presence of old Nicholas; but are you seri- | towards others, to herself he had always ous in all this?" "Perfectly serious, and fully determined on it, if I be permitted." "When would you go?” "At once; I mean as soon as possible. The Sewells are to be here on Saturday. I would leave on Friday evening by the mail train for London. I would telegraph to Tom to say on what day he might expect me." "To-day is Tuesday; is it possible you could be ready?" "I would start to-night, Doctor, if you only obtain my leave." "It is all a matter of the merest chance how your grandfather will take it," said Beattie, musing. "But you approve ? tell me you approve of it." been kind, and thoughtful, and courteous. She really loved him, and liked his companionship, and she felt that if in leaving him she should consign him to solitude and loneliness, she could scarcely bring herself to go; but he was now to be surrounded with others, and if they were not altogether suited to him by taste or habit, they I would, even for their own sakes, try to conform to his ways and likings. Once more she bethought her of the discussion, and how it was faring. Had her grandfather suffered Beattie to state the case fully, and say all that he might in its favour? or had he, as was sometimes his wont, stopped him short with a peremptory command to desist? And then what part had Haire taken? Haire, for whose intelligence the old Judge entertained the lowest possible estimate, had somehow an immense influence over him, just as instincts are seen too strong for reason. Some traces of boyish intercourses yet survived and swayed his mind with his consciousness of its power. "There is certainly much in the project that I like. I cannot bear to think of your living here with these Sewells: my experience of them is very brief, but it has taught me to know there could be no worse companionship for you; but as these are things that cannot be spoken of to the Chief, let us see by what arguments we should "How long it seems," murmured she. approach him. I will go at once. Haire is" Does this delay augur ill for success, or is with him, and he is sure to see that what I it that they are talking over the details of suggest has come from you. If it should be the plan? Oh, if I could be sure of that! the difficulty of the journey your grandfa- My poor dear Tom, how I long to be ther objects to, Lucy, I will go as far as near you to care for you and watch Marseilles with you myself, and see you you!" and as she said this, a cold sickness safely embarked before I leave you." She came over her, and she muttered aloudtook his hand and kissed it twice, but was "What perfidy it all is! as if I was not thinknot able to utter a word. ing of myself, and my own sorrows, while I try to believe I am but thinking of my brother." And now her tears streamed fast down her cheeks, and her heart felt as if it would burst. "It must be an hour since he left this," said she, looking towards the house, where all was still and motionless. "It is not possible that they are yet deliberating. Grandpapa is never long in coming to a decision. Surely all has been determined on before this, and why does he not come and relieve me from my miserable uncertainty?" "There, now, my dear child, don't agitate yourself; you need all your calm and all your courage. Loiter about here till I come to you, and it shall not be long." "What a true kind friend you are!" said she, her eyes grew dim with tears. "I am more anxious about this than I like to own, perhaps. Will you, if you bring me good tidings, make me a signal with your handkerchief?" He promised this, and left her. Lucy sat down under. a large elm tree, resolving to wait there patiently for his return; but her fevered anxiety was such that she could not rest in one place, and was forced to rise and walk rapidly up and down. She imagined to herself the interview, and fancied she heard her grandfather's stern question — whether she were not satisfied with her home? What could he do more for her comfort or happiness than he had done? Oh, if he were to accuse her of ingratitude, how should she bear it? Whatever irritability he might display At last the hall door opened, and Haire appeared; he beckoned to her with his hand to come, and then re-entered the house. Lucy knew not what to think of this, and she could scarcely drag her steps along as she tried to hasten back. As she entered the hall, Haire met her, and, taking her hand cordially, said, "It is all right; only be calm, and don't agitate him. Come in now," and with this she found herself in the roon where the old Judge was sitting, his eyes closed and his whole attitude betokening sleep. Beattie | sat at his side and held one hand in his own. Lucy knelt down and pressed her lips to the other hand, which hung over the arm of the chair. Gently drawing away the hand, the old man laid it on her head, and, in a low faint voice, said, "I must not look at you Lucy, or I shall recall my pledge. You are going away!" The young girl turned her teaful eyes towards him, and held her lips firmly closed to repress a sob, while her cheeks trembled with emotion. "Beattie tells me you are right," continued he with a sigh; and then, with a sort of aroused energy, he added, "But old