 CHAPTER 47 Dr. Brierly reappears. No one who has not experienced it can imagine the nervous, disgust, and horror which such a spectacle as we had been forced, in part, to witness, leaves upon the mind of a young person of my particular temperament. It affected ever after my involuntary estimate of the principal actors in it. An exhibition of such thorough inferiority accompanied by such a shock to the feminine sense of elegance is not forgotten by any woman. Captain Oakley had been severely beaten by a smaller man. It was pitiable, but also undignified. And Milley's anxieties about his teeth and nose, though in a certain sense horrible, had also a painful suspicion of the absurd. People say, on the other hand, that superior prowess, even in such barbarous contests, inspires in our sex an interest akin to admiration. I can positively say, in my case, it was quite the reverse. Dudley Rithin stood lower than ever in my estimation. For though I feared him more, it was by reason of these brutal and cold-blooded associations. After I lived in constant apprehension of being summoned to my uncle's room and being called on for an explanation of my meeting with Captain Oakley, which, notwithstanding my perfect innocence, looked suspicious, but no such inquisition resulted. Perhaps he did not suspect me, or perhaps he thought not in his haste all women are liars and did not care to hear what I might say. I rather lean to the latter interpretation. The ex-checker just now, I suppose, by some means was replenished. For next morning Dudley set off upon one of his fashionable excursions, as poor Milley thought them, to Wolverhampton. And the same day Dr. Briarley arrived. Milley and I, from my room window, saw him step from his vehicle to the courtyard. A lean man with sandy hair and whiskers, was in the shays with him. Dr. Briarley descended in the unchangeable black suit that always looked new and never fitted him. The doctor looked care-worn and older, I thought, by several years than when I last saw him. He was not shown up to my uncle's room. On the contrary, Milley, who was more actively curious than I, ascertained that our tremulous butler informed him that my uncle was not sufficiently well for an interview. Whereupon Dr. Briarley had penciled a note, the reply to which was a message from Uncle Silas, saying that he would be happy to see him in five minutes. As Milley and I were conjecturing what it might mean, even before the five minutes had expired, Mary Quince entered. Why, it been me tell you, miss, your uncle wants you this minute. When I entered his room, Uncle Silas was seated at the table with his desk before him. He looked up. Could anything be more dignified, suffering and venerable? I sent for you, dear, he said very gently, extending his thin, white hand and taking mine, which he held affectionately while he spoke, because I desire to have no secrets and wish you thoroughly to know all that concerns your own interests while subject to my guardianship. And I am happy to think, my beloved niece, that you were quite my candor. Oh, here is the gentleman. Sit down, dear. Dr. Briarley was advancing, as it seemed, to shake hands with Uncle Silas, who, however, rose with a severe and haughty air, not the least overacted, and made him a slow, ceremonious bow. I wondered how the homely doctor could confront so tranquilly that astounding statue of Hattur, a faint and weary smile, rather sad than contemptuous, was the only sign he showed of feeling his repulse. How do you do, miss? he said, extending his hand, and greeting me after his ungalloned fashion, as if it were an afterthought. I think I may as well take a chair, sir, said Dr. Briarley, sitting down serenely near the table, and crossing his ungainly legs. My Uncle bowed. You understand the nature of the business, sir. Do you wish Miss Rithin to remain? asked Dr. Briarley. I sent for her, sir, replied my uncle, in a very gentle and sarcastic tone, a smile on his thin lips, and his strangely contorted eyebrows raised for a moment contemptuously. This, gentlemen, my dear mod, thinks proper to insinuate that I am robbing you. It surprises me a little, and no doubt you. I have nothing to conceal and wish you to be present, while he favors me more, particularly, with his views. I'm right, I think, in describing it as robbery, sir. Why, said Dr. Briarley thoughtfully, for he was treating the matter as one of right, and not one of feeling. It would be, certainly, taking that which does not belong to you, and converting it to your own use, but at the worst it would more resemble thieving, I think, than robbery. I saw Uncle Silas' lips, I lid, and thin cheek quiver and shrink, as if with a thrill of tick-dooleroo, as Dr. Briarley spoke this unconsciously insulting answer. My uncle had, however, the self-command which is learned at the gaming table. He shrugged with a chilly sarcastic little laugh and a glance at me. Your notes has waste, I think, sir. Yes, waste. The felling and sale of timber in the windmill wood, the selling of oak bark, and burning of charcoal as I'm informed, said Briarley, as sadly and quietly as a man might relate a piece of intelligence from the newspaper. Detectives, the private spies of your own, or perhaps my servants bribed with my poor brother's money. A very high-minded procedure. Nothing of the kind, sir, my uncle sneered. I mean, sir, there has been no undue canvas for evidence, and the question is simply one of right, and it is our duty to see that this inexperienced young lady is not defrauded by her own uncle, by anyone, said Dr. Briarley, with a natural impenetrability that excited my admiration. Of course you come armed with an opinion, said my smiling uncle insinuatingly. The cases before Mr. Sergeant Grinders, these big wigs don't return their cases sometimes so quickly as we could wish. Then you have no opinion, smiled my uncle. My solicitor is quite clear upon it, and it seems to me there can be no question raised but for the forum's sake. Yes, for a forum's sake you take one, and in the meantime upon a nice question of law, the surmises of a thick-headed attorney and of an ingenious apothe, I beg your pardon, physician, a sufficient warrant for telling my niece and ward in my presence that I am defrauding her. My uncle leaned back in his chair and smiled with a contemptuous patience over Dr. Briarley's head as he spoke. I don't know whether I use that expression, sir, but I am speaking merely in a technical sense. I mean to say that, whether by mistake or otherwise, you are exercising a power which you don't lawfully possess, and that the effect of that is to impoverish the estate and, by so much as it benefits you, to wrong this young lady. I am a technical defrauder, I see, and your manner conveys the rest. I thank my God, sir, I am a very different man from what I once was. Uncle Silas was speaking in a low tone and with extraordinary deliberation. I remember when I should have certainly knocked you down, sir, or tried it, at least, for a great deal less. But seriously, sir, what do you propose? asked Dr. Briarley, sternly, and a little flushed, for I think the old man was stirred within him. And though he did not raise his voice, his manner was excited. I propose to defend my right, sir, murmured Uncle Silas very grim. I am not without an opinion, though you are. You seem to think, sir, that I have a pleasure in annoying you. You are quite wrong. I hate annoying anyone constitutionally. I hate it. But don't you see, sir, the position I placed in. I wish I could please everyone and do my duty. Uncle Silas bowed and smiled. I've brought with me the scotch steward from Tolkingdon, your estate, miss. And if you let us, we will visit the spot and make a note of what we observe. That is, assuming you admit waste and merely question our law. If you please, sir, you and your Scotsman will do no such thing. And bearing in mind that I neither deny nor admit anything, you will please further nevermore to present yourself under any pretext whatsoever, either in this house or upon the grounds of Bartram Hough during my lifetime. Uncle Silas rose up with the same glassy smile and scowl in token that the interview was ended. Goodbye, sir, said Dr. Briarley, with a sad and thoughtful error. And hesitating for a moment he said to me, Do you think, miss, you could afford me a word in the hall? Not a word, sir, snarled Uncle Silas, with a white flash from his eyes. There was a pause. Sit where you are, mod. Another pause. If you have anything to say to my ward, sir, you will please say it here. Dr. Briarley's dark and homely face was turned on me with an expression of unspeakable compassion. I was going to say that if you think of any way in which I can be of the least service, miss, I'm ready to act. That's all. Mind any way. He hesitated, looking at me with the same expression as if he had something more to say, but he only repeated, That's all, miss. Won't you shake hands, Dr. Briarley, before you go? I said, eagerly approaching him. Without a smile and with the same sad anxiety in his face, with his mind, as it seemed to me, and something else, and irresolute whether to speak it or be silent, he took my fingers in a very cold hand, and holding it so and slowly shaking it, his grave in troubled glance unconsciously rested on Uncle Silas' face. While in a sad tone and absent way he said, Goodbye, miss. From before that sad gaze, my uncle averted his strange eyes quickly and looked oddly to the window. In a moment more, Dr. Briarley let my hand go with a sigh, and with an abrupt little nod to me, he left the room, and I heard that dismal list of sounds, the retreating footsteps of a true friend. Lost. Lead us not into temptation. If we pray so, we must not mock the eternal majesty of heaven by walking into temptation of our own accord. This miraculous sentence was not uttered by my uncle until Dr. Briarley had gone at least five minutes. I forbid him my house mod, first because his perfectly unconscious insolence tries my patience nearly beyond endurance, and again because I have heard unfavorable reports of him. On the question of right which he disputes, I am perfectly informed. I am your tenant, my dear niece. When I am gone you will learn how scrupulous I have been. You will see how, under the pressure of the most agonizing pecuniary difficulties, the terrific penalty of a misspent youth, I have been careful never by hair's breadth to transgress the strict line of my legal privileges, alike as your tenant mod and as your guardian. Now, amid frightful agitations I have kept myself, by the miraculous strengths and grays fout-safed me. Pure, the word, he resumed after a short pause, has no faith in any man's conversions. It never forgets what he was. It never believes him anything better. It is an inexorable and stupid judge. What I was I will describe in blacker terms and with more heartfelt detestation than my traducers. A reckless prodigal. A godless profligate. Such I was, what I am, I am. If I had no hope beyond this world, of all men most miserable, but with that hope, a sinner saved. Then he waxed elegant and mystical. I think his Swedenborgian studies had crossed his notions of religion