Читать книгу What Will He Do with It? — Complete - Эдвард Джордж Бульвер-Литтон, Эдвард Бульвер-Литтон - Страница 34

Every street has two sides, the shady side and the sunny. When two men shake hands and part, mark which of the two takes the sunny side: he will be the younger man of the two.

The next morning, neither Darrell nor Fairthorn appeared at breakfast; but as soon as Lionel had concluded that meal, Mr. Mills informed him, with customary politeness, that Mr. Darrell wished to speak with him in the study. Study, across the threshold of which Lionel had never yet set footstep! He entered it now with a sentiment of mingled curiosity and awe. Nothing in it remarkable, save the portrait of the host’s father over the mantelpiece. Books strewed tables, chairs, and floors in the disorder loved by habitual students. Near the window was a glass bowl containing gold-fish, and close by, in its cage, a singing-bird. Darrell might exist without companionship in the human species, but not without something which he protected and cherished,—a bird, even a fish.

Darrell looked really ill: his keen eye was almost dim, and the lines in his face seemed deeper. But he spoke with his usual calm, passionless melody of voice.

“Yes,” he said, in answer to Lionel’s really anxious inquiry; “I am ill. Idle persons like me give way to illness. When I was a busy man, I never did; and then illness gave way to me. My general plans are thus, if not actually altered, at least hurried to their consummation sooner than I expected. Before you came here, I told you to come soon, or you might not find me. I meant to go abroad this summer; I shall now start at once. I need the change of scene and air. You will return to London to-day.”

“To-day! You are not angry with me?”

“Angry! boy and cousin—no!” resumed Darrell, in a tone of unusual tenderness. “Angry-fie! But since the parting must be, ‘t is well to abridge the pain of long farewell. You must wish, too, to see your mother, and thank her for rearing you up so that you may step from poverty into ease with a head erect. You will give to Mrs. Haughton this letter: for yourself, your inclinations seem to tend towards the army. But before you decide on that career, I should like you to see something more of the world. Call to-morrow on Colonel Morley, in Curzon Street: this is his address. He will receive by to-day’s post a note from me, requesting him to advise you. Follow his counsels in what belongs to the world. He is a man of the world,—a distant connection of mine, who will be kind to you for my sake. Is there more to say? Yes. It seems an ungracious speech; but I should speak it. Consider yourself sure from me of an independent income. Never let idle sycophants lead you into extravagance by telling you that you will have more. But indulge not the expectation, however plausible, that you will be my heir.”

“Mr. Darrell—oh, sir—”

“Hush! the expectation would be reasonable; but I am a strange being. I might marry again,—have heirs of my own. Eh, sir,—Oh why not?” Darrell spoke these last words almost fiercely, and fixed his eyes on Lionel as he repeated,—“Why not?” But seeing that the boy’s face evinced no surprise, the expression of his own relaxed, and he continued calmly,—“Enough; what I have thus rudely said was kindly meant. It is a treason to a young man to let him count on a fortune which at last is left away from him. Now, Lionel, go; enjoy your spring of life! Go, hopeful and light-hearted. If sorrow reach you, battle with it; if error mislead you, come fearlessly to me for counsel. Why, boy, what is this?—tears? Tut, tut.”

“It is your goodness,” faltered Lionel. “I cannot help it. And is there nothing I can do for you in return?”

“Yes, much. Keep your name free from stain, and your heart open to such noble emotions as awaken tears like those. Ah, by the by, I heard from my lawyer to-day about your poor little protegee. Not found yet, but he seems sanguine of quick success. You shall know the moment I hear more.”

“You will write to me, then, sir, and I may write to you?”

“As often as you please. Always direct to me here.”

“Shall you be long abroad?”

Darrell’s brows met. “I don’t know,” said he, curtly. “Adieu.”

He opened the door as he spoke.

Lionel looked at him with wistful yearning, filial affection, through his swimming eyes. “God bless you, sir,” he murmured simply, and passed away.

“That blessing should have come from me!” said Darrell to himself, as he turned back, and stood on his solitary hearth. “But they on whose heads I once poured a blessing, where are they,—where? And that man’s tale, reviving the audacious fable which the other, and I verily believe the less guilty knave of the two, sought to palm on me years ago! Stop; let me weigh well what he said. If it were true! Oh, shame, shame!”

Folding his arms tightly on his breast, Darrell paced the room with slow, measured strides, pondering deeply. He was, indeed, seeking to suppress feeling, and to exercise only judgment; and his reasoning process seemed at length fully to satisfy him, for his countenance gradually cleared, and a triumphant smile passed across it. “A lie,—certainly a palpable and gross lie; lie it must and shall be. Never will I accept it as truth. Father” (looking full at the portrait over the mantel-shelf), “Father, fear not—never—never!”