CHAPTER XXVI.

AUNT JELLY INTERFERES.

"What vows you made at the marriage altar, For better and worse, to take your wife; Yet at the moment of need you falter, Quail at rumours of coming strife. Nay, it were wiser to cling and cherish, Altho' things evil be said and done; If in the future you both should perish, Husband and wife should be lost as one."

Aunt Jelly was looking very pale and ill on the day she elected to see Guy in order to expostulate with him on the wild way in which he was behaving. She was suffering from a very serious disease connected with the heart, and Dr. Pargowker warned her against any undue excitement, as it might prove fatal. He was seated with her now, a fat, oily man of the Chadband species, and talked about her ill-health in his usual unctuous manner.

In her accustomed chair sat Miss Corbin, looking worn with illness, but as grim and defiant as ever, while the doctor standing near her felt her pulse with one hand, and held his watch with the other. Minnie, ever watchful of her patroness's comfort, hovered round like an unquiet spirit, bringing all sorts of unnecessary things, which made Aunt Jelly very irritable and led her to say unpleasant things to Miss Pelch which reduced the poetess to tears.

"Well?" said Miss Corbin sharply, when Dr. Pargowker had finished with her pulse, "what do you say? Is this illness serious?"

The doctor lifted one fat white hand in gentle protest, and resumed his seat with a comfortable sigh.

"No, dearest lady, no," he said in his heavy, soft voice, "do not I beg of you think you are so bad as all that. You remind me, if I may be permitted to make the comparison, of a dear friend of mine who departed----"

"Bother your dear friend!" snapped Aunt Jelly in her grimmest manner. "I didn't ask you here to tell me other people's histories. I want to know about my own state of health."

Dr. Pargowker folded his chubby hands complacently on his rotund stomach and meekly ventured a protest against this language.

"Do not, oh dearest lady," he said unctuously, "do not excite yourself like this. It is bad for you, dearest lady, very bad."

"Very bad, dear Miss Corbin," echoed Minnie tearfully.

"And might lead to complications," pursued the doctor, shaking his head.

"Complications," echoed Miss Pelch, putting her handkerchief to her eyes.

"Minnie," said Aunt Jelly politely, "you're getting a bigger fool every day. Have the goodness to hold your tongue and not talk of things you know nothing about. Dr. Pargowker, if you will kindly leave off nodding your head like a Chinese mandarin, and tell me straight out what you mean, I should feel obliged."

"Dearest lady," growled the doctor, "it is useless to conceal from you the painful fact that you are very ill."

"I know that sir," retorted Aunt Jelly coolly, "go on."

"You must avoid all undue excitement, such as dances, theatres, and seeing friends."

"I haven't been to a dance for the last twenty years," said Miss Corbin wrathfully, "and as for a theatre, I've got no time to waste on that rubbish. What do you mean by talking such nonsense to me?"

"Easily upset, I see," murmured Pargowker, apparently to himself, "very easily upset."

"Wouldn't you like a little pillow for your head, dear Miss Jelly?" said Minnie, holding one over Miss Corbin as though she were going to play Othello to the old lady's Desdemona.

"I'd like a little common sense," retorted Miss Corbin, pushing away the pillow, "but it seems I'm not likely to get it."

"Be calm, dear lady, be calm," observed Dr. Pargowker, nodding his head. "If you will permit me, I will write out a prescription."

"Pen, ink, and paper, Minnie!" ordered Aunt jelly, glaring at the doctor.

The obliging Minnie flew to obtain these necessaries, and having done so, placed them on a little table near the physician, who wheeled his chair round and began to write.

Aunt Jelly and Dr. Pargowker were old friends, and never parted without a fight, which, however, was principally conducted by Miss Corbin, as the doctor resolutely kept his temper, and always left the room as bland, cool, and unruffled as when he entered it. In spite of his round-about way of putting things, Pargowker was really very clever at his profession, and Aunt Jelly reposed the utmost confidence in his power, although she never could resist using her sharp tongue on him when occasion offered, and as it did so now, Aunt Jelly began to talk, showing thereby that she was not so ill as she seemed.

