RICHARD NORTH'S REVELATION.
For a wonder, the dinner-table at Dallory Hall included only the
family-party. Madam headed it; Mr. North was at the foot; Richard on
one side; Matilda on the other. Scarcely a word was being spoken.
Madam was in one of her imperious humours--when, indeed, was she out
of them?--the servants waited in silence.
Suddenly there rang out a loud peal from the hall-bell. Richard, who
was already beginning to be disturbed by vague fears as to what his
ex-workmen's hostilities might make them do, sat back in his chair
absently, and turned his head.
"Are you expecting any one, Dick?" asked his father.
"No, sir. Unless it be a message to call me out."
It was, however, a message for Mr. North; not for Richard. Mrs.
Cumberland wanted to see him. "On the instant," the servant added: for
so Jelly had imperatively put it.
Mr. North laid down his knife and fork and looked at the man. He did
not understand.
"Mrs. Cumberland is at Eastsea," he cried.
"No, sir, she has just got home, and she wants to see you very
particular. It's the lady's maid who has brought the message."
"Mr. North cannot go," broke forth madam to the servant. "Go and say
so."
But Jelly, to whom the words penetrated as she stood in the hall, had
no notion of her mistress's wishes being set at nought by madam. Jelly
had a great deal of calm moral and physical courage--in spite of the
supernatural terrors that had recently influenced her--some persons
might have said her share of calm impudence also: and she made no
ceremony of putting her black bonnet inside the room.
"My mistress is dying, sir; I don't think there can be a doubt of it,"
she said, advancing to Mr. North. "She wishes to say a few last words
to you, if you'll please to come. There's no time to be lost, sir."
"Bless me!--poor Fanny!" cried Mr. North, rising: his hands beginning
to tremble a little. "I'll come at once, Jelly."
"You will _not_ go," spoke madam, as if she were issuing an imperial
edict.
"I must go," said Mr. North. "Don't you hear, madam, that she is
dying?"
"I say you shall not go."
"The wishes of the dying must be respected by the living," interposed
Jelly, still addressing Mr. North. "Otherwise there's no telling what
ghosts might haunt 'em after."
The words were somewhat obscure, but their meaning was sufficiently
plain. Mr. North took a step or two towards the door: madam came
quickly round and placed herself before him.
"My will is law in this house, and out of it you do not go."
For a minute or two Mr. North looked utterly helpless; then cast an
appealing look at his son. Richard rose, laying down his table-napkin.
"Leave the room for an instant," he quietly said to the servants,
including Jelly. And they filed out.
"My dear father, is it your wish to see Mrs. Cumberland?"
"Oh, Dick, you know it is," spoke the poor brow-beaten man. "There's
little left to me in life to care for now; but if I let her die
without going to her there'll be less."
"Then you shall go," said Richard. Madam turned to him in furious
anger.
"How _dare_ you attempt to oppose me, Richard North? I say your father
shall not go forth at the beck and call of this crazy woman."
"Madam, I say he shall," calmly spoke Richard.
"Do you defy me? Has it come to that?"
"Why yes, if you force it upon me: it is not my fault. Pardon me if I
speak plainly--if I set you right upon one point, madam," he added.
"You have just said your will is law in the house and out of it: in
future it must, on some occasions, yield to mine. This is one of them.
My father will go to Mrs. Cumberland's. Say no more, madam: it will be
useless; and I am about to admit the servants."
From sheer amazement madam was silent. The resolution born of
conscious power to will and to execute lay in every tone and glance of
Richard North. Before she could rally her energies, the door was
opened to the servants, and she heard Richard's order to make ready
and bring round the close carriage. Instantly.
"Mr. North will be with your mistress as soon as you are, Jelly," said
he. And Jelly curtsied as she took her departure.
But a scene ensued. Madam had called Mrs. Cumberland a crazy woman:
she seemed nothing less herself. Whatever her private objection
might have been to her husband's holding an interview with Mrs.
