CHAPTER VII.

FRANK RAYNOR FOLLOWED.

The whole house was steeped in grief--for Major Raynor had died at dawn. As most houses are, when a near and beloved relative is removed: and the anguish is more keenly felt if the blow, as in this case, falls suddenly. Edina was a treasure now; she had travelled by night and was early at Eagles' Nest. Mourning with them sincerely, she at the time strove to cheer them. She whispered of a happier meeting hereafter, where shall be no more parting; she would not let them sorrow without hope. Even Mrs. Raynor felt comforted: and the little children dried their tears, saying that papa was with the angels in heaven, and they should go to him when God saw that they were good enough.

But, of that other misfortune none of the household as yet were cognizant. Frank took an opportunity of revealing it to Edina. It almost overwhelmed even her.

"Not theirs!" she cried, in a dread whisper. "Eagles' Nest George Atkinson's!"

"And the worst of it is," returned Frank, running through a summary of the details he had heard, "that he means to exact his rights at once, and take immediate possession of the place as soon as he lands. Did you not know this George Atkinson once, Edina?"

"Yes--a little," she answered, a faint blush rising to her cheek at the remembrance.

"Was he hard and selfish then?"

"I--cannot quite tell, Frank. He did not appear to me to be so."

"Perhaps not. He was young then: and men grow harder as they grow older. But now, Edina, what is to be done? They will have to turn out of this house, and where will they find another?"

The problem seemed a hard one. Edina sat it an attitude almost of despair as she tried to solve it: her hands folded quietly on her black dress; her usually calm, good face perplexed; her steady eyes anxious. The unexpected blow had fallen on her sharply; and in these first moments it was a hard task to battle with it. So far as she or any one else could see, the Raynors would not have a penny to fall back upon: no income of any sort whatever. The major's annuity has died with him.

"They are all so helpless!" she murmured.

"Of course they are," assented Frank. "Not that that makes it any worse or better."

"It makes it all the worse," said Edina. "Were they experienced and capable, they might do something or other to earn a living."

A whole world of surprise shone in Frank Raynor's candid blue eyes. "Earn a living!" he exclaimed. "Who would earn it?"

"All who are old enough," said Edina. "Mrs. Raynor and Alice to begin with."

"Surely you cannot think of such a thing for them, Edina!"

"But how else will they exist, Frank? Who will keep them? Charley will never be able to do it."

A blank pause. Frank, brought thus practically face to face with the position, was unable to reply.

"I wish to goodness I could keep them!" he exclaimed, at length. "I wish I had a practice and a house over my head! They should all come to it."

"It has surprised me very much indeed, Frank--to leave the other subject for a moment--that you have not sought to establish yourself all this time."

"I was waiting for some money to do it with, Edina. Poor Uncle Francis was constantly expecting those missing funds to turn up. It seems they would have belonged to George Atkinson if they had come to light: but we could not have known that."

"Your uncle Hugh blamed you for it, Frank. 'Better to take a situation as an assistant, than to fritter away his days at Eagles' Nest,' he used often to say."

Frank made no reply. The mention of his uncle Hugh brought vividly to his mind that last ominous letter he had received from him. With his usual incaution, he spoke on the moment's impulse.

"Is Blase Pellet at Trennach still?"

Not quite immediately did Edina answer. Raising his eyes, he met hers fixed on him. And he saw something in their depths that he did not like: an anxious, questioning, half-terrified expression.

"Edina knows about it," thought he. And he turned as cold as the winter frost.

"Yes, Blase Pellet is there as usual," she replied, averting her eyes. "And Mrs. Bell has left Trennach for good and has gone to live at Falmouth."

Why, the very answer; that last gratuitous sentence; would itself have been enough to betray her cognizance of the matter. Else why should she have connected the Bells with Blase Pellet? Frank quitted the topic abruptly.

Not until after the funeral--which took place, as was deemed expedient, on the fourth day from the death--were the tidings of their penniless state conveyed to Mrs. Raynor and the others. How Charles had contrived to keep counsel he never knew. He was looked upon as the successor to Eagles' Nest. Servants and others continually came to him for directions: Is this to be done, sir; is the other to be done: treating him as the master.

