Chapter 9

ESAU.
                    "To be weak is miserable,
     Doing or suffering."
                    "Now conscience wakes despair
     That slumberd; wakes the bitter memory
     Of what he was, what is, and what must be."

It was the middle of February before Harry could leave Sandal-Side. He
had remained there, however, only out of that deference to public
opinion which no one likes to offend; and it had been a most melancholy
and anxious delay. He was not allowed to enter the squire's room, and
indeed he shrank from the ordeal. His mother and Charlotte treated him
with a reserve he felt to be almost dislike. He had been so accustomed
to consider mother-love sufficient to cover all faults, that he forgot
there was a stronger tie; forgot that to the tender wife the husband of
her youth--her lover, friend, companion--is far nearer and dearer than
the tie that binds her to sons and daughters.
Also, he did not care to give any consideration to the fact, that both
his mother and Charlotte resented the kind of daughter and sister he had
forced upon them. So there was little sympathy with him at Seat-Sandal,
and he fancied that all the gentlemen of the neighborhood treated him
with a perceptible coolness of manner. Perhaps they did. There are
social intuitions, mysterious in their origin, and yet hitting
singularly near the truth. Before circumstances permitted him to leave
Sandal-Side, he had begun to hate the Seat and the neighborhood, and
every thing pertaining to it, with all his heart.
The only place of refuge he had found had been Up-Hill. The day after
the catastrophe he fought his way there, and with passionate tears and
complaints told Ducie the terrible story. Ducie had some memories of her
own wilful marriage, which made her tolerant with Harry. She had also
been accused of causing her mother's death; and though she knew herself
to be innocent, she had suffered by the accusation. She understood
Harry's trouble as few others could have done; and though a good deal
of his evident misery was on account of his separation from Beatrice,
Ducie did not suspect this, and really believed the young man to be
breaking his heart over the results of his rash communication.
He was agreeably surprised, also, to find that Stephen treated him with
a consideration he had never done when he was a dashing officer, with
all his own small world at his feet. For when any man was in trouble,
Steve Latrigg was sure to take that man's part. He did not ask too
particularly into the trouble. He had a way of saying to Ducie, "There
will be faults on both sides. If two stones knock against each other
until they strike fire, you may be sure both of them have been hard,
mother. Any way, Harry is in trouble, and there is none but us to stand
up for him."
But in spite of Steve's constant friendship, and Ducie's never-failing
sympathy, Harry had a bad six weeks. There were days during them when he
stood in the shadow of death, with almost the horror of a parricide in
his heart. Long, lonely days, empty of every thing but anxiety and
weariness. Long, stormy days, when he had not even the relief of a walk
to Up-Hill. Days in which strangers slighted him. Days in which his
mother and Charlotte could not even bear to see him. Days in which he
fancied the servants disliked and neglected him. He was almost happy one
afternoon when Stephen met him on the hillside, and said, "The squire is
much better. The doctors think he is in no immediate danger. You might
go to your wife, Harry, I should say."
"I am glad, indeed, to hear the squire is out of danger. And I long to
go to my sick wife. I get little credit for staying here. I really
believe, Steve, that people accuse me of waiting to step into father's
shoes. And yet if I go away they will say things just as cruel and
untrue."
But he went away before day-dawn next morning. Charlotte came
down-stairs, and served his coffee; but Mrs. Sandal was watching the
squire, who had fallen into a deep sleep. Charlotte wept much, and said
little; and Harry felt at that hour as if he were being very badly
treated. He could scarcely swallow; and the intense silence of the house
made every slight noise, every low word, so distinct and remarkable,
that he felt the constraint to be really painful.
"Well," he said, rising in haste, "I may as well go without a kind word.
I am not to have one, apparently."
"Who is here to speak it? Can father? or mother? or I? But you have that
woman."
"Good-by, Charley."
She bit her lips, and wrung her hands; and moaning like some wounded
creature lifted her face, and kissed him.
"Good-by. Fare you well, poor Harry."
A little purse was in his hand when she took her hand away; a netted
silk one that he had watched the making of, and there was the glimmer of
gold pieces through it. With a blush he put it in his pocket, for he was
sorely pressed for money; and the small gift was a great one to him. And
it almost broke his heart. He felt that it was all she could give
him,--a little gold for all the sweet love that had once been his.
