Page:Once a Week Dec 1860 to June 61.pdf/70

. 12, 1861.] brings it in after the Mediterranean question and the French Revolution.”

“But that is his way. It always was. He would talk about a dozen things before coming to something serious. It was not levity, but he always disliked to touch anything at all disagreeble.”

“So do I,” said Hawkesley, putting his arm round his wife’s waist, and reading on.]

“Uneasiness. I had not heard for a long time from Laura, nor have I had any of Walter’s scribble, which he is so fond of sending to grandpapa. But I did not think much of this, for I am not the best correspondent in the world, and I may not have answered their last despatches.

[“That would not have prevented Laura from writing to him,” said Beatrice.

“Of course not. His mentioning it is only another instance of what you were just saying,—his dislike to get to the facts.”]

“I had fully intended to go over to Gurdon Terrace this week, and see after them all, but it has been very hot, and my light coat had gone to be mended, and one thing and another interfered. But last night I received a letter—

[“Last night, and written at once. It must be something to have stirred him to such promptness,” said Hawkesley.]

—which I had better enclose to you instead of recapitulating its contents.

[“Where is it?” said Beatrice. “Let us read that at once, and hear his comments afterwards.”

But there was no letter enclosed.

“Just like him,” said his daughter. “Just exactly like him.”]

“When you have read this, return it to me, with your own ideas as to what it means, or what should be done. As for the ‘impending evil,’ and the ‘duty of watching over Laura’s children,’ the language is perfectly incomprehensible to me. You may, perhaps, make a better guess at its meaning. Has there been any epidemic about Brompton? I regret to say that I have not paid the attention that I ought to the interesting and valuable reports of the Registrar-General, but that functionary frequently makes allusions to diseases of a painful character, and the details grate upon my nerves. You may, very likely, be better in formed than I am, as I know that you frequently write upon sanatory subjects. If anything of this kind is the case, I think that you should at once send or write to Laura, advising her to remove into some other neighbourhood. I could wish that she liked this district, as I am sure it is healthy, and she would be near me, which would be very convenient to me, but this I would not unduly press, though you might more properly urge that consideration.

[“I’m sure I shan’t advise her to go and bury herself at Islington,” interjected Beatrice. “But I cannot think what he is talking about. How ridiculous to leave out the only important thing.”

“I will send over for the letter he intended to enclose.”

“Yes, do. Stop, I will go myself,” said Beatrice. “You will not be going out? I will not stay there ten minutes. Is there anything else?”

“Not much. He hopes that we will attend to the matter directly, and let him hear soon.”]

“I shall write to you again very soon, and with love to Beatrice, and kisses to the children; “Always yours affectionately, “.”

“Beatrice,” said Hawkesley, “go by all means, and do not lose any time in getting back.”

His wife instantly detected a certain gravity in his tone.

“Charles. Why do you say that?”

“I will tell you. I do not think I am giving way to a mere fancy, or I would keep it to myself, but is it not odd that neither Arthur nor Laura sends us a line from the country?”

“That has crossed my mind. But I told you what Price said.”

“Yes. But however interested they may be about the condition of their friend, and I cannot make out, after all, who it is that is so ill, one of them might have written. I wonder whether Price has heard.”

“Send there, while I am gone to Canonbury.”

“I have a good mind to walk over.”

“Well, if you can spare the time, do; and tell the boys to come to-morrow.”

“I cannot well spare the time, and yet I should like to know. It is so unlike Lygon not to send a line.”

“Perhaps the lady is dead.”

“Very likely, and we are fidgeting about nothing. But I confess that I shall be pleased to hear that all is right.”

“But what can be wrong, dear?”

“I do not know. But the letter which your father meant to enclose has followed so closely upon some vague thoughts of mink-however, dear, put on your bonnet, and I will send for a cab. I will not go out until you return.”

“I was only inclined to be angry with papa for his carelessness, but you have put that out of my head,” said Beatrice. “You have not heard anything?” she said, earnestly.

“Would I have kept it from you, darling?” When Mrs. Hawkesley reached Canonbury Square, she found Mr. Vernon comfortably reclined upon a sofa, reading the newspaper. Robed in his dressing-gown, and slippered, and with a handsome smoking-cap upon his head, the slight and refined looking old gentleman rose to salute her with a very kindly smile.

“You did not expect me, papa?”

“Indeed, my dear child, I did,” he said, pleasantly.

“After what you sent, you mean, papa?”

“And after what I did not send.”

“What is this letter, and how could you forget it, when it was so important, papa?” said Mrs. Hawkesley.

“I did not forget it, my love. I was about to enclose it, when it occurred to me that if I did not put it in, I should certainly have the pleasure of seeing you here as soon as possible, and so I kept it out.”

“Leaving us in such a state of uncertainty. What is it? Where is it?”

“Impatient as ever, my dear. It is in my