Mrs. Raynor received the news with amazement, astonishment contending with incredulity. Alice burst into tears; Alfred went into a passion. They talked foolishly at first, saying they would go to law: the newly-found will should be disputed; the property flung into Chancery. The only two capable of bringing reason to bear upon the matter were Frank and Edina: and they might have been nearly as bad as the rest, had the tidings only just come upon them. They pointed out how worse than futile any opposition would be. Not a shadow of doubt could exist that the second will was perfectly correct and legal, and that the whole property belonged to George Atkinson.

On the second day after Frank's return from London, while the poor major lay dead in the house, Charles received an official letter from Street the lawyer. It gave in detail the particulars already known, and stated that Mr. George Atkinson was then on his voyage to Europe, with sundry other hints and statements. This letter Frank read aloud now.

"You see," he said, "even our own lawyer gives in. He says not a word about opposition. No, there's no help for it; Eagles' Nest must go from you. But I think old Aunt Atkinson ought to have been ashamed of herself."

"She must have been dreadfully wicked," sobbed Alice.

One thing they did not tell Mrs. Raynor--that she could be made responsible for the money received and spent during the past twelvemonth. The claim was not yet made; would not be made until Mr. George Atkinson's arrival; time enough to tell her then.

What their plans were to be, or where they could go, or how live, was the subject of many an anxious thought, as the days passed on. Edina suggested this and that; but poor Mrs. Raynor and Alice shrunk from all. As yet they could not realize what the turning-out of Eagles' Nest would be, and instinctively shunned the anticipation.

But upon none did the blow fall so bitterly as upon Charles. He was suddenly flung from his position on the height of a pinnacle to its base. A few days ago he was an independent gentleman, an undergraduate of Oxford, the heir to Eagles' Nest; now all these desirable accessories had melted like icicles in the sunbeams. He must work for a living, if he were to live; he must take his name off the college books, failing the means to return to college; he must, for his mind's best peace, forget that there was such a place as Eagles' Nest.

Work for a living! How was he to do anything of the kind, he asked himself. And even if he were willing, and the work presented itself (some charming, rose-coloured vision of a sinecure post would now and again arise indistinctly before his imagination) how would he be free to fulfil it, with those wretched debts at his heels?

One little matter did surprise Charles--he heard nothing of Huddles. He had fully expected that within a day or two of that worthy man's departure certain sharks of the law, or--as he seemed to prefer to call them--tigers, would attack him. But nothing of the sort occurred. The days went on, and Charles was still not interfered with.

About a fortnight after the death of Major Raynor, a letter arrived from Mr. Street. And, by the way, speaking of the major's death, what a grievous farce his will sounded when it was read. Eagles' Nest was bequeathed to Charles, with liberty to Mrs. Raynor to reside in it for the next ten years; after that, if Charles should deem it expedient that she should leave with the younger children, he was charged to provide her with a home. The major recommended that a portion of the missing money, when found, should be put out at interest, and allowed to accumulate for her benefit. Quite a large sum was willed away in small bequests. This to one child, that to another; some to Edina, some to Frank, and so on. The horses and carriages, the linen, plate, ornaments and trinkets, with sundry other personalities that had come to him with Eagles' Nest, were left to Mrs. Raynor. All this, when read, sounded like a painful farce, a practical joke. These things were all George Atkinson's; and, of the legacies, the poor major possessed not a shilling to bequeath.

Mr. George Atkinson safely arrived in England and in London. Lawyer Street wrote to Eagles' Nest to state the fact, and that he had held a business interview with him in the presence of Mr. Callard. Mr. Atkinson, he hinted, was not inclined to deal harshly with the Raynor family, but leniently. He gave them one month in which to vacate Eagles' Nest, when he should himself enter into possession of it; and with regard to the money spent in the past twelvemonth, which did in reality belong to him, and to the mesne profits, he made no claim. Let them leave his house quietly, and he should say nothing about arrears. It had been spent by Major Raynor under the misapprehension that it was his own, and he would not exact it of the major's children.

The conditions were, perhaps, as favourable as could be expected from a man of the world. Mr. Solicitor Callard pronounced them to be wonderfully so, cruelly hard though they sounded to the Raynors. _They_ thought, taking all circumstances into consideration--his own wealth, which must be accumulating yearly, his want of relationship to the former mistress of Eagles' Nest, and consequent absence of just claim to inherit it--that Mr. Atkinson should have quietly resigned it to them, and left them in undisturbed possession of it. Frank, once hearing Charley say this, shook his head. _He_ should have done this himself, he said, were he George Atkinson; but he feared the world, as a whole, would not: we did not live in Utopia.

