Taken at the flood.

Otago Witness, Issue 1159, 14 February 1874, Page 19

Taken at the flood.

A NEW NOVEL.

fBY THK AUTHOR OF " LAKY ACDLBY'S SEOBBT."]

Chapter XXVI.

MR. BAIN PiEADS THE CAUSE OV THE WIDOW.

Sir Aubrey, always an early riser, "breakfasted a little earlier than usual on the morning after his interview with Sylvia, and mounted his favourite Splinter directly after breakfast, to ride into Monkhampton. The day was dull and cloudy, and the landscape had not its usual smile as he walked his horse along the hilly road between Perriam and the market Rather a quiet place, Monkhampton, at this hour of the morning. There were two or three sleek vestrymen lounging near the door of that uninviting building the Vestry Hall, disputing about sewer rates, and the advisability or nonadvisai)ility of an additional twopence in the pound, lately a point in discussion. The bells were ringing for a week-day service, and a few respectable matrons and a sprinkling of young ladies might be seen wending their way to the parish church ; but commerce seemed to be hardly awake vx Monkhampton at a quarter-past ten in the morning.

Sir Aubrey drew rein at a house near the beginning of the High street, in the neighbourhood where the town touched -the border of the country, and where the houses boasted larger gardens than in the heart of Monkhampton. The house before which the baronet stopped was strong, and solid, and square, and xespectable— a house which insolvency •could never have inhabited, one might fancy, so boldly did it stare the world in -the face — so aggressive was the look of its ponderous iron railings. It was built .of dull, yellow bricks, picked out with red, and had three rows of windows, five in a row on the two upper floors, two on •each side of the hall door. The steps -were as white as hearthstone could make •them : the windows as bright as if they had been cleaned that morning, but no flower-pot, no birdcage, no f rivolty of any kind decorated those windows. The two ■on the left of the door were draped with ■crimson curtains of a substantial moreen, that assumed the stiffest, straightost folds possible to a textile fabric ; the "windows •on the right were screened as to the lower panes by wire blinds, stern barriers against Jfche prying gaze of passers-by, which said =as plain as words could speak, " We guard -the sanctity of a lawyer's office." On the large brass plate, which gave .•additional dignity to the tall grained and -varnished street door, appeared the following inscription :—: — Mr. Shadrach Bain, Solicitor and Land Agent.

Sir Aubrey gave Splinter to his groom, turned the brazen handle of Mr. Bain's door and went in, without further ceremony. The houses in Monkhampton were, as a rule, thus accessible to the public, and Sir Aubrey was familiar with the habits of "his agent. The door on the right of the •entrance had the word "office" painted on its panels in severe-looking black letters. This door Sir Aubrey opened, and confronted his land steward, who was seated at a desk opposite the door, plodding through a lease with a pencil in his mouth, reading to take note of any flaw in fche agreement. Shadrach Bain was a man of that doubtful and indefinite age which is sometimes called the prime of life. Time had as yet traced no wrinkle on the land steward's brow, amply provided with .those organs of calculation and perception •which assist the pursuit of gain. His hard grey eyes had the clear brightness of perfect health ; his dark brown hair still thickly thatched his head ; his complexion •had a ruddy brownness not unpleasant to the eye— a hue that told of long rides in the fresh morning air rather than of the midnight lamp. He was tall, broad shotildered, well built, and, like the Miltoman Satan, stood like a tower among liis fellow men. He dressed well, but ■cultivated rather the outward aspect of a small squire than the sombre attire of the learned profession. He liked, when he ■went a little beyond his own beat, to be hailed as "Squire" by railway porters -and the commonalty. He had bushy brown whiskers, a close-shaved lip and -chin, wore a suit of heather tweed, a blue cravat, and a plaited leather watch chain. He'rose briskly at sight of his patron, •wheeled forward the one comfortable chair of the office, and shut a door which com inunicated with the back office, whence -the scratching of the clerks' pens had been audible as the baronet entered. "This is an unexpected honour, Sir Aubrey," he said in a cheery tone, as the baronet shook hands with him. Sir Aubrey <lid not always greet his agent so warmly — there were times when he appeared to ■consider a friendly nod sufficient, and Mr. Bain, never invited more familiarity than iib patron offered. He took condescension

