The first of June. A day destined to be an eventful one at Eagles' Nest. At five o'clock in the morning the house was aroused from its peaceful slumbers by a commotion. Mrs. Raynor's bell was ringing violently; Mrs. Raynor's voice was calling for help in loud and anxious tones. Major Raynor had been taken ill.
Frank was first at the bedside. His uncle lay unconscious, or partly so, exhibiting alarming symptoms. An attack of some kind seemed imminent; Frank thought it would prove apoplexy. Other advice was sent for.
Long before the usual hour for breakfast, breakfast had been taken, and the family hardly knew what to do with themselves. Dr. Selfe, a clever man, residing near, had seen Major Raynor—who now seemed to be somewhat better. The doctor quite agreed with Frank that the symptoms were indicative of apoplexy; but he thought that it might be warded off, at least for the present, by the aid of powerful remedies. These remedies had been applied, and the patient was decidedly improving. He spoke little, but was quite conscious. On these occasions, when one out of the home circle is lying upstairs in sudden and dangerous illness, the house becomes utterly unsettled. Ordinary habits are changed; no one knows what to be at.
"I shall ring for some more coffee," said Charles, rising as he spoke. "There's nothing else to do."
Lamb came in and received the order. The breakfast-things were still on the table. This was one of the pleasantest rooms in the house: small and cosy, with glass-doors opening to the garden. It faced the west, so was free from the morning sun: but, beyond the shade cast by the house, that sun shone brightly on the smooth green grass and clustering flowers.
Whilst waiting for the coffee, which had to be made, Charles leaned against the window, half in, half out-of-doors, whistling softly and keeping a good look-out around, lest any Philistine should be approaching unawares. This illness of his father's terribly complicated matters. In the midst of Charley's worst apprehensions there had lain, down deep in his heart, the vista of a possible refuge. He had whispered to himself, "When things come to a crisis, my father will no doubt find a way to help me;" and the hope had been as a healing balm to his spirit. But his father, lying in this state, could not be applied to: his repose of mind must not be disturbed: and if Charley fell into some tiger's clutches now, what on earth was he to do?
Whistling softly and unconsciously, Charley indulged in these highly agreeable reflections. His mother had not come downstairs at all. Alice had gone up to Daisy: Kate and Mademoiselle were reading French under the distant walnut-tree. Only Frank was there.
"I do think I can smell haymaking!" cried Charley, suddenly.
"Yes," assented Frank. "Some of the fields are down."
"Is it not early for it?"
"We have had an early season."
No more was said. There flashed into Charley's mind a remembrance of the day he had first seen Eagles' Nest: when he had stood at one of the windows, though not this one, gazing out at the charming scenery, the lovely flowers; inhaling their perfume and that of the new-mown hay. Association of ideas is powerful, and probably that scent of the hay had brought the day to his memory now. Barely a twelvemonth had passed since then: and yet—how hopes and anticipations had changed! He had believed then that peace, ease, prosperity must inevitably attend them as the possessors of Eagles' Nest: he remembered picturing to himself the calamity it would have been had the beautiful place passed into others' hands. But he had lived to learn that care and worry could penetrate even there.
"There's the postman!" cried Charley. And glad, probably, of the interruption, he went out, and crossed the lawn to meet the man.
"Only one letter this morning," he exclaimed, coming back, his eyes fixed on it. "I say, Frank, what is to be done? It is from old Street, and he has put 'immediate' on it."
"You had better open the letter yourself, I should say, Charles: my uncle cannot," said Frank, decisively.
"I wonder what he has to write about: it is not often we hear from him. Nothing particular, I dare say: the good old father has not, I am sure, a secret in the world. Or—do you think," added Charley, his face lighting with eager hope, "that the money can have turned up? What a glorious thought! Yes, I will open it."
He broke the seal of the letter. At that moment Lamb came in with fresh coffee. Frank, standing near the mantelpiece, watched the man put it down, and set two or three things in order on the table before going out again. As the door closed, Frank's glance chanced to stray to Charley's face.
What was the matter with it? The eager flush of hope had been succeeded by a look of dismay: nay, almost of horror. The letter seemed very short. Charley was reading it twice over, growing paler the while.
"Can it be a hoax?" he cried, in a voice scarcely raised above a whisper, as he held the letter out. "It cannot be true."
Frank took the letter reluctantly. There was no help for it. But a spasm seized his own face, and a very terrible spasm seized his heart. When we are nourishing some great dread, any new and unexplained event seems to bear upon it. His fears had flown back to that dreadful night at Trennach. Had this letter come to betray him?
But the letter proved in no way connected with that. The news it brought was of a nature perfectly open and tangible. Frank's own fears gave place to consternation and dismay as he read the lawyer's words: dismay for his uncle's sake.
