THE NINGPO IS LOST.
Lucy was so full of Mattie and what Mr. Fuller had said that she told
Mrs. Morgenstern all about it before Miriam had her lesson. After the
lesson was over, Mrs. Morgenstern, who had, contrary to her custom,
remained in the room all the time, said:
"Well, Lucy, I have been thinking about it, and I think I have arranged
it all very nicely. It's clear to me that the child will go out of her
mind if she goes on as she's doing. Now, I don't think Miriam has been
quite so well as usual, and she has not been out of London since last
August. Couldn't you take her down to St. Leonard's--or I dare say you
would like Hastings better? You can go on with your lessons there all
the same, and take little Mattie with you."
"But what will become of my grandmother?" said Lucy.
"She can go with you, can't she? I could ask her to go and take care
of you. It would be much better for you to have her, and it makes very
little difference to me, you know."
"Thank you very much," returned Lucy, "but I fear my grandmother will
not consent to it. I will try her, however, and see what can be done.
Thank you a thousand times, dear Mrs. Morgenstern. Wouldn't you like
to go to Hastings, Miriam?"
Miriam was delighted at the thought of it, and Lucy was not without
hopes that if her grandmother would not consent to go herself, she
would at least wish her to go. Leaving Mattie out of view, she would
be glad to be away from Thomas for a while, for, until he had done
as he ought, she could not feel happy in his presence; and she made
up her mind that she would write to him very plainly when she was
away--perhaps tell him positively that if he would not end it, she
must. I say _perhaps_, for ever as she approached the resolution,
the idea of the poor lad's helpless desertion arose before her, and
she recoiled from abandoning him. Nothing more could be determined,
however, until she saw her grandmother.
But as she was going out she met Mr. Sargent in the hall. He had come
to see her.
This very morning the last breath of the crew and passengers of the
_Ningpo_ had bubbled up in the newspapers; and all the world who
cared to know it knew the fact, that the vessel had been dashed to
pieces upon a rock of the Cape Verde Islands; all hands and passengers
supposed to be lost. This the underwriters knew but a few hours
before. Now it was known to Mr. Stopper and Mr. Worboise, both of whom
it concerned even more than the underwriters. Mr. Stopper's first
feeling was one of dismay, for the articles of partnership had not
been completed before Mr. Boxall sailed. Still, as he was the only
person who understood the business, he trusted in any case to make his
position good, especially if he was right in imagining that old Mrs.
Boxall must now be heir-at-law--a supposition which he scarcely allowed
himself to doubt. Here, however, occurred the thought of Thomas. He had
influence there, and that influence would be against him, for had he
not insulted him? This he could not help yet. He would wait for what
might turn up.
What Mr. Worboise's feelings were when first he read the paragraph in
the paper I do not know, nor whether he had not an emotion of justice,
and an inclination to share the property with Mrs. Boxall. But I doubt
whether he very clearly recognized the existence of his friend's
mother. In his mind, probably, her subjective being was thinned by age,
little regard, and dependence, into a thing of no account--a shadow
of the non-Elysian sort, living only in the waste places of human
disregard. He certainly knew nothing of her right to any property in
the possession of her son. Of one of his feelings only am I sure: he
became more ambitious for his son, in whom he had a considerable amount
of the pride of paternity.
Mrs. Boxall was the last to hear anything of the matter. She did not
read the newspapers, and, accustomed to have sons at sea, had not even
begun to look for news of the _Ningpo_.
"Ah, Miss Burton," said Mr. Sargent, "I am just in time. I thought
perhaps you would not be gone yet. Will you come into the garden with
me for a few minutes? I won't keep you long."
Lucy hesitated. Mr. Sargent had of late, on several occasions, been
more confidential in his manner than was quite pleasant to her,
because, with the keenest dislike to raise appearances, she yet could
not take his attentions for granted, and tell him she was engaged to
Thomas. He saw her hesitation, and hastened to remove it.
"I only want to ask you about a matter of business," he said. "I assure
you I won't detain you."
