Weary Wealth. A novel

Chapter I

" However rich or elevated, a nameless something is always wanting to our imperfect fortune." — Horace. HE grey November afternoon was drawing to a close ; already, though it was only four o'clock, it was almost dark, fog and dampness prevailed outside, and the cheerful lamplighter had not yet appeared to brighten the gloom. The firelight inside seemed doubly cheerful, from the comparison ; and on a rug in front of the fire, with her head bent over a book, Clarice Heywood sat absorbed, so absorbed, that she did not notice the time, until the great gong of the clock on the stairs sounded, and she started up in haste. "Aunt Hannah's medicine !" she ejaculated. "I'd forgotten all about it;" and jumping up, she rushed B hurriedly upstairs, but moderated her pace when she reached the door, and entered very quietly, on tiptoe.

"Aunt Hannah," she whispered, "are you wanting your medicine?" and she advanced towards a huge four-post bed, taking with her a small bottle. On the old-fashioned bed lay an equally old fashioned person ; though just then there was little of her to be seen but a large frilled night-cap. The figure in the bed slowly raised her head : "Yes, child, I suppose I must have it," she answered wearily, " though there's little can do me any good now ;" and, taking the medicine from her, she took it as she had taken all nauseous doses in her life, whether mental or physical, without wincing. AVhen her head was raised, the face was clearly seen, a dark stern face, slightly masculine in its lineaments, and almost start ling in its pallor, a face that told of many a weary battle with fate, and of many a cruel pang ; a face that had endurance written on every line of it.

"Clarice," she said, speaking with difficulty, "I feel I shall not live long now. I have one duty to perform, which I cannot leave undone. I have sent for you for this, this that, perhaps, may explain many actions of my life. Do you know that I am a rich woman ? Do you hear me, child ? — a rich woman ! Have you ever heard your mother mention this ?" she asked suspiciously. Then, seeing the look of surprise and ignorance on the girl's face, she added sharply, "But there ! what does it matter? It's too late to be revengeful now; though I cannot see your mother, Clarice, I should like to have done so once more be fore I died ; if she could have come (but I know that is impossible) I would have forgiven everything. Ah ! who would have thought I should be taken before her ?" — and the sick woman fell back exhausted on her pillow.

Suddenly she sat up again and began fiercely : "Yes, I am dying ; I know it ! and I'm glad of it ! You do not know what it is to have a cruel stroke dealt to you : a stroke that has been felt through life ! to be despised, forsaken, passed over for another !" Then dropping her voice to a hoarse whisper, "And all the time I've been rich ! Rich ! " she shrieked, " what in ? " with irony in her tone, " Friends ? affection ? love ? Respect ? Yes I've had that, perhaps, for no one sees the thoughts of the heart ! but in all things else, poor ! poor ! poor !" And again she fell back on her pillow. Clarice was thoroughly frightened by her aunt's out break. Her mother had called her peculiar, but further than this she had rarely mentioned her, and until she sent for her niece to her death-bed, Clarice had had very little intercourse with her aunt "Now do lie down, Aunt Hannah," she began soothingly.

"You know the doctor said, last thing, you were not to be excited." And she took her hand and stroked it quietly. "Clarice," said the sick woman again, "do you remember your father ?" Clarice looked uncomfortable. "Yes," she said, and said no more. " Was he kind to your mother ? " she asked eagerly. " No," said Clarice simply. " He wasn't ?" said her aunt ; "in what way ?" " I would rather not speak of my dead father," said Clarice, haughtily. " Right, my dear, I had forgotten ; but, Clarice, will you believe me, when I tell you that once I wor shipped the ground he trod upon, and that once, long ago, before he knew your mother, I was to have married him," and the voice trembled, and even in the dim light the eyes seemed to shine. " But, Clarice, I was forsaken, passed over for a prettier face, a pleasanter manner ; and then, when wealth was mine (for your mother was only my step sister, Clarice) he would have come back again ; but it was too late then — too late !

AA'hen my father died, and my mother's money became mine, he would have married me. Yes ; although the banns had been asked in church for him and my sister, he would have thrown all up, and married me, not for love ! — ah \ no ! " She paused here a moment for breath, and then continued emphatically. " But I thank God on my dying bed that I spurned him, that I let him go, although my heart was breaking ; for, Clarice, it is sweeter to lie here with a consciousness of having done the right thing, than to know that he was mine at last !" — and a tear fell from the weary, defiant eyes. Clarice was too stunned to reply. She had always heard her father speak of Miss Reeve as a hard, unfeeling woman, and had, in her intercourse with her during the past weeks, come to much the same conclusion ; but now, at last, she had found that in the hardest heart there is always a soft place sor something, and as people had contemplated the easy luxury of the house they had visited, they had little realized the feelings that had been hidden under a stern, cold manner.

