to consent if a further proposal were made to her? -Was she to be driven to the very church door, in order to avert an evil -which began, to her, every day to appear more visionary? Could it be -that Edward—Edward himself, who had always been the soul of honour in -her eyes—had lent himself to the conspiracy against her? Her heart -cried out so against the coil of falsehood in which her feet seemed to -be caught that life truly became a misery to her—false to her brothers, -false to her father, false to herself. She could not say false to -Edward, since it was Edward himself who exacted this extraordinary proof -of devotion. Every principle in her being rose up against it as it went -on from day to day. She asked herself whether it was doing<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_174" id="page_174">{174}</a></span> a less wrong -to her father thus to deceive him by pretended submission than to tell -him the truth even at the risk of an illness. And he had not to her the -least air of being ill. He was a strong man, stronger than almost any -other man of his age, more ruddy, more active. Her head swam with the -multitude of her thoughts. Winifred’s mind was too simple and -straightforward to accept that idea of faith unfaithful. It became like -a yoke of iron upon her shoulders. Mr. Chester grew stronger and more -active, and louder and gayer every day; while she faded and shrank -visibly, unable to make any head against that sea of troubles that -carried her soul away.</p> - -<p>The eve of the appointed visit had arrived, and all the preparations -were complete. Mr. Chester insisted that his daughter should go with him -over all the redecorated rooms to see the effect. “You think perhaps -that this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_175" id="page_175">{175}</a></span> is all for my lady’s gratification,” he said; “that’s a -mistake. It’s for the gratification of Winifred, the new Countess, when -she comes home.”</p> - -<p>“If you mean me, papa”—</p> - -<p>“Oh no, of course not! how could I mean you?” cried her father, rubbing -his hands. “I mean Miss Chester, who is going to marry the Earl. Perhaps -you don’t know that young lady? She will bring her husband a pretty -estate and a pretty bit of money in her apron, and please her father -down to the ground.”</p> - -<p>“But, papa— Oh, I cannot, I cannot deceive you! It is deceiving you even -to seem to—even to pretend to”—</p> - -<p>“You had better hold your tongue, Winnie,” he said sternly. “You had -better not go any farther or you may be sorry for it. You should know -very well by this time what I’m capable of when I’m crossed. But I don’t -mean to be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_176" id="page_176">{176}</a></span> crossed this time, I can tell you. It would be hard if a man -couldn’t do what he likes with his own daughter. Go along with you, and -don’t speak back to me.”</p> - -<p>“But, papa”—</p> - -<p>“Go, I tell you, before you put me in a passion,” her father cried. And -Winifred was terrified by the glare in his eyes, and the quick recurring -fear that she might harm him took all power from her. She hurried away, -leaving him to admire his upholstery by himself. And that afternoon and -evening her distress reached its climax. She would not consult Miss -Farrell. She would not see Edward. Things had gone too far indeed to be -talked of, or submitted to any other decision than that of her own -heart. Once or twice, nay a hundred times, the desire of the coward, to -run away, occurred to her. But how could she, to think of nothing more, -leave her father in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_177" id="page_177">{177}</a></span> the lurch, and expose him to all the comments of -the recent unfriendly acquaintances whom he thought friends? Winifred -was one of those to whom the abandonment of a post was impossible; but -such was the confusion of her misery, that flight, now or at another -moment,—flight alone, hopeless, without leaving any trace behind -her,—seemed to be the only way of escape. At dinner her father seemed -to have forgotten her attempt at rebellion. He talked incessantly of the -guests, rolling their titles with an enjoyment which was half ludicrous, -half pitiful. “You must try and persuade old Farrell to show,” he said. -“She’s very well thought of by all these grandees, and she can talk to -them of people they know—besides, there’s her music, Winnie, that’s -first rate. I’ll come and apologise if she pleases, but we must take -care my lady’s not dull of an evening, and she must show.” He was in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_178" id="page_178">{178}</a></span> -such good spirits that after dinner, with much clearing of his throat, -and something like a blush, he made her sit down to the piano and -accompany him in one of the old songs for which he had been famous -before he began to fear the memory of the singing man at Chester -Cathedral. He had the remains of a beautiful voice, and still sang well -in the old-fashioned style which he had learned when a boy. To hear him -carolling forth a love-song of that period when Moore was monarch, was -to Winnie a wonder and portent which took away her very breath. She -trembled so in her part of the performance that the piano became -inaudible in competition with the fine roll of Mr. Chester’s -grace-notes. “Why, I thought you could play at least,” he said roughly. -“I’ll have old Farrell—she knows what she’s about—to-morrow night.”</p> - -<p>“Well, my dear,” Miss Farrell said, when this<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_179" id="page_179">{179}</a></span> conversation was reported -to her, “you know what my feelings are; but I am not dull to the credit -of the family. It being fully understood what my motive is, I shall -certainly appear to-morrow evening, and do my very best to make things -go off well. I will play your dear father’s accompaniment with the -greatest pleasure. He has the remains of a very fine voice, and he has -science, too, though it is old-fashioned. So has your brother George a -beautiful voice; I always wished him to cultivate it. We must do -everything, Winnie, both you and I, to make things go off well. You are -not in good spirits, it is true,—neither am I,—but we must forget all -that for the credit of the house. And how do you think he is himself?” -she added after a pause.</p> - -<p>“He looks very well,” said Winnie. “I see no signs of illness. -Edward”—she paused a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_180" id="page_180">{180}</a></span> little with a faint smile,—“I think I should say -Dr. Langton, for I never see him”—</p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear, don’t judge him unjustly!—he thinks that is necessary.”