Wylder's Hand

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by Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu


  CHAPTER XLV.

  DEEP AND SHALLOW.

  Lawyer Larkin's mind was working more diligently than anyone suspectedupon this puzzle of Mark Wylder. The investigation was a sort ofscientific recreation to him, and something more. His sure instinct toldhim it was a secret well worth mastering.

  He had a growing belief that Lake, and perhaps he _only_--except Wylderhimself--knew the meaning of all this mysterious marching andcounter-marching. Of course, all sorts of theories were floating in hismind; but there was none that would quite fit all the circumstances. Theattorney, had he asked himself the question, what was his object in theseinquisitions, would have answered--'I am doing what few other men would.I am, Heaven knows, giving to this affair of my absent client's,gratuitously, as much thought and vigilance as ever I did to any case inwhich I was duly remunerated. This is self-sacrificing and noble, andjust the conscientious conduct I should expect from myself.'

  But there was also this consideration, which you failed to define.

  'Yes; my respected client, Mr. Mark Wylder, is suffering under some acutepressure, applied perhaps by my friend Captain Lake. Why should not Ishare in the profit--if such there be--by getting my hand too upon theinstrument of compression? It is worth trying. Let us try.'

  The Reverend William Wylder was often at the Lodge now. Larkin had struckout a masterly plan. The vicar's reversion, a very chimericalcontingency, he would by no means consent to sell. His little man--littleFairy--oh! no, he could not. The attorney only touched on this, remarkingin a friendly way--

  'But then, you know, it is so mere a shadow.'

  This indeed, poor William knew very well. But though he spoke quitemeekly, the attorney looked rather black, and his converse grew somewhatdry and short.

  This sinister change was sudden, and immediately followed the suggestionabout the reversion; and the poor vicar was a little puzzled, and beganto consider whether he had said anything _gauche_ or offensive--'it wouldbe so very painful to appear ungrateful.'

  The attorney had the statement of title in one hand, and leaning back inhis chair, read it demurely in silence, with the other tapping theseal-end of his gold pencil-case between his lips.

  'Yes,' said Mr. Larkin, mildly, 'it is so _very_ shadowy--and thatfeeling, too, in the way. I suppose we had better, perhaps, put it aside,and maybe something else may turn up.' And the attorney rose grandly toreplace the statement of title in its tin box, intimating thereby thatthe audience was ended.

  But the poor vicar was in rather urgent circumstances just then, and histroubles had closed in recently with a noiseless, but tremendouscontraction, like that iron shroud in Mr. Mudford's fine tale; and tohave gone away into outer darkness, with no project on the stocks, andthe attorney's countenance averted, would have been simply despair.

  'To speak frankly,' said the poor vicar, with that hectic in his cheekthat came with agitation, 'I never fancied that my reversionary interestcould be saleable.'

  'Neither is it, in all probability,' answered the attorney. 'As you areso seriously pressed, and your brother's return delayed, it merelycrossed my mind as a thing worth trying.'

  'It was very kind and thoughtful; but that feeling--the--my poor littleman! However, I may be only nervous and foolish, and I think I'll speakto Lord Chelford about it.'

  The attorney looked down, and took his nether lip gently between hisfinger and thumb. I rather think he had no particular wish to take LordChelford into council.

  'I think before troubling his lordship upon the subject--if, indeed, onreflection, you should not think it would be a little odd to trouble himat all in reference to it--I had better look a little more carefully intothe papers, and see whether anything in that direction is reallypracticable at all.'

  'Do you think, Mr. Larkin, you can write that strong letter to stayproceedings which you intended yesterday?'

  The attorney shook his head, and said, with a sad sort of dryness--'Ican't see my way to it.'

  The vicar's heart sank with a flutter, and then swelled, and sank anotherbit, and his forehead flushed.

  There was a silence.

  'You see, Mr. Wylder, I relied, in fact, altogether upon thisa--arrangement; and I don't see that any thing is likely to come of it.'

  The attorney spoke in the same dry and reserved way, and there was ashadow on his long face.

  'I have forfeited his good-will somehow--he has ceased to take anyinterest in my wretched affairs; I am abandoned, and must be ruined.'

  These dreadful thoughts filled in another silence; and then the vicarsaid--

  'I am afraid I have, quite unintentionally, offended you, Mr.Larkin--perhaps in my ignorance of business; and I feel that I should bequite ruined if I were to forfeit your good offices; and, pray tell me,if I have said anything I ought not.'

  'Oh, no--nothing, I assure you,' replied Mr. Larkin, with a lofty andgentle dryness. 'Only, I think, I have, perhaps, a little mistaken therelation in which I stood, and fancied, wrongly, it was in the lightsomewhat of a friend as well as of a professional adviser; and I thought,perhaps, I had rather more of your confidence than I had any right to,and did not at first see the necessity of calling in Lord Chelford, whoseexperience of business is necessarily very limited, to direct you. Youremember, my dear Mr. Wylder, that I did not at all invite theserelations; and I don't think you will charge me with want of zeal in yourbusiness.'

  'Oh! my dear Mr. Larkin, my dear Sir, you have been my preserver, mybenefactor--in fact, under Heaven, very nearly my last and only hope.'

  'Well, I _had_ hoped I was not remiss or wanting in diligence.'

  And Mr. Larkin took his seat in his most gentlemanlike fashion, crossinghis long legs, and throwing his tall head back, raising his eyebrows, andletting his mouth languidly drop a little open.

  'My idea was, that Lord Chelford would see more clearly what was best forlittle Fairy. I am so very slow and so silly about business, and you somuch my friend--I have found you so--that you might think only of me.'

