Chambers's Journal of Popular Literature, Science, and Art, No. 685

Mrs Chichester diverged to other topics. Dear Lilian, so sweet and good and trusting; so entirely unsuspicious of people, and so forth; to which we could easily assent. But I was not sufficiently enthusiastic upon the subject to please Mrs Chichester, it seemed; and she took great pains to assure me that she did not in the least degree exaggerate dear Lilian's perfections. But though he gravely assured me that she did not, and even went so far as to hope that in time I should become as fully alive to Miss Farrar's good qualities, I was not to be piqued into giving warmer expression to my feelings. I only gave him a smile for reply. Then I did what I believe was more satisfactory than words to Mrs Chichester; rose and walked away, altogether unheeding Robert Wentworth's almost pleading protest.

'The moon is just rising, Miss Haddon; and the view will be at its best presently.'

But I chose to punish him for his bit of treachery; and walked off, reminding them that it still wanted half an hour to tea-time. When the half-hour had expired, they re-entered the drawing-room, where I was sitting in pleasant communion with Mrs Tipper – both looking rather grave, not to say out of humour.

'Do you always avenge yourself in that crushing way, Miss Haddon?' he asked, coming to my side for a moment.

'I always defend myself in the best way I can when it comes to blows, Mr Wentworth,' I gravely replied.

'And this is the young lady who fears being weak and vanquished!'

'Not with such weapons as have been used to-night, Mr Wentworth.'

'Well, do not talk any more about wanting rest and peace after shewing how much you enjoy planting a home-thrust.'

'We were talking of a very different war and a very different peace to this.'

'I suppose we were; and in that case it is for me to cry peccavi.'

'Yes.'

'Well, I will think about it. One should never do that on impulse. Meantime, good-night.'

I gave him my hand with a smile. He then bade the others good-night, and took his departure.

Mrs Chichester seemed to have lost her self-control a little. She certainly found it difficult to be quite as sweet and gracious to me as usual that night. I believe, too, that she had tried her influence upon Lilian with respect to me, for the latter was more than usually tender and loving when she came to my room that night for our little tête-à-tête. There was just the difference which might be expected in one of her nature after hearing anything against a friend.

'I love you, dear Mary – I love you. You must let me say it to-night.'

'Why to-night, of all nights in the year?' I smilingly rejoined.

'Because it does me real good to say it – because I must.'

'And it does me real good to hear you say it. Dear Lilian, do not you see how precious your love is to me?'

I suppose that there was something in the tone which satisfied her. The shadow passed from her face, and she looked her bright happy self as she began to talk 'Arthur' again. She had long since divined that such talk did not fatigue me.

'I really believe you must have a love-story of your own locked away somewhere, or you would never be able to listen so patiently to me as you do,' she laughingly ejaculated, intuitively lighting upon the true reason for my sympathy, one evening when she had been more effusive on the subject than usual. 'Ah, now I am sure of it!' she added, her quick eyes, I suppose, detecting a consciousness in mine. 'And, O Mary, when shall I be thought worthy to hear it?'

'As though you were not that now! Dear Lilian, I should like you to know – of course you shall know; and yet I think I must ask you to allow me to defer the telling it a little longer?'

'Of course I will. But I really think I can guess – a little. If I am only right, how delightful it will be!'

Had I allowed her to go on – had I listened and explained, instead of shrinking nervously away from the subject, would it have altered the future? I was still shy and reserved about unlocking my treasure, even for Lilian's eyes. I have acknowledged my morbid weakness upon the point, and it did not decrease. But I very soon had something besides myself to think about.

CHAPTER VIII. – 'THROUGH THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW.'

Mr Farrar grew suddenly and rapidly worse; and the doctors, hastily summoned, saw that it was necessary to be frank and explicit with Mrs Tipper and me as to his true state. His disease was approaching a fatal point, and his time was very short, they affirmed. Before we had time to prepare Lilian for the shock, the fiat went forth that the end might be expected in a few hours. Poor Mrs Tipper shut herself up with her grief; and to me was deputed the painful task of making the truth known to his child. She was at first completely overwhelmed. That his state was a critical one she had not had the slightest suspicion. She had got accustomed to his invalid ways; and hearing nothing to the contrary, had taken it for granted that he was surely if slowly progressing towards convalescence; telling herself that at the very worst he would go on in the same way for years.

