DE MORTUIS NIL NISI BONUM.
Lady Pollexfen was obliged to go to bed almost immediately after the
departure of Mr. Madgin from Dupley Walls. Now that the long-coveted
gem was in her possession, the excitement that had upheld her during
the ardour of pursuit at once died out, leaving her utterly prostrate
and to all appearance half-a-dozen years older than when she rose in
the morning. The reaction was too much for her enfeebled health, and
she lay in bed all that day and all the following day, speaking little
to any one, but often talking disconnectedly to herself, and seeming
sometimes as though she were addressing imaginary persons by her
bedside. During the whole of this time she held the Diamond, now in
one hand, now in the other, often gazing at it, sometimes kissing it
and talking to it as though it could understand everything she said.
But whatever might be the mental hallucinations of Lady Pollexfen at
this time, her perception of the real events that were happening round
her, and her criticism of those in attendance on her, were in no
degree impaired. She had never exacted more attention from Miss Holme:
had never been more difficult to please. She would not allow her
invitation to Mr. Madgin to be countermanded. That gentleman,
accordingly, dined in solitary state in the great saloon, waited on by
the solemn butler, and treated in every respect as a guest of
distinction. Her ladyship sent down her compliments by Miss Holme,
with an expression of regret at her inability to join Mr. Madgin at
table. The next day she was somewhat better, and the day following
that she was up and about again, wandering restlessly to and fro
through the stately but silent rooms, or on to the warm south terrace
for a few minutes in the middle of the day. But it seemed to Janet
that the old woman's arm rested more heavily on hers than it was wont
to do, that she walked more slowly, and had to halt more frequently to
rest. That strange wakefulness which would not allow her to sleep
except by fits and starts, was still upon her. She had caused Janet's
bed to be removed into a corner of her own large room, so that Janet
might be more immediately within call. Many were the nights that Janet
never got into bed at all, but had to satisfy herself with flying
snatches of sleep in a large armchair by her ladyship's bedside.
Sometimes Lady Pollexfen would lie awake for two or three hours in the
middle of the night with wide-open eyes fixed solemnly on the canopy
over her head, requiring no attendance, and never speaking except when
she perceived signs of drowsiness in Janet, who was stationed where
she could be seen by a mere turn of the eyes. Then would her
ladyship's voice ring out clear and sharp: "Miss Holme! Miss Holme the
devil is behind you, about to cut off your hair with a pair of
shears." Or perhaps, "Miss Holme! Miss Holme! there is a large grey
rat staring at you out of the corner. Do make haste and frighten him
away."
Janet had neither seen nor heard anything of Major Strickland for more
than a week. Her fears were beginning to overmaster her. She had a
prevision that there was ill news in store for her. Would the errand
on which George Strickland was gone bring her happiness or misery? was
the question which she was continually putting to herself. Had she a
father alive? and if alive, would he prove to be a friend--a
protector? Or, would he prove to be one whom she could neither love
nor reverence?--one who by his conduct to her mother had shown of what
falsehood and treachery his heart was compact? Hard and dreary as was
her life at Dupley Walls since the death of Sister Agnes, it was still
redeemed by occasional flying gleams of sunshine--sunshine which left
some portion of its warmth in her heart after its brightness had
passed away. What she dreaded was that George Strickland's quest might
so result as to deprive her of even this consolation; that it might
result in proving her to be the daughter of some ruined and disgraced
man who would claim her as his own, and sever with a merciless hand
all those sweet tendrils of love and friendship from which her heart's
sole nourishment was derived. At length the suspense grew intolerable.
She wrote and despatched a brief note to Major Strickland, begging
earnestly for news of some kind. This note crossed the major on the
road, who was on his way that very morning to Dupley Walls with the
view of telling Janet the news, or such portions of it as he might
deem advisable, with which his nephew had reached home over night.
So jealous and exacting had Lady Pollexfen become of late, that the
major could not go boldly into the house and ask to see Miss Holme. To
have done so would have entirely defeated the object of his visit, and
would have simply resulted in making Janet for the time being a closer
prisoner than ever. But the major was diplomatic. Making his way
through the side entrance to Dolly Dance's room, he contrived to get a
whispered message delivered to Miss Holme; but even then he had to
wait upwards of two hours before Janet could steal away for a few
minutes to listen to what he had to say.
