CHAPTER XX.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXIX, Issue 11854, 4 January 1902, Page 3 (Supplement)

CHAPTER XX.

,'■"■ As fast as rail could take him Dick Vincent sped home to the old house. He was terribly upset by'his sister's telegram. He and his father'had always been devoted friends, and; the news that he i was lying ill of what was probably a hopeless malady was very terrible to him. ; The journey seemed interminable—as journeys taken under such circumstances always do. He said to himself, over and over again, that of course in the face,of such a. message it would have been impossible for him to continue the confidence which he was about to make. to Cynthia Meredith. \ "Perhaps it is a sign that I ought not to tell her; that it would be better not to tell her," his confused thoughts ran. "If the dear old governor gets over this I'll take it as a warning that it, would be better not to tell Cynthia a single word of that episode. Perhaps it was only sent to me as a- means of getting me away. I had better take it as a sigh not to think of her any more." "BuThedid continue to think of her during all the rest of the journey; and at last the train steamed into Hollingridge station, -and he thrust his head out eagerly to • see if there was anyone who could give him news of his fathers state. Almost the first person that he saw was his sister Laura, looking anxiously up and down the station. - He waved an eager hand to. her, and she came swiftly along the platform to meet him. "How is he?" he asked. "Oh, just the same. Horribly ill." "But with what?" he asked, as he bent and kissed her. " Oh, a fit of apoplexy. He was all right this morning at breakfast; ■), in fact, he had been all round the stables pottering about just as usual. He came into breakfast as brisk as a bee, and just as he was leaving the table he slipped and fell. Mother called out to him—she knew in a moment what it was. He just said, ' I am very ill. Send for Dick." Of course, they got him to bed, but he was unconscious, then, and the doctor has been with him most of the day since. Dick, dear, he says it's quite hopeless there's nothing to be done." Dick turned his head away with a blurred mist in front of his eyes. "Will he know me, do you think?" :■'.. "I don't think so," Laura replied. He hasn't ! taken any notice of anybody. He just lies there feeling wiui his hand all over the bed, as if ■ he were searching for ! some-' thing;; and now and then he'll seem to brush a fly off his face. Oh, it's dreadful, Dick—-it's dreadful v " And mother?" Dick asked in a choking voice. "Mother? Oh, she just sits there holding his hand; it's heart-breaking." - Do you think he'll know me?" - ~ ■ "I shouldn't think so." : It gave Dick a .shock ■'js the/ drove lip the avenue to see that the house presented very/ much its. usual appearance. The dogs were lying out on the bread steps, Laura's Persian cat was ; perched on the balustrade, the ; flowers all■; bloomed just ! ; as they had

been doing for weeks, and the white lace curtains, stirred idly in the evening breeze;;;. i The old butler met ; him; with a shake of the head. "Eh, it's a sad homecoming, Mr. Dick," he said. ;.;;'" Yes, Charles.;) Is there any hews?" : '.' "No, sir, ; it's just the ; same. ... I was in there just now. --■>' If you could persuade the mistress to; eat something. ■ i Do get; her ; out of the room,: Mr. Dick. If it was only a glass of old port and a biscuit, it would be better than nothing. I know cook's made some strong beef-tea. It may be days before the end comes." • All right," said Dick, " I will." He turned and followed Laura into the dining-room, feeling all at once cold and sick. It was horrible to hear Charles speak of the end in that ton* of certainty.: "I'd advise you, Mr. Dick," said old Charles, following him into the room,.'" to take a nip of 'brandy ; before you go '. in to see the mistress; and then do try and bring her out, Mr. Dick." " All right,": said Dick. "I will." He went to his father's room a. few minutes later, "and although the old man opened his eyes when Dick spoke to him, there was no gleam of. any real consciousness in his face. • . .. ' An old woman from the village, who had nursed the youni- Vincents as children, was standing by the bed. "It's no use, Mr. Dick,"; she said, "he doesn't know you. He hasn't known anyone really since half an hour after he was taken. He'll never know anyone again." ', ; " How long have,you: been in this room; mother?" Dick asked, turning to Mrs. Vincent. , - . ' • - ..;. ." ~ "I don't know. dear. Ever since" " Come out with me for a few minutes; you can. do no good here. Come, just for ten minutes. With some difficulty she permitted herself to be persuaded, and Dick got her into the dining-room. .;.'