However, at last her brother-in-law put her into the brougham, desiring the boys to walk home, which they did very willingly, and with a wonderful air of lordship and possession.
"Well, Caroline," said the Colonel, "I congratulate you on being the richest proprietor in the county."
"O Robert, don't! If-if," said a suffocated voice, so miserable that he turned and took her hand kindly, saying-
"My dear sister, this feeling is very-it becomes you well. This is a fearful responsibility."
She could not answer. She only leant back in the carriage, with closed eyes, and moaned-
"Oh! Joe! Joe!"
"Indeed," said his brother, greatly touched, "we want him more than ever."
He did not try to talk any more to her, and when they reached the Pagoda, all she could do was to hurry up stairs, and, throwing off her bonnet, bury her face in the pillow.
Janet and her aunt both followed, the latter with kind and tender solicitude; but Caroline could bear nothing, and begged only to be left alone.
"Dear Ellen, it is very kind, but nothing does any good to these headaches. Please don't-please leave me alone."
They saw it was the only true kindness, and left her, after all attempts at bathing her forehead, or giving her sal volatile, proved only to molest her. She lay on her bed, not able to think, and feeling nothing but the pain of her headache and a general weight and loneliness.
The first break was from Allen, who came in tenderly with a cup of coffee, saying that they thought her time was come for being ready for it. His manner always did her good, and she sat up, pushed back her hair, smiled, took the cup, and thanked him lovingly.
"Uncle Robert is waiting to hear if you are better," he said.
"Oh yes," she said; "thank him; I am sorry I was so silly."
"He wants me to dine there to-night, mother, to meet Mr. Rowse and Mr. Wakefield," said Allen, with a certain importance suited to a lad of fifteen, who had just become "somebody."
"Very well," she said, in weary acquiescence, as she lay down again, just enough refreshed by the coffee to become sleepy.
"And mother," said Allen, lingering in the dark, "don't trouble about Elfie. I shall marry her as soon as I am of age, and that will make all straight."
Her stunned sleepiness was scarcely alive to this magnanimous announcement, and she dreamily said-
"Time enough to think of such things."
"I know," said Allen; "but I thought you ought to know this."
He looked wistfully for another word on this great avowal, but she was really too much stupefied to enter into the purport of the boy's words, and soon after he left her she fell sound asleep. She had a curious dream, which she remembered long after. She seemed to have identified herself with King Midas, and to be touching all her children, who turned into hard, cold, solid golden statues fixed on pedestals in the Belforest gardens, where she wandered about, vainly calling them. Then her husband's voice, sad and reproachful, seemed to say, "Magnum Bonum! Magnum Bonum!" and she fancied it the elixir which alone could restore them, and would have climbed a mountain in search of it, as in the Arabian tale; but her feet were cold, heavy, and immovable, and she found that they too had become gold, and that the chill was creeping upwards. With a scream of "Save the children, Joe," she awoke.
No wonder she had dreamt of cold golden limbs, for her feet were really chilly as ice, and the room as dark as at midnight. However it was not yet seven o'clock; and presently Janet brought a light, and persuaded her to come downstairs and warm herself. She was not yet capable of going into the dining-room to the family tea, but crept down to lie on the sofa in the drawing-room; and there, after taking the small refreshment which was all she could yet endure, she lay with closed eyes, while the children came in from the meal. Armine and Babie were the first. She knew they were looking at her, but was too weary to exert herself to speak to them.
"Asleep," they whispered. "Poor Mother Carey."
"Armie," said Babie, "is mother unhappy because she has got rich?"
Armine hesitated. His brief experience of school had made him less unsophisticated, and he seldom talked in his own peculiar fashion even to his little sister, and she added-
"Must people get wicked when they are rich?"
"Mother is always good," said faithful little Armine.
"The rich people in the Bible were all bad," pondered Babie. "There was Dives, and the man with the barns."
"Yes," said Armine; "but there were good ones too-Abraham and Solomon."
