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The Two Lawyers: A Novel

Chapter XXIII

page 228

Chapter XXIII.

It is a bright spring morning; the scene is Lyttelton. A steamer has just arrived, and amid the bustle and excitement of the few passengers who are landing, an aged gentleman and an invalid daughter are to be seen. The father pays his daughter every attention, but she appears to be not long for this world. She moves only with difficulty, and then with the aid of his strong arm.

"Father," she says, "I feel too weak to walk far; have we any distance to go? What a miserable looking place to come to."

"The place, Mary, certainly has not an inviting appearance, but the climate of New Zealand, you know, is considered the best. Cheer up, my daughter, you will soon get strong again, and then you will return home and be your own self again."

"I trust I may, father, if but to please you and verify your words; but I feel that only one thing will do me good, and that seems to be as far or farther off than ever."

"You know not, Mary; we may be nearer what you desire than you even dream of. Be of good heart, and wait;" and so the pair move on slowly, while a porter attends to the luggage, and in time they arrive at Christchurch—not the Christchurch of to-day, but of nearly twenty years ago.

They are soon in comfortable quarters, and Mary Torridge—for it is she—and her father seek all the advantages of the climate of New Zealand. The medical men of Tasmania have long since looked and sought for the cause of her malady, but have been unable to discover it. Mental derangement, they page 229say; but it must be admitted that this opinion is purely guess work. All else has been tried, and now, as a last resource, they recommend a change of scene and climate, and New Zealand has been the chosen spot. The Christchurch doctors have been consulted, but they, too, soon seem at fault. Her secret she has kept to herself, and when asked by those most near and dear to her the cause of the depression, she always answers, "When I find it out myself you shall know. I shall, I feel, sooner or later, but until then question me not further;" and so they leave her to herself, concluding that she is suffering from some hallucination that only time will cure. She herself speaks of it as something to come, and they, to humour her, appear as though they understood, and wait for the issue. She has grown worse and worse, and more especially so since she has been sought in marriage by an old admirer; and though he repeats his vows of love, and begs her to name the day, she has always put him off. The medical men at first advised that the marriage should take place, but she is fixed in her resolve, and will not agree. Everybody wonders, but none can fathom her reason, and it is in this state we find her on her arrival in Lyttelton. Some days she is better than others, but her best state is that of being very debilitated and low in spirits. She has no idea that Hobart, the destroyer of her happiness, is so near at hand; in fact, she has no notion whatever of his whereabouts, and he knows not of hers. He often feels disposed to write and ask the question, but to whom can he send a letter, he has no friends—by all who are acquainted with him is he despised and disliked, and as for his relations, the last one was Agnes Hobart, who by her death did Matthew an act of justice which was to set him free.

Hobart, in his self-reliance, which is strong when Fixer is not too closely concerned, feels confident of going through all difficulties, for has he not been successful so far. It is the first time in his life indeed, but this makes him feel none the less confident, for with Hobart a little success only tends to make him more page 230venturesome. He will, however, ere long be rudely awakened, unless, like many others before him, he is exceptionally fortunate. Fortune sometimes carries even idiots through difficulties, and perhaps it will in this instance. Of late Hobart has been a more frequent visitor at the Parks. He and the old planter sit for hours of an evening, aye, often into the morning, and together they talk of the past, and their plans for the future.

"Hobart," said Parks, the very night before the land sale, after they had imbibed a considerable quantity of whisky, "why don t you marry? No man would be likely to refuse you his daughter, for your success in life is now certain."

"Well, I have lately thought very seriously on the matter, but business, you know, so fully occupies my time that I have no leisure for anything else, but I shall surprise you some day, believe me. Should I ever make up my mind, do you know what I should prefer doing?"

"Well, no, I cannot say I do."

"Then I'll tell you; I shall propose to-day, and marry tomorrow. That's my way; no protracted courtships."

"Quite, right, Hobart, my boy, that's me to the letter. I don't believe in fooling round. In times like these a man should not waste time over such matters. Besides, you are wealthy now, you should expect—that is to say, if such things are managed in this country as they are in mine, £50,000 would be a fair marriage portion."

