|THE day after a great festivity in a great house is generally a dull
one. It begins late; for both servants and guests are wearied, and
there is nothing about it which is not inferior to other days except
the luncheon, which in the way of “sweets,” at all events, is always
exceptionally good. Sir Richard, however, who went through life as
nearly as could be to an automaton, was up at his usual time; and
descending to the empty breakfast-room, beheld, seated in an arm-chair
which he had wheeled to the window, a little wizzened old man, in
brightest Hessian boots, drab breeches, and a cut-away coat with
flap-pockets of the fashion of half a century ago.
“Dr Haldane!” exclaimed the young man in extreme amazement. “God bless
my soul _and_ body!”
“I hope he will, sir,” rejoined the visitor drily, extending three
fingers somewhat stiffly.
“No, sir; surely your whole hand!” cried the baronet warmly. “Your face
is the pleasantest sight--save that of my dear mother's--that I could
hope to set eyes on in Mirk Abbey; and I am not going to be fobbed off
with such a salutation as that.”
“You get nothing more from me, Richard, unless the business I have come
about--very much against the grain, I can tell you--gets satisfactorily
accomplished.”
“Does it relate to my dear mother, sir?”
“Of course it does, young man. What else, do you think, would have had
power to break my resolution--to bring me hither--to this room, in which
I have not set foot these twenty years, and where I last sat, side by
side--with---- But what is that to you? I suppose a man is not very
likely to be moved by the memories of a dead father, who pays no respect
to the feelings of his living mother.”
“I am not aware, Dr Haldane,” began Sir Richard with some
haughtiness----
“I know _that_, sir,” broke in the other impetuously. “You are so
wrapped up in selfishness--you and that scampish brother of yours--that
neither of you have any thought except for your own miserable quarrels.
You were not aware, I dare say, that their constant repetition is
driving your mother into her grave, as they have already driven her from
her once happy home; and it is because you don't know it--because you
won't see it--that I am come hither, once for all, to inform you of the
fact. But perhaps such a little matter has no interest in your eyes: in
which case, I assure you, since it is entirely for her sake, and not at
all for yours, that I have come, I shall be exceedingly glad to go away
again.”
“Have you any message to deliver, Dr Haldane,” asked the baronet with an
angry flush, “direct from my mother, or are you merely stating your own
doubtless valuable, but quite unasked-for opinions?”
“I have a message from her to deliver to you, and to the rest of you,
young man; and if you think it worth while to send for your brother and
sister, you had better do so.”
The young man rang the bell, and gave the necessary orders. Dr Haldane
took up a book of family prayers that lay beside him, and grunted
cynically as he read Sir Richard's name on the title-page. “What a work
for a fellow like this to write his name in, who drives his mother out
of her own house!” muttered he, and then affected to be immersed in the
contents. The baronet did not reply, but occupied himself in opening his
letters, one of which was from Madame de Castellan. That lady expressed
herself as “desolated” at the news of her old friend's departure from
the Abbey, the cause of which she was dying to hear. “If, however,” ran
the postscript, “the absence of my Lady was for any reason likely to
continue, might not Mary Forest be despatched, at all events in
the meantime, to Belcomb, where Madame was absolutely without any
waiting-maid at all--with the exception of old Rachel--until another
could be procured from France, to supply the place of wicked Annette,
departed almost without a word of warning.”
“Cunning old wretch!” murmured Sir Richard, crumpling up the pale thin
paper with its scratchy foreign caligraphy, and throwing it into the
grate. “She thinks of nothing but herself.”
“How odd!” exclaimed the little doctor bitterly. “The lady's case must
be quite unique.”
Not a word more was spoken by either until Letty entered, a little pale,
but looking exquisitely lovely.
“Dear Dr Haldane, who would have thought of seeing you _here?_ How
pleased I am!”
The doctor rose with alacrity from his seat, and kissed her
affectionately upon the forehead.
“I am sure,” said she with earnest gravity, “that you have brought us
news of dearest mamma.”
“So _you_ have thought of her, have you, little one?” answered he
fondly. (Letty was about three inches taller than the doctor.) “I
fancied she would have been no longer missed. Everybody was so happy
here yesterday, I am told; and everything went on so well without her.”
“It did not, indeed,” returned Letty indignantly. “Nothing seemed to go
right in her absence, notwithstanding all I could do; and as for being
happy, I can answer for myself and my brothers, that not five minutes
elapsed all day without our thinking of her, and grieving for her loss.
And oh, dear Dr Haldane, do you know why she has left us in this sad
manner, and when we shall see her back again?”