age, amongst its other infirmities, fancies that right should yield to years. Ces sont les droits de la décrépitude,' as La Rochefoucauld calls them. I will not insist upon my 'royalties,' Lucy, this time. You shall go to your brother." His hand trembled as it lay on her head, and then fell heavily to his side. Lucy clasped it eagerly, and pressed it to her cheek, and all was silent for some seconds in the room. At last the old man spoke, and it was now in a clear distinct voice, though weak. "Beattie will tell you everything, Lucy; he has all my instructions. Let him now have yours. To-morrow we shall, both of us, be calmer, and can talk over all together. Tomorrow will be Thursday? "Wednesday, Grandpapa." "Wednesday. all the better, my dear child, another day gained. I say, Beattie," eried he in a louder tone, "I cannot have fallen into the pitiable condition the newspapers describe, or I could never have gained this victory over my selfishness. Come, sir, be frank enough to own, that when a man combats himself, he asserts his identity. Haire will go out and give that as his own," muttered he; and as he smiled, he lay back, his breathing grew heavier and longer, and he sank into a quiet sleep. "Not that I remember," said she, carelessly. "What about our coming? Does the old man wish for it?-how does she herself take it?" "She says nothing on the subject, beyond her regret at not being there to meet us." "And why can't she? where will she be?" "At sea, probably, by that time. She goes off to Sardinia to her brother." "What! do you mean to that fellow who is living with Fossbrooke ? Why didn't you tell me this before?" "I don't think I remembered it, or, if I did, it's possible I thought it could not have much interest for you." “Indeed, madam! do you imagine that the only things I care for are the movements of your admirers? Where's this letter? I'd like to see it." "I tore it up. She begged me to do so when I had read it." "How honourable! I declare you ladies conduct your intercourse with an integrity that would be positively charming to think of, if only your male friends were admitted to any share of the fair dealing. Tell me so much as you can remember of this letter." "She spoke of her brother having had a fever, and being now better, but so weak and reduced as to require great care and attention, and obliged to remove for change of air to a small island off the coast.' "And Fossbrooke- - does she mention him?" "Only that he is not with her brother, except occasionally; his business detains him near Cagliari." "I hope it may continue to detain him there! Has this young woman gone off all alone on this journey?" "She has taken no maid. She said it might prove inconvenient to her brother; and has only an old family servant she calls Nicholas with her. "So, then, we have the house to ourselves, so far. She'll not be in a hurry back, I take it. Anything would be better than the life she led with her grandfather." "She seems sorry to part with him, and recurs three or four times to his kindness and affection." "His kindness and affection! His vanity and self-love are nearer the mark. I thought I had seen something of conceit and affectation, but that old fellow leaves everything in that line miles behind. He is, without exception, the greatest bore and presence of old Nicholas; but are you serious in all this?" "Perfectly serious, and fully determined on it, if I be permitted." "When would you go?" "At once; I mean as soon as possible. The Sewells are to be here on Saturday. I would leave on Friday evening by the mail train for London. I would telegraph to Tom to say on what day he might expect me." "To-day is Tuesday; is it possible you could be ready?" "I would start to-night, Doctor, if you only obtain my leave." "It is all a matter of the merest chance how your grandfather will take it," said Beattie, musing. "But you approve? tell me you approve of it." towards others, to herself he had always been kind, and thoughtful, and courteous. She really loved him, and liked his companionship, and she felt that if in leaving him she should consign him to solitude and loneliness, she could scarcely bring herself to go; but he was now to be surrounded with others, and if they were not altogether suited to him by taste or habit, they would, even for their own sakes, try to conform to his ways and likings. Once more she bethought her of the discussion, and how it was faring. Had her grandfather suffered Beattie to state the case fully, and say all that he might in its favour? or had he, as was sometimes his wont, stopped him short with a peremptory command to desist? And then what part had Haire taken? Haire, for whose intelligence the old Judge entertained the lowest possible estimate, had somehow an immense influence over him, just as instincts are seen too strong for reason. Some traces of boyish intercourses yet survived and swayed his mind with his consciousness of its power. "There is certainly much in the project that I like. I cannot bear to think of your living here with these Sewells: my experience of them is very brief, but it has taught me to know there could be no worse companionship for you; but as these are things that cannot be spoken of to the Chief, let us see by what