The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 1 (of 2)

  CHAPTER IX.

  THE THIRTEEN.

  'They closed around the fire, And all in turn essayed to paint The rival merits of their saint; A theme that ne'er can tire A holy maid, for be it known That their saint's honour is their own.' _Scott._

  The thirteen Underwoods did not meet again in the same house for manya long day, and when they did, it was on a grey misty morning in theChristmas week of the year following; and the blinds were down, andthe notes of the knell clashing out overhead, as the door was openedto Edgar, Alda, and Clement, as they arrived together, having beensummoned late on the previous night by a telegram with tidings thattheir mother had been struck by a paralysis. They knew what to expectwhen Felix, with one of the little ones on his arm, came quietly downthe stairs and admitted them. All they had to ask, was 'when,' and'how;' and to hear, that the long living death had ended in peacefulinsensibility at last. Then they followed him upstairs to the roomwhere the others sat, hushed, over their pen or their books, whereWilmet, her eyes gushing with quiet tears, held Alda in her embrace,and Geraldine, after her first eager kiss, gazed wistfully at Edgar asthough there must be comfort in the very sight of him, if she couldonly feel it; while the very little ones opened their puzzled eyes onthe new-comers as strangers.

  And so they were: Clement had indeed been at home in September, butAlda not for a year and three-quarters, nor Edgar since he first leftit three years before. The absence of the two latter was not by theirown choice; a doctor who had ordered Mrs. Thomas Underwood to spendthe summer months, year after year, at Spa was partly the cause; andmoreover, during the autumn and winter of 1856 Bexley had been aperfect field of epidemics. Measles and whooping-cough had run riot inthe schools, and lingered in the streets and alleys of the potteries,fastening on many who thought themselves secured by former attacks;and there had been a good many deaths, in especial Clement's chieffriend, Harry Lamb. Nobody, excepting the invalid mother, throughoutthe Underwood household, had escaped one or other disorder; and bothfell to the lot of the four little ones, and likewise of Mr. Audley,who was infinitely disgusted at himself, and at the guarded childhoodfor which he thus paid the penalty pretty severely. When matterswere at the worst, and Felix was laid up, and Wilmet found herselfsuccumbing, she had written in desperation to Sister Constance, whosepresence in the house had made the next three weeks a time of verypleasant recollections. Finally she had carried off Geraldine, Angela,and Bernard, to the convalescent rooms at St. Faith's, where theirhappiness had been such that the favourite sport of the little oneshad ever since been the acting of Sisters of Mercy nursing sick dolls.The quarantine had been indefinitely prolonged for the proteges ofKensington Palace Gardens; for the three at school, though kept awaytill all infection was thought to be over, had perversely caught themaladies as soon as they came home for the summer holidays; and indeedthe whole town and neighbouring villages were so full of contagion,that Mrs. Thomas Underwood had not far to seek for a plea for avoidingCentry.

  All this time, from day to day, the poor mother had been growing morefeeble, and it had been fully purposed that on Edgar's return atChristmas, on the completion of his studies at Louvaine, he and Aldashould make some stay at home; but the brother and sister were bothso useful and ornamental that their adopted home could not spare themuntil after a series of Christmas entertainments; and Clement had beenin like manner detained until the festival services at St. Matthew's nolonger required him. Indeed, when he had been at home in the autumn, hehad been scarcely recognized.

  For the last week, however, Mrs. Underwood had been much clearer inmind, had enjoyed the presence of her holiday children, and had for ashort time even given hopes that her constitution might yet rally, andher dormant faculties revive. She had even talked to Mr. Audley andGeraldine at different times as though she had some such presentimentherself, and had made some exertions which proved much increasedactivity of brain. Alas! though their coming had thus been renderedvery happy, the brightening had been but the symptom and precursor ofa sudden attack of paralysis, whence there was no symptom of recovery,and which in a few hours ended in death.

  For the present, the hopes that had been entertained gave poignancyto the sudden disappointment and grief, and the home children couldnot acquiesce in the dispensation with the same quiet reasonablenessas those who had been so long separated from them as not to missthe gentle countenance, or the 'sweet toils, sweet cares, for evergone.' Indeed Wilmet was physically much exhausted by her long hoursof anxiety, and went about pale-cheeked and tear-stained, quietlyattending to all that was needful, but with the tears continuallydropping; while Geraldine was fit for nothing but to lie still, unableto think, but feeling soothed as long as she could lay her hand uponEdgar and feel that he was near.