His horse was standing ready saddled. 'Osttler Bill opened the
yard-gate, and lifted the lantern above his head, and watched him ride
slowly away down the lane. When he had gone far enough to drown the
clatter of the hoofs he put the creature to his mettle, and Bill waved
the lantern as a farewell. Then, as it was still dark, he went back to
the stable and lay down to sleep until the day broke, and the servants
began to open up the house.
When Harry reached Ambleside it was quite light, and he went to the
Salutation Inn, and ordered his breakfast. He had been a favorite with
the landlady all his life long, and she attended to his comfort with
many kindly inquiries and many good wishes. "And what do you think now,
Capt. Sandal? Here has been a man from Up-Hill with a letter for you."
"Is he gone?"
"That he is. He would not wait, even for a bite of good victuals. He was
dryish, though, and I gave him a glass of beer. Then him and his little
Galloway took themselves off, without more words about it. Here it is,
and Mr. Latrigg's writing on it or I wasn't christened Hannah Stavely."
Harry opened it a little anxiously; but his heart lightened as he
read,--
     DEAR HARRY,--If you show the enclosed slip of paper to
     your old friend Hannah Stavely, she will give you a hundred pounds
     for it. That is but a little bit of the kindness in mother's heart
     and mine for you. At Seat-Sandal I will speak up for you always,
     and I will send you a true word as to how all gets on there. God
     bless the squire, and bring you and him together again!
     Your friend and brother,
     STEPHEN LATRIGG.
And so Harry went on his way with a lighter heart. Indeed, he was not
inclined at any time to share sorrow out of which he had escaped. Every
mile which he put between himself and Sandal-Side gave back to him
something of his old gay manner. He began first to excuse himself, then
to blame others; and in a few hours he was in very comfortable relations
with his own conscience; and this, not because he was deliberately cruel
or wicked, but because he was weak, and loved pleasure, and considered
that there was no use in being sorry when sorrow was neither a credit to
himself, nor a compliment to others. And so to Italy and to love he sped
as fast as money and steam could carry him. And on the journey he did
his very best to put out of his memory the large, lonely, gray "Seat,"
with its solemn, mysterious chamber of suffering, and its wraiths and
memories and fearful fighting away of death.
But on the whole, the hope which Stephen had given him of the squire's
final recovery was a too flattering one. There was, perhaps, no
immediate danger of death, but there was still less prospect of entire
recovery. He had begun to remember a little, to speak a word or two, to
use his hands in the weak, uncertain way of a young child; but in the
main he lay like a giant, bound by invisible and invincible bonds;
speechless, motionless, seeking through his large, pathetic eyes the
help and comfort of those who bent over him. He had quite lost the fine,
firm contour of his face, his ruddy color was all gone; indeed, the
country expression of "face of clay," best of all words described the
colorless, still countenance amid the white pillows in the darkened
room.
As the spring came on he gained strength and intelligence, and one
lovely day his men lifted him to a couch by the window. The lattices
were flung wide open, that he might see the trees tossing about their
young leaves, and the grass like grass in paradise, and hear the bees
humming among the apple-blooms, and the sheep bleating on the fells.
The earth was full of the beauty and the tranquillity of God. The squire
looked long at the familiar sights; looked till his lips trembled, and
the tears rolled heavily down his gray face. And then he realized all
that he had suffered, he remembered the hand that had dealt him the
blow. And while Mrs. Sandal was kissing away his tears, and speaking
words of hope and love, a letter came from Sophia.
It was dated Calcutta. Julius had taken her there in the winter, and the
news of her father's illness did not reach her for some weeks. But, as
it happened, when Charlotte's letter detailing the sad event arrived,
Julius was particularly in need of something to wonder over and to
speculate about; and of all subjects, Seat-Sandal interested him most.
To be master of the fine old place was his supreme ambition. He felt
that he possessed all the qualities necessary to make him a leader among
the Dales gentlemen. He foresaw, through them, social influence and
political power; and he had an ambition to make his reign in the house
of Sandal the era of a new and far more splendid dynasty.
He had been lying in the shade, drinking iced coffee, and smoking. But
as Sophia read, he sat upright, and a look of speculation came into his
eyes. "There is no use weeping, my love," he said languidly, "you will
only dim your beauty, and that will do neither your father nor me any
good. Let us go to Sandal. Charlotte and mother must be worn out, and we
can be useful at such a time. I think, indeed, our proper place is
there. The affairs of the 'walks' and the farms must be attended to, and
what will they do on quarter-day? Of course Harry will not remain there.
