The Heir of Redclyffe

by Шарлотта Мэри Йондж

  Her days were much alike. She felt far from well, or capable of exertion, and was glad it was thought right to keep her entirely upstairs; she only wished to spare her mother anxiety, by being submissive to her care, in case these cares should be the last for her. She did not dwell on the future, nor ask herself whether she looked for life or death. Guy had bidden her not desire the last, and she believed she did not form a wish; but there was repose to her in the belief that she ought not to conceal from herself that there was more than ordinary risk, and that it was right to complete all her affairs in this world, and she was silent when her mother tried to interest her in prospects that might cheer her; as if afraid to fasten on them, and finding more peace in entire submission, than in feeding herself on hope that must be coupled with fear.

  Christmas-day was not allowed to pass without being a festival for her, in her quiet room, where she lay, full of musings on his lonely Christmas night last year, his verses folded among her precious books, and the real joy of the season more within her grasp than in the turmoil of last year. She was not afraid now to let herself fancy his voice in the Angel's Song, and the rainbow was shining on her cloud.

  CHAPTER 38

  The coldness from my heart is gone,

  But still the weight is there,

  And thoughts which I abhor will come

  To tempt me to despair.--SOUTHEY

  Amabel's one anxiety was for Philip. For a long time nothing was heard of him at Hollywell, and she began to fear that he might have been less fit to take care of himself than he had persuaded her to believe. When at length tidings reached them, it was through the De Courcys. 'Poor Morville,' wrote Maurice, 'had been carried ashore at Corfu, in the stupor of a second attack of fever. He had been in extreme danger for some time, and though now on the mend, was still unable to give any account of himself.'

  In effect, it was a relapse of the former disease, chiefly affecting the brain, and his impatience to leave Recoara, and free himself from Arnaud, had been a symptom of its approach, though it fortunately did not absolutely overpower him till after he had embarked for Corfu, and was in the way to be tended with the greatest solicitude. Long after the fever was subdued, and his strength returning, his mind was astray, and even when torturing delusions ceased, and he resumed the perception of surrounding objects, memory and reflection wavered in dizzy confusion, more distressing than either his bodily weakness, or the perpetual pain in his head, which no remedy could relieve.

  The first date to which he could afterwards recur, though for more than a week he had apparently been fully himself, was a time when he was sitting in an easy-chair by the window, obliged to avert his heavy eyes from the dazzling waters of the Corcyran bay, where Ulysses' transformed ship gleamed in the sunshine, and the rich purple hills of Albania sloped upwards in the distance. James Thorndale was, as usual, with him, and was explaining that there had been a consultation between the doctor and the colonel, and they had decided that as there was not much chance of restoring his health in that climate in the spring.

  'Spring!' he interrupted, with surprise and eagerness, 'Is it spring?'

  'Hardly--except that there is no winter here. This is the 8th of January.'

  He let his head fall on his hand again, and listened with indifference when told he was to be sent to England at once, under the care of his servant, Bolton, and Mr. Thorndale himself, who was resolved to see him safe in his sister's hands. He made no objection; he had become used to be passive, and one place was much the same to him as another; so he merely assented, without a question about the arrangements. Presently, however, he looked up, and inquired for his letters. Though he had done so before, the request had always been evaded, until now he spoke in a manner which decided his friend on giving him all except one with broad black edges, and Broadstone post-mark; the effect of which, it was thought, might be very injurious to his shattered nerves and spirits.

  However, he turned over the other letters without interest, just glancing languidly through them, looked disappointed, and exclaimed--

  'None from Hollywell! Has nothing been heard from them? Thorndale, I insist on knowing whether De Courcy has heard anything of Lady Morville.'

  'He has heard of her arrival in England.'

  'My sister mentions that--more than two months ago--I can hardly believe she has not written, if she was able. She promised, yet how can I expect--' then interrupting himself, he added, authoritatively, 'Thorndale, is there no letter for me? I see there is. Let me have it.'

