Chapter III.

The next day was Christmas Day, and I shall never forget it. It was a fine sunshiny morning, and a slight shower of snow had fallen during the night, which made all the country round look wonderfully beautiful; and as I came running down the broad staircase to breakfast, I felt inclined to enjoy my holiday in spite of Sir Thomas.

I found that my aunt and Miss Churchill were the only members of the party who had made their appearance before me.

Lady Ridly was sitting behind the massive antique sliver urn, and was looking so fresh and so handsome, that I could not help thinking of my dear mother's kind, sweet face, and soft grey hair, and mentally comparing the two sisters, for there had been but two years' difference in their age, and the cynical Frenchman's receipt for wearing well—of a bad heart and good digestion—rose involuntarily in my mind.

She was talking in a very patronising way to Miss Churchill as I entered the room, and I heard her saying something about a "situation" as I went up to the breakfast table; but she held out her hand very cordially to me.

"Well, Walter, a happy Christmas to you," she said, and after I had returned her greeting, I went round to Miss Churchill's side.

She smiled as I did so, and also shook hands with me, but before we could exchange a sentence, Sir Thomas came in, and went straight up to the letter-bag, which lay locked on the table, beside what, I concluded, was his usual seat.

"Good morning, good morning," he said shortly, as he proceeded to unlock it, with a little nod to each of his guests. "Glad to see you are an early riser, sir." This was addressed to me. "That is a good sign. I always rise early."

He took out the letters as he made this self-congratulatory remark, and carefully examined each separate address.

"Hum!—one of your son's correspondents writes a find hand, I must say, madam," he said presently, throwing contemptuously down, as he spoke, a letter directed in a scrawling woman's hand to Tom; but Lady Ridly took no notice of page 10 his remark. She was opening one of her own letters, and Sir Thomas, after a growl or two, began reading some which he had received, and as neither Miss Churchill nor I got any, we commenced a little conversation to amuse ourselves.

Suddenly we both started and looked at Sir Thomas. With something between an oath and an exclamation, he had dashed an open letter on the breakfast table, and was gasping like a man in a fit; his face a deep purple, and his eyes rolling in his head.

"What is it, Sir Thomas?" said Lady Ridly, rising and coming towards him.

"What is the matter? What on earth is the matter?"

"Matter!" cried Sir Thomas, "matter! Look, madam, what's the matter. Look what that graceless scoundrel, your son, has done!" and he made a kind of movement as if to push the letter he had flung down towards her.

Lady Ridly took it up and began reading it, and I shall never forget the change which passed over her face as she went on. Her fine complexion seemed suddenly to fade away, and she drew in her lips as if to suppress some violent feeling of pain by force, while her whole frame began to tremble.

"Well," said Sir Thomas, savagely, "well, madam, what do you think of your favourite, now?"

"I do not believe it," said Lady Ridly, in a slow collected tone. "It is probably the idle gossip of some of the clubs, which Colonel Bouverie has picked up, Sir Thomas," and she looked at him almost sternly. "Do not forget yourself so far. Remember what the effect of such a report might be. I implore you to consider."

Sir Thomas looked at her helplessly as she said this, and kept on muttering half-articulate oaths.

"Compose yourself," continued my aunt. "Walter, get your uncle a little brandy. Some foolish report in his letter has annoyed him. And, Sir Thomas, I pray you to remember—I ask you to remember the others. Just think—"and she dropped her voice into a whisper as she concluded her sentence; but I thought I caught the name of "Sir Harry."

My uncle made no reply. He sat like a man who is stunned—like a man who has had a sudden shock; and when the rest of the party came in, and went up to their host with the usual Christmas greeting, he scarcely answered any of them. I remember seeing Sir Harry Royston shaking Sir Thomas's hand in his hearty genial way, and the old man trying to smile in reply. It was only a very feeble attempt, though; and presently, when Tom Ridly entered, and, after kissing his mother's cheek, called out, "Well, father, are you very fresh this cold morning?" Sir Thomas absolutely glared at him as he spoke. But the reckless Tom scarcely noticed it, and, after giving a slight shrug of his shoulders, began coolly eating his breakfast, and during it made a bet with Sir Harry Royston that the ice on a sheets of water a mile or so distant from the house would bear skating on that morning.

