Can You Forgive Her?

  VOLUME II.

  CHAPTER XLI.

  A Noble Lord Dies.

  George Vavasor remained about four days beneath his grandfather'sroof; but he was not happy there himself, nor did he contribute tothe happiness of any one else. He remained there in great discomfortso long, being unwilling to leave till an answer had been received tothe request made to Aunt Greenow, in order that he might insist onKate's performance of her promise with reference to Alice, if thatanswer should be unfavourable. During these five days Kate did allin her power to induce her brother to be, at any rate, kind in hismanner towards his grandfather, but it was in vain. The Squire wouldnot be the first to be gracious; and George, quite as obstinate asthe old man, would take no steps in that direction till encouragedto do so by graciousness from the other side. Poor Kate entreatedeach of them to begin, but her entreaties were of no avail. "He isan ill-mannered cub," the old man said, "and I was a fool to let himinto the house. Don't mention his name to me again." George arguedthe matter more at length. Kate spoke to him of his own interest inthe matter, urging upon him that he might, by such conduct, drive theSquire to exclude him altogether from the property.

  "He must do as he likes," George said, sulkily.

  "But for Alice's sake!" Kate answered.

  "Alice would be the last to expect me to submit to unreasonableill-usage for the sake of money. As regards myself, I confess thatI'm very fond of money and am not particularly squeamish. I woulddo anything that a man can do to secure it. But this I can't do. Inever injured him, and I never asked him to injure himself. I neverattempted to borrow money from him. I have never cost him a shilling.When I was in the wine business he might have enabled me to make alarge fortune simply by settling on me then the reversion of propertywhich, when he dies, ought to be my own. He was so perverselyignorant that he would make no inquiry, but chose to think that I wasruining myself, at the only time of my life when I was really doingwell."

  "But he had a right to act as he pleased," urged Kate.

  "Certainly he had. But he had no right to resent my asking such afavour at his hands. He was an ignorant old fool not to do it; butI should never have quarrelled with him on that account. Nature madehim a fool, and it wasn't his fault. But I can't bring myself tokneel in the dirt before him simply because I asked for what wasreasonable."

  The two men said very little to each other. They were never alonetogether except during that half-hour after dinner in which theywere supposed to drink their wine. The old Squire always took threeglasses of port during this period, and expected that his grandsonwould take three with him. But George would drink none at all."I have given up drinking wine after dinner," said he, when hisgrandfather pushed the bottle over to him. "I suppose you mean thatyou drink nothing but claret," said the Squire, in a tone of voicethat was certainly not conciliatory. "I mean simply what I say," saidGeorge--"that I have given up drinking wine after dinner." The oldman could not openly quarrel with his heir on such a point as that.Even Mr. Vavasor could not tell his grandson that he was going to thedogs because he had become temperate. But, nevertheless, there wasoffence in it; and when George sat perfectly silent, looking at thefire, evidently determined to make no attempt at conversation, theoffence grew, and became strong. "What the devil's the use of yoursitting there if you neither drink nor talk?" said the old man. "Nouse in the world, that I can see," said George; "if, however, I wereto leave you, you would abuse me for it." "I don't care how soon youleave me," said the Squire. From all which it may be seen that GeorgeVavasor's visit to the hall of his ancestors was not satisfactory.

  On the fourth day, about noon, came Aunt Greenow's reply. "DearestKate," she said, "I am not going to do what you ask me,"--thusrushing instantly into the middle of her subject.

  You see, I don't know my nephew, and have no reason for being specially anxious that he should be in Parliament. I don't care two straws about the glory of the Vavasor family. If I had never done anything for myself, the Vavasors would have done very little for me. I don't care much about what you call 'blood.' I like those who like me, and whom I know. I am very fond of you, and because you have been good to me I would give you a thousand pounds if you wanted it for yourself; but I don't see why I am to give my money to those I don't know. If it is necessary to tell my nephew of this, pray tell him that I mean no offence.

  Your friend C. is still waiting--waiting--waiting, patiently; but his patience may be exhausted.

  Your affectionate aunt,

  ARABELLA GREENOW.

  "Of course she won't," said George, as he threw back the letter tohis sister. "Why should she?"

  "I had hoped she would," said Kate.

  "Why should she? What did I ever do for her? She is a sensible woman.Who is your friend C., and why is he waiting patiently?"

  "He is a man who would be glad to marry her for her money, if shewould take him."

  "Then what does she mean by his patience being exhausted?"

  "It is her folly. She chooses to pretend to think that the man is alover of mine."

  "Has he got any money?"

  "Yes; lots of money--or money's worth."

  "And what is his name?"

  "His name is Cheesacre. But pray don't trouble yourself to talk abouthim."

  "If he wants to marry you, and has plenty of money, why shouldn't youtake him?"

