Off Parade

Chapter I. Death Is The Gate Of Life

QY the middle of next day Ballynaskea was ■-' deserted by its owners. As old Roddy went round the house, shutting windows, covering up furniture, and locking doors, the old man had a sore heart and dim eyes, as he felt he had taken his last farewell of his beloved mistress. The first night of the journey was spent in Gal way, and the Masons were delighted to find that the mother appeared even stronger and better for the sail down the Lough, and was much less tired than they had anticipated. But it was not real strength, as they fondly imagin- VOL. II. B ed, but only a fictitious resemblance, super induced by the excitement of leaving her early home for ever, as she felt. The next morning's travelling by rail to Dublin rendered her so feeble and exhausted that a stay of three or four days became imperatively necessary.

Then she became feverish, and anxious to get on to London — home now! the home in the Bayswater Road, was her only desire, and was ever and again uttered as well as weakness would allow ; and they were forced, as it were, by her earnestness to be brought to her own house to die — for so the poor mother expressed it — to comply with her prayer. The journey was resumed, and in spite of all care and affectionate guard ing, she suffered from the cold in crossing the channel, and they were obliged to make another delay at Holyhead. The local doctors were called in, aud were unanimously of opinion that this last cold would prove fatal, as there was no vital power to resist it ; but still the cry was home ! and in two days they made the journey through to London. The house in Bayswater was at last reached, and, with a wearied sigh, the shattered wreck of what had once been the beautiful Miss O'Flaherty, was laid in the bed from which she was never to rise.

Mr. Mason's grief knew no bounds ; he was ever at his wife's side, tending and nursing her, aud anticipating her every wish ere it was uttered or indicated ; and if he had ever seemed, in past years, to have smothered the love he had vowed to her at their marriage altar, and to have treated her with harshness, or contempt of her rights and opinions, he tried now to redeem, as much as possible, his conduct, and all the strong burning affection of their early married life came back in full vigour. And she was happy. She said so again and again to him, and to Randal and Alice, and more than all to William. Happy for the return of her husband's love, and happy beyond anything she had ever hoped for of late, because she thought she had at length cemented a proper feeling of affection between the father and the second son, B and between the brothers.

They all strove to give her the pleasure of so thinking, by their conduct; nay, perhaps they really did think such affection was growing up between them, and even William seemed to cast away much of the morbid gloom of his nature in her presence, and to speak to and of his younger brother in a more brotherly spirit. Agonizing, deep sorrow they all felt, for they all loved her, and, in their private moments, such sorrow would not be constrained, but burst out in uncontrollable force in secret, the more so as they all felt they had been causes of deep pain and anguish of mind to the poor wasted and loving being who was daily dying before their eyes. Alice alone had nothing to accuse herself of in her conduct to wards her mother, and though her sufferings were perhaps the more sharp and bitter as her love had been the more warm and tender, they were not allowed to overcome her, and in this awful time of misery and approaching desola tion to the family, she was always calm and collected, and possessed of a clear discerning head, that enabled her to be of infinite use and comfort round the sick bed.

After some days, there was a slight rally ; then came a reactionary weakness, which the patient had not strength to bear up against, and Death was plainly calling for his prey. The doctors left off coming to the house, as all hope of doing good was gone ; then a few days of unearthly calm and quiet in the house, when people walked noiselessly about their necessary occupations, and spoke to one another in sad whispered tones ; and then came the end — and all was over. Mr. Mason broke down utterly. His strength of character seemed to have deserted him en tirely. He spent the long hours of the long days before the funeral by the coffin that con tained all that was mortal of his wife, seeming ly quite unconscious of everything passing round him. He could not be persuaded to leave the room for his meals, and br ad and wine, left near at hand, and partaken of by snatches, as exhausted nature demanded, was almost the only sustenance he took.

He did not seem to weep, but sat with his head buried in his hands, like one quite stunned. His sons became very much alarmed, and Randal feared that his brain was going. William, who had at first taken to his room, and refused all inter course with his sister and brother, was at length roused from his own torpor to consider his father's, and went down to try his influence in persuading him to throw off this fearful lethar gy ; but he was rudely and angrily repelled in his efforts, and retired again with a still gloomier and more morose scowl on his countenance. The day of the funeral came, and the father patiently submitted to all that Randal urged him to do in the way of the sad preliminary preparations, and accompanied the sous, still in the same half-conscious state, to the carriage to follow to the graveyard.

