EAVESDROPPING.
Dominic had never in his short life of fifteen years been known to do
an underhand or mean thing. It is true he had plenty of faults--for
what lad has not--but his virtues outshone strong passions, and nobody
in reality guessed that he possessed a wild, fearless, and adventurous
nature.
At the present moment he stood listening as though stunned. He knew
quite well that he was eavesdropping. The study door was a little
open, and he could hear as distinctly as though he were in the room.
He did not mind eavesdropping on this occasion. In fact, he meant to
eavesdrop. What did it matter to him just then what the world thought
of him. _They_ were talking--his father--his most beloved father--and
his equally detestable step-mother; and Dominic fully resolved with all
his boyish heart to listen to each word they said, for he had caught
the word "Maureen," and he had further noticed the anguish in his
father's voice.
"Constance, you can't do it--you cannot be so cruel!"
"I was half-way to Kingsala," was the reply, "when it suddenly flashed
over me, Patrick, that you had better know my intentions, so I returned
on purpose. I'm going straight to see Mr. Murphy, the solicitor, and
after telling you first, I shall have a round talk with him. My talk
will be with regard to Maureen."
"Yes," replied the Rector.
There was a pause, but the young eavesdropper had very sharp ears.
"You told me yourself, you silly man, that you are dying. It is true,
that having taken the best medical advice, you may possibly hold on
for a year or two, but you confess that your days are numbered. Now
a year here or there does not much matter to me. I shall be a widow
before long. Now I have my own girls to provide for--my Daisy and
my Henrietta. I can do well for them, and your insurance money and
your private means are settled on Kitty and the two boys by marriage
settlement. There is nothing, therefore, for Maureen. When you adopted
her, Patrick, you should have provided for her. I tell you, frankly and
plainly, that after your death I will do nothing for the child. Maureen
will be a beggar. She has never been properly educated, and I see
nothing for her but to go into service. If she were a little taller she
might make a parlourmaid. It is a pity she is so short and so plain.
Well, I am outspoken. I tell you the exact truth. Maureen will not get
one shilling from me, and your children's money cannot be touched; so
now you know."
"Constance, you can speak like that to a dying man. May God forgive
your cold heart. Once, Constance, I thought you both beautiful and
good; I was even fool enough to think there was something of the angel
about you. Alas, I quickly learnt my mistake. Now, Constance, I will
tell you plainly that my children and Maureen share and share alike."
"Ah," said Mrs. O'Brien, with a sort of groan, "how very stupid and
silly you are, Patrick; but when you talk with Mr. Murphy he will tell
you a very different story."
"Listen to me, Constance," continued the Rector, "I know well that I
have not long to live, but I may hold out for a few years. My boys, my
girl, and I will provide for Maureen. I never told you how she came
into the family."
"You did not; but I cannot wait to hear your romantic story now. I may
miss Mr. Murphy."
"Constance, you must wait. It will not take up five minutes of your
time. My little brown-eyed Maureen came to me in this fashion. I had a
twin-brother. I loved him better than myself. The thought of meeting
him again is one of the joys I look forward to; he died of wounds
received in the field of battle. His young wife had died before him,
and he left his little child, Maureen, to me. I brought her up as my
own. The boys look upon her as their sister. Kitty does the same.
Little Maureen came to the Rectory, and since then her sweetness and
innocence have helped me to bear the greatest sorrow of my life--the
loss of that brother who was dearer to me than myself. Now you can go,
Constance, but Maureen shall be provided for."
"You are about the most silly, out-of-the-world person I ever came
across," said Mrs. O'Brien. "Well, let me tell you that your story
about yourself and your twin-brother does not affect me in the least.
When you die, Maureen has to earn her living--or go to the workhouse.
Well, you know the truth. As to upsetting your marriage settlement, it
cannot be done. Ta-ta. I may not be back until very late. I was always
outspoken, and shall be to my dying day."
The overdressed woman turned swiftly and left the room.
Softly, very softly, Dominic hid himself behind a shabby old screen in
the narrow passage which led to the Rector's study. Mrs. O'Brien was
soon returning to Kingsala, and Mr. O'Brien, feeling himself alone,
weak and suffering, laid his head on his hands and groaned aloud.
"My little Maureen!" he murmured. "God, my Heavenly Father, help me.
Can it be possible that what the woman says is true--that terrible
woman, whom once I loved and--and married? Oh, my God, to have to face
Maurice, my dearest brother, and tell him about little Maureen."