"Clarice," began Miss Reeve again, this time so faintly, that Clarice had to stoop to catch the words, " I have told you all this, so that you will understand why I never sought out your mother whilst your father was alive ; but now, my dear, the time has come when I can no longer keep to myself. You know, Clarice, I can't take my money with me, and I would not if I could, and I must leave it to some body ; therefore, my dear, I have left it all to you ! Do not start ! I hope it will make you happier than it has made me," and she smiled faintly as Clarice started up in amazement ; " but I have left it you on one condition — " she added, and then her weary eyes closed, and she dropped into an uneasy sleep. Clarice hung over the bed, hoping her aunt would awaken, and explain more to her about the money, for she felt naturally anxious to know whether the rich woman was wandering or not ; but she did not again open her eyes, and at this moment the maid, who had lived with her for nearly thirty years, came in, and with a jealous look, told her she was not wanted, and would be better downstairs.

Clarice stole gently down the stairs again, this time with a quiet excitement underlying her wonted demeanour. She took up her book, but the story had lost its interest, beside this drama in real life ; she felt lonely and low-spirited, and longed for some one to whom she might unburden her mind; but Miss Reeve's house was not one where chance acquaint ances dropped in on an evening when she was weU, and now that she was known to be dying, no voices were heard anywhere, save the servants' and the doctor's. Clarice thought longingly of her home, where the delicate mother, and noisy brother and sisters, would now be gathered round the tea table, and a sigh escaped from the soUtary girl, as she glanced round the handsome room in which she was sitting. "I do wish mother was here," she soliloquised.

" I wonder whether I had better write and tell her about Aunt Hannah, but perhaps not. She can't have meant what she said about the money; but oh ! if it were true ! " Here a light came into her eyes, and she jumped up and paced the room in her excitement: "how delightful it would be to be rich ! " Here a ripple of smiles broke over her face — " Oh, how delighted they would be ! Reggie could go to college then" she added, still smiling, "and mother should go to a warmer climate, and Milly should have a lovely costume, and Rhoda should — " but here the thought of the dying woman upstairs crossed her mind, and she tried to look grave. " AA'hat a shame it is to be counting on her money whilst she is lying dying ! " she said, suddenly so bered ; " besides, perhaps it isn't true, or she may change her mind," she added, looking anxious again ; then, thinking over her conversation with her aunt, she grew grave, and a bitter look passed over her face.

" I'll never tell mother what Aunt Hannah told me about papa. No, she has too many sad recol lections of him as it is. Poor mamma, I don't know whether Aunt Hannah wasn't the happier after all," and she again sat down in front of the glowing fire light, and looked meditatingly into the flames. The girl sat in a luxurious room, and looked truly one with the surroundings. A tall, willowy figure, full of grace, as one could see in the easy lounging position into which she had involuntarily fallen ; dark brown hair, with a bright gleam of gold in it, every now and then as the flames played upon it ; large dark violet eyes — eyes which reflected every shade of thought that passed through her mind — an aquiline nose, a mouth that curved with what might perchance be called pride, a radiant complexion, and withal an indescribable air of refinement, which illumined even the shabby black dress she wore.

A far more suitable figure, one would say, to live in the midst of wealth and beauty, than the grim visaged woman upstairs, to whom beauty was only represented by so many pounds, shillings, and pence, spent in whatever the article in question might be. No ! Hannah Reeve's money had never brought her happiness ! but it had brought many suitors in her early days, for she was barely five and twenty when her father died; but apprizing herself, and whatever attractions she possessed, in the same cool, self-possessed way in which she judged a piece of furniture, she was able to detect what was the true value of the love that was offered her, and to return, in well-merited scorn, the business-like advances of the men who had offered to spend her money for her. Perhaps had not the stern Yorkshire woman lavished all the affection of a naturally warm, gener ous nature, on an unworthy object at the commence ment of her girlish career, she might have found some golden gleam in the dross that she rejected without a second thought ; but to her all men were the same unreliable, self-seeking mortals, and in her heart she registered a vow, that no man should ever profit by money of hers !