</p> - -<p>“You all think it is necessary,” cried Winnie, with a little outburst of -feeling, “to make me as unhappy as possible. I mean to say that I -think—I hope he is mistaken. Even doctors,” she said, with a smile, -“have been mistaken before now.”</p> - -<p>“That is very true,” said Miss Farrell gravely, and then she rose and -kissed the pale face opposite to her. “Anyhow, my dear, you and I will -do our best for him as long as there are strangers in the house.”</p> - -<p>Winifred was worn out by the strain of these troubled days, and by the -self-controversy that had been going on within her. She fell asleep -early in profound exhaustion, the dead sleep of forces overstrained and -heart stupefied with<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_181" id="page_181">{181}</a></span> trouble. She woke suddenly in the early dawn of -the morning, while as yet everything was indistinct. What had woke her, -or if it was any external incident at all that had done so, she could -not tell at first; there seemed a tingle and vibration in the pale air. -Was it the early twittering which had begun faintly among the thick -foliage outside? She listened, rising up in her bed, with an intensity -for which there seemed no reason, for no definite alarm occurred to her -mind. Everything was still, not a sound audible but those first faint -chirpings, interrogative, tentative, from the trees. She was about to -compose herself to rest again, when suddenly there sounded tingling -through the silence the sound of a bell, a little angry, impatient -jingle repeated, tearing the stillness. Winifred was too much startled -and confused to realise what it was, but she got up hastily, and, -throwing her dressing-gown round her, opened her door to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_182" id="page_182">{182}</a></span> hear better. -The thought that came first to her mind was, that the summons was at the -door, and that it meant one of the boys coming home. Her heart leaped to -her throat with excitement. The boys had come home at all sorts of hours -in the time which was past, but now, what could this summons be? It came -again while she stood trembling, wondering; and then, with a cry, -Winifred flew along the corridor. Mr. Chester’s room was in the wing, at -some distance from the other sleeping-rooms of the house. Everything was -silent, an atmosphere of profound sleep, calm tranquillity in the dim -air, through which the night-lamp in the hall below burned with a weird -glimmer. The blueness of the dawn in its faint pervasion seemed more -ghostly than the night.</p> - -<p>As Winifred hurried along, another door <span class="pagenum"><a name="page_183" id="page_183">{183}</a></span>opened with a hasty sound, and -old Hopkins stumbled forth. “What is it, Miss Winifred?”</p> - -<p>She had no breath to reply. She put him before her, trembling as they -reached Mr. Chester’s door. She was terrified by the thoughts of what -she might see. But there was nothing that was terrible to see. A voice -came out of the curtains, querulous, with an outburst of abuse at old -Hopkins, who never could be made to hear.</p> - -<p>“Send for Langton,” Mr. Chester said.</p> - -<p>“It’s the middle of the night, please sir,” old Hopkins replied.</p> - -<p>“Send for Langton,” repeated the voice. It had a curious stammer in it; -a sibilant sound. “S—s—send for Langton,” with another torrent of -exclamations.</p> - -<p>The old butler hurried out of the room, muttering to himself, “It will -be half an hour before I can wake one of those grooms, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_184" id="page_184">{184}</a></span> he’ll take -the skin off me before that. Miss Winifred, oh, it’s only the doctor he -wants; it’s nothing out of the common!”</p> - -<p>“I will go,” she said.</p> - -<p>“You? But it’s the middle of the night, and not a soul awake.”</p> - -<p>“Is he very ill? Tell me the truth. I will go quicker than any one -else.”</p> - -<p>“Miss Winifred, you’ve no call to be frightened. He’s been the same -fifty times. He don’t want the doctor no more than I do. Oh, goodness, -there he is at it again!”</p> - -<p>Then the bell sent a wild, irritated peal into the air, which evidently -ended abruptly in the breaking of the bell-rope.</p> - -<p>“I will go!” Winifred said, and the old man, relieved, hurried back to -his master. She put on quickly a long ulster, which covered her from -head to foot, and hurried out into the strange coolness and freshness of -the unawakened<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_185" id="page_185">{185}</a></span> world. There was no need, she said to herself, but it -was a relief and almost pleasure to do something. The great stillness, -the feeling of the dawn, the faint blue-tinted atmosphere, a something -which came before the light, all breathed peace about her. It was like a -disembodied world, another state of existence in which nothing real or -tangible was. She flew along, the only creature moving save those too -early, questioning birds, and felt in herself a curious elevation above -mortal boundaries, as if she too was disembodied and could move like a -spirit. The strange abstractedness of the atmosphere, the keen yet soft -coolness, the unimaginable solitude possessed her like a vision. She -felt no sensation of anxiety or fear, but seemed carried along upon her -errand like a creature of the air, unfamiliar with the emotions of the -world. As it happened, Langton’s groom was already preparing his -maste<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_186" id="page_186">{186}</a></span>r’s horse for some early visit. He stared at Winifred as if she -had dropped from the skies, but made no remark, except that his master -would be ready instantly; and she turned back through the sleeping -village, still wrapped in the same abstraction, walking along as in a -dream. One labourer, setting out to work at distant fields, passed, and -stared dumb and awe-stricken at her, as if she had been a ghost. His was -the only figure save her own that was visible. When she was half-way -home, Edward galloped past, waving his hand to her as he hastened on. -For her part, Winifred felt that there was no longer any need to hurry. -She wandered on under the trees, where now all the birds were awake, -chatting to each other—forming their little plans for the endless -August day, the age of sunshine and sweet air before them, now that -night once more was over—before they began to sing. She was -unspeak<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_187" id="page_187">{187}</a></span>ably eased, consoled, rested by that universal tranquillity. The -dew fell upon her very heart. She lingered to look at a hundred things -which she had seen every day all her life, which she had never noticed -before. It was not sunrise as yet; the world was still a land of dreams, -waiting the revelation of the reality to come. Thus it was some time -before she reached the house, and yet she was surprised when she reached -it, having got so far away from that centre of human life with all its -throbbings, into the great quiet of the morning world.