Breakfast was barely over when he was all eagerness to test it. "Who are the skaters?" he cried, jumping up. "Harry and I are off to the lake."

"Minnie, you skate tolerably well," said my aunt, and at this hint my pretty cousin ran upstairs to put her hat on, and in a very short time reappeared, ready to accompany her brother and his friend on their expedition.

Lady Cullompton never appeared at breakfast, and Fannie Ridly had not done so this morning, therefore Miss Churchill was the only other young lady present.

"Would you like to go, Miss Churchill?" I asked, "I dare say you have learned skating abroad."

"Yes; but this morning—," and she hesitated, and her rich complexion deepened.

"But it is a fine morning," I said, not quite understanding what she meant

"Yes, but I would rather go to some church. I have been accustomed to go to some place of worship on Christmas morning."

No one spoke. I expected some sharp speech from my aunt, but none came. She was sitting, poor lady, gazing as it were into vacancy, and looking so aged and haggard you could scarcely believe it was the same handsome woman who, but half-an-hour ago, had seemed so prosperous and so well.

"I daresay there is some church near," I said, after a few moments' pause. "Aunt, how far is it to your church?"

My aunt half-started as I addressed her, then she collected her scattered thoughts.

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"Our church," she said, "Lamesley Church, is close here, not more than a quarter of a mile from the house."

"Then, Miss Churchill, if you will allow me, I will go with you," I said.

"No, Walter, no," said my aunt quickly. "I want you; I want you to help me a little about something. If Miss Churchill wishes to go, one of the servants can show her the way."

"Yes," that will do very well," said Miss Churchill, smiling; "but I thank you all the same, Mr. Franklyn," and she rose and left the room as she spoke.

After she was gone, with almost a nervous glance at Sir Thomas, my aunt also rose, and went up to him, and began whispering something in his ear. Thinking they might wish to be alone, I stood hesitating for a moment whether to leave the room, and was just turning for that purpose, when my aunt looked up, and, leaving her husband, came towards me.

"Walter, come with me," she said, and led the way to a small private sitting-room of her own, which adjoined the breakfast-room we had just left. When there, she carefully closed the door, and then, going up to the lire, began stirring it with a restless nervousness, which was painful for me to witness.

"Walter," she began, without looking at me, "Walter, I want you to tell me the truth—"

"I will if I can, aunt." I answered.

"Your uncle has heard some news—some such dreadful news; it will kill me if it is true—but it is not true; I am sure it is not true; it cannot be true," said Lady Ridley, becoming much excited.

"I hope it may not," I said; far I knew not what to say.

"Young men like you would know if it were true. It is that old dotard's folly—that idle gossipping Colonel Bouverie, who has invented it. What do you think he has written to your uncle, Walter? What do you think? Absolutely that Tom—that Tom has married some disreputable woman of notorious character, and that the marriage is well known all over the town."

I turned away my head. My aunt was telling me no news. I had known Tom's secret for nearly two months; but it was no business of mine to tell this to his mother now.

"The person to ask is Tom, aunt, and not me," I said.

"But you don't believe it?" replied my aunt, grasping my arm with her strong white hand. "You don't—say you don't, Walter? Who is it? Who is it? Tell me everything you know—tell me everything, but that he has married her! Oh! if it should be true. Oh! God, if it should be—it would break my heart!" And she sat down, and rocked herself to and fro.

"My dear aunt," I said, and laid my hand kindly on her shoulder.

"Boy," said she, flinging it back, "don't touch me—don't touch me, unless you will contradict this hateful story. You must know something about it," she continued, looking eagerly into my face. You saw Tom often, did you not, all the time we were abroad? If there is any truth in it you must know."

"Ask Tom yourself, aunt; that is the best way," I repeated, and I was thinking, hopelessly, how to escape from further questioning, when we both heard a heavy footstep approaching the door, and the next moment it was opened, and Sir Thomas walked in.

"Well," said he; addressing my aunt, "what does he say?"

Lady Ridly made a slight gesture to me to keep silent, and then turning round to her husband, and composing herself with a violent effort of will, she said—

"He knows nothing. It is just as I thought—the idle gossip of some club. Do not say anything more about it, Sir Thomas, and, above all, say nothing to Tom."

