“Oh, don’t hurry, my dear. Mr Hampton is not going to town by the early train. What a lovely morning! Perhaps he has gone for a walk.” The ladies walked to the window and Mr Hampton turned his newspaper and coughed loudly, as he glanced at the breakfast-table, afterwards making a wry face as he felt sundry twinges suggestive of Nature’s demands for food.

A quarter of an hour slipped by, and then the old housekeeper, who kept to the same simple old fashion adopted by her late master, whose household had consisted of Denton, a housemaid, cook, and gardener, entered the dining-room.

“Shall I bring up the ham, Miss Gertrude?”

“Perhaps you had better go and knock at Mr Harrington’s door. He may have dropped asleep again.”

The old woman went out, and at the end of five minutes she came back, looking pale and scared.

“I – I can’t make him hear, miss,” she said. “Do you think he is ill?”

“Gone for a walk,” said the old lawyer sharply.

“I – I don’t think he has gone out, sir,” faltered the old lady. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind going up to his room.”

“And be told to mind my own business – eh? Thanks; no.”

He gave the newspaper a vicious shake, and a blow in the middle to double it up for a fresh reading.

“Shall I go up, Gertrude, my dear?” said Mrs Hampton.

“If you would not mind. He may, perhaps, be a little unwell.”

“To be sure, my dear. I’ll go.”

The lawyer’s wife left the room, and without a moment’s hesitation walked along the passage to the study, entered and looked round.

“Yes,” she said to herself, as she took up the whiskey decanter, and held it at arm’s length. “How temperate and self-denying we are. Essence of sick headache, and he has drunk every drop.”

To give colour to Mrs Hampton’s theory, besides the empty condition of the decanter, a peculiar odour of spirits filled the room, causing the old lady’s nostrils to dilate, and the corners of her lips to go down as she hurried out.

“And they hardly ever will open a window,” she muttered, as she stood in the hall, hesitating. “But I said I would go up,” she continued, and ascending quickly she paused before the door of the bedroom she sought.

“Mr Harrington!” she cried, as she gave a few sharp raps with her bony knuckles.

No answer.

“Mr Harrington!”

The taps were louder, but there was no reply.

“I thought as much,” she muttered. “Broken out again, and in a regular drunkard’s sleep. No; it’s an insult to sober people’s rest to call it sleep – stupor. Oh, my poor girl, my poor girl! If I could only save you from being this dreadful man’s wife.”

“Mr Harrington!” she cried again, after a pause; but all was still. Then the taps she had previously given upon the door became heavy thumps. “Mr Harrington, are you coming down to breakfast?”

“Is anything the matter, ma’am?” said the old housekeeper coming slowly up the stairs.

“Yes, Mrs Denton; no, Mrs Denton; yes, Mrs Denton. I mean nothing serious, but it’s very dreadful.”

The old housekeeper shook her head; and the tears stood in her eyes as she walked to the end of the wide passage, and descended to the embayed window looking upon the garden, where she used her apron to flick off some white powdery dust from the sill.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said, “it is very dreadful. I know what you mean. Poor dear master liked his two or three glasses of port after his dinner, but that was all. Unless any one was ill you never saw a drop of spirits about the place, while now it’s brandy and whiskey, and soda and seltzer, as is a pair of shams, not to make the spirits weaker, but to coax people on to drink more.”

“You think the same as I do then, Denton?” whispered Mrs Hampton.

“It don’t take any thinking, ma’am. Look at his nose and his cheeks. People don’t have those public-house signs on their fronts without going very often into the cellar. Oh, my dear ma’am; you’re a woman – I mean a lady.”

“Only a woman like yourself, Denton.”

“Then don’t – pray don’t stand by with your hands crossed and see that poor darling child sold into such a bondage as this.”

“What do you mean, Denton?”

“Well, there, ma’am, if you’re offended, you must be, but I shall speak the honest truth.”

“Go on, Denton.”

“I mean letting poor Miss Gertrude be married to such a man as Master George.”

“What am I to do, Denton?”

