CHAPTER XXXIII.
Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation. --2 Henry VI.
That night after twelve o'clock Mary Garth relieved the watch in Mr.Featherstone's room, and sat there alone through the small hours. Sheoften chose this task, in which she found some pleasure,notwithstanding the old man's testiness whenever he demanded herattentions. There were intervals in which she could sit perfectlystill, enjoying the outer stillness and the subdued light. The redfire with its gently audible movement seemed like a solemn existencecalmly independent of the petty passions, the imbecile desires, thestraining after worthless uncertainties, which were daily moving hercontempt. Mary was fond of her own thoughts, and could amuse herselfwell sitting in twilight with her hands in her lap; for, having earlyhad strong reason to believe that things were not likely to be arrangedfor her peculiar satisfaction, she wasted no time in astonishment andannoyance at that fact. And she had already come to take life verymuch as a comedy in which she had a proud, nay, a generous resolutionnot to act the mean or treacherous part. Mary might have becomecynical if she had not had parents whom she honored, and a well ofaffectionate gratitude within her, which was all the fuller because shehad learned to make no unreasonable claims.
She sat to-night revolving, as she was wont, the scenes of the day, herlips often curling with amusement at the oddities to which her fancyadded fresh drollery: people were so ridiculous with their illusions,carrying their fool's caps unawares, thinking their own lies opaquewhile everybody else's were transparent, making themselves exceptionsto everything, as if when all the world looked yellow under a lamp theyalone were rosy. Yet there were some illusions under Mary's eyes whichwere not quite comic to her. She was secretly convinced, though shehad no other grounds than her close observation of old Featherstone'snature, that in spite of his fondness for having the Vincys about him,they were as likely to be disappointed as any of the relations whom hekept at a distance. She had a good deal of disdain for Mrs. Vincy'sevident alarm lest she and Fred should be alone together, but it didnot hinder her from thinking anxiously of the way in which Fred wouldbe affected, if it should turn out that his uncle had left him as pooras ever. She could make a butt of Fred when he was present, but shedid not enjoy his follies when he was absent.
Yet she liked her thoughts: a vigorous young mind not overbalanced bypassion, finds a good in making acquaintance with life, and watches itsown powers with interest. Mary had plenty of merriment within.
Her thought was not veined by any solemnity or pathos about the old manon the bed: such sentiments are easier to affect than to feel about anaged creature whose life is not visibly anything but a remnant ofvices. She had always seen the most disagreeable side of Mr.Featherstone: he was not proud of her, and she was only useful to him.To be anxious about a soul that is always snapping at you must be leftto the saints of the earth; and Mary was not one of them. She hadnever returned him a harsh word, and had waited on him faithfully: thatwas her utmost. Old Featherstone himself was not in the least anxiousabout his soul, and had declined to see Mr. Tucker on the subject.
To-night he had not snapped, and for the first hour or two he layremarkably still, until at last Mary heard him rattling his bunch ofkeys against the tin box which he always kept in the bed beside him.About three o'clock he said, with remarkable distinctness, Missy, comehere!
Mary obeyed, and found that he had already drawn the tin box from underthe clothes, though he usually asked to have this done for him; and hehad selected the key. He now unlocked the box, and, drawing from itanother key, looked straight at her with eyes that seemed to haverecovered all their sharpness and said, How many of 'em are in thehouse?
You mean of your own relations, sir, said Mary, well used to the oldman's way of speech. He nodded slightly and she went on.
Mr. Jonah Featherstone and young Cranch are sleeping here.
Oh ay, they stick, do they? and the rest--they come every day, I'llwarrant--Solomon and Jane, and all the young uns? They come peeping,and counting and casting up?
Not all of them every day. Mr. Solomon and Mrs. Waule are here everyday, and the others come often.
The old man listened with a grimace while she spoke, and then said,relaxing his face, The more fools they. You hearken, missy. It'sthree o'clock in the morning, and I've got all my faculties as well asever I had in my life. I know all my property, and where the money'sput out, and everything. And I've made everything ready to change mymind, and do as I like at the last. Do you hear, missy? I've got myfaculties.
Well, sir? said Mary, quietly.
He now lowered his tone with an air of deeper cunning. I've made twowills, and I'm going to burn one. Now you do as I tell you. This isthe key of my iron chest, in the closet there. You push well at theside of the brass plate at the top, till it goes like a bolt: then youcan put the key in the front lock and turn it. See and do that; andtake out the topmost paper--Last Will and Testament--big printed.
No, sir, said Mary, in a firm voice, I cannot do that.
Not do it? I tell you, you must, said the old man, his voicebeginning to shake under the shock of this resistance.
I cannot touch your iron chest or your will. I must refuse to doanything that might lay me open to suspicion.
I tell you, I'm in my right mind. Shan't I do as I like at the last?I made two wills on purpose. Take the key, I say.