There he walked stolidly after the coffin, and seemed like one in a dream during the funeral service. Even the hollow and inexpressibly saddening sound of the earth falling on the coffin seemed not to affect him, and he remained standing over the grave while it was being filled in. The task was completed, and still he made no sign. All had withdrawn but the churchyard people, and his two sons, who knew not what to do. " Try to persuade him tc come home, William ; you have more influence with him than I," whispered Randal. His brother only frowned at him, and did not move. " Father — my dear father " — he heeded not. Randal gently laid his arm on his shoulder — " you must come away, father. Everything is finished now. Won't you come home? For heaven's sake, my dear father, speak to me ! William, do speak to him.

He mustn't stay here any longer." William moved a step or two towards him, and took his hand ; in a cool, business-like voice, he said : " We have a great deal to do, sir, that it is necessary you should attend to — some papers we must look over and work at without delay. Come." He put his arm in his father's, and, to Randal's astonishment, drew him away without the slightest difficulty. Once he looked back, when a few paces from the grave, with an irre solute sort of stare, and muttered, " Poor darling!" but William gave him no time, and walked with him swiftly towards the carriage. They all got in without speaking, and were driven rapidly home in silence. The next day, to everyone's surprise, Mr. Mason came down at his usual hour, and sat at the table during breakfast, but ate little, and spoke not at all.

After that he went with William to Cannon Street to his office, and, as days passed by, relapsed into all his business habits, and, but for a deep melancholy that pervaded all his actions, gave no sign that any great change had come over his house. Wil liam appeared to have regained all his old power, and was the only one of the family who had much intercourse with him until about three weeks after the funeral, when Alice fell seriously ill. At first Mr. Mason hardly noticed that anything was wrong, but when she grew paler and thinner, and became nervous and low-spirited, and frequently burst into hysteri cal passions of crying whenever any little household matter reminded her of her dead mother, he seemed roused from his depressing self-com munings, and awoke to a sense of duty towards his daughter.

He sent for medical advice — stayed occasionally a day or two at home with her, and aided to the best of his power all Randal's efforts to take her away from the con templation of her grief. But, now that reaction had set in on her delicate frame, and the high strung endurance that had sustained her during her mother's illness and the subsequent events, had given way, she fell into very bad health, and became a prey to violent attacks of hysteria, or long fits of silent low spirits, that were scarcely less alarming. This unhappy state of things went on for a month, and at last had the effect of completely rousing her father, who, as she became worse, rapidly returned to his former self, and spent much time in endeavouring to cheer her and invent plans for taking her mind away from preying on its sad thoughts.

He suggested her going with him to Brighton, or some such cheerful place, for a change; but she would not hear of it, and said she could not bear to leave her home. Then he tried to make her receive the visits of their numerous acquaint ances who called, but she could not make up her mind to accept them, and he was really very much frightened at her state, when a casual circumstance occurred that led to her in time becoming more herself. It happened in this wise. Randal was sitting one day in the library writing to Toler, the adjutant, about some matters connected with the company he was to take over (he had been gazetted a Captain in the midst of all their troubles), when some people came to inquire for his sister. He thought he recognised the voices in the hall as they questioned the footman, and peeped out to see Anne Sinclair and Loo Wallis at the door.

He went out to speak to them, and brought them into the room, from some feeling which he could not explain to himself. They sat down, and in low voices asked anxiously after the health of his sister, which they had heard was very bad. Then the conversation gradually drifted into general matters, and they in formed him that they had come up with Mr. Sinclair to procure medical advice for a severe sore throat with which he was afflicted. During this time, Alice, who had not heard the knock, managed, at the suggestion of her father, to crawl downstairs with his aid, to sit in the library for a change. They entered the room, fancying it was empty, and Alice, with a little shriek of wonder, was, before she knew it, wrapped in the warm loving arms of Anne. The ice was broken, and after a copious fit of natural tears, she gradually calmed and lay on the sofa with Anne's hand clasped in hers, and the great loving dark eyes looking down fondly on her face.

Randal and his father withdrew for a while, and left the three schoolfellows to themselves ; and when Anne and Loo had, at a late hour, risen to take their departure, poor Alice looked so much better and livelier that Mr. Mason begged of them to renew their visit, and in charity come as often as they could to cheer his daughter. This they willingly promised, and ere very long, under their tender care and the influence of Anne's quiet but solicitous love, Alice rapidly recovered and became more and more alive to an interest in the outward world.

