CHAPTER VIII.
GORTNACLOUGH AND BERRYHILL.
And now at last we will get to Castle Richmond, at which place,seeing that it gives the title to our novel, we ought to have arrivedlong since.
As had been before arranged, the two Miss Fitzgeralds did call atDesmond Court early on the following day, and were delighted at beinginformed by Lady Desmond that Clara had changed her mind, and would,if they would now allow her, stay the night at Castle Richmond.
"The truth was, she did not like to leave me," said the countess,whispering prettily into the ear of the eldest of the two girls; "butI am delighted that she should have an opportunity of getting out ofthis dull place for a few hours. It was so good of you to think ofher."
Miss Fitzgerald made some civil answer, and away they all went.Herbert was on horseback, and remained some minutes after them todiscuss her own difficulties with the countess, and to say a fewwords about that Clady boiler that would not boil. Clara on thissubject had opened her heart to him, and he had resolved that theboiler should be made to boil. So he said that he would go over andlook at it, resolving also to send that which would be much moreefficacious than himself, namely, the necessary means and workmenfor bringing about so desirable a result. And then he rode after thegirls, and caught the car just as it reached Gortnaclough.
How they all spent their day at the soup kitchen, which however,though so called, partook quite as much of the character of abake-house; how they studied the art of making yellow Indian mealinto puddings; how the girls wanted to add milk and sugar, notunderstanding at first the deep principles of political economy,which soon taught them not to waste on the comforts of a few thatwhich was so necessary for the life of many; how the poor womenbrought in their sick ailing children, accepting the proffered food,but bitterly complaining of it as they took it,--complaining of itbecause they wanted money, with which they still thought that theycould buy potatoes--all this need not here or now be described. Ourpresent business is to get them all back to Castle Richmond.
There had been some talk of their dining at Gortnaclough, because itwas known that the ladies at Desmond Court dined early; but now thatClara was to return to Castle Richmond, that idea was given up, andthey all got back to the house in time for the family dinner.
"Mamma," said Emmeline, walking first into the drawing-room, "LadyClara has come back with us after all, and is going to stay hereto-night; we are so glad."
Lady Fitzgerald got up from her sofa, and welcomed her young guestwith a kiss.
"It is very good of you to come," she said; "very good indeed. Youwon't find it dull, I hope, because I know you are thinking about thesame thing as these children."
Lady Clara muttered some sort of indistinct little protest as to theimpossibility of being dull with her present friends.
"Oh, she's as full of corn meal and pints of soup as any one," saidEmmeline; "and knows exactly how much turf it takes to boil fifteenstone of pudding; don't you, Clara? But come up-stairs, for wehaven't long, and I know you are frozen. You must dress with us,dear; for there will be no fire in your own room, as we didn't expectyou."
"I wish we could get them to like it," said Clara, standing with onefoot on the fender, in the middle of the process of dressing, so asto warm her toes; and her friend Emmeline was standing by her, withher arm round her waist.
"I don't think we shall ever do that," said Mary, who was sittingat the glass brushing her hair; "it's so cold, and heavy, anduncomfortable when they get it."
"You see," said Emmeline, "though they did only have potatoes before,they always had them quite warm; and though a dinner of potatoesseems very poor, they did have it altogether, in their own houses,you know; and I think the very cooking it was some comfort to them."
"And I suppose they couldn't be taught to cook this themselves, so asto make it comfortable in their own cabins?" said Clara,despondingly.
"Herbert says it's impossible," said Mary.
"And I'm sure he knows," said Clara.
"They would waste more than they would eat," said Emmeline. "Besides,it is so hard to cook it as it should be cooked; sometimes it seemsimpossible to make it soft."
"So it does," said Clara, sadly; "but if we could only have it hotfor them when they come for it, wouldn't that be better?"
"The great thing is to have it for them at all," said Mary the wise(for she had been studying the matter more deeply than her friend);"there are so many who as yet get none."
"Herbert says that the millers will grind up the husks and all at themills, so as to make the most of it; that's what makes it so hard tocook," said Emmeline.
"How very wrong of them!" protested Clara; "but isn't Herbert goingto have a mill put up of his own?"
And so they went on, till I fear they kept the Castle Richmond dinnerwaiting for full fifteen minutes.