“I don’t know, ma’am. I’ve been down upon my bended knees to her, but she turns away. She don’t like him – that’s the wonder of it – and yet she will have him.”

“Yes, Denton; that’s the wonder of it. She’s little and weak, and yet she’s stronger than all of us put together with poor old Mr Harrington’s wishes at her back.”

“But you, ma’am – she believes in and likes you. Many a time she’s come to me, years ago, and told me how you’ve scolded and found fault with her about her manners, and when I’ve said you were very cantankerous – ”

“Oh, you said that of me, did you, Denton?”

“Yes, ma’am, to speak the truth, I have said so; but she always spoke up for you, and said you talked to her like a mother.”

“Yes, Denton; I tried to.”

“Then,” cried the old woman fiercely, “why don’t you talk to her like a mother now, and save the poor child from such a terrible fate.”

“You think it will be a terrible fate, Denton?”

“Do you believe in young men who can’t keep from the drink now, and who make the poor old house smell of whiskey from top to bottom, mending because they’ve got pretty young wives?”

“I want to be charitable, Denton.”

“Then prove it, ma’am, by saving my poor dear young lady from being the wife of a sot.”

“Is anything the matter, Mrs Hampton?” said Gertrude.

“No, my dear, only that wicked, idle man is so fast asleep that we cannot wake him.”

“Never mind,” said the old lawyer, who had followed Gertrude out into the hall. “Better let him have his sleep out. Come, my dear, and have pity on me.”

“Yes, Mr Hampton, we will not wait any longer. Denton, pray see that some fresh breakfast is ready on a tray, to bring up directly your master comes down.”

“Yes, miss, I will,” said the old woman; and then in an undertone to Mrs Hampton, as the old lawyer said something to Gertrude: “Do, do, pray, ma’am, try and stop it. I’d sooner help to lay the poor dear out for her last sleep than help to dress her to go to church with Master George.”

Mrs Hampton went down the flight of stairs to the breakfast-table, looking exceedingly comic.

Hers was a peculiar face at the best of times; and now it was at its worst, for her spirit was greatly troubled on Gertrude’s behalf, and she was trying to smile and look cheerful.

Her husband saw it and made matters worse.

“Gertrude, my dear,” he said in a whisper his wife could hear, “for goodness’ sake give her a cup of tea; she’s bubbling over with acidity.”

“No, I am not, Hampton, and don’t be absurd.”

“Certainly not, my dear. Excuse me, Miss Gertie, may I begin?”

He was already placing a slice of ham upon his plate with a delicately cooked egg reposing in its midst, but he recollected himself and passed it across to his wife.

“Thanks, no,” she said with quite a hoarse croak. “Dry toast.”

Gertrude was of the same way of thinking. Only the lawyer made a hearty breakfast hastily, and then started for town.

“No, no, don’t you ladies move,” he said. “Finish your breakfasts. Apologise to George Harrington for me. Back in good time.”

He did not realise that the other occupants of the breakfast-table had been forcing themselves to swallow a few morsels, so as to keep up appearances; and as the door closed their eyes met, and Gertrude could contain herself no longer, but burst into a passion of tears.

“Hush, hush, my darling?” whispered Mrs Hampton, taking her to her breast. “Don’t take on about it. There, there, there; I want to play a mother’s part to you, and I’m only a clumsy imitation; but, indeed, Gertie, I want to advise you for the best.”

“Yes, I know you do,” whispered the poor girl, as she struggled hard to be composed. “But tell me you don’t think there is any reason for George being so late.”

For answer Mrs Hampton kissed her on the brow.

“You do not speak. It is cruel of you to be silent.”

“Do you wish me to speak out?”

“Yes, even if I do not agree with you,” cried Gertrude, flushing up as if ready to defend her betrothed.

“Then, my dear, I do.”

“Tell me – what?”

“I am George Harrington’s guest, Gertrude; then I am the trusty friend of the girl I have known and loved ever since she was a child.”

“Yes, yes, indeed you are; I know that; only you are so bitter against George.”

