"L'HOMME PROPOSE, DIEU DISPOSE."
Mr. Herbert Harmer was sitting at breakfast reading the _Times_,--a
tall, slight man, of from forty-five to fifty, with a benevolent
expressive face, very sunburnt; a broad forehead, a well-defined mouth,
and a soft, thoughtful eye--careless as to attire, as most Anglo-Indians
are, and yet, in appearance as in manner, an unmistakable gentleman.
Opposite to him sat his son, good-looking, but not so prepossessing a
man as his father. He was about twenty-two, and looked, contrary to what
might have been expected from his birth and bringing up in a hot
climate, younger than he really was. His complexion was very fair, an
inheritance probably from his mother, as all the Harmers were dark: his
face, too, was much less bronzed than his father's, the year he had
spent in England having nearly effaced the effects of the Indian sun. He
was of about middle height, and well formed; but he had a languid,
listless air, which detracted much from the manliness of his appearance.
His face was a good-looking, almost a handsome one, and yet it gave the
impression of there being something wanting. That something was
character. The mouth and chin were weak and indecisive--not absolutely
bad, only weak,--but it was sufficient to mar the general effect of his
face.
He was toying with a spoon, balancing it on the edge of an empty coffee
cup, when a sudden exclamation from his father startled him, and the
spoon fell with a crash.
"What is the matter?"
Mr. Harmer gave no answer for some time, but continued to read in
silence the paragraph which had so strangely excited him. He presently
laid the paper down on his knees, seemed lost for some time in deep
thought, and then took out his handkerchief and blew his nose violently.
"My dear father," the young man said, for once fairly roused by all this
emotion and mystery, "what in the name of goodness is the matter? You
quite alarm me. The bank has not broken, has it? or anything terrible
happened?"
"A very sad affair, Gerald; a very sad affair. Your uncles are both
drowned."
"By Jove!"
This being the only appropriate remark that occurred to Gerald Harmer,
there was silence again; and then, seeing that his father was not
disposed to say more, the young man stretched out his hand for the
paper, and read the paragraph which contained the intelligence.
"APPALLING ACCIDENT ON THE KENTISH COAST.--The neighbourhood
of Canterbury has been thrown into a state of consternation by
an accident which has deprived one of the oldest and most
highly-respected families in the county of its heads. The two
Messrs. Harmer, of Harmer Place, near Canterbury, had rashly
ventured out from Herne Bay, with three boatmen, in a small
yacht belonging to them, just before the awful tempest, which
while we write is still raging, broke upon the coast. The storm
came on so rapidly that it is supposed that they were unable to
return. At present nothing certain is known concerning the
catastrophe; but late in the afternoon, a small black object
was observed by one of the Whitstable coast-guard men, drifting
past at a considerable distance from shore. A telescope being
brought to bear upon it, it was at once seen to be either a
large spar or a boat bottom upwards, with a human figure still
clinging to it. In spite of the fury of the gale, a band of
noble fellows put off in one of the large fishing-boats, and
succeeded in bringing off the only survivor of the five men who
had embarked in the ill-fated craft. He proved to be the sailor
who generally managed Mr. Harmer's little yacht. He is a
one-armed man, and this fact, singularly enough, was the means
of his life being saved; for he had succeeded in fastening the
hook at the end of his wooden arm so firmly in the keel of the
yacht, that, even after his strength had failed, and he could
no longer have clung on, this singular contrivance remained
secure, and kept him in his place, in spite of all the violence
of the waves. He was nearly insensible when first rescued, and
still lies in a precarious state, and has not yet been able to
give any details of the mournful catastrophe. The bodies of the
elder Mr. Harmer, and of one of the boatmen, were washed ashore
this morning, and experienced sailors anticipate that the
remaining bodies will come ashore with this evening's tide.
Several men are on the look-out for them. The Harmers of Harmer
Place are one of the oldest of the Kentish families, and were
strict adherents to the Romish persuasion. It is believed that
no male heir remains, and it is confidently stated that the
large property will go eventually towards the aggrandisement of
the Church to which they belonged."
"Is that last part true?" Gerald asked. "Do we get the property, or does
it go to the priests?"
"We shall have none of it, Gerald: of that you may be quite sure. The
priests have taken good care of that point. They would never allow the
property to fall into Protestant hands if they could help it; and my
poor brothers were, as far as I can hear, mere puppets in their hands.
No, there is not the least chance of that. I do not say that it would
not have been useful had it been otherwise; for, as you know, owing to
the troubles and riots I lost a good deal of money the last three years
we were in India; and although I have enough left for us to live upon
comfortably, Harmer Place would have been no bad addition. However, that
was not to be. I have always known that there was not be the slightest
probability of such a thing, so I shall feel no disappointment about the
matter."
