“Oh, Hugh; what could we do? It was not our fault.”
“Who is talking of any fault? I have said nothing as to fault. He was always poor and sickly. The Claverings, generally, have been so strong. Look at myself, and Archie, and my sisters. Well, it cannot be helped. Thinking of it will not bring him back again. You had better tell someone to get me something to eat. I came away, of course, without any dinner.”
She herself had eaten nothing since the morning, but she neither spoke nor thought of that. She rang the bell, and going out into the passage gave the servant the order on the stairs.
“It is no good my staying here,” he said. “I will go and dress. It is the best not to think of such things—much the best. People call that heartless, of course, but then people are fools. If I were to sit still, and think of it for a week together, what good could I do?”
“But how not to think of it? that is the thing.”
“Women are different, I suppose. I will dress and then go down to the breakfast-room. Tell Saunders to get me a bottle of champagne. You will be better also if you will take a glass of wine.”
It was the first word he had spoken which showed any care for her, and she was grateful for it. As he arose to go, she came close to him again, and put her hand very gently on his arm. “Hugh,” she said, “will you not see him?”
“What good will that do?”
“I think you would regret it if you were to let them take him away without looking at him. He is so pretty as he lays in his little bed. I thought you would come with me to see him.” He was more gentle with her than she had expected, and she led him away to the room which had been their own, and in which the child had died.
“Why here?” he said, almost angrily, as he entered.
“I have had him here with me since you went.”
“He should not be here now,” he said, shuddering. “I wish he had been moved before I came. I will not have this room any more; remember that.” She led him up to the foot of the little cot, which stood close by the head of her own bed, and then she removed a handkerchief which lay upon the child’s face.
“Oh, Hugh! oh, Hugh!” she said, and, throwing her arms round his neck, she wept violently upon his breast. For a few moments he did not disturb her, but stood looking at his boy’s face. “Hugh, Hugh,” she repeated, “will you not be kind to me? Do be kind to me. It is not my fault that we are childless.”
Still he endured her for a few moments longer. He spoke no word to her, but he let her remain there, with her head upon his breast.
“Dear Hugh, I love you so truly!”
“This is nonsense,” said he, “sheer nonsense.” His voice was low and very hoarse. “Why do you talk of kindness now?”
“Because I am so wretched.”
“What have I done to make you wretched?”
“I do not mean that; but if you will be gentle with me, it will comfort me. Do not leave me here all alone, now my darling has been taken from me.”
Then he shook her from him, not violently, but with a persistent action.
“Do you mean that you want to go up to town?” he said.
“Oh, no; not that.”
“Then what is it you want? Where would you live, if not here?”
“Anywhere you please, only that you should stay with me.”
“All that is nonsense. I wonder that you should talk of such things now. Come away from this, and let me go to my room. All this is trash and nonsense, and I hate it.” She put back with careful hands the piece of cambric which she had moved, and then, seating herself on a chair, wept violently, with her hands closed upon her face. “That comes of bringing me here,” he said. “Get up, Hermione. I will not have you so foolish. Get up, I say. I will have the room closed till the men come.”
“Oh, no!”
“Get up, I say, and come away.” Then she rose, and followed him out of the chamber, and when he went to change his clothes she returned to the room in which he had found her. There she sat and wept, while he went down and dined and drank alone. But the old housekeeper brought her up a morsel of food and a glass of wine, saying that her master desired that she would take it.
“I will not leave you, my lady, till you have done so,” said Hannah. “To fast so long must be bad always.”
Then she eat the food, and drank a drop of wine, and allowed the old woman to take her away to the bed that had been prepared for her. Of her husband she saw no more for four days. On the next morning a note was brought to her, in which Sir Hugh told her that he had returned to London. It was necessary, he said, that he should see his lawyer and his brother. He and Archie would return for the funeral. With reference to that he had already given orders.
During the next three days, and till her husband’s return, Lady Clavering remained at the rectory, and in the comfort of Mrs. Clavering’s presence she almost felt that it would be well for her if those days could be prolonged. But she knew the hour at which her husband would return, and she took care to be at home when he arrived. “You will come and see him?” she said to the rector, as she left the parsonage. “You will come at once;—in an hour or two?” Mr. Clavering remembered the circumstances of his last visit to the house, and the declaration he had then made that he
