wife's bed. When his guard was relieved, for some brief time, the place was taken by the mother. And Magdalen made no sign, but she must wait and watch. If they liked to have physicians from London, he hoped that they would do so-nothing gave him more pleasure than conversation with the lights of the profes-lived. sion; but they would dismiss the parents from The fourth day had not dawned when Ernest, the room, and after a time would readmit them, who had fallen into a light sleep, was roused to receive the assurance that Mr. Beccles appeared by a faint sound, as of a murmur. to have taken exactly a right view of the busiMr. Dormer would do as he pleased, but Mr. Beccles desired to escape no responsibility. The case was one of catalepsy. ness. They waited and watched. Ernest Dormer's place, by day and by night, was beside his Instantly awakened, he could hear his own heart throb, and he heard it with impatience. But bending his head to the pillow of Magdalen his vigilance was rewarded-another gentle murmur stole upon his ear. And then there was a movement. "AWAKENED." "The time has come," said Ernest. help her and me!" "God The lamp he had long since extinguished, and a tiny light burned at a distant part of the room; but it threw no ray upon Magdalen or upon him. Still, watching with an eye accustomed to the gloom, he could see that the features were becoming restless. Then came a third murmur, and it was almost a moan. He took her hand with the utmost gentleness, and he fancied that he felt a faint pressure, but was uncertain, and his own pulse leaped fiercely. Then, for a long time, there was no sound or movement. And the dawn came, and grew stronger and stronger, until, in that darkened room, a face might well be seen. "Oh, if it might be now!" said Ernest. And the waking came. With her hand in his, Magdalen aroused from her long trance, and meaningless words, fast and broken, came from her lips, and she sought to rise, but her head fell back upon the pillow. "Magdalen!—my own-my love!" Holding by his hand, which aided her effort, Magdalen sat up and gazed at the face of her kneeling husband. "This is not a dream," she said, softly; "I have been with the angels. That was a dream. I am awake, I know that." CHAPTER LXIV. THE SCOTCH LAKE. THE party at the Rectory gathered to the library, not by any express appointment, but from an instinctive feeling that the time had come when something must be said by each to the others before the household should be broken up. The Rector had been there all the morning, busied, or seeming to be busied, with papers and accounts, but they made little progress under his hands, and from time to time he took up a book and frequently glanced at the clock. He might have been counting the hours that remained to be passed in his home. Mr. Abbott, at a small table, was adding attestations, or some other technical memoranda, to several parchments, and Mrs. Grafton, in the deep windowseat, with her head on her hand, gazed out into the garden which it had once been her pride to stock with flowers. But it was not of her garden that the mother was thinking. Her eyes followed the figure of her son, who was moodily pacing backward and forward on the grass-plot, and waiting to be called in to sign some of the documents which had been prepared by Mr. Abbott. "I have endeavored to make you understand the precise meaning and value of these instruments, Mrs. Grafton," said the lawyer; "but as "Awake," he whispered, "and in your hus- matter of business they must be read to you." Magdalen started, and all trance was over; Grafton came into the library. He, too, bore all bewilderment. the mark of suffering; but whereas the father bore himself boldly, bated no jot of his authority, and forgot none of his courtesy, the son looked nervous, and was restless, and as one who would gladly escape from companionship. "Before you take your seat, Edward, may I "My own!-my own!-my own!" she cried, and with a convulsive grasp pressed him to her bosom. He felt that it was shaken by sobs; but they were happy sounds, and he could have counted them as a miser counts his treasure. They were bringing her back to full conscious-request you to close the door ?" said his father, ness, and joy, and love. We may leave them to their deep gladness. It was so selfish that Ernest stirred not even to tell the good news to her parents. When Mrs. Conway entered the room, silently, expecting to find two slumberers, she saw Ernest holding his wife's hand, and Magdalen gazing on him with a tranquil love. in a voice implying that he ought not to have had to ask that service. Edward obeyed in silence, and sat down near his mother. Mr. Abbott drew one of the deeds before him. "Mr. and Mrs. Grafton, and you, Edward, are so well aware of the object we have in view, and that these deeds are framed for the sake of carrying it out, that I need enter into no further explanation. The means we adopt are the only ones by which we can raise the money which is now required, and I only hope that the arrange ment which we contemplate will bring comfort and peace to your parents, while you fight the battle of life for yourself. 