“Oh, mother! it meant——” Sibyl swallowed something in her throat. Her mother’s speech was unintelligible; it hurt her, she did not exactly know why, but this last remark was an opening.
“Mother, I am glad you spoke of it. I could not, really and truly, help it.”
“Don’t talk nonsense. Now go away. Hortense is coming to dress me for dinner. Go.”
“But, mother! one minute first, please—please.”
“Go, Sibyl, obey me.”
“It was ’cos Lord Grayleigh spoke againstmy——”
“Go, Sibyl, I won’t listen to another word. I shall punish you severely if you do not obey me this instant.”
“I am going,” said the child, “but I cannotbe——”
“Go. You are coming down to dessert to-night, and you are to speak properly to Lord Grayleigh. Those are my orders. Now go.”
Hortense came in at that moment. She entered with that slight whirl which she generally affected, and which she considered truly Parisian. Somehow,in some fashion, Sibyl felt herself swept out of the room. She stood for a moment in the passage. There was a long glass at the further end, and it reflected a pink-robed little figure. The cheeks had lost their usual tender bloom, and the eyes had a bewildered expression. Sibyl rubbed her hands across them.
“I don’t understand,” she said to herself. “Perhaps I wasn’t quite pretty enough, perhaps that was the reason, but I don’t know. I think I’ll go to my new nursery and sit down and think of father. Oh, I wish mother hadn’t—of course it’s all right, and I am a silly girl, and I get worser, not better, every day, and mother knows what is best for me; but she might have let me ’splain things. I wish I hadn’t a pain here.” Sibyl touched her breast with a pathetic gesture.
“It’s ’cos of father I feel so bad, it’s ’cos they told lies of father.” She turned very slowly with the most mournful droop of her head in the direction of the apartment set aside for nurse and herself. She had thought much of this visit, and now this very first afternoon a blow had come. Her mother had told her to do a hard thing. She, Sibyl, was to be polite to Lord Grayleigh; she was to be polite to that dreadful, smiling man, with the fair hair and the keen eyes, who had spoken against herfather. It was unfair, it was dreadful, to expect this of her.
“And mother would not even let me ’splain,” thought the child.
“Hullo!” cried a gay voice; “hullo! and what’s the matter with little Miss Beauty?” And Sibyl raised her eyes, with a start, to encounter the keen, frank, admiring gaze of Gus.
“Oh, I say!” he exclaimed, “aren’t we fine! I say! you’ll knock Freda and Mabel into next week, if you go on at this rate. But, come to the schoolroom; we want a game, and you can join.”
“I can’t, Gus,” replied Sibyl.
“Why, what’s the matter?”
“I don’t feel like playing games.”
“You are quite white about the gills. I say! has anybody hurt you?”
“No, not exactly, Gus; but I want to be alone. I’ll come by-and-by.”
“Somebody wasn’t square with her,” thought Gus, as Sibyl turned away. “Queer little girl! But I like her all the same.”
Sibyl’s conduct was exemplary at dessert. She was quiet, she was modest, she was extremely polite. When spoken to she answered in the most correct manner. When guests smiled at her, she gave them a set smile in return. She accepted just that portion of the dessert which her mother most wished her to eat, eschewing unwholesome sweets, and partaking mostly of grapes. Especially was she polite to Lord Grayleigh, who called her to his side, and even put his arm round her waist. He wondered afterwards why she shivered when he did this. But she stood upright as a dart, and looked him full in the face with those extraordinary eyes of hers.
At last the children’s hour, as it was called, came to an end, and the four went round kissing and shaking hands with the different guests. Mrs. Ogilvie put her hand for an instant on Sibyl’s shoulder.
“I am pleased with you,” she said; “you behaved very nicely. Go to bed now.”
“Will you come and see me, Mumsy—mother, I mean—before you go to bed?”
“Oh no, child, nonsense! you must be asleephours before then. No, this is good-night. Now go quietly.”
Sibyl did go quietly. Mrs. Ogilvie turned to her neighbor.
“That is such an absurd custom,” she said; “I must break her of it.”
“Break your little girl of what?” he asked. “She is a beautiful child,” he added. “I congratulate you on having such a charming daughter.”
“I have no doubt she will make a very pretty woman,” replied Mrs. Ogilvie, “and I trust she will have a successful career; but what I was alluding to now was her insane wish that I should go and say good-night to her. Her father spoils that child dreadfully. He insists on her staying up to our late dinner, which in itself is quite against all my principles, and then will go up to her room every evening when he happens to be at home. She lies awake for him at night, and they talk sentiment to each other. Very bad, is it not; quite out of date.”
“I don’t know,” answered Mr. Rochester; “if it is an old custom it seems to me it has good in it.” As he spoke he thought again of the eager little face, the pathetic soft eyes, the pleading in the voice. Until within this last half-hour he had not known of Sibyl’s existence; but from this instant she was to come into his heart and bear fruit.
Meanwhile the child went straight to her room.
“Won’t you come to the schoolroom now?” asked Gus in a tone of remonstrance.
“No; mother said I was to go to bed,” answered Sibyl.
“How proper and good you have turned,” cried Mabel.
