"Yes, poor fellow. My brother lived up to the mark, perhaps a little too much so; but who was to foresee such a calamity as this?"

After a little more discussion the party broke up,--the lawyer gathering together the papers and Mr. Wilton's will with a half sigh, as he said,--

"This is so much waste paper now. It is a melancholy story, and there are hundreds like it. Nothing but losses all round."

Dr. Loftus Wilton strolled out into the grounds when he was left alone.

He would put off talking to the children till the next day, he thought, and there was no immediate necessity to do so. He was sorry for them; but he had a large family, and a hard fight to provide for them out of a professional income as a doctor in a fashionable watering-place, where much was required in the way of appearance, and people were valued very much by what they wore, and very little by what they were. The summer was always a flat time at Roxburgh, and hence Dr. Loftus Wilton could better afford the time away from his practice. "There are good schools at Roxburgh for the small boys, and the two girls could get advantages,"

he thought; "but then Anna will not trouble herself about poor Arthur's family. In fact, she would not care to have them there. Still, I must do my duty. She and Emily never did hit it off. Anna thought she patronized her; and now it would be the other way, poor things." And then Dr.

Wilton lighted another cigar and paced up and down the garden, till at last he found himself on the wooden bridge, and in the stillness of the summer evening heard voices. He went on, and came upon the lake, on the bank of which three black figures were sitting--Salome and her two elder brothers. The opportunity was too good to be lost, and knocking the ashes off his cigar end, Dr. Wilton descended, saying,--

"The very people I wanted to see.--Here, Reginald, my boy, stop--Raymond, I mean."

But Raymond, at the sight of his uncle, had suddenly left his seat, and, with his hands in his pockets, had disappeared in the tangled shrubbery which led away from the lake on the other side.

Reginald, however, stopped when his uncle called, and Salome, rising, said,--

"Did you want us, Uncle Loftus?" The pale, tear-stained face and little slight figure, in its black, sombre dress, touched Dr. Wilton.

"Yes, my dear; I came to talk with you and your eldest brother, as--well, as reasonable people. Sit down, Salome," and he drew her towards him on the bench.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'Sit down, Salome', and Dr. Wilton drew her toward him on the bench." _Page 33._]

"You know, my dear," he began, "you know you will have to leave Maplestone at once,--the sooner for all of you the better, I think,--for the place is in the possession of your poor father's creditors. Now, my dear, listen to me."

"I am listening, Uncle Loftus," Salome said.

"I cannot do much for you, for I have a large family and many expenses; but I have been thinking Roxburgh would be a good place for you all to live in. The small boys could go to school, and--"

"I mean to teach Carl and Hans, Uncle Loftus. There are Raymond and Reginald. Reginald is not fourteen."

"Oh, well, Reginald must have a year or two more, I suppose. But Raymond is well over sixteen; he must work for his living."

"And there is Ada, Uncle Loftus,--she must go on with her lessons."

"My dear, I am afraid _must_ is a word we shall have to leave alone now.

It is what you can afford out of your poor mother's income, not what you _must_ have. Now I want you to ask her what she thinks of my plan. If she approves it, I will look for a small furnished lodging, somewhere in Roxburgh, and I will speak to your Aunt Anna--only you must get your mother's mind about it first. I shall see her to-morrow before I leave, and you can prepare her for my proposition. You must take heart, my dear. Things may brighten."

"Nothing can bring father back," said Salome pa.s.sionately. "I could bear anything if only I had him. To have worked so hard for us, and then to die ruined and broken-hearted!"

Dr. Wilton had nothing to say except, "My dear, don't fret--pray don't.

From what I have observed as a medical man, I think your poor father's life would not have been a long one at the best. He had a slight attack, you know, two years ago, when I advised him to go abroad for a few weeks for entire rest. And this fearful blow was too much for him--brought on the last attack of paralysis, which proved fatal. Your brothers ought not to have gone off in that way."

"I am here, Uncle Loftus," Reginald said. "I have heard every word; I am ready to do anything to help my mother," he continued, drawing himself upright from the long gra.s.s where he had been lying full length.

"That's a brave little man," Dr. Wilton said. "I wish your brother may show the same good feeling." And then he relighted his cigar, and went over the bridge again.

"How unfeeling he is!" were Reginald's first words. "Oh, dear Sal, _don't_!" for Salome was sobbing bitterly. "Don't, Sal; and, for any sake, don't let us go to Roxburgh to be patronized by that set of heartless people. Let's stick together, and go and live near a big school, where I can go as a day boy. Not at Rugby though; I shouldn't like that. The fellows in Crawford's house might look down on me as a day boy. It is hard to have to leave Rugby; but I don't mean to give up because I have to do my work somewhere else. One's work doesn't alter--that's one comfort; and I'll do my best. And I have got _you_, Sal; that's more than most fellows can say, for sisters like you don't grow like blackberries in the hedge."

