Mrs. Cumberland carried home news of her non-success to Oliver. As to madam, she simply ignored him, bestowing her patronage upon his rival. How bitterly the slight touched his heart, none but himself could tell. Mrs. Cumberland resented it; but ah, not as he did. A sense of wrong was ever weighing upon his spirit, and he thought Fate was against him. One puzzle remained on his mind unsolved--what he could have done to offend Mrs. North.
Mr. Alexander obtained a fair practice: Dr. Rane barely sufficient to keep himself. His wants and those of the old servant Phillis were few. Perhaps the entire fault did not lie with madam. Alexander had a more open manner and address than Dr. Rane, and they go a long way with people; he was also an older man, and a married man, and was supposed to have had more experience. A sense of injury rankled ever in Oliver Rane's heart; of injury inflicted by Alexander. Meanwhile he became engaged to Bessy Rane. During an absence from home of madam's, the doctor grew intimate at the Hall, and an attachment sprang up between him and Bessy. When madam returned, his visits had to cease, but he saw Bessy at Mrs. Gass's and elsewhere.
I think that is all the retrospect that need be gone into. It brings us down to the present time, the period of the anonymous letter and Edmund North's death. Exactly two years ago this same month, May, the rival doctors had appeared in Dallory Ham; and now one of them was about to leave it.
One incident must be told, bearing on something that has been related, and then the chapter shall close.
The summer of the past year had been a very hot one. A labouring man, working on Mr. North's grounds, suddenly fell; and died on the spot. Mr. Alexander, summoned hastily, thought it must have been sunstroke. "That is what my father died of," remarked Captain Bohun, who stood with the rest. Mr. North turned to him: "Do you say your father died of sunstroke, Arthur?" "Yes, sir, that is what he died of. Did you not know it?" was the ready reply. "You are sure of that?" continued Mr. North. "Quite sure, sir," repeated Arthur, turning his dreamy blue eyes full upon his stepfather, in all their proud truthfulness.
Mr. North knew that he spoke in the sincerity of belief. Arthur Bohun possessed in an eminent degree the pride of his father's race. That innate, self-conscious sense of superiority that is a sort of safeguard to those who possess it: the noblesse oblige feeling that keeps them from wrong-doing. It is true, Arthur Bohun held an exalted view of his birth and family: in so far as that his pride in it equalled that of any man living or dead. He was truthful, generous, honourable; the very opposite in all respects to his mother. Her pride was an assumed pride; a despicable, false, contemptible pride, offensive to those with whom she came into contact. Arthur's was one that you admired in spite of yourself. Of a tarnish to his honour, he could almost have died; to bring disgrace on his own name or on his family, would have caused him to bury his head for ever. Sensitively regardful of other people's feelings, courteous in manner to all, he yet unmistakably held his own in the world. His father had been just the same; and in his day was called "Proud Bohun."
To have asserted that Major Bohun died of sunstroke, had any doubt of the fact lain on his mind, would have been simply impossible to Arthur Bohun. Therefore, Mr. North saw that, whatever the mystery might be, regarding the real cause of Major Bohun's death, Arthur was not cognizant of it.
CHAPTER VI.
WATCHING THE FUNERAL
In Mrs. Gass's comfortable dining-room, securely ensconced behind the closed blinds, drawn to-day, sat that lady and a visitor. It was the day of the funeral of Edmund North; and Mrs. Gass had put on mourning out of respect to the family: a black silk gown and white net cap. It need not be said that the change improved her appearance greatly: she looked, as she herself would have phrased it, genteel to-day. This was her favourite sitting-room; she rarely used any other: for one thing it gave her the opportunity of seeing the movements of her neighbours. The drawing-room faced the garden at the back: a large and beautiful apartment, opening to the smooth green lawn.
The visitor was Mrs. Cumberland. For once in her life Mrs. Cumberland emerged from her shell of indifference and condescended to show a little of the curiosity of ordinary people. She had come to Mrs. Gass's to see the funeral pass: and that lady made much of her, for their meetings were rare. Mrs. Cumberland was also in black silk: but she rarely wore anything else. The two women sat together, talking in subdued voices of bygone times: not that they had known each other then; but each had interest in the past. Mrs. Gass was full of respect, never presuming on her elevation; though they were sisters-in-law, she did not forget that she had once been only a servant in Mrs. Cumberland's family. They had little in common, though, and the topics of conversation exhausted themselves. Mrs. Cumberland was of a silent nature, not at all given to gossip in general. She began to think the waiting long. For the convenience of two mourners, who were coming from a distance, the funeral had been put off until four o'clock.
"Holidays don't improve the working class--unless they've the sense to use 'em as they ought," observed Mrs. Gass. "Just look at them three, ma'am. They've been at the tap--and more shame to 'em! They'd better let Mr. Richard catch his eye upon 'em. Putting themselves into that state, when he is following his brother to the grave."
She alluded to some men belonging to the Dallory Works, closed to-day. They had taken more than was becoming, and were lounging against the opposite shutters, quarrelling together. Mrs. Gass could bear it no longer; in defiance of appearances she drew up the blind and dashed open the window.
"Are you three men not ashamed of yourselves? I thought it was you, Dawson! When there's any ill-doing going on, you're safe to be in it. As to you, Thomas, you'll not like to show your face tomorrow. Don't come to me again, Smith, to beg grace for you of Mr. Richard North."
The men slunk away and disappeared down an entry. Mrs. Gass, in one sense of the word, was their mistress; at any rate, their master's partner. She closed the window and drew down the blind.
"Are the men paid for to-day, or do they lose it?" asked Mrs. Cumberland.
"They're paid, ma'am, of course. It would be very unjust to dock them when the holiday's none of their making. Neither Mr. Richard nor me would like to be unjust."
"And he--Richard--seems to act entirely for his father."
Mrs. Gass coughed. "Mr. North is took up with his garden, and that; he don't care to bother his head about business. It's better in younger hands."
Another pause. Mrs. Cumberland felt weary.
"Is this funeral ever coming?" she exclaimed. "There seems to be some delay."
"It was a late hour to fix it for, ma'am. Old Sir what's-his-name wrote word he couldn't be here before the afternoon; so they put it off to four o'clock for his convenience."
Mrs. Cumberland looked up inquiringly. She did not understand.
"I mean young Bohun's relatives, ma'am. Madam's brother-in-law by her first husband."
"Sir Nash Bohun! Is he coming?"
"Sir Nash; that's the name," remarked Mrs. Gass. "I know when Mr. Richard said it, it put me in mind of grinding the teeth."
"What could have induced them to ask him?" wondered Mrs. Cumberland. "He is no relative."
"It sounds grand to have him, ma'am--and that's all she thinks of," returned Mrs. Gass, with slighting allusion to madam. "Or maybe, as it was an uncommon death, they want to make it an uncommon funeral. I look upon it as no better than a murder."
"It is very strange about that piece of paper," observed Mrs. Cumberland.
She lowered her voice as she spoke, as if the subject would not bear the broad light of day. Any surprise, greater than appeared in Mrs. Gass's face at hearing it could not well