It would be unkind, wrong, and in exceedingly bad taste."
"Poor, dear father! And oh, Julius, what a disgrace to the family! A
singer! How could Harry behave so shamefully to us all?"
"Harry never cared for any mortal but himself. How disgracefully he
behaved about our marriage; for this same woman's sake, I have no doubt.
You must remember that I disapproved of Harry from the very first. The
idea of terminating a _liaison_ of that kind with a marriage! Harry
ought to be put out of decent society. You and I ought to be at
Seat-Sandal now. Charlotte will be pushing that Stephen Latrigg into the
Sandal affairs, and you know what I think of Stephen Latrigg. He is to
be feared, too, for he has capabilities, and Charlotte to back him; and
Charlotte was always underhand, Sophia. You would not see it, but she
was. Order your trunks to be packed at once,--don't forget the rubies my
mother promised you,--and I will have a conversation with the judge."
Judge Thomas Sandal was by no means a bad fellow. He had left
Sandal-Side under a sense of great injustice, but he had done well to
himself; and those who had done him wrong, had disappeared into the
cloud of death. He had forgotten all his grievances, he had even
forgotten the inflicters of them. He had now a kindly feeling towards
Sandal, and was a little proud of having sprung from such a grand old
race. Therefore, when Julius told him what had happened, and frankly
said he thought he could buy from Harry Sandal all his rights of
succession to the estate, Judge Thomas Sandal saw nothing unjust in the
affair.
The law of primogeniture had always appeared to him a most unjust and
foolish law. In his own youth it had been a source of burning anger and
dispute. He had always declared it was a shame to give Launcelot every
thing, and William and himself scarce a crumb off the family loaf. To
his eldest brother, as his eldest brother, he had declined to give
"honor and obedience." "William is a far finer fellow," he said one day
to his mother; "far more worthy to follow father than Launcie is. If
there is any particular merit in keeping up the old seat and name, for
goodness' sake let father choose the best of us to do it!" For such
revolutionary and disrespectful sentiments he had been frequently in
disgrace; and the end of the disputing had been his own expatriation,
and the founding of a family of East-Indian Sandals.
He heard Julius with approval. "I think you have a very good plan," he
said. "Harry Sandal, with his play-singing wife, would have a very bad
time of it among the Dalesmen. He knows it. He will have no desire to
test the feeling. I am sure he will be glad to have a sum of ready money
in lieu of such an uncomfortable right. As for the Latriggs, my mother
always detested them. Sophia and you are both Sandals; certainly, your
claim would be before that of a Charlotte Latrigg."
"Harry, too, is one of those men who are always poor, always wanting
money. I dare say I can buy his succession for a song."
"No, no. Give him a fair price. I never thought much of Jacob buying
poor Esau out for a mess of pottage. It was a mean trick. I will put ten
thousand pounds at Bunder's in Threadneedle Street, London, for you.
Draw it all if you find it just and necessary. The rental ought to
determine the value. I want you to have Seat-Sandal, but I do not want
you to steal it. However, my brother William may not die for many a year
yet; those Dale squires are a century-living race."
In accordance with these plans and intentions, Sophia wrote. Her letter
was, therefore, one of great and general sympathy; in fact, a very
clever letter indeed. It completely deceived every one. The squire was
told that Sophia and Julius were coming, and his face brightened a
little. Mrs. Sandal and Charlotte forgot all but their need of some help
and comfort which was family help and comfort, free of ceremony, and
springing from the same love, hopes, and interests.
Stephen, however, foresaw trouble. "Julius will get the squire under his
finger," he said to Charlotte. "He will make himself indispensable about
the estate. As for Sophia, she could always work mother to her own
purposes. Mother obeyed her will, even while she resented and
disapproved her authority. So, Charlotte, I shall begin at once to build
Latrigg Hall. I know it will be needed. The plan is drawn, the site is
chosen; and next Monday ground shall be broken for the foundation."
"There is no harm in building your house, Steve. If father should die,
mother and I would be here upon Harry's sufferance. He might leave the
place in our care, he might bring his wife to it any day."
"And how could you live with her?"
"It would be impossible. I should feel as if I were living with my
father's--with the one who really gave father the death-blow."
