"I am not sure, ma'am. Not so bad as was first thought," Slade answered dubiously. "I believe Mr. Dalrymple was very faint, and there's two ribs broken. But he's not, so to speak, in danger, and John's afraid as Mrs. Dalrymple is the worst. You see my mistress kept up, ma'am, and wouldn't give in, and nobody suspected it till, all of a sudden, she was took bad. She was so bad, Mrs. Ogilvie couldn't leave her to write to you, and John's brought a message asking if you could please go?"
"Yes, of course. I must go at once. Call John, if you please. I should like to speak to him. John does not know what is wrong with Mrs. Dalrymple, I suppose?"
"He does not precisely, ma'am." Slade's formal voice was lowered. "He believes it to be something internal—from what Mrs. Ogilvie said— but the doctor was in hopes."
"Poor dear Julia!" and Mrs. Trevor's eyes were filled with genuine tears. "Is John outside?"
She followed Slade to the door in her impatience. John appeared quickly, and he made some material additions to Slade's abstract. He described the accident more fully, with evident appreciation of his young mistress's courage, and he showed some natural gratification over his own foresight in having secured by the way three able-bodied men to go on with him to a possible scene of disaster.
Mr. Dalrymple had looked "terrible bad," John said, on their first arrival, and Mrs. Dalrymple, seated on Prince's head, not much better. Mrs. Dalrymple had, however, declared herself unhurt and all attention had been directed to Mr. Dalrymple and the horses. Emperor was found to be dying, nearly dead, and Prince also a good deal injured. Mr. Dalrymple appeared to suffer much from being moved, and having to be carried more than two miles on a hastily-improvised stretcher. One of the men stayed behind in charge of the horses, two of them carried Harvey, while his wife walked by his side, and John hastened on to give warning at the cottage of their approach. He was in hopes of bringing the pony-carriage to meet Mrs. Dalrymple, but Captain Woodthorpe had gone off for a drive, happily leaving Mrs. Ogilvie at home. She immediately despatched the gardener in quest of medical aid, and prepared for her visitors.
Ill as Mr. Dalrymple looked when he arrived, there could be no question that his wife looked much the worst of the two. Everybody had been startled by her appearance.
"The colour of a table-cloth, ma'am—only a sort of yaller too," John graphically explained. Yet she had kept up, resolutely refusing to be cared for, and bent upon doing everything for her husband. This lasted until the doctor came. An examination of Mr. Dalrymple resulted in the cheerful verdict, "Two ribs broken, but no danger!" and then in a moment, almost without warning, Julia failed. John could not tell particulars here. He only knew that Mr. and Mrs. Dalrymple were in different rooms, that Mrs. Ogilvie could not leave Mrs. Dalrymple, and that the doctor counted her state serious.
"Those horrible horses!" Mrs. Trevor reiterated, as a kind of vent for her own distress. "I always did think something dreadful would happen some day!" Then she inquired how she was to get to the cottage, shivered at the notion of the Captain's pony-carriage which had brought John, decided to put up at once small bag of requisites, and asked where was Miss Rivers.
Slade believed that Miss Rivers had not returned from the village.
"As usual!" murmured Mrs. Trevor. "And what am I to do about the child?"
She was assured that Mittie would be all right. Milton appeared on the scene, promising to take Miss Mittie under her own wing. Also Miss Rivers would see to everything.
"I hope to goodness she will!" sighed Mrs. Trevor, hastening towards the stairs. "Oh, what a thing it is!"
Before leaving, she loaded Mittie with injunctions how to behave, and how not to behave, the leading idea throughout being that she was "not to bother" Hermione. Mittie listened with a scared face.
"No, mother. I won't bother cousin Hermione. I'll go to Marjory for everything."
"Nonsense, child. I don't mean that, of course. Nothing would offend Hermione more. But just keep out of her way as much as you can."
"Yes, mother. Must I keep out of everybody's way?" asked Mittie, in a forlorn tone.
"Oh, if you are dull you can run and talk to Milton. I don't expect to be away long."
"Will you come home to-morrow?" Mittie inquired.
"I don't know. It must depend on how your aunt is."
"John says Aunt Julia is so dreadful bad. He says perhaps she'll die." Mittie's eyes were full of tears.
"John had no business to say anything of the sort to you. He is a foolish fellow. You are not to listen to him, Mittie, or to talk to the servants—except Milton and Slade. I don't believe Aunt Julia is nearly so bad as John makes out. Mind you are a good child, and go to bed early, and don't be dull. It won't last long." Mittie held up her face for a kiss, trying to smile. She kept fairly bright until the pony-chaise drove off, carrying her mother and John. Then Mittie's self-command came to an end. She rushed away to a corner of her mother's room, and sobbed out her little heart in a flood of lonely tears.
But Hermione was not in the village, as Slade supposed.
She had gone that afternoon for a walk alone, towards the big house and grounds, nearly two miles distant, where dwelt the Dalton family, Mr. and Mrs. Dalton, and their one daughter, Anna.