I think that Mrs Tipper – and even he himself – was deceived in the same way.

I quietly tended Lilian through the first agony of her grief; but did not let it subside into despair, making an appeal (which I felt to be most effectual with one of her nature) to her unselfishness.

Her father needed her love more than he had ever yet needed it, and tears and grief must be kept back so long as it was in her power to comfort and sustain him. She responded at once. Choking back her sobs, and bathing her face to efface as much as possible the outward signs of her misery, she presently whispered that I might trust her now. 'Only you must promise not to leave me – promise to keep near me, Mary?'

'I will, Lilian; if there be no objection made to my doing so.'

At first it seemed as if no objection would be made. When Lilian was ushered, awestruck and silent, into the darkened room, where the spirit was already struggling to free itself from the weakened body, I saw the dying man's eyes turn upon us with a faint gleam of satisfaction; and I was about to follow her to his bedside, the nurse's warning looks telling me that my assistance would soon be required, when the latter beckoned me towards her, where she stood just outside the door.

'Something on his mind, Miss; can't die till it is told,' whispered the woman, as she made a gesture for me to close the door and leave the father and child together alone.

I was not a little startled; but stood hesitating on the threshold of the room a moment, not quite liking to leave Lilian alone, inexperienced as she was, with the dying man, yet still more averse to be present at any family revelations, when, in reply, I suppose, to some whispered question from him, Lilian said: 'Only the nurse and Miss Haddon, dear papa.'

'You have taken to her – and she likes you, I think – she may be able to help you;' slowly and brokenly said Mr Farrar. 'Yes; send the other away. Only Miss Haddon and yourself.'

I hesitated no longer. Telling the nurse to remain in the adjoining room, I re-entered, and carefully closing the door, advanced towards Lilian, on her knees by the bed-side, with her face hidden upon the hand she held. I put my arm round her, and said with quiet distinctness, for I saw that there was no time to be lost in words: 'I love Lilian, Mr Farrar; and if she needs a friend, you may trust me.'

His fast glazing eyes rested upon me for a moment, as he murmured 'Haddon of Haddon;' and then his gaze and his thoughts wandered away again.

'Is there anything you wish to have done, Mr Farrar?' I presently asked, fancying that he was trying to concentrate his mind upon something, and found an increasing difficulty in so doing.

'Send for – Markham – bring the draft' —

'Of your will?' I asked, rapidly connecting the name, which I knew to be that of his lawyer, with the word 'draft,' and hoping that I thus followed out his meaning.

'Yes – will – sign – Haddon of Haddon.' Even at that moment, I saw he attributed my power of catching his meaning to be a consequence of my being a Haddon of Haddon.

'I will send at once, Mr Farrar.' I went to the door, told the nurse to bring the butler to me without a moment's delay, and waited there until he came.

'Is my poor master?' —

'Do not speak, except to answer a question please, Saunders; but listen carefully. Do you know the address of Mr Farrar's solicitor, both of his private residence and the office?'

'Yes, Miss.'

'If you cannot ride, send a groom to the railway station without a moment's delay; and telegraph to Mr Markham, both at his residence and the office, these words: "Mr Farrar is dying; come at once, and bring the draft of the will." Please repeat it.'

He repeated the words; and then with an answering nod to my one word, 'Immediately,' went off to do my bidding.

I turned into the room again, closing the door. I had obeyed Mr Farrar promptly and literally, as at such a crisis it seemed best to do; but I could not see the importance of the proceeding. Lilian was his only child, and would not suffer any pecuniary loss even if there were no will. But one thing struck me, even at that moment: it was singular that a business man like Mr Farrar should have delayed making his will until now. And why did he appear so troubled and restless? Why did he look anywhere but into his child's eyes, raised so tenderly and lovingly to his?

'Dear papa, speak to me – look at me!' she pleaded.

'Eighty thousand, and business worth' —

'O papa, darling; one little word to your child. I'm Lilian, papa.'

'Keys – cabinet – Haddon of Haddon.'

I followed the direction of his eyes; went softly and quickly to the dressing-table, brought from it several bunches of keys, ranged them separately on the counterpane before him, and pointed to each, watching his eyes for the answer.