“Gertie, my dear,” said the old lady, leading her to the couch and sitting down with old Harrington’s face seeming to smile down upon them, “if I feel bitter against George Harrington it is from love for you.”

“Yes, yes; but try not to be unjust. Think of the life he has been forced to lead.”

“I can think only of my little girl’s life that she will have to lead.”

“Why do you speak like this?” panted Gertrude, who looked like some frightened bird, ready to struggle to escape.

“I may be hard and unjust, my child, but I judge by what I see.”

“See! What have you seen this morning?”

“I have been in the study. It smells as a room does where men have passed the night drinking.”

“But after the change – after the promises.”

“The whiskey decanter was empty. I know it was full yesterday morning, for I saw Mrs Denton carry it in.”

“Ah!” sighed Gertrude.

“And this morning the man you have promised to marry is lying in a drunken sleep.”

“You do not know that,” cried Gertrude excitedly.

“I know enough to make me say once more – Gertrude, I am a childless old woman, and I love you as Mr Hampton loves you in his peculiar way, which is a good deal like mine – rough and clumsy, but very honest and true.”

“Dearest Mrs Hampton!” cried Gertrude, throwing her arms about the old lady’s neck; “as if I did not know how good, and kind, and loving you have always been.”

“Then listen to me once more, my darling, before it is too late. I do not look like the sort of woman who can talk about love, but I can, and I know what love is.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” faltered Gertrude.

“And I know that you do not love George Harrington.”

A pause.

“And George Harrington does not love you.”

“He told me he did – very dearly, Mrs Hampton, and if – if – I do not love him as I ought to do, I shall try so very, very hard to make him a true and loving wife.”

“Trying is no use, my dear. Love comes and goes of itself. You may make yourself friends with any one, but you cannot make yourself love.”

“Not when he loves me?” cried Gertrude.

“So much, my child, that only a short time before he is married to you, he goes and plays the swine.”

“Mrs Hampton!” cried Gertrude indignantly.

“Very well, then, my dear, I will not speak like that. It is too blunt and strong. He goes then – after promising everybody, and in disobedience to Doctor Lawrence’s orders, and quite soon after a dangerous attack of delirium tremens, brought on by drink – and takes that which has compelled him to keep his bed this morning.”

“But he may be ill, Mrs Hampton.”

“He is ill, my dear, and with an illness which brings on a craving he cannot control.”

“Oh?” sighed Gertrude, covering her face with her hands.

“He madly goes and makes himself the slave of a terrible master, who will ruin health, and pocket – destroy him utterly.”

“You are too severe, Mrs Hampton,” faltered Gertrude.

“Not a bit, my dear.”

“He said he would not take more than Mr Hampton might, or you.”

“That will not do, my dear,” said the old lady calmly. “My husband treats wine and spirits as his slaves, and makes them obey him. I do the same. George Harrington sets what the teetotallers call the great God Alcohol up on a pedestal, and grovels before it in his insane worship.”

“But he is growing so much better, Mrs Hampton.”

“No, my dear. He is only professing to do so. He is the slave and he will go lower and lower. I say then, even with the great wealth he has inherited, is this man the suitable partner of your future?”

“I want to defend him,” sighed Gertrude to herself, “but she masters me – she masters me.”

“Then listen to me, my dear, before it is too late. Do one of two things – come to us, where you shall be as our child, or, if you prefer it, set up a little simple home of your own, with poor old Denton, who would gladly accept this plan; you will not be well off, but you will be happy – yes, I say happy,” cried the old lady, looking up defiantly at the portrait, which had caught her eye, and seemed to be gazing searchingly at her. “Ah, you may look, but you are only canvas and paint; and if you were alive you would not throw this poor child into the arms of a drunken man.”

“Mrs Hampton, what are you saying?” cried Gertrude, looking up and shivering, as she realised that the old lady was addressing the picture on the wall.

“The plain, honest, simple truth, my dear. Come, come, be advised by me.”

“No, no; it is impossible,” murmured Gertrude.