Castle Richmond, too, would have been a dull house, as LadyFitzgerald had intimated, had it not been that there was a commonsubject of such vital interest to the whole party. On that subjectthey were all intent, and on that subject they talked the wholeevening, planning, preparing, and laying out schemes; devising howtheir money might be made to go furthest; discussing deep questionsof political economy, and making, no doubt, many errors in theirdiscussions.
Lady Fitzgerald took a part in all this, and so occasionally did SirThomas. Indeed, on this evening he was more active than was usualwith him. He got up from his arm-chair, and came to the table, inorder that he might pore over the map of the estate with them; forthey were dividing the property into districts, and seeing how bestthe poor might be visited in their own localities.
And then, as he did so, he became liberal. Liberal, indeed, he alwayswas; but now he made offers of assistance more than his son had daredto ask; and they were all busy, contented, and in a great degreejoyous--joyous, though their work arose from the contiguity of suchinfinite misery. But what can ever be more joyous than efforts madefor lessening misery?
During all this time Miss Letty was fast asleep in her own arm-chair.But let no one on that account accuse her of a hard heart; for shehad nearly walked her old legs off that day in going about from cabinto cabin round the demesne.
"But we must consult Somers about that mill," said Sir Thomas.
"Oh, of course," said Herbert; "I know how to talk Somers over."
This was added _sotto voce_ to his mother and the girls. Now Mr.Somers was the agent on the estate.
This mill was to be at Berryhill, a spot also on Sir Thomas'sproperty, but in a different direction from Gortnaclough. There wasthere what the Americans would call a water privilege, a stream towhich some fall of land just there gave power enough to turn a mill;and was now a question how they might utilize that power.
During the day just past Clara had been with them, but they were nowtalking of what they would do when she would have left them. Thiscreated some little feeling of awkwardness, for Clara had put herwhole heart into the work at Gortnaclough, and it was evident thatshe would have been so delighted to continue with them.
"But why on earth need you go home to-morrow, Lady Clara?" saidHerbert.
"Oh, I must; mamma expects me, you know."
"Of course we should send word. Indeed, I must send to Cladyto-morrow, and the man must pass by Desmond Court gate."
"Oh, yes, Clara; and you can write a line. It would be such a pitythat you should not see all about the mill, now that we have talkedit over together. Do tell her to stay, mamma."
"I am sure I wish she would," said Lady Fitzgerald. "Could not LadyDesmond manage to spare you for one day?"
"She is all alone, you know," said Clara, whose heart, however, wasbent on accepting the invitation.
"Perhaps she would come over and join us," said Lady Fitzgerald,feeling, however, that the subject was not without danger. Sending acarriage for a young girl like Lady Clara did very well, but it mightnot answer if she were to offer to send for the Countess of Desmond.
"Oh, mamma never goes out."
"I'm quite sure she'd like you to stay," said Herbert. "After youwere all gone yesterday, she said how delighted she was to have yougo away for a little time. And she did say she thought you could notgo to a better place than Castle Richmond."
"I am sure that was very kind of her," said Lady Fitzgerald.
"Did she?" said Clara, longingly.
And so after a while it was settled that she should send a line toher mother, saying that she had been persuaded to stay over one othernight, and that she should accompany them to inspect the site of thisembryo mill at Berryhill.
"And I will write a line to the countess," said Lady Fitzgerald,"telling her how impossible it was for you to hold your own intentionwhen we were all attacking you on the other side."
And so the matter was settled.
On the following day they were to leave home almost immediately afterbreakfast; and on this occasion Miss Letty insisted on going withthem.
"There's a seat on the car, I know, Herbert," she said; "for you meanto ride; and I'm just as much interested about the mill as any ofyou."
"I'm afraid the day would be too long for you, Aunt Letty," saidMary: "we shall stay there, you know, till after four."
"Not a bit too long. When I'm tired I shall go into Mrs. Townsend's;the glebe is not ten minutes' drive from Berryhill."
The Rev. Aeneas Townsend was the rector of the parish, and he, aswell as his wife, were fast friends of Aunt Letty. As we get on inthe story we shall, I trust, become acquainted with the Rev. AeneasTownsend and his wife. It was ultimately found that there was nogetting rid of Aunt Letty, and so the party was made up.
They were all standing about the hall after breakfast, looking uptheir shawls and cloaks and coats, and Herbert was in the act oftaking special and very suspicious care of Lady Clara's throat, whenthere came a ring at the door. The visitor, whoever he might be, wasnot kept long waiting, for one servant was in the hall, and anotherjust outside the front door with the car, and a third holdingHerbert's horse.
