Meantime the history of Raby House was the history of what French dramatists call "a pious lie."
Its indirect effect in keeping Grace Carden apart both from Mrs.
Little and Jael Dence was unforeseen and disastrous; its immediate and direct effect on Mrs. Little was encouraging to those concerned; what with the reconciliation to her brother, the return to native air and beloved scenes, the tenderness and firmness of Jael Dence, and the conviction that her son was safe out of the clutches of the dreaded Unions, she picked up flesh and color and spirit weekly.
By-and-by she turned round upon Jael Dence, and the nurse became the pupil. Mrs. Little taught her grammar, pronunciation, dancing, carriage, and deportment. Jael could already sing from notes; Mrs.
Little taught her to accompany herself on the pianoforte. The teacher was so vigilant, and the pupil so apt and attentive, that surprising progress was made. To be sure, they were together night and day.
This labor of love occupied Mrs. Little's mind agreeably, and, as the pupil was equally resolute in making the teacher walk or ride on horseback with her every day, the hours glided swiftly, and, to Mrs.
Little, pleasantly.
Her brother rather avoided her, by order of Jael Dence; but so many probable reasons were given for his absences that she suspected nothing. Only she said one day, "What a gad-about he is now. This comes of not marrying. We must find him a wife."
When he was at home they breakfasted together, all three, and then Mrs. Little sometimes spoke of Henry, and so hopefully and cheerfully that a great qualm ran through her hearers, and Raby, who could not command his features so well as Jael could, looked gloomy, and sometimes retired behind his newspaper.
Mrs. Little observed this one day, and pointed it out to Jael.
"Oh," said Jael, "take no notice. You know he wanted Mr. Henry to stay quietly here and be his heir."
"And so did I. But his very name seems to--"
"He likes him well, for all that, ma'am; only he won't own it yet.
You know what Squire is."
"THE Squire you should say, dear. But, 'Mr. Raby' is better still.
As a rule, avoid all small titles: the doctor, the squire, the baronet, the mayor."
Jael seized this handle, and, by putting questions to her teacher, got her away from the dangerous topic.
Ever on the watch, and occupied in many ways with Mrs. Little, Jael began to recover resignation; but this could not be without an occasional paroxysm of grief.
These she managed to hide from Mrs. Little.
But one day that lady surprised her crying. She stood and looked at her a moment, then sat down quietly beside her and took her hand.
Jael started, and feared discovery.
"My child," said Mrs. Little, "if you have lost a father, you have gained a mother; and then, as to your sister, why my Henry is gone to the very same country; yet, you see, I do not give way to sorrow.
As soon as he writes, I will beg him to make inquiries for Patty, and send them home if they are not doing well." Then Mrs. Little kissed Jael, and coaxed her and rocked with her, and Jael's tears began to flow, no longer for her own great grief, but for this mother, who was innocently consoling her, unconscious of the blow that must one day fall upon herself.
So matters went on pretty smoothly; only one morning, speaking of Henry, Mrs. Little surprised a look of secret intelligence between her brother and Jael Dence. She made no remark at the time, but she puzzled in secret over it, and began at last to watch the pair.
She asked Raby at dinner, one day, when she might hope to hear from Henry.
"I don't know," said he, and looked at Jael Dence like a person watching for orders.
Mrs. Little observed this, and turned keenly round to Jael.
"Oh," said Jael, "the doctor--I beg pardon, Dr. Amboyne--can tell you that better than I can. It is a long way to Australia."
"How you send me from one to another," said Mrs. Little, speaking very slowly.
They made no reply to that, and Mrs. Little said no more. But she pondered all this. She wrote to Dr. Amboyne, and asked him why no letter had come from Henry.
Dr. Amboyne wrote back that, even if he had gone in a steamboat, there was hardly time for a letter to come back: but he had gone in a sailing-vessel. "Give him three months and a half to get there, and two months for his letters to come back."
In this same letter he told her he was glad to hear she was renewing her youth like an eagle, but reminded her it would entail some consequences more agreeable to him than to her.
She laid down the letter with a blush and fell into a reverie.
Dr. Amboyne followed up this letter with a visit or two, and urged her to keep her promise and marry him.
She had no excuse for declining, but she procrastinated: she did not like to marry without consulting Henry, or, at least, telling him by letter.
And whilst she was thus temporizing, events took place at Eastbank which ended by rudely disturbing the pious falsehood at Raby Hall.
That sequence of events began with the interview between Mr. Carden and Mr. Coventry at Woodbine Villa.
"Little had made a will. My own solicitor drew it, and holds it at this moment." This was the intelligence Coventry had to communicate.
"Very well; then now I shall know who is coming to the 'Gosshawk' for the five thousand pounds. That will be the next act of the comedy, you will see."
"Wait a moment. He leaves to Mrs. Little his own reversion to a sum of nineteen hundred pounds, in which she has already the life interest; he gives a hundred pounds to his sweetheart Dence: all the rest of his estate, in possession or expectation, he bequeaths to--
Miss Carden."
"Good heavens! Why then--" Mr. Carden could say no more, for astonishment.
"So," said Coventry, "If he is alive, she is the confederate who is to profit by the fraud; those five thousand pounds belong to her at this moment."
"Are you sure? Who is your authority?"