"Solomon was not always good," said Babie; "and Uncle Robert told Allen it was a fearful responsibility. What is a responsibility, Armie? I am sure Ali didn't like it."
"Something to answer for!" said Armine.
"To who?" asked the little girl.
"To God," said the boy reverently. "It's like the talent in the parable. One has got to do something for God with it, and then it won't turn to harm."
"Like the man's treasure that changed into slate stones when he made a bad use of it," said Babie. "Oh! Armie, what shall we do? Shall we give plum-puddings to the little thin girls down the lane?"
"And I should like to give something good to the little grey workhouse boys," said Armine. "I should so hate always walking out along a straight road as they do."
"And oh! Armie, then don't you think we may get a nice book to write out Jotapata in?"
"Yes, a real jolly one. For you know, Babie, it will take lots of room, even if I write my very smallest."
"Please let it be ruled, Armie. And where shall we begin?"
"Oh! at the beginning, I think, just when Sir Engelbert first heard about the Crusade."
"It will take lots of books then."
"Never mind, we can buy them all now. And do you know, Bab, I think Adelmar and Ermelind might find a nice lot of natural petroleum and frighten Mustafa ever so much with it!"
For be it known that Armine and Barbara's most cherished delight was in one continued running invention of a defence of Jotapata by a crusading family, which went on from generation to generation with unabated energy, though they were very apt to be reduced to two young children who held out their fortress against frightful odds of Saracens, and sometimes conquered, sometimes converted their enemies. Nobody but themselves was fully kept au courant with this wonderful siege, which had hitherto been recorded in interlined copy-books, or little paper books pasted together, and very remarkably illustrated.
The door began to creak with an elaborate noisiness intended for perfect silence, and Jock's voice was heard.
"Bother the door! Did it wake mother? No? That's right;" and he squatted down between the little ones while Bobus seated himself at the table with a book.
"Well! what colour shall our ponies be?" began Jock, in an attempt at a whisper.
"Oh! shall we have ponies?" cried the little ones.
"Zebras if we like," said Jock. "We'll have a team."
"Can't," growled Bobus.
"Why not? They can be bought!"
"Not tamed. They've tried it at the Jardin d'Acclimatisation."
"Oh, that was only Frenchmen. A zebra is too jolly to let himself be tamed by a Frenchman. I'll break one in myself and go out with the hounds upon him."
"Jack-ass on striped-ass-or off him," muttered Bobus.
"Oh! don't, Jock," implored Babie, "you'll get thrown."
"No such thing. You'll come to the meet yourself, Babie, on your Arab."
"Not she," said Bobus, in his teasing voice. "She'll be governessed up and kept to lessons all day."
"Mother always teaches us," said Babie.
"She'll have no time, she'll be a great lady, and you'll have three governesses-one for French, and one for German, and one for deportment, to make you turn out your toes, and hold up your head, and never sit on the rug."
"Never mind, Babie," said Jock. "We'll bother them out of their lives if they do."
"You'll be at school," said Bobus, "and they'll all three go out walking
with Babie, and if she goes out of a straight line one will say 'Fi donc, Mademoiselle Barbe,' and the other will say, 'Schamen sie sich, Fraulein Barbara,' and the third will call for the stocks."
"For shame, Robert," cried his mother, hearing something like a sob; "how can you tease her so!"
"Mother, must I have three governesses?" asked poor little Barbara.
"Not one cross one, my sweet, if I can help it!"
"Oh! mother, if it might be Miss Ogilvie?" said Babie.
"Yes, mother, do let it be Miss Ogilvie," chimed in Armine. "She tells such jolly stories!"
"She ain't a very nasty one," quoted Jock from Newman Noggs, and as Janet appeared he received her with-"Moved by Barbara, seconded by Armine, that Miss Ogilvie become bear-leader to lick you all into shape."
"What do you think of it, Janet?" said her mother.
"It will not make much difference to me," said Janet. "I shall depend on classes and lectures when we go back to London. I should have thought a German better for the children, but I suppose the chief point is to find some one who can manage Elfie if we are still to keep her."