She had not once seen the Daltons since that memorable afternoon when Harvey had just returned from abroad, and the three had dropped in for a long call. The Daltons were wealthy people. Mr. Dalton had made a large fortune in business, and had therewith purchased the property lying next to Westford, no long time back.
Hermione did not care much for these Daltons. She knew that her grandfather had not liked them, and she knew also that Harvey was by no means anxious for a closer acquaintance. There was a tinge of commonness about their speech and their manners which grated on her, so she could well understand Harvey's feeling; and they had few redeeming qualities. Mr. Dalton was counted a hard landlord; Mrs. Dalton was said to give herself airs; and Miss Dalton, though a good woman, was an universally-acknowledged bore in society. Hermione, however polite she might be to them in their presence, had fully concurred in these criticisms.
It was not in the least necessary that she should undertake a four miles' walk for the express purpose of a call on the Daltons. They had left their cards, it was true, one day lately, when she was out, but they would not expect to see her for a good while. Her sad loss was still very recent, and during the life of Mr. Dalrymple calls between Hermione and the Daltons had been carefully rendered few and far between by his particular wish. There was no reason now for a change, and six weeks later would have been soon enough.
Yet Hermione went, regardless of mud, saying nothing to anybody.
If she had mentioned her intention, Harvey would at once have proposed driving round thither, that she and Julia might call together. Hermione felt no doubt about this. However little Harvey might care for the acquaintance, he was irreproachable in his gentlemanly kindness to her where such matters were concerned. And she did not wish to go with Julia. She was bent upon paying the call alone.
For the East Bourne question remained still open. Mr. Fitzalan had not changed his mind; had not, as Hermione expected, offered after all to take her in. She was very much hurt at what, in her heart, she called "his unkindness;" so much so that for three whole days she had not been to the Rectory at all.
June was passing, and, unless she meant to accompany the others, something had to be arranged. Hermione was resolved against East Bourne. She had said she would not go, and go she would not. The mere fact of having once declared her will—even in a fit of passion—was enough to make Hermione stick to her own declaration. The question of right and wrong was subordinate to the question of having her own way—of not being "beaten" by Mrs. Trevor.
Hermione did not see in herself the contemptibleness of this small obstinacy—as she would have seen it in another.
She was seriously perplexed what to do. She had many acquaintances, but not many real friends. Her aim had been, unconsciously, rather to attract admiration than to win love; and the admiration had been hers, but not always the love. Mr. Dalrymple had encouraged real intimacy with very few families in the neighbourhood, and among these Hermione could think of no one who, from one reason or another, would be just then able to receive her.
The thought of the Daltons came up. As already said, Hermione cared little for them. They did not suit her, and she knew they had not suited her grandfather.
But she was bent upon some plan whereby the East Bourne trip might be escaped. Anything rather than to have to give in. Hermione felt little doubt of her own power to bring about an invitation to Dalton House, if she so willed. The Daltons would be only too delighted to push their acquaintance with the Dalrymples. As for what Harvey might think—
"I cannot help that; I must act for myself!" Hermione said, as she set off upon her lonely walk.
HERMIONE was shown into a lavishly-decorated drawing-room, which might have been taken as a very symbol of City wealth set-down in a country corner. She did not like the style of the thing, for her tastes had been educated in chaste lines, and the superabundance of money-outlay, witnessed to by every inch of the room, went against the grain with her. Even where beauty existed, it was spoilt by ostentation.
The three Daltons, father, mother, and daughter, appeared in quick succession, each more or less flurried, and all disposed to welcome her with empressement. Mr. Dalton was stout and plain, Mrs. Dalton plump and comely, Miss Dalton thin and excitable. They were charmed to see Miss Rivers, but amazed to hear that she had come on foot. What a pity that she had not driven! In her dear grandfather's time—but of course things were different now! Everybody was talking of it. But Miss Rivers would sit quiet and rest, and have a cup of tea presently; and by-and-by they would drive her home themselves—delighted to do so! No trouble at all to have the carriage out, but quite a pleasure—and all those lazy horses in the stables wanted exercise. Positively Mr. Dalton did not know how to give them enough.
"I assure you I prefer the walk," Hermione said somewhat distantly. For although she had come to seek a favour, she did not wish to have favours thrust upon her unsought; and it was too much to have these people supposing that she had walked because she might not drive if she chose. The slight figure straightened itself, and the fair cheek flushed a little.
"Well, we will see—we will see!" Mrs. Dalton responded, nodding her head. "Yes, you are a good walker, no doubt, my dear, but it begins to get dusk early, you know, and you are much too young and pretty to walk home alone after dusk. Is she not, Anna? Much too young and pretty. And we see you so seldom, you are not going to hurry away now you have come at last."
Hermione again could have resented the patronage of that "my dear," but taking offence at such trifles was hardly compatible with the aim of her call. So she restrained herself.
It had not been her intention to remain long,—certainly not longer than was needed for the object in hand. But that object seemed for a while to elude her grasp. Every conceivable subject came under discussion except the one which she wished to bring forward. She did not wish the bringing forward to be too obvious an action on her own part. She wanted it to come up naturally, and this it refused to do.
