"The game's up, then, Doctor, eh? There, man, don't shuffle. This
isn't whist, but the game of life, and nature wins."
The Doctor stood holding his old friend's hand, and gazing sadly down in
the fine manly face, which looked wonderfully calm and peaceful as he
lay back on the white pillow.
"That's right; don't say medical things to me--clap-trap: you never did.
We always understand each other, and I shouldn't like it now I'm dying.
For that's it, Praed; the game's up. I haven't read so plainly how
many trumps you held in your hand for all these years, old man, without
being able to judge your face now."
"Reed, old fellow," said the Doctor, in a voice full of emotion, "God
knows I have done my best. Let me send for--"
"Tchah! What for?" said the old man. "You know more than he does.
It's of no use fighting against it. Nature says the works must stop
soon. Very well; I shall meet it as I have met other losses in my time.
Do you hear, Clive--Jessop?"
A murmur came from the other side of the bed, where the two young men
were standing, and then all was still again, save the rumble of a
vehicle in the street.
"It's disappointing just now, when I had made the _coup_ of my life, and
meant to settle down in peace; but it wasn't to be, and I'm going to
meet it like a man. Clive, boy, come here."
The young man came to the bedside and knelt down.
"Ah! I like that," said the old father. "Good lad!" and he laid his
hand gently upon his son's head. "I'm not a grand old patriarch," he
sighed. "What, Doctor?--not talk? Yes, I must have my say now, while
there's time. Not a good old patriarch, Clive--not a religious man;
made too much of a god of money; but I said my wife and sons should
never know the poverty from which I had suffered, and I think it was
right; but I overdid it, boy. Don't follow my example; there's no need.
There--my blessing for what it's worth, boy. Now go: I want Jessop."
Clive rose, and his brother came and stood where he had knelt.
"Well," said the dying man, in a firm voice, "I have little to say to
you, Jessop. Shake hands, my boy, and God forgive you, as I do--
everything." Jessop was silent, and after a few moments the old man
went on--
"I have settled everything, my lad. The Doctor here is one of my
executors, and he will see that Clive does his duty by you; though he
would without."
Jessop winced, for these words were very pregnant of meaning, and showed
only too well the place he would take after his father's death.
"There," said his father, pressing his hand, "that is all. I know your
nature, boy, so I will not ask you to promise things which you cannot
perform. Go now."
"Not stay with you, father?" said the young man, speaking for the first
time.
"No; go now. I've done my duty by you, boy; now go and do yours by your
brother. Good-bye, Jessop." There was dead silence, and the old man
spoke again as he grasped his son's hand, "Good-bye, Jessop, for the
last time."
"Good-bye, father," was the reply; and then, with head bent, the young
man walked slowly out.
"Hah! that's over!" sighed the dying man. "He will not break his heart,
Doctor; and if I had left him double, it would do him no good. Now
then, Praed, I want to see little Janet. Where is she?"
"Downstairs in the drawing-room."
"That's right. Go and fetch her. Tell her not to be frightened. She
shan't see me die, for it won't be yet."
The Doctor left the bedroom, and the old man was alone with his younger
son.
"Take hold of my hand, Clive. Sit down, my lad. That's right. There,
don't look so cut up, my boy. I'm only going to sleep like a man
should. It's simply nature; not the horror fanatics teach us. Now I
want to talk business to you for a few minutes, and then business and
money will be dead to me for ever."
"You wish me to do something, father?"
"Yes, boy. You will find everything in my will--you and the Doctor.
He's a good old friend, and his counsel is worth taking. Marry Janet,
and make her a happy wife. She has some weaknesses, but you can mould
her, my lad; and it will make her happy, and the Doctor too, for he
loves you like a son."
"Yes, father."
"That's good. You're a fine, strong, clever man, Clive, but that was
the dear, good, affectionate boy of twenty years ago speaking. Now
then, about money matters. You'll be enormously rich over that mine, so
for heaven's sake be a true, just man with it, and do your duty by all
the shareholders. Stick to it through thick and thin. I remember all
you told me when I recovered from my fit. I could repeat your report.
But I was convinced before, when all the London world thought I was
getting up a swindle. There! that's enough about the mine--save this.
