|Left alone, Chetwynd revolved what the butler had told him; and on
considering the matter, he came to the conclusion he had previously
arrived at--that there was nothing whatever to justify the old man's
suspicions.
“I cannot imagine how he has got such a notion into his head,” he
thought; “but, according to his own account, he has not a shadow of
proof to support the charge. Besides, setting all else aside, there is
no motive for such a crime. She could not wish to get rid of my father.
Perhaps she might desire to come into the property, but, even if she
were bad enough to do it, she would never run such a frightful risk. No,
no, the supposition is absurd and monstrous!”
At this moment the very person of whom he was thinking came in, and
closed the door.
In her hand she had a small lamp, but she set it down.
She looked very pale, but her manner was perfectly composed, though
there was a slight quivering of the lip.
Chetwynd arose, and regarded her in astonishment.
“You need not be alarmed at my appearance,” she said. “I have no
unfriendly intentions towards you. I heard you were still here, and came
to speak to you. I am anxious to prevent further unpleasantness. You are
acting very foolishly. Why should you quarrel with me? Whatever you may
think, I mean you well.”
By this time Chetwynd had recovered from his surprise, and, regarding
her sternly, said:
“I have no desire to hold any conversation with you, madam; but my
conduct requires explanation. I was about to depart, but have been
induced to remain for various reasons. I have learnt matters that have
determined me to see my father again.”
The latter words were pronounced with great significance, but did not
seem to produce any impression upon Mrs. Calverley.
“I do not wish to prevent you from seeing him, Chetwynd, if you will
promise to behave quietly,” she replied.
“I cannot let him go out of the world in the belief that you have acted
properly to him,” said Chetwynd, fiercely.
“Then you shall not see him! Nothing you could allege against me would
produce the slightest effect upon him, but you shall not disturb his
latest moments.”
“You dare not leave me alone with him--”
“No,” she replied, in a severe tone, “because you cannot control
yourself. In my opinion, you ought to ask your father's pardon for your
manifold acts of disobedience, and if you do so in a proper spirit I am
certain you will obtain it.”
“You venture to give the advice,” he said. “But have you yourself
obtained pardon from my father?”
“Pardon for what?” she cried.
“For any crime you may have committed,” he replied. “It is not for me to
search your heart!”
“I disdain to answer such an infamous charge!” she rejoined,
contemptuously.
“Have you not shortened his days?”
“What mean you by that dark insinuation?” she cried.
“My meaning is intelligible enough,” he rejoined. “But I will make it
plainer, if you will.”
A singular change come over her countenance.
But she instantly recovered, and threw a scornful glance at Chetwynd.
“What have you done to him?” he demanded.
“Striven to make his latter days happy,” she replied, “and I believe I
have succeeded. At any rate, he seemed happy.”
“That was before his illness,” observed Chetwynd.
“Since his illness I have nursed him with so much care that those best
able to judge think I preserved his life. I saved him from all pain and
annoyance, and his confidence in me was such that he has left all to my
management.”
“I know it, madam; and you have been in haste to assume the power, but
it may be wrested from your hands!”
“Make the attempt,” she rejoined, defiantly. “You will only injure
yourself!”
Just then voices were heard outside that startled them both, and checked
their converse.
“Great heaven, it is your father!” exclaimed Mrs. Calverley. “He has
risen from the bed of death to come here!”
Next moment the door was thrown open, and the old gentleman came in,
sustained by Norris.
A dressing-gown scarcely concealed his emaciated frame. His features had
the most ghastly expression, and bore the impress of death. But for the
aid of the old butler he must have fallen to the ground.
Behind him came Mildred, carrying a light.
“Why did you allow him to quit his couch?” cried his wife, in a voice of
anguish.
“I remonstrated with him,” replied Norris. “But I could not prevent him.
He would come down to see his son.”
“I likewise tried to dissuade him, but in vain,” said Mildred,
“Chetwynd is here, is he not?” cried the old man. “I can't see him.”
“Yes, I am here, father,” he replied, springing towards him, and
throwing himself at his feet. “Have you come to grant me forgiveness?”
“Yes, my son,” replied the old man. “But first let me hear that you are
reconciled to my dear wife--your stepmother. Answer me truly. Is it so?”
“Father!” hesitated Chetwynd.
“Stand up, my son,” said the old man.
Chetwynd obeyed.
“Now, speak to me. Is there peace between you?”
“If you can forgive her, father, I will forgive her.”
“I have nothing to forgive. She has been the best of wives to me, and is
without a fault. These are my last words.”
“Your blessing, father--your blessing!” almost shrieked Chetwynd.
The old man made an effort to raise his hands; but strength and
utterance failed him, and he fell dead into his son's arms.