"I wish to see Sir Thomas," said a man's voice as soon as the doorwas opened; and the man entered the hall, and then seeing that it wasfull of ladies, retreated again into the doorway. He was an elderlyman, dressed almost more than well, for there was about him a slightaffectation of dandyism; and though he had for the moment beenabashed, there was about him also a slight swagger. "Good morning,ladies," he said, re-entering again, and bowing to young Herbert, whostood looking at him; "I believe Sir Thomas is at home; would yousend your servant in to say that a gentleman wants to see him for aminute or so, on very particular business? I am a little in a hurrylike."
The door of the drawing-room was ajar, so that Lady Fitzgerald, whowas sitting there tranquilly in her own seat, could hear the voice.And she did hear it, and knew that some stranger had come to troubleher husband. But she did not come forth; why should she? was notHerbert there--if, indeed, even Herbert could be of any service?
"Shall I take your card in to Sir Thomas, sir?" said one of theservants, coming forward.
"Card!" said Mollett senior out loud; "well, if it is necessary,I believe I have a card." And he took from his pocket a greasypocket-book, and extracted from it a piece of pasteboard on whichhis name was written. "There; give that to Sir Thomas. I don't thinkthere's much doubt but that he'll see me." And then, uninvited, hesat himself down in one of the hall chairs.
Sir Thomas's study, the room in which he himself sat, and in whichindeed he might almost be said to live at present,--for on many dayshe only came out to dine, and then again to go to bed,--was at somelittle distance to the back of the house, and was approached bya passage from the hall. While the servant was gone, the ladiesfinished their wrapping, and got up on the car.
"Oh, Mr. Fitzgerald," said Clara, laughing, "I shan't be able tobreathe with all that on me."
"Look at Mary and Emmeline," said he; "they have got twice as much.You don't know how cold it is."
"You had better have the fur close to your body," said Aunt Letty;"look here;" and she showed that her gloves were lined with fur, andher boots, and that she had gotten some nondescript furry article ofattire stuck in underneath the body of her dress.
"But you must let me have them a little looser, Mr. Fitzgerald," saidClara; "there, that will do," and then they all got upon the carand started. Herbert was perhaps two minutes after them before hemounted; but when he left the hall the man was still sitting there;for the servant had not yet come back from his father's room.
But the clatter of his horse's hoofs was still distinct enough atthe hall door when the servant did come back, and in a serious tonedesired the stranger to follow him. "Sir Thomas will see you," saidthe servant, putting some stress on the word will.
"Oh, I did not doubt that the least in the world," said Mr. Mollett,as he followed the man along the passage.
The morning was very cold. There had been rainy weather, but it nowappeared to be a settled frost. The roads were rough and hard, andthe man who was driving them said a word now and again to his youngmaster as to the expediency of getting frost nails put into thehorse's shoes. "I'd better go gently, Mr. Herbert; it may be he mightcome down at some of these pitches." So they did go gently, and atlast arrived safely at Berryhill.
And very busy they were there all day. The inspection of the sitefor the mill was not their only employment. Here also was anestablishment for distributing food, and a crowd of poor half-fedwretches were there to meet them. Not that at that time thingswere so bad as they became afterwards. Men were not dying on theroad-side, nor as yet had the apathy of want produced its terriblecure for the agony of hunger. The time had not yet come when thefamished living skeletons might be seen to reject the food whichcould no longer serve to prolong their lives.
Though this had not come as yet, the complaints of the womenwith their throngs of children were bitter enough; and it washeart-breaking too to hear the men declare that they had worked likehorses, and that it was hard upon them now to see their childrenstarve like dogs. For in this earlier part of the famine the peopledid not seem to realize the fact that this scarcity and want had comefrom God. Though they saw the potatoes rotting in their own gardens,under their own eyes, they still seemed to think that the rich men ofthe land could stay the famine if they would; that the fault was withthem; that the famine could be put down if the rich would but stirthemselves to do it. Before it was over they were well aware that nohuman power could suffice to put it down. Nay, more than that; theyhad almost begun to doubt the power of God to bring back better days.
They strove, and toiled, and planned, and hoped at Berryhill thatday. And infinite was the good that was done by such efforts asthese. That they could not hinder God's work we all know; but muchthey did do to lessen the sufferings around, and many were the livesthat were thus saved.
