Mr Farrar grew suddenly and rapidly worse; and the doctors, hastily
summoned, saw that it was necessary to be frank and explicit with Mrs
Tipper and me as to his true state. His disease was approaching a
fatal point, and his time was very short, they affirmed. Before we had
time to prepare Lilian for the shock, the fiat went forth that the
end might be expected in a few hours. Poor Mrs Tipper shut herself up
with her grief; and to me was deputed the painful task of making the
truth known to his child. She was at first completely overwhelmed. That
his state was a critical one she had not had the slightest suspicion.
She had got accustomed to his invalid ways; and hearing nothing to
the contrary, had taken it for granted that he was surely if slowly
progressing towards convalescence; telling herself that at the very
worst he would go on in the same way for years.
I think that Mrs Tipper--and even he himself--was deceived in the same
way.
I quietly tended Lilian through the first agony of her grief; but did
not let it subside into despair, making an appeal (which I felt to be
most effectual with one of her nature) to her unselfishness.
Her father needed her love more than he had ever yet needed it, and
tears and grief must be kept back so long as it was in her power to
comfort and sustain him. She responded at once. Choking back her sobs,
and bathing her face to efface as much as possible the outward signs of
her misery, she presently whispered that I might trust her now. 'Only
you must promise not to leave me--promise to keep near me, Mary?'
'I will, Lilian; if there be no objection made to my doing so.'
At first it seemed as if no objection would be made. When Lilian was
ushered, awestruck and silent, into the darkened room, where the spirit
was already struggling to free itself from the weakened body, I saw the
dying man's eyes turn upon us with a faint gleam of satisfaction; and
I was about to follow her to his bedside, the nurse's warning looks
telling me that my assistance would soon be required, when the latter
beckoned me towards her, where she stood just outside the door.
'Something on his mind, Miss; can't die till it is told,' whispered the
woman, as she made a gesture for me to close the door and leave the
father and child together alone.
I was not a little startled; but stood hesitating on the threshold
of the room a moment, not quite liking to leave Lilian alone,
inexperienced as she was, with the dying man, yet still more averse to
be present at any family revelations, when, in reply, I suppose, to
some whispered question from him, Lilian said: 'Only the nurse and Miss
Haddon, dear papa.'
'You have taken to her--and she likes you, I think--she may be able to
help you;' slowly and brokenly said Mr Farrar. 'Yes; send the other
away. Only Miss Haddon and yourself.'
I hesitated no longer. Telling the nurse to remain in the adjoining
room, I re-entered, and carefully closing the door, advanced towards
Lilian, on her knees by the bed-side, with her face hidden upon
the hand she held. I put my arm round her, and said with quiet
distinctness, for I saw that there was no time to be lost in words: 'I
love Lilian, Mr Farrar; and if she needs a friend, you may trust me.'
His fast glazing eyes rested upon me for a moment, as he murmured
'Haddon of Haddon;' and then his gaze and his thoughts wandered away
again.
'Is there anything you wish to have done, Mr Farrar?' I presently
asked, fancying that he was trying to concentrate his mind upon
something, and found an increasing difficulty in so doing.
'Send for--Markham--bring the draft'----
'Of your will?' I asked, rapidly connecting the name, which I knew to
be that of his lawyer, with the word 'draft,' and hoping that I thus
followed out his meaning.
'Yes--will--sign--Haddon of Haddon.' Even at that moment, I saw he
attributed my power of catching his meaning to be a consequence of my
being a Haddon of Haddon.
'I will send at once, Mr Farrar.' I went to the door, told the nurse to
bring the butler to me without a moment's delay, and waited there until
he came.
'Is my poor master?'----
'Do not speak, except to answer a question please, Saunders; but listen
carefully. Do you know the address of Mr Farrar's solicitor, both of
his private residence and the office?'
'Yes, Miss.'