"Do you mean to go down to the funeral?" Gerald asked.
"Yes. Yes, I shall go, certainly. My poor brothers and I have never been
friends; have not seen each other for thirty years; indeed, even as a
boy I saw next to nothing of them; however, the least I can do is to
follow them to the grave. I shall go down to-morrow." After a pause, Mr.
Harmer added, "I shall get Ransome to go down with me to be present at
the reading of the will. I know it is of no use, as everything is sure
to be done in legal form; still, as I have no desire to lose even the
remotest chance of saving from the priests a property that has been in
the hands of the family for centuries, I will take every possible
precaution. I shall therefore take Ransome down with me. I think you may
as well stay here until I return: it will be a painful and unpleasant
business."
Gerald had not the least wish to go. "He saw no advantage in putting
himself in the way of being snubbed, perhaps insulted, and only to see a
fine property that ought to come to them handed over to found
monasteries and convents."
So on the next morning Herbert Harmer, or Mr. Harmer, as he should now
be called, took his seat on the top of the Canterbury coach, with Mr.
Ransome, his solicitor, a shrewd man of business, beside him.
It was late in the evening when the coach drew up at the "Fountain," at
that time one of the most famous posting-inns in England.
"You stop here to-night, gentlemen?" the landlord asked.
"This gentleman will stop here," Mr. Harmer answered. "I want a
conveyance in half an hour's time to take me on to Harmer Place."
The two gentlemen entered the hotel, and had some dinner, and then when
the vehicle which was to convey him was announced to be in readiness,
Mr. Harmer prepared to start, saying, "I am afraid I shall meet no warm
welcome, Ransome. I think you may as well order a bed-room for me; very
likely I shall return here to-night. If I do not, come over early
to-morrow morning."
Mr. Harmer leaned gloomily back in the carriage as it passed out through
the town on to the road to Sturry, and mused sadly about old times. How
different, and yet in some respects how similar, was his position now to
what it was when he last trod that road thirty years back. Then, no one
had loved him; his absence would be little missed, and even less
regretted. And now, when he returned to his old home after so long an
absence, he could assuredly expect to be received with no pleasure, with
no warm welcome. His sisters he remembered but faintly; he had not seen
them more than three or four times, and they were then slim, pale girls,
unnaturally constrained in manner, with thin pinched lips and downcast
eyes. It was a short drive: in a quarter of an hour or so they passed
through the lodge-gates, the gravel crunched under the wheels for
another minute or two, and then there was a stop. Mr. Harmer alighted.
The front of the house was dark, not a single light gleamed in any of
the windows, all was hushed and quiet. He pulled at the great bell; it
sounded with a loud empty clang, which seemed to grate unnaturally in
the still night air.
"Stop here," he said to the driver. "I may return in a quarter of an
hour."
The door was opened and a faint light streamed out. "Who is it?" a voice
asked.
"Mr. Herbert Harmer," he said, entering. There was a slight exclamation
of astonishment, and then the door closed behind him. Mr. Harmer looked
round; the old hall, seen by the faint light which the servant carried
in his hand, was even blacker and more gloomy than he remembered it as a
boy. He followed the man, who in silence led the way across it to a
small sitting-room, and who, lighting some candles standing on the
mantlepiece, then withdrew, saying he would inform his mistresses that
Mr. Harmer was here.
It was some minutes before Herbert Harmer heard any other sound than the
ticking of a clock against the wall, then the door opened and his two
sisters entered, not quite so tall as he had expected to see them, not
perhaps so old, and yet with faces which disappointed him, faces which
no human love had ever brightened, no loving fingers caressingly
stroked, no lover's lips ever kissed. Faces expressing an abnegation of
self, indeed, but without that love and charity for others which should
have taken the place of self. Faces thin and pale, as by long vigil and
fasting; and eyes which seemed at times to reach your very thoughts, and
then to droop to avoid the answering glance which might seek to fathom
theirs. Habitually, perhaps from a long residence in convents abroad,
their heads were slightly bent, and their eyes fixed on the ground,
while their arms lay usually folded one on the other. Both were singular
instances of the manner in which natures, naturally fiery and wilful,
can be completely subdued and kept down by severe discipline and long
training, and of how a warm and perhaps affectionate disposition can be
warped and constrained by the iron trammels of an ascetic and joyless
life.