The story which George Strickland had to tell after his return from
Jersey was a far more surprising one than the major had expected to
hear. Many of its details were of too painful a nature ever to be
communicated to Janet.
How could it benefit any one to tell the dead man's daughter that her
father had been a gambler and a roué, and that he had ended a
disgraceful career by committing suicide? Why pain a tender heart by
such details? It would be pained sufficiently to know that the father
it had hoped to find had only been found when it was too late for him
to look upon his daughter in this world--too late even to know that
there was a creature so near akin to him in existence. Therefore, as
he walked slowly through the park on his way to Dupley Walls, the
major conned over and over the story he had made up his mind to tell,
and it was a story which he needed to repeat many times to himself
before telling it aloud, for the old soldier was a bad hand at
concealments of any kind.
Janet's tears came the moment she set eyes on Major Strickland. She
was worn out with anxiety and the long vigils she had had to keep of
late. The major drew her towards him and kissed her tenderly on the
forehead. Then her sobs came unrestrainedly, and for a little while
she could not give utterance to a word. The major placed her in a
chair and sat down beside her, and gazed at her with anxious eyes,
rubbing one of her hands tenderly between his own withered palms, till
Janet had in some degree recovered her serenity.
"George reached home last night from his journey," the major ventured
to say at last.
Janet's heart began to beat hurriedly. She looked up into the major's
eyes, and read something there that turned her cheek even paler than
it was before.
"You have some bad news to tell me," she said in a low voice, while
her hand squeezed that of the major tightly.
"My poor child! you have neither a mother nor a father," said the
major, with a returning pressure of the hand.
Janet sighed.
"I am no poorer off than I imagined myself to be," she said quietly.
"I have not told you all. Unknown to you, unknown to your mother, your
father has been alive all these years. He was living at the time your
mother died, and had not our search for him been delayed so long after
that event, he would have learnt that he had a daughter grown up to
woman's estate whom he had never seen, and who had never seen him. But
when George found him he was deaf to all earthly sounds. Poverina mia,
your father died nine days ago."
On Janet's face, as the major said those words, came a look of pain
and bewilderment pitiful to see.
"Poor, poor papa!" she murmured. "Only two short weeks ago, and I
might have seen him and spoken to him, and have told him how dearly I
would love him. If we had but known! If we had but known!"
She was crying quietly and pitifully by this time, in a way that made
the old soldier's heart ache to witness.
"Great heaven! what a treasure that man missed when he missed the love
of this dear child," said the major to himself.
"You must please tell me all about it," said Janet after a little
while. "What you have just stated seems so utterly strange to me, that
at present I can hardly realize the fact that I have not really been
the fatherless girl I have all along believed myself to be. Ah! dear
Major Strickland, how much I owe to you and other kind friends! Had it
not been for your efforts in my behalf, I should never have known what
you have told me to-day."
"It would perhaps have been as well for your peace of mind if you
never had known it."
"Indeed, dear Major Strickland, you must not say that. The truth can
never injure us. But now you will tell me, will you not, all that you
know or have heard respecting this father whom I shall never see on
earth?"
But it was not the major's intention to tell Janet all that he knew
respecting Captain Ducie. The story he did tell her was a mild version
of the one that had been told him.
He could not conceal from her the fact that Captain Ducie had
purposely abandoned his wife, nor that he had led her to believe that
he had been drowned in order that the tie between them might be more
completely severed. But he softened both circumstances in the telling,
and made as many excuses for the dead man as if he had been a brother
of his own.
On Captain Ducie's after-career he dwelt lightly and tenderly,
contriving to leave on Janet's mind the impression that her father had
been more sinned against than sinning.
Finally, he altogether suppressed the fact of Ducie's suicide, and
left Janet to suppose, that although her father's death had been a
sudden one, it had proceeded from causes that were natural and
entirely beyond his own control. What information he had gathered
respecting Captain Ducie's relatives and connexions he left to be told
at some future time.