Mr. Cassilis came to the manse in answer to Katie’s invitation and the
business of Huntley. He was young and did not particularly commend
himself to the liking of the young master of Norlaw; but as he pleased
all the other people very tolerably well, there were, perhaps, various
reasons for the less friendly sentiment of Huntley. He was, however, a
brisk man of business, and not sufficiently over-burdened with
occupation to prevent him entering heartily into the concerns of the
half-ruined family.
All this time Patrick Livingstone had been quietly busy, collecting and
arranging all his father’s memoranda which seemed to throw any light
upon their circumstances; among these were many hurried, and only half
intelligible notes of transactions with the former Huntley of Melmar,
from which it very shortly appeared that Norlaw’s debts had all been
contracted to his old kinsman, and had only come into possession of “the
present Melmar,” when he took possession of the house and property, as
heir-at-law, on the old man’s death. They had suspected this before, for
it seemed very unlikely that one man should borrow of another, whose
claims were so entirely antagonistic to his own--but these were their
only real evidence--for Norlaw had been so irregular and unsystematic
that it was impossible to tell what money might or might not have passed
through his hands.
The lawyer took all these scratchy memorandums out of Patrick’s hands,
and examined them carefully in presence of the lads. They were in the
east room, in the midst of a pile of old papers from which these had
been selected. Patie had not completed his task--he was going over his
father’s letters, to see whether they threw any light on these forgotten
transactions. It was no small task; for Norlaw, like most other men of
trifling habits and unimportant correspondence, kept every thing that
everybody wrote to him, and even scrawls of his own letters. Some of
these scrawls were curious enough--among them were one or two anxious
and elaborate epistles to people abroad, whom his search for his lost
love had brought him into contact with; some, dating still further back,
were intimations of the birth of his children, and other family events
of importance to his wife’s relations. They were all composed with
considerable care, and in somewhat pompous diction; they threw wonderful
light upon the weaknesses and vanities of this departed life, and
indifferent people might have laughed at them--but Huntley and Patie
blushed instead of laughing, or folded the scrawls away hurriedly with
tears in their eyes. To them these memorials were still pathetic,
tender, full of a touching appeal to their affection, too sacred to meet
the common eye.
Presently, however, Patie caught a glimpse of a handwriting still more
scratchy than his father’s--the trembling characters of old age. It was
a letter from old Melmar, the most important they had yet lighted
upon--and ran thus:--
“DEAR PATRICK,
“Touching the matter that was under discussion betwixt us the last
time I saw you, I have just this to say, namely, that I hold your
receipts and acknowledgments for money in the interests of your
wife and family, and not in my own. I know well what would happen
if you knew yourself free to incur more responsibility; so, mind
you, though you’ll get them all at my death, and most likely Melmar
to the boot, I’ll take care, as long as I’m to the fore, to keep my
hand over you for your good. You can let the Mistress see this if
you please, and I’ll wager a bodle she agrees with me. I can not
give you them back--but unless you behave all the worse, they’ll
never leave my hands until they return to your own.
“H. HUNTLEY.”
“Eh! what’s that?” said Mr. Cassilis, looking up from his little lot of
papers, as he saw the two brothers pass this letter between them.
They were half reluctant to show it; and when Huntley at last handed it
across the table it was with a proud apology.
“My father was generous and liberal to the extreme. I suppose he was not
what people call prudent; few understood him,” said Huntley.
The lawyer took the paper with a half perceptible smile. He knew already
what other people said of Norlaw.
However, he added old Melmar’s letter with care to his own heap of
scribbled memoranda.
“It’s not very much good,” he said, “but it shows intention.
Unquestionably, neither the giver nor the receiver had any thought of
payment for these loans. I had better see the present man to-morrow.
What with the will and these he ought to come to reason.”
“Me’mar?” cried Huntley--“no, I can have no appeal made to him on our
behalf. Do you know how he persecuted my father?”
“I’m not much of an appealing man,” said Cassilis, “but I had better see
him. Don’t be afraid--I’ll not compromise you. You did not know much of
the matter yourself, I understand, till recently. Be charitable--suppose
he were as ignorant as you?”
“Stop!” cried Patie, “never mind personal feelings--is that all the
value of the will?--to bring him to reason?”
“Not if I find Mary Huntley,” said the young lawyer.
If _I_ find. The young men exchanged glances--not quite sure that they
were pleased with this transference of their interests.
“If she’s to be found alive--or if she’s dead, and we can prove it,
every thing, of course, becomes as clear as daylight,” said the
minister’s nephew, “and many a man would tell you that in these days
either the one thing or the other is certain; but I’ve had some
experience. I know there have been cases in which every effort was
baffled; and failing either, I don’t see at this moment what’s to be
done. You expect me to say, go to law, of course, but who’s to pay the
piper? Law’s a very expensive luxury. Wait till you’re rich, and then
come down upon him--that is to say, if this search fails.”
“But it is at least worth while to make the search,” said Huntley,
hastily, “and if it is so, it is too soon to treat with Melmar.
Friendship is out of the question. Let us deal with him honestly. I can
not accept a favor from a man one day and commence a lawsuit against him
the next; it is not possible.”
“In the meantime,” said Cassilis, coolly sweeping all his papers up into
a pocket-book, “you’ve committed your affairs into my hands, and I mean
to do my best for my client, begging your pardon, whether my client
perceives my tactics or no. Don’t be offended. I’ll claim these said
acknowledgments as your right, and not as a favor. I want to see what
kind of an animal this is that we’re to fight; and to let you see what I
mean, I may as well say that I’ve heard all the history of the last few
weeks, and that I understand your feelings; but feelings, Livingstone,
recollect, as your brother says, have little to do with the law.”
Huntley could make very little further opposition; but he did not
respond by any means to his new agent’s friendliness; he received it
even with a little _hauteur_ and surliness, like a ridiculous young
hero, finding out condescension and superiority, and sundry other of
those agreeable figments of the jealous imagination, in the natural
frankness of the young lawyer. If he had been fifty, or had known
nothing of the manse, possibly Mr. Charles Cassilis, W. S., would have
made a more favorable impression upon Huntley Livingstone.