'If you cannot ride, send a groom to the railway station without a
moment's delay; and telegraph to Mr Markham, both at his residence and
the office, these words: "Mr Farrar is dying; come at once, and bring
the draft of the will." Please repeat it.'
He repeated the words; and then with an answering nod to my one word,
'Immediately,' went off to do my bidding.
I turned into the room again, closing the door. I had obeyed Mr Farrar
promptly and literally, as at such a crisis it seemed best to do; but
I could not see the importance of the proceeding. Lilian was his only
child, and would not suffer any pecuniary loss even if there were no
will. But one thing struck me, even at that moment: it was singular
that a business man like Mr Farrar should have delayed making his will
until now. And why did he appear so troubled and restless? Why did
he look anywhere but into his child's eyes, raised so tenderly and
lovingly to his?
'Dear papa, speak to me--look at me!' she pleaded.
'Eighty thousand, and business worth'----
'O papa, darling; one little word to your child. I'm Lilian, papa.'
'Keys--cabinet--Haddon of Haddon.'
I followed the direction of his eyes; went softly and quickly to the
dressing-table, brought from it several bunches of keys, ranged them
separately on the counterpane before him, and pointed to each, watching
his eyes for the answer.
'This! And now which key?' I held each key up, and slowly passed it
over the ring until his eyes told me that I had come upon the right
one; then again following the direction of his eyes, I crossed over
to a cabinet which stood between the windows opposite his bed, and
unlocked it. It opened with doors, upon a nest of drawers; and I
pointed to each, going slowly down one side and up the other until
I had found the right one. It contained a small packet sealed and
addressed, and a bundle of letters. I held up the letters first.
'Burn.'
'I will burn them, Mr Farrar.'
'Burn!'
I saw that it must be done at once; put them into the fender, struck a
match, and set light to them, stirring them well about until they were
only tinder. For a suspicion had crossed my mind that it was quite
possible there might be something connected with Mr Farrar's past life,
the evidence of which it was desirable to keep from his daughter's
knowledge. At anyrate, he had a right to have his letters destroyed if
he so wished it, and his mind was manifestly relieved by its being done.
'Parcel!'
I brought the little packet to his bed-side. 'Do you wish anything to
be done with this, Mr Farrar?'
He looked at it a moment, and then turned his eyes upon his child.
'Forgive--be good to her.'
'To whom, dear papa?' murmured Lilian.
'Sister.'
'Auntie? Dear papa, do not you know that I love her?' she sobbed out.
'Haddon of Haddon--send it.'
'Send this packet to the person to whom it is addressed, Mr Farrar?' I
asked, beginning to find a clue to the mystery, as I solemnly added:
'I will.' So far, I had interpreted his meaning; but I presently saw
that was not sufficient. The eyes wandering from Lilian to the packet,
and from the packet to me, told that there was still something to be
done before his mind would be set at rest. I looked at the two or three
lines in his own hand-writing on the packet, and after a moment's
hesitation, said: 'This is addressed to your daughter, Marian; and I
think you wish Lilian to promise to be good to her sister, Mr Farrar?'
I saw I had hit upon his meaning once more.
'Yes; good to her.'
'Sister!' ejaculated Lilian. 'Have I a sister, dear papa--living?'
He lay unconscious a few moments, murmuring something about 'mountains
and peat-smoke and a cottage home,' dwelling apparently upon some
familiar scenes of the past. But the thought presently grew as
wandering and disjointed as the words, and the light was gradually
fading out of the eyes. I now watched him with grave anxiety, all my
fears aroused lest there should be some very serious necessity for
making a will after all.
It was a momentary relief when the door opened and the doctor entered
the room. But my hopes very quickly faded when I saw him stand
inactive, looking gravely down at his patient's face, and then, with a
pitiful look at Lilian's bowed head, and expressive glance at me, turn
quietly away. I followed him out of the room.
'Will he rally again, do you think, Dr Wheeler, sufficiently to be able
to sign a will?'
