The woman shook her head. "She is gone, sir. Not more than an hour ago."
Sarah, the old servant whom we have seen before at Mrs. Thornimett"s, came forward, weeping. "Oh, Mr. Austin! oh, sir: why could not you get here sooner?"
"How could I, Sarah?" was his reply. "I received the message only last evening, and came off by the first train that started."
"I"d have took a engine to myself, and rode upon its chimbley, but what I"d have got here in time," retorted Sarah. "Twice in the very last half hour of her life she asked after you. "Isn"t Austin come?" "Isn"t he yet come?" My dear old mistress!"
"Why was I not sent for before?" he asked, in return.
"Because we never thought it was turning serious," sobbed Sarah. "She caught cold some days ago, and it flew to her throat, or her chest, I hardly know which. The doctor was called in; and it"s my belief _he_ didn"t know: the doctors nowadays bain"t worth half what they used to be, and they call things by fine names that n.o.body can understand.
However it may have been, n.o.body saw any danger, neither him nor us. But at mid-day yesterday there was a change, and the doctor said he"d like further advice to be brought in. And it was had; but they could not do her any good; and she, poor dear mistress, was the first to say that she was dying. "Send for Austin," she said to me; and one of the gentlemen, he went to the wire telegraph place, and wrote the message."
Austin made no rejoinder: he seemed to be swallowing down a lump in his throat. Sarah resumed. "Will you see her, sir? She is just laid out."
He nodded acquiescence, and the servant led the way to the death chamber. It had been put straight, so to remain until all that was left of its many years" occupant should be removed. She lay on the bed in placid stillness; her eyes closed, her pale face calm, a smile upon it; the calm of a spirit at peace with heaven. Austin leaned over her, losing himself in solemn thoughts. Whither had the spirit flown? to what bright unknown world? Had it found the company of sister spirits? had it seen, face to face, its loving Saviour? Oh! what mattered now the few fleeting trials of this life that had pa.s.sed over her! how worse than unimportant did they seem by the side of death! A little, more or less, of care; a lot, where shade or sunshine shall have predominated; a few friends gained or lost; struggle, toil, hope--all must merge in the last rest. It was over; earth, with its troubles and its petty cares, with its joys and sorrows, and its "goods stored up for many years;" as completely over for Mary Thornimett, as though it had never, been. In the higher realms whither her spirit had hastened----
"I told Mrs. Dubbs to knock up the undertaker, and desire him to come here at once and take the measure for the coffin."
Sarah"s interruption recalled Austin to the world. It is impossible, even in a death-chamber, to run away from the ordinary duties of daily life.
CHAPTER III.
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS.
"You will stay for the funeral, Mr. Clay?"
"It is my intention to do so."
"Good. Being interested in the will, it may be agreeable to you to hear it read."
"Am I interested?" inquired Austin, in some surprise.
"Why, of course you are," replied Mr. Knapley, the legal gentleman with whom Austin was speaking, and who had the conduct of Mrs. Thornimett"s affairs. "Did you never know that you were a considerable legatee?"
"I did not," said Austin. "Some years ago--it was at the death of Mr.
Thornimett--Mrs. Thornimett hinted to me that I might be the better some time for a trifle from her. But she has never alluded to it since: and I have not reckoned upon it."
"Then I can tell you--though it is revealing secrets beforehand--that you are the better to the tune of two thousand pounds."
"Two thousand pounds!" uttered Austin, in sheer amazement. "How came she to leave me so much as that?"
"Do you quarrel with it, young sir?"
"No, indeed: I feel all possible grat.i.tude. But I am surprised, nevertheless."
"She was a clever, clear-sighted woman, was Mrs. Thornimett," observed the lawyer. "I"ll tell you about it--how it is you come to have so much.
When I was taking directions for Mr. Thornimett"s will--more than ten years back now--a discussion arose between him and his wife as to the propriety of leaving a sum of money to Austin Clay. A thousand pounds was the amount named. Mr. Thornimett was for leaving you in his wife"s hands, to let her bequeath it to you at her death; Mrs. Thornimett wished it should be left to you then, in the will I was about to make, that you might inherit it on the demise of Mr. Thornimett. He took his own course, and did _not_ leave it, as you are aware."
"I did not expect him to leave me anything," interrupted Austin.
"My young friend, if you break in with these remarks, I shall not get to the end of my story. After her husband"s burial, Mrs. Thornimett spoke to me. "I particularly wished the thousand pounds left now to Austin Clay," she said, "and I shall appropriate it to him at once."
