Part 57 (1/2)

Above them a wintry sun is trying vainly to recover its ill temper.

Every now and then a small brown bird, flying hurriedly past the windows, is almost blown against them by the strong and angry blast.

Within, a fire is burning, and the curtains are half drawn across the windows and the gla.s.s door, that leads, by steps, down into the garden. No lamps are lit, and the light is sombre and severe.

”You have come,” says Dorian, advancing eagerly to meet him. ”I knew I could depend upon you, but it is more than good of you to be here so soon. I have been moping a good deal, I am afraid, and forgot all about the lamps. Shall I ring for some one now to light them?”

”No: this light is what I prefer,” says Scrope, laying his hand upon his arm. ”Stir up the fire, if you like.”

”Even that I had not given one thought to,” says Brans...o...b.., drearily.

”Sitting here all alone, I gave myself up a prey to evil thoughts.”

The word ”alone” touches Sir James inexpressibly. Where was his wife all the time, that she never came to him to comfort and support him in his hour of need?

”Is everything as bad as you say?” he asks, presently, in a subdued tone.

”Quite as bad; neither worse nor better. There are no gradations about utter ruin. You heard about Sawyer, of course? Harden has been with me all last night and to-day, and between us we have been able to make out that he has muddled away almost all the property,--which, you know, is small. As yet we hardly know how we stand. But there is one claim of fifteen thousand pounds that must be paid without delay, and I have not one penny to meet it, so am literally driven to the wall.”

”You speak as if----”

”No, I am speaking quite rationally. I know what you would say; but if I was starving I would not accept one s.h.i.+lling from Lord Sartoris.

That would be impossible. You can understand why, without my going into that infamous scandal. I suppose I can sell Sartoris, and pay my--that is, Sawyer's--debts; but that will leave me a beggar.” Then, in a low tone, ”I should hardly care, but for her. That is almost more than I can bear.”

”You say this debt of fifteen thousand pounds is the one that presses hardest?”

”Yes. But for that, I might, by going in for strict economy, manage to retrieve my present position in a year or two.”

”I wish you would explain more fully,” says Sir James; whereupon Dorian enters into an elaborate explanation that leaves all things clear.

”It seems absurd,” says Scrope, impatiently, ”that you, the heir to an earldom and unlimited wealth, should be made so uncomfortable for the sake of a paltry fifteen thousand pounds.”

”I hardly think my wealth unlimited,” says Brans...o...b..; ”there is a good deal of property not entailed, and the ready money is at my uncle's own disposal. You know, perhaps, that he has altered his will in favor of Horace,--has, in fact, left him everything that it is possible to leave?”

”This is all new to me,” says Sir James, indignantly. ”If it is true, it is the most iniquitous thing I ever heard in my life.”

”It is true,” says Brans...o...b.., slowly. ”Altogether, in many ways, I have been a good deal wrong; and the money part of it has not hurt me the most.”

”If seven thousand pounds would be of any use to you,” says Scrope, gently, delicately, ”I have it lying idle. It will, indeed, be a great convenience if you will take it at a reasonable----”

”That is rather unkind of you,” says Dorian, interrupting him hastily.

”Don't say another word on that subject. I shall sink or swim without aid from my friends,--aid, I mean, of that sort. In other ways you can help me. Harden will, of course, see to the estate; but there are other, more private matters, that I would intrust to you alone. Am I asking too much?”

”Don't be unkind in your own turn,” says Scrope, with tears in his eyes.

”Thank you,” says Dorian, simply. His heart seems quite broken.

”What of your wife?” asks Sir James, with some hesitation. ”Does she know?”

”I think not. Why should she be troubled before her time? It will come fast enough. She made a bad match, after all, poor child! But there is one thing I must tell you, and it is the small drop of comfort in my cup. About a month ago, Lord Sartoris settled upon her twenty thousand pounds, and that will keep her at least free from care. When I am gone, I want you to see to her, and let me know, from time to time, that she is happy and well cared for.”