_DOCTOR BRYERLY REAPPEARS_
No one who has not experienced it can imagine the nervous disgust and
horror which such a spectacle as we had been forced in part to witness
leaves upon the mind of a young person of my peculiar temperament.
It affected ever after my involuntary estimate of the principal actors in
it. An exhibition of such thorough inferiority, accompanied by such a shock
to the feminine sense of elegance, is not forgotten by any woman. Captain
Oakley had been severely beaten by a smaller man. It was pitiable, but also
undignified; and Milly's anxieties about his teeth and nose, though in a
certain sense horrible, had also a painful suspicion of the absurd.
People say, on the other hand, that superior prowess, even in such
barbarous contests, inspires in our sex an interest akin to admiration. I
can positively say in my case it was quite the reverse. Dudley Ruthyn stood
lower than ever in my estimation; for though I feared him more, it was by
reason of these brutal and cold-blooded associations.
After this I lived in constant apprehension of being summoned to my uncle's
room, and being called on for an explanation of my meeting with Captain
Oakley, which, notwithstanding my perfect innocence, looked suspicious, but
no such inquisition resulted. Perhaps he did not suspect me; or, perhaps,
he thought, not in his haste, all women are liars, and did not care to hear
what I might say. I rather lean to the latter interpretation.
The exchequer just now, I suppose, by some means, was replenished, for next
morning Dudley set off upon one of his fashionable excursions, as poor
Milly thought them, to Wolverhampton. And the same day Dr. Bryerly arrived.
Milly and I, from my room window, saw him step from his vehicle to the
court-yard.
A lean man, with sandy hair and whiskers, was in the chaise with him. Dr.
Bryerly descended in the unchangeable black suit that always looked new and
never fitted him.
The Doctor looked careworn, and older, I thought, by several years, than
when I last saw him. He was not shown up to my uncle's room; on the
contrary, Milly, who was more actively curious than I, ascertained that our
tremulous butler informed him that my uncle was not sufficiently well for
an interview. Whereupon Dr. Bryerly had pencilled a note, the reply to
which was a message from Uncle Silas, saying that he would be happy to see
him in five minutes.
As Milly and I were conjecturing what it might mean, and before the five
minutes had expired, Mary Quince entered.
'Wyat bid me tell you, Miss, your uncle wants you _this minute_.'
When I entered his room, Uncle Silas was seated at the table, with his desk
before him. He looked up. Could anything be more dignified, suffering, and
venerable?
'I sent for you, dear,' he said very gently, extending his thin, white
hand, and taking mine, which he held affectionately while he spoke,
'because I desire to have no secrets, and wish you thoroughly to know all
that concerns your own interests while subject to my guardianship; and I am
happy to think, my beloved niece, that you requite my candour. Oh, here is
the gentleman. Sit down, dear.'
Doctor Bryerly was advancing, as it seemed, to shake hands with Uncle
Silas, who, however, rose with a severe and haughty air, not the least
over-acted, and made him a slow, ceremonious bow. I wondered how the homely
Doctor could confront so tranquilly that astounding statue of hauteur.
A faint and weary smile, rather sad than comtemptuous, was the only sign he
showed of feeling his repulse.
'How do _you_ do, Miss?' he said, extending his hand, and greeting me after
his ungallant fashion, as if it were an afterthought.
'I think I may as well take a chair, sir,' said Doctor Bryerly, sitting
down serenely, near the table, and crossing his ungainly legs.
My uncle bowed.
'You understand the nature of the business, sir. Do you wish Miss Ruthyn to
remain?' asked Doctor Bryerly.
'I _sent_ for her, sir,' replied my uncle, in a very gentle and sarcastic
tone, a smile on his thin lips, and his strangely-contorted eyebrows raised
for a moment contemptuously. 'This gentleman, my dear Maud, thinks proper
to insinuate that I am robbing you. It surprises me a little, and, no
doubt, you--I've nothing to conceal, and wished you to be present while
he favours me more particularly with his views. I'm right, I think, in
describing it as _robbery_, sir?'
