'My dear,' said Mr. Brimble, 'our being so late is entirely Mr. Jobson's fault. He has been telling us such astonishing things that all we have heard before from him has vanished into what Char calls, "blue distance." Eh, Char?' he continued, putting his arm fondly round her; 'wouldn't you have enjoyed being in my waistcoat pocket? Miss Cruden,' he added, addressing that lady, 'your brother has been almost as bad as Jobson, and I shall turn him over to you for correction.'
Mrs. Brimble looked stately, so far as her peevishness would allow her; Mora was half asleep over some embroidery—Miss Cruden, rather more than half, and hardly awoke to reply.
'Valary is very ill,' said the squire, advancing to his wife, 'and we are going in a body to see him to-morrow morning, first thing.'
'What do you mean by going in a body?'
'Why, I mean Eu and I and the doctor.'
'I?' exclaimed Mrs. Brimble.
'You—no,' said the squire, recollecting himself, 'Jobson I meant.'
'A strange mistake!' said the lady superciliously. 'You said, "you and I and the doctor."'
'Now, Mary,' said the squire in a whisper, 'just look at him, as he is standing between the two girls; isn't he a fine, handsome fellow? did you ever see any one like him?'
'Dear me, Mr. Brimble! I never saw any one like him but Saunders, our last footman, and he had just the same kind of nose. I see nothing particular in him; and I think it very forward of him to talk to the girls when there is Miss Cruden by.'
The squire laughed; he was afraid of going further; but Mrs. Brimble had not finished. 'Indeed, Mr. Brimble, your indiscretion is beyond everything. Here is a perfect stranger, who, because he happens to be agreeable to you, and is able to talk, is made quite at home among us, and we are expected to treat him like a friend. If you have no regard for your daughters, I have; it surprises me, after all the cautions I have given you, and the number of things I have saved you from, that you will not learn prudence.'
'My dear, you have enough for us all. It's seldom that more than a fair share of wisdom falls to the lot of any family, and you have monopolized all that was intended for the Brimbles. But tell me,' he said, trying to be grave, though the many mischievous twinkles of his eye ought to have betrayed him to so keen a judge of appearances as Mrs. Brimble considered herself to be,—'tell me, Mary, do you really look on Jobson as an impostor?'
'Mr. Brimble,' returned the lady, with an impressive shake of the head, 'I say nothing, but as to proof of the contrary, why, with me there is none, and there is a something about him that is very much Like an adventurer. I may be wrong—I would not be uncharitable; but'—
'Then you wouldn't advise me to let him visit here? in short, you would have me cut him?'
'All I desire is caution, Mr. Brimble. He has a manner I do not admire, and I think I may be allowed to be a judge of such things.'
'Well, I will be careful. He has rather a designing look, now I come to examine him,' said the squire, putting up his eyeglass; 'and he seems to me to be just now taking the bearings of Bessie Cruden's cap. I think I must go and put her on scent of danger.'
'Ah! you will be surprised one day, Mr. Brimble, and then you will remember my words, as you have often done before.'
'Well, Mary, if I'm wrong this time, you shall be right without question for ever, and administer lynch law to your heart's delight; but if I should be right, what then? It's just possible, though, he may turn out an adventurous "footman"—some spirited Saunders, as you fancy.'
'Charity!' said the lady impatiently, as she saw the object of her suspicion approaching her daughter. 'Mr. Brimble, pray go and entertain your guest, and send Charity to me—I wish to speak to her.'
The squire obeyed, and so did Charity, very reluctantly. Florence, having heard from Dr. Cruden of the intended expedition to Parker's Dew, assailed him with innumerable questions as to what was the matter—what would happen if Sir Valary died, where Marjory would go, etc.; and there was much wonderment among all the ladies as to the merits of the case, when they separated for the night.
* * * * *
In a room, dimly lighted by the early sun, streaming through narrow windows in a heavy wall, sat the sick man, with Marjory at his side.
'It is growing into day, Marjory,' he said in a feeble voice, raising himself from his half-recumbent posture.
Marjory, tenderly kissing his forehead, prepared the draught which Dr. Cruden had left for her father to take on his awaking.
Poor Marjory! all night she had been watching; every sound had made her heart beat. It might be Dr. Cruden; he promised to return—promised to bring her uncle; but the night had worn away; her father, sleeping and waking, had on the whole been more restful, more at ease, than she could have hoped. 'Something has kept him away,' she thought; but fatigue and anxiety, added to disappointment, had for the time quelled much of her dauntless spirit.
'Yours has been a dreary life, my child,' said the old man&mdas............