“We had a great deal of conversation in her last illness which will interest you. On religious subjects I found her views—poor lady—all very sound; indeed, if it had not been for that foolish spirit-rapping, which a little led her away—that is, confused her—I don’t think there was anything in her opinions to which exception could have been taken. She had the sacrament twice, and I visited and prayed with her constantly, and very devout and earnest she was, and indeed her mind was in a very happy state—very serene and hopeful.”
“Thank you, Sir, it is a great comfort.”
“And about that spiritualism, mind you, I don’t say there’s nothing in it,” continued the rector, “there may be a great deal—in fact, a great deal too much—but take it what way we may, to my mind, it is too like what Scripture deals with as witchcraft to be tampered with. If there be no familiar spirit, it’s nothing, and if there be, what is it? I talked very fully with the poor lady the last day but one I saw her on this subject, to which indeed she led me. I hope you don’t practise it—no—that’s right; nothing would induce me to sit at a séance. I should as soon think of praying to the devil. I don’t say, of course, that everyone who does is as bad as I should be; it depends in some measure on the view you take. The spirit world is veiled from us, no doubt in mercy—in mercy, Sir, and we have no right to lift that veil; few do with impunity; but of that another time. She made a will, you know?”
“No, I did not hear.”
“Oh, yes; Jones drew it; it’s in my custody; it leaves you everything. It is not a very great deal, you know; two annuities die with her; but it’s somewhere about four hundred a year, Jones says, and this house. So it makes you quite easy, you see.”
To William, who had never paid taxes, and knew nothing of servants’ wages, four hundred a year and a house was Aladdin’s lamp. The pale image of poor Aunt Dinah came with a plaintive smile, making him this splendid gift, and he burst into tears.
“I wish, Sir, I had been better to her. She was always so good to me. Oh, Sir, I’d give anything, I would, for a few minutes to tell her how much I really loved her; I’m afraid, Sir, she did not know.”
“Pooh! she knew very well. You need not trouble yourself on that point. You were better to her than a son to a mother. You are not to trouble yourself about that little—a—a—difference of opinion about taking orders; for I tell you plainly, she was wrong, and you were right; one of her fancies, poor little thing. But that’s not a matter to be trifled with, it’s a very awful step; I doubt whether we make quite solemnity enough about it; there are so few things in life irrevocable; but however that may be, you are better as you are, and there’s nothing to reproach yourself with on that head. When I said, by-the-bye, that she had left you every thing, I ought to have excepted that little jewellery, which was left to Miss Darkwell, and a few books to me, that mad fellow, Bung, you know, among them, and an old silver salver to Saxton Church, which there was a tradition was stolen by a Puritan tenant of Sir—what’s-his-name—that had the tobacco-box, you know, from some church, she did not know what, in this county, when his troop was quartered at Hentley Towers. And—and she had a fancy it was that spirit, Henbane, you know, that told her to restore it to the Church—any church—and there are a few trifling legacies, you know, and that’s all.”
Then their conference diverged into the repulsive details of the undertaker, where we need not follow, and this over, the rector said:—
“You must come down and see us at the Rectory; Miss Darkwell, you know, is with us at present; something likely to be in that quarter very soon, you are aware,” he added, significantly; “very advantageous, everything, but all this, you know, delays it for a time; you’ll come over and see us, as often as you like; a very pretty walk across the fields—nothing to a young athlete like you, Sir, and we shall always be delighted to see you.”