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  “Why, Harriet, whatever are you putting into the child’s head?” said Godfrey. “She is in no danger surely. Now there is Mrs. Christy, Camilla’s mother! What a good thing it is when people are on the time!”

  “Dear Lady Haslam, now I shall be myself in my fullest sense. I have felt that a part of me has been wanting, and a part that is very essential. That dear boy, Matthew, arranged with my girl that I should consummate my relation with you. She says she is marrying to be your daughter-in-law, and I believe it has an element of truth. She and Matthew will make such an excellent pair, the one so much the complement of the other. It might truly be said that between them they make the perfect human type. And Matthew’s thoughtfulness for me makes me really inclined to say, ‘Winter is the mother-nurse of spring, lovely for her daughter’s sake.’”

  “There is no need to say it, Mrs. Christy; it goes without saying,” said Godfrey.

  “Now you are flattering me too, Sir Godfrey,” said Mrs. Christy, more suitably than appeared, as this was Godfrey’s intention. “I shall quite forget to visualise myself in the correct way.”

  “Do, Mrs. Christy, do,” begged her host. “I ask you to do that while you are with us to-night. So you are inclined to be taken with our boy Matthew, are you?”

  “Sir Godfrey, it is such a credit to him to work with such enthusiasm. Of all the things that are a confirmation of the dignity of effort, that stands out supreme. I say to Camilla, when she claims the whole of his attention, ‘Would you have a drone for a husband, a mere idle aristocrat and eldest son? I know you would not.’”

  “Do you think Camilla will settle down to a quiet life with Matthew?” said Harriet. “He will be a poor man for many years, if he holds to the work he has chosen.”

  “She asks nothing better than to spend her days with the man of her choice, and be his lieutenant in every enterprise. Matthew counteracts so much that she regrets in herself, her tendency to be a woman among men, if you know what I mean. Her very gifts have led her astray. So many of her failings might be a source of pride.”

  “And will be to Matthew,” said Godfrey.

  “They are already,” said Matthew.

  “Well said, Matthew. Spoken like a man,” said his father.

  “Will she find it unsettling to have Ernest and Antony living so near?” said Harriet, using a remorseless tone.

  “When she is through with a man, she is through! I get into the way of using her phrases. Whatever comes my way, I find myself becoming the mistress of it. I should make a better use of my aptitude. My girl pours out all her mind to me. I know she has taken for granted a monopoly of masculine attention. But I can’t dispute that people have given her cause.”

  “I agree with you, Mrs. Christy,” cried Godfrey. “Camilla is a girl whom any man would make a bee-line for at once. I can’t understand why only one of these boys has fallen for her. Why, I have felt her spell myself. My eye is with Matthew’s in the matter. I am not such a fogey that I am blind to a thing like that.”

  “I hardly think you can be interesting Mrs. Christy,” said Harriet.

  Godfrey gave a glance at his wife, put two fingers into his waistcoat pocket, and looked at the portraits on the walls.

  “Has Camilla any convictions or interests that give her a definite hold on life?” said Harriet.

  “I feel it was hard on the poor girl to be a clergyman’s wife. She is not like dear Griselda here, so eminently suited for it. And how well you put things, Lady Haslam! With such precision and ease and force. Camilla will rate the atmosphere of your family at its true worth, with its mental tone, its unforced interest in matters of the mind. She has the greatest respect for higher things. You must have noticed that.”

  “Yes, I have noticed it,” said Harriet.

  “Harriet, my dear, Camilla is one of us,” said Godfrey, taking his fingers from his pocket and glancing at a coin between them, as if he had wished to confirm something concerning it. “We take her as she is, as we take each other. Mrs. Christy is not demanding from us an account of Matthew’s opinions. And I’ll warrant the young scamp has few enough at the moment. I know the sort of thing that ferments in his brain. It is not hidden from his father. Ah, I am not such a stranger to these scientific fellows as some of them might think. I didn’t have time while you were away to get much further with him. That is, I thought it best to let those things lie fallow. But there isn’t a pin to choose between Matthew and Camilla in the matter of opinions.”