And now came in Edina's practical good sense. After allowing them a day to grieve, she begged them to listen to her ideas for the future. She had been thinking a great deal, but could only hit upon one plan that seemed at all feasible. It was, that Mrs. Raynor and Alice should establish a school. Alice, a well-educated girl, a good musician and otherwise accomplished, would be of valuable aid in teaching.

Three weeks ago, they would--Alice, at any rate--have turned from the proposition with indignation. But those three weeks had been working their natural effect; and neither Mrs. Raynor nor Alice spoke a dissenting syllable. They had begun to realize the bitter fact that they must work to live. The world lay before and around them: a cold, cruel, and indifferent world, as it now seemed to them; and they had no shelter in it. To keep a ladies' school would be less objectionable than some things, and was certainly preferable to starving. Better than setting up a shop, for instance, or taking to a boarding-house. It was Edina who alluded to these unpleasant alternatives, and Alice did not thank her for it. Poor Alice had still many lessons to learn. It is true that Alice might go out as a governess, but that would not keep Mrs. Raynor and the younger ones.

"I see only one objection to this school idea of yours, Edina," spoke poor Mrs. Raynor, who was the first to break the silence which had ensued; while Alice sat with downcast eyes and an aching heart. "And that is, that I do not know how it is to be accomplished. We have no money and no furniture. It would be easy enough to take a house in some good situation, as you suggest; but how is it to be furnished?"

Edina did not immediately answer. Perhaps the problem was rather too much for herself. She sat in thought; her steadfast eyes gazing with a far-away look over the beautiful landscape they were so soon to lose.

"Mr. Atkinson intimates that we are at liberty to remove any furniture, or other articles, we may have bought for Eagles' Nest; that he only wishes it left as it was left by Mrs. Atkinson," continued Mrs. Raynor: who, in these last few days of trouble, seemed to have quite returned to the meek-spirited, humble-minded woman she used to be, with not a wish of her own, and thoroughly incapable. "But, Edina, the furniture would be too large, too grand for the sort of house we must have now, and therefore I am afraid useless. Besides, we shall have to sell these things with the carriages, and all that, to pay outstanding debts here that must be settled: the servants' wages, our new mourning, and other things."

"True," replied Edina, somewhat absently.

"Perhaps we could hire some articles: chairs and tables, and forms for the girls to sit on, and beds?" suggested Mrs. Raynor. "Sometimes furniture is let with a house. Edina, are you listening?"

"Yes, I am listening; partly at least; but I was deep in thought just then over ways and means," replied Edina, rousing herself to her usual mental activity. "A furnished house would never do; it would be too costly; and so, I fear, would be the hiring of furniture. Now and then, I believe, when a house is to be let, the furniture in it can be bought very cheaply."

"But if we have no money to buy it with, Edina?"

"Of course: there's the drawback. I think the neighbourhood of London would be the best locality for a new school: the most likely one to bring scholars. Should not you, Mary?"

"Yes," assented Mrs. Raynor, with a sigh. "But you know all about these things so much better than I do, Edina."

The plans, and the means of carrying them out, seemed, as yet, very indistinct; but at length Edina proposed to go to London and look about her, and see if she could find any suitable place. Mrs. Raynor, always thankful that others should act for her, eagerly acquiesced. Though, indeed, to find a house--or, rather, to find one full of furniture--appeared as a very castle-in-the-air. Chairs and tables do not drop from the skies: and Edina was setting her face resolutely against running into debt.

"Now you understand," Edina said, the morning of her departure, calling Charles and Mrs. Raynor to her, "that I shall depend upon you to arrange matters here. If I am to find a house for you in London, I may have too much to do to return, and you must manage without me. Set about what has to be done at once, Charles: get the superfluous furniture out of the house, for sale; and have your boxes packed, ready to come up. You must be out of Eagles' Nest as soon as possible; on account of the heavy expenses still going on while you are in it. Mr. George Atkinson allowed you a month: I should leave it in less than half that time. Besides, Mary: you should be on the spot to begin school before the Midsummer holidays are over; it will give you a better chance of pupils."