"Lord knows how you get patients," she said, folding her bony hands, "it's all chat with you and nothing else."

"Dear, dear," murmured Pargowker, going on placidly with his writing, "this is bad, very, very bad."

"Are you talking about your prescription, or yourself?" snapped Miss Corbin, dauntlessly. "I daresay they're much of a muchness. If one doesn't kill me, I've no doubt the other will."

"Pardon me, dearest lady," said the doctor, smiling blandly, "you are in error. This prescription will do you a great deal of good. Oh, we will pull you round, yes--yes. I think I may venture to say we will pull you round."

"Pull me round or square, it's easily seen I'm not long for this world," replied Miss Corbin.

"Oh, do not speak like that, Miss Jelly," whimpered Minnie, "you will get quite well, I'm sure of it."

"Aye! aye!" remarked Pargowker, folding up his prescription. "While there's life, there's hope."

"Don't quote your proverbs to me," said Aunt Jelly, determined not to be pleased by anything, "they're nothing but traditional lies; but seriously speaking, doctor, if you can speak seriously, which I'm very much inclined to doubt, I want to see my nephew, Sir Guy Errington, to-day."

"No! dearest lady, no!" said Pargowker, rising from his seat, and raising one hand in protest, "pardon me, no!--the very worst person you could see!"

"If you knew him as well as I do, you might well say that," replied Miss Corbin, malignantly, "but I must see him. It's imperative."

"If you will not excite yourself----"

"I'm not going to excite myself," retorted Aunt Jelly, "but I'm going to excite him."

Dr. Pargowker took up his hat and buttoned his coat with the air of a man who washed his hands of the whole affair.

"If you attend to my orders," he said, speaking more sharply than was usual with him, "you will see no one. But I know you of old, Miss Corbin. You expect to be cured, but won't do what you're told."

"Good Heavens!" ejaculated Aunt Jelly, with feeble merriment. "Have you taken to poetry also? The idea is good, doctor, but the poetry is worse than Minnie's."

"Oh, Miss Jelly!" murmured Minnie, in tearful protest.

"Well, well," said Pargowker, good-humouredly, shaking hands with Miss Corbin, "poetry or not, dear lady, do what I tell you. Keep yourself calm, see no one, take this prescription, and I think, yes, I think you will be quite safe."

"I've no doubt about it," cried Aunt Jelly, as he paused at the door, "safe for the nearest cemetery. Go along with you, doctor. I tell you I've made up my mind to see my nephew. It's a case of life and death."

"Certainly with you, dear lady--certainly with you," said Dr. Pargowker emphatically. "Miss Pelch, will you honour me by seeing me to the door?"

"You want to talk about me behind my back," said Miss Corbin, suspiciously. "It's no use. I'll make Minnie tell me everything." She darted a threatening look at that young lady, which made her shake, and then Minnie disappeared through the door, while the doctor prepared to follow, first giving a parting word to his refractory patient.

"It's no use, dear lady," he said, with playful ponderousness, "calling in the doctor if you don't intend to obey him."

"I never obeyed anyone in my life," said Aunt Jelly, stiffening her back, "and I'm certainly not going to begin with you."

"Dearest Miss Corbin, I am in earnest."

"So am I," retorted the old lady, frowning. "There! there! go away, I'll do everything you tell me, but I must see my nephew to-day."

Dr. Pargowker sighed, yielded to stern necessity, and spoke.

"Well, you can do so, my dear, old friend, but only for five minutes--only for five minutes."

"Quite enough for all I've got to say."

The doctor looked waggishly at Miss Corbin, in order to keep up her spirits, but his face grew very grave as he spoke to Minnie at the door.