  “I believe that is so,” said Harriet.

  “My dear girl, the true opinions are the most important things in life. If things are not right at rock bottom, we cannot build on the top. But making people feel that too much of a good thing is a bad thing defeats your purpose. I know how it has been with myself. I mean, we all bear and forbear with each other.”

  “You do your part, my dear,” said his wife, and turned to give a direction to Buttermere.

  “Mother, you are looking very tired this evening,” said Gregory.

  “Harriet, you are!” cried Godfrey. “You are looking as you used to look. We can’t have any of that again. Now what is it that has taken it out of you?”

  “Nothing, Godfrey; I did not sleep last night.”

  “You did not sleep?” said her husband. “Well, that is upon us already! Go to bed, and take one of those sleeping tablets the doctor gave you. We will nip this in the bud; we won’t give it another chance to rise up and threaten us. Go this moment. Mrs. Christy will understand. Don’t wait even to say good-night. But good-night, my own girl. I won’t come in to see you, for fear I break your sleeping mood. You will tell me in the morning that you have had a good night.”

  “Matthew, will you come with me for a moment?” said Harriet, moving slowly to the door. “I want to say a word to you.”

  “Go. Go at once,” said Godfrey, with a veiled but peremptory look at his son. “Go up and soothe your mother by whatever method is in your power. Nothing else would be behaving like a man. There is a great responsibility on you. Go and do what you can.”

  Matthew followed his mother upstairs and was drawn by her into her room.

  “Matthew,” she said, standing with her hand on his shoulder and her eyes looking up into his face, “I want you to do something for me; not a great thing, dear; I would not ask that. I don’t ask you to give up your work, or to give up your marriage; I know you cannot give up. I don’t mean that any of us can; I am not saying anything to hurt. I only mean that I would not ask much of you. I just want you to put off your marriage for a few months, for your mother’s sake, that she may have a little space of light before the clouds gather. I don’t mean that my illness is coming again; I don’t think it will come yet. And if it were, I would not use that to persuade you. I would not do what is not fair, while I am myself. I think you know I would not then. But I ask you simply, and as myself, to do this thing for me. I feel I can ask you, because I have seen your eyes on me to-night, and I have said to myself: ‘My son does not love me, not my eldest son. And it is my fault, because mothers can easily be loved by their sons. So I can ask this from him, because I cannot lose his love, or lessen it. I have not put it in him.’ And so I ask it of you, my dear.”

  “Mother, what a way to talk!” said Matthew. “Indeed your illness is not coming again. You could not be more at the height of your powers. Your speech was worth taking down. You may use it again. It was only I who heard it. My eyes show all this to you, when all my eyes are for Camilla at the moment, and if anyone knows that, it is you! I might tell you what your eyes show to me, and you would not have an answer. Now take one of your sleeping tablets; I think I should take two; I have put them out on this table. And the marriage shall not happen until you sanction it. Camilla can get what she wants from this family, from you. She will have you as a friend before me as a husband. I daresay that will be the end.”

  Harriet stood with her eyes searching her son’s.

  He kissed her and left her, and turned from
the door and gave her the smile that should safeguard for both of them this memory.

  Chapter XXI

  Godfrey Came Out of his wife’s room with a rapid, agitated step, and his tones sounded through the house, hushed and urgent. Voices answered him and footsteps followed, and the house in a moment quivered with suspense and foreboding.

  The young people, waiting for prayers in the dining-room, looked at each other. Even Matthew, who was reading in an easy chair, raised his eyes.

  “Whatever is it?” said Jermyn.

  “Father is coming into the hall,” said Gregory.

  Griselda opened the door and intercepted her father.

  “There, there, my dear child,” he said in a hasty, colourless tone, without coming to a pause. “Go back to the dining-room and keep your brothers there. Shut the door and stay in there together. Do that for your father.”

  “Whatever does it mean?” said Jermyn.

  “Perhaps one of the servants is ill,” said Matthew, turning a page.

  “It is something more than that,” said Gregory. “Is it Mother?”