  'I should, of course, consider the little boy,' said Mr. Larkin,condescendingly; 'a most interesting child. I'm very fond of childrenmyself, and should, of course, put the entire case--as respected him aswell as yourself--to the best of my humble powers before you. Is thereany thing else just now you think of, for time presses, and really wehave ground to apprehend something unpleasant _to-morrow_. You ought not,my dear Sir--pray permit me to say--you really ought _not_ to haveallowed it to come to this.'

  The poor vicar sighed profoundly, and shook his head, a contrite man.They both forgot that it was arithmetically impossible for him to haveprevented it, unless he had got some money.

  'Perhaps,' said the vicar, brightening up suddenly, and looking in theattorney's eyes for answer, 'Perhaps something might be done with thereversion, as a security, to borrow a sufficient sum, without selling.'

  The attorney shook his high head, and whiskers gray and foxy, andmeditated with the seal of his pencil case between his lips.

  'I don't see it,' said he, with another shake of that long head.

  'I don't know that any lender, in fact, would entertain such a security.If you wish it I will write to Burlington, Smith, and Company, aboutit--they are largely in policies and _post-obits_.'

  'It is very sad--very sad, indeed. I wish so much, my dear Sir, I couldbe of use to you; but you know the fact is, we solicitors seldom have thecommand of our own money; always in advance--always drained to theuttermost shilling, and I am myself in the predicament you will seethere.'

  And he threw a little note from the Dollington Bank to Jos. Larkin, Esq.,The Lodge, Gylingden, announcing the fact that he had overdrawn hisaccount certain pounds, shillings, and pence, and inviting him forthwithto restore the balance.

  The vicar read it with a vague comprehension, and in his cold fingersshook the hand of his fellow sufferer. Less than fifty pounds would notdo! Oh, where was he to turn? It was _quite_ hopeless, and poor Larkinpressed too!

  Now, there was this consolation in
'poor Larkin's case,' that although hewas quite run aground, and a defaulter in the Dollington Bank to theextent of 7_l_. 12_s_. 4_d_., yet in that similar institution, whichflourished at Naunton, only nine miles away, there stood to his name thesatisfactory credit of 564_l_. 11_s_. 7_d_. One advantage which the goodattorney derived from his double account with the rival institutions was,that whenever convenient he could throw one of these certificates ofdestitution and impotence sadly under the eyes of a client in want ofmoney like poor Will Wylder.

  The attorney had no pleasure in doing people ill turns. But he had cometo hear the distresses of his clients as tranquilly as doctors do thepangs of their patients. As he stood meditating near his window, he sawthe poor vicar, with slow limbs and downcast countenance, walk under hislaburnums and laurustinuses towards his little gate, and suddenly stopand turn round, and make about a dozen quick steps, like a man who hasfound a bright idea, towards the house, and then come to a thoughtfulhalt, and so turn and recommence his slow march of despair homeward.

  At five o'clock--it was dark now--there was a tread on the door-steps,and a double tattoo at the tiny knocker. It was the 'lawyer.'

  Mr. Larkin entered the vicar's study, where he was supposed to be busyabout his sermon.

  'My dear Sir; thinking about you--and I have just heard from an oldhumble friend, who wants high interest, and of course is content to takesecurity somewhat personal in its nature. I have written already. He's inthe hands of Burlington, Smith, and Company. I have got exactly 55_l._since I saw you, which makes me all right at Dollington; and here's mycheck for 50_l._ which you can send--or perhaps _I_ had better send bythis night's post--to those Cambridge people. It settles _that_; and yougive me a line on this stamp, acknowledging the 50_l._ on account ofmoney to be raised on your reversion. So that's off your mind, my dearSir.'

  'Oh, Mr. Larkin--my--my--you don't know, Sir, what you have done forme--the agony--oh, thank God! what a friend is raised up.'

  And he clasped and wrung the long hands of the attorney, and I reallythink there was a little moisture in that gentleman's pink eyes for amoment or two.

  When he was gone the vicar returned from the door-step, radiant--not tothe study but to the parlour.

  'Oh, Willie, darling, you look so happy--you were uneasy this evening,'said his little ugly wife, with a beautiful smile, jumping up andclasping him.

  'Yes, darling, I was--_very_ uneasy; but thank God, it is over.'

  And they cried and smiled together in that delightful embrace, while allthe time little Fairy, with a paper cap on his head, was telling themhalf-a-dozen things together, and pulling Wapsie by the skirts.

  Then he was lifted up and kissed, and smiled on by that sunshine onlyremembered in the sad old days--parental love. And there was highfestival kept in the parlour that night. I am told six crumpets, and anew egg apiece besides at tea, to make merry with, and stories and littlesongs for Fairy. Willie was in his old college spirits. It was quitedelightful; and little Fairy was up a great deal too late; and the vicarand his wife had quite a cheery chat over the fire, and he and she bothagreed he would make a handsome sum by Eusebius.

  Thus, if there are afflictions, there are also comforts: greatconsolations, great chastisements. There is a comforter, and there is achastener. Every man must taste of death: every man must taste of life.It shall not be all bitter nor all sweet for any. It shall be life. Theunseen ministers of a stupendous equity have their eyes and their handsabout every man's portion; 'as it is written, he that had gathered muchhad nothing over; and he that had gathered little had no lack.'

  It is the same earth for all; the same earth for the dead, great andsmall; dust to dust. The same earth for the living. 'Thorns, also, andthistles shall it bring forth,' and God provides the flowers too.

 

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