So when Julius and Sophia arrived at Seat-Sandal, the walls of Latrigg
Hall were rising above the green sod. A most beautiful site had been
chosen for it,--the lowest spur on the western side of the fell; a
charming plateau facing the sea, shaded with great oaks, and sloping
down into a little dale of lovely beauty. The plan showed a fine central
building, with lower wings on each side. The wide porches, deep windows,
and small stone balconies gave a picturesque irregularity to the general
effect. This home had been the dream of Stephen's manhood, and Ducie
also had urged him to its speedy realization; for she knew that it was
the first step towards securing for himself that recognition among the
county gentry which his wealth and his old family entitled him to. Not
that there was any intention of abandoning Up-Hill. Both would have
thought such a movement a voluntary insult to the family wraiths,--one
sure to bring upon them disaster of every kind. Up-Hill was to be
Ducie's residence as long as she lived; it was to be always the home of
the family in the hot months, and thus retain its right as an integral
part and portion of the Latriggs' hearth.
"I have seen the plan of Latrigg Hall," said Julius one day to Sophia.
"An absurdly fine building for a man of Stephen's birth. What will he
do with it? It will require as large an income as Seat-Sandal to support
it."
"Stephen is rich. His grandfather left him a great deal of money. Ducie
will add considerably to the sum, and Stephen seems to have the faculty
of getting it. My mother says he is managing three 'walks,' and all of
them are doing well."
"Nevertheless, I do not like him. 'In-law' kinsmen and kinswomen are
generally detestable. Look at my brothers-in-law, Mr. Harry Sandal and
Mr. Stephen Latrigg; and my sisters-in-law, Mrs. Harry Sandal and Miss
Charlotte Sandal; a pretty undesirable quartette I think."
"And look at mine. For sisters-in-law, Mahal and Judith Sandal; for
brothers-in-law, William and Tom Sandal; a pretty undesirable quartette
I think."
Julius did not relish the retort; for he replied stiffly, "If so, they
are at least at the other end of the world, and not likely to trouble
you. That is surely something in their favor."
The first movement of the Julius Sandals in Seat-Sandal had been a
clever one. "I want you to let us have the east rooms, dear mother,"
said Sophia, on their arrival; "Julius does feel the need of the morning
sun so much." And though other rooms had been prepared, the request was
readily granted, and without any suspicion of the motive which had
dictated it. And yet they had made a very prudent calculation. Occupying
the east rooms gave them a certain prominence and standing in the house,
for only guests of importance were assigned to them; and the servants,
who are people of wise perceptions generally, took their tone from the
circumstance.
It seemed as if a spirit of dissatisfaction and quarrelling came with
them. The maids all found out that their work was too heavy, and that
they were worn out with it. Sophia had been pitying them. "Mrs. Sandal
does not mean to be hard, but she is so wrapped up in the squire she
sees nothing; and Miss Charlotte is so strong herself, she really
expects too much from others. She does not intend to be exacting, but
then she is; she can't help it."
And sitting over "a bit of hot supper" the chambermaid repeated the
remark; and the housemaid said she only knew that she was traipsed off
her feet, and hadn't been near hand her own folks for a fortnight; and
the cook thought Missis had got quite nattry. She had been near falling
out with her more than once; and all the ill-nature was because she was
fagged out, all day long and every day making some kind of little
knick-shaw or other that was never eaten.
Not one remembered that the Julius Sandals had themselves considerably
increased the work of the house; and that Mrs. Julius alone could find
quite sufficient employment for one maid. Since her advent, Charlotte's
room had been somewhat neglected for the fine guest-chambers; but it was
upon Charlotte all the blame of over-work and weariness was laid.
Insensibly the thought had its effect. She began to feel that for some
reason or other she was out of favor; that her few wants were carelessly
attended to, and that Mrs. Julius influenced the house as completely as
she had done when she was Miss Sandal.
She soon discovered, also, that repining was useless. Her mother begged
for peace at any cost. "Put up with it," she said, "for a little while,
Charlotte. I cannot bear quarrelling. And you know how Sophia will
insist upon explaining. She will call up the servants, and 'fend and
prove,' and make complaints and regrets, and in the long end have all on
her own side. And I can tell you that Ann has been queer lately, and
Elizabeth talks of leaving at Martinmas. O Charlotte! put up with
things, my dear. There is only you to help me."
Charlotte could not resist such appeals. She knew she was really the
hand to which all other hands in the house looked, the heart on which
her father and mother leaned their weary hearts; still, she could not
but resent many an unkind position, which Sophia's clever tactics
compelled her to take. For instance, as she was leaving the room one
morning, Sophia said in her blandest voice, "Dear Charlotte, will you
tell Ann to make one of those queen puddings for Julius. He does enjoy
them so much."