Just then a light touch rested on the stricken man's shoulder. He
raised his face and saw with astonishment his young son Dominic beside
him.
"Dad," said Dominic, "Maureen and I were talking together about you.
You can't imagine, dad, how lovely the air is outside. We were a bit
anxious about you--Maureen and I--and (as 'herself' was away) we
thought--Maureen and I did--that you might come out and lie on the
thick rug with a pile of pillows under your head. You know the spot
I mean. It is where the periwinkles grow and the tall trees shelter
us from the hottest rays of the sun. Well, it was a little plan we
made between us, Maureen and I; but when I came to fetch you--I'm not
ashamed to own it, dearest old dad,--but the door was a bit open, and
I heard voices and I listened. 'Herself' had come back and I heard her
say that she would do nothing at all for Maureen; then I heard you say,
you blessed man, that you would, when the time came, divide all your
own money between Kitty and Maureen and Denis and myself. You will do
it, won't you, dear dad?"
"Yes, my son, if it is possible."
"But how can it not be possible when we _all_ wish it?" asked the boy.
"Listen, Dominic. Perhaps you had no right to overhear, but on the
other hand perhaps God meant it. Anyhow you are on my side now."
"Dad, tell me the very truth. You are not really ill?"
"Yes, my son, really."
"But I mean"--the boy's voice choked--"badly?"
"Yes, lad, very badly."
"Still, you may live for years."
"That's true. Now, avick, listen to me. Your step-mother will return
from visiting Murphy to-night. I greatly fear she will do what mischief
she can. I have a great dread over me, Dom; I can't quite explain it;
but to-morrow you and I will go together and see the solicitor. Oh yes,
I am quite well enough for that. I'll get the truth out of him, cost
me what it may. I won't listen to a word of what _she_ has got to say.
We'll go early in the warm part of the day and find out for ourselves
what can be done for Maureen."
"Dad, there never was your like before. We'll go, and we'll put things
as right as possible; and now, would it at all comfort you to come out
and lie on the periwinkles where Maureen is waiting, for she has heard
a few words, nothing of any consequence, but they have troubled her,
and her dear, brave little heart is almost breaking. She loves you so
passionately."
"Yes, we'll go," said the Rector.
He rose very slowly, and, leaning on his son's arm, presently
approached the spot where Maureen, wondering at the long delay, was
sitting up and waiting. She had her hands clasped round her knees, and
the tears which filled her eyes a short time ago had ceased to flow,
for Maureen was not what she called a "cry-baby"; but the soft brown
eyes were all the same full of wild fear. When she saw her uncle and
cousin, however, she gave a glad exclamation, sprang to her feet, and
ran forward to meet Uncle Pat.
"Oh, but this is heavenly," cried the child; "oh, but you have come to
me your own self, you blessed darling." Then she and Dominic between
them arranged the thick rug and the soft but shabby pillows, and the
Rector lay down while Dominic with a bright nod to his little mate ran
quickly away.
He crept into a disused old barn at the back of the house, and there
he cried as few boys of his age do cry, silently, with a passion of
sorrow, with an anguish of grief. He made no noise as the tears slowly
rolled down over his cheeks, but the pain at his manly young heart was
almost unbearable. Maureen! to treat her as the 'Step' would certainly
treat her, and his most beloved father sooner or later to _die_. This
was the first real touch of trouble that had come to the boy, and he
felt that he could scarcely endure it.
"But whatever happens, father and I will settle about Maureen," he said
to his troubled heart. "Darling Maureen!"
Meanwhile Maureen herself was in her element. She might cry afterwards,
but she was certainly not going to cry now. She was a very young little
girl, but she had in many ways far more self-control than her older
cousin, and her only object now was to comfort and cheer Uncle Pat.
"You mustn't sit out long, you know, Uncle Pat," she began, "but I'm
sure we can have half an hour. Suppose we talk of the very pleasantest
things. You begin, Uncle Pat. Tell me some of the very beautiful things
you preach about when you talk to us about the City of Gold; and may I
lay my head, very lightly--just there--on your _dear_ shoulder. I won't
tire you; I really won't. Are the gates really of pearl in your City
and the streets of gold?"
"The Bible says so, my little girl."
"And the souls go up and up," continued Maureen, "and enter in and go
out no more. And the Lord Jesus Christ has made mansions for them to
live in, and there is the River of Life and the Tree of Life which is
for the healing of the nations; and my Father is there. It must be
very, very nice to be there; don't you think so, Uncle Pat?"
