"There are so many things one can't do."
"Perhaps the fit time is not come for their being done. Or you want more training for doing them. Remember that to bring one's good desires to good effect, there is a _how_ to be taken into account. I know of a place where the mere knowledge that there are unlimited means to bestow seems to produce ingratitude and captiousness for whatever is done. On the other hand, I have seen a far smaller gift, that has cost an effort, most warmly and touchingly received. Again, the power of at once acting leads to over-haste, want of consideration, domineering, expectation of adulation, impatience of counsel or criticism."
"I suppose one does not know till one has tried," said Armine, "but I should mind nothing from Mr. or Miss Parsons."
"I did not allude to any special case, I only wanted to show you that riches do not by any means make doing good a simpler affair, but rather render it more difficult not to do an equal amount of harm."
"Of course," said Armine, "as this misfortune has happened, it is plain that we must submit, and I hope I am bowing to the disappointment."
"By endeavouring to do your best for God with what is left you?"
"I hope so, but with my health there seems nothing left for me but unmurmuring resignation."
Mr. Ogilvie was amused at Armine's notion of unmurmuring resignation, but he added only, "Which would be much assisted by a little exertion."
"I did exert myself at home, but it is all aimless now."
"I should have thought you still equally bound to learn and labour to do your duty in Him and for Him. Will you think about what I have said?"
"Yes, Mr. Ogilvie, thank you. I know you mean it kindly, and no one can be expected to enter into my feeling of the uselessness of wasting my time over classical studies when I know I shall never be able to be ordained."
"Are you sure you are not wasting it now?"
It was not possible to continue the subject. Mr. Ogilvie had failed in both his attempts to rouse Armine, and had to tell his mother, who had hoped much from this new influence. "I think," he said, "that Armine is partly feeling the change from invalidism to ordinary health. He does not know it, poor fellow; but it is rather hard to give up being interesting."
Caroline saw the truth of this when Armine showed himself absolutely nettled at his brothers, on their arrival, pronouncing that he looked much better-in fact quite jolly, an insult which he treated with Christian forgiveness.
Bobus had visited Belforest. His mother had never intended this, and still less that he should walk direct from the station to Kencroft, surprising the whole family at luncheon, and taking his seat among them quite naturally. Thereby he obtained all he had expected or hoped, for when the meal was over, he was able, though in the presence of all the family, to take Esther by both hands, and say in his resolute earnest voice, "Good-bye, my sweet and only love. You will wait for me, and by-and-by, when I have made you a home, and people see things differently, I shall come for you," and therewith he pressed on her burning, blushing, drooping brow four kisses that felt like fire.
Her mother might fret and her father might fume, but they were as powerless as the parents of young Lochinvar's bride, and the words of their protest were scarcely begun when he loosed the girl's hands, and, turning to her mother, said, "Good-bye, Aunt Ellen. When we meet again, you will see things otherwise. I ask nothing till that time comes."
This was not the part of his visit of which he told his mother, he only dwelt on a circumstance so opportune that he had almost been forgiven even by the Colonel. He had encountered Dr. Hermann, who had come down to make another attempt on the Gracious Lady, and had thus found himself in the presence of a very different person. An opening had offered itself in America, and he had come to try to obtain his wife's fortune to take them out. The opportunity of making stringent terms had seemed to Bobus so excellent that he civilly invited Demetrius to dine and sleep, and sent off a note to beg his uncle to come and assist in a family compact. Colonel Brownlow, having happily resisted his impulse to burn the letter unread as an impertinent proposal for his daughter, found that it contained so sensible a scheme that he immediately conceived a higher opinion of his namesake than he had ever had before.
