Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume II.. Lever Charles James
course. What do you mean to do?”
“Nothing by course of law, Cave. So far I promise you, and I know it is of that you are most afraid. No, my good friend. If you never figure in a witness-box till brought there by me, you may snap your fingers for many a day at cross-examinations.”
“This cannot be made the subject of a personal altercation,” said Cave, hesitatingly.
“If you mean a challenge, certainly not; but it may be made the means of extricating Trafford from his difficulties with this man, and I can hardly see where and what these difficulties are.”
“You allude to the wife?”
“We will not speak of that, Cave,” said Fossbrooke, coloring deeply. “Mrs. Sewell has claims on my regard, that nothing her husband could do, nothing that he might become could efface. She was the daughter of the best and truest friend, and the most noble-hearted fellow I ever knew. I have long ceased to occupy any place in her affections, but I shall never cease to remember whose child she was, – how he loved her, and how, in the last words he ever spoke, he asked me to befriend her. In those days I was a rich man, and had the influence that wealth confers. I had access to great people, too, and, wanting nothing for myself, could easily be of use to others; but, where am I wandering to? I only intended to say that her name is not to be involved in any discussion those things may occasion. What are these voices I hear outside in the court? Surely that must be Tom Lendrick I hear.” He arose and flung open the window, and at the same instant a merry voice cried out, “Here we are, Sir Brook, – Trafford and myself. I met him in the Piazza at Cagliari, and carried him off with me.”
“Have you brought anything to eat with you?” asked Fossbrooke.
“That I have, – half a sheep and a turkey,” said Tom.
“Then you are thrice welcome,” said Fossbrooke, laughing; “for Cave and I are reduced to fluids. Come up at once; the fellows will take care of your horses. We ‘ll make a night of it, Cave,” said the old man, as he proceeded to cover the table with bottles. “We’ll drink success to the mine! We ‘ll drink to the day when, as lieutenant-general, you ‘ll come and pay me a visit in that great house yonder, – and here come the boys to help us.”
CHAPTER III. UP AT THE MINE
Though they carried their convivialities into a late hour of the night, Sir Brook was stirring early on the next morning, and was at Tom Lendrick’s bedside ere he was awake.
“We had no time for much talk together, Tom, when you came up last night,” said he; “nor is there much now, for I am off to England within an hour.”
“Off to England! and the mine?”
“The mine must take care of itself, Tom, till you are stronger and able to look after it. My care at present is to know if Trafford be going back with you.”
“I meant that he should; in fact, I came over here expressly to ask you what was best to be done. You can guess what I allude to; and I had brought with me a letter which Lucy thought you ought to read; and, indeed, I intended to be as cautious and circumspect as might be, but I was scarcely on shore when Trafford rushed across a street and threw his arm over my shoulder, and almost sobbed out his joy at seeing me. So overcome was I that I forgot all my prudence, – all, indeed, that I came for. I asked him to come up with me, – ay, and to come back, too, with me to the island and stay a week there.”
“I scarcely think that can be done,” said the old man, gravely. “I like Trafford well, and would be heartily glad I could like him still better; but I must learn more about him ere I consent to his going over to Maddalena. What is this letter you speak of?”
“You ‘ll find it in the pocket of my dressing-case there. Yes; that’s it.”
“It’s a longish epistle, but in a hand I well know, – at least, I knew it well long ago.” There was an indescribable sadness in the tone in which he said this, and he turned away that his face should not be seen. He seated himself in a recess of the window, and read the letter from end to end. With a heavy sigh he laid it on the table, and muttered below his breath, “What a long, long way to have journeyed from what I first saw her to that!”
Tom did not venture to speak, nor show by any sign that he had heard him, and the old man went on in broken sentences: “And to think that these are the fine natures – the graceful – the beautiful – that are thus wrecked! It is hard to believe it. In the very same characters of that letter I have read such things, so beautiful, so touching, so tender, as made the eyes overflow to follow them. You see I was right, Tom,” cried he, aloud, in a strong stern voice, “when I said that she should not be your sister’s companion. I told Sewell I would not permit it. I was in a position to dictate my own terms to him, and I did so. I must see Trafford about this!” and as he spoke he arose and left the room.
While Tom proceeded to dress himself, he was not altogether pleased with the turn of events. If he had made any mistake in inviting Trafford to return with him, there would be no small awkwardness in recalling the invitation. He saw plainly enough he had been precipitate, but precipitation is one of those errors which, in their own cases, men are prone to ascribe to warm-heartedness. “Had I been as distrustful or suspicious as that publican yonder,” is the burden of their self-gratulation; and in all that moral surgery where men operate on themselves, they cut very gingerly.
“Of course,” muttered Tom, “I can’t expect Sir Brook will take the same view of these things. Age and suspicion are simply convertible terms, and, thank Heaven, I have not arrived at either.”
“What are you thanking Heaven for?” said Sir Brook, entering. “In nine cases out of ten, men use that formula as a measure of their own vanity. For which of your shortcomings were you professing your gratitude, Tom?”
“Have you seen Trafford, sir?” asked Tom, trying to hide his confusion by the question.
“Yes; we have had some talk together.”
Tom waited to hear further, and showed by his air of expectation how eager he felt; but the old man made no sign of any disclosure, but sat there silent and wrapped in thought. “I asked him this,” said the old man, fiercely, “‘If you had got but one thousand pounds in all the world, would it have occurred to you to go down and stake it on a match of billiards against Jonathan?’ ‘Unquestionably not,’ he replied; ‘I never could have dreamed of such presumption.’
“‘And on what pretext, by what impulse of vanity,’ said I, ‘were you prompted to enter the lists with one every way your superior in tact, in craft, and in coquetry? If she accepted your clumsy addresses, did you never suspect that there was a deeper game at issue than your pretensions?’
“‘You are all mistaken,’ said he, growing crimson with shame as he spoke. ‘I made no advances whatever. I made her certain confidences, it is true, and I asked her advice; and then, as we grew to be more intimate, we wrote to each other, and Sewell came upon my letters, and affected to think I was trying to steal his wife’s affection. She could have dispelled the suspicion at once. She could have given the key to the whole mystery, and why she did not is more than I can say. My unlucky accident just then occurred, and I only issued from my illness to hear that I had lost largely at play, and was so seriously compromised, besides, that it was a question whether he should shoot me, or sue for a divorce.’
“It was clear enough that so long as he represented the heir to the Holt property, Sewell treated him with a certain deference; but when Trafford declared to his family that he would accept no dictation, but go his own road, whatever the cost, from that moment Sewell pressed his claims, and showed little mercy in his exactions.
“‘And what’s your way out of this mess?’ asked I, ‘What do you propose to do?’
“I have written to my father, begging he will pay off this debt for me, – the last I shall ever ask him to acquit. I have requested my brother to back my petition; and I have told Sewell the steps I have taken, and promised him if they should fail that I will sell out, and acquit my debt at the price of my commission.’
“‘And