She had never troubled her head as to who was to inherit the accumulating wealth when she was gone. She had always been a strong, healthy woman, and until the last few months had imagined, like many another, ' all men mortal but herself ; ' but one day, when her old trusty servant came into the room, she found her mistress on the floor, in a state of unconsciousness, and this had been the beginning of the end ; and when she found herself unable to rise from her bed, the thought of her unbequeathed wealth came before her, and troubled her. It was all hers ; she had the absolute disposal of it ; and she pondered, long and earnestly, over the matter, as she lay upon her sick bed. The thought, added to the weakness and pain which she was suf fering, chafed her, and rendered her still more feverish and restless.

" Miss Reeve," said the doctor, coming in one day, and looking perplexedly at the flushed face and high temperature of his patient, " is anything troubling your mind? You ought not to be like this to-day." " Doctor," she said, half raising herself in bed, and looking earnestly, eagerly into his face, "will you tell me the truth?" " What about ? " he asked, rather uncomfortably. " Shall I ever get well ? " she asked abruptly. The doctor looked perplexed and rather confused, but attempted a light laugh. " AA'ell, really now, Miss Reeve," he began, " what a strange question." " Doctor," said Miss Reeve again, " I am serious ; I beg you will not trifle with me in this matter — shall I ever leave my bed ? " she asked, without a quaver in her voice ; " do not tell me of a hope that is not true. I have a great task to perform be fore I die ; a task I dare not leave undone ; and I want to know whether now is the time to do it?" and she turned as if she would read the answer in his face.

And it was there ; the light-hearted little doctor felt that now was no time for jest or prevarication, and looked grave, as Miss Reeve turned towards him. " Never mind," she said, more softly than her wont, " I will spare you. I see in your face what your answer should be;" and bending her head to wards him, she added gently, " I am not afraid ; it's not that which is troubling me — but what am I to do with my money?" she finished abruptly. But this was more than lay in the doctor's pro vince, and though he thought what a blessed thing a cheque for a hundred pounds would be to his needy family, he kept silence for a moment, and then suggested that he should send for Lawyer Bland. But Miss Reeve only negatived the pro position with a shake of her head. " How long— do you think?" she began again, and this time the question was asked very softly.

The doctor understood, and answered quickly : " Not for a few weeks, in all human probability." She looked relieved, and after he had finished his directions to the nurse, he stole quietly away. " Sarah," began Miss Reeve, an hour after the doctor had taken his leave, during which she had been en grossed in deep thought, "get the paper and pen, I have a letter for you to write." "A letter, missus?" returned Sarah, in surprise, " why, I haven't wrote a line for years ; and I shouldn't know how to begin ; not but what I was a fine scholard in my time," she added with pride. "My school-mistress used to say" — " Never mind what, now, Sarah ; I am in a hurry for this letter to be written ; if you can't write, Mary can," said her mistress, "you had better fetch her." " Nay, missus, I'll never be bet by Mary, (a slip of a girl like that)" she parenthesised ; " I'll try what I can do myself"; and she marched off to fetch the paper and ink.

When the rather profuse preparations were com pleted, she sat down, and waited, pen in hand, for her Mistress to begin. " My dear sister," began Miss Reeve, stiffly — " Lor, missus ! you never mean to say you're agoing to write to her after all these years !" said Sarah, in dignantly laying down the pen. "Go on," said her mistress, haughtily, "and don't make any remarks on what I say. Have you got that written ?" Sarah turned to her letter, and with many sputterings of the pen, and frequent sighs, wrote what was desired in a very large round hand. " I don't know whether you will have heard that I am on my death-bed," indited Miss Reeve. But this was too much for the faithful servant, who, though a hard taskmaster to the servants under her, had a soft place in her heart for her mistress, and putting down her pen, she burst into loud sobs.

"Oh don't, missus, don't," she sobbed, "don't go and tell me you're going to die ; I'll never believe what them doctors say — a parcel of fools !" she finished in dignantly. "Don't cry, Sarah," said Miss Reeve, herself touched by her old servant's grief; I am obliged to have this letter written, and you must make haste, or it will be too late for the post." Sarah returned to her writing, ashamed of her weakness, and after much labour, and many corrections, this was produced : — " My dear Sister, " I don't know whether you will have heard that I am on my death-bed. I know you cannot come to me ; will you send me your eldest girl, whom I once saw when staying in Fenchurch ? I wish to see her before I die. " Your affectionate sister, HANNAH." Not a masterly production, this letter, by any means; but if a bombshell had exploded among the family by whom it was received, it could not have occasioned more surprise.

