Part 24 (1/2)
”Row! I'd have broken his dirty neck. Not content with swindling poor Beacham Brown, he tries it on with the contributors. I wish I had been able to get him to go on. I would willingly have fleeced him of every penny he has in the world.”
Lizzie bade them good-night, and the servant brought in a letter for Mike, a letter which she explained had been incorrectly addressed, and had just come from the hotel. Frank took up a newspaper which Thigh had left on the table. He turned it over, glancing hastily through it. Then something caught his eye, and the expression of his face changed. And what caused him pain could be no more than a few words, for the paper fell instantly from his hands and he sat quite still, staring into s.p.a.ce. But neither the sound of the paper falling, nor yet the frozen rigidity of his att.i.tude drew Mike's thoughts from the letter he was reading. He glanced hastily through it, then he read it attentively, lingering over every word. He seemed to suck sweetness out of every one; it was the deep, sensual absorption of a fly in a pot of treacle. His eyes were dim with pleasure long drawn out; they saw nothing, and it was some moments before the pallor and pain of Frank's face dispelled the melliferous Edens in which Mike's soul moved.
”What is the matter, old chap? Are you ill?”
Frank did not answer.
”Are you ill? Shall I get you a drink?”
”No, no,” he said. ”I a.s.sure you it is nothing; no, it is nothing.”
He struggled for a moment for shame's sake to keep his secret, but it was more than he could bear. ”Ah!” he said, ”it is all over; I'm done for--read.”
He stooped to pick up the paper. Mike took the paper from him and read--
”Thursday--Lady Mount Rorke, of a son.”
Whilst one man hears his doom p.r.o.nounced, another sees a golden fortune fallen in his hand, and the letter Mike had just read was from a firm of solicitors, informing him that Lady Seeley had left him her entire fortune, three thousand a year in various securities, and a property in Berks.h.i.+re; house, pictures, plate--in a word, everything she possessed. The bitterness of his friend's ill fortune contrasting with the sweetness of his own good fortune, struck his heart, and he said, with genuine sorrow in his voice--
”I'm awfully sorry, old chap.”
”There's no use being sorry for me, I'm done for; I shall never be Lord Mount Rorke now. That child, that wife, are paupers; that castle, that park, that river, all--everything that I was led to believe would be mine one day, has pa.s.sed from me irrevocably. It is terribly cruel--it seems too cruel to be true; all those old places--you know them--all has pa.s.sed from me. I never believed Mount Rorke would have an heir, he is nearly seventy; it is too cruel.”
Tears swam in his eyes, and covering his face in his hands he burst into a storm of heavy sobbing.
Mike was sincere, but ”there is something not wholly disagreeable to us in hearing of the misfortunes even of our best friends,” and Mike felt the old thought forced into his mind that he who had come from the top had gone to the bottom, and that he who came from the bottom was going--had gone to the top. Taking care, however, that none of the triumph ebullient within him should rise into his voice, he said--
”I am really sorry for you, Frank. You mustn't despair; perhaps the child won't live, and perhaps the paper will succeed. It must succeed. It shall succeed.”
”Succeed! nothing succeeds with me. I and my wife and child are beggars on the face of the earth. It matters little to me whether the paper succeeds or fails. Thigh has got pretty nearly all of it. When my debts are paid I shall not have enough to set myself up in rooms.”
At the end of a painful silence, Mike said--
”We've had our quarrels, but you've been a d.a.m.ned good friend to me; it is my turn now to stand to you. To begin with, here is the three hundred that I won from Thigh. I don't want it. I a.s.sure you I don't.
Then there are your rooms in Temple Gardens; I'll take them off your hands. I'll pay all the arrears of rent, and give you the price you paid for your furniture.”
”What d.a.m.ned nonsense! how can you do that? Take three hundred pounds from you--the price of your book. You have nothing else in the world!”
”Yes, I have; it is all right, old chap; you can have the money. The fact is,” he said, ”Lady Seeley has left me her whole fortune; the letter I just received is from the solicitors. They say three thousand a year in various securities, and a property in Berks.h.i.+re.
So you see I can afford to be generous. I shall feel much hurt if you don't accept. Indeed, it is the least I can do; I owe it to you.”
The men looked at each other, their eyes luminous with intense and quickening emotions. Fortune had been so derisive that Mike feared Frank would break into foolish anger, and that only a quarrel and worse hatred might result from his offer of a.s.sistance.
”It was in my box you met her; I remember the night quite well. You were with Harding.” [Footnote: See _Spring Days_.] The men exchanged an inquiring look. ”She wanted me to go home and have supper with her; she was in love with me then; I might have been her lover. But I refused, and I went into the bar and spoke to Lizzie; when she went off on duty I went and sat with you and Harding. Not long after I saw you at Reading, in the hotel overlooking the river. I was with Lizzie.” [Footnote: See _Spring Days_.]
”You can't accuse me of having cut you out. You could have got her, and--”
”I didn't want her; I was in love with Lizzie, and I am still. And strange as it may appear to you, I regret nothing, at least nothing that concerns Lizzie.”
Mike wondered if this were true. His fingers fidgeted with the cheques. ”Won't you take them?”