MR. HARMAN'S CONFIDENCE.
All through dinner, Hinton had felt that strange sense of depression
stealing upon him. He was a man capable of putting a very great
restraint upon his feelings, and he so behaved during the long and weary
meal as to rouse no suspicions, either in Charlotte's breast or in the
far sharper one of the Australian uncle. But, nevertheless, so
distressing was the growing sense of coming calamity, that he felt the
gay laugh of his betrothed almost distressing, and was truly relieved
when he had to change it for the gravity of her father. As he went from
the dining-room to Mr. Harman's study, he reflected with pleasure that
his future father-in-law was always grave, that never in all the months
of their rather frequent intercourse had he seen him even once indulge
in what could be called real gayety of heart. Though this fact rather
coupled with his own suspicions, still he felt a momentary relief in
having to deal to-night with one who treated life from its sombre
standpoint.
He entered the comfortable study. Mr. Harman was sunk down in an
armchair, a cup of untasted coffee stood by his side; the moment he
heard Hinton's step, however, he rose and going forward, took the young
man's hand and wrung it warmly.
The room was lit by candles, but there were plenty of them, and Hinton
almost started when he perceived how ill the old man looked.
"Charlotte has told you what I want you for to-night, eh, Hinton?" said
Mr. Harman.
"Yes; Charlotte has told me," answered John Hinton. Then he sat down
opposite his future father-in-law, who had resumed his armchair by the
fire. Standing up, Mr. Harman looked ill, but sunk into his chair, with
his bent, white head, and drawn, anxious face, and hands worn to
emaciation, he looked twenty times worse. There seemed nearly a lifetime
between him and that blithe-looking Jasper, whom Hinton had left with
Charlotte in the dining-room. Mr. Harman, sitting by his fire, with
firelight and candlelight shining full upon him, looked a very old man
indeed.
"I am sorry to see you so unwell, sir. You certainly don't look at all
the thing," began Hinton.
"I am not well--not at all well. I don't want Charlotte to know. But
there need be no disguises between you and me; of course I show it; but
we will come to that presently. First, about your own affairs. Lottie
has told you what I want you for to-night?"
"She has, Mr. Harman. She says that you have been good and generous
enough to say you will take away the one slight embargo you made to our
marriage--that we may become man and wife before I bring you news of
that brief."
"Yes, Hinton: that is what I said to her this morning: I repeat the same
to you to-night. You may fix your wedding-day when you like--I dare say
you have fixed it."
"Charlotte has named the twentieth of next June, sir; but----"
"The twentieth of June! that is four months away. I did not want her to
put it off as far as that. However, women, even the most sensible, have
such an idea of the time it takes to get a trousseau. The twentieth of
June! You can make it sooner, can't you?"
"Four months is not such a long time, sir. We have a house to get, and
furniture to buy. Four months will be necessary to make these
arrangements."
"No, they won't; for you have no such arrangements to make. You are to
come and live here when you marry. This will be your house when you
marry, and I shall be your guest. I can give you Charlotte Hinton; but I
cannot do without her myself."
"But this house means a very, very large income, Mr. Harman. Is it
prudent that we should begin like this? For my part I should much rather
do on less."
"You may sell the house if you fancy, and take a smaller one; or go more
into the country. I only make one proviso--that while I live, I live
with my only daughter."
"And with your son, too, Mr. Harman," said Hinton, just letting his hand
touch for an instant the wrinkled hand which lay on Mr. Harman's knee.
The old man smiled one of those queer, sad smiles which Hinton had often
in vain tried to fathom. Responding to the touch of the vigorous young
hand, he said--
"I have always liked you, Hinton. I believe, in giving you my dear
child, I give her to one who will make her happy."
"Happy! yes, I shall certainly try to make her happy," answered Hinton,
with a sparkle in his eyes.
"And that is the main thing; better than wealth, or position, or
anything else on God's earth. Happiness comes with goodness, you know,
my dear fellow; no bad man was ever happy. If you and Charlotte get this
precious thing into your lives you must both be good. Don't let the evil
touch you ever so slightly. If you do, happiness flies."
"I quite believe you," answered Hinton.
"Well, about money matters. I am, as you know, very rich. I shall settle
plenty of means upon my daughter; but it will be better for you to enter
into all these matters with my solicitor. When can you meet him?"
"Whenever convenient to you and to him, sir."
"I will arrange it for you, and let you know."
"Mr. Harman, may I say a word for myself?" suddenly asked the young man.
"Most certainly. Have I been so garrulous as to keep you from speaking?"
"Not at all, sir; you have been more than generous. You have been
showing me the rose-color from your point of view. Now it is not all
rose-color."
"I was coming to that; it is by no means all rose-color. Well, say your
say first."
"You are a very rich man, and you are giving me your daughter; so
endowing her, that any man in the world would say I had drawn a prize in
money, if in nothing else."
Mr. Harman smiled.
"I fear you must bear that," he said. "I do not see that you can support
Charlotte without some assistance from me."
"I certainly could not do so. I have exactly two hundred a year, and
that, as you were pleased to observed before, would be, to one brought
up as Charlotte has been, little short of beggary."
"To Charlotte it certainly would be almost beggary."
"Mr. Harman, I have some pride in me. I am a barrister by profession.
Some barristers get high in their profession."
"Undoubtedly _some_ do."
"Those who are brilliant do," continued Hinton. "I have abilities,
whether they are brilliant or not, time will show. Mr. Harman, I should
like to bring you news of that brief before we are married."
"I can throw you in the way of getting plenty of briefs when you are my
son-in-law. I promise you, you will no longer be a barrister with
nothing to do."