They were all standing behind the counter of a small store that hadbeen hired in the village--the three girls at least, for Aunt Lettyhad already gone to the glebe, and Herbert was still down at the"water privilege," talking to a millwright and a carpenter. This wasa place at which Indian corn flour, that which after a while wasgenerally termed "meal" in those famine days, was sold to the poor.At this period much of it was absolutely given away. This plan,however, was soon found to be injurious; for hundreds would get itwho were not absolutely in want, and would then sell it;--for thefamine by no means improved the morals of the people.
And therefore it was found better to sell the flour; to sell it at acheap rate, considerably less sometimes than the cost price; and toput the means of buying it into the hands of the people by givingthem work, and paying them wages. Towards the end of these times,when the full weight of the blow was understood, and the subject hadbeen in some sort studied, the general rule was thus to sell the mealat its true price, hindering the exorbitant profit of hucksters bythe use of large stores, and to require that all those who couldnot buy it should seek the means of living within the walls ofworkhouses. The regular established workhouses,--unions as they werecalled,--were
not as yet numerous, but supernumerary houses wereprovided in every town, and were crowded from the cellars to theroofs.
It need hardly be explained that no general rule could be establishedand acted upon at once. The numbers to be dealt with were so great,that the exceptions to all rules were overwhelming. But such andsuch like were the efforts made, and these efforts ultimately weresuccessful.
The three girls were standing behind the counter of a little storewhich Sir Thomas had hired at Berryhill, when a woman came into theplace with two children in her arms and followed by four others ofdifferent ages. She was a gaunt tall creature, with sunken cheeks andhollow eyes, and her clothes hung about her in unintelligible rags.There was a crowd before the counter, for those who had been answeredor served stood staring at the three ladies, and could hardly be gotto go away; but this woman pressed her way through, pushing some andusing harsh language to others, till she stood immediately oppositeto Clara.
"Look at that, madam," she cried, undoing an old handkerchief whichshe held in her hand, and displaying the contents on the counter; "isthat what the likes of you calls food for poor people? is that fit'ating to give to children? Would any av ye put such stuff as thatinto the stomachs of your own bairns?" and she pointed to the messwhich lay revealed upon the handkerchief.
The food, as food, was not nice to look at; and could not have beennice to eat, or probably easy of digestion when eaten.
"Feel of that." And the woman rubbed her forefinger among it to showthat it was rough and hard, and that the particles were as sharp asthough sand had been mixed with it. The stuff was half-boiled Indianmeal, which had been improperly subjected at first to the full heatof boiling water; and in its present state was bad food either forchildren or grown people. "Feel of that," said the woman; "would youlike to be 'ating that yourself now?"
"I don't think you have cooked it quite enough," said Clara, lookinginto the woman's face, half with fear and half with pity, andputting, as she spoke, her pretty delicate finger down into the nastydaubed mess of parboiled yellow flour.
"Cooked it!" said the woman scornfully. "All the cooking on 'arthwouldn't make food of that fit for a Christian--feel of the roughnessof it"--and she turned to another woman who stood near her; "wouldyou like to be putting sharp points like that into your children'sbellies?"
It was quite true that the grains of it were hard and sharp, so as togive one an idea that it would make good eating neither for women norchildren. The millers and dealers, who of course made their profitsin these times, did frequently grind up the whole corn withoutseparating the grain from the husks, and the shell of a grain ofIndian corn does not, when ground, become soft flour. This woman hadreason for her complaints, as had many thousands reason for similarcomplaints.
"Don't be throubling the ladies, Kitty," said an old man standing by;"sure and weren't you glad enough to be getting it."
"She'd be axing the ladies to go home wid her and cook it for herafter giving it her," said another.
"Who says it war guv' me?" said the angry mother. "Didn't I buy it,here at this counter, with Mike's own hard-'arned money? and it'schaiting us they are. Give me back my money." And she looked at Claraas though she meant to attack her across the counter.
"Mr. Fitzgerald is going to put up a mill of his own, and then thecorn will be better ground," said Emmeline Fitzgerald, deprecatingthe woman's wrath.
"Put up a mill!" said the woman, still in scorn. "Are you going togive me back my money; or food that my poor bairns can ate?"
This individual little difficulty was ended by a donation to theangry woman of another lot of meal, in taking away which she wascareful not to leave behind her the mess which she had brought in herhandkerchief. But she expressed no thanks on being so treated.
