"Have a care, I tell you!" burst forth Henry. "By what right do you say these things to me?"
"I say them for your good—and I intend that you should feel them. When a surgeon's knife probes a wound, the patient groans and winces; but it is done to cure him."
"You are a man of eloquence!" sarcastically rejoined Henry. "Pity but you could flourish at the Bar, and take the anticipated shine out of Frank!"
"Answer me one plain question, Henry. Do you still indulge a hope towards Anna Lynn?—to her becoming your wife?"
With a shriek of anger, Henry caught up his slipper, and sent it flying through the air at William's head.
"What's that for?" equably demanded William, dodging his head out of the way.
"How dare you hint at such a thing? I told you there were some things I wouldn't stand. Is it fitting that one who has figured in such an escapade should be made the wife of an Ashley? If we were left by our two selves upon the earth, all else gone dead and out of it, I wouldn't marry her."
"Precisely so. I have judged you rightly. Then, under this state of things, what in the name of fortune is the use of your lying here and thinking about her?"
"I don't think about her," fractiously returned Henry. "You are always fancying things."
"You do think about her. I can see that you do. I should be above it," quaintly continued William.
"Go and pick up my slipper."
"Will you come down to tea this evening?"
"No, I won't. You come here and preach up this morality, or divinity, or whatever you may please to term it, to me; but, wait and see how you'd act, if you should ever get struck on the keen edge as I have been."
"Come! let me help you up."
"Don't bother. I am not going to get up. I——"
At that moment, Mr. Ashley opened the door. His errand likewise was to induce Henry to leave his sofa and his room, and join them below. Henry could not be brought to comply.
"No. I have just told William. I cannot think why he did not go back and say so. He only stops here to worry me. There! get along, William; and come back when you have swallowed enough tea."
Mr. Ashley laid his hand on William's arm, as they walked together along the corridor, and brought him to a halt. "Whatisthis illness of Henry's? There is some secret connected with it, I am sure, and you are cognizant of it. I must know what it is."
Mr. Ashley's tone was a decided one; his manner firm. William made no reply.
"Tell me what it is, William."
"I cannot," said William. "Certainly not without Henry's permission; and I do not think he will give it. If it were my secret, sir, instead of his, I would tell it at your bidding."
"Is it of the mind or the body?"
"The mind. I think the worst is over. Do not speak to him about it, I pray you, sir."
"William, is it anything that can be remedied? By money?—by any means at command?"
"It can never be remedied," replied William earnestly, "Were the whole world brought to bear upon it, it could do nothing. Time and his own good sense must effect the cure."
"Then I may as well not ask about it if I cannot aid. You are fully in his confidence."
"Yes. And all that another can do, I am doing. We have a daily battle. I want to rouse him out of his apathy."
"Oh, that you could!" aspirated Mr. Ashley.
Pomeranian Knoll had scarcely recovered its equanimity after the shock of the departure of Herbert Dare for foreign parts, when it found itself about to be shorn of another inmate. The word "shock" is used to express the suddenness of the affair, rather than in its enlarged and more ordinary sense. Herbert, what with one thing and another, had brought a good deal of vexation upon the paternal home; Helstonleigh also had not been holding him in extensive favour since the trial; and that home was not sorry that he should absent himself from it for a time. But it certainly did not bargain for his announcing his departure one night, and being off the next morning. Yet such was the course he pursued: and in that light his departure may be said to have been a shock to the town. Mr. Dare had known of it longer; but he had not proclaimed it any more than Herbert had: it may be that Herbert feared being stopped, if the intended journey got wind.
A week or two after this, Signora Varsini received a letter with a foreign post-mark on it. The fact was nothing extraordinary in itself: the signora did occasionally receive letters bearing foreign post-marks; but this one threw her into a state of commotion, the like of which had never been witnessed. Thrusting the letter into the deepest pocket of her dress when it was delivered to her, she finished giving the music lesson to Minny, which she was occupied upon, and then retired to her room to peruse it. From this she emerged a short time after, with a long face of consternation, uttering frantic ejaculations. Mrs. Dare was quite alarmed. What was the matter with mademoiselle?
"Ah, what misère! what désolation! what tristes nouvelles!" The letter was from her aunt in Paris, who was thrown upon her death-bed; and she, mademoiselle, must hasten thither without delay. If she could not start by a train that day, she must go by the first one the next. She was désolée to leave madame at a coup; her heart would break in bidding adieu to the young ladies; but necessity was stern. She must make her baggage forthwith, and would be obliged to madame for her salary.
Mrs. Dare was taken—as the saying runs—all of a heap. She had not cared to part with mademoiselle so soon, although the retaining her entailed an additional expense, which they could ill afford in their gradually increasing embarrassments and straitening means: but the chief point that puzzled her was the paying up of the salary. Between thirty and forty pounds were due. There appeared, however, to be no help for it, and she applied to Mr. Dare.
"You may as well ask me for my head as for that sum to-day," was that gentleman's reply, thinking he was destined never to find peace on earth. "Tell her you will send it after her, if she must go."
Mrs. Dare shook her head. It would not be of the least use, she was sure. Mademoiselle was not one to be put off in that way, or to depart without her money.
How Mr. Dare managed it he perhaps hardly knew himself; but he brought home the money at night, and the governess was paid in full. On the following morning there was a ceremonious leave-taking, loud and suggestive on the part of mademoiselle. She saluted them all on both cheeks, and promised to write every week, at least. A fly came to the door for her and her luggage, and George Dare mounted the box to escort her to the station. Mademoiselle politely invited him inside; but he had just lighted a cigar, and preferred to stop where he was.
"I say, mademoiselle," cried he, after she was seated in the railway carriage, "if you should happen to come across Herbert, I wish you'd tell him——"
Mademoiselle interrupted with a burst of indignation.Shecome across Monsieur Herbert! What should bring her coming acrosshim? Monsieur George must befouto think it. Monsieur Herbert was not in Paris, was he? She had understood he was in Holland.
"Oh, well, it's all on the other side of the Channel," answered George, whose geographical notions of the Continent were not very definite. "Perhaps you won't see him, though, mademoiselle; so never mind."
Mademoiselle replied by telling him to take care of himself; for the whistle was sounding. George drew back, and watched the train off; mademoiselle nodding her farewell to him from the window.
And that was the last that Helstonleigh saw of Mrs. Dare's Italian governess, the Signora Varsini. Helstonleigh might not have been any the worse had it never seen the first of her. Mrs. Dare, after her departure, suddenly remembered that mademoiselle had once told her she had not a single relative in the world. Who could this aunt be, to whom she was hastening?
And Henry Ashley? As the weeks and the months went on, Henry began to rouse himself from his prostration; his apathy. William Halliburton made no secret of it to Henry that it was suspected he was suffering from some inward grief which he was concealing, and that he had been questioned on the point by Mr. Ashley. "You know," said William, "I shall have no resource but totell, unless you show yourself a sensible man, and come out of this nonsense."