"She must not see anyone," he said emphatically, "mind that, Miss Pelch. I was obliged to say she could speak to Sir Guy Errington for five minutes, as she grows so excited over being contradicted. If he does come, let her see him for that time, but don't let her grow excited. I'll call in again to-night, to see how she is."

"Is she very ill?" asked Minnie in dismay.

"So ill," said Pargowker, putting on his hat, "that if she's not kept absolutely quiet, she won't recover."

"Oh!" said Miss Pelch in an alarmed tone, and would have asked more questions, only Dr. Pargowker was already in his brougham, on his way to another patient.

Minnie returned to the drawing-room, with a cheerful face, so as not to let Miss Corbin see her feelings, but that indomitable lady was determined to have the truth, and tackled her at once.

"Well, what did he say?" she demanded, sharply.

"Only that you were to keep yourself quiet, dear Miss Jelly," replied Minnie, taking up her work, a green parrot being embroidered on a red tree, against a yellow ground and a purple sky.

"What else?"

"Nothing!"

"Minnie, you are deceiving me," said Aunt Jelly solemnly. "I can see it in your face. Do you think it's right to deceive a dying person?"

"You're not dying," whimpered Minnie, beginning to cry.

"I'm not far off it, at all events," retorted Miss Corbin, with a sigh. "I know my own constitution quite as well as that fool of a doctor, and I'm pretty sure I won't get well this time."

"Oh, but you will--you will," cried Minnie, weeping.

"Pooh! nonsense, child," said Miss Corbin, kindly, "don't waste your tears over an old woman like me. I've had a long life, but by no means a happy one. Quantity not quality, I suppose. If I can only see Victoria engaged to that nice Macjean boy, and persuade my nephew out of his folly, I'll not be sorry to go."

"Dr. Pargowker said you were not to see Sir Guy longer than five minutes, Miss Jelly."

"Quite long enough."

"And were not to excite yourself."

"There, there, Minnie!" said Miss Jelly, impatiently. "I'll take good care of myself, you may be sure. What time did Sir Guy say he would be here?"

"Four o'clock, dear Miss Corbin."

"It's nearly that now," observed Aunt Jelly, looking at the clock. "I hope he won't keep me waiting. Young men are so careless now-a-days. Miss Sheldon has gone out?"

"Yes! to the Academy with Mrs. Trubbles and Mr. Macjean."

"Neither of whom know anything about pictures. It means flirting, not art, I've no doubt. Well! well, we must not be too hard on the young. Let me leave the world in peace, that's all I ask."

Minnie put down her work, and came close to Miss Corbin, whose thin cold hand she took in her own.

"Dear Miss jelly, don't talk like that," she said, softly, "indeed you will get well, I'm sure you will."

"No, child, no!"

"Oh, but, yes," persisted her companion, fondly. "Why, whatever would I do, if you did not live to read my little volume?"

"Oh, it's coming out, then?" said Aunt Jelly, grimly, with a flash of her old spirit.

"Yes, Mr. Gartney has arranged it all. I was going to keep it a secret, but when you talk about dying, I can't," and poor Minnie fairly broke down, which touched Aunt Jelly more than she liked to acknowledge.

"There! there!" she said, touching Minnie's face, with unaccustomed tenderness, "you're a good child, Minnie. Tell me all about this poetry book."

"It's going to be called 'Heart Throbs and Sad Sobs, by Minnie Pelch,'" said the poetess, radiantly, "'dedicated to Miss Angelica Corbin, by her sincere friend, the Authoress.'"

Aunt Jelly was silent for a few minutes, feeling, rather a choking in her throat. She had laughed at poor Minnie's simple rhymes on many occasions, and now the poetess had returned good for evil, paying her the high compliment of inscribing her name on the front of the book. Minnie mistook her silence for indignation at not having asked permission, and tried to pacify the old lady.

"I hope you're not angry," she said, timidly smoothing Aunt Jelly's hand, "but I wanted to surprise you by the dedication. There's a poem about you too, Miss Jelly, and I think it's the best in the book--really the best."