Cumberland--and there could be no doubt that she had one--Richard
fairly thought she was going mad in her frenzied attempts to prevent
it. She stamped, she raved, she threatened Mr. North, she violently
pushed him into his chair, she ordered the servants to bar the house
doors against him; she was in fact as nearly mad, as a woman out of an
asylum could be. Matilda cried: indifferent as that young lady
remained in general to her mother's ordinary fits of temper, she was
frightened now. The servants collected in dark nooks of the hall, and
stood peeping; Mr. North stole into his parlour, and thence, by the
window, to a bench in the garden, where he sat in the dark and the
rain, trembling from head to foot. Of his own accord he had surely
never dared to go, after this: but Richard was his sheet anchor.
Richard alone maintained his calm equanimity, and carried matters
through. The servants obeyed his slightest word; with sure instinct
they saw who could be, and was, the Hall's real master: and the
carriage came to the door.
But all this had caused delay. And yet more might have been
caused--for what will an unrestrained and determined woman not do--but
that just as the wheels, grating on the wet gravel struck on madam's
ear, her violence culminated in a species of fainting-fit. For the
time at least she could not move, and Richard took the opportunity to
conduct his father to the carriage. It was astonishing how confidingly
the old man trusted to Richard's protection.
"Won't you come also, Dick? I hardly dare go alone. She'd be capable
of coming after me, you know."
Richard's answer was to step in beside his father. It was eight
o'clock when they reached Mrs. Cumberland's. Jelly, with a reproachful
face, showed them into a sitting-room.
"You can't go up now, sir; you will have to wait!" said she.
"Is she any better?" asked Richard.
"She's worse," replied Jelly; "getting weaker and weaker with every
quarter-of-an-hour. Dr. Rane thinks she'll last till morning. I don't.
The clergyman's up there now."
And when the time came for Mr. North to be introduced into the
room, Mrs. Cumberland was almost beyond speaking to him. They were
alone--for she motioned others away. Mr. North never afterwards
settled with himself what the especial point could have been that she
had wished to see him upon; unless it was the request that he should
take charge of Ellen Adair.
Her words were faint and few, and apparently disjointed, at times
seeming to have no connection one with another. Mr. North--sitting on
a chair in front of her, holding one of her hands, bending down his
ear to catch what fell from her white lips--thought her mind wandered
a little. She asked him to protect Ellen Adair--to take her home to
the Hall until she should be claimed by her husband or her father. It
might be only a few days, she added, before the former came, and he
would probably wish the marriage to take place at once; if so, it had
better be done. Then she went on to say something about Arthur Bohun,
which Mr. North could not catch at all. And then she passed abruptly
to the matter of the anonymous letter.
"John, you will forgive it! You will forgive it!" she implored, feebly
clasping the hand in which hers lay.
"Forgive it?" returned Mr. North, not in dissent but in surprise that
she should allude to the subject.
"For my sake, John. We were friends and playfellows in the old
days--though you were older than I. You will forgive it, John, for my
sake; because I am dying, and because I ask it of you?"
"Yes, I will," said John North. "I don't think as much about it as I
did," he added. "I should like to forgive every one and everything
before I go, Fanny; and my turn mayn't be long now. I forgive it
heartily; heartily," he repeated, thinking to content her. "Fanny, I
never thought you'd go before me."
"God bless you! God reward you," she murmured. "There was no ill
intention, you know, John."
John North did not see why he merited reward, neither could he follow
what she was talking about. It might be, he supposed, one of the
hallucinations that sometimes attend the dying.
"I'll take every care of Ellen Adair: she shall come to the Hall and
stay there," he said, for that he could understand, "I promise it
faithfully, Fanny."
"Then that is one of the weights off my mind," murmured the dying
woman. "There were so many on it. I have left a document, John, naming
you and Richard her guardians for the time being. She's of good
family, and very precious to her father. There has been so short a
time to act in: it was only three or four days ago that I knew the end
was coming. I did not expect it would be quite so soon."