It alarmed Henry; rather than have his secret feelings betrayed for the family benefit, he could have died. In a grumbling and discontented sort of mood, he went about again, and resumed his idle occupations (such as they were) as usual. One evening William enticed him out for a walk, took possession of his arm, and pounced into Robert East's, before Henry well knew where he was. He sat down, apathetic and indifferent, after nodding carelessly to the respectful salutation of the men. "I must give just ten minutes to them, as I am here," observed William. "You can go to sleep the while."
The ten minutes lengthened into twenty, and Henry's attention was so far roused that he came to the table in his impulsive way, and began talking on his own account. When William was ready to go, he was not; and he actually told the men that he would come round again. It was a great point gained.
Small beginnings, it has been remarked, lead to great endings. The humble, confined way in which the class had begun at Robert East's; the vague ideas of William upon the subject; the doubtings of East and Crouch, were looked back upon with a smile. For the little venture had swollen itself into a great undertaking—an undertaking that was destined to effect a revolution throughout the whole of Honey Fair, and might probably even extend to Helstonleigh itself. The drawback now was want of room; numbers were being kept away by it. Henry Ashley did go again; and finding that books of the right kind ran short, he, the day after his second visit, wrote off an order for a whole cargo.
Mr. Ashley was in a state of inward delight. Anything to rouse him! "You think it will succeed, that movement, do you, Henry?" he carelessly observed.
"It's safe to succeed," was the answer. "William, with his palavering, has gained the ear of the fellows. I don't believe there's William Halliburton's equal in the whole world!" he added, with enthusiasm. "Fancy his sacrificing his time to such a thing, and for no benefit to himself! It will bear a rich crop of fruit too. If I have the gift—I'll give you a long word for once—of ratiocination, this reform of William's will be more extensive than we now foresee."
The chief thing in these evenings was to keep alive the interest of the men. Not to lead them to abstruse things, which they had a difficulty in understanding, and remained strange to at best; but rather to plunge them into familiar home topics—the philosophy, if you will, of everyday life. There is a right and a wrong way of doing most things, and it often happens that people, from ignorance, pursue the wrong. Of the plain sanitary laws, relating to physical health, Honey Fair was intensely ignorant: of the ventilation of rooms, of cleanliness, of the most simple rules by which the body can be kept in order, they knew no more than they did of the moon. When a man was, to use Honey Fair phraseology, "took bad," he generally neglected the symptoms altogether, thereby laying the foundation of worse illness: or else he went to a doctor, and ran himself into expense. A little familiarity with ordinary complaints and ordinary antidotes would have remedied this. An acquaintance with sanitary laws would have prevented it. When children were down with measles or scarlatina, the careless of the land allowed the maladies to take their own course, and the sufferers to air themselves in the gutters, as usual. The cautious ones smothered the patients in a hot room, keeping up a fire as large as the stock of coals would allow, and borrowing all the blankets from the houses on either side, to heap upon them. No wonder the supply of little coffins was great to Honey Fair.
All these things would be talked of and discussed, and a little enlightenment imparted to the men, as a guidance for the future. No one who did not witness it can imagine the delighted satisfaction with which these and similar practical topics were welcomed; for they bore for them a personal interest—they concerned themselves, their families, and their homes.
One evening the way in which Honey Fair rather liked to spend its Sundays was under discussion; namely, the men in smoking; the women slatternly and dirty; the children fighting and quarrelling in the dirt outside.
William Halliburton was asking them in a half-earnest, half-joking manner, what particular benefit they found in it, that it should not be remedied? Could they impart its pleasures to him? If so——
His voice suddenly faltered and stopped. Standing just inside the door of the room, a quiet spectator and listener of the proceedings, was Thomas Ashley. The men followed William's gaze, saw who was amongst them, and rose in respectful silence.
Mr. Ashley came forward, signing to William to continue. But William's eloquence had died out, leaving only a heightened colour in its place. In the presence of Mr. Ashley, whom he so loved and respected, he had grown timid as a child.
"Do you know," said Mr. Ashley, addressing the men, "it gives me greater pleasure to see you here than it would do were I to hear that you had come into a fortune."
They smiled and shook their heads. "Fortunes didn't come to the like o' them."
"Never mind," replied Mr. Ashley: "fortunes are not the best gifts in life."
He stayed talking with them some little time, quiet words of encouragement, and then withdrew, wishing them good luck. William left with him: and as they passed through Honey Fair, the women ran to their doors to gaze after them. Mr. Ashley, slightly bent with his advancing years, leaned upon William's arm, but his face was fresh as ever, and his dark hair showed no signs of age. William erect, noble; his height greater than Mr. Ashley's, his forehead broader, his deep grey eyes strangely earnest and sincere; and a flitting smile playing on his lips. He was listening to Mr. Ashley's satisfaction at what he had witnessed.
"How long do you intend to sacrifice your evenings to them?"
"It is no sacrifice, Mr. Ashley. I am glad to do it. I consider it one of the best uses to which my evenings could be given. I intend to enlist Henry for good in the cause, if I can do so."
"You will be an ingenious persuader if you do," returned Mr. Ashley. "I would give half I am worth," he abruptly added, "to see the boy take an interest in life."
"It will be sure to come, sir. One of these days I shall surprise him into reading a good play to the men. Something to laugh at. It will be a beginning."
"He is very much better," observed Mr. Ashley. "All that listless apathy is going."
"Oh yes. He is all but cured."
"What was it, William?"
William was taken by surprise. He did not answer, and Mr. Ashley repeated the question.
"It is his secret, sir, not mine."
"You must confide it to me," said Mr. Ashley, in his tone of quiet firmness. "You know me, William. When I promise that neither it nor the fact of its having been disclosed to me, shall ever escape me, directly or indirectly, to any living person, you know that you may depend upon me."
He paused. William did not speak: he was debating with himself what heoughtto do.
"William, it is a relief that I must have. Since my suspicions, that there was a secret, were confirmed, I cannot tell you what improbable fancies and fears have not run riot in my brain. For prostration so excessive to have overtaken him, one would almost think he had been guilty of murder, or some other unaccountable crime.You must relieve my mind: which, in spite of my uncontrollable fancies, I do not doubt the truth will do. It will make no difference to any one; it will only be an additional bond between myself and you; and you, my almost son."
William's duty rose before him, clear and distinct. But when he spoke, it was in a whisper.
"He loved Anna Lynn."
Mr. Ashley walked on without comment. William resumed.
"Had that unhappy affair not taken place, Henry's intention was to make her his wife, provided you could have been brought to consent to it. His whole days used to be spent, I believe, in planning how he could best invent a chance of obtaining it."
"And now?" very sharply asked Mr. Ashley.
"Now the thing is at an end for ever. Henry's good sense has come to his aid; I suppose I may say his pride; his self-esteem. Innocent of actual ill as Anna was in the affair, there was sufficient reflection cast upon her to prove to Henry that his hopeful visions could never be carried out. That was Henry's secret, sir: and I almost feared the blow would have killed him. But he is getting over it."