“Good-night,” said Sibyl. She could be quite dignified when she pleased. She allowed the girls to kiss her, and she shook hands with Gus, and felt grown-up, and, on the whole, notwithstanding the unsatisfied feeling at her heart, rather pleased with herself. She entered the room she called the nursery, and it looked cheerful and bright. Old nurse had had the fire lit, and was sitting by it. A kettle steamed on the hob, and nurse’s cup and saucer and teapot, and some bread and butter and cakes, were spread on the table. But as Sibyl came in the sense of satisfaction which she had felt for a moment or two dropped away from her like a mantle, and she only knew that the ache at her heart was worse than ever. She sat down quietly, and did not speak, but gazed fixedly into the fire.
“What is it, pet?” nurse said. “Is anything the matter?”
“No,” answered Sibyl. “Nursie, can I read the Bible a bit?”
“Sakes alive!” cried nurse, for Sibyl had never been remarkable for any religious tendency, “to be sure, my darling,” she answered. “I never go from home without my precious Bible. It is the one my mother gave me when I was a little girl. I’ll fetch it for you, dearie.”
“Thank you,” replied Sibyl.
Nurse returned, and the much-read, much-worn Bible was placed reverently in Sibyl’s hands.
“Now, my little darling,” said nurse, “you look quite white. You’ll just read a verse or two, and then you’ll go off to your bed.”
“I want to find a special verse,” said Sibyl. “When I have read it I will go to bed.” She knitted her brows and turned the pages in a puzzled, anxious way.
“What’s fretting you, dear? I know the Bible, so to speak, from end to end. Can old nursie help you in any way?”
“I know the verse is somewhere, but I cannot find the place. I remember reading it, and it has come back to me to-night.”
“What is it, dear?”
“‘God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble.’”
“Oh, yes, love,” answered nurse promptly, “that’s in the Epistle of St. James, fourth chapter, sixthverse. I learned the whole of the Epistle for my mother when I was young, and I have never forgotten a word of it. Here it is, dear.”
“But what are you fretting your head over that verse for?” asked the puzzled old woman; “there’s some that I could find for you a deal more suitable to little ladies like yourself. There’s a beautiful verse, for instance, which says, ‘Children, obey your parents in the Lord.’ That means all those in charge of you, dear, nurses and governesses and all. I heard its meaning explained once very clear, and that was how it was put.”
“There is not a bit about nurses and governesses in the Bible,” said Sibyl, who had no idea of being imposed upon, although she was in trouble. “Never mind that other verse now, nursie, it’s not that I’m thinking of, it’s the one you found about ‘God resisteth the proud, and giveth grace to the humble.’ It seems to ’splain things.”
“What things, dear?”
“Why, about mother. Nursie, isn’t my mother quite the very humblest woman in all the world?”
“Oh, my goodness me, no!” exclaimed the woman under her breath. “I wouldn’t remark it, my dear,” she said aloud.
“That’s ’cos you know so very little. You can’t never guess what my ownest mother said to me to-day,and I’m not going to tell you, only that verse comforts me, and I understand now.”
Sibyl got up and asked nurse to take off her pink frock. She felt quite cheerful and happy again. She knelt down in her white nightdress and said her prayers. She always prayed for her father and mother in a peculiar way. She never asked God to give them anything, they had already got all that heart could wish. They were beautiful in person, they were lovely in character, they were perfect in soul. She could only thank God for them. So she thanked God now as usual.
“Thank You, Jesus, for giving me father and mother,” said Sibyl, “and in especial for making my mother just so truly perfect that she is humble. She does not like me to think too much of her. It is because she is humble, and You give grace to the humble. It is a great comfort to me, Jesus, to know that, because I could not quite understand my mother afore dinner. Good-night, Jesus, I am going to sleep now; I am quite happy.”
Sibyl got into bed, closed her eyes, and was soon sound asleep.
On the following Monday Lord Grayleigh went to town, and there he had a rather important interview with Philip Ogilvie.
“I failed to understand your letter,” he said, “and have come to you for an explanation.”
Ogilvie was looking worried and anxious.
“I thought my meaning plain enough,” he replied, “but as you are here, I will answer you; and first, I want to put a question to you. Why do you wish me to be the assayer?”
“For many reasons; amongst others, because I wish to do you a good turn. For your position you are not too well off. This will mean several thousands a year to you, if the vein is as rich as we hope it will be. The alluvial we know is rich. It has washed at five ounces to the ton.”
“But if there should not happen to be a rich vein beneath?” queried Ogilvie, and as he spoke he watched his companion narrowly.
Lord Grayleigh shrugged his shoulders. The action was significant.
“I see,” cried Ogilvie. He was silent for a moment, then he sprang to his feet. “I have regarded you as my friend for some time, Grayleigh, and there have been moments when I have been proud of your acquaintanceship, but in the name of all that is honorable, and all that is virtuous, why will you mix up a pretended act of benevolence to me with—you know what it means—a fraudulent scheme? You are determined that there shall be arich vein below the surface. In plain words, if there is not, you want a false assay of the Lombard Deeps. That is the plain English of it, isn’t it?”
“Pooh! my dear Ogilvie, you use harsh words. Fraudulent! What does the world—our world I mean—consist of? Those who make money, and those who lose it. It is a great competition of skill—a mere duel of wits. All is fair in love, war, and speculation.”
“Your emendation of that old proverb may befin de siècle, but it does not suit my notions,” muttered Ogilvie, sitting down again.
Grayleigh looked keenly at him.
“You will be sorry for this,” he said; “it means much to you. You would be quite safe, you know that.”
“And what of the poor country parson, the widow, the mechanic? I grant they are fools;but——”
“What is the matter with you?” said Lord Grayleigh; “you never were so scrupulous.”
