HER WINNING WAYS.

A NOVEL.

XLVII.

THE HOUSE OF MOURNING.

O MISERY, or whatever be thy name, thou for the date of whose beginning we need not search, found wherever light has crossed the driftways of man, art thou unavoidable, even amidst our pastimes, or is thy sudden leap at the bidding of folly and crime?

Thou now hast thy impropriator and his children in thy writhing folds, and thy incumbent, who takes his tithe in kind. Tofts is thy present abode; its groves are daubed with thy tints; its sunset gilds feebly the ghastlier tones of death.

John Master was alarmed at the change in his uncle; never had such a manner as that which the baronet manifested put his feelings, intellect, or sense to the test before; it was passionless, it was stern from its very apathy, and the cold voice was that of an automaton. It told him that he was pitied by his victim, that the sufferer lay collapsed, that he was about to sleep, that he desired to take leave of one whom he loved, and counted on the departure of his destroyer.

The man listened to the circumstantial report as it reached him from the mouth of one who read from a copy, who barely understood the purport of his speech. It was a more terrible threat than any accuser could have uttered.

The lonesome halls and corridors of Tofts are now thy world, unhappy man! Thy paces to and fro measure out the circuit of a wanderer. Why is the silence lighted up: is not all over?

Whom he met he asked the same question of, vacantly: "How is he now?" He stood in turn before the butler, the footman, the maid; his haggard eye stopped each in turn, and he still offered up to their pale faces the burden of his soul: "How is he now?"

He walked to the offices, stood at the doors before servants with downcast looks, as if what he wanted he had forgot, as if when in sight of the human eye he did not know it by sight. He wandered again round his world while the moments stood still to listen to their own tick: while the thoughts reflected each other, image within image, until the last was a shadow.

He walked up and down all day; the hours seemed to stop at

his frequent gaze; still night was in wait for him, only to greet him with lamps for false moons, as, swinging in the air, they mocked him.

The midnight hour sounded. It was to him the passing-bell. Its last sound ended where eternity began; he stopped. Then a carriage drove up; the doors were thrown open; it was for the Count de Fleury and Mr. Travers, who entered.

Master walked up to the great surgeon with the words: 66 Sir, I am that unhappy man!"

He then began his wanderings again.

Not many have experienced the sensation created on such an occasion as this, when the godlike assistance of a true and justly famed surgeon is secured. All about him is noble, whatever his bearing, for the lustre of skill covers him-a gift wrested from nature by a life of toil. But Travers had a mien that did honour to the art he had mastered, and a judgment too well practised to take a step before he had examined into every fact, and weighed it well. He asked at once to be shown to Mr. Fawkes's room, and he there passed a quarter of an hour. His examination of the patient over, he retired with Sir Jacob Fawkes and the Count de Fleury.

"Before procceding further, I would ask a question; or rather I would presume that it was Mr. Master who spoke to me as I came in?"

"It was," replied the Count de Fleury.

The circumstance was explained to Sir Jacob.
"Why do you ask," Sir Jacob Fawkes inquired.
"It is no matter now; I wished to be certain."

Mr. Travers then gave his opinion distinctly that, much as the joint was injured, removal was inadmissible.

"In such cases," he said, "it is an established rule not to operate at all unless it can be done immediately after the accident, that is, during the collapse, while the pulse flags and the surface is cold. This may surprise you, but, at that stage, the shock of the knife is not felt by the system; it rather rouses its energies; and it would be well if this were more generally known. In the present case, the opportunity has gone by, for reaction has set in, and it is the sole remaining chance, though surrounded with danger from mortification. The use of the knife now would inflict a second shock as serious as that of the accident; it would cause a relapse, without a reasonable prospect of reaction a second time, or of final recovery."

Thus Siche and Sorry were both wrong, though they did differ; and Sir Jacob, though he grieved that timely advice had not been at hand, had cause to rejoice at having enjoined delay. He was

satisfied with the opinion he now received, for though new to him, it approved itself to his common sense.

"I must tell you, for your comfort," added Travers, "that had the knife been resorted to, it would not have diminished the danger at once: it would only, in the event that the patient shows strength to rally from the general shock, have anticipated the evil attendant on such a wound, the increased danger of an operation later. However, should he unhappily sink from this first shock, no operation would have saved him; indeed, you might then have thought that he had succumbed to the knife, and not to the blow."

This intelligence, too, was highly prized.

After this, Mr. Travers consulted with the surgeons, explaining

to them in detail the conclusions he had reached.

It was one o'clock when the baronet, taking Mr. Travers, and with him Count de Fleury, into his library, where refreshments were laid, asked the surgeon if he could remain at Tofts Hall the next day.

It was with great satisfaction that he received an affirmative

answer.