</p> - -<p>Something, an indefinable disturbance, a change of a kind which made -itself felt, was in the place. The door stood wide open, a scared groom -was walking Langton’s horse up and down, the windows were still closed, -except one, at which two or three indistinct figures seemed looking out. -There arose a flutter, she could not tell why, in Winifre<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_188" id="page_188">{188}</a></span>d’s breast. -She almost smiled at herself for the involuntary sensation which marked -her return from a world of visions to that of real life. Then Edward -Langton appeared coming out, as if to meet her in the open door.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page_189" id="page_189">{189}</a></span> </p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">E</span>DWARD 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”—</p> - -<p>“It is because there is no longer any need of precaution,” he said very -gravely, pressing her arm close to his side.</p> - -<p>She gazed at him with an incapacity to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_190" id="page_190">{190}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 swim<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_191" id="page_191">{191}</a></span>ming, her heart beating. That door had closed not only upon -her father dead, but upon a completed chapter of her own life.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Tell me how it was,” she said.</p> - -<p>“It was as I told you it would be. We must be thankful that no act of -ours, no con<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_192" id="page_192">{192}</a></span>tention of ours, quickened the catastrophe. He was in -perfectly good spirits last night, I hear. By the time I arrived, all -was over. Winifred”—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Not glad,” said the young man.</p> - -<p>“Not glad! and I?” she cried, with an exclamation of despair.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_193" id="page_193">{193}</a></span>” 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?”</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_194" id="page_194">{194}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, my darling, your dear father! Oh, my child, come to me and let me -comfort you!” she said.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_195" id="page_195">{195}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_196" id="page_196">{196}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>When she came a little to herself, she insisted that her brothers should -be telegraphed for<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_197" id="page_197">{197}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_198" id="page_198">{198}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_199" id="page_199">{199}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>Mr. Babington did not arrive till next day. And he looked very grave -when he heard what had been done.</p> - -<p>“Of what use is it?” he said; “the poor<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_200" id="page_200">{200}</a></span> 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?”</p> - -<p>“I should have preferred to do so,” said Langton; “but at such a moment -Miss Chester’s wish was above all.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“If you mean that after all the money is not to be hers”—said Langton, -with a slight change of colour.</p> - -<p>“Before we go farther I ought to know—perhaps her father’s death has -brought about some change—between her and you?”</p> - -<p>“No change at all. We were pledged to<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_201" id="page_201">{201}</a></span> each other two years ago without -any opposition from him. I cannot say that he ever gave his formal -consent.”</p> - -<p>“But it was all broken off—I heard as much from him—by mutual -consent.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! and he was taken in!” the lawyer said.</p> - -<p>This brought the colour to Langton’s face.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I see,” said Mr. Babington; “a waiting game doesn’t always recommend -itself to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_202" id="page_202">{202}</a></span> lookers-on, Dr. Langton. It might have lasted for years.”</p> - -<p>“I did not think,” said Langton hastily, “that it could have lasted for -weeks. He has lived longer than I expected.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“It sounds like something more than disrespect,” said Langton, with -offence. “If you think I did not do my duty by my patient”—</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>“I think,” said Langton, “that this is not a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_203" id="page_203">{203}</a></span> subject to be discussed -between us. You know very well that my influence with Mr. Chester was”—</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>The sudden change of aspect, the gloom which came over Mr. Babington’s -cheerful<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_204" id="page_204">{204}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, at once! What could I do else? I am sure <i>now</i> that he would have -wished me to do it.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“He said it was left to me. But what could that be for? only to be given -back to them,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_205" id="page_205">{205}</a></span>” 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 <i>now</i>.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_206" id="page_206">{206}</a></span> Couldn’t you send another -telegram? They’re expensive, but in the circumstances”—</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I daresay it will all come right,” Mr. Babington said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_207" id="page_207">{207}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">M</span>R. 