Part 100 (1/2)
A change came over Squire Trevlyn's face. ”I shall never marry,” he said, with emphasis; and to Mrs. Ryle's ears there was a strange solemnity in his tones. ”You need not ask me why, for I shall not enter into reasons; let the a.s.surance suffice--_I shall never marry_. Trevlyn Hold will be as securely theirs as though I bequeathed it to them by deed of gift.”
”Rupert, this is a blow for my son.”
”If you persist in considering it so, I cannot help that. It must have been very foolish of you ever to cast a thought to your son's succeeding, whilst Joe's children were living.”
”Foolis.h.!.+ when one of my sons--my step-son, at any rate--is to succeed, as it seems!”
The Squire laughed. ”You must talk to Maude about that. They had settled their plans together before I came home. If Treve turns out all he should be, I may remember him before I die. Trevlyn Farm was originally the birthright of the Ryles; I may possibly make it so again in the person of Treve. Don't let us go on with the discussion; it will only be lost labour. Will you see Rupert?”
She had the sense to see that if it were prolonged until night, it would indeed be useless, and she rose to follow him into the next room.
Rupert, not looking very ill to-day, sat near the fire. Maude was reading to him.
”Is it you, Aunt Ryle!” he called out feebly. ”You never come to see me.”
”I am sorry to hear you are so poorly, Rupert.”
”I am not half as ill as I feared I should be,” he said. ”I thought by this time it--it would have been all over. But I seem better. Where's George?”
”George is at home. I have been talking to your uncle about him. Until to-day I did not know what was in contemplation.”
”He'll make a better Squire than I should have made,” cried Rupert, lifting his eyes--bluer and brighter than ever, from disease--to her face. Maude made her escape from the room, and Squire Trevlyn had not entered it, so they were alone. ”But, Aunt Ryle, I want it to be soon; before I die. I should like George to be here to see the last of me.”
”I think I might have been informed of this before,” observed Mrs. Ryle.
”It has not been told to any one. Uncle Rupert and I, George and Maude have kept the secret between us. Only think, Aunt Ryle! that after all the hopes, contentions, heart-burnings, George Ryle should succeed to Trevlyn Hold.”
She could not bear this repeated harping on the one string. George's conduct to his step-mother had been exemplary, and she was not insensible to the fact; but she was one of those second wives who feel an instinctive dislike to their step-children. Very bitter, for Treve's sake, was her heart-jealousy now.
”I will come in and see you another day, Rupert,” she said, rising abruptly. ”This morning I am too vexed to remain longer.”
”What has vexed you, Aunt Ryle?”
”I hoped that Treve--failing you--would have been the heir.”
Rupert opened his eyes in wonder. ”Treve?--whilst Maude lives! Not he. I can tell you what I think, Aunt Ryle; that had there been no Maude, Treve would never have come in for the Hold. I don't fancy Uncle Rupert would have left it to him.”
”To whom would he have left it, do you fancy?”
”Well--I suppose,” slowly turning the matter over in his mind--”I suppose, in that case, it would have been Aunt Diana. But there is Maude, Aunt Ryle, and we need not discuss it. George and Maude will have it, and their children after them.”
”Poor boy!” she said, with a touch of compa.s.sion; ”it is a sad fate for you! Not to live to inherit!”
A gentle smile rose to his face, and he pointed upwards. ”There's a better heirs.h.i.+p for me, Aunt Ryle.”
It was upon returning from this memorable interview with Squire Trevlyn, that Mrs. Ryle met Octave Chattaway and stopped to speak.
”Are you getting settled, Octave?”
”Tolerably so. Mamma says she shall not be straight in six months to come. Have you been to the Hold?”