“Yes, that’s out of the question, Lady Markham; and at first I never meant to, because of Paul. So here is what I am going to do. You heard what old Aunt Katie said. The old house is for sale again; the old place where she was born and I was born, my uncle’s old place that he had to sell, where I am as well known as Paul is at Markham. I am going back there; don’t say a word. It’s better for me, and better for you, and all of us, I’ll take the old woman with me, and I’ll be as happy as the day is long.”
Here Gus gave a little gulp. Lady Markham got up and went towards him with her hand extended in anxious deprecation, though who can tell what a storm was going on in her bosom, of mingled reluctance and expectation—an agitation beyond words. He too raised his hand to keep her silent. T “Don’t say anything,” he said; “I’ve made up my mind; it will be a great deal better. Paul can come back, and I dare say he’ll marry little Dolly. You can say I hope he will, and make her a good husband. And since Fairfax is rich, why that is all right without me. Send for Paul, my lady, and we’ll settle about the money; for I must have money you know. I must have my share. And I’d like to give a sort of legacy to the little girls. They’re fond of me, really, those two children, they are now, though you might not think it.”
“We are all fond of you,” said Lady Markham, with tears.
“Well, perhaps that is too much to expect; but you have all been very kind. Send for Paul, and make him bring the lawyer, and we’ll get it all settled. I shall go out by the next steamer,” said Sir Gus, after a little pause, recovering his usual tone. “No more of this cold for me. I shall be king at Gavestonville, as Paul will be here. I don’t think, Lady Markham, I have anything more to say.”
“But,” she cried clinging to her duty. “But—I don’t know what to say to you. Gus—Gus!”
“I have made up my mind,” said the little gentleman with great dignity, and after that there was not another word to say.
But there was a great convulsion in Markham when Sir Gus went away. The children were inconsolable. And Dolly stood by the Rectory gate when his carriage went past to the railway with the tears running down her cheeks. He had the carriage stopped at that last moment, and stepped out to speak to her, letting his fur cloak fall on the road.
“Marry Paul, my dear,” he said, “that will be a great deal better than if you had married me. But you may give me a kiss before I go away.”
There was a vague notion in Sir Gus’s mind that little Dolly had wanted to marry him, but that he had discouraged the idea. He spoke in something of the same voice to the children as they saw him go away, watched him driving off. “I can’t take you with me,” he said, “but you shall come and see me.” And so, with great dignity and satisfaction, Sir Gus went away.
Thus Paul Markham had his property again when he had given up all thought of it; but the little gentleman who is the greatest man in Barbadoes has not the slightest intention of dying to oblige him, and in all likelihood the master of Markham will never be Sir Paul.