  “She is always better when she sleeps late,” said Matthew.

  “Hark!” said Griselda. “Father is sending a message.”

  Jermyn went to the door and opened it, in a single, silent movement.

  “Ask him to come actually this instant! Say that I fear the very worst. I hardly know what words I speak. Tell him that I shall be deeply grateful.” Their father’s voice had a tone they had never heard.

  “It is Mother!” said Gregory, and ran into the hall.

  “Gregory, my boy, go back at once,” said Godfrey, coming forward with his hand upraised and a tone of command and warning. “Gregory, I adjure you to return to the dining-room. Griselda, get him to obey me. Your father asks it of you, Gregory. I forbid you to go a step farther.”

  Gregory was hastening up the stairs, with Jermyn and Griselda following. Matthew came slowly after them, his book in his hand, and paused to speak to his father.

  “It is nothing to do with Mother, is it?”

  “It is your mother, my boy,” said Godfrey with a groan in his voice, standing with his limbs trembling.

  Matthew went on, and Godfrey remained by himself, sunk too far in his own feelings for further effort.

  A boy’s cry came from the landing above, and the father clenched his hands.

  “Mother is dead! She is lying in her bed, dead! Mother is dead, Griselda, Father!”

  Godfrey stood still and slowly lifted his head.

  Jermyn’s voice joined his brother’s, and there was a sound of Griselda weeping. Godfrey turned and walked up the stairs, in lifeless instinct to do what was before him.

  He stood with his children at his wife’s side, while Gregory and Griselda wept, and Jermyn and Matthew kept their eyes on the bed, where Harriet lay as if in sleep.

  “My dear children, it is on us now. It has come this time. We are alone now. This time we are really alone.”

  “How did it happen!” said Jermyn. “Was she ill in her sleep?”

  “She must have been,” said Matthew. “It seems that it must have been her heart. But I didn’t know there was anything wrong with it.”

  “It would have been an easy death, wouldn’t it?” said Gregory.

  “Yes, quite unconscious,” said Matthew.

  “Yes, it was an easy way to go. She has left us easily,” said Godfrey. “May we all go in the same way, all of us here.”

  “She didn’t suffer at all?” said Griselda, with a wild look at the bed.

  “No, no, my darling. No,” said Godfrey. “Look at her peaceful face.”

  Griselda threw herself into her father’s arms, and he caressed her as if unconsciously.

  “We can’t all stay here for ever,” said Matthew.

  “Dufferin will be here very soon,” said Jermyn.

  “Yes, yes, Dufferin will be here. Then we shall know,” said Godfrey, as if this gave a touch of hope.

  “We had better go down to breakfast,” said Matthew.

  “I don’t know about that, my boy.”

  “We shall do no good by starving,” said Matthew.

  “No, that is true,” said Godfrey, and turned and led the way from the room. “If we could, how willingly we would do it!”

  “To save Mother,” said Gregory, with an unnatural note of mirth.

  “You know the truth, Buttermere?” said Jermyn.

  “Yes, sir. You will have to keep up your strength,” said Buttermere, as though the approach to the table needed some justification.

  “We have a great deal before us,” said Godfrey. “You will share our sorrow in a measure, Buttermere.”

  Buttermere gave his master a rapid glance, seeming new to the idea that he shared the family fortunes.

  “We dare not face what is before us.”

  “You will have to accommodate yourselves again, Sir Godfrey.”

  “It passes me how it could have happened,” said Matthew.

  “‘In the midst of life we are in death,’” said his father.

  “But we are not,” said Matthew. “That is not true. There must be some cause.”

  “Well, we shall know in a few minutes,” said Jermyn.

  “Could she have done what she tried to do before?” said Griselda.

  “Oh, no, no, my dear,” said Godfrey, and was silent.

  Jermyn and Gregory looked at Matthew.

  “Of course it crossed my mind,” said Matthew. “How could it not?”

  “But how could she have come by what was needed?” said Gregory.

  “We don’t know that she did come by it. There may be some other explanation. It is idle to speculate,” said Matthew.

