The ground near the cathedral, occupied by the deanery and the prebendal
residences, was called the Boundaries. There were a few other houses in
it, chiefly of a moderate size, inhabited by private families. Across
the open gravel walk, in front of the south cloister entrance, was
the house appropriated to the headmaster; and the Channings lived in
a smaller one, nearly on the confines of the Boundaries. A portico led
into it, and there was a sitting-room on either side the hall. Charley
entered; and was going, full dash, across the hall to a small room where
the boys studied, singing at the top of his voice, when the old servant
of the family, Judith, an antiquated body, in a snow-white mob-cap and
check apron, met him, and seized his arm.
“Hush, child! There’s ill news in the house.”
Charley dropped his voice to an awe-struck whisper. “What is it, Judith?
Is papa worse?”
“Child! there’s illness of mind as well as of body. I didn’t say
sickness; I said ill news. I don’t rightly understand it; the mistress
said a word to me, and I guessed the rest. And it was me that took in
the letter! _Me_! I wish I had put it in my kitchen fire first!”
“Is it--Judith, is it news of the--the cause? Is it over?”
“It’s over, as I gathered. ‘Twas a London letter, and it came by the
afternoon post. All the poor master’s hopes and dependencies for years
have been wrested from him. And if they’d give me my way, I’d prosecute
them postmen for bringing such ill luck to a body’s door.”
Charles stood something like a statue, the bright, sensitive colour
deserting his cheek. One of those causes, Might _versus_ Right, of which
there are so many in the world, had been pending in the Channing family
for years and years. It included a considerable amount of money, which
ought, long ago, to have devolved peaceably to Mr. Channing; but Might
was against him, and Might threw it into Chancery. The decision of the
Vice-Chancellor had been given for Mr. Channing, upon which Might, in
his overbearing power, carried it to a higher tribunal. Possibly the
final decision, from which there could be no appeal, had now come.
“Judith,” Charles asked, after a pause, “did you hear whether--whether
the letter--I mean the news--had anything to do with the Lord
Chancellor?”
“Oh, bother the Lord Chancellor!” was Judith’s response. “It had to do
with somebody that’s an enemy to your poor papa. I know that much. Who’s
this?”
The hall door had opened, and Judith and Charles turned towards it. A
gay, bright-featured young man of three and twenty entered, tall and
handsome, as it was in the nature of the Channings to be. He was the
eldest son of the family, James; or, as he was invariably styled,
Hamish. He rose six foot two in his stockings, was well made, and
upright. In grace and strength of frame the Yorkes and the Channings
stood A1 in Helstonleigh.
“Now, then! What are you two concocting? Is he coming over you again
to let him make more toffy, Judy, and burn out the bottom of another
saucepan?”
“Hamish, Judy says there’s bad news come in by the London post. I am
afraid the Lord Chancellor has given judgment--given it against us.”
The careless smile, the half-mocking, expression left the lips of
Hamish. He glanced from Judith to Charles, from Charles to Judith. “Is
it sure?” he breathed.
“It’s sure that it’s awful news of some sort,” returned Judith; “and the
mistress said to me that all was over now. They be all in there, but you
two,” pointing with her finger to the parlour on the left of the hall;
“and you had better go in to them. Master Hamish--”
“Well?” returned Hamish, in a tone of abstraction.
“You must every one of you just make the best of it, and comfort the
poor master. You are young and strong; while he--you know what _he_ is.
You, in special, Master Hamish, for you’re the eldest born, and were the
first of ‘em that I ever nursed upon my knee.”
“Of course--of course,” he hastily replied. “But, oh, Judith! you don’t
know half the ill this must bring upon us! Come along, Charley; let us
hear the worst.”
Laying his arm with an affectionate gesture round the boy’s neck, Hamish
drew him towards the parlour. It was a square, light, cheerful room.
Not the best room: that was on the other side the hall. On a sofa,
underneath the window, reclined Mr. Channing, his head and shoulders
partly raised by cushions. His illness had continued long, and now, it
was feared, had become chronic. A remarkably fine specimen of manhood he
must have been in his day, his countenance one of thoughtful goodness,
pleasant to look upon. Arthur, the second son, had inherited its
thoughtfulness, its expression of goodness; James, its beauty; but there
was a great likeness between all the four sons. Arthur, only nineteen,
was nearly as tall as his brother. He stood bending over the arm of his
father’s sofa. Tom, looking very blank and cross, sat at the table, his
elbows leaning on it. Mrs. Channing’s pale, sweet face was bent towards
her daughter’s, Constance, a graceful girl of one and twenty;
and Annabel, a troublesome young lady of nearly fourteen, was
surreptitiously giving twitches to Tom’s hair.