with strange lights. I never could follow him quite in these excursions into the region of symbolism. I only recollect that he talked of the deluge and the waters of Mara and said, I am washed, I am sprinkled. And then, pausing, bathed his thin temples and forehead with odicolone. A process which was perhaps suggested by his imagery of sprinkling and so forth. Thus refreshed, he sighed and smiled and passed to the subject of Dr. Briarley. Dr. Briarley, I know he is sly. That he loves money was born poor and makes nothing by his profession. But he possesses many thousand pounds under my poor brother's will of your money. And he has glided with, of course, a modest, no-lo episcopary into the acting trusty ship with all its multitudinous opportunities of your immense property. I am not doing so badly for a visionary Swedenborgian. Such a man must prosper. But if he expects to make money of me, he is disappointed. Money, however, he will make of his trusty ship, as you will see. It is a dangerous resolution. But if he will seek the life of Davies, the worst I wish for him is to find the death of Lazarus. But whether, like Lazarus, he be born of angels into Abraham's bosom, or like the rich man only dies and is buried, and the rest, neither living nor dying, do I desire his company. Uncle Silas here seems suddenly overtaken by exhaustion. He leaned back with a ghastly look, and his lean features glistened with the dew of faintness. I screamed for Wyatt, but he soon recovered sufficiently to smile his odd smile, and with it, and his frown, nodded and waved me away. End of Chapter 47 Chapter 48 of Uncle Silas This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Uncle Silas by J. Sheridan Le Fenu Chapter 48 Question and Answer My uncle, after all, was not ill that day after a strange fashion of his malady, be it what it might. Old Wyatt repeated in her sour laconic way that there was nothing to speak of amiss with him. But there remained with me a sense of pain and fear. Dr. Briarley, notwithstanding my uncle's sarcastic reflections, remained in my estimation a true and wise friend. I had all my life been accustomed to rely upon others, and here, haunted by many unavowed and ill-defined alarms and doubts, the disappearance of an active and able friend caused my heart to sink. There still remained my dear cousin Monica and my pleasant and trusted friend Lord Ilbury, and in less than a week arrived an invitation from Lady Mary to the Grange, for me and Millie to meet Lady Nullis. It was a company, she told me, by a note from Lord Ilbury to my uncle, supporting her request. And in the afternoon I received a message to attend my uncle in his room. An invitation from Lady Mary Carriesbrook, for you and Millie to meet Monica Nullis. Have you received it? asked my uncle, so soon as I was seated. Answered in the affirmative, he continued, Now, modrithan, I expect the truth from you. I have been frank, so shall you. Have you ever heard me spoken ill of by Lady Nullis? I was quite taken aback. I felt my cheeks flushing. I was returning his fierce cold gaze with a stupid stare and remained dumb. Yes, mod, you have. I looked down in silence. I know it. But it is right, you should answer, have you or have you not? I had to clear my voice twice or thrice. There was a kind of spasm in my throat. I am trying to recollect, I said at last. Do recollect, he replied imperiously. There was a little interval of silence. I would have given the world to be, on any conditions, anywhere else in the world. Surely, mod, you do not wish to deceive your guardian. Come, the question is a plain one. And I know the truth already, I ask you again. Have you ever heard me spoken ill of by Lady Nullis? Lady Nullis, I said half articulately, speaks very freely and often half in jest, but I continued, observing something menacing in his face. I have heard her express disappropriation of some things you have done. Come, mod, he continued in a stern, though still a low key. Did she not insinuate that charge? Then, I suppose, in a state of incubation, the other day presented here full-fledged, with beak and claws by that scheming apothecary. The statement that I was defrauding you by cutting down timber upon the grounds. She certainly did mention the circumstance, but she also argued that it might have been through ignorance of the extent of your rights. Come, come, mod, you must not pervericate, girl, I will have it. Does she not habitually speak disparagingly of me, in your presence, and to you, answer? I hung my head. Yes or no? Well, perhaps so. Yes, I faltered, and burst into tears. There, don't cry. It may well shock you. Did she not, to your knowledge, say, the same things in presence of my child, Millicent? I know it, I repeat, there is no use in hesitating, and I command you to answer. Sobbing, I told the truth. Now sit there while I write my reply. He wrote with the scowl and smile so painful to witness as he looked down upon the paper, and then he placed the note before me. Read that, my dear. It began. Dear Lady Nollis, you have favored me with a note, adding your request to that of Lord Ilbury, that I should permit my ward and my daughter to avail themselves of Lady Mary's invitation. Being perfectly cognizant of the ill feeling you have always and unaccountably cherished towards me, and also of the terms in which you have had the delicacy and the conscience to speak of me before, and to my child and my ward, I can only express my amazement at the modesty of your request, while peremptorily refusing it. And I shall conscientiously adopt effectual measures to prevent your ever-again having an opportunity of endeavoring to destroy my influence and authority over my ward and my child by direct or insinuated slander. You're defamed and injured kinsmen, Silas Rithon. I was stunned. Yet what could I plead against the blow that was to isolate me? I wept aloud, with my hands clasped, looking on the marble face of the old man. Without seeming to hear, he folded and sealed his note, and then proceeded to answer Lord Ilbury. When that note was written, he placed it likewise before me and I read it also through. It simply referred him to Lady Nollis, quote for an explanation of the unhappy circumstances which compelled him to decline an invitation which it would have made his niece and his daughter so happy to accept. You see, my dear mod, how frank I am with you, he said, waving the open note which I had just read, slightly before he folded it. I think I may ask you to reciprocate my candor. Dismissed from this interview I ran to Millie who burst into tears from sheer disappointment, he wept and wailed together. But in my grief I think there was more reason. I sat down to the dismal task of writing to my dear Lady Nollis. I implored her to make her peace with my uncle, I told her how frank he had been with me, and how he had shown me his sad reply to her letter. I told her of the interview to which he had himself invited me with Dr. Briarley, how little disturbed he was by the accusation, no sign of guilt quite the contrary, perfect confidence. I implored her to think the best and remembering my isolation to accomplish a reconciliation with Uncle Silas. Only think, I wrote, I only nineteen and two years of solitude before me. What a separation! No broken merchant ever signed the schedule of his bankruptcy with a heavier heart than did I, this letter. The griefs of youth are like the wounds of the gods. There is an icor which heals the scars from which it flows, and thus Millie and I consoled ourselves, and the next day enjoyed our ramble, our talk, and readings with a wonderful resignation to the inevitable. Millie and I stood in the relation of Lord Duberly to Dr. Pangloss. I was to mend her cacleology, and the occupation amused us both. I think at the bottom of our submission to destiny lurked a hope that Uncle Silas, the inexorable, would relent, or that cousin Monica, that siren, would win and melt him to her purpose. Whatever comfort, however, I derived from the absence of Dudley was not to be of very long duration. For one morning as I was amusing myself alone, with a piece of wousted work, thinking, and, just at that moment, not unpleasantly, of many things, my cousin Dudley entered the room. Back again, like a bad half-penny, you see, and how have you been ever since, Lass? Purely, I warrant, be your looks. I am jolly glad to see ye, I am. No cattle going like ye mod. I think I must ask you to let go my hand, as I can't continue my work, I said, very stiffly, hoping to chill his enthusiasm a little. Anything to pleasure ye mod, taintin' my heart to refuse ye not. I have been to Wolverhampton, Lass, jolly row there, and run over to Lemmington. I must broke my neck, faith, with a borrowed horse out of the dogs. Ye wouldn't a care, mod, if I broke my neck, would ye? Well, happened just a little. He, good-naturedly, supplied, as I was silent. Little over a week since I left here by George, and to me it's half the almanac like, can ye guess the reason, mod? Have you seen your sister Millie, or your father, since your return, I ask, coldly? They'll keep mod, never mind them. It be you I want to see. It be you I were thinkin' on all the time. I tell ye, Lass, I'm always a thinkin' on ye. I think you ought to go and see your father. You have been away, you say, for some time. I don't think it is respectful, I said, a little sharply. If ye bid me go, I'd almost go, but I could not quite. There's not an earth I would not do for you, mod, except leavein' you. And that, I said, with a petulant flush, is the only thing on earth I would ask you to do. Blessed if you ain't blushing, mod, he drawled with an odious grin. His stupidity was proof against everything. It is too bad, I muttered, with an indignant little pat of my foot and a mimic stamp. Well, ye lass's be queer kettle. You're angry with me now, cause ye think I got into mischief. Ye do, mod. Ye know it, ye buxom little fool, down there at Wolverhampton. And just for that, you're ready to turn me off again the minute I come back. Tisn't fair. I don't understand you, sir, and I beg that you leave me. And didn't I tell ye about leaving ye, mod? Tis the only thing I can't compass for your sake. I'm just a child in your hands I am, ye know. I can lick a big fella to pot his limp as a rag by George. His oaths were not really so mild. I've seen some of that the other day. Well, don't be vexed, mod, to us all along, ye know. Ye know I were just a bit jealous, Apen. But anyhow I can do it. And look at me here, just a child I say in your hands. I wish you'd go away. Have you nothing to do and no one to see? Why can't you leave me alone, sir? Cause I can't, mod, that's just why. And I wonder, mod, how can you be so ill-natured when you see me like this? How can ye? I wish Millie would come, said I, peevishly, looking toward the door. Well, I'll tell you how it is, mod. I may as well have it out. I like you better than any lass that ever I saw. A deal. You're nicer by chalks. There's none like you there, isn't? And I wish you'd have me. I hadn't much ten. Fathers run through a deal. He's pretty well at Petrie, you know. But though I paint so rich as some folks, I'm