  His friend could not but comply, and had no reason to regret having done so; for after reading it twice, though he sighed deeply, and the tears were in his eyes, he was more calm and less oppressed than he had been at any time since his arrival in Corfu. He was unable to write, but Colonel Deane had undertaken to write to Mrs. Henley to announce his coming; and as the cause of his silence must be known at Hollywell, he resolved to let Amabel's letter wait for a reply till his arrival in England.

  It was on a chilly day in February that Mrs. Henley drove to the station to meet her brother, looking forward with a sister's satisfaction to nursing his recovery, and feeling (for she had a heart, after all) as if it was a renewal of the days, which she regarded with a tenderness mixed with contempt, when all was confidence between the brother and sister, the days of nonsense and romance. She hoped that now poor Philip, who had acted hastily on his romance, and ruined his own prospects for her sake in his boyish days, had a chance of having it all made up to him, and reigning at Redclyffe according to her darling wish.

  As she anxiously watched the arrival of the train, she recognized Mr. Thorndale, whom she had known in his school-days as Philip's protege-- but could that be her brother? It was his height, indeed; but his slow weary step as he crossed the platform, and left the care of his baggage to others, was so unlike his prompt, independent air, that she could hardly believe it to be himself, till, with his friend, he actually advanced to the carriage, and then she saw far deeper traces of illness than she was prepared for. A confusion of words took place; greetings on one hand, and partings on the other, for James Thorndale was going on by the train, and made only a few minutes' halt in which to assure Mrs. Henley that though the landing and the journey had knocked up his patient to-day, he was much better since leaving Corfu, and to beg Philip to write as soon as possible. The bell rang, he rushed back, and was whirled away.

  'Then you are better,' said Mrs. Henley, anxiously surveying her brother. 'You are sadly altered! You must let us take good care of you.'

  'Thank you! I knew you would be ready to receive me, though I fear I am not very good company.'

  'Say no more, my dearest brother. You know both Dr. Henley and myself have made it our first object that our house should be your home.'

  'Thank you.'

  'This salubrious air must benefit you,' she added. 'How thin you are! Are you very much fatigued?'

  'Rather,' said Philip, who was leaning back wearily; but the next moment he exclaimed, 'What do you hear from Hollywell?'

  'There is no news yet.'

  'Do you know how she is? When did you hear of her?'

  'About a week ago; when she wrote to inquire for you.'

  'She did? What did she say of herself?'

  'Nothing particular, poor little thing; I believe she is always on the sofa. My aunt would like nothing so well as making a great fuss about her.'

  'Have you any objection to show me her letter?' said Philip, unable to bear hearing Amabel thus spoken of, yet desirous to learn all he could respecting her.

  'I have not preserved it,' was the answer. 'My correspondence is so extensive that there would be no limit to the accumulation if I did not destroy the trivial letters.'

  There was a sudden flush on Philip's pale face that caused his sister to pause in her measured, self-satisfied speech, and ask if he was in pain.

  'No,' he replied, shortly, and Margaret pondered on his strange manner, little guessing what profanation her mention of Amabe
l's letter had seemed to him, or how it jarred on him to hear this exaggerated likeness of his own self-complacent speeches.

  She was much shocked and grieved to see him so much more unwell than she had expected. He was unfit for anything but to go to bed on his arrival. Dr. Henley said the system had received a severe shock, and it would be long before the effects would be shaken off; but that there was no fear but his health would be completely restored if he would give himself entire rest.

  There was no danger that Margaret would not lavish care enough on her brother. She waited on him in his room all the next day, bringing him everything he could want, and trying to make him come down-stairs, for she thought sitting alone there very bad for his spirits; but he said he had a letter to write, and very curious she was to know why he was so long doing it, and why he did not tell her to whom it was addressed. However, she saw when it was put into the post-bag, that it was for Lady Morville.