  “She hasn’t been near Dufferin’s house since she came home,” said Jermyn.

  “She was there yesterday,” said Matthew. “Dufferin told me himself. She waited for him in his own room, and had a talk with him afterwards. You remember she came home late from her drive. She didn’t say a word of anything of the kind. But she was alone in his room for an hour.”

  “Would anything of that sort be about? Wouldn’t it be put away?” said Gregory.

  “Oh yes, I daresay it would; no doubt it would,” said Matthew. “Dufferin might have such things in his room, but under lock and key. I daresay she did not get it; of course she did not. There wasn’t any there that I know of. But this makes one think of any solution, and it is hard to see another. But there must be one. There is Dufferin’s bell.”

  Godfrey rose and went into the hall, signing to his children to remain. He and Dufferin exchanged a word, and their steps were heard on the stairs.

  “Well, I am not going to be kept here,” said Matthew. “I have as much right there as either of them. I will come and tell you as soon as there is anything to be told.”

  “We somehow feel there is still hope,” said Jermyn.

  “We are still before the verdict,” said Gregory.

  “Nothing can make any difference,” said Griselda.

  “No, but Mother may not have felt as wretched as that,” said Gregory.

  “She couldn’t have. She would have shown it. She is in her way a transparent person,” said Jermyn, revealing his unchanged image of his mother.

  Gregory went into the hall and looked upstairs. Godfrey and Matthew were standing on the landing, silent, and Harriet’s door was closed. Presently Matthew came to them.

  “Yes, Griselda was right,” he said. “Dufferin thinks that is what it was. He is all but sure. It will be found out for certain later. She must have got it when she went to see him. She evidently knew his room better than he thought. She waited there for some time. We shall never know if she went with that purpose, or if the thought came to her while she was there.”

  “But how did she feel before she did it? What made her do it?” said Griselda.

  “She could not have been herself,” said Matthew’. “Her searching for it points to that. It was not like her in a na
tural mood. That sort of secretive skill is sometimes symptomatic.”

  “It would be simply necessary. Open blundering would never work,” said Jermyn.

  “Oh well, whatever it is,” said Matthew in a weary tone. He turned to the window, and his sister took his arm. He did not repulse her, but stood as if sunk in his thoughts.

  Godfrey and Dufferin came on to the silence.

  “I must go back to see if there are any of certain tablets gone,” said Dufferin. “Don’t be more troubled than you must. She suffered nothing; it was the same as dying in her sleep. Matthew can come with me, and be a witness about the amount that is missing. It is better than doing nothing here, though the rest of you must do your best with it. I am afraid it is clear how it was, though the bottle with the tablets will be a proof. In some manner or another she must have known my ways. The cupboard was locked, and the keys were in a drawer across the room. But after all it was possible enough for a reasoning and observing person. The thing that will be said, that she was temporarily insane, ought often to be the opposite.”

  “Will it all have to come out?” said Jermyn.

  “Yes, it will; we can’t help that,” said Dufferin. “It is all but out now. But it will do no harm to anyone. It won’t be different from other things of its kind. It isn’t anything to dwell upon. You have none of you done anything wrong. Keep that in mind, and have an eye on your sister. Matthew and I will be back when we can. You must remain in the house, and answer any questions with the simple truth. The next few days will soon pass.”

  “Can’t anything be done to keep it secret?” asked Griselda.

  “No, my darling. I asked that,” said her father. “It seems it has to be faced. We have that before us. It is a cruel thing that your mother cannot even pass from us in peace. I for one shall never feel ashamed of anything she has done. I shall feel to her simply as my beloved and loving wife, and my children’s devoted mother.”

  “She didn’t seem so unlike herself yesterday,” said Griselda.

  “I suppose she saw her life suddenly before her again, and felt she could not face it,” said Gregory.

  “She must have felt that, my boy,” said Godfrey miserably. “But I didn’t guess it. I didn’t know what my wife went through on the last day she lived, the last of our thousands together. She didn’t tell me, though she always knew of anything that I suffered. She didn’t tell even Gregory. She went through it by herself.”