Chapter II. Good Work Undone

A T his mother's death Randal Mason came in -*■*- to immediate possession of a sum of four thousand pounds. As soon as matters had be come somewhat settled in the Bayswater Road house, and business was recommencing to en gross all the attention of Mr. Mason and William as formerly, they began to look into the pecuni ary affairs of the family, and settle all such out standing matters under Mrs. Mason's marriage settlement as demanded promptattention. Then they arranged about Alice's money, and came to Randal's, making a proposition that his four thousand should be sunk in the firm, and bear a good interest for his benefit. But in the mean while Randal had been much pressed for money, to take up many debts and bills that just then came due, and to his astonishment found them of a much heavier amount than he had previously any idea of.

He devoted some considerable time, now that he could not appear much in public on account of his mother's recent death, to the examination of the whole state of his affairs. He wrote to tailors, hatters, jewel lers, wine-merchants, and every one to whom he owed any money, for a statement of their several accounts ; and when all had come in, sat down to add the totals together, and was very disagreeably startled at the result of the addi tion. There were also some heavy liabilities in the shape of money-lenders' bills and promissory notes that would come due at several not far off dates ; and on a careful review of the grand total of the figures, Randal came to the conclusion that the best way he could employ the money he was entitled to would be in the payment of all claims against him. To do so would take a very large portion, if not all, of his poor mother's money, but he determined that it was wisest and best for him to adopt such a course, and then start afresh, if possible, a perfectly clear man, and with some little funds in hand for any unforeseen emergency that might arise.

He had three hundred per annum from his father, and he considered that would amply suffice, with his Captain's pay, for his wants ; the more so as he had quite made up his mind to reform his manner of life, and to follow in future a sober and steadfast course, the terms of which he found much pleasure in drawing up and committing to writing — to be stored away in his desk, with multitudinous other good resolutions which in his more virtuous moods he had from time to time formed — but hardly ever carried out in their integrity. So he re fused his father's offer of sinking his money in the firm, and was shocked to find that his re fusal was evidently taken by Mr. Mason as a sort of personal slight, and that his brother William did not hesitate to express his displeasure at what he was pleased to call Randal's want of confidence.

The matter was finally discussed amongst the three for about five minutes after dinner one evening, and on Randal's still refusing to do as the others wished him, the matter was at once allowed to drop, and he never openly heard one word more of the affair. But he could not help seeing and feeling that it was the first cloud on the horizon that presaged the storm, and it was much to be dreaded that family jars would occur again, and even perhaps be more frequent than they had been before his poor mother had en deavoured to make peace. Randal did not come to this conclusion all at once, or hastily adopt a passing thought and fix it into his mind as a fact, but he could not but be aware that as Mr. Mason more and more recovered from the shock of his wife's last illness and death, he at the same time by degrees loosened the bonds her loving expostulation had imposed upou him, and was daily returning to his former stern habits of pride and self-love, and becoming slowly the same cold unforgiving father he had ever been.

William did not relapse so hastily into open expression of ill-will towards his brother, for his strong deep nature had been far more touched by his mother's dying injunctions than anyone was aware of; but still there was a decided relaxing of the watch he had placed over himself in Randal's regard, and at times the dark frown and scowl which had formerly constantly appeared on his brow at mention of his brother, returned in full force. Randal had suffered great mental agony dur ing the sad, dreary period from the time of his first going to Ballynaskea, when he perceived what torments his conduct and disagreements with father and brother had caused his poor mo ther, and he had bitterly bewailed their treatment of him, as having been of such a nature as to drive him into the courses he had adopted.

In this he was mistaken ; for their manner, however harsh, had not been the leading cause of his wildness, though it might have urged and goaded him on in his career, by holding his ac tions up to his mother's gaze in a far darker light than they really bore. Now that all his good VOL. II. ' C resolutions and desires of real amendment were firm and fresh to his mind, he determined to carry them out with a strict hand, and fell into the foolish error of thinking that by avoiding Mr. Mason and William as much as possible, he would be taking the best means of fulfilling them ; and so spent as much time as he could out of doors, and in the company of such ac quaintances as might happen to cross his path. This was a fatal mistake for one with his aptitude for false pleasure and dissipated life, and a sure snare, into which he fell an easy victim.