"Appropriate it in what manner?" I asked her. "I should like to put it out to interest, that it may be acc.u.mulating for him," she replied, "so that at my death he may receive both princ.i.p.al and interest." "Then, if you live as long as it is to be hoped you will, madam, you may be bequeathing him two thousand pounds instead of one," I observed to her.
"Mr. Knapley," was her answer, "if I choose to bequeath him three, it is my own money that I do it with; and I am responsible to no one." She had taken my remark to be one of remonstrance, you see, in which spirit it was not made: had Mrs. Thornimett chosen to leave you the whole of her money she had been welcome to do it for me. "Can you help me to a safe investment for him?" she resumed; and I promised to look about for it.
The long and the short of it is, Mr. Clay, that I found both a safe and a profitable investment, and the one thousand pounds _has_ swollen itself into two--as you will hear when the will is read."
"I am truly obliged for her kindness, and for the trouble you have taken," exclaimed Austin, with a glowing colour. "I never thought to get rich all at once."
"You only be prudent and take care of it," said Mr. Knapley. "Be as wise in its use as I and Mrs. Thornimett have been. It is the best advice I can give you."
"It is good advice, I know, and I thank you for it," warmly responded Austin.
"Ay. I can tell you that less than two thousand pounds has laid the foundation of many a great fortune."
To a young man whose salary is only two hundred a year, the unexpected accession to two thousand pounds, hard cash, seems like a great fortune.
Not that Austin Clay cared so very much for a "great fortune" in itself; but he certainly did hope to achieve a competency, and to this end he made the best use of the talents bestowed upon him. He was not ambitious to die "worth a million;" he had the rare good sense to know that excess of means cannot bring excess of happiness. The richest man on earth cannot eat two dinners a day, or wear two coats at a time, or sit two thoroughbred horses at once, or sleep on two beds. To some, riches are a source of continual trouble. Unless rightly used, they cannot draw a man to heaven, or help him on his road thither. Austin Clay"s ambition lay in becoming a powerful man of business; such as were the Messrs. Hunter.
He would like to have men under him, of whom he should be the master; not to control them with an iron hand, to grind them to the dust, to hold them at a haughty distance, as if they were of one species of humanity and he of another. No; he would hold intact their relative positions of master and servant--none more strictly than he; but he would be their considerate friend, their firm advocate, regardful ever of their interests as he was of his own. He would like to have capital sufficient for all necessary business operations, that he might fulfil every obligation justly and honourably: so far, money would be welcome to Austin. Very welcome did the two thousand pounds sound in his ears, for they might be the stepping-stone to this. Not to the "great fortune"
talked of by Mr. Knapley, who avowed freely his respect for millionaires: he did not care for that. They might also be a stepping-stone to something else--the very thought of which caused his face to glow and his veins to tingle--the winning of Florence Hunter.
That he would win her, Austin fully believed now.
On the day previous to the funeral, in walking through the streets of Ketterford, Austin found himself suddenly seized by the shoulder. A window had been thrown open, and a fair arm (to speak with the gallantry due to the s.e.x in general, rather than to that one arm in particular) was pushed out and laid upon him. His captor was Miss Gwinn.
"Come in," she briefly said.
Austin would have been better pleased to avoid her, but as she had thus summarily caught him, there was no help for it: to enter into a battle of contention with _her_ might be productive of neither honour nor profit. He entered her sitting-room, and she motioned him to a chair.
"So you did not intend to call upon me during your stay in Ketterford, Austin Clay?"
"The melancholy occasion on which I am here precludes much visiting,"
was his guarded reply. "And my sojourn will be a short one."
"Don"t be a hypocrite, young man, and use those unmeaning words.
"Melancholy occasion!" What did you care for Mrs. Thornimett, that her death should make you "melancholy?""
"Mrs. Thornimett was my dear and valued friend," he returned, with an emotion born of anger. "There are few, living, whom I would not rather have spared. I shall never cease to regret the not having arrived in time to see her before she died."
Miss Gwinn peered at him from her keen eyes, as if seeking to know whether this was false or true. Possibly she decided in favour of the latter, for her face somewhat relaxed its sternness. "What has Dr.
Bevary told you of me and of my affairs?" she rejoined, pa.s.sing abruptly to another subject.
"Not anything," replied Austin. He did not lift his eyes, and a scarlet flush dyed his brow as he spoke; nevertheless it was the strict truth.
Miss Gwinn noted the signs of consciousness.
"You can equivocate, I see."
"Pardon me. I have not equivocated to you. Dr. Bevary has disclosed nothing; he has never spoken to me of your affairs. Why should he, Miss Gwinn?"