a better man, Apen. And if you'd take a tiny lad that likes he awful and a die for your sake, why, here he is. What can you mean, sir? I exclaimed, rising in indignant bewilderment. I mean, mod, if you'll marry me, you'll never have cause to complain. I'll never let you want for naught, nor give ye a rye word. Actually a proposal, I ejaculated, like a person speaking in a dream. I stood with my hand on the back of a chair, staring at Dudley, and, looking, I daresay, as stupefied as I felt. There's a good lass. You would not deny me, said the odious creature, with one knee on the seat of the chair behind which I was standing, and attempting to place his arm lovingly around my neck. This effectually roused me, and starting back I stamped upon the ground with actual fury. What has there ever been, sir, in my conduct, words or looks, to warrant this unparalleled audacity? But that you are as stupid as you are impertinent, brutal, and ugly, you must, long ago, sir, have seen how I dislike you. How dare you, sir? Don't presume to obstruct me. I'm going to my uncle. I had never spoken so violently to mortal before. He, in turn, looked a little confused, and I passed his extended but motionless arm with a quick and angry step. He followed me a pace or two, however, before I reached the door, looking horribly angry, but stopped, and only swore after me some of those rye words which I was never to have heard. I was myself, however, too much incensed and moving it too rapid a pace to catch their import, and I had knocked at my uncle's door before I began to collect my thoughts. Come in, replied my uncle's voice, clear, thin, and peevish. I entered and confronted him. Your son, sir, has insulted me. He looked at me with a cold curiosity steadily for a few seconds as I stood panting before him with flaming cheeks. Insulted you, repeated he. Agad, you surprise me. The ejaculation savored of the old man to borrow his scriptural phrase. More than anything I had heard from him before. How, he continued, how has Dudley insulted you, my dear child? Come, you're excited, sit down, take time, and tell me all about it. I did not know that Dudley was here. I—he—it is an insult. He knows very well. He must know I dislike him. And he presumed to make a proposal of marriage to me. Uhhh, exclaimed my uncle with a prolonged intonation which plainly said, Is that the mighty matter? He looked at me as he leaned back with the same steady curiosity, this time smiling which somehow frightened me, and his countenance looked to me wicked, like the face of a witch, with a guilt I could not understand. And is that the amount of your complaint? He made a formal proposal of marriage. Yes, he proposed for me. As I cooled I began to feel just a very little disconcerted, and a suspicion was troubling me, that possibly an indifferent person might think that, having no more to complain of, my language was perhaps a little exaggerated, and my demeanor a little too tempestuous. My uncle, I dare say, saw some symptoms of this misgiving, for smiling still, he said, My dear Maude, however just you appear to me a little cruel. You don't seem to remember how much you are yourself to blame. You have one faithful friend at least whom I advise your consulting. I mean your looking-glass. The foolish fellow is young, quite ignorant in the world's ways. He is in love, desperately enamored. Amis es Gandra, et Gandra se souffre, and suffering prompts to desperate remedies. We must not be too hard on a rough but romantic young fool, who talks according to his folly and his pain. End of Chapter 48 Chapter 49 of Uncle Silas This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Uncle Silas by J. Sheridan LeFennu. Chapter 49 In Apparition But after all, he suddenly resumed, as if a new thought had struck him. Is it quite such folly after all? It really strikes me, my dear Maude, that the subject may be worth a second thought. No, no, you won't refuse to hear me, he said, observing me on the point of protesting. I am, of course, assuming that you are fancy-free. I am assuming, too, that you don't care two pence about Dudley, and even that you fancy you dislike him. You know in that pleasant play, poor Sheridan, delightful fellow, all our fine spirits are dead. He makes Mrs. Malleprop say there is nothing like beginning with a little aversion. Now, though in matrimony, of course, that is only a joke, yet in love, believe me, it is no such thing. His own marriage with Miss Ogle, I know, was a case in point. She expressed a positive horror of him, at their first acquaintance, and yet, I believe she would, a few months later, have died, rather than not have married him. I was again about to speak, but with a smile he beckoned me into silence. There are two or three points you must bear in mind. One of the happiest privileges of your fortune is that you may, without imprudence, marry simply for love. There are few men in England who could offer you an estate comparable with that you already possess, or in fact appreciably increase the splendor of your fortune. If, therefore, he were, in all other respects, eligible, I can't see that his poverty would be an objection to way for one moment. He is quite a rough diamond. He has been, like many young men of the highest rank, too much given up to athletic sport, to that society which constitutes the aristocracy of the ring and the turf, and all that kind of thing. You see, I am putting all the worst points first, but I have known so many young men in my day. After a mad cap career of a few years among prize fighters, wrestlers and jockeys, learning their slang and affecting their manners, take up and cultivate the graces and the decencies, there was poor dear Newgate, many degrees lower in that kind of frolic who, when he grew tired of it, became one of the most elegant and accomplished men in the House of Peers. Poor Newgate. He's gone, too. I could reckon up fifty of my early friends who all began like Dudley and all turned out more or less like Newgate. At this moment came a knock at the door, and Dudley put in his head most inopportunely for the vision of his future graces and accomplishments. My good fellow, said his father, with a sharp sort of playfulness, I happen to be talking about my son and should rather not be overheard. You will, therefore, choose another time for your visit. Dudley hesitated gruffly at the door, but another look from his father dismissed him. And now, my dear, you are to remember that Dudley has fine qualities, the most affectionate son in his rough way, that ever father was blessed with, most admirable qualities, indomitable courage, and a high sense of honour. And lastly, that he has the rithin blood, the purest blood I maintain it, in England. My uncle, as he said this, drew himself up a little, unconsciously. His thin hand laid lightly over his heart with a little patting motion, and his countenance looked so strangely dignified and melancholy that in admiring contemplation of it I lost some sentences which followed next. Therefore, dear, naturally anxious that my boy should not be dismissed from home, as he must be, should you persevere in rejecting his suit, I beg that you will reserve your decision to this day fortnight. When I will, with much pleasure, hear what you may have to say on the subject. But till then, observe me not a word. That evening he and Dudley were closeted for a long time. I suspect that he lectured him on the psychology of ladies, for a bouquet was laid beside my plate every morning at breakfast, which it must have been troublesome to get. For the conservatory at Bartram was a desert. In a few days more an anonymous green parrot arrived in a gilt cage with a little note in a clerk's hand addressed to, quote, Miss Rithin of Knoll, Bartram Hoff, etc. It contained only directions for carrying green parrot. At the close of which, underlined, the words appeared, quote, the bird's name is Maud. The bouquets I invariably left on the tablecloth where I found them. The bird I insisted on Millie's keeping as her property. During the intervening fortnight, Dudley never appeared, as he used sometimes to do before, at luncheon. Nor looked in at the window as we were at breakfast. He contented himself, with one day placing himself in my way in the hall, in his shooting accoutrements and, with a clumsy, shuffling kind of respect, and hat in hand, he said, I think, Miss, I must have spoke uncivil to other day. I was so awful put about, and didn't know no more nor a child what I was saying, and I wanted to tell you I'm sorry for it, and beg your pardon. Very humble I do. I did not know what to say. Therefore I said nothing but made a grave inclination and passed on. Two or three times, Millie and I saw him at a little distance in our walks. He never attempted to join us. Once only he passed so near that some recognition was inevitable, and he stopped and, in silence, lifted his hat with an awkward respect. But although he did not approach us, he was ostentatious with a kind of telegraphic civility in the distance. He opened gates, he whistled his dogs to heal, he drove away cattle, and then himself withdrew. I really think he watched us occasionally to render these services, for in this distant way we encountered him decidedly oftener than we used to do before his flattering proposal of marriage. You may be sure that we discussed, Millie and I, that occurrence pretty consistently in all sorts of moods. Limited has had been her experience of human society. She very clearly saw now how far below its presentable level was her hopeful brother. The fortnight sped swiftly, as time always does when something we dislike and shrink from awaits us at its close. I never saw Uncle Silas during that period. It may seem odd to those who merely read the report of our last interview, in which his manner had been more playful and his talk more trifling than in any other, that from it I had carried away a profounder sense of fear and insecurity than from any other. It was with a foreboding of evil and an awful dejection that on a very dark day in Millie's room I awaited the summons which I was sure would reach me from my punctual guardian. As I looked from the window upon the slanting rain and leaden sky, and thought of the hated interview that awaited me, I pressed my hand to my troubled heart and murmured, Oh, that I had wings like a dove, then I would flee away and be at rest. Just then the prattle of the parrot struck my ear. I looked round on the wire cage and remembered the words, The bird's name is Maud. Poor bird, I said. I dare say, Millie, it longs to get out. If it were a native of this country, would not you like to open the window and then the door of that cruel cage and let the poor thing fly away? Master wants Miss Maud, said why its disagreeable tones, at the half-open door. I followed in silence, with the pressure of the near alarm at my heart like a person going to an operation. When I entered the room, my heart beat so fast that I could hardly speak. The tall form of Uncle Silas rose before me and I made a faltering reverence. He darted from under his brows a wild, fierce glance at old Wyatt and pointed to the door imperiously with a skeleton