"That, Mr. Aubrey," said Mr. Parkinson, earnestly, "remains to be proved! We really are getting on far too fast. A person who heard us might suppose that the jury had already returned a verdict against us—that judgment had been signed—and that the sheriff was coming in the morning to execute the writ of possession in favor of our opponent." This was well meant by the speaker; but surely it was like talking of the machinery of the ghastly guillotine to the wretch in shivering expectation of suffering by it on the morrow. An involuntary shudder ran through Mr. Aubrey. "Sixty thousand pounds!" he exclaimed, rising and walking to and fro. "Why, I am ruined beyond all redemption! How can I ever satisfy it?" Again he paced the room several times, in silent agony. Presently he resumed his seat. "I have, for these several days past, had a strange sense of impending calamity," said he, more calmly—"I have been equally unable to account for, or get rid of it. It may be an intimation from Heaven; I bow to its will!"
"We must remember," said Mr. Runnington, "that 'possession is nine-tenths of the law;' which means, that your mere possession will entitle you to retain it against all the world, till a stronger title than yours to the right of possession be made out. You stand on a mountain; and it is for your adversary to displace you, not by showing merely that you have no real title, but that he has. If he could prove all your title-deeds to be merely waste paper—that in fact you have no more title to Yatton than I have—he would not, if he were to stop there, have advanced his own case an inch; he must first establish in himself a clear and independent title; so that you are entirely on the defensive; and rely upon it, that though never so many screws may be loose, so acute and profound a lawyer as the Attorney-General will impose every difficulty on our opponents"——
"Nay, but God forbid that any unconscientious advantage should be taken on my behalf!" said Mr. Aubrey. Mr. Runnington and Mr. Parkinson both opened their eyes pretty wide at this sally; the latter could not at first understand why everything should not be fair in war; the former saw and appreciated the nobility of soul which had dictated the exclamation.
"I suppose the affair will soon become public," said Mr. Aubrey, with an air of profound depression, after much further conversation.
"Your position in the county, your eminence in public life, the singularity of the case, and the magnitude of the stake—all are circumstances undoubtedly calculated soon to urge the affair before the notice of the public," said Mr. Runnington.
"What disastrous intelligence to break to my family!" exclaimed Mr. Aubrey, tremulously. "With what fearful suddenness it has burst upon us! But something, I suppose," he presently added with forced calmness, "must be done immediately?"
"Undoubtedly," replied Mr. Runnington. "Mr. Parkinson and I will immediately proceed to examine your title-deeds, the greater portion of which are, I understand, here in the Hall, and the rest at Mr. Parkinson's; and prepare, without delay, a case for the opinion of the Attorney-General, and also of the most eminent conveyancers of the kingdom. Who, by the way," said Mr. Runnington, addressing Mr. Parkinson—"who was the conveyancer that had the abstracts before him, on preparing Mr. Aubrey's marriage-settlement?"
"Oh, you are alluding to the 'Opinion' I mentioned to you this evening?" inquired Mr. Parkinson. "I have it at my house, and will show it you in the morning. The doubt he expressed on one or two points gave me, I recollect, no little uneasiness—as you may remember, Mr. Aubrey."
"I certainly do," he replied with a profound sigh; "but though what you said reminded me of something or other that I had heard when a mere boy, I thought no more of it. I think you also told me that the gentleman who wrote the opinion was a nervous, fidgety man, always raising difficulties in his clients' titles—and one way or another, the thing never gave me any concern—scarcely ever even occurred to my thoughts, till to-day! What infatuation has been mine!—But you will take a little refreshment, gentlemen, after your journey?" said Mr. Aubrey, suddenly, glad of the opportunity it would afford him of reviving his own exhausted spirits by a little wine, before returning to the drawing-room. He swallowed several glasses of wine without their producing any immediately perceptible effect; and the bearers of the direful intelligence just communicated to the reader, after a promise by Mr. Aubrey to drive over to Grilston early in the morning, and bring with him such of his title-deeds as were then at the Hall, took their departure; leaving him outwardly calmer, but with a fearful oppression at his heart. He made a powerful effort to control his feelings, so as to conceal, for a while at least, the dreadful occurrence of the evening. His countenance and constrained manner, however; on re-entering the drawing-room, which his mother, attended by Kate, had quitted for her bedroom—somewhat alarmed Mrs. Aubrey; but he easily quieted her—poor soul!—by saying that he certainly had been annoyed—"excessively annoyed"—at a communication just made to him; "and which might, in fact, prevent his sitting again for Yatton." "Oh, that's the cause of your long stay? There, Doctor, am I not right?" said Mrs. Aubrey, appealing to Dr. Tatham. "Did I not tell you that this was something connected with politics? Oh, dearest Charles—I do hate politics! Give me a quiet home!" A pang shot through Mr. Aubrey's heart; but he felt that he had, for the present, succeeded in his object.
Mr. Aubrey's distracted mind was indeed, as it were, buffeted about that night on a dark sea of trouble; while the beloved being beside him lay sleeping peacefully, all unconscious of the rising storm! Many times, during that dismal night, would he have risen from his bed to seek a momentary relief by walking to and fro, but that he feared disturbing her, and disclosing the extent and depth of his distress. It was nearly five o'clock in the morning before he at length sank into sleep; and of one thing I can assure the reader, that however that excellent man might have shrunk—and shrink he did—from the sufferings which seemed in store, not for himself only, but for those who were far dearer to him than life itself, he did not give way to one repining or rebellious thought. On the contrary, his real frame of mind, on that trying occasion, may be discovered in one short prayer, which his agonized soul was more than once on the point of expressing aloud in words—"Oh, my God! in my prosperity I have endeavored always to acknowledge thee; forsake not me and mine in our adversity!"