"My Dear Sir,
"I have just heard a very painful rumour, and I think it my duty to communicate it to you. It is said that the will, under which you succeeded to Mrs. Atkinson's estate, proves to have been worthless; a fresh will having been discovered. By this later will, it is Mr. George Atkinson who inherits Eagles' Nest. My information is, I fear, authentic; but I do not yet know full particulars.
"This is but a brief note to convey such tidings, but the evening post is on the point of closing, and I do not wish to lose it. I would have run down, instead of writing, but am not equal to it, having for the past week or two been confined to the house.
"Believe me, dear sir,
"Sincerely yours,
"John Street.
"Major Raynor."
They stood looking at one another, Charles and Frank, with questioning eyes and dismayed faces. Could it be true? No, surely not. Street the lawyer, in spite of the boasted authenticity of his information, must have been misinformed.
So thought, so spoke Charles. "You see," cried he, "he speaks of it at first as only a rumour."
But Frank, in spite of his sanguine nature, regarded the information differently. He began looking at portions of the letter again, and did not answer.
"Can't you say something, Frank?"
"Charley, I fear it is true. Street would never have written this dismal news to your father whilst there was any doubt about it."
"But it has no right to be true; it ought not to be true," disputed Charley, in his terrible perplexity. "Who is George Atkinson that he should inherit Eagles' Nest? The fellow lives at the other end of the world. In Australia, or somewhere. Frank, it's notlikelyto be true. It would be frightful injustice; a cruel shame. It has been ours for twelve months: who will wrest it from us now?"
And truly, having enjoyed Eagles' Nest for all that time, regarding it as theirs, living at it in perfect security, it did appear most improbable that it should now pass away from them; almost an impossibility.
"Charley, we must keep this letter to ourselves until we know more. I am almost glad my uncle is ill; it would have shocked him so——"
"And how long will it be before we know more?" broke in Charles, who was in a humour for finding fault with every one, especially the lawyer. "Street ought to have come down, no matter at what inconvenience. A pretty state of suspense, this, to be placed in!"
"Drink your coffee, Charley."
"Coffee? Oh, I don't want it now."
The unfortunate news left Charles no inclination for coffee. Of all the calamities, actual or threatened, that had been making his life uneasy, this was the worst. The worst? The rest now seemed as passing shadows in comparison. Frank, with all his sunny nature, could impart no comfort to him. The only possible ray to be discerned, lay in the hope that the tidings would turn out to be untrue. A hope which grew fainter with every moment's thought.
To remain in this suspense was nothing less than torture. It was hastily decided between them that Frank should go up to town, see Mr. Street, and learn more. He had no scruple in doing this: Major Raynor was decidedly better; in no immediate danger, as Frank believed; and Dr. Selfe was at hand in case of need.
Frank lost no time; hastening to the station, and looking in on Dr. Selfe on his way, to explain that important business was calling him for a few hours to London. Mr. Street's residence was near Euston Square, and his offices were in the same house. The morning was well advanced when Frank arrived there and was shown into the lawyer's presence. He seemed less genial than of yore, as he sat half turned from a table covered with papers, his right foot on a rest: his hair was certainly more scanty; his light eyes, seen so clearly through his spectacles, were colder. Frank, who, as it chanced, had never seen him, thought what a hard little man he looked.
"Ah, yes; a sad affair," he remarked, as Frank in a few words introduced himself and his business. "Very embarrassing for the major."
"But I hope that it cannot be true, Mr. Street?"
"That what cannot be true?—that a later will is in existence? Oh, that is true enough. And the major has had an attack, you say? Misfortunes never come singly."
"May I ask how the fact—that there is a later will—has come to your knowledge?"
Mr. Street turned over a few of the papers on the table, and took up a letter lying amongst them. "I received this note from my brother, the banker, yesterday afternoon," he said, running his eyes over it. "It tells me that a will, of later date than the one by which Major Raynor holds Eagles' Nest, has been produced, leaving the estate to Mr. George Atkinson. George Atkinson is now on his homeward voyage from Australia, to take possession of the property."
"What a mercy if the ship should go down with him!" thought Frank, in his dismay, as the faint remnant of hope died out. "Then—I presume you consider that this unpleasant report may be relied on, Mr. Street?"
"Certainly it may. My brother is one of the most cautious men living; he would not have written so decisively"—touching the note with his finger—"had any doubt existed. Most likely he has heard from George Atkinson himself: he would of course write before sailing. Atkinson is virtually his chief partner, you know, head of the bank. I had thought my brother would perhaps call here last night, but he did not. Something or other has come to my ankle, and I can't get out."
"Then—this note from Mr. Edwin Street is all the information you as yet possess?"
"Yes, all. But I know it is to be relied on. I thought it better to write at once and acquaint the major: he will have little time, as it is, to prepare for the change, and see what can be done."
Frank rose. "I will go down and question Mr. Edwin Street," he said. "I suppose I am at liberty to do so?"
"Oh, quite at liberty," was the reply. "He no doubt wrote to me with a view to preparing your family, Mr. Raynor. You will find him at the bank."