Mrs. Dalton and her daughter were people who liked to air their ideas before a good listener, and Hermione was a very good listener, for whether interested or no she always looked interested. Mr. Dalton had a way of appealing deferentially to ladies for their opinions on vexed questions; and as he usually made their notions the text for a supplementary address by himself, the process consumed a good deal of time.
"I really must leave," Hermione said at length, seizing on a minute break, and she sighed, but did not rise. "There is so much to be done, in preparation for leaving home next week!" Hermione sighed again.
"Are you really going away? But, as I was telling you, Miss Rivers, the article which my husband read to me—"
"Yes, we are leaving. It is a trial to me, of course," Hermione said, with her gentle air of sadness, ignoring the elder lady's desire to discuss the last Quarterly. "My cousins have decided to spend a few weeks at East Bourne. But—"
"How delightful!" exclaimed Miss Dalton. "The very queen of watering-places, as—Who was it that said so, mother?"
"But I—" persisted Hermione.
"Yes, indeed, a most charming place," added Mrs. Dalton, dropping the Quarterly to pick up East Bourne. "A few breezes on Beachy Head will soon bring a little more colour to these pale cheeks, my dear Miss Rivers."
"But I do not—"
"And just the right time of year," said Miss Dalton. "Of course, the season is in August. But our friend Lady Maria always says— you remember, mother—she always says the very best time in East Bourne is through the autumn, when the height of the season is over. That is the season she prefers. So Miss Rivers is particularly fortunate to be going just now. Lady Maria says it is often delightful there quite on into November, and even December."
"But I am not sure—"
Hermione's pale cheeks were gaining a good deal of colour already, with the impossibility of making herself heard. She grew so vexed that tears actually rose to her eyes.
"Yes, yes, to be sure, a most enjoyable spot for young folks," Mr. Dalton broke in.
"If I were in spirits for it," Hermione murmured. She did not in the least realise that there was anything untrue, anything of acting in this. The words came naturally at the moment, and she believed that she felt what she said. Hermione was not, strictly speaking, in spirits to enjoy the proposed change. But her low spirits came mainly from a different cause than that which she wished to be understood.
The words were heard at last, and Hermione's three companions, suddenly silenced, noted the tears filling her eyes. Glances of meaning were exchanged.
"Yes, yes, to be sure," assented Mrs. Dalton. "To be sure, my dear; we were forgetting—"
"A gay sea-side place—after what I have gone through so lately," Hermione almost whispered. "My cousins' wish—but—"
"So very thoughtless of Mrs. Dalrymple," Miss Dalton asserted, falling in promptly with the little note of implied blame. "Young brides never do think of anybody except themselves. But after all, must you go at all? Why not stay quietly in Westford? It really is very soon to have to turn out, and be among a lot of strangers. Why not just stop behind?"
"I did think of that—but—the house is to be closed and left in charge of servants," Hermione faltered. "And the friends with whom I hoped to stay are—unfortunately—cannot have me just then."
Was this absolute truth Hermione's conscience gave her a sharp twinge. But the others suspected nothing. She spoke so quietly and simply, with no appearance of expecting anything from them. A little sigh came once more, and then she added—
"But it cannot be helped. One must make the best of things. Only, of course, it is a change."
Hermione had won her will at last. Three sentences broke in quick succession from her sympathising hearers.
"Mother, don't you think you could persuade Miss Rivers—?"
"My dear, it's plain enough what you've got to do! You just come and stay here while your cousins are away!"
"Yes, yes; that's it, Miss Rivers. You make our house your home. Let other folks go their own way. We'll take you in, and count it an honour; and you shall be as quiet as you like—not see a single person, if you don't feel yourself disposed."
"Thank you!" Hermione answered faintly, glancing from one to another, "But, indeed—"
A sudden doubt swept through her mind. Would this plan be really better than the other? Apart from Mrs. Trevor, might not East Bourne be the pleasanter alternative?
Only it could not be apart from Mrs. Trevor. If she went to East Bourne, Mrs. Trevor would have triumphed. That decided Hermione.
"Oh, we won't hear any 'but'! You must come, you positively must," Mrs. Dalton was declaring. "Just to be at home, my dear, for as long as you like, and to do exactly whatever you choose."
It was very kind. Hermione could not but be sensible of the kindness, even while she shrank from the thought of the companionship. There seemed, however, to be no other alternative. It had come to East Bourne or the Daltons! And since the former meant the yielding of her own will, and the chance of a triumphant glance from Mrs. Trevor, Hermione chose the latter.
In ten minutes all was settled, but Hermione could not get away then. Mrs. Dalton refused to listen to any suggestion about departure. Hermione was to stay till five o'clock tea; and then she had to see this, to hear that, to discuss the other, until it was too late for her to think of walking home alone. The sense of obligation put her doubly into their power, and there was not among the Daltons that delicacy of feeling which would have made them fall in at once with her evident wish to leave.