Thus Dr. Hermann found himself face to face with the very last members of the family he desired to meet, and had to make the best of the situation. Of secrets of the late Joseph Brownlow he said nothing, but based his application on the offer of a practice and lectureship he said he had received from New Orleans. He had evidently never credited that Mrs. Brownlow meant to resign the whole property without giving away among her children the accumulation of ready money in hand, and as he knew himself to be worth buying off, he reckoned upon Janet's full share. He had taken Mrs. Brownlow's own statements as polite refusals, and a lady's romance until he found the uncle and nephew viewing the resignation of the whole as common honesty, and that she was actually gone. They would not give him her address, and prevented his coming in contact with the housekeeper, so that no more molestation might be possible, and meantime they offered him terms such as they thought she would ratify.
All that Joseph Brownlow had left was entirely in her power, and the amount was such that if she had died intestate, each of her six children would have been entitled to about £l600, exclusive of the house in London. Janet had no right to claim anything now or at her mother's death, but the uncle and nephew knew that Mrs. Brownlow would not endure to leave her destitute, and they thought the deportation to America worth a considerable sacrifice. Therefore they proposed that on the actual bona fide departure, £500 should be paid down, the interest of the £1100 should be secured to her, and paid half-yearly through Mr. Wakefield, who was to draw up the agreement; but the final disposal of the sum was not to be promised, but to depend on Mrs. Brownlow's will.
Such a present boon as £500 had made Hermann willing to agree to anything. Bobus had seen the lawyer in London, and with him concocted the agreement for signature, making the payments pass through the Wakefield office, the receipts being signed by Janet Hermann herself.
"Why must all payments go through the office?" asked Caroline.
"Because there's no trusting that slippery Greek," said Bobus.
"I should have liked my poor Janet to have been forced to communicate with me every half-year," she sighed.
"What, when she has never chosen to write all this time?"
"Yes. It is very weak, but I can't help it. It would be something only to see her name. I have never known where to write to her, or I would have done so."
"O, very well," said Bobus, "you had better invite them both to share the menage in Collingwood Street."
"For shame, Bobus," said Jock. "You have no right to say such things."
"Only that all this might as well have been left undone if my mother is to rush on them to ask their pardon and beg them to receive her with open arms. I mean, mother," he added with a different manner, "if you give one inch to that Greek, he will make it a mile, and as to Janet, if she can't bring down her pride to write to you like a daughter, I wouldn't give a rap for her receipt, and it might lead to intolerable pestering. Now you know she can't starve on £50 a year besides her medical education. Wakefield will always know where she is, and you may be quite easy about her."
Caroline gave way to her son's reasoning, as he thought, but no sooner was she alone with Jock than she told him that he must take her to London to see Janet in her lodgings before the departure for the States.
He was at her service, and as they did not mean to sleep in town, they started at a preposterously early hour, with a certain mirth and gaiety at thus eloping together, as the mother's spirits rose at the bare idea of seeing the first-born child for whom she had famished so long. Jock was such a perfect squire of dames, and so chivalrously charmed to be her escort, that her journey was delightful, nor did she grow sad till it was over. Then, she could not eat the food he would have had her take at the station, and he saw tears standing in her eyes as he
sat beside her in the omnibus. When they were set down they walked swiftly and without a word to the lodgings.
Dr. and Mrs. Hermann had "left two days ago," said the untidy girl, whose aspect, like that of the street and house, betokened that Janet was drinking of her bitter brewst.
"What shall we do, mother?" asked Jock. "You ought to rest. Will you go to Mrs. Acton or Mrs. Lucas, while I run down to Wakefield's office and find out about them?"
"To Miss Ray's, I think," she said faintly. "Nita may know their plans. Here's the address," taking a little book from her pocket, and ruffling over the leaves, "you must find it. I can't see. O, but I can walk!" as he hailed a cab, and helped her into it, finding the address and jumping after her, while she sank back in the corner.
Very small and shrunken did she look when he took her out at the door leading to rooms over a stationer's shop. The sisters were somewhat better off than formerly, though good old Miss Ray was half ashamed of it, since it was chiefly owing to the liberal allowance from Mrs. Brownlow for the chaperonage in which she felt herself to have so sadly failed.
