`Ring the bell, ring the bell,' said the sick man, with the same nervous eagerness, and motioning towards it with such a quivering hand that the bank note rustled in the air. `Tell her to get it changed--to get me a newspaper--to buy me some grapes--another bottle of the wine that I had last week--and--and--I forget half I want just now, but she can go out again. Let her get those first--those first. Now, Madeline, my love, quick, quick! Good God, how slow you are!'
`He remembers nothing that she wants!' thought Nicholas. Perhaps something of what he thought was expressed in his countenance, for the sick man, turning towards him with great asperity, demanded to know if he waited for a receipt.
`It is no matter at all,' said Nicholas.
`No matter! what do you mean, sir?' was the tart rejoinder. `No matter!
Do you think you bring your paltry money here as a favour or a gift; or as a matter of business, and in return for value received? D--n you, sir, because you can't appreciate the time and taste which are bestowed upon the goods you deal in, do you think you give your money away? Do you know that you are talking to a gentleman, sir, who at one time could have bought up fifty such men as you and all you have? What do you mean?'
`I merely mean that as I shall have many dealings with this lady, if she will kindly allow me, I will not trouble her with such forms,' said Nicholas.
`Then I mean, if you please, that we'll have as many forms as we can, returned the father. `My daughter, sir, requires no kindness from you or anybody else. Have the goodness to confine your dealings strictly to trade and business, and not to travel beyond it. Every petty tradesman is to begin to pity her now, is he? Upon my soul! Very pretty. Madeline, my dear, give him a receipt; and mind you always do so.'
While she was feigning to write it, and Nicholas was ruminating upon the extraordinary but by no means uncommon character thus presented to his observation, the invalid, who appeared at times to suffer great bodily pain, sank back in his chair and moaned out a feeble complaint that the girl had been gone an hour, and that everybody conspired to goad him.
`When,' said Nicholas, as he took the piece of paper, `when shall I--call again?'
This was addressed to the daughter, but the father answered immediately--`When you're requested to call, sir, and not before. Don't worry and persecute. Madeline, my dear, when is this person to call again?'
`Oh, not for a long time--not for three or four weeks--it is not necessary, indeed--I can do without,' said the young lady, with great eagerness.
`Why, how are we to do without?' urged her father, not speaking above his breath. `Three or four weeks, Madeline! Three or four weeks!'
`Then sooner--sooner, if you please,' said the young lady, turning to Nicholas.
`Three or four weeks!' muttered the father. `Madeline, what on earth--do nothing for three or four weeks!'
`It is a long time, ma'am,' said Nicholas.
` You think so, do you?' retorted the father, angrily. `If I chose to beg, sir, and stoop to ask assistance from people I despise, three or four months would not be a long time--three or four years would not be a long time. Understand, sir, that is if I chose to be dependent; but as I don't, you may call in a week.'
Nicholas bowed low to the young lady and retired, pondering upon Mr Bray's ideas of independence, and devoutly hoping that there might be few such independent spirits as he mingling with the baser clay of humanity.
He heard a light footstep above him as he descended the stairs, and looking round saw that the young lady was standing there, and glancing timidly towards him, seemed to hesitate whether she should call him back or no. The best way of settling the question was to turn back at once, which Nicholas did.
`I don't know whether I do right in asking you, sir,' said Madeline, hurriedly, `but pray--pray--do not mention to my poor mother's dear friends what has passed here today. He has suffered much, and is worse this morning.
I beg you, sir, as a boon, a favour to myself.'
`You have but to hint a wish,' returned Nicholas fervently, `and I would hazard my life to gratify it.'
`You speak hastily, sir.'
`Truly and sincerely,' rejoined Nicholas, his lips trembling as he formed the words, `if ever man spoke truly yet. I am not skilled in disguising my feelings, and if I were, I could not hide my heart from you. Dear madam, as I know your history, and feel as men and angels must who hear and see such things, I do entreat you to believe that I would die to serve you.'
The young lady turned away her head, and was plainly weeping.
`Forgive me,' said Nicholas, with respectful earnestness, `if I seem to say too much, or to presume upon the confidence which has been intrusted to me. But I could not leave you as if my interest and sympathy expired with the commission of the day. I am your faithful servant, humbly devoted to you from this hour--devoted in strict truth and honour to him who sent me here, and in pure integrity of heart, and distant respect for you. If I meant more or less than this, I should be unworthy his regard, and false to the very nature that prompts the honest words I utter.'
She waved her hand, entreating him to be gone, but answered not a word.
Nicholas could say no more, and silently withdrew. And thus ended his first interview with Madeline Bray.
