The Fortunes of the Farrells Part 33

"Oh, the Court is beautiful--an ideal place in every respect. I would go through a good deal to earn it--in a straightforward fashion. What I object to is the mystery, and the idleness, and the feeling of compet.i.tion. You have every right to manage your own affairs in your own way, sir, but you must allow me the same privilege. You must have found out by this time that I have a large amount of obstinacy in my composition. I have made up my mind that for every reason it is my duty to return to town."

"You have calculated, of course, that even if your business succeeds to an extraordinary extent, you are never likely to make anything like as much money as will come to my heir?"

"I have always heard that you are enormously wealthy. You are probably quite right; but,"--Jack paused in front of the lounge-chair and looked down at the shrunken figure from the height of six-foot-one,--"looking back on your own life, sir, has your greatest happiness come from the amount of your possessions? Has it increased as they increased? Can you honestly advise me as a young man to sacrifice everything for money?"

There was silence for several minutes, while Mr Farrell winced and shrank within himself, as if the words had touched a hidden sore. He never referred to his own domestic life; but it was well-known that for years it had been one of ideal happiness, and that with the loss of wife and son, his real life had closed for ever. He avoided a direct reply to Jack's question by asking another in return.

"There are other things which many men consider more important. I have sometimes imagined that you would agree with them. Have you reflected that in returning to town you may be leaving behind even more than land or fortune, and thereby losing a dearer chance of happiness!"

The blood rushed into Jack's face. He could not affect to misunderstand the drift of the old man's words, but to acknowledge their truth was impossible, and the orthodox protests seemed to come of their own accord.

"What do you mean? What am I leaving? I hardly understand..."

Mr Farrell laughed shortly.

"Young people seem to imagine that their elders cannot see what is happening under their eyes. I have watched you and Mollie, and thought that there might possibly be an interesting _denouement_ to your friendship. She has faults, but she has a kind heart and would make a good wife."

Jack's face stiffened.

"Hadn't we better keep her name out of the discussion, sir? I have the greatest respect and admiration for both your nieces, but, as far as anything further is concerned, I am not in a position to think of marriage. It may be years before I can keep a house, and I would never tie down a girl indefinitely."

"In this instance it might happen that the girl had a house of her own!

Did it never strike you that you would be doubling your chances if you linked them together?"

"I am not a fool, sir! Of course I realised as much from the first, and have wondered if it was part of your scheme. My idea of marriage, however, is to be able to keep my wife, not to accept support. It may be a weakness in my nature, which makes me wish to be head of my own household; but weakness or not, there it is, and I can't get rid of it.

It would be detestable to me to marry an heiress, and if I were a girl I should despise a man who was content to live on his wife's money."

"Just so--just so! Very praiseworthy sentiments, no doubt; but I should have been glad to know that the child had a protector. The stepfather is a broken reed, and the mother is a child herself; however, you place your pride and your prejudice first, and that's the end of the business.

You will go back to town, she to the North--a very effectual separation!"

He shrugged his shoulders expressively; but Jack's eyes gave out a sudden flash, he straightened himself, and cried eagerly--

"There are trains, there are boats--if it comes to that, it is only two hundred miles. If she were in trouble, one could _walk_! It would make no difference if the woman one wanted were at the end of the world--one would get to her _somehow_ when the hour arrived! Difficulty is an inspiration, sir, when one is young!"

"Yes, yes; when one is young--when one is young!" The smile which had lightened the old man's face died away at the sound of those last words.

He raised his hand and pushed the thin locks from his brow. "Well, it is your own life--you must live it in your own way! I cannot benefit you against your will. If your mind is made up I have no strength to argue the point. You had better arrange to leave to-morrow afternoon, and give instructions to that effect to the servants."

Jack's start of surprise was entirely disagreeable. He had not expected to be dismissed in this summary fashion, and the thought of so speedy a break with the new life came upon him with a positive shock. To-morrow!

To-morrow, then, at this very hour he would be back in the dingy lodgings which did duty for home, preparing to sit down to a solitary meal, to spend a solitary evening, to sleep and wake up to a day's work in the stifling City, where the thought of green fields and rose- gardens, and wide, stretching lawns would seem as unreal as a dream. A weight of depression settled on him, as he exclaimed--

"To-morrow! But--unless you wish it, there is no hurry--I could wait until the end of the week. If I left on Sat.u.r.day, I could still begin work on Monday."

"For what object? Since you have decided not to remain, it is better for all reasons that you should return at once. You have put your work before everything else--then why delay in getting back to it? For my own part, since you refuse to consent to my conditions, it would simplify matters if you returned at once. The position is difficult, and my strength is rapidly failing. I should have been glad if you had consented to grant me these few weeks out of your life, but, since it is not to be, I prefer to finish the matter once for all." He held out his hand as he spoke. "Good-bye, Melland--my best wishes! I shall not see you in the morning!"

Jack took the proffered hand, and held it in silence, his face a study of perplexity and remorse. An Englishman hates to express his emotions, but to a generous nature the sting of ungratefulness is even more abhorrent. At that moment it seemed a little thing to spare a few months of strong, young life to gratify the whim of a dying man. Jack's heart reproached him, and he spoke in eager accents.