Jock saw his mother safe in the hands of the kind old lady, heard that the pair were really gone, and departed for his interview with Mr. Wakefield. No sooner had the papers been signed, and the £500 made over to them, than the Hermanns had hurried away a fortnight earlier than they had spoken of going. It was much like an escape from creditors, but the reason assigned was an invitation to lecture in New York.
So there was nothing for it but to put up with Miss Ray's account of Janet, and even that was second-hand, for the gentle spirit of the good old lady had been so roused at the treachery of the stolen marriage that she had refused to see the couple, and when Nita had once brought them in, she had retired to her bedroom.
Nita was gone on a professional engagement into the country for a week. According to what she had told her sister, Demetrius and Janet were passionately attached, and his manner was only too endearing; but Miss Ray had disliked the subject so much that she had avoided it in a way she now regretted.
"Everything I have done has turned out wrong," she said with tears running down her cheeks. "Even this! I would give anything to be able to tell you of poor Janet, and yet I thought my silence was for the best, for Nita and I could not mention her without quarrelling as we had never done before. O, Mrs. Brownlow, I can't think how you have ever forgiven me."
"I can forgive every one but myself," said Caroline sadly. "If I had understood how to be a better mother, this would never have been."
"You! the most affectionate and devoted."
"Ah! but I see now it was only human love without the true moving spring, and so my poor child grew up without it, and these are the fruits."
"But my dear, my dear, one can't _give_ these things. Poor Janet always was a headstrong girl, like my poor Nita. I know what you mean, and how one feels that if one had been better oneself," said poor Miss Ray, ending in utter entanglement, but tender sympathy.
"She might have been a child of many prayers," said the poor mother.
"Ah! but that she can still be," said the old lady. "She will turn back again, my dear. Never fear. I don't think I could die easy if I did not believe she would!"
Jock brought back word that the lawyer had been entirely unaware of the Hermanns' departure, and thought it looked bad. He had seen them both, and his report was less brilliant than Nita's. Indeed Jock kept back the details, for Mr. Wakefield had described Mrs. Hermann as much altered, thin, haggard, shabby, and anxious, and though her husband fawned upon her demonstratively before spectators, something in her eyes betokened a certain fear of him. He had also heard that Elvira was still making visits. There was a romance about her, which, in addition to her beauty and future wealth, made people think her a desirable guest. She was always more agreeable with strangers than in her own family; and as to the needful funds, she had her ample allowance; and no doubt her expectations secured her unlimited credit. Her conduct was another pang, but it was lost in the keener pain Janet had given.
As his mother could not bear to face any one else, Jock thought the sooner he could get her home the better, and all they did was to buy some of Armine's favourite biscuits, and likewise to stop at Rivington's, where she chose the two smallest and neatest Greek Testaments she could find.
They reached home three hours before they were expected, and she went up at once to her room and her bed, leaving Jock to make the explanations, and receive all Bobus's indignation at having allowed her to knock herself up by such a foolish expedition.
Chill, fatigue, and, far more, grief after her long course of worry really did bring on a feverish attack, so unprecedented in her that it upset the whole family, and if Mr. Ogilvie had not been almost equally wretched himself, he would have been amused to see these three great sons wandering forlorn about the house like stray chicks who had lost their parent hen, and imagining her ten times worse than she really was.
Babie was really useful as a nurse, and had very little time to comfort them. And indeed they treated her as childish and trifling for assuring them that neither patient, maid, nor doctor thought the ailment at all serious. Bobus found some relief in laying the blame on Jock, but when Armine heard the illness ascribed to a long course of anxiety and harass, he was conscience-stricken, as he thought how often his perverse form of resignation had baffled her pleadings and added to her vexations. Words, impatiently heard at the moment, returned upon him, and compunction took its outward effect in crossness. It was all that Jock could do by his good-humoured banter and repartee to keep the peace between the other two who, when unchecked by regard to their mother and Babie, seemed bent on discussing everything on which they most disagreed.
