Читать книгу Bertha Shelley - Aubrey Burnage - Страница 6

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The quality of mercy is not strained;

It droppeth as the gentle rain from Heaven

Upon the place beneath. It is twice bless'd—

It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes;

'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes

The throned monarch better than his crown!

—SHAKESPEARE.

While Percy was riding into York to make his new purchase, Dr. Sinclair was out in his gig, visiting among the neighbouring poor. Since he had given over active practice, he had taken the indigent portion of the community around Elmsdale entirely under his own charge, thus relieving poorer professional men of the burden such a class of patients invariably are. He spent his leisure hours in prescribing gratuitously for all the poor within five miles of home; and while on his daily rounds, distributing medicine and advice, he was often enabled to alleviate much distress attributable solely to absolute destitution.

Mrs. Sinclair and the housekeeper were in the breakfast-room, making arrangements for the approaching Christmas holidays, and the little people were with the governess, at morning lessons.

'What, Anne, going out?' asked Mrs. Sinclair, as Miss Egerton entered the apartment, dressed for walking.

'Yes, aunt; I am going down to the Oaks to see Ella Blake. Her mother has just sent me word she is worse.'

'Poor child; I don't think she will last long,' the old lady said, with sympathy.

'Will you tell uncle of the change directly he comes in?' Anne asked.

'Yes dear. And, Mrs. Butler, send James down with some more wine and jellies, she must have finished the last by this time,' Mrs. Sinclair said, turning to the housekeeper.

'I shall be back in an hour, I think, aunt; but if the poor girl is very much worse, I may stay longer; so you must not be uneasy if I am not back to lunch,' said Anne, as she passed out on her errand of love.

Miss Egerton was an able seconder of her uncle's practical benevolence; and there was not a sick-room among the poor for miles about where her gentle ministering had not assisted as much as her uncle's physic in restoring the invalids.

What pleasure is greater than that of labouring for the good of others—of contributing to the happiness or need of the weak or unfortunate? There is no joy to compare with it in the whole round of the life of a purely selfish person. The heart that can feel for the sorrows of others and delight in alleviating their distress, is susceptible of a variety of pleasurable emotions the unsympathetic are strangers to. Beyond the consciousness of having done right, the delight of making others happy is in itself a happiness far deeper and more lasting than any pleasure within the grasp of the churl, who lives for himself alone.

It was a far more beautiful morning than we in this sun-browned southern world may ever hope to see. Nature had on her winter robe of white and blue. The snow sparkled and glistened in its dazzling purity, and the azure concave above shone like a vast inverted sea. It was studded here and there with little fleecy clouds, that looked wondrous, like snow-clad isles in that far-off illimitable ocean of blue. Miss Egerton, though her soul was in full sympathy with the beauties of Nature, gave no heed to the scene, but hurried on, her thoughts intent upon the youthful sufferer she knew was anxiously expecting her. A quarter of an hour's brisk walk over the snow brought her to the Oaks, a farm of her uncle's, tenanted by Mr. Blake. The mother of her patient met her at the porch.

'Oh! Miss Egerton, Ella is so much worse to-day; and she has been asking for you all the morning!'

'I am very sorry to hear it, Mrs. Blake! I hope she will soon rally again,' replied Anne, hopefully.

'I am afraid she never will get better any more!' answered the mother, sadly. 'She has been ailing for more than a year now. She seemed to take a change for the worse last night, and she has been getting lower ever since!'

'Poor Ella! Is she in much pain, Mrs. Blake?'

'She was a while back; but I think it's more languor now,' replied Mrs. Blake, as she led the way through the front room, with its quaint diamond-panel windows and sanded floor, to the bedroom beyond.

Upon a small bed by the window, lay the wasted form of a young girl in the last stages of consumption. The fell work of that mocking disease which so well counterfeits the flush of health, was almost complete.—The bud was nearly blasted: the tender stem all but cut through! Ella lay weak and helpless upon the bed; her eyes closed, and her long, dark hair shadowing her clear, pale brow, and making the transparent whiteness of her skin the more startling by the abrupt contrast! With what an ethereal loveliness this disease clothes its victims! It would seem as though a bodily preparation for the sphere of eternal beauty had commenced on earth!