“I have her own explanation of why she has left Mirk Abbey,” replied the
doctor; “but as for her return, that will depend upon yourselves--I mean
upon Sir Richard and Captain Lisgard. For _you_, Letty, she bids me
say have been at all times what a loving child should be to a
parent.--Master Walter, your servant, sir.--No; I will not shake hands
with a man who ruins his mother by gambling debts, and breaks her heart
with hatred of his own brother.”
“That is not true, at least I do hope, Walter?” said Sir Richard
quickly.
“No; false, upon my honour,” returned the captain. “My mother never told
you to say that, sir.”
“Not quite that--no, she did not,” admitted the little old man,
whose eyes had begun to lose their hard and inexorable expression,
notwithstanding his harsh words, from the moment that Walter entered the
room. It was so difficult even for a social philosopher to be severe and
stern with that young man. “Yet I am bound to say, Walter, that it is
you who have been most to blame with respect to that good mother,
who only lives but for her children, and whose very love for them has
compelled her to withdraw herself from beneath this roof. I will not now
dwell upon your clandestine marriage; I leave yourself to imagine how
the want of trust in your best friend as well as parent evinced in that
hasty step must have wounded her loving heart. Nor do I wish--that is
to say, your mother herself requests me not to bear hardly upon you
with respect to your gambling debts. You know the full extent of them
perhaps--yes, I was afraid of that--better than she does even yet;
but she has paid enough of them already to seriously embarrass her own
affairs.”
“I have made a solemn promise never to bet or gamble more, Dr Haldane,”
said the captain hoarsely.
“I am glad of it, Walter; but what I was about to say was, that in this
case, as well as in that of your marriage, it was not so much the error
itself, as the want of frankness evidenced by your concealment of the
matter. To be ashamed of having done wrong, is a proper feeling enough;
but if it be not accompanied by the acknowledgment of the offence, it
only shews one to be a coward, not a penitent. However, bad as your
conduct has been in these two particulars, your mother would doubtless
have done her best to forget, as she hastened in both instances to
forgive it. But what she could _not_ forget, since it happened every day
and every hour, were the quarrels between yourself and your brother.”
Here the doctor turned sharply round on the young baronet, who had been
hitherto listening, not, perhaps, without complacency, to the catalogue
of his brother's misdeeds.--“I think, from what I have seen myself,
Richard, that it is _you_ who are most in fault here. It is no use your
looking proud and cold on me. I never cared three brass farthings for
such airs, though they now and then misbecame even your poor father,
who was worth a dozen of you. But this ridiculous assumption of
superiority--founded upon mere accident of birth--naturally offends a
high-spirited young man like Walter, who, if he was in your place, would
certainly not make himself _odious_ in that way, however he might fail
in other matters belonging to your position, which suffers nothing,
I readily allow, in your able hands. That you have the administrative
faculty in a high degree, sir, I concede; but this is not Russia, and if
it were, you are not the Czar.”
“No man in Mirk ever called me a tyrant, Dr Haldane.”
“Perhaps no man ever dared, sir; but _I_ dare to say that a son whose
conduct is such that his mother can no longer bear to witness it, is
something worse than a tyrant. And be sure that if you continue so to
behave, you will never see her face under this roof again.”
“My God, but this is very horrible!” cried Sir Richard, striking his
forehead. “I had no idea--I never dreamed that matters were coming to
any such pass as this.--Walter--brother, did it seem to you that we were
so very like to Cain and Abel?”
The two young men embraced, perhaps for the first time in their lives.
“Oh, when you tell her what you have seen, sir, do you think my mother
will come back?” cried Richard, with the tears in his fine eyes.
“I cannot say that; I am sure, however, that she will be greatly
comforted. May I tell her that this is not a mere impulse of the moment,
but that you are resolved from this time forth to be brothers indeed?”
“I will do my very best, Walter.”
“And I mine, Richard,” answered the other. “Don't reproach yourself like
that”--for the vast frame of his elder brother shook with sobs--“it is
much more my fault than yours: and you have been very good to me
about my debts; kinder than most fellows in your position would have
been--yes, you have, Dick; yes, you have. How very, very long it is
since I have called you Dick; not since we were at school together! You
used to call me Watty, then, you know.”
“Yes, Watty; yes. I had almost forgotten it. Let us go to our mother
at once, lad--as we used to do when we made up our quarrels in the old
times--and ask her to come back again, and take her place here, where we
all miss her so much.--Where is she, Dr Haldane?”
“I don't know--that is, I may not tell, my boy,” returned the old
gentleman hesitatingly, who, with Letty's hand fast clasped in his, was
staring out of window as hard as he could, but his eyes were very dim.
“Have you nothing more to tell us, sir?” asked Sir Richard humbly.
