hard cash-第156章

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〃Oh；　that　is　your　opinion；　is　it？　And　you；　dear　Julia？〃

Julia　made　no　reply；　but　hid　her　face　in　her　hands　and　sighed　deeply。

〃I　see；〃　said　Alfred　sorrowfully。　〃Even　you　are　against　me　at　heart。　You　judge　by　the　event；　not　the　motive。　There　is　no　justice　in　this　world　for　me。　I'm　sick　of　life。　I　have　no　right　to　keep　the　mistress　of　the　house　out　of　her　own　room：　there；　I'll　go；　my　heart　is　broken。　No；　it　is　not；　and　never　shall　be；　by　anything　that　breathes。　Thank　Heaven；　I　have　got　one　friend　left　in　this　bitter　world：　and　I'll　make　her　the　judge　whether　I　have　deserved　this　last　injustice。　_I'll　go　to　my　sister。_〃

He　jumped　up　and　hobbled　slowly　across　the　room；　while　Julia　and　Edward　sat　chilled　to　the　bone　by　those　five　little　words；　so　simple；　so　natural；　yet　so　incredible；　and　to　the　hearers　so　awful。　They　started；　they　shuddered；　they　sat　petrified；　staring　at　him；　while　he　hobbled　across　the　room　to　go　to　his　sister。

As　he　opened　the　door　to　go　out　he　heard　stout　Edward　groan　and　Julia　utter　a　low　wail。　He　stood　confounded　a　moment。　Then　he　hobbled　down　a　stair　or　two。　But；　ere　he　had　gone　far；　there　was　a　hasty　whispering　in　the　drawing…room；　and　Edward　came　after　him　in　great　agitation；　and　begged　him　to　return；　Julia　must　speak　with　him。　He　turned；　and　his　face　brightened。　Edward　saw　that；　and　turned　his　own　face　away　and　stammered　out；　〃Forget　what　I　said　to　you。　I　am　your　friend；　and　always　must　be　for　her　sake。　No；　no；　I　cannot　go　into　that　room　with　you；　I'll　go　and　comfort　mamma。　Hardie；　old　fellow；　we　are　very　unhappy；　all　of　us。　We　are　too　unhappy　to　quarrel。〃

These　kind　words　soothed　Alfred's　sore　heart。　He　brightened　up　and　entered　the　drawing…room。　He　found　Julia　standing　in　the　middle　of　it；　the　colour　of　ashes。　Alfred　was　alarmed。　〃You　are　unwell；　dearest；〃　he　cried；　〃you　will　faint。　What　have　I　done　with　my　ungoverned　temper？〃　He　moved　towards　her　with　a　face　full　of　concern。

〃No；　Alfred；〃　said　she　solemnly；　〃I　am　not　the　least　ill。　It　is　sorrow；　deep　sorrow　for　one　I　love　better　than　all　the　world。　Sit　down　beside　me；　my　poor　Alfred；　andGod　help　me　to　speak　to　him！〃

Alfred　began　to　feel　dire　misgivings。

〃Yes；〃　said　she；　〃I　love　you　too　well　to　let　any　hand　but　mine　wound　you。〃　And　here　she　took　his　sinewy　hand　with　her　soft　palm。　〃I　want　to　soften　it　in　the　telling：　and　ah；　how　can　I？　Oh；　why　can　I　not　throw　myself　body　and　soul　between　you　and　all　trouble；　all　sorrow？〃

〃My　Julia；〃　said　Alfred　gravely；　〃something　has　happened　to　Jane。〃

〃Yes；　Alfred。　She　met　with　a　terrible　accident。〃

〃Ah！〃

〃She　was　struck　by　an　unfortunate　man；　he　was　not　in　his　right　mind。〃

〃Struck？　My　sister　struck。　What；　was　there　no　man　by？〃

〃No。　Edward　nearly　killed　him　afterwards。〃

〃God　bless　him。〃

〃Alfred；　be　patient。　It　was　too　late。〃

〃What；　is　she　hurt　seriously？　Is　she　disfigured？〃

〃No；　Alfred；〃　said　Julia　solemnly；　〃she　is　not　disfigured；　oh　far　from　that。〃

〃Julia；　you　alarm　me。　This　comes　of　shutting　her　brother　up。　May　Heaven's　eternal　curse　light　on　those　who　did　it。　My　poor　little　sister！　How　you　weep；　Julia。　My　heart　is　lead。〃

〃I　weep　for　you；　darling；　not　for　her。〃

〃Ah；　that　is　how　they　talk　when　those　we　love　areOne　word！　I　shall　never　see　my　poor　little　Jenny　again；　shall　I？〃

〃Yes；　Alfred；　if　you　will　but　follow　her　steps　and　believe　in　Him；　who　soothed　her　last　hour；　and　made　her　face　shine　with　joy　like　an　angel's　while　we　all　wept　around。　Oh　dear；　oh　dear；　oh　dear；　he　said　he　had　but　one　true　friend　in　the　world。　Alas　it　is　so；　you　have　but　me　now；　who　pity　you　and　love　you　more　than　heart　can　utter；　my　own；　my　beloved；　my　bereaved。〃

What　could　soften　such　a　shock　as　this？　It　fell；　and　his　anguish　was　frightful；　all　the　more　so　that　he　ascribed　the　calamity　to　his　imprisonment；　and　mingled　curses　and　threats　of　vengeance　with　his　bursts　of　grief。　He　spurned　the　consolations　of　religion：　he　said　heaven　was　as　unjust　as　earth；　as　cruel　as　hell。

