"Yes, yes!" said William. "It must be so. Now you must come downstairs."
"Why?"
"To eat. Dinner is ready. I am going to tea in the servant's hall."
"Will Mary be at dinner, William?"
"Of course she will."
"Will you let me go for the last time? I should like to see the dear little face again. Only this once."
"Charles! Don't talk like that. All that this house contains is yours, and will be as long as Cuthbert and I are here. Of course you must go.
This must not get out for a long while yet--we must keep up appearances."
So Charles went down into the drawing-room. It was nearly dark; and at first he thought there was no one there, but, as he advanced towards the fireplace, he made out a tall, dark figure, and saw that it was Mackworth.
"I am come, sir," he said, "to dinner in the old room for the last time for ever."
"God forbid!" said Mackworth. "Sir, you have behaved like a brave man to-day, and I earnestly hope that, as long as I stay in this house, you will be its honoured guest. It would be simply nonsensical to make any excuses to you for the part I have taken. Even if you had not systematically opposed your interest to mine in this house, I had no other course open. You must see that."
"I believe I owe you my thanks for your forbearance so long," said Charles; "though that was for the sake of my father more than myself.
Will you tell me, sir, now we are alone, how long have you known this?"
"Nearly eighteen months," said Father Mackworth, promptly.
Mackworth was not an ill-natured man when he was not opposed, and, being a brave man himself, could well appreciate bravery in others. He had knowledge enough of men to know that the revelation of to-day had been as bitter a blow to a passionate, sensitive man like Charles, as he could well endure and live. And he knew that Charles distrusted him, and that all out-of-the-way expressions of condolence would be thrown away; and so, departing from his usual rule of conduct, he spoke for once in a way naturally and sincerely, and said: "I am very, very sorry. I would have done much to avoid this."
Then Mary came in and the Tiernays. Cuthbert did not come down. There was a long, dull dinner, at which Charles forced himself to eat, having a resolution before him. Mary sat scared at the head of the table, and scarcely spoke a word, and, when she rose to go into the drawing-room again, Charles followed her.
She saw that he was coming, and waited for him in the hall. When he shut the dining-room door after him she ran back, and putting her two hands on his shoulders, said--
"Charles! Charles! what is the matter?"
"Nothing, dear; only I have lost my fortune; I am penniless."
"Is it all gone, Charles?"
"All. You will hear how, soon. I just come out to wish my bird good-bye.
I am going to London to-morrow."
"Can't you come and talk to me, Charles, a little?"
"No; not to-night. Not to-night."
"You will come to see me at Lady Hainault's in town, Charles?"
"Yes, my love; yes."
"Won't you tell me any more, Charles?"
"No more, my robin. It is good-bye. You will hear all about it soon enough."
"Good-bye."
A kiss, and he was gone up the old staircase towards his own room. When he gained the first landing he turned and looked at her once more, standing alone in the centre of the old hall in the light of a solitary lamp. A lonely, beautiful little figure, with her arms drooping at her sides, and the quiet, dark eyes turned towards him, so lovingly! And there, in his ruin and desolation, he began to see, for the first time, what others, keener-eyed, had seen long ago. Something that might have been, but could not be now! And so, saying, "I must not see her again,"
he went up to his own room, and shut the door on his misery.
Once again he was seen that night. William invaded the still-room, and got some coffee, which he carried up to him. He found him packing his portmanteau, and he asked William to see to this and to that for him, if he should sleep too long. William made him sit down and take coffee and smoke a cigar, and sat on the footstool at his feet, before the fire, complaining of cold. They sat an hour or two, smoking, talking of old times, of horses and dogs, and birds and trout, as lads do, till Charles said he would go to bed, and William left him.
He had hardly got to the end of the passage, when Charles called him back, and he came.
"I want to look at you again," said Charles; and he put his two hands on William's shoulders, and looked at him again. Then he said, "Good night," and went in.
William went slowly away, and, passing to a lower storey, came to the door of a room immediately over the main entrance, above the hall. This room was in the turret above the porch. It was Cuthbert's room.
He knocked softly, and there was no answer; again, and louder. A voice cried querulously, "Come in," and he opened the door.
Cuthbert was sitting before the fire with a lamp beside him and a book on his knee. He looked up and saw a groom before him, and said, angrily--
"I can give no orders to-night. I will not be disturbed to-night."
"It is me, sir," said William.
Cuthbert rose at once. "Come here, brother," he said, "and let me look at you. They told me just now that you were with our brother Charles."
"I stayed with him till he went to bed, and then I came to you."
"How is he?"
"Very quiet--too quiet."
"Is he going away?"
"He is going in the morning."
"You must go with him, William," said Cuthbert, eagerly.
"I came to tell you that I must go with him, and to ask you for some money."
"God bless you. Don't leave him. Write to me every day. Watch and see what he is inclined to settle to, and then let me know. You must get some education too. You will get it with him as well as anywhere. He must be our first care."
William said yes. He must be their first care. He had suffered a terrible wrong.
"We must get to be as brothers to one another, William," said Cuthbert.
"That will come in time. We have one great object in common--Charles; and that will bring us together. The time was, when I was a fool, that I thought of being a saint, without human affections. I am wiser now.
People near death see many things which are hidden in health and youth."
"Near death, Cuthbert!" said William, calling him so for the first time.