“I don’t know that I am scrupulous now. I shall be very glad to assay the mine for you, if I may give youa——”
“We need not enter into that,” said Grayleigh, rising; “you have already put matters into words which had better never have been uttered. I willask you to reconsider this: it is a task too important to decline without weighing all theprosandcons. You shall have big pay for your services; big pay, you understand.”
“And it is that which at once tempts and repels me,” said Ogilvie. Then he paused, and said abruptly, “How is Sibyl? Have you seen much of her?”
“Your little daughter? I saw her twice. Once, when she was very dirty, and rather rude to me, and a second time, when she was the perfection of politeness and good manners.”
“Sibyl is peculiar,” said Ogilvie, and his eyes gleamed with a flash of the same light in them which Sibyl’s wore at intervals.
“She is a handsome child, it is a pity she is your only one, Ogilvie.”
“Not at all,” answered Ogilvie; “I never wish for another, she satisfies me completely.”
“Well, to turn to the present matter,” said Lord Grayleigh; “you will reconsider your refusal?”
“I would rather not.”
“But if I as a personal favor beg you to do so.”
“There is not the slightest doubt that the pay tempts me,” said Ogilvie; “it would be a kindness on your part to close the matter now finally, to relieveme from temptation. But suppose I were to—to yield, what would the shareholders say?”
“They would be managed. The shareholders will expect to pay the engineer who assays the mine for them handsomely.”
Ogilvie stood in a dubious attitude, Grayleigh went up and laid his hand on his shoulder.
“I will assume,” he said, “that you get over scruples which after all may have no foundation, for the mine may be all that we wish it to be. What I want to suggest is this. Someone must go to Australia to assay the Lombard Deeps. If you will not take the post we must get someone else to step into your shoes. The new claim was discovered by the merest accident, and the reports state it to be one of the richest that has ever been panned out. Of course that is as it may be. We will present you, if you give a good assay, with five hundred shares in the new syndicate. You can wait until the shares go up, and then sell out. You will clear thousands of pounds. We will also pay your expenses and compensate you handsomely for the loss of your time. This is Monday; we want you to start on Saturday. Give me your decision on Wednesday morning. I won’t take a refusal now.”
Ogilvie was silent; his face was very white, andhis lips were compressed together. Soon afterward the two men parted.
Lord Grayleigh returned to Grayleigh Manor by a late train, and Ogilvie went back to his empty house. Amongst other letters which awaited him was one with a big blot on the envelope. This blot was surrounded by a circle in red ink, and was evidently of great moment to the writer. The letter was addressed to “Philip Ogilvie, Esq.,” in a square, firm, childish hand, and the great blot stood a little away from the final Esquire. It gave the envelope an altogether striking and unusual appearance. The flap was sealed with violet wax, and had an impression on it which spelt Sibyl. Ogilvie, when he received this letter, took it up tenderly, looked at the blot on the cover of the envelope, glanced behind him in a shamefaced way, pressed his lips to the violet seal which contained his little daughter’s name, then sitting down in his chair, he opened the envelope.
Sibyl was very good at expressing her feelings in words, but as yet she was a poor scribe, and her orthography left much to be desired. Her letter was somewhat short, and ran as follows:—
“Daddy Dear,—Here’s a blot to begin, and the blot means a kiss. I will put sum more at the end ofthe letter. Pleas kiss all the kisses for they com from the verry botom of my hart. I have tried Daddy to be good cos of you sinse I left home, but I am afraid I have been rather norty. Mother gets more purfect evry day. She is bewtiful and humbel. Mother said she wasn’t purfect but she is, isn’t she father? I miss you awful, speshul at nights, cos mother thinks its good for me not to lie awake for her to come and kiss me. But you never think that and you always com, and I thank God so much for having gived you to me father. YourSibyl.”“Father, what does ‘scroopolus’ mean? I want to know speshul.—Sib.”
“Daddy Dear,—Here’s a blot to begin, and the blot means a kiss. I will put sum more at the end ofthe letter. Pleas kiss all the kisses for they com from the verry botom of my hart. I have tried Daddy to be good cos of you sinse I left home, but I am afraid I have been rather norty. Mother gets more purfect evry day. She is bewtiful and humbel. Mother said she wasn’t purfect but she is, isn’t she father? I miss you awful, speshul at nights, cos mother thinks its good for me not to lie awake for her to come and kiss me. But you never think that and you always com, and I thank God so much for having gived you to me father. YourSibyl.”
“Father, what does ‘scroopolus’ mean? I want to know speshul.—Sib.”
The letter finished with many of these strange irregular blots, which Ogilvie kissed tenderly, and then folded up the badly-spelt little epistle, and slipped it into his pocket-book. Then he drew his chair forward to where his big desk stood, and, leaning his elbows on it, passed his hands through his thick, short hair. He was puzzled as he had never been in all his life before. Should he go, or should he stay? Should he yield to temptation, and become rich and prosperous, or should he retain his honor, and face the consequences? He knew well—he had seen them coming for a long time—the consequences he was about to face would not be pleasant.They spelt very little short of ruin. He suddenly opened a drawer, and took from its depths a sheaf of accounts which different tradespeople had sent in to his wife. Mrs. Ogilvie was hopelessly reckless and extravagant. Money in her hand was like water; it flowed away as she touched it. Her jeweler’s bill alone amounted to thousands of pounds. If Ogilvie accepted the offer now made to him he might satisfy these pressing creditors, and not deprive Sibyl of her chance of an income by-and-by. Sibyl! As the thought of her face came to him, he groaned inwardly. He wished sometimes that God had never given him such a treasure.
