“It’s nothing about Charley,” said Frank; and Mr. Wentworth blew his nose violently and drew a long breath. “I don’t understand it,” said the Curate, who looked scared and pale; “it seems to be from Jack; though why he is in Carlingford, or what he has to do—”
“He’s ill, sir, I suppose—dying; nothing else was to be looked for,” said the Squire, and held out his hand, which trembled, for the telegram. “Stuff! why shouldn’t I be able to bear it? Has he been any comfort to me? Can’t you read it, one of you?” cried the old man.
“ ‘John Wentworth to the Reverend—’ ”
“God bless my soul! can’t you come to what he says?”
“ ‘Come back directly—you are wanted here; I am in trouble, as usual; and T. W.—’ ”
Here the Squire took a step backwards, and set himself against a tree. “The sun comes in one’s eyes,” he said, rather feebly. “There’s something poisonous in the air today. Here’s Gerald going out of the Church; and here’s Frank in Jack’s secrets. God forgive him! Lads, it seems you think I’ve had enough of this world’s good. My heir’s a swindling villain, and you know it; and here’s Frank going the same road too.”
The Squire did not hear the words that both the brothers addressed to him; he was unconscious of the Curate’s disclaimer and eager explanation that he knew nothing about Jack, and could not understand his presence in Carlingford. The blow he had got the previous day had confused his brain outside, and these accumulated vexations had bewildered it within. “And I could have sworn by Frank!” said the old man, piteously, to himself, as he put up his hand unawares and tugged at the dainty starched cravat which was his pride. If they had not held him in their arms, he would have slid down at the foot of the tree, against which he had instinctively propped himself. The attack was less alarming to Gerald, who had seen it before, than to Frank, who had only heard of it; but the postboy was still within call, by good fortune, and was sent off for assistance. They carried him to the Hall, gasping for breath, and in a state of partial unconsciousness, but still feebly repeating those words which went to the Curate’s heart—“I could have sworn by Frank!” The house was in a great fright and tumult, naturally, before they reached it, Mrs. Wentworth fainting, the girls looking on in dismay, and the whole household moved to awe and alarm, knowing that one time or other Death would come so. As for the Curate of St. Roque’s, he had already made up his mind, with unexpected anguish, not only that his father was dying, but that his father would die under a fatal misconception about himself; and between this overwhelming thought, and the anxiety which nobody understood or could sympathise with respecting Jack’s message, the young man was almost beside himself. He went away in utter despair from the anxious consultations of the family after the doctor had come, and kept walking up and down before the house, waiting to hear the worst, as he thought; but yet unable, even while his father lay dying, to keep from thinking what miserable chance, what folly or crime, had taken Jack to Carlingford, and what his brother could have to do with the owner of the initials named in his telegram. He was lost in this twofold trouble when Gerald came out to him with brightened looks.
“He is coming round, and the doctor says there is no immediate danger,” said Gerald; “and it is only immediate danger one is afraid of. He was as well as ever last time in a day or two. It is the complaint of the Wentworths, you know—we all die of it; but, Frank, tell me what is this about Jack?”
“I know no more than you do,” said the Curate, when he had recovered himself a little. “I must go back, not having done much good here, to see.”
“And T. W.?” said Gerald. The elder brother looked at the younger suspiciously, as if he were afraid for him; and it was scarcely in human nature not to feel a momentary flash of resentment.
“I tell you I know nothing about it,” said Frank, “except what is evident to anyone, that Jack has gone to Carlingford in my absence, being in trouble somehow. I suppose he always is in trouble. I have not heard from him since I went there; but as it don’t seem I can be of any use here, as soon as my father is safe, I will go back. Louisa imagined, you know—; but she was wrong.”
“Yes,” said Gerald, quietly. That subject was concluded, and there was no more to say.
The same evening, as the Squire continued to improve, and had been able to understand his energetic explanation that he was entirely ignorant of Jack’s secrets, Frank Wentworth went back again with a very disturbed mind. He went into the Rectory as he passed down to the station, to say goodbye to Louisa, who was sitting in the drawing-room with her children round her, and her trouble considerably lightened, though there was no particular cause for it. Dressing for dinner had of itself a beneficial effect upon Louisa: she could not understand how a life could ever be changed which was so clearly ordained of Heaven; for if Gerald was not with her, what inducement could she possibly have to dress for dinner? and then what would be the good of all the pretty wardrobe with which Providence had endowed her? Must
