Sir Brook Fossbrooke Volume I Part 53

"How long it seems!" murmured she. "Does this delay augur ill for success, or is it that they are talking over the details of the plan?

Oh, if I could be sure of that! My poor dear Tom, how I long to be near you--to care for you--and watch you!" and as she said this, a cold sickness came over her, and she muttered aloud: "What perfidy it all is!

As if I was not thinking 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?"

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 room where the old Judge was sitting, his eyes closed and his whole att.i.tude 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 tearful 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. '_Ce sont les droits de la decrepitude_,' 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. To-morrow will be Thursday?"

"Wednesday, grandpapa."

"Wednesday,--all the better, my dear child; another day gained. I say, Beattie," cried 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 where a man combats himself, he a.s.serts his ident.i.ty. 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 x.x.xIX. 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 seem to 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 did n'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 honorable! 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 encountered."

"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 too--triumphs? 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 him--what 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 colored 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.

"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 have n't burnt _that_, I hope?"

"No; it's upstairs 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 have no equivalent for,--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?"

"Oh, sir, it is not for me to pa.s.s 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 now--that 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 wish--really I say it in all good faith--you would limit the sphere of your fascinations to such very frail humanities. Trafford only became spooney after that smash on the skull; as he grew better, he threw off his delusions,--did n't he?"