The afternoon at last was gone, and Hermione found herself driving homeward in the Daltons' carriage, with Miss Dalton by her side. Miss Dalton talked ceaselessly, and Hermione listened, putting in a word now and then. Not many such words were requisite. A Dalton could always flow on indefinitely, with small exterior help, and Mr. Dalton alone of the three ever appealed to others for their opinions.
Poor Hermione! It was not interesting talk. She was getting very tired of it already, after only two or three hours of intercourse. How would she feel after weeks of intercourse?
But she had taken her deliberate choice.
When Hermione came in at the front door, Mittie met her, with scared look and tear-swollen eyes.
"O cousin Hermione! have you heard?"
Hermione had found the front door on the latch—unwontedly late—and had entered without ringing, after an effusive farewell from Miss Dalton. The effusiveness vexed Hermione, though she did her best to conceal vexation and to respond only with a gentle dignity. "For of course it is most kind of them," Hermione thought— "most kind, and I am really grateful. But I do not intend to be drawn into an intimacy. I see no need for that. We shall continue on pleasant terms—nothing beyond."
After which her glance fell upon Mittie's troubled face, and the hall-sobbing question reached her— "O cousin Hermione, have you heard?"
"Heard what?"
"About—about Aunt Julia and Uncle Harvey?"
"I don't understand. What have they done?"
"The horses ran away, and the carriage is all smashed, and—and—poor Emperor is dead," sobbed Mittie. "And mother has gone off to Aunt Julia. And Marjory came here, and stayed with me ever so long—she did, cousin Hermione—and you were so dreadfully late, she couldn't wait any longer. And Aunt Julia is very bad, and Uncle Harvey is hurt too."
Hermione stood gravely looking down on the child with an air of grieved concern, exactly the right air for the occasion. Nobody would have guessed the instant thought which shot through her mind, that East Bourne would now be given up, and there would be no need for her to go to the Daltons'. Hermione would have been the last to confess the thought; she scarcely allowed its existence even to herself.
"Who brought the news, Mittie?"
"John did. He came back from Captain Woodthorpe's."
"Are they there—at Captain Woodthorpe's?"
Mittie was crying too bitterly to respond further than by a nod. Hermione led her to the drawing-room, where she rang for Slade. The whole tale was then told her.
"And you understood that Mrs. Dalrymple was in danger?" Hermione said at length. It seemed very terrible. Only a few hours earlier in full health, with every prospect of a long life, and now—!
"I did, Miss," Slade answered solemnly. "John was under that impression."
"Is John here now?"
"He drove back with Mrs. Trevor to see the horses."
"And Mr. Pennant—you say that Mr. Pennant was to follow."
"Mr. Pennant was absent on his rounds, Miss, but Mrs. Pennant undertook that Mr. Pennant would set off immediately on his return. He did return about an hour later, and when he left, Mr. Fitzalan went also."
"I must know when Mr. Pennant and Mr. Fitzalan come back," said Hermione. "Send some one to the Rectory to wait. Mr. Fitzalan may come here, but if he does not I should like a message."
She had to wait long for news. Mittie went to bed, vainly imploring to sit up longer. Hermione had her own ideas of discipline for children, and she counted this no bad opportunity for counteracting in some small degree the mother's spoiling method. So Mittie disappeared, sobbing in a heart-broken style, and Hermione sat alone with a book, keeping anxious watch.
Hermione really was very much grieved and shocked, though not to any crushing extent. Such an accident happening to even a mere acquaintance would come as a blow, and Hermione felt it quite as a blow. She could not settle down to her book in any comfort. Harvey had shown her invariable kindness, and Julia had almost succeeded in winning her affection. "Poor Julia!" Hermione said repeatedly, with a little sigh of commiseration. Perhaps, as she sighed, the recollection would dart into her mind, "Now I need not go to the Daltons'!" followed by a regretful wish, "If only I had waited one more day!" But she did her best to smother down these suggestions, and only to let herself think pityingly of "Poor Julia and Harvey!"
The announcement, "Mr. Fitzalan!" came at length abruptly. Hermione sprang up, greeting him with outstretched hand.
"Oh, I am so glad! You have been to Captain Woodthorpe's, have you not? How are they both? Where is Mr. Pennant?"
"He will not return till morning," Mr. Fitzalan answered.
Hermione's face fell. "Are things so serious? Is it—Julia?"
"Yes. Mr. Dalrymple is in no danger, though much hurt."
"And they thought Julia was not hurt at all at first, Slade tells me. Do sit down, Mr. Fitzalan!" for he stood facing her, with his hand on the back of a chair.
"She did not appear to be."
"Was it true that she walked over two miles? Could she?"
"She did. It was wrong, of course; but till they had gone some distance she was not aware of her own state, and then she struggled on for Mr. Dalrymple's sake. That made matters much worse. She ought to have given in at once. They seem all to have been under the impression that Mr. Dalrymple was much more hurt than has proved to be the case."
"And Julia gave in—when?"
"When the doctor pronounced him to be in no danger."
"Slade spoke of a fainting fit."
"Yes—the result of over-exertion, I suppose—and there are internal injuries. They have not dared to move her from the sofa where she was first carried. Captain Woodthorpe's doctor was obliged to leave, and Pennant said he would remain till morning."
