Diana Tempest | Page 7

Gradually
wealth had gathered round Overleigh, as the lichen had gathered round

its gray stones. There were coal-mines now among the marsh-lands of
William the Conqueror's favourite, harbours and towns along the
sea-coast. Tempest of Overleigh was a power, a name that might be felt,
that had been felt. The name ranked high among the great commoners
of England. Titles and honours of various kinds s had been offered it
from time to time. But for a Tempest to be a Tempest was enough. And
Overrleigh Castle had remained their solitary dwelling-place. Houses
were built for younger sons, but the head of the family made his home
invariably at Overleigh itself. There were town houses in London and
York, but country seats were not multiplied. To be a Tempest was
enough. To live and die at Overleigh was enough.
Someone was dying at Overleigh now. Mr. Tempest had come to that
pass, and was taking it very quietly, as he had taken everything so far,
from the elopement of his betrothed with his brother fourteen years ago,
to the death of his poor, pretty faithless wife in the room where he was
now lying; the round oak-panelled room, which followed the outer wall
of the western tower; the room in which he had been born, where
Tempests had arrived and departed, and lain in state. And now, after a
solitary life, he was dying as he had lived, alone.
He had gone too far down the steep path which leads no man knows
whither, to care much for anything that he was leaving behind. He had
not read his brother's letter announcing his coming. It lay with a pile of
others for someone hereafter to sort or burn. Mr. Tempest had done
with letters, had done with everything except Death. The pressure of
Death's hand was heavy on him, upon his eyes, upon his heart. He had
been a punctual man all his life. He hoped he should not be kept
waiting long.
Colonel Tempest followed the servant with inward trepidation across
the white stone hall. He had been at once admitted, for it was known
that Mr.Tempest was dying, and the only wonder in the minds of nurse
and doctor and servants was that his only brother had not arrived before.
The servant led the way along the picture-gallery. A child was playing
at the further end of it under the Velasquez; or, to speak more correctly,
was looking earnestly out of one of the low mullioned windows. The

voice of the young year was calling him from without, as the spring
calls only the young. But he might not go out to-day, though there were
nests waiting for him, and holiday glories in wood and meadow that his
soul longed after. He had been told he must stay in, in case that stern
silent father who was dying should ask for him. John did not think he
would want him, for when had he ever wanted him yet? but he
remained at his post at the window, breathing his silent longing into a
little mist on the pane.
He looked round as Colonel Tempest and Archie approached, and then
came gravely forward and put out a strong little brown hand.
Colonel Tempest just touched it without speaking, and turned his eyes
away. He could not trust himself to look again at the erect, dignified
little figure with its square dark face. When had there ever been a dark
Tempest?
The two boys, near of an age, looked each other straight in the eyes.
Archie was the younger and the taller of the two.
'Are you John?' he asked at once.
'Yes.'
'John what?'
'No. John Amyas Tempest.'
'Archie,' said Colonel Tempest, who had grown rather pale, 'you can
stay here with--until I send for you.' And with one backward glance at
them he followed the servant to an ante-room, where the doctor
presently came to him.
'I am his only brother,' said Colonel Tempest hoarsely. 'Can I see him?'
'Certainly, my dear sir, certainly; but at the same time all agitation, all
tendency to excitement, must be rigorously avoided.'
'Is he really dying?' interrupted Colonel Tempest.

'He is.'
'How long has he?'
Colonel Tempest felt as if a hand were tightening round his throat. The
doctor shrugged his shoulders.
'Three hours. Five hours. He might live through the night. I cannot say.'
'There would be time,' said Colonel Tempest to himself; and, not
without a shuddering foreboding that his brother might die in his actual
presence, without giving him time to bolt, he entered the sick-room,
from which the doctor had beckoned the nurse, and closed the door.
The room was full of light, for the dying man been oppressed by the
darkness in which he lay, and a vain attempt