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_208" id="page_208">{208}</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_209" id="page_209">{209}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_210" id="page_210">{210}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_211" id="page_211">{211}</a></span> 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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_212" id="page_212">{212}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_213" id="page_213">{213}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_214" id="page_214">{214}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_215" id="page_215">{215}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>And in the meantime there were moments of<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_216" id="page_216">{216}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_217" id="page_217">{217}</a></span> 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_218" id="page_218">{218}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_219" id="page_219">{219}</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_220" id="page_220">{220}</a></span> 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 sud<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_221" id="page_221">{221}</a></span>denly, “Edward, I have -had a telegram from Tom.”</p> - -<p>He started and stopped short with a quick exclamation—“From Tom!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“We shall be happy still, I hope,” he said,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_222" id="page_222">{222}</a></span>—“happier, since the time -is coming when we are always to be together, Winnie.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“Not one that cannot be passed over,” he said.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_223" id="page_223">{223}</a></span></p> - -<p>“You must husband your strength,” he said, “and not wear yourself out -more than you can help. Remember there is George to come.”</p> - -<p>“I will have to say what there is to say at once, Edward. Oh, how could -I keep them in suspense?”</p> - -<p>“But you must think a little, for my sake, of yourself, dear.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_224" id="page_224">{224}</a></span> 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_225" id="page_225">{225}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INIFRED 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_226" id="page_226">{226}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_227" id="page_227">{227}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_228" id="page_228">{228}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_229" id="page_229">{229}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_230" id="page_230">{230}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“Here, sir, this is your place, sir,” the old butler said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_231" id="page_231">{231}</a></span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I thought it would be—for a longer time, Tom.”</p> - -<p>“You thought it was for good; but you might have known better. The poor -old governor thought better of it at the last?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Well,” said Tom, addressing himself to the good things on the breakfast -table, “whatever<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_232" id="page_232">{232}</a></span> 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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I—don’t know, Tom. I am not clear about the geography. I thought -perhaps you might have come by the same ship.”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_233" id="page_233">{233}</a></span></p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“<i>You</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>“I thought it indispensable that he should come back, that we should all -meet to arrange everything.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_234" id="page_234">{234}</a></span> think there’s something for him. I hope, at least, you made that -point clear.”</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_235" id="page_235">{235}</a></span> to telegraph -again and tell him it was not worth his while.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_236" id="page_236">{236}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“He is coming on Monday. We did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_237" id="page_237">{237}</a></span> think you could arrive before -Monday, and George perhaps by that time”—</p> - -<p>“Always George!” he said, with an angry laugh.</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>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”—</p> - -<p>“It is not about myself,” said Winifred. “Oh, Tom, how am I to tell you? -I cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_238" id="page_238">{238}</a></span> find the words—my father—oh, listen to me for a -little—don’t go away!”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right! there is plenty of time to change when I have made up my -mind which I like best,” he said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_239" id="page_239">{239}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">G</span>EORGE 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_240" id="page_240">{240}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_241" id="page_241">{241}</a></span> them to nobody. George said you would think a -deal of them.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>George was not fat, like his wife, but careworn and spare.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_242" id="page_242">{242}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I suppose it’s natural your sister<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_243" id="page_243">{243}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe she knows my name, or perhaps she’s proud, and won’t -call me by it, George?”</p> - -<p>“Winnie proud? Look how good baby is with her!” said George.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_244" id="page_244">{244}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Is it old Hopkins?” said George. “How do you do, Hopkins? There is a -cage with some birds”—</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_245" id="page_245">{245}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No, George,” said his wife; “it would spoil their tea.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_246" id="page_246">{246}</a></span> servants. I -shouldn’t keep up half of them, when once we have settled down and see -how we are going to fit in.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_247" id="page_247">{247}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_248" id="page_248">{248}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_249" id="page_249">{249}</a></span> 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?