"You did not see Julia?"
"For three minutes I did. It was her wish that I should pray. Talking was not allowed."
"And she did not say anything? Poor Julia! How did she look?"
"Very ill, and very calm. Yes, she whispered a few words. She said, 'My love to Hermione. Tell her—all is peace.'"
Mr. Fitzalan's eyes were moist. Hermione only said, "I am glad. But I should not have expected—"
"Expected what?"
"That Julia—I have never fancied that Julia had much real religion."
"Our fancies about one and another are very apt to be mistaken."
"But—one may sometimes judge—" began Hermione.
"No, that we have not to do. We may judge lines of conduct, but we may not judge individuals. Happily the decision on that head does not rest with us. If it did, we should too often in our conceit shut out those who may be nearer Christ than we are ourselves."
JULIA was very ill, and she knew it, and she had no fear. It seemed wonderful. For years she had dreaded the end of life, had shrunk from the thought of death. And now suddenly it might be close at hand, yet she was not terrified.
It had not occurred to her that while she, the wandering sheep, sought the Shepherd, the Shepherd also sought her. And not till the moment of dire peril and need came did she realise that He had found her, that she was actually safe in His keeping, that under the shadow of His Hand no harm could arrive. She had not known Him well hitherto, but knowledge grew fast in the hours of silent suffering, when she had just to lie and wait for what He might will to do to her.
Julia said little through those days of weakness. Much talk was forbidden and impossible. If it had not been, her sense of peace was too new for careless handling. She wanted to learn, not to teach. The peace was apparent, however, in her quiet face, in the absence of all murmurs. From time to time she asked anxiously after her husband, and smiled to hear that he was doing well. For herself, she wished to get better, but there were no impatient longings.
Then the tide turned, and Julia knew that she was on the highroad to recovery.
A certain reaction followed, not in actual loss of peace, for that remained, but in thronging recollections and conjectures. The burdens of common life had to be taken up once more, or they would have to be soon. Julia could not put them aside till the necessary moment: Her very lack of physical power made control of thought the more difficult.
She could not get Hermione out of her head, and the remembrance of her husband's words, at the moment of extreme peril, was incessantly present.
What where Hermione's rights?
Did Harvey know something more than she knew? If so—what did he know?— and what would he do?
What had he meant her to do if his life had been taken? To give Hermione twenty thousand pounds? Was that it? Had Hermione a right to so much?
Mr. Selwyn knew! Then of course there was some additional fact hidden from herself. She would have had to appeal to Mr. Selwyn.
Would have had—if Harvey had died, and if she had been left a lonely widow! Julia shuddered at the thought!
That great sorrow had not come. She and Harvey were spared each to the other.
But Hermione's "rights" claimed attention still from Harvey and Julia together.
What "rights" again? What had Harvey meant?
Something precise and definite surely? Something beyond the general sense that Hermione ought not to have been left unprovided for.
Things might be easily set straight. Only, since Harvey felt so strongly on the subject, why had he not taken action sooner?
Thus round and round on one pivot Julia's mind circled, sometimes for hours together, as she lay recovering.
But Julia would not breathe a word of all this to any human being. She had no notion of betraying an iota of her husband's confidence. What she had to say would be said to himself, not to Mrs. Ogilvie or Mr. Fitzalan, least of all to Francesca.
"How soon are we to be allowed to see one another?" she often asked, and Mrs. Ogilvie always answered, "Before long, I hope." Julia knew that Harvey might be expected to come to her before she would be allowed to go to him. She did not know that he already had leave, if he could or would arouse himself to make the effort.
Somehow Harvey seemed very inert, very averse to the said effort. He was so affectionate a husband, so full of solicitude about Julia's state, that those around were puzzled. It would have seemed to them more natural if he had been in a hurry to go to Julia before permission was given, than that he should fail to use the permission when it came. His reluctance was ascribed purely to physical weakness, still it was looked upon as odd.
Nobody knew what had passed between him and Julia just before the accident. Harvey forgot it himself for a short time, but after a few days the whole came back vividly.
Came back, yet with a difference. He was not disposed now to view matters precisely as he had viewed them from the standpoint of immediate danger to life. It is one thing to be willing to give up twenty thousand pounds or so, if one does not expect to have any further use for the money. It is quite another thing to give up the same, if one expects to feel the loss permanently through thirty or forty or more years of earthly existence.
Somehow, too, that old simple question of right and wrong is apt to assume new aspects when looked upon from the bank of a certain dark river, into which one may have immediately to plunge. Right is unequivocal right, and wrong is unequivocal wrong, seen thus. But when a man leaves the said river behind, and gets back into the foggy atmosphere of common life, right and wrong sometimes assume very misty shapes, and so many matters of will and inclination are involved that the question loses a good deal of its simplicity. The question is of course the same, and the answer must be the same, but the mode of viewing it is different.
Not that approaching death necessarily makes a coward of a man, but it clears his eyesight. We are all much given to thinking that life will last indefinitely, and that what is crooked will somehow manage to get straight before the end. Many a deed is done in broad earthly daylight, quite placidly and with scarcely a whisper from conscience, which would not pass muster for an instant if the doer stood face to face with the last enemy.