from Sir "Aubrey as wise Heathens took the gifts of the gods. But to-day his employer was more than commonly cordial, and Mr. Bain augured that there was something in the wind. " I breakfast at seven all the year round," said Mr. Bain, 'as his visitor settled himself in the armchair ; " but one doesn't expect to see you in Monkhampton before noon." " I came early because I've something rather particular to say to you, Bain," answered the baronet, playing with the tassel of his riding whip. " I don't suppose it'll surprise yon, for it was a thing to be anticipated sooner or later. For although a man has come to — ahem — between fifty and sixty, there's no necessity for him to spend all hie days in solitude. " Shadrach Bain dropped his pencil, and looked at his employer with those penetrating eyes of his — those grey orbs which, with little expression except keenneßS, seem to have more seeing power than any other eyes. Mr. Bain began to wonder if the baronet might not be just a little weak in the head, like Mordred, who was popularly supposed to be not quite rational. His mind was beginning to fail, perhaps, poor old gentleman, and he was thinking of going into a monastery, or turning Plymouth Brother. "There needn't be much solitude at Perriam, Sir Aubrey," said Mr. Bain, "people would be glad enough to come and see you if you asked them. Though I don't say but what hospitality, or keeping open house, as people call it, runs away with no end of money ; money which would be better employed in enlarging the estate, as your father did before you. There's the Combe farm must come into the market when old Parker dies ; it joins our land at Wapshot, you know, Sir Aubrey, and would be a very nice addition to your property." " We'll talk about Combe when it is in the market," replied Sir Aubrey, with a touch of offended dignity. He thought his steward ought to have been quicker to understand him. "I am not talking of country society. Of course I could fill my house with people if I chose, and as you say, squander a great deal of money upon visitors who would hardly thank me for my hospitality. But I don't at all desire society of that kind. When I spoke just now of solitude, I meant the solitude of a bachelor. The only companionship I wish for is that of a wife I could love. "

The baronet pronounced the last word reluctantly. No girl of seventeen could have uttered the portentous syllable more shyly. Mr. Bain's countenance changed not at this announcement. Very early in life had Mr. Bain brought his facial muscles into complete subjection. They were too well trained to betray him, but his broad, strong hand gripped the rail of his chair with a somewhat savage grasp. The hand was behind his back, and Sir Aubrey could not see the action.

"You have some idea of marrying ?" said Mr. Bain, with a smile ; that cold smile which comes and goes at the bidding of the smiler, chill as wintry sunlight. " I have more than an idea, Shadrach. I am going to be married on tho twentieth of August," " Next August ?" "Of course. Do you suppose I'm going to put my wedding off for a year. What need I wait for ? "

\ "Nothing, certainly —as regards pecuniary arrangements. But this seems uncommonly sudden. You have known I the lady a long time, no doubt." "I have known her long enough to love her." " Should I be impertinent if I asked who she is 1 " "Not at all. I came this morning to arrange the question of settlement. But you understand, Bain, that what a man tells his solicitor is sacred." "Of course." "The fact is I don't want any one in Monkhampton to know that I am going to be married. I don't want the affair to be so nruch as suspected till it's all over. I hate talk and fuss, and to be stared at or whispered about. No doubt people will be surprised at my marriage, but they can have their fill of surprise while I am away for my honeymoon, and get accustomed to the fact before I come back."

" There is hardly any occasion for surprise, Sir Aubrey, except at the suddenness of the business," said Mr. Bain, with his most deferential air. "The match is a suitable one, no doubt. " ' ' I'll trouble you to reserve your doubts and speculations till you know all about it," resumed the baronet testily. "The match is not what society may call suitable. The match is what the world ridicules in young or old — a love match. The young lady— a lady in everything except position— is beneath mcin station." " Old.idiot ! He has fallen in love with some pretty housemaid, or a circus rider, or French actress," thought Mr. Bain, not yet relaxing his grasp of tho chair rail.

" The young lady is the only daughter of Mr. Carew, the parish schoolmaster at Hedingham," said Sir Aubrey.

""The parish schoolmaster's daughter. Why that's the young lady whom young Standen was sweet upon. My daughter Matilda Jane heard something about it at the Hedingham Fancy Fair." "I beg le*ve to suggest that 'sweet upon ' is not a phrase I care to here in relation to my futur« wife," remonstrated the baronet stiffly. "I am fully aware that Mr. Standen wished to marry Miss Carew, and was rejected by her father." " She rejected George Standen, of Dean House. That's curious. However, if the young lady was engaged to you, Sir Aubrey, that explains matters." "She was not engaged to me at the time of Mr. Standen's proposal. That young man's offer was rejected on its own merits."

