Chapter Forty Nine.
After the Great Sorrows.
“No, no, no, Mr Vine—I mean no, no, no, George Vine,” sobbed Mrs Van Heldre; “I did, I know, feel bitter and full of hatred against one who could be so base as to raise his hand against my loving, forbearing husband; but that was when I was in misery and despair. Do you think that now God has blessed us by sparing his life and restoring him to us, I could be so thankless, hard and wicked as to bear malice?”
“You are very, very good,” said Vine sadly.
“I wish I was,” said Mrs Van Heldre, with a comic look of perplexity on her pretty, elderly countenance, “but I’m not, George, I’m a very curious woman.”
“You are one of the best and most amiable creatures that ever existed,” said Vine, taking her hand and kissing it.
“I try to be good-tempered and to do my best,” said the little woman with a sigh, “but I’m very weak and stupid; and I know that is the one redeeming point in my character, I can feel what a weak woman I am.”
“Thank God you are what you are,” said Vine reverently. “If I had had such a wife spared to me all these years, that terrible catastrophe would not have occurred.”
“And you, George Vine, thank God, too, for sparing to you the best and most loving daughter that ever lived. Now, now, now, don’t look like that. I wanted to tell you how fond and patient John always has been with me, and Maddy too, when I have said and done weak and silly things. For I do, you know, sometimes. Ah, it’s no use for you to shake your head, and pretend you never noticed it. You must.”
“I hope you will never change,” said Vine with a sad smile.
“Ah, that’s better,” cried Mrs Van Heldre. “I’m glad to see you smile again, for Louy’s sake, for our sake: and now, once for all, never come into our house again, my dear old friend and brother, looking constrained. John has had long, long talks with me and Maddy.”
“Yes,” cried Vine excitedly. “What did he say?”
Mrs Van Heldre took his hand and held it.
“He said,” she whispered slowly, “That it grieved and pained him to see you come to his bedside, looking as if you felt that we blamed you for what has passed. He said you had far more cause to blame him.”
“No, no,” said Vine hastily. “I do not blame him. It was fate—it was fate.”
“It wasn’t anything of the kind,” said Mrs Van Heldre sharply; “it was that stupid, obstinate, bigoted, wrong-headed old fellow Crampton.”
“Who felt that he owed a duty to his master, and did that duty.”
“Oh!” sighed the little woman with a look of perplexity in her puckered-up forehead, “I told you that I was a very stupid woman. I wanted to make you more cheerful and contented, and see what I have done!”
“How can I be cheerful and contented, my good little woman?” said Vine sadly. “There, there! I shall be glad when a couple of years have gone.”
“Why?” said Mrs Van Heldre, sharply.
“Because I shall either be better able to bear my burden or be quite at rest.”
“George Vine!” exclaimed Mrs Van Heldre reproachfully. “Is that you speaking? Louise—remember Louise.”
“Ah, yes,” he said sadly, but sat gazing dreamily before him. “Louise. If it had not been for her—”
He did not finish his sentence.
“Come, my dear. John will be expecting you for a long chat. Try and be more hopeful, and don’t go up to him looking like that. Doctor Knatchbull said we were to make him as cheerful as we could, and to keep him from thinking about the past. He did say, too, that we were not to let you see him much. There—”
Poor little Mrs Van Heldre looked more perplexed than ever, and now burst into tears.
“He said that? The doctor said that?”
“Yes; but did you ever hear such a silly woman in your life? To go and blurt out such a thing as that to you!”
“He was quite right—quite right,” said Vine hastily; “and I’ll be very careful not to say or do anything to depress him. Poor John! Do you think he is awake now?”
“No,” said Mrs Van Heldre, wiping her eyes. “Maddy is with him, and she will come down directly he wakes.”
At that moment there was a ring, and on the door being opened the servant announced Luke Vine.
“Hallo,” he said, coming in after his usual unceremonious fashion. “How is he?”
“Very, very much better, Luke Vine,” said Mrs Van Heldre. “George is going up to see him as soon as he wakes.”
“George? My brother George? Oh, you’re there, are you? How are you, George? How’s the girl?”
“Sit down, Luke Vine.”
“No, thank you, ma’am. Sit too much as it is. Don’t get enough exercise.”
“You shall go up and see John, as soon as he wakes.”