They agreed to all: Charles rather gloomily, Mrs. Raynor in simple confidence: anything suggested by Edina was sure to be for the best. It was impossible for Charles to rise up yet from the blow. With him, the aspect of things, instead of growing brighter, grew darker. Each morning, as it dawned, was only more gloomy than the last. A terrible wrong had been dealt to him--whether by Fate, or by that unjust defunct woman, his aunt Ann, or by George Atkinson, he could not quite decide, perhaps by all three combined--and he felt at variance with the whole world. Edina had talked to him of plans for himself, but Charles did not hear her with any patience. To contrast the present with the past drove him half-mad. That he must do something, he knew quite well, and he intended to do it: but he did not know what that something was to be; he could not see an opening anywhere. Moreover, he also knew that he must make some arrangement with the people at Oxford to whom he owed money.

Another thing had yet to be done--taking his name off the college books. Charles went down to do this; and to confer with his creditors. Very young men are often most sensitive on the score of debt: Charles Raynor was so: and it seemed to him a formidable and distressing task to meet these men, avow his poverty, and beg of them to be lenient and wait.

"I declare I'd rather meet his Satanic majesty, and hold a battle with _him!_" cried Charley, as he started forth to the encounter.

But he found the creditors considerate. They had heard of his reverse of fortune. The news of the fresh will put forward, and the consequent transfer of Eagles' Nest from the Raynors to George Atkinson the banker, had been made much of in the newspapers. One and all met Charles pleasantly; some actuated by genuine pity for the young man, others by the remembrance that you cannot get blood out of a stone. Half the sting was taken from Charley's task. He told them truly that he had no present means whatever, therefore could not offer to pay: but he assured them--and his voice was earnest, and they saw he meant it--that he would pay them whenever it should be in his power to do so, though that might not be for years to come. So he and they parted cordially. After all, no individual debt was very much, though in the aggregate the sum looked formidable.

Mr. Huddles was left until last. Charles dreaded him most. That debt was the largest. The two bills were for fifty pounds each, making a hundred; and mischief alone knew what the added expenses would be. Not only did Charles dread him because he would have to eat humble-pie, which he hated and detested, and beg the man to hold the bills on, but he believed that Mr. Huddles could arrest him without ceremony. Nevertheless he had no choice but to enter on the interview for he must know his own position before he could plan out or venture on any career of life. He went forth to it at dusk; some dim idea pervading him that tigers and kidnappers might not exercise their functions after sunset.

Mr. Huddles sat alone in his parlour when Charles was shown in: a well-lighted and well-furnished room. Instead of the scowl and the frown Charles had anticipated, he rose with a smile and a pleasant look, and offered Charles a chair.

"We were both a little out of temper the other day, Mr. Raynor," said he; "and both, I dare say, felt sorry for it afterwards. What can I do for you?"

To hear this, completely took Charles aback. Down he sat, with some indistinct words of reply. And then, summoning up what courage he could, he entered upon the subject of the bills.

"No one can regret more than I that I cannot pay them," he said. "I have come here to-night to beg of you to be so kind as hold them over. The expenses, I suppose----"

"I don't understand you, sir," interrupted Mr. Huddles. "What bills are you talking of?"

"The two bills for fifty pounds each--I have no others. Although I know how unjust it must seem to ask you to do this, Mr. Huddles, as you are only a third party and had nothing whatever to do with the transaction, I have no resource but to throw myself upon your good feeling. I am quite unable to take the bills up; you have probably heard of our reverse of fortune; but I will give you my word of honour to do so as soon as----

"The bills are paid," cried Mr. Huddles, not allowing him to go on.

"Paid?" echoed Charley.

"Paid; both of them. Why--did you not know it?"

"No, that I did not. Who has paid them?"

"Some legal firm in London."

"What firm?"

"The name was--let me see--Symmonds, I think. Yes, that was it: Symmonds and Son, solicitors."

Charley could only stare. He began to think Mr. Huddles was playing off a joke upon him; perhaps to turn round on him afterwards.

"I don't know any people of the name of Symmonds, or they me," said he. "How _came_ they to pay?"

"I think Major Raynor--I was sorry to see his death in the _Times_ so soon afterwards--gave them the necessary orders."

Charles shook his head; it was not at all likely, as he knew. He lost himself in a maze of thought.

"The evening I saw you, I was running into the station to catch a train, having lingered rather too long at the inn over some late refreshment," explained Mr. Huddles, perceiving that Charles was altogether puzzled, "when a gentleman accosted me, asking if my errand in the place had not been connected with Major Raynor's son. I replied that it had. This gentleman then said that if I would furnish the particulars of the debt to Messrs. Symmonds and Son, solicitors, of London, they would no doubt see that I was paid; and he handed me their address. I sent the particulars up the next day, and in the course of a post or two received the money."

