The days that followed its bereavement1 passed like a dream over the little grey house. There is no preparation for grief; Mr. Grey's death came upon those who had loved him as if there had been no warning of the danger in which he lived, and, as they met the necessary claims and performed the hard tasks their sorrow laid upon them, it was impossible for them to realize that it was the dear dreamer whom they were laying away to dreamless sleep up on the hill, under the great elms of Fayre's old graveyard2.
But when these confused days were past and the tall, thin figure no longer cast its shadow over the old doorway3, nor the nervous step fell on bewildered ears, unconsciously straining to hear it, Sylvester Grey's wife and daughters began dimly to realize that he had gone away. Of the three girls the loss and loneliness was bitterest to Rob, but it was she who met it most bravely,[197] resolving to be, indeed, to her mother the "son Rob" her "Patergrey" had always called her.
Aunt Azraella, in her own way, had been a comfort during this first, disturbed week, coming in with perfect efficiency to plan and execute the arrangements from which the Greys shrank, but it was "Cousin Peace" on whom they all leaned now that, everything done, they sat down with sorrow.
One morning, when her sister-in-law had been widowed ten days, Aunt Azraella came down to the little grey house for a business conference. "Little Polly Flinders" was hastily smuggled4 upstairs, with Hortense to bear her company. She was a different little Polly than Rob had found pining away in the big chintz chair; color was coming into the white little face, and in the necessity of making things cheerful around the child, all four Greys found help and comfort. It was much to feel that they were establishing in health and life the pathetic child who had chanced to be the one to hear the last tones of that voice now forever silent.
"I came down, Mary, to talk with you about your prospects," said Aunt Azraella, unwinding her long barège veil as she seated herself before the fire.
[198]
"You must make up your mind precisely5 what you are going to do. Of course, Sylvester's death doesn't affect you like the loss of a business man such as your brother, my husband, was, but it does settle the question of that invention. Whatever it is, it must remain, so I advise you to see if you can do anything with it, if it has any practical value."
"There was a Mr. Marston, from New York, here to see it two weeks ago," said Mrs. Grey, quietly. "We had a letter from him this morning, offering to buy the machine."
Mrs. Winslow gave a start of genuine pleasure. "Well, I am surprised," she said. "How much did he offer? I hope it will take the mortgage off the house, and leave you a little. But I suppose it wasn't much."
"No; only four thousand dollars," replied Mrs. Grey. "Rob thinks he is trying to take advantage of our necessities, or what he hopes will prove necessities."
"Rob thinks!" ejaculated Aunt Azraella. "Why, Mary, it's a wonderful offer! I hope you wrote at once! If you haven't written, write now, and I'll post the letter when I go out."
[199]
"Now, Mary Winslow Grey," cried Aunt Azraella, "for mercy's sake, don't listen to that child! Even allowing she's not flighty, as I know she is, you have to admit a girl of sixteen is not a competent adviser7. You accept that offer on the spot, on the spot, do you hear? Four thousand dollars! Why, you can pay a thousand and clear the mortgage, and have three thousand to invest—that'll be quite an addition to your income. It will leave you better off than you were with Sylvester alive."
"Oh!" gasped8 Wythie. Roberta began to speak very slowly, with manifest effort to be dignified9, and to lay aside her natural quickness of speech and retort.
"Aunt Azraella," she said, "you do not understand the invention—no one here does, except me. Either the invention is worth nothing, or it is worth a great deal—more than ten times as much as this offer. You see, the offer proves it is worth something, and if we accepted it we should be cheating ourselves out of about fifty thousand dollars."
"Fifty thousand dollars!" Aunt Azraella[200] tossed her head scornfully, words failing to express her opinion of this visionary estimate.
"You see; I told you you had no idea of the value of that invention," said Rob. "Pater—our dear father said, the day Mr. Marston was here, that he should refuse an offer of less than fifty thousand dollars. I feel that we have no right to throw it away, for his sake, if not for our own."