“I am unworthy of my little Angel,” he said to himself. Then he started up and began to pace the room. “And yet I would not be without her for all the wealth in the world, for all the greatness and all the fame,” he cried; “she is more to me than everything else on earth. If ever she finds out what I really am, I believe I shall go raving mad. I must keep a straight front, must keep as clean as I can for Sibyl’s sake. O God, help me to be worthy of her!”
He read the badly-spelt, childish letter once again, and then he thrust the bills out of sight and thought of other liabilities which he himself had incurred, till his thoughts returned to the tempting offer made to him.
“Shall I risk it?” he said to himself. “Shall I risk the chance of the mine being really good, and go to Australia and see if it is as rich as the prospectuses claim it to be. But suppose it is not? Well, in that case I am bound to make it appear so. Five ounces of gold to every ton; it seemsbona fideenough. It it isbona fide, why should not I have my share of the wealth? It is as legitimate a way of earning money as any other,” and he swerved again in the direction of Lord Grayleigh’s offer.
Lord Grayleigh had given him until Wednesday to decide.
“I am sorry to seem to force your hand,” that nobleman had said to him at parting, “but if you distinctly refuse we must send another man, and whoever goes must start on Saturday.”
A trip to Australia, how he would enjoy it! To be quite away from London and his present conventional life. The only pain was the thought of parting with Sibyl. But he would do his business quickly, and come back and clasp her in his arms, and kiss her again and look into her eyes and—turn round; yes, he would turn short round and choose the right path, and be what she really thought him, a good man. In a very small degree, he would be the sort of man his child imagined him.
As these thoughts flashed before his mind he forgot that dinner was cooling in the dining-room, that he himself had eaten nothing for some hours, and that a curious faintness which he had experienced once or twice before had stolen over him. He did not like it nor quite understand it. He rose, crossed the room, and was about to ring the bell when a sudden spasm of most acute pain passed like a knife through his chest. He was in such agony that for a moment he was unable to stir. The sharpness of the pain soon went off, and he sank into a chair faint and trembling. He was now well enough to ring his bell. He did so, and the footman appeared.
“Bring me brandy, and be quick,” said Ogilvie.
The man started when he saw his face. He soon returned with the stimulant, which Ogilvie drank off. The agony in his chest subsided by degrees, and he was able to go into the dining-room and even to eat. He had never before had such terrible and severe pain, and now he was haunted by the memory of his father, who had died suddenly of acute disease of the heart.
After dinner he went, as usual, to his club, where he met a friend whom he liked. They chatted about many things, and the fears and apprehensions of the puzzled man dropped gradually from him. It was past midnight when Ogilvie returned home. He had now forgotten all about the pain in his chest.It had completely passed away. He felt as well and vigorous as ever. In the night, however, he slept badly, had tiresome dreams, and was much haunted by the thought of his child. If by any chance he were to die now! If, for instance, he died on his way to Australia, he would leave Sibyl badly provided for. A good deal of his private means had already been swallowed up by his own and his wife’s extravagant living, and what was left of it had been settled absolutely on his wife at the time of their marriage. Although, of course, this money at her mother’s death would revert to Sibyl, he had a presentiment, which he knew was founded on a firm basis, that Mrs. Ogilvie might be careless, inconsiderate—not kind, in the true sense of the word, to the little girl. If it came to be a tussle between Sibyl’s needs and her mother’s fancied necessities, Ogilvie’s intuitions told him truly that Sibyl would go to the wall.
“I must do something better than that for my little daughter,” thought the man. “I will not go to Australia until I have decided that point. If I go, I shall make terms, and it will be for Sibyl’s sake.”
But again that uncomfortable, tiresome conscience of his began to speak; and that conscience told him that if he went to Australia for the purposeof blinding the eyes of possible shareholders in London, he would in reality be doing the very worst possible thing for his child.
He tossed about between one temptation and another for the remainder of the night, and arose in the morning unrefreshed. As he was dressing, however, a thought came to him which he hailed as a possible relief. Why not do the right thing right from the beginning; tell Grayleigh that the proposed commission to visit Australia was altogether distasteful to him; that he washed his hands of the great new syndicate; that they might sweep in their gold, but he would have nothing to say to it? At the same time he might insure his life for ten thousand pounds. It would be a heavy interest to pay, no doubt, and they would probably have to live in a smaller house, and he and his wife would have to put down their expenses in various ways, but he would have the comfort of knowing that whatever happened Sibyl would not be without means of subsistence.
“When I have done that, and absolutely provided for her future, I shall have a great sense of rest,” thought the man. “I will go and see Dr. Rashleigh, of the Crown and Life Insurance Company, as soon as ever I get to the City. That is a happy thought.”
He smiled cheerfully to himself, ran downstairs, and ate a hearty breakfast. A letter from his wife lay upon his plate. He did not even open it. He thrust it into his pocket and went off to the City, telling his servant as he did so that he would be back to dinner.
As soon as he got to his office he read his letters, gave his clerks directions, and went at once to see Dr. Rashleigh, of the Insurance Company.
Rashleigh happened to be one of his special friends, and he knew his hours. It was a little unusual to expect him to examine him for an insurance without an appointment; but he believed, in view of his possible visit to Australia, that Rashleigh would be willing to overlook ceremony.
He arrived at the office, saw one of the clerks downstairs, heard that Rashleigh was in and would soon be disengaged, and presently was shown into the doctor’s consulting room.