</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_250" id="page_250">{250}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_251" id="page_251">{251}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I wish you wouldn’t talk so much,” her husband said under his breath.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_252" id="page_252">{252}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I never thought to deceive you,” she cried,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_253" id="page_253">{253}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_254" id="page_254">{254}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Tom?” George cried. The news seemed so unexpected that his astonishment -and dismay were undisguised. “Is Tom here?”</p> - -<p>“I sent for you both on the same day,” said Winifred, bowing her head as -if it were a confession of guilt.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But, George, George!” cried his wife, almost inarticulate with -eagerness to speak. “George,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_255" id="page_255">{255}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_256" id="page_256">{256}</a></span> 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_257" id="page_257">{257}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">W</span>INIFRED 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_258" id="page_258">{258}</a></span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_259" id="page_259">{259}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_260" id="page_260">{260}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_261" id="page_261">{261}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“Come, Winnie,” said George, “Tom and I are a little too old for that.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_262" id="page_262">{262}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_263" id="page_263">{263}</a></span> 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?”</p> - -<p>“Winnie, what you will do is to make yourself ill in the meantime.”</p> - -<p>“What does it matter?” she cried wildly; “if I were to die, I suppose it -would go to them as my heirs.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“She don’t say a word of Georgie. Is there nothing for Georgie? I don’t -know what you<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_264" id="page_264">{264}</a></span> mean, all about giving and not giving—it’s our right. -George, ain’t it our right?”</p> - -<p>“There are no rights in our family,” said George; “but I don’t know what -it means any more than you.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_265" id="page_265">{265}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_266" id="page_266">{266}</a></span> -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 <i>first</i> time,” he added -significantly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Winifred rose from her chair with a low cry, and came to his side, -putting her arm through his.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_267" id="page_267">{267}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Edward! Edward! he does not know what he is saying,” she cried.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_268" id="page_268">{268}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“No, Edward,” she said.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_269" id="page_269">{269}</a></span> brother to -accuse me of every crime at his ease.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You are of that opinion too?” Langton said, turning to her with a pale -smile. “Be<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_270" id="page_270">{270}</a></span> it so. I came to look after Miss Chester’s health, not to -disturb a family party.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_271" id="page_271">{271}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“Take care of her,” he said, wringing Miss Farrell’s hand as he passed -her, and without another look or word went away.</p> - -<p>Winifred, standing, following with her eyes, with consternation -unspeakable, his departing figure, felt the strength ebb out of her as -he<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_272" id="page_272">{272}</a></span> 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—</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_273" id="page_273">{273}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Edward will not come back,” she said in Miss Farrell’s ear.</p> - -<p>“To-morrow, my darling, to-morrow,” the old lady said, with tears in her -eyes.</p> - -<p>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 Edwar<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_274" id="page_274">{274}</a></span>d’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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_275" id="page_275">{275}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">E</span>NOUGH 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_276" id="page_276">{276}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_277" id="page_277">{277}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“Did you ever,” she said to her companion “feel a temptation to run -away, to bear no more?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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. “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Oh that -I had the wings of a dove!’—I don’t think I ever understood before what -that meant.”</p> - -<p>“And what does it mean, Winnie? The<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_278" id="page_278">{278}</a></span> dove flies home, not into the -wilds, which is what you are thinking of.”</p> - -<p>“That is true,” said the girl, “and I have no home, except with you. I -have still you”—</p> - -<p>“He will come back to-morrow,” Miss Farrell said.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_279" id="page_279">{279}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Not that,” Winifred said.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_280" id="page_280">{280}</a></span> 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_281" id="page_281">{281}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_282" id="page_282">{282}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>Next day she was so shaken and worn out with the experiences of that -terrible evening,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_283" id="page_283">{283}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_284" id="page_284">{284}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_285" id="page_285">{285}</a></span> interviews. -Tom was so sore and resentful against his sister, that he was willing to -make common cause with George against her.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe you’ll get a jury against Winnie,” said George, shaking -his head.