"DOING JUSTLY."
"THREE Parades, mother! One at the top of another!"
"One above another, I suppose you mean."
"Yes. And lots of green growing all along. Hermione says it's called
tam—something. And there's a Splash-Point, only it's ever so far-off
right along the Parade, beyond the pier, and the waves do splash up
there. Cousin Hermione and I could only just race round between the
waves. And cousin Hermione got such a lovely colour in her cheeks.
I saw lots of people looking at her. And cousin Hermione says I
needn't call her 'cousin,' cause it's so long—all that lot of it!
Hermione is four whole syllables, you know. Oh, I do like going out
with her—it's such fun. And I'm sure cousin Hermione—no, I mean
Hermione—likes it too."
"She is very kind to take so much trouble with you," Julia remarked.
"But she says it isn't trouble one bit. She says it's fun. I didn't
know Hermione liked fun before, and she does. We went up to the Wish
Tower, mother, and there's a moat, and a bridge, and a gun, and a man.
Oh, and down below there are holes in the great high wall, and I saw
birds going in and out. Wasn't that odd? Cousin Hermione couldn't tell
me why they went in. I thought grown-up people knew everything.
But they don't. And, mother, we saw Beachy Head, ever so far-off,
you know, and high up. Three miles away, cousin Hermione says. And I
do want to go there some day, 'cause you know it's in the poetry about
the Spanish Armada that my Marjory read to me. I've learnt bits, and I
know that part. Oh, and mother—"
"Have pity, do, child! The way you chatter!"
Mittie came to an abashed pause, looking joyous still.
"I'll tell you the rest by-and-by," she said sedately. "Only I do
think East Bourne is the very most delightful place I ever saw in all
my life! And now I'm going back to Hermione."
"It's a perfect craze," Mrs. Trevor remarked carelessly. She did not
look annoyed, however. Hermione's love for the child gratified her
in the abstract, though the perpetual recurrence of those "four
syllables" did at times prove wearisome.
This was their first day in East Bourne, so a little excitement
on Mittie's part was excusable. Despite its being the month
of November, they had soft mild and clear weather, without rain
or fogs, and with many gleams of sunshine. The three ladies enjoyed
their change thoroughly, Hermione not less than the others. Harvey
still wore a grave and abstracted air, and the dents in his forehead,
of which Mittie had once complained, were now so habitual that the
child had ceased to notice them.
Nearly a week after their arrival, Julia had one afternoon to take
a note to her husband in the small sitting-room which he here used
as a study. He received it with a slight detaining gesture, and she
stood waiting while he read.
"No answer needed," he said, glancing up. "Sit down, Julia. I don't
often get you alone for five minutes."
"We seem generally all together," she replied, with a throb
of pleasure at the words. "Harvey, I wish you looked strong again.
I think I shall be well first."
"I! Oh, I am all right—should be, at least, if it were not
for worries."
Julia did not ask, "What worries?—" at least not in words. Her face
was eloquent.
"Why do you never speak to me now about Hermione's—" he hesitated,
and at length the word "claims?" followed.
"You told me that she had none."
"And you were satisfied?"
Julia lifted her black eyes to his, answering truthfully, "No!"
"Then why not speak?"
"I thought you might not like it. You told me I mast depend upon you
to—" and a pause.
"To 'do justly,'" her husband said.
"Yes."
"And," there was emphasis in Harvey's voice, "and 'to walk humbly with
thy God!' Is not that it? But first comes the 'doing justly.' Does
that mean that a course of doing unjustly would make the other
impossible?"
She bent her head and answered, "I am afraid so."
"And I—have found it so."
Julia's hand came on his arm. "Will you not," she pleaded, "will you
not do it—do what seems right——be on the safe side?"
"I cannot make up my mind. Not for want of thinking. It has been
before me constantly. But there are difficulties. Something must be
done, undoubtedly. The question is—what?"
"Twenty thousand pounds?"
"It would mean pecuniary pressure for years for you and me."
"Ought we to think of that—if it is right—if your uncle meant her
to have so much?"
"If? That is the question. Did he mean it calmly, or was it a sudden
impulse? Should I be right to part with such an amount? There are
certain duties which I owe to the estate, to those living on the
estate. How if I could not fulfil those duties?"
"But have we not to 'do justly,' not thinking of consequences?"
Harvey smiled. "Yours is a very straightforward view of the matter."
"Is it the wrong view?"
"Not abstractly—it could not be. Practically there are complications
which make decision not so easy. You must remember that I am not bound
to give any particular sum. We may have a sense of what is morally
right or wrong in the matter, but legally I am free. My uncle's mere
wishes have no binding power over me."
"No. But still—" she said.
"But still I agree with you that something should be done. I shall not
be at rest till it is settled one way or another."