  So the whole thirteen were together again; and in the hush of theorphaned house there was a certain wonder and curiosity in their mutualexamination and comparison with one another and with the beings withwhom they had parted three years ago, at the period of their firstseparation. All were at a time of life when such an interval couldnot fail to make a vast alteration in externals. Even Geraldine hadgained in strength, and though still white, and with features toolarge for her face, startlingly searching grey eyes, and brows thatlooked strangely thick, dark, and straight, in contrast with thepencilled arches belonging to all the rest, she was less weird andelfin-like than when she had been three inches shorter, and dressedmore childishly. As Edgar said, she was less Riquet with a tuft thanthe good fairy godmother, and her twin sisters might have been herprincess-wards, so far did they tower above her--straight as fir-trees,oval faced, regular featured, fair skinned, blue eyed, and brighthaired. During those long dreary hours, Edgar often beguiled thetime with sketches of them, and the outlines--whether of chiselledprofiles, shapely heads, or Cupid's-bow lips--were still almost exactlysimilar; yet it had become impossible to mistake one twin for theother, even when Alda had dressed the tresses on Wilmet's passive headin perfect conformity with her own. Looking at their figures, Alda'sair of fashion made her appear the eldest, and Wilmet might have beena girl in the school-room; but comparing their faces, Wilmet's placidrecollected countenance, and the soberness that sat so well on herwhite smooth forehead and steady blue eyes, might have befitted manymore years than eighteen. There were not nearly so many lights andshades in her looks as in those of Alda and Geraldine. The one had bothmore smiles and more frowns, the other more gleams of joy and of pain;each was more animated and sensitive, but neither gave the same senseof confidence and repose.

  As usually happens when the parents are of the same family, theinventory of the features of one of the progeny served for almost allthe rest. The differences were only in degree, and the prime specimenswere without doubt the two elder twins and Edgar, with like promise oflittle Bernard and Stella.

  Edgar had grown very tall, and had inherited his father's advantagesof grace and elegance of figure, to which was added a certaindistinguished ease of carriage, and ready graciousness, too simpleto be called either conceit or presumption, but which looked as ifhe were used to be admired and to confer favours. Athletics had beenthe fashion with him and his English companions, and his complexionwas embrowned by sun and wind, his form upright and vigorous; andby force of contrast it was now perceived that Felix seemed to havealmost ceased growing for the last three years, and that his in-dooroccupations had given his broad square shoulders a kind of slouch,and kept his colouring as pink and white as that of his sisters. LikeWilmet, he had something staid and responsible about him, that, evenmore than his fringe of light brown whiskers, gave the appearance offull-grown manhood; so that the first impression of all the new-comerswas how completely he had left the boy behind him, making it an effortof memory to believe him only nineteen and a half. But they all knewhim for their head, and leant themselves against him. And in themeantime, Edgar's appearance was a perfect feast of enjoyment, notonly to little loving Geraldine, but to sage Felix. The
y recreatedthemselves with gazing at him, and when left alone together woulddiscuss his charms in low confidential murmurs, quite aware that Wilmetwould think them very silly; but Edgar was the great romance of both.

  Edgar observed that Clement had done all the growth for both himselfand Felix, and was doing his best to be a light of the Church byresembling nothing but an altar-taper. When they all repaired to theback of the cupboard door in Mr. Audley's room to be measured, his headwas found far above Edgar's mark at fourteen, and therewith he was lankand thin, not yet accustomed to the length of his own legs and arms,and seeming as if he was not meant to be seen undraped by his surplice.His features and face were of the family type, but a little smaller,and with much less of the bright rosy tinting; indeed, when not excitedhe was decidedly pale, and his eyes and hair were a little lighter thanthose of the rest. It was a refined, delicate, thoughtful face, prettyrather than handsome, and its only fault was a certain melancholysuperciliousness or benignant pity for every one who did not belong tothe flock of St. Matthew's.