"By the bye, where is she, poor little thing?" asked Caroline.
"Aunt Ellen took her home," said Janet. "She said she would send her back at bed-time, but she thought we should be more comfortable alone to-night."
"Real kindness," said Caroline; "but remember, children, all of you, that Elfie is altogether one of us, on perfectly equal terms, so don't let any difference be made now or ever."
"Shall I have a great many more lessons, mother?" asked Babie.
"Don't be as silly as Essie, Babie," said Janet. "She expects us all to have velvet frocks and gold-fringed sashes, and Jessie's first thought was 'Now, Janet, you'll have a ladies' maid.'"
"No wonder she rejoiced to be relieved of trying to make you presentable," said Bobus.
"Shall we live at Belforest?" asked Armine.
"Part of the year," said Janet, who was in a wonderfully expansive and genial state; "but we shall get back to London for the season, and know what it is to enjoy life and rationality again, and then we must all go abroad. Mother, how soon can we go abroad?"
"It won't make a bit of difference for a year. We shan't get it for ever so long," said Bobus.
"Oh!"
"Fact. I know a man whose uncle left him a hundred pounds last year, and the lawyers haven't let him touch a penny of it."
"Perhaps he is not of age," said Janet.
"At any rate," said Jock, "we can have our fun at Belforest."
"O yes, Jock, only think," cried Babie, "all the dear tadpoles belong to mother!"
"And all the dragon-flies," said Armine.
"And all the herons," said Jock.
"We can open the gates again," said Armine.
"Oh! the flowers!" cried Babie in an ecstasy.
"Yes," said Janet. "I suppose we shall spend the early spring in the country, but we must have the best part of the season in London now that we can get out of banishment, and enjoy rational conversation once more."
"Rational fiddlestick," muttered Bobus.
"That's what any girl who wasn't such a prig as Janet would look for," said Jock.
"Well, of course," said Janet. "I mean to have my balls like other people; I shall see life thoroughly. That's just what I value this for."
Bobus made a scoffing noise.
"What's up, Bobus?" asked Jock.
"Nothing, only you keep up such a row, one can't read."
"I'm sure this is better and more wonderful than any book!" said Jock.
"It makes no odds to me," returned Bobus, over his book.
"Oh! now!" cried Janet, "if it were only the pleasure of being free from patronage it would be something."
"Gratitude!" said Bobus.
"I'll show my gratitude," said Janet; "we'll give all of them at Kencroft all the fine clothes and jewels and amusements that ever they care for, more than ever they gave us; only it is we that shall give and they that will take, don't you see?"
"Sweet charity," quoth Bobus.
Those two were a great contrast; Janet had never been so radiant, feeling her sentence of banishment revoked, and realising more vividly than anyone else was doing, the pleasures of wealth. The cloud under which she had been ever since the coming to the Pagoda seemed to have rolled away, in the sense of triumph and anticipation; while Bobus seemed to have fallen into a mood of sarcastic ill- temper. His mother saw, and it added to her sense of worry, though her bright sweet nature would scarcely have fathomed the cause, even had she been in a state to think actively rather than to feel passively. Bobus, only a year younger than Allen, and endowed with more force and application, if not with more quickness, had always been on a level with his brother, and felt superior, despising Allen's Eton airs and graces, and other characteristics which most people thought amiable. And now Allen had become son and heir, and was treated by everyone as the only person of importance. Bobus did not know what his own claims might be, but at any rate his brother's would transcend them, and his temper was thoroughly upset.
Poor Caroline! She did not wholly omit to pray "In all time of our tribulation, in all time of our wealth, deliver us!" but if she had known all that was in her children's hearts, her own would have trembled more.
And as to Ellen, the utmost she allowed herself to say was, "Well, I hope she will make a good use of it!"
While the Colonel, as trustee and adviser, had really a very considerable amount of direct importance and enjoyment before him, which might indeed be-to use his own useful phrase-"a fearful responsibility," but was no small boon to a man with too much time on his hands.
