The Shadow of Ashlydyat Part 60

There they sat, it is hard to say how long, their heads together, talking earnestly. Charlotte was in his full confidence. Whatever may have been the nature, the depth of his perplexities, she fathomed them.

At length George sprang up with a start.

"I am forgetting everything. I forgot those people were still at home, waiting for me. Charlotte, I must go."

She rose, put her arm within his, and took a step with him, as if she would herself let him out. Perhaps she was in the habit of letting him out.

"Not there! not that way!" she abruptly said, for George was turning to unclose the shutters of the window. "Come into the next room, and I'll open that."

The next room was in darkness. They opened the window, and stood yet a minute within the room, talking anxiously still. Then he left her, and went forth.

He intended to take the lonely road homewards, as being the nearer; that dark, narrow road you may remember to have heard of, where the ash-trees met overhead, and, as report went, a ghost was in the habit of taking walking exercise by night. George had no thought for ghosts just then: he had a "ghost" within him, frightful enough to scare away a whole lane full of the others. Nevertheless, George G.o.dolphin did take a step backward with a start, when, just within the Ash-tree Walk, after pa.s.sing the turnstile, there came a dismal groan from some dark figure seated on a broken bench.

It was all dark together there. The ash-trees hid the moon; George had just emerged from where her beams shone bright and open; and not at first did he distinguish who was sitting there. But his eyes grew accustomed to the obscurity.

"Thomas!" he cried, in consternation. "Is it you?"

For answer, Thomas G.o.dolphin caught hold of his brother, bent forward, and laid his forehead upon George's arm, another deep groan breaking from him.

That George G.o.dolphin would rather have been waylaid by a real ghost, than by his brother at that particular time and place, was certain.

Better that the whole world should detect any undue anxiety for Mr.

Verrall's companions.h.i.+p just then, than that Thomas G.o.dolphin should do so. At least, George thought so: but conscience makes cowards of us all.

Nevertheless, he gave his earnest sympathy to his brother.

"Lean on me, Thomas. Let me support you. How have you been taken ill?"

Another minute, and the paroxysm was past. Thomas wiped the dew from his brow, and George sat down on the narrow bench beside him.

"How came you to be here alone, Thomas? Where is your carriage?"

"I ordered the carriage early, and it came just as you had gone out,"

explained Thomas. "Feeling well, I sent it away as I had to wait, saying I would walk home. The pain overtook me just as I reached this spot, and but for the bench I should have fallen. But, George, what brings _you_ here?" was the next very natural question. "You told me you were going to the Bell?"

"So I was; so I did," said George, speaking volubly. "St. Aubyn I found very poorly; I told him he would be best in bed, and came away. It was a nice night; I felt inclined for a run, so I came up here to ask Verrall what had kept him from dinner. He was sent for to London, it seems, and the stupid servant took his apology to Ashlydyat, instead of to the Bank."

Thomas G.o.dolphin might well have rejoined, "If Verrall is away, where have you stopped?" But he made no remark.

"Have they all gone?" asked George, alluding to his guests.

"They have all gone. I made it right with them respecting your absence.

My being there was almost the same thing: they appeared to regard it so.

George, I believe I must have your arm as far as the house. See what an old man I am getting."

"Will you not rest longer? I am in no hurry, as they have left. What can this pain be, that seems to be attacking you of late?"

"Has it never occurred to you what it may be?" quietly rejoined Thomas.

"No," replied George. But he noticed that Thomas's tone was, peculiar, and he began to run over in his own mind all the pharmacopoeia of ailments that flesh is heir to. "It cannot be rheumatism, Thomas?"

"It is something worse than rheumatism," said Thomas, in his serene, ever-thoughtful way. "A short time, George, and you will be master of Ashlydyat."

George's heart seemed to stand still, and then bound onwards in a tumult. The words struck upon every chord of feeling he possessed--struck from more causes than one.

"What do you mean, Thomas? What do you fear may be the matter with you?"

"Do you remember what killed our mother?"

There was a painful pause. "Oh, Thomas!"

"It is so," said Thomas, quietly.

"I hope you are mistaken! I _hope_ you are mistaken!" reiterated George.

"Have you had advice? You must have advice."

"I have had it. Snow confirms my own suspicions. I desired the truth."

"Who's Snow?" returned George, disparagingly. "Go up to London, Thomas; consult the best man there. Or telegraph for one of them to come down to you."

"For the satisfaction of you all, I may do so," he replied. "But it cannot benefit me, George."

"Good Heavens, what a dreadful thing!" returned George, with feeling.

"What a blow to fall upon you!"

"You would regard it so, were it to fall upon you; and naturally. You are young, joyous; you have your wife and child. I have none of these attributes: and--if I had them all, we are in the hands of One who knows what is best for us."

George G.o.dolphin did not feel very joyous just then: had not felt particularly joyous for a long time. Somehow, his own inward care was more palpable to him than this news, sad though it was, imparted by his brother. He lifted his right hand to his temples and kept it there.

Thomas suffered his right hand to fall upon George's left, which rested on his knee. A more holy contact than that imparted by Mrs. Charlotte Pain's.

"Don't grieve, George. I am more than resigned. I think of it as a happy change. This world, taken at its best, is full of care: if we seem free from it one year, it only falls upon us more unsparingly the next. It is wisely ordered: were earth made too pleasant for us, we might be wis.h.i.+ng that it could be permanently our home."

Heaven knew that George had enough care upon him. _He_ knew it. But he was not weary of the world. Few do weary of it, whatever may be their care, until they have learned to look for a better.

"In the days gone by, I have felt tempted to wonder why Ethel should have been taken," resumed Thomas G.o.dolphin. "I see now how merciful was the fiat, George. I have been more thoughtful, more observant, perhaps, than many are; and I have learnt to see, to know, how marvellously all these fiats are fraught with mercy; full of gloom as they may seem to us. It would have been a bitter trial to me to leave her here unprotected; in deep sorrow; perhaps with young children. I scarcely think I could have been reconciled to go; and I know what her grief would have been. All's for the best."

Most rare was it for undemonstrative Thomas G.o.dolphin thus to express his hidden sentiments. George never knew him to do so before. Time and place were peculiarly fitted for it: the still, light night, telling of peace; the dark trees around, the blue sky overhead. In these paroxysms of disease, Thomas felt brought almost face to face with death.

"It will be a blow to Janet!" exclaimed George, the thought striking him.

"She will feel it as one."

"Thomas! can _nothing_ be done for you?" was the impulsive rejoinder, spoken in all hearty good-feeling.

"Could it be done for my mother, George?"

"I know. But, since then, science has made strides. Diseases, once deemed incurable, yield now to skill and enlightenment. I wish you would go to London!"

"There are some few diseases which bring death with them, in spite of human skill: will bring it to the end of time," rejoined Thomas G.o.dolphin. "This is one of them."

"Well, Thomas, you have given me my pill for to-night: and for a great many more nights, and days too. I _wish_ I had not heard it! But that, you will say, is a wish savouring only of selfishness. It is a dreadful affliction for you! Thomas, I must say it--a dreadful affliction."