It was one morning when Mr. Ochterlony had been later than usual of coming downstairs. When he did make his appearance it was nearly noon, and he was in his dressing-gown, which was an unheard-of thing for him. Instead of going out to the garden, he called Hugh, and asked him to give him his arm while he made a little tour of the house. They went from the library to the dining-room, and then upstairs to the great drawing-room where the Venus and the Psyche were. When they had got that length Mr. Ochterlony dropped into a chair, and gasped for breath, and looked round upon his treasures. And then Hugh, who was looking on, began to feel very uneasy and anxious for the first time.
“One can’t take them with one,” said Mr. Ochterlony, with a sigh and a smile; “and you will not care for them much, Hugh. I don’t mean to put any burden upon you: they are worth a good deal of money; but I’d rather you did not sell them, if you could make up your mind to the sacrifice.”
“If they were mine I certainly should not sell them,” said Hugh; “but as they are yours, uncle, I don’t see that it matters what I would do.”
Mr. Ochterlony smiled, and looked kindly at him, but he did not give him any direct answer. “If they were yours,” he said—“suppose the case—then what would you do with them?”
“I would collect them in a museum somewhere, and call them by your name,” said Hugh, on the spur of the moment. “You almost ought to do that yourself, uncle, there are so few people to see them here.”
Mr. Ochterlony’s languid eyes brightened a little. “They are worth a good deal of money,” he said.
“If they were worth a mint of money, I don’t see what that matters,” said Hugh, with youthful extravagance.
His uncle looked at him again, and once more the languid eye lighted up, and a tinge of colour came to the grey cheek.
“I think you mean it, Hugh,” he said, “and it is pleasant to think you do mean it now, even if—— I have been an economical man, in every way but this, and I think you would not miss it. But I won’t put any bondage upon you. By the way, they would belong to the personalty. Perhaps there’s a will wanted for that. It was stupid of me not to think of it before. I ought to see about it this very day.”
“Uncle,” said Hugh, who had been sitting on the arm of a chair looking at him, and seeing, as by a sudden revelation, all the gradual changes which he had not noticed when they began: the shortened breath, the emaciated form, and the deep large circle round the eyes,—“Uncle, will you tell me seriously what you mean when you speak to me like this?”