.'..'■_ . " I don't really want anything to drink, Dick." she cried. . No, dearest; I know you don't want it, but you. may have a very long strain before you yet. Don't refuse what will sustain and strengthen you. Charles has got some port up for you ; it will do you so much good." ' ; "".. ' " If the mistress would be persuaded t0,.; have a cup of strong beef-tea," said Charles.'j "No, I really can't." , • "Well, 'you've had no lunch, have you?", " Not . a mouthful, Mr. Dick,"' said Charles. ( ■;/ ' ; '. ; -. • '.'.'. : : "I daresay my mother doesn't feel like it, Charles. ; But she might take; a cup of beeftea. .' Come,' darling, do. Think of us a little; tii'ink what it: will mean: to us if you are laid up'also." • " Oh, I'll do anything you like, Dick," said his mother. "I never was stupid, and I wouldn't hurt poor dear cook's feelings for the world." " She took the cup of beef-tea and drained it. "Yes, that is very good." she said. "It doesn't take an effort to get it down. What, Charles? A little port? Oh, - I don't mind." ' " Come outside for five minutes," said Dick. : It's such a hot night, scarcely a breath: stirring.", ' ' ,: ' ':-'■" No, not outside," said his mother, shrinking back. . " Well, just to the door. Let me put you a chair on the drawing-room verandah for ten minutes. You must think of yourself, deal'." ' ■.. * ' "I don't like to leave him," said his mother, weakly. '' . , " No, not to leave him. But old Goody is there, and if he wanted you or anything, she would come for you in a minute. It isn't like going out of the. house. Just you get a breath of air, dear." . ' Eventually she suffered herself to be coaxed out into the verandah on to which several of the drawing-room windows opened, and there they sat for a few minutes while the soft summer shadows fell gently; around them, and late afternoon wore into evening as softly, almost as imperceptibly, as the good genial life upstairs was wearing away to eternity:: "I must go back," said Mrs. Vincent at ■last. ". ',v'",:,.:': ■ ;. * ' Dick made no effort to detain her. He knew that she would in any case be the better for the change of air, and in truth time proved that he was right. Mrs. Vincent had need of all her strength, " for several days went by, during; which the squire lay in exactly the same,stai",; breathing stertorously. but taking no notice; of anyone * or anything.*: Oh, the wretched time it was. Mrs. Vincent spent most of her time at the bedside; even she, in the end, suffered herself to be drawn away to lie down and rest under distinct promise that she should be called at the slightest change. Dick and the two girls wandered in and out of the house, saw visitors who came to make inquiries, and killed time as best they could, not liking to speak above a whisper, unable to settle to any occupation. And so, the weary days dragged on and on, and on the fifth evening the change fpv which they had been watching came, and soon the squire was at rest. '-■'-. .; " To all it was a relief, although being excessively sultry it was terrible to be in a house of which the blinds were closely drawn. Then came four dreadful days ere that of the funeral,, and a terrible ordeal in the fact that all sorts and conditions of men and women came to pay their last tribute of respect to the dead man. There was a great collation after the ceremony, and Dick sat at the head of the table and realised for the first time that henceforth this was his own place. Then he had to bid adieu-to everyone, to receive countless messages for his mother, and, most frequently of all, to reply to the question would he ever go back to California, or not? .' " Yes, I must go back,"- he said several times. " I must go back, if it is only to settle things. Oh, there's "no fear of my chest now; that's mended long ago. I shall be obliged to go back for various reasons; but of course my mother and sisters will be here." ....-'": , ' I wonder how long I the mother and sisters will be there," said one country, gentleman to another as they drove away. "He is a fine, likely-looking lad, is Dick." " Oh, yes, a very fine lad. Why, he must be getting on for thirty now." ■ " Thirty or odd, my dear chap. Same age as my Tom; I remember his being born as wen as yesterday. And poor old Vincent was sixty-five, so he was thirty-five when Dick was born." ; "That's labout jit. Mrs. Vincent) was young, you know. I don't believe she's 19 years older than Dick. Never thought the old squire would have gone off like that, did you?" .'