friends, even comrades, walking the path of life side byside and hand in hand.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
ARE THE CONDITIONS IMPOSSIBLE?
"Now, my dear young lady," said Mr Gray; "now, my dear, good MissRosamund, let me ask you if you are doing right in flinging the gifts ofProvidence from you?"
"I am doing perfectly right," I retorted with spirit.
"Pardon me, please do pardon me; youth is so impulsive and hot-headed;youth is so assertive, so positive, it must be guided by age--it simplymust. Now, Miss Rosamund, will you sit down in this easy-chair? Willyou sit perfectly still, and allow me to speak for three or fourminutes?"
"Yes, you may certainly do that," I replied.
"Take this chair, then; lean back in it. It is known to have the mostsoothing effect imaginable on irritable nerves."
"Thank you very much; but my nerves are not irritable, and I prefer tostand."
"Good heavens! Rosamund Lindley's nerves not irritable. Rosamund, whois all fire and impatience; all quicksilver; the most sensitive, themost nervous of mortals."
"Oh, please, please, Mr Gray, don't discuss me. If you have anythingto say, please say it quickly."
Mr Gray was not a lawyer for nothing. He saw he had gone too far; hismanner altered--he became business-like, grave, polite, and as a matterof course, persuasive.
"You have been left this money, Miss Lindley," he said, "on, I grantyou, very peculiar conditions."
"On impossible conditions," I interrupted.
"Now, now, that is the point I am coming to; _are_ the conditionsimpossible?"
"They are. Mr Gray, if you have nothing more to add I will saygood-morning."
"I have a great deal more to add. This is a very serious matter, andyou must not be a child about it."
"A child?"
"Yes! a baby, if you like. The fact is, Miss Lindley, I have nopatience with you."
"You have not?"
"No, I have none whatever! You are both conceited and selfish. I amashamed of you."
Mr Gray spoke in a very angry tone. Strange as it may seem, I quiteenjoyed it. At that moment it was positively nice to be scolded.
"I will listen to you," I said, in a weak voice.
"You are very selfish," pursued Mr Gray. "Providence intends you to bewealthy, and to help all your relatives. Providence means you to be ablessing and assistance to your family. You prefer to be a hindrance, aclog, a kill-joy, a spoil-all. Your mother is delicate, your fatherpoor, your brothers without any opening in life. You can remove thethorns out of all their paths. You refuse to do this. Why? Because ofpride. Providence, in addition to wealth, offers you the best fellow inChristendom for a husband. You won't even look at him. You refuse tomake him happy by becoming his wife, and you leave him in a state ofpoverty, because he can not inherit the fortune which is offered to himwithout your assistance. Thousands and tens of thousands of pounds areplaced at your feet. What a power they are! what a grand power! Butyou won't have anything to say to them, and they go to enrich the Jews,and the Society for Befriending Lame Cats, or some other preposterouscharity, I'm sure I can't say what." Mr Gray's voice rose to a perfectstorm of indignation as he spoke of the provisions Cousin Geoffrey hadmade for the spending of his wealth in case I refused to comply with theconditions of his will.
"Well, what am I to do?" I said, when the angry little man paused againfor want of breath. "Am I, influenced by the reasons you havementioned, to lower myself, to have no regard at all for those naturalfeelings of pride which all girls ought to have, and go up to my almostunknown cousin and beg and pray of him to take pity on me, and allow meto become his wife?"
"Who said you were to do anything of the kind?"
"Please, Mr Gray, _what_ am I to do?"
The lawyer jumped from his chair, rushed over to me, and seized both myhands.
"Now you are reasonable," he said; "now you are delightful--now youshall listen to my scheme."
"Please what is your scheme?"
"Listen, listen. In the first place, Tom knows nothing of theconditions of the will."
"Of course he does not. How could he know?"
"Listen, Miss Rosamund. Tom Valentine shall fall in love with you inthe ordinary and orthodox fashion, and shall propose to you in orthodoxfashion. And you shall fall in love with him."