This was Harvey's experience. As Prince and Emperor rushed madly down the hill, Harvey had very clear views indeed of right and wrong in connection with a certain vexed point. There was no hesitation at all in his mind just then as to what might or might not be Hermione's claims upon himself. The legal aspect of the matter slipped out of his thoughts altogether, as not worth consideration. The great moral question of right and wrong overshadowed all else.
But now Harvey was back in the fogs again. He remembered what he had felt, and he told himself that it was absurd—extravagant—mere over-excitement, and so on.
He would have given a good deal for power to blot out those short utterances to his wife. Harvey could not resist a consciousness that Julia's conscience might prove less malleable than his own—not that his own was quite so submissive as he could have wished. But Julia— why, Julia was a woman, more than that, a mere girl. Women never would hear reason, if they took up a certain notion on any subject. It was always with them a matter of feeling, not of logic. And as for Julia, she knew about as much of business and money affairs as little Mittie.
It was a marvel to Harvey how he could have done so unadvised a thing as to speak out to Julia at all. Dear good creature she was, and the best of wives, but Harvey feared she might give him no end of trouble here. The decision of course rested with him, and he was not afraid that she would let out anything to anybody else; still he did not wish to lower himself in her eyes. He would have to discuss the whole question with her; more than this, he would undoubtedly have to settle some amount on Hermione without further delay, as the best hope of pacifying Julia.
Then the old bother would have to be met and answered. How much was the least that would do? How little was the most he must part with?
If only he had kept his own counsel, and said nothing! After all, he and Julia had both come through the peril with only passing hurts. From his present position of safety he could hardly remise how dire the peril had been. It mystified him that for a short space he should have viewed things so differently. For past scenes soon lose their vividness; and earthly life seemed now so full of reality, so likely to go on for another half-century or thereabouts, that Harvey was little disposed to look further ahead. He wanted to get along comfortably in this present life; and to give up twenty thousand pounds, or even half of twenty thousand pounds, would not be comfortable.
"We should have to consider every sixpence before spending it. And as for keeping hunters! But there could not be a more extravagant idea! Absurd! The estate simply could not stand it. I shall have to explain all this to Julia."
Explaining means trouble, however, and Harvey hated trouble. So, much as he really wished to see Julia again, he was on the whole languidly disposed to plead weakness, and to defer the first interview.
MRS. TREVOR was still at the cottage, joint-nurse with Mrs. Ogilvie to the two invalids. It was the natural thing that she should be there, helping to care for her own sister. But Mrs. Trevor soon grew heartily weary of that lonely dwelling. To a genuine lover of chimney-pots, absolute country is a bore.
She made no secret of the fact with her brother-in-law. Mrs. Trevor could not forgive Harvey for the accident which had deprived her of East Bourne delights, and had condemned her to this dismal solitude. So far as practical nursing was concerned she did her duty, no doubt, but Harvey had reached a stage which called rather for amusement than for nursing, and here Mrs. Trevor failed. She was much too dull herself to amuse any one else. Besides, the whole catastrophe was Harvey's own fault. If he had not chosen to keep such horses, the accident need never have happened. Mrs. Trevor took care to let Harvey know what she thought.
"For my part, I think the sooner we get back to Westford the better," she declared one day. "I can't see why you should not go at once. Mr. Pennant says you could bear the drive. There is only the question of Julia, but she would be all right here with Mrs. Ogilvie, and she could follow a few days later. It really is too bad to burden Captain Woodthorpe longer than need be with such a posse of us. And there is poor unfortunate Mittie in a state of utter dismal; left to Hermione's mercies. I'm in constant terror of something happening to the child. Her lessons, too; she is just running wild all this time." The amount of teaching bestowed upon Mittie by Mrs. Trevor was minute in amount, but the argument served a purpose at this moment.
"Besides," Mrs. Trevor went on, "if you can stand this place much longer, I can only say that I can't. Westford is bad enough, but here we are in a perfect Arabia Deserta. A wheelbarrow going by makes as much stir in one's mind as the explosion of a powder magazine would in London. Now, do agree with me, there's a sensible man. Of course, if you go home, I must too, if only to look after you. Mrs. Ogilvie and I have talked over the plan, and she is quite willing 'when the right time comes.' It's my opinion that the right time has come."
"But I have not seen Julia yet," objected Harvey.
"Well, you can see her any time. There's no difficulty. Of course you feel weak still, but it's no such tremendous exertion, if you would make up your mind to it."
Harvey looked listlessly unwilling.
"Oh, I know. You men always think yourselves desperate if anything is wrong with you. But, really now, you might. And I believe the change to Westford would do you all the good in the world. Then the next thing will be to go on to East Bourne."
"It will be getting too late."
