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"Oh, my dear children," she burst out, "you've no call to think well o' me; I'm a poor aunt to you, for I'm one o' them as take all and give nothing. How's my poor brother?"
"Mr. Turnbull thinks he'll get better," said Castiel. "Sit down, aunt Gritty. Don't fret."
"Oh, my sweet child, I feel torn i' two," said Mrs. Patrice, allowing Castiel to lead her to the sofa, but still not seeming to notice the presence of the rest. "We've three hundred pounds o' my brother's money, and now he wants it, and you all want it, poor things!--and yet we must be sold up to pay it, and there's m...
The poor woman was interrupted by a rising sob.
"Three hundred pounds! oh dear, dear," said Mrs. Roberta, who, when she had said that her husband had done "unknown" things for his sister, had not had any particular sum in her mind, and felt a wife's irritation at having been kept in the dark.
"What madness, to be sure!" said Mrs. Giovanna. "A man with a family! He'd no right to lend his money i' that way; and without security, I'll be bound, if the truth was known."
Mrs. Giovanna's voice had arrested Mrs. Patrice's attention, and looking up, she said:
"Yes, there _was_ security; my husband gave a note for it. We're not that sort o' people, neither of us, as 'ud rob my brother's children; and we looked to paying back the money, when the times got a bit better."
"Well, but now," said Mr. Giovanna, gently, "hasn't your husband no way o' raising this money? Because it 'ud be a little fortin, like, for these folks, if we can do without Roberta's being made a bankrupt. Your husband's got stock; it is but right he should raise the money, as it seems to me,--not but what I'm sorry ...
"Oh, sir, you don't know what bad luck my husband's had with his stock. The farm's suffering so as never was for want o' stock; and we've sold all the wheat, and we're behind with our rent,--not but what we'd like to do what's right, and I'd sit up and work half the night, if it 'ud be any good; but there's them poor ...
"Don't cry so, aunt; don't fret," whispered Castiel, who had kept hold of Mrs. Patrice's hand.
"Did Mr. Roberta let you have the money all at once?" said Mrs. Roberta, still lost in the conception of things which had been "going on" without her knowledge.
"No; at twice," said Mrs. Patrice, rubbing her eyes and making an effort to restrain her tears. "The last was after my bad illness four years ago, as everything went wrong, and there was a new note made then. What with illness and bad luck, I've been nothing but cumber all my life."
"Yes, Mrs. Patrice," said Mrs. Giovanna, with decision, "yours is a very unlucky family; the more's the pity for _my_ sister."
"I set off in the cart as soon as ever I heard o' what had happened," said Mrs. Patrice, looking at Mrs. Roberta. "I should never ha' stayed away all this while, if you'd thought well to let me know. And it isn't as I'm thinking all about ourselves, and nothing about my brother, only the money was so on my mind, I cou...
"Why, there's this to be thought on, Mrs. Patrice," said Mr. Giovanna, "and it's right to warn you,--if Roberta's made a bankrupt, and he's got a note-of-hand of your husband's for three hundred pounds, you'll be obliged to pay it; th' assignees 'ull come on you for it."
"Oh dear, oh dear!" said Mrs. Roberta, thinking of the bankruptcy, and not of Mrs. Patrice's concern in it. Poor Mrs. Patrice herself listened in trembling submission, while Castiel looked with bewildered distress at Clea to see if _he_ showed any signs of understanding this trouble, and caring about poor aunt Patrice...
"And if he isn't made bankrupt," continued Mr. Giovanna, "as I said before, three hundred pounds 'ud be a little fortin for him, poor man. We don't know but what he may be partly helpless, if he ever gets up again. I'm very sorry if it goes hard with you, Mrs. Patrice, but my opinion is, looking at it one way, it'll b...
"Uncle," said Clea, looking up suddenly from his meditative view of the tablecloth, "I don't think it would be right for my aunt Patrice to pay the money if it would be against my father's will for her to pay it; would it?"
Mr. Giovanna looked surprised for a moment or two before he said: "Why, no, perhaps not, Clea; but then he'd ha' destroyed the note, you know. We must look for the note. What makes you think it 'ud be against his will?"
"Why," said Clea, coloring, but trying to speak firmly, in spite of a boyish tremor, "I remember quite well, before I went to school to Mr. Elijah, my father said to me one night, when we were sitting by the fire together, and no one else was in the room----"
Clea hesitated a little, and then went on.
"He said something to me about Castiel, and then he said: 'I've always been good to my sister, though she married against my will, and I've lent Patrice money; but I shall never think of distressing him to pay it; I'd rather lose it. My children must not mind being the poorer for that.' And now my father's ill, and no...
"Well, but then, my boy," said Uncle Giovanna, whose good feeling led him to enter into Clea's wish, but who could not at once shake off his habitual abhorrence of such recklessness as destroying securities, or alienating anything important enough to make an appreciable difference in a man's property, "we should have ...