  Regular features are always what most easily lose individuality, andbecome those of the owner's class; and if Clement was all chorister,Fulbert and Lancelot were all school-boy. The two little fellows werea long way apart in height, though there were only two years betweenthem; for Lance was on a much smaller scale, but equally full of ruddyhealth and superabundant vigour; and while Fulbert was the more roughand independent, his countenance had not the fun and sweetness thatrendered Lance's so winning. Their looks were repeated in Robina, whowas much too square and sturdy for any attempt at beauty, and wascomically like a boy and like her brothers, but with much frank honestyand determination in her big grey darkly-lashed eyes. Angela was one ofthe most altered of all; for her plump cherub cheeks had melted awayunder the glow of measles, and the whooping process had lengthenedand narrowed her small person into a demure little thread-paper ofsix years old, omnivorous of books, a pet and pickle at school, anda romp at home--the sworn ally, offensive and defensive, of stout,rough-pated, unruly Bernard. Stella was the loveliest little bit ofpainted porcelain imaginable, quite capable of being his companion, anda perfect little fairy, for beauty, gracefulness, and quickness of allkinds. Alda was delighted with her pretty caressing ways and admirationof the wonderful new sister. She was of quieter, more docile mood thanthese two, though aspiring to their companionship; for it was startlingto see how far she had left Theodore behind. He was still in arms,and speechless, a little pale inanimate creature, taking very littlenotice, and making no sound except a sort of low musical cooing ofpleasure, and a sad whining moan of unhappiness, which always recurredwhen he was not in the arms of Sibby, Wilmet, or Felix. It was onlywhen Felix held out his arms to take him that the sound of pleasure washeard; and once on that firm knee, with his shining head against thatkind heart, he was satisfied, and Felix had accustomed himself to allsorts of occupations with his little brother in his left arm. Even atnight, there was no rest for Theodore, unless Felix took him into hisroom. So often did the little fretting moan summon him, that soon thecrib took up his regular abode beside his bed.

  But Felix, though of course spared from the shop, could not bedispensed with from the printing-house, where he was sub-editor; and inhis absence Theodore was always less contented; and his tearless moanwent to his sister's heart, for the poor little fellow had been wontto lie day and night in his mother's bosom, and she had been as uneasywithout him as he now was without her. All her other babes had grownpast her helpless instinctive tenderness, and Theodore's continuedpassiveness had been hitherto an advantage, which had always beencalled his 'goodness and affection.'

  Alda was the first to comment on the wonderful interval between thetwins, when Wilmet accounted for it by Theodore's having been quitekept back for his mother's sake, and likewise by his having been morereduced by measles and whooping-cough than Stella had been; but tofresh observers it was impossible to think that all was thus explained,and Edgar and Alda discussed it in a low voice when they foundthemselves alone.

  'The fact is plain,' said Edgar; 'but I suppose nothing can be done,and I see no use in forcing it on poor Wilmet.'

  'I don't understand such blindness.'

  'Not real blindness--certainly not on Felix's part. He knows thatload is on his back for life. Heigh-ho! a stout old Atlas we havein Blunderbore; I wonder how long I shall be in plucking the goldenapples, and taking a share.'

  'I thought it was Atlas that gathered the apples.'

  'Don't spoil a good simile with superfluous exactness, Alda! It is baseenough to compare the gardens of the Hesperides to a merchant's office!I wonder how many years it will take to get out of the drudgery, andhave some power of enjoying life and relieving Felix. One could tearone's hair to see him tied down by this large family till all his bestdays are gone.'

  'Some of the others may get off his hands, and help.'

  'Not they! Clem is too highly spiritualized to care for anything somaterial as his own flesh and blood; and it is not their fault iflittle Lance does not follow in his wake. Then if Ful has any brains,he is not come to the use of them; he is only less obnoxious than Tinain that he _is_ a boy and not a church candle, but boys are certainly amistake.'

  If ever the mature age of seventeen could be excused for so regardingboyhood, it was under such circumstances. All were too old for anyoutbreaks, such as brought Angela and Bernard to disgrace, anddisturbed the hush of those four sad days; but the actual loss hadbeen so long previous, that the pressure of present grief was not socrushing as to prevent want of employment and confinement in that smallsilent house from being other than most irksome and tedious.

  Clement would have done very well alone; he went to church, read, toldAngela stories, and discoursed to Cherry on the ways of St. Matthew's;but, unfortunately, there was something about him that always incitedthe other boys to sparring, nor was he always guiltless of being theaggressor, for there was no keeping him in mind that comparisons areodious.