Rashleigh was a grey-haired man of about sixty years of age. He spent a couple of hours every day in the consulting room of the Crown and Life Insurance Company. He rose now, and extended his hand with pleasure when Ogilvie appeared.
“My dear Ogilvie, and what do you want with me? Have you at last listened to my entreaties that you should insure your life in a first-class office?”
“Something of the kind,” said Ogilvie, forcing a smile, for again that agony which had come over him yesterday assailed him. He knew that his heart was throbbing faintly, and he remembered once more that his father had died of heart disease. Oh, it was all nonsense; of course he had nothing to fear. He was a man in his prime, not much over thirty—he was all right.
Rashleigh asked him a few questions.
“I may have to go to Australia rather suddenly,” said Ogilvie, “and I should like first to insure my life. I want to settle the money on my child before I leave home.”
“How large a sum do you propose to insure for?” asked the doctor.
“I have given the particulars to the clerk downstairs. I should like to insure for ten thousand pounds.”
“Well, I daresay that can be managed. You are an excellent client, and quite a young man. Now just let me sound your lungs, and listen to your heart.”
Ogilvie removed his necktie, unbuttoned his shirt, and placed himself in the doctor’s hands.
Dr. Rashleigh made his examination without comment, slowly and carefully. At last it was over.
“Well?” said Ogilvie, just glancing at him. “It’s all right, I suppose.”
“It is not the custom for a doctor at an insurance office to tell his patient anything about the result of the examination,” was Rashleigh’s answer. “You’ll hear all in good time.”
“But there really is no time to lose, and you are an old friend. You look grave. If it cannot be done, of course it cannot, but I should like to know.”
“When do you propose to go to Australia?”
“I may not go at all. In fact if——” Ogilvie suddenly leaned against the table. Once again he felt faint and giddy. “If this is all right, I shall probably not go.”
“But suppose it is not all right?”
“Then I sail on Saturday.”
“I may as well tell you the truth,” said Rashleigh; “you are a brave man. My dear fellow, the office cannot insure you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Heart,” said Rashleigh.
“Heart! Mine? Not affected?”
“Yes.”
“Seriously?”
“It is hard to answer that question. The heart is a strange organ, and capable of a vast amount of resuscitation; nevertheless, in your case the symptoms are grave; the aortic valve is affected. It behooves you to be very careful.”
“Does this mean thatI——”Ogilvie dropped into a chair. “Rashleigh,” he said suddenly, “I had a horrible attack last night. I forgot it this morning when I came to you, but it was horrible while it lasted. I thought myself, during those moments of torture, within a measurable—a very measurable distance of the end.”
“Describe your sensations,” said Rashleigh.
Ogilvie did so.
“Now, my dear fellow, I have a word to say. This insurance cannot be done. But, for yourself, you must avoid excitement. I should like to prescribe a course of living for you. I have studied the heart extensively.”
“Will nothing put me straight? Cure me, I mean?”
“I fear not.”
“Well, good-by, Rashleigh; I will call round to see you some evening.”
“Do. I should like you to have the advice of a specialist, Anderson, the greatest man in town on the heart.”
“But where is the use? If you cannot cure me, he cannot.”
“You may live for years and years, and die of something else in the end.”
“Just what was said to my father, who did notlive for years and years,” answered the man. “I won’t keep you any longer, Rashleigh.”
He left the office and went down into the street. As he crossed the Poultry and got once more into the neighborhood of his own office, one word kept ringing in his ears, “Doomed.”
He arrived at his office and saw his head clerk.
“You don’t look well, Mr. Ogilvie.”
“Never mind about my looks, Harrison,” replied Ogilvie. “I have a great deal to do, and need your best attention.”
“Certainly, sir; but, all the same, you don’t look well.”
“Looks are nothing,” replied Ogilvie. “I shall soon be all right. Harrison, I am off to Australia on Saturday.”
On that same Tuesday Lord Grayleigh spent a rather anxious day. For many reasons it would never do for him to press Ogilvie, and yet if Ogilvie declined to go to Queensland matters might not go quite smoothly with the new Syndicate. He was the most trusted and eminent mine assayer in London, and had before now done useful work for Grayleigh, who was chairman of several other companies. Up to the present Grayleigh, a thoroughly worldly and hard-headed man of business, had made use of Ogilvie entirely to his own benefit and satisfaction. It was distinctly unpleasant to him, therefore, to find that just at the most crucial moment in his career, when everything depended on Ogilvie’s subservience to his chief’s wishes, he should turn restive.
“That sort of man with a conscience is intolerable,” thought Lord Grayleigh, and then he wondered what further lever he might bring to bear in order to get Ogilvie to consent to the Australian visit.
He was thinking these thoughts, pacing up and down alone in a retired part of the grounds, whenhe heard shrill screams of childish laughter, and the next moment Sibyl, in one of her white frocks, the flounces badly torn, her hat off and hair in wild disorder, rushed past. She was closely followed by Freda, Mabel and Gus being not far behind.
“Hullo!” said Lord Grayleigh; “come here, little woman, and account for yourself.”
Sibyl paused in her mad career. She longed to say, “I’m not going to account for myself to you,” but she remembered her mother’s injunction. She had been on her very best behavior all Sunday, Monday, and up to now on Tuesday, but her fit of goodness was coming to an end. She was in the mood to be obstreperous, naughty, and wilful; but the thought of her mother, who was so gently following in the path of the humble, restrained her.
