Janet's Love and Service Part 45

Graeme came and knelt close beside him. His face was turned away so that she could not see it. Her own was very pale.

"Harry, speak to me. Do you believe that Allan Ruthven is otherwise than an honourable and upright gentleman in business and--in other matters? Tell me, Harry."

"Oh, yes! as gentlemen go. No, Graeme, that is not right. I believe him in all things to be upright and honourable. I think more highly of him than I did at first. It is not that."

The colour came slowly back to Graeme's face. It was evident that Harry had no foolish thoughts of her and Allan. In a little she said,--

"And you, Harry--you have not--you are--"

"I hope I am an honourable man, Graeme," said Harry, gravely. "There is nothing between Mr Ruthven and me. I mean, he does not wish me to leave him. But I must go, Graeme. I cannot stay here."

"Harry, why? Tell me." Graeme laid her hand caressingly on his hair.

"It is nothing that I can tell," said Harry, huskily.

"Harry--even if I cannot help it, or remove it--it is better that I should know what is making you so unhappy. Harry, is it--it is not Lilias?"

He did not answer her.

"Harry, Harry! Do not say that this great sorrow has fallen upon us, upon you, too."

She drew back that he might not feel how she was trembling. In a little she said,--

"Brother, speak to me. What shall I say to you, my poor Harry?"

But Harry was not in a mood to be comforted. He rose and confronted her.

"I think the most appropriate remark for the occasion would be that I am a fool, and deserve to suffer for my folly. You had better say that to me, Graeme."

But something in his sister's face stopped him. His lips trembled, and he said,--

"At any rate, it isn't worth your looking so miserable about."

"Hush, Harry," whispered she, and he felt her tears dropping on his hands. "And Lilias?"

"Graeme, I do not know. I never spoke to her, but I hoped--I believed till lately--."

He laid his head down on his sister's shoulder. In a little he roused himself and said,--

"But it is all past now--all past; and it won't bear talking about, even with you, Graeme, who are the dearest and best sister that ever unworthy brother had. It was only a dream, and it is past. But I cannot stay here--at least it would be very much better--"

Graeme sighed.

"Yes, I can understand how it should seem impossible to you, and yet-- but you are right. It won't bear talking about. I have nothing to say to comfort you, dear, except to wait, and the pain may grow less."

No, there was nothing that Graeme could say, even if Harry would have listened to her. Her own heart was too heavy to allow her to think of comfort for him; and so they sat in silence. It seemed to Graeme that she had never been quite miserable until now. Yesterday she had thought herself wretched, and now her burden of care for Harry was pressing with tenfold weight. Why had this new misery come upon her? She had been unhappy about him before, and now it was worse with him than all her fears.

In her misery she forgot many things that might have comforted her with regard to her brother. She judged him by herself, forgetting the difference between the woman and the man--between the mature woman, who having loved vainly, could never hope to dream the sweet dream again, and the youth, hardly yet a man, sitting in the gloom of a first sorrow, with, it might well be, a long bright future stretching before him.

Sharp as the pain at her own heart was, she knew she should not die of it. She took no such consolation to herself as that. She knew she must live the old common life, hiding first the fresh wound and then the scar, only hoping that as the years went on the pain might grow less.

She accepted the lot. She thought if the darkness of her life never cast a shadow on the lives of those she loved, she would strive, with G.o.d's help, to be contented.

But Harry--poor Harry! hitherto so careless and light-hearted, how was he to bear the sorrow that had fallen upon him? Perhaps it was as well that in her love and pity for her brother, Graeme failed to see how different it might be with him. Harry would hardly have borne to be told even by her that his sorrow would pa.s.s away. The commonplaces supposed to be appropriate about time and change and patience, would have been unwelcome and irritating, even from his sister's lips, and it was all the better that Graeme should sit there, thinking her own dreary thoughts in silence. After the momentary pain and shame which the betrayal of his secret had caused him, there was a certain consolation in the knowledge that he had his sister's sympathy, and I am afraid, if the truth must be told, that Graeme that night suffered more for Harry than Harry suffered for himself. If she looked back with bitter regret on the vanished dream of the last six months, it was that night at least less for her own sake than for his. If from the future that lay before them she shrank appalled, it was not because the dreariness that must henceforth be on her life, but because of something worse than dreariness that might be on the life of her brother, unsettled, almost reckless, as he seemed to be to-night. She could not but see the danger that awaited him, should he persist in leaving home, to cast himself among strangers. How gladly would she have borne his trouble for him.