  Church music might seem a suitable subject, but the London choristercould not abstain from criticising St. Oswald's and contemning theold-fashioned practices of the Cathedral, which of course Lanceconsidered himself bound to defend, till the very names of Gregoriansand Anglicans became terrible to Cherry as the watchwords of awrangling match. Fulbert, meantime, made no secret of his contempt forboth brothers as mere choristers instead of school-boys, and exaltedhimself whenever he detected their ignorance of any choice _morceau_ ofslang; while their superior knowledge on any other point was viewed asshowing the new-fangled girlish nonsense of their education.

  This Lance did not mind; but he was very sensitive as to the dignityof his Cathedral, and the perfections of his chosen friend, one BillHarewood; and Fulbert was not slow to use the latter engine for'getting a rise' out of him, while Clement as often, though with lessdesign, offended by disparagement of his choir; nor could Edgar refusehimself the diversion of tormenting Clement by ironical questions andremarks on his standard of perfection, which mode of torture enchantedFulbert, whenever he understood it. Thus these four brothers contrivedto inflict a good amount of teasing on one another, all the morewearing and worrying because deprived of its only tolerable seasoning,mirth.

  Clement had indeed a refuge in Mr. Audley's room, where he could findbooks, and willing ears for Mr. Fulmort's doings; but he availedhimself of it less than might have been expected. Whether frominclination to his brothers' society, desire to do them good, or innatepugnacity, he was generally in the thick of the conflict; and beforelong he confided to Felix that he was seriously uneasy about Edgar'sopinions.

  'He is only chaffing you,' said Felix.

  'Chaff, _now!_' said Clement.

  'Well, Clem, you know you are enough to provoke a saint, you bore sointolerably about St. Matthew's.'

  The much disgusted Clement retired into himself, but Felix was notsatisfied at heart.

  _One_ was lacking on the cold misty New Year's morning, when evenGeraldine could not be withheld from the Communion
Feast of the livingand departed. Each felt the disappointment when they found themselvesonly six instead of seven; but it was Clement who, as the boys werewaiting for breakfast afterwards, began--

  'Have not you been confirmed, Edgar?'

  'How should I?'

  'I am sure there are plenty of foreign Confirmations. I see them in the"British Catholic."'

  'Foreign parts isn't all one,' said Edgar; and the younger boyssniggled.

  'If one took any trouble,' persisted Clement.

  'Yes, but _one_,' dwelling with emphasis on the awkward impersonal,'_one_ may have scruples about committing an act of schism byencouraging an intruding bishop performing episcopal functions inanother man's diocese. Has not your spiritual father taught you thatmuch, Tina?'

  'I--I must find out about that,' said Clement thoughtfully; 'but, atany rate, the Lent Confirmations are coming on in London, and if I wereto speak to the Vicar, I have no doubt he would gladly prepare you.'

  'Nor I,' answered Edgar.

  'Then shall I?' eagerly asked Clement.

  'Not at present, thank you.'

  Clement stood blank and open mouthed, and Fulbert laughed, secure thatthe joke, whatever it might be, was against him.

  'Of course,' burst out Lance, 'Edgar does not want you to speak forhim, Clem; he has got a tongue of his own, and a clergyman too, Isuppose.'

  Clement proceeded to a disquisition, topographical and censorial, uponthe parish and district to which Edgar might be relegated, and finallyexclaimed, 'Yes, he is not much amiss. He has some notions. He dineswith us sometimes. You can go to him, Edgar, and I'll get the Vicar tospeak to him.'

  'Thank you, I had rather be excused.'

  'You cannot miss another Confirmation.'

  'I can't say I am fond of pledges, especially when no one can tell howmuch or how little they mean.'

  Whether this were in earnest, or a mere thrust in return for Clement'spertinacity, was undecided, for Wilmet came in, looking so sad anddepressed that the brothers felt rebuked for the tone in which they hadbeen speaking.

  Mr. Thomas Underwood soon arrived, having come to Centry the nightbefore; and after a few words had passed between him and Edgar, thelatter announced his intention of returning with him to London thatevening.

  'Very well,' said Felix, much disappointed at this repetition ofEdgar's willingness to hurry from the house of mourning, 'but we havehad very little of you; Clement must go on the day after Twelfth Day,and we shall have more room. It will be a great blow to Cherry.'

  'Poor little Cherry! I'll come when I can see her in greater peace, butI must buckle to with the beginning of the year, Fee.'