“If mother, who is an angel, a perfect angel, can think herself naughty and yet wish me to be good, I ought to help her by being as good as I possibly can,” she thought.
So she stopped and looked at Lord Grayleigh with the wistful, puzzled expression which at once repelled and attracted him. His own daughters also drew up, panting.
“We were chasing Sib,” they said; “she challenged us. She said that, although she does live in town, she could beat us.”
“And it looked uncommonly like it when I saw you all,” was Grayleigh’s response. “Sibyl has long legs for her age.”
Sibyl looked down at the members in question, and put on a charming pout. Grayleigh laughed, and going up to her side, laid his hand on her shoulder.
“I saw your father yesterday. Shall I tell you about him?”
This, indeed, was a powerful bait. Sibyl’s soft lips trembled slightly. The wistful look in her eyes became appealing.
“Pathetic eyes, more pathetic than any dog’s,” thought Lord Grayleigh. He took her hand.
“You and I will walk by ourselves for a little,” he said. “Run away, children. Sibyl will join you in a few moments.”
Sibyl, as if mesmerized, now accompanied Lord Grayleigh. She disliked her present position immensely, and yet she wondered if it was given to her by Lord Jesus, as a special opportunity which she was on no account to neglect. Should she tell Lord Grayleigh what she really thought of him? But for her mother she would not have hesitated for a moment, but that mother had been very kind to her during the last two days, and Sibyl had enjoyed studying her character from a new point ofview. Mother was polite to people, even though they were not quite perfect. Mother always looked sweet and tidy and ladylike, and beautifully dressed. Mother never romped, nor tore her clothes, nor climbed trees. It was an uninteresting life from Sibyl’s point of view, and yet, perhaps, it was the right life. Up to the present the child had never seriously thought of her own conduct at all. She accepted the fact with placidity that she herself was not good. It was rather interesting to be “not good,” and yet to live in the house with two perfectly angelic beings. It seemed to make their goodness all the whiter. At the present moment she longed earnestly to be “not good.”
Lord Grayleigh, holding her hand, advanced in the direction of a summer-house.
“We will sit here and talk, shall we?” he said.
“Yes, shall us?” replied Sibyl.
Lord Grayleigh smiled; he placed himself in a comfortable chair, and motioned Sibyl to take another. She drew a similar chair forward, placed it opposite to her host, and sat on it. It was a high chair, and her feet did not reach the ground.
“I ’spect I’m rather short for my age,” she said, looking down and speaking in a tone of apology.
“Why, how old are you?” he asked.
“Quite old,” she replied gravely; “I was eight at five minutes past seven Monday fortnight back.”
“You certainly have a vast weight of years on your head,” he replied, looking at her gravely.
She did not see the sarcasm, she was thinking of something else. Suddenly she looked him full in the face.
“You called me away from the other children ’cos you wanted to speak about father, didn’t you? Please tell me all about him. Is he quite well?”
“Of course he is.”
“Did he ask about me?”
“Yes, he asked me how you were.”
“And what did you say?”
“I replied, with truth, that I had twice had the pleasure of seeing you; once when you were very rude to me, once when you were equally polite.”
Sibyl’s eyes began to dance.
“What are you thinking of, eight-year-old?” asked Lord Grayleigh.
“Of you,” answered Sibyl with promptitude.
“Come, that’s very interesting; what about me? Now, be quite frank and tell me why you were rude to me the first time we met?”
“May I?” said Sibyl with great eagerness. “Do you really, truly mean it?”
“I certainly mean it.”
“You won’t tell—mother?”
“I won’t tell—mother,” said Lord Grayleigh, mimicking her manner.
Sibyl gave a long, deep sigh.
“I am glad,” she said with emphasis. “I don’t want my ownest mother to be hurt. She tries so hard, and she is so beautiful and perfect. It’s most ’portant that I should speak to you, and if you willpromise——”
“I have promised; whatever you say shall be secret. Now, out with it.”
“You won’t like it,” said Sibyl.
“You must leave me to judge of that.”
“I am going to be fwightfully rude.”
“Indeed! that is highly diverting.”
“I don’t know what diverting is, but it will hurt you.”
“I believe I can survive the pain.”
Sibyl looked full at him then.
“Are you laughing at me?” she said, and she jumped down from her high chair.
“I would not dream of doing so.”
The curious amused expression died out of Lord Grayleigh’s eyes. He somehow felt that he was confronting Sibyl’s father with all those unpleasant new scruples in full force.
“Speak away, little girl,” he said, “I promise notto laugh. I will listen to you with respect. You are an uncommon child, very like your father.”
“Thank you for saying that, but it isn’t true; for father’s perfect, and I’m not. I will tell you now why I was rude, and why I am going to be rude again, monstrous rude. It is because you told lies.”
“Indeed!” said Lord Grayleigh, pretending to be shocked. “Do you know that that is a shocking accusation? If a man, for instance, had said that sort of thing to another man a few years back, it would have been a case for swords.”
“I don’t understand what that means,” said Sibyl.
“For a duel; you have heard of a duel?”
“Oh, in history, of course,” said Sibyl, her eyes sparkling, “and one man kills another man. They run swords through each other until one of them gets killed dead. I wish I was a man.”
“Do you really want to run a sword through me?”
Sibyl made no answer to this; she shut her lips firmly, her eyes ablaze.
“Come,” said Lord Grayleigh, “it is unfair to accuse a man and not to prove your accusation. What lies have I told?”
