Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/507

494 “Now, I know this to be true,” Mr. George began. “When old Mel was alive, he and I had plenty of sparring, and that—but he’s dead, and I’ll do him justice. I spoke of Burley Bennet just now. Now, my lady, old Burley was, I think, Mel’s half-brother, and he came, I know, somewhere out of Drury Lane—one of the courts near the theatre—I don’t know much of London. However, old Mel wouldn’t have that. Nothing less than being born in St. James’s Square would content old Mel, and he must have a marquis for his father. I needn’t be more particular. Before ladies—ahem! But Burley was the shrewd hand of the two. Oh-h-h! such a card! He knew the way to get into company without false pretences. Well, I told you, he had lots more than 100,000l.—some said two—and he gave up Ryelands; never asked for it, though he won it. Consequence was, he commanded the services of somebody pretty high. And it was he got Admiral Harrington made a captain, posted, commodore, admiral, and K.C.B., all in seven years! In the army it’d have been half the time, for the H.R.H. was stronger in that department. Now, I know old Burley promised Mel to leave him his money, and called the admiral an ungrateful dog. He didn’t give Mel much at a time—now and then a twenty-pounder or so—I saw the cheques. And old Mel expected the money, and looked over his daughters like a turkey-cock. Nobody good enough for them. Whacking handsome gals—three! used to be called the Three Graces of Lymport. And one day Burley comes and visits Mel, and sees the girls. And he puts his finger on the eldest, I can tell you. She was a spanker! She was the handsomest gal, I think, ever I saw. For the mother’s a fine woman, and what with the mother, and what with old Mel—”

“We won’t enter into the mysteries of origin,” quoth Lady Jocelyn.

“Exactly, my lady. Oh, your servant, of course. Before ladies. A Burley Bennet, I said. Long and short was, he wanted to take her up to London. Says old Mel: ‘London’s a sad place.’ ‘Place to make money,’ says Burley. ‘That’s not work for a young gal,’ says Mel. Long and short was, Burley wanted to take her, and Mel wouldn’t let her go.” Mr. George lowered his tone, and mumbled, “Don’t know how to explain it very well before ladies. What Burley wanted was—it wasn’t quite honourable, you know, though there was a good deal of spangles on it, and whether a real H.R.H., or a Marquis, or a Viscount, I can’t say, but the offer was tempting to a tradesman. ‘No,’ says Mel, like a chap planting his flagstaff and sticking to it. I believe that to get her to go with him, Burley offered to make a will on the spot, and to leave every farthing of his money and property—upon my soul, I believe it to be true—to Mel and his family, if he’d let the gal go. ‘No,’ says Mel. I like the old bird! And Burley got in a rage, and said he’d leave every farthing to the sailor. Says Mel: ‘I’m a poor tradesman; but I have, and I always will have the feelings of a gentleman, and they’re more to me than hard cash, and the honour of my daughter, sir, is dearer to me than my blood. Out of the house!’ cries Mel. And away old Burley went, and left every penny to the sailor that’s now Admiral Harrington, and don’t notice ’em an inch. Now, there!”

All had listened to Mr. George attentively, and he had slurred the apologetic passages, and emphasised the propitiatory “before ladies” in a way to make himself well understood a generation back.

“Bravo, old Mel!” rang the voice of Lady Jocelyn, and a murmur ensued, in the midst of which Rose stood up and hurried round the table to Mrs. Strike, who was seen to rise from her chair; and as she did so, the ill-arranged locks fell from their unnatural restraint down over her shoulders; one great curl half forward to the bosom, and one behind her right ear. Her eyes were wide, her whole face, neck, and fingers, white as marble. The faintest tremour of a frown on her brows, and her shut lips, marked the continuation of some internal struggle, as if with her last conscious force she kept down a flood of tears and a wild outcry which it was death to hold. Sir Franks felt his arm touched, and looked up, and caught her, as Rose approached. The Duke and other gentlemen went to his aid, and as the beautiful woman was borne out white and still as a corpse, the Countess had this dagger plunged in her heart from the mouth of Mr. George, addressing Miss Carrington:

“I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. She’s Carry Harrington, old Mel’s daughter, as sure as she’s flesh and blood.”

Persia, in olden time, lived a great king, Whose name was Shâh Noshirwân: Twas his custom, whenever he heard a good thing To say “Zeh!” and his treasurer then would fling A purse to the fortunate man.

This king, when out hunting on one fine day; Saw an aged man planting trees: He rode up, and said, “With your hair so grey, Don’t you think you are throwing your time away? You’ll never eat food from these?”

For three-score years I have eaten sweet food From trees that I did not sow; And would it not be base ingratitude If I took no thought of posterity’s good, And paid not the debt I owe?”

Zeh, zeh!” said the king; and the treasurer straight To the old man a purse hath thrown. See, see! for good works it is never too late; God hath given me fruit without needing to wait, Before all my trees are sown.”

Zeh, zeh!” once again: ere the word was said, Another purse flew on its way. Till God placed the crown on your Majesty’s head, Was such a strange thing ever heard of, or read, As to reap two crops in one day!”

Zeh, zeh!” yet again, and a third full purse To the old man’s hand falls nigh; But the king in his horse’s flank drives his spurs, Nor waits for more answer in prose or in verse,— Lest the wit of that old man, so prompt, so terse, Should drain his full treasury dry.