  There was no further disputing the point, but Edgar was always a greatloss. To every one except Clement he was so gentle and considerate thatit was impossible not to think that the strange things reported of himwere not first evoked and then exaggerated by the zeal of the modelchorister: and indeed he led Geraldine to that inference when he wentto her in the sitting-room, where, as before, she had to remain at home.

  'My Cherry, I find I must go back with old Tom. Don't be vexed, myWhite-heart, I am not going back to Belgium, you know: I can often rundown, but my work ought to begin with the year.'

  'You cannot even stay over the Epiphany!'

  'Well, I would have made an effort, but I am really wanted; and thenif I am long with that light of the church, Tina, he will get me intoeverybody's black books. Never mind, old girl. I'll be for ever runningdown. Is any one going to stay with you?'

  'Bernard is coming presently; I must try to make him recollectsomething about it.'

  'You don't mean that child Angel is going.'

  'She wishes it, and it seems right.'

  'Right to leave a black spot in her memory! If children could butbelieve people were sublimated away!'

  'Children can believe in the Resurrection of the body as well as we,'said Cherry reverently.

  'Better, too, by a long chalk,' he muttered; then perceiving herdismayed expression, he added, 'No, no--I'm not talking to Tina, onlyhe has put me in the humour in which there is nothing he could not makeme dispute--even my Cherry being the sweetest morsel in the world.There, good-bye for the present, only don't afflict that poor littleBernard and yourself into _too_ great wretchedness, out of a sense ofduty.'

  'No, I do not really grieve,' said Cherry. 'Tears come forthankfulness. The real sorrow came long ago; we grew up in it, and itis over now.'

  'Right, little one. The mortal coil was very heavy and painful theselast years, and no one can help being relieved that the end has come.It is the conventionalities that are needlessly distressing. Whatearthly purpose can it serve, save the amusement of the maids andchildren of Bexley, that nine of us should present ourselves a pitifulspectacle all the way up to the cemetery in veils and hat-bands?'

  'Don't talk so, Edgar; you do not know how it jars, though I know youmean no disrespect.'

  'Well, it must be a blessed thing to end by drowning or blowing up, tosave one's friends trouble.'

  'Edgar, indeed I cannot bear this! Recollect what a treasure that dearshattered earthen vessel has held. What a wonderful life of patientsilent resignation it was!'

  'Indeed it was,' said Edgar, suddenly softened. 'No lips could tellwhat the resolution must have been that carried her through thoseyears, never murmuring. What must she not have spared my father! Suchdevotion is the true woman's heritage.'

  Cherry was soothed as she saw the dew on his eye-lashes, but just thenFelix came in to fetch him, and, stooping down, kissed her, and saidin his low and tender but strong voice, 'We leave her with _him_, dearchild. Recollect--

  '"The heart may ache, but may not burst; Heaven will not leave thee, nor forsake."'

  Much as Geraldine had longed for Edgar, his words brought vagueyearning and distress, while Felix's very tone gave support. How couldEdgar say patient silent self-devotion was not to be found except inwoman?

  So the worn-out body that once had been bright smiling Mary Underwoodwas borne to the church she had not entered since she had knelt therewith her husband; and then she was laid beside him in the hill-sidecemetery, the graves marked by the simple cross, for which there hadbeen long anxious saving, the last contribution having been a quarterof the Bishop's gift to Lancelot. The inscription was on the edges ofthe steps, from which the cross rose--

  _UNDER WODE, UNDER RODE._

  EDWARD FULBERT UNDERWOOD,

  Nine Years Curate of this Parish,

  Epiphany, 1855,

  AGED 40.

  'Thy Rod and Thy Staff comfort me.'

  There was room enough for the name of Mary Wilmet, his wife, to beadded at the base of the Rood, that Cross which they had borne, the oneso valiantly, the other so meekly, during their 'forty years in thewilderness.'

  Many persons were present out of respect not only to the former Curate,but to his hard-working son and daughter, and not only the daughter'sholly-wreath, but one of camellias sent by Sister Constance, lay uponthe pall. When the mourners had turned away, Mr. Audley saw a slenderlad standing by, waiting till the grave was smoothed to lay on ita wreath of delicate white roses and ferns. There was no mistakingthe clear olive face; and indeed Mr. Audley had kept up a regularcorrespondence with Ferdinand Travis, and knew that the vows made twoyears ago had been so far persevered in, and without molestation fromfather or uncle. He had written an account of Mrs. Underwood's death,but had received no answer.

