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it.”
“But I am not disputing it, Miss; I’m only supposing what may happen — an accident, we’ll call it small-pox, diphtheria, that’s going very much. Three years and three months, you know, is a long time. You proceed to Bartram–Haugh, thinking you have much goods laid up for many years; but your Creator, you know, may say, ‘Thou fool, this day is thy soul required of thee.’ You go — and what pray is thought of your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, who walks in for the entire inheritance, and who has long been abused like a pickpocket, or worse, in his own county, I’m told?”
“You are a religious man, Doctor Bryerly, according to your lights?” I said.
The Swedenborgian smiled.
“Well, knowing that he is so too, and having yourself experienced the power of religion, do not you think him deserving of every confidence? Don’t you think it well that he should have this opportunity of exhibiting both his own character and the reliance which my dear papa reposed on it, and that we should leave all consequences and contingencies in the hands of Heaven?”
“It appears to have been the will of Heaven hitherto,” said Doctor Bryerly — I could not see with what expression of face, but he was looking down, and drawing little diagrams with his stick on the dark carpet, and spoke in a very low tone —“that your uncle should suffer under this ill report. In countervailing the appointment of Providence, we must employ our reason, with conscientious diligence, as to the means, and if we find that they are as likely to do mischief as good, we have no right to expect a special interposition to turn our experiment into an ordeal. I think you ought to weight it well — I am sure there are reasons against it. If you make up your mind that you would rather be placed under the care, say of Lady Knollys, I will endeavour all I can to effect it.”
“That could not be done without his consent, could it?” said I.
“No, but I don’t despair of getting that — on terms, of course,” remarked he.
“I don’t quite understand,” I said.
“I mean, for instance, if he were allowed to keep the allowance for your maintenance — eh?”
“I mistake my uncle Silas very much,” I said, “if that allowance is any object whatever to him compared with the moral value of the position. If he were deprived of that, I am sure he would decline the other.”
“We might try him at all events,” said Doctor Bryerly, on whose dark sinewy features, even in this imperfect light, I thought I detected a smile.
“Perhaps,” said I, “I appear very foolish in supposing him actuated by any but sordid motives; but he is my near relation, and I can’t help it, sir.”
“That is a very serious thing, Miss Ruthyn,” he replied. “You are very young, and cannot see it at present, as you will hereafter. He is very religious, you say, and all that, but his house is not a proper place for you. It is a solitude — its master an outcast, and it has been the repeated scene of all sorts of scandals, and of one great crime; and Lady Knollys thinks your having been domesticated there will be an injury to you all the days of your life.”
“So I do, Maud,” said Lady Knollys, who had just entered the room unperceived. —“How do you do, Doctor Bryerly? — a serious injury. You have no idea how entirely that house is condemned and avoided, and the very name of its inmates tabooed.”
“How monstrous — how cruel!” I exclaimed.
“Very unpleasant, my dear, but perfectly natural. You are to recollect that quite independently of the story of Mr. Clarke, the house was talked about, and the county people had cut your uncle Silas long before that adventure was dreamed of; and as to the circumstance of your being placed in his charge by his brother, who took, from strong family feeling, a totally one-sided view of the affair from the first, having the slightest effect in restoring his position in the county, you must quite give that up. Except me, if he will allow me, and the clergyman, not a soul in the country will visit at Bartram–Haugh. They may pity you, and think the whole thing the climax of folly and cruelty; but they won’t visit at Bartram, or know Silas, or have anything to do with his household.”
“They will see, at all events, what my dear papa’s opinion was.”
“They know that already,” answered she, “and it has not, and ought not to have, the slightest weight with them. There are people there who think themselves just as great as the Ruthyns, or greater; and your poor father’s idea of carrying it by a demonstration was simply the dream of a man who had forgotten the world, and learned to exaggerate himself in his long seclusion. I know he was beginning himself to hesitate; and I think if he had been spared another year that provision of his will would have been struck out.”
Doctor Bryerly nodded, and he said —
“And if he had the power to dictate now, would he insist on that direction? It is a mistake every way, injurious to you, his child; and should you happen to die during your sojourn under your uncle’s care, it would woefully defeat the testator’s object, and raise such a storm of surmise and inquiry as would awaken all England, and sent he old scandal on the wing through the world again.”
“Doctor Bryerly will, I have no doubt, arrange it all. In fact, I do not think it would be very difficult to bring Silas to terms; and if you do not consent to his trying, Maud, mark my words, you will live to repent it.”
Here were two persons viewing the question from totally different points; both perfectly disinterested; both in their different ways, I believe, shrewd and even wise; and both honourable, urging me against it, and in a way that undefinably alarmed my imagination, as well as moved my reason. I looked form one to the other — there was a silence. By this time the candles had come, and we could see one another.
“I only wait your decision, Miss Ruthyn,” said the trustee, “to see your uncle. If his advantage was the chief object contemplated in this arrangement, he will be the best judge whether his interest is really best consulted by it or no; and I think he will clearly see that it is not so, and will answer accordingly.”
“I cannot answer now — you must allow me to think it over — I will do my best. I am very much obliged, my dear Cousin Monica, you are so very good, and you too, Doctor Bryerly.”
Doctor Bryerly by this time was looking into his pocket-book, and did not acknowledge my thanks even by a nod.
“I must be in London the day after to-morrow. Bartram–Haugh is nearly sixty miles from here, and only twenty of that by rail, I find. Forty miles of posting over those Derbyshire mountains is slow work; but if you say try, I’ll see him to-morrow morning.”
“You must say try — you must, my dear Maud.”
“But how can I decide in a moment? Oh, dear Cousin Monica, I am so distracted!”
“But you need not decide at all; the decision rests with him. Come; he is more competent than you. You must say yes.”
Again I looked from her to Doctor Bryerly, and from him to her again. I threw my arms about her neck, and hugging her closely to me, I cried —
“Oh, Cousin Monica, dear Cousin Monica, advise me. I am a wretched creature. You must advise me.”
I did not know till now how irresolute a character was mine.
I knew somehow by the tone of her voice that she was smiling as she answered —
“Why, dear, I have advised you; I do advise you;” and then she added, impetuously, “I entreat and implore, if you really think I love you, that you will follow my advice. It is your duty to leave your uncle Silas, whom you believe to be more competent than you are, to decide, after full conference with Doctor Bryerly, who knows more of your poor father’s views and intentions in making that appointment than either you or I.”
“Shall I say, yes?” I cried, drawing her close, and kissing her helplessly. “Oh, tell me — rtell me to say, yes.”
“Yes, of