The old lady was so touched by Minnie's poor little attempt to propitiate her, that she could not trust herself to speak, and when she did there were tears rolling down her hard old face, as she bent down and kissed her.

"It's very good of you, child," she said, in a tremulous voice, "and I feel very much honoured, indeed. Perhaps I've not been so kind to you as I ought to have been.

"Oh, but you have!--you have!" cried Minnie, throwing herself on her knees, with tears in her eyes. "If it had not been for you, I would have starved, dear Miss Jelly. Indeed, I would. It is so hard to get paid for poetry. And you have been such a kind, good friend--such a kind good friend!"

"If I have spoken harshly to you, dear, on occasions," said Aunt Jelly, brokenly, "it was from no want of feeling. Age, my dear Minnie, age, and an embittered nature. But the heart was there, my dear, all the time the heart was there."

"I know it was!--I know it was!" wept Minnie, patting the withered hand of her old friend. "I have never doubted that."

"Yes! yes!" muttered the old dame dreamily, "the heart was there."

And there was silence for a few minutes, only broken by the sobs of Minnie, then Aunt Jelly recovered her usual manner with an effort, and ordered wine and cake to be placed on the table. Miss Pelch had barely time to do this, when there came a ring at the front door, and shortly afterwards Sir Guy Errington entered the room. Aunt Jelly, now quite her own grim self, received her nephew coldly, and then sent Minnie out of the room, as she wanted to talk to Sir Guy in private. Miss Pelch, however, mindful of the doctor's order, did not go far, but waited in the hall, so as to be ready to enter when the five minutes had expired.

Guy looked rather haggard about the face, as he sat down near his elderly relation, which Aunt Jelly put down to fast living, although, in reality, it was due to worrying about his wife. This idea did not make her feel very tenderly towards Errington, and she prepared herself to do battle.

"So you've come at last?" she said, straightening her back, and folding her hands on her knees.

"I came as soon as you sent for me," answered Guy, quietly.

"You should have come without an invitation," said Aunt Jelly, with a frown, "but young men of the present day seem to take a delight in neglecting those nearest and dearest to them."

This was said pointedly, with a view to drawing forth some remark about Alizon, but Guy did not take it in that sense.

"I don't want to neglect you, aunt," he said moodily, "but our conversations are not so pleasant that I should look forward to them."

"I only speak for your good."

"People always do that when they make disagreeable remarks," replied Errington sarcastically. "You're not looking well to-day, Aunt Jelly."

"I don't feel well either," responded his aunt shortly. "I'm dying."

"Oh, no, don't say that," said Guy, heartily shocked at her remark.

"But I will say it," retorted Miss Corbin, nodding her head vigorously, "and I'll say something else too that you won't like."

"I've no doubt you will," answered Guy crossly, rising to his feet. "Look here, Aunt Jelly, you're not well to-day, and if you brought me here to quarrel, I'm not fit for it."

"You're fit for nothing in my opinion except the Divorce Court," said Aunt Jelly viciously. "Sit down."

"I don't know what you mean by talking about the Divorce Court," answered Errington calmly, obeying her command.

"Think and see."

"What's the good of my doing that?" cried Errington angrily, "I don't know what you mean."

"Don't shriek," said Miss Corbin coolly, "it goes through my head."

"I beg your pardon aunt," replied Guy politely, "but if you would tell me what you're driving at I would feel obliged."

Aunt Jelly sat in silence for a moment, rapping the fingers of one hand on the knuckles of the other, then spoke out sharply.

"What's all this talk about you and Mrs. Veilsturm?" Guy sat bolt upright in his chair and stared at her in amazement.

"Oh, is that it?" he said with a short laugh. "Don't worry your head about Mrs. Veilsturm, aunt. All the world can know the relations that exist between us."

"All the world does know."

