Part 8 (1/2)
”There, go!” he shouted, in a harsh, cracked voice.
”Don't I tell you I'll sign?” said the doctor, in a lachrymose, injured tone.
The old man looked at him from beneath his hand for a few moments, with a cynical grin wrinkling up his eyes, and then, slowly leaving his seat, he took out and replaced the paper upon the table, jealously holding it down with both hands; and then the doctor signed his name just beneath the fair, clear characters of his daughter's writing, while he ended with a flourish and a ponderous ”MD.”
”Ha, ha, ha!” chuckled Octavius, s.n.a.t.c.hing the paper up hastily, and then holding it over the lamp, and afterwards to the fire to dry the ink.
”MD! Ha, ha, ha! Got your diploma framed and glazed, Tom? you purring, sleek, tom-cat humbug, you!” Then, without waiting to double the will in its original folds, the old man hastily replaced it in the envelope, took the shade and globe from the lamp, an old gold signet-ring and a stick of wax from the bureau; and then with his half-palsied hand he sealed the great envelope, and stamped the sprawling, blotchy patch of wax with the crest in the ring.
”There, Tom; that's done!” chuckled the old man, replacing the will in the bureau, turning the key, and dropping it on the carpet as he tried to place it in his pocket. ”Now, look here, Tom,” he said, taking the poker, and making a hole in the fire, ”that envelope isn't to be opened till I'm gone, Tom; and I'll tell you this--you're one of the executors, and then you'll know what's in it, eh?--what's in it. Now, I won't tamper with it any more, and no one else shall.” As he spoke he dropped the fine old ring into the hot pit he had prepared for its reception, and sat down, chuckling at his brother.
Doctor Hardon sat down breathing heavily, with strange thoughts in his heart, as he looked upon the weak old man before him, and thought of his possessions.
”Now, Tom,” said Octavius, chuckling and placid, as he took the little bottle and spoon from the chimney-piece, ”there's a decanter with some old port in that sideboard cellaret, and a gla.s.s with it. Help yourself, Tom; help yourself; this is my wine.”
”But you took a quant.i.ty of that laudanum just now,” said the doctor.
”You're a fool, Tom! You're a purring, sleek-coated fool!” chuckled the old man, hastily filling the spoon again, and swallowing its contents, ”Help yourself--you like port, Tom--and then go, and don't come here any more till you're sent for.”
Doctor Hardon drew himself up to display his offended dignity, but the old man only watched him and chuckled sneeringly; so he slowly rose, and with his professional roll walked to the sideboard and back, filled his gla.s.s, and then placed the decanter upon the table. He then sat down, curiously watching his brother, who lay back in his chair, apparently gazing into the fire. The doctor raised the gla.s.s to his lips, lowered it once more, and then his fat white hand played nervously round his mouth, for there were strange thoughts in his heart again--strange, undefined thoughts that did not take any particular shape, though there was the glint and c.h.i.n.k of money in them all, and its uselessness to the wreck before him; while the hints he had wanted to give him respecting a loan had been pa.s.sed for want of opportunity.
The doctor sighed, and seemed relieved; and then he wiped his forehead, which had turned damp; performed the same operation upon his hands, till the neat white cambric handkerchief was reduced to a miserable wisp; when, apparently further relieved, he took up his gla.s.s and drained it, but only to fill it again directly.
The port was good, certainly. The doctor played with his gla.s.s amorously, touching the rim with his lips, sipping at the bell of the ruby flower like some mammoth bee; held it before the light, and closed one eye to get a more concentrated look at the deep, rich, tawny hue of the fine old wine. Soon he sipped again--largely this time--and rinsed the generous liquor round his mouth, a.s.suming all the airs of a connoisseur; and then he finished the second gla.s.sful, and sighed gently, for the effect was decidedly mollifying.
All this while Octavius Hardon never moved, but lay back in his chair.
The doctor drew out his watch, and found it was ten; but he felt in no hurry to move, for he was accustomed to being late, and it would cause no uneasiness at home; besides, something might come of this, he thought; and as the idea crossed his mind, his forehead again turned slightly moist, and he glanced uneasily at the motionless figure before him. Then he started, for there was a rustle in the pa.s.sage, and a tap at the door, which was directly after opened, and the housekeeper brought in a chamber-candlestick.
”Shall I wait up till you go, sir?” she said to the doctor.
”O, no; not for me,” said he. ”My brother will let me out. Good-night, Mrs Berry!” And the doctor's voice was soft and amiable.