Ann did not receive the order pleasantly. "They are a sight of trouble,
Miss Charlotte. I'll be hard set with the squire's fancies to-day. And
there is as good as three dinners to make now, and I must say a queen's
pudding is a bit thoughtless of you." And Charlotte felt the injustice
she was too proud to explain to a servant. But even to Sophia, complaint
availed nothing. "You must give extra orders yourself to Ann in the
future," she said. "Ann accuses me of being thoughtless in consequence
of them."
"As if I should think of interfering in your duties, Charlotte. I hope I
know better than that. You would be the first to complain of my 'taking
on' if I did, and I should not blame you. I am only a guest here now.
But I am sure a little queen pudding is not too much to ask, in one's
own father's house too. Julius has not many fancies I am sure, but such
a little thing."
"Julius can have all the fancies he desires, only do please order them
from Ann yourself."
"Well, I never! I am sure father and mother would never oppose a little
pudding that Julius fancies."
Does any one imagine that such trials as these are small and
insignificant? They are the very ones that make the heart burn, and the
teeth close on the lips, and the eyes fill with angry tears. They take
hope out of daily work, and sunshine out of daily life, and slay love as
nothing else can slay it. There was an evil spirit in the house,--a
small, selfish, envious, malicious spirit; people were cross, and they
knew not why; felt injured, and they knew not why; the days were harder
than those dreadful ones when fire and candle were never out, and every
one was a watcher in the shadow of death.
As the season advanced, Julius took precisely the position which Stephen
had foretold he would take. At first he deferred entirely to the squire;
he received his orders, and then saw them carried out. Very soon he
forgot to name the squire in the matter. He held consultations with the
head man, and talked with him about the mowing and harvesting, and the
sale of lambs and fleeces. The master's room was opened, and Julius sat
at the table to receive tenants and laborers. In the squire's chair it
was easy to feel that he was himself squire of Sandal-Side and Torver.
It was a most unhappy summer. Evils, like weeds, grow apace. There was
scarcely any interval between some long-honored custom and its
disappearance. To-day it was observed as it had been for a lifetime;
the next week it had passed away, and appeared to be forgotten. "Such
times I never saw," said Ann. "I have been at Sandal twenty-two years
come Martinmas, but I'm going to Beverley next feast."
"You'll not do it, Ann. It's but talk."
"Nay, but I'm set on it. I have taken the 'fastening penny,' and I'm
bound to make that good. Things are that trying here now, that I can't
abide them longer."
All summer servants were going and coming at Seat-Sandal; the very
foundations of its domestic life were broken up, and Charlotte's bright
face had a constant wrinkle of worry and annoyance. Sophia was careful
to point out the fact. "She has no housekeeping ability. Every thing is
in a mess. If I only durst take hold of things. But Charlotte is such a
spitfire, one does not like to offer help. I would be only too glad to
put things right, but I should give offence," etc. "The poison of asps
under the tongue," and a very little of it, can paralyze and irritate a
whole household.
Mowing-time and shearing-time and reaping-time came and went, but the
gay pastoral festivals brought none of their old-time pleasure. The men
in the fields did not like Julius in the squire's place, and they took
no pains to hide the fact. Then he came home with complaints. "They were
idle. They were disrespectful. The crops had fallen short." He could not
understand it; and when he had expressed some dissatisfaction on the
matter, the head man had told him, to take his grumbling to God
Almighty. "An insolent race, these statesmen and Dale shepherds," he
added; "if one of them owns ten acres, he thinks himself as good as if
he owns a thousand."
"All well-born men, Julius, all of them; are they not, Charlotte? Eh?
What?"
"So well born," answered Charlotte warmly, "that King James the First
set up a claim to all these small estates, on the plea that their owners
had never served a feudal lord, and were, therefore, tenants of the
crown. But the large statesmen went with the small ones. They led them
in a body to a heath between Kendal and Stavely, and there over two
thousand men swore, 'that as they had their lands by the sword, they
would keep them by the same.' So you see, Julius, they were gentlemen
before the feudal system existed; they never put a finger under its
authority, and they have long survived its fall."
"Well, for all that, they make poor servants."
"There's men that want Indian ryots or negro slaves to do their turn. I
want free men at Sandal-Side as long as I am squire of that name."