Mr. Ashley drew a deep breath. "William, I thank you. You have relieved me from a nightmare: and you may forget having given me the confidence if you like, for it will never be abused. What are you going to do about space?" he continued, in a different tone.
"About space, sir?"
"For those protégés of yours, at East's. They seem to me to be tolerably confined for it, there?"
"Yes, and that is not the worst," said William. "Men are asking to join every day, and they cannot be taken in."
"Ican't think how you manage to get so many—and to keep them."
"I suppose the chief secret is, that their interest enters into it. We contrive to keep that up. Most of them would not go back to the Horned Ram for the world."
"Well, where shall you stow them?"
"It is more than I can say, sir. We must manage it somehow."
"Henry told me you were ambitious enough to aspire to the Mormon failure."
"I was foolish enough to do so," replied William, with a laugh. "Seeing it was very much in the condition of the famed picture taken of the good Dr. Primrose and his family—useless—I went and offered a rent for it—only a trifling sum, it is true; but if our fires only kept it from damp, one would think the builder might have been glad to let it, thrown as it is upon his hands. I told him so."
"What did he say?"
"He stood out for thirty pounds. But that's more than I—than we can afford."
"And who was going to find the money? You?"
William hesitated; but did not see any way out of the dilemma.
"Well, sir, you know it is a sad pity for the good work to be stopped, through so insignificant a trifle as want of room."
"I think it is," replied Mr. Ashley. "You can hire it to-morrow, and move your forms and tables and books into it as soon as you like. I will find the rent."
The words took William by surprise. "Oh, Mr. Ashley, do you really mean it?"
"Really mean it? It is little enough, compared with what you are doing. A few years, William, and your name may be great in Helstonleigh. You are working on for it."
William walked with Mr. Ashley as far as his house, and then turned back to his own. He found sorrow there. Not having been home since dinner-time, for he had taken tea at Mr. Ashley's, he was unconscious of some tidings which had been brought by the afternoon's post. Jane sat and grieved while she told him. Her brother Robert was dead. Very rarely indeed did she hear from the New World; Margaret appeared to be too full of cares and domestic bustle to write often. She might not have written now, but to tell of the death of Robert.
"I have lost myself sometimes in a vision of seeing Robert home again," said Jane, with a sigh. "And now he is gone!"
"He was not married, was he?" asked William.
"No. I fear he never got on very well. Never to be at his ease."
Gar came in noisily, and interrupted them. The death of an uncle whom he had never seen, and who had lived thousands of miles away, did not appear to Gar to be a matter calling for any especial amount of grief. Gar was in high spirits on his own account; for Gar was going to Cambridge. Not in all the pomp and pride of an unlimited purse, however, but as a humble sizar.
Gar, not seeing his way very clearly, had been wise enough to pluck up courage and apply for counsel to the head master of the college school. He had told him that he meant to go to college, and how he meant to go, and he asked Mr. Keating if he could help him to a situation, where he might be useful between terms. "A school where I might become a junior assistant," suggested Gar. "Or any family who would take me to read with their sons? If I only earned my food, it would be so much the less weight upon my mother," added he, in the candid spirit peculiar to the family.
"Have you forgotten that you ought to work, yourself, out of terms, nearly as hard as in them?" asked Mr. Keating.
"Oh, no, sir, I have not forgotten it. I will take care to accomplish my own work as well. That should not suffer."
Mr. Keating looked at the cheerful, hopeful face, a sure index of the brave hopeful spirit. He had taken unusual interest in the two Halliburtons, so clever and persevering. It had been impossible for him not to do so; for, if Mr. Keating had a weakness, it was for a good classical scholar.
"I'll see about it, Gar," said he. "But you are rather young to read with students. And I do not suppose any school would be willing to engage you on account of the interruption that keeping your terms would cause. If nothing better turns up, you can remain in the college school-room here, and undertake one of the junior desks. I should give you nothing for it," added the master, "except your meals. Those you would be welcome to take at my house with my private pupils, sleeping at your own home. And I think that, for you, it would be a better arrangement than any other, for it would leave you plenty of time for your own studies, and I could still superintend them."
Gar thought the arrangement would be first-rate. It would be the very thing. "Not that I ever thought of it," he ingenuously said. "I did not know the college school admitted assistants."
"Neither does it," replied the master. "You would be ostensibly my private pupil. And if I choose to set a private pupil to keep the desks to their work, that is my affair."
Gar could only reiterate his thanks.
"I am pleased to give you this little encouragement," remarked Mr. Keating. "When I see boys hopefully plodding on in the teeth of difficulties, of brave heart, of sterling conduct, they deserve all the encouragement that can be given to them. If you and your brothers only go on as you have hitherto gone on, you will stand in after-years as bright examples of what industry and perseverance can achieve."
So that, altogether, Gar was in spirits, and did not by any means put on superfluous mourning for a gentleman who had died in the backwoods of Canada, although he was his mother's brother.
"Mary," said Mr. Ashley, "I have received an offer of marriage for you."
A somewhat abrupt announcement to make to a young lady, and Mr. Ashley spoke in the gravest tone. They were seated round the breakfast table, Mary by her mother's side, who was pouring out the coffee. Mary looked surprised, rather amused; but that was the only emotion discernible in her countenance.
"It is fine to be you, Miss Mary!" struck in Henry, before anyone could speak. "Pray, sir, who is the venturer?"
"He assures me that his happiness is bound up in his offer being accepted," resumed Mr. Ashley. "I fancy he felt inclined to assure me that Mary's was also. Of course, all I can do, is, to lay the proposal before her."
"Whatisit that you are talking about, Thomas?" interposed Mrs. Ashley, unable until then to say a word, and speaking with some irritability. "I do not consider Mary old enough to be married. How can you think of saying such things to her?"
"Neither do I, mamma," said Mary, with a laugh. "I like my home too well to leave it."
"And while you are talking sentiment, my curiosity is on the rack," cried Henry. "I have inquired the name of the bridegroom, and I should like to be answered."
"The would-be bridegroom," put in Mary.
"Mary, I am ashamed of you!" went on Henry. "I blush for your manners. Nice credit she does to your bringing up, mamma! When young ladies of condition receive a celestial offer, they behave with due propriety, hang their heads with a blush, and subdue their voice to a whisper. And here's Mary—look at her!—talking quite loudly and making merry over it. Once more, sir, who is the adventurous gentleman? Is it good old General Wells, our gouty neighbour opposite, who is lifted in and out of his chariot for his daily airing? I have told Mary repeatedly that she was setting her cap at him."
"It is not so advantageous a proposal in a financial point of view," observed Mr. Ashley, maintaining his impassibility. "It proceeds from one of my dependents at the manufactory."
Mary had the sugar-basin in her hand at the moment, and a sudden tremor seemed to seize her. She set it down; but so clumsily, that half the lumps fell out. Her face had turned to a glowing crimson. Mr. Ashley noticed it.
Mrs. Ashley only noticed the sugar. "Mary, how came you to do that? Very careless, my dear."
Mary began meekly to pick up the sugar, the flush giving way to pallor. She lifted her handkerchief to her face and held it there, as if she had a cold.