“Not a bit of it, my child. Think of your future. He will not reform.”

“He will – he will.”

“He will not. He can’t. He hasn’t it in him. Gertie, my dear, you may fight for him, but he is a shifty bad man, and I don’t believe in him a bit.”

“This is too cruel.”

“It is kindness though it gives you pain, my dear. Some men might repent and alter, but I have studied George Harrington from the day he came to the house, and I cannot find the stuff in him to make a better man.”

“I should make him a better man, Mrs Hampton,” said Gertrude proudly.

“You would worry yourself into your grave, Gertrude, and if you marry him, I shall order my mourning at once, for you do not, and never will love him.”

“Now you are laughing at me,” said Gertrude, brightening up, and taking the old lady’s withered hands in her soft, plump little palms. “It is impossible to follow out your proposal, and I shall marry George Harrington for my dear uncle’s sake.”

“And be a wretched woman for life.”

“No, Mrs Hampton; even at the worst, I shall have the happy consciousness of having done my duty; but there will be no worse. I shall win.”

Mrs Hampton shook her head.

“Yes,” repeated Gertrude; “I shall win, and bring him to the right way. He cannot refuse to listen to me. Surely a weak trusting woman has power over even the strongest man.”

“In novels, and poems, and plays, my dear, more than in real life, I am afraid,” said Mrs Hampton, with a sigh of resignation; “but remember this, my dear, when in the future you recall all I have said – No, no, no, my darling; I can’t stoop to talk to you like that. Gertie, my child, I am very sorry, but I am going to help you carry out your noble resolve with all my heart.”

“Mrs Hampton?” cried Gertrude joyously.

“Yes, my dear; and if women can win, we’ll make a hero of George Harrington – good Heavens! what’s that?”

The two women started from the sofa, and gazed in a startled way toward the hall.

Chapter Twenty One
Bruno Gets into a Scrape

The sound that startled them was a faint scratching noise at the door, and Gertrude hurried across the room to open and admit the dog Bruno, who was lying on the sheepskin mat, and who raised his head, gazed in his mistress’s face, uttered a low whine, and then dropped his head between his paws.

“Why, Bruno, Bruno? what’s the matter?”

“Shall I go up and knock at master’s door again, Miss Gertie?” said the housekeeper, who came along the passage just then. “Why, what’s the matter with the dog?”

“I don’t know, Denton; he seems ill. Oh! His head is covered with blood.”

“Ugh! So it is,” cried the old woman. “I haven’t seen him before this morning, miss. He has been fighting. Go down, sir, directly. Bad dog!”

Bruno did not move, but lay blinking at his mistress, and whined uneasily.

“He has been fighting with some one who had a big stick then,” said Mrs Hampton shortly. “Look the poor dog’s head is all swollen up, and there’s a great cut here.”

“My poor old Bruno?” cried Gertrude, going on her knees beside the dog, and taking one of his paws, when the brute whined feebly, and made a faint effort to lick her hand.

“Yes, he has a bad cut upon his head,” said Denton, as she closely examined the place; “and it has been bleeding terribly. Poor fellow! I’ll call cook to help carry him away, and we’ll bathe it.”

“No,” said Gertrude decisively; “he was dear uncle’s favourite, and he shall be treated as a friend. Let him stop here, Denton. Draw the mat into this corner, and put another thick mat beside it.”

This was done, the mat slipping easily over the smooth floor, with its load; and after submitting patiently to the domestic surgery of his mistress and the old housekeeper, Bruno once more tried to lick the former’s hand and closed his eyes in sleep.

“There,” said Gertrude, with business-like cheerfulness, as the basin, sponge, and towels used were removed. “Now, Denton, I think you really ought to go and waken your master.”

“Yes, miss,” said the old lady, after giving Mrs Hampton an inquiring look, responded to by a shake of the head.

The old housekeeper seemed to catch that shake of the head, and she went upstairs while Gertrude led the way back to the dining-room, and looked carefully over the table to see that the maid had removed all that was untidy, and left the place attractive-looking for her master, when he should come down.

