“Oh!” exclaimed Jim breathlessly, “what a sore, sore trial for Madam! Does she bear up, dear lad?”
“No,” replied Austin gloomily; “and that’s the worst of it all. Mamma seems so very—queer. She sits and moans and groans, and tells Frances and me over and over again that we’re just beggars, and must go to the workhouse. Jim!” added Austin, with a break in his voice, and a childlike dread which made him shiver nervously, “Jim! must we really do that?”
“No, dear lad, no. Why, Madam has her beautiful house anyway. She told me she’d bought it.”
“Yes; but it isn’t all paid for,” said Austin, shaking his head. “The London man said Mamma’s trustee hadn’t paid for lots of things. Elveley is to be sold and all that’s in it; and even then Mamma won’t be able to pay everybody.”
“I can’t hardly take it in,” muttered Jim. “Are you sure it’s as bad as you say?”
“I’m sure enough,” said Austin bitterly, “seeing Mamma has said it all over and over again. Frances and I have stayed with her,” continued the lad, throwing up his arms wearily; “but this evening I thought I must come here for a bit, or I’d—I’d howl! Jim, you can’t guess what it’s like, at home. Mamma can’t do anything but groan.”
“But Madam has many friends?” suggested Jim hopefully.
“What’s the good of friends? They can’t find our trustee—or make our money come back again. And we’ve no relations except Cousin Walter, and he’s in Australia, sheep-farming. Don’t I wish I could go to Australia, and have heaps of land, and millions of sheep!” Austin closed his eyes, the better to call up a vision of plenty. “But Cousin Walter’s a failure out there: he can’t help us.”
“There’s surely someone,” said Jim, unable to think of the stately, handsome owner of Elveley as friendless, penniless, and homeless. The lad might have been pardoned a gleam of satisfaction at the ruin which had overtaken the woman who had treated him with contemptuous indifference, and shown no intention of acknowledging his just claim to a share of his father’s property. But Jim was guiltless of resentment, and the inherent chivalry of his nature rose up in indignant pity at the blow dealt to the widow and orphans.
Jim thought much and deeply, but he wisely said little in the meantime, preferring deeds to words. Austin succeeded in convincing him that in Mrs. Morland’s sight, at least, her case was desperate; and Jim the simple-minded could only marvel how so many years of prosperity and social success could have been unfruitful of a single friend attached and loyal enough to come forward with counsel and help.