Queechy Volume I Part 45

"Mamma! What do you mean?"

"Your father has failed."

"Failed! ? But, Mamma, I thought he wasn't in business?"

"So I thought," said Mrs. Rossitur; "I didn't know people could fail that were not in business; but it seems they can.

He was a partner in some concern or other, and it's all broken to pieces, and your father with it, he says!"

Mrs. Rossitur's face was distressful. They were all silent for a little, Hugh kissing his mother's wet cheeks. Fleda had softly nestled her head in her bosom. But Mrs. Rossitur soon recovered herself.

"How bad is it, mother?" said Hugh.

"As bad as can possibly be."

"Is everything gone?"

"Everything!" ?

"You don't mean the house, Mamma?"

"The house, and all that is in it."

The children's hearts were struck, and they were silent again, only a trembling touch of Fleda's lips spoke sympathy and patience, if ever a kiss did.

"But, Mamma," said Hugh, after he had gathered breath for it, "do you mean to say that everything, literally everything, is gone? Is there nothing left?"

"Nothing in the world ? not a sou."

"Then what are we going to do?"

Mrs. Rossitur shook her head, and had no words.

Fleda looked across to Hugh to ask no more, and putting her arms around her aunt's neck, and laying cheek to cheek, she spoke what comfort she could.

"Don't, dear aunt Lucy! ? there will be some way ? things always turn out better than at first, I dare say we shall find out it isn't so bad by and by. Don't you mind it, and then we wont. We can be happy anywhere together."

If there was not much in the reasoning, there was something in the tone of the words, to bid Mrs. Rossitur bear herself well.

Its tremulous sweetness, its anxious love, was without a taint of self-recollection; its sorrow was for her. Mrs. Rossitur felt that she must not show herself overcome. She again kissed and blessed, and pressed closer in her arms, her little comforter, while her other hand was given to Hugh.

"I have only heard about it this morning. Your uncle was here telling me just now ? a little while before you came in. Don't say anything about it before him."

Why not? The words struck Fleda disagreeably.

"What will be done with the house, Mamma?" said Hugh.

"Sold ? sold, and everything in it."

"Papa's books, Mamma! and all the things in the library!"

exclaimed Hugh, looking terrified.

Mrs. Rossitur's face gave the answer; do it in words she could not.

The children were a long time silent, trying hard to swallow this bitter pill; and still Hugh's hand was in his mother's, and Fleda's head lay on her bosom. Thought was busy, going up and down, and breaking the companionship they had so long held with the pleasant drawing-room, and the tasteful arrangements among which Fleda was so much at home; the easy chairs in whose comfortable arms she had had so many an hour of nice reading; the soft rug, where, in the very wantonness of frolic, she had stretched herself to play with King; that very luxurious bright grateful of fire, which had given her so often the same warm welcome home ? an apt introduction to the other stores of comfort which awaited her above and below stairs; the rich-coloured curtains and carpet, the beauty of which had been such a constant gratification to Fleda's eye; and the exquisite French table and lamps they had brought out with them, in which her uncle and aunt had so much pride, and which could nowhere be matched for elegance ? they must all be said "good-bye" to; and as yet fancy had nothing to furnish the future with; it looked very bare.

King had come in, and wagged himself up close to his mistress, but even he could obtain nothing but the touch of most abstracted finger-ends. Yet, though keenly recognised, these thoughts were only pa.s.sing compared with the anxious and sorrowful ones that went to her aunt and uncle; for Hugh and her, she judged, it was less matter. And Mrs. Rossitur's care was most for her husband; and Hugh's was for them all. His a.s.sociations were less quick, and his tastes less keen, than Fleda's, and less a part of himself. Hugh lived in his affections; with a salvo to them he could bear to lose anything and go anywhere.

"Mamma," said he, after a long time ? "will anything be done with Fleda's books?"

A question that had been in Fleda's mind before, but which she had patiently forborne just then to ask.

