Ralph the Heir

"The affair of the property had been settled, Ralph?"

"Don"t talk of that now," said the other angrily. Then, after a pause, he put up his face and spoke again. "Nothing has been settled," he said. "The estate belongs to my cousin Ralph. He should be informed at once,--at once. He should he telegraphed to, to come to Newton. Would you mind doing it? He should be informed at once."

"There is time enough for that," said George Morris.

"If you will not I must," replied Ralph.

The telegram was at once sent in duplicate, addressed to that other Ralph,--Ralph who was declared by the Squire"s son to be once more Ralph the heir,--addressed to him both at his lodgings in London and at the Moonbeam. When the messenger had been sent to the nearest railway station with the message, Ralph and his friend started for Newton Priory together. Poor Ralph still wore his boots and breeches and the red coat in which he had ridden on the former fatal day, and in which he had pa.s.sed the night by the side of his dying father"s bed. On their journey homeward they met Gregory, who had heard of the accident, and had at once started to see his uncle.

"It is all over!" said Ralph. Gregory, who was in his gig, dropped the reins and sat in silence. "It is all done. Let us get on, George.

It is horrid to me to be in this coat. Get on quickly. Yes, indeed; everything is done now."

He had lost a father who had loved him dearly, and whom he had dearly loved,--a father whose opportunities of showing his active love had been greater even than fall to the lot of most parents. A father gives naturally to his son, but the Squire had been almost unnatural in his desire to give. There had never been a more devoted father, one more intensely anxious for his son"s welfare;--and Ralph had known this, and loved his father accordingly. Nevertheless, he could not keep himself from remembering that he had now lost more than a father. The estate as to which the Squire had been so full of interest,--as to which he, Ralph, had so constantly endeavoured to protect himself from an interest that should be too absorbing,--had in the last moment escaped him. And now, in this sad and solemn hour, he could not keep himself from thinking of that loss. As he had stood in the room in which the dead body of his father had been lying, he had cautioned himself against this feeling. But still he had known that it had been present to him. Let him do what he would with his own thoughts, he could not hinder them from running back to the fact that by his father"s sudden death he had lost the possession of the Newton estate. He hated himself for remembering such a fact at such a time, but he could not keep himself from remembering it. His father had fought a life-long battle to make him the heir of Newton, and had perished in the moment of his victory,--but before his victory was achieved. Ralph had borne his success well while he had thought that his success was certain; but now--! He knew that all such subjects should be absent from his mind with such cause for grief as weighed upon him at this moment,--but he could not drive away the reflection.

That other Ralph Newton had won upon the post. He would endeavour to bear himself well, but he could not but remember that he had been beaten. And there was the father who had loved him so well lying dead!

When he reached the house, George Morris was still with him. Gregory, to whom he had spoken hardly a word, did not come beyond the parsonage. Ralph could not conceal from himself, could hardly conceal from his outward manner, the knowledge that Gregory must be aware that his cause had triumphed. And yet he hated himself for thinking of these things, and believed himself to be brutal in that he could not conceal his thoughts. "I"ll send over for a few things, and stay with you for a day or two," said George Morris. "It would be bad that you should be left here alone." But Ralph would not permit the visit.

"My father"s nephew will be here to-morrow," he said, "and I would rather that he should find me alone." In thinking of it all, he remembered that he must withdraw his claims to the hand of Mary Bonner, now that he was n.o.body. He could have no pretension now to offer his hand to any such girl as Mary Bonner!

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

SIR THOMAS AT HOME.

Sir Thomas Underwood was welcomed home at the villa with a double amount of sympathy and glory,--that due to him for his victory being added to that which came to him on the score of his broken arm. A hero is never so much a hero among women as when he has been wounded in the battle. The very weakness which throws him into female hands imparts a moiety of his greatness to the women who for the while possess him, and creates a partnership in heroism, in which the feminine half delights to make the most of its own share. During the week at Percycross and throughout the journey Patience had had this half all to herself; and there had arisen to her considerable enjoyment from it as soon as she found that her father would probably be none the worse for his accident after a few weeks. She saw more of him now than she had done for years, and was able, after a fashion, to work her quiet, loving, female will with him, exacting from him an obedience to feminine sway such as had not been exercised on him since his wife"s death. He himself had been humbled, pa.s.sive, and happy. He had taken his gruel, grumbled with modesty, and consoled himself with constantly reflecting that he was member of Parliament for the borough of Percycross.

