Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles Part 95

"So it is," acquiesced William.

"We feel the disgrace very keenly--as all must who are connected with the Dares in ever so remote a degree. _I_ feel it, William; feel it as a blow; Mrs. Ashley is the cousin of Anthony Dare."

"They are relatives of ours also," said William in a low tone. "My father was first cousin to Mrs. Dare."

Mr. Ashley looked at him with surprise. "Your father first cousin to Mrs. Dare!" he repeated. "What are you saying?"

"Her first cousin, sir. You have heard of old Mr. Cooper, of Birmingham?"

"From whom the Dares inherited their money. Well?"

"Mr. Cooper had a brother and a sister. Mrs. Dare was the daughter of the brother; the sister married the Reverend William Halliburton, and my father was their son. Mrs. Dare, as Julia Cooper, and my father, Edgar Halliburton, both lived together for some time under their uncle's roof at Birmingham."

A moment's pause, and then Mr. Ashley laid his hand on William's shoulder. "Then that brings a sort of relationship between us, William.

I shall have a right to feel pride in you now."

William laughed. But his cheek flushed with the pleasure of a more earnest feeling. His greatest earthly wish was to be appreciated by Mr.

Ashley.

"How is it I never heard of this relationship before?" cried Mr. Ashley.

"Was it purposely concealed?"

"It is only within a year or two that I have known of it," replied William. "Frank and Gar are not aware of it yet. When we first came to Helstonleigh, the Dares were much annoyed at it; and they made it known to my mother in so unmistakable a manner, that she resolved to drop all mention of the relationship; she would have dropped the relationship itself if she could have done so. It was natural, perhaps, that they should feel annoyed," continued William, seeking to apologize for them.

"They were rich and great in the eyes of the town; we were poor and obscure."

Mr. Ashley was casting his recollections backwards. A certain event, which had always somewhat puzzled him, was becoming clear now. "William, when Anthony Dare--acting, as he said, for me--put that seizure into your house for rent, it must have been done with the view of driving you from the town?"

"My mother says she has always thought so, sir."

"I see; I see. Why, William, half the inheritance, enjoyed by the Dares, ought justly to have been your father's!"

"We shall do as well without it, in the long-run, sir," replied William, a bright smile illumining his face. "Hard though the struggle was at the beginning!"

"Ay, that you will!" warmly returned Mr. Ashley. "The ways of Providence are wonderful! Yes, William--and I know you have been taught to think so--what men call the chances of the world, are all G.o.d's dealings.

Reflect on the circ.u.mstances favouring the Dares; reflect on your own drawbacks and disadvantages! They had wealth, position, a lucrative profession; everything, in fact, to help them on, that can be desired by a family in middle-cla.s.s life; whilst you had poverty, obscurity, and toil to contend with. But now, look at what they are! Mr. Dare's money is dissipated; he is overwhelmed with embarra.s.sment--I know it to be a fact, William; but this is for your ear alone. Folly, recklessness, irreligion, reign in his house; his daughters lost in pretentious vanity; his sons in something worse. In a few years they will have gone down--down. Yes," added Mr. Ashley, pointing with his finger to the floor of his counting-house, "down to the dogs. I can see it coming, as surely as that the sun is in the heavens. You and they will have exchanged positions, William; nay, you and yours, unless I am greatly mistaken, will be in a far higher position than they have ever occupied; for you will have secured the favour of G.o.d, and the approbation of all good men."

"That Frank and Gar will attain to a position in time, I should be worse than a heathen to doubt, looking back on the wonderful manner in which we have been helped on," thoughtfully observed William. "For myself I am not sanguine."

"Do you never cherish dreams on your own account?" inquired Mr. Ashley.

"If I do, sir, they are vague dreams. My position affords no scope for ambition."

"I don't know that," said Mr. Ashley. "Would you not be satisfied to become one of the great manufacturers of this great city?" he continued, laughing.

"Not unless I could be one of the greatest. Such as----" William stopped.

"Myself, for instance?" quietly put in Mr. Ashley.

"Yes, indeed," answered William, lifting his earnest eyes to his master.

"Were it possible that I could ever attain to be as you are, sir, in all things--in character, in position, in the estimation of my fellow-citizens--it would be sufficient ambition for me, and I should sit down content."

"Not you," cried Mr. Ashley. "You would then be casting your thoughts to serving your said fellow-citizens in Parliament, or some such exalted vision. Man's nature is to soar, you know; it cannot rest. As soon as one object of ambition is attained, others are sought after."

"So far as I go, we need not discuss it," was William's answer. "There's no chance of my ever becoming even a second-rate manufacturer; let alone what you are, sir."

"The next best thing to being myself, would perhaps be that of being my partner, William."

The voice in which his master spoke was so significant, that William's face flushed to crimson. Mr. Ashley noticed it.

"Did that ambition ever occur to you?"

"No, sir, never. That honour is looked upon as being destined for Cyril Dare."

"Indeed!" calmly repeated Mr. Ashley. "If you could transform your nature into Cyril, I do not say but that it might be so in time."

"He expects it himself, sir."

"Would he be a worthy a.s.sociate for me, think you?" inquired Mr.

Ashley, bending his gaze full on William.

William made no reply. Perhaps none was expected, for his master resumed:

"I do not recommend you to indulge that particular dream of ambition; I cannot see sufficiently into the future. It is my intention to push you somewhat on in the world. I have no son to advance," he added, an expression of sadness crossing his face. "All I can do for my boy is to leave him at ease after me. Therefore I may, if I live, advance you in his stead. Provided, William, you continue to deserve it."

A smile parted William's lips. That, he would ever strive for, heaven helping him.

Mr. Ashley again laid his hand on William, and gazed into his face. "I have had a wonderful account of you from Samuel Lynn. And it is not often the Friend launches into decided praise."

"Oh, have you, sir?" returned William with animation. "I am glad he was pleased with me."

"He was more than pleased. But I must not forget that I was charged with a message from Henry. He is outrageous at your not having gone to him last night. I shall be sending him to France one of these days, under your escort, William. It may do him good, in more ways than one."

"I will come to Henry this evening, sir. I must leave him, though, for half an hour, to go round to East's."

"Your conscience is engaged, I see. You know what Henry accused you of, the last time you left him to go to East's?"

"Of being enamoured of Charlotte," said William, laughing in answer to Mr. Ashley's smile. "I will come, at any rate, sir, and battle the other matter out with Henry."

CHAPTER V.

A BRUISED HEART.

If it were a hopeless task to attempt to describe the consternation of Helstonleigh at the death of Anthony Dare, far more difficult would it be to picture that of Anna Lynn. Believe Herbert guilty, Anna did not; she could scarcely have believed that, had an angel come down from heaven to affirm it. Her state of mind was not to be envied; suspense, sorrow, anxiety filled it, causing her to be in a grievous state of restlessness. She had to conceal this from the eyes of Patience; from the eyes of the world. For one thing, she could not get at the correct particulars; newspapers did not come in her way, and she shrank, in her self-consciousness, from asking. Her whole being--if we may dare to say it here--was wrapt in Herbert Dare; father, friends, home, country; she could have sacrificed them all to save him. She would have laid down her life for his. Her good sense was distorted, her judgment warped; she saw pa.s.sing events, not with the eye of dispa.s.sionate fact, or with any fact at all, but through the unhealthy tinge of fond, blind prejudice. The blow had almost crushed her; the dread suspense was wearing out her heart. She seemed no longer the same careless child as before; in a few hours she had overstepped the barrier of girlish timidity, and had gained the experience which is bought with sorrow.