"They missed you sorely in the fields, father. It was not shearing-time,
nor hay-time, nor harvest-time to any one in Sandal this year. But you
will stand in your meadows again--God grant it!--next summer. And then
how the men will work! And what shouting there will be at the sight of
you! And what a harvest-home we shall have!"
And he caught her enthusiasm, and stood up to try his feet, and felt
sure that he walked stronger, and would soon be down-stairs once more.
And Julius, whose eyes love did not blind, felt a little scorn for those
who could not see such evident decay and dissolution. "It is really
criminal," he said to Sophia, "to encourage hopes so palpably false."
For Julius, like all selfish persons, could perceive only one side of a
question, the side that touched his own side. It never entered his mind
that the squire was trying to cheer and encourage his wife and daughter,
and was privately quite aware of his own condition. Sandal had not told
him that he had received "the token," the secret message which every
soul receives when the King desires his presence. He had never heard
those solemn conversations which followed the reading of "The Evening
Service," when the rector knelt by the side of his old friend, and they
two talked with Death as with a companion. So, though Julius meddled
much with Sandal affairs, there was a life there into which he never
entered.
One evening in October, Charlotte was walking with Stephen. They had
been to look at the new building, for every inch of progress was a
matter of interest to them. As they came through the village, they
perceived that Farmer Huet was holding his apple feast; for he was
carrying from his house into his orchard a great bowl of spiced ale, and
was followed by a merry company, singing wassail as they poured a little
at the root of every tree:--
              "Here's to thee, good apple-tree!
    Whence thou may'st bud, and whence thou may'st blow,
    Whence thou may'st bear apples enou';
               Hats full, caps full,
               Bushels full, sacks full.
               Hurrah, then! Hurrah, then!
               Here's to thee, good apple-tree!"
They waited a little to watch the procession round the orchard; and as
they stood, Julius advanced from an opposite direction. He took a letter
from his pocket, which he had evidently been to the mail to secure, for
Charlotte watched him break the seal as he approached; and when he
suddenly raised his head, and saw her look of amazement, he made a
little bravado of the affair, and said, with an air of frankness, "It is
a letter from Harry. I thought it was best for his letters not to come
to the house. The mail-bag might be taken to the squire's room, and who
knows what would happen if he should see one of these," and he tapped
the letter significantly with his long pointed fore-finger.
"You should not have made such an arrangement as that, Julius, without
speaking to mother. It was cruel to Harry. Why should the villagers
think that the sight of a letter from him would be so dreadful to his
own people?"
"I did it for the best, Charlotte. Of course, you will misjudge me."
"Ah! I know now why Polly Esthwaite called you, 'such a nice, kind,
thoughtful gentleman as never was.' Is the letter for you?"
"Mr. Latrigg can examine the address if you wish."
"Mr. Latrigg distinctly refuses to look at the letter. Come, Charlotte,
the air is cold and raw;" and with very scant courtesy they parted.
"What can it mean, Steve, Julius and Harry in correspondence? I don't
know what to think of such a thing. Harry has only written once to me
since he went away. There is something wrong in all this secrecy, you
may depend upon it."
"I would not be suspicious, Charlotte. Harry is affectionate and
trusting. Julius has written him letters full of sympathy and
friendship; and the poor fellow, cut off from home and kindred, has been
only too glad to answer. Perhaps we should have written also."
"But why did Julius take that trouble? Julius always has a motive for
what he does. I mean a selfish motive. Has Harry written to you?"
"Only a few lines the very day he left. I have heard nothing since."
The circumstance troubled Charlotte far beyond its apparent importance.
She could conceive of no possible reason for Julius interfering in
Harry's life, and she had the feeling of a person facing a danger in the
dark. Julius was also annoyed at her discovery. "It precipitates
matters," he said to Sophia, "and is apparently an unlucky chance. But
chance is destiny, and this last letter of Harry's indicates that all
things are very nearly ready for me. As for your sister, Charlotte
Sandal, I think she is the most interfering person I ever knew."
The air of the supper-table was one of reserve and offence. Only Sophia
twittered and observed and wondered about all kinds of trivial things.
"Mother has so many headaches now. Does she take proper care of herself,
Charlotte? She ought to take exercise. Julius and I never neglect taking
exercise. We think it a duty. No time do you say? Mother ought to take
time. Poor, dear father was never unreasonable; he would wish mother to
take time. What tasteless custards, Charlotte! I don't think Ann cares
how she cooks now. When I was at home, and the eldest daughter, she
always liked to have things nice. Julius, my dear one, can you find any
thing fit to eat?" And so on, and so on, until Charlotte felt as if she
must scream, or throw a plate down, or fly beyond the sight and sound of
all things human.