  At last, too late to see any of the visitors who had called to inquire, when the evening had long closed in, she had the satisfaction of seeing Philip enter the drawing-room, and settling him in the most comfortable of her easy-chairs on one side of the fire to wait till the Doctor returned for dinner. The whole apartment was most luxurious, spacious, and richly furnished; the fire, in its brilliant steel setting, glancing on all around, and illuminating her own stately presence, and rich glace silk, as she sat opposite her brother cutting open the leaves of one of the books of the club over which she presided. She felt that this was something like attaining one of the objects for which she used to say and think she married,--namely, to be able to receive her brother in a comfortable home. If only he would but look more like himself.

  'Do you like a cushion for your head, Philip? Is it better?'

  'Better since morning, thank you.'

  'Did those headaches come on before your second illness?'

  'I can't distinctly remember.'

  'Ah! I cannot think how the Edmonstones could leave you. I shall always blame them for that relapse.'

  'It had nothing to do with it. Their remaining was impossible.'

  'On Amabel's account? No, poor thing, I don't blame her, for she must have been quite helpless; but it was exactly like my aunt, to have but one idea at a time. Charles used to be the idol, and now it is Amy, I suppose.'

  'If anything could have made it more intolerable for me, it would have been detaining them there for my sake, at such a time.'

  'Ah! I felt a great deal for you. You must have been very sorry for that poor little Amy. She was very kind in writing while you were ill. How did she contrive, poor child? I suppose you took all the head work for her?'

  'I? I was nothing but a burden.'

  'Were you still so very ill?' said Margaret, tenderly. 'I am sure you must have been neglected.'

  'Would that I had!' muttered Philip, so low that she did not catch the words. Then aloud,--'No care could have been greater than was taken for me. It was as if no one had been ill but myself, and the whole thought of every one had been for me.'

  'Then Amabel managed well, poor thing! We do sometimes see those weak soft characters--'

  'Sister!' he interrupted.'

  'Have not you told me so yourself?'

  'I was a fool, or worse,' said he, in a tone of suffering. 'No words can describe what she proved herself.'

  'Self-possessed? energetic?' asked Mrs. Henley, with whom those were the first of qualities; and as her brother paused from repugnance to speak of Amabel to one so little capable of comprehending her, she proceeded: 'No doubt she did the best she could, but she must have been quite inexperienced. It was a very young thing in the poor youth to make her executrix. I wonder the will was valid; but I suppose you took care of that.'

  'I did nothing.'

  'Did you see it?'

  'My uncle showed it to me.'

  'Then you can tell me what I want to hear, for no one has told me anything. I suppose my uncle is to be guardian?'

  'No; Lady Morville.'

  'You don't mean it? Most lover-like indeed. That poor girl to manage that great property? Everything left to her!' said Mrs. Henley, continuing her catechism in spite of the unwillingness of his replies. 'Were there any legacies? I know of Miss Wellwood's.'

  'That to Dixon's daughter, and my own,' he answered.

  'Yours? How was it that I never heard of it? What is it?'

  'Ten thousand,' said Philip, sadly.

  'I am delighted to hear it!' cried Margaret. 'Very proper of Sir Guy-- very proper indeed, poor youth. It is well thought of to soften the disappointment.'

  Philip started forward. 'Disappointment!' exclaimed he, with horror.

  'You need not look as if I wished to commit murder,' said his sister, smiling. 'Have you forgotten that it depends on whether it is a son or daughter?'

  His dismay was not lessened. 'Do you mean to say that this is to come on me if the child is a daughter?'

  'Ah! you were so young when the entail was made, that you knew nothing of it. Female heirs were expressly excluded. There was some aunt whom old Sir Guy passed over, and settled the property on my father and you, failing his own male heirs.'

  'No one would take advantage of such a chance,' said Philip.

