READING OF THE WILL.
Assistance was soon procured, and Sir Oswald was carried to his room;
Doctor Helmstone was sent for, and when he arrived the whole house was
in confusion. Lady Darrell wrung her hands in the most graceful
distress.
"Now, Elinor," said Lady Hampton, "pray do not give way to anything of
that kind. It is a fortunate thing for you that I am here. Let me beg of
you to remember that, whatever happens, you are magnificently provided
for, Sir Oswald told me as much. There is really no need to excite
yourself in that fashion."
While Lady Darrell, with a few graceful exclamations and a very pretty
show of sorrow, managed to attract all possible sympathy, Pauline moved
about with a still, cold face, which those best understood who knew her
nature. It seemed incredible to the girl that anything unexpected should
happen to her uncle. She had only just begun to love him; that evening
had brought those two proud hearts closer together than they had ever
been; the ice was broken; each had a glimmering perception of the real
character of the other--a perception that in time would have developed
into perfect love. It seemed too hard that after he had just begun to
like her--that as soon as a fresh and genuine sentiment was springing up
between them--he must die.
For it had come to that. Care, skill, talent, watching, were all in
vain; he must die. Grave-faced doctors had consulted about him, and with
professional keenness had seen at once that his case was hopeless. The
ailment was a sudden and dangerous one--violent inflammation of the
lungs. No one could account for the sudden seizure. Sir Oswald had
complained of pain during the day, but no one thought that it was
anything of a serious nature. His manner, certainly, had been strange,
with a sad pathos quite unlike himself; but no one saw in that the
commencement of a mortal illness.
Lady Hampton frequently observed how fortunate it was that she was
there. To all inquiries as to the health of her niece, she replied,
"Poor, dear Lady Darrell is bearing up wonderfully;" and with the help
of pathetic little speeches, the frequent use of a vinaigrette, a few
tears, and some amiable self-condolence, that lady did bear up.
Strange to say, the one who felt the keenest sorrow, the deepest regret,
the truest pain, was the niece with whom Sir Oswald had continually
found fault, and whom he had disinherited. She went about with a sorrow
on her face more eloquent than words. Lady Hampton said it was all
assumed; but Lady Darrell said, more gently, that Pauline was not a
girl to assume a grief which she did not feel.
So the baronet died after a week of severe illness, during which he
never regained the power of speech, nor could make himself intelligible.
The most distressing thing was that there was evidently something which
he wished to say--something which he desired to make them understand.
When Pauline was in the room his eyes followed her with a wistful
glance, pitiful, sad, distressing; he evidently wished to say something,
but had not the power.
With that wish unexpressed he died, and they never knew what it was.
Only Pauline thought that he meant, even at the last, to ask her
forgiveness and to do her justice.
Darrell Court was thrown into deepest mourning; the servants went about
with hushed footsteps and sorrowful faces. He had been kind to them,
this stately old master; and who knew what might happen under the new
_regime_? Lady Hampton was, she assured every one, quite overwhelmed
with business. She had to make all arrangements for the funeral, to
order all the mourning, while Lady Darrell was supposed to be
overwhelmed with sorrow in the retirement of her own room.
One fine spring morning, while the pretty bluebells were swaying in the
wind, and the hawthorn was shining pink and white on the hedges, while
the birds sang and the sun shone, Sir Oswald Darrell was buried, and the
secret of what he had wished to say or have done was buried with him.
At Lady Darrell's suggestion, Captain Langton was sent for to attend
the funeral. It was a grand and stately procession. All the _elite_ of
the county were there, all the tenantry from Audleigh Royal, all the
friends who had known Sir Oswald and respected him.
"Was he the last of the Darrells?" one asked of another; and many looked
at the stately, dark-eyed girl who bore the name, wondering how he had
left his property, whether his niece would succeed him, or his wife take
all. They talked of this in subdued whispers as the funeral _cortege_
wound its way to the church, they talked of it after the coffin had been
lowered into the vault, and they talked of it as the procession made its
way back to Darrell Court.
As Lady Hampton said, it was a positive relief to open the windows and
let the blessed sunshine in, to draw up the heavy blinds, to do away
with the dark, mourning aspect of the place.
Everything had been done according to rule--no peer of the realm could
have had a more magnificent funeral. Lady Hampton felt that in every
respect full honor had been done both to the living and the dead.
"Now," she wisely remarked, "there is nothing to be done, save to bear
up as well as it is possible."
Then, after a solemn and dreary dinner, the friends and invited guests
went away, and the most embarrassing ceremony of all had to be gone
through--the reading of the will.
Mr. Ramsden, the family solicitor, was in attendance. Captain Langton,
Lady Darrell, Lady Hampton, and Miss Darrell took their seats. Once or
twice Lady Hampton looked with a smile of malicious satisfaction at the
proud, calm face of Pauline. There was nothing there to gratify her--no
queen could have assisted at her own dethronement with prouder majesty
or prouder grace. Some of the old retainers, servants who had been in
the family from their earliest youth, said there was not one who did not
wish in his heart that Pauline might have Darrell Court.
Lady Darrell, clad in deepest mourning, was placed in a large easy-chair
in the center of the group, her aunt by her side. She looked extremely
delicate and lovely in her black sweeping robes.
Pauline, who evidently thought the ceremony an empty one, as far as she
was concerned, stood near the table. She declined the chair that Captain
Langton placed for her. Her uncle was dead; she regretted him with true,
unfeigned, sincere sorrow; but the reading of his will had certainly
nothing to do with her. There was not the least shadow on her face, not
the least discomposure in her manner. To look at her one would never
have thought she was there to hear the sentence of disinheritance.
Lady Darrell did not look quite so tranquil; everything was at stake for
her. She held her dainty handkerchief to her face lest the trembling of
her lips should be seen.
Mr. Ramsden read the will, and its contents did not take any one much by
surprise. The most important item was a legacy of ten thousand pounds to
Captain Aubrey Langton. To Pauline Darrell was left an annuity of five
hundred pounds per annum, with the strict injunction that she should
live at Darrell Court until her marriage; if she never married, she was
to reside there until her death. To all his faithful servants Sir Oswald
left legacies and annuities. To his well-beloved wife, Elinor, he
bequeathed all else--Darrell Court, with its rich dependencies and royal
revenues, his estate in Scotland, his house in town, together with all
the valuable furniture, plate, jewelry, pictures, all the moneys that
had accumulated during his life-time--all to her, to hold at her will
and pleasure; there was no restriction, no condition to mar the legacy.
To the foregoing Sir Oswald had added a codicil; he left Miss Hastings
one hundred pounds per annum, and begged of her to remain at Darrell
Court as companion to Lady Darrell and his niece.
Then the lawyer folded up the parchment, and the ceremony was ended.
"A very proper will," said Lady Hampton; "it really does poor dear Sir
Oswald credit."
They hastened to congratulate Lady Darrell; but Captain Langton, it was
noticed, forgot to do so--he was watching Pauline's calm, unconcerned
departure from the room.