"It mostly come when it's not expected," murmured poor John North:
"many of us seem to be going very near together. Edmund first; then
Bessy; now you, Fanny: and the next will be me. God in His mercy grant
that we may all meet in a happier world, and be together for ever!"
Richard North had remained below in the dining-room with Ellen Adair.
The heavy crimson curtains were drawn before the large garden window,
a bright fire blazed in the grate. Ellen in her black dress, worn for
Bessy, sat in the warmth: she felt very chilly after her journey, was
nervous at the turn the illness seemed to be taking; and every now and
then a tear stole silently down her sweet face. Richard walked about a
little as he glanced at her. He thought her looking, apart from the
present sorrow, pale and ill. Richard North was deliberating whether
to say a word or two upon a matter that puzzled him. He thought he
would do so.
"I have been across the Channel, you know, Ellen, since you left for
Eastsea," he began. He had grown sufficiently intimate at Mrs.
Cumberland's since his enforced term of idleness, to drop the formal
"Miss Adair" for her Christian name.
"Yes, we heard of it. You went to engage workmen, did you not?"
"For one thing. When I returned home, I found a letter or two awaiting
me from Arthur Bohun, who was then at Eastsea. Madam had opened one of
them."
Ellen looked up, and then looked down again immediately. Richard North
saw a change pass over her face, as though she were startled.
"I could not quite understand the letters; I think Arthur intended me
not to fully understand them. They spoke of some--some event that was
coming off, at which he wished me to be present."
Ellen saw that he did understand: at least, that he believed he did.
She rose from her seat and went close to him, speaking in agitation.
"Will you grant me a request, Richard? I know you can be a firm
friend; you are very true. Do not ever think of it again--do not speak
of it to living man or woman."
"I presume it did _not_ take place, Ellen."
"No. And the sooner it is altogether forgotten, the better."
He took her hand between his, and drew her to the fire. They stood
before it side by side.
"I am glad you know that I am your firm and true friend, Ellen; you
may trust me always. It is neither idle curiosity nor impertinence
that makes me speak. Madam stopped it, I conclude."
"I suppose so. She came and fetched him away; James Bohun was dying
and wanted him. Since then I--I hardly know. He never came down again.
He has been ill."
"Yes, very ill. Let him regain his health, and it will be all right.
That's all, my dear. I should like to take care of you as though you
were my sister."
"Care!" she replied. "Oh, Richard, I don't see what will become of me,
or where I shall go. They say Mrs. Cumberland will not live till
morning; and papa, you know, is so far away."
Jelly appeared with some coffee; and stayed for a minute or two to
gossip, after the bent of her own heart. The carriage and the horses
were waiting outside in the rain. Dr. Rane came in and out, in his
restlessness. It was an anxious night for him. He would--how
willingly!--have restored his mother for a time, had human skill alone
been able to do it.
Before the interview with Mr. North was over--and it did not last
twenty minutes--Mrs. Cumberland had changed considerably. Her son went
into the room as Mr. North left it; and he saw at once how fallacious
was the hope he had entertained of her lasting until morning.
Poor Mr. North, broken alike in health and heart, weak in spirit
almost as a child, burst into tears as soon as he entered the
dining-room. Richard spoke a few soothing words to him: Ellen Adair,
who had rarely, if ever, seen a man shed tears, stood aghast.
"They are all going, Dick," he sobbed; "all going one by one. Fanny
and I were almost boy and girl together. I loved the child; she was as
pretty a little thing as you'd ever wish to see. She was younger than
me by a good deal, and I never thought she'd go before me. There'll be
only you left, Dick; only you."
Ellen touched Richard's arm: she held a cup of coffee in her hand. "If
he can take it, it may do him good," she whispered.
Mr. North drank the coffee. Then he sat awhile, breaking out ever and
anon with reminiscences of the old days. Presently Richard reminded
him that the carriage was waiting; upon which Mr. North, who had quite
forgotten the fact, rose in nervous agitation.
