By Birth A Lady Part 35

Charley smiled grimly as he read the letter over, and then carelessly thrust it back into the envelope with the bold address which waiter number one had kindly taken for a tradesman's hand.

"Take the good the G.o.ds provide one," said Charley with a bitter laugh, as he smoked furiously, and tossed down gla.s.s after gla.s.s of claret to allay the fevered rush of thought through his brain.

"I'll go," he said at last, "and see little Nell. Poor little wiry weedy Nell!--what a genuine, free-hearted, jolly little la.s.s it is! But there, if I do, sh.e.l.l only make some reference to the past."

Charley Vining's thoughts came so fast that night, that they jostled and stumbled over one another in the most confused way imaginable, till once more, s.h.i.+ning out like a star amidst the surrounding darkness, the light of Ella's face seemed to slowly rise, and he sat there thinking of her till the waiters yawned with misery because he did not retire.

But he went at last; and Ella's name was on his lips as he fell off into a heavy weary sleep, as it was the first word he uttered when waking.

The next day Sir Philip was in town, surprised and shocked to see the alteration in his son's face; for Charley looked haggard and worn, and as if he had been engaged in a long career of dissipation. He laughed, though, when Sir Philip reverted to it, and seemed most a.s.siduous in his endeavours to promote the old man's comfort.

"About this dinner at the Brays', Charley: I should like to go," Sir Philip said--"that is, if you will go with me."

"Do you particularly wish it, sir?" said Charley.

"It would give me much pleasure, if you have no other engagement."

"Engagement!" said Charley, with a bitter laugh that shocked Sir Philip.

"No, father, I have no engagements. I'll go."

"But, my dear boy, what have you been doing with yourself?--how do you pa.s.s your time?"

"Preparing myself for a private lunatic asylum, father," said Charley, with a cynical laugh; and the old man felt a swelling in his throat as he thought of the alteration that had taken place since the morning of the memorable conversation in the library.

There was a something in Charley's looks that troubled Sir Philip more than he cared to intimate: had the young man sternly refused to visit the Brays, or to accede to his wishes in any way, he would not have been surprised; but his strange looks, his bitter words, and ready acquiescence alarmed Sir Philip; and when, an hour after, Charley left the room, the old gentleman looked anxiously for his return, till, unable to bear the suspense any longer, he rang and summoned a waiter.

"Has my son gone out?" he asked.

"Think not, Sir Philip. I'll make inquiry."

Five anxious minutes pa.s.sed, and then the man returned.

"No, Sir Philip, he went up to his bedroom."

Pale and trembling, Sir Philip rose and hurried upstairs. He knew that Charley had had some more than usually bitter reverse, and a horrible dread had invaded the troubled father's breast, so that when he reached his son's room door, he feared to summon him; but at last he knocked, and waited for a few moments before he struck again upon the panels, this time more forcibly.

There was no reply.

Volume 2, Chapter XXII.

ACCIDENT OR DESIGN?

Sir Philip Vining tried the door again and again, shaking it loudly, and repeating his son's name; but there was no reply.

What should he do--summon a.s.sistance and have the room broken open? He dreaded calling for aid, to bring up the curious to gaze upon his anguish, and perhaps upon--

He seemed to check his thoughts there by a tremendous effort, and turning round, he gazed in both directions along the well-lit thickly-carpeted corridor.

There was no one in sight, neither could he hear a sound.

Then he tried to look through the keyhole of the door, but something arrested his vision. He knocked and called again and again, but there was not even the sound of breathing to be detected on the other side; and at last, roused to frenzy. Sir Philip turned the handle, and then dashed his shoulder with all his might against the panelling.

He was not strong, but the sudden sharp shock made the little bolt by which the door was secured give way, when, rus.h.i.+ng in, Sir Philip hastily closed the door behind him, anxious even now to hide from the public eye any blur that might have fallen upon the Vinings' name.

There was a small globe lamp burning upon the table, but the room seemed empty, and the bed was impressed; but on hurrying round to the foot, there on a couch lay Charley, his coat and vest thrown off, his collar and neckband unfastened, and his pale handsome face turned towards the light. His lips were just parted, and his leaden-hued eyelids barely closed; but upon Sir Philip throwing himself on his knees by the figure of his son, he could just detect a faint breathing, and upon hastily drawing his watch and holding it near his lips, the bright gold back was slightly dimmed.

"O, that it should have come to this!" groaned Sir Philip; and raising his clenched hand, for a moment it was as though he were about to call down Heaven's bitterest curse upon the head of the gentle girl to whom he attributed all this pain and suffering. But as he did so, his hand fell again to his side, and the recollection of the fair, soft, pleading face he had last looked upon, with its gentle eyes and pale cheeks, and then the scene of her fainting when he tottered back to kiss her glossy hair--all came back most vividly, and he groaned aloud.

And then he seemed to awaken to the necessity for instant action, and running to the bell, he tore at it furiously.

But there was pride still busy in the old man's brain, in spite of the shock: the world must not know what was wrong; and hastily looking round, he saw upon the dressing-table, lying in company with the young man's watch, with the thick gold chain carelessly thrown around it, a small graduated bottle--Time and Eternity, so it seemed, side by side.

Sir Philip was not surprised. He seemed to know intuitively what was coming. He had suspected it when downstairs, but in a more horrible manner; and as soon as he had thrust the bottle into his pocket, he shudderingly closed and locked the dressing-case upon the table, where, glittering and bright, lay amongst velvet several unused keen-bladed means of avoiding the pains and suffering of this world.

The next minute there was a knock at the bedroom-door, and the chamber-maid appeared.

"Quick!" exclaimed Sir Philip--"the nearest doctor directly. My son is dangerously ill!"

The woman hurried out, but returned directly.

"I have sent, sir. But can I do anything? Has he taken too much?"

"Too much! Too much what?" cried Sir Philip angrily, resenting the remark. "What do you mean, woman?"

"He has been taking it now for above a fortnight, sir," said the maid.

"Poor gentleman! he's in trouble, I think, and takes it to quiet himself."

"What?" cried Sir Philip, but this time with less anger in his tones.

"Morphy, I think it's called, sir--a sort of spirits of laudanum; and I suppose it's awful strong. Surely, poor gentleman, he ain't over-done it!"

"Are you sure that he has been in the habit of taking it?" said Sir Philip.

"O, yes, sir. I've often seen the bottle on the dressing-table.

'Morphy: to be used with great care,' it said on the label. I don't fancy he's so bad as you think, sir."

Sir Philip, still trembling with anxiety, knelt by his son's couch, to be somewhat rea.s.sured by a deep sigh which the young man now drew; and five minutes after, the doctor came in, black, smooth, and silent--a very owl amongst men--bowed to Sir Philip, and then looked at his patient.

"How long has he been like this?"

"I found him so a quarter--half an hour since," said Sir Philip. "He had left me an hour before that."

"Humph!" said the doctor. "Any reason for thinking he would commit suicide?"

"H'm--no!" said Sir Philip, hesitating; "but he has, I fear, been suffering a great deal of mental pain."

"Any bottle or packet about?" said the doctor--"bottle, I should say.

No strong odour existent; but it seems like a narcotic poison at work."