'Ella dear,' Anne said, softly, as she stooped over the invalid, and kissed her cold brow, 'How do you feel to-day?'

The sufferer opened her large, liquid eyes, and, smiling faintly, answered in a tone so low, that Anne had to put her ear close to the invalid's mouth to catch her feeble whisper. 'I don't think I shall live long now, Miss Egerton. Do read one of the beautiful chapters we used to learn at Sunday school! That one about Charity, in the first Corinthians!' Anne took out her pocket Bible, and turned to this really beautiful description of 'Heaven-born Charity,' and read it in a clear, subdued voice. Then she talked to Ella of heaven, in a way that roused the girl's drooping heart, and made her cling yet closer to the promises that never fail.

Presently, Dr. Sinclair came in to see his gentle patient. 'Well, Ella,' he said, kindly stroking her long hair. 'Have you been silly enough to get worse again, after all my physic?'

She replied by a feeble, languid smile, and a glance full of gratitude from her large, lustrous eyes.

'Anne, you have been talking too much to Ella this morning. She is too weak to bear it;' Dr. Sinclair said, noticing the girl's flushed face.

'Good-bye, dear! I will come and see you again to-morrow!' said Anne, rising at the hint.

Dr. Sinclair left some medicine for his patient; and then took his niece with him in the gig, and drove home. Percy was back by one o'clock; and after lunch he and Anne went round to the stables to see his new horse. She admired the beautiful creature exceedingly; but Percy was restless, and proposed a walk in the park; so they soon left Whirlwind to his oats and his own meditations.

'I say, coz., do you believe in presentiments?' Percy asked, rather abruptly.

'No, Percy! Why?'

'Oh, never mind, coz.! I'm as superstitious as an old woman to-day; but let us talk of something else.'

They sat down upon a seat under the bare limbs of a young elm, and talked of many things else—of what had happened at home during Percy's last term at Cambridge, and of all the troubles and triumphs he had undergone during that period. Then Anne surprised him by asking whether he had seen Hubert Clayton during his ride into York.

'No, Anne, I did not! May I enquire why you ask!'

'Poor fellow, I hear he is going down hill faster than ever now! Mr. Fairfax told me yesterday he is getting so notorious, that even the betting men and gamblers shun him. I wonder whether anything can ever be done to reclaim him!'

'There is only one thing that can soften or humanize Mr. Clayton. If he is ever fortunate enough to meet with some serious accident, that will confine him to his bed for months, he may be led to see his errors. Sickness is the only reformer for such as he! And I am afraid, that unless he died, while melted and humbled by adversity, he would relapse again into his former vicious habits!'

'Poor Hubert,' said Anne, with tears in her eyes. 'Does it not seem strange that one with so many advantages over others, should be so utterly lost to every instinct for good!'

'I wish, Anne, that you could overcome this unfortunate preference for one so thoroughly unworthy of you! If there was any prospect of his changing I would not be so anxious for you!'

'I can never change, Percy. When I thought him all goodness and honour, I promised to be faithful until death; and I could not change my heart even were I willing to break my word. The purposes of the Lord are deep and His power infinite. Who can tell that He may not, in His own good time, melt Hubert's heart and change his disposition?'

'Pardon our interruption, Mr. Sinclair; can you grant my friend and I ten minutes, private interview?'

Percy and Anne turned round at the sound of the voice, and saw two strange gentlemen standing before them.

'Certainly, sir; but would it not have been better to have called at the house and left the servants to inform me of your request?' Percy said, with rather more hauteur than an aspirant for pulpit fame should have exhibited.

'We saw you from the gate,' said the stranger, without noticing Mr. Sinclair's anger, 'and when we explain our business you will see the reason we wished to speak with you before entering the house.'

'You speak in enigmas!' returned Percy. 'Anne,' he continued, 'You had better go in; and I will speak with these gentlemen here, as they wish it.'