"I should like to know how she is before I go, Dick," he said.
"Whether there's any change."
A change indeed. Even as the words left his lips, some slight
commotion was heard in the house, following upon Dr. Rane's voice, who
had come out of the chamber. The last moment was at hand. Ellen Adair
went up, and Jelly went up. Mr. North said he must wait a little
longer.
In five minutes all was over. Ellen Adair, brought down by Dr. Rane,
was overcome with grief. Mr. North said she should go back with them
to the Hall, and bade Jelly put up what she might immediately require.
At first Ellen refused: it seemed strangely sudden, almost unseemly,
to go out of the house thus hurriedly; but when she came to reflect
how lonely and undesirable would be her position if she remained
there, she grew eager to go. To tell the truth, she felt half afraid
to remain: she had never been in personal contact with death, and the
feeling lay upon her as a dread.
So a small portmanteau was hastily repacked--not an hour had elapsed
since it was unpacked--and taken out to the carriage, Jelly
undertaking to send the larger box in the morning. And Ellen was
driven to the Hall with Mr. North and Richard.
"I am glad to come," she said to them, in her emotion. "It is so very
kind of you to receive me in this extremity."
"Not at all, my dear," answered Mr. North. "The Hall will be your home
until we receive instructions from your father. Mrs. Cumberland has
appointed me and Richard as your temporary guardians: I was telling
Dick so when you were upstairs."
Ellen broke down afresh, and said again and again how kind it was of
them. Richard North felt that he loved her as dearly as a sister.
But there would be words to the bargain: they had not taken madam into
consideration. The idea that she would object to it never occurred to
Mr. North or Richard; madam was so very fond of having company at
Dallory Hall. When the coachman, tired of being in the wet, dashed up
to the door, and they descended and entered into the blaze of light,
and madam, standing a little back, saw the young lady and the luggage,
her face was a picture.
"What does this intrusion mean?" she demanded, slowly advancing.
"It means, madam, that Mrs. Cumberland is dead, and that she has left
Miss Adair in my charge and in Dick's for a bit," answered Mr. North
with trembling courtesy, remembering the frightful mood he had escaped
from. Whilst Richard, catching madam's ominous expression, hastily
took Ellen into the drawing-room, introduced her to Matilda, and
closed the door on them.
"You say Mrs. Cumberland is dead!" had been madam's next words to Mr.
North.
"Yes, she's dead. It has been terribly sudden."
"What did she want with you?" resumed madam, her voice lowered almost
to a whisper; and, but that Mr. North was not an observant man, he
might have seen her very lips grow white with some dread suspense.
"I don't know what she wanted," he replied--"unless it was a promise
that I would take care of Miss Adair. She was almost past speaking
when I went up to her; things had made me late, madam."
"Did she--did she---- By the commotion that woman, Jelly, made, one
would have supposed her mistress had some great secret to impart,"
broke off madam. "Had she?"
"Had who?" asked Mr. North, rather losing the thread of the dialogue.
"Mrs. Cumberland," said madam, with a slight stamp. And, in spite of
her assumed carelessness, she watched her husband's face for the
answer as if she were watching for one of life or death. "Did she
impart to you any--any private matter?"
"She had none to impart, madam, that I am aware of. I shouldn't think
she had. She rambled in her talk a bit, as the dying will do; about
our old days, and about the anonymous letter that killed Edmund. There
was nothing else, except that she wanted me to take temporary charge
of Miss Ellen Adair, until we can hear from her father."
Mr. North was too simply honest to deceive, and madam believed him.
Her old arrogance resumed its sway as fear died out.
"What did she tell you about the father?"
"Nothing; not a word, madam: what should she? I tell you mind and
speech were both all but gone. She rambled on about the old days and
the anonymous letter and I couldn't follow her even in that, but she
said nothing else."
All was right then. The old will and the old arrogance reasserted
themselves; madam was herself again.
"Miss Adair goes back to Mrs. Cumberland's to-night," said she. "I do
not receive her, or permit her to remain here."
