Part 10 (1/2)
”I mean that also, certainly. Handsome, energetic, enterprising, kind, religious.”
”Spare me the balance of your adjectives. We all know that Steve is square on every side, and straight in every corner. Don't be so earnest; you fatigue me to-night. I am on the verge of a nervous headache, and I really think you had better leave me.” She turned her chair towards the fire as she spoke, and hardly palliated this act of dismissal by the faint ”excuse me,” which accompanied it. And Charlotte made no remark, though she left her sister's room, mentally promising herself to keep away from it in the future.
She went next to the parlor. The squire's chair was empty, and on the little stand at its side, the ”Gentleman's Magazine” lay uncut. His slippers, usually a.s.sumed after dinner, were still warming on the white sheepskin rug before the fire. But the large, handsome face, that always made a suns.h.i.+ny feeling round the hearth, was absent; and the room had a loneliness that made her heart fear. She waited a few minutes, looking with expectation towards a piece of knitting which was Mrs. Sandal's evening work. But the ivory needles and the colored wools remained uncalled for, and she grew rapidly impatient, and went to her mother's room. Mrs. Sandal was lying upon her couch, exhausted with weeping; and the squire sat holding his head in his hands, the very picture of despondency and sorrow.
”Can I come and speak to you, mother?”
The squire answered, ”To be sure you can, Charlotte. We are glad to see you. We are in trouble, my dear.”
”Is it Harry, father?”
”Trouble mostly comes that way. Yes, it is Harry. He is in a great strait, and wants five hundred pounds, Charlotte; five hundred pounds, dear, and he wants it at once. Only six weeks ago he wrote in the same way for a hundred and fifty pounds. He is robbing me, robbing his mother, robbing Sophia and you.”
”William, I wouldn't give way to temper that road; calling your own son and my son a thief. It's not fair,” said Mrs. Sandal, with considerable asperity.
”I must call things by their right names, Alice. I call a cat, a cat; and I call our Harry a thief; for I don't know that forcing money from a father is any better than forcing it from a stranger. It is only using a father's love as a pick-lock instead of an iron tool. That's all the difference, Alice; and I don't think the difference is one that helps Harry's case much. Eh? What?”
”Dear me! it is always money,” sighed Charlotte.
”Your father knows very well that Harry must have the money, Charlotte.
I think it is cruel of him to make every one ill before he gives what is sure to be given in the end. Sophia has a headache, I dare say, and I am sure I have.”
”But I cannot give him this money, Alice. I have not realized on my wool and wheat yet. I cannot coin money. I will not beg or borrow it. I will not mortgage an acre for it.”
”And you will let your only son the heir of Sandal-Side, go to jail and disgrace for five hundred pounds. I never heard tell of such cruelty.
Never, never, never!”
”You do not know what you are saying, Alice. Tell me how I am to find five hundred pounds. Eh? What?”
”There must be ways. How can a woman tell?”
”Father, have I not got some money of my own?”
”You have the accrued interest on the thousand pounds your grandmother left you. Sophia has the same.”
”Is the interest sufficient?”
”You have drawn from it at intervals. I think there is about three hundred pounds to your credit.”
”Sophia will have nearly as much. Call her, father. Surely between us we can arrange five hundred pounds. I shall be real glad to help Harry.
Young men have so many temptations now, father. Harry is a good sort in the main. Just have a little patience with him. Eh, father?”
And the squire was glad of the pleading voice. Glad for some one to make the excuses he did not think it right to make. Glad to have the little breath of hope that Charlotte's faith in her brother gave him. He stood up, and took her face between his hands and kissed it. Then he sent a servant for Sophia; and after a short delay the young lady appeared, looking pale and exceedingly injured.
”Did you send for me, father?”
”Yes, I did. Come in and sit down. There is something to be done for Harry, and we want your help, Sophia. Eh? What?”
She pushed a chair gently to the table, and sat down languidly. She was really sick, but her air and att.i.tude was that of a person suffering an extremity of physical anguish. The squire looked at her and then at Charlotte with dismay and self-reproach.