Chapter IV
A Vanishing Gleam
Mr. Tulliver, even between the fits of spasmodic rigidity which hadrecurred at intervals ever since he had been found fallen from hishorse, was usually in so apathetic a condition that the exits andentrances into his room were not felt to be of great importance. Hehad lain so still, with his eyes closed, all this morning, that Maggietold her aunt Moss she must not expect her father to take any noticeof them.
They entered very quietly, and Mrs. Moss took her seat near the headof the bed, while Maggie sat in her old place on the bed, and put herhand on her father's without causing any change in his face.
Mr. Glegg and Tom had also entered, treading softly, and were busyselecting the key of the old oak chest from the bunch which Tom hadbrought from his father's bureau. They succeeded in opening thechest,--which stood opposite the foot of Mr. Tulliver's bed,--andpropping the lid with the iron holder, without much noise.
”There's a tin box,” whispered Mr. Glegg; ”he'd most like put a smallthing like a note in there. Lift it out, Tom; but I'll just lift upthese deeds,--they're the deeds o' the house and mill, I suppose,--andsee what there is under 'em.”
Mr. Glegg had lifted out the parchments, and had fortunately drawnback a little, when the iron holder gave way, and the heavy lid fellwith a loud bang that resounded over the house.
Perhaps there was something in that sound more than the mere fact ofthe strong vibration that produced the instantaneous effect on theframe of the prostrate man, and for the time completely shook off theobstruction of paralysis. The chest had belonged to his father and hisfather's father, and it had always been rather a solemn business tovisit it. All long-known objects, even a mere window fastening or aparticular door-latch, have sounds which are a sort of recognizedvoice to us,--a voice that will thrill and awaken, when it has beenused to touch deep-lying fibres. In the same moment, when all the eyesin the room were turned upon him, he started up and looked at thechest, the parchments in Mr. Glegg's hand, and Tom holding the tinbox, with a glance of perfect consciousness and recognition.
”What are you going to do with those deeds?” he said, in his ordinarytone of sharp questioning whenever he was irritated. ”Come here, Tom.What do you do, going to my chest?”
Tom obeyed, with some trembling; it was the first time his father hadrecognized him. But instead of saying anything more to him, his fathercontinued to look with a growing distinctness of suspicion at Mr.Glegg and the deeds.
”What's been happening, then?” he said sharply. ”What are you meddlingwith my deeds for? Is Wakem laying hold of everything? Why don't youtell me what you've been a-doing?” he added impatiently, as Mr. Gleggadvanced to the foot of the bed before speaking.
”No, no, friend Tulliver,” said Mr. Glegg, in a soothing tone.”Nobody's getting hold of anything as yet. We only came to look andsee what was in the chest. You've been ill, you know, and we've had tolook after things a bit. But let's hope you'll soon be well enough toattend to everything yourself.”
Mr. Tulliver looked around him meditatively, at Tom, at Mr. Glegg, andat Maggie; then suddenly appearing aware that some one was seated byhis side at the head of the bed he turned sharply round and saw hissister.
”Eh, Gritty!” he said, in the half-sad, affectionate tone in which hehad been wont to speak to her. ”What! you're there, are you? How couldyou manage to leave the children?”
”Oh, brother!” said good Mrs. Moss, too impulsive to be prudent, ”I'mthankful I'm come now to see you yourself again; I thought you'd neverknow us any more.”
”What! have I had a stroke?” said Mr. Tulliver, anxiously, looking atMr. Glegg.
”A fall from your horse--shook you a bit,--that's all, I think,” saidMr. Glegg. ”But you'll soon get over it, let's hope.”
Mr. Tulliver fixed his eyes on the bed-clothes, and remained silentfor two or three minutes. A new shadow came over his face. He lookedup at Maggie first, and said in a lower tone, ”You got the letter,then, my wench?”
”Yes, father,” she said, kissing him with a full heart. She felt as ifher father were come back to her from the dead, and her yearning toshow him how she had always loved him could be fulfilled.
”Where's your mother?” he said, so preoccupied that he received thekiss as passively as some quiet animal might have received it.
”She's downstairs with my aunts, father. Shall I fetch her?”
”Ay, ay; poor Bessy!” and his eyes turned toward Tom as Maggie leftthe room.
”You'll have to take care of 'em both if I die, you know, Tom. You'llbe badly off, I doubt. But you must see and pay everybody. Andmind,--there's fifty pound o' Luke's as I put into the business,--hegave me a bit at a time, and he's got nothing to show for it. You mustpay him first thing.”
Uncle Glegg involuntarily shook his head, and looked more concernedthan ever, but Tom said firmly:
”Yes, father. And haven't you a note from my uncle Moss for threehundred pounds? We came to look for that. What do you wish to be doneabout it, father?”
”Ah! I'm glad you thought o' that, my lad,” said Mr. Tulliver. ”Iallays meant to be easy about that money, because o' your aunt. Youmustn't mind losing the money, if they can't pay it,--and it's likeenough they can't. The note's in that box, mind! I allays meant to begood to you, Gritty,” said Mr. Tulliver, turning to his sister; ”butyou know you aggravated me when you would have Moss.”
At this moment Maggie re-entered with her mother, who came in muchagitated by the news that her husband was quite himself again.
”Well, Bessy,” he said, as she kissed him, ”you must forgive me ifyou're worse off than you ever expected to be. But it's the fault o'the law,--it's none o' mine,” he added angrily. ”It's the fault o'raskills. Tom, you mind this: if ever you've got the chance, you makeWakem smart. If you don't, you're a good-for-nothing son. You mighthorse-whip him, but he'd set the law on you,--the law's made to takecare o' raskills.”
Mr. Tulliver was getting excited, and an alarming flush was on hisface. Mr. Glegg wanted to say something soothing, but he was preventedby Mr. Tulliver's speaking again to his wife. ”They'll make a shift topay everything, Bessy,” he said, ”and yet leave you your furniture;and your sisters'll do something for you--and Tom'll grow up--thoughwhat he's to be I don't know--I've done what I could--I've given him aeddication--and there's the little wench, she'll get married--but it'sa poor tale----”
The sanative effect of the strong vibration was exhausted, and withthe last words the poor man fell again, rigid and insensible. Thoughthis was only a recurrence of what had happened before, it struck allpresent as if it had been death, not only from its contrast with thecompleteness of the revival, but because his words had all hadreference to the possibility that his death was near. But with poorTulliver death was not to be a leap; it was to be a long descent underthickening shadows.
Mr. Turnbull was sent for; but when he heard what had passed, he saidthis complete restoration, though only temporary, was a hopeful sign,proving that there was no permanent lesion to prevent ultimaterecovery.
Among the threads of the past which the stricken man had gathered up,he had omitted the bill of sale; the flash of memory had only lit upprominent ideas, and he sank into forgetfulness again with half hishumiliation unlearned.
But Tom was clear upon two points,--that his uncle Moss's note must bedestroyed; and that Luke's money must be paid, if in no other way, outof his own and Maggie's money now in the savings bank. There weresubjects, you perceive, on which Tom was much quicker than on theniceties of classical construction, or the relations of a mathematicaldemonstration.