September, the month of sport, is holiday-time for the élite of the medical profession; they take their excursions to the Highlands or abroad, while the wealthy classes are out of town, in the same search for health and pleasure as themselves, and leave the steady-going aspirant to glean after their own rich harvest is gathered in. It was, therefore, easy for Travers to gratify the baronet, who at once admired the man, and felt a desire to intrust him with his confidence.

It requires a lifetime to make a friend; indeed, the only safe course is to breed one and rear him yourself. Still, in the hour of need, one is to be found ready-made in the high-bred medical man, who is trained by his calling to be the friend of humanity.

The father learnt from Travers, and he saw it himself, that his son could not recover; the reaction had excited vain hope for a time, but as the night advanced, the cold sweats, the quick breathing recurred, and stimulants were unavailing. The conversation had scarcely began when it was interrupted by messages from the sick-room, responded to by Travers, whose mind was stored with expedients and resources with which to meet the crisis; but if he left the room, it was only to be recalled.

At about two o'clock, Olive ran into the study, wild yet calm, agitated yet still, as if paralysis had fallen on her soul to soothe its anguish. "Father," she breathed, he wants you," and she sat down as not remembering she was there.

Sir Jacob went instantly, and felt the cold breath as he leaned over his son.

"I am off!" said the place." He panted and died.

Mr. Travers had followed him to the room; the father remained some minutes at the bedside with his eyes fixed in fasci

nation.

Travers roused him by placing his hand on the father's arm; not yet was he the mourner.

"Yes, it is too late to watch," said he, and having kissed his son, he closed the eyes of the dead. "Follow me to my room," said he, looking at Travers. "Olive, my dear, the will of Heaven is fulfilled; be firm; take Janet to your own chamber, and you can weep in each other's arms.”

Mrs. Boldero was with Olive. She had gone to her in the library, and, suppressing her own grief, she took her to her room, where she had previously led Janet; they were both too much stunned to shed tears, and were passive as children, worn out, not by excitement, but by a paralysing sorrow.

Sir Jacob closed his door, closeted once more with Travers and De Fleury. He spoke only after long intervals, and then in short

sentences.

"Do you think it would be advisable for you to see Master," was one, but not the first remark that escaped him.

"It might be kind to do so on my part," was Mr. Travers's reply.

"Not on that account," said Sir Jacob.

"To inform him, I mean, of this sad conclusion."

"Not on that account," repeated the baronet.

"Then I will decline the interview; nothing is to be gained

by it."

"What is your idea, M. Fleury?" Sir Jacob asked.

"He will have plenty to tell him," was the answer.

"He ought to quit the Hall," the baronet said, and he rang the

bell.

Butler appeared at the door.

"What did I ring for? Is Mrs. Boldero with the young ladies?"

"Yes, Sir Jacob."

"Tell her to insist on their taking some refreshment; they have had none."

"She has rung for tea, sir."

"Have you anything to say to me, Butler ?"

Count de Fleury hinted to the butler about Mr. Master.

"Yes, sir. Mr. Master is gone; he begged me to say that" "That is sufficient-another time," replied the baronet, intimating that no more need be added.

"Do you require rest, at present?" the baronet inquired equally of the two others.

"Not I."

"Nor I.”

"Then I will tax your friendship a few minutes longer, late as is the hour."

XLVIII.

THE STERN RESOLUTION.

"Now, tell me," Sir Jacob Fawkes began, addressing Mr. Travers, "what was the purport of your remark concerning the meeting between you and Master on your arrival? I noticed in your manner that which assured me it was no idle inquiry."

"You are right. I could not fail to be much struck both by his manner and by his words, for the same words had been addressed to a colleague of mine occupying much the same position as myself, and in the same manner, only a year since. Perhaps the circumstances are not altogether unknown to you. An accident very similar to this occurred in Essex, at the beginning of last season, to a Mr. Fortescue, a clergyman.'

"At Drury's place!" the baronet exclaimed.

"The same; Mr. Fortescue received the charge in the kneejoint. He was an elderly man. He, too, very soon sank from the effects of the accident."

"I remember it perfectly, and have thought of it many times this day."

"The surgeon who was sent for, whom I have already spoken of, is the father-in-law of the unfortunate gentleman whose carelessness had caused this calamity, and he is a man much beloved and courted, more so than any man in the profession. The poor fellow who had done the mischief sent off for him at once. My old colleague had served formerly in the army; he was a friend of the Drurys, therefore his assistance would prove extremely welcome, the more so as it was difficult to obtain it, for he had in some measure given up practice in favour of country life. He, however, did not hesitate to respond to the summons of his kinsman, who was in great distress of mind. On his arrival-this my friend told me his son-in-law met him in the hall, and ex claimed: Sir, I am that unhappy man!' and then retired to hide his grief and shame.

"You can readily imagine that the coincidence struck me very forcibly; and as scientific men think over everything that happens, perhaps too much, I asked myself whether human nature, under Nov.-VOL. CXLVII. NO. DXCIX.

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