During their journey, although Patience was urgent in requiring from her father quiescence, lest he should injure himself by too much exertion, there were many words spoken both as to Clarissa and Mary Bonner. As to poor Clary, Sir Thomas was very decided that if there were any truth in the suspicion which had been now roused in his mind as to Ralph the heir, the thing must be put an end to at once. Ralph who had been the heir was now in possession of that mess of pottage for which he had sold his inheritance,--so said Sir Thomas to his daughter,--and would undoubtedly consume that, as he had consumed the other mess which should have lasted him till the inheritance was his own. And he told to Patience the whole story as to Polly Neefit,--the whole story, at least, as he had heard it. Ralph had declared to Sir Thomas, when discussing the expedience of his proposed marriage with the daughter of the breeches-maker, that he was attached to Polly Neefit. Sir Thomas had done all he could to dissuade the young man from a marriage which, in his eyes, was disgraceful; but he could not bring himself to look with favour on affections transferred so quickly from the breeches-maker"s daughter to his own. There must be no question of a love affair between Clary and the foolish heir who had disinherited himself by his folly. All this was doubly painful to Patience. She suffered first for her sister, the violence of whose feelings were so well known to her, and so completely understood; and then on her own account she was obliged to endure the conviction that she was deceiving her father. Although she had allowed something of the truth to escape from her, she had not wilfully told her sister"s secret. But looking at the matter from her father"s point of view, and hearing all that her father now said, she was brought in guilty of hypocrisy in the court of her own conscience.

In that other matter as to Mary Bonner there was much more of pleasantness. There could be no possible reason why that other man, to whom Fortune was going to be so good, should not marry Mary Bonner, if Mary could bring herself to take him into her good graces.

And of course she would. Such at least was Sir Thomas"s opinion.

How was it possible that a girl like Mary, who had nothing of her own, should fail to like a lover who had everything to recommend him,--good looks, good character, good temper, and good fortune.

Patience did make some protest against this, for the sake of her s.e.x.

She didn"t think, she said, that Mary had ever thought of Mr. Newton in that light. "There must be a beginning to such thoughts, of course," said Sir Thomas. Patience explained that she had nothing to say against Mr. Newton. It would all be very nice and proper, no doubt,--only perhaps Mary might not care for Mr. Newton. "Psha!"

said Sir Thomas. Sir Thomas seemed to think that the one girl was as much bound to fall in love as the other was to abstain from so doing. Patience continued her protest,--but very mildly, because her father"s arm was in a sling. Then there arose the question whether Mary should be told of the young man"s letter. Patience thought that the young man should be allowed to come and speak for himself. Sir Thomas made no objection to the young man"s coming. The young man might come when he pleased. But Sir Thomas thought it would be well that Mary should know what the young man had written. And so they reached home.

To be glorified by one worshipping daughter had been pleasant to the wounded hero, but to be glorified by two daughters and a niece was almost wearisome. On the first evening nothing was said about the love troubles or love prospects of the girls. Sir Thomas permitted to himself the enjoyment of his glory, with some few signs of impatience when the admiration became too strong. He told the whole story of his election, lying back among his cushions on the sofa, although Patience, with mild persistence, cautioned him against exertion.

"It is very bad that you should have your arm broken, papa," said Clarissa.

"It is a bore, my dear."

"Of course it is,--a dreadful bore. But as it is doing so well, I am so glad that you went down to Percycross. It is such a great thing that you should be in the House again. It does give so much colour to our lives here."

"I hope they were not colourless before."

"You know what I mean. It is so nice to feel that you are in Parliament."

"It is quite on the cards that I may lose the seat by pet.i.tion."

"They never can be so cruel," said Mary.

"Cruelty!" said Sir Thomas laughing. "In politics men skin each other without the slightest feeling. I do not doubt that Mr. Westmacott would ruin me with the most perfect satisfaction, if by doing so he could bring the seat within his own reach again; and yet I believe Mr. Westmacott to be a kind-hearted, good sort of man. There is a theory among Englishmen that in politics no man need spare another.

To wish that your opponent should fall dead upon the hustings is not an uncharitable wish at an election."

"Oh, papa!" exclaimed Patience.

"At any rate you are elected," said Clary.

"And threatened folk live long, uncle," said Mary Bonner.

"So they say, my dear. Well, Patience, don"t look at me with so much reprobation in your eyes, and I will go to bed at once. Being here instead of at the Percy Standard does make one inclined to take a liberty."