"There must be something in it," said my uncle savagely, "or Bouverie would never have written it to me; and if there is, I tell you this, madam"—and here he raised his voice and swore a tremendous oath—"if there is, that graceless, worthless reprobate who cannot wait patiently for his father's death, shall never enter these doors again. Say no more," he continued, as the poor mother put up her hands beseechingly, "say no more; for I have said it, and I mean to keep my word."

"My dear Sir Thomas, consider for a moment," said my aunt, "Do not, I implore you, make any scene just now;—just now, when nothing is settled about Minnie—"

"Ain't you going to church, or for a walk, or something, sir?" said my uncle, addressing me, and I was but too glad to avail myself of his dimissal, and left the page 12 room full of compassion for Lady Ridly, and even with some for the embittered and angry father.

The church-bells were ringing when I went out, a few minutes afterwards, into the open air, and I was glad I would be in time to go. The miserable family scene, which I had just left, had made me think of some very different ones, and compare my poor mother's lowlier fate with her proud and handsome sister's; and I felt then who had chosen "the better part." I remembered, when I was a very young lad, how a great grief had come to our household also; for my only little sister died, quite suddenly, of fever in Canada. But in her sorrow my mother was not alone.

The husband of her youth and the husband of her love was then by her side, and in his faithful and tender affection she found both comfort and repose.

But poor Lady Ridly had no one to share her trouble. The coarse and selfish man, whom she had married for position and wealth, would, I felt, but add bitterness to her pain; and every feeling of envy which I had ever indulged in at the higher fortunes of my relations died completely out as I walked that morning through the snow to church.

I waited, when the service was over, for Miss Churchill, and during it, once or twice, looked at her with some curiosity. She was sitting where I could see her face, and its noble and touching expression struck me more than it had done in the lighted rooms the night before. She looked such a good woman—a woman whose thoughts and hopes were fixed on something higher and better than those idols which most of us in our hearts fall down and worship. "Yet it is all nonsense, I daresay," I reflected the next minute, with some of that knowledge which young men without fortune insensibly acquire. "Miss Churchill is probably a poor girl scheming for a husband, and bringing her beauty into the market ready for the highest bidder, like the rest."

But she did not look it; and I could not help admiring her, as she sat there with the winter sun glinting through the dim windows on her black dress and noble, thoughtful face; and I noticed, also, with what deep attention she followed the service, and even the Vicar of Lamesley's not very original sermon.

There was not a shade of coquetry in the smile with which she greeted me when she found me waiting for her at the church door, but some little pleasure, I thought, and we started together on our walk back to the Hall.

"Have you been in church?" she asked.

"Yes; I got there just in time."

"Lady Ridly did not keep you long then," said Miss Churchill; "I fear they received some very bad news this morning."

"I am afraid they did," I answered, gravely; and she looked up at me inquiringly as I spoke, but, as I said nothing more, she made no remark.

Our walk home was very pleasant, and before it was over I felt almost as if I had known Miss Churchill for years. She had a bright and original mind, and knew well how to mix the subtle ingredients which constitute the art of conversation; and I felt sorry when we encountered the party of skaters just at the entrance of the park.

Minnie Ridly, who looked remarkably pretty, and was flushed with exercise, lingered behind the others for a moment when we met, and stopped me by calling my attention to some trivial object on the road.

"Why did you not go with us, Walter?" she said, when we were alone.

"Because you did not ask me for one thing, Minnie," I answered; "and for another"—and I gave a slight nod at Sir Harry, who was in front—"for another, I might have been in the way."

Minnie sighed and looked down. "Mamma wishes it so much, you know," she said, after a moment's pause.

"Yes, I know," I answered, with a little laugh. "Well, he seems a good fellow, and I shall be heartily glad to congratulate you, Minnie."

"Will you?" said my cousin; and an expression of annoyance passed over her pretty face as she spoke. She was annoyed that she had not succeeded in making me utterly miserable.

"Yes," I said, I am afraid a little spitefully, "I really am glad. Your Mamma told me to make love to you sometimes, Minnie; for the purpose of making the young baronet jealous. Shall we begin now?"