finger. The door shut and we were alone. A chair, he said, pointing to a seat. Thank you, Uncle. I prefer standing, I faltered. He also stood, his white head bowed forward, the phosphoric glare of his strange eyes, shown upon me from under his brows, his fingernails just rested on the table. You saw the luggage courted and addressed, as it stands ready for removal in the hall, he asked. I had, Millie and I had read the cards which dangled from the trunk handles and gun case. The address was Mr. Dudley R. Rython, Paris, V. Dover. I am old, agitated, on the eve of a decision on which much depends. Pray, relieve my suspense. Is my son to leave Bartram today in sorrow? Or to remain in joy? Pray, answer quickly. I stammered, I know not what. I was incoherent, wild, perhaps, but somehow I expressed my meaning, my unalterable decision. I thought his lips grew wider and his eyes shone brighter as I spoke. When I had quite made an end, he heaved a great sigh, and turning his eyes slowly to the right and the left, like a man in a helpless distraction he whispered, God's will be done. I thought he was upon the point of fainting. He lay tint dark in the white of his face, and, seeming to forget my presence, he sat down, looking with a despairing scowl on his ashy old hand as it lay upon the table. I stood gazing at him, feeling almost as if I had murdered the old man. He still gazing ascans with an imbecile scowl upon his hand. Shall I go, sir? I at length found courage to whisper. Go, he said, looking up suddenly, and it seemed to me as if a stream of cold sheet-lightning had crossed and enveloped me for a moment. Go. Oh. Uh. Yes. Yes. Mod, go. I must see poor Dudley before his departure. He added, as it were, in soliloquy. Trimbly, unless he should revoke his permission to depart, I glided quickly and noiselessly from the room. Old Wyatt was prowling outside with a cloth in her hand, pretending to dust the carved door-case. She frowned a stare of inquiry over her shrunken arm on me as I passed. Millie, who had been on the watch, ran and met me. We heard my uncle's voice as I shut the door, calling Dudley. He had been waiting probably in the adjoining room. I hurried into my chamber with Millie at my side, and there my agitation found relief and tears, as that of girlhood naturally does. A little while after we saw from the window, Dudley, looking, I thought, very pale, get into a vehicle, on the top of which his luggage lay, and drive away from Bartram. I began to take comfort. His departure was an inexpressible relief. His final departure a distant journey. We had tea in Millie's room that night. The candles are inspiring. In that red glow I always felt and feel more safe as well as more comfortable than in the daylight. Quite irrationally, for we know that night is the appointed day of such as love the darkness better than light, and evil walks thereby. But so it is. Perhaps the very consciousness of external danger enhances the enjoyment of the well-lighted interior, just as the storm does that roars and hurtles over the roof. Millie and I were talking very cosily, a knock came to at the room door, and without waiting for an invitation to enter, Old Wyatt came in, and glowering at us with her brown claw upon the door handle, she said to Millie, You must leave your fun in Miss Millie and take your turn in your father's room. Is he ill? I asked. She answered, addressing not me, but Millie. A wrought two hours in a fit, Ardormaster Dudley went. To ill be the death of him, I'm thinking, poor fella. I were sorry myself when I saw Master Dudley a-going off in a moist today, poor fella. There's trouble enough in the family without of that, but won't be a family long, I'm thinking. Not but trouble, not but trouble, since the late changes came. Judging by the sour glance she threw on me, as she said this, I concluded that I represented those late changes, to which all the sorrows of the house were referred. I felt unhappy under the ill-will, even of this odious old woman, being one of those unhappily constructed mortals who cannot be indifferent when they reasonably ought, and always yearn after kindness, even that of the worthless. I must go. I wish you'd come with me, Maude. I'm so afraid all alone," said Millie imploringly. Certainly, Millie, I answered, not liking it, you may be sure. You shan't sit there alone. So together we went, old Wyatt cautioning us for our lives to make no noise. We passed through the old man's sitting-room, where that day had occurred his brief but momentous interview with me, and his parting with his only son, and entered the bedroom at the farther end. A low fire burned and the grate. The room was in a sort of twilight, a dim lamp near the foot of the bed at the farther side was the only light burning there. Old Wyatt whispered an injunction not to speak above our breaths, nor to leave the fireside unless a sick man called or showed signs of weariness. These were the directions of the doctor who had been there. So Millie and I sat ourselves down near the hearth, and old Wyatt left us to our resources. We could hear the patient breathe, but he was quite still. In whispers we talked, but our conversation flagged. I was, after my won't, abrading myself for the suffering I had inflicted. After about half an hour's desultory whispering and intervals growing longer and longer of silence, it was plain that Millie was falling asleep. She strove against it, and I tried hard to keep her talking, but it would not do. Sleep overcame her, and I was the only person in that ghastly room in a state of perfect consciousness. There were associations connected with my last vigil there to make my situation very nervous and disagreeable. Had I not had so much to occupy my mind of a distinctly practical kind, Dudley's audacious suit, my uncle's unquestionable tolerance of it, and my own conduct throughout that most disagreeable period of my existence, I should have felt my present situation a great deal more. As it was, I thought of my real troubles and something of cousin Nallis, and I confess a good deal of Lord Ibarie. When I looked towards the door, I thought I saw a human face about the most terrible my fancy could have called up, looking fixedly into the room. It was only a three-quarter, and not the whole figure. The door hid that in a great measure, and I fancied I saw too a portion of the fingers. The face gazed toward the bed, and in the imperfect light looked like a livid mask with chalky eyes. I had so often been startled by similar apparitions formed by accidental lights and shadows, disguising homely objects, that I stooped forward, expecting, though tremulously, to see this tremendous one in like manner dissolve itself into its harmless elements. And now, to my unspeakable terror, I became perfectly certain that I saw the countenance of Madame de la Régère. With a cry I started back and shook Millie furiously from her trance, Look! Look! I cried, but the apparition, or illusion, was gone. I clung so fast to Millie's arm, cowering behind her, that she could not rise, Millie! Millie! Millie! Millie! I went on crying, like one struck with idiocy and unable to say anything else. In a panic, Millie, who had seen nothing and could conjecture nothing of the cause of my terror, jumped up and clinging to one another. We huddled together into the corner of the room, I still crying wildly, Millie! Millie! Millie! And nothing else. What is it? What is it? What do you see? cried Millie, clinging to me as I did to her. It will come again! It will come! Oh, heaven! What? What is it, Maud? The face! The face! I cried. Oh, Millie! Millie! Millie! We heard a step softly approaching the open door, and, in a horrible sovkipu, we rushed and stumbled together toward the light by Uncle Silas's bed. But old Wyatt's voice and figure reassured us. Millie! I said, so soon as, pale and very faint, I reached my apartment. No power on earth shall ever tempt me to enter that room again after dark. Why, Maud, dear, what in heaven's name did you see? said Millie, scarcely less terrified. Oh, I can't! I can't! I can't, Millie! Never ask me! Is it haunted? Is the room haunted horribly? Was it chark? whispered Millie, looking over her shoulder all aghast. No! No! Don't ask me! A fiend in a worse shape! I was relieved at last by a long fit of weeping. And all night good Mary Quint sat by me, and Millie slept by my side. Starting and screaming, and drugged with salvoletely, I got through that night of supernatural terror, and saw the blessed light of heaven again. Dr. Jokes, when he came to see my uncle in the morning, visited me also. He pronounced me very hysterical, made minute inquiries respecting my hours in diet, asked what I had had for dinner yesterday, there was something a little comforting in his cool and confident poo-pooing of the ghost theory. The result was a regimen which excluded tea and imposed chocolate and porter earlier hours, and I forget all beside. And he undertook to promise that, if I would but observe his directions, I should never see a ghost again. End of Chapter 49 Chapter 50 of Uncle Silas This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to find out how you can volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Uncle Silas by J. Sheridan LeFennu Chapter 50 Millie's Farewell A few days time saw me much better. Dr. Jokes was so contemptuously sturdy and positive on the point that I began to have comfortable doubts about the reality of my ghost. And having still a horror indescribable of the illusion, if such it were, the room in which it appeared and everything concerning it, I would neither speak nor, so far as I could, think of it. So, though Bartram Hoff was gloomy as well as beautiful, and some of its associations awful, and the solitude that reigned there sometimes almost terrible, yet early hours bracing exercise, and the fine air that predominates that region soon restored my nerves to a healthier tone. But it seemed to me that Bartram Hoff was to be, to me, a veil of tears. Or rather, in my sad pilgrimage, that valley of the shadow of death, through which poor Christian fared alone and in the dark. One day Millie ran into the parther, pale with wet cheeks, and, without saying a word, threw her arms about my neck and burst into a paroxysm of weeping. What is it, Millie? What's the matter, dear? What is it? I cried aghast, but returning her close embrace heartily. Oh, mod, mod, darling, he's going to send me away! Away, dear, where away? And leave me alone in this dreadful solitude, where he knows I shall die of fear and grief without you. Oh, no, no, it must be a mistake. I'm going to France, mod, I'm going away! Mrs. Jokes is going to London, day after tomorrow, and I'm going with her. And an old French lady, he says, from the school will meet me there and bring me the rest of the way. cried poor Millie, hugging me closer still, with her head buried in my shoulder, and swaying me about like a wrestler in her agony. I never were away from home before, except that little bit with you over at Elverston, and you were with me, then, mod, and I love ye, better than Bartram, better than— and I think I'll die, mod, if they take me away. I was just as