John Halifax, Gentleman Part 106

"AT THE BRITISH EMBa.s.sY, PARIS, SIR GERARD VERMILYE, BART., TO THE YOUTHFUL AND BEAUTIFUL DAUGHTER OF--"

I forget who. I only saw that the name was not her name, of whom the "youthful and beautiful" bride had most likely never heard. He had not married Lady Caroline.

This morning's intelligence brought the Luxmore family so much to our thoughts, that driving out after breakfast, John and I involuntarily recurred to the subject. Nay, talking on, in the solitude of our front seat--for Mrs. Halifax, Miss Halifax, and Mrs. Edwin Halifax, in the carriage behind, were deep in some other subject--we fell upon a topic which by tacit consent had been laid aside, as in our household we held it good to lay aside any inevitable regret.

"Poor Maud! how eager she was to hear the news to-day. She little thinks how vitally it might have concerned her."

"No," John answered thoughtfully; then asked me with some abruptness, "Why did you say 'poor Maud'?"

I really could not tell; it was a mere accident, the unwitting indication of some crotchets of mine, which had often come into my mind lately. Crotchets, perhaps peculiar to one, who, never having known a certain possession, found himself rather p.r.o.ne to over-rate its value.

But it sometimes struck me as hard, considering how little honest and sincere love there is in the world, that Maud should never have known of Lord Ravenel's.

Possibly, against my will, my answer implied something of this; for John was a long time silent. Then he began to talk of various matters; telling me of many improvements he was planning and executing, on his property, and among his people. In all his plans, and in the carrying out of them, I noticed one peculiarity, strong in him throughout his life, but latterly grown stronger than ever--namely, that whatever he found to do, he did immediately. Procrastination had never been one of his faults; now, he seemed to have a horror of putting anything off even for a single hour. Nothing that could be done did he lay aside until it was done; his business affairs were kept in perfect order, each day's work being completed with the day. And in the thousand-and-one little things that were constantly arising, from his position as magistrate and land-owner, and his general interest in the movements of the time, the same system was invariably pursued. In his relations with the world outside, as in his own little valley, he seemed determined to "work while it was day." If he could possibly avoid it, no application was ever unattended to; no duty left unfinished; no good unacknowledged; no evil unremedied, or at least unforgiven.

"John," I said, as to-day this peculiarity of his struck me more than usual, "thou art certainly one of the faithful servants whom the Master when He cometh will find watching."

"I hope so. It ought to be thus with all men--but especially with me."

I imagined from his tone that he was thinking of his responsibility as father, master, owner of large wealth. How could I know--how could I guess--beyond this!

"Do you think she looks pale, Phineas?" he asked suddenly.

"Who--your wife?"

"No--Maud. My little Maud."

It was but lately that he called her "his" little Maud; since with that extreme tenacity of attachment which was a part of his nature--refusing to put any one love in another love's place--his second daughter had never been to him like the first. Now, however, I had noticed that he took Maud nearer to his heart, made her more often his companion, watching her with a sedulous tenderness--it was easy to guess why.

"She may have looked a little paler of late, a little more thoughtful.

But I am sure she is not unhappy."

"I believe not--thank G.o.d!"

"Surely," I said anxiously, "you have never repented what you did about Lord Ravenel?"

"No--not once. It cost me so much, that I know it was right to be done."

"But if things had been otherwise--if you had not been so sure of Maud's feelings--"

He started, painfully; then answered--"I think I should have done it still."

I was silent. The paramount right, the high prerogative of love, which he held as strongly as I did, seemed attacked in its liberty divine.

For the moment, it was as if he too had in his middle-age gone over to the cold-blooded ranks of harsh parental prudence, despotic paternal rule; as if Ursula March's lover and Maud's father were two distinct beings. One finds it so, often enough, with men.

"John," I said, "could you have done it? could you have broken the child's heart?"

"Yes, if it was to save her peace, perhaps her soul, I could have broken my child's heart."

He spoke solemnly, with an accent of inexpressible pain, as if this were not the first time by many that he had pondered over such a possibility.

"I wish, Phineas, to make clear to you, in case of--of any future misconceptions--my mind on this matter. One right alone I hold superior to the right of love,--duty. It is a father's duty, at all risks, at all costs, to save his child from anything which he believes would peril her duty--so long as she is too young to understand fully how beyond the claim of any human being, be it father or lover, is G.o.d's claim to herself and her immortal soul. Anything which would endanger that should be cut off--though it be the right hand--the right eye. But, thank G.o.d, it was not thus with my little Maud."