The hardest burden which had to be borne by those who exertedthemselves at this period was the ingratitude of the poor for whomthey worked;--or rather I should say thanklessness. To call themungrateful would imply too deep a reproach, for their convictionswere that they were being ill used by the upper classes. When theyreceived bad meal which they could not cook, and even in theirextreme hunger could hardly eat half-cooked; when they were desiredto leave their cabins and gardens, and flock into the wretchedbarracks which were prepared for them; when they saw their childrenwasting away under a suddenly altered system of diet, it would havebeen unreasonable to expect that they should have been grateful.Grateful for what? Had they not at any rate a right to claim life,to demand food that should keep them and their young ones alive? Butnot the less was it a hard task for delicate women to work hard, andto feel that all their work was unappreciated by those whom they sothoroughly commiserated, whose sufferings they were so anxious torelieve.
It was almost dark before they left Berryhill, and then they had togo out of their way to pick up Aunt Letty at Mr. Townsend's house.
"Don't go in whatever you do, girls," said Herbert; "we should neverget away."
"Indeed we won't unpack ourselves again before we get home; will we,Clara?"
"Oh, I hope not. I'm very nice now, and so warm. But, Mr. Fitzgerald,is not Mrs. Townsend very queer?"
"Very queer indeed. But you mustn't say a word about her before AuntLetty. They are sworn brothers-in-arms."
"I won't of course. But, Mr. Fitzgerald, she's very good, is shenot?"
"Yes, in her way. Only it's a pity she's so prejudiced."
"You mean about religion?"
"I mean about everything. If she wears a bonnet on her head, she'llthink you very wicked because you wear a hat."
"Will she? what a very funny woman! But, Mr. Fitzgerald, I shan'tgive up my hat, let her say what she will."
"I should rather think not."
"And Mr. Townsend? we know him a little; he's very good too, isn'the?"
"Do you mean me to answer you truly, or to answer you according tothe good-natured idea of never saying any ill of one's neighbour?"
"Oh, both; if you can."
"Oh both; must I? Well, then, I think him good as a man, but bad as aclergyman."
"But I thought he worked so very hard as a clergyman?"
"So he does. But if he works evil rather than good, you can't callhim a good clergyman. Mind, you would have my opinion; and if I talktreason and heterodoxy and infidelity and papistry, you must onlytake it for what it's worth."
"I'm sure you won't talk infidelity."
"Nor yet treason; and then, moreover, Mr. Townsend would be so muchbetter a clergyman, to my way of thinking, if he would sometimesbrush his hair, and occasionally put on a clean surplice. But,remember, not a word of all this to Aunt Letty."
"Oh dear, no; of course not."
Mr. Townsend did come out of the house on the little sweep beforethe door to help Miss Letty up on the car, though it was dark andpiercingly cold.
"Well, young ladies, and won't you come in now and warm yourselves?"
They all of course deprecated any such idea, and declared that theywere already much too late.
"Richard, mind you take care going down Ballydahan Hill," said theparson, giving a not unnecessary caution to the servant. "I came upit just now, and it was one sheet of ice."
"Now, Richard, do be careful," said Miss Letty.
"Never fear, miss," said Richard.
"We'll take care of you," said Herbert. "You're not frightened, LadyClara, are you?"
"Oh, no," said Clara; and so they started.
It was quite dark and very cold, and there was a sharp hard frost.But the lamps of the car were lighted, and the horse seemed to be onhis mettle, for he did his work well. Ballydahan Hill was not abovea mile from the glebe, and descending that, Richard, by his youngmaster's orders, got down from his seat and went to the animal'shead. Herbert also himself got off, and led his horse down the hill.At first the girls were a little inclined to be frightened, andMiss Letty found herself obliged to remind them that they couldn'tmelt the frost by screaming. But they all got safely down, and weresoon chattering as fast as though they were a
lready safe in thedrawing-room of Castle Richmond.
They went on without any accident, till they reached a turn in theroad, about two miles from home; and there, all in a moment, quitesuddenly, when nobody was thinking about the frost or the danger,down came the poor horse on his side, his feet having gone quite fromunder him, and a dreadful cracking sound of broken timber gave noticethat a shaft was smashed. A shaft at least was smashed; if only noother harm was done!
It can hardly be that Herbert Fitzgerald cared more for such astranger as Lady Clara Desmond than he did for his own sisters andaunt; but nevertheless, it was to Lady Clara's assistance that hefirst betook himself. Perhaps he had seen, or fancied that he saw,that she had fallen with the greatest violence.