"No, indeed!" said Mrs. Rossitur, pressing Fleda more closely, and kissing in a kind of rapture the sweet, thoughtful face ?

"not yours, my darling; they can't touch anything that belongs to you ? I wish it was more ? and I don't suppose they will take anything of mine either."

"Ah, well!" said Fleda, raising her head, "you have got quite a parcel of books, aunt Lucy, and I have a good many ? how well it is I have had so many given me since I have been here!

That will make quite a nice little library, both together, and Hugh has some; I thought perhaps we shouldn't have one at all left, and that would have been rather bad."

"Rather bad!" Mrs. Rossitur looked at her, and was dumb.

"Only don't you wear a sad face for anything!" Fleda went on earnestly; "we shall be perfectly happy if you and uncle Rolf only will be."

"My dear children!" said Mrs. Rossitur, wiping her eyes, "it is for you I am unhappy ? you and your uncle; I do not think of myself."

"And we do not think of ourselves, Mamma," said Hugh.

"I know it; but having good children don't make one care less about them," said Mrs. Rossitur, the tears fairly raining over her fingers.

Hugh pulled the fingers down and again tried the efficacy of his lips.

"And you know Papa thinks most of you, Mamma."

"Ah, your father!" said Mrs. Rossitur shaking her head; "I am afraid it will go hard with him! But I will be happy as long as I have you two, or else I should be a very wicked woman. It only grieves me to think of your education and prospects" ?

"Fleda's piano, Mamma!" said Hugh, with sudden dismay.

Mrs. Rossitur shook her head again and covered her eyes, while Fleda stretching across to Hugh, gave him, by look and touch, an earnest admonition to let that subject alone. And then, with a sweetness and gentleness like nothing but the breath of the south wind, she wooed her aunt to hope and resignation.

Hugh held back, feeling or thinking that Fleda could do it better than he, and watching her progress, as Mrs. Rossitur took her hand from her face and smiled, at first mournfully, and then really mirthfully, in Fleda's face, at some sally that n.o.body but a nice observer would have seen was got up for the occasion; and it was hardly that, so completely had the child forgotten her own sorrow in ministering to that of another. "Blessed are the peacemakers!" It is always so.

"You are a witch or a fairy," said Mrs. Rossitur, catching her again in her arms ? "nothing else! You must try your powers of charming upon your uncle."

Fleda laughed without any effort; but as to trying her slight wand upon Mr. Rossitur, she had serious doubts. And the doubts became certainty when they met at dinner; he looked so grave that she dared not attack him. It was a gloomy meal, for the face that should have lighted the whole table cast a shadow there.

Without at all comprehending the whole of her husband's character, the sure magnetism of affection had enabled Mrs.

Rossitur to divine his thoughts. Pride was his ruling pa.s.sion; not such pride as Mr. Carleton's, which was rather like exaggerated self-respect, but wider and more indiscriminate in its choice of objects. It was pride in his family name; pride in his own talents, which were considerable; pride in his family, wife, and children, and all of which he thought did him honour ? if they had not, his love for them a.s.suredly would have known some diminishing; pride in his wealth, and in the attractions with which it surrounded him; and, lastly, pride in the skill, taste, and connoisseurship which enabled him to bring those attractions together. Furthermore, his love for both literature and art was true and strong; and for many years he had accustomed himself to lead a life of great luxuriousness, catering for body and mind in every taste that could be elegantly enjoyed; and again proud of the elegance of every enjoyment. The change of circ.u.mstances which touched his pride, wounded him at every point where he was vulnerable at all.

Fleda had never felt so afraid of him. She was glad to see Dr.

Gregory come in to tea. Mr. Rossitur was not there. The Doctor did not touch upon affairs, if he had heard of their misfortune; he went on as usual in a rambling cheerful way all tea-time, talking mostly to Fleda and Hugh. But after tea he talked no more, but sat still and waited till the master of the house came in.

Fleda thought Mr. Rossitur did not look glad to see him. But how could he look glad about anything? He did not sit down, and for a few minutes there was a kind of meaning silence.