"Yes, Maureen."
"But we are down here, at present," said Maureen, "so we must do with
this little bit of the earth, and I'm just awfully happy when I'm with
you and Dom. Now I want to tell you all the funny stories I can think
of. I want to make you laugh. Do you know that I'm studying French very
hard, and I came across such a strange bit the other day. It was about
the funniest story I ever read. May I try and tell it to you--only I
won't be able to do it any sort of justice?"
"Yes, tell it to me, Maureen, my blessing."
"Well, I'll do my best. There was James the Sixth of Scotland, who of
course, you know, became James the First of England, but this queer
story happened when he was only James the Sixth of Scotland. Well,
of course, he was a great king and lived in great state, and one day
who should visit him but an Ambassador from the great Court of Spain.
The Ambassador wore magnificent clothes, and the King was greatly
taken with him and talked very big to him, and tried to make out that
Scotland was a much better country than Spain; but the Ambassador
did not believe him, so he said, 'I see, your Majesty, that you are
surrounded by courtiers and professors of all sorts, but I don't
see anywhere a Professor of Signs.' Well, of course, King James was
dreadfully puzzled, but he was not going to give in, not for a minute;
so he said at once, 'Our great University is at Aberdeen, and of course
we have a Professor of Signs there.' 'That is most interesting,' said
the Ambassador, 'and I should much like to see him.' 'You shall,' said
the King. 'You shall go to Aberdeen to-morrow and see the Professor
of Signs.' Then the King called his learned men around him and sent
one of the most learned to Aberdeen to arrange that at the University
there should be a Professor of Signs dressed in academic robes ready
to meet the Ambassador from Spain. He came back early in the morning
and told the King it was all right. He said they had found a one-eyed
butcher who was something of a wag, and that they had induced him to
come to the University and meet the Ambassador from Spain. So the
one-eyed butcher went and sat in his chair of state in his beautiful
robes, and by-and-by the Ambassador from Spain arrived, and the other
professors came out to welcome him, and they said to him how proud
they were to meet so great and distinguished a man. 'But,' said the
Ambassador, 'I particularly want to see your Professor of Signs.'
'Oh, _that's_ all right,' said the professors; 'he is waiting for
you in the next room.' They took him in and left him alone with the
Professor of Signs. The Professor glowered at him, but didn't utter a
word. The Ambassador, however, went boldly up and raised one finger
and pointed to the Professor of Signs. Instantly the Professor of
Signs took two fingers and shook them in the face of the Ambassador,
whereupon the Ambassador took three fingers and held them very close
to the Professor of Signs. Then the Professor of Signs got very red,
and he clenched his great brawny fist and shook it violently at the
Ambassador. The Ambassador immediately went up to him and offered him
a large orange. The Professor of Signs pushed the orange away, thrust
his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a lump of oat-cake. After that
the Ambassador went into the next room. 'Well,' said the professors,
who were waiting in great anxiety, 'how did you get on?' 'Wonderful!'
said the Ambassador, 'too wonderful, I could not have believed it if I
had not seen it. When I went in I held up one finger to show him there
was _one God_, whereupon he instantly held up two to me, in order to
remind me that there was the Father and the Son. I then held up three
to him to show that I recognised the Trinity, whereupon he clenched
his mighty fist and showed me that he agreed with me. I then offered
him a beautiful orange to show him how the good God gives us of the
fruits of the earth, but he--he did better than that--he rejected the
orange and offered me oat-cake, the sustenance of man, his life. Oh,
it was marvellous!' So the Ambassador went back highly pleased to the
Court of King James I, but when he was well on his homeward journey,
the professors rushed into the room where the butcher was seated, and
they said to him, 'What do you think of the Ambassador; how did you get
on with him?' 'What did I think of him,' said the one-eyed butcher. 'I
tell you he was a mocking scoundrel, and I was all but taking his life.
He came in to me and pointed a finger at me to show that I had but _one
eye_, but I shook _two fingers_ at him to show that my _one_ eye was
as good as his two. Then he pointed three fingers at me, as much as to
say that he was the better man; but I doubled my fist in his face, and
then he brought me a bit of fruit from his country--an orange--a common
orange; and I showed him what we men of Scotland live on--oat-cake, the
staff of life.'"