wild in my woe as poor Millie. And it was not until we had wept together for a full hour, sometimes standing, sometimes walking up and down the room, sometimes sitting and getting up, in turns, to fall on one another's necks. Then Millie, plucking her handkerchief from her pocket, drew a note from it, at the same time, which, as it fell upon the floor, she at once recollected to be one from Uncle Silas to me. It was to this effect. I wished to apprise my dear niece and ward of my plans. Millie proceeds to an admirable French school, as a pensioner, and leaves this on Thursday next. If after three months' trial she finds it in any way objectionable, she returns to us. If, on the contrary, she finds it in all respects the charming residence it has been presented to me, you, on the expiration of that period, join her there, until the temporary completion of my affair shall have been so far adjusted as to enable me to receive you once more at Bartram. Hoping for happier days and wishing to assure you that three months is the extreme limit of your separation from my poor Millie, I have written this, feeling, alas, unequal to seeing you at present. Bartram, Tuesday. P.S., I can have no objection to your apprising monaconolus of these arrangements. You will understand, of course, not a copy of this letter, but its substance. Over this document, scanning it as lawyers do a new act of parliament, we took comfort. After all, it was limited, a separation not to exceed three months, possibly much shorter. On the whole, too, I pleased myself with thinking Uncle Silas' note, though peremptory, was kind. Our paroxysms subsided into sadness, a close correspondence was arranged, something of the bustle and excitement of change supervened. If it turned out to be, in truth, a charming residence, how very delightful our meeting at France, with the interest of foreign scenery ways and faces would be. So Thursday arrived, a new gush of sorrow, a new brightening up, and amid regrets and anticipations, we parted at the gate, at the farther end of the windmill wood. Then, of course, were more goodbyes, more embraces and tearful smiles. Good Mrs. Jokes, who met us there, was in a huge fuss. I believe it was her first visit to the metropolis, and she was, in proportion, heated and important, and terrified about the train, so we had not many last words. I watched poor Millie, whose head was stretched from the window, her hand waving many a dew, until the curve of the road, and the clump of old ash trees thick with ivy. Hidden Millie, caraginal, from my view. The eyes filled again with tears. I turned towards Bartram, and my side stood honest Mary Quince. Don't take on so, Miss, to be no time passing, three months is nothing at all, she said, smiling kindly. I smiled through my tears and kissed the good creature, and so side by side we re-entered the gate. The alive young man in Fustion, whom I had seen talking with beauty on the morning of our first encounter, with that youthful Amazon, was awaiting a re-entrance with the key in his hand. He stood half behind the open wicket, one lean brown cheek, one shy eye, and his sharp, upturned nose, I saw as we passed. He was treating me to a stealthy scrutiny, and seemed to shun my glance, for he shut the door quickly and busied himself locking it, and then began stubbing up some thistles which grew close by, with the toe of his thick shoe, his back to us all the time. It struck me that I recognized his features, and I asked Mary Quince, Have you seen that young man before Quince? He brings up game for your uncle sometimes, Miss, and then's a hand in the garden, I believe. Do they know his name, Mary? They call him Tom, I don't know what more, Miss. Tom, I called. Please, Tom, come here for a moment! Tom turned about, and approached slowly. He was more civil than the Bartram people usually were, for he plucked off his shapeless cap of rabbit skin with a clownish respect. Tom, what is your other name? Tom, what, my good man? I asked. Tom Bryce, ma'am. Haven't I seen you before, Tom Bryce? I pursued. For my curiosity was excited, and with it much graver feelings. For there certainly was a resemblance in Tom's features to those of the postillion, who had looked so hard at me as I passed the carriage in the warren at Knoll, on the evening of the outrage which had scared that quiet place. Up in you may have, ma'am. He answered quite coolly, looking down the buttons of his gators. Are you a good whip? Do you drive well? I'll drive a plow with most lads hereabout, answered Tom. Have you ever been to Knoll, Tom? Tom gaped very innocently. Anon, he said. Here, Tom, is half a crown. He took it readily enough. That'd be very good, said Tom, with an odd, having glanced sharply at the coin. I can't say whether he applied that term to the coin or to his luck, or to my generous self. Now, Tom, you'll tell me. Have you ever been to Knoll? Might have been, ma'am, but I don't mind no such place, no. As Tom spoke with this great deliberation, like a man who loves truth, putting a strand upon his memory for its sake, he spun the silver coin two or three times into the air and caught it, staring at it the while, with all his might. Now, Tom, recollect yourself and tell me the truth, and I'll be a friend to you. Did you ride postillion to a carriage, having a lady in it, I think several gentlemen, which came to the grounds of Knoll, when the party had their luncheon on the grass, and there was a quarrel with the gamekeepers. Try, Tom, to recollect, you shall, upon my honour, have no trouble about it, and I'll try to serve you. Tom was silent. While with a vacant gape he watched the spin of his half-crown twice, and then catching it with a smack in his hand, which he thrust into his pocket, instead still looking in the same direction. I never rid postillion in my days, ma'am. I know not such a place, though Ap and I might have been there. No, ye cat. I was never out of Derbyshire, but thrice to Warwick Fair, with the horses be rail, and twice to York. You're certain, Tom. Certain, sure, ma'am. And Tom made another loutish salute, and cut the conference short by turning off the path and beginning to hollow, after some trespassing cattle. I had not felt anything like so nearly sure in this essay at identification as I had in that of Dudley. Even of Dudley's identity, with the church Scarsdale man, I had daily grown less confident, and, indeed, had it been proposed to bring it to the test of a wager, I do not think I should, in the language of sporting gentleman, have cared to back my original opinion. There was, however, a sufficient uncertainty to make me uncomfortable, and there was another uncertainty to enhance the unpleasant sense of ambiguity. On our way back, we passed the bleaching trunks and limbs of several ranks of barkless oaks lying side by side, some squared by the hatchet, perhaps sold, for there were large letters in Roman numerals traced upon them in reddish chalk. Not because it was wrongfully done, for I really rather lean to the belief that Uncle Silas was well advised in point of law. But, alas, here lay low the grand old family decorations of Bartram Hof, not to be replaced for centuries to come, under whose spreading boughs the rythons of three hundred years ago had hawked and hunted. On the trunk of one of these I sat down to rest, meanwhile pattering about in unmeaning explorations. While thus listlessly seated, the girl Meg Huckees walked by, carrying a basket. Hish! she said quickly as she passed, without altering a pace or raising her eyes. Don't you speak, nor look! Father Spiesus, I'll tell you next turn. Next turn. When was that? While she might be returning, and as she could not then say more than merely passing without a pause, I concluded to wait for a short time and see what would come of it. After a short time I looked about me a little, and I saw Dickon Huckees, pegtop, as poor Millie used to call him, with an ax in his hand, prowling luridly among the timber. Observing that I saw him, he touched his hat soccally and by and by passed me, muttering to himself. He plainly could not understand what he thought of in that particular part of the windmill wood, and let me see it in his countenance. His daughter did pass me again, but this time he was nearer, and she was silent. Her next transit occurred as he was questioning Mary Quince at some little distance, and as she passed precisely in the same way, she said, Don't you be alone with Master Dudley, nowhere for the world's worth? The injection was so startling that I was on the point of questioning the girl. But I recollected myself and waited in the hope that in her future transits she might be more explicit. But one word more she did not utter, and the jealous eye of old pegtop was so constantly upon us that I refrained. There was a vagueness and suggestion enough in the oracle to supply work for many an hour of anxious conjecture, and many a horrible vigil by night. Was I never to know peace at Bartram Hoff? Ten days of poor Millie's absence and of my solitude had already passed when my uncle sent for me to his room. When old Wyatt stood at the door, mumbling and snarling her message, my heart died within me. It was late, just that hour when dejected people feel their anxieties most, when the cold gray of twilight has deepened to its darkest shade, and before the cheerful candles are lighted, and the safe quiet of the night sets in. When I entered my uncle's sitting room, though his window shutters were open and the wan streaks of sunset visible through them, like narrow lakes in the charms of the dark western clouds, a pair of candles were burning, one stood upon the table by his desk, the other on the chimney piece before which his tall, thin figure stooped. Can leaned on the mantelpiece and the light from the candle just above his bowed head touched his silvery hair. He was looking, as it seemed, into the subsiding embers of the fire and was a very statue of forsaken dejection and decay. Uncle, I ventured to say, having stood for some time unperceived near his table. Ah, yes, Maude, my dear child, my dear child. He turned and with the candle in his hand smiling his silvery smile of suffering on me. He walked more feebly and stiffly, I thought, than I had ever seen him move before. Sit down, Maude, pray, sit there. I took the chair he indicated. In my misery and my solitude, Maude, I have invoked you like a spirit and you appear. With his two hands leaning on the table across at me in a stooping attitude, he had not seated himself I continued silent until it should be his pleasure to question or address me. At last he said, raising himself and looking upward with a wild adoration, his fingertips elevated and glimmering in the faint mixed light. No, I thank my creator I am not quite forsaken. Another silence during which he looked steadfastly and muttered as if thinking aloud, my guardian angel my guardian angel Maude you have a heart. He addressed me suddenly listen for a few moments to the appeal of an old and broken hearted man, your guardian your uncle your suppliant I had resolved never to speak to you more on this subject but I was wrong it was pride that inspired me, mere pride. I