"Too late? Nonsense! That's the mistake people make. East Bourne is like Brighton, at its best in the autumn and early winter. Not that I've the least objection to going to Brighton, if you choose. That has been my wish all along, for the bigger the town, the better for me. I've had enough of grass and trees lately to last me all my life; and there are trees and grass in East Bourne, but one hasn't much chance of them in Brighton. However, it doesn't matter—either will do. Just imagine that girl settling to stay with the Daltons while we are away!"
"Hermione? No!" Harvey said, starting.
"She did! I have heard nothing from herself, of course, but it came round to me. I dare say the arrangement will hold good for the future. And she knows them to be people whom you can't endure, not to speak of her old grandfather's dislike to them. But that is Hermione Rivers all over! She is equal to anything, if it is a question of having her own will. I think she wants looking after just as much as Mittie. Now, what do you think? Home the day after to-morrow?"
Harvey was not unwilling. He did not care for his present surroundings, he had grown tired of the Captain, and he was heartily weary of an invalid life, though lacking energy to get out of it even as far as he might. Nothing pleased him that any body did, and no suggestions were to his mind. Mr. Pennant privately decided that "something was weighing upon" Mr. Dalrymple, and Mrs. Trevor, not privately, declared him to be "fearfully cross."
She had her way, however. Going home in two days became a settled plan, and on the morning of the last day, an hour or two before starting, Harvey saw Julia.
The interview came about suddenly so far as she was concerned. Till that morning she had not been told of this new arrangement. It was something of a shock to find that Harvey was willing to go and to leave her behind, yet this she knew to be unreasonable, and she controlled herself resolutely. "I shall be able to go too—soon!" she said in a wistful tone; and when Harvey came in, walking more invalidishly than was quite needful, she met him with the peaceful smile which had of late characterised her.
He was aware of a difference which he could not have defined, which he did not try to define. His one wish was to get through the interview without the remotest allusion to Hermione, and the moment he came in he saw "Hermione" written in Julia's eyes.
Mrs. Ogilvie was working in the room beside Julia's sofa, and he said "Don't go!" most earnestly. But Mrs. Ogilvie rose at once. "Yes, you must take this chair," she said. "I have promised ten minutes to Mrs. Dalrymple—not more, I think."
Harvey could have dispensed with the ten minutes, but he had no choice. "And you are better, Julia? Very thin, though," he said kindly. "How naughty you were to take that long walk, when you ought to have kept still! Another time I shall not trust your report of yourself. It is provoking that you cannot come home yet, still I hope it will be only a week or so. As Francesca says, we ought not all to remain here longer than can be helped. Captain Woodthorpe will be glad to have his house quiet."
He wanted to get through the ten minutes with nothing more than chit-chat. Julia submitted for two or three minutes, answering questions as to herself, and asking how he was. Then, putting both her hands on one of his, and looking into his face with earnest eyes, she broke into another question.
"Harvey—can you guess how much I have thought of something you said to me just before it happened?"
"It—" the accident, of course. No need to ask. But this had come even sooner than Harvey expected, and he wanted time. "It?" he said inquiringly. "Oh—ah—yes, the smash, you mean. Poor Emperor! It is a serious loss. I never had a better horse. And Prince will never be worth anything again. I shall have to get rid of him."
"But, Harvey, about Hermione?"
"Well?" he said irritably.
"You know what you told me. I have been so longing to ask more. Did you really mean what you said about Mr. Selwyn, and twenty thousand pounds?"
She remembered the whole, then! He was much annoyed, for he had hoped that her recollections might at least be indistinct.
"My dear, I really cannot be responsible for any nonsense I may have talked at such a moment."
"Nonsense!" she repeated.
"Yes, certainly; one is apt to get off one's balance, and to say foolish things—things which one would not say in a calmer mood. It was exciting, of course. You felt that yourself?"
"But I am not jesting," she said gently, tears filling her eyes. "It was real, you know, not mere nonsense or foolishness. You said to me so plainly—don't you remember?—that if anything happened to you I was to be sure and let Hermione have her rights. What are Hermione's rights?"
"She has none. If I had not been upset and off my balance, I should not have made use of so aboard an expression."
"You did not think it absurd then!" she said in a low voice.
"No. It was a moment of agitation. The expression is none the less absurd. Hermione has no legal claim upon me whatever. Of course there is the question whether, as a mere matter of kindness—as a matter perhaps of what may have been my uncle's intention—whether it would be well to settle upon her a small sum. I am quite prepared to do what seems right. We will consider it together by-and-by. Not to-day, however."
"Ought such things to be put off?" asked Julia. "Harvey, please answer one question. Does Mr. Selwyn know what your uncle intended to do for Hermione?"
"If he does, my uncle's wishes are not binding on me. My position is altogether different from his."
"But—" and she looked at him with sorrowful eyes. "I am so disappointed," she breathed.
"There is no need for any kind of disappointment. Hermione shall have whatever is her due. Her due as a matter of kindness, I mean. That is the word I ought to have used. She simply has no rights."
The distinction seemed to Julia to be void of difference.
"Will you not consult Mr. Selwyn?" she asked with eagerness, as the idea came. "He is a very dependable man, is he not? I have heard you say so."