Errington arose from his seat with a smothered ejaculation, and thrusting his hands into his pockets, began to walk backwards and forwards.

"You needn't use bad language, my dear Guy," said Aunt Jelly, with aggravating placidity. "All I want to know is what you mean by leaving your wife and running after Mrs. Veilsturm?"

"I'm not running after Mrs. Veilsturm," said her nephew angrily, "and I've not left my wife. I'm simply up in Town for a spell, and have called once or twice to see a very pleasant woman."

"A very pleasant woman, indeed," sneered Aunt Jelly scornfully.

"If you think so badly of her, I wonder you let your ward go near her."

"I don't know anything against the woman's character," replied Miss Corbin, "so there's no reason I should keep Victoria away. I daresay she's as bad as the rest of them, and conceals it better. But that's nothing to do with my question. It has come to my ears that you are paying marked attentions to Mrs. Veilsturm, and I want to know if it is true."

"No, it is not true?" answered Errington slowly. "I have been a great deal with Mrs. Veilsturm since I came up to Town, but that was simply because she asked me to visit her, and without being absolutely rude, I could not refuse."

"A very nice explanation," said his aunt disbelievingly, "but do you think it is one your wife will accept?"

"My wife knows nothing about my visits to Mrs. Veilsturm."

"Indeed she does," replied Aunt Jelly coolly. "I wrote and told her all about them."

Guy's face grew as pale as that of a corpse, and he stared at Miss Corbin as if he had been turned into stone. At length, with an effort, he arose to his feet and repeated her answer in a harsh, strained voice.

"You wrote and told her all about them?"

"Yes! I did not think your conduct was right, so, as your wife has most influence with you, I wrote and told her to call you back to Ellington."

All the blood in his body seemed to surge up into his head with the violent effort he made to suppress his anger. Had it been any one else but this feeble old woman, he would have simply let his passion master him, but in this case, with such an adversary he could do nothing.

"God forgive you, Aunt Jelly," he said at length, "you've done a cruel thing," and he turned and walked slowly to the door.

"I have done what was right," said Miss Corbin bravely. "You were deceiving your wife, and I was determined she should know of your deception."

Sir Guy turned towards her as he paused at the door, and when she finished speaking, answered her slowly and deliberately.

"You are quite wrong. I was not deceiving my wife, as I can prove to you. As you know, my wife has treated me very cruelly during the last year, and neglected me in every way, giving all her love to the child. Eustace came down the other day, and advised me to leave my wife for a few weeks, thinking she would not be so indifferent on my return. I took his advice and came up to Town. Eustace took me to Mrs. Veilsturm, and finding her a very pleasant woman, I simply went there in order to amuse myself. But as for caring about her, I love and respect my wife and my name too much to degrade myself so far. Unluckily, until the other day, I did not remember that Alizon disliked Mrs. Veilsturm, because she was mixed up with her father in some way, and forbade her to visit at the Hall. Had I remembered this, I would not have gone there, but it's too late now to think of it. By believing all these malicious stories, which I give you my word of honour have no foundation, and writing to her, she will believe that I went to see this woman on purpose, and she will never forgive me. I am going down to the Hall by to-night's train, and will try and explain everything to her, but I'm afraid she will not believe me. No doubt you acted for the best, Aunt Jelly, but in doing so you have simply ruined my life."

"Guy! Guy!" moaned the old woman, who had listened to all this with a sense of stunned amazement. "Forgive me! I did it for the best, but I will write again and tell her how wrong I have been."

"It is too late," he replied sadly, "too late."

"No, it's not too late, Guy. But forgive me! forgive me!"

Errington looked at her coldly.

"If my wife forgives me I will forgive you," he answered, and left the room.

Aunt Jelly stared at the closed door, and strove to call him back, but her voice died in her throat, a mist came before her eyes, and overwhelmed by the fatal discovery she had made, and the excitement she had undergone, she fell back in a dead faint.