"To any one else in the world, sir!" she resumed, the tears forcing themselves down her cheeks in her earnestness. "To any of your own family--to Mrs. Darling--to whom you will; but do not, do not leave him in the power of his stepmother!"
What instinct caused Honour Tritton thus to speak? And what made Mr. St. John quit the room without a word of reproof, as if he silently bowed to it?
[CHAPTER VIII.]
WASTING AWAY
But though Honour's words certainly aroused Mr. St. John to a sense of precaution, they did not cause him to act upon it. A doubt lay almost in his mind as to whether his wife did, or could, like Benja: it was based upon her unmistakably jealous disposition, and on the blow she had once given Benja when she was as a mad woman: but with her daily conduct before him, her love displayed as much for Benja as for her own child, he could only believe that the boy was safe in her care. Certainly the words of Honour recalled those unpleasant doubts forcibly before him; but he suffered the impression to wear away again. We all know how time, even if you count it only by days or hours, softens the aspect of things; and before November was out, the master of Alnwick had made his will, leaving both the children under the personal guardianship of his wife.
And the winter went on, and George St. John grew weaker and weaker. Not very perceptibly so to the eyes about him; the decline was too gentle for that. In February, instead of going up to London when Parliament met, he resigned his seat, and then people grew sensible of the change in him, and wondered what was wrong with Mr. Carleton St. John. Mr. Pym came up constantly, and was more and more testy at every visit. He sent drugs; he brought other doctors with him; he met a great physician from the metropolis; but the more he did, the worse seemed to be the effect upon his patient.
"You'd better give me up for a bad job, Pym, and leave off worrying yourself," Mr. St. John said to him one day as they were strolling down the park together--for Mr. St. John liked to go out with the doctor when he had paid his visits. "I do you no credit."
"It's because you won't do it," gruffly retorted the surgeon. "I order you to a warm climate, and you won't go."
"No; I won't. I am best here. Send me away to those hot places, and I should only die the sooner. Pym, dear old fellow"--and Mr. St. John put his hand into the surgeon's--"you are feeling this for me more than I feel it for myself. I have settled my business affairs; I have settled--I humbly hope--other affairs of greater moment; and I can wait my summons tranquilly."
"Have you made your will?" asked Mr. Pym, after a pause, which seemed to be chiefly occupied in clearing his throat.