"If I could be a help to you, sir--if I felt that my presence gave you pleasure or comfort, I would stay willingly as long as you wished; but you have kept so much apart, that there has been no opportunity--"

Mr Farrell disengaged his hand, and turned aside with a wearied air.

"Good-bye, Melland!" he repeated. "I wish you a pleasant journey!"

So far as any change of voice or manner was concerned, he might not have heard the young man's protest. Jack turned away, miserable and abashed.

It was the last time he ever saw Bernard Farrell alive.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

FRESH TRIALS FOR RUTH AND MOLLIE.

Meanwhile, Ruth and Mollie were crying in each other's arms in the privacy of their bedroom--that is to say, Ruth was crying and Mollie was storming and shedding an occasional tear more of anger than distress.

"I've never been so insulted in my life, and I won't stand it from fifty thousand Uncle Bernards! I'll tell him so, and make him beg my pardon and yours too, darling! Don't cry! It makes your nose so red, and you hate to look a fright!"

"Oh, Mollie, we were far happier at home when we thought we were so badly off! What was the use of coming here to have our hearts broken?

I loved that man, I thought he loved me, and now I can only despise him.

He deliberately tried to fasten suspicion upon me this afternoon, and I can never prove my innocence, for I _was_ in the library, and alone for quite a long time, on and off. What can I do, or say, if they won't take my word?"

"Everybody will, whose opinion is worth having Victor Druce thinks of nothing but his own advantage; and I won't allow you to say you cared for him."

"It's easier said than done! Can you practise what you preach? You don't say anything, but I know,--I can see! When Jack goes away, will you find it easy to forget all about him?"

Mollie's face changed. Excitement disappeared, to be replaced by a sweet and serious dignity.

"I shall never forget him," she said quietly; "but he is in love with another girl--he told me about her the other day--so our lives must be spent apart. I shall never be as happy as I might have been, but I'm going to be as happy as I can. I _won't_ mope! We were happy enough just to be together a few weeks ago; let's go back to where we were, and forget all about the tiresome men!"

"It's easier said than done," sighed Ruth once more. She sank down in a chair by the window, and, leaning her head on her hand, gazed drearily across the park, beautiful in the changing light of late afternoon.

With what joy and confidence had she regarded the same scene a few weeks ago, her heart expanding in the happy certainty that some day it would be her own, and with it unlimited powers of helping those she loved.

Now, between Victor's faithlessness and her own fall from favour, hope had gradually died away, and the future seemed to hold nothing but bitterness and regret.

Ruth's heart turned homewards with yearning affection. The love of the little mother was a certainty which could be depended upon through good report and ill; nothing that could be said against her child would shake her trust and faith, she would be even more tender in failure than success.

The dear old pater, too--how good he had been all these years, making no distinction between his step-daughters and his own children, except perhaps to show a more anxious care for their needs! He worked so hard, and was so absolutely self-denying and uncomplaining; it was not his fault if he did not possess the power of money-making. When she was at home again she would be more thoughtful of his comfort, more affectionate and sympathetic. She recalled all the step-brothers and sisters whose very existence she had grudged at times, each name bringing with it some kindly, humorous recollection. How truly lovable they were, despite their faults!

Then Ruth's thoughts roamed a little further afield to the few intimate friends of the family, foremost among whom came Eleanor Maclure and her brother. What would Eleanor say if the grand expedition ended in ignominious failure? A good many words of sympathy, of cheer, and a few simple heart-to-heart truths, pointing out the spiritual side of the puzzle, spoken in that soft Scotch voice which was so good to hear. Ah yes, it would be a help to meet Eleanor again. And the--the doctor!

During the first weeks of her stay at the Court, Ruth had been so much absorbed in the present that she had had no leisure to think of old friends; but during the last few days the vision of Dr Maclure's face had risen before her not once but many times--strong, earnest, resolute, with steady glance and square-built chin, such a contrast from that other face with the veiled eyes, which seemed to hide rather than reveal the soul within.

In the midst of soreness and humiliation it had been a comfort to remember that such a man had loved her enough to wish to make her his wife. She recalled the conversation in the brougham with new sympathy and understanding. Had he suffered as she was suffering now? Did his life also stretch ahead blank and grey because of that little word from her lips? Her heart yearned over him, yet felt mysteriously lightened at the thought.

"There's the postman's collie!" cried Mollie's voice, interrupting her reverie. "That means that the evening post is in. I'll run down and see what there is for us."

She disappeared for a few minutes, then reappeared carrying one letter in her hand.

"From mother, to you. Open it quickly, dear! It is an age since she has written. I only hope and pray it is good news!" But, alas! that aspiration was shattered at the sight of the first few sentences.

"My darling girls,--I have delayed writing as I could not bear to cloud your pleasure, but I can keep back the truth no longer. You must be brave, dears, and help me to be brave, for it is no half and half trouble this time. We are quite, quite ruined, and Heaven only knows what is to become of us!