He stopped in the act of putting on his gloves, turning his eyes upon
me in some surprise.
'A will! Surely a man of business habits like Mr Farrar has done that
long ago. He has been quite sufficiently warned to be aware of his
danger, Miss Haddon. But'--after a pause--'it cannot be of very vital
importance. There is but one child, and of course she takes all; though
I should have given him credit for tying it securely up to her, in the
event of her falling into bad hands.'
'The lawyer has his instructions, I believe, Dr Wheeler, and we have
telegraphed for him to come at once. Meantime, can anything be done? Is
there no stimulant, no?'----
'My dear lady, Mr Farrar is dead already, so far as the capability of
transacting business is concerned. It is the insensibility preceding
death; and only a question of an hour or so--it may be only of
minutes.'
Sick at heart, I silently bowed, and turned back into the room again,
waiting in solemn stillness until Lilian should need me. The nurse
moved softly in and out the room, and I knew why she drew up the blinds
to let the last rays of sunlight stream in. The glorious sunset faded
into twilight, twilight deepened into night, and then, with a long
quivering sigh, the spirit stole forth to that other life.
The moment all was over there were innumerable demands upon my
energies. Taking my dear Lilian to her aunt's room, I left them
together, after giving a private hint to each that it was necessary to
stifle her grief as much as possible for the sake of the other. Then I
went downstairs again, to give the awestruck and confused servants the
necessary orders, which in their first grief neither Lilian nor her
aunt was capable of giving. They had deputed me to see that all was
rightly done.
The demands upon me increased so rapidly, that I felt quite relieved
when a servant came to tell me that the lawyer had arrived. I went at
once to the library, too much absorbed in the one thought to remember
that I was meeting a stranger.
'Too late, I am sorry to find, madam!' said a short, stout,
brisk-looking, little man, making me a low bow as I entered. He
evidently found it somewhat difficult to get the right expression into
his jovial face, as he went on to explain that he had been dining out
when the telegram, sent on by his wife, reached him. 'I lost not a
moment; and have managed to get from Russell Square in an hour and a
half.' Then, after a keen glance at me, which took in my left hand, he
added: 'A relative of my late client's, I presume?'
'No; my name is Haddon. I have been living here as companion to his
daughter, Mr Markham, and have always been treated as a friend of the
family.' I said the last words in the hope of inducing him to trust me
sufficiently to say anything he might have to say, forgetting that I
was talking to a lawyer.
'Very fortunate for Miss Farrar; friends are needed at such times
as this;' eyeing me sharply as he went on to add a few conventional
words respecting his client's death, and the shock its suddenness must
have given his friends; and so affording me an opportunity for the
indulgence of a little sentiment.
But I neither felt any, nor desired him to think that I did, upon the
score of my attachment to Mr Farrar; so quietly replied: 'Death is
always solemn, Mr Markham; but I know too little of Mr Farrar to mourn
him as a friend. His daughter, I love.'
He nodded pleasantly; satisfied, I think, so far; then, after a moment
or two, tried another leading question.
'You were probably present with her at the last?'
'Yes.'
'Conscious?'
'Yes; until the last hour.'
'And you are aware I was summoned, I presume?'
'I sent for you, Mr Markham.' He waited; and seeing he was still
cautious, I went on: 'It was Mr Farrar's wish you should be sent for.
He appeared extremely anxious to sign the will; but it was too late.'
'Ah, yes; too late! Very sad, very sad;' watching me furtively, as he
carefully measured the length and breadth of one of his gloves. 'And no
last instructions, I suppose; no little confidences or revelations, or
anything of that kind?'
I quite understood him; and after a few moments' reflection, replied:
'Yes; there was a revelation, Mr Markham; a very startling one; and as
you have prepared the will, you doubtlessly know to what I allude?'
I waited a few moments for a reply; but waited in vain. He seemed lost
in contemplation of his gloves again. This jovial-looking little man
was not quite so effusive as he looked. I tried once more.
