The band came at the appointed hour: two violins, a violoncello, a harp, and a couple of clarinets, the musicians being all small tradesmen of the town. They were met at the postern which opened into the private garden by Hubert Stone, who now wore a fashionable overcoat, and was smoking a cigar. Hubert marshalled the players on to the sward directly opposite to, but a few yards away from, the windows of Mr. Denison's sitting-room. The Squire was but weak, he said, and it was desirable not to have the sounds too near. John Tilney, the gardener, and his wife crept in behind the musicians, and stood a little in the background. Had Mr. Hubert Stone noticed the movement, he might have ordered them away, for he had a great notion of keeping servants in their places.
The shutters of Mr. Denison's sitting-room had not been closed this evening. A bright wood-fire was burning on the hearth, and two lighted wax candles stood on a table in the middle of the room. The tall gaunt figure of the Squire as he sat in his great leathern chair, muffled up in his long dressing-robe, was plainly visible to the group on the lawn. His head looked partially shrunken between his shoulders as he sat leaning forward a little, staring intently into the fire, his bony hands clasped over the knob of the massive cane which for a long time past he had made use of to help him from room to room. The firelight flickered on the diamonds in his ring; it made the hollows of his wasted cheeks seem deeper still, and brought into prominent relief the contrast between his black velvet skull-cap and the long white locks which straggled from under it. He sat there, the solitary living figure in a picture that otherwise was instinct with gloom, and that was not wanting in a sort of weird solemnity of its own.
At a signal from their leader, the band struck up the old English air, "Welcome to thy Native Vale." As the first note struck his ear, the Squire lifted his head quickly, changed the position of his stick, and put on the air of a man who listens intently.
The first piece at an end, there ensued a minute's pause, and then the band struck up again. This in turn was followed by two other pieces. When the last strains of the fourth air had died away, the Squire was seen to rise slowly and painfully to his feet. With the help of his cane, and drawing the folds of his dressing-gown around him, he tottered feebly forward till he came near the window. Standing there, and changing his cane to the left hand, he gravely bent his head to the (to him) invisible onlookers in the garden, and waved his right hand two or three times in token of thanks and greeting. Turning then, he tottered back to his chair.
Three hearty cheers were raised for the old Squire; and the musicians filed out of the private garden, Hubert locking the door of it. A plentiful meal was set out for them in the smaller servants' hall, to which they did not fail to do ample justice.
Old Aaron, grumpy as usual, did not choose to preside at it, though his grandson had told him in the hearing of the household, earlier in the evening, that it was what he ought to do. Barely did he condescend to show himself at all, for this visit of the musicians had not met with his approval. He came stalking through the room while they were at supper, looking at them in his surly way, and muttering to himself about "ruin" and "extravagance," and "dying in the workhouse." But the ale was strong, and the company did not mind. They knew old Aaron before, and they burst into a laugh as he shut the door behind him.
[CHAPTER V.]
MR. CHARLES PLACKETT CALLS UPON THE SQUIRE.
By the afternoon post on the twenty-fifth of April, a letter was delivered at Heron Dyke for Mr. Denison. It was written by the firm of Plackett, Plackett and Rex; and it informed the Squire in courteous terms--that is, in as courteous terms as lawyers can bring themselves to use--that, in accordance with the wishes of their esteemed client, Mr. Denison of Nunham Priors, Mr. Charles Plackett would present himself at the Hall at eleven o'clock on the morning of the twenty-sixth instant, with the view to satisfying himself (as a mere matter of form) that the Master of Heron Dyke had lived over his seventieth birthday. If it were not convenient to Mr. Denison of Heron Dyke to give a personal interview to Mr. Plackett at that hour, he would be good enough to name a later hour in the same day. The letter said nothing of that clause in the will of the late Gilbert Denison which gave the younger cousin power to command such an interview, for of that clause Squire Denison must himself be perfectly aware.
Whether this letter put out the Squire, or not, did not appear; but it very considerably put out Aaron Stone. Aaron had not recovered his temper of the day before; the congratulatory visits to his master had annoyed him, more especially that one crowning visit of the musicians in the evening. The intimation of this additional visit from the London lawyer pretty nearly wound up Aaron.