No Name (A Thriller). Уилки Коллинз

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      After he had taken a few turns backward and forward, alone, he was joined by a spare, quiet, gray-haired man, whose personal appearance was totally devoid of marked character of any kind; whose inexpressive face and conventionally-quiet manner presented nothing that attracted approval and nothing that inspired dislike. This was Mr. Pendril — this was the man on whose lips hung the future of the orphans at Combe-Raven.

      “The time is getting on,” he said, looking toward the shrubbery, as he joined Mr. Clare.

      “My appointment with Miss Garth is for eleven o’clock: it only wants ten minutes of the hour.”

      “Are you to see her alone?” asked Mr. Clare.

      “I left Miss Garth to decide — after warning her, first of all, that the circumstances I am compelled to disclose are of a very serious nature.”

      “And has she decided?”

      “She writes me word that she mentioned my appointment, and repeated the warning I had given her to both the daughters. The elder of the two shrinks — and who can wonder at it? — from any discussion connected with the future which requires her presence so soon as the day after the funeral. The younger one appears to have expressed no opinion on the subject. As I understand it, she suffers herself to be passively guided by her sister’s example. My interview, therefore, will take place with Miss Garth alone — and it is a very great relief to me to know it.”

      He spoke the last words with more emphasis and energy than seemed habitual to him. Mr. Clare stopped, and looked at his guest attentively.

      “You are almost as old as I am, sir,” he said. “Has all your long experience as a lawyer not hardened you yet?”

      “I never knew how little it had hardened me,” replied Mr. Pendril, quietly, “until I returned from London yesterday to attend the funeral. I was not warned that the daughters had resolved on following their parents to the grave. I think their presence made the closing scene of this dreadful calamity doubly painful, and doubly touching. You saw how the great concourse of people were moved by it — and they were in ignorance of the truth; they knew nothing of the cruel necessity which takes me to the house this morning. The sense of that necessity — and the sight of those poor girls at the time when I felt my hard duty toward them most painfully — shook me, as a man of my years and my way of life is not often shaken by any distress in the present or any suspense in the future. I have not recovered it this morning: I hardly feel sure of myself yet.”

      “A man’s composure — when he is a man like you — comes with the necessity for it,” said Mr. Clare. “You must have had duties to perform as trying in their way as the duty that lies before you this morning.”

      Mr. Pendril shook his head. “Many duties as serious; many stories more romantic. No duty so trying, no story so hopeless, as this.”

      With those words they parted. Mr. Pendril left the garden for the shrubbery path which led to Combe-Raven. Mr. Clare returned to the cottage.

      On reaching the passage, he looked through the open door of his little parlor and saw Frank sitting there in idle wretchedness, with his head resting wearily on his hand.

      “I have had an answer from your employers in London,” said Mr. Clare. “In consideration of what has happened, they will allow the offer they made you to stand over for another month.”

      Frank changed colour, and rose nervously from his chair.

      “Are my prospects altered?” he asked. “Are Mr. Vanstone’s plans for me not to be carried out? He told Magdalen his will had provided for her. She repeated his words to me; she said I ought to know all that his goodness and generosity had done for both of us. How can his death make a change? Has anything happened?”

      “Wait till Mr. Pendril comes back from Combe-Raven,” said his father. “Question him — don’t question me.”

      The ready tears rose in Frank’s eyes.

      “You won’t be hard on me?” he pleaded, faintly. “You won’t expect me to go back to London without seeing Magdalen first?”

      Mr. Clare looked thoughtfully at his son, and considered a little before he replied.

      “You may dry your eyes,” he said. “You shall see Magdalen before you go back.”

      He left the room, after making that reply, and withdrew to his study. The books lay ready to his hand as usual. He opened one of them and set himself to read in the customary manner. But his attention wandered; and his eyes strayed away, from time to time, to the empty chair opposite — the chair in which his old friend and gossip had sat and wrangled with him good-humoredly for many and many a year past. After a struggle with himself he closed the book. “D — n the chair!” he said: “it will talk of him; and I must listen.” He reached down his pipe from the wall and mechanically filled it with tobacco. His hand shook, his eyes wandered back to the old place; and a heavy sigh came from him unwillingly. That empty chair was the only earthly argument for which he had no answer: his heart owned its defeat and moistened his eyes in spite of him. “He has got the better of me at last,” said the rugged old man. “There is one weak place left in me still — and he has found it.”

      Meanwhile, Mr. Pendril entered the shrubbery, and followed the path which led to the lonely garden and the desolate house. He was met at the door by the manservant, who was apparently waiting in expectation of his arrival.

      “I have an appointment with Miss Garth. Is she ready to see me?”

      “Quite ready, sir.”

      “Is she alone?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “In the room which was Mr. Vanstone’s study?”

      “In that room, sir.”

      The servant opened the door and Mr. Pendril went in.

      The governess stood alone at the study window. The morning was oppressively hot, and she threw up the lower sash to admit more air into the room, as Mr. Pendril entered it.

      They bowed to each other with a formal politeness, which betrayed on either side an uneasy sense of restraint. Mr. Pendril was one of the many men who appear superficially to the worst advantage, under the influence of strong mental agitation which it is necessary for them to control. Miss Garth, on her side, had not forgotten the ungraciously guarded terms in which the lawyer had replied to her letter; and the natural anxiety which she had felt on the subject of the interview was not relieved by any favorable opinion of the man who sought it. As they confronted each other in the silence of the summer’s morning — both dressed in black; Miss Garth’s hard features, gaunt and haggard with grief; the lawyer’s cold, colourless face, void of all marked expression, suggestive of a business embarrassment and of nothing more — it would have been hard to find two persons less attractive externally to any ordinary sympathies than the two who had now met together, the one to tell, the other to hear, the secrets of the dead.

      “I am sincerely sorry, Miss Garth, to intrude on you at such a time as this. But circumstances, as I have already explained, leave me no other choice.”

      “Will you take a seat, Mr. Pendril? You wished to see me in this room, I believe?”

      “Only СКАЧАТЬ