</p> - -<p>“Why shouldn’t we get a jury against Winnie? She has stolen into my -place and your place, and set the governor against us.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps she has,” said George; “but you won’t get a jury against her.”</p> - -<p>“Why not? There is no man in the world that would say otherwise than -that ours was a hard case.”</p> - -<p>“Oh yes, it is a very hard case; but you would not get a jury against -Winnie,” George<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_286" id="page_286">{286}</a></span> repeated, with that admirable force of passive -resistance and blunted understanding which is beyond all argument.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“We can’t stand this, you know,” said Tom. “It is not in nature to -suppose that we could stand it.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, can’t you?” Mr. Babington said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_287" id="page_287">{287}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Tom thinks,” his brother explained in his slow way, “that there has -been undue influence.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“But I say he’ll never get a jury against Winnie,” said George, with his -anxious eyes fixed on Mr. Babington’s face.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>This laugh, more than all the reasoning in<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_288" id="page_288">{288}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_289" id="page_289">{289}</a></span> 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_290" id="page_290">{290}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HERE 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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_291" id="page_291">{291}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Tom!” cried Winifred, laying her hand<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_292" id="page_292">{292}</a></span> upon his arm; “I am too glad -to believe you. If you will only stand by me, Tom”—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“If that is so, I shall be able to bear almost anything,” said Winifred -faintly.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_293" id="page_293">{293}</a></span> Tom made a brief pause. “But of -course you know I shall want something to live on,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I know that you shall have everything that I can give you,” Winifred -cried.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You shall have half, Tom. I have always meant you should have half.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“But, Tom, you would not have left George out—you would not have had -the heart!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_294" id="page_294">{294}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_295" id="page_295">{295}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“Tom, you will be careful and not spend too much—you will not throw it -all away?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_296" id="page_296">{296}</a></span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know anything about the Stock Exchange, Tom; only don’t lose -your money speculating.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_297" id="page_297">{297}</a></span> made up my mind -to it, there’s nothing to look so grave about. I’ll stand by you -whatever happens.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Tom,” she said faintly.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_298" id="page_298">{298}</a></span> 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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_299" id="page_299">{299}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_300" id="page_300">{300}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_301" id="page_301">{301}</a></span>” she cried, -“left alone with no one to help me?”</p> - -<p>But how was he to understand this cry which escaped from her without any -will of hers?</p> - -<p>“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 -<i>money</i> 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?”</p> - -<p>Winifred shrank and trembled as if it were she who was the criminal. -“Yes,” she said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_302" id="page_302">{302}</a></span> almost under her breath, “I know; but, Tom, think. He -is the eldest, he has children who have done no wrong.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, the children! that woman’s children, and the image of her! Can’t -you find a better reason than that?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_303" id="page_303">{303}</a></span> and justice? Do you think -<i>they</i> don’t know better and wish if they could to remedy what has been -wrong here?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what you mean by <i>they</i>,” 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!”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_304" id="page_304">{304}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_305" id="page_305">{305}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HIS 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_306" id="page_306">{306}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_307" id="page_307">{307}</a></span> framing her pale face, -and that look of sleep which simulates death, had much disturbed the -little boy. He fulfilled his <i>consigne</i> 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.</p> - -<p>“Little George, is it you? Come, then, and tell me what it is,” she -said.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Come to me, little man, come to me,” she cried. Tears came to her eyes -too, and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_308" id="page_308">{308}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“Come and tell me, Georgie.” She leant towards him, holding out arms in -which the child saw a refuge from the imperative signs<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_309" id="page_309">{309}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_310" id="page_310">{310}</a></span> her side, almost -crushing Georgie, who began to cry with fright and wonder.</p> - -<p>“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. “<i>He</i> 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!”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_311" id="page_311">{311}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_312" id="page_312">{312}</a></span> -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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_313" id="page_313">{313}</a></span> run -errands—them that are your own flesh and blood?