"If you don't close with this offer at once it may be withdrawn," said Mrs. Winslow, seeing the effect of Rob's argument on her mother.
"That's precisely what Mr. Marston writes," said Mrs. Grey, "and that's what frightens me. I am so afraid of refusing the only offer we may ever get."
"And I think that proves him dishonest," cried Rob. "He wants to frighten us into closing with him, because he knows if we took time to investigate, we should find out the true value of the machine. He saw enough when he was here—our doing our own work, and our simple way of living—to guess we should need money now we were alone. He is trying to take advantage of a woman and three young girls, and if I have my way, he won't succeed! I hated[201] him the day he was here—he's a villain10, if ever there was one, a smiling villain at that."
"What do you propose doing, then?" asked Aunt Azraella, satirically. "If you are taking matters into your own hands you ought to have some other plan to propose instead of this certain one—for I hope you realize, Roberta, that you are trying to use your influence with your mother to urge her to throw away a certainty, on the chance of something better, and on the advice of a girl of sixteen, who has as much knowledge of the world as my Tobias has."
"I do realize, aunt, and it frightens me, but I was my father's helper all through the last four years he was working on this machine, and I feel I must stand firm, now that he has left it to me. I know we shall be cheated if we take this offer, and sell the bricquette machine to this Mr. Marston," cried Rob.
"Mary, Mary, I have no patience!" cried Mrs. Winslow. "Will you, or will you not, listen to reason and be guided by someone with judgment11? You see Roberta does not answer my question! Oh, for the land sakes, why do we talk about it as though she were a person to be listened to? What has she to do with it, anyway? I tell you I have no patience. Go over[202] to that desk, and write that man you accept his offer, and I'll post the letter before I go home."
"I didn't mean not to answer you, Aunt Azraella," said Rob, with new dignity. "My plan is neither to refuse nor accept, but to write Mr. Marston that we must have a few days in which to look into the matter. If he's an honest man, he won't object; if the machine is worth four thousand dollars to him, he will take it a week later as well as now, and if—and I know it is—it is worth six times that, why, we save ourselves from a trick, that's all."
Mrs. Winslow turned to Rob with a touch of respect in her manner. "That has a little the ring of sense," she graciously remarked. "But you must remember that he may have some reason for wanting that machine this moment or never, and it may be worth four thousand to-day, and nothing a week hence, unless he gets it now. That often happens in business matters. Mary, write your note."
"I confess I'm strongly inclined to your view, Azraella," said Mrs. Grey, "but I can't write to-night. Rob seems to me not like my young daughter, but like her father's representative, and I cannot disregard her, as I should Wythie, for instance."
[203]
"And what is Oswyth's opinion?" asked Aunt Azraella, turning to her favorite niece.
"I'm a coward," said Wythie, with a faint smile. "I'm afraid to refuse a certainty of even a small piece of good fortune."
"Sensible girl!" said her aunt, approvingly. "Then Roberta is the only one that stands out against good luck?"
"Stands for good luck, Aunt Azraella," said Rob, rising, as her aunt arose, with the air which had come upon her, adding years and dignity to her, since she had learned to suffer.
"You won't write, Mary?" insisted Mrs. Winslow, wrapping herself in her barège defence from the cold wind.
"Not to-night; to-morrow will still be time," said Mrs. Grey, also rising.
"Then I wash my hands of you, and if you come to grief, don't appeal to me for sympathy nor help. I foresee the end; this girl is so headstrong, and will so appeal to your desire to carry out your husband's will, that she will get her way, and your one hope of peace will be gone. You can't help confessing, Mary, no matter how you mourn him, that Sylvester knew nothing of business, and for you to allow sentimentality and a girl's ignorance to wreck12 you, is little short[204] of criminal." Having delivered this valedictory13 with crushing effect, Mrs. Winslow stalked away.
Prue came back dissolved in tears from closing the door behind her aunt; she found her mother, Wythie, and Rob sitting silent and sad around the fire.