"Speak, speak," said he, as he jumped from his horse close to herside. "Are you hurt? do speak to me." And going down on his knees onthe hard ground, he essayed to lift her in his arms.
"Oh dear, oh dear!" said she. "No; I am not hurt; at least I thinknot--only just my arm a very little. Where is Emmeline? Is Emmelinehurt?"
"No," said Emmeline, picking herself up. "But, oh dear, dear, I'velost my muff, and I've spoiled my hat! Where are Mary and AuntLetty?"
After some considerable confusion it was found that nothing was muchdamaged except the car, one shaft of which was broken altogether intwo. Lady Clara's arm was bruised and rather sore, but the threeother ladies had altogether escaped. The quantity of clothes that hadbeen wrapped round them had no doubt enabled them to fall softly.
"And what about the horse, Richard?" asked young Fitzgerald.
"He didn't come upon his knees at all at all, Master Herbert," saidRichard, scrutinizing the animal's legs with the car lamp in hishand. "I don't think he's a taste the worse. But the car, MasterHerbert, is clane smashed."
Such being found to be undoubtedly the fact, there was nothing forit but that the ladies should walk home. Herbert again forgot thatthe age of his aunt imperatively demanded all the assistance that hecould lend her, and with many lamentations that fortune and the frostshould have used her so cruelly, he gave his arm to Clara.
"But do think of Miss Fitzgerald," said Clara, speaking gently intohis ear.
"Who? oh, my aunt. Aunt Letty never cares for anybody's arm; shealways prefers walking alone."
"Fie, Mr. Fitzgerald, fie! It is impossible to believe such anassertion as that." And yet Clara did seem to believe it; for shetook his proffered arm without further objection.
It was half-past seven when they reached the hall door, and at thattime they had all forgotten the misfortune of the car in the fun ofthe dark frosty walk home. Herbert had found a boy to lead his horse,and Richard was of course left with the ruins in the road.
"And how's your arm now?" asked Herbert, tenderly, as they entered inunder the porch.
"Oh, it does not hurt me hardly at all. I don't mind it in theleast." And then the door was opened for them.
They all flocked into the hall, and there they were met by LadyFitzgerald.
"Oh, mamma," said Mary, "I know you're quite frightened out of yourlife! But there's nothing the matter. The horse tumbled down; butthere's nobody hurt."
"And we had to walk home from the turn to Ballyclough," saidEmmeline. "But, oh mamma, what's the matter?" They all now looked upat Lady Fitzgerald, and it was evident enough that something was thematter; something to be thought of infinitely more than that accidenton the road.
"Oh, Mary, Mary, what is it?" said Aunt Letty, coming forward andtaking hold of her sister-in-law's hand. "Is my brother ill?"
"Sir Thomas is not very well, and I've been waiting for you so long.Where's Herbert? I must speak to Herbert." And then the mother andson left the hall together.
There was then a silence among the four ladies that were left therestanding. At first they followed each other into the drawing-room,all wrapped up as they were and sat on chairs apart, saying nothingto each other. At last Aunt Letty got up.
"You had better go up-stairs with Lady Clara," said she; "I will goto your mamma."
"Oh, Aunt Letty, do send us word; pray send us word," said Emmeline.
Mary now began to cry. "I know he's very ill. I'm sure he's very ill.Oh, what shall we do?"
"You had better go up stairs with Lady Clara," said Aunt Letty. "Iwill send you up word immediately."
"Oh, don't mind me; pray don't mind me," said Clara. "Pray, pray,don't take notice of me;" and she rushed forward, and throwingherself on her knees before Emmeline, began to kiss her.
They remained here, heedless of Aunt Letty's advice, for some tenminutes, and then Herbert came to them. The two girls flew at himwith questions; while Lady Clara stood by the window, anxious tolearn, but unwilling to thrust herself into their family matters.
"My father has been much troubled to-day, and is not well," saidHerbert. "But I do not think there is anything to frighten us. Come;let us go to dinner."
The going to dinner was but a sorry farce with any of them; butnevertheless, they went through the ceremony, each for the sake ofthe others.
"Mayn't we see him?" said the girls to their mother, who did comedown into the drawing-room for one moment to speak to Clara.
"Not to-night, loves. He should not be disturbed." And so that daycame to an end; not satisfactorily.