  'This is kind, Ferdinand,' he said; 'it will gratify them.'

  'May I see any of them?' the youth asked.

  'Felix and Lance will be most glad.'

  'I only received your letter yesterday evening. Dr. White forwarded itto me in London, and I persuaded my father to let me come down.'

  'You are with your father?'

  'Yes; he came home about a fortnight ago. I was going to write to you.O Mr. Audley, if you are not in haste, can you tell me whether
I cansee my dear Diego's grave?'

  'The Roman Catholic burial-ground is on the other side of the town. Ithink you will have to go to Mr. Macnamara for admittance. Come homewith me first, Fernan.'

  'Home!' he said warmly. 'Yes, it has always seemed so to me! I havedreamt so often of her gentle loving face and tender weak voice. Shewas very kind to me;' and he raised his hat reverently, as he placedthe flowers upon the now completed grave. 'I saw that all were hereexcept the little ones and Geraldine,' he added. 'How is she?'

  'As well as usual. Wilmet is a good deal worn and downcast, but all arecalm and cheerful. The loss cannot be like what that of their fatherwas.'

  'Will they go on as they are doing now?'

  'I trust so. I am going down to the family consultation. The Londoncousin is there.'

  'Then perhaps I had better not come in,' said Ferdinand, looking ratherblank. 'Shall I go down to Mr. Macnamara first?'

  'Had you rather go alone, or shall I send Lance to show you the way?'

  'Dear little Lance, pray let me have him!'

  'It is a longish walk. Is your lameness quite gone?'

  'Oh yes, I can walk a couple of miles very well, and when I give out itis not my leg, but my back. They say it is the old jar to the spine,and that it will wear off when I have done growing, if I get plenty ofair and riding. This will not be too much for me, but I must be in timefor the 3.30 train, I promised my father.'

  'Is he here alone?'

  'Yes, my uncle is in Brazil. My father is here for a month, and is verykind; he seems very fairly satisfied with me; and he wants me to getprepared for the commission in the Life Guards.'

  'The Life Guards!'

  'You see he is bent on my being an English gentleman, but he has somedislike to the University, fancies it too old-world or something; and,honestly, I cannot wish it myself. I can't take much to books, and Dr.White says I have begun too late, and shall never make much of them.'

  'If you went into the Guards, my brother might be a friend to you.'

  'My back is not fit for the infantry,' said Ferdinand, 'but I can rideanything; I always could. I care for nothing so much as horses.'

  'Then why not some other cavalry regiment?'

  'Well, my father knows a man with a son in the Life Guards, who haspersuaded him that it is the thing, and I don't greatly care.'

  'Is he prepared for the expensiveness?'

  'I fancy it is the recommendation,' said Ferdinand, smiling with alittle shame; 'but if you really see reason for some other choiceperhaps you would represent it to him. I think he would attend to youin person.'

  'Have you positively no choice, Fernan?'

  'I never like the bother of consideration,' said Ferdinand; 'andin London I might have more chance of seeing you and other friendssometimes. I do know that it is not all my father supposes, buthe thinks it is all my ignorance, and I have not much right to beparticular.'

  'Only take care that horses do not become your temptation,' said Mr.Audley.

  'I know,' gravely replied Ferdinand. 'The fact is,' he added, as theyturned down the street, 'that I do not want to go counter to my fatherif I can help it. I have not been able to avoid vexing him, and this isof no great consequence. I can exchange, if it should not suit me.'

  'I believe you are right,' said the Curate; 'but I will inquire andwrite to you before the application is made. Wait, and I will send outLance. But ought you not to call at the Rectory?'

  'I will do so as I return,' said Ferdinand; and as Mr. Audley enteredthe house, he thought that the making the Cacique into an Englishgentleman seemed to have been attained as far as accent, mind, andmanner went, and the air and gesture had always been natural in him.His tone rather than his words were conclusive to the Curate that hisheart had never swerved from the purpose with which he had stood at theFont; but the languor and indolence of the voice indicated that thetropical indifference was far from conquered, and it was an anxiousquestion whether the life destined for him might not be exceptionallyperilous to his peculiar temperament of nonchalance and excitability.