"Nor with him either. He bore his disappointment well."

"n.o.bly. It may make a true n.o.bleman of him yet. But, being what he is, and for as long as he remains so, he must not be trusted with my little Maud. I must take care of her while I live: afterwards--"

His smile faded, or rather was trans.m.u.ted into that grave thoughtfulness which I had lately noticed in him, when, as now, he fell into one of his long silences. There was nothing sad about it; rather a serenity which reminded me of that sweet look of his boyhood, which had vanished during the manifold cares of his middle life. The expression of the mouth, as I saw it in profile--close and calm--almost inclined me to go back to the fanciful follies of our youth, and call him "David."

We drove through Norton Bury, and left Mrs. Edwin there. Then on, along the familiar road, towards the manor-house; past the white gate, within sight of little Longfield.

"It looks just the same--the tenant takes good care of it." And John's eyes turned fondly to his old home.

"Ay, just the same. Do you know your wife was saying to me this morning, that when Guy comes back, when all the young folk are married, and you retire from business and settle into the otium c.u.m dignitate, the learned leisure you used to plan--she would like to give up Beechwood. She said, she hopes you and she will end your days together at little Longfield."

"Did she? Yes, I know that has been always her dream."

"Scarcely a dream, or one that is not unlikely to be fulfilled. I like to fancy you both two old people, sitting on either side the fire--or on the same side if you like it best; very cheerful--you will make such a merry old man, John, with all your children round you, and indefinite grandchildren about the house continually. Or else you two will sit alone together, just as in your early married days--you and your old wife--the dearest and handsomest old lady that ever was seen."

"Phineas--don't--don't." I was startled by the tone in which he answered the lightness of mine. "I mean--don't be planning out the future. It is foolish--it is almost wrong. G.o.d's will is not as our will; and He knows best."

I would have spoken; but just then we reached the manor-house gate, and plunged at once into present life, and into the hospitable circle of the Oldtowers.

They were all in the excitement of a wonderful piece of gossip; gossip so strange, sudden, and unprecedented, that it absorbed all lesser matters. It burst out before we had been in the house five minutes.

"Have you heard this extraordinary report about the Luxmore family?"

I could see Maud turn with eager attention--fixing her eyes wistfully on Lady Oldtower.

"About the earl's death. Yes, we saw it in the newspaper." And John pa.s.sed on to some other point of conversation. In vain.

"This news relates to the present earl. I never heard of such a thing--never. In fact, if true, his conduct is something which in its self-denial approaches absolute insanity. Is it possible that, being so great a friend of your family, he has not informed you of the circ.u.mstances?"

These circ.u.mstances, with some patience, we extracted from the voluble Lady Oldtower. She had learnt them--I forget how: but news never wants a tongue to carry it.

It seemed that on the earl's death it was discovered, what had already been long suspected, that his liabilities, like his extravagances, were enormous. That he was obliged to live abroad to escape in some degree the clamorous haunting of the hundreds he had ruined: poor tradespeople, who knew that their only chance of payment was during the old man's life-time, for his whole property was entailed on the son.

Whether Lord Ravenel had ever been acquainted with the state of things, or whether, being in ignorance of it, his own style of living had in degree imitated his father's, rumour did not say, nor indeed was it of much consequence. The facts subsequently becoming known immediately after Lord Luxmore's death, made all former conjectures unnecessary.

Not a week before he died, the late earl and his son--chiefly it was believed on the latter's instigation--had cut off the entail, thereby making the whole property saleable, and available for the payment of creditors. Thus by his own act, and--as some one had told somebody that somebody else had heard Lord Ravenel say: "for the honour of the family," the present earl had succeeded to an empty t.i.tle, and--beggary.

"Or," Lady Oldtower added, "what to a man of rank will be the same as beggary--a paltry two hundred a year or so--which he has reserved, they say, just to keep him from dest.i.tution. Ah--here comes Mr. Jessop; I thought he would. He can tell us all about it."

Old Mr. Jessop was as much excited as any one present.

"Ay--it's all true--only too true, Mr. Halifax. He was at my house last night."

"Last night!" I do not think anybody caught the child's exclamation but me; I could not help watching little Maud, noticing what strong emotion, still perfectly child-like and unguarded in its demonstration, was shaking her innocent bosom, and overflowing at her eyes. However, as she sat still in the corner, n.o.body observed her.

"Yes, he slept at my house--Lord Ravenel, the Earl of Luxmore, I mean.