"You are rude and ungentlemanly," said Minnie, indignantly, and certainly page 13 with some truth; and she walked on at once and overtook the others. But in the last few minutes she had lost considerable ground with Sir Harry.

"My dear fellow, who is that splendid girl you were walking with?" he said, slipping his arm into mine, as the ladies were going up the Hall steps. "I noticed her last night, and the old boy talked something about her grandfather being a Jew; but I didn't exactly understand what he meant, and when I asked Minnie Ridly who she was, she said a governess or companion, or something of that sort, who had come to seek a situation in England. But who really is she?"

"She is Miss Churchill," I said, coldly.

"Churchill, Churchill!" cried Sir Harry; "my mother knows some Churchills. I'll ask her if she is any relation. What a lie, if that is her name, to call her a Jewess."

At luncheon Sir Harry pointedly insisted on sitting next Miss Churchill, and presently an animated conversation was carried on between them. I saw Lady Ridly look once or twice in their direction, and I began to fear that now Miss Churchill's visit would not be of long duration. I noticed, also, how ill and anxious my aunt still looked, and how, when Tom Ridly came into the room, an expression of absolute pain passed over her face. But still she kept acting her part—acting the cheerful pleasant hostess, whose business it was to make life agreeable to us all; to all, I mean, whom she considered worth her trouble to amuse.

When the meal was over, and we were dispersing in different directions, I saw her beckon to her son. She whispered a few words to him when he went up to her in answer to her summons, and Tom Ridley changed colour as she did so, and stood for a moment with an irresolute expression on his face, and then apparently assented to her request, for they left the room together a few minutes afterwards, and I knew my aunt was going to learn the truth—the fatal truth, that would crush her pride so low.

It made me feel restless and miserable to think what she must endure, for Tom Ridley had married a woman utterly unworthy of regard. I could guess her agony when she heard the notorious name which the infatuated boy had changed for his. He had been her darling and her pride, and nothing that could have happened to any of her other children would, I knew, be so bitter to her as this.

I was glad to leave the house till it was all over. I felt I could do no good by staying, for I had no influence with either Sir Thomas or my aunt, so I started for a long walk over the snowy country, and did not return till just before the dinner hour, and had to dress hurriedly as the gong sounded very shortly after I arrived.

Everything seemed the same as usual when I entered the drawing-room. There was a large party assembled, and several of the country neighbours, and one or two officers from the nearest barracks. My aunt, gorgeous in ruby velvet and diamonds, was talking and laughing with apparent cheerfulness. But when I watched her closely I saw her face was terribly altered, and looked aged and haggard, in spite of the forced smiles and rouge with which it was freely adorned.

Tom Ridly came up to me as I went in, and whispered a few words in my ear. "It is all out," he said. "At last I have told the old lady. She is awfully cut up. Try to make the best of it, like a good fellow, to her; for it cannot be helped now."

Already it had come to this, then. Already the unhappy man had doubtless repented the rash act which had hung a millstone round his neck for ever. But there was no help for it now, as he said, and I promised my cousin to say what I could.

There were more gentlemen than ladies present, and shortly after Tom had spoken to me, dinner having been announced, Miss Churchill passed us, leaning on some stranger's arm, but when we took our places at the table, I saw that Sir Harry Royston had contrived to secure a seat next her, though he had taken another lady down.

Everything was very magnificent. Both Sir Thomas and Lady Ridly liked that their hospitality should appear so before their country neighbours, and the long table was literally a glittering mass of silver, glass, and flowers.

Miss Churchill was looking remarkably well, and had interwoven some crimson berries in her dark hair in honour of the festival, while my three cousins were charming, as usual; and, as there were two other pretty girls present as well, the whole effect of the table was very attractive.

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The dinner went on as such dinners do. On all sides you heard little bits of half-serious, half-affected sentimentality, or sharp jests and raillery, as the case might be. I had no one to talk to, or perhaps I did not feel inclined to talk to anyone. Somehow I felt lonely and unhappy among them all, and once or twice I could not help looking at my aunt sitting at the head of her stately table, and thinking of the misery and disappointment she was trying to hide so well.

But it would not do. Nature was stronger than she was, and about the middle of dinner a terrible scene occurred, the remembrance of which will never be effaced from my mind.

