In reality, Mr. Irwine proposed this journey to Stoniton
for Adam’s own sake. Movement, with some
object before him, was the best means of counteracting
the violence of suffering in these first hours.
“You will go with me to Stoniton, Adam?”
he said again, after a moment’s pause.
“We have to see if it is really Hetty who is
there, you know.”
“Yes, sir,” said Adam, “I’ll
do what you think right. But the folks at th’
Hall Farm?”
“I wish them not to know till I return to tell
them myself. I shall have ascertained things
then which I am uncertain about now, and I shall return
as soon as possible. Come now, the horses are
ready.”
The Bitter Waters Spread
Mr. Irwine returned from Stoniton in a post-chaise
that night, and the first words Carroll said to him,
as he entered the house, were, that Squire Donnithorne
was dead—found dead in his bed at ten o’clock
that morning—and that Mrs. Irwine desired
him to say she should be awake when Mr. Irwine came
home, and she begged him not to go to bed without
seeing her.
“Well, Dauphin,” Mrs. Irwine said, as
her son entered her room, “you’re come
at last. So the old gentleman’s fidgetiness
and low spirits, which made him send for Arthur in
that sudden way, really meant something. I suppose
Carroll has told you that Donnithorne was found dead
in his bed this morning. You will believe my
prognostications another time, though I daresay I
shan’t live to prognosticate anything but my
own death.”
“What have they done about Arthur?” said
Mr. Irwine. “Sent a messenger to await
him at Liverpool?”
“Yes, Ralph was gone before the news was brought
to us. Dear Arthur, I shall live now to see him
master at the Chase, and making good times on the
estate, like a generous-hearted fellow as he is.
He’ll be as happy as a king now.”
Mr. Irwine could not help giving a slight groan:
he was worn with anxiety and exertion, and his mother’s
light words were almost intolerable.
“What are you so dismal about, Dauphin?
Is there any bad news? Or are you thinking of
the danger for Arthur in crossing that frightful Irish
Channel at this time of year?”
“No, Mother, I’m not thinking of that;
but I’m not prepared to rejoice just now.”
“You’ve been worried by this law business
that you’ve been to Stoniton about. What
in the world is it, that you can’t tell me?”
“You will know by and by, mother. It would
not be right for me to tell you at present. Good-night:
you’ll sleep now you have no longer anything
to listen for.”
Mr. Irwine gave up his intention of sending a letter
to meet Arthur, since it would not now hasten his
return: the news of his grandfather’s death
would bring him as soon as he could possibly come.
He could go to bed now and get some needful rest,
before the time came for the morning’s heavy
duty of carrying his sickening news to the Hall Farm
and to Adam’s home.