The banker received Frank coldly; he seemed just the same hard, ungenial, self-contained sort of man that his brother was. Harder, in fact. This was indeed his general manner: but somehow, Frank caught up an idea that he had a dislike to the name of Raynor.
"I beg to refer you to Callard and Priestleigh, Mr. Atkinson's solicitors," spoke the banker to Frank, as soon as the latter entered on his business. "They will be able to afford you every necessary information."
"But won't you tell me how it has all come about?" cried Frank, his genial manner presenting a contrast to that of the banker. "If Mrs. Atkinson made a later will, where has the will been all this while? Why should it turn up at a twelvemonth's end, and not at the time of her death?"
"The will, as I am informed, has been lying in the hands of Callard and Priestleigh."
"Then why did Callard and Priestleigh not produce it at the proper time?" reiterated Frank.
"Callard and Priestleigh may themselves be able to inform you," was the short, stiff answer.
Apparently no satisfaction could be extracted from Mr. Edwin Street. Frank wished him good-morning, and betook himself to Callard and Priestleigh, who lived near the Temple. "From pillar to post, from post to pillar," thought he. "I ought to arrive at something presently."
Mr. Callard was a white-haired old gentleman; a little reserved in manner also; but nevertheless sufficiently cordial with Frank, and not objecting to give him information. He took him for the son of Major Raynor; and though Frank twice set him right upon the point, the old man went back to his own impression, and persisted in thinking Frank to be the—late—heir to Eagles' Nest. It was a mistake of no consequence.
The reader may remember that when Mrs. Atkinson expressed her intention of making a fresh will in Mr. George Atkinson's favour and leaving Major Raynor's name out of it, she had summoned Street the lawyer to Eagles' Nest to draw it up. Street, as he subsequently informed the major, had represented the injustice of this to Mrs. Atkinson, and prevailed upon her—as he supposed—to renounce her intention, and to let the old will stand. The lawyer went back to London in this belief; and nothing whatever transpired, then or subsequently, to shake it. However, after his departure from Eagles' Nest, it appeared that Mrs. Atkinson had sent for a local solicitor, and caused him to draw up a fresh will, in which she made George Atkinson her heir, and cut off the major. This will she had kept by her until just before her death, when she sent it, sealed up, to Callard and Priestleigh, requesting them to put it amongst Mr. George Atkinson's papers, and hold it at his disposal. There could be no doubt, Mr. Callard thought, that she also, either at the time the new will was made, or close upon her death, wrote to George Atkinson and informed him of what she had done: namely, made her will in his favour, and placed it with his solicitors.
"But, sir," exclaimed Frank to Mr. Callard when he had listened to this explanation, "how was it that you did not bring the will forward at Mrs. Atkinson's death? Why did you suffer the other will to be proved and acted upon, when you knew you held this one?"
"But we did not know it," replied the old man: "you have misunderstood me, my young friend. When Mrs. Atkinson sent the document to us she did not inform us of its nature. I assure you we never suspected that it was a will. It was sealed up in a parchment envelope, and bore no outward indication of its contents."
"Then—how do you know it now?"
"Because we have received written instructions from Mr. George Atkinson to open the parchment, and prove the will. It is by these instructions we gather the fact that Mrs. Atkinson must have written to inform him such a will existed."
"He has taken his time in coming to verify it!"
"It appears—as we hear from Edwin Street—that he was travelling for months in some remote parts of Australia, and did not receive his letters. However, he is on his way home now."
"Is the will opened? Have you seen it?" asked Frank.
"Both seen it and read it," replied the old man, smoothing back his white hair, and looking at Frank with concern. "It will be proved in a day or two. I sympathize with you and your father."
"Who are the executors?"
"George Atkinson and Street the banker. The latter is acting."
"And Mr. Atkinson is really on his way from Australia."
"Yes: by ship. We expect him to land in the course of two or three weeks. His written instructions were received by this last mail, and were conveyed to us through Edwin Street, to whom they were sent. Mr. Atkinson desires that all necessary preliminaries may be executed without delay, as he intends to take possession of Eagles' Nest on his arrival."
"He cannot know that my uncle is in it!"
"I dare say he does. He knew that Major Raynor succeeded to it, for we wrote him to that effect at the time. And he is in regular correspondence with his partner, Edwin Street."
"Then the worst is true!" cried Frank, as he fully realized what this meant for the poor major and his family. "Iwonderthat George Atkinson should accept the estate!—should wrest it from them! from the little I have heard of him, I drew the conclusion that he was a kind and a just man."
Mr. Solicitor Callard opened his eyes very widely. The words surprised him "Kind! Just!" cried he. "Well, he is so: we know him well: but, my good sir, a will is a will. You can't ignore a will as you might a verbal message."
"It will be a terrible shock to my uncle and his family. Utter ruin."
The old gentleman shook his head in pity.
"Ay, it's sad, no doubt; very sad. We lawyers often have to inflict grievous blows; and we cannot help ourselves."
