BLACK SHEEP!

BY THE AUTHOR OF "LAND AT LAST," " KISSING THE ROD,"
&c. &c.

BOOK III.

CHAPTER II. MRS. P. IRETON BEMBRIDGE.

THE experiment which Dr. Merle had sanctioned
proved successful. The wise physician
had calmed the apprehensions with which her
husband and son regarded the swoon into which
Mrs. Carruthers had fallen upon recognising
George, and had hinted that on her recovery the
mother and son should be left alone.

"The old gentleman," said Dr. Merle to
Mr. Felton, "and a fine old gentleman he is—
a little peculiar, but it would not do the world
any harm to have a few more of his sort in it—
has told me a good deal of the family history
intentionally, and some of it unintentionally, and
I have not the least doubt that the root of Mrs.
Carruthers's disease is simply her son."

"He has given her some trouble, I know,"
said Mark Felton, with a sigh; "but hardly so
much as that comes to, I fancy."

"Well, well, I won't be positive; but I think
so. No young man ever tells all the truth about
his follies; and, indeed, no middle–aged or old
man, for that matter; and rely upon it, his
mother knows more than any one else. She
will do well, Mr. Felton. She sees him all
right, no matter how wrong he may have been;
there's nothing gravely amiss now. We may
leave her to time now, and her son's society."

"Do you think I may venture to see her
soon?"

"Impossible to say, for a day or two, my
dear sir, impossible to say. Mr. Carruthers and
Mr. Dallas must explain your coming to her.
I don't prescribe two shocks, you know, even
pleasant ones, and then I have no doubt you
will perfect the cure."

Mr. Felton acknowledged the smooth speech
with an absent sort of smile, and Dr. Merle
took his leave.

"You are sure there is nothing wrong with
you, George? You are quite sure you are in
no danger?" said Mrs. Carruthers, late in the
afternoon of that day, to her son, as she lay
quietly on a large sofa, drawn close to the window,
where the panes were glittering in the
dying light. Her face was turned towards him,
her dark eyes a little troubled, and not so
bright as they had been, resting fondly and
with a puzzled expression upon his face, and
one thin hand fondly clasped in his. George
was lying on the floor beside her sofa, his head
resting against her pillow, and the fingers of her
other hand were moving softly among his rich
brown curls.

"Nothing, indeed, mother. All is well with
me—much, much better than I ever expected or
hoped; but you must not agitate yourself, or
ask any questions. Dr. Merle and Mr. Carruthers
have put me on my honour not to talk to
you of the past, and we must keep our word,
you know," and the young man tenderly kissed
the hand he held in his.

"Yes, yes," she said, in an absent, searching
tone, "but there is something—there was
something—I——"

"Hush, mother! In the time to come you
shall know everything, but for the present you
must simply trust me. Indeed, there is nothing
wrong. I am here with you, brought here and
welcomed by Mr. Carruthers. You remember
that he did not like me, and he had good cause;
yes, he had good cause, but that is all over now.
I am here with his full sanction and approbation,
and you must be content to know that, to
feel it, and to rest. You have to get strong and
well now, mother, and then we shall all be quite
happy."

"Yes, George, yes. I can rest now," said his
mother. And she nestled down upon her sofa,
and he drew the coverings around her, and they
both kept silence; and presently, in the autumnal
evening, when the moon rose over the dark
Taunus, and the lights began to sparkle all
over the little white town, Mrs. Carruthers fell
asleep, with her hand clasped in that of her son,
and her worn but always handsome face resting
against his brown curls.

The days went by, and with the lapse of each
Mrs. Carruthers made an advance towards the
recovery of her health and her faculties. Very
shortly after their meeting, George had spoken
to her of his uncle, and though he found it
difficult to fix her attention or engage her interest,
he succeeded in ascertaining that she
remembered all the circumstances of her brother's
life, and that he had expressed a wish and intention
to come to England.

"Mark is not happy in his son," she said
one day to Mr. Carruthers and George, who had