Chapter 121
"Not counting the venture of Cyril Dare," put in Henry.
"And you say 'No' to all," concluded Mrs. Ashley. "I fear you must be very fastidious."
"And she's growing into an old maid, and----"
"Be quiet, Henry. Can't you leave me in peace?"
"My dear, it is true," cried Henry, who was in one of his teasing moods.
"Of course I have not kept count of your age since you were eighteen--it wouldn't be polite to do so; but my private conviction is that you are four-and-twenty this blessed summer."
"If I were four-and-thirty," answered Mary, "I wouldn't marry Sir Harry Marr. I am not _obliged_ to marry, I suppose, am I?"
"My dear, no one said you were," said Henry, flinging a rose at her, which he took from his b.u.t.ton-hole. "But don't you see that this brings round my argument, that you have resolved to make yourself a n.o.ble sisterly sacrifice, and stop at home with me? Don't you take to cats yet, though!"
Mary thought she was getting the worst of it, and left the room. Soon afterwards Mrs. Ashley was called out by a servant.
"Did you receive a note from William this morning, sir?" asked Henry.
"Yes," replied Mr. Ashley, taking it from his pocket. "He mentions in it that there is a report in the town that Herbert Dare is dead."
"Herbert Dare! I wonder if it's true?"
"It is to be hoped not. I fear he was not very fit to die. I am going into Helstonleigh, and shall probably hear more."
"Oh! are you going in to-day, sir? Despatch William back, will you?"
"I don't know, Henry. They may be busy at the manufactory. If so, I am sure he will not leave it."
"What a blessing if that manufactory were up in the clouds!" was Henry's rejoinder. "When I want William particularly, it is sure to be--that manufactory!"
"It is well William does not think as you do," remarked Mr. Ashley.
"Well, sir, he must certainly think Samuel Lynn a nonent.i.ty, or he would not stick himself so closely to business. You never applied yourself in such a way."
"Yes, I did. But you must please to remember, Master Henry, that the cases are not on a parallel. I was head and chief of all, accountable to none. Had I chosen to take a twelvemonth's holiday, and let the business go, it would have been my own affair exclusively. Whether the business went right, or whether it went wrong, I was accountable to none. William is not in that position."
"I know he is often in the position of not being to be had when he is wanted," was Henry's reply, as he listlessly turned over some books that lay on the table.
"Will you go into town with me?"
"I could not stand it to-day. My hip is giving me twinges."
"Is it? I had better
"No. I won't have him, unless I find there's actual need. The mother knows what to do with me. I don't suppose it will come to anything; and I have been so much better of late."
"Yes, you have. Although you quarrel with Deoffam, it is the change to it--the air of the place--that has renewed your health, you ungrateful boy!"
Mr. Ashley's eyes were bent lovingly on Henry's as he said it. Henry seized his father's hands, his half-mocking tone exchanged for one of earnestness.
"Not ungrateful, sir--far from it. I know the value of my dear father: that a kinder or a better one son could not possess. I shall grumble on to my life's end. It is my amus.e.m.e.nt. But the grumbling is from my lips only: not from my fractious spirit, as it was in days gone by."
"I have remarked that: remarked it with deep thankfulness. You have acquired a victory over that fractious spirit."
"For which the chief thanks are due to William Halliburton. Sir, it is so. But for him, most probably I should have gone, a discontented wretch, to the--let me be poetical for once--silent tomb: never seeking out either the light or the love that may be found in this world."
Mr. Ashley glanced at his son. He saw that he was contending with emotion, although he had rea.s.sumed his bantering tone.
"Henry, what light--what love?"
"The light and the love that a man may take into his own spirit.
He--William--told me, years ago, that I might make even my life a pleasant and a useful one; and measureless was the ridicule I gave him for it. But I have found that he was right. When William came to the house one night, a humble errand-boy, sent by Samuel Lynn with a note--do you remember it, sir?--and offered to help me, dunce that I was, with my Latin exercise--a help I graciously condescended to accept--we little thought what a blessing had entered the dwelling."
"We little thought what a brave, honest, indomitable spirit was enshrined in the humble errand-boy," continued Mr. Ashley.
"He has got on as he deserved. He will be a worthy successor to you, sir: a second Thomas Ashley; a far better one than I should ever have been, had I possessed the rudest health. There's only one thing more for William to gain, and then I expect he will be at rest."
"What's that?"
"Oh, it's no concern of mine, sir. If folks can't manage for themselves, they need not come to me to help them."
Mr. Ashley looked keenly at his son. Henry pa.s.sed to another topic.
"Do send him here, sir, when you get in; or else drive him back with you."
"I shall see," said Mr. Ashley. "Do you know where your mother went to?"
"After some domestic catastrophe, I expect. Martha came to the door, with a face as green as the peac.o.c.k's tail, and beckoned her out. The best dinner-service come to grief, perhaps."
Mr. Ashley rang, and ordered the pony-carriage to be got ready: one bought chiefly for Henry, that he might drive into town. Before he started, he came across Mary, who stood at one of the corridor windows upstairs, and had evidently been crying.
"What is your grief, Mary?"
She turned to the sheltering arm open to her, and tried to choke the tears down, which were again rising. "I wish you and mamma would not keep so angry at my refusing Sir Harry Marr."
"Who told you I was angry, Mary?"
"Oh, papa, I fancied so this morning. Mamma is angry about it, and it pains me. It is as though you wanted me gone."
"My dear child! Gone! For our comfort I should wish you might never go, Mary. But for your own, it may be different."
"I do not wish to go," she sobbed. "I want to stay at home always. It was not my fault, papa, if I could not like Sir Harry."
"You should never, with my consent, marry any one you did not like, Mary; not if it were the greatest match in the three kingdoms. Why this distress, my dear? Mamma's vexation will blow over. She hoped--as Henry tells us--to see you converted into a 'real live My Lady.' 'My daughter, Lady Marr!' It will blow over, child."
Mary cried in silence. "And you will not let me be driven away, papa?
You will keep me at home always?"
Mr. Ashley shook his head. "Always is a long day, Mary. Some one may be coming, less distasteful than Sir Harry Marr, who will induce you to leave it."