"Well, about that," answered Hobart, "if her people were of my sort I should not mind a thousand or two."

"Quite so. Talking of these things, I may mention that I have decided to give my daughter on her wedding day, if she considers my wishes, £50,000."

"Very liberal indeed of you, Parks;" and on Hobart's face there was a self-satisfied look, and inwardly he mutters to him-page 231self, "Wants me to propose, eh? So I shall—if I can get Fixer away for a day or two. The land may not sell, but if it does, I have other ways. Fixer once away until the ceremony is over, and he cannot say a word for fear of ruining himself."

"This great land sale of yours and Fixer's is to take place to-morrow, is it not? Long-headed fellow, Fixer, long-headed fellow; people here don't know you own half that affair, Hobart. Sly fellow you are to be sure," and the New Orleans planter enjoys a hearty chu kle, after having nudged Hobart in the ribs.

"I don't want them to know," replied Hobart; "no one but yourself is in that secret, and I don't intend them to tell anybody else."

"Quite safe with me, my boy. I'm always dark; I know how to mind my own business, believe me."

And so the well-matched pair talked on; for in their inmost hearts they were both intent on tricking each other. Hobart thought of marrying Miss Parks simply as a convenience, and Parks of catching Hobart because he deemed him to be far richer than he was in reality; and the wily father in return made himself appear worth untold gold, when the truth was that it would seriously bother him to give his daughter half or more than half the amount he had named.

The morning of the land sale has arrived, and Hobart does not feel altogether well, as it was in the small hours of the morning before he and Parks had finished their whisky drinking, and in fact the latter part of the conversation had been rather too muddled for them to quite remember what had been said. Fixer was about at an early hour, the same cool individual as ever, but his hopes were not of the highest. He had fairly sounded the likely buyers, but none seemed as anxious for the land as he wished to see them. The hours of the morning to Hobart seemed very long and dreary, for he wanted to see the page 232sale over so that he could, as he expected, boast of his gains. To Fixer the time seemed to fly, for he feared what was coming as much or more than the other wished for it. At last the hour did arrive, for time waits for no one, and there stood the auctioneer using all his persuasive powers. The first lot submitted sold fairly well, and Hobart's hopes rose higher, but the next lot after many attempts, had to be withdrawn. Lot after lot was offered, but the prices were in no case up to anything like the reserve, and long before the conclusion both Fixer and his partner Hobart were sick at heart. Yes, the firm of Fixer and Hobart had met their first reverse, and they felt it keenly. Hobart was apparently more affected than his partner, who had more control over his feelings and hid his chagrin more successfully than the other. The concourse of people at the sale was great, and many felt sorry for Fixer, as they admired his speculative spirit, but none knew how seriously it would affect him.

"Hobart," said Fixer, when the sale, which had been a most complete failure, was over, "we are undone. I knew it all along, and now it has come we must look sharp around, for there remains little time for us here."

"Never fear, Fixer, I yet have a trump card, which, if all else fail, will take us out of our difficulties."

"What is it, then? You know now it is time for action, so we must be up and doing."

"Leave it to me. We will try other means; but if those fail, I can promise you success with my scheme."

"Then you wish me not to know what you intend to do, unless you are obliged to do it."

"Precisely so."

"Very good," replied Fixer, "then we will, as you say, try all else, and should we fail I will hear what you propose."

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There the matter was allowed to rest, although Fixer, to say the truth, had not much faith in Hobart's plan, but he felt disposed to so far humour him by waiting. He knew the time must be short, and he had plans for himself, should Hobart not be able to prevent their downfall; and, to do him justice, he intended to inform his partner of these, but for the present he thought it best to wait.

So far do the unrighteous generally prosper; but although they may succeed for a time, a day of reckoning surely comes, and then such men are invariably found wanting. Time with them, as with all else, went on; scheme after scheme was tried, but in each they signally failed. At last it was decided that some financing should be attempted by Fixer in Dunedin. This proposal came from Hobart, but as Fixer saw some chance of success in it, he did not offer any opposition, and the day following was fixed for his departure.