"The honour comes from Cyril Dare," said Mr. Ashley.
"Cyril Dare!"
"Cyril Dare!"
In different tones of scorn, but each expressing it most fully, the repetition broke from Mrs. Ashley and Henry. Mary, on the contrary, recovered her equanimity and her countenance. She laughed out, as if she were glad.
"What did you say to him, papa?"
"I gave him my opinion only. That I thought he had mistaken my daughter, if he entertained hopes that she would listen to his suit. The question rests with you, Mary."
"Oh papa, what nonsense! rests with me! Why you know I would never have Cyril Dare."
A smile crossed Mr. Ashley's face. He probablyhadknown it.
"Cyril Dare!" repeated Mary, as if unable to overcome her astonishment. "He must have turned silly. I would not have Cyril Dare if he were worth his weight in gold."
"And he must be worth a great deal more than his weight in gold, Mary, before I would consent to your having him," quietly rejoined Mr. Ashley.
"Havehim!" echoed Henry. "If I feared there was a danger of the daughter of all the Ashleys so degrading herself, I should bribe cook to make an arsenic cake, cut the young lady a portion myself, and stand by while she ate it."
"Don't talk foolishly, Henry," rebuked Mrs. Ashley.
"Mamma, I must say I do not think it would be half so foolish as Cyril Dare was," cried Mary, with spirit.
Mrs. Ashley, relieved from any temporary fear of losing Mary, was comfortably going on with her breakfast. "Did Cyril say how he meant to provide for Mary, if he obtained her?" asked she, with an amused look.
"He did not touch upon ways and means. I conclude that he intended I should have the honour of keeping them both."
Henry Ashley leaned back in his chair, and laughed. "If this is not the richest joke I have heard for a long while! Cyril Dare! the kinsman of Herbert the beautiful! Confound his im-pu-dence!"
"Then you decline the honour of the alliance, Mary?" said Mr. Ashley. "What am I to tell him?"
"What you please, papa. Tell him, if you like, that I would rather marry a chimney-sweep. Iwould, if it came to a choice between the two. How very senseless of Cyril to think of such a thing!"
"How very shrewd, I think, Mary—if he could only have got you," was the reply of Mr. Ashley.
"If!" saucily put in Mary.
Henry bent over the table to his sister. "I tell you what, Mary. You go this morning and offer yourself to our gouty friend, the general. He will jump at it, and we'll have the banns put up. We cannot, you know, be subjected to such shocks as these, on your account; it is unreasonable to expect it. I assure you it will be the most effectual plan to set Cyril Dare, and those of his tribe, at rest. No, thank you, ma'am," turning to Mrs. Ashley—"no more coffee. This has been enough breakfast for me."
"Who is this?" asked Mr. Ashley, as footsteps were heard on the gravel-walk.
Mrs. Ashley lifted her eyes. "It is William Halliburton."
"William Halliburton!" echoed Henry. "Ah! if you could have put his heart and intellect into Cyril's form, now, it might have done."
He spoke with that freedom of speech which characterized him, and in which, from his infirmity, he had not been checked. No one made any remark in answer, and William entered. He had come to ask some business question of Mr. Ashley.
"I will walk down with you," said Mr. Ashley, "and see to it. Take a seat, William."
"It is getting late, sir."
"Well, I suppose you can afford to be late for once," replied Mr. Ashley. And William smiled as he sat down.
"We have had a letter from Cambridge, this morning. From Gar."
"And how does Mr. Gar get on?" asked Henry.
"First rate. He takes a leaf out of Frank's book; determined to see no difficulties in his way. Frank's letters are always cheering. I really believe he cares no more for being a servitor than he would for wearing a hat at Christchurch. All his wish is to get on: he looks to the future."
"But he does his duty in the present," quietly remarked Mr. Ashley.
William smiled. "It is the only way to insure the future, sir. Frank and Gar have been learning that all their lives."
Mr. Ashley, telling William not to get the fidgets, for he was not ready yet, withdrew to the next room with his wife. They had some weighty domestic matter to settle, touching a dinner party. Henry linked his arm within William's and drew him to the window, throwing it open to the early spring sunshine. Mary remained at the breakfast table.
"What do you think Cyril Dare, the presuming, has had the conscience to ask?" began he.
"I know," replied William. "I heard him say he should ask it yesterday."
"The deuce you did?" uttered Henry. "And you did not knock him down?"
"Knock him down! Was it any business of mine?"
"You might have done it as my friend, I think. A slight correction of his impudence."
"I do not see that it is your business either," returned William. "It is Mr. Ashley's."
"Oh, indeed! Perhaps you would like it carried out?"
"I have no right to say it shall not be."
"Thank you!" chafed Henry. "Mary," he called out to his sister, "here's Halliburton recommending that that business we know of shall be carried out."
William only laughed. He was accustomed to Henry's exaggerations. "It is what Cyril has been expecting for years," said he.
Henry gazed at him. "What is? What are you talking of?"
"Being taken into partnership by Mr. Ashley."
"Is itthatyou are blundering over? Does he expect it?" continued Henry, after a pause.
"Cyril said, yesterday, the firm would soon be Ashley and Dare."
"Did he indeed! He had better not count upon it so as to disturb his digestion. That's presumption enough, goodness knows; but it is a mere flea-bite compared with the other. He has asked for Mary. It is true as that we are standing here."
William turned his questioning gaze on Henry. He did not understand. "Asked for her for what? What to do?"
"To be his wife."
"Oh!" The strange sound was not a burst of indignation, or a groan of pain: it was a mixture of both. William thrust his head out of the window.
"He actually asked the master for her yesterday!" went on Henry. "He said his heart, or liver, or some such part of him was bound up in her: as she was bound up in him. Fancy the honour of her becoming Mrs. Cyril!"
William did not turn his head: not a glimpse of his face could be caught. "Will she have him?" he asked, at length.
The question exasperated Henry. "Yes, she will. There! Go and congratulate her. You are a fool, William."
The sound of his angry voice, not his words, reached Mary's ears. She came forward. "What is the matter, Henry?"
"So he is a fool," was Henry's answer. "He wants to know if you are going to marry Cyril Dare. I tell him yes. No one but an idiot would have asked it."
William turned, his face full of an emotion that Henry had never seen there: a streak of scarlet on his cheeks, his earnest eyes strangely troubled. And Mary?—her face seemed to have borrowed the same flush, as she stood there, her head and eyelashes bent.
Henry Ashley gazed, first at one, next at the other, and then turned and leaned from the window himself. In contrition for having spoken so openly of his sister's affairs? Not at all. Whistling the bars of a renowned comic song of the day called "The Steam Arm."
Mr. Ashley put in his head. "I am ready, William."
William touched Mary's hand in silence by way of adieu, and halted as he passed Henry. "Shall you come round to the men to-night?"
"No, I shan't," retorted Henry. "I am upset for the day."
He was halfway down the path when he heard himself called by Henry, still leaning from the window. He went back to him.
