Vain Fortune

rch, Emily and Julia walked back to Ashwood with Mr. Grandly, Mr. Burnett's intimate friend and solicitor. They returned through the park, hardly speaking at all, Emily absent-mi

o the station, so Julia thought, and she was surprised indeed wh

ation to make to both you ladies. Will it su

r as I'm concerne

but if it is about busi

better be prese

ith one lock of white hair. There was an anxious look in his pale, deep-set eyes which impressed Julia,

ful park; it seemed like a fairy tale. And that house, that dear, old-fashioned house, that rambling, funny old place of all sizes and shapes, full of deep staircases and pictures, was hers. Her eyes wandered along the smooth wide drive, down to the placid water crossed by the great ornamental bridge, the island where she had watched the swans floating last

to leave something, even if it were only a few hundred pounds, to his nephew, Hubert Price. But Mr. Burnett was always a very headstrong man; he had quarrelled with this young man, as he said, irreparably, and could not be induced to leave him even a hundred pounds. I thought this was harsh, and as Mr. Burnett's friend I told him so-I have always been opposed to extreme measures,-but he was not to be gainsaid. So the matter remained for many years; never did Mr. Burnett mention his nephew's name. I thought he had forgotten the young man's existence, when, suddenly, without warning, Mr.

yes. Then this house, this room where she was sitting, was n

Mr. Price, is not that his

left Ashwood

d he make th

s just about

omb. She was, in truth, at that moment the subject of a striking picture, and she was even more impressive when she said, speaking slowly: 'Then that old man was even wickede

Burnett absolutely refused to answer me. He said his reasons were h

pped short, and looked

ll him; we have n

short time ago; she, of course, refuse

mily. 'Oh, for the last month we have led

, 'that Mr. Burnett seriously cont

al seemed to drive

d,' he said, suddenly, 'to divine the reason why he changed his will. Disappointed love seemed the only conceivable reason, b

ded his fortune, leaving Ashwood to Mr. P

enevolent face, and he answered: 'Unfortun

Once he thought fit to disinherit me because I would not ma

nd irretrievable nature of this misfortune. The word 'destitute' was at present unrealised, and she only thought that she had been

few days after he wrote to me, saying that he had decided to take my advice and add a codicil. Subsequently, in another letter he mentioned three hundred a year as being the sum he thought he would be in honour bound to leave Miss Watson.

thinking that Mr. Price

sible for any honourabl

w nothing of his quarrel with his uncle. Do you know an

I believe. I have heard

riter of

t is a mistaken notion, but one is apt to imagine that these arti

lia, and involuntarily s

irl, and then he said: 'I don't know

pe so?' said E

arnestly hope Mr. Hubert Price is not married, and shall consider it a great point in our favour if on returning to town I find he is not.' Then assuming a lighter tone, for the nervous str

r uncle to have disinherited him. I have always heard that-but I don't know what I am saying.' Tears welled up into her eyes. 'I daresay my cousin

to the front door. 'You will do all you can to help us? That poor ch

a view of it. Perhaps all will come right in the end. The young man cannot refuse to make good his uncle's intentions. He cannot see his cousin go to the workhouse. I

stop short to think. She had never heard of anything so cruel before. That poor girl-she must go to her; she must not leave her alone any longer. But it would be well to avoid the subject as much as p

true. I cannot bear to think of it. I can see the horrid children tramping up and down the stairs, breaking the things we have known and loved so long; and they will destroy all my flowers, and no one will remember to feed the poor swans. Dandy, my beloved, I shall be able to take you with me.' And s

married-literary men don't often marry. For all you know, he

hould have died when he asked to marry me. The very memory of it is enough to make me hate all men, and prevent me from

ad. It is not right, indeed it isn't.' And this simple Englishw

.. There, that is his chair. I can see him sitting in it now. He is grinning at us; he is saying, "Ha! ha! I have made beggars of you both." You r

get all the years of kindness; he was very good to you, and loved you very much, an

eplied, in a low tone. The conver

rnett... I daresay you will find your cousin a charming young man. I should laugh if it were all to