  'Do not make any rash resolutions, my dear brother, whatever you do,' said Margaret. 'You have still the same fresh romantic generous spirit of self-sacrifice that is generally so soon worn out, but you must not let it allow you--'

  'Enough of this,' said Philip, hastily, for every word was a dagger.

  'Ah! you are right not to dwell on the uncertainty. I am almost sorry I told you,' said Margaret. 'Tell me about Miss Wellwood's legacy,' she continued, desirous of changing the subject. 'I want to know the truth of it, for every one is talking of it.''How comes the world to know of it?'

  'There have been reports ever since his death, and now it has been paid, whatever it is, on Lady Morville's coming of age. Do you know what it is? The last story I was told was, that it was £20,000, to found a convent to pray for his grand--'

  'Five thousand for her hospital,' interrupted Philip. 'Sister!' he added; speaking with effort, 'it was for that hospital that he made the request for which we persecuted him.'

  'Ah! I thought so, I could have told you so!' cried Margaret, triumphant in her sagacity, but astonished, as her brother started up and stood looking at her, as if he could hardly resolve to give credit to her words.

  'You--thought--so,' he repeated slowly.

  'I guessed it from the first. He was always with that set, and I thought it a very bad thing for him; but as it was only a guess, it was not worth while to mention it: besides, the cheque seemed full evidence. It was the general course, not the individual action.'

  'If you thought so, why not mention it to me? Oh! sister, what would you not have spared me!'

  'I might have done so if it had appeared that it might lead to his exculpation, but you were so fully convinced that his whole course confirmed the suspicions, that a mere vague idea was not worth dwelling on. Your general opinion, of him satisfied me.'

  'I cannot blame you,' was all his reply, as he sat down again, with his face averted from the light.

  And Mrs. Henley was doubtful whether he meant that she had been judicious! She spoke again, unconscious of the agony each word inflicted.

  'Poor youth! we were mistaken in those facts, and of course, all is forgiven and forgotten now; but he certainly had a tremendous temper. I shall never forget that exhibition. Perhaps poor Amabel is saved much unhappiness.'

  'Once for all,' said Philip, sternly, 'let me never hear you speak of him thus. We were both blind to a greatness of soul and purity of heart that we shall never meet again. Yours was only prejudice; mine I must call by a darker name. Remember, that he and his wife are only to be spoken of with reverence.'

  He composed himself to silence; and Margaret, after looking at him for some moments in wonder, began in a sort of exculpatory tone:

  'Of course we owe him a
great deal of gratitude. It was very kind and proper to come to you when you were ill, and his death must have been a terrible shock. He was a fine young man; amiable, very attractive in manner.'

  'No more!' muttered Philip.

  'That, you always said of him,' continued she, not hearing, 'but you have no need to reproach yourself. You always acted the part of a true friend, did full justice to his many good qualities, and only sought his real good.'

  'Every word you speak is the bitterest satire on me,' said Philip, goaded into rousing himself for a moment. 'Say no more, unless you would drive me distracted!'

  Margaret was obliged to be silent, and marvel, while her brother sat motionless, leaning back in his chair, till Dr. Henley came in; and after a few words to him, went on talking to his wife, till dinner was announced. Philip went with them into the dining-room, but had scarcely sat down before he said he could not stay, and returned to the drawing-room sofa. He said he only wanted quiet and darkness, and sent his sister and her husband back to their dinner.

  'What has he been doing?' said the Doctor; 'here is his pulse up to a hundred again. How can he have raised it?'

  'He only came down an hour ago, and has been sitting still ever since.'

  'Talking?'

  'Yes; and there, perhaps, I was rather imprudent. I did not know he could so little bear to hear poor Sir Guy's name mentioned; and, besides, he did not know, till I told him, that he had so much chance of Redclyffe. He did not know the entail excluded daughters.'

  'Did he not! That accounts for it. I should like to see the man who could hear coolly that he was so near such a property. This suspense is unlucky just now; very much against him. You must turn his thoughts from it as much as possible.'