It is, however, necessary for us to turn our attention to other characters in the story. Frank Perryman had started on his new resolution in connection with Louie, and, strange as it seemed to him, he found her company much more enjoyable than he had expected. Her good common sense began to make an impression, and often after a téte á têle he would wonder why he felt so much pleasure in her society. This discovery especially was altogether novel to him, as he had always deemed the company of Clara so much more pleasant than any other woman's. In his chats with Louie, which had become frequent, he treated her as one to be pitied, for she had all his sympathy, and she, in speaking to him, showed so much thought and consideration for others that he could not but admire her generous heart. In speaking of Clara, which they often did, her true kindly nature showed to such advantage that he began to see how favourably she compared with other women.

"Poor Clara," she said one evening, unthinkingly, "how she has suffered, and for no wrong of her own doing."

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"Clara has made you her confidant, Louie, I see, and your generous nature shows to double advantage in the kind way you sympathise with her, and try to alleviate her sufferings."

"How could I do otherwise, Frank? Who could know anything of her wrongs and prevent their heart's sympathy going out to her? None, Frank—no, none—I feel sure."

"It does you credit to say and feel so, as I can see you do. I always thought women rarely sympathised with each other, but I find there are exceptions, if it is not the rule."

"I don't think it any exception," she replied, "but some, you know, do not show it; but I, simpleton that I am, show but too plainly what I feel."

"You do not show it too plainly, Louie, for it is so creditable to your heart that it would be impossible to display it too much, if only as an example to others. No, Louie, you are too good and too true-hearted for this wicked world;" and as Frank spoke so much did he feel what he said that he became quite animated. His eyes shone to Louie as she had never seen them before, and, rising hurriedly, he said, "Good night, Louie;" and before he realised thoroughly what he was doing, he had placed his arm upon her shoulder, and, stooping low, imprinted one kiss on her glowing lips, and then he was gone.

Poor Louie blushed crimson; she knew not what this meant, it was so new; and rising, too, she hurried to her room, and, throwing herself on her bed, burst into tears. But they were not tears of sorrow, but of joy. Frank of late had been so different, she knew not what to think, and now, to kiss her; and she weeps on, shedding tears of joy. She feels for the time happy—so happy; and in her happiness we will for the present leave her.

But what does Frank do? He too rushes off, but not to his room. He seeks the garden to get the cool air, for he feels page 235excited. He is also ashamed of his last act, for what has he done? After seeking Louie for the purpose of healing her soreness of heart, he reopens the wounds, and, as he deems it, when he has no moral right. Why should he even dream or think of causing this girl to love or cherish an affection for him? Does he not care for another, and by what right does he now show a regard for the new love before the old is off. So he argues on with himself, and as he warms with the subject he becomes more excited and annoyed with his conduct. After a time more cool reflection comes, and then by degrees he looks at things from a different standpoint.

"Is it possible," he thinks, "for a man to be in love with two women at the same time? I feel that I still cherish an affection for Clara, yet I cannot endure the thought of losing Louie for ever;" and as this occurs to him, he walks about excitedly, wondering how it will all end.

At last Maud came running down to where he stands.

"What, Frank, have you turned star-gazer? Whatever keeps you out here so late? Really something must be wrong. Mother, unlike herself, has not fallen asleep in her chair; and just now, when I tired of telling her stories, I ran up to Louie's room, and I find the poor girl weeping as though her heart would break. What in the world have you been saying to her, Frank? If you are going to cause her pain, I shall not allow you to talk to her so much. I am not going to stand by and see my poor Louie suffer;" and for once Maud showed that she too was sensitive for the feelings of those she loved.

"Louie weeping!" exclaimed Frank. "I do not remember saying anything to cause her to weep,;" but he thought of what he had done, and in his heart he felt for her, and his grief was genuine.

After a minute or two he observed, "I would do anything page 236to make her happy, Maud, as I know you would. I would use my every endeavour to promote her happiness."

"Then why do you cause her to love you, which you know you do, and all the time you care for another?"

How just this rebuke was Frank knew too well, and he made no answer, but he resolved to try still further in the future to prove the truth of his words.

"Come, Maud," said he, "let us go in. If I have done wrong I did it with no evil intent, but for the future you shall not have any cause to upbraid."