"One last question," said Frank, as he prepared to leave. "In the old will, Major Raynor was left residuary legatee,—and therefore came in for all the accumulated money—though in point of fact the bulk of it has not yet been found. Who comes in for it now?"
"George Atkinson. My good young friend, George Atkinson comes in foreverything. The one will may be called a counterpart of the other; in regard to the small legacies, and all else; excepting that George Atkinson's name is substituted for Major Raynor's.
"Is nothing left to the major in this later one?"
"Nothing."
Frank Raynor went back to Eagles' Nest, carrying his deplorable news with him. Careless and sanguine-natured though he was, he could not close his eyes to the dark future. It was not only the loss of the estate. That would have been bad enough, in all conscience; but there was also the money the major had spent. The ready-money that had been lying at Eagles' Nest and at her banker's at the time of Mrs. Atkinson's death; and also this past year's revenues from the estate. The major had spent it all: and for this he was now accountable to George Atkinson; he could be legally called upon to refund it. A fear crossed Frank that he would be so called upon: a hard man, as he was now judging George Atkinson to be—perhaps without just cause—would most likely exact his full rights, no matter what misery and ruin they might involve to others. In Frank Raynor's chivalrous good-nature, he was thinking that George Atkinson, already a wealthy man, might have refused Eagles' Nest, and left the major in peaceable possession of it. Perhaps very few men would agree with him: as the old lawyer said, a will was a will. This was certain: that, no matter how large a sum the law might claim from Major Raynor, he had not a shilling to meet it with. Would they confiscate his annuity until it was paid—that five hundred a-year; which was all he and his children would now have to fall back upon? "I wish with all my heart I had a home to offer them, and a good practice to keep it up!" concluded Frank.
Poor Major Raynor! He was never to be subjected to this trouble; or to any other trouble in this world. It was past six when Frank got back to Eagles' Nest, and he found his uncle dying. The attack that was dreaded had seized him about an hour before: just twelve hours after the first threatening in the morning; and there was now little, if any, hope.
"Oh, my dear," gasped Mrs. Raynor, in her pitiable distress, letting her head fall on Frank's shoulder, as her tears rained down, "it is so sudden! If he could only recover consciousness, and speak to us!"
"Aunt," he said, his own eyes misty, "don't you think we had better send for Edina? She would be a comfort to you."
"Edina!" was the sobbing answer. "My dear, she was telegraphed for this morning. Lamb went to the station just after you left. I knew she would come off at once: she is on her way now. I could never bear up under this trouble without Edina."
"But she does not know of the other trouble," thought Frank, looking on Mrs. Raynor, with pitying eyes. "It must be broken to her by Edina."
The whole house was steeped in grief—for Major Raynor had died at dawn. As most houses are, when a near and beloved relative is removed: and the anguish is more keenly felt if the blow, as in this case, falls suddenly. Edina was a treasure now; she had travelled by night and was early at Eagles' Nest. Mourning with them sincerely, she at the time strove to cheer them. She whispered of a happier meeting hereafter, where shall be no more parting; she would not let them sorrow without hope. Even Mrs. Raynor felt comforted: and the little children dried their tears, saying that papa was with the angels in heaven, and they should go to him when God saw that they were good enough.
But, of that other misfortune none of the household as yet were cognizant. Frank took an opportunity of revealing it to Edina. It almost overwhelmed even her.
"Not theirs!" she cried, in a dread whisper. "Eagles' Nest George Atkinson's!"
"And the worst of it is," returned Frank, running through a summary of the details he had heard, "that he means to exact his rights at once, and take immediate possession of the place as soon as he lands. Did you not know this George Atkinson once, Edina?"
"Yes—a little," she answered, a faint blush rising to her cheek at the remembrance.
"Was he hard and selfish then?"
"I—cannot quite tell, Frank. He did not appear to me to be so."
"Perhaps not. He was young then: and men grow harder as they grow older. But now, Edina, what is to be done? They will have to turn out of this house, and where will they find another?"
The problem seemed a hard one. Edina sat it an attitude almost of despair as she tried to solve it: her hands folded quietly on her black dress; her usually calm, good face perplexed; her steady eyes anxious. The unexpected blow had fallen on her sharply; and in these first moments it was a hard task to battle with it. So far as she or any one else could see, the Raynors would not have a penny to fall back upon: no income of any sort whatever. The major's annuity has died with him.
"They are all so helpless!" she murmured.
"Of course they are," assented Frank. "Not that that makes it any worse or better."
"It makes it all the worse," said Edina. "Were they experienced and capable, they might do something or other to earn a living."
A whole world of surprise shone in Frank Raynor's candid blue eyes. "Earn a living!" he exclaimed. "Who would earn it?"
"All who are old enough," said Edina. "Mrs. Raynor and Alice to begin with."
"Surely you cannot think of such a thing for them, Edina!"
"But how else will they exist, Frank? Who will keep them? Charley will never be able to do it."
