How It All Came Round Part 6

"It is certainly true, Charlotte, that my father and your grandfather married again."

"Yes, uncle."

"It is also highly probable that this young woman is the daughter of that marriage. When I saw her in this room to-day I was puzzled by an intangible likeness in her. This accounts for it."

"Then why----" began Charlotte, and then she stopped. There was a whole world of bitterness in her tone.

"Sit down, child," said her uncle. He pointed to a footstool at his feet. Whenever he came into this room Charlotte had occupied this footstool, and he wanted her to take it now, but she would not; she still kept her place on the hearth.

"I cannot sit," she said. "I am excited--greatly excited. This looks to me in the light of a wrong."

"Who do you think has committed the wrong, Charlotte?"

Before she answered, Charlotte Harman lit a pair of candles which stood on the mantelshelf.

"There, now," she said with a sigh of relief, "I can see your face. It is dreadful to speak to any one in the dark. Uncle Jasper, if I had so near a relation living all these years why was I never told of it? I have over and over again longed for a sister, and it seems I had one or one who might have been to me a sister. Why was I kept in ignorance of her very existence?"

"You are like all women--unreasonable, Lottie. I am glad to find you so human, my dear; so human, and--and--womanly. You jump to conclusions without hearing reasons. Now I will give you the reasons. But I do wish you would sit down."

"I will sit here," said Charlotte, and she drew a chair near the table.

The room abounded in easy-chairs of all sizes and descriptions, but she chose one hard and made of cane, and she sat upright upon it, her hands folded on her lap. "Now, Uncle Jasper," she said, "I am ready to hear your reasons."

"They go a good way back, my dear, and I am not clever at telling a story; but I will do my best. Your grandfather made his money in trade; he made a good business, and he put your father and me both into it. It is unnecessary to go into particulars about our special business; it was small at first, but we extended it until it became the great firm of which your father is the present head. We both, your father and I, showed even more apt.i.tude for this life of mercantile success than our father did, and he, perceiving this, retired while scarcely an old man.

He made us over the entire business he had made, taking, however, from it, for his own private use, a large sum of money. On the interest of this money he would live, promising, however, to return it to us at his death. The money taken out of the business rather crippled us, and we begged of him to allow us to pay him the interest, and to let the capital remain at our disposal; but he wished to be completely his own master, and he bought a place in Hertfordshire out of part of the money. It was a year or two after, that he met his second wife and married her. I don't pretend," continued Uncle Jasper, "that we liked this marriage or our stepmother. We were young fellows then, and we thought our father had done us an injustice. The girl he had chosen was an insipid little thing, with just a pretty face, and nothing whatever else. She was not quite a lady. We saw her, and came to the conclusion that she was common--most unsuited to our father. We also remembered our own mother; and most young men feel pain at seeing any one put into her place.

"We expostulated with our father. He was a fiery old man, and hot words pa.s.sed between us. I won't repeat what we all said, my dear, or how bitter John and I felt when we rode away from the old place our father had just purchased. One thing he said as we were going off.

"'My marrying again won't make any money difference to you two fellows, and I suppose I may please myself.'"

"I think my grandfather was very unjust," said Charlotte, but nevertheless a look of relief stole over her face.

"We went back to our business, my dear, and our father married; and when we wrote to him he did not answer our letters. After a time we heard a son had been born, and then, shortly after the birth of this child, the news reached us, that a lawyer had been summoned down to the manor-house in Hertfordshire. We supposed that our father was making provision for the child; and it seemed to us fair enough. Then we saw the child's death in the _Times_, and shortly after the news also came to us that the same lawyer had gone down again to see our father.

"After this, a few years went by, and we, busy with our own life, gave little heed to the old man, who seemed to have forgotten us. Suddenly we were summoned to his deathbed. John, your father, my dear, had always been his favorite. On his deathbed he seemed to have returned to the old times, when John was a little fellow. He liked to have him by his side; in short, he could not bear to have him out of his sight. He appeared to have forgotten the poor, common little wife he had married, and to live his early days over again. He died quite reconciled to us both, and we held his hand as he breathed his last.

"To our surprise, my dear, we found that he had left us every penny of his fortune. The wife and baby girl were left totally unprovided for. We were amazed! We thought it unjust. We instantly resolved to make provision for her and her baby. We did so. She never wanted to the day of her death."

"She did not starve," interrupted Charlotte, "but you shut her out, her and her child, from yourselves, and from me. Why did you do this?"

"My dear, you would scarcely speak in that tone to your father, and it was his wish as well as mine--indeed, far more his wish than mine. I was on the eve of going to Australia, to carry on a branch of our trade there; but he was remaining at home. He was not very long married. You don't remember your mother, Charlotte. Ah! what a fine young creature she was, but proud--proud of her high birth--of a thousand things. It would have been intolerable to her to a.s.sociate with one like my stepmother. Your father was particular about his wife and child. He judged it best to keep these undesirable relations apart. I, for one, can scarcely blame him."

"I _will_ not blame my father," said Charlotte. Again that look of relief had stolen over her face. The healthy tint, which was scarcely color, had returned to her cheek; and the tension of her att.i.tude was also withdrawn, for she changed her seat, taking possession now of her favorite easy-chair. "But I like Charlotte Home," she said after a pause. "She is--whatever her mother may have been--quite a lady. I think it is hard that when she is so nearly related to me she should be so poor and I so rich. I will speak to my father. He asked me only this morning what I should like as a wedding present. I know what I shall like. He will give that three thousand pounds to Charlotte Home. The money her mother had for her life she shall have for ever. I know my father won't refuse me."