  "Good heavens, George! In the first place he does not want to marryme. In the next place all his heart is in his farmyard."

  "And a very good place to have it," said George.

  "Undoubtedly. But, really, you must not trouble yourself to talkabout him."

  "Only this,--that I should be very glad to see you well married."

  "Should you?" said she, thinking of her close attachment to himself.

  "And now, about the money," said George. "You must write to Alice atonce."--"Oh, George!"

  "Of course you must; you have promised. Indeed, it would have beenmuch wiser if you had taken me at my word, and done it at once."--"Icannot do it."

  Then the scar on his face opened itself, and his sister stood beforehim in fear and trembling. "Do you mean to tell me," said he, "thatyou will go back from your word, and deceive me;--that after havingkept me here by this promise, you will not do what you have said youwould do?"

  "Take my money now, and pay me out of hers as soon as you aremarried. I will be the first to claim it from her,--and from you."

  "That is nonsense."

  "Why should it be nonsense? Surely you need have no scruple with me.I should have none with you if I wanted assistance."

  "Look here, Kate; I won't have it, and there's an end of it. All thatyou have in the world would not pull me through this election, andtherefore such a loan would be worse than useless."

  "And am I to ask her for more than two thousand pounds?"

  "You are to ask her simply for one thousand. That is what I want, andmust have, at present. And she knows that I want it, and that she isto supply it; only she does not know that my need is so immediate.That you must explain to her."

  "I would sooner burn my hand, George!"

  "But burning your hand, unfortunately, won't do any good. Look here,Kate; I insist upon your doing this for me. If you do not, I shalldo it, of course, myself; but I shall regard your refusal as anunjustifiable falsehood on your part, and shall certainly not see youafterwards. I do not wish, for reasons which you may well understand,to write to Alice myself on any subject at present. I now claim yourpromise to do so; and if you refuse, I shall know very well what todo."

  Of course she did not persist in her refusal. With a sorrowful heart,and with fingers that could hardly form the needful letters, she didwrite a letter to her cousin, which explained the fact--that GeorgeVavasor immediately wanted a thousand pounds for his electioneeringpurposes. It was a stiff, uncomfortable letter, unnatural inits phraseology, telling its own tale of grief and shame. Aliceunderstood very plainly all the circumstances under which it waswritten, b
ut she sent back word to Kate at once, undertaking that themoney should be forthcoming; and she wrote again before the end ofJanuary, saying that the sum named had been paid to George's creditat his own bankers.

  Kate had taken immense pride in the renewal of the match between herbrother and her cousin, and had rejoiced in it greatly as being herown work. But all that pride and joy were now over. She could nolonger write triumphant notes to Alice, speaking always of George asone who was to be their joint hero, foretelling great things of hiscareer in Parliament, and saying little soft things of his enduringlove. It was no longer possible to her now to write of George at all,and it was equally impossible to Alice. Indeed, no letters passedbetween them, when that monetary correspondence was over, up to theend of the winter. Kate remained down in Westmoreland, wretchedand ill at ease, listening to hard words spoken by her grandfatheragainst her brother, and feeling herself unable to take her brother'spart as she had been wont to do in other times.

  George returned to town at the end of those four days, and found thatthe thousand pounds was duly placed to his credit before the end ofthe month. It is hardly necessary to tell the reader that this moneyhad come from the stores of Mr. Tombe, and that Mr. Tombe duly debitedMr. Grey with the amount. Alice, in accordance with her promise,had told her father that the money was needed, and her father, inaccordance with his promise, had procured it without a word ofremonstrance. "Surely I must sign some paper," Alice had said. Butshe had been contented when her father told her that the lawyerswould manage all that.

  It was nearly the end of February when George Vavasor made his firstpayment to Mr. Scruby on behalf of the coming election and when hecalled at Mr. Scruby's office with this object, he received someintelligence which surprised him not a little. "You haven't heard thenews," said Scruby. "What news?" said George.

  "The Marquis is as nearly off the hooks as a man can be." Mr. Scruby,as he communicated the tidings, showed clearly by his face and voicethat they were supposed to be of very great importance; but Vavasordid not at first seem to be as much interested in the fate of "theMarquis" as Scruby had intended.

  "I'm very sorry for him," said George. "Who is the Marquis? There'llbe sure to come another, so it don't much signify."

  "There will come another, and that's just it. It's the Marquis ofBunratty; and if he drops, our young Member will go into the UpperHouse."

  "What, immediately; before the end of the Session?" George, ofcourse, knew well enough that such would be the case, but the effectwhich this event would have upon himself now struck him suddenly.

  "To be sure," said Scruby. "The writ would be out immediately. Ishould be glad enough of it, only that I know that Travers's peoplehave heard of it before us, and that they are ready to be up withtheir posters directly the breath is out of the Marquis's body. Wemust go to work immediately; that's all."

