King of the Castle

Trevithick had his legal business to transact at the Fort, but he never resented the sneers and snarls of its owner, who was constantly making allusions as to the probable length of his bill.

“And I deserve it all, Mary, dear,” Trevithick used to say. “I could do it all by means of letters, except when I wanted a signature witnessed; but of course I sha’n’t charge.”

“But why do you come?” asked Mary demurely; “I’m sure this place is miserable enough. It’s a perfect purgatory.”

“For shame!” he said, with a quiet, happy smile; “why, its a perfect paradise, dear, and unless I’m very hard at work, I’m wretched unless I’m here. – Mary, dear?”

“Yes.”

“When is it to be?”

“What?”

“Our wedding.”

“How can you ask me such a thing? As if I could ever think of leaving poor Claude. And besides, after such a lesson upon what matrimony really is, I wonder that you should ever renew the subject.”

“No, you don’t, dear,” he said, gaining possession of the little white hand, which pretended to escape, and then resigned itself to its fate, while Trevithick’s countenance told how truthful were his words.

“Tell me when it shall be,” he said in a whisper.

“When I can see Claude happy. – John, couldn’t she have a divorce?”

“For what reason?”

“Because she does not love him; and the way in which he treats her with his horrid jealousy is maddening.”

“That’s no reason.”

“No reason? Why, I thought people could be divorced if they could prove cruelty.”

“Yes – legal cruelty. No, my dear, jealousy and suspicion will not do.”

“Why did you come over to-day?”

“Business. I had to see old Mrs Sarson at the cottage where Mr Lisle lodges. She’s ill.”

“What for? You are not a doctor.”

“No,” he said, with a chuckle, “but about her affairs. She thinks it time to make a will and arrange about her savings. Curious old body.”

“Why?”

“Troubled with poor Mr Gartram’s complaint.”

“What do you mean?”

“Distrust. She has all her savings hoarded up, and next time I go she has promised to place them in my hands for investment.”

“Don’t talk about that. I hate the very name of money. I wish poor Claude hadn’t a shilling, and we were both free girls, able to do what we liked.”

Trevithick laughed.

“How can you be so cruel, sir?” cried Mary. “Oh, John, dear, that man is killing poor Claude. Seriously, can’t you discover some way to separate them?”

Trevithick shook his head.

“Then Claude will separate herself.”

“I wish she could. But how?” said Trevithick, with a sigh.

“By dying.”

“What?”

“Yes,” said Mary, with the tears in her eyes. “I can see beneath all that calm, patient way of hers. Her heart is broken, John; and before six months are over she will – ”

Poor Mary could not finish, but sank upon her knees at Trevithick’s feet, laid her face in her hands, and sobbed as if her heart would break.

Volume Three – Chapter Seventeen.

A Climax in Glyddyr’s Life

There was a scene one day at the Fort when, after finishing the business in connection with a heavy sum which had been raised to pay over to Gellow, the lawyer had taken upon himself to suggest that it was not fair to his old client’s daughter that such a heavy drain should be kept up on the fortune she had brought him.

This was sufficient to send Glyddyr into a fit of passion, with the result that Trevithick was ordered to give up all charge of the estate for the future, and hand his papers over to another solicitor, who was named.

“Very good, Mr Glyddyr,” said the lawyer quietly. “As far as you have claims I will do so; but I must remind you that I am your wife’s trustee, and even if she wished to obey you, I cannot be ousted from that.”

Claude suffered bitterly for this when the lawyer was gone, but she forbore to speak. She felt that she was forced to give up the hints and friendly counsel of one whom her father trusted, and she trembled lest there should be a breach with regard to Mary, and that she should lose her. Sarah Woodham had been abused and insulted almost beyond bearing a hundred times, and ordered to go, but she always smiled sadly in Claude’s face afterwards.

“Don’t you be afraid, my dear,” she used to say. “Let him say what he will, I’ll never leave you.”

One day Sarah Woodham entered the room to find Mary in tears, but as they were hastily dried, they were ignored.

“I beg pardon, miss; I thought Mr Trevithick was here.”

“Why should you think that?”

“Because I saw him at the hotel half-an-hour ago.”

“No; he has not been, and is not likely to come after such treatment as he received from Mr Glyddyr a fortnight ago.”

“Going out, miss?” said Sarah, as she saw Mary beginning to dress hurriedly.

“Yes. Where is your master – in the garden?”

“No, miss. He has gone down to the quarry.”