Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife Part 27

'A comfortable misanthropical picture,' said John, 'but rather too true.

You see, Violet, what talents you have brought out.'

Violet was stroking her husband's hand, and looking very proud and happy. 'Only I was so selfish! Does not he look very pale still?'

'That is not your fault so much as that of some one else,' said John.

'Some one who declares smoking cigars in his den down-stairs refreshes him more than a sensible walk.'

'Of course,' said Arthur, 'it is only ladies, and men who have nursed themselves as long as you have, who ever go out for a const.i.tutional.'

'He will be on duty to-morrow,' said Violet, 'and so he will be obliged to go out.'

'And you will write to me, Violet,' said John, 'when you are ready? I wish I could expect to hear how you get on, but it is vain to hope for letters from Arthur.'

'I know,' said Violet; 'but only think how good he has been to write to mamma for me. I was so proud when he brought me the letter to sign.'

'Have you any message for me to take?' said John, rising.

'No, thank you--only to thank Lord and Lady Martindale for their kind messages. And oh'--but checking herself--'No, you won't see them.'

'Whom?'

'Lady Elizabeth and Emma. I had such a kind letter from them. So anxious about me, and begging me to let some one write; and I am afraid they'll think it neglectful; but I turn giddy if I sit up, and when I can write, the first letter must be for mamma. So if there is any communication with Rickworth, could you let them know that I am getting better, and thank them very much!'

'Certainly. I will not fail to let them know. Good-bye, Violet, I am glad to have seen you.'

'Good-bye. I hope your cough will be better,' said Violet.

He retained her hand a moment, looked at her fixedly, the sorrowful expression returned, and he hastened away in silence.

Arthur followed, and presently coming back said, 'Poor John! You put him so much in mind of Helen.'

'Poor Mr. Martindale!' exclaimed Violet. 'Am I like her?'

'Not a bit,' said Arthur. 'Helen had light hair and eyes, a fat sort of face, and no pretence to be pretty--a downright sort of person, not what you would fancy John's taste. If any one else had compared you it would have been no compliment; but he told me you had reminded him of her from the first, and now your white cheeks and sick dress recalled her illness so much, that he could hardly bear it. But don't go and cry about it.'

'No, I won't,' said Violet, submissively, 'but I am afraid it did not suit him for us to be talking nonsense. It is so very sad.'

'Poor John! so it is,' said Arthur, looking at her, as if beginning to realize what his brother had lost. 'However, she was not his wife, though, after all, they were almost as much attached. He has not got over it in the least. This is the first time I have known him speak of it, and he could not get out her name.'

'It is nearly two years ago.'

'Nearly. She died in June. It was that cold late summer, and her funeral was in the middle of a hail-storm, horridly chilly.'

'Where was she buried?'

'At Brogden. Old Mr. Fotheringham was buried there, and she was brought there. I came home for it. What a day it was--the hailstones standing on the gra.s.s, and I shall never forget poor John's look--all shivering and shrunk up together.' He shivered at the bare remembrance. 'It put the finishing touch to the damage he had got by staying in England with her all the winter. By night he was frightfully ill--inflammation worse than ever. Poor John! That old curmudgeon of a grandfather has much to answer for, though you ought to be grateful to him, Violet; for I suppose it will end in that boy of yours being his lordship some time or other.'

The next morning was a brisk one with Violet. She wished Arthur not to be anxious about leaving her, and having by no means ceased to think it a treat to see him in uniform, she gloried in being carried to her sofa by so grand and soldierly a figure, and uttered her choicest sentence of satisfaction--'It is like a story!' while his epaulette was scratching her cheek.

'I don't know how to trust you to your own silly devices,' said he, laying her down, and lingering to settle her pillows and shawls.

'Wise ones,' said she. 'I have so much to do. There's baby--and there's Mr. Harding to come, and I want to see the cook--and I should not wonder if I wrote to mamma. So you see 'tis woman's work, and you had better not bring your red coat home too soon, or you'll have to finish the letter!' she added, with saucy sweetness.

On his return, he found her spread all over with papers, her little table by her side, with the drawer pulled out.

'Ha! what mischief are you up to? You have not got at those abominable accounts again!'

'I beg your pardon,' said she, humbly. 'Nurse would not let me speak to the cook, but said instead I might write to mamma; so I sent for my little table, but I found the drawer in such disorder, that I was setting it to rights. Who can have meddled with it!'

'I can tell you that,' said Arthur. 'I ran against it, and it came to grief, and there was a spread of all your goods and chattels on the floor.'

'Oh! I am so glad! I was afraid some of the servants had been at it.'

'What! aren't you in a desperate fright? All your secrets displayed like a story, as you are so fond of saying--what's the name of it--where the husband, no, it was the wife, fainted away, and broke open the desk with her head.'

'My dear Arthur!' and Violet laughed so much that nurse in the next room foreboded that he would tire her.

'I vow it was so! Out came a whole lot of letters from the old love, a colonel in the Peninsula, that her husband had never heard of,--an old lawyer he was.'

'The husband? What made her marry him?'

'They were all ruined horse and foot, and the old love was wounded, "kilt", or disposed of, till he turned up, married to her best friend.'

'What became of her?'

'I forget--there was a poisoning and a paralytic stroke in it.'

'Was there! How delightful! How I should like to read it. What was its name?'

'I don't remember. It was a green railway book. Theodora made me read it, and I should know it again if I saw it. I'll look out for it, and you'll find I was right about her head. But how now. Haven't you fainted away all this time?'

'No; why should I?'

'How do you know what I may have discovered in your papers? Are you prepared? It is no laughing matter,' added he, in a Blue Beard tone, and drawing out the paper of calculations, he pointed to the tear marks.

'Look here. What's this, I say, what's this, you naughty child?'

'I am sorry! it was very silly,' whispered Violet, in a contrite ashamed way, shrinking back a little.

'What business had you to break your heart over these trumpery butchers and bakers and candlestick makers?'

'Only candles, dear Arthur,' said Violet, meekly, as if in extenuation.

'But what on earth could you find to cry about?'

'It was very foolish! but I was in such a dreadful puzzle. I could not make the cook's accounts and mine agree, and I wanted to be sure whether she really--'

'Cheated!' exclaimed Arthur. 'Well, that's a blessing!'