She felt that going away now, he would have no s.h.i.+eld against the temptation that had of late proved too strong for him; and yet would it be really better for him, could she prevail upon him to stay at home?

Remembering her own impulse to be away--anywhere--to escape from the past and its a.s.sociations, she could not wonder at his wish to go. That the bitterness of the pain would pa.s.s away, she hoped and believed, but would he wait with patience the coming of content. Alas! her fears were stronger than her hopes. Best give him into G.o.d's keeping and let him go, she thought.

"But he must not leave Mr Ruthven. That will make him no better, but worse. He must not go from us, not knowing whither. Oh, I wish I knew what to do!"

The next day the decision was made. It would not be true to say that Harry was quite calm and at his ease that morning, when he obeyed a summons into Mr Ruthven's private room. There was more need for Charlie's "keep cool, old fellow," than Charlie knew, for Harry had that morning told Graeme that before he saw her face again he would know whether he was to go or stay. In spite of himself he felt a little soft-hearted, as he thought of what might be the result of his interview, and he was glad that it was not his friend Allan, but Mr Ruthven the merchant, brief and business-like in all he said, whom he found awaiting him. He was busy with some one else when Harry entered, talking coolly and rapidly on business matters, and neither voice nor manner changed as he turned to him.

There was a good deal said about matters that Harry thought might very well have been kept till another time; there were notes compared and letters read and books examined. There were some allusions to past transactions, inquiries and directions, all in the fewest possible words, and in the quietest manner. Harry, replied, a.s.sented and suggested, making all the time the strongest effort to appear as there was nothing, and could be nothing, beyond these dull details to interest him.

There came a pause at last. Mr Ruthven did not say in words that he need not wait any longer, but his manner, as he looked up, and turned over a number of letters that had just been brought in, said it plainly.

Indeed, he turned quite away from him, and seemed absorbed in his occupation. Harry waited till the lad that brought in the letters had mended the fire, and fidgeted about the room, and gone out again; then he said, in a voice that ought to have been quiet and firm, for he took a great deal of pains to make it so,--

"Mr Ruthven, may I trespa.s.s a moment on your valuable time _now_?"

Mr Ruthven immediately laid his letters on the table, and turned round.

Harry thought, like a man who found it necessary to address himself, once for all, to the performance of an unpleasant duty. Certainly, he had time to attend to anything of importance that Mr Elliott might have to say.

"It is a matter of great importance to _me_, and I have been led to suppose that it is of some consequence to you. The Western agency--"

"You are right. It is of great consequence to the firm. There is, perhaps, no immediate necessity for deciding--"

"I beg your pardon, sir, there is absolute necessity for my knowing at once, whether it is your pleasure that I should be employed in it."

"Will a single day make much difference to you?" said Mr Ruthven, looking gravely at the young man, who was certainly not so calm as he meant to be.

"Excuse me, sir, many days have pa.s.sed since. But, Mr Ruthven, it is better I should spare you the pain of saying that you no longer consider me fit for the situation. Allow me, then, to inform you that I wish-- that I no longer wish to remain in your employment."

"Harry," said Mr Ruthven, gravely, "does your brother--does your sister know of your desire to leave me? Would they approve, if you were sent West?"

"Pardon me, Mr Ruthven, that question need not be discussed. I must be the best judge of the matter. As for them, they were at least reconciled to my going when you--drew back."

Mr Ruthven was evidently uncomfortable. He took up his bundle of letters again, murmuring something about their not wis.h.i.+ng it now.

"I understand you, sir," said Harry, with a very pale face. "Allow me to say that as soon as you can supply my place--or at once, if you like--I must go."

But Mr Ruthven was not listening to him. He had turned over his letters till a little note among them attracted his attention. He broke the seal, and read it while Harry was speaking. It was very brief, only three words and one initial letter.

"Let Harry go. G."

He read it, and folded it, and laid it down with a sigh. Then he turned to Harry, just as he was laying his hand on the door.

"What is it, Harry? I did not hear what you were saying."

"I merely said, sir," said Harry, turning round and facing him, "that as soon as you can supply my place in the office, I shall consider myself at liberty to go."

"But why should you wish to go?"