"Quite dependable, on any point of law. But this is no legal question, my dear. I am legally free. All I have to do is to act a brother's part to Hermione—which does not mean that I am to impoverish the estate."
"Would twenty thousand pounds impoverish the estate?"
"Given away in the lump? Yes, certainly."
"And yet, yet you said that. You meant it at the moment, did you not?" she inquired gravely. "There is one thing you have not answered, and I want so much to know. Will you not, please, tell me—does Mr. Selwyn know exactly what Mr. Dalrymple intended to do for Hermione? Did Mr. Dalrymple intend to leave Hermione twenty thousand pounds?"
Harvey was on the verge of being very angry. He could have been so. Julia's persistency was most amazing. If she had not looked so thin and changed, and if this had not been his first glimpse of her, he would have got up and walked out of the room. Somehow he could not resolve on this step, neither did he dare to agitate her by any marked show of displeasure.
"My dear, do you know that you are meddling in business matters? Women know nothing about business."
"Perhaps not. Still, you will tell me," she pleaded. "Did Mr. Dalrymple intend that?"
"He wrote a note to Mr. Selwyn just before his death, stating some such intention. It was merely a passing fancy. The truth is, he had been a good deal agitated,—altogether upset."
"What about?"
"About my marriage, if you will have it. He was in a weakened state already, and I have not the slightest doubt that the agitation affected his brain." Harvey did not add that, whatever might be thought about that particular note, and the particular sum mentioned therein, no possible doubt existed as to Mr. Dalrymple's fixed intention to provide amply for his granddaughter.
"Why should he have minded your marrying so much?"
"He had had a dream for years that I should marry Hermione. Most absurd and impossible, but that was partly my reason for staying so long abroad. I foresaw a collision, and I wished to avoid it. Mind, all this is in confidence. Hermione knows nothing of her grandfather's fancy, and she must not know. When he found that I was actually married, and that his favourite idea could never come to pass, he was—well, certainly much vexed and very much over-excited. The news had the effect upon him of a shock. If I could have foretold this, I should have broken it more cautiously. He wrote to Mr. Selwyn, under the moment's impulse, speaking of a twenty thousand pound settlement upon Hermione. Highly ridiculous, as he would have known himself in cooler moments if he had lived."
"I thought everything was entailed."
"The landed property, not the money property. He had, I suppose, as much as that at his disposal. You see you do not understand these things, Julia. It is much better not to try. The last thing the poor old gentleman would really have wished would have been to wreck the property. You may depend upon me to do what is right for Hermione."
"To do justly!" she said in a low tone.
"Yes, certainly—I hope so."
Then Mrs. Ogilvie came in, and no more could be said. Julia did not look satisfied, however. Tears were again in her eyes when Harvey bade her good-bye.
But if she was not satisfied, neither was he. He felt that his arguments had not been conclusive, and he knew that Julia was not convinced. Worse than this, he was not convinced himself. Say what he would, he could not lay the matter to sleep. Hermione's claim— Hermione's due—call it what he might, rose perpetually before him, overshadowing his peace. The talk with Julia had only weakened his own side of the question. He could not forget how things had looked to him, seen in the scathing blaze of desperate peril.
Legally, of course, it was a very simple matter. Legally he was not bound. Nobody could call him bound. All Mr. Dalrymple's property had descended to him. All the property was his. Hermione could not legally claim from him a single penny as her due.
But there was another side of the question. How might it be in the sight of God?
Harvey reached his own room tired out with the short discussion, and not at all disposed for the further exertion of a drive. Francesca half-scolded, half-coaxed him into a different mood, but the drive had to be deferred till nearly dark, and she could not cheer him up. He sat long in moody silence, going over the things Julia had said, and the things he had said in answer, till his head ached with the strain.
"COUSIN HERMIONE, what time will mother and Uncle Harvey come home?"
Hermione was writing letters at a davenport, when the little voice timidly invaded her absorption. Somehow Mittie had grown timid lately. She always had a sense of being "in the way" with Hermione.
"I don't know exactly. You can ask Milton."
"I did ask Milton, and she thought it would be rather early. But I don't know what 'rather early' means; and she's so busy, she says she can't be bothered. May I get some flowers for mother's room out of the conservatory?"
"No, certainly not," Hermione answered. "You will spoil the whole look of things."
"But I do want it so much," sighed Mittie.
Hermione wrote on, unheeding.
"Then if I mustn't get any flowers out of the conservatory, I think I'll try to find some pretty leaves in the fields," murmured Mittie. "I'm sure mother would like them. If Marjory wasn't away all to-day, I'd ask her for some. But I dare say some nice red and yellow leaves would do. Do you think mother won't come for half-an-hour, cousin Hermione? Because I don't want to be out when she comes?"
Hermione looked up vacantly.
"Half-an-hour? No, I dare say not! Do run away, child. I am busy, and I cannot attend to you just now."
Mittie stole off without another word, and Hermione finished her letter, having no further interruptions. She closed, addressed, and stamped it. Then leaning back with a grave and worried air, Hermione drew from her pocket the scrawled note which she had received from Mrs. Trevor the day before. It was as follows:—