"I feel and know, Frank, you would not intentionally do harm; but you must not be thoughtless, at least not where my Louie is concerned, for she is in my eyes far too precious to be trifled with. I know," she continued, "I am often frivolous myself, but not with her feelings, for she is of far too sensitive a nature to be treated like the majority of heartless mankind."

"Maud, be not harsh. I have admitted so far my wrong and promised better conduct for the future. Accept my confession and repentance, for I am as anxious for Louie's welfare as you can possibly be."

"All right, Frank, I shall soon see, and if I am not satisfied I shall speak."

"Maud, do you not surprise yourself sometimes?"

"How surprise myself? I do not understand you."

"Well, you know, you are as a rule so remarkably high spirited and jolly, in fact almost to an extreme, when suddenly you become so serious, you almost frighten one."

"I am naturally jolly, I know, and I have all the more reason to show it, because I have, thank heaven and our poor dead feather, never known cause for sorrow. I am not quite so page 237sensitive in one respect as some even of the other sex, and that saves me many a heart-throb; still, I am pleased to say I am to some extent matter-of-fact when put on my mettle—if I may use the expression."

"By Jove, Maud, you ought to have been born in America, and then you could ascend the platform in defence of women's rights."

"You are only jesting with me; but the women's rights platform might possibly have a worse advocate."

"So I verily believe, Maud. But it grows late, and I shall retire to bed. Go and see Louie, and say I am most sorry if I did any wrong, and that I'll not do the like again."

"Very sensible that, I am sure, when, if I conjecture rightly, I shall only do harm instead of good; better leave things as they are. I stall go up to Louie's room, but not to be so unwise as to let her think I know anything. To-morrow, if it is necessary, you can make an apology to her."

"Maud, you are a sage, I do believe. Good night, and God bless you;" and, kissing her forehead, he retired for the night.

Going to bed, however, was one thing, but sleeping another. For hours he lay awake, while conflicting thoughts ran riot in his brain. First he would think of Clara, then of Louie, and, strange to say, the latter bore the comparison well. Then he remembered Maud's words, and in his own mind he saw but too plainly they were true. But if his attentions to Louie had increased her affections for him, how had he fared? He certainly did not seem as though he had come out scathless; but as yet he did not know his own feelings. He had so far loved Clara truly and disinterestedly. She had told him many times that she could not, or would not, marry him, and when first he heard this he had taken it much to heart; but of late, when he reviewed the past, he was conscious of the fact that the matter did not trouble him quite so much as page 238before. He did not, however, as yet realise all this, but still he knew that Louie was always in his thoughts. No one had tried to take her away, and in this, as in many such cases, the value of the treasure was, to a great extent, overlooked, from the fact that he was aware he had only to ask and he would be accepted.

Before leaving on the following morning, Frank waited and saw Louie, and in a muddling way tried to apologise for anything he had said or done the previous night, but he found it very difficult this time to speak to-day as he had done in the past. Before he commenced he had volumes to say, but no sooner had no started, and gave one look into her loving trusting eyes, than he blushed and stammered, and could not say one half he wished to, while Louie looked and wondered at the change in him, the cause of which she could by no means conjecture. Frank started off to his office, but for the life of him he could not get rid of the idea that he had done some wrong, and his honest heart felt the self-rebuke he thought he deserved. Every hour of that day he tried to imagine some way of affording her pleasure, to make amends for the past, and long before his usual hour for leaving the office the desire was strong within him to go home, and again try to remove the weight that seemed to be upon him. He did not dream that he had learnt to love again, and that the object of his new love was Louie. Such a thing never occurred to him, and yet he felt an ardent desire to be off and set matters right.

But Louie was the reverse of unhappy; and Maud observed, long before the morning had passed away, "Why, Louie, you should cry often if it usually has so beneficial an effect on your spirits. You are twice the girl to day you were yesterday. I think we had better take a run, or drive up this afternoon and visit Clara, and let her see that sometimes you are lively at least."

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After lunch the two accordingly started off to Hobart's; and so when Frank went home early, full of high hopes and good intentions, he was sorely disappointed to find both Louie and his sister away. The latter he could have spared; but he felt, he knew not why, that it was essential he should see Louie, but to do so he must wait.