-bye. You will never leave me-promise me that-you are my only

rl in her arms, she said, 'I'll never leave y

e house in London all to ourselves. And if we get too hard up, we'll both go out as daily governesses. I think I could teach a little music, to young children, you know; you'd teach the older ones.' Emily looked at Julia inqu

of sentiment passing in the minds of those she loved; '

e it will never come

hat horrid, horrid old man. But supposing he had asked you to marry him-he wasn't nice, but you are older than I, and if you ha

go to bed; you let your im

are not cros

I'm only a little tired.

ng, supposing that were to happen? Starving days, pale and haggard, rose up in her memory. What should she do, what should she do, and with that mothe

she might. She would hold to her and fight for her with all her strength, but would she not fall vanquished in the fight; and then, and then? The sam

glancing hastily down the page she said: 'This is a letter

ad

t was the most honourable course for him to take in regard to his 'cousin. This is exactly what he said, but his manner was such that before leaving he left no doubt in my mind whatever that he will act very generously indeed. I should not be surprised if he settled even more than the proposed three hundred a year on Miss Watson. He is a very quiet, thoughtful young man of about two or three and thirty. He looks poor, and I fancy he has lived through very hard times. He wears an air of sadness and disappointment which makes him attractive, and his manners are gentle and refined. I tell you these things, f

anything could be more satisfactory, and just fancy dear old M

he is short or tall

it is a great relief to hear that he is not the vulgar Bohemian we have always understood hi

I should like to know-but not because I want to marry him or any one else; only I don't like th

children so mu

t I'm sure I shouldn't like his children. I drea

id you

er felt in my life before. It is curious that I should dream of him last

you should dream about him, and it was certain that I should receive

-I don't. Something tells me that he wil

never have written this letter unless he knew for certai

sed anything... Even if he does give me three

t on always looking at the melancholy side.... Now I'm going; I'

pres

he other end of the long room, was the round table, where lay the old illustrated editions of Gulliver's Travels and The Arabian Nights, which she used to run to whenever her governess left the room. And at the bottom of the book-cases there were drawers full of strange papers; these drawers she used to open in fear and trembling, so mysterious did they seem to her. And there was

e life seemed drenched with tears at the thought of parting with these things. Every room was full of memories for her. She was a little girl when she came to live at Ashwood, and the room at the top of the stairs had been her nursery. There were the two beds; both were now dismantled and bare. It was in the little bed in the corner that she used to sleep; it was in the old four-poster that her nurse slept. And there was the very place, in front of the fi

ry used to thrill her little soul! Faded rooms whose mystery had departed, but whose gloom was haunted with tenderest recollections. In one corner was the reading-chair in which Mr. Burnett used to sit. At that time she used to sit on his knee, and when the

ad mended it, but she did not remember ever using it again. And there was an old box of water-colours, with which she used to colour all the uncoloured drawings in her picture-books. Emily took the hoo

s from Mr. Grandly, one for Emily and one

can be little doubt that Miss Watson's position is now quite secure. So far so good; but more than ever does the only clear and satisfactory way out of this miserable business seem to me to be a marriage between Mr. Hubert Price and Miss Watson. I have already told you that he is a nice, refined young man, of gentlemanly bearing, good presence, and excellent speech, though a trifle shy and reserved; and, as I have since discovered that he is not married, I have taken upon myself the responsibility of advising him to jump into a train and to go and tell his cousin the conclusion he has come to regarding the will of the late Mr. Burnett. As I ha

door, Julia put the le

, saying that that man is coming here to-day,

the very best

m, or something of that kind. I wouldn't remain her

y not,

o is coming to turn

ou imagine these things.... Do you suppose that Mr. Grandly woul

l have to le

sin; you may like him very much. Let's be guided by Mr. Grandly; I have not s

can, Julia. I h

been dream

n dreaming, but I

Emily. Come and give me a kiss,

t you? Promise me that we shall not

at, and you will promise me

him, no matter what he was like. I feel a sort of hatred in my heart. Don't y