Part 54 (1/2)
”Is it possible! What then, dear Cartwright, will it be best for us to do? It is terrible to leave him to his own wilful desire, and suffer him to enter the army, when we know it will lead him to inevitable perdition! What can we do to save him?”
”It appears to me, my sweet love, that at the present moment it will be most consonant to the will of the Lord to use towards him the most indulgent gentleness.”
”My dearest Cartwright! After such conduct on his part! Oh! you are too good!”
”Sweetest! he is your son. I can never forget that; though I fear that he himself does not too well remember this. If he did, my Clara! he would hardly utter such bitter jestings on what he is so cruel as to call 'my beggarly dependence' on you. This phrase has cut me to the heart's core, I will not deny it, Clara: it has made me feel my position, and shudder at it.”
Mr. Cartwright here rose from the sofa, and putting his handkerchief to his eyes, walked towards the window: his breast heaved with audible sobs.
”My beloved Cartwright! what mean you?” exclaimed his affectionate wife, following him to the window, and gently attempting to withdraw the cambric that concealed his features: ”what can that undutiful boy mean?
Your dependence upon me? Good Heaven! is there any thing that was ever mine that is not now your own?”
”Alas! dear love, he has not launched a random shot,--he knows but too well how to take aim, and how to point his dart,--and it has done its work.”
This was spoken in a tone of such profound sadness, that the soul of Mrs. Cartwright was moved by it. She threw her arms around her husband's neck, and fondly kissing him, implored that he would tell her if there were any thing she could do to prove her love, and place him in a situation at _once_ to render the repet.i.tion of such a hateful phrase impossible.
”I thought,” she continued, ”that your being my husband, dearest Cartwright, gave you a right to all I possess.--Is it not so, my love?”
”To your income, dearest Clara, during your life; and as you are several years my junior, sweetest! this, as far as my wants and wishes are concerned, is quite enough. But the young man has doubtless found some wily lawyer to inform him, that should you die intestate he would be your heir; as by your late husband's will, my love, though he has left every thing to you, should you not make a will every s.h.i.+lling of the property will go to him, whatever other children you have now, or may have hereafter.”
”Oh, Cartwright! why did you not tell me this before! Should any thing happen to me in the hour of danger that is approaching, think what a dreadful injustice would be done to all! Let me not delay another day,--do send for Mr. Corbold,--I cannot rest till all this is set right. My dear unborn babe, as well as its beloved father, may reproach me for this cruel carelessness.”
”Compose yourself, sweet Clara! I _will_ send for Corbold without delay.
But for Heaven's sale do not agitate your dear spirits!--it was the fear of this which has alone prevented me from reminding you of the interest of our dear unborn babe.”
”And your own, my dear generous husband! Do you doubt, dear Cartwright, that the father's interest is as dear to me as the child's?”
A tender caress answered this question. But delay in matters of business was not the besetting sin of Mr. Cartwright; and while the embrace yet lasted, he stretched his arm to the bell. The summons was answered, and the cab despatched for the lawyer with a celerity that did much credit to the establishment.
When Mr. Corbold arrived, he was received by his cousin in the library, which, in conformity to the resolution announced long ago to Charles Mowbray, was preserved religiously for his own use and comfort; and a few minutes' short but pithy conversation sufficed to put the serious attorney _au fait_ of what was expected of him.
”You know, cousin Stephen,” said the Vicar of Wrexhill, ”that the Lord is about to bless my house with increase; and it is partly on this account, and partly for the purpose of making a suitable provision for me in case of her death,--which may he long delay!”
”I am sure, cousin Cartwright, there is no work that I could set about with greater readiness and pleasure. Shall I receive my instructions from you, cousin, at this present time?” and the zealous Mr. Corbold accompanied the question by an action very germain to it,--namely, the pulling forth from a long breast-pocket a technically-arranged portion of draught-paper tied round with red tape.
”By no means, cousin Stephen,” replied the Vicar of Wrexhill; ”it is from my beloved wife herself that I wish you to receive your instructions. Of course, what you do to-day can only be preparatory to the engrossing it on parchment: and though, from delicacy, I will not be present during your interview with her, yet before the doc.u.ment be finally signed, sealed, and delivered, I shall naturally wish to glance my eye over it. There is no longer, therefore, any occasion to delay; come with me, cousin Stephen, to my dear wife's dressing-room; and may Heaven bless to you and to me the fruits of this day's labour!”
The master of the house then preceded the serious but admiring attorney through the stately hall, and up the stately staircase, and into the beautiful little apartment where Mrs. Cartwright, with a very pensive expression of countenance, sat ready to receive them.
”Oh! Mr. Corbold,” she said, kindly extending her hand to him, ”I am very glad to see you. But my joy is dashed with remorse when I remember the thoughtless folly with which I have so long delayed this necessary interview.--My dearest Cartwright,” she continued, turning to her husband, ”can you forgive me for this?--Perhaps, dearest, you can,--for your soul is all generosity. But I shall never forgive myself. My only excuse rests in my ignorance. I believed that the law gave, as I am sure it ought to do, and as in fact it did in the case of my first marriage, every thing that belongs to me to my husband. It is true that I only brought my first husband about three hundred thousand pounds in money, and most of it has been since very profitably converted into land.
Perhaps, Mr. Corbold, it is this which makes the difference.”
Mr. Corbold a.s.sured her that she was perfectly right, not considering himself as called upon at the present moment to allude to the accident of her having children.
”Now then, my beloved Clara, I leave you,” said Mr. Cartwright. ”Not for worlds would I suffer my presence to influence you, even by a look, in the disposition of property so entirely your own!”
”This generous delicacy, my beloved husband, is worthy of you. I shall, I own, prefer being left on this occasion with our pious kinsman and friend.”
The vicar kissed his lady's delicate fingers, and departed.