Gerard went back to Drum before his leave had expired.
“Your share shall be paid to you,” Otto had said, perusing the carpet-pattern. “Mother and Aunt Louisa will combine to make that possible. I think that is all, Gerard. Good-bye.”
So, dismissed like a footman, the young fellow turned his back on the home of his youth. He little guessed that the stern, middle-aged man, seated at his father’s desk, in possession, was, even at that very moment, inwardly tossed by a passion of prayer to keep back the furious inculpations that were beating at his lips.
So Gerard went back to Drum. He realized, as he drove away, taking Beauty’s successor with him, that even though he might visit the Manor-house again, henceforth it would be as a stranger. During all the years of his growth into manhood, ever since he could remember, he had been practically the only son, the “young squire” in the eyes of the peasantry. He felt cheated of his birthright.
The packing-up had been a terrible business. Nothing had been said about retaining his rooms, and his nature was one that shrank back before the shadow of a coming hint. Quietly he had put all his things together, turning from Ursula’s silent, terrified gaze. Silence seemed to have fallen upon them all like a paralysis. The servants looked at each other.
All his life had been sheltered too warmly in his father’s fostering affection. The luxury of his youth hung about him—the easy generosity which had accounted money only a thing to spend on himself or on others, according to requirement. It is a cruel thing, that flow of parental good-nature, while the fingers of Death are playing with the tap.
And at this supreme moment even his mother’s sure preference deserted him. The Baroness, whose faculties seemed to lie dulled beneath the veil of her widowhood, had understood, clearly enough, without need of any malice on Otto’s part, that Gerard objected to the terms of the will. The discovery had galvanized her into feverish activity. She had insisted upon sacrificing whatever her husband’s improvidence had left her still unsacrificed. Half a dozen times in the course of one day she rang for Otto, to ascertain whether everything was settled. For the moment, Gerard had become the enemy against whom the forces of the family must unite. She was very angry with him for wishing to destroy his father’s life-work. “You won’t allow it, Otto,” she repeated, excitedly. “You will never allow it.” She clung to her strong eldest, in the weakness of abandonment. Her farewell to the traitor was full of reproach. Gerard went back into life from his father’s funeral, alone.
As soon as the money was in his possession he sought an interview with the creditor at the Hague and discharged his debt, or rather his departed friend’s. But he had plenty of liabilities of his own incurring, and these now came tumbling about his ears in the crash of his father’s removal. By the time he had effected a settlement there was very little left of his original curtailed inheritance. This would hardly have disturbed his calm fruition of all things needful but for the brusque discovery that his credit was gone. One afternoon he stepped into a familiar shop to order a new saddle, and the obsequious tradesman asked prepayment of his standing account. Gerard came away bewildered. It was the turning-point of his life. He was poor.
Before all this, before the Baron’s death, he had made one attempt to act on Mademoiselle Papotier’s suggestion. He had written a long letter to Helena. It had been returned to him unopened, and from that moment he felt his case was utterly hopeless. For a woman hardly ever returns a letter unopened. She is quite willing to do so, only she must read it first. Some of them manage to.