You'll be thinking of sharing with your brother. I forbid it. Keep to
your portion as I have left it to you, and do good with it. To give to
Jessop is to do evil. I am sorry, but it is the truth. He cannot help
it perhaps, but he is not to be trusted, and you are not to league
yourself with him in any way. You understand?"
"Yes, father!"
"I have made him a sufficiently rich man. Let him be content. You are
not to trust him. I know Jessop by heart, and I can go from here
feeling that I have done my duty by him."
At that moment the Doctor returned with his daughter, and the old
speculator's face lit up with pleasure.
"Come here, Pussy," he said. "I'm not very dreadful yet, my dear."
"Dear Mr Reed--dear Mr Reed!" cried Janet, running sobbing to his
side; "don't, pray, talk like that."
The old man smiled with content as the girl fell upon her knees by the
bed, and embraced him tenderly, "Ah! that's right. That's like my
little darling," he said, and he stroked her cheek. "Don't cry any
more, my dear. There! you two go farther away; Janet and I have a few
words to say together."
Clive and the Doctor moved to the window and stood with their backs to
the bed, the old man watching them intently for a few moments, and then
smiling at Janet as he held and fondled her hand.
"There!" he said, "you are not to fret and be miserable about it, and
when I'm gone it is not to interfere with your marriage."
"Oh, Mr Reed!" she cried passionately.
"No, no, no," he continued quietly; "not a bit. Life is short, my dear;
enjoy it, and do your work in it while you can. And mind, there is to
be no silly parade of mourning for me. I'm not going to have your
pretty face spoiled with black crape, and all that nonsense. Mourn for
me in your dear little heart, Janet: not sadly, but with pleasant, happy
memories of one who held you when you were a baby, and who has always
looked upon you as his little daughter." Janet's face went down on the
old man's hands with the tears flowing silently.
"Now, just a few more words, my dear," he almost whispered. "Your
father and I have rather spoiled you by indulgence."
"Yes, yes," she whispered quickly. "I have not deserved so much."
"Never mind; you are going to be a dear good girl now, and make Clive a
true, loving wife."
"Yes, I'll try so hard."
"It will not take much trying, Janet, for he loves you very dearly."
She raised her head sharply, and there was an angry look in her eyes.
"No, no, you are wrong," said the old man. "Always the same, my pet. I
can read you with these little jealous fits and fancies. I tell you, he
loves you very dearly, and I'm going to say something else, my pet, my
last little bit of scolding, for I've always watched you very keenly for
my boy's sake."
"Mr Reed!" she whispered, shrinking from him and glancing towards the
window; but he held her hands tightly.
"They cannot hear us, little one," he said, "and I want you to listen.
For your own happiness, Janet, my child. It is poor Clive who ought to
have been jealous and complained."
Janet hid her burning face.
"It was not all your fault, little one, but I saw a great deal.
Innocent enough with you; but Jacob has always been trying to win Esau's
heritage, and even his promised wife."
The girl sobbed bitterly now, and laid her burning face close to the old
man's, hiding it in the pillow.
"Oh, don't, don't," she whispered. "I never liked him, but he was
always flattering me and saying nice things."
"Poison with sugar round them, my dear. But that's all past. You are
to be Clive's dear honoured wife. No more silly, girlish little bits of
flirtation. You are not spoiled, my dear, only petted a little too
much. That's all to be put behind us now, is it not?"
"Yes, dear--yes, dear Mr Reed," she whispered, with her arms about his
neck; and it was as if years had dropped away, and it was the little
child the old man had petted and scolded a hundred times, asking
forgiveness, as she whispered, "I will be good now, and love him very
dearly."
"That's like my own child," said the old man. "Now let's hear the true
woman speak."
"And do always what you wish," she said, looking him full in the eyes.
"That's right--try," he said, drawing her down to kiss her, and then
signing to her to go.
"I'm tired," he said wearily. "Clive, take your little wife downstairs
for a bit. Your hand, my boy. God bless you! Now, Doctor, I'll have
an hour's sleep."
The Doctor signed for the young people to go down; and as he took a
chair by the bed's head, Grantham Reed turned his head away from the
light, and went off into the great sleep as calmly as a tired child.