" Indeed. "Well, I hope my daughters may be as lucky when their time comes." "You are perhaps not aware that Miss Carew is a young lady of exceptional beauty," said Sir Aubrey with ever increasing stiffness, ' ' a lady who might have won the affections of a gentleman of even more exalted position than my own." " She is very young, I suppose." "Between nineteen and twenty."

" I should have thought, ..whatever the merits of the lady, a somewhat longer engagement would have been advisable. Of course, I don't presume to offer my advice, Sir Aubrey." "Sir," returned the baronet with a freezing look, " this is a matter in which I ask advice from no man."

Mr. Bain murmured an apology. Sir Aubrey recovered his temper. He felt elated even, for he felt that he had put down Mr. Bain. He had come to that office not without trepidation, had felt himself blushing as he rode along the empty lanes, and was glad to think that j he had been able to assert himself thus boldly. "Now, with regard to the settlement," he said, with his usual friendliness of manner. " I have come to the determination to settle nothing upon my wife during my lifetime. 1£ her affection for me be as sincere as I venture to consider it, she will be content to owe all to my bounty. She will not want to squander my money. I To settle an income upon her for her own separate use would be in a manner to instil extravagance." " True, Sic Aubrey," said Mr. Bain with approval, "but in that case I don't see that you want a settlement at all." " You forget the disparity of years between Miss Carew and myself. lam bound to provide for her after my death. " " You could do that by will." " Certainly. But I prefer to make her future secure by an immediate settlement. 1 gratify myself by leaving her dependent upon my liberality so long as I live, but I wish to show myself capable of generosity — " " After death," Baicl Mr. Bain, finishing the sentence. " My wife will look to me for all she needs, but I shall amply provide for the independence of my widow," returned the baronet. " I understand. Then we have only to settle what portion of your estate you will charge with this provision. You would i be able to leave Lady Perriam — how much 1 " " I have been thinking that two thoiisand a year " said Sir Aubrey meditatively. < " A poor provision for a lady accustomed to the occupation of Perriam." " I do not spend more than four thousand at Perriam. " I

" Perhaps not — but after your marriage things will be different. Where you now spind four thousand I dare say you'll 1 spend ten. " Sir Aubrey shook his head. " I beg your pardon," he said, " There will be no difference. A man doesn't change his habits after fifty. Were Ito marry a fashionable young woman — accustomed to the dissipations of the London season — I might be expected to alter my mode of living — to launch out in some absurd manner — re-furnish Perriam with your tawdry modern rubbish — set up a hotise in Town — and so on. But I marry a young lady who has no pretensions — who is simply the loveliest girl I ever saw — a violet which hides itself in the shelter of its leaves— as somebody once remarked of Bomoone else. What Perriam has been in the past, Pei'riam will continue to be in the future — until it passes to its next possessor." "Your son, perhaps," suggested Mr. Bain, who had been thinking profoundly while Sir Aubrey expounded his views. That Strong Saxon face looked almost handsome when the man thought. There was such strength of purpose in it. The clear, grey eyes clouded, as the man's gaze — no longer penetrating the surface of actual things — surveyed those impalpable shadows which make the vision of things to be.

"My son. If God blesses me with children ?" replied Sir Aubrey, reverently. " I don't think two thousand is enough for a man in your position to leave hia widow," said Mr. Bain, presently.

He was to some extend a privileged person, and could speak as plainly as he chose to Sir Aubrey. He had frequent occasions to demonstrate that he knew the baronet's interests a great deal better than the baronet himself understood them, and had thus acquired a certain empire over the weaker brain of his employer. " Two thousand a year is a large income for Mr. Oarew's daughter," said c>ir Aubrey, thoughtfully.

" But a paltry pittance for Sir Aubrey Perriam's •widow," returned the other. " Why should you stint this lady ? You love her ; and if she brings you no children, all you do not leave to her will go to your distant relative — a man iov whom you do not care two straws."

"Not one," said Sir Aubrey. " The bulk of the estate is entailed, and ■ must go to Mr. Perriam — after your brother's death that is to say — and his life is not so good as your own. But there's a large remainder that is not in the entail — all the land bought by Sir Andrew and the Warren estate, which you inherited from your mother. Why not act ■ handsomely towards this lady in the matter of a future proviaion ? Why not leava her five thousand a year, chargeable on the Warren estate and the Coppice farm ?" Sir Aubrey opened his eyes in a blank stare. He had expected all kinds of opposition from Shadrach Bain, and most of all had he expected to be supposed in the matter of settlement, and here was Shadrach Bain pleading the cause of the future of Lady Perriam, a person he had never seen, if his own statement were to be trusted.

