Miser Farebrother: A Novel (vol. 1 of 3). Farjeon Benjamin Leopold
of your good husband. He is still in his bank?"
"Yes, dear; and hopes for a rise before long. He is always full of hope, and that is worth a great deal – it means so much! He thinks of nothing but his home, and those in it. He dotes upon the children."
"The dear children! Are they well and strong?"
"Yes, dear; and they grow prettier and prettier every day."
"You must kiss them fondly for me, and give them my dear love."
"I will be sure to. You must not talk any more just now; you are tired out. Try and sleep."
"I think I shall be able. God bless you, dear!"
"God bless you, dearest!"
In a few moments, the tension of anxious watching and waiting being over, Mrs. Farebrother slept. Her sister gazed at her solicitously and mournfully. At such a time the cherished memories of old are burdened with a sadness which weighs heavily upon the heart.
"She is not so ill as she fancies, is she?"
It was Miser Farebrother who spoke to her. She rose softly, and led him from the bed, so that their conversation should not disturb the sufferer.
"Why did you not send me a telegram instead of a letter?"
"A telegram!" he cried. "Do you think I am made of money?"
"I am not thinking of your money: I am thinking of my sister. What does the doctor say?"
"The doctor!" he exclaimed. "I have none."
Gentle-natured as she was, she looked at him in horror.
"You have none – and my sister dying!"
"It is not true," he whined, thinking of the inconvenience such an event would cause him; "it cannot be true. She was well a few days ago. I cannot afford doctors. You are all in a conspiracy to rob me!"
"I was told as I came along that this great house is yours."
"Yes, it is – my property, my own."
"And a great deal of land around, and everything in the place."
"Yes, it is – all mine, all mine!" And then, with a sudden suspicion, "Do you intend to dispute it?"
"Heaven forbid! What is it to do with me – except that when you speak of ruin to me, and of not being able to afford a doctor, you are speaking what is false. Why did you marry?"
"I don't know," he replied, wringing his hands, "I don't know. I ought never to have done it. I ought to have lived alone, with nobody to keep but myself."
"It would have been better for my poor sister. But she is your wife, and I shall not allow her to suffer as she is suffering without seeking medical assistance. I have never been in this neighbourhood, and know nothing about it. Where is the nearest doctor?"
"I can't tell you; I am almost as much a stranger here as you are."
"There must be one not very far off. Who was the lad who opened the door for me when I came to-night?"
"My servant, Tom Barley. What do you want him for? He is asleep by this time. He has work to do the first thing in the morning."
"Where does he sleep?"
"Outside; in the stable."
"I shall find it. You must write a few words on paper for me."
"I'll do nothing of the sort. You shan't force me to put my name to anything. Do you think I am not up to such tricks?"
"If you don't do as I say I will bring a lawyer here as well as a doctor."
This woman possessed a sweet and gentle nature, and nothing but the evidence of an overwhelming wrong could have so stirred it to sternness. Miser Farebrother was terrified at the threat of bringing a lawyer into the house; and as he had given way to his wife earlier in the day, so now was he compelled by his fears to give way to her sister. He wrote as she directed:
"Mr. Farebrother, of Parksides, urgently requests the doctor to come immediately to his house to see Mrs. Farebrother, who, he fears, is seriously ill."
He fought against two words – "urgently," because it might cause the doctor to make a heavier charge; and "seriously," because a construction that he had been neglectful might be placed on it. But his sister-in-law was firm, and he wrote as she dictated.
"I will send the lad with it," said Miser Farebrother.
"I will send him myself," said his sister-in-law. "There must not be a moment's delay."
There was no need for her to seek Tom Barley in the stable; he was sitting up in the kitchen below.
She gave him the letter, and desired him to run as fast as he could to the village and find a doctor, who was to come back with him. If the doctor demurred, and wanted to put it off till the following day, he was to be told that it was a matter of life and death.
Tom Barley was visibly disturbed when he heard this.
"Who is it, lady?" he asked. "His honour's wife, or the baby?"
"His wife. You're a kind-hearted lad, and won't waste a moment, will you?"
"No, lady; trust me."
He was not above taking the sixpence she offered him, and he ran out of the house like a shot.
Within the hour he was back with the doctor, whose looks were grave as he examined his patient.
"There is hope, doctor?" said Mrs. Farebrother's sister. "Tell me there is hope!"
He shook his head, and gently told her she must prepare for the worst.
"She is past prescribing for," he said. "I can do nothing for her. She has been for some time in a decline."
The sentence being passed, she had no room in her heart for any other feeling than pity for her dying sister. In the sunrise, when the sweet air was infusing strength into fresh young life, the end came. Mrs. Farebrother whispered to her sister that she wished to speak to her husband alone. Thoroughly awed, he sat by her side. She made no reference to the past; she uttered no reproaches. She spoke only of their child, and begged him to be good to her. He promised all that she asked of him.
"You will get some good woman into the house to take care of her?" she said.
"Yes; I promise."
"And my sister must see her whenever she wishes to do so."
"Yes."
"And when our dear one is old enough and strong enough you will let her go to my sister, and stop with her a little now and then? It will do her good to mix with children of her own age."
"Yes; I promise."
"As you deal by her, so will you be dealt by. May Heaven prosper you in all worthy undertakings! Kiss me. Let there be peace and forgiveness between us."
He kissed her, and sat a little apart while she and her sister, their cheeks nestling, exchanged their last words.
"Look after my treasure," whispered the mother.
"I will, dear, as tenderly and carefully as if she were one of my own."
"You must come here and see her sometimes; he has promised that you may; and when she grows up you will let her come to you?"
"She will always be lovingly welcome. My home is hers if she should ever need one."
"God bless you! May your life be prosperous and ever happy!"
Before noon she drew her last breath, and Parksides was without a mistress.
CHAPTER IV
PHŒBE AND THE ANGELS
It did not long remain so. In less than a fort-night after Mrs. Farebrother's death a housekeeper was installed in Parksides. Her name was Mrs. Pamflett, and her age thirty. Being called "Mrs.," the natural inference was that she was either wife or widow; but as no questions were put to her on this point there were none to answer, and it certainly did not appear to be anybody's business but her own. Miser Farebrother, being entirely wrapped up in his money-bags, gave the