Next evening, Clarice Heywood was at her aunt's bedside ; for apart from the wealth to be considered, Mrs. Heywood had often longed to see her elder sister, who had always been kind to her from a child until she married ; and then, from some un explained cause, her sister had withdrawn herself. Therefore Mrs. Heywood was very glad to respond to the advances which she made. Clarice had now been three weeks with her aunt, and until to-day had never had cause to expect that she felt any more than a relative's interest in her ; for until now, Miss Reeve had kept from them the fact of having made a will in Lawyer Bland had spent Clarice's favour ; and when an hour in the sick room, armed with foolscap, she had been sent out of the house, and not even been told that he was expected.

Chapter II

" The angry word suppress'd, the taunting thought ; Subduing and subdu'd, the petty strife, AA'hich clouds the colour of domestic life ; The sober comfort, all the peace which springs From the large aggregate of little things ; On these small cares of daughter, wife, or friend, The almost sacred joys of home depend." Hannah More. CLARICE was still pondering over the fire, leaning idly with her chin upon her hand, when she heard a knock at the door, and a servant entered, with a letter for her. She took it eagerly and broke the seal. "The Manor, "Townley, Nov. 28th. " My Dear Clarice, " AVe are all very anxious for you to come home, if possible. Mother is not at all well, Reggie is uproarious, and the house seems all at sixes and sevens without you. I don't see why you should be wasting your time on a sour old maid, who, perhaps, is shamming, to get a bit of company, when we are all wanting you at home.

So write at once, and tell us the train, and we'll meet you. Love from all. " Your affectionate sister, "RHODA." " P.S. — I believe it is the thought of the Christmas bells that is upsetting mother." Clarice smiled as she read this characteristic epistle, but grew sober again when she arrived at the postscript. "Poor mamma!" she sighed, "she is always anxi ous beforehand. I wonder how I can break the news of my departure to Aunt Hannah. It seems unkind to go just now, but what can I do ? my mother ought to be considered before anyone else." Just then her Aunt's bell rang, and Sarah came down to say Miss Reeve wanted her. Clarice went slowly up the stairs, with the letter held unconsciously in her hand ; as she entered the room, she remembered it, and put it hurriedly in her pocket, but not before the sharp eyes, under the nightcap frill, had observed the action.

" Have you heard from home, child ? " she asked sharply. "Yes," said Clarice, uncomfortably, "from Rhoda." " What does she say ? " asked the invalid, looking interested. Clarice blushed, as she remembered how Rhoda had anathematised her questioner. "She says mother is not at all well, and they want me to go home, if you could spare me for a short time," fearing for the effect of her words. " Just what I expected," said Miss Reeve wearily. "Well, child, your mother has the first claim, and from what you have told me about Rhoda, I don't think she would have written unnecessarily. So I must let you go, I suppose." She sighed, " I've managed to live alone all these years, surely I can endure to the end," and the hard face relaxed for a moment. Clarice felt sorry for the lonely woman, and bend ing over her, said, " I can come back again, aunt ; but I think I ought to go home just now to set things to rights.

They have never been so long without me since I left school, and Milly doesn't care for household duties ; she is so clever in other things that she has never taken to that kind of thing," she added excusingly. "Then she ought to have done," retorted Miss Reeve, a spice of the old spirit coming back ; " I've no patience with girls that are brought up to be looked at, and nothing more. No, my dear, if I'd seen anything of that in you, I should speedily have let you go back again ! AVhen are you thinking of leaving me ? " she asked, rather bitterly. " I haven't thought of it at all yet," replied Clarice, " but if you would like me to stay, I daresay they can manage a little longer." "No," said Miss Reeve, accustomed through life to accept the bitter as well as the sweet without murmur, acting with a stern idea of doing her duty at whatever cost to herself, " No, it is your duty to go, and I must be left ; but, Clarice, if I am spared much longer will you promise to come back to me when your mother is better ?

Oh ! that I could have seen her just once before I died," she murmured; "I loved her so as a child, and if a man had not come between us we might be together now ! Clarice, listen to me : never throw your love away on any man ; you will be happier by far if you are inde pendent of them all ! " and she sank back on her pillow with a bitter look on her face. " Milly !" shrieked a stentorian voice pitched in the high key in which grievances are usually announced, "where is my Euclid ?" No answer. " Milly !" waxing louder and more pronounced, " do you know where my Euclid is ? I left it on the sofa last night, and now it's gone." And the owner of the voice appeared, an aggrieved figure in the doorway. Milly slowly turned her head from the window through which she was absently gazing, and gave a glance of disdain at the youthful form of the boy who was speaking.