For the more he absented himself from home, the more Mr. Mason and his brother felt he was again falling away to evil, and estranging himself, as he used to do, from his family ; the father grew colder and yet more cold, and the brother more bitter and sarcastic in his manner of speaking of him and to him, until, before very long, the three had almost regained the evil pitch of unkindness from which all the later efforts of the fond mother had been made to draw them down. While things were thus lapsing to their previous state, a turn of affairs happened that per haps was the most unfortunate that could occur for Randal at the present juncture. He and Barron were placed, as the two junior and su pernumerary captains, on the half-pay list con sequent on a reduction in the army, and thus Randal was thrown on his own resources for amusement in London, and, what was far worse, left to lead an idle life, under the very eyes of the deep-seeing William.

Alice had at first been too much buried in natural grief to notice the change for the worse in the dispositions of those around her, and was then so fearfully low and dispirited that she quite failed to observe the sad return to old quarrels and unpleasantnesseswhich she believed to be for ever buried. But as days passed by she could not but note it, and it sickened her to the heart to behold the seeds of misery being scattered with a lavish hand by those who had almost sworn to her dead mother to endeavour to trample them down, or root them out, instead C of flinging them broadcast, to bear a fertile har vest of sin. This had greatly increased her own delicate state, for the loneliness and horror of her melancholy position, as one who loved them all, but was utterly incapable of reconciling their conflicting passions, preyed on her sensitive nature till she had become, as we have seen, very seriously unwell.

Her father was tenderly and anxiously kind to her ; Randal was devoted in his efforts to amuse and occupy her mind ; and even William did as much as his dark nature would allow to show his solicitude for her welfare — but what did, what could it all avail, if they were divided one against the other, and already mistrusting and dreading one another's society ? And had it all come to this, that the fond wife, the darling mother, the only soother of passions and peacemaker in quarrels, was not a month in her grave when all her careful work was over thrown, all her earnest beseechings set at nought, all her expostulations neglected, and all her sweet exhortations to peace and family love forgotten ? It was too much for poor Alice in her weak state, and she would have rapidly succumbed to the unhappiness she saw approaching, were it not for the heaven-sent intervention of her best-loved friend on earth — Anne Sinclair.

Anne had been her closest intimate at school ; though a few years older than Alice, the two had been class-fellows together, and between them had grown up an ardent and enduring affection, which, though it had been interrupted for long intervals, on account of the distance of Mr. Sinclair's home from London, had never died away, and rekindled now with renewed vigour uuder the melancholy circumstances which had occurred since their meeting in the early Spring time. Alice had always admired the simple grand strength of her friend's character, and the high minded principles with which it was adorned, and almost worshipped her noble talents, while she loved the true affection of her heart. Aud Anne returned the feeling quite as strongly. If the qualities of Alice's mind were such as might not inspire actual respect for their owner, her loving nature amply compensated for all, and Anne saw and admired in her chosen friend many gentle and womanly graces, perhaps all the more as she was aware of her own deficiency in their respect.

Anne Sinclair was the one woman in a thousand who was best adapted to cousole and comfort in deep affliction. She intuitively felt that sorrow must have its course ; that there was no use trying to hinder its natural outlet by representing to the sufferer the folly of bewailing one gone — the excellencies of the qualities which should, nevertheless, prevent all expression of grief for the eternal departure from the world — and those other meaningless and silly cant phrases which so often go to make up the stock-in-trade of the would-be comforter. She allowed Alice to weep on un checked when thoughts and remembrances of her mother proved too powerful for her calm ness, and only gently soothed and caressed where another would have rebuked, or even been harsh. So Alice found a solace and comfort in her presence that afforded her weak spirits a certain strength and vigour, and gradually restored them to a sound and healthy state.

After but a short period of Anne's sweet society, she allowed herself to be taken out for long quiet drives into the country ; and even in time for little walks and life-giving excursions on foot in the early morning, that did her health infinitely more good than all the ano dynes and nostrums prescribed by the doctors. When Alice had arrived at this stage of her recovery, Loo Wallis was found very useful. The latter had kept aloof from the Masons' house, in a great measure, as long as Alice had been so very low, for she knew that Anne was a tower of strength as a consoler, and that a third person would only hinder her charitable exertions; besides, her uncle Walter required a great deal of care and nursing, as his relaxed sore throat kept him quite an invalid ; and since the unhappy scene that had taken place between father and daughter concerning John Patton, he had, with a great effort against himself, endeavoured to make Anne feel his displeasure at her conduct by keeping her at a distance.