"She said she'd rather have a chimney-sweep than Cyril Dare. Don't go and make a muff of yourself again."
William turned away without any answer. Mr. Ashley, who had waited, put his arm within his, and they proceeded to the manufactory.
"Have you heard this rumour, respecting Herbert Dare, that has been wafted over from Germany within the last day or two?" inquired Mr. Ashley, as they walked along.
"Yes, sir," replied William.
"I wonder if it is true?"
William did not answer. William's private opinion was, that it was true. It had been tolerably well authenticated. A rumour that need not be very specifically enlarged upon here. Helstonleigh never came to the bottom of it: never knew for certain how much of it was true, and how much false, and we cannot expect to be better favoured than Helstonleigh, in the point of enlightenment. It was not a pleasant rumour, and the late governess's name was unaccountably mixed up in it. For one thing, it said that Herbert Dare, finding commercial pursuits not congenial to his taste, had given them up, and was roaming about Germany. Mademoiselle also. It was a report that did not do credit to Herbert, or tend to reflect respectability on his family; yet Mr. Ashley fully believed that to that report he owed the application of Cyril with regard to Mary, strange as it may appear at a first glance, to say it. The application had astonished Mr. Ashley beyond expression. He could only come to the conclusion that Cyril must have entertained the hope for some time, but had been induced to disclose it prematurely. So prematurely—even allowing that other circumstances favoured it—that Mr. Ashley was tempted to laugh. A man without means, without a home, without any definite prospects, merely a workman, as might be said, in his manufactory, upon a very small salary; it was ridiculous in the extreme forhimto offer marriage to Miss Ashley. Mr. Ashley, of upright conduct in the sight of day, was not one to wink at folly; any escapade such as that, now flying about Helstonleigh as attributed to Herbert, would not be an additional recommendation in Cyril's favour. Had he hastened to speakbeforeit should reach Mr. Ashley's ears? Mr. Ashley thought so. An hour after Cyril had spoken, he heard the scandal; and it flashed over his mind that to that he was indebted for the premature honour. Cyril would have liked to secure his consent before anything unpleasant transpired.
As Mr. Ashley came in view of the manufactory, Cyril Dare observed him. Cyril was lounging in an indolent manner at the entrance doors, exchanging greetings with the various passers-by. He ought to have been inside at his business; but oughts went for little with Cyril. Since Samuel Lynn's departure, Cyril had been living in clover; enjoying as much idleness as he liked. William assumed no authority over him, though full authority had been given to William over the manufactory in general; and Cyril, except when he just happened to be under Mr. Ashley's eye, passed his time agreeably. Cyril stared as he caught sight of the master, and then went in, his spirits going down a little. To see the master thus walking confidentially with William, seemed to argue unfavourably for his suit; though why it should seem so, Cyril did not know. Cyril's staring was occasioned by that fact. He had never been promoted to the honour of thus walking familiarly with Mr. Ashley. In fact, for the master, a reserved and proud man with all his good qualities, to link his arm within a dependant's, astonished Cyril considerably.
When they entered, Cyril was at work in his apron, standing at the counter in the master's room, steady and assiduous, as though he had been there for the last half-hour. The master came in, but William remained in Mr. Lynn's room.
"Good morning, sir," said Cyril.
"Good morning," replied the master.
He sat down to his desk, and opened a letter that was lying on it. Presently he looked up.
"Cyril!"
"Yes, sir."
"Step here."
Cyril approached the desk, feeling what a lady might call nervous. The decisive moment had come: should he be provided for, for life; enjoy a good position and the means of living as a gentleman? Or would his unlucky star prevail, and consign him to—he did not quite foresee to what?
"I have spoken to Miss Ashley. She was excessively surprised at your application, and begs to decline it in the most unequivocal manner. Allow me to add a recommendation from myself, that you bury in oblivion the fact of your having made it."
Cyril hesitated for a moment, and looked foolish. "Why?" he asked.
"Why?" repeated Mr. Ashley. "I think you could answer that query for yourself, and save me the trouble. I do not wish to go too closely into facts and causes, past and present, unless you desire it. One thing you must be aware of, Cyril, that such a proposition from you to my daughter was utterly out of place. I should have rejected it point-blank yesterday; in fact, in the surprise of the moment, I almost spoke out more plainly than you would have liked, but that I thought it as well for you to have Miss Ashley's opinion as well as my own."
"Why am I rejected, sir?" continued Cyril.
Mr. Ashley waved his hand with dignity. "Return to your employment, Cyril. It is quite sufficient for you to know that you are rejected, without my going into motives and reasons. They might not, I say, be palatable to you."
Cyril did not venture to press it further. He returned to the counter, and stood there, ostensibly going on with his work, and boiling over with rage. The master sat some little time longer and then left the room. Soon after, William came in. His eye caught Cyril's employment.
"Cyril," cried he, hastily advancing to him, "you must not make up those gloves. I told you yesterday not to touch them."
A dangerous speech. Cyril was not unlike touchwood at that moment, liable to go off at the slightest contact. "You told me!" he burst forth. "Do you think I am going to do what you choose to tell me? Try it on for the future, that's all.Youtellme!"
"They are the very best gloves, and must be sorted with nicety," returned William. "Don't you know that the sorting of the last parcel was found fault with in London? It vexed the master; and he desired me to do all the sorting myself, until Mr. Lynn should be at home."
"I choose to sort," returned Cyril.
"But you must not sort in the face of the master's orders; or, if you do, I must go over them again."
"That's right; praise up yourself!" foamed Cyril. "Of course you are an efficient sorter, and I am a bad one."
"You might be as good a sorter as any one, if you chose to give it proper time and attention. What a temper you are in this morning! What's the matter?"
"The matter is, that I have submitted to your rule long enough, but I'll do it no longer," was the reply of Cyril, whose anger was gathering strength, and whose ill feeling towards William, deep down in his heart from long ago, had had envy added to it of late.
William made no reply. He carefully swept the dozens that Cyril had made up, farther down the counter, that they might be in a stronger light.
"What's that for?" cried Cyril. "How dare you meddle with my work? They are done as well as you can do them, any day."
"Now, where's the use of flying into this passion, Cyril? What's it for? Do you suppose I go over your work again for pleasure, or to find fault with it? I do it because the master has ordered me to make up every dozen that goes out; and if you do it first of all, it is sheer waste of time. See here," added William, holding two or three pairs towards him, "thesewill not do for firsts."
Angry Cyril! He was quite beside himself with anger. It was not this trifling matter in the daily business that would have excited him; but Mr. Ashley's rejection, his words altogether, had turned Cyril's blood into gall; and this was made the outlet. He dashed the gloves out of William's hand to the farthest corner of the room, and struck him a powerful blow on the chest. It caused William to stagger: he was unprepared for it; but whether he would have returned it must remain uncertain. Before there was time or opportunity, Cyril found himself whirled backwards by a hand as powerful as his own; and a voice of stern authority was demanding the meaning of the scene.
The hand, the voice, were those of the master.
"What is the meaning of this, Cyril Dare?"
