It was all decided. The interview with Uncle Bernard was over, the last
farewells spoken, and the boxes packed in readiness to go to the
station. In less than an hour the Court and its inhabitants would be a
thing of the past.
Out of consideration for Mr Farrell's health, the girls had decided not
to tell him of their bad news until the morning.
"He has had enough excitement for one day," Mollie said; "let him be
quiet to-night. To-morrow morning we will send up mother's letter for
him to read, and ask to see him as soon as possible after breakfast.
That will give him time to think over the situation and decide what to
do. He must guess that we will want to return home, but if he wishes to
keep us he can easily do so. Oh, to think that with a few strokes of
the pen he could make us all happy again! I don't know how much money
the pater needs, but it would probably be the tiniest sum out of Uncle
Bernard's great fortune. Suppose he offered to send a cheque--suppose
he gave us a cheque to send, and all was peace and joy again! He
could--he might--oh, surely he _will_! What is the use of being rich if
one can't help people in trouble?"
But Ruth sighed and shook her head.
"Rich people have not much patience with failures, and the poor old
pater has not the gift of success. I am afraid Uncle Bernard will be
more inclined to blame than to help." And as events proved she was
right.
Mr Farrell sent word that he would be at liberty at ten o'clock in the
sitting-room adjoining his bedroom, and the first few minutes of the
interview proved that his attitude towards the family trouble was one of
scornful impatience rather than sympathy. He was apparently quite
unprepared for the girls, determination, and would not at first believe
in its sincerity.
"You are surely joking," he said scathingly. "If your parents are in
such straits as you describe, how do you propose to help them by giving
them two more people to keep and feed? It appears to me that your room
would be more valuable than your company."
Ruth flushed painfully.
"We hope to be able to help, not to hinder. When a child like Trix has
already found work, we ought not to lag behind. It would be impossible
to go on living in the lap of luxury, wearing fine clothes, eating fine
meals, being waited upon hand and foot, while our own people are in
actual need."
"Unless--" interrupted Mollie, and then stopped short, while Mr Farrell
turned sharply towards her.
"Unless what? Finish your sentence, if you please."
"Unless you will help them for us!" gasped Mollie, crimson, but daring.
"It would be so easy for you to lend the pater what he needs, and he
would promise to pay you back--we would all promise! We would work
night and day until it was made up."
Mr Farrell smiled sardonically.
"At last! I knew it must come. It would not be Mollie if she had any
scruples about asking for what she wanted. No, my dear, I never lend.
It is against my principles to throw good money after bad. At the risk
of appearing a monster of cruelty, I must refuse to interfere in your
stepfather's affairs. There are still six weeks of your visit here to
run, and I shall be pleased to relieve him of your support for that
time; otherwise--"
"We are much obliged, but we have decided to go home. You wished to be
able to judge our characters, and you have had enough time to do so,
with very unsatisfactory results, if we are to judge from yesterday's
conversation!" cried Ruth, with a sudden burst of indignation. "If you
can believe us capable of prying into your desk, you will surely not be
sorry to get rid of us altogether!"
The old man looked at her long and thoughtfully.
"Yes," he said quietly, "it's a pity--a very great pity--that the two
things should have happened together. It is as unsatisfactory to me as
to you that you should leave before the culprit has been discovered.
But it is useless now to argue the point if your minds are already made
up. Taking everything into consideration--the peculiar circumstances
with regard to my will, your original acceptance of my invitation--do I
still understand that you wish to leave me to-day?"
"It is our duty to go home. Yes, we have quite decided," said Ruth.
The old man's eyes turned towards the younger girl.
"And you, Mollie?"
"Yes, uncle; I'm sorry, but we can't leave mother alone just now."
Mr Farrell sat silent, his eyebrows lowered, his head hanging forward
on his chest, so that it was difficult to see the expression of his
face; but the pose of the figure suggested weariness and disappointment.
Suddenly he stretched out his hand and touched an electric bell. A
servant appeared almost immediately, and was asked a hasty question--
"Is Mr Druce still in the house?"
"I believe so, sir. He was in the morning-room a few minutes ago."
"Go down and tell him that I should be obliged if he would come up here
at once."
The girls exchanged puzzled glances as the servant departed on his
errand; but they did not dare to speak, and, as Mr Farrell relapsed
into his former downcast attitude, the silence was broken only by the
sound of Victor's approaching footsteps. He entered the room confident
and smiling, but drew up with a start of surprise at seeing the two
girls. He was evidently disappointed at their presence, and vaguely
uneasy; but after the first involuntary movement his features quickly
resumed their mask-like calm.
"You sent for me, sir. Is there anything I can do?"
Mr Farrell raised his head and looked at him thoughtfully. It was
seldom indeed that he allowed himself to show any sign of interest in
his young companions, so that this steady scrutiny was the more
remarkable. Even Victor's composure suffered beneath it, for a tinge of
colour crept into his pale cheeks, and he moved uneasily to and fro.
"What is it, sir?" he repeated. "I hope nothing fresh has happened to
distress you."
