Probation

Adrienne and Sebastian were walking ‘just the opposite way,’ with very little more satisfaction to themselves than Hugo and Helena had found. Helena was constantly picturing Sebastian to herself as engaged in half-intellectual, half-amorous discourse with the ‘nicest of girls;’ his mind elevated by her spiritual observations, and his languid but ever-present sense of superiority (this was Helena’s hypothesis) gratified by her deference to his superior wisdom. It was a comical theory—one worthy of Helena’s vivid imagination and hopelessly impractical ideas; and was, moreover, as far removed from the truth as she herself could possibly have wished. Yes, wished; for while the delusive vision kept dangling before her mental eyes, and while she professed to sneer and scoff at it, it was in reality an ever-present, dull pain, none the less real because not clearly comprehended for what it was.

On this especial evening Adrienne was tired more than usual, and mentally as well as physically weary. An undefined pain and distress had troubled her mind for some weeks—to-day the cloud was very dark. She had seen Sebastian Mallory growing more and more intimate with her uncle, and progressing with great rapidity in the favour of that most fastidious individual; she had seen—how could she help seeing?—Sebastian’s attentions to herself; how, when he was with her, his eyes constantly turned towards her, and how a light flashed into their quietness when they met hers; how his voice, in speaking to her, took a deeper sound. He was good, rich, handsome, clever, kind. She knew all his good qualities, and thoroughly valued them. She approved of him; she liked his presence; it was pleasant to her. She remembered with deep, earnest gratitude his delicate kindness and attention to her in those days gone by, when her troubles with her father, and her terrible struggle against their adverse circumstances had threatened to overwhelm her. ‘I would do anything for you,’ she had said, and had meant it. And yet, now! How painfully, unaccountably, unexpectedly things changed! Thus meditating, her step dragged, and her head drooped a little, as they paced the dreary length of Blake Street together. She did not understand why that load of oppression and longing—that Sehnsucht—should just now lie so heavily upon her heart. Sebastian paused at the gate, and laid his hand upon it, and then Adrienne seemed to see, in a flash of sunlight, Myles Heywood’s tall figure and earnest face; as he, in the same attitude, almost a year ago, had laid his hand upon that wicket, and had opened it for her to pass in. Her heart throbbed—something rose in her throat as she entered.

‘Myles has not been near us for weeks,’ said she to herself. ‘I will go and call there some day, very soon,’ she added valiantly, ‘and ask the reason of it, and if I have done anything to offend them.’

Mr. Blisset, his servant said, was not at all well. He felt very weak, and had gone to bed, and he had left word that if Mr. Mallory called, he particularly wished to see him.

Sebastian followed the man upstairs. Adrienne went into the drawing-room, and mechanically sat down, without even turning up the shaded lamp, and her hands clasped themselves before her upon her knees.

Sebastian sat a long time beside Mr. Blisset’s bed, for their conversation was prolonged. At last Mr. Blisset said,

‘And I have made you one of my executors. I hope you don’t mind. I have so few friends.’

‘I am honoured in being chosen, and will gladly undertake it.’

‘Thank you. Of course, I have left everything to Adrienne. She will be placed above all money troubles; for she is like me, she has no extravagant desires. But I should wish the child to have a staunch friend, and you are different from other young men, or I would not have asked it. Will you be her friend?’

‘It is my most earnest wish. But since we have spoken of this, I may as well tell you the whole truth. I have loved your niece for a long time—for years. When I find an opportunity, I intend asking her to become my wife. Have you anything against it?’

Mr. Blisset pressed the young man’s hand with a clasp which had grown feeble.

‘You make me very happy. I would rather know her safe in your hands than in those of any other man.’

‘I wish you could know it,’ said Sebastian, with a somewhat melancholy smile. ‘I assure you I am far from feeling confident myself, but I hope for the best.’

‘I think you may be quite confident,’ said Mr. Blisset. ‘Poor child! now she need not be alone, and has a fair chance of a safe, untroubled future, such as a woman ought to enjoy.’

Shortly after this Sebastian left him, and went away without seeing Adrienne. Later, she went upstairs to sit with her uncle, and ask if she should read to him.

‘No, thank you, my child. I shall need no more reading now, Adrienne. Your wearisome, monotonous task is almost at an end.’

‘Dear uncle, what do you mean?’

‘I am what men call dying, my dear. Whether it is the end of all things for each one of us, or whether it is but the beginning of an endless succession of advancing lives, very soon I shall know—or I shall not know.’

She kissed his hand.

‘You must not talk in that way. You have been very good to me, and I cannot spare you. I love you, uncle—you must not leave me.’

‘I fear your pleasure will not be consulted on that point, my daughter,’ said he, with a strange half-smile, half-pity, half-deep amusement. ‘Ah! Adrienne, when men have lived—or existed—as I have done, and for so long, they are not sorry when the machinery comes to a stop, and they know no more.’

Much moved and much distressed, she listened to him until he sent her away, telling her to sleep undisturbedly, for he would yet live to talk with her, and convince her that it was for the best.

But he was wrong. When morning dawned, Richard Blisset was at rest, and free from the mantle of pain and weakness which he had worn so long.