Had Cyril supposed that the master was so close at hand, he had subdued his passion to something short of striking a blow. He stood against the counter, his brow lowering, his eye furious; William looked angry too. Mr. Ashley, calm and dignified, waited for an answer.
None came. Cyril was too excited to speak.
"Will you explain it?" said the master, turning to William. "Fighting in my counting-house!"
"I cannot, sir," replied William, recovering his equanimity. "I do not understand it. I did nothing to provoke him, that I am aware of. It is true I said I must go over the gloves again that he had made up."
"What are those gloves flung there?"
"I was showing them to him—that they were not fit for firsts."
"They are fit for firsts!" retorted Cyril, breaking his silence. "I know I did put a pair in that was not up to the mark."
The master went and picked up the gloves himself. Taking them to the light, he turned them about in his hands.
"I should put two of these pairs as seconds, and one as thirds," remarked he. "You must have been asleep when you put this one among the firsts," he continued, indicating the latter pair, and speaking to Cyril Dare. "It has a flaw in it."
"Of course you will uphold Halliburton, sir, whatever he may say. That has been the case for a long time past."
He spoke in an insolent tone; such as none within the walls of that manufactory had ever dared to use to the master. The master turned upon him, speaking quietly and significantly.
"You forget yourself, Cyril Dare."
"All he does is right, and all I do is wrong," persisted Cyril. "You treat him, sir, just as though you considered him the gentleman, instead of me."
A half-smile, which had too much mockery in it to please Cyril, crossed the lips of Mr. Ashley. "What's that you say about being a gentleman, Cyril? Repeat it, will you? I should like to hear it again."
Mockery and double mockery! Cyril's suggestive ears detected it in the tone, if no other ears could do so. It did not improve his temper. "The thing is this, sir: I won't submit to this state of affairs any longer. I was not placed here to be ruled over by him; and if things can't be put upon a better footing, one of us must leave."
"Then, as it has come to this explosion, I say the same," struck in William. "It is high time that things were put upon a better footing. Cyril, you have forced me to speak, and you must take the consequences. Sir," turning to the master, "my authority over the men is ridiculed in their hearing. It ought not to be so."
"By whom?" demanded the master.
"You can ask that question of Cyril, sir."
The master did ask it of Cyril. "Have you done this?"
"Possibly I have," innocently returned Cyril.
"You know you have," rejoined William.
"Only yesterday, when I was giving directions to the stainers, he derided all I said, and one of them inquired whether I had received orders for what I was telling them. If the authority vested in me is to be undermined, the men will soon set it at naught."
Mr. Ashley looked provoked; more so than William ever remembered to have seen him. He paused a moment, his lips quivering angrily, and then flung open the counting-house door.
"Dick!"
Dick, a young tinker of ten, black in clothes and in skin, came flying at the summons and its unusually stern tone. "Please, sir?"
"Ring the large bell."
Dick stared with all his eyes at hearing the words. To ring the large bell between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning was a marvel that had never happened in Dick's experience. But the master's orders were to be obeyed, not questioned; and Dick, rang out a prolonged peal. The master looked into the serving-room.
"James Meeking, I have ordered the bell rung for the men. Pass the word for them to come into my room; and do you and East come with them."
The men appeared, flocking from all parts of the premises, their astonishment certainly not inferior to Dick's. What could be the meaning of the wholesale summoning to the presence of the master? They stood there crowding, a sea of curious faces. Dick, consigned to the background, climbed up the door-post, and held on by it in a mysterious manner.
Mr. Ashley drew William to his side, and laid his hand upon him.
"It has been told to me that the authority vested in Mr. Halliburton has not been implicitly obeyed by every one in the manufactory. I have called you before me to give you my instructions personally upon the point, that there may be no misunderstanding in the future. Whatever directions he may see well to give, you will receive them from him, as you would from myself. I invest him with full and complete power. And in all my absences from the manufactory, whether they may be of an hour's, a day's, or any longer duration, Mr. Halliburton is its master."
They touched their hair, turned and went out as far as the serving-room, collecting there to talk. In a short time, one of them was seen coming back again; a grey-haired man, a sorter of leather. He addressed himself to Mr. Ashley.
"We have not disputed his orders, please, sir, that we can call to mind; and if we have done it unintentional, we'd ask pardon for it, for it's what we never thought to do. Next to yourself, sir, we couldn't wish for a better master than young Mr. Halliburton. We think as much of him, sir, as we should if he was your own son."
"All right, my men," cheerfully responded Thomas Ashley.
But was not Cyril put in the background by this? As badly as Dick had been; and Cyril had no door-post to climb, and so obtain vantage ground. He had stood with his back to the crowd and his face to the counter. When the men were out of hearing, he turned and walked up to the master.
"It is the place I thought to fill," said he. "It is the place that was promised me."
"Not promised," replied Mr. Ashley. "Not thought to be promised. A very long time ago, you may have been spoken of conditionally, as likely to fill it. Conditionally, I say."
"Conditionally on what, sir?"
"On your fitness for it. By conduct and by capability."
"What is the matter with my conduct, sir?" returned Cyril, his tone a sharp one.
"It is bad," curtly replied Mr. Ashley. "Deceitful in public; bad in private. I have told you once before this morning, that I do not care to go into details; you must know that there is no necessity for my doing so."
Cyril paused. "I have been led to expect, sir, that you would take me into partnership."
"Not by me," said the master.
"My father and mother had given me the hope ever since I came here."
"I cannot help that. They had no authority for it from me."
"They have always said I should be made your partner and son-in-law," persisted Cyril.
"They have! It is very obliging of them, I am sure, to settle my affairs for me, even to the disposal of my daughter! Pray what nice little destiny may they have carved out for Mrs. Ashley or for my son?"
Cyril chafed at the words. He would have liked, just then, to strike Mr. Ashley, as he had struck William. "Would I ever have demeaned myself to enter a glove manufactory, disgracing my family, had I known I was to be only a workman in it?" he cried. "No, sir, that I never would. I am rightly served, for putting myself out of my position as a gentleman."
Mr. Ashley, but for the pity he felt, could have laughed outright. He really did feel pity for Cyril. He believed that the unhappy way in which the young Dares were turning out might be laid to the fault of their rearing, and this had rendered him considerate to Cyril.Howconsiderate he had for a long while been, he himself alone knew: Cyril perhaps suspected.
"It is a shame!" cried Cyril. "To be dealt with in this way is nothing less than a fraud upon me. I was led to expect that I should be made your partner."
"Wait a bit, Cyril. I am willing to put you right upon the point. The proposal, that you should be placed here, emanated in the first instance from your father. He came to me one day, here, in this very room, saying that he concluded I should not put Henry to business, and thought it would be a fine opening for his son Cyril. He hinted that I should want some one to succeed me; and that you might come to it with that view. But I most distinctly disclaimed endorsing that hint in the remotest degree. I would not subscribe to it so much as by a vague 'Perhaps it may be so.' All that I conceded upon the point was this. I told Mr. Dare that when the time came for me to be looking out for some one to succeed me—if it ever did come—and I found his son—you—had served me faithfully, was upright in conduct and in heart—one, in short, whom I could thoroughly confide in—why, then he should have the preference over any other. So much I did say, Cyril, but no more."