No, sir, I will not, said Mary, more resolutely still. Her repulsionwas getting stronger.
I tell you, there's no time to lose.
I cannot help that, sir. I will not let the close of your life soilthe beginning of mine. I will not touch your iron chest or your will.She moved to a little distance from the bedside.
The old man paused with a blank stare for a little while, holding theone key erect on the ring; then with an agitated jerk he began to workwith his bony left hand at emptying the tin box before him.
Missy, he began to say, hurriedly, look here! take the money--thenotes and gold--look here--take it--you shall have it all--do as Itell you.
He made an effort to stretch out the key towards her as far aspossible, and Mary again retreated.
I will not touch your key or your money, sir. Pray don't ask me to doit again. If you do, I must go and call your brother.
He let his hand fall, and for the first time in her life Mary saw oldPeter Featherstone begin to cry childishly. She said, in as gentle atone as she could command, Pray put up your money, sir; and then wentaway to her seat by the fire, hoping this would help to convince himthat it was useless to say more. Presently he rallied and saideagerly--
Look here, then. Call the young chap. Call Fred Vincy.
Mary's heart began to beat more quickly. Various ideas rushed throughher mind as to what the burning of a second will might imply. She hadto make a difficult decision in a hurry.
I will call him, if you will let me call Mr. Jonah and others withhim.
Nobody else, I say. The young chap. I shall do as I like.
Wait till broad daylight, sir, when every one is stirring. Or let mecall Simmons now, to go and fetch the lawyer? He can be here in lessthan two hours.
Lawyer? What do I want with the lawyer? Nobody shall know--I say,nobody shall know. I shall do as I like.
Let me call some one else, sir, said Mary, persuasively. She did notlike her position--alone with the old man, who seemed to show a strangeflaring of nervous energy which enabled him to speak again and againwithout falling into his usual cough; yet she desired not to pushunnecessarily the contradiction which agitated him. Let me, pray,call some one else.
You let me alone, I say. Look here, missy. Take the money. You'llnever have the chance again. It's pretty nigh two hundred--there'smore in the box, and nobody knows how much there was. Take it and doas I tell you.
Mary, standing by the fire, saw its red light falling on the old man,propped up on his pillows and bed-rest, with his bony hand holding outthe key, and the money lying on the quilt before him. She never forgotthat vision of a man wanting to do as he liked at the last. But theway in which he had put the offer of the money urged her to speak withharder resolution than ever.
It is of no use, sir. I will not do it. Put up your money. I willnot touch your money. I will do anything else I can to comfort you;but I will not touch your keys or your money.
Anything else anything else! said old Featherstone, with hoarse rage,which, as if in a nightmare, tried to be loud, and yet was only justaudible. I want nothing else. You come here--you come here.
Mary approached him cautiously, knowing him too well. She saw himdropping his keys and trying to grasp his stick, while he looked at herlike an aged hyena, the muscles of his face getting distorted with theeffort of his hand. She paused at a safe distance.
Let me give you some cordial, she said, quietly, and try to composeyourself. You will perhaps go to sleep. And to-morrow by daylight youcan do as you like.
He lifted the stick, in spite of her being beyond his reach, and threwit with a hard effort which was but impotence. It fell, slipping overthe foot of the bed. Mary let it lie, and retreated to her chair bythe fire. By-and-by she would go to him with the cordial. Fatiguewould make him passive. It was getting towards the chillest moment ofthe morning, the fire had got low, and she could see through the chinkbetween the moreen window-curtains the light whitened by the blind.Having put some wood on the fire and thrown a shawl over her, she satdown, hoping that Mr. Featherstone might now fall asleep. If she wentnear him the irritation might be kept up. He had said nothing afterthrowing the stick, but she had seen him taking his keys again andlaying his right hand on the money. He did not put it up, however, andshe thought that he was dropping off to sleep.
But Mary herself began to be more agitated by the remembrance of whatshe had gone through, than she had been by the reality--questioningthose acts of hers which had come imperatively and excluded allquestion in the critical moment.
Presently the dry wood sent out a flame which illuminated everycrevice, and Mary saw that the old man was lying quietly with his headturned a little on one side. She went towards him with inaudiblesteps, and thought that his face looked strangely motionless; but thenext moment the movement of the flame communicating itself to allobjects made her uncertain. The violent beating of her heart renderedher perceptions so doubtful that even when she touched him and listenedfor his breathing, she could not trust her conclusions. She went tothe window and gently propped aside the curtain and blind, so that thestill light of the sky fell on the bed.
The next moment she ran to the bell and rang it energetically. In avery little while there was no longer any doubt that Peter Featherstonewas dead, with his right hand clasping the keys, and his left handlying on the heap of notes and gold.
BOOK IV.
THREE LOVE PROBLEMS.