arguments we should "How long it seems," murmured she. approach him. I will go at once. Haire is" Does this delay augur ill for success, or is with him, and he is sure to see that what I it that they are talking over the details of suggest has come from you. If it should be the plan? Oh, if I could be sure of that! the difficulty of the journey your grandfa- My poor dear Tom, how I long to be ther objects to, Lucy, I will go as far as near you to care for you and watch Marseilles with you myself, and see you you!" and as she said this, a cold sickness safely embarked before I leave you." She came over her, and she muttered aloud took his hand and kissed it twice, but was "What perfidy it all is! as if I was not thinknot able to utter a word. ing of myself, and my own sorrows, while I try to believe I am but thinking of my brother." And now her tears streamed fast down her cheeks, and her heart felt as if it would burst. "It must be an hour since he left this," said she, looking towards the house, where all was still and motionless. "It is not possible that they are yet deliberating. Grandpapa is never long in coming to a decision. Surely all has been determined on before this, and why does he not come and relieve me from my miserable uncertainty?" "There, now, my dear child, don't agitate yourself; you need all your calm and all your courage. Loiter about here till I come to you, and it shall not be long." "What a true kind friend you are!" said she, her eyes grew dim with tears. "I am more anxious about this than I like to own, perhaps. Will you, if you bring me good tidings, make me a signal with your handkerchief?" He promised this, and left her. Lucy sat down under. a large elm tree, resolving to wait there patiently for his return; but her fevered anxiety was such that she could not rest in one place, and was forced to rise and walk rapidly up and down. She imagined to herself the interview, and fancied she heard her grandfather's stern question whether she were not satisfied with her home? What could he do more for her comfort or happiness than he had done? Oh, if he were to accuse her of ingratitude, how should she bear it? Whatever irritability he might display At last the hall door opened, and Haire appeared; he beckoned to her with his hand to come, and then re-entered the house. Lucy knew not what to think of this, and she could scarcely drag her steps along as she tried to hasten back. As she entered the hall, Haire met her, and, taking her hand cordially, said, "It is all right; only be calm, and don't agitate him. Come in now," and with this she found herself in the roon where the old Judge was sitting, his eyes closed and his whole attitude betokening sleep. Beattie sat at his side and held one hand in his own. Lucy knelt down and pressed her lips to the other hand, which hung over the arm of the chair. Gently drawing away the hand, the old man laid it on her head, and, in a low faint voice, said, "I must not look at you Lucy, or I shall recall my pledge. You are going away!" The young girl turned her teaful eyes towards him, and held her lips firmly closed to repress a sob, while her cheeks trembled with emotion. "Beattie tells me you are right," continued he with a sigh; and then, with a sort of aroused energy, he added, "But old age, amongst its other infirmities, fancies that right should yield to years. Ces sont les droits de la décrépitude,' as La Rochefoucauld calls them. I will not insist upon my royalties,' Lucy, this time. You shall go to your brother." His hand trembled as it lay on her head, and then fell heavily to his side. Lucy clasped it eagerly, and pressed it to her cheek, and all was silent for some seconds in the room. At last the old man spoke, and it was now in a clear distinct voice, though weak. "Beattie will tell you everything, Lucy; he has all my instructions. Let him now have yours. To-morrow we shall, both of us, be calmer, and can talk over all together. Tomorrow will be Thursday?" “Wednesday, Grandpapa." "Wednesday- all the better, my dear child, another day gained. I say, Beattie," eried he in a louder tone, "I cannot have fallen into the pitiable condition the newspapers describe, or I could never have gained this victory over my selfishness. Come, sir, be frank enough to own, that when a man combats himself, he asserts his identity. Haire will go out and give that as his own," muttered he; and as he smiled, he lay back, his breathing grew heavier and longer, and he sank into a quiet sleep. CHAPTER XXXIX. SOME CONJUGAL COURTESIES. "You have not told me what she wrote to you," said Sewell to his wife, as he smoked his cigar at one side of the fire, while she read a novel at the other. It was to be their last evening at "The Nest; on the morrow they were to leave it for the Priory. "Were there any secrets in it, or were there allusions that I ought not to see?" "Not that I remember," said she, carelessly. "What about our coming? Does the old man wish for it? - how does she herself take it?" "She says nothing on the subject, beyond her regret at not being there to meet us.” "And why can't she? where will she be?" "At sea, probably, by that time. She goes off to Sardinia to her brother." "What! do you mean to that fellow who is living with