The next evening Julius announced his intention of going abroad at once.
"But I shall leave Sophia to be a little society for mother, and I shall
not delay an hour beyond the time necessary for travel and business." He
spoke with an air of conscious self-denial; and as Charlotte did not
express any gratitude he continued, "Not that I expect any thanks,
Sophia and I, but fortunately we find duty is its own reward."
"Are you going to see Harry?"
"I may do such a thing."
"Is he sick?"
"No."
"I hope he will not get sick while you are there." And then some
passionate impulse took possession of her; her face glowed like a
flame, and her eyes scintillated like sparks. "If any thing happens
Harry while you are with him, I swear, by each separate Sandal that ever
lived, that you shall account for it!"
"Oh, you know, Sophia dear, this is too much! Leave the table, my love.
Your sister must be"--and he tapped his forehead; while Sophia, with a
look of annihilating scorn, drew her drapery tight around her, and
withdrew.
"What did I say? What do I think? What terror is in my heart? Oh, Harry,
Harry, Harry!"
She buried her face in her hands, and sat lost in woeful thought,--sat so
long that Phoebe the table-maid felt her delay to be unkind and
aggravating; especially when one of the chamber-maids came down for her
supper, and informed the rulers of the servants' hall that "Mrs. Julius
was crying up-stairs about Miss Charlotte falling out with her husband."
"Mercy on us! What doings we have to bide with!" and Ann shook her check
apron, and sat down with an air of nearly exhausted patience.
"You can't think what a taking Mr. Julius is in. He's going away
to-morrow."
"For good and all?"
"Not he. He'll be back again. He has had a falling-out with Miss
Charlotte."
"Poor lass! Say what you will, she has been hard set lately. I never
knew nor heard tell of her being flighty and fratchy before the squire's
trouble."
"Good hearts are plenty in good times, Ann Skelton. Miss Charlotte's
temper is past all the last few weeks, she is that off-and-on and
changeable like and spirity. Mrs. Julius says she does beat all."
"I don't pin my faith on what Mrs. Julius says. Not I."
In the east rooms the criticism was still more severe. Julius railed for
an hour ere he finally decided that he never saw a more suspicious,
unladylike, uncharitable, unchristianlike girl than Charlotte Sandal! "I
am glad to get away from her a little while," he cried; "how can she be
your sister, Sophia?"
So glad was he to get away, that he left before Charlotte came down in
the morning. Ann made him a cup of coffee, and received a shilling and
some suave words, and was quite sure after them that "Mr. Julius was the
finest gentleman that ever trod in shoe-leather." And Julius was not
above being gratified with the approbation and good wishes of servants;
and it gave him pleasure to leave in the little hurrah of their bows and
courtesies, their smiles and their good wishes.
He went without delay straight to the small Italian village in which
Harry had made his home. Harry's letters had prepared him for trouble
and poverty, but he had little idea of the real condition of the heir of
Sandal-Side. A few bare rooms in some dilapidated palace, grim with
faded magnificence, comfortless and dull, was the kind of place he
expected. He found him in a small cottage surrounded by a barren, sandy
patch of ground overgrown with neglected vines and vagabond weeds. The
interior was hot and untidy. On a couch a woman in the firm grip of
consumption was lying; an emaciated, feverish woman, fretful with acute
suffering. A little child, wan and waxy-looking, and apparently as ill
as its mother, wailed in a cot by her side. Signor Lanza was smoking
under a fig-tree in the neglected acre, which had been a vineyard or a
garden. Harry had gone into the village for some necessity; and when he
returned Julius felt a shock and a pang of regret for the dashing young
soldier squire that he had known as Harry Sandal.
He kissed his wife with passionate love and sorrow, and then turned to
Julius with that mute look of inquiry which few find themselves able to
resist.
"He is alive yet,--much better, he says; and Charlotte thinks he may be
in the fields again next season."
"Thank God! My poor Beatrice and her baby! You see what is coming to
them?"
"Yes."
"And I am so poor I cannot get her the change of air, the luxuries, the
medicines, which would at least prolong life, and make death easy."
"Go back with me to Sandal-Side, and see the squire: he may listen to
you now."
"Never more! It was cruel of father to take my marriage in such a way.