'Why,' said Doctor Bryerly thoughtfully, for he was treating the matter
as one of right, and not of feeling, 'it would be, certainly, taking that
which does not belong to you, and converting it to your own use; but, at
the worst, it would more resemble _thieving_, I think, than robbery.'
I saw Uncle Silas's lip, eyelid, and thin cheek quiver and shrink, as if
with a thrill of tic-douloureux, as Doctor Bryerly spoke this unconsciously
insulting answer. My uncle had, however, the self-command which is learned
at the gaming-table. He shrugged, with a chilly, sarcastic, little laugh,
and a glance at me.
'Your note says _waste_, I think, sir?'
'Yes, waste--the felling and sale of timber in the Windmill Wood, the
selling of oak bark and burning of charcoal, as I'm informed,' said
Bryerly, as sadly and quietly as a man might relate a piece of intelligence
from the newspaper.
'Detectives? or private spies of your own--or, perhaps, my servants, bribed
with my poor brother's money? A very high-minded procedure.'
'Nothing of the kind, sir.'
My uncle sneered.
'I mean, sir, there has been no undue canvass for evidence, and the
question is simply one of right; and it is our duty to see that this
inexperienced young lady is not defrauded.'
'By her own uncle?'
'By anyone,' said Doctor Bryerly, with a natural impenetrability that
excited my admiration.
'Of course you come armed with an opinion?' said my smiling uncle,
insinuatingly.
'The case is before Mr. Serjeant Grinders. These bigwigs don't return their
cases sometimes so quickly as we could wish.'
'Then you have _no_ opinion?' smiled my uncle.
'My solicitor is quite clear upon it; and it seems to me there can be no
question raised, but for form's sake.'
'Yes, for form's sake you take one, and in the meantime, upon a nice
question of law, the surmises of a thick-headed attorney and of an
ingenious apoth--I beg pardon, physician--are sufficient warrant for
telling my niece and ward, in my presence, that I am defrauding her!'
My uncle leaned back in his chair, and smiled with a contemptuous patience
over Doctor Bryerly's head, as he spoke.
'I don't know whether I used that expression, sir, but I am speaking merely
in a technical sense. I mean to say, that, whether by mistake or otherwise,
you are exercising a power which you don't lawfully possess, and that the
effect of that is to impoverish the estate, and, by so much as it benefits
you, to wrong this young lady.'
'I'm a technical defrauder, I see, and your manner conveys the rest. I
thank my God, sir, I am a _very_ different man from what I once was.' Uncle
Silas was speaking in a low tone, and with extraordinary deliberation. 'I
remember when I should have certainly knocked you down, sir, or _tried_ it,
at least, for a great deal less.'
'But seriously, sir, what _do_ you propose?' asked Doctor Bryerly, sternly
and a little flushed, for I think the old man was stirred within him; and
though he did not raise his voice, his manner was excited.
'I propose to defend my rights, sir,' murmured Uncle Silas, very grim. 'I'm
not without an opinion, though you are.'
'You seem to think, sir, that I have a pleasure in annoying you; you are
quite wrong. I hate annoying anyone--constitutionally--I _hate_ it; but
don't you see, sir, the position I'm placed in? I wish I could please
everyone, and do my duty.'
Uncle Silas bowed and smiled.
'I've brought with me the Scotch steward from Tolkingden, _your_ estate,
Miss, and if you let us we will visit the spot and make a note of what we
observe, that is, assuming that you admit waste, and merely question our
law.'
'If you please, sir, you and your Scotchman shall do _no such thing_; and,
bearing in mind that I neither deny nor admit anything, you will please
further never more to present yourself, under any pretext whatsoever,
either in this house or on the grounds of Bartram-Haugh, during my
lifetime.'
Uncle Silas rose up with the same glassy smile and scowl, in token that the
interview was ended.
'Good-bye, sir,' said Doctor Bryerly, with a sad and thoughtful air, and
hesitating for a moment, he said to me, 'Do you think, Miss, you could
afford me a word in the hall?'
'Not a word, sir,' snarled Uncle Silas, with a white flash from his eyes.
There was a pause.
