The Hall and the Grange Part 35

"My dear Cynthia," he said, "if he wants to see me, it is because he wants our dispute to be put an end to, once for all. I want that too, and you can trust me to think of nothing but to set his mind at rest.

Don't think of me as an enemy any longer."

She made no reply, but led him up to the room.

His brother's eyes were upon him, as he went in, with an expression that was sorrowful, but also welcoming. "Well, William," he said, in a low but audible voice, "it does me good to see you here. I seem to be worse than I thought I was, but we can have a little chat. It was good of you to come, after all that has happened."

"My dear old fellow, don't let's talk about what has happened. I've been very much to blame; but you have always had a lot to put up with in my ways of doing things. Yet we've been friends all our lives, and nothing is ever going to part us again."

He had taken his hand, and given it a gentle pressure. His brother held it in his for an appreciable time, and then grasped it with a meaning that was plain enough without further words. William sat down by his side, with a sensation of choking in his throat. Their quarrel was at an end.

"There's a lot to settle," Colonel Eldridge said. "I may not be fit to talk to you again. If I don't get over this, you'll look after Cynthia and the children. They'll have enough, but I've always directed all our affairs; she'll be lost at first."

William forced himself with a great effort to speak naturally and evenly. "You'll get over it, my dear old fellow," he said confidently; "but I agree that it's best to be prepared. We've been like one family, until lately, and that's what we are again now. You were quite right in saying that I had spoilt the Grange for them, or I'd have looked after them there. They shall stay here, dear Edmund. The old place will be more like it has always been with them in it, and as I like it to be, than with us living in it. I'm committed to another sort of life now, and it's too late to go back. But we shall be down here often, in the old way. They'll have us to depend upon, in whatever they can't do for themselves."

"You haven't bought that other place?"

"No. I did think of it; but I shall give it up after this season, anyhow. If all goes well, as I'm sure it will, if you set your mind to getting better, we shall come back here, to the Grange, and you must let me join you in a closer partnership. You'll be here to look after the place in a way I couldn't do; you'll go on running it in your own way, which couldn't be bettered, but under all the new conditions there's room for capital and business methods in estate management, which I'm in a position to bring in. We can do better with Hayslope if we work together; we can get as much out of it as ever."

Colonel Eldridge sighed. "It is what ought to have been done," he said.

"And you have always been ready to do it, I know. You'll do better for the place than I could now, and for my family. I've thought of them always; but I've not done the best for them that could have been done. I think I did before, but I've been too slow to see that it wasn't in my power any longer. I shall leave it all to you, William, and go with a quiet mind, if I have to go. Thank G.o.d, you can do what I couldn't and that I've come round to trusting to you for it before it's too late.

Perhaps all the girls won't be here at home much longer. I should have liked to know that Pamela would be happily married; but that can't be hurried. There are other things to settle, William. We mustn't lose time. Poor Hugo ... there's something I want to tell you ... you know something of it. Oh, and Crowborough told me what you'd done, when it first came out. I haven't thanked you for that. There's such a lot to talk about."

He was getting restless. William put a quietening hand upon him. "I know everything," he said. "Don't let's waste time over that. I know about Mrs. Barrett, and the money. Young Comfrey told me of the new demand. He ought not to have done it, but I'm very glad he did. I can take all that on me now, Edmund. You won't want to hold out any longer, will you? I know you won't. I'm _very_ sorry, dear old fellow, for the resentment I've been keeping up; and ashamed of it. If you leave it all to me, and put it out of your mind once for all, you'll give me more comfort and pleasure than you could in any other way."

He seemed to be controlling his mind to a new idea. "Yes," he said, at last, and more quietly. "It's one of the many things that you'll do for me. You've been generous all through, and I've been stiff and ungrateful."

The nurse and Mrs. Eldridge came in. William took his brother's hand in his, and they looked into one another's faces. It was a momentary look, but there was nothing to interrupt the message it carried, of understanding, and affection, and trust.

William went downstairs, and found Pamela there. He was much moved, and could not hide his emotion from her. She loved him the better for it.

"You don't think he's worse, do you, Uncle Bill?" she asked him. "He _will_ get better, won't he?"

"One always thinks of strong people you've never seen ill worse than they are," he said, to explain his emotion. "Yes, I think he'll get better now. I've had very little time with him, but I've been able to relieve his mind of some things that have lain heavy on it. I think there's nothing he need worry about now; and I shall be able to talk to him again. It's been a sad business, Pam--our quarrel. I've been very much to blame, but it's all over now. I don't want to think too much about it, as he won't, any longer. The way has been made clear for us to help each other in what we want done. You won't be leaving Hayslope, my dear. That's settled, at any rate."

"I shall be very glad of that, if he gets better," she said quietly.

"Uncle Bill, I wish you'd send for Lord Crowborough."

"My dear, you mustn't get thinking that he won't recover. I'm not going to let myself think it. I believe, somehow, that if we fight against that idea in our minds, it will help him to fight through himself."

"Oh, yes, I know. But if he doesn't! I've made Nurse Mary tell me, if he doesn't get better, it can't last very long. I think he would like to see Lord Crowborough; he has depended on him a good deal lately, and he has always cheered him up when he has been over. Do send for him, will you, Uncle Bill?"

He was a little surprised at her earnestness, but promised to do what she wished. "I'll telephone over directly I get to the Grange," he said.

"He isn't at the Castle," she said. "They went up to London a few days ago. You'll telephone to him there, won't you? I know he will come down, if he knows how ill father is. Tell him that I asked you to."