“No, thankye. What’s the use? I couldn’t do him any good. One’s getting old now. No time to spare. Pity to waste what’s left.”
“Well, I’m sure,” said Mrs Van Heldre bridling. “Of all men to talk like that, you ought to be the last. I’ll go up and see whether he is awake.”
“Poor little woman,” said Uncle Luke, as she left the room. “Always puts me in mind, George, of a pink and white bantam hen.”
“As good a little woman as ever breathed, Luke.”
“Yes, of course; but it’s comic to see her ruffle up her feathers and go off in a huff. How’s Lou?”
“Not very well, Luke. Poor girl, she frets. I shall have to take her away.”
“Rubbish! She’ll be all right directly. Women have no brains.”
George Vine looked up at him with an air of mild reproof.
“All tears and doldrums one day; high jinks and coquetry the next. Marry, and forget all about you in a week.”
“Luke, my dear brother, you do not mean this.”
“Don’t soap, George. I hate to be called my dear brother. Now, do I look like a dear brother?”
“I shall never forget your goodness to us over our terrible trouble.”
“Will you be quiet? Hang it all, George! don’t be such an idiot. Let the past be. The poor foolish boy is dead; let him rest. Don’t be for ever digging up the old sorrow, to brood over it and try to hatch fresh. The eggs may not be addled, and you might be successful. Plenty of trouble without making more.”
“I do not wish to make more, Luke; but you hurt me when you speak so lightly of Louise.”
“A jade! I hate her.”
“No, you do not.”
“Yes, I do. Here’s Duncan Leslie, as good a fellow as ever stepped, who has stuck to her through thick and thin, in spite of my lady’s powder, and fan, and her insults.”
“Marguerite has been very sharp and spiteful to Mr Leslie,” said George Vine sadly.
“She’s mad. Well, he wants to marry the girl, and she has pitched him over.”
“Has Louise refused him?”
“He doesn’t say so; but I saw him, and that’s enough. Of course I know that at present—et cetera, et cetera; but the girl wants a husband; all girls do. There was one for her, and she is playing stand off with him. Just like woman. He! he! he! he!” He uttered a sneering laugh. “Going to marry Madge’s French count, I suppose—Monsieur le Comte de Mythville. There, I can’t help it, George, old lad; it makes me wild. Shake hands, old chap. Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings; but between ourselves, though I’ve never shown it to a soul, I was rather hit upon the idea of Leslie marrying Louise.”
“I had thought it possible,” said George Vine, with a sigh.
“Her fault. Hang it all, George, be a man, and bestir yourself.”
“I am trying, brother Luke.”
“That’s right, lad; and for goodness’ sake put down your foot and keep Margaret in her place. Louy is soft now with trouble, and that wicked old woman will try to work her and mould her into what shape she pleases. You’ve had enough of Margaret.”
“I have tried to do my duty by our sister.”
“You’ve done more, my lad. Now take care that she leaves Louy alone. You don’t want another old maid of her pattern in the family.”
“John is awake now, George Vine,” said Mrs Van Heldre, re-entering the room.
“Will you go up?”
“Yes, I’ll go up,” said George Vine quietly.
“Well, aren’t I to be asked to see him?” grumbled Uncle Luke.
“Oh, what a strange man you are!” said Mrs Van Heldre; “you know I wanted you to go up.”
“No, I don’t; I know you asked me to go up. Different thing altogether.”
“I did want you to go. I felt that it would cheer up poor John.”
“Well, don’t be cross about it, woman. Ask me again.”
Mrs Van Heldre turned with a smile to George Vine, as much as to say, “Did you ever hear such an unreasonable being?”
“Rum one, aren’t I, John’s wife, eh?” said Uncle Luke grimly. “Good little woman, after all.”
“After all!” ejaculated Mrs Van Heldre, as she followed them into the room, and then stepped back. “Too many of us at once can’t be good, so I must stay down,” she added with a sigh.
Crossing to the table where her bird’s cage was standing, she completely removed the cover, now displaying a pink and grey ball of feathers upon the perch, her action having been so gentle that the bird’s rest was not disturbed.
“Poor little prisoner!” she said gently. “There, you may wake up to-morrow morning and pipe and sing in the bright sunshine, for we can bear it now—thank God! we can bear it now.”