Part 28 (1/2)

A few words of affection were spoken between the brother and sister, for at such moments brotherly affection returns, and the estrangements of life are all forgotten in the old memories. He seemed comforted to feel her hand upon the bed, and was glad to p.r.o.nounce her name, and spoke to her as though she had been the favourite of the family for years, instead of the one member of it who had been snubbed and disregarded. Poor man, who shall say that there was anything hypocritical or false in this? And yet, undoubtedly, it was the fact that Margaret was now the only wealthy one among them, which had made him send to her, and think of her, as he lay there in his sickness.

When these words of love had been spoken, he turned himself on his pillow, and lay silent for a long while,--for hours, till the morning sun had risen, and the daylight was again seen through the window curtain. It was not much after midsummer, and the daylight came to them early. From time to time she had looked at him, and each hour in the night she had crept round to him, and given him that which he needed. She did it all with a certain system, noiselessly, but with an absolute a.s.surance on her own part that she carried with her an authority sufficient to ensure obedience. On that ground, in that place, I think that even Miss Todd would have succ.u.mbed to her.

But when the morning sun had driven the appearance of night from the room, making the paraphernalia of sickness more ghastly than they had been under the light of the lamp, the brother turned himself back again, and began to talk of those things which were weighing on his mind.

”Margaret,” he said, ”it's very good of you to come, but as to myself, no one's coming can be of any use to me.”

”It is all in the hands of G.o.d, Tom.”

”No doubt, no doubt,” said he, sadly, not daring to argue such a point with her, and yet feeling but little consolation from her a.s.surance. ”So is the bullock in G.o.d's hands when the butcher is going to knock him on the head, but yet we know that the beast will die. Men live and die from natural causes, and not by G.o.d's interposition.”

”But there is hope; that is what I mean. If G.o.d pleases--”

”Ah, well. But, Margaret, I fear that he will not please; and what am I to do about Sarah and the children?”

This was a question that could be answered by no general plat.i.tude,--by no weak words of hopeless consolation. Coming from him to her, it demanded either a very substantial answer, or else no answer at all. What was he to do about Sarah and the children?

Perhaps there came a thought across her mind that Sarah and the children had done very little for her,--had considered her very little, in those old, weary days, in Arundel Street. And those days were not, as yet, so very old. It was now not much more than twelve months since she had sat by the deathbed of her other brother,--since she had expressed to herself, and to Harry Handc.o.c.k, a humble wish that she might find herself to be above absolute want.

”I do not think you need fret about that, Tom,” she said, after turning these things over in her mind for a minute or two.

”How, not fret about them? But I suppose you know nothing of the state of the business. Has Rubb spoken to you?”

”He did say some word as we came along in the cab.”

”What did he say?”

”He said--”

”Well, tell me what he said. He said, that if I died--what then? You must not be afraid of speaking of it openly. Why, Margaret, they have all told me that it must be in a month or two. What did Rubb say?”

”He said that there would be very little coming out of the business--that is, for Sarah and the children--if anything were to happen to you.”

”I don't suppose they'd get anything. How it has been managed I don't know. I have worked like a galley slave at it, but I haven't kept the books, and I don't know how things have gone so badly. They have gone badly,--very badly.”

”Has it been Mr Rubb's fault?”

”I won't say that; and, indeed, if it has been any man's fault it has been the old man's. I don't want to say a word against the one that you know. Oh, Margaret!”

”Don't fret yourself now, Tom.”

”If you had seven children, would not you fret yourself? And I hardly know how to speak to you about it. I know that we have already had ever so much of your money, over two thousand pounds; and I fear you will never see it again.”

”Never mind, Tom; it is yours, with all my heart. Only, Tom, as it is so badly wanted, I would rather it was yours than Mr Rubb's. Could I not do something that would make that share of the building yours?”

He s.h.i.+fted himself uneasily in his bed, and made her understand that she had distressed him.

”But perhaps it will be better to say nothing more about that,” said she.

”It will be better that you should understand it all. The property belongs nominally to us, but it is mortgaged to the full of its value. Rubb can explain it all, if he will. Your money went to buy it, but other creditors would not be satisfied without security. Ah, dear! it is so dreadful to have to speak of all this in this way.”

”Then don't speak of it, Tom.”