"Oh, Rob, dear Rob," cried Prue, hysterically14, "you mean well, but how can you be so obstinate15? Don't listen to her, Mardy; we shall never be happy again; we shall lose our home, too, if you do!" And Prue dropped, sobbing16, in the big chair Mrs. Winslow had vacated.
"Mardy, Mardy," cried Rob, starting up, pushing back her hair with her old, impulsive17 gesture, and running over to fall on her knees beside her mother's chair, "it makes me nearly crazy to feel I am taking such a responsibility, but I must, for I know, I know I'm right! I wasn't going to tell Aunt Azraella my plans, and have her make a worse fuss than ever, but I've laid them, and you must, you truly must, let me have my way. Write this Marston scamp you must take a few days to consider his offer, that you are not prepared to accept or refuse it for a week. It can't possibly make any difference, unless he is a scamp, and then we want it[205] to. And to-morrow you let me go to New York, and find out what the machine is really worth, and what can be done with it."
"To New York! You, Rob, alone? And you find out what can be done with the invention, you, a young, inexperienced girl? My darling, you are crazy!" cried her mother, while Wythie and Prue sat up with gasps18 of amazed horror.
"Mardy, I am not in the least crazy. If we had anyone else to do it, we would let them, of course, but who is there? I will go straight to Mr. John Lester Baldwin, the lawyer, Patergrey's college chum, whom he said he would trust utterly19. I took his name and address the day Mr. Marston was here, you know; Patergrey wanted me to remind him to write him, but there was no time—" Rob stopped short, and Wythie made a little moan.
"Now, Mardy, this is no wild scheme, you see; it is plain, practical common-sense," Rob continued. "Mr. Baldwin will put me somewhere to board where I shall be safe, and he will do all he can for me when I tell him who I am, and what has happened, if he is the man Patergrey thought him. If he says take the four thousand, I am satisfied, but if he says not to, don't you see how[206] well it will be that I went? And I have my own money, enough still, for my expenses."
"Rob, Rob, you glorious girl!" cried Wythie, starting up in a rapture20. "Let her go, Mardy; she is inspired, like Joan of Arc."
"My Rob, my dear Rob, my brave, reliable daughter," said Mrs. Grey, fondly, "what can I say to you? I am not willing to let you go alone, but if I were, the objections we made to putting off Mr. Marston still hold good. Suppose you fail, and we lose not only the offer, but the expenses of your journey and your stay in the city?"
"Mardy, I shall not fail," cried Rob. "Do you not remember that Patergrey said: 'It must not be less than fifty thousand dollars to be accepted?' That was the last time he spoke21 of it, you know. He understood its value. I don't like to bother you, but you see it's chiefly for your sake, and, besides, I worked with Patergrey all the time and I feel as though I could not desert the dear invention now, if I wanted to—let it be stolen from us, the work of all that dear life, and its only legacy22 to us, except the little grey house, with its mortgage. You must say yes, Mardy, my darling; I was Patergrey's 'son Rob,' you know, and I must defend his invention, and[207] be the man of the family, his son Rob still." Rob's beautiful head dropped on her mother's knee, and the steady, clear, young voice broke pitifully.
Mrs. Grey leaned over and laid her wet cheek on Rob's bright rings of hair, with the red shining through them in the firelight.
"Go, then, my Robert of the lion-heart, go, you dear knight-errant, and have your way. And whatever comes of it we shall never regret it, for we shall remember that you loyally played your part in defence of us all—all, here and beyond," whispered Rob's mother.
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1
bereavement
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| n.亲人丧亡，丧失亲人，丧亲之痛 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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3
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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4
smuggled
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| 水货 | |
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5
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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6
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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7
adviser
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| n.劝告者，顾问 | |
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8
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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9
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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10
villain
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| n.反派演员，反面人物；恶棍；问题的起因 | |
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11
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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12
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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13
valedictory
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| adj.告别的；n.告别演说 | |
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14
hysterically
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| ad. 歇斯底里地 | |
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15
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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16
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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17
impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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18
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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19
utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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21
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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22
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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