“Well, no, boys. The letter”----
“The letter!” ejaculated Letty; “I remember now that dear mamma told me
herself that when this very thing should come to pass--although I little
knew at the time to what she was alluding--we should find a letter in
her desk.”
“It is not there now: she put it into my hands, and I--I tore it up,”
observed the doctor. “I have told you faithfully all that it contained,
with one exception. I do not choose to speak of that, dear Letty, and I
have your mother's permission not to do so.”
“Let me speak of it, then,” said Sir Richard, stealing his arm round his
sister's waist, and kissing her very tenderly. “The message the doctor
will not give respects yourself, dear, and his son Arthur. My foolish
pride”----
“Pride, indeed!” broke in the little old man impetuously; “your
confounded impertinence, I call it.”
“Very well, doctor,” continued the baronet smiling; “let it be so, if
you will. I had the audacity to suppose, Letty, that Mr Arthur Haldane
was not good enough for you.”
“Nor is he,” contested the little doctor with irritation. “Nobody's good
enough for Letty Lisgard. But he is as good as can be found in England,
that I will say, though the young man is my own son. And if he does not
make you a pattern husband, I'll cut him off with a shilling.”
“I shall be glad to give you away to such an honest fellow, Letty,” said
the baronet warmly; “so let that matter be considered settled.”
It was very pleasant to see the blushing girl hiding her tearful face in
the old man's arms. “O mamma, mamma,” murmured she, “how happy I should
be if you were but with us!”
“Well, well, that will be soon, I hope, my dear,” said the doctor,
patting her silken head. “I will do all I can on my part to persuade
her: I am sure I shall make her happy with this news.”
“Yes; but in the meantime,” said Letty, “how terrible it must be for
her to be all alone. If you know where she is, can you not at least send
Forest to be with her?”
“No, no; but, by the by, I have forgotten to do your mother's bidding
with respect to that very person. She expressly desired that until
her own return to Mirk, Mary may be sent to Belcomb, where Madame de
Castellan is just now in saddest need of her.”
“Ay, she writes to me that she has lost her French maid,” said Sir
Richard, picking up the crumpled note: “in that case, Mary had better go
off at once.”
“There is worse trouble at Belcomb than that,” remarked the doctor
gravely. “That poor fellow Derrick, who, I hear, made so much
disturbance at the _fête_ yesterday, has met with a sad accident.”
“Why, the man was put in the Cage quite safe,” said Sir Richard.
“Yes; but unfortunately for himself, he was let out again, and starting
in the dark over Mirkland Hill, whole drunk, and half mad, the poor
wretch wandered into the mill-yard.”
“Through that gap in the wall!” exclaimed the baronet with excitement.
“Didn't I say the very last time we went by, that some accident would
happen there, through that man Hathaway's neglect?”
“Well, it has happened now, with a vengeance,” pursued the doctor drily.
“I was sent for this morning at two o'clock, to Belcomb, where this poor
fellow had been carried, because it was a better place for him to lie in
than the mill. Hathaway had been working overtime, it seems; the sails
were going till near midnight, and the story is that this poor fellow
strayed beneath them, and was absolutely taken up and carried round;
but, at all events, he lies there, very ill--dying, I think--with
concussion of the brain, and Heaven knows what beside. I dare not-move
him even to examine his ribs.”
“Good God! what can we do for him?” exclaimed Sir Richard. “Is there
nothing we can send?”
“He has everything he requires, or that he ever will have need of, poor
fellow, in this world. But old Rachel is not a good hand at nursing,
while Madame de Castellan, although good-natured enough--for a
Frenchwoman--is quite incapable of such a task; so you couldn't do
better than send Mary, as Madame has requested, though little knowing
how much she would have need of her: her assistance will be invaluable,
and indeed some sort of help must be had at once. I am going over there
myself immediately, and will take her in my gig, if you can spare her,
Miss Letty, and will tell her to get ready.”
“By all means,” cried Letty, hastily leaving the room upon that errand.
“Of course, all notion of prosecuting this poor fellow is now put out of
the question, whatever happens,” observed the doctor.
“Quite so--quite so,” answered the baronet eagerly. “Poor drunken
wretch; I am sure I'm very sorry. And I tell you what, Dr Haldane, if
this man dies, there should be some sort of deodand laid upon that Mill.
Hathaway ought to be punished for wilful neglect.”
“That won't bring the poor man to life again, though,” observed the
doctor.
“No, of course not; though, if one may be allowed to say so, he really
led such a sad life, by all accounts, it seems almost as well that he
should end it. It would be a happy release, I mean, if he was to die,
poor fellow; don't you think so?”
“Yes, I do. It would be better for himself, and better for others,”
returned the doctor very gravely.
“Just so,” said Sir Richard; “better for all concerned. Poor man!”