'This! And now which key?' I held each key up, and slowly passed it over the ring until his eyes told me that I had come upon the right one; then again following the direction of his eyes, I crossed over to a cabinet which stood between the windows opposite his bed, and unlocked it. It opened with doors, upon a nest of drawers; and I pointed to each, going slowly down one side and up the other until I had found the right one. It contained a small packet sealed and addressed, and a bundle of letters. I held up the letters first.

'Burn.'

'I will burn them, Mr Farrar.'

'Burn!'

I saw that it must be done at once; put them into the fender, struck a match, and set light to them, stirring them well about until they were only tinder. For a suspicion had crossed my mind that it was quite possible there might be something connected with Mr Farrar's past life, the evidence of which it was desirable to keep from his daughter's knowledge. At anyrate, he had a right to have his letters destroyed if he so wished it, and his mind was manifestly relieved by its being done.

'Parcel!'

I brought the little packet to his bed-side. 'Do you wish anything to be done with this, Mr Farrar?'

He looked at it a moment, and then turned his eyes upon his child. 'Forgive – be good to her.'

'To whom, dear papa?' murmured Lilian.

'Sister.'

'Auntie? Dear papa, do not you know that I love her?' she sobbed out.

'Haddon of Haddon – send it.'

'Send this packet to the person to whom it is addressed, Mr Farrar?' I asked, beginning to find a clue to the mystery, as I solemnly added: 'I will.' So far, I had interpreted his meaning; but I presently saw that was not sufficient. The eyes wandering from Lilian to the packet, and from the packet to me, told that there was still something to be done before his mind would be set at rest. I looked at the two or three lines in his own hand-writing on the packet, and after a moment's hesitation, said: 'This is addressed to your daughter, Marian; and I think you wish Lilian to promise to be good to her sister, Mr Farrar?' I saw I had hit upon his meaning once more.

'Yes; good to her.'

'Sister!' ejaculated Lilian. 'Have I a sister, dear papa – living?'

He lay unconscious a few moments, murmuring something about 'mountains and peat-smoke and a cottage home,' dwelling apparently upon some familiar scenes of the past. But the thought presently grew as wandering and disjointed as the words, and the light was gradually fading out of the eyes. I now watched him with grave anxiety, all my fears aroused lest there should be some very serious necessity for making a will after all.

It was a momentary relief when the door opened and the doctor entered the room. But my hopes very quickly faded when I saw him stand inactive, looking gravely down at his patient's face, and then, with a pitiful look at Lilian's bowed head, and expressive glance at me, turn quietly away. I followed him out of the room.

'Will he rally again, do you think, Dr Wheeler, sufficiently to be able to sign a will?'

He stopped in the act of putting on his gloves, turning his eyes upon me in some surprise.

'A will! Surely a man of business habits like Mr Farrar has done that long ago. He has been quite sufficiently warned to be aware of his danger, Miss Haddon. But' – after a pause – 'it cannot be of very vital importance. There is but one child, and of course she takes all; though I should have given him credit for tying it securely up to her, in the event of her falling into bad hands.'

'The lawyer has his instructions, I believe, Dr Wheeler, and we have telegraphed for him to come at once. Meantime, can anything be done? Is there no stimulant, no?' —

'My dear lady, Mr Farrar is dead already, so far as the capability of transacting business is concerned. It is the insensibility preceding death; and only a question of an hour or so – it may be only of minutes.'

Sick at heart, I silently bowed, and turned back into the room again, waiting in solemn stillness until Lilian should need me. The nurse moved softly in and out the room, and I knew why she drew up the blinds to let the last rays of sunlight stream in. The glorious sunset faded into twilight, twilight deepened into night, and then, with a long quivering sigh, the spirit stole forth to that other life.

The moment all was over there were innumerable demands upon my energies. Taking my dear Lilian to her aunt's room, I left them together, after giving a private hint to each that it was necessary to stifle her grief as much as possible for the sake of the other. Then I went downstairs again, to give the awestruck and confused servants the necessary orders, which in their first grief neither Lilian nor her aunt was capable of giving. They had deputed me to see that all was rightly done.