“About my father.”
“Hullo! I suppose I am stupid, but I fail to understand.”
“I will try and ’splain. I didn’t know that you was stupid, but you do tell lies.”
“Well, go on; you are putting it rather straight, you know.”
“I want to.”
“Fire away then.”
“You told someone—I don’t know the name—you told somebody that my father was unscroopolus.”
“Indeed,” said Lord Grayleigh. He colored, and looked uneasy. “I told somebody—that is diverting.”
“It’s not diverting,” said Sibyl, “it’s cruel, it’s mean, it’s wrong; it’s lies—black lies. Now you know.”
“But whom did I tell?”
“Somebody, and somebody told me—I’m not going to tell who told me.”
“Even suppose I did say anything of the sort, what do you know about that word?”
“I found it out. An unscroopolus person is a person who doesn’t act right. Do you know that my father never did wrong, never from the time he was borned? My father is quite perfect, God made him so.”
“Your father is a very nice fellow, Sibyl.”
“He is much better than nice, he is perfect; henever did anything wrong. He is perfect, same as Lord Jesus is perfect.”
The little girl looked straight out into the summer landscape. Her lips trembled, on each cheek there flushed a crimson rose.
Lord Grayleigh shuffled his feet. Had anyone in all the world told him that he would have listened quietly, and with a sense of respect, to such a story as he was now hearing, he would have roared with laughter. But he was not at all inclined to laugh now that he found himself face to face with Sibyl.
“And mother is perfect, too,” she said, turning and facing him.
Then he did laugh; he laughed aloud.
“Oh, no,” he said.
“So you don’t wonder that I hate you,” continued Sibyl, taking no notice of that last remark. “It’s ’cos you like to tell lies about good people. My father is perfect, and you called him unscroopolus. No wonder I hate you.”
“Listen now, little girl.” Lord Grayleigh took the hot, trembling hand, and drew the child to his side.
“Don’t shrink away, don’t turn from me,” he said; “I am not so bad as you make me out. If I did make use of such an expression, I have forgotten it. Men of the world say lots of things thatlittle girls don’t understand. Little girls of eight years old, if they are to grow up nice and good, and self-respecting, must take the world on trust. So you must take me on trust, and believe that even if I did say what you accuse me of saying, I still have a great respect for your father. I think him a right downgoodfellow.”
“The best in all the world?” queried Sibyl.
“I am sure at least of one thing, that no little girl ever had a fonder father.”
“And you own up you told a lie? You do own up that father’s quite perfect?”
“Men like myself don’t care to own themselves in the wrong,” said Lord Grayleigh, “and the fact is—listen, you queer little mortal—I don’t like perfect people. It is true that I have never met any.”
“You have met my father and my mother.”
“Come, Sibyl, shall we make a compromise? I like you, I want you to like me. Forget that I said what I myself have forgotten, and believe that I have a very great respect for your father. Come, if he were here, he would ask you to be friendly with me.”
“Would he?” said the child. She looked wistful and interested. “There are lots of things I want to be ’splained to me,” she said. Then,after a moment—“I’ll think whether I’ll be friends with you, and I’ll let you know, may be to-morrow.”
As she said the last words she pushed aside his detaining hand, and ran out of the summer-house. He heard her eager, quick steps as she ran away, and a moment later there came her gay laughter back to him from the distance. She had joined the other children, and was happy in her games.
“Poor little maid!” he said to himself, and he sat on grave and silent. He did not like to confess it, but Sibyl’s words had affected him.
“The faith she has in that poor fellow is quite beautiful,” was his inward thought; “it seems a sin to break it. If he does go to Queensland it will be broken, and somewhat rudely. I could send Atherton. Atherton is not the man for our purpose. His report won’t affect the public as Ogilvie’s report would, but he has never yet been troubled by conscience, and Sibyl’s faith will be unshaken. It is worth considering. It is not every man who has got a little daughter like Sibyl.”
These thoughts came and worried him; presently he rose with a laugh.
“What am I,” he said to himself, “to have my way disturbed by the words of a mere child?” And just then he heard the soft rustle of a silk dress,and, looking up, he saw the pretty face of Mrs. Ogilvie.
“Come in and sit down,” he said, jumping up and offering her a chair. “It is cool and yet not draughty in here. I have just had the pleasure of a conversation with your little daughter.”
“Indeed! I do hope she has been conducting herself properly.”
“I must not repeat what she said; I can only assure you that she behaved charmingly.”
“I am so relieved; Sibyl so often does not behave charmingly, that you don’t wonder that I should ask you the question.”
“She has a very great respect for you,” said Lord Grayleigh; “it makes me think you a better woman to have a child regard you as she does.”
Mrs. Ogilvie fidgeted; she had seated herself on a low rustic chair, and she looked pretty and elegant in her white summer dress, and her hat softening the light in her beautiful eyes. She toyed with her white lace parasol, and looked, as Sibyl had looked a short time ago, across the lovely summer scene; but in her eyes there shone the world with all its temptations and all its lures, and Sibyl’s had made acquaintance with the stars, and the lofty peaks of high principle, and honor, and knew nothing of the real world.
Lord Grayleigh, in a kind of confused way which he did not himself understand, noticed the difference in the glance of the child and the woman.
“Your little girl has the highest opinion of you,” he repeated; “the very highest.”
“And I wish she would not talk or think such nonsense,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, in a burst of irritation. “You know well that I am not what Sibyl thinks me. I am an ordinary, everyday woman. I hope I am”—she smiled—“charming.”
