A pause ensued, which was broken at last by India.
“All is sadly changed here; my father has been very unfortunate, and Mr. Ashley——I cannot comprehend it! I see ruin gathering darkly around us all, without the power—yes, and without the will—to avert it, any more than I could avert an earthquake, whose premonitory jars were shaking us!” she said, in a despairing tone.
Mark Sutherland made no comment. What could he have said to console her that would not have been false? He thought that not so would Rosalie have met misfortune—with inert despair. And then he remembered that much of this impending ruin the beautiful India had drawn upon her own head, and the heads of those who loved her, but whom, alas! she loved not. He felt relieved when, at this point, a summons to the breakfast-room terminated the interview.
At the breakfast table appeared India, Mark Sutherland, St. Gerald Ashley, and Mr. Bolling. Oriole served tea and coffee from a side-table. Clement Sutherland had not come home. Mr. Ashley’s face was bloated, and his eyes blood-shot—the effects of the preceding evening’s excess were but too plain. He sat silent and morose, and ate but little. India maintained a cold, severe aspect, never speaking to or looking at him. Mark Sutherland felt himself de trop and uncomfortable, but for Uncle Billy, who kept up an incessant monologue, asking a score of questions about the north-west, and volunteering many comments. Mr. Sutherland was rejoiced when the gloomy meal was over, and earnestly wished that the master of the house might soon return, and his business and his visit be concluded at once. He expressed this wish to Mr. Bolling, who hastened to reply—
“And so do I, nephew! and so do I! For this is the case every day. Each night that fellow goes to bed tipsy, and each morning appears at the breakfast table in a state of bloated torpor! Yes, Lord knows do I wish that Clem. Sutherland would come, and we could finish our business and leave; for you know I’m going home with you, Mark. I intend to stick to you. I admire your principles—always did—I’m your man.”
The day advanced, and still Clement Sutherland did not make his appearance. The late dinner was served, and passed as gloomily as the breakfast, and still he came not. The house was growing intolerable to Mark, who summoned one of the servants, and inquired where he should be likely to find his master; and was informed that he might be found at the Planters’ Best, where he usually stopped when business took him to the village. Mr. Sutherland then ordered his horse, and, while waiting for him to be saddled and brought to the door, went and took leave of Mr. Bolling, leaving his compliments and adieus to Mrs. Ashley, who had retired to her room to take her afternoon rest. Then he mounted his horse, and took the road to the village, intending, if possible, to have an interview and a settlement with his uncle, and to make his head-quarters at the village inn, as long as he should be obliged to remain.
CHAPTER XXVII.
FORGERY.
“Oh! cursed lust of gold! how for thy sake
The fool throws up his interests in both worlds!
First lost in this—then damned in that to come.”—Blair.