'This Indenture made the twenty-third day of July in the year of our Lord one thousand-'" "You should not have begun, Mr. Abbott, before I came in," said Mrs. Sullage, quietly taking a seat opposite to the lawyer. She had entered during Abbott's preamble, and had stood behind a book-case, which projected at right angles and concealed the door. No one seemed surprised, but Mr. Abbott said: "Mr. Abbott will permit me to take it upon myself to say that none was intended," said the Rector, "and that he spoke only as a man of business, protecting, as he supposed, the interests of his clients.' "That is your apology, Mr. Grafton, not mine, but if it satisfies the lady, 'This Indenture made the twenty-'" "It does not satisfy the lady," she again in-" terrupted. "The apology must be your own." Mr. Abbott, usually so good-natured, looked round in a rage, but he caught the eye of Mrs. Grafton, who said, in a gentle voice: "Do what is asked of you." He gazed at her for a moment, and then said, "It will not be withheld, I dare say," was the gravely: calm reply. "It is immaterial whether Mrs. Sullage does or does not remain to listen to legal phraseology which can interest those only who are affected by its operation," said the Rector. "I beg pardon," said Edward, with irritation. "Either Mrs. Sullage has a right to be here, or she has not. If she has, I have no more to say. If not, I protest against what seems to me an intrusion for the sake of annoyance. I am not in the habit of interfering, mother," he added, in answer to a look from Mrs. Grafton, "but if I am a party to business, I am entitled to know who else are concerned." "If I waive objection, Edward," said the Rector, "I think that you may be content to follow me." "And it is my wish, Edward," said his mother, observing that he was about to persist. "I have done," said Edward, turning to the window. "If Mrs. Sullage does not feel herself in a false position," said Mr. Abbott, contemptuously, "in foreing herself into company where she is certainly not wanted, and if the company tolerate her presence, it is not for me to object. "This Indenture made the twenty-third—”” "Stop, Mr. Abbott," said Mrs. Sullage, as quietly as before. "Your intention in saying those words was to be as impertinent to me as you could be." "The words are those of conveyancing, Mrs. Sullage," replied the lawyer, and he began to read again. "You had better stop, Sir. Mr. Grafton is about to ask you to say that you intended no rudeness to me, and that you retract your expressions." "If Mr. Grafton should do so, madam, I should with much regret decline compliance; and if the matter were pressed, I should beg leave to retire." "I am sorry that my friends leave their affairs in the hands of a person who has so little discretion. It is not so long since I informed you, Mr. Abbott, that you were quite unqualified to advise Mr. Grafton, and you have now proved it in the presence of the family by insulting a person whose position you do not comprehend. I repeat my desire that the insult be withdrawn." "Mrs. Sullage, I retract my words, apologize for using them, and venture to hope that you accept this retractation and the apology. May I now proceed ?" But it seems to me that you "If you please. are wasting time." "May I ask how ?" "In reading those deeds, which one person here will certainly not sign." "Who is that?" "The Reverend Edward Grafton, and I believe that his signature is about the most valuable of all." "What right have you to speak for me, Mrs. Sullage, or to say in presence of my parents that I will not do what they have wished and I have promised? Be good enough not to interfere on my account. Mr. Abbott, if he takes my advice, will now read on without paying heed to any interruption whatever." "Have you forgotten our conversation already, Edward?" "I might ask you the same question. But we have really no time to throw away. Pray let matters go on. I have undertaken to sign whatever Mr. Abbott offers me." "You speak to me, I say once more, without at all understanding me. "I could make a guess," said Edward, rudely, for he was becoming very angry with this woman. "Make it," said Mrs. Sullage, gently. "You will not annoy me." "Let the conversation cease," said the Rector, but rather in a tone of entreaty than in that with which he was wont to "stint the strife." "I should like to hear Edward's guess." "Then you shall," he said, almost brutally. "I suppose that you are a lunatic, of whom for some reason my parents have taken charge, and that your disorder assumes the form of a belief that you are a sort of superior being." "Be silent, Edward," said his father, peremptorily. "Your idea is utterly unfounded, and. ought never to have been uttered." "I asked for it," said Mrs. Sullage. "Your father has now told you that you are mistaken." "I have heard him," said Edward. "In that case I see no excuse for your conduct. If you will send those deeds to my room, I will read them for myself, Mr. Abbott, and then sign them where there can be no interruption." "And none shall be tried, by Heaven!" exclaimed Edward Grafton, coming forward. "I "Sit down, dear Edward," said his mother, will not be played with. I demand to have that "and be silent." 