“And do you mean to invite them here?” asked Grenfell at last.
“You can write it for me,” said he, still pursuing his own train of thought. “You can tell him that, not being well—having some difficulty in holding a pen—I have begged of you to say that the Castle is at their disposal—that I mean to leave this—where shall I say for?—to leave this for the south of France, or Italy.”
“Are you equal to such a journey? Have you strength for it?”
“Far more than to stay here and meet her—them—meet them,” added he, almost peevishly. “I have not health nor spirits for seeing company, and of course people will call, and there will be dinners and receptions—all things I am unfit for. Say this for me, dear Mr. Grenfell, and tell Yates that I mean to go up to town to-morrow.”
Grenfell shook his head to imply dissent, but the other resumed:
“If you knew me better, Sir, you would know that my energy never failed me when I called upon it. I have been tried pretty sorely once or twice in life, and yet no disaster has found me faint-hearted!” As he spoke, a gleam of pride lighted up his features, and he looked all that he thought himself. “Will you take this key of the gem-room,” said he, after a pause; “and in the second drawer of the large ebony cabinet you will find a green morocco-case; it has my mother’s name on it, Olivia Trevor. Do me the favour to bring it to me. This was a wedding present some eighty years ago, Mr. Grenfell,” said he, as he unclasped the casket that the other placed in his hands. “It was the fashion of those days to set gems on either side, and here you have emeralds, and here are opals. Ladies were wont to turn their necklaces in the course of an entertainment; they are content with less costly changes now: they merely change their affections.” He tried to smile, but his lips trembled, and his voice all but failed him.
“It is very magnificent!” exclaimed Grenfell, who was truly surprised at the splendour of the jewels.
“The Margravine of Anhalt’s present to my mother, Sir!” As the glow of pride the recollection imparted to his face faded away, a sickly pallor succeeded, and, in a tone of broken and difficult utterance, he said: “Be kind enough to place this in an envelope, seal it with my arms, and address it, ‘Mrs. A. Ladarelle, de la part de W. W.’ That will be quite sufficient.”
“They are splendid stones!” said Grenfell, who seemed never to weary of his admiration.
“They will become her, Sir, and she will become them!” said the old man, with an immense effort to seem calm and collected. “I believe,” said he at last, with a faint smile, “I am overtaxing this poor strength of mine. Price warned me to be careful. Will you forgive me if I ask you to leave me to my own sorry company? You’ll come back in the evening, won’t you? Thanks—my best thanks!” And he smiled his most gracious smile, and made a little familiar gesture with his hand; and then as the door closed, and he felt that none saw him, he turned his face to the pillow and sobbed—sobbed convulsively.