Ellen came in, expecting to regale her eyes with the
newest fashions. Or were they all coming down
from the dressmaker?
“I had no time to be worried with dressmakers,”
said Caroline.
“I thought you went there while the girls were
going about with Mrs. Acton.”
“Indeed no. I had just got my new bonnet
for the winter.”
“But!”
“And indeed, I have not inherited any
more heads.”
Ellen sighed at the impracticability of her sister-in-law
and the blindness of fortune. But nobody could
sigh long in the face of that Twelfth-day Christmas-tree.
What need be said of it but that each member of the
house of Brownlow, and each of its dependents, obtained
the very thing that the bright-eyed fairy of the family
had guessed would be most acceptable.
Happiest of all, in that her gentle spirit
Commits itself to yours to be directed.
Merchant
of Venice.
“It is our melancholy duty to record the demise
of James Barnes, Esq., which took place at his residence
at Belforest Park, near Kenminster, on the 20th of
December. The lamented gentleman had long been
in failing health, and an attack of paralysis, which
took place on the 19th, terminated fatally.
The vast property which the deceased had accumulated,
chiefly by steamboat and railway speculations in the
West Indies, rendered him one of the richest proprietors
in the county. We understand that the entire
fortune is bequeathed solely to his grand-niece, Mrs.
Caroline Otway Brownlow, widow of the late Joseph
Brownlow, Esq., and at present resident in the Pagoda,
Kenminster Hill. Her eldest son, Allen Brownlow,
Esq., is being educated at Eton.”
That was the paragraph which David Ogilvie placed
before the eyes of his sister in a newspaper lent
to him in the train by a courteous fellow-traveller.
“Poor Caroline!” said Mary.
They said no more till the next day, when, after the
English service at Florence, they were strolling together
towards San Miniato, and feeling themselves entirely
alone.
“I wonder whether this is true,” began
Mary at last.
“Why not true?”
“I thought Mr. Barnes had threatened the boys
that they should remember the Midas escapade.”
“It must have been only a threat. It could
only lie between her and the Spanish child; and, if
report be true, even the half would be an enormous
fortune.”
“Will it be fortune or misfortune, I wonder?”
“At any rate, it puts an end to my chances of
being of any service to her. Be it the half
or the whole, she is equally beyond my reach.”
“As she was before.”
“Don’t misinterpret me, Mary. I
mean out of reach of helping her in any way.
I was of little use to her before. I could not
save little Armine from those brutal bullies, and
never suspected the abuse that engulphed Bobus.
I am not fit for a schoolmaster.”