'Mother," he said, "I can not be silent, even for your sake. I have consented to all that is asked of me; I am ready to sign away all expectations I have in the world, and at the last moment this woman comes among us, and tells me that I shall not do so, and you all are cowed and submit to her insolence. Have I not the right to know what it means?" "My wishes appear to go for nothing with my son," said the Rector. 66 "I am not a child, Sir, to be silenced without a reason. I do not think that you have ever found me unfilial." "You have a right to know what my influence means, Edward Grafton," said Mrs. Sullage, "but I advise you not to ask. Believe that I interfere now in no spirit of hostility to you. I do not wish you to throw away your birthright. I tell you not to sign those deeds. But I will not tell you why I have a voice in this family unless your father himself desires me to do so." "And I repeat," cried Edward, furiously, "that I will do as I please, and as I have promised, and I care nothing for this pretended mystery. Do you think that you can prevent my signing this parchment ?" "Yes, unless you are a fool." "Fool or not, my parents Mr. Abbott, give me a pen. put my name?" have my word. Where should I The Rector looked at her almost humbly, and it might have touched a stranger to see the proud features shaping themselves into an expression of entreaty. But the sight wrought no change in Mrs. Sullage. Her strong face remained in its strength, but if there were triumph she restrained any sign of it. She merely added: "You knew that I should do this." "I hoped that you would have seen how we were driven into a corner and distressed," he said, in a low voice. "Was that a reason for my sparing you ?" He turned from her, and said: "The business must stand over for the present, Mr. Abbott. I will talk to you presently, when we are alone, upon a modification of our present plan." "None is practicable," said Mr. Abbott, shutting up the deed which he had so often attempted to read. deed put before me for my signature." "And if it is refused?" asked Mrs. Sullage. "I forbid you to speak in my affairs." "And if it is refused, Edward ?" asked his mother. "Then a son who is denied the confidence of his parents bids them farewell. I have friends in India, mother, as you know. I shall ask your leave to join them." "And mine, Edward," said his father. 'No, Sir. I do not feel that you have any claim on my obedience. You do not treat me even as one friend would treat another, but you avail yourself of our relationship to exact a blind submission to your will." "Is this the language of a Christian and a clergyman?" You "Let us have no hypocrisy, Sir," said Edward, now getting excited beyond measure. "Those words mean nothing between us. know that they mean nothing. You are entirely without religion; and whether I am so or not, you neither know nor care. Perhaps I have some convictions which you would despise, and I have not learned them in Saxbury, but they are nothing to which you can appeal. Let us be silent on that subject. I have been willing to make a sacrifice for your sake. I am forbidden to make it, and you assent to the prohibition. Henceforth I go my own way.' "To say that you shock me, Edward-" "Would be to say that which is false," said Mrs. Sullage. "He has told you nothing but truth. If that boy, whom we call a priest, and are told to reverence and to obey, has any religion in him, he has learned it at the knee of his mother there; not from you, who smile over the very periods which you work up for the display of your vanity. Have I not seen you composing sermons, Mr. Grafton ? He has told you the truth, and I thank him for it!" "And I spurn your thanks," said Edward. "My father has forced me to speak out, and I have done it. He would not understand if I were to tell him what I have endured as a member of a profession for which I had not been made fit, though I had gained a sense of its awful responsibilities. His conduct to-day has dragged this from me; but I shall not shock him again. Mother, will you come to my room?" The Rector arose. His proud face was flushed with anger, and his noble voice seemed to share in the revolt against his mastery. "It was reserved for my hour of worldly trial that I should be told by my son that I am an atheist and a hypocrite, and that I have willingly periled his soul. All that I have done for him from his birth, all the affection I have shown him, the costly education, the sacred profession, the certain preferment I have obtained for him, are all forgotten in the