MARTIN'S FATE.
Andrew Goldsmith was ailing for a few days, and kept his bed until
after the funeral solemnities were over. Sidney was taken home to
Apley, to be buried where Margaret would some day lie beside him.
Martin went down there for the first time to appear as one of the chief
mourners at his father's grave; but he returned immediately to
Brackenburn, which was now his own.
Andrew Goldsmith entered into his heart's desire. Sophy's son, his own
grandson, was now the squire of Brackenburn, the possessor of the
estates entailed by Sir John Martin. He would take his place as a
wealthy landowner, a man of position and influence. The old saddler,
who had been so long dominated by a fixed idea, could hardly give a
thought to the tragic fate of his son-in-law, Sophy's husband, who had
deserted her, and left her to die among strangers. Once or twice Mary
overheard him saying to himself, "He died alone, like my Sophy, with
nobody near him as loved him." But he seldom spoke of Sidney.
"I must see they don't wrong Martin," he said, full of suspicion even
of Margaret and his own sister Rachel; "there's a many ways rich folks
can wrong poor ones. I must see to it myself."
But his disappointment was great when he found that all Sidney's
accumulated wealth was left to Philip, Martin and Hugh, his other sons,
being amply provided for in other ways. Philip's portion was still the
largest. Andrew's chagrin and consternation were boundless, and he
could never believe that his grandson had not been defrauded. The idea
fastened on his mind, and made him a miserable man.
Martin contributed largely to his misery. He was now unquestionably an
English landowner, but he could not, or would not, live otherwise than
as an Austrian peasant. It was at first planned that Philip should buy
an estate near Brackenburn, and take Martin under his brotherly
protection and influence. But the vast complications of his father's
business involved too many interests for him to withdraw from it for
some years. He could not sacrifice the interests of hundreds of
families to his own desire for a private life, or even to the claims of
brotherhood. He felt himself called to step into his father's place,
and for some time to be the head of the many branches into which his
father's business had spread.
So Martin was left reluctantly to his fate. Before long a priest from
the Ampezzo Valley, a man whom he knew, came to take charge of him and
his affairs. Martin was glad to have anybody who could talk to him in
his own dialect; and this man, to whom he looked up in awe and
reverence, was so kindly to him, and knew how to direct him so well,
that he soon yielded to him the unquestioning obedience of an ignorant
peasant to his priest. There was no more intercourse than before
between Andrew and his grandson; but the former, with all his narrow
and strong prejudices, was compelled to witness the introduction of
foreign ways and Popish idolatry, as he called it, into Martin's
household. This was not what he had looked forward to when his heart
had beaten high with pride when his grandson took possession of his
estates.
Now and then Philip went to see his half-brother, when he could spare a
day or two, and Margaret every year spent a few weeks at Brackenburn.
But Martin only once visited Apley, the restraints of a home so
civilized and cultured being intolerably irksome to him. He was not
unhappy, but he had none of the higher joys of life. There was one
point on which no man could influence him. He would never marry.
Ignorant and savage as he must always remain, there was an austere
purity of soul in him which made it impossible for him to marry without
love.
The conviction that, after all, Philip or Philip's son would succeed to
the estates was a secret trouble to Laura for the rest of her life. If
she could but have known that Philip would be the most wealthy of
Sidney's three sons! But she had formed no idea of the immense
accumulation of Sidney's private property, which would have all been
Phyllis's if she had not broken off that match. Phyllis shared her
chagrin in some measure, but it was tempered with the anticipations of
a youthful beauty. There were other men besides Philip, she said,
though he was a great miss. And she had loved him, she added, with
more sadness in her tone than her mother had ever heard. They both
took more interest in the details of Philip and Dorothy's marriage than
Margaret herself did.
Margaret took up her old life in her old home, where most of all
Sidney's presence was most real to her. It was her conviction that he
was present, a thin though impenetrable veil alone lying between them.
In this path of consolation and peace she walked by faith, a more
satisfying thing than walking by sight. She knew that if he had not
gone forth to seek the son whom he did not love, there would have dwelt
in her heart of hearts a lurking condemnation of him, which would have
been exceedingly bitter; whereas now there was there a thankful sense
of the full atonement he had made for deserting his child in his
infancy. She could well wait until she spoke face to face with Sidney
again. Day by day she was strengthened with strength in her soul.
THE END.