When they had entered and the door was closed, they stood side by side
in exactly the same attitude, apparently not looking at their brother,
but waiting for him to speak. As he did not, Cecilia the eldest broke
the silence in a harsh, monotonous voice, speaking like one who has
learnt a lesson, and who only delivers what she has got by rote.
"So you have come back at last, Herbert Harmer, to the house you have
disgraced, to the home you have forfeited. We expected you; what would
you have?"
"Nothing," Mr. Harmer answered. "I want nothing; I am come only to
attend the funeral of my dead brothers."
"And would you, Herbert Harmer--apostate to the faith of your
ancestors--would you dare to follow those who died faithful to their
God? They cast you off in their life, and their dead bodies would bleed
if you approached them."
"Cecilia," Mr. Harmer said, much shocked, "to what end these useless
recriminations? I have trodden my path; those who are gone have followed
theirs. We shall each answer before our Maker. Why should we make
earthly quarrels about heavenly matters? Rather let us be friends, let
us forget the long unfortunate past, let us be as brother and sisters to
each other, and let me try to fill to you the place of those who are
gone."
For the space of a minute there was no answer, and then the elder sister
again spoke, but in a changed tone, and a voice in which some natural
feeling struggled.
"It cannot be, Herbert. We have chosen, as you say, opposite paths, and
we must keep them to the end. I do not--we do not--wish to think
unkindly of you; we will try and forget what cause we have for doing so.
Even you must feel sorrow to know that the old walls which have held the
Harmers so long, will, at our death, hold them no longer. For I tell
you, brother, that it will be so. He who has gone has left us a life
interest in part of the property, as trustees only for the good cause,
and at our death it all goes to support the glory and power of the true
Church. I tell you this that you may cherish no false hopes of what is
not to be."
"I did not, sister. Knowing the Harmers as I know them, I was sure that
neither I nor mine would ever dwell here. Still, I owe it to myself and
my son to be present when that will is read. It is better to know for
certain that the matter is final and irrevocable."
"The will will be opened and read after the funeral, which will take
place at half-past eleven to-morrow. You are perfectly welcome to be
present: indeed, it is better so."
"I have my legal adviser with me; I should wish him to accompany me."
"Certainly; he will see that everything has been done in perfectly legal
form. Is there anything else you would say?"
"Nothing," Mr. Harmer said; and preparing to take leave, he approached
the door, near which they were standing. He stopped before them, and
then, with a sudden impulse, held out a hand to each.
"Oh, sisters, why should this be? Why, after so many years, should we
meet and part thus? Can we not be friends? Can we not yet love each
other? Can we not be happy together, and worship God in our own ways?"
Touched by the voice and manner, and by the warm, loving tone--such as
for years had not fallen upon their ears--perhaps at that moment, for
nearly the first time in their lives, they obtained a glimpse of what
life might have been to them, but was not and now never could be; the
floodgates of the hearts of those two cold, self-restrained women were
all at once broken down, as never before they had been, and, with a
passion of tears, they threw themselves simultaneously on their
brother's neck.
It was not for long. Training and habit soon reasserted their power, and
they stood before him again, calm, but still tearful and shaken.
"We have been wrong, brother; but no, not so. It has been good for us to
have met you. I believe you to be a good man. I believe now that you are
sincere, although grievously mistaken. If, as will probably be the case,
after to-morrow we should not see you again--for our present intention
is at once to retire from the world--we shall always think of you with
kindness, as of the only being in it in whom we have an interest; we
shall remember you with prayers to God, that you may yet see your errors
and be saved; and now, good-bye."
"I shall see you to-morrow?" Mr. Harmer asked.
"Yes, after the funeral." And they were gone.
Mr. Harmer again took his place in the carriage, and returned sad and
thoughtful to Canterbury.
At a quarter after eleven the next day, Mr. Harmer and his solicitor
alighted from a carriage at the lodge gates, and, sending the vehicle
back to the town, entered the grounds.
"I think you were wrong to come so early, Ransome. The service will last
at least two hours. You had much better have taken my advice, and come
on by yourself later."
"I shall do very well, Mr. Harmer. I can walk about the grounds. I see
there are a good many people about, and I am sure to find some one to
talk to till it is time for me to come in."
There were several other persons walking the same way as themselves
towards the house; but they presently met a man coming in the opposite
direction,--an old man, in a rough sailor's suit, with only one arm.
When he came up to them he stopped, looked Mr. Harmer full in the face,
and then took off his hat, saying, "God bless your honour! it's many a
long year since I saw you. Do you not remember Robert Althorpe?"
