This fête, as projected by Alnwick's mistress, was carried out. It need not have been mentioned at all, but for a misfortune that befel Benja while it was being held. The weather, though growing gradually colder, still retained its fineness; and when the day rose, the 10th of November, it proved to be bright and pleasant.
Crowds flocked to Alnwick. As it had been on the 10th of November, during Mr. St. John's widowhood, the fête or fêtes, so it was now--a gathering to be remembered in the county. The invitations had gone out far and wide; visitors were staying in the house, as many as it would hold; day-guests came from all parts, near and distant. It was one of those marked days that never fade from the memory.
But the guests, as it drew towards the close of the afternoon, might have searched for their host in vain, had they happened to want him. Mr. St. John was then in his own sitting-room (the one where you last saw him), leaning back in an easy-chair, and looking tired to death. A little thing fatigued him now: for there could be no mistake that the weakness he complained of was growing upon him. He lay back in the chair in that perfectly still attitude indicative of great weariness; listlessly conscious of the noise outside, the music, the laughter, the gay and joyous sounds; and amidst them might be caught distinctly the shouts and cries of the two boys, Benja and George, who were busiest of the busy that festal day.
Presently George St. John stretched out his hand, and took a letter from his desk--the answer from Isaac St. John. It had arrived only that morning, and Mr. St. John, engaged with his guests at breakfast, had only glanced at its contents. He opened it now again.
"Castle Wafer, November 9th.
"My Dear George,
"You will think I have taken a great deal of time in replying to you, but I wished to give the question mature consideration, and could only snatch brief moments between my sufferings, which are just now very great.
"I accept the charge. Partly because you were always a favourite of mine (as I believe you know), and I don't like to refuse you; partly because I assume that I shall never (speaking in accordance with probability and human foresight) be called upon to exercise my office: for I hope and trust you have no reason to expect this. I had fully made up my mind never to accept another guardianship: not that I had reason to suppose one was likely to be offered me: the bringing up Frederick has been a great responsibility for one situated as I am.
"However, as you say in this case there would be no personal guardianship required, I dare say I could manage the money matters, and therefore consent to accept it. Hoping at the same time, and assuming, that I shall never be called upon to fulfil it.
"Why don't you come and see me? I am very lonely: Frederick is only here by fits and starts, once in a summer's day, and gone again; and Mrs. St. John writes me word that she is prevented coming down this autumn. You can go about at will, and why not come? So much can scarcely be said of me. I should like to make the acquaintance of your wife and of my future charges, who, I hope, never will be my charges. You ask about Anne: nothing is decided; and Frederick holds back mysteriously.