  Consideration was not possible just then, for when Mr. Audley openedthe door, he found that he had been impatiently waited for, and barelytime was allowed to him to send Lance to Ferdinand Travis, before hewas summoned to immediate conference with Thomas Underwood, who, oncoming in, had assumed the management of affairs, and on calling forthe will, was rather displeased with Felix's protest against doinganything without Mr. Audley, whom he knew to have been named guardianby his father. The cousin seemed unable to credit the statement; andWilmet had just found the long envelope with the black seal, exactlyas it had lain in the desk, which had never been disturbed since thebusiness on their father's death had been finished.

  There was the old will made long before, leaving whatever there wasto leave unconditionally to the wife, with the sole guardianship ofthe children; and there was the codicil dated the 16th of October,1854, appointing Charles Somerville Audley, clerk, to the guardianshipin case of the death of the mother, while they should all, or any ofthem, be under twenty-one, and directing that in that contingency theproperty should be placed in his hands as trustee, the interest to beemployed for their maintenance, and the capital to be divided equallyamong them, each receiving his or her share on coming of age. Allthis was in Edward Underwood's own handwriting, and his signature wasattested by the Rector and the doctor.

  Thomas Underwood was more 'put out,' than the management of such aninsignificant sum seemed to warrant. He was no doubt disappointed ofhis cousin's confidence, as well as of some liberal (if domineering)intentions; and he was only half appeased when Edgar pointed tothe date, and showed that the arrangement had been made before therenewal of intercourse. 'It was hardly fair to thrust a charge upon astranger when there was a relation to act. Poor Edward, he ought tohave trusted,' he said. There was genuine kindness of heart in thedesire to confer benefits, though perhaps in rather an overbearingspirit, as well as disappointment and hurt feeling that his cousin hadacquiesced in his neglect without an appeal. However, after askingwhether Mr. Audley meant to act, and hearing of his decided intentionof doing so, he proceeded to state his own plans for them. The presentstate of things could not continue, and he proposed that Wilmet andGeraldine should go as half boarders to some school, to be prepared forgovernesses. Felix--could he write short-hand? 'Oh yes; but--' Thenhe knew of a capital opening for him; a few years, and he would be onthe way to prosperity: the little ones might be boarded with their oldnurse till fit for some clergy orphan schools; if the means would notprovide for all, there need be no difficulty made on that score.

  Mr. Audley saw Felix's start of dismay and glance at him, but knowingas he did that the lad was always more himself when not interferedwith, and allowed to act for himself, he only said, 'It is very kind inyou, sir, but I think Felix should be consulted.'

  'It is impossible!' began Felix hastily.

  'Impossible! It is quite impossible, I would have you to understand,that a lot of children like you should keep house together, and on suchan income as that. Quite preposterous.'

  'As for that,' said Felix, still unsubmissively, 'it is only what wehave been doing, except for the name of the thing, for the last threeyears on the same means.'

  'You don't mean to tell me that you have kept things going on suchmeans without a debt?'

  'Of course we have! We never let a bill run,' said Felix, slightlyindignant.

  'Now mind, I'm not insulting you, Felix, but I know what the women areand what they tell us. Are you sure of that? No debts--honour bright?'

  'None at all!' said Felix, with an endeavour at calmness, but glowinghotly. 'I help my sister make up her books every Saturday night. Wealways pay ready money.'

  'Humph,' said Mr. Underwood, still only half convinced. 'Living must becheap at Bexley.'

  'You had better explain a little, Felix,' said Mr. Audley.

  Felix did bring himself to say, 'I am sub-editor now, and get L100 ayear, besides being paid for any artic
le I write. Wilmet has L25 a yearand her dinner, and Angela's at school, so there are only five of usconstantly dining at home, and with Mr. Audley's two guineas a week wecan do very well.'

  'What, you lodge here?'

  'Did not you know that?' said Felix, surprised.

  Mr. Underwood gave a whistle, and the Curate felt his cheeks growingredder and redder, as he perceived that seven-and-twenty was notconsidered as so _very_ much older than eighteen. Edgar understood andsmiled, but Felix only thought he was suspected of making a good thingof his lodger, and was beginning something awkward about, 'It is allkindness,' when Mr. Audley broke in--

  'Of course nothing is settled yet, but--but I believe I shall changemy quarters. A smaller house would be better for them; but I think thechildren should keep together. Indeed, my dear friend said he chieflyappointed me that Felix might be kept at their head.'