He promised to do that, and left her. She stood at the window, and saw him go across the lawn and under the bare branches of the trees down into the wood. She stood there for a long time, after he had disappeared, and when she turned back to the room her face was sad but composed.

The illness ran its quick course, which seemed to drag interminably to those who could do little but watch it. There were slight fluctuations, but never much hope of recovery, at least to those who had had experience of such an illness. To his children, who saw him sometimes for a few minutes when he was at his best, it seemed impossible that he should be nearing his end. He would smile at them, and say a few words.

They were always words that they would remember afterwards--as if he had thought out what he could say in so short a time, that would not sadden them with the idea that he expected to die, and yet would not waste the precious time he had still to be with them. He sent for Timbs and old Jackson, and one or two more of the servants and the villagers.

To all of these he had something definite to say which was not a farewell; but they would count it so afterwards.

Lord Crowborough had left London for Bath. He wired to say he was coming on the fourth day, by the train which arrived in the middle of the afternoon. It was doubtful whether he would be able to see Colonel Eldridge that day; but it had been arranged that he was to stay at the Grange.

Lord Eldridge's car had been sent to the station. It might be back at any time now. Pamela was alone in the morning-room. It had come to be recognized that it was she who had pressed for him to come, and pressed again when it had seemed impossible to get him. It was she who was to receive him; she had asked that she should.

She sat motionless in front of the fire, except that once or twice she turned her head to listen. The big car made very little noise; she was on the alert to catch the first sounds of it.

At last it came--the crunching of the wet gravel, heard as soon as the purring of the engine. She sprang up, as if she would go out to meet the arrival, but stood still, as if, after all, she was unable to stir. Her hand went to her heart, and there was a look almost of fright on her face, as she stood in front of the fire, looking towards the door.

It opened, but she could not move. Then her face changed altogether, with a breaking up of its expression of strain, and she gave a little cry. For it was not Lord Crowborough, but Norman who came quickly into the room.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

AN ENDING AND A BEGINNING

Pamela was sobbing in Norman's arms when Lord Crowborough came into the room almost immediately after him. She controlled herself with a great effort, and found herself able to talk to Lord Crowborough, while Norman went to find his father and mother, who were both in the house.

Lord Crowborough was in great distress, but he had to explain fully why he had not been able to come earlier, and to express his regret at the delay. Perhaps his deliberate detailed speech calmed her. She would not acknowledge to him that hope was small. "When he is well enough it will be a great pleasure to him to see you," she said. "I knew he would want to, and that anything that cheers him up must be good for him. That's why I persuaded Uncle William to go on until he got you. I knew you would come if you could."

"Oh, yes, my dear; oh, yes. It's dreadfully sad. I should never have forgiven myself if I hadn't come in time. Poor, dear fellow! It gave me a great shock to get the news. Dear, dear! I can't believe it now."

He was not consoling, in his evident expectation of the worst, but Pamela seemed to have strength enough to combat his pessimism. "He will get better," she said confidently. "He was better this morning.

To-morrow I am sure he will be able to see you."

Lord Crowborough found it necessary to explain why his wife had been unable to come with him. "But I've sent for Jim," he said. "He'll be here to-morrow. I wish I'd sent for him before. Norman left Cambridge this morning, he tells me."

She showed a momentary confusion, but said: "I think father will be pleased to see Jim too, if he is well enough. We're all very fond of Jim."

He looked at her and cleared his throat preparatory to some speech of special meaning, as it seemed; but fortunately for her Lord and Lady Eldridge came into the room before he could utter it. Norman was with them, and as their elders engaged in greetings he and Pamela slipped away together.

They went into Colonel Eldridge's room, which was being used now, perhaps with the idea of keeping it alive and expectant of him. Norman took her two hands into his, and said: "Pam darling, it has been you all the time, but I've only just found it out."

She allowed her tears to fall then. "I've wanted you dreadfully, lately," she said. "If only father gets better, we shall all be very happy now."

That was almost the extent of their love-making. They had known each other for so long. What was in the mind of each gained instant response from the other. Pamela could take refuge from her deep trouble in his love; joy in their new discovery could wait.

The discovery itself, however, must not be kept to themselves. Lord Crowborough was the only person whom it seemed somewhat to disconcert, but he joined with the rest in the desire to make it known to Pamela's father. They would get his blessing upon it, which would be a happiness to them to remember in after years. And it would please and comfort him.

Lord Eldridge, still cherishing determined hope, expected much from it.

Whether he was abundantly pleased himself, or only moderately so, did not appear, for he seemed to accept it only as it might affect his brother. But he did accept it; and Lady Eldridge made it plain to Pamela, with a warm embrace, what it meant to her. Poor Mrs. Eldridge, who hardly left the sickroom now, treated it as unimportant. But she had greeted her sister-in-law in a way to show that the late estrangement was not now in her mind; and she no longer held herself aloof in any way from her brother-in-law. Perhaps unconsciously she took it as bringing them all more closely together. She wanted all the support now that family affection and sympathy could give her.

Pamela stood with Norman by her father's bedside the next morning, and he smiled at them with full knowledge, and whispered a word to her as she kissed him. He saw no one else but his wife that day, and on the afternoon of the next he died. All his family were around him, but he did not know them. There was none of whom he had not already taken leave, and he had left them with no trouble on his mind on their behalf, except the great sorrow of his loss, which time would change into a most loving memory.

Time had already softened the sorrow when Spring came treading its flowery way over the gardens of Hayslope and the country round them. If there were still tears shed at the Hall there was sometimes laughter too, from the young people whose life lay all before them, and on whom no burden of loss could rest forever. And care was lifted from the house, though at a very heavy price.