Mr. Sargent knew something of Mr. Wither, who had very "good
connections," and was indeed a favorite in several professional
circles; and from him he had learned all about Lucy's relations,
without even alluding to Lucy herself, and that her uncle and whole
family had sailed in the _Ningpo_. Anxious to do what he could for
her, and fearful lest, in their unprotected condition, some advantage
should be taken of the two women, he had made haste to offer his
services to Lucy, not without a vague feeling that he ran great risk
of putting himself in the false position of a fortune-hunter by doing
so, and heartily abusing himself for not having made more definite
advances before there was any danger of her becoming an heiress;
for although a fortune was a most desirable thing in Mr. Sargent's
position, especially if he wished to marry, he was above marrying for
money alone, and, in the case of Lucy, with whom he had fallen in
love--just within his depth, it must be confessed--while she was as
poor as himself, he was especially jealous of being unjustly supposed
to be in pursuit of her prospects. Possibly the consciousness of what
a help the fortune would be to him made him even more sensitive than
he would otherwise have been. Still he would not omit the opportunity
of being useful to the girl, trusting that his honesty would, despite
of appearances, manifest itself sufficiently to be believed in by so
honest a nature as Lucy Burton.
"Have you heard the sad news?" he said, as soon as they were in the
garden.
"No," answered Lucy, without much concern; for she did not expect to
hear anything about Thomas.
"I thought not. It is very sad. The _Ningpo_ is lost."
Lucy was perplexed. She knew the name of her uncle's vessel; but for a
moment she did not associate the thing. In a moment, however, something
of the horror of the fact reached her. She did not cry, for her
affections had no great part in anyone on board of the vessel, but she
turned very pale. And not a thought of the possible interest she might
have in the matter crossed her mind. She had never associated good to
herself with her uncle or any of his family.
"How dreadful!" she murmured. "My poor cousins! What they must all have
gone through! Are they come home?"
"They are gone home," said Mr. Sargent, significantly. "There can be
but little doubt of that, I fear."
"You don't mean they're drowned?" she said, turning her white face on
him, and opening her eyes wide.
"It is not absolutely certain; but there can be little doubt about it."
He did not show her the paragraph in the _Times_, though the paper was
in his pocket: the particulars were too dreadful.
"Are there any other relations but your grandmother and yourself?" he
asked, for Lucy remained silent.
"I don't know of any," she answered.
"Then you must come in for the property."
"Oh, no. He would never leave it to us. He didn't like me, for one
thing. But that was my fault, perhaps. He was not over-kind to my
mother, and so I never liked him."
And here at length she burst into tears. She wept very quietly,
however, and Mr. Sargent went on.
"But you must be his heirs-at-law. Will you allow me to make
inquiry--to do anything that may be necessary, for you? Don't
misunderstand me," he added, pleadingly. "It is only as a friend--what
I have been for a long time now, Lucy."
Lucy scarcely hesitated before she answered, with a restraint that
appeared like coldness:
"Thank you, Mr. Sargent. The business cannot in any case be mine. It is
my grandmother's, and I can, and will, take no hand in it."
"Will you say to your grandmother that I am at her service?"
"If it were a business matter, there is no one I would more
willingly--ask to help us; but as you say it is a matter of friendship,
I must refuse your kindness."
Mr. Sargent was vexed with himself, and disappointed with her. He
supposed that she misinterpreted his motives. Between the two, he was
driven to a sudden, unresolved action of appeal.
"Miss Burton," he said, "for God's sake, do not misunderstand me, and
attribute to mercenary motives the offer I make only in the confidence
that you will not do me such an injustice."
Lucy was greatly distressed. Her color went and came for a few moments,
and then she spoke.
"Mr. Sargent, I am just as anxious that you should understand me; but I
am in a great difficulty and have to throw myself on your generosity."
She paused again, astonished to find herself making a speech. But she
did not pause long.
"I refuse your kindness," she said, "only because I am not free to lay
myself under such obligation to you. Do not ask me to say more," she
added, finding that he made no reply.
But if she had looked in his face, she would have seen that he
understood her perfectly. Honest disappointment and manly suffering
were visible enough on his countenance. But he did not grow ashy pale,
as some lovers would at such an utterance. He would never have made,
under any circumstances, a passionate lover, though an honest and true
one; for he was one of those balanced natures which are never all in
one thing at once. Hence the very moment he received a shock, was the
moment in which he began to struggle for victory. Something called to
him, as Una to the Red-Cross Knight when face to face with the serpent
Error:
"Strangle her, else she sure will strangle thee."
Before Lucy's eyes and his met, he had mastered his countenance at last.
"I understand you, Miss Burton," he said, in a calm voice, which
only trembled a little--and it was then that Lucy ventured to look
at him--"and I thank you. Please to remember that if ever you need a
friend, I am at your service."
Without another word, he lifted his hat and went away.
Lucy hastened home full of distress at the thought of her grandmother's
grief, and thinking all the way how she could convey the news with
least of a shock; but when she entered the room, she found her already
in tears, and Mr. Stopper seated by her side comforting her with
commonplaces.