"And why won't you give me the preference, sir?"
Mr. Ashley looked at him, apparently in surprise that he could ask the question. He bent his head forward, and spoke in a low tone, but one full of meaning.
"Upright in conduct and in heart, I said, Cyril. It was an absolute condition."
Cyril's gaze fell before Mr. Ashley's. His conscience may have pricked him, and he had the grace to look ashamed of himself. There ensued a pause.
Presently Cyril looked up. "Then I am to understand, sir, that all hope of being your partner and successor is over?"
"It is. It has been over this many a year, Cyril. I should do wrong to deal otherwise than perfectly plainly with you. Were you to reform anything there may have been amiss in your conduct, to become a model of excellence in the sight of Helstonleigh, I could never admit your name to be associated with mine. The very notion is offensive to me."
Cyril—it was a great wonder—restrained his passion. "Perhaps I had better leave, then?" he said.
"You are welcome to stay until you can find a situation more agreeable to you," replied Mr. Ashley. "Provided you undertake to behave yourself."
"Stay! and for nothing in the end!" echoed Cyril. "No, that I never will! If I must remain a dependant, I'll try it on at something else. I am sick of this."
He untied his apron, dashed it on to the floor, and went out without another word. So furiously did he stamp through the serving-room, that James Meeking turned round to look at him, and Dick, taking a recreative balance at that moment on the edge of an upright coal-scuttle, thought he must be running for the fire-engines. Dick's speculations were disturbed by the sound of the master's voice, calling to him.
He hastened to the counting-house, and was ordered to "take that apron away." Dick picked it up and withdrew with it, folding it carefully against Mr. Cyril should come in. Dick little thought the manufactory had seen the last of him.
Mr. Ashley was indulging in a quiet laugh. "Demeaning himself by entering my manufactory! Disgracing his family—the high blood of the Dares! Poor Cyril! William, do you look at it in the same light?"
William had remained in the room, taking no part whatever in the final contest. He had stood with his back to them, following his occupation. He turned round now.
"Sir, you know I do not."
"You once told me it presented no field for getting on. What was the word you used?—was it ambition? Truly, there's not much ambition attached to it. Nevertheless, I am satisfied with my career, William, although I am only the glove manufacturer, Thomas Ashley."
Hesatisfied! How many a one would be proud to be in the position of Thomas Ashley! William did not say so. He began to speak of Cyril Dare.
"Do you think he will come back again, sir?"
"I do not think he will. Should he do so, the doors are closed to him. He has left of his own accord, and I shall not allow him to return."
"I am very sorry," remarked William. "It has been partly my fault."
"Do not make yourself uneasy. I havetoleratedCyril Dare here; have allowed him to remain on sufferance: and that is the best that can be said of it."
"He may feel it as a blow."
"As a jubilee, you mean. It will be nothing less to him. He has hated the manufactory with all his heart from the moment he first entered it, and is now, if we could see him, kicking up his heels with delight at the emancipation. Cyril Dare my partner!"
William continued his work, saying nothing. Mr. Ashley resumed:
"I must be casting my thoughts around for a fitting substitute to succeed to the post of ambition Cyril coveted. Can you direct me to any quarter, William?"
Mr. Ashley was now standing at William's side, looking at him as he went over the gloves left by Cyril. He saw the red flush mount to his face. Mr. Ashley laid his hand on William's shoulder, and spoke in low tones, full of emotion.
"It may come, my boy; my almost son! And when Thomas Ashley's head shall be low in the grave, the leading manufacturer of this city may be William Halliburton."
A loud rapping at the door with a thick stick interrupted the master's words. He turned to behold Mr. Dare. It appeared that Cyril had by chance met his father in the street almost immediately after going out; he had volunteered to him a most exaggerated account, and Mr. Dare had come, as he said, to learn the rights of it.
William left the room. He could not avoid remarking the bowed, broken appearance of the man. Mr. Ashley related the particulars, and the listener was obliged to acknowledge that Cyril had been to blame—had been too hasty.
"I confess it appears so," he said. "He must have been led away by temper. But, Mr. Ashley, you ought to stretch a point, and make a concession. We are kinsmen."
"What concession?"
"Discharge William Halliburton. Things can never go on smoothly between him and Cyril. Stretch a point to oblige us, and send him away."
"Discharge William Halliburton!" echoed Mr. Ashley in surprise. "I could as soon discharge myself. William is the right hand of the business. It could go on without me, but I am not sure that it could do so without him."
"Cyril can take his place."
"Cyril is not qualified for it. And——"
"Cyril declares he will never enter the place again, so long as Halliburton is in it."
"Cyril never will enter it again," quietly rejoined Mr. Ashley. "Cyril and I have parted. I will give you his wages for this week, now that you are here; legally, though, he could not claim them."
Mr. Dare looked sad—gloomy. It was only what he had expected for some time past. "You promised to do well by him, Mr. Ashley; to take him into partnership."
"You must surely remember that I promised nothing of the sort," said Mr. Ashley. "I have been telling the same thing to Cyril. All I said—and a shrewd, business man, as you are, could not fail thoroughly to understand me," he pointedly added—"was, that I would choose Cyril in preference to others, provided he proved himself worthy of the preference. Circumstances appear to have worked entirely against carrying out that idea, Mr. Dare."
"What circumstances?"
Mr. Ashley did not immediately reply, and the question was repeated in a hasty, almost an imperative tone. Then Mr. Ashley answered it.
"I do not wish to say a word that should unnecessarily hurt your feelings; but in a matter of business I believe there is no resource but to speak plainly. The unfortunate notoriety acquired, in one way or other, by your sons, has rendered the name of Dare so conspicuous, that, were there no other reason, it could never be associated with mine."
"Conspicuous? How?" interposed Mr. Dare.
Mr. Ashley would not have believed the words were uttered as a question, but that the answer was evidently waited for. "You askhow," he said. "Surely I need not remind you. The scandal which, in more ways than one, attached to Anthony—though I am sorry to allude to him, poor fellow, in any such way; the circumstances attending the trial of Herbert; the——"
"Herbert was innocent," interrupted Mr. Dare.
"Innocent of the murder, no doubt; as innocent as you or I. But people made free with his name in other ways; had often made free with it. And look at this last report, wafted over to us from Germany, that is just now astonishing the city!"
"Hang him for a simpleton!" burst forth Mr. Dare.
"It is all so much discredit to the name—to the family altogether," concluded Mr. Ashley, as if his sentence had not been interrupted.
"The faults of his brothers ought to be no good reason for your rejecting Cyril."
"They are not my reason for rejecting him," quietly returned Mr. Ashley.
"No? You have just said they were."
"I said the notoriety given by your sons to the name of Dare would bar its association with mine. In saying 'your sons,' I included Cyril himself.Heinterposes the greatest barrier of all. Were the rest of them of good report in the sight of day, Cyril is not so."