”Good-night, sir!” said the woman, and then the door closed. There was once more the rustle in the pa.s.sage, the sound of a chain and bolts being shot somewhere in the back, the closing of a door, which sent a hollow echo through the deserted house; and then there was silence--a stillness that was quite oppressive; for Octavius lived with but one servant here at the Grange, a middle-aged woman, who attended to the whole of his simple wants. And now the wind sighed mournfully through the trees, a few spots of rain pattered against the window, and the doctor thought uneasily of his long walk home, but not for long, for, softly rubbing his hands, he now turned once more to the decanter.
”A good gla.s.s of wine, brother. I think I'll take another,” he said unctuously; but there was no reply. So the doctor took another; and then, after thoroughly enjoying that gla.s.s, another; when now feeling decidedly comfortable, and that the awkward, sharp-cornered, acid crystals his brother's words had caused to form in his nature were dissolved by the good wine, he rose, smiling, put the decanter carefully away, and began to don his overcoat, which lay across a chair.
It is possible that had the doctor been less intent upon his thoughts and the wine, he might have heard something more than the pattering of a drop or two of rain upon the window, the soughing of the wind, and the regular ”tick-tick” of his own large gold watch--a something that sounded like the working of a sharp gimlet boring through the panel of a door, cautiously and softly, to render that door pervious to a sharp, bright eye; but the doctor heard no sound, and turning towards Octavius, he said, ”Good-night, Brother Octy!”
There was no answer, and the doctor repeated his valediction, but still without effect; so he knocked the gla.s.s over, making it jingle loudly against the lamp, and still Octavius did not move.
Doctor Hardon's forehead grew damp again, but very slightly now; he drew out his watch--it was half-past eleven, and he was surprised to see how the time had gone. He walked round in his soft, silent way, in those boots of his that never creaked, to the fireplace on the other side of his brother; took the phial, removed the stopper, and smelt at the contents; replaced the bottle, and after looking in the withered face for a few moments, he lightly rested a finger upon the uncovered wrist before him.
Apparently satisfied, he leaned over the fire where the signet-ring had been cast; then stooped to pick up the tongs, but shook his head, rose again, and stepping silently towards the door, he gave one glance at the bureau, when his toe struck something, kicking it along the carpet.
The doctor stopped and stooped again, feeling about the floor; took the lamp from the table, whose gla.s.s jingled loudly, so that he stopped to gaze at his brother, who, however, never stirred; while, after a moment's search, the doctor picked up the bureau-key, and then replacing the lamp, stood beside the table quite irresolute. He glanced at his brother, then at the door and window, and lastly at the bureau; sighed, laid down the key beside the lamp, said ”Good-night” again, stepped softly to the door, pa.s.sed through and closed it after him; when, for the s.p.a.ce of five minutes, there was a silence in the room, broken only by the sighing of the wind, and the tinkle of the cinders falling into the ash-pan.
Did Octavius Hardon, in his opium-produced sleep, dream of his son struggling with sorrow and despair in the desolation of his heart; of the son who had appealed to him again and again for the help the father's obstinacy refused? Perhaps so, for more than once he moaned, but so softly that it might have been but the wind with whose sighs the sound was strangely mingled.
The lamp burned brightly, shedding a well-defined halo for a certain s.p.a.ce around; but the shadows that it cast in the distant parts of the room were wild and grotesque. The motionless figure of Octavius Hardon, with the light full upon the skull-cap, was thrown in strange relief upon the ground in the semblance of a sleeping goblin; chairs were elongated, while the easy _prie-dieu_ that the doctor had occupied seemed turned into some strange beast stooping for its spring upon the sleeping man. The corners of the room were full of dark moving shades, as the lamp-flame danced; while the tall bureau and bookcases looked in their black solemnity the repositories of mysteries untold.
Suddenly the door opened again very softly, and Doctor Hardon's face appeared. His brother had not moved--he was satisfied of that before he entered. He came in, closed the door, and stepped softly up to the chair, and touched the sleeping figure; but there was no pretence, as far as he could tell--it was the heavy stupor produced by laudanum. The doctor paused for a few moments irresolutely, then, taking up the key from beside the lamp, crossed to the bureau, when, turning the key in the lock, the bolt flew back with a loud snap, while, starting round, the doctor stood gazing with pallid face at the sleeping man, who, however, did not move. To cross to where the wine stood in the sideboard cupboard was the next act, and, removing the stopper, the doctor drank eagerly from the decanter's mouth. This gave him fresh courage; and, replacing the wine, he crossed once more to the bureau, opened it quickly, stepped back again, and walked over to his brother, still motionless; then once more to the door, to open it and peer out.