The Doings of Raffles Haw | Page 2

"Ha!" She raised her finger, and a smile of triumph played over her
face, only to die away again into a blank look of disappointment. "It is
only papa," she murmured.
A shuffling step was heard in the hall, and a little peaky man, with his
slippers very much down at the heels, came shambling into the room.
Mr. McIntyre, sen., was pale and furtive-looking, with a thin straggling
red beard shot with grey, and a sunken downcast face. Ill-fortune and
ill-health had both left their marks upon him. Ten years before he had
been one of the largest and richest gunmakers in Birmingham, but a
long run of commercial bad luck had sapped his great fortune, and had
finally driven him into the Bankruptcy Court. The death of his wife on
the very day of his insolvency had filled his cup of sorrow, and he had
gone about since with a stunned, half-dazed expression upon his weak
pallid face which spoke of a mind unhinged. So complete had been his
downfall that the family would have been reduced to absolute poverty
were it not for a small legacy of two-hundred a year which both the
children had received from one of their uncles upon the mother's side
who had amassed a fortune in Australia. By combining their incomes,
and by taking a house in the quiet country district of Tamfield, some
fourteen miles from the great Midland city, they were still able to live
with some approach to comfort. The change, however, was a bitter one
to all--to Robert, who had to forego the luxuries dear to his artistic
temperament, and to think of turning what had been merely an
overruling hobby into a means of earning a living; and even more to
Laura, who winced before the pity of her old friends, and found the
lanes and fields of Tamfield intolerably dull after the life and bustle of
Edgbaston. Their discomfort was aggravated by the conduct of their
father, whose life now was one long wail over his misfortunes, and who
alternately sought comfort in the Prayer-book and in the decanter for
the ills which had befallen him.
To Laura, however, Tamfield presented one attraction, which was now
about to be taken from her. Their choice of the little country hamlet as

their residence had been determined by the fact of their old friend, the
Reverend John Spurling, having been nominated as the vicar. Hector
Spurling, the elder son, two months Laura's senior, had been engaged to
her for some years, and was, indeed, upon the point of marrying her
when the sudden financial crash had disarranged their plans. A
sub-lieutenant in the Navy, he was home on leave at present, and hardly
an evening passed without his making his way from the Vicarage to
Elmdene, where the McIntyres resided. To-day, however, a note had
reached them to the effect that he had been suddenly ordered on duty,
and that he must rejoin his ship at Portsmouth by the next evening. He
would look in, were it but for half-an-hour, to bid them adieu.
"Why, where's Hector?" asked Mr. McIntyre, blinking round from side
to side.
"He's not come, father. How could you expect him to come on such a
night as this? Why, there must be two feet of snow in the glebe field."
"Not come, eh?" croaked the old man, throwing himself down upon the
sofa. "Well, well, it only wants him and his father to throw us over, and
the thing will be complete"
"How can you even hint at such a thing, father?" cried Laura
indignantly. "They have been as true as steel. What would they think if
they heard you"
"I think, Robert," he said, disregarding his daughter's protest, "that I
will have a drop, just the very smallest possible drop, of brandy. A
mere thimbleful will do; but I rather think I have caught cold during the
snowstorm to-day."
Robert went on sketching stolidly in his folding book, but Laura looked
up from her work.
"I'm afraid there is nothing in the house, father," she said.
"Laura! Laura!" He shook his head as one more in sorrow than in anger.
"You are no longer a girl, Laura; you are a woman, the manager of a

household, Laura. We trust in you. We look entirely towards you. And
yet you leave your poor brother Robert without any brandy, to say
nothing of me, your father. Good heavens, Laura! what would your
mother have said? Think of accidents, think of sudden illness, think of
apoplectic fits, Laura. It is a very grave res--a very grave respons--a
very great risk that you run."
"I hardly touch the stuff," said Robert curtly; "Laura need not provide
any for me."
"As a medicine it is invaluable, Robert. To be