Suddenly there was a kind of stir and hush, and then half cries and exclamations from nearly everyone present, and when I looked up to see the cause, I saw that my poor aunt's head had fallen to one side, and that a frightful distortion had taken place in her features.

I rose at once, and hurried towards her. By this time she would have fallen to the floor, if Miss Churchill and Tom Ridly had not rushed to her assistance. I shall not soon forget the expression of poor Tom's face, as he held his stricken mother; he was, indeed, utterly incapable of doing so from the effect of the shock he had received, and Miss Churchill motioned to me to take his place, and hold Lady Ridly up.

In a minute the whole room was in confusion. I heard Sir Thomas calling for this and that, and swearing at the servants; and I saw him come and look a moment at the poor lady's writhing and disfigured face, and give some exclamation of horror, and turn away, while her daughters uttered the most piercing cries, and were themselves actually in need of assistance.

Amid all this, Miss Churchill alone was collected. She ordered a servant at once to ride for the nearest doctor, and then tried the simple remedies that for the moment she thought of and showed such thoughtful and tender kindness in her manner, that it was impossible not to regard her with admiration.

"We had better try to take her upstairs," she said presently, and turning round, she chose two of the steadiest of the servants to help us, and then gently laid her thin handkerchief over my poor aunt's altered face as we bore her away from among her horror-stricken guests.

In a few minutes we succeeded in removing her, and carried her to her luxurious bedroom, and I noticed while the servants were running hither and thither generally for no purpose, that Miss Churchill went and dipped her handkerchief in some water, and then returned to my aunt's side, and motioned slightly to me to turn away. As I did so, I saw what the good girl wished to hide. She was quietly washing off the rouge which looked so ghastly now, and she did not care that the servants or I should see her womanly and tender act.

About half-an-hour after the first seizure the country doctor arrived. He looked very grave when he first saw my aunt; but, as I left the room almost immediately after he entered it, I heard nothing further until nearly a quarter of an hour later, when Miss Churchill came out on the gallery, where poor Tom Ridly and I were waiting impatiently to hear his opinion.

"He thinks her very ill," she said sadly. "Where is Sir Thomas, Mr. Franklyn? Dr. Holden wishes him to telegraph to London for the first advice at once."

"I will see about it immediately," I said, and I left her trying to console poor Tom. Who utterly broke down when he heard the almost fatal news.

I found Sir Thomas in the dining-room, with a deeply flushed, almost purple face. He had been chinking glass after glass of his old port, to drown the dread of the awful visitor which had come so unexpectedly to his Christmas feast; but he rose eagerly as I went in, and the few remaining guests also gathered round me to hear what the doctor thought.

"What does he say?" asked Sir Thomas, in a trembling voice, and when I told him Dr. Holden's opinion the old man groaned aloud.

"Good God!" he said. "Who would have thought it! Send, of course. Send for Sir—, and for Dr.—. Let us have the best advice at once. Young Franklyn will you go to the station and do it yourself? I cannot trust those blockheads of servants. Go at once, and let everything be done." I said I would, and hurried out into the hall, and there met poor Minnie Ridly, who clasped both my hands, and held them fast.

"Oh Walter, tell me the worst," she cried, lifting up her tear-stained blue eyes to my face. "I dare not go upstairs. Oh! is mamma going to die? Oh Walter, tell me what you think."

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"What are you stopping him for, you idiot?" said Sir Thomas from behind, coming out of the dining-room, and grasping the poor girl savagely by the arm. "Every moment is of consequence, of vital consequence; and you standing crying there, doing no good whatever."

"Oh! papa," sobbed Minnie, "don't speak like that. Oh! papa don't don't—"

"Leave him alone then," said Sir Thomas, more gently. "Come, Minnie; come, my dear, with me. Your poor mother will, I hope, be spared to us yet."

I left Minnie with her father, after saying a few words of comfort, and then found my way at once to the stables. Ten minutes afterwards, I and a young groom to direct me, were galloping as fast as the best horses Sir Thomas had could carry us to the station, and in half-an-hour the telegrams to the two famous London doctors were despatched, and then, slowly and thoughtfully, I returned to the Hall

"There was no change for the better," was the news that awaited me when I arrived; and so, mournfully, ended our Christmas Day,