Olive Part 18

"Say, rather, a vehement pa.s.sion--love does not spring up and flower, like my hyacinths there, in six weeks. But I do not complain. Reason, if not feeling, tells me that a mother cannot be all in all to a young man.

Harold needs a wife--let him take one! They will be married soon; and if all Sara's qualities equal her beauty, this wild pa.s.sion will soon mature into affection. He may be happy--I trust so!"

"But does the girl love him?"--"Of course," spoke the quick-rising maternal pride. But she almost smiled at it herself, and added--"Really, you must excuse these speeches of mine. I talk to you as I never do to any one else; but it is all for the sake of olden times. This has been a happy week to me. You must pay us another visit soon."

"I will And you must take a journey to my home, and learn to know my wife and Olive," said Rothesay. The influence of Alison Gwynne was unconsciously strengthening him; and though, from some inexplicable feeling, he had spoken but little of his wife and child, there were growing up in his mind many schemes, the chief of which were connected with Olive. But he now thought less of her appearing in the world as Captain Rothesay's heiress, than of her being placed within the shadow of Alison Gwynne, and so reflecting back upon her father's age that benign influence which had been the blessing of his youth.

He went on to tell Mrs. Gwynne more of his affairs and of his plans than he had communicated to any one for many a long year. In the midst of their conversation came the visitation--always so important in remote country districts--the every-other-day's post.

"For you--not me. I have few correspondents. So I will go to my duties, while you attend to yours," said Mrs. Gwynne, and departed.

When she came in again, Captain Rothesay was pacing the room uneasily.

"No ill news, I hope?"

"No, my kind friend--not exactly ill news, though vexatious enough. But why should I trouble you with them!"

"Nothing ever troubles me that can be of use to my friends. I ask no unwelcome confidence. If it is any relief to you to speak I will gladly hear. It is sometimes good for a man to have a woman to talk to."

"It is--it is!" And his heart opening itself more and more, he told her his cause of annoyance. A most important mercantile venture would be lost to him for want of what he called "a few paltry hundreds," to be forthcoming on the morrow.

"If it had been a fortnight--just till my next s.h.i.+p is due; or even one week, to give me time to make some arrangement! But where is the use of complaining! It is too late."

"Not quite," said Alison Gwynne, looking up after a few moments of deep thought; and, with a clearness which would have gained for her the repute of "a thorough woman of business," she questioned Captain Rothesay, until she drew from him a possible way of obviating his difficulty.

"If, as you say, I were in London now, where my banker or some business friend would take up a bill for me; but that is impossible!"

"Nay--why say that you have friends only in London?" replied Alison, with a gentle smile. "That is rather too unjust, Angus Rothesay. Our Highland clans.h.i.+p is not so clean forgotten, I hope. Come, old friend, it will be hard if I cannot do something for you. And Harold, who loves Flora Rothesay almost as much as he loves me, would gladly aid her kinsman."

"How--how! Nay, but I will never consent," cried Angus, with a resoluteness through which his first eager sense of relief was clearly discernible. Truly, there was coming upon him, with this mania of speculation, the same desperation which causes the gambler to clutch money from the starving hands of those who even yet are pa.s.sionately dear.

"You _shall_ consent, friend," answered Mrs. Gwynne, composedly. "Why should you not? It is a mere form--an obligation of a week, at most. You will accept that for the sake of Alison Balfour."

He clasped her hand with as much emotion as was in his nature to show.

She continued--"Well, we will talk of this again when Harold comes in to dinner. But, positively, I see him returning. There he is, das.h.i.+ng up the hill. I hope nothing is the matter."

Yet she did not quit the room to meet him, but sat apparently quiet, though her hands were slightly trembling, until her son came in. In answer to her question, he said--

"No, no; nothing amiss. Only Mr. Fludyer would have me go to the Hall to see his new horses; and there I found"----

"Sara!" interrupted the mother. "Well, perhaps she thought it would be a pleasant change from the dulness of Waterton during your absence; so never mind."