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_314" id="page_314">{314}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I should be that and more: since he lost his fortune, and his ’ome, and -all, for me,” she cried.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_315" id="page_315">{315}</a></span></p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_316" id="page_316">{316}</a></span> -“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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_317" id="page_317">{317}</a></span> -why shouldn’t we just settle down all together, and be, oh, so -comfortable, Miss Winnie, dear?”</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_318" id="page_318">{318}</a></span></p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I do indeed, Winnie. My dear, I would not interfere, but you must not -let your kind heart carry you too far.”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_319" id="page_319">{319}</a></span></p> - -<p>“Live with you? Winnie! my dear!” Miss Farrell gasped, with a sharp -break between each word.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, Winnie.” Her friend did not look at her; she dared not betray -her too profound sympathy, her personal anguish, even by a kiss.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_320" id="page_320">{320}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_321" id="page_321">{321}</a></span> him with the sense that here was an old, old friend, -somebody, above all doubt and uncertainty, in whom she could trust.</p> - -<p>“Miss Winifred,” he said, “I am afraid, though you don’t seem much like -it, that we must talk of business.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; I wish it, Mr. Babington. I am only foolish and troubled—not ill -at all.”</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>“Did Tom tell you so, Mr. Babington?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_322" id="page_322">{322}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_323" id="page_323">{323}</a></span> throws a fearful responsibility upon you, we may allow; -but still, my dear Miss Winifred”—</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” she cried, “you are my friend, my old friend! I never remember the -time when<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_324" id="page_324">{324}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_325" id="page_325">{325}</a></span> step—which may change the whole course of your life?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“My dear young lady, excuse me if I speak too plainly; but want of -confidence between two people that are in the position of”—</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And yet he will be the one to suffer,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_326" id="page_326">{326}</a></span> 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”—</p> - -<p>“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 <i>them</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_327" id="page_327">{327}</a></span> cheerful glow of health had faded. The lawyer looked at her with -genuine tenderness and pity.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She gave him a little pathetic smile, and shook her head; but she was -not able to speak.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She looked at him, roused by his words, with an awakening thrill of -wonder. “Write down—what I mean to do? But that will<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_328" id="page_328">{328}</a></span> make me helpless -to do it; that will risk everything; or so you said.”</p> - -<p>“I said true. Nevertheless, if you are sure you wish, at the bottom of -your heart, to sacrifice yourself to your brothers”—</p> - -<p>She shook her head half angrily, with a gesture of impatience. “To give -them back their rights.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_329" id="page_329">{329}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">T</span>HIS 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_330" id="page_330">{330}</a></span> 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_331" id="page_331">{331}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“I heard there was some one ill at the Manor Farm,” said Miss Farrell, -with a quick catching of her breath.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“If you please, Miss Winifred, Mr. Babington<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_332" id="page_332">{332}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“Will you come, Miss Farrell?” Winifred said.</p> - -<p>“If I could be of any use to you, my darling; but I could not, and you -would rather that no one was there.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_333" id="page_333">{333}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_334" id="page_334">{334}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“He must have been off his head; I shall never believe anything else, -though there may not be enough evidence,” Tom said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_335" id="page_335">{335}</a></span></p> - -<p>“I daresay my father was right,” said George in his despondent voice.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Babington!” Winifred said, putting her hand on his arm.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be a fool, Winnie!” cried Tom. “Pass over that, please. We all -know what<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_336" id="page_336">{336}</a></span> you mean, and that she’s to pose as our benefactor, and to -receive our eternal gratitude, and so forth.”</p> - -<p>“I think it would be a great pity if Winnie took any rash step,” George -said.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_337" id="page_337">{337}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Tom had burst into a violent laugh of despite and despair. “If that’s -what it’s to come to,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_338" id="page_338">{338}</a></span>” 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.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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 ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_339" id="page_339">{339}</a></span>pectation, although they -knew not what their expectation was.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>There was another pause. Mr. Babington leant back in his chair, so much -at his ease<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_340" id="page_340">{340}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_341" id="page_341">{341}</a></span></p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“If I know what that means? Intestate? I don’t think I do know what it -means.