"Five thousand a year for a schoolmaster's daughter," said the baronet, feebly. "Five thousand a year for Lady Perriam," replied the steward. "If she is worthy of your confidence and your affection, she is worthy of your liberality. Most men in my position would look this question from the solicitor's point of view, and counsel meanness. I recommend liberality. If you have no children, strangers — or those who are no nearer to ! you than strangers — will come after you. Why should you pinch the wife of your i choice to fatten strangers ? You cannot be too generous to Lady Porriam — after your death." " True," murmured Sir Aubrey, impressed by the mode of argument, " I shall be none the poorer. It will make no difference to me in my grave whether she have two thousand or live thousand. But, if the dead are capable of thinking about the world they leave behind them, it would vex me to think that Perriam had everything." "Of course it would. Shall I draw up a draft of the deed of settlement, and bring it to Perriam place this evening ?" " Yes, bring it this evening. Mr. Carew and his daughter are to dine with me, by the way. Don't say anything about it before them. I might change my mind as to the amount. After all it would be always in my power to provide for my widow by will. The settlement is only a matter of form to satisfy the father, who, no doubt, wants to see his daughter's future secured. " " If you doubt the lady, make no settlement," said Mr. Bain, decisively. "If you believe in her make her a handsome one. "

"Believe in her!" cried the baronet, flashing out indignantly, ' ' do you suppose I should marry her if I did not believe her to be all that is good and pure and high-minded ?" " You have known her so short a time !" "Sir, there are intuitions," exclaimed Sir Aubrey, solemnly. " Then settle the five thousand, and back your opinion, as the racing men say." " So be it — draw up the draft and let me have it for consideration. There will be plenty of time for execution between, this and the marriage. Oh, bye-the-bye, there's one document you can make as plain and brief as you please — an agreement promising to pay Mr. James Carew a hundred i>ound a year, in quarterly instalments, during the remainder of hia life. I can't have my father-in-law » parish schoolmaster. 1 give him a maintenance which will support him in comfort and decency for the rest of his days. Perhaps you'll ask mo to make it five hundred," added the baronet, with some asperity. "No, Sir Aubrey. A hundred a year for the father I consider ample. I hopa I have not offended by my regards for the interests of the future Lady Perriam.'*

" No, Bain. " You're a good fellow, I know, and devoted to your employer, as your father was before you. I like you for taking Miss Carew's part. I'm obliged to you. I thought you would have echoed that parrot cry about disparity of years,, unsuitability of tempers, and so on. I like you for taking my future wife's part against me. Why should the heir-at-law-get more than he is strictly entitled to ? He'll get the benefit of all my father's improvements on the estate proper — Gael — he shall not have an acre of the land we've added. I'll settle five thousand on

Sylvia, and I dare say I shall leave her a good deal more if he makes as good a wife as I believe mhe will. Good, day, Bain, you may as well come to dinner, by the way — come at six, and we shall have an hour for going through the settlement before the Carews arrive." t Mr. Bain professed himself happy to obey any commands of Sir Aubrey's. He generally dined at Perriam once or twice a year, when there was some odd bit of land in the market, or some important lease to be renewed. The invitation was understood to be a condescension on Sir Aubrey's part, despite Mr. Bain's professional status and legal right to the title of gentleman. Mrs. Bain had never beeu invited with her husband, and in Mra. Bain's particular circle the baronet was set down as a proud man.

" He wouldn't have the income he has if it wasn't for Bain," the lady would^ observe to her gossips, "but he hasn't a spark of gratitude in his nature. He'll take off his hat to me in my own hall as Btiff as Sir Chesterfield Walpole, but he never bo much as opens his lips to wish jne good morning." Mr. Bain accompanied his employer into the street, and stood on the pavement while Sir Aubrey mounted Splinter, whose sleek neck Mr. Bain patted approvingty. "I wish I could get such a horse as that, Sir Aubrey ; I am generally pretty fortunate in horse flesh, but I never met with anything to match him." Sir Aubrey smiled, and bent over Splinter affectionately. " Six o'clock, Bain," he said. " Six o'clock, Sir Aubrey ;" and Sir Aubrey shook his rein, and rode gaily down the High street, pleased with the easy manner in which Shadrach Bain had taken the announcement of his marriage.