'Sit where you are, Maud.'
Another pause.
'If you have anything to say to my ward, sir, you will please to say it
_here_.'
Doctor Bryerly's dark and homely face was turned on me with an expression
of unspeakable compassion.
'I was going to say, that if you think of any way in which I can be of the
least service, Miss, I'm ready to act, that's all; mind, _any_ way.'
He hesitated, looking at me with the same expression as if he had something
more to say; but he only repeated--
'That's all, Miss.'
'Won't you shake hands, Doctor Bryerly, before you go?' I said, eagerly
approaching him.
Without a smile, with the same sad anxiety in his face, with his mind, as
it seemed to me, on something else, and irresolute whether to speak it or
be silent, he took my fingers in a very cold hand, and holding it so, and
slowly shaking it, his grave and troubled glance unconsciously rested on
Uncle Silas's face, while in a sad tone and absent way he said--
'Good-bye, Miss.'
From before that sad gaze my uncle averted his strange eyes quickly, and
looked, oddly, to the window.
In a moment more Doctor Bryerly let my hand go with a sigh, and with an
abrupt little nod to me, he left the room; and I heard that dismallest of
sounds, the retreating footsteps of a true friend, _lost_.
'Lead us not into temptation; if we pray so, we must not mock the eternal
Majesty of Heaven by walking into temptation of our own accord.'
This oracular sentence was not uttered by my uncle until Doctor Bryerly had
been gone at least five minutes.
'I've forbid him my house, Maud--first, because his perfectly unconscious
insolence tries my patience nearly beyond endurance; and again, because I
have heard unfavourable reports of him. On the question of right which he
disputes, I am perfectly informed. I am your tenant, my dear niece; when
I am gone you will learn how _scrupulous_ I have been; you will see how,
under the pressure of the most agonising pecuniary difficulties, the
terrific penalty of a misspent youth, I have been careful never by a hair's
breadth to transgress the strict line of my legal privileges; alike, as
your tenant, Maud, and as your guardian; how, amid frightful agitations,
I have kept myself, by the miraculous strength and grace vouchsafed
me--_pure_.
'The world,' he resumed after a short pause, 'has no faith in any man's
conversion; it never forgets what he was, it never believes him anything
better, it is an inexorable and stupid judge. What I was I will describe in
blacker terms, and with more heartfelt detestation, than my traducers--a
reckless prodigal, a godless profligate. Such I was; what I am, I am. If
I had no hope beyond this world, of all men most miserable; but with that
hope, a sinner saved.'
Then he waxed eloquent and mystical. I think his Swedenborgian studies had
crossed his notions of religion with strange lights. I never could follow
him quite in these excursions into the region of symbolism. I only
recollect that he talked of the deluge and the waters of Mara, and said, 'I
am washed--I am sprinkled,' and then, pausing, bathed his thin temples and
forehead with eau de Cologne; a process which was, perhaps, suggested by
his imagery of sprinkling and so forth.
Thus refreshed, he sighed and smiled, and passed to the subject of Doctor
Bryerly.
'Of Doctor Bryerly, I know that he is sly, that he loves money, was born
poor, and makes nothing by his profession. But he possesses many thousand
pounds, under my poor brother's will, of _your money_; and he has glided
with, of course a modest "nolo episcopari," into the acting trusteeship,
with all its multitudinous opportunities, of your immense property. That
is not doing so badly for a visionary Swedenborgian. Such a man _must_
prosper. But if he expected to make money of me, he is disappointed.
Money, however, he will make of his trusteeship, as you will see. It is a
dangerous resolution. But if he will seek the life of Dives, the worst I
wish him is to find the death of Lazarus. But whether, like Lazarus, he be
borne of angels into Abraham's bosom, or, like the rich man, only dies
and is buried, and _the rest_, neither living nor dying do I desire his
company.'
Uncle Silas here seemed suddenly overtaken by exhaustion. He leaned back
with a ghastly look, and his lean features glistened with the dew of
faintness. I screamed for Wyat. But he soon recovered sufficiently to smile
his odd smile, and with it and his frown, nodded and waved me away.