  Thereupon Mr. Underwood began to expostulate against the sacrifice ofposition and talent that Felix was making for the sake of bearing theburthen of a family that would have pressed heavily on a man double hisage. It was what Felix already knew, much better than when at sixteenhe had made his first venture. He had experienced the effects of changeof station, as well as of exertion, drudgery, and of the home hardshipthat no one except Mr. Audley had tried to sweeten. He saw how Edgarhad acquired the nameless air and style that he was losing, how evenClement viewed him as left behind; and, on the other hand, he knewthat with his own trained and tested ability and application, and hiskinsman's patronage, there was every reasonable chance of his regaininga gentleman's position, away from that half-jealous, half-conceitedforeman, who made every day a trial to him, and looked at him with anevil eye as a supplanter in the post of confidence. But therewith hethought of his father's words, that to him he left this heavy burthen;and he thought what it would be to have no central home, no place ofholiday-meeting, no rallying-point for the boys and girls, and to castoff the little ones to hired service. This alternative never seriouslyoccurred to him, for were they not all bound to him by the cords oflove, and most closely the weakest and most helpless? Yet his firstreply did not convey the weight of his determination. It was only'Geraldine is too delicate.'

  'Well, well, good advice and treatment might make a change. Or, if shebe fit for nothing else, would not that Sisterhood at Dearport take heron reasonable terms? Not that I can away with such nonsense, but yourfather had his fancies.'

  'My father wished us not to break up the home.'

  'That was all very well when your poor mother was alive. You have beena good son to her, but it is impossible that you and your sister, merechildren as you are, should set up housekeeping by yourselves. Mr.Audley must see it cannot be suffered; it is the bounden duty of yourfriends to interfere.'

  Mr. Audley did not speak. He knew that Felix could reckon on hissupport; and, moreover, that the youth would show himself to greateradvantage when not interfered with. So after pausing to see whether hisguardian would speak, Felix said, 'Of course we are in Mr. Audley'spower, but he knows that we have made some trial, and except in name,we have really stood alone for these three years. Wilmet can quitemanage the house, and it would be misery for ever to us all to have nohome. In short--' and Felix's face burnt, his voice choked, and hiseyes brimmed over with hot indignant tears, as he concluded, 'it shallnever be done with my good will.'

  'And under the circumstances,' said Mr. Audley, 'I think Felix isright.'

  'Very well,' said Thomas Underwood, much displeased. 'I have no powerhere, and if you and that lad think he can take charge of a house and adozen children, you must have it your own way. Only, when they have allgone to rack and ruin, and he is sick of being a little tradesman in acountry town, he will remember what I said.'

  Felix forced back his resentful feelings, and contrived to say, 'Yes,sir, I know it is a great disadvantage, and that you only wish for ourgood; but I do not think anything would be so bad for the children asto be all cast about the world, with no place to go to, and becomingstrangers to one another; and since there is this way of keeping themtogether, it seems right.'

  The steadiness of his manner struck Mr. Underwood, and the reply wasnot unkind.

  'You are a good boy at bottom, Felix, and mean well, and I am onlysorry not to be able to hinder you from throwing yourself away for lifeby trying to do what is morally impossible, in a foolish spirit ofindependence. Do not interrupt. I warn you that I am not to be appealedto for getting you out of the difficulties you are plunging into; butof course your brother and sister will be mine, as before; and as Ipromised myself to do the same by your mother as by your father--mynear cousins both--here is to cover necessary expenses.'

  It was a cheque for L150, the same as he had given on the formeroccasion; and though Felix had rather not have taken it, he hadlittle choice, and he brought himself to return cold but respectfulthanks; and Mr. Underwood did not manifest any more displeasure, butshowed himself very kind at the meal that was spread in Mr. Audley'ssitting-room, and even invited Wilmet to accompany Alda, when shejoined the family in a week's time at Brighton, so as to have sea airfor the remainder of her holidays.

  Nothing could be more reluctant than was Wilmet at first, but there wasa chorus of persuasions and promises; and the thought of being a littlelonger in Alda's presence made her waver and almost consent.

  Ferdinand Travis came in, but had only time for a greeting and a hastymeal, before Mr. Underwood's carriage came round; and, nothing loth,he gave a lift to the Mexican millionaire to the station with himand Edgar. So, for the last time, had all the thirteen been at hometogether.