"What's the matter with him?" asked Mr. Dare.
"I do not care to tell you. A great deal of it you must know."
"Go on," cried Anthony Dare, who was leaning forward in his chair, his chin resting on his stick, as one who sets himself calmly to hear the whole.
"Cyril's private conduct is bad. He——"
"Follies of youth only," cried old Anthony. "He will outlive them."
"Youth's follies sometimes end in manhood's crimes," was the reply. "I am thankful that my son is free from them."
"Your son!" returned Anthony Dare, coughing down his slighting tone. "Your son is one apart. He has not the health to be knocking about. If young men are worth anything, they are sure to be a bit wild."
A frown passed over the master's brow. "You are mistaken, Mr. Dare. Young men who are worth anything keep themselves from such folly. Opinions have taken a turn. Society is becoming more sensible of the world's increased enlightenment; and ill conduct, although its pursuer may be a fashionable young man, is beginning to be called by its right name. Would you believe that Cyril has, more than once, come here—I hesitate to say the word, it is so ugly a one—drunk? Drunk, Mr. Dare!"
"No!"
"He has."
"Then he must have been a fool for his pains," was the angry retort of old Anthony.
"He is untruthful; he is idle; he is deceitful—but I do not, I say, care to go into this. Were you cognizant of the application Cyril made to me yesterday, respecting my daughter?"
"I don't know of any application."
"He did me the honour to make her an offer of marriage."
Old Anthony lifted his head sharply, not speaking. The master continued:
"He said yesterday that he was acting by your advice. He repeated to-day, that you and Mrs. Dare had led him to look to Mary."
"Well?" returned Mr. Dare. "But I did not know he had spoken."
"How could you—excuse me, I again say, if I am to speak plainly—how could you ever have entertained so wild an idea?"
"Perhaps you would like to call it a presumptuous one?" chafed Mr. Dare.
"I do call it so," returned Mr. Ashley. "It can be regarded as nothing less; any impartial person would tell you so. I put out of the discussion altogether the want of means on the part of Cyril; I speak of its suitability. That Cyril should have aspired to an alliance with Mary Ashley was presumption in the highest degree. It has displeased me very much, and Henry looks upon it in the light of an insult."
"Who's Henry?" scornfully returned Mr. Dare. "A dreamy hypochondriac! Pray is Cyril not as well born as Mary Ashley?"
"Has he been as well reared? Is he proving that he has been? A man's conduct is of far more importance than his birth."
"It would seem that you care little about birth, or rearing either, or you would not exalt Halliburton to a level with yourself."
The master fixed his expressive eyes on Anthony Dare. "Halliburton's birth is, at any rate, as good as your family's and mine. His father's mother and your wife's father were brother and sister."
Old Anthony looked taken by surprise. "I don't know anything about it," said he, somewhat roughly. "I know a little of how he has been bred, he and his brothers."
"So do I," said Mr. Ashley. "I wish a few more in the world had been bred in the same way."
"Why! they have been bred to work!" exclaimed old Anthony, in astonishment. "They have not been bred as gentlemen. They have not had enough to eat."
The concluding sentence elicited an involuntary laugh from the master. "At any rate, the want does not appear to have stinted their growth, or injured them in a physical point of view," he rejoined, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. "They are fine-grown men; and, Mr. Dare, they aregentlemen, whether they have been bred as such or not. Gentlemen in looks, in manners, and in mind and heart."
"I don't care what they are," again repeated old Anthony. "I did not come here to talk about them, but about Cyril. Your exalting Halliburton into the general favour that ought legitimately to have been Cyril's is a piece of injustice. Cyril says you have this morning announced publicly that Halliburton is master, under you. It is flagrant injustice."
"No man living has ever had cause to tax me with injustice," impressively answered Thomas Ashley. "I have been far more just to Cyril than he deserves. Stay: 'just' is a wrong word. I have been far morelenientto him. Shall I tell you that I have kept him on here out of compassion, in the hope that the considerate way in which I treated him might be an inducement to him to turn over a new leaf, and discard his faults? I would not turn him away to be a town's talk. Deep down within the archives of my memory, my own sole knowledge, I buried the great fault of which he was guilty here. He was young; and I would not take from him his fair fame on the very threshold of his commercial life."
"Great fault?" hesitated Mr. Dare, looking half frightened.
Thomas Ashley inclined his head, and lowered his voice to a deeper whisper.
"When he robbed my desk of the cheque, I fancy your own suspicions of him were to the full as much awakened as mine."
There was no reply, unless a groan from Anthony Dare could be called one. His hands, supporting his chin, rested on his stick still. Mr. Ashley resumed:
"I became convinced, though not in the first blush of the affair that the transgressor was no other than Cyril; and I deliberated what my course should be. Natural impulse would have led me to turn him away, if not to prosecute. The latter would scarcely have been palatable towards one of my wife's kindred. What was I to do with him? Turn him adrift without a character? and a character that would get him any other situation of confidence, I could not give him. I resolved to keep him on. For his own sake I would give him a chance of redeeming what he may have done in a moment's thoughtless temptation. I spoke to him privately. I did not tell him in so many words that I knew him to be guilty; but he could not well misunderstand that my suspicions were awakened. I told him his conduct had not been good—not such that I could approve; but that I was willing, for his own sake, to bury the past in silence, and retain him, as a last chance. I very distinctly warned him what would be the consequences of the smallest repetition of his fault: that no consideration for myself or for him would induce me to look over it a second time. Thus he stayed on: I, continually giving an eye to his conduct, and taking due precautions for the protection of my property, and keeping fast my keys. James Meeking received my orders that Mr. Cyril should never be called upon to help pay the men, or to count the packets of halfpence; and when the man looked wonderingly at me in return, I casually added that there was no necessity to put Mr. Cyril to an employment he particularly disliked, while he could call upon East to help him, or in case of need, upon Mr. Halliburton. Never think again, Mr. Dare, that I have been unjust to your son. If I have erred at all, it has been on the side of kindness."
There was a long pause. Anthony Dare probably was feeling the kindness, in spite of himself.
"What have you had to complain of in him since?" he asked.
"Not of any more robbery: but of his general conduct a great deal. He is deceitful: he has appeared here in the state I have hinted to you; he is incorrigibly idle. He probably fancies, because I do not take a very active part in the management of my business and my workpeople, that I sit here with my eyes shut, seeing little and knowing less of what goes on around me. He is essentially mistaken: I am cognizant of all; as much so, or nearly as much so, as Samuel Lynn would be, were he at his post again. Look at his sorting of gloves, for instance—the very thing about which the disturbance occurred just now. Cyrilcansort if he pleases; he is as capable of sorting them properly as I should be; perhaps more so: but he does not do it; and every dozen he attempts to make up has to be done over again. In point of fact, he has been of no real use here; for nothing that he attempts to do will he do well. A fitting hand to fill the post of manager! Taking all these facts into consideration," added the master, "you will not be surprised that an offer of marriage from Cyril Dare to my daughter bears an appearance little removed from insult."