The Rector was intensely amused at Maureen's story, inquired what
French book she had got it out of, and really, for the time, in this
bright little girl's presence, he forgot himself and his anxieties.
They went on chatting and laughing. The air blew soft as a zephyr, and
Uncle Pat thought less of his troubles; the colour came into his cheeks
and the light into his eyes. Maureen from her earliest days had been a
born story-teller, and her uncle was wondering if her undoubted talent
might not be turned to account for her benefit later on. They told
many other stories, each to the other, but suddenly Maureen uttered an
exclamation.
"Look, do look, Uncle Pat," she cried.
There was Dominic coming towards them. He had got over his fit of
intolerable crying, and managed, by washing his face, to get rid of
the tears which had disfigured it so badly. When he saw Uncle Pat and
Maureen chatting and laughing together, he felt in a dream; but it was
a happy dream, and his spirits revived.
"Daddy," he said, "the 'Step' is at Kingsala."
"Yes, my boy."
"Well, I have brought this tray out. Here is a cup of chocolate for you
which Pegeen made. I went to her myself to the kitchen and I saw her
make it, with the purest milk and not one drop of water. Then she cut
a lot of bread and butter and made some toast for you, and she clapped
her hands when she heard 'Step' was away; and here are beautiful
strawberries for yourself and Maureen and for me. We are going to have
a jolly picnic tea all together seated on the periwinkles."
"I have had a very jolly time with Maureen. She is a very clever little
girl," said the Rector.
"Oh, don't let's talk about me," said Maureen. "Now, sip your
chocolate, dearest darling, and let's be as merry as merry can be. Oh,
I say, aren't these strawberries gorgeous. _You_ planted them, you
know, Uncle Pat; they are the latest variety, and you said they would
be first-rate."
"And they are," said the Rector. "I declare I feel quite hungry."
He sipped his chocolate and ate a little of the ripe fruit, and the
children watched him and ate bread and butter and drank tea and took
what strawberries were left. By-and-by it became a trifle chill,
whereupon Maureen instantly took the part of a small mother and wrapped
her uncle up and took him back to the house.
There was a turf fire blazing even on this hot June day in the Rector's
study, and Maureen managed to step behind and whisper to Dominic, "I
_know_. I didn't worry him by asking him. I told him stories instead.
We've just got to be _brave_, Dom, boy, and keep his spirits up. We
need not question about what we know. When I looked in his face, I felt
that I could not utter a word, for his dear face told me. It was so
very near the angels, so I had one good story which I told him, and I
invented some more, and I vote that now we call Denis and Kitty and
have some games and fun--not too noisy, you know--and I'll see the
darling, darling Uncle to bed myself. He says I'm a born story-teller,
but _I_ think I'm a born nurse. He shall be in bed before old 'Step'
comes back. I'll manage that."
About nine o'clock Mrs. O'Brien returned. Her cold sort of beauty, for
she was still comparatively young, had a triumphant gleam in it on this
occasion. She ate a large supper heartily, and did not once inquire
about her husband's state of health. Some years ago, when her husband's
cough troubled her, she arranged a large luxurious room on the first
floor for herself, but he continued to sleep, when he could sleep at
all, in the bare apartment where he had lived with such happiness with
his first dear wife. In this room Dominic and Denis and Kitty were
born. In this room the first Mrs. O'Brien had passed on into the Holy
City.
On this special night something induced Constance O'Brien to go up to
her husband's bedroom. He was dropping asleep as she bounced in.
"Well, old man," she said, "you may as well know the truth. Your own
money, all your insurances, in fact, every penny you possess, will go
to your children and to no one else at your death, be it to-day or be
it to-morrow. This is owing to your marriage settlement. It is well I
have money of my own. Murphy astonished me by telling me that there
would be altogether about ten thousand pounds, including, of course,
your private means, to divide among your three children. It is as well
I have my own drop, which is a trifle more than that. Let me tell you,
Patrick--take it as a night-cap--that you have behaved in the most
disgraceful way to me; but, anyhow, I have the pleasure of informing
you that you cannot touch _one penny_ for Maureen. Yes, I _have_ that
pleasure, little spiteful interloper. I never could abide her."
"Good-night, Constance," said Patrick O'Brien, "and try, my wife, to
keep your heart from hard thoughts. For, believe me, when you come to
stand where I now stand--on the edge of the world--you will be glad,
very glad, that you have done so."
Mrs. O'Brien, for reply, whisked away.