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_342" id="page_342">{342}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“You fool!” his brother cried.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_343" id="page_343">{343}</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_344" id="page_344">{344}</a></span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_345" id="page_345">{345}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“What has happened, Winnie? What has happened?”</p> - -<p>“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!<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_346" id="page_346">{346}</a></span>”</p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">E</span>DWARD 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_347" id="page_347">{347}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_348" id="page_348">{348}</a></span> 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 <i>de trop</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_349" id="page_349">{349}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_350" id="page_350">{350}</a></span> 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_351" id="page_351">{351}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_352" id="page_352">{352}</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Certainly it is convenient, and I am too glad—drive on to my house, -and I shall be with you in a moment.”</p> - -<p>Though he had felt it to be his only salvation<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_353" id="page_353">{353}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>that</i>, -with lengthy fine dinners that nobody understands, to a comfortable chop -which a man can enjoy and which it is a pleasure to see.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_354" id="page_354">{354}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“Bedloe was not a confused house in former days,” said Langton, with a -feeling that Winifred’s credit was somehow assailed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_355" id="page_355">{355}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“I see no reason why she should be called a poor girl,” Langton said -quickly.</p> - -<p>“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”—</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_356" id="page_356">{356}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_357" id="page_357">{357}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_358" id="page_358">{358}</a></span> (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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_359" id="page_359">{359}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“How going off?” cried Langton, starting to his feet.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Turned and fled? Do you mean to say<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_360" id="page_360">{360}</a></span>—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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_361" id="page_361">{361}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>Thus the good man went on maundering, quite unconscious that his -companion could have risen and slain him every time that he mentioned -those<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_362" id="page_362">{362}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_363" id="page_363">{363}</a></span> 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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_364" id="page_364">{364}</a></span></p> - -<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI</h2> - -<p class="nind"><span class="letra">A</span>N 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_365" id="page_365">{365}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_366" id="page_366">{366}</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_367" id="page_367">{367}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_368" id="page_368">{368}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>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 <i>Times</i> or -take any other wild<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_369" id="page_369">{369}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_370" id="page_370">{370}</a></span> easily on the Saturday, and on Sunday night was going up to -town in time to catch the Continental mail next day.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Langton,” he cried, “look here! do<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_371" id="page_371">{371}</a></span>n’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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_372" id="page_372">{372}</a></span></p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_373" id="page_373">{373}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_374" id="page_374">{374}</a></span> 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.”</p> - -<p>“But why should he have changed so?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_375" id="page_375">{375}</a></span>” Winifred said; “what reason was -there? He was always kind and true.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know about true, Winnie.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_376" id="page_376">{376}</a></span> 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_377" id="page_377">{377}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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. Christ<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_378" id="page_378">{378}</a></span>mas! 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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_379" id="page_379">{379}</a></span>”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No, dear, not that,” Miss Farrell said, soothing her.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“My dear child!” Miss Farrell cried, taking Winifred into her kind arms.</p> - -<p>At this moment there was a tinkle at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="page_380" id="page_380">{380}</a></span> 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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<hr class="full" /> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Prodigals and their Inheritance; -Complete, by Mrs. Margaret Oliphant - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PRODIGALS COMPLETE *** - -***** This file should be named 62466-h.htm or 62466-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/4/6/62466/ - -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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