A blank pause. Frank, brought thus practically face to face with the position, was unable to reply.
"I wish to goodness I could keep them!" he exclaimed, at length. "I wish I had a practice and a house over my head! They should all come to it."
"It has surprised me very much indeed, Frank—to leave the other subject for a moment—that you have not sought to establish yourself all this time."
"I was waiting for some money to do it with, Edina. Poor Uncle Francis was constantly expecting those missing funds to turn up. It seems they would have belonged to George Atkinson if they had come to light: but we could not have known that."
"Your uncle Hugh blamed you for it, Frank. 'Better to take a situation as an assistant, than to fritter away his days at Eagles' Nest,' he used often to say."
Frank made no reply. The mention of his uncle Hugh brought vividly to his mind that last ominous letter he had received from him. With his usual incaution, he spoke on the moment's impulse.
"Is Blase Pellet at Trennach still?"
Not quite immediately did Edina answer. Raising his eyes, he met hers fixed on him. And he saw something in their depths that he did not like: an anxious, questioning, half-terrified expression.
"Edina knows about it," thought he. And he turned as cold as the winter frost.
"Yes, Blase Pellet is there as usual," she replied, averting her eyes. "And Mrs. Bell has left Trennach for good and has gone to live at Falmouth."
Why, the very answer; that last gratuitous sentence; would itself have been enough to betray her cognizance of the matter. Else why should she have connected the Bells with Blase Pellet? Frank quitted the topic abruptly.
Not until after the funeral—which took place, as was deemed expedient, on the fourth day from the death—were the tidings of their penniless state conveyed to Mrs. Raynor and the others. How Charles had contrived to keep counsel he never knew. He was looked upon as the successor to Eagles' Nest. Servants and others continually came to him for directions: Is this to be done, sir; is the other to be done: treating him as the master.
Mrs. Raynor received the news with amazement, astonishment contending with incredulity. Alice burst into tears; Alfred went into a passion. They talked foolishly at first, saying they would go to law: the newly-found will should be disputed; the property flung into Chancery. The only two capable of bringing reason to bear upon the matter were Frank and Edina: and they might have been nearly as bad as the rest, had the tidings only just come upon them. They pointed out how worse than futile any opposition would be. Not a shadow of doubt could exist that the second will was perfectly correct and legal, and that the whole property belonged to George Atkinson.
On the second day after Frank's return from London, while the poor major lay dead in the house, Charles received an official letter from Street the lawyer. It gave in detail the particulars already known, and stated that Mr. George Atkinson was then on his voyage to Europe, with sundry other hints and statements. This letter Frank read aloud now.
"You see," he said, "even our own lawyer gives in. He says not a word about opposition. No, there's no help for it; Eagles' Nest must go from you. But I think old Aunt Atkinson ought to have been ashamed of herself."
"She must have been dreadfully wicked," sobbed Alice.
One thing they did not tell Mrs. Raynor—that she could be made responsible for the money received and spent during the past twelvemonth. The claim was not yet made; would not be made until Mr. George Atkinson's arrival; time enough to tell her then.
What their plans were to be, or where they could go, or how live, was the subject of many an anxious thought, as the days passed on. Edina suggested this and that; but poor Mrs. Raynor and Alice shrunk from all. As yet they could not realize what the turning-out of Eagles' Nest would be, and instinctively shunned the anticipation.
But upon none did the blow fall so bitterly as upon Charles. He was suddenly flung from his position on the height of a pinnacle to its base. A few days ago he was an independent gentleman, an undergraduate of Oxford, the heir to Eagles' Nest; now all these desirable accessories had melted like icicles in the sunbeams. He must work for a living, if he were to live; he must take his name off the college books, failing the means to return to college; he must, for his mind's best peace, forget that there was such a place as Eagles' Nest.
Work for a living! How was he to do anything of the kind, he asked himself. And even if he were willing, and the work presented itself (some charming, rose-coloured vision of a sinecure post would now and again arise indistinctly before his imagination) how would he be free to fulfil it, with those wretched debts at his heels?
One little matter did surprise Charles—he heard nothing of Huddles. He had fully expected that within a day or two of that worthy man's departure certain sharks of the law, or—as he seemed to prefer to call them—tigers, would attack him. But nothing of the sort occurred. The days went on, and Charles was still not interfered with.
About a fortnight after the death of Major Raynor, a letter arrived from Mr. Street. And, by the way, speaking of the major's death, what a grievous farce his will sounded when it was read. Eagles' Nest was bequeathed to Charles, with liberty to Mrs. Raynor to reside in it for the next ten years; after that, if Charles should deem it expedient that she should leave with the younger children, he was charged to provide her with a home. The major recommended that a portion of the missing money, when found, should be put out at interest, and allowed to accumulate for her benefit. Quite a large sum was willed away in small bequests. This to one child, that to another; some to Edina, some to Frank, and so on. The horses and carriages, the linen, plate, ornaments and trinkets, with sundry other personalities that had come to him with Eagles' Nest, were left to Mrs. Raynor. All this, when read, sounded like a painful farce, a practical joke. These things were all George Atkinson's; and, of the legacies, the poor major possessed not a shilling to bequeath.