"What?" cried Mr. North; and Richard, who had just entered, stood
still to listen. "Why not, madam?"
"Because I do not choose to," said madam. "That's why."
"Madam, I wouldn't do it for the world. Send her back to the house
with the dead lying in it, and where she'd have no protector! I
couldn't do it. She's but a young thing. The neighbours would cry
shame upon me."
"She goes back at once," spoke madam in her most decisive tones. "The
carriage may take her, as it rains; but back she goes."
"It can't be, madam, it can't, indeed. I'm her guardian, now, and
responsible for her. I promised that she should stay at Dallory Hall."
And madam went forth with into another of her furious rages; she
stamped and shook with passion. Not at being thwarted: her will was
always law, and she intended it to be so now; but at Mr. North's
_attempting_ to oppose it.
"You were a fool for bringing her at all, knowing as you might that I
should not allow her to stay here," raved madam. "The hall is mine: so
long as I am mistress of it, no girl that I don't choose to receive
shall find admittance here. _She goes lack at once_."
Mr. North seemed ready to fall. The look of despair, piteous in its
utter helplessness, came into his face. Richard drew nearer, and
caught his expression. All this had taken place in the hall under the
great lamp.
"Dick, what's to be done?" wailed Mr. North. "I should die of the
shame of turning her out again. I wish I could die; I've been wishing
it many times to-night. It's time I was gone, Dick, when I've no
longer a roof to offer a poor young lady for a week or two's shelter."
"But you have one, my dear father. At least I have, which comes to the
same thing," added Richard, composed as usual. "Madam"--politely, but
nevertheless authoritatively, taking madam's hand to lead her into the
dining-room--"will you pardon me if I interfere in this?"
"It is no business of yours," said madam.
"Excuse me, madam, but it is. I think I had better take it on myself
exclusively, and relieve my father of all trouble--for really, what
with one thing and another, he is not capable of bearing much more."
"Oh, Dick, do; do!" interposed poor Mr. North, timidly following them
into the dining-room. "You are strong, Dick, and I am weak. But I was
strong once."
"Madam," said Richard, "this young lady, Miss Adair, will remain at
the Hall until we receive instructions from her father."
Madam was turning livid. Richard had never assumed such a tone until
to-night. And this was the second time! She would have been glad to
strike him. Had he been some worthless animal, her manner could not
have expressed more gratuitous contempt.
"By what right, pray, do _you_ interfere?"
"Well, madam, Mrs. Cumberland expressed a wish that I, as well as my
father, should act as Miss Adair's guardian."
"There's a document left to that effect," eagerly put in Mr. North.
"And what though you were appointed fifty times over and and fifty to
that; do you suppose it would give you the right to bring her here--to
thrust her into my home?" shrieked madam. "Do not believe it, Richard
North."
"Madam," said Richard, quietly, "the home is mine."
"On sufferance," was the scornful rejoinder. "But I think the
sufferance has been allowed too long."
"You have known me now many years, madam: I do not think in all those
years you have found me advance a proposition that I could not
substantiate. In saying the home here was mine I spoke what is
literally true. I am the lessee of Dallory Hall. You and my
father----My dear father"--turning to him--"I know you will pardon me
for the few plain words I must speak----are here on sufferance. My
guests, as it were."
"It is every word Gospel truth," spoke up poor Mr. North, glad that
the moment of enlightenment had at length come. "Dick holds the lease
of Dallory Hall, and he is its real master. For several years now we
have all been pensioners on his bounty. He has worked to keep us,
madam, in this his own house; and he has done it nobly and
generously."
It seemed to madam that her brain suddenly reeled, for the words
brought conviction with them. Richard the master! Richard's money that
they had been living upon!
"I am grieved to have been obliged to state this, madam," Richard
resumed. "I shall wish never to allude to it again, and I will
continue to do the best I can for all. But--in regard to Miss Ellen
Adair, she must remain here, and she shall be made welcome."