"Oh, papa, it is such a delight to have you," said Clary, jumping up and kissing her father"s forehead. All this was pleasant enough, and the first evening came to an end very happily.

The next morning Patience, when she was alone with her father, made a request to him with some urgency. "Papa," she said, "do not say anything to Clary about Ralph."

"Why not?"

"If there is anything in it, let it die out of itself."

"But is there?"

"How am I to say? Think of it, papa. If I knew it, I could hardly tell,--even you."

"Why not? If I am not to hear the truth from you who is to tell me?"

"Dear papa, don"t be angry. There may be a truth which had better not be told. What we both want is that Clary shouldn"t suffer. If you question her she will suffer. You may be sure of this,--that she will obey your wishes."

"How can she obey them, unless she knows them?"

"She shall know them," said Patience. But Sir Thomas would give no promise.

On that same day Sir Thomas sent for his niece into his room, and there read to her the letter which he had received from the Squire"s son. It was now the last week of October,--that short blessed morsel of time which to the poor Squire at Newton was the happiest of his life. He was now cutting down trees and building farm-houses, and looking after his stud in all the glory of his success. Ralph had written his letter, and had received his answer,--and he also was successful and glorious. That fatal day on which the fox would not break from Barford Woods had not yet arrived. Mary Bonner heard the letter read, and listened to Sir Thomas"s speech without a word, without a blush, and without a sign. Sir Thomas began his speech very well, but became rather misty towards the end, when he found himself unable to reduce Mary to a state of feminine confusion. "My dear," he began, "I have received a letter which I think it is my duty to read to you."

"A letter, uncle?"

"Yes, my dear. Sit down while I read it. I may as well tell you at once that it is a letter which has given me very great satisfaction.

It is from a young gentleman;"--upon hearing this announcement Mary"s face a.s.sumed a look of settled, collected strength, which never left it for a moment during the remainder of the interview,--"yes; from a young gentleman, and I may say that I never read a letter which I thought to be more honourable to the writer. It is from Mr. Ralph Newton,--not the Ralph with whom you have found us to be so intimate, but from the other who will some day be Mr. Newton of Newton Priory."

Then Sir Thomas looked into his niece"s face, hoping to see there something of the flutter of expectant triumph. But there was neither flutter nor triumph in Mary"s countenance. He read the letter, sitting up in his bed, with his left arm in a sling, and then he handed it to her. "You had better look at it yourself, my dear." Mary took the letter, and sat as though she were reading it. It seemed to Sir Thomas that she was reading it with the cold accuracy of a cautious attorney;--but in truth her eyes did not follow a single word of the letter. There was neither flutter nor triumph in her face, or in the movement of her limbs, or in the quiet, almost motionless carriage of her body; but, nevertheless, the pulses of her heart beat so strongly, that had all depended on it she could not have read a word of the letter. "Well, my dear," said Sir Thomas, when he thought that ample time had been given for the perusal. Mary simply folded the paper together and returned it into his hands. "I have told him, as I was bound to do, my dear, that as far as I was concerned, I should be happy to receive him; but that for any other answer, I must refer him to you. Of course it will be for you to give him what answer your heart dictates. But I may say this,--and it is my duty to say it as your guardian and nearest relative;--the way in which he has put forward his request shows him to be a most honourable man; all that I have ever heard of him is in his favour; he is a gentleman every inch of him; and as for his prospects in life, they are such that they ent.i.tle him to address almost any lady in the land. Of course you will follow the dictates of your own heart, as I said; but I cannot myself fancy any greater good fortune that could come in the way of a young woman than the honest affections of such a man as this Ralph Newton." Then Sir Thomas paused for some reply, but Mary had none ready for him. "Of course I have no questions to ask," he said, and then again paused. But still Mary did not speak. "I dare say he will be here before long, and I hope that he may meet with a happy reception. I at least shall be glad to see him, for I hold him in great honour. And as I look upon marriage as the happiest lot for all women, and as I think that this would be a happy marriage, I do hope,--I do hope-- But as I said before, all that must be left to yourself. Mary, have you nothing to say?"

"I trust, uncle, you are not tired of me."

"Tired of you! Certainly not. I have not been with you since you have been here as much as I should have wished because,--indeed for various reasons. But we all like you, and n.o.body wants to get rid of you. But there is a way in which young ladies leave their own homes, which is generally thought to be matter of congratulation. But, as I said before, n.o.body shall press you."

"Dear uncle, I am so full of thanks to you for your kindness."