Babie was a welcome messenger to Jock at least, when she brought word that mother hoped Armine would attend to Percy Stagg, and would take him the book she sent down for him. Her will was law in the present state of things, and Armine set forth in dutiful disgust; but he found the lad so really anxious about the lady, and so much brightened and improved, that he began to take an interest in him and promised a fresh lesson with alacrity.
His next step in obedience was to take out his books; but Bobus had no mind for them, and said it was too late. If Armine had really worked diligently all the autumn, he might have easily entered King's College, London; but now he had thrown away his chance.
Mr. Ogilvie found him with his books on the table, plunged in utter despondency. "Your mother is not worse?" he asked in alarm.
"Oh no; she is very comfortable, and the doctor says she may get up to-morrow."
"Then is it the Greek?" said Mr. Ogilvie, much relieved.
"Yes. Bobus says my rendering is perfectly ridiculous."
"Are you preparing for him?"
"No. He is sick of me, and has no time to attend to me now."
"Let me see-"
"Oh! Mr. Ogilvie," said Armine, looking up with his ingenuous eyes. "I don't deserve it. Besides, Bobus says it is of no use now. I've wasted too much time ever to get into King's."
"I should like to judge of that. Suppose I examined you-not now, but to-morrow morning. Meantime, how do you construe this chorus? "It is a tough one."
Armine winked out of his eyes the tears that had risen at the belief that he had really in his wilfulness lost the hope of fulfilling the higher aims of his life, and with a trembling voice translated the passage he had been hammering over. A word from Mr. Ogilvie gave him the clue, and when that stumbling-block was past, he acquitted himself well enough to warrant a little encouragement.
"Well done, Armine. We shall make a fair scholar of you, after all."
"I don't deserve you should be so kind. I see now what a fool I have been," said Armine, his eyes filling again, with tears.
"I have no time to talk of that now," said Mr. Ogilvie. "I only looked in to hear how your mother was. Bring down whatever books you have been getting up at twelve to-morrow; or if it is a wet day, I will come to you."
Armine
worked for this examination as eagerly as he had decorated for Miss Parsons, and in the face of the like sneers; for Bobus really believed it was all waste of time, and did not scruple to tell him so, and to laugh when he consulted Jock, whose acquirements lay more in the way of military mathematics and modern languages than of university requirements.
Perhaps the report that Armine was reading Livy with all his might was one of his mother's best restoratives,-and still more that when he came to wish her good-night, he said, "Mother, I've been a wretched, self-sufficient brute all this time; I'm very sorry, and I'll try to go on better."
And when she came downstairs to be petted and made much of by all the four, she found that the true and original Armine had come back, instead of Petronella's changeling. Indeed, the danger now was that he would overwork himself in his fervour, for Bobus's continued ill- auguries only acted as a stimulus; nor were they silenced till she begged as a personal favour that he would not torment the boy.
Indeed her presence made life smooth and cheerful again to the young people; there were no more rubs of temper, and Bobus, whose departure was very near, showed himself softened. He was very fond of his mother, and greatly felt the leaving her. He assured her that it was all for her sake, and that he trusted to be able to lighten some of her burdens when his first expenses were over.
"And mother," he said, on his last evening, "you will let me sometimes hear of my Esther?"
"Oh, Bobus, if you could only forget her!"
"Would you rob me of my great incentive-my sweet image of purity, who rouses and guards all that is best in me? My 'loyalty to my future wife' is your best hope for me, mother."
"Oh, if she were but any one else! How can I encourage you in disobedience to your father and to hers?"
"You know what I think about that. When my Esther ventures to judge for herself, these prejudices will give way. She shall not be disobedient, but you will all perceive the uselessness of withholding my darling. Meanwhile, I only ask you to let me see her name from time to time. You won't deny me that?"
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