felt myself growing pale and flushed by turns during the pause that followed I am very miserable very nearly desperate what remains for me what remains fortune has done her worst thrown in the dust her wheels rolled over me and the servile world who follow her chariot like a mob stamp upon the mangled wretch all this had passed over me and left me scarred and bloodless in this solitude it was not my fault Maude I say it was no fault of mine I have no remorse though more regret than I can count and all scored with fire as people passed by Bartram and looked upon its neglected grounds and smokeless chimneys they thought my plight I dare say about the worst a proud man could be reduced to they could not imagine one half its misery but this old hectic this old epileptic this old specter of wrongs calamities and follies has still one hope my manly though untutored son the last scion of the rythons Maude have I lost him in his fate my fate I may say Millie's fate we all await your sentence he loves you as none but the very young can love and that once only in a life he loves you desperately the most affectionate nature a rythin the best blood in England the last man of the race and I if I lose him I lose all and you will see me in my coffin Maude before many months I stand before you in this attitude of a suppliant shall I kneel his eyes were fixed on me with the light of despair his knotted hands clasped his whole figure bowed toward me I was inexpressibly shocked and pained oh uncle uncle I cried and from very excitement I burst into tears I saw that his eyes were fixed on me with a dismal scrutiny I think he devined the nature of my agitation but he determined notwithstanding to press me while my helpless agitation continued you see my suspense you see my miserable and frightened suspense you are kind Maude you love your father's memory you pity your father's brother you would not say no and place a pistol at his head oh I must I must I must say no oh spare me uncle for heaven's sake don't question me don't press me I could not I could not do what you ask I yield Maude I yield my dear I will not press you you shall have time your own time to think I will accept no answer now no none Maude he said this raising his thin hand to silence me there Maude I have spoken as I always do to you frankly perhaps too frankly but an agony and despair will speak out and plead even with the most obdurate and cruel with these words Uncle Silas entered his bed-chamber and shut the door, not violently but with a resolute hand and I thought I heard a cry I hastened to my own room I threw myself on my knees I named heaven for the firmness vouchsafed me I could not believe it to have been my own I was more miserable in consequence of this renewed suit on behalf of my odious cousin than I can describe my uncle had taken such a line of importunity that it became a sort of agony to resist I thought of the possibility of my hearing of his having made away with himself and was every morning relieved when I heard that he was still as usual I have often wondered since at my own firmness in that dreadful interview with my uncle I had felt in the whirl and horror of my mind on the very point of submitting just as nervous people are said to throw themselves over the precipices through sheer dread of falling End of Chapter 50 Chapter 51 of Uncle Silas Uncle Silas This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Uncle Silas by J. Sheridan LeFennu Chapter 51 Sarah Matilda comes to light Some time after this interview one day as I sat sad enough in my room looking listlessly from the window with Good Murray Quince whom whether in the house or in my melancholy rambles I always had by my side I was startled by the sound of a loud and shrill female voice in violent hysterical action gabbling with great rapidity sobbing and very nearly screaming in a sort of fury I started up staring at the door Lord bless us! cried Honest Murray Quince with round eyes and mouth agape staring in the same direction Murray, Murray, what can it be? Are they beating someone down yonder? I don't know where it comes from Guest Quince I will, I will, I'll see her It's her I want Miss Maud Rithin of Knoll Miss Rithin of Knoll What on earth can it be? I exclaimed in great bewilderment and terror It was now plainly very near indeed and I heard the voice of her mild and shaky butler evidently remonstrating with the distressed damsel I'll see her! she continued pouring a torrent of vile abuse upon me which stung me with a sudden sense of anger What had I done to be afraid of anyone? How dared anyone in my uncle's house in my house mix my name up with her detestable scurrilities For heaven's sake, Miss don't you go out? cried poor Quince It's some drunken creature But I was very angry and like a fool I was I threw open the door exclaiming in a loud and haughty key Here is Miss Rithin of Knoll Who wants to see her? A pink and white young lady with black tresses violent weeping trill voluble was flouncing up the last stair and shook her dress out on the lobby and poor old giblet, as Millie used to call him was following in her wake with many small remonstruses and entreaties perfectly unheeded The moment I looked at this person it struck me that she was the identical lady whom I had seen in the carriage at Knoll Warren the next moment I was in doubt the next still more so She was decidedly thinner and dressed by no means in such lady-like taste Perhaps she was hardly like her at all I began to distrust all these resemblances and to fancy with a shudder that they originated perhaps only in my own sick brain Unseeing me, this young lady as it seemed to me a good deal of the barmaid or ladiesmaid species dried her eyes fiercely and with a flaming countenance called upon me peremptorily to produce her quote lawful husband Her loud, insolent, outrageous attack had the effect of enhancing my indignation and I quite forget what I said to her but I well remember that her manner became a good deal more decent She was plainly under the impression that I wanted to appropriate her husband or at least that he wanted to marry me and she ran on at such a pace and her harangue was so passionate incoherent and unintelligible that I thought her out of her mind She was a woman she was a woman out of her mind She was far from it, however I think if she had allowed me even a second for reflection I should have hit upon her meaning As it was nothing could exceed my perplexity until plucking a soil newspaper from her pocket she indicated a particular paragraph already sufficiently emphasized by double lines of red ink at its sides It was a Lancashire paper of about six weeks since and very much worn and soiled for its age I remember in particular a circular stain from the bottom of a vessel either of coffee or brown stout The paragraph was as follows recording an event a year or more anterior to the date of the paper Marriage On Tuesday, August 7, 1800 at Leatherwig Church by the Reverend Arthur Hughes Dudley R. Rithin Esquire Only son and heir of Silas Rithin Esquire of Bartram Hoff Derbyshire to Sarah Matilda second daughter of John Mangles Esquire of Wigan in this county At first I read nothing but amazement in this announcement but in another moment I felt how completely I was relieved of my intense satisfaction in my countenance For the young lady eyed me with considerable surprise and curiosity I said This is extremely important You must see Mr. Silas Rithin this moment I am certain he knows nothing of it I will conduct you to him No more he does I know that myself She replied following me with a self-asserting swagger and a great rustling of cheap silk As we entered Uncle Silas looked up from his sofa and closed his Revue des Dumans What is all this? he inquired dryly This lady has brought with her a newspaper containing an extraordinary statement which affects our family I answered Uncle Silas raised himself and looked with a hard narrow scrutiny at the unknown young lady A libel I suppose in the paper he said extending his hand for it No Uncle No Only a marriage I answered Not Monica he said as he took it It smells all over of tobacco and beer he added throwing a little eau de cologne over it He raised it with a mixture of curiosity and disgust saying again and so he read the paragraph and as he did his face changed from white all over to lead color He raised his eyes and looked steadily for some seconds at the young lady who seemed a little odd by his strange presence And you are I suppose the young lady Sarah Matilda name Angles mentioned in this little paragraph he said in a tone you would have called a sneer were it not that it trembled Sarah Matilda assented my son is I daresay within reach it so happens that I wrote to arrest his journey and summoned him here some day since some day since some day since he repeated slowly like a person whose mind has wandered far away from the theme on which he is speaking he had rung his bell and old Wyatt always hovering about his rooms entered I want my son immediately if not in the house send Harry to the stables if not there let him be followed instantly Bryce is an active fellow and he will know where to find him if he is in Feltrum or at a distance let Bryce take a horse and master Dudley can write it back he must be here without the loss of one moment there intervened nearly a quarter of an hour during which whenever he recollected her Uncle Silas treated the young lady with a hyper refined and ceremonious politeness which appeared to make her uneasy and even a little shy and certainly prevented a renewal of those limitations and invectives which he had heard faintly from the stair head but for the most part Uncle Silas seemed to forget us and his book and all that surrounded him lying back in the corner of his sofa his chin upon his breast and such a fearful shade and carving on his features as made me prefer looking in any direction but his at length we heard the tread of Dudley's thick boots on the oak boards and faint and muffled the sound of his voice as he cross-examined Old Wyatt before entering the chamber of audience I think he suspected quite another visitor and had no expectation of seeing the particular young lady who rose from her chair as he entered an opportune flood of tears crying, oh Dudley Dudley, oh Dudley, how could you oh Dudley, your own poor sal you could not you would not, your lawful wife this and a good deal more with cheeks that streamed like a windowpane in a thundershower spoke Sarah Matilda with all her oratory working his arms which she clung to up and down all the time like the handle of a pump but Dudley was manifestly confounded and dumbfounded he stood for a long time gaping at his father and stole just one sheepish glance at me and with red face and forehead looked down at his boots and then again at his father who remained just in the attitude I have described and with the same forbidding and dreary intensity in his strange face like a quarrelsome man worried in his sleep by a noise Dudley suddenly woke up as it were with a start in a half suppressed exasperation and shook her off with a jerk and a muttered curse as she whisked involuntarily into a chair with more