“You are that, undoubtedly,” said the nobleman, slightly bowing his head.
“I hope I am what a man most likes in a woman, agreeable, charming, and fairly amiable; but I am no saint, and I don’t want to be. Sibyl’s attitude towards me is therefore most irritating, and I am doing myutmost——”
“You are doing what?” said Lord Grayleigh. He rose, and stood by the summer-house door.
“To open her eyes.”
“I would not if I were you,” he said, gravely; “it is not often that a child has her faith. To shake it means a great deal.”
“What are you talking about now?”
“I don’t often read my Bible,” he continued, “but, of course, I did as a boy—most boys do. My motherwas a good woman. I am thinking of something said in that Holy Book.”
“You are quite serious; I never knew you in this mood before.”
“I must tell it to you. ‘Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones, it were better that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were cast into the depths of the sea.’”
“How unpleasant,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, after a pause, “and I rather fail to see the connection. Shall we change the subject?”
“With pleasure.”
“What arrangement did you make with Philip yesterday?”
“I made no absolute arrangement, but I think he will do according to your wishes.”
“Then he will assay the mine, act as the engineer to the company?”
“Precisely.”
“Has he promised?”
“Not yet, but my impression is that he will do it.”
“What does assaying the mine mean?”
Mrs. Ogilvie knitted her pretty dark brows, and looked as inquisitive and childish at that moment as Sibyl herself.
“To assay a mine means to find out accuratelywhat it contains,” said Lord Grayleigh. Once again his eyes turned away from his questioner. He had very little respect for Mrs. Ogilvie’s conscience, but he did not want to meet anyone’s gaze at that instant.
“Nevertheless,” he continued, after a pause, “your husband has not definitely promised, and it is on the cards that he may refuse.”
“He will be a madman if he does,” cried Mrs. Ogilvie, and she stamped her pretty foot impatiently.
“According to Sibyl’s light, he will be the reverse of that; but then, Sibyl, and your husband also, believe in such a thing as conscience.”
“Philip’s conscience!” said the wife, with a sneer; “what next?”
“It appears to me,” said Lord Grayleigh, “that he has an active one.”
“It has come to life very quickly, then. This is mere humbug.”
“Let me speak. To be frank with you, I respect your husband’s conscience; and, perhaps, if you respected itmore——”
“I really will not stay here to be lectured,” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “It is to your advantage, doubtless, that Philip should do something for you; it must be to your advantage, for you are going to pay himwell. Will he do it, or will he not? That is the question I want answered.”
“And I cannot answer it, for I do not know.”
“But you think he will?”
“That is my impression.”
“You can, at least, tell me what occurred.”
“I can give you an outline of what occurred. I made him an offer to go to Queensland.”
“To go where?” said Mrs. Ogilvie, looking slightly startled.
“As the mine happens to be in Queensland, how can he assay it in England?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Yes, if he does anything, he must go to Queensland. He must see the mine or mines himself; his personal report is essential. He will be paid well, and will receive a large number of shares.”
“What do you mean by being paid well?”
“He will have his expenses, and something over.”
“Something over! that is a very elastic term.”
“In your husband’s case it will mean thousands.”
“Oh, I see; and then the shares?”
“The shares will practically make him a rich man.”
“Then of course he will consent. I will go at once, and send him a line.” She turned to leave thesummer-house. Lord Grayleigh followed her. He laid his hand for an instant on her slim arm.
“If I were you,” he said, and there was an unwonted tremble in his voice as he spoke, “if I were you, upon my honor, I’d leave him alone.”
“Leave him alone now? Why should not the wife influence the husband for his own good?”
“Very well,” said Lord Grayleigh; “I only ventured to make a suggestion.”
She looked at him in a puzzled way, raised her brows, and said:
“I never found you so disagreeable before.” She then left the summer-house.
Lord Grayleigh stood still for a moment, then, with quick strides, he went in the direction of the shrubbery. Sibyl, hot, excited, breathless after her game, did not even see him. He called her and she stopped.
“May I speak to you?” he said. He had the courteous manner to her which he did not vouch-safe to many of his gay lady acquaintances.
She ran to his side at once.
“Don’t you want to send your father a letter by this post?”
“Yes, of course; is there time?”
“I will make time; go into the house and write to him.”
“But why?”
“He would like to hear from you.”
“Do you want me to say anything special?”
“Nothing special; write to him from your heart, that is all.” And then Lord Grayleigh turned away in the direction of his stables. He ordered the groom to saddle his favorite horse, and was soon careering across country. Sibyl’s letter to her father was short, badly spelt, and brimful of love. Mrs. Ogilvie’s was also short, and brimful of worldliness.
The two letters, each as wide as the poles apart in spirit and in intention, met in the post-box, and were each carried as rapidly as mail trains could take them to the metropolis.
On the next morning these letters lay beside Philip Ogilvie’s plate at breakfast. Sibyl’s was well blotted and sealed with her favorite violet seal. Mrs. Ogilvie’s was trim, neat, and without a blemish. Ogilvie read them both, first the mother’s, then the child’s. Sibyl’s was almost all kisses: hardly any words, just blots and kisses. Ogilvie did not press his lips to the kisses this time. He read the letter quickly, thrust it into his pocket, and once more turned his attention to what his wife had said. He smiled sarcastically as he read. The evening before he had written Lord Grayleigh accepting the proffered engagement. The die was cast.
The following letter reached Philip Ogilvie late that same evening:—