"Bless me!" Mr. Harmer exclaimed, shaking the old sailor warmly by the
hand. "I am indeed glad to see you, old friend. This, Mr. Ransome, is a
very old friend of mine; I may say the first I ever had. So you are
still here?"
"Aye, aye, your honour; but I live at Herne now. I came over here late
last night, and heard you had been up at the house in the evening; so I
thought you would be coming to the funeral this morning, and made bold
to wait here in hopes of seeing you."
"You did quite right, and I am very glad that I met you. But there, the
time is getting on, and I must not wait. Come down to the 'Fountain'
this afternoon, and ask for me; we must have a long talk over old times,
and I will see what can be done to make you comfortable for the future.
This is a dreadful business," he added, as he turned to go up to the
house.
"Aye, your honour, it is. God knows, I would have saved them if I
could."
"You!" Mr. Harmer said, stopping suddenly. "What, were you with them? I
remember now that the account said it was a one-armed sailor, but of
course I never thought for a moment of its being you."
"Aye, your honour, it were me sure enough; but don't let me keep you
now. I will tell you the whole yarn this afternoon."
Mr. Harmer walked away leaving the old sailor with the solicitor, who
had, from the instant when the man said he had been present at the
accident, regarded him with the most lively interest.
"So you were there, my man," he said. "Well, the day is very cold, I
have some time to wait, and I daresay you have nothing particular to do,
so walk down with me to the village; we shall be able, I have no doubt,
to get a snug room with a good fire, and you shall tell me the whole
story over a glass of grog."
When Mr. Harmer entered the house, he found the hall, and indeed the
whole dwelling, thronged with the priests and assistants of the Romish
Church, in the full robes of their office. All seemed engaged, and no
one paid much attention to him. In a few minutes a procession was
formed; in the rear of this he took his place, and it then moved with
low chanting through the long passages of the house to the chapel which
adjoined, and indeed formed part of it. Herbert Harmer followed
mechanically, mechanically he took the place assigned to him there, and
listened to the solemn service. As in a dream he saw the chapel hung
with black, and the catafalque containing the coffins of his dead
brothers, and the two black figures kneeling beside them; as if it were
some strange thing in which he had no part or share. His thoughts went
far back, through long years, to the time when he had last heard those
solemn chants and smelt the faint odour of the incense, the tears welled
up in his eyes, and his thoughts were still of the days of his
childhood, when a stir around him roused him, and he saw that the
service was over. In a few minutes the chapel was emptied, and all
returned into the dwelling. Here a servant informed him that a gentleman
was awaiting him in the library. Opening the door, he beckoned to Mr.
Ransome to follow him, and together they went into the drawing-room.
Here he found his sisters, and several of the higher clergy who had
assisted at the ceremonial, assembled.
On his entrance his sisters rose to meet him, and greeted him with
formal ceremony; but Mr. Harmer thought that, under their impassive
exterior, he could perceive that they were much moved; and that,
although thoroughly agreeing as they did in the propriety and justice of
the deed, they were yet sorry at heart for the coming sentence which was
to cut off their only surviving brother from all share in the old family
property. Miss Harmer then shortly introduced her brother to those
present, who received him courteously, being far too well bred men of
the world to betray the least exultation over a conquered enemy who
could no longer be dangerous, and towards whom, therefore, a generous
magnanimity might be safely displayed.
A few general remarks suitable to the occasion were exchanged, and then
at a sign from Miss Harmer, all took seats round the room, and a quiet
business-looking man, evidently a solicitor, approached the table with a
legal document in his hand. It was the will of the late Edward Harmer,
which he opened and proceeded to read. Divested of all legal
technicalities, the contents were briefly as follows:--
After leaving his sisters a life interest in a considerable sum, he
bequeathed the whole remainder to his brother Robert. In the event,
however, of Robert not surviving him, he ordered that the estate should
be sold, and that the proceeds, together with all other property
whatsoever of which he should be possessed--and the amount was large, as
the Harmers had not for years lived up to their income--should be paid
into the hands of two well-known dignitaries of the Roman Catholic
Church, to be expended by them in accordance with an enclosed document.
When the lawyer had finished, he folded up the will, and, addressing Mr.
Harman, said,--
"Have you any question you would like to ask? If so I shall be happy to
answer you. This will was drawn up by me some years since at the request
of the testator, who was in good health, mentally and bodily. I was
myself one of the witnesses of his signature; the other witness can be
produced."
"I have no question to ask," Mr. Harmer said, gravely; "the contents of
the will are precisely such as I had anticipated they would be."
There was a pause, and the lawyer remarked,--
"In that case I do not know that there is anything further to be said at
present."