intoxication of a vulgar anger and a disappointed curiosity. Let it be so. I humbly pray to the Deity, in whose existence he asserts my disbelief, that when my son's own hour of trial shall come, and when standing on his own hearth for the last time he shall bid farewell to the home he has loved, he may be spared the serpent-pang of insult from a child of his own." The father bowed down his head, and sinking into his seat buried his face between his hands. He seemed to weep. Edward's passion had been dominated by the solemn and touching voice of that appeal, and in another moment he would have been at his father's side, when his arm was seized by Mrs. Sullage. Her strong grasp was so effectively used that Edward could not escape her, and he turned savagely upon her. Before he could speak, she said: "Is that theatrical address powerful on you? He gives the curse in Lear' much better; and I am sorry that he is in no humor to oblige us, though he is cursing me at this moment for what I say. Why do you struggle from me?" "Let me go!" said Edward, "before I forget-what I would remember." "Stay one moment. I told you that you would not sign that deed, and you have not signed it." "I would do it this moment if allowed, and then leave this house forever!" "Why be a fool? In due time the Rectory will be yours, and you will marry Phoebe Bulliman, and her wealth will make you happy, though her love may not. Then you will do yourself justice, and the oratoric powers which have already come to the ear of your bishop will become famous, and the Rector of Saxbury will be honored and envied. Why throw away your future ?" "I know not why I listen to you!" "Because you feel that I have a right to speak." During the fierce talk between the father and the son Mrs. Grafton had listened with a pain which found expression in her face, but which the speakers were too much enraged to notice. But Mr. Abbott's eye was upon her, and he watched the alternate flush and pallor, and once he thought that she was about to interpose between her husband and her child. Mrs. Grafton restrained herself until the former had delivered the solemn speech which Mrs. Sullage's mocking words had followed, and then Mr. Abbott silently led her from the room. Edward saw the action, and would have gone to his mother's aid, but the hand that held him laid no womanly clasp on his arm, but a grip that could be broken only by force. Mr. Abbott returned alone, as Mrs. Sullage's last words were said. "We have heard that before," said Mr. Abbott, with a sneer, as he passed to his table. He thirsted to insult this woman, but scarcely knew how to do so after what had passed. "This lawyer!" said Mrs. Sullage, with an indescribable contempt. "Speak your worst," suddenly roared, rather than said, the Reverend Theodore Grafton. And he strode from the room, but in going out he said words which were empty air, if he had been truly charged with want of religion. "Now, Madam has no further excuse for her mystifications," said Mr. Abbott, as spitefully as he could, and it was not easy for him to be spiteful. "That was not a good exit for a clergyman," said Mrs. Sullage. "Listen to me, Edward, and I will tell you what he ought to have said.” "Whatever I may think of my father's conduct," said Edward Grafton, "I do not permit others to discuss it in my presence. Perhaps, if Mr. Abbott thinks proper to inquire, on my behalf, into the position which you hold in this family, you may not object to satisfy him, Mrs. Sullage?" "Your father's own son. Pride, arrogance, unconcern for the feelings of others. I don't know that it was worth my while to stand between you and the sacrifice you were bent upon making. Well, play out the theatricals, inaugurated by the Reverend Theodore Grafton. Let the lawyer ask me what he pleases."** "I shall get nothing but evasions, I take it, and some more solemn hints." "Try." "What is your hold over Mr. Grafton ?" "My knowledge of a crime." "Whose?" "It was shared." "What was it?" "A suicide." "How can a suicide be shared ?" He took "The Reverend Theodore Grafton loved a girl who was beneath him in social rank. the course usually taken by gentlemen when they form such likings, but it happened that the plebeian girl had some principles, and he failed. Being very much in earnest, he managed a mock marriage, and when he ceased to care about the girl he managed to let her learn those two facts. Then, her principles not being strong enough to support her against grief and shame, she drowned herself. I have been obliged to give this long answer because you wished to know how the crime of suicide can be shared." Mrs. Sullage told this tale without moving eye or limb. Studiously bare and cold as was the narrative, it was given without sternness. It was related-and that was all. "This may be true," said Mr. Abbott to Edward, gravely. "If it were not, should I be here ?" said Mrs. Sullage. "You are-I do not know that you may be inclined to say more?" hesitated Mr. Abbott. |