Mr. George Atkinson safely arrived in England and in London. Lawyer Street wrote to Eagles' Nest to state the fact, and that he had held a business interview with him in the presence of Mr. Callard. Mr. Atkinson, he hinted, was not inclined to deal harshly with the Raynor family, but leniently. He gave them one month in which to vacate Eagles' Nest, when he should himself enter into possession of it; and with regard to the money spent in the past twelvemonth, which did in reality belong to him, and to the mesne profits, he made no claim. Let them leave his house quietly, and he should say nothing about arrears. It had been spent by Major Raynor under the misapprehension that it was his own, and he would not exact it of the major's children.
The conditions were, perhaps, as favourable as could be expected from a man of the world. Mr. Solicitor Callard pronounced them to be wonderfully so, cruelly hard though they sounded to the Raynors.Theythought, taking all circumstances into consideration—his own wealth, which must be accumulating yearly, his want of relationship to the former mistress of Eagles' Nest, and consequent absence of just claim to inherit it—that Mr. Atkinson should have quietly resigned it to them, and left them in undisturbed possession of it. Frank, once hearing Charley say this, shook his head.Heshould have done this himself, he said, were he George Atkinson; but he feared the world, as a whole, would not: we did not live in Utopia.
And now came in Edina's practical good sense. After allowing them a day to grieve, she begged them to listen to her ideas for the future. She had been thinking a great deal, but could only hit upon one plan that seemed at all feasible. It was, that Mrs. Raynor and Alice should establish a school. Alice, a well-educated girl, a good musician and otherwise accomplished, would be of valuable aid in teaching.
Three weeks ago, they would—Alice, at any rate—have turned from the proposition with indignation. But those three weeks had been working their natural effect; and neither Mrs. Raynor nor Alice spoke a dissenting syllable. They had begun to realize the bitter fact that they must work to live. The world lay before and around them: a cold, cruel, and indifferent world, as it now seemed to them; and they had no shelter in it. To keep a ladies' school would be less objectionable than some things, and was certainly preferable to starving. Better than setting up a shop, for instance, or taking to a boarding-house. It was Edina who alluded to these unpleasant alternatives, and Alice did not thank her for it. Poor Alice had still many lessons to learn. It is true that Alice might go out as a governess, but that would not keep Mrs. Raynor and the younger ones.
"I see only one objection to this school idea of yours, Edina," spoke poor Mrs. Raynor, who was the first to break the silence which had ensued; while Alice sat with downcast eyes and an aching heart. "And that is, that I do not know how it is to be accomplished. We have no money and no furniture. It would be easy enough to take a house in some good situation, as you suggest; but how is it to be furnished?"
Edina did not immediately answer. Perhaps the problem was rather too much for herself. She sat in thought; her steadfast eyes gazing with a far-away look over the beautiful landscape they were so soon to lose.
"Mr. Atkinson intimates that we are at liberty to remove any furniture, or other articles, we may have bought for Eagles' Nest; that he only wishes it left as it was left by Mrs. Atkinson," continued Mrs. Raynor: who, in these last few days of trouble, seemed to have quite returned to the meek-spirited, humble-minded woman she used to be, with not a wish of her own, and thoroughly incapable. "But, Edina, the furniture would be too large, too grand for the sort of house we must have now, and therefore I am afraid useless. Besides, we shall have to sell these things with the carriages, and all that, to pay outstanding debts here that must be settled: the servants' wages, our new mourning, and other things."
"True," replied Edina, somewhat absently.
"Perhaps we could hire some articles: chairs and tables, and forms for the girls to sit on, and beds?" suggested Mrs. Raynor. "Sometimes furniture is let with a house. Edina, are you listening?"
"Yes, I am listening; partly at least; but I was deep in thought just then over ways and means," replied Edina, rousing herself to her usual mental activity. "A furnished house would never do; it would be too costly; and so, I fear, would be the hiring of furniture. Now and then, I believe, when a house is to be let, the furniture in it can be bought very cheaply."
"But if we have no money to buy it with, Edina?"
"Of course: there's the drawback. I think the neighbourhood of London would be the best locality for a new school: the most likely one to bring scholars. Should not you, Mary?"
"Yes," assented Mrs. Raynor, with a sigh. "But you know all about these things so much better than I do, Edina."
The plans, and the means of carrying them out, seemed, as yet, very indistinct; but at length Edina proposed to go to London and look about her, and see if she could find any suitable place. Mrs. Raynor, always thankful that others should act for her, eagerly acquiesced. Though, indeed, to find a house—or, rather, to find one full of furniture—appeared as a very castle-in-the-air. Chairs and tables do not drop from the skies: and Edina was setting her face resolutely against running into debt.