Mr. Harmer turned towards his sister with the intention of saying
farewell, when he was surprised by Mr. Ransome stepping forward and
saying--
"I have a remark or two to make on behalf of Mr. Harmer in reference to
the document which has just been read."
There was a little movement of surprise, Mr. Harmer being more
astonished than any one present, and all listened with anxiety for what
was to follow.
"I admit on behalf of Mr. Harmer that the document which has just been
read is the last testament of the late Mr. Edward Harmer; of that no
question can I suppose arise. By the terms of that will he bequeathes
the whole of his property to his brother Robert, subject to the payment
of the legacies to the Misses Harmer. In the event of Robert not
surviving him, he makes other dispositions of his property. These it is
not necessary to enter into, as that contingency has not arisen. For,
gentlemen, I am in a position to prove to you that Mr. Robert Harmer did
survive his brother; he, therefore, under the will, came into possession
of the property, and as Mr. Robert Harmer has unfortunately died
intestate, at least so I presume, Mr. Herbert Harmer, as heir-at-law, of
course inherits the estate."
As Mr. Ransome spoke he moved to the door, opened it and called to some
one who was waiting in the hall, and Robert Althorpe entered with his
hat in his hand. No one moved, no one spoke, a stupor of blank dismay
had fallen upon all present. Their faces, which when the will was read,
were bright with irrepressible exultation, now expressed the deepest
consternation. They could hardly believe that the prize which they had
made so sure of was about to be snatched from their grasp.
"This," Mr. Ransome said, "is Robert Althorpe, the sailor who had charge
of the little yacht belonging to the late Mr. Harmer, and who was the
sole survivor of those who embarked in her. Miss Harmer knows that this
is correct. Be so good, my man, will you, as to tell these ladies and
gentlemen what you told me relative to the death of the Mr. Harmers.
"Well ladies, and your honours," the sailor said, "when I felt the boat
go over I stuck to her, and never left go. I soon got my head above
water, and clambered on to her bottom. I had hardly got my breath,
before I saw a head come out of the water close by me. I held on to the
keel with my hook, leaned over, and caught him by the hair, and helped
him on to the boat beside me. That was Mr. Robert Harmer. I looked round
again, and thought I saw an arm come up for a moment, but that was all I
saw of any of them, and I don't think one of them ever came up after she
upset. Mr. Robert Harmer was very weak, but he clung with me for nigh
ten minutes, sometimes washed nearly off, and getting weaker and weaker
every minute, and I saw he could not last long. We did not speak, the
waves and the wind were too high, and we were half the time under water;
but I could see the poor gentleman was praying very hard. At last a big
wave came over all, and nearly carried me off, and I had a hard fight to
get back again. When I had time to look round, Mr. Robert Harmer was
gone, and that was the last I ever saw of him. Which I am ready to take
my davy."
When the sailor had done there was another long silence, and then Mr.
Ransome said,--
"This, gentlemen, is perfectly conclusive proof that Mr. Robert Harmer
survived his brother, and would be held so in any court of law. It is, I
have no question, a surprise to you, as it is to my client, Mr. Harmer;
indeed, it is only within the last hour that I have been put in
possession of the fact; I am sure, therefore, that Mr. Harmer will not
wish to force upon you any sudden decision; but I would submit to you
that no question can arise either in the point of law or fact. I would
suggest to him that he should retire for an hour and then return for
your answer. In the meantime, merely as a matter of form, I have placed
a person in the hall to keep possession of the place in the name of Mr.
Herbert Harmer, as heir-at-law to his brother the late Mr. Robert
Harmer. The sailor will remain here, and you can interrogate him further
on the subject."
So saying, and bowing to those present, who had not yet recovered
sufficiently from their dismay to utter a word, he took the almost
stupefied Mr. Harmer by the arm and left the room.
After they had gone there was a long and animated debate; but the
conclusion at which they most reluctantly arrived, under the advice of
the lawyer who had drawn up the will, was, that there was at present
nothing to do, but to leave Mr. Herbert Harmer in possession, and then,
if upon deliberation and further advice it should be thought right to
bring the case to trial, to do so. And so they all went away, and Mr.
Harmer took possession of the home of his father; but not immediately,
for his sisters asked him to leave them a week to make their
arrangements. He begged them to stay there as long as they wished, and
indeed pressed them to make it their home. This, however, they refused
to do. By the will of their brother they were amply provided for, and
they intended to travel, and perhaps finally to enter a religious house
on the Continent.
So in a week the old house was empty, and Herbert Harmer entered it as
undisputed master.