violence than could have been pleasant judging by your looks and demeanour sir I can almost anticipate your answers said my uncle addressing him suddenly will you be good enough pray madame command yourself for a few moments is this young person the daughter of a Mr. Mangles and hers her name Sarah Matilda I just say answered Dudley hurriedly is she your wife is she my wife repeated Dudley illities yes sir it is a plain question all this time Sarah Matilda was perpetually breaking into talk and with difficulty silenced by my uncle well happened she says I am does she replied Dudley is she your wife sir may have she so considers it after a fashion he replied with an impudent swagger seating himself as he did so what do you think sir persisted Uncle Silas I don't think not about it replied Dudley Sir Lily I am true said my uncle they wish us to believe so at any rate answered directly sir we have our thoughts upon it if it be true it is capable of every proof for expedition's sake I ask you there is no use in prevaricating who wants to deny it it is true there there I knew he would scream the young woman hysterically with a laugh of strange joy shut up will ye growled Dudley savagely oh Dudley Dudley darling what have I done Ben and ruined me just that's all oh no no no Dudley you know I wouldn't I could not could not hurt you Dudley no no no he grinned at her and with a sharp side nod said wait a bit oh Dudley don't be vexed here I did not mean it I would not hurt you for all the world never well never mind you and yours tricked me finally and now you've got me that's all my uncle laughed a very odd laugh I knew it of course and upon my word madame you and he make a very pretty couple sneered Uncle Silas Dudley made no answer looking however very savage and with this poor young wife who were recently wedded the low villain had actually solicited me to marry him I am quite certain that my uncle was as entirely ignorant as I of Dudley's connection and had therefore no participation in this appalling wickedness and I have to congratulate you my good fellow on having secured the affections of a very suitable and vulgar young woman first of the family has done the same retorted Dudley at this taunt the old man's fury for a moment overpowered him in an instant he was on his feet quivering from head to foot I never saw such accountants like one of those demon grotesques we see in the gothic side aisles and groinings a dreadful grimace monkey like and insane and his thin hand caught up sick and shook it paralytically in the air if you touch me with that all smashy by God shouted Dudley furious raising his hands and hitching his shoulders just as I had seen him when he fought Captain Oakley for a moment this picture was suspended before me and I screamed I know not what in my terror but the old man a veteran of many a scene of excitement where men disguise their ferocity in calm tones and varnished their fury with smiles had not quite lost his self command he turned toward me and said does he know what he's saying and with an icy laugh of contempt his high thin forehead still flushed he sat down trembling if you want to say ought I'll hear it you may jaw me all you like and I'll stan it oh I may speak thank you sneered Uncle Silas glancing slowly round at me and breaking into a cold laugh I don't mind cheek not eye but you must not go for to do that you know gammon I won't stand a blow I won't from no one well sir availing myself of your permission to speak I may remark without a fence to the young lady that I don't happen to recollect the name mangles among the old families of England I presume you have chosen her chiefly for her virtues and graces Mrs. Sarah Matilda not apprehending this comment quite as Uncle Silas meant it dropped a curtsy not withstanding her agitation and wiping her eyes said with a blubbered smile you're very kind sure I hope for both your sake she has got a little money I don't see how else you are to live you're too lazy for a gamekeeper and I don't think you could keep a pothouse you are so addicted to drinking and quarreling the only thing I am quite clear upon is that you and your wife must find some other abode than this you shall depart this evening and now Mr. and Mrs. Dudley Rithon you may quit this room if you please Uncle Silas had risen and made them one of his old courtly bows smiling a death-like sneer and pointing to the door with his trembling fingers come will ye said Dudley grinding his teeth you're pretty well done here not half understanding the situation but looking woefully bewildered she dropped a farewell curtsy at the door will ye cut bark Dudley in a tone that made her jump and suddenly without looking about he strode after her from the room Maude how shall I recover this the vulgar villain the fool what an abyss were we approaching and for me the last hope gone and for me utter, utter irretrievable ruin he was passing his fingers trimulously back and forward along the top of the mantelpiece like a man in search of something and continued so looking along it feebly and vacantly although there was nothing there I wish uncle you do not know how much I wish I could be of any use to you maybe I can he turned and looked at me sharply maybe you can he echoed slowly yes maybe you can he repeated more briskly let us, let us see let us think that damned fellow my head you're not well uncle oh yes yes very well we'll talk in the evening I'll sin for you I found Wyatt in the next room and told her to hasten as I thought he was ill I hope it was not very selfish but such had grown to be my horror of seeing him in one of his strange seizures that I hastened from the room precipitately partly to escape the risk of being asked to remain the walls of Bartram House are thick and the recess at the doorway deep as I closed my uncle's door I heard Dudley's voice on the stairs I did not wish to be seen by him or his lady as his poor wife called herself who was engaged in vehement dialogue with him as I emerged and not caring either to re-enter the room I remained quietly ensconced within the heavy door case in which position I overheard Dudley say with this average snarl you'll just go back the way he came I'm not going with you if that's what she'd be driving at dang your impotence oh Dudley, dear, what have I done what have I done you hate me so what have you done you vicious little beastie gosh, that's all don't you think it's enough I could only hear her sobs and shrill tones in reply for they were descending the stairs and Mary Quince reported to me in a horrified sort of way that she saw him bundle her into the fly at the door like a truss of hay into a hayloft and he stood with his head in at the window scolding her till it drove away I knew he was drawing her poor thing by the way he kept wagging his head and he had his fist inside shaken in her face I'm sure he looked wicked enough for anything and she are crying like a babby and looking back and waving her wet handkerchief to him poor thing and she's so young tis a pity dear me, I often think, Miss tis well for me I was never married and see how we all would like to get husbands for all that though so few is happy together tis a queer world and then that single is maybe the best off after all End of Chapter 51 Chapter 52 of Uncle Silas This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to find out how you can volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Uncle Silas by J. Sheridan Levenu Chapter 52 The Picture of a Wolf I went down that evening to the sitting-room which had been assigned to million me in search of a book my good Mary Quince always attending me the door was a little open and I was startled by the light of a candle proceeding from the fireside together with a considerable aroma of tobacco and brandy on my little work-table which he had drawn beside the hearth lay Dudley's pipe his brandy flask and an empty tumbler and he was sitting with one foot on the fender his elbow on his knee and his head in his hand weeping his back being a little towards the door he did not perceive us and we saw him rub his knuckles in his eyes and heard the sounds of his selfish lamentations Mary and I stole away quietly leaving him in possession wondering when he was to leave the house according to the sentence which I had heard pronounced upon him I was delighted to see old giblets quietly strapping his luggage in the hall and heard from him in a whisper that he was to leave that evening by rail he did not know wither about half an hour afterwards Mary Quince going out to Reconnoiter heard from old Wyatt in the lobby that he had just started to meet the train blessed be heaven for that deliverance an evil spirit had been cast out and the house looked lighter and happier it was not until I sat down in the quiet of my room that the scenes and images of that agitating day began to move before my memory in orderly procession and for the first time I appreciated with a stunning sense of horror and a perfect rapture of thanksgiving the value of my escape and the immensity of the danger which had threatened me it may have been miserable weakness I think it was but I was young, nervous and afflicted with the troublesome sort of conscience which occasionally went mad and insisted in small things as well as great upon sacrifices which my reason now assured me were absurd perfect horror and yet had that system of solicitation that dreadful and direct appeal to my compassion that placing of my feeble girlhood in the seat of the arbiter of my aged uncle's hopes or despairs been long persisted in my resistance might have been worn out who can tell and I self-sacrificed just as criminals in Germany are teased and watched and cross-examined year after year incessantly into a sort of madness and worn out with the suspense the iteration, the self-restraint and insupportable fatigue they at last cut all short accuse themselves and go infinitely relieved to the scaffold you may guess then for me, nervous, self-difident and alone how intense was the comfort of knowing that Dudley was actually married and the harrowing opportunity he commenced forever silenced that night I saw my uncle I pitied him though I feared him I was longing to tell him how anxious I was to help him if he could only point out the way it was in substance what I had already said but now strongly urged he brightened he sat up perpendicularly in his chair with the countenance not weak or fatuous now searching and which contracted into dark thought or calculation as I talked I dare say I spoke confusedly enough I was always nervous in his presence there was, I fancy, something mesmeric in the odd sort of influence which without effort he exercised over my imagination sometimes this grew into a dismal panic and uncle Silas, polished mild, seemed countably horrible to me then it was no longer an accidental fascination of electrobiology it was something more his nature was incomprehensible by me he was without the nobleness without the freshness without the softness without the frivolities of such human nature as I had experienced either within myself or in other persons I actively felt that appeals to sympathies or feelings could