The Weird Sisters: A Romance. Volume 3 of 3. Dowling Richard

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СКАЧАТЬ No, I know nothing to prevent your marrying."

      She did care to excite him in his very critical mental condition by reference to the little comfort he had derived from his experience of wedlock.

      "Well, mother, it is not only that no cause exists why I should not marry, but an absolute necessity – a necessity there is no evading, makes the step inevitable."

      He had raised his head from his hand and was looking in her face.

      "You have always had good reasons for your acts," she said, humouring his whim.

      "And, moreover, it is imperatively necessary I shall marry one particular woman, and no other."

      "What! in love again already!" exclaimed Mrs. Grey, with a desperate attempt at archness.

      The attempt failed utterly, and her face wore a look of anxiety and pain. It was now clear her son did not suffer from mere hallucination; this was a break up of the whole intellect.

      The man was so lost to external things he did not notice the change in his mother's face. He was deliberately rehearsing aloud his plan of campaign, and counting his forces and chances. He had almost forgotten he addressed his mother. He knew he might speak out with safety. This was the first time he had dared to give utterance to his thoughts in the presence of another. There was intoxication in the fearless recital of his case, and, with his bodily eyes indifferent to things around him, he abandoned himself to the delight of speaking his secret thought, and observing how the uttered words lightened his burden.

      "You are curious to know her name?" he asked, in a mechanical tone.

      "I should like to hear who it is," she returned.

      "It's a very good name. It will bring no discredit on the name of Grey. Guess."

      "Indeed, I cannot."

      "Maud Midharst."

      "Maud Midharst!" exclaimed the old woman, relaxing the rigidity of her pose, and falling for support against the back of her chair – "Maud Midharst!" she repeated, in a tone of dismay. For a moment she had forgotten she was listening to a man suffering from severe mental disturbance. Instantly almost she recovered herself, and fixing eyes now full of tenderness and pity upon her son, resumed her upright attitude, and continued her former plan of humouring him. "She is very beautiful, very amiable, and very rich," the woman said.

      "She is very beautiful, very amiable, and very poor," he said impressively.

      Again Mrs. Grey started. His tones were not those of a man of unsound mind; and although his face looked pale and worn, and there was a queer expression in the eyes, the whole conveyed the idea of a man overwrought rather than radically unsound of head. She was so much thrown off her guard that she could not refrain from repeating aloud, "Very poor!"

      "Yes, very poor," he went on in the same monotonous voice, and with the same lightless face turned to hers. "And it is because she is very poor I am going to marry her."

      "A regular love romance!" cried the old lady in a sprightly voice. The tears were in her eyes. Her son, her only son, the idol of her life, breaking down thus in his strong manhood! Hard sight for a mother! How hard to sit still, and seem calm, and watch the light of departing reason flickering in those large blue eyes, which in the happy warm long ago had looked up to hers as the baby boy lay at her breast.

      "A real business romance," he said gravely. "A real business romance."

      "It must be a romance indeed if you are marrying her because she is poor, for I believe you, Henry, are not rich." She thought, "Perhaps it will be best to take an interest in all this. If I do not he may think I suspect him of being under delusions, and I daresay that would make him worse."

      "The Daneford Bank is now secure and in a prosperous condition, but I have nothing beyond its prosperity, so that, compared with the time I got the Bank, I am a poor man, for I have lost all my private fortune. Does it not seem strange to you, mother, that I, a poor man, should aspire to the hand of a baronet's poor daughter?"

      "But, Henry, this is a love romance, and in love romances all things are possible."

      "I have explained to you, mother, that it is a business, and not a love romance. But I have not told you half the romance yet."

      "I am most anxious to hear it."

      "I have never said a word of love to her yet. I do believe a word of love has never yet been spoken to her, and already there is a rival in the field, so that now we have every element of success."

      "And who is this rival?"

      "The new baronet, Sir William Midharst."

      "Sir William Midharst! I thought he was in Egypt."

      "He has been, but he got back just in time for Sir Alexander's funeral. He walked to the funeral with me, came back and fell in love with his cousin Maud."

      "How do you know this?"

      "Mrs. Grant told me."

      "And does Mrs. Grant know you are in love with Miss Midharst?"

      "No, nor any one else."

      "I, for instance, know."

      "Who told you?"

      "You."

      "Never."

      "He forgets already what he told me a few minutes ago. This is terrible. I shall not be able to stand it much longer. My poor Wat! I wonder what has turned his brain?" the mother thought. She endeavoured to keep on her face an expression of vivacious interest.

      He spoke again. "I never told you I was in love with Maud Midharst. I only told you that it is absolutely necessary I should marry her."

      "In some things," the mother thought, "he is as clear as ever. Of course all this talk of his marrying Miss Midharst is the result of some way poor Bee's death affected him," she reflected. Aloud she said, "But, Henry, if you do not love her, and if she is poor and you are not rich, why are you compelled to marry her?"

      "If any one knew the answer to that question, mother, that person could put me in the dock and convict me of embezzlement."

      She started to her feet and placed her hand on his shoulder, and cried in a voice of agony: "My God, my son is mad!"

      He rose quietly and put both his hands tenderly on her shoulders, and whispered hoarsely in her ear: "I am not mad now. I never was more sane in my life. I was mad when I stole Sir Alexander's savings to the last penny. It was with his money I saved the Bank."

      "Great God, what do I hear!"

      "The truth. I am no better than a thief. I have stolen the old man's savings and the young girl's fortune, and, unless I marry her, I shall be found out. Did I not tell you I was in the company of a villain when I came in first? Now you believe me."

      "And you lied to me when you told me about that money from the Pacific coast? Ten thousand times better madness than this!"

      "I did."

      "You, Henry, my son, lied to me?"

      "Yes."

      "Understand my question once for all. When you, Henry Grey, told СКАЧАТЬ