Charlotte's eyes were on the ground, and she did not see the dark expression which for a moment pa.s.sed over Jasper Harman's face. Before he answered her he poked the fire into a vigorous flame.

"You are a generous girl, Lottie," he said then. "I admire your spirit.

But it is plain, my dear, that money has come as easily to you as the very air you breathe, or you would not speak of three thousand pounds in a manner so light as almost to take one's breath away. But suppose--suppose the money could be given, there is another difficulty.

To get that money for Mrs. Home, who, by the way, has her husband to provide for her, you must tell this tale to your father--you must not do that."

"Why not?" asked Charlotte, opening her eyes wide in surprise.

"Simply because he is ill, and the doctors have forbidden him to be in the least agitated."

"Uncle Jasper--I know he is not well, but I did not hear this; and why--why should what I have to say agitate him?"

"Because he cannot bear any allusion to the past. He loved his father; he cannot dwell on those years when they were estranged. My dear,"

continued old Uncle Jasper. "I am glad you came with this tale to me--it would have done your father harm. The doctors hope soon to make him much better, but at present he must hear nothing likely to give rise to gloomy thoughts; wait until he is better, my dear. And if you want help for this Mrs. Home, you must appeal to me. Promise me that, Lottie."

"I will promise, certainly, not to injure my father, but I confess you puzzle me."

"I am truly sorry, my dear. I will think over your tale, but now I must go to John. Will you come with me?"

"No, thanks; I would rather stay here."

"Then we shall not meet again, for in an hour I am off to my club.

Good-night, my dear."

And Charlotte could not help noticing how soft and catlike were the footsteps of the old Australian uncle as he stole away.

CHAPTER X.

JOHN AND JASPER HARMAN.

Jaspar Harman was sixty years old at this time, but the days of his pilgrimage had pa.s.sed lightly over him, neither impairing his frame nor his vigor. At sixty years of age he could think as clearly, sleep as comfortably, eat as well--nay, even walk as far as he did thirty years ago. His life in the Antipodes seemed to have agreed with him. It is true his hair was turning gray, and his shrewd face had many wrinkles on it, but these seemed more the effects of climate than of years. He looked like a man whom no heart-trouble had ever touched and in this doubtless lay the secret of his perpetual youth. Care might sweep him very close, but it could not enter an unwelcome guest, to sit on the hearth of his holy of holies; into the innermost shrine of his being it could scarcely find room to enter. His was the kind of nature to whom remorse even for a sin committed must be almost unknown. His affections were not his strong point. Most decidedly his intellect overbalanced his heart. But without an undue preponderance of heart he was good-natured; he would pat a chubby little cheek, if he pa.s.sed it in the street, and he would talk in a genial and hearty way to those beneath him in life.

In business matters he was considered very shrewd and hard, but those who had no such dealings with him p.r.o.nounced him a kindly soul. His smile was genial; his manner frank and pleasant. He had one trick, however, which no servant could bear--his step was as soft as a cat's; he must be on your heels before you had the faintest clue to his approach.

In this stealthy way he now left his niece's room, stole down the thickly carpeted stairs, crept across a tiled hall, and entered the apartment where his elder brother waited for him.

John Harman was only one year Jasper's senior, but there looked a much greater difference between them. Jasper was young for his years; John was old; nay, more--he was very old. In youth he must have been a handsome man; in age for every one spoke of him as aged, he was handsome still. He was tall, over six feet; his hair was silver-white; his eyes very deep set, very dark. Their expression was penetrating, kind, but sad. His mouth was firm, but had some lines round it which puzzled you.

His smile, which was rare and seldom seen, was a wintry one. You would rather John Harman did not smile at you; you felt miserable afterwards.

All who knew him said instinctively that John Harman had known some great trouble. Most people attributed it to the death of his wife, but, as this happened twenty years ago, others shook their heads and felt puzzled. Whatever the sorrow, however, which so perpetually clouded the fine old face, the nature of the man was so essentially n.o.ble that he was universally loved and respected.

John Harmon was writing a letter when his brother entered. He pushed aside his writing materials, however, and raised his head with a sigh of relief. In Jasper's presence there was always one element of comfort.

He need cover over no anxieties; his old face looked almost sharp as he wheeled his chair round to the fire.

"No, you are not interrupting me," he began. "This letter can keep; it is not a business one. I never transact business at home." Then he added, as Jasper sank into the opposite chair, "You have been having a long chat with the child. I am glad she is getting fond of you."

"She is a fine girl," said Jasper; "a fine, generous girl. I like her, even though she does dabble in literature; and I like Hinton too. When are they to be married, John?"

"When Hinton gets his first brief--not before," answered John Harman.

"Well, well, he's a clever chap; I don't see why you should wait for that--he's safe to get on. If I were you, I'd like to see my girl comfortably settled. One can never tell what may happen!"

"What may happen!" repeated the elder Harman. "Do you allude now to the doctor's verdict on myself. I did not wish Charlotte acquainted with it."