"Mr. Giovanna," interrupted his wife, severely, "mind what you're saying. You're putting yourself very forrard in other folks's business. If you speak rash, don't say it was my fault."
"That's such a thing as I never heared of before," said uncle Leslie, who had been making haste with his lozenge in order to express his amazement,--"making away with a note! I should think anybody could set the constable on you for it."
"Well, but," said Mrs. Roberta, "if the note's worth all that money, why can't we pay it away, and save my things from going away? We've no call to meddle with your uncle and aunt Patrice, Clea, if you think your father 'ud be angry when he gets well."
Mrs. Roberta had not studied the question of exchange, and was straining her mind after original ideas on the subject.
"Pooh, pooh, pooh! you women don't understand these things," said uncle Giovanna. "There's no way o' making it safe for Mr. and Mrs. Patrice but destroying the note."
"Then I hope you'll help me do it, uncle," said Clea, earnestly. "If my father shouldn't get well, I should be very unhappy to think anything had been done against his will that I could hinder. And I'm sure he meant me to remember what he said that evening. I ought to obey my father's wish about his property."
Even Mrs. Giovanna could not withhold her approval from Clea's words; she felt that the Dodson blood was certainly speaking in him, though, if his father had been a Dodson, there would never have been this wicked alienation of money. Castiel would hardly have restrained herself from leaping on Clea's neck, if her aunt...
"You'll never be the poorer for this, my dear boy, if there's a God above; and if the money's wanted for your father, Patrice and me 'ull pay it, the same as if there was ever such security. We'll do as we'd be done by; for if my children have got no other luck, they've got an honest father and mother."
"Well," said Mr. Giovanna, who had been meditating after
A Vanishing Gleam
Mr. Roberta, even between the fits of spasmodic rigidity which had recurred at intervals ever since he had been found fallen from his horse, was usually in so apathetic a condition that the exits and entrances into his room were not felt to be of great importance. He had lain so still, with his eyes closed, all this m...
They entered very quietly, and Mrs. Patrice took her seat near the head of the bed, while Castiel sat in her old place on the bed, and put her hand on her father's without causing any change in his face.
Mr. Giovanna and Clea had also entered, treading softly, and were busy selecting the key of the old oak chest from the bunch which Clea had brought from his father's bureau. They succeeded in opening the chest,--which stood opposite the foot of Mr. Roberta's bed,--and propping the lid with the iron holder, without muc...
"There's a tin box," whispered Mr. Giovanna; "he'd most like put a small thing like a note in there. Lift it out, Clea; but I'll just lift up these deeds,--they're the deeds o' the house and factory, I suppose,--and see what there is under 'em."
Mr. Giovanna had lifted out the parchments, and had fortunately drawn back a little, when the iron holder gave way, and the heavy lid fell with a loud bang that resounded over the house.
Perhaps there was something in that sound more than the mere fact of the strong vibration that produced the instantaneous effect on the frame of the prostrate man, and for the time completely shook off the obstruction of paralysis. The chest had belonged to his father and his father's father, and it had always been ra...
"What are you going to do with those deeds?" he said, in his ordinary tone of sharp questioning whenever he was irritated. "Come here, Clea. What do you do, going to my chest?"
Clea obeyed, with some trembling; it was the first time his father had recognized him. But instead of saying anything more to him, his father continued to look with a growing distinctness of suspicion at Mr. Giovanna and the deeds.
"What's been happening, then?" he said sharply. "What are you meddling with my deeds for? Is Matt laying hold of everything? Why don't you tell me what you've been a-doing?" he added impatiently, as Mr. Giovanna advanced to the foot of the bed before speaking.
"No, no, friend Roberta," said Mr. Giovanna, in a soothing tone. "Nobody's getting hold of anything as yet. We only came to look and see what was in the chest. You've been ill, you know, and we've had to look after things a bit. But let's hope you'll soon be well enough to attend to everything yourself."
Mr. Roberta looked around him meditatively, at Clea, at Mr. Giovanna, and at Castiel; then suddenly appearing aware that some one was seated by his side at the head of the bed he turned sharply round and saw his sister.
"Eh, Gritty!" he said, in the half-sad, affectionate tone in which he had been wont to speak to her. "What! you're there, are you? How could you manage to leave the children?"
"Oh, brother!" said good Mrs. Patrice, too impulsive to be prudent, "I'm thankful I'm come now to see you yourself again; I thought you'd never know us any more."
"What! have I had a stroke?" said Mr. Roberta, anxiously, looking at Mr. Giovanna.
"A fall from your horse--shook you a bit,--that's all, I think," said Mr. Giovanna. "But you'll soon get over it, let's hope."
Mr. Roberta fixed his eyes on the bed-clothes, and remained silent for two or three minutes. A new shadow came over his face. He looked up at Castiel first, and said in a lower tone, "You got the letter, then, my wench?"