'It is unfortunate the will was not signed, since Mr Farrar so much
desired it.'
'Certainly; much to be regretted--very much.'
I saw that the approach was to be made from my side; and as it had to
be done sooner or later, I said: 'But I do not see that its not being
signed can make any difference to Miss Farrar--from a pecuniary point
of view.'
'No; none whatever: Miss Farrar will not be a loser.'
'Will her sister?'
'Ah! now we shall understand each other--now you have come to the
point, my dear lady,' he replied, with brisk cheerfulness, placing a
chair for me, and seating himself before me with a confidential air; a
hand upon each of his knees. 'You see it was necessary to bring you to
that; though you have fenced very well--very neatly indeed--for a lady.
I could not desire a better witness in a case, I assure you--on my own
side.'
I was not quite so charmed with the compliment as he intended me to
be; not taking very kindly to the idea of being 'brought to it,' as he
termed it. So I replied with an air which I flattered myself was as
careless as his own: 'I thought it as well to tell you that much, Mr
Markham.'
'Quite as well, my dear young lady; saving of time, you know. I may
now tell you that the person to whom you allude will be a considerable
loser by the will I have brought down with me not being signed.'
'Is there no previous will, Mr Markham?'
'There have been several others. But Mr Farrar was a very careful man,
and always destroyed an old will when he made a fresh one. He could
never quite satisfy himself as to the exact provision to be made for
the--person you have named, and was continually altering his mind,
making the sum now greater now smaller.'
'Fortunately, Miss Farrar may be trusted to do all that is right.'
'No doubt a very sweet and good young lady; brought up with relations
on the mother's side, I understand. I have had the pleasure of meeting
her two or three times, and was much struck by her amiability.'
'It is something stronger and better than amiability, Mr Markham,' I
returned. Someway that word always offended me with reference to Lilian.
'I am glad to hear it; though amiability has its attractions--_for
me_.' After a few moments' contemplative glance at me, he added:
'It will be some comfort to her, by and by, perhaps to know that
the--other is at least three or four years older than herself, and that
the mother died whilst her child was young.'
I understood what he meant; 'the other,' as he termed her--he did not
once allude to her by name--had been born before Mr Farrar's marriage
to Lilian's mother.
'Thank you for telling me that, Mr Markham; it will be a comfort to
Lilian.'
He nodded and smiled, as though to say I deserved that little
encouragement for acquitting myself so well; than became grave and
businesslike again, as befitted the occasion. Rising from his seat
and taking the little black bag which he had brought with him, from
the table, he said: 'You will require no aid from me until after the
funeral, when Miss Farrar will have to go through a little legal
formality. There will be no complications; everything will be Miss
Farrar's, absolutely. A trifle _too_ absolutely, I should be inclined
to say, if she were an ordinary young lady, or likely to fall into bad
hands--a money-hunting husband's, for instance.'
'You know, of course, that Miss Farrar is engaged to be married to Mr
Trafford, Mr Markham?'
'One of the Warwickshire Traffords?' he said with a smile, which
was instantly suppressed. 'Yes; I have heard something of the kind,
certainly.'
He certainly had; since, as I afterwards ascertained, the will had been
so made as to very securely protect Lilian's property in the event of
such marriage. Then, in reply to a question of mine, he advised me to
send to one of the best undertakers (giving me the names and addresses
of two or three, but cautiously abstaining from recommending one more
than another), and make him responsible for everything being conducted
in a fit and proper manner. 'That is, I think, the wisest course to
pursue; though you are free to carry out Miss Farrar's wishes in any
way.'
'Thank you.'
'Do not name it. I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you again upon
a less solemn occasion, Miss Haddon.' Then, looking at his watch, he
found that he would have just time to catch the ten o'clock up-train;
and declining my offer of refreshments, he bade me good-night, and
hurried out to the fly which he had kept waiting for him.