  "It will only be for part of a Session," said George.

  "Just so," said Mr. Scruby.

  "And then there'll be the cost of another election."

  "That's true," said Mr. Scruby; "but in such cases we do manage tomake it come a little cheaper. If you lick Travers now, it may bethat you'll have a walk-over for the next."

  "Have you seen Grimes?" asked George.

  "Yes, I have; the blackguard! He is going to open his house onTravers's side. He came to me as bold as brass, and told me so,saying that he never liked gentlemen who kept him waiting for hisodd money. What angers me is that he ever got it."

  "We have not managed it very well, certainly," said Vavasor, lookingnastily at the attorney.

  "We can't help those little accidents, Mr. Vavasor. There are worseaccidents than that turn up almost daily in my business. You maythink yourself almost lucky that I haven't gone over to Traversmyself. He is a Liberal, you know; and it hasn't been for want of anoffer, I can tell you."

  Vavasor was inclined to doubt the extent of his luck in this respect,and was almost disposed to repent of his Parliamentary ambition.He would now be called upon to spend certainly not less than threethousand pounds of his cousin's money on the chance of being able tosit in Parliament for a few months. And then, after what a fashionwould he be compelled to negotiate that loan! He might, to be sure,allow the remainder of this Session to run, and stand, as he hadintended, at the general election but he knew that if he now alloweda Liberal to win the seat, the holder of the seat would be almostsure of subsequent success. He must either fight now, or give up thefight altogether; and he was a man who did not love to abandon anycontest in which he had been engaged.

  "Well, Squire," said Scruby, "how is it to be?" And Vavasor feltthat he detected in the man's voice some diminution of that respectwith which he had hitherto been treated as a paying candidate for ametropolitan borough.

  "This lord is not dead yet," said Vavasor.

  "No; he's not dead yet, that we have heard; but it won't do for us towait. We want every minute of time that we can get. There isn't anyhope for him, I'm told. It's gout in the stomach, or dropsy at theheart, or some of those things that make a fellow safe to go."

  "It won't do to wait for the next election?"

  "If you ask me, I should say certainly not. Indeed, I shouldn't wishto have to conduct it under such circumstances. I hate a fight whenthere's no chance of success. I grudge spending a man's money in sucha case; I do indeed, Mr. Vavasor."

  "I suppose Grimes's going over won't make much difference?"

  "The blackguard! He'll take a hundred and fifty votes, I suppose;perhaps more. But that is not much in such a constituency as theChelsea districts. You see, Travers played mean at the last election,and that will be against him."

  "But the Conservatives will have a candidate."

  "There's no knowing; but I don't think they will. They'll try oneat the general, no doubt; but if the two sitting Members can pulltogether, they won't have much of a chance."

  Vavasor found himself compelled to say that he would stand; andScruby undertook to give the initiatory orders at once, not waitingeven till the Marquis should be dead. "We should have our houses openas soon as theirs," said he. "There's a deal in that." So GeorgeVavasor gave his orders. "If the worst comes to the worst," he saidto himself, "I can always cut my throat."

  As he walked from the attorney's office to his club he bethoughthimself that that might not unprobably be the necessary terminationof his career. Everything was going wrong with him. His grandfather,who was eighty years of age, would not die,--appeared to have nosymptoms of dying;--whereas this Marquis, who was not yet much overfifty, was rushing headlong out of the world, simply because he wasthe one man whose continued life at the present moment would beserviceable to George Vavasor. As he thought of his grandfather healmost broke his umbrella by the vehemence with which he struck itagainst the pavement. What right could an ignorant old fool like thathave to live for ever, keeping the possession of a property whichhe could not use, and ruining those who were to come after him? Ifnow, at this moment, that wretched place down in Westmoreland couldbecome his, he might yet ride triumphantly over his difficulties, andrefrain from sullying his hands with more of his cousin's money tillshe should become his wife.

  Even that thousand pounds had not passed through his hands withoutgiving him much bitter suffering. As is always the case in suchmatters, the thing done was worse than the doing of it. He had taughthimself to look at it lightly whilst it was yet unaccomplished; buthe could not think of it lightly now. Kate had been right. It wouldhave been better for him to take her money. Any money would have beenbetter than that upon which he had laid his sacrilegious hands. Ifhe could have cut a purse, after the old fashion, the stain of thedeed would hardly have been so deep. In these days,--for more thana month, indeed, after his return from Westmoreland,--he did not gonear Queen Anne Street, trying to persuade himself that he stayedaway because of her coldness to him. But, in truth, he was afraid ofseeing her without speaking of her money, and afraid to see her if hewere to speak of it.

  "You have seen the _Globe_?" som
eone said to him as he entered theclub.

  "No, indeed; I have seen nothing."

  "Bunratty died in Ireland this morning. I suppose you'll be up forthe Chelsea districts?"