The Village by the River | Page 8

the windows, to see if the blinds were drawn down; but
the house wore its usual aspect of dignified reserve, with its slightly
opened casements. The imperturbable butler, who answered Paul's ring
at the bell, seemed at first inclined to question his right to enter.

"My master is very sadly, sir; he's not fit to see any one."
"But he sent for me," said Paul, quietly. "Will you let him know, as
soon as possible, that Paul Lessing has come in answer to his letter?"
At the mention of the familiar name Smith's manner altered perceptibly;
he threw open the library door and ushered Paul in. It was scarcely a
minute before he returned.
"My master is awake and will see you at once, sir."
"Has he been long ill?" Paul asked.
"It's been coming on gradual for a year or more, sir. Creeping paralysis
is what the doctors call it. He's no use left in his legs, and very little in
his arms or hands; but his brain seems as active as ever. He took a turn
for the worse last week, and the end, they think, may come at any
time."
"Thank you; I'll go upstairs now."
He entered the sick-room so quietly that the nurse, who sat by the
bedside, did not hear him; but the grey head on the pillow turned
quickly, and the dying eyes shone with eager welcome.
"I'm glad you've come; I thought you meant to leave it till too late,"
was the abrupt greeting.
"I was abroad, and did not get your letter at once," Paul said gently.
"And you came back? That's more than many fellows would have done.
Nurse, draw up those blinds, and leave us, please; there are several
things I have to say. No, you need not talk about my saving my strength.
What good will it do? A few minutes more life, perhaps," he added
testily, as he saw the nurse giving Paul some admonition under her
breath. "Women are a nuisance, Paul; and at no time do they prove it
more than when you are ill and under their thumb. There! take a seat
close by me, where I can see you."

"You wanted to see me about something particular, your lawyer told
me," said Paul, filled with pity at the sight of the perfectly helpless
figure. "It may be that I can carry out some wish of yours. I should be
glad to be of service to you."
Major Lessing did not answer for some minutes, and Paul ascribed his
silence to exhaustion. In reality the keen eyes were scanning Paul's face
critically, as if trying to read his character.
"I wanted to see you; and now you've come I don't know what to make
of you. It has crossed my mind more than once since I've lain here, that
I've been a rash fool to make a man I know so little of, my heir."
Paul could not repress an exclamation of astonishment; the news gave
him anything but unmixed pleasure.
"It was surely very rash, sir. I've no possible claim upon you. I have
scarcely even any connection with you except the name."
"That's it," said the major. "You have the name, and that must be
carried on and a distant tie of relationship; and there's something else,
Paul. Years ago I wanted to marry your mother. You are my godson;
you might have been my real son, you see."
Paul felt a lump in his throat; this love-story of long ago was pathetic.
His mother had died when he was still quite a child, but she lived in his
memory as beautiful and fascinating.
"She was half Irish," he said.
The major nodded. "So, partly from sentimental reasons, and partly
because there was no one better, I've left the property at Rudham to
you," he went on with a smile. "There would have been plenty of
money to have left with it; but I've made some very bad speculations
lately, and lost a great deal. I took to speculation from sheer want of
amusement. I was a good billiard player as long as I had the use of my
limbs; but here I've been, literally tied by the legs, for the last two years.
The only thing properly alive about me was my brain, and speculation

has interested me; but I was badly hit ten days ago. There will be some
money, but you won't be a rich man."
"I don't care about it," interposed Paul, eagerly.
"Then you ought to; a landlord poorly off is in a bad case in these days;
and I want things kept as they are, Paul. I've not lived at Rudham, but
I've kept my eye on it all the same; and what you call progress, and its
attendant