"Yes, sir; but I want this before my marriage."
"My influence can give it to you before."
"But that was against our agreement, Mr. Harman. I want to find that
brief which is to do so much for me without your help."
"Very well. Find it before the twentieth of June."
After this the two men were silent for several moments. John Hinton,
though in no measure comforted, felt it impossible to say more just
then, and Mr. Harman, with a face full of care, kept gazing into the
fire. John Hinton might have watched that face with interest, had he not
been otherwise occupied. After this short silence Mr. Harman spoke
again.
"You think me very unselfish in all this; perhaps even my conduct
surprises you."
"I confess it rather does," answered Hinton.
"Will you oblige me by saying how?"
"For one thing, you give so much and expect so little."
"Ay, so it appears at first sight; but I told you it was not all
rose-color; I am coming to that part. Your pride has been roused--I can
soothe it."
"I love Charlotte too much to feel any pride in the matter," replied
Hinton, with some heat.
"I don't doubt your affection, my good fellow; and I put against it an
equal amount on Charlotte's part; also a noble and beautiful woman, and
plenty of money, with money's attendant mercies. I fear even your
affection is outweighed in that balance."
"Nothing can outweigh affection," replied Hinton boldly.
Mr. Harman smiled, and this time stretching out his own hand he touched
the young man's.
"You are right, my dear boy; and because I am so well aware of this, I
give my one girl to a man who is a gentleman, and who loves her. I ask
for nothing else in Charlotte's husband, but I am anxious for you to be
her husband at once."
"And that is what puzzles me," said Hinton: "you have a sudden reason
for this hurry. We are both young; we can wait; there is no hardship in
waiting."
"There would be a hardship to me in your waiting longer now. You are
quite right in saying I have a sudden reason; this time last night I had
no special thought of hurrying on Charlotte's marriage. Her uncle
proposed it; I considered his reasoning good--so good, that I gave
Charlotte permission this morning to fix with you the time for the
wedding. But even then delay would have troubled me but little; now it
does; now even these four short months trouble me sorely."
"Why?" asked Hinton.
"Why? You mentioned my health, and observed that I looked ill; I said I
would come to that presently. I am ill; I look very ill. I have seen
physicians. To-day I went to see Sir George Anderson; he told me,
without any preamble, the truth. My dear fellow, I want you to be my
child's protector in a time of trouble, for I am a dying man."
Hinton had never come face to face with death in his life before. He
started forward now and clasped his hands.
"Dying!" he repeated, in a tone of unbelief and consternation.
"Yes; you don't see it, for I am going about. I shall go about much as
usual to the very last. Your idea of dying men is that they stay in bed
and get weak, and have a living death long before the last great mercy
comes. That will not be my case. I shall be as you see me now to the
very last moment; then some day, or perhaps some night, you will come
into this room, or into another room, it does not a bit matter where,
and find me dead."
"And must this come soon?" repeated Hinton.
"It may not come for some months; it may stay away for a year; but again
it may come to-night or to-morrow."
"Good God!" repeated Hinton.
"Yes, Mr. Hinton, you are right, in the contemplation of such a solemn
and terrible event, to mention the name of your Creator. He is a good
God, but His very goodness makes Him terrible. He is a God who will see
justice done; who will by no means cleanse the guilty. I am going into
His presence--a sinful old man. Well, I bow to His decree. But enough of
this; you see my reasons for wishing for an early marriage for my
child."
"Mr. Harman, I am deeply, deeply pained and shocked. May I know the
nature of your malady?"
"It is unnecessary to discuss it, and does no good; suffice it to know
that I carry a disease within me which by its very nature must end both
soon and suddenly; also that there is no cure for the disease."
"Are you telling me all this as a secret?"
"As a most solemn and sacred secret. My brother suspects something of
it, but no one, no one in all the world knows the full and solemn truth
but yourself."
"Then Charlotte is not to be told?"
"Charlotte! Charlotte! It is for her sake I have confided to you all
this, that you may guard her from such a knowledge."
John Hinton was silent for a moment or two; if he disliked Charlotte
having a secret from him much more did he protest against the knowledge
which now was forced upon him being kept from her. He saw that Mr.
Harman was firmly set on keeping his child in the dark; he disapproved,
but he hardly dared, so much did he fear to agitate the old man, to make
any vigorous stand against a decree which seemed to him both cruel and
unjust. He must say something, however, so he began gently--
"I will respect your most sacred confidence, Mr. Harman; without your
leave no word from me shall convey this knowledge to Charlotte; but
pardon me if I say a word. You know your own child very well, but I also
know Charlotte; she has lived, for all her talent and her five and
twenty years, the sheltered life of a child hitherto--but that is
nothing; she is a noble woman, she has a noble woman's heart; in
trouble, such a nature as hers could rise and prove itself great. Don't
you suppose, when by and by the end really comes, she will blame me, and
even perhaps, you, sir, for keeping this knowledge from her."
"She will never blame her old father. She will see, bless her, that I
did it in love; you will tell her that, be sure you tell her that, when
the time comes; please God, you will be her husband then, and you will
have the right to comfort her."
"I hope to have the right to comfort her, I hope to be her husband;
still, I think you are mistaken, though I can urge the matter no
further."
"No, for you cannot see it with my eyes; that child and I have lived the
most unbroken life of peace and happiness together; neither storm nor
cloud has visited us in one another. The shadow of death must not
embitter our last few months; she must be my bright girl to the very
last. Some day, if you and she ever have a daughter, you will understand
my feelings--at least in part you will understand it."
"I cannot understand it now, but I can at least respect it," answered
the young man.