“Labour in vain, my dear,” said Mrs Hampton, with a quaint smile. “He’ll want nothing but a cup of the strongest tea; and don’t let him have any spirits in it if he asks.”

“Miss Gertrude? Miss Gertrude?” came from the stairs; and upon their going to the door, it was to see the old housekeeper hurrying down. “Master’s not in his room, my dear.”

“What?”

“I knocked till I grew nervous, thinking he might be in a fit, and then I turned the handle, and went in.”

“And he is not there,” cried Gertrude. “Now, Mrs Hampton,” she added, as she turned triumphantly on her old friend, “now what have you to say for yourself. Yes! Look!” she cried, as she ran to the hat stand. “We might have known – hat and stick not here. I felt sure he must have gone for a long morning stroll.”

“Well, I’m glad I am wrong,” said Mrs Hampton sharply. “Then we have been fidgeting ourselves for nothing. Eh, Denton? Yes? What is it?”

She had suddenly caught sight of the old housekeeper making signs to her, and screwing up her face in a most mysterious way!

“Yes, Denton, what is it? Why don’t you speak?” cried Gertrude, as she caught sight of the old woman’s action.

“I – I – nothing, my dear, only he is not there,” said Denton hesitatingly.

“What are you keeping back?” said Gertrude firmly.

“N-othing, my dear.”

“Denton!”

“Don’t ask me, my dear, please,” faltered the old woman.

“I desire you to speak,” cried Gertrude imperatively.

“Then I will, my dear, for it’s only another reason why you should not go and do what you are thinking about doing,” cried the old woman angrily. “I don’t care, you may send me away if you like, but I shall have done my duty by you, and I shan’t have that on my mind.”

“Have the goodness to remember what you are, Denton,” said Gertrude, speaking coldly, and turning very pale.

“Yes, miss, only your poor old servant, but I can’t see you going headlong to destruction without trying to stop you. I say you oughtn’t to marry a gentleman who can’t keep from the drink, and goes out spending the night after everybody else has gone to bed.”

“What do you mean, Denton?”

“That we’ve been wherritting ourselves about him all the morning, and he’s never been to bed all night.”

“Denton!”

“Well, miss, come up and look. The bed’s just as I turned it down, and the pillows all of a puff.”

“That will do,” said Gertrude gravely. “Your master is not bound to consult anybody if he chooses to go out.”

“No, miss.”

“Mrs Hampton, shall we go into the drawing-room?” said Gertrude quietly, “or would you like a walk?”

“I think we will stay in, my dear,” was the reply; and they went into the drawing-room, where after closing the door they stood looking in each other’s eyes.

“Gertie,” said Mrs Hampton at last, and she took her young companion’s hand.

“No, no,” said Gertrude, shrinking.

“I was not going to preach, my dear – only help,” said Mrs Hampton, smiling cheerfully. “Are you thinking what I am?”

“I feel that I must be,” cried Gertrude. “You think that George has repented of what he said to Saul Harrington, and has joined him, or followed him to Paris.”

“Exactly. That is what I do think.”

“Well,” said Gertrude slowly, “he might have told us. Stop,” she added quickly, “he must have left a note for us in the study.”

“Of course,” cried Mrs Hampton; and they went quickly into the little library, which the new master had affected as soon as he took possession of the place.

A particular odour of spirits and some drug attacked their nostrils as soon as they entered the little room, and their eyes met in an anxious look, but only to be averted as each sought for a letter.

“No,” said Gertrude sadly, “he has not written.”

“It was a sudden thought, my dear, and we shall have one, or a telegram, before long. He is sure to send.”

“He is sure to send,” said Gertrude involuntarily, as a curious chill ran through her, and she turned ghastly pale; for at that moment there came the long, low howl of a dog as if from a great distance, though they felt and knew that it was the faint cry of the wounded beast, and from close at hand – the mournfully strange howl uttered by a dog when it displays that mysterious knowledge of impending or neighbouring death.