CHAPTER XVI. POSSESSION.
Vain glorious Elf, said he, dost thou not weete That money can thy wants at will supply; Shields, steeds and armes, and all things for thee meet, It can purvey in twinkling of an eye. Spenser.
Bobus's opinion that it would be long before anything came of this accession of wealth was for a few days verified in the eyes of the impatient family, for Christmas interfered with some of the necessary formalities; and their mother, still thinking that another will might be discovered, declared that they were not to go within the gates of Belforest till they were summoned.
At last, after Colonel Brownlow had spent a day in London, he made his appearance with a cheque-book in his hand, and the information that he and his fellow-trustee had so arranged that the heiress could open an account, and begin to enter on the fruition of the property. There were other arrangements to be made, those about the out-door servants and keepers could be settled with Richards, but she ought to remove her two sons from the foundation of the two colleges, though of course they would continue there as pupils.
"And Robert," she said, colouring exceedingly, "if you will let me, there is a thing I wish very much-to send your John to Eton with mine. He is my godson, you know, and it would be such a pleasure to me."
"Thank you, Caroline," said the Colonel, after a moment's hesitation, "Johnny is to stand at the Eton election, and I should prefer his owing his education to his own exertions rather than to any kindness."
"Yes, yes; I understand that," said Caroline; "but I do want you to let me do anything for any of them. I should be so grateful," she added, imploringly, with a good deal of agitation; "please-please think of it, as if your brother were still here. You would never mind how much he did for them."
"Yes, I should," said the Colonel, decidedly, but pausing to collect his next sentence. "I should not accept from him what might teach my sons dependence. You see that, Caroline."
"Yes," she humbly said. "He would be wise about it! I don't want to be disagreeable and oppressive, Robert; I will never try to force things on you; but please let me do all that is possible to you to allow."
There was something touching in her incoherent earnestness, which made the Colonel smile, yet wink away some moisture from his eyes, as he again thanked her without either acceptance or refusal. Then he said he was going to
Belforest, and asked whether she would not like to come and look over the place. He would go back and call for her with the pony carriage.
"But would not Ellen like to go?" she said. "I will walk with the boys."
The Colonel demurred a little, but knowing that his wife really longed to go, and could not well be squeezed into the back seat, he gave a sort of half assent; and as he left the house, Mother Carey gave a summoning cry to gather her brood, rushed upstairs, put on what Babie called her "most every dayest old black hat;" and when Colonel and Mrs. Brownlow, with Jessie behind, drove into the park, it was to see her careering along by the short cut over the hoar- frosty grass, in the midst of seven boys, three girls, and two dogs, all in a most frisky mood of exhilaration.
Distressed at appearing to drive up like the lady of the house, her Serene Highness insisted on stopping at the iron gates of the stately approach. There she alighted, and waited to make the best setting to rights she could of the heiress's wind-tossed hat and cloak, and would have put her into the carriage, but that no power could persuade her to mount that triumphal car, and all that could be obtained was that she should walk in the forefront of the procession with the Colonel.
There was nobody to receive them but Richards, for the servants had been paid off, and only a keeper and his wife were living in the kitchen in charge. There was a fire in the library, where the Colonel had business to transact with Richards, while the ladies and children proceeded with their explorations. It was rather awful at first in the twilight gloom of the great hall, with a painted mythological ceiling, and cold white pavement, varied by long perspective lines of black lozenges, on which every footfall echoed. The first door that they opened led into a vast and dreary dining- room, with a carpet, forming a crimson roll at one end, and long ranks of faded leathern chairs sitting in each other's laps. At one end hung a huge picture by Snyders, of a bear hugging one dog in his forepaws and tearing open the ribs of another with his hind ones. Opposite was a wild boar impaling a hound with his tusk, and the other walls were occupied by Herodias smiling at the contents of her charger, Judith dropping the gory head into her bag, a brown St. Sebastian writhing among the arrows; and Juno extracting the painfully flesh and blood eyes of Argus to set them in her peacock's tail.
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