"Now you understand," Edina said, the morning of her departure, calling Charles and Mrs. Raynor to her, "that I shall depend upon you to arrange matters here. If I am to find a house for you in London, I may have too much to do to return, and you must manage without me. Set about what has to be done at once, Charles: get the superfluous furniture out of the house, for sale; and have your boxes packed, ready to come up. You must be out of Eagles' Nest as soon as possible; on account of the heavy expenses still going on while you are in it. Mr. George Atkinson allowed you a month: I should leave it in less than half that time. Besides, Mary: you should be on the spot to begin school before the Midsummer holidays are over; it will give you a better chance of pupils."
They agreed to all: Charles rather gloomily, Mrs. Raynor in simple confidence: anything suggested by Edina was sure to be for the best. It was impossible for Charles to rise up yet from the blow. With him, the aspect of things, instead of growing brighter, grew darker. Each morning, as it dawned, was only more gloomy than the last. A terrible wrong had been dealt to him—whether by Fate, or by that unjust defunct woman, his aunt Ann, or by George Atkinson, he could not quite decide, perhaps by all three combined—and he felt at variance with the whole world. Edina had talked to him of plans for himself, but Charles did not hear her with any patience. To contrast the present with the past drove him half-mad. That he must do something, he knew quite well, and he intended to do it: but he did not know what that something was to be; he could not see an opening anywhere. Moreover, he also knew that he must make some arrangement with the people at Oxford to whom he owed money.
Another thing had yet to be done—taking his name off the college books. Charles went down to do this; and to confer with his creditors. Very young men are often most sensitive on the score of debt: Charles Raynor was so: and it seemed to him a formidable and distressing task to meet these men, avow his poverty, and beg of them to be lenient and wait.
"I declare I'd rather meet his Satanic majesty, and hold a battle withhim!" cried Charley, as he started forth to the encounter.
But he found the creditors considerate. They had heard of his reverse of fortune. The news of the fresh will put forward, and the consequent transfer of Eagles' Nest from the Raynors to George Atkinson the banker, had been made much of in the newspapers. One and all met Charles pleasantly; some actuated by genuine pity for the young man, others by the remembrance that you cannot get blood out of a stone. Half the sting was taken from Charley's task. He told them truly that he had no present means whatever, therefore could not offer to pay: but he assured them—and his voice was earnest, and they saw he meant it—that he would pay them whenever it should be in his power to do so, though that might not be for years to come. So he and they parted cordially. After all, no individual debt was very much, though in the aggregate the sum looked formidable.
Mr. Huddles was left until last. Charles dreaded him most. That debt was the largest. The two bills were for fifty pounds each, making a hundred; and mischief alone knew what the added expenses would be. Not only did Charles dread him because he would have to eat humble-pie, which he hated and detested, and beg the man to hold the bills on, but he believed that Mr. Huddles could arrest him without ceremony. Nevertheless he had no choice but to enter on the interview for he must know his own position before he could plan out or venture on any career of life. He went forth to it at dusk; some dim idea pervading him that tigers and kidnappers might not exercise their functions after sunset.
Mr. Huddles sat alone in his parlour when Charles was shown in: a well-lighted and well-furnished room. Instead of the scowl and the frown Charles had anticipated, he rose with a smile and a pleasant look, and offered Charles a chair.
"We were both a little out of temper the other day, Mr. Raynor," said he; "and both, I dare say, felt sorry for it afterwards. What can I do for you?"
To hear this, completely took Charles aback. Down he sat, with some indistinct words of reply. And then, summoning up what courage he could, he entered upon the subject of the bills.
"No one can regret more than I that I cannot pay them," he said. "I have come here to-night to beg of you to be so kind as hold them over. The expenses, I suppose——"
"I don't understand you, sir," interrupted Mr. Huddles. "What bills are you talking of?"
"The two bills for fifty pounds each—I have no others. Although I know how unjust it must seem to ask you to do this, Mr. Huddles, as you are only a third party and had nothing whatever to do with the transaction, I have no resource but to throw myself upon your good feeling. I am quite unable to take the bills up; you have probably heard of our reverse of fortune; but I will give you my word of honour to do so as soon as——
"The bills are paid," cried Mr. Huddles, not allowing him to go on.
"Paid?" echoed Charley.
"Paid; both of them. Why—did you not know it?"
"No, that I did not. Who has paid them?"
"Some legal firm in London."
"What firm?"
"The name was—let me see—Symmonds, I think. Yes, that was it: Symmonds and Son, solicitors."
Charley could only stare. He began to think Mr. Huddles was playing off a joke upon him; perhaps to turn round on him afterwards.
"I don't know any people of the name of Symmonds, or they me," said he. "Howcamethey to pay?"
"I think Major Raynor—I was sorry to see his death in theTimesso soon afterwards—gave them the necessary orders."
Charles shook his head; it was not at all likely, as he knew. He lost himself in a maze of thought.