Miss Egerton went home, wondering at the strange manner of her cousin's visitors. Directly she was out of hearing Mr. Inspector Barlow opened the conversation by saying, 'I have called to make some enquiries about a cheque that passed through your hands lately. It is a forgery; and I want you to tell me the name of the person you received it from, together with all other information you can furnish, me with concerning it.'

'A cheque? I do not understand you!'

'We do not for a moment wish to link your name with it, beyond its having passed through your hands. The cheque is a forgery, and it has been traced to you. What we want is the clue that will carry us on to the actual culprit.'

'A forgery; and traced to me? I do not understand you!'

'Mr. Sinclair, are you mad? If you deny having had the cheque in your possession, what conclusion can I come to but that the crime is at your door? As you value your liberty, give us the information we require, and let us go. Recollect, we have no idea of your being complicated.'

Percy Sinclair stood for a few moments perfectly bewildered. Recovering himself, he said, 'There is certainly some mistake! Come with me into the house, my father may be able to explain the mystery; I only returned from Cambridge yesterday.'

'Stay a moment! The forgery was most probably committed there; for it is the cheque of Sir John Greville's you paid Darby Gregson for a horse with, that has been forged.'

'I? I paid him in ten-pound notes. He will tell you so.'

'He tells a very different story; and both his mate and the people at the 'Weavers' Arms' say they saw the cheque with you.'

'This is getting serious,' said Percy Sinclair, more and more puzzled. 'I assure you, I paid him in ten-pound notes.'

'Have you the numbers?'

'No; I very seldom trouble to take them down.'

Did you get the notes at the bank? If so, and you remember the date, we may get the numbers there,' said Mr. Barlow, anxiously. He was beginning to think Mr. Sinclair knew more than he chose to tell.

'No; my father gives me a quarterly allowance, and I put into my desk what I do not use. I could not say to six months when I received any particular note, or to what quarter's savings it belonged.'

'You have nothing then but your bare word to support this assertion about the notes?' Mr. Barlow asked, impatiently.

'Nothing; as I never dreamt that I should ever need anything.'

'Hem,' said Mr. Barlow, thoughtfully. He turned to his companion, and they held a conversation apart for a few minutes. Turning to Percy Sinclair again, Mr. Barlow said, 'I am sorry to say, that unless you can give me the name of the person you received this cheque from, it will be my painful duty to arrest you upon the charge of forgery!'

'Arrest me for forging a cheque I never saw? Impossible!'

'Only too possible, if you persist in feigning ignorance! Either the person you received the cheque from forged it, or you did; and unless you give me a clue I am driven to apprehend you!'

'I tell you, on my honour, that I received no cheque from any one; and I paid none to Darby Gregson!'

Mr. Inspector Barlow, seeing the impossibility of getting the information he came for, was reluctantly compelled to take Mr. Sinclair in charge. He had entered the park firm in the conviction of Mr. Sinclair's innocence; but his manner, and strange denial of having had the cheque, much altered his opinion. Laying his hand upon Percy's shoulder, he said, 'You must consider yourself my prisoner. Do you wish to see your friends before I remove you to the station?'

Percy Sinclair was some moments before he could answer, so surprised was he at the unexpected turn of events. At last be exclaimed, 'Either there is some terrible mistake, or you are playing an unpardonable joke upon me!'

'I would to heaven it was a mistake, Mr. Sinclair,' said Sergeant Hawkins, who had till now left the conversation to his chief. 'You are the last man I ever thought to arrest; but it is only too true that Darby Gregson swears he got the cheque from you, and several others are ready to take oath they saw it with you. So you must either account for its possession or come with us.'

'Do you wish to see your friends before we go?' Mr. Inspector Barlow asked, kindly.

'No, thank you; it would only distress them. I can leave a note at the lodge for my father.'

They started on their melancholy walk, and soon reached that indiscriminate abode of vice and misfortune—the county gaol; and soon Percy Sinclair heard the grating of the prison bolts as the heavy door closed upon him—a prisoner, arrested for forgery!