She　cried　out　and　stopped　his　mouth　with　her　hand；　she　almost　forced　him　to　kneel　beside　her；　and　prayed　aloud　for　him：　and　when　at　last　his　agony　found　vent　in　tears；　she　put　her　innocent　arms　round　his　neck　and　wept　with　him。

Every　now　and　then　the　poor　fellow　would　almost　shriek　with　remorse。　〃Oh；　if　I　had　only　been　kinder　to　her！　if　I　had　but　been　kinder　to　her！〃

〃You　were　kind　to　her；〃　said　Julia　softly；　but　firmly。　〃Oh；　no；　I　was　always　sneering　at　her。　And　why？　I　knew　her　religion　was　sincere：　but　my　little　mind　fixed　on　a　few　phrases　she　had　picked　up　from　others；　and　I〃　He　could　say　no　more；　but　groaned　with　anguish。　And　let　his　remorse　be　a　caution　to　us　all。　Bereaved　we　all　must　be；　who　live　on　and　on：　but　_this；_　bereavement's　bitterest　drop；　we　may　avoid。

〃Alfred；〃　said　Julia；　〃do　not　torment　yourself。　We　girls　care　little　about　a　few　sarcasms；　it　is　the　cold　heart　that　wounds　us。　You　loved　Jane；　and　she　knew　it　well；　and　joyed　in　it。　You　were　kinder　to　her　than　you　think；　and　so　her　dying　thoughts　were　for　you。　It　was　for　you　she　asked；　and　made　your　father　send　for　you；　and　poor　I　hoped　you　would　come。　And；　dearest；　her　last　act　was　to　write　a　few　words　to　you；　and　trust　them　to　her　who　she　knew　loved　you　better　than　heart　can　utter。　Since　it　was　her　wish；　let　us　try　and　read　them　together；　the　last　words　of　a　saint　（I　have　never　seen　them）；　and；　if　they　do　not　prove　words　of　love；　then　I　will　let　you　think　you　were　not　a　good　brother　to　her　you　and　I；　and　poor；　poor　Edward；　have　lost。〃

He　made　a　sad　sign　of　assent；　and　Julia　rose　and　got　the　enclosure。　But；　as　Jane's　last　written　words　reappeared　on　the　scene　in　a　somewhat　remarkable　way；　I　will　only　say　here；　that　both　these　poor　young　things　tried　in　vain　to　read　them；　and　both　in　turn　burst　out　sobbing；　so　that　they　could　not：　so　they　held　the　paper　and　tried　to　see　the　words　out　of　their　streaming　eyes。　And　these　two　mourners　had　the　room　to　themselves　till　midnight；　for　even　Mrs。　Dodd's　hostility　respected　Alfred　then；　and　as　for　Julia；　she　was　one　of　those　who　rise　with　the　occasion：　she　was　half　wife；　half　angel　from　Heaven　to　her　bereaved　lover　through　all　those　bitter　hours。



CHAPTER　XLVIII。

No　life　was　ever　yet　a　play：　I　mean；　an　unbroken　sequence　of　dramatic　incidents。　Calms　will　come；　unfortunately　for　the　readers；　happily　for　the　read。　And　I　remember　seeing　it　objected　to　novelists；　by　a　young　gentleman　just　putting　his　foot　for　the　first　time　into　〃Criticism；〃　that　the　writers　aforesaid　suppress　the　small　intermediate　matters　which　in　real　life　come　by　the　score　between　each　brilliant　event：　and　so　present　the　ordinary　and　the　extraordinary　parts　of　life　in　false　proportions。　Now；　if　this　remark　had　been　offered　by　way　of　contrast　between　events　themselves　and　all　mortal　attempts　to　reproduce　them　upon　paper　or　the　stage；　it　would　have　been　philosophical；　but　it　was　a　strange　error　to　denounce　the　practice　as　distinctive　of　fiction：　for　it　happens　to　be　the　one　trait　the　novelist　and　dramatist　have　in　common　with　the　evangelist。　The　Gospels　skip　fifteen　years　of　the　most　interesting　life　Creation　has　witnessed；　they　relate　Christ's　birth　in　full；　but　hurry　from　His　boyhood　to　the　more　stirring　events　of　His　thirtieth　and　subsequent　years。　And　all　the　inspired　histories　do　much　the　same　thing。　The　truth　is；　that　epics；　dramas；　novels；　histories；　chronicles；　reports　of　trials　at　law；　in　a　word；　all　narratives　true　or　fictitious；　except　those　which；　true　or　fictitious；　nobody　reads；　abridge　the　uninteresting　facts　as　Nature　never　did；　and　dwell　as　Nature　never　did　on　the　interesting　ones。

Can　nothing；　however；　be　done　to　restore；　in　the　reader's　judgment；　that　just　balance　of　〃the　sensational〃　and　the　〃soporific；〃　which　all　writers；　that　have　readers；　disturb？　Nothing；　I　think；　without　his　own　assistance。　But　surely　something　with　it。　And；　therefore；　I　throw　myself　on　the　intelligence　of　my　readers；　and　ask　them　to　realise；　that　henceforth　pages　are　no　strict　measure　of　time；　and　that　to　a　year　big　with　strange　events；　on　which　I　have　therefore　dilated　in　this　story；　succeeded　a　year　in　which　few　brilliant　things　happened　to　the　personages　of　this　tale：　in　short；　a　year　to　be　skimmed　by　chronicler　or　novelist；