"The evening I saw you, I was running into the station to catch a train, having lingered rather too long at the inn over some late refreshment," explained Mr. Huddles, perceiving that Charles was altogether puzzled, "when a gentleman accosted me, asking if my errand in the place had not been connected with Major Raynor's son. I replied that it had. This gentleman then said that if I would furnish the particulars of the debt to Messrs. Symmonds and Son, solicitors, of London, they would no doubt see that I was paid; and he handed me their address. I sent the particulars up the next day, and in the course of a post or two received the money."
"It must have been Frank," thought Charles, the idea flashing into his mind. "What was this gentleman like, Mr. Huddles?"
"Upon my word, sir, I can hardly tell you," was the reply. "The train dashed in just as he began to speak to me; several passengers were waiting for it, and there was a good bit of confusion. It was dusk also. Nearly dark, in fact."
"A good-looking, pleasant-speaking fellow?"
"Yes, I think so. He had a pleasant voice."
"No one but Frank," decided Charles. "It's just like him to do these good-natured things. I wonder how he found the money? And why in the world did he not tell me he had done it?"
So this trouble was at an end; and Charles might for the present be pronounced free from worry on the score of debt. If the Fates had been hard to him latterly, it seemed that they yet hold some little kindness in store for him.
But this visit to the University city was productive of the most intense chagrin in other ways to Charles Raynor; of the keenest humiliation. "Only a short while ago, I was one ofthem, with the world all before me to hold my head up in!" he kept telling himself, as he watched the undergraduates passing in the street, holding aloof from them, for he had not the courage to show his face. If by unavoidable chance he encountered one or two, he drew away as quickly as he could, after exchanging a few uncomfortable sentences. Whilst they, knowing his changed circumstances, his blighted prospects, made no effort to detain him; and if their manner displayed a certain restraint, springing from innate pity, or delicacy of feeling, Charles put it down to a very different cause, and felt all the deeper mortification.
As he left Oxford by an early morning train on his way home, his thoughts were busy with what had passed. For one thing, he found that his days of torment at Eagles' Nest, when he went about in fear of writs and arrest, had been without foundation. With the exception of Mr. Huddles—and that was much later—not a single creditor, as all assured him, had followed him there: neither had any of them written to him, excepting the one whose letter had by misadventure fallen into the hands of Major Raynor. Who then was the Tiger, Charles asked himself. Could it be that, after all, the man had positively held no mission that concerned him? It might be so: and that Charles had dreaded and hated him for nothing. The Tiger had left Grassmere now, as Charles happened to know. Jetty had said so the other day when he was at Eagles' Nest. To return sometime Jetty believed, for the gentleman had said as much to his sister Esther when leaving: he liked the lodgings and liked the place, and should no doubt visit them again.
And so, Charles Raynor returned home, relieved on the whole, in spite of his ever-present trouble, and with a lively feeling of gratitude to Frank Raynor in his heart.
He could not yet personally thank Frank; for Frank and his wife had quitted Eagles' Nest soon after the funeral of Major Raynor. With the fortunes of its hitherto supposed owners come to an end, Frank could not any longer remain, a weight on their hospitable hands. It was at length necessary that he should bestir himself in earnest, and see in what manner he could make a living for himself and Daisy. One great impediment to his doing this comfortably was, that he had no money. Excepting a few spare pounds in his pocket for present exigencies, he had positively none. The sum he had privately furnished Charles with at Christmas-time would have been useful to him now; but Frank never gave a regret to it. Daisy was not very strong yet, and could not be put about. She was going to stay with her sister, Captain Townley's wife, for two or three weeks, who had just come over from India with her children, and had taken a furnished house in London. Daisy wrote to her from Eagles' Nest proffering the visit: she saw what a convenience it would be to Frank to be "rid" of her, as she laughingly said, whilst he looked about for some place that they could settle in. Mrs. Townley's answer had been speedy and cordial. "Yes, you can come here, Daisy; I shall be delighted to see you. But what a silly child you must have been to make the undesirable runaway marriage they tell me of! I thought all the St. Clares had better sense than that."
But the Tiger is not done with yet. On the day that Frank and his wife said farewell to Eagles' Nest, and took train for London, Frank jumped out of the carriage at an intermediate station to get a newspaper. On his way into it again, he had his eyes on the newspaper, and chanced to go up to the wrong compartment, the one behind his own. Opening the door, Frank saw to his surprise that there was no room for him, and at the same moment found his face in pretty close contact with another face; one adorned with a silky brown beard and the steadfast grey eyes Frank had learned to know.
"This compartment is full, sir."
How far Frank recoiled at the words, at the sight, he never knew.It was the Tiger. With a sinking of the heart, a rush of dismay, he made his way to his own carriage; and let the newspaper, that he had been eager for, drop between his knees.
"He is following me to town," cried Frank, mentally, in his firm conviction. "He means to track me. How shall I escape him? How am I to escape Blase Pellet?"