Arthur moved from the place next his father when Hamish entered, as if
yielding him the right to stand there. A more united family it would be
impossible to find. The brothers and sisters loved each other dearly,
and Hamish they almost reverenced--excepting Annabel. Plenty of love the
child possessed; but of reverence, little. With his gay good humour,
and his indulgent, merry-hearted spirit, Hamish Channing was one to earn
love as his right, somewhat thoughtless though he was. Thoroughly well,
in the highest sense of the term, had the Channings been reared. Not of
their own wisdom had Mr. and Mrs. Channing trained their children.
“What’s the matter, sir?” asked Hamish, smoothing his brow, and
suffering the hopeful smile to return to his lips. “Judith says some
outrageous luck has arrived; come express, by post.”
“Joke while you may, Hamish,” interposed Mrs. Channing, in a low voice;
“I shrink from telling it you. Can you not guess the news?”
Hamish looked round at each, individually, with his sunny smile, and
then let it rest upon his mother. “The very worst I can guess is not so
bad. We are all here in our accustomed health. Had we sent Annabel up
in that new balloon they are advertising, I might fancy it had capsized
with her--as it _will_ some day. Annabel, never you be persuaded to
mount the air in that fashion.”
“Hamish! Hamish!” gently reproved Mrs. Channing. But perhaps she
discerned the motive which actuated him. Annabel clapped her hands. She
would have thought it great fun to go up in a balloon.
“Well, mother, the worst tidings that the whole world could bring upon
us cannot, I say, be very dreadful, while we can discuss them as we are
doing now,” said Hamish. “I suppose the Lord Chancellor has pronounced
against us?”
“Irrevocably. The suit is for ever at an end, and we have lost it.”
“Hamish is right,” interrupted Mr. Channing. “When the letter arrived,
I was for a short time overwhelmed. But I begin to see it already in a
less desponding light; and by to-morrow I dare say I shall be cheerful
over it. One blessed thing--children, I say advisedly, a ‘blessed’
thing--the worry will be over.”
Charley lifted his head. “The worry, papa?”
“Ay, my boy. The agitation--the perpetual excitement--the sickening
suspense--the yearning for the end. You cannot understand this, Charley;
you can none of you picture it, as it has been, for me. Could I have
gone abroad, as other men, it would have shaken itself off amidst the
bustle of the world, and have pressed upon me only at odd times and
seasons. But here have I lain; suspense my constant companion. It was
not right, to allow the anxiety so to work upon me: but I could not help
it; I really could not.”
“We shall manage to do without it, papa,” said Arthur.
“Yes; after a bit, we shall manage very well. The worst is, we are
behindhand in our payments; for you know how surely I counted upon this.
It ought to have been mine; it was mine by full right of justice, though
it now seems that the law was against me. It is a great affliction; but
it is one of those which may be borne with an open brow.”
“What do you mean, papa?”
“Afflictions are of two kinds. The one we bring upon ourselves, through
our own misconduct; the other is laid upon us by God for our own
advantage. Yes, my boys, we receive many blessings in disguise. Trouble
of this sort will only serve to draw out your manly energies, to make
you engage vigorously in the business of life, to strengthen your
self-dependence and your trust in God. This calamity of the lost lawsuit
we must all meet bravely. One mercy, at any rate, the news has brought
with it.”
“What is that?” asked Mrs. Channing, lifting her sad face.
“When I have glanced to the possibility of the decision being against
me, I have wondered _how_ I should pay its long and heavy costs; whether
our home must not be broken up to do it, and ourselves turned out upon
the world. But the costs are not to fall upon me; all are to be paid out
of the estate.”
“That’s good news!” ejaculated Hamish, his face radiant, as he nodded
around.
“My darling boys,” resumed Mr. Channing, “you must all work and do your
best. I had thought this money would have made things easier for you;
but it is not to be. Not that I would have a boy of mine cherish for a
moment the sad and vain dream which some do--that of living in idleness.
God has sent us all into the world to work; some with their hands, some
with their heads; all according to their abilities and their station.
You will not be the worse off,” Mr. Channing added with a smile, “for
working a little harder than you once thought would be necessary.”
“Perhaps the money may come to us, after all, by some miracle,”
suggested Charley.
“No,” replied Mr. Channing. “It has wholly gone from us. It is as much
lost to us as though we had never possessed a claim to it.”
It was even so. This decision of the Lord Chancellor had taken it from
the Channing family for ever.
“Never mind!” cried Tom, throwing up his trencher, which he had
carelessly carried into the room with him. “As papa says, we have our
hands and brains: and they often win the race against money in the long
run.”
Yes. The boys had active hands and healthy brains--no despicable
inheritance, when added to a firm faith in God, and an ardent wish to
use, and not misuse, the talents given to them.