no more affect him than a marble monument he seemed to accommodate his conversation to the moral structures of others just as spirits are said to assume the shape of mortals there were the sensualities of the gourmet for his body and there ended his human nature as it seemed to me through that semi-transparent structure I thought I could now and then discern the light or the glare of his inner life but I understood it not he never scoffed at what was good or noble his hardest critic could not nail him to one such sentence and yet it seemed somehow to me that his unknown nature was a systematic blasphemy against it all if fiend he was he was something higher demon of Goethe he assumed the limbs and features of our mortal nature he shrouded his own and was a profoundly reticent Mephistopheles gentle he had been to me kindly he had nearly always spoken but it seemed like the mild talk of one of those goblins of the desert whom Asiatic superstition tells of who appear in friendly shapes to stragglers from the caravan beckon to them from afar call them by their names and lead them where they are found no more was then all his kindness but a phosphoric radiance covering something colder and more awful than the grave it is very noble of you mod it is angelic your sympathy with a ruined and despairing old man but I fear you will recoil I tell you frankly that less than 20,000 pounds will not extricate me from the quag of ruin in which I am entangled lost recoil, far from it I'll do it, there must be some way enough my fair young projectress celestial enthusiast enough though you do not I could not bring myself to accept this sacrifice what signifies even to me my extrication I lie a mangled wretch with 50 mortal wounds in my crown what avails the healing of one wound when there are so many beyond all cure better to let me perish where I fall and reserve your money for the worthier objects whom perhaps hereafter may avail to save but I will do this I must I cannot see you suffer with the power in my hands unemployed to help you I exclaimed enough dear mod the will is here enough there is balm in your compassion and good will leave me ministering angel for the present I cannot if you will we can talk of it again good night and so we parted afterwards heard was with him nearly all that night trying in vain to devise by their joint ingenuity any means by which I might tie myself up but there were none I could not bind myself I was myself full of the hope of helping him what was this sum to me great as it seemed truly nothing I could have spared it and never felt the loss I took up a large quattro colored prince one of the few books I had brought with me from dear old knoll too much excited to hope for sleep in bed I opened it and turned over the leaves my mind still full of Uncle Silas and the sum I had hoped to help him with unaccountably one of those colored engravings arrested my attention it represented the solemn solitude of a lofty forest a girl in swiss costume was flying in terror and as she fled flinging a piece of meat behind her which she had taken from a little market basket hanging upon her arm through the glade a pack of wolves were pursuing her the narrative told that on her return homeward with her marketing she had been chased by wolves and barely escaped by flying at her utmost speed from time to time retarding what she did so the pursuit by throwing piece by piece the contents of her basket in her wake to be devoured and fought for by the famished beasts of prey this print had seized my imagination I looked with a curious interest on the print something in the disposition of the trees their great height and rude boughs interlacing and awful shadows beneath reminded me of a portion of the windmill wood where million I had often rambled then I looked at the figure of the poor girl flying for her life and glancing terrified over her shoulder then I gazed on the gaping murderous pack and the hoary brute that led the van and then I leaned back in my chair and I thought perhaps some latent association suggested what seemed a thing so unlikely of a fine print in my portfolio from van dyke's noble picture of belisarius idly I traced with my pencil as I leaned back on an envelope that lay upon the table this little inscription it was mere fiddling and absurd as it looked there was nothing but an honest meaning in it twenty thousand pounds date obolum belisario my dear father had translated the little Latin inscription for me and I had written it down as a sort of exercise of memory and also perhaps as expressive of that sort of compassion which my uncles fall and miserable fate excited invariably in me so I threw this queer little memorandum upon the open leaf of the book and again the flight, the pursuit and the bait to stay it engaged my eye and I heard a voice near the hearthstone as I thought say in a stern whisper fly the fangs of belisarius what's that said I turning sharply to mary quince mary rose from her work at the fireside staring at me with that odd sort of frown that accompanies fear and curiosity you spoke did you speak I said catching her by the arm very much frightened myself no miss there plainly thinking that I was a little wrong in my head there could be no doubt it was a trick of the imagination and yet to this hour I could recognize that clear stern voice among thousands were it to speak again jaded after a night of broken sleep and much agitation I was summoned next morning to my uncle's room he received me oddly I thought his manner had changed and made an uncomfortable impression upon me he was gentle kind smiling submissive as usual but it seemed to me that he experienced henceforth toward me the same half superstitious repulsion which I had always felt from him dream or voice or vision which had done it there seemed to be an unconscious antipathy and fear when I was not looking his eyes were sometimes grimly fixed for a moment upon me when I looked at him his eyes were upon the book before him and when he spoke a person not heeding what he uttered would have fancied that he was reading aloud from it there was nothing tangible but this shrinking from the encounter of her eyes I said he was kind as usual he was even more so but there was this new sign silently repellent natures dislike it could not be I knew I longed to serve him was it shame was there not a shade of horror in it I have not slept said he for me the night has passed in thought and the fruit of it is this I cannot mod accept your noble offer I am very sorry I exclaimed in all honesty I know it my dear niece and appreciate your goodness but there are many reasons none of them I trust ignoble and which together render it impossible no it would be misunderstood my honor shall not be impugned but sir that could not be you have never proposed it it would be all from first to last my doing true dear mod but I know alas more of this evil and slanderous world than your happy and experience can do who will receive our testimony none no not one the difficulty the insuperable moral difficulty is this that I should expose myself to the plausible imputations of having worked upon you unduly for this end and more that I could not hold myself quite free from blame it is your voluntary goodness mod but you are young inexperienced and it is I hold it my duty to stand between you and any dealing with your property it's so unripe and age some people may call this quixotic in my mind it is an imperious mandate of conscience and I peremptorily refuse to disobey it although within three weeks an execution will be in this house I did not quite know what an execution meant but from two harrowing novels with whose distress I was familiar I knew that it indicated some direful process of legal torture and spoilation oh uncle I oh sir you cannot allow this thing to happen what will people say of me and and there is poor milli and everything think what it will be it cannot be helped you cannot help it mod listen to me there will be an execution here I cannot say exactly how soon but I think in a little more than a fortnight I must provide for your comfort you must leave I have arranged that you shall join Millie for the present in France till I have time to look about me you had better I think right to your cousin lady Nullis she with all her oddities has a heart can you say mod that I have been kind you have never been anything but kind I exclaimed that I have been self denying when you made me a generous offer he continued that I now act to spare you pain you may tell her not as a message for me but as a fact that I am seriously thinking of vacating my guardianship that I feel I have done her and injustice and that so soon as my mind is a little less tortured I shall endeavor to effect a reconciliation with her and would wish ultimately to transfer the care of your person and education to her you may say I have no longer an interest even in vindicating my name my son has wrecked himself by a marriage I forgot to tell you he stopped at Feltrum and this morning wrote to pray a parting if I grant it it shall be the last I shall never see him or correspond with him or the old man seemed much overcome and he held his handkerchief to his eyes he and his wife are I understand about to immigrate the sooner the better he resumed bitterly deeply mod I regret having tolerated his suit to you even for a moment and I thought it over as I did the whole case last night nothing could have induced me to permit it but I have lived for so long like a monk in his cell my wants and observations limited to the narrow compass of this chamber that my knowledge of the world has died out with my youth and my hopes and I did not as I thought to have done considered many objections therefore, dear mod on this one subject I entreat be silent its discussion can affect nothing now I was wrong and frankly ask you to forget my mistake the point of writing to Lady Nullis on this odious subject when happily it was set at rest by the disclosure of yesterday and being so I could have no difficulty in acceding to my uncle's request he was conceding so much that I could not withhold so trifling a concession in return I hope Monaco will continue to be kind to poor Millie after I am gone here there were a few seconds of meditation mod you will not, I think refuse to convey the substance of what I have just said in a letter to Lady Nullis and perhaps you would have no objection to let me see it when it is written it will prevent the possibility of its containing any misconception of what I have just spoken and mod you won't forget to say whether I have been kind it would be a satisfaction to me to know that Monaco was assured that I never either teased or bullied my young ward with these words he dismissed me and forthwith I completed such a letter as would quite embody what he had said and in my own glowing terms being in high good humor with Uncle Silas recorded my estimate of his gentleness and good nature and when I submitted it to him he expressed his admiration of what he was pleased to call my cleverness in so exactly conveying what he wished and his gratitude for the handsome terms in which I had spoken of my old guardian End of Chapter 52