He did mind. He restlessly paced the room, angry with his mother, himself--with the whole world. Mrs. Gwynne might well notice how this sudden pa.s.sion had changed his nature. A moralist, looking on the knotted brow, would have smiled to see--not for the first time--a wise man making of himself a slave, nay, a very fool, for the enchantments of a beautiful woman.

His mother took his arm and walked with him up and down the room, without talking to him at all. But her firm step and firm clasp seemed to soothe--almost force him into composure. She had over him at once a mother's influence and a father's control.

Meanwhile, Captain Rothesay busied, or seemed to busy himself, with his numerous letters, and very wisely kept nearly out of sight.

As soon as her son appeared a little recovered from his vexation, Mrs.

Gwynne said,

"Now, Harold, if you are quite willing, I want to talk to you for a few minutes. Shall it be now or this evening?"

"This evening I shall ride over to Waterton."

"What! not one evening to spare for your mother, or"----she corrected herself, "for your beloved books?"

He moved restlessly.

"Nay, I have had enough of study; I must have interest, amus.e.m.e.nt, excitement. I think I have drunk all the world's pleasures dry, except this one. Mother, don't keep it from me; I know no rest except I am beside Sara."

He rarely spoke to her so freely, and, despite her pain, the mother was touched.

"Go, then, go to Sara; and the matter I wished to speak upon we will discuss now."

He sat down and listened, though often only with his outward ears, to her plan, by which Captain Rothesay might be saved from his difficulty.

"It is a merely nominal thing; I would do it myself, but a man's name would be more useful than a woman's. Yours will. My son Harold will at once perform such a trifling act of kindness for his mother's friend."

"Of course--of course. Come, mother, tell me what to do; you understand business affairs much better than your son!" said Harold, as he rose to seek his guest.

Captain Rothesay scrupled a while longer; but at length the dazzling vision of coming wealth absorbed both pride and reluctance. It would be so hard to miss the chance of thousands, by objecting to a mere form.

"Besides, Harold Gwynne shall share my success," he thought; and he formed many schemes for changing the comparative poverty of the parsonage into comfort and luxury. It was only when the pen was in the young man's hand, ready to sign the paper, that the faintest misgiving crossed Rothesay's mind.

"Stay, it is but for a few days--yet life sometimes ends in an hour.

What if I should die, at once, before I can requite you? Mr. Gwynne, you shall not do it."

"He _shall_--I mean, he will," answered the mother.

"But not until I have secured him in some way."

"Nay, Angus; we 'auld acquaintance' should not thus bargain away our friends.h.i.+p," said Mrs. Gwynne, with wounded pride--Highland pride. "And besides, there is no time to lose. Here is the acceptance ready--so, Harold, sign!"

Harold did sign. The instant after, glad to escape, he quitted the room.

Angus Rothesay sank on a chair with a heart-deep sigh of relief. It was done now. He eyed with thankfulness the paper which had secured him the golden prize.

"It is but a trifle--a sum not worth naming," he muttered to himself; and so, indeed, it seemed to one who had "turned over" thousands like mere heaps of dust. He never thought that it was an amount equal to Harold's yearly income for which the young man had thus become bound.

Yet he omitted not again and again to thank Mrs. Gwynne, and with excited eagerness to point to all the prospects now before him.

"And besides, you cannot think from what you have saved me--the annoyance--the shame of breaking my word. Oh, my friend, you know not in what a whirling, restless world of commerce I live! To fail in anything, or to be thought to fail, would positively ruin me and drive me mad."

"Angus--old companion!" answered Mrs. Gwynne, regarding him earnestly, "you must not blame me if I speak plainly. In one week I have seen far into your heart--farther than you think. Be advised by me; change this life for one more calm. Home and its blessings never come too late."

"You are right," said Angus. "I sometimes think that all is not well with me. I am growing old, and business racks my head sadly sometimes.

Feel it now!"