"O Reg! I am sure I have not been of much use to you, only I think I understand you. And, Reg"--this was said very earnestly--"you must tell me always when I am untidy, and wake me up when I am in a dream, and remind me to put my books away, and not leave everything in a higgledy-piggledy fashion."

"Oh, bother it! clever girls like you, who are always thinking and making up stories and verses, often are all of a heap."

"But that does not make it right, Reg; and I am not a bit clever, really. Think of Ada--how beautifully she works and plays and draws! and I don't do one of those things. Sometimes I think I might make a very little money by writing a story. You know I have written heaps, and torn them up, but now I shall keep the next and read it to you. I have got it all straight in my head, not a hitch anywhere. Reg, isn't it strange I can make all things in my stories go so pit-pat and right, and yet I never can keep my goods straight? Why--would you believe it?--I've already lost one of my new black kid gloves with four b.u.t.tons. I can't find it _anywhere_. It just shows what I shall have to do to _make_ myself orderly."

"Ah!" said Reginald, "I see; if I were you, Sal, I would have some of my hair cut off."

"I have turned it up," Salome said; "I thought I had better try to do it myself to-day."

"Yes; but there is a great pin sticking out, and a long tail hanging down, and"--Reginald hesitated--"it makes you _look_ as if you weren't quite trim. Trim isn't prim, you know, Sal."

"No; that's right, Reginald. Tell me just what you think, won't you, and I will tell you. I suppose," she went on, "such a sorrow as ours makes us think more of G.o.d. We are forced to think of Him; but, O Reg! I have been thinking of Him before this trouble--His love and care for every tiny creature, and giving us so many beautiful things. I feel as if no loss of money could take _them_ away--the sky, the sunshine, the flowers--all signs of G.o.d's love. And then even _this_ comes from Him; and I know He is love, and so I try to bear it."

"You are awfully good, Salome," Reginald said in a husky voice. "You know that talk we had at Easter. I have done what you said ever since, you know. Not that I always or ever get much good from it; but I always read the verses you said you would, and try to say a real prayer in chapel. The dear old chapel," Reginald said; "fancy if I never see it again!"

The brother and sister sat in silence for a few minutes, and then Salome said, "I must go to mother now, and tell her what Uncle Loftus wishes, and try to find Raymond. Poor Ray! it is worse for him than for any of us somehow. Ray was made to be rich."

"He'll have to get a lot of nonsense knocked out of him, I expect,"

Reginald said, as he and Salome parted--Reginald turning off to the stables to see poor Captain, who had been brought back comparatively worthless. And Salome, going to her mother's room, met Raymond on the stairs. To her surprise he said,--

"Come here, Sal; I want to speak with you."

They went into the library together, now so full of memories to Salome that she could hardly restrain her tears; but she was always saying to herself, "I must keep up for mother's sake, and not be weak and useless."

"I say, Salome, don't you be taken in by Uncle Loftus; he is going to ride over us, and I won't stand it. I shall not go to Roxburgh, and so I shall tell him. I must try and get into--well, into the militia, and--"

"Raymond, you cannot do it. There is only just enough money to keep mother and all of us. You don't seem to take it in, Ray. Dear Ray! I am dreadfully sorry for you, for you will feel it most; but you would do anything for mother, and if you went into a bank or an office you might soon get rich and--"

"Rich! whoever heard such nonsense? I shall go and see Mr. Calvert the first thing to-morrow, and tell him how Uncle Loftus tries to put us down."

Salome was really astonished at her brother's unreasonableness and absolute childishness; and Ada coming in to say mother wanted Salome directly, she left her with Raymond, despairing of making any impression upon him.

CHAPTER III.

EDINBURGH CRESCENT.

Dr. Wilton was too busy all the day after his return to Roxburgh to think much about his nieces and nephews at Maplestone. The incessant calls on a medical man in the full swing of practice in a place like Roxburgh are urgent and cannot be put aside. He came in to dinner at half-past seven, and the scene of his home comfort and his elder children seated round him brought back to him forcibly the condition of his brother's widow and his family.

When the servant had left the room, Dr. Wilton said,--

"I have advised these poor things to come here for the winter anyhow, Anna. Can you look for lodgings for them to-morrow? I think there may be some to be had cheap down by St. Luke's Church."

"Come here, Loftus! You surely are not going to bring Emily and the children here, the most expensive place to decide upon."

"Well, I don't know what else to advise. You see we might show them some attention, and help them on a little. The boys could go to the college, and the girls get advantages which will fit them for teaching. Poor things! it makes my heart ache when I think of them, I can tell you."