"It must have been Frank," thought Charles, the idea flashing into his mind. "What was this gentleman like, Mr. Huddles?"

"Upon my word, sir, I can hardly tell you," was the reply. "The train dashed in just as he began to speak to me; several passengers were waiting for it, and there was a good bit of confusion. It was dusk also. Nearly dark, in fact."

"A good-looking, pleasant-speaking fellow?"

"Yes, I think so. He had a pleasant voice."

"No one but Frank," decided Charles. "It's just like him to do these good-natured things. I wonder how he found the money? And why in the world did he not tell me he had done it?"

So this trouble was at an end; and Charles might for the present be pronounced free from worry on the score of debt. If the Fates had been hard to him latterly, it seemed that they yet hold some little kindness in store for him.

But this visit to the University city was productive of the most intense chagrin in other ways to Charles Raynor; of the keenest humiliation. "Only a short while ago, I was one of _them_, with the world all before me to hold my head up in!" he kept telling himself, as he watched the undergraduates passing in the street, holding aloof from them, for he had not the courage to show his face. If by unavoidable chance he encountered one or two, he drew away as quickly as he could, after exchanging a few uncomfortable sentences. Whilst they, knowing his changed circumstances, his blighted prospects, made no effort to detain him; and if their manner displayed a certain restraint, springing from innate pity, or delicacy of feeling, Charles put it down to a very different cause, and felt all the deeper mortification.

As he left Oxford by an early morning train on his way home, his thoughts were busy with what had passed. For one thing, he found that his days of torment at Eagles' Nest, when he went about in fear of writs and arrest, had been without foundation. With the exception of Mr. Huddles--and that was much later--not a single creditor, as all assured him, had followed him there: neither had any of them written to him, excepting the one whose letter had by misadventure fallen into the hands of Major Raynor. Who then was the Tiger, Charles asked himself. Could it be that, after all, the man had positively held no mission that concerned him? It might be so: and that Charles had dreaded and hated him for nothing. The Tiger had left Grassmere now, as Charles happened to know. Jetty had said so the other day when he was at Eagles' Nest. To return sometime Jetty believed, for the gentleman had said as much to his sister Esther when leaving: he liked the lodgings and liked the place, and should no doubt visit them again.

And so, Charles Raynor returned home, relieved on the whole, in spite of his ever-present trouble, and with a lively feeling of gratitude to Frank Raynor in his heart.

He could not yet personally thank Frank; for Frank and his wife had quitted Eagles' Nest soon after the funeral of Major Raynor. With the fortunes of its hitherto supposed owners come to an end, Frank could not any longer remain, a weight on their hospitable hands. It was at length necessary that he should bestir himself in earnest, and see in what manner he could make a living for himself and Daisy. One great impediment to his doing this comfortably was, that he had no money. Excepting a few spare pounds in his pocket for present exigencies, he had positively none. The sum he had privately furnished Charles with at Christmas-time would have been useful to him now; but Frank never gave a regret to it. Daisy was not very strong yet, and could not be put about. She was going to stay with her sister, Captain Townley's wife, for two or three weeks, who had just come over from India with her children, and had taken a furnished house in London. Daisy wrote to her from Eagles' Nest proffering the visit: she saw what a convenience it would be to Frank to be "rid" of her, as she laughingly said, whilst he looked about for some place that they could settle in. Mrs. Townley's answer had been speedy and cordial. "Yes, you can come here, Daisy; I shall be delighted to see you. But what a silly child you must have been to make the undesirable runaway marriage they tell me of! I thought all the St. Clares had better sense than that."

But the Tiger is not done with yet. On the day that Frank and his wife said farewell to Eagles' Nest, and took train for London, Frank jumped out of the carriage at an intermediate station to get a newspaper. On his way into it again, he had his eyes on the newspaper, and chanced to go up to the wrong compartment, the one behind his own. Opening the door, Frank saw to his surprise that there was no room for him, and at the same moment found his face in pretty close contact with another face; one adorned with a silky brown beard and the steadfast grey eyes Frank had learned to know.

"This compartment is full, sir."

How far Frank recoiled at the words, at the sight, he never knew. _It was the Tiger_. With a sinking of the heart, a rush of dismay, he made his way to his own carriage; and let the newspaper, that he had been eager for, drop between his knees.

"He is following me to town," cried Frank, mentally, in his firm conviction. "He means to track me. How shall I escape him? How am I to escape Blase Pellet?"