"How can you bring that about?"
"Never mind. Nothing shall be done to hurt your pride. My part in thematter is simple enough. I give you and Tom Valentine an opportunity ofbecoming acquainted with each other. I have a place at Putney--acharming place. You shall pay me a visit there."
"I won't go," I said.
"Yes, you will go--you will do what I tell you."
"No," I repeated; "you ask me to Putney for an object. You mean toconquer me--I won't be conquered. I shall be very glad to visit you, ifyou will be kind enough to invite me on another occasion. But I am notgoing to meet Mr Valentine; I am not going to meet him, because at lastI know the contents of Cousin Geoffrey's will."
Mr Gray rubbed his hands with impatience. "You are doing wrong," hesaid stoutly. "You are offered a gift which will befriend you andyours, which will help your mother who is ill."
"How do you know my mother is ill?" I asked testily.
The lawyer gave me a piercing glance, he turned away.
"Your mother is not well," he said evasively. It was curious, but thattone in his voice broke me down. I said--
"A visit to you, after all, involves nothing. Say no more about it--Iwill come."
I went home that day feeling uncommonly weak and small. My excitementhad run its course--the re-action had set in; I felt dead tired andlanguid. I had a slight headache too, which I knew would get worse byand by. In short, I was more or less in a state of collapse, and I feltthat tears were not far from my eyes.
It seemed to me that I had just been going through a very severe fight,and that I was in danger of being beaten. I knew this by the fact thatin my collapsed condition I did not much care whether I was beaten ornot.
I arrived home to find matters a little more dismal even than usual. Mymother's cough was so bad that the doctor had been sent for. He hadprescribed (in those comfortable, unfaltering words which doctors are sofond of using) the Riviera as the sovereign remedy. My mother mustleave the harsh east winds of our English spring, and go into the landof balmy breezes and colour and flowers.
"You must go without delay, Mrs Lindley," the doctor said, and then heshook hands with her, and pocketed his fee, and went away.
His visit was over when I reached home, and my mother was seated,wrapped up in a white fleecy shawl, by the little fire in thedrawing-room. That shawl became her wonderfully. Her beautiful facelooked like the rarest old porcelain above it; her clear complexion, thefaint winter roses on her cheeks, the soft light in her eyes, thesweetness of her lips, and the fine whiteness of her hair gave her asgreat a beauty as the loveliness of youth. In some way my mother'spicturesque loveliness exceeded that of the innocent freshness ofchildhood, for all the story, and all the sorrow, and all the love, thecourage, the resignation which life rightly used can bring, wasreflected on her beloved features.
I bent forward and kissed her, and the tears which were so near welledup in my own eyes.
"Well, Rose, I can't go," she said; "but I'll tell you what we'll do,we'll bring the Riviera here. With a few flowers, and a nice book, anda little more fire in the grate, we can get these pleasant things aroundus; and I have no doubt, notwithstanding gloomy Dr Hudson, that I shallsoon lose my cough, and be as well as ever."
"Oh, yes, you will soon lose your cough, mother," I said. I sat down ather feet, and took her thin hand and pressed it passionately to my lips.Over and over again I kissed it, and each moment a voice keptwhispering to me:
"The battle is going against you--you know it--you know it well!"
We were very poor at our home; but I will say this for us, we did notmake money the staple subject o
f conversation. When we met at meals weeach of us pushed our penury away under a decent sort of cloak, andalthough we constantly fought and argued and disagreed, we did notmention our fears with regard to the possibility of meeting the nextquarter's rent, and paying the water rates, and filling the coal cellarwith fuel.
It seemed to-night, however, as if all my family were in league to breakthis customary rule. George crossly declared that he could not existany longer without a new suit of clothes. My father desired him tohush, and said that he might be thankful if he had a roof to cover him,as there were already two quarters owing for rent, and he had not thefaintest idea where the necessary cheque was to come from.