This was a sore trial to one who loved her only living parent so deeply as Anne did, and cost her many a tearful and sleepless night ; but she felt as if her father could not really diminish the mutual love between them, and trusted to time to ameliorate his present mood. The family were to stop in town for the Winter, as the physicians deemed the air of South Devon too relaxing for Mr. Sinclair's health. They had taken comfortable rooms in Carlyon Terrace, Bayswater, for a term, until his complaint should take a more decided tone for better or worse ; and so the girls were a great deal thrown together ; while, as Alice became more herself, she thoroughly enjoyed the sprightly vivacity of Loo Wallis's high spirits and fun, and by degrees entered into a great deal of quiet enjoyment of her society.

Captain Barron also was in town, and found, unaccountably to himself, that he was a frequent visitor at the Sinclairs' lodgings, where Alice sometimes saw him, aud was much amused at his efforts to free himself from the thrall which Loo Wallis's mingled good and bad behaviour appeared to have cast about him. The cynical Captain seemed to have become much enamoured of Mr. Sinclair's society, and listened with wonderful patience to the long-winded orations the verbose old gentle man treated him to, on the merits of different ores sent up from his mines in Cornwall for his delectation. Sometimes Loo joined in these discussions with all the weight and gravity of a proprietor (Mr. Sinclair had placed the whole of her private fortune in these speculations), aud would talk sound sense and tolerable know ledge for half an hour or so, when lo ! the mood would suddenly change, and Barron be horri fied with au account of some wild adventure that had lately befallen her in her walks, or be shocked at the reckless delight she seemed to take in setting all public opinion concerning a lady's conduct at defiance, and the evil-spirited disregard she evinced for anyone's ideas on the subject that did not chime in with her own.

Then, perchance, when she had succeeded in raising him to a pitch of scorn, and even dis like, of her ways and habits, as detailed with great exaggeration by her self, she would alter again, and sitting suddenly down at the piano, fill the whole room with waves of melody, or sing his very soul out with entrancing and beautifully-rendered operatic songs ; or, if she thought she had gone too far in over-colouring her adventures, would complete the job by treating him to a few slang phrases that always forced him to a speedy retreat, and send him home raving and swearing to himself that he would never again see her. " Loo dear," said Alice one day, as the two sat alone after some such scene waiting for Anne, " why do you treat poor Captain Barron in such an unmerciful way ?" " Well, little Miss Impertinence, I suppose I may treat him as I like!

At all eveuts, he always has the option of going away when he is tired of me, which I have not, in the contrary case." " But he was quite annoyed just now, when you told him about that gentleman that you bowed to when we were driving the other day, and you exaggerated it so terribly, Loo ! You made it appear as if you were a bold, impu dent, brazen-faced thing !" " Well, so I am, I suppose. But why shouldn't I bow to the man, when he was star ing at me like a stuffed pig?" " It is not ladylike, Loo dear. But I don't believe you did, and only said it to vex him." " I did, though. And besides, it is such fun teasing Captain Barron ; he thinks such a lot of himself, and quite looks down on my poor little wits. It is lucky 1 have some weapon to keep him in order, or there would be no bearing him."

"Oh, nonsense, Loo dear; I know he thinks a great deal of your cleverness, but no gentle man likes a woman to pretend to be unladylike." " Oh, you naughty child, to insinuate such a thing ! Besides, may I ask how you got it into your silly little head that he thinks well of me, for, personally, I know the reverse to be the case ?" "Do you indeed? But you are wrong, for he told both Anne and me that he thought you were very clever. There, isn't that a compli ment from such a man !" Loo could not conceal how gratified she felt at hearing this, but endeavoured to laugh it off. ■• Wait till he comes here again, you intrigu ing spirit, and see if I don't warm his jacket — by-the-way, what a capital bit of slang for him ! — for speaking of me behind my back." " Pray don't say I mentioned it, Loo dear — now don't, like a good girl — I so dread his thinking me an idle chatterbox."

" Oh, ho, Miss Mason ! so you are afraid of his High Mightiness's opinion, are you? We shall be having you falling in love with him next !" And she laughed merrily, for she too well knew her own influence over Barron to mean seriously the words she had used. "Nonsense, Loo — but tell me," — and Alice nestled up, and put her fair face close to Miss Wallis's ear — " but whisper, don't you like him a little, Loo— just a very little?" And she looked up archly for an answer. A very slight change of colour was visible for an instant on Loo's cheek, and then she laughed out such a sweet, silvery laugh, like the tinkling of little bells, as she pretended to slap Alice's face. Alice kissed her softly by way of reprisal, and wound her arm round her waist, as she drew still closer and persisted : " Do tell me, Loo — I won't whisper it even to myself.