He turned my life's joy into a crime, cursed every hour that was left
me."
"People used to be so intense--'a few strong feelings,' as Mr.
Wordsworth says--too strong for ordinary life. We really can't afford to
love and hate and suffer in such a teetotal way now; but the squire came
from the Middle Ages. This is a dreadfully hot place, Harry."
"Yes, it is. We were very much deceived in it. I bought it; and we
dreamed of vineyards and milk and wine, and a long, happy, simple life
together. Nothing has prospered with us. We were swindled in the house
and land. The signor knows nothing about vines. He was born here, and
wanted to come back and be a great man." And as he spoke he laughed
hysterically, and took Julius into an inner room. "I don't want Beatrice
to hear that I am out of money. She does not know I am destitute. That
sorrow, at least, I have kept from her."
"Harry, I am going to make you a proposal. I want to be kind and just to
you. I want to put you beyond the need of any one's help. Answer me one
question truly. If your father dies, what will you do?"
"You said he was getting better. For God's sake, do not speak of his
death."
"I am supposing a case. You would then be squire of Sandal-Side. Would
you return there with Beatrice?"
"Ah, no! I know what those Dalesmen are. My father's feelings were only
their feelings intensified by his relation to me. They would look upon
me as my father's murderer, and Beatrice as an accessory to the deed."
"Still you would be squire of Sandal-Side."
"Mother would have to take my place, or Charlotte. I have thought of
that. I could not bear to sit in father's chair, and go up and down the
house. I should see him always. I should hear continually that awful cry
with which he fell. It fills, even here, all the spaces of my memory and
my dreams. I cannot go back to Sandal-Side. Nothing could take me back,
not even my mother."
"Then listen, I am the heir failing you."
"No, no: there is my son Michael."
Julius was stunned for a moment. "Oh, yes! The child is a boy, then?"
"It is a boy. What were you going to say?"
"I was going to ask you to sell your rights to me for ten thousand
pounds. It would be better for you to have a sum like that in your hand
at once, than to trust to dribbling remittances sent now and then by
women in charge. You could invest that sum to noble purpose in America,
become a citizen of the country, and found an American line, as my
father has founded an Indian one."
"The poor little chap makes no difference. He is only born to die. And I
think your offer is a good one. I am so worn out, and things are really
desperate with me. I never can go back to England. I am sick to death of
Florence. There are places where Beatrice might even yet recover. Yes,
for her sake, I will sell you my inheritance. Can I have the money
soon?"
"This hour. I had the proper paper drawn up before I came here. Read it
over carefully. See if you think it fair and honorable. If you do, sign
your name; and I will give you a check you can cash here in Florence.
Then it will be your own fault if Beatrice wants change of air,
luxuries, and medicine."
He laid the paper on the table, and Harry sat down and pretended to read
it. But he did not understand any thing of the jargon. The words danced
up and down. He could only see "Beatrice," "freedom from care," "power
to get away from Florence," and the final thought, the one which removed
his last scruple, "Lanza can have the cottage, and I shall be clear of
him forever."
Without a word he went for a pen and ink, and wrote his name boldly to
the deed of relinquishment. Then Julius handed him a check for ten
thousand pounds, and went with him to the bank in order to facilitate
the transfer of the sum to Harry's credit. On the street, in the hot
sunshine, they stood a few minutes.
"You are quite satisfied, Harry?"
"You have saved me from despair. Perhaps you have saved Beatrice. I am
grateful to you."
"Have I done justly and honorably by you?"
"I believe you have."
"Then good-by. I must hasten home. Sophia will be anxious, and one never
knows what may happen."
"Julius, one moment. Tell my mother to pray for me. And the same word to
Charlotte. Poor Charley! Sophia"--
"Sophia pities you very much, Harry. Sophia feels as I do. We don't
expect people to cut their lives on a fifteenth-century pattern."
Then Harry lifted his hat, and walked away, with a shadow still of his
old military, up-head manner. And Julius looked after him with contempt,
and thought, "What a poor fellow he is! Not a word for himself, or a
plea for that wretched little heir in his cradle. There are some
miserable kinds of men in this world. I thank God I am not one of them!"
And the wretched Esau, with the ten thousand pounds in his pocket? Ah,
God only knew his agony, his shame, his longing, and despair! He felt
like an outcast. Yes, even when he clasped Beatrice in his arms, with
promises of unstinted comforts; when she kissed him, with tender words
and tears of joy,--he felt like an outcast.