Evelyn, as I have said, had always been at the head of my father's house and mine, and, by his will, was still to remain so until my marriage, or majority—one, usually, in the eyes of the law, in most respects. So it pained me infinitely less than it must have done had a different order of things ever existed, to see her supreme at Monfort Hall, and to feel that every thing emanated from her hand.
Of all the servants, old Morton alone seemed to feel the difference. Mrs. Austin had always openly preferred Evelyn to me, and Mabel to either—so that matters worked very well between those three. For, though I do not think Evelyn loved Mabel, nor Mabel Evelyn, yet, with this link between them of servile affection, they managed very well, without much feeling on either side.
Mrs. Austin certainly spoiled Mabel, yet she only rendered her self-indulged, not selfish—for this difference arises out of temperament and disposition—and no mother could have been more tender or vigilant of her comfort or welfare, than was this ancient and attached nurse and servitor. I mention this here, for it reconciled me later, somewhat, to an inevitable separation, that must have been else thrice bitter. But the culmination approaches!
I was lying, one evening, on a deep velvet couch in the library, now rarely used except for business purposes—for, again, fires and lights sparkled, in their respective seasons, in the several receiving-rooms of Monfort Hall, maintained by Evelyn's bounty—when, overpowered by the influence of the hour, and the weariness of my own unprofitable thoughts, and perhaps the dreary play of Racine's that I was reading, I dropped asleep.
The sofa was placed in a deep embrasure, surrounded with sweeping curtains, for the convenience of reading in a reclining posture, by the light of the window, and quite shut away, by such means, from the remainder of the room.
To-night, a chilly one in August, very unusual for that season, the window was down, and the drawn curtains kept off the light of the dim lamp that swung from the centre of the apartment immediately above the octagon centre-table.
I was roused to full consciousness by the sound of voices, which I had heard indistinctly mingling with my dreams for some time before.
Mr. Bainrothe and Evelyn were conversing or discussing some subject, somewhat angrily.
"You had the lion's share," I heard him say; "you have no reason to complain. The rest came in afterward, and was all merged in that sinking ship, and went down with it into the deep waters. It would not have been as much as you received, had it been saved, which it was not."
"That is not my concern," she rejoined, dryly; "but for my communication, Miriam would have secured all next morning. She was bent upon it. You ought never to forget this."