Fossbrooke? Why didn't you tell me this before?” "I don't think I remembered it, or, if I did, it's possible I thought it could not have much interest for you.' "Indeed, madam! do you imagine that the only things I care for are the movements of your admirers? Where's this letter? I'd like to see it." "I tore it up. She begged me to do so when I had read it.” "How honourable! I declare you ladies conduct your intercourse with an integrity that would be positively charming to think of, if only your male friends were admitted to any share of the fair dealing. Tell me so much as you can remember of this letter." "She spoke of her brother having had a fever, and being now better, but so weak and reduced as to require great care and attention, and obliged to remove for change of air to a small island off the coast." "And Fossbrooke does she mention him?" "Only that he is not with her brother, except occasionally; his business detains him near Cagliari." "I hope it may continue to detain him there! Has this young woman gone off all alone on this journey?" "She has taken no maid. She said it might prove inconvenient to her brother; and has only an old family servant she calls Nicholas with her. "So, then, we have the house to ourselves, so far. She'll not be in a hurry back, I take it. Anything would be better than the life she led with her grandfather." "She seems sorry to part with him, and recurs three or four times to his kindness and affection." "His kindness and affection! His vanity and self-love are nearer the mark. I thought I had seen something of conceit and affectation, but that old fellow leaves everything in that line miles behind. He is, without exception, the greatest bore and the most insupportable bully I ever encoun- | have no cquivalent for tered." Lucy liked him." "She did not-she could not. It suits you women to say these things, because you cultivate hypocrisy so carefully that you carry on the game with each other! How could any one, let her be ever so abject, like that incessant homage this old man exacted - to be obliged to be alive to his vapid jokes and his dreary stories-to his twaddling reminiscences of college success, or House of Commons Irish House tootriumphs? Do you think if I wasn't a beggar I'd go and submit myself to such a discipline" To this she made no reply, and for a while there was a silence in the room. At last he said, "You'll have to take up that line of character that she acted. You'll have to swing the incense' now. I'll be shot if I do." She gave no answer, and he went on "You'll have to train the brats too to salute him, and kiss his hand, and call himwhat are they to call him-grandpapa? Yes, they must say grandpapa. How I wish I had not sent in my papers! If I had only imagined I could have planted you all here, I could have gone back to my regiment and served out my time." "It might have been better," said she, in a low voice. "Of course it would have been better; each of us would have been free, and there are few people, be it said, take more out of their freedom-eh, madam?" She shrugged her shoulders carelessly, but a slight, a very slight, flush coloured her cheek. "By the way, now we're on that subject, have you answered Lady Trafford's letter?" Yes," said she; and now her cheek grew crimson. 66 "And what answer did you send?" "I sent back everything." "What do you mean?-your rings and trinkets the bracelet with the hair mine, of course it could be no one's but mine." "All, everything," said she, with a gulp. "I must read the old woman's letter over again. You haven't burned that, I hope ?" "No; it's up-stairs in my writing-desk." "I declare," said he, rising and standing with his back to the fire, "you women, and especially fine ladies, say things to each other that men never would dare to utter to other men. That old dame, for instance, charged you with what we male creatures cheating at play would be mild in comparison." "I don't think that you escaped scot-free," said she, with an intense bitterness, though her tone was studiously subdued and low. "No," said he, with a jeering laugh. "I figured as the accessory or accomplice, or whatever the law calls it. I was what polite French ladies call le mari complaisant a part I am so perfect in, madam, that I almost think I ought to play it for my Benefit.' What do you say?" 6 "Oh, sir, it is not for me to pass an opinion on your abilities." "I have less bashfulness," said he, fiercely. "I'll venture to say a word on yours. I've told you scores of times I told you in India, I told you at the Cape, I told you when we were quarantined at Trieste, and I tell you nowthat you never really captivated any man much under seventy. When they are tottering on to the grave, bald, blear-eyed, and deaf, you are perfectly irresistible; and I wishreally I say it in all good faith - you would limit the sphere of your fascinations to such very frail humanities. Trafford only became spoony after that smash on the skull; as he grew better, he threw off his delusions - didn't he?" "So he told me," said she, with perfect calm. "By Jove! that was a great fluke of mine," cried he aloud. "That was a hazard I never so much as tried. So that this fellow had made some sort of a declaration to you?" "I never said so." |