"When you know how to enter the room like a gentleman, perhaps you will get an answer to your c question," she responded coldly, turning to the window again. " Well, I declare it's too bad," grumbled the boy, turning over the books on the shelves rapidly, and sending half of them on to the floor in his hurry ; " you never know where anything is, and now I shall be late for school, and lose my place in the class. I wish Clarice was at home," he went on, " she always knows where everything is, and never badgers a fellow like you do," — and rushing off, he slammed the hall door after him, and set off at a brisk run on his way to school. Milly turned languidly round when he had departed, a frown on her face. " Oh dear, I do wish that boy went to boarding school," she sighed, getting up at the same time to glance at herself in the glass.

" Boys are a perfect nuisance; first one thing and then another, I never get a moment's rest. And here is his book after all," she added, picking up a dog-eared school book from under the sofa, "just as if he couldn't have seen it, tiresome child !" — and she walked to the door and up the stairs to her mother's room. "Mamma," she began irritably, "you really must speak to Reggie ; he is getting abominably rude. He came in, in a most insolent manner just now." " I spoke to him yesterday," responded the invalid, wearily; "but now I am upstairs he seems to be al ways in disgrace with you, Milly. I wonder whether Clarice will come this week," she continued. "I think we seem as if we can't get on without her," with a faint smile. "No one will rejoice more than I shall at that," said Milly, not very pleasantly.

" I am quite tired of doing her work for her," and she wandered about the room in an aimless manner, first taking up one thing and then another ; at last she settled down into an arm-chair by the fire, opposite her mother. " Mother," she began, rather nervously, and with a faint colour coming into her fair cheeks, " I want to tell you something." Mrs. Heywood turned her head somewhat anxiously towards her daughter. " AVhat is it, dear ? " she asked. But this was just what Milly seemed at a loss how to tell. She twisted a little silver ring she wore round and round on her finger. "John Stanton proposed to me last night," she brought out at length, laughing a nervous little laugh, and then stopped. A look of expectancy crossed Mrs. Heywood's face. " Well ? " she asked at last, as Milly did not con tinue.

"AVell, mother, that is all," she answered, not looking up. "All, Milly! did you not answer him?" looking surprised. "Not exactly," returned Milly, hesitatingly ; "you didn't expect me to refuse him, mother, did you?" she asked, looking up quickly. Mrs. Heywood hesitated, and looked perplexed. " I don't know, dear," she replied, " he is not exactly the husband I should have chosen for you. But still, if your affections are concerned — I really don't know. Then seeing a somewhat sarcastic smile flit over Milly's face : " Do you love him, dear ? " she asked. The look of slight disdain deepened. " That's not a fair question, mother ; I haven't answered it to him yet." " Are you doubtful about it, Milly ? Because if so, don't hesitate ; a mistake in marriage can never be corrected," with a sigh.

Is there anyone else you like better ? But how should there be ? you have seen no one yet," she continued, thoughtfully ; " you are only a child, after all, Milly." "You forget, mother, I am nineteen," said Milly, proudly. " I consider I can judge for myself now, and I told John I would give him his answer to-day." Then, somewhat doubtfully : " Shall I accept him, mother ? " " AA'hat does your heart advise ? " said Mrs. Hey wood. " I confess, Milly, I would rather you waited a little time, but if you really care for him it would be a comfort to think you were provided for ; it seems worldly to look at it in that light, but I feel I shall not be here long, Milly ; 'tis little I can leave — barely enough to provide a home for you all. Poor Arthur must work for himself, and I think my last moments would be happier if I knew you and Clarice were comfortably settled in life."

Milly rose and kissed her mother ; for in her shal low nature, her love for her mother and sister was the •one redeeming point. " That decides me," she thought. Then aloud she said, " I intend to accept John, Mother ; I can't say he is my beau ideal of a lover. He is plain, and homely, and not particularly refined," she added, with a sigh ; " but he loves me, and he is rich, and I can't bear to be poor," she emphatically continued, " to live in a house, where all the wheels of life are wound up with the key of economy ! No, I will never marry a poor man, whatever ! " And truly, economy was the ruling spirit in this household. The Manor itself was a large rambling old house, that could have been made into as pleasant a place of residence as one could desire, with the aid of a few painters, carpenters, and bricklayers ; but it had almost fallen into ruins for want of a little money being spent upon it ; and though the lovely old garden, with its spreading beech trees, was almost a wilderness, it seemed its natural condition, and few visitors to the little village of Townley but went into raptures over the picturesque old spot, and many had been the offers Mr. Heywood had received from some of the wealthy business men from the neighbouring town of Rufford to buy the place ; but he had always refused, for though his spendthrift habits had left his family poor, he had great pride in the old place, in which his grandfather and father had lived before him.