The demands upon me increased so rapidly, that I felt quite relieved when a servant came to tell me that the lawyer had arrived. I went at once to the library, too much absorbed in the one thought to remember that I was meeting a stranger.

'Too late, I am sorry to find, madam!' said a short, stout, brisk-looking, little man, making me a low bow as I entered. He evidently found it somewhat difficult to get the right expression into his jovial face, as he went on to explain that he had been dining out when the telegram, sent on by his wife, reached him. 'I lost not a moment; and have managed to get from Russell Square in an hour and a half.' Then, after a keen glance at me, which took in my left hand, he added: 'A relative of my late client's, I presume?'

'No; my name is Haddon. I have been living here as companion to his daughter, Mr Markham, and have always been treated as a friend of the family.' I said the last words in the hope of inducing him to trust me sufficiently to say anything he might have to say, forgetting that I was talking to a lawyer.

'Very fortunate for Miss Farrar; friends are needed at such times as this;' eyeing me sharply as he went on to add a few conventional words respecting his client's death, and the shock its suddenness must have given his friends; and so affording me an opportunity for the indulgence of a little sentiment.

But I neither felt any, nor desired him to think that I did, upon the score of my attachment to Mr Farrar; so quietly replied: 'Death is always solemn, Mr Markham; but I know too little of Mr Farrar to mourn him as a friend. His daughter, I love.'

He nodded pleasantly; satisfied, I think, so far; then, after a moment or two, tried another leading question.

'You were probably present with her at the last?'

'Yes.'

'Conscious?'

'Yes; until the last hour.'

'And you are aware I was summoned, I presume?'

'I sent for you, Mr Markham.' He waited; and seeing he was still cautious, I went on: 'It was Mr Farrar's wish you should be sent for. He appeared extremely anxious to sign the will; but it was too late.'

'Ah, yes; too late! Very sad, very sad;' watching me furtively, as he carefully measured the length and breadth of one of his gloves. 'And no last instructions, I suppose; no little confidences or revelations, or anything of that kind?'

I quite understood him; and after a few moments' reflection, replied: 'Yes; there was a revelation, Mr Markham; a very startling one; and as you have prepared the will, you doubtlessly know to what I allude?'

I waited a few moments for a reply; but waited in vain. He seemed lost in contemplation of his gloves again. This jovial-looking little man was not quite so effusive as he looked. I tried once more.

'It is unfortunate the will was not signed, since Mr Farrar so much desired it.'

'Certainly; much to be regretted – very much.'

I saw that the approach was to be made from my side; and as it had to be done sooner or later, I said: 'But I do not see that its not being signed can make any difference to Miss Farrar – from a pecuniary point of view.'

'No; none whatever: Miss Farrar will not be a loser.'

'Will her sister?'

'Ah! now we shall understand each other – now you have come to the point, my dear lady,' he replied, with brisk cheerfulness, placing a chair for me, and seating himself before me with a confidential air; a hand upon each of his knees. 'You see it was necessary to bring you to that; though you have fenced very well – very neatly indeed – for a lady. I could not desire a better witness in a case, I assure you – on my own side.'

I was not quite so charmed with the compliment as he intended me to be; not taking very kindly to the idea of being 'brought to it,' as he termed it. So I replied with an air which I flattered myself was as careless as his own: 'I thought it as well to tell you that much, Mr Markham.'

'Quite as well, my dear young lady; saving of time, you know. I may now tell you that the person to whom you allude will be a considerable loser by the will I have brought down with me not being signed.'

'Is there no previous will, Mr Markham?'

'There have been several others. But Mr Farrar was a very careful man, and always destroyed an old will when he made a fresh one. He could never quite satisfy himself as to the exact provision to be made for the – person you have named, and was continually altering his mind, making the sum now greater now smaller.'

'Fortunately, Miss Farrar may be trusted to do all that is right.'

'No doubt a very sweet and good young lady; brought up with relations on the mother's side, I understand. I have had the pleasure of meeting her two or three times, and was much struck by her amiability.'

'It is something stronger and better than amiability, Mr Markham,' I returned. Someway that word always offended me with reference to Lilian.

'I am glad to hear it; though amiability has its attractions —for me.' After a few moments' contemplative glance at me, he added: 'It will be some comfort to her, by and by, perhaps to know that the – other is at least three or four years older than herself, and that the mother died whilst her child was young.'

