Part 5 (1/2)
”Any prospects of a living soon?” continued Mr. Haughton, helping himself bountifully to a piece of plum pudding as he spoke. John Moseley laughed aloud, and Clara blushed to the eyes, while the doctor, turning to Sir Edward, observed with an air of interest, ”Sir Edward, the living of Bolton is vacant, and I should like exceedingly to obtain it for my son.
The advowson belongs to the Earl, who will dispose of it only to great interest, I am afraid.”
Clara was certainly, too busily occupied in picking raisins from her pudding to hear this remark, but accidentally stole, from under her long eyelashes, a timid glance at her father as he replied:
”I am sorry, my friend, I have not sufficient interest with his lords.h.i.+p to apply on my own account; but he is so seldom here, we are barely acquainted;” and the good baronet looked really concerned.
”Clara,” said Francis Ives in a low and affectionate tone, ”have you read the books I sent you?”
Clara answered him with a smile in the negative, but promised amendment as soon as she had leisure.
”Do you ride much, on horseback, Mr. Moseley?” abruptly asked Miss Sarah, turning her back on the young divine, and facing the gentleman she addressed. John, who was now hemmed in between the sisters, replied with a rueful expression that brought a smile into the face of Emily, who was placed opposite to him--
”Yes, ma'am, and sometimes I am ridden.”
”Ridden, sir, what do you mean by that?”
”Oh! only my aunt there occasionally gives me a lecture.”
”I understand,” said the lady, pointing slily with her finger at her own father.
”Does it feel good?” John inquired, with a look of, great sympathy. But the lady, who now felt awkwardly, without knowing exactly why, shook her head in silence, and forced a faint laugh.
”Whom have we here?” cried Captain Jarvis, who was looking out at a window which commanded a view of the approach to the house--”the apothecary and his attendant judging from the equipage.”
The rector threw an inquiring look on a servant, who told his master they were strangers to him.
”Have them shown up, doctor,” cried the benevolent baronet, who loved to see every one as happy as himself, ”and give them some of your excellent pasty, for the sake of hospitality and the credit of your cook, I beg of you.”
As this request was politely seconded by others of the party, the rector ordered his servants to show in the strangers.
On opening the parlor door, a gentleman, apparently sixty years of age, appeared, leaning on the arm of a youth of five-and-twenty. There was sufficient resemblance between the two for the most indifferent observer to p.r.o.nounce them father and son; but the helpless debility and emaciated figure of the former, were finely contrasted by the vigorous health and manly beauty of the latter, who supported his venerable parent into the room with a grace and tenderness that struck most of the beholders with a sensation of pleasure. The doctor and Mrs. Ives rose from their seats involuntarily, and each stood for a moment, lost in an astonishment that was mingled with grief. Recollecting himself, the rector grasped the extended hand of the senior in both his own, and endeavored to utter something, but in vain. The tears followed each other down his cheeks, as he looked on the faded and careworn figure which stood before him; while his wife, unable to control her feelings, sank back into a chair and wept aloud.
Throwing open the door of an adjoining room, and retaining the hand of the invalid, the doctor gently led the way, followed by his wife and son. The former, having recovered from the first burst of her sorrow, and regardless of everything else, now anxiously watched the enfeebled step of the stranger. On reaching the door, they both turned and bowed to the company in a manner of so much dignity, mingled with sweetness, that all, not excepting Mr. Benfield, rose from their seats to return the salutation. On pa.s.sing from the dining parlor, the door was closed, leaving the company standing round the table in mute astonishment and commiseration. Not a word had been spoken, and the rector's family had left them without apology or explanation. Francis, however soon returned, and was followed in a few minutes by his mother, who, slightly apologizing for her absence, turned the discourse on the approaching Sunday, and the intention of Francis to preach on that day. The Moseleys were too well bred to make any inquiries, and the deanery family was afraid. Sir Edward retired at a very early hour, and was followed by the remainder of the party.
”Well,” cried Mrs. Jarvis, as they drove from the door, ”this may be good breeding, but, for my part, I think both the doctor and Mrs. Ives behaved very rudely, with the crying and sobbing.”
”They are n.o.body of much consequence,” cried her eldest daughter, casting a contemptuous glance on a plain travelling chaise which stood before the rector's stables.
”'Twas sickening,” said Miss Sarah, with a shrug; while her father, turning his eyes on each speaker in succession, very deliberately helped himself to a pinch of snuff, his ordinary recourse against a family quarrel. The curiosity of the ladies was, however, more lively than they chose to avow and Mrs. Jarvis bade her maid go over to the rectory that evening, with her compliments to Mrs. Ives; she had lost a lace veil, which her maid knew, and she thought it might have been left at the rectory.
”And, Jones, when you are there, you can inquire of the servants; mind, of the servants--I would not distress Mrs. Ives for the world; how Mr.--Mr.--what's his name--Oh!--I have forgotten his name; just bring me his name too. Jones; and, as it may make some difference in our party, just find out how long they stay; and--and--- any other little thing, Jones, which can be of use, you know.”
Off went Jones, and within an hour she had returned. With an important look, she commenced her narrative, the daughters being accidentally present, and it might be on purpose.
”Why, ma'am, I went across the fields, and William was good enough to go with me; so when we got there, I rang, and they showed us into the servants' room, and I gave my message, and the veil was not there. Why, ma'am, there's the veil now, on the back o' that chair.”
”Very well, very well, Jones, never mind the veil,” cried the impatient mistress.