"Cannot you now—Why put off?"
"I am not able to come to a decision."
"Then why not speak to Hermione? Tell her plainly how things stand,
and see what she will say. Would not that be a help? She is so kind
and loving lately—so different—I do think she would better help you
in seeing what to do. Anything is better than to put off. Suppose you
changed your mind again!"
"You have small trust in me!"
"It isn't that! I only know what I am myself. May I call Hermione?"
"At once?" Man-like, he distrusted impulse in a business matter.
"Yes, at once. She is indoors. Isn't it best to be open?"
And after a little more hesitation, a little more pleading, Harvey
actually said, "Yes!"
Hermione listened to her cousin's statement with an air of calm
attention, sitting opposite to him, her hands folded on her lap, and
her blue eyes glancing from him to Julia. His statement was that of a
man of business, though gleams of personal feeling came in now and
then. When he had mentioned the letter to Mr. Selwyn, and the "twenty
thousand pounds," she said in surprise, "No! that must be a mistake!"
When he spoke of his difficulty in parting with so much in a lump,
she said, "No! oh no! it would not do at all."
"Now you see exactly how things stand," were Harvey's concluding
words. "I wish to do what is right and fair, but the estate will not
stand unlimited pulls upon it. Julia advises me to consult with you.
I do not fancy that my uncle wished to injure the property."
"I know he did not. I can help you here," she said, with her sweetest
smile. "If only I had known before that you were worrying yourselves!"
"Then your grandfather spoke to you of his intentions?"
"No; he never talked business to me. It was not his way. But on the
Saturday before he was taken from us, he wrote to an old friend,
Mr. Ogilvie—a relative of your Mrs. Ogilvie—Julia. You must see
the letter. I only heard of it lately—through the Daltons at first—
and some days ago Mr. Ogilvie sent it to me. I have not liked
to mention it to either of you. Of course the Daltons had no right
to interfere, and—But I will get the letter."
She sped lightly away, and Harvey looked towards his wife with a
quiet, "You were right!"
Almost immediately Hermione came back, flushed and eager. She gave the
sheet to Harvey, saying, "It is there, on the second page. Read to
Julia, if you like."
And Harvey read:—"'You will remember my grandchild, Hermione Rivers—
a child when you saw her last, but now a young woman. She is dearer
to me than ever. I can feel no fears about her future; she will never
fail to win friends. But, as you are aware, the Westford estate
is entailed, and I have to-day resolved to leave to her, absolutely,
the sum of £10,000. I wish I could make it £20,000, but I doubt if the
estate would stand so great a loss, and do not feel that I have
a right to cripple my successor. You will think it strange that I have
not provided fully for my Hermione sooner. Blame an old man's
procrastination. It shall be delayed no longer.'"
"Strange!" Harvey uttered.
"You see! The most he thought of was ten thousand," said Hermione.
"And I shall never want so much."
"When did you say it was written?" Julia inquired. "On the Saturday?
The very same day that he wrote of twenty thousand pounds
to Mr. Selwyn!"
"Probably at the same time. That must have been a slip of the pen,"
Harvey said gravely. "His mind was no doubt confused."
"Poor grandfather! Yes; the illness was coming on even then. But there
is no mistake about what he really meant. He gives his reasons for the
one, not for the other."
"True!" Harvey murmured. There was a brief silence of two or three
minutes, during which he bent his head in deep thought. Julia watched
him fearfully. Hermione seemed almost indifferent, certainly not
anxious.
Then Harvey raised his eyes, a new light in them. "The ten thousand
pounds shall be yours, Hermione. I will take steps at once."
Hermione looked disturbed.
"Is that right? Is it needful?"
"I think so; both right and needful. You have made matters plain.
If he had lived another week, it would have been yours. It shall be
yours now!"
Hermione could only murmur something inarticulate about, "Very very
kind!"
"Only just!" Harvey answered.
Julia bent to kiss the forehead from which all puckers had
disappeared, whispering, "I am so glad! oh, so thankful!"
And Harry Fitzalan!
The ten thousand pounds were no bait at all to Harry! He scouted any
such considerations. He loved Hermione deeply, but he could not get
over that one sight of Hermione in a rage. It "finished him off,"
he said. No such wife for him!
And though he could not cease to care for her, he held studiously
aloof, kept resolutely apart. Perhaps Harry's character was none the
worse in the end for this long process of abstention—long, for it
lasted four years. Nobody knew what Hermione thought of it. She did
suffer, for she did love; but no human being was allowed a glimpse
below the surface.
At length, after four whole years, even the sceptical Harry was
convinced of that which every one else saw plainly, the real change
in Hermione. He found that she was now what once she had only,
at least in a measure, seemed to be.
Then he proposed, and was accepted.
THE END.
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & Co.
Edinburgh & London