I understood what he meant; 'the other,' as he termed her – he did not once allude to her by name – had been born before Mr Farrar's marriage to Lilian's mother.

'Thank you for telling me that, Mr Markham; it will be a comfort to Lilian.'

He nodded and smiled, as though to say I deserved that little encouragement for acquitting myself so well; than became grave and businesslike again, as befitted the occasion. Rising from his seat and taking the little black bag which he had brought with him, from the table, he said: 'You will require no aid from me until after the funeral, when Miss Farrar will have to go through a little legal formality. There will be no complications; everything will be Miss Farrar's, absolutely. A trifle too absolutely, I should be inclined to say, if she were an ordinary young lady, or likely to fall into bad hands – a money-hunting husband's, for instance.'

'You know, of course, that Miss Farrar is engaged to be married to Mr Trafford, Mr Markham?'

'One of the Warwickshire Traffords?' he said with a smile, which was instantly suppressed. 'Yes; I have heard something of the kind, certainly.'

He certainly had; since, as I afterwards ascertained, the will had been so made as to very securely protect Lilian's property in the event of such marriage. Then, in reply to a question of mine, he advised me to send to one of the best undertakers (giving me the names and addresses of two or three, but cautiously abstaining from recommending one more than another), and make him responsible for everything being conducted in a fit and proper manner. 'That is, I think, the wisest course to pursue; though you are free to carry out Miss Farrar's wishes in any way.'

'Thank you.'

'Do not name it. I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you again upon a less solemn occasion, Miss Haddon.' Then, looking at his watch, he found that he would have just time to catch the ten o'clock up-train; and declining my offer of refreshments, he bade me good-night, and hurried out to the fly which he had kept waiting for him.

OUR HINDU FELLOW-SUBJECTS AND OURSELVES

It is a remarkable fact, that although upwards of a century has elapsed since the foundation of our rule in India was first laid, the people of that country and ourselves are as far apart from each other, in all those feelings and sympathies which are calculated to unite different peoples together, as it is possible for us to be. Our religious views and social habits are so diametrically opposed, that the strongest prejudices are in active operation to keep us in a state of chronic alienation. The difficulty in the matter rests in a great measure with the Hindu. Hinduism will not admit us within the pale of free intercourse with its votaries, and its restrictions prevent them from mingling freely with others of another faith. For a Hindu to live under the same roof or to take a meal at the same table with us, would entail upon him expulsion from caste, and religious and social disabilities of the most serious character. In short, the only connection in which we can have any intimacy is that of business in the way of trade, or of duty as officially connected with the state.

It will easily be seen that under such circumstances, personal friendship of a disinterested nature can hardly exist between the Hindus and ourselves. It would be well indeed if we were drawn towards each other by feelings of partiality; but even this degree of attachment cannot be said to exist, except in very rare instances. In a word, open indifference, if not latent antipathy, is the feeling by which our intercourse with each other is characterised.

This state of matters is much to be regretted, more especially if our connection is to be perpetuated; and the good men and true of both races, of whom there are not a few, would rejoice to see the causes which give rise to these untoward feelings removed, the barriers which separate us broken down, and a kindlier feeling established between us; but the more the subject is thought over, the greater the difficulties seem in the way of this desirable end; and the conclusion forces itself upon us, that we must await the course of events, and see what time will unfold.

Meanwhile, it may be useful and interesting to consider somewhat particularly the manner in which our differences have operated to keep us for so many years in a state of social estrangement from each other.

It may be imagined that the relative positions which we hold to each other of rulers and subjects, is of itself sufficient to account for the prejudice against us of the Hindu people; but this view is not borne out by facts. The Hindus have for centuries been a subjugated people, a trodden-down race. The feeling of patriotism which was exhibited in the early period of their history has long since died out, and it seems of little consequence to them who rules, provided they are left undisturbed in the free exercise of their religious practices and social habits. The Mohammedan conquerors who preceded us, stood in the same relative position to them as we do, and it is well known that they were not disliked by the Hindu people, certainly not in the same degree that we are. Let us inquire into the reasons of the difference as regards the Mohammedans and ourselves, for in so doing we may discover what it is in which we have rendered ourselves distasteful.