■'" Oh, I don't know. He was getting very red in the face. He puffed a good bit as he came up the stab's at the Bench. I've noticed it several times." "• - ' . ■/■ , ■"Horrid thing, .apoplexy," said the other one. ' "Somehow or other it always seems to me as if ; it was in a measure your own fault. Did it ever strike you so?" " Well, yes. You see, the poor old squire never was" the same after he gave up hunting." .-" ■'■'' ■';■,';,' ' :;' ' "Why did he give up hunting?" " Why, something to do with the veins of his legs. Couldn't ride ; and after being a hard rider to hounds all his '. life it didn't pay to take to dodderingi about. I'm sony he's gone he was a good sort, never a better." ':■'■':' ■ Well - might relations and friends alike regret the passing of the genial old squire of Hollingridge; but regrets, no matter how bitter they are, are impotent to change one iota of the workings of Nature. The squire was gone; his place would know him no more; ;. he had pottered round the stables, and the glasshouses, and the grounds, and the place in which he had been born, and which he loved with all his heart; for the last time. . ' " Now, , dear ,boy," said Mrs. Vincent, - the morning after the funeral, "I want to have a serious talk "with you." : ; : ':." No, mother it 1 is not necessary." "It's best, ,said, Mrs. Vincent, briefly, " to begin as we intend to go on." ■ '■■■" Yes, dearest, but it isn't necessary to discuss that at present," said Dick, firmly. You; are the :master of: Hollingridge now;: you are the squire." "I know it," said Dick. "Mores the pity it is so; but you are thfi mistress. Please let me hear nothing more about .it.',. I don't want to discuss it—there's nothing to : discuss." - . : " But if you should marry— began Ins •mother, .tremulously. "Well, dearest, if I should want to marry I'll come and tell you, things will be made as convenient as possible for you and. the girls. Believe me, J; shall> not spring a marriage oh you, or anything eise. ; Don't talk about changes;' we've had "one change; that's enough—more than enough for the present." " I should like to know," his mother —" I must know," she continued, ; in : a desperate voice.) ."We,must. have some scale of expenditure agreed upon." ,' . Well, dear, ■ I suppose that's necessary. It seems to me that what my father could

I afford I can afford. You and the dear dad have never lived above your income, and there can be no necessity or occasion »to make ; any J difference : or .1 any •: radical , change • now. For the present j'fSvhat you have been accustomed to spend will be the proper thing, to; spend.\K; Let (everything go "on •asf it has done until some of us want to make a change. Winifred "will be getting married ■by-and-by: well, that will;■ be the first change; possibly Laura." " Possibly yourself." said Mrs. Vincent. "Well, possibly myself; but I think not. At all events, that is a contingency which has not arisen, or any prospect, of it; so we needn't discuss it as yet." "And you will go out to California V "I must go back, dearest-, for a few months. I must arrange either for the proper working of the place, or for;selling it. You ■must: see that for .yourself.'' , . ."•Yes, yes, I see plainly enough. But you won't stop there now?" ;■■-.■ "." > " No, I shan't stop there. As ranching it ;i isn't i worth it, • and au oil well can '•■ be worked - without , personal supervision. Or I can sell. ; I must , be guided by circumstances as to which course I take. " But you may, be assured of " one —that I shall not stay a day longer than is absolutely necessary; 1 would* not go at all unless it wore a necessity." "I certainly would not like to feel that you would go out there and remain another seven years." "Oh, no. I should not have done if; this trouble had not come upon us. After all, the place has served my turn. I went out with an awfully dickey chest," and now it's as strong as any other part of /me. /I shall never grudge the, years I have; spent 'out there:: constitutionally they, made a man of me ; but for my pleasure—oh, thank you very much, I have had enough of it." " * If 1 were yon , Dick." said Mrs. 'Vincent, "I would sell. Supposing your oil well dried up?" "That would be awkward," said Dick. "I don't believe oil wells ever dry up ' so soon as this, but I < can't settle ; anything here on this side." I must do what"! think is for the best when ; I get out there, face to face with those who are likely to want to buy." ■''■-,:.■'•' : "-:' ; .' '■■:■ ■•■.',-, ' "And in any case you mean to spend the greater part of your life at home?" !; " The rest of my life, mother dear," said Dick. :\. :■;:,:■: * . (To be con tinned.) ;