"The doctor certainly said he _might_ last for years," she whispered
under her breath. "If it only could be a little shorter! Anyhow,
Maureen has nothing. Had I known that those children will be so well
off and that he would not be able to leave me a penny, I would have
taken precious good care never to marry him. But there! for his ten
thousand pounds; I have at least fifty thousand, and I am young
still, not quite forty. I shall do my best for my own girls, and even
exaggerate a little with regard to their fortunes. Henrietta ought
to turn out quite pretty, and Daisy has the most lovely hair I ever
saw. Yes, they will both marry well; I'll see to that; and in all
probability I shall myself marry again. I know I'm good-looking. Mrs.
Rankin told me so this very day. It is a hard trial to be tied to a
broken-down husband. I told her how ill he was. I think it well to
spread these reports. He certainly doesn't _look_ as though he'd live
for years. Poor, stupid, old Pat. He thought to affect me with that
story of his brother, but I am not that sort of woman, thank goodness."
Meanwhile another glorious summer day dawned on the world. Mr.
O'Brien ordered the phaeton to be brought round at ten o'clock,
and, accompanied by his young son Dominic, went to see Murphy, the
well-known solicitor at Kingsala. Murphy received him with the
affectionate, warm-hearted greeting which characterises good-tempered
Irishmen. O'Brien put the whole case before him. Murphy listened
attentively, tapping his heel now and then, and now and then giving a
low, significant whistle under his breath. When the story had come to
an end there was a complete silence between the two men for the space
of a minute. Dominic, who was in the background and was not noticed at
all, felt strangely uncomfortable, for he did not like the expression
in Murphy's small shrewd eyes.
At last the solicitor spoke.
"I saw your good lady yesterday, Mr. O'Brien."
"Yes; she meant to call on you."
"I am sorry to perceive that you yourself look but poorly."
"That does not matter, Murphy. I have come here to make provision for
Maureen."
"But," said Murphy, "marriage settlement, you know. It's impossible to
twist a marriage settlement made prior to marriage. In that you have
left everything to your own children."
"I cannot leave Maureen with no money," said the Rector. His voice was
agitated, his face deadly pale, and there were drops of dew on his
forehead. "Is there no possible way, Mr. Murphy," he continued, "in
which my dear little niece can be provided for?"
"Well, Mr. O'Brien, right is right, and law is law, and if your
children when they all come of age agree, with the sanction of the
trustees, Mr. Walters of Walterscourt and Mr. O'More of Moresland, to
share their money with the little girl, it can of course be done. By
the way, how old is that lad there?"
"Fifteen," interrupted Dominic; "and I wish it done. I don't want to
wait for any coming-of-age."
"Tut-tut, lad, you don't know the law.--Forgive me, O'Brien, but I am
not very well acquainted with your family."
"There is my other son, Denis, aged eleven, and my baby, Kitty, aged
six."
"Dear, dear, dear!" said Murphy. "You'd best see the trustees. I can
do nothing, and I doubt if they can until your youngest child is of
age; then of course the matter can be easily arranged and your little
property divided into four instead of three shares."
"Thank you," said Mr. O'Brien.
He rose feebly. "I wrote to my trustees last night," he went on,
"asking for an appointment. My time is short, and something must be
done. I will go and see them immediately."
The tall, distinguished-looking clergyman left the room with his hand
resting on Dominic's square young shoulder.
"I should like to spite that woman," thought Murphy, when the clergyman
had left. "How bitter--how savage she was when she spoke to me
yesterday; but God knows I can't see my way, and I am quite sure that
O'More and Walters will agree with me. Sometimes marriage settlements
can be very troublesome, although, on the other hand, they are the
salvation of many a home. Poor, dear O'Brien, how well I remember when
he signed that settlement, and the pretty, sweet girl who was with him,
looking like the angel she was. Ah, they were happy, those two. There's
a nice little sum accruing for those three children, for I see to all
O'Brien's investments; and the five thousand pounds which he has paid
for in the London Assurance has increased mightily in value. There will
really be much more than ten thousand pounds to give to those three,
but as to the little niece--well, there's a clause providing for the
education of O'Brien's own children, but not a penny, not a penny for
her. Poor little lamb, I shouldn't like to be left in my fine _lady's_
tender care. I wonder what will happen? Upon my word, I'm downright
interested, and the poor fellow looks deadly bad. If his mind was
at rest he might hold out for a year or two, otherwise--dear, dear,
there's a lot of trouble in this world."