"Thank you, Druce. My plans have been still further upset this morning,
as, owing to news received from home, my nieces have decided to leave
the Court at once. That means that three out of the four whom I
selected for my experiment have, of their own accord, refused to carry
out the conditions. Under these circumstances, I think it is only right
to offer to release you from your promise, if you prefer to return home
at the same time. Everything will be changed, and you may not care to
stay on with only myself as a companion."
Victor's eyelids dropped, and a quiver of emotion passed over his face.
Ruth saw it, and, with a sinking heart, realised that it resembled
exultation rather than grief. He was silent for a moment, but when he
spoke nothing could well have been more dignified and natural than words
and manner--
"If it will inconvenience you in any way to entertain me alone, I am, of
course, perfectly ready to leave; but if you give me the choice--if it
is left to me to decide, sir--I should prefer to keep my promise, and
stay for the remainder of the time. I might perhaps be of some help to
you when you are alone."
The strained expression on Mr Farrell's face gave place to one of
unmistakable satisfaction.
"That is good!" he replied heartily. "I am glad to find that you at
least have some appreciation of the nature of a bargain. It will be
lonely for you, but I am the more obliged for your decision. I won't
keep you any longer just now, as we shall have other opportunities of
conversation, and I have my adieux to make."
The door closed behind Victor, and Mr Farrell turned immediately
towards his eldest grand-niece, as if anxious to get through an ordeal.
"Well, Ruth, I must bid you good-bye. I trust you will have a pleasant
journey, and find matters at home less serious than you anticipate."
"Thank you, Uncle Bernard." Ruth extended a cold little hand, and stood
hesitating by his side, while his sunken eyes dwelt upon the face which
in feature was so like his own. "I've enjoyed the time--part of the
time--more than anything else in my life! I'm sorry if I have done
wrong in any way; I wanted only to please you!"
"For my own sake, or for what I could give?"
The question came sharp and abrupt, and Ruth's cheeks flamed beneath it.
She hesitated painfully, gathering courage to speak the truth.
"Oh, I know I have been mercenary! I'm sick of being poor, and I love
the Court and the easy, luxurious life. I wanted the money more than
anything in the world; but it's all over now, and it's partly your own
fault, for you _did_ tempt me! Please forgive me before I go!"
"I forgive you, Ruth. It is quite true that I tempted you, and you are
not fitted to bear temptation. But there is no need to bear enmity.
Good-bye!"
He held out his hand again--held it at a distance, and with a formality
which forbade a warmer farewell; and Ruth turned away, downcast and
miserable. Those words, "You are not fitted to bear temptation," seemed
to denote that in his mind there still dwelt a lingering suspicion lest
she might have yielded to her anxiety to look at the will, and had then
lacked the courage for confession. Well, it was all over, and it was
useless to protest. So perish earthly hopes!
Mr Farrell turned towards his remaining niece.
"Well, Mollie, and so you also are resolved to leave me?"
"There was only one alternative, Uncle Bernard, and you refused it. If
you won't help mother, we must lose no time in getting to work. We are
breaking no promise, remember. We said we would stay if she could spare
us, and now the time has come when she needs to have us back."
"You believe you can find work--work which will pay--a child like you,
with the plainest of educations?"
"I am sure of it. I am not going to teach, but I shall be able to do
something. I should be ashamed of myself if I couldn't--a big, strong
creature like me! I am sorry to go--much more sorry than you will
believe! I've been very happy these few weeks."
"I know you have. I have known more than you are aware of, perhaps.
But you will not regret your departure so much, as Jack Melland is
leaving at the same time. He has been your special companion, I think."
The blood flew to Mollie's cheeks under the scrutiny of the sunken eyes,
and, to her consternation, spread even higher and higher, until she was
crimson to the roots of her hair. She tried in vain to answer with
composure, but could only stammer confusedly--
"He has been very nice. I like him the best--better than Mr Druce.
But he decided--we decided,--our reasons for leaving are absolutely
independent of each other, Uncle Bernard."
"I know--I know!"
He turned aside, and remained silent for a few minutes, as if to allow
her time to recover composure, then once more held out his hand in
farewell.
"Well, good-bye, Mollie. We also must agree to forgive and forget!"
Mollie bent over his chair, one hand resting on each arm, the
embarrassment of a moment before dying a sudden death in the face of a
parting which, in the nature of things, must be for ever.
"Uncle Bernard," she said softly, "if your Ned were alive, and you were
in trouble, you would like him to hurry home to you, whatever it might
cost! And if She were alive, and poor and distraught, you would rather
he worked for her, than left her that he might fill the greatest post on
earth. Judge us by that thought when you feel inclined to be hard! I
know you don't like kissing people, so I am going to kiss you instead.
There! Good-bye; and God bless you!"
She turned away with tears in her eyes, but half-way to the door the
sound of her own name made her pause.
"Mollie!" he cried, in a sharp, resolute voice, which sent her heart
beating with sudden hope.
But, even as her eyes met his, his expression changed once more.
"No, no; it is better as it is! I have nothing to say!"
Mollie turned away sadly and walked out of the room.