BLACK SHEEP!

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

BOOK III.

CHAPTER IX. MOVING ON.

UNCONSCIOUS of the inquietude of her
brother and of her son, happy in a reunion
which she had never ventured to hope for, still
sufficiently weakened by her illness to be
preserved from any mental investigation of "how
things had come about," acquiescent and tranquil,
Mrs. Carruthers was rapidly getting well.
The indelible alteration which her beauty had
sustained—for it was beauty still— the beauty of
a decade later than when George had seen his
mother through the ball-room window at
Poynings—had touched her morally as well as
physically; and a great calm had come upon her with
the silver streaks in her rich dark hair, and the
fading of the colour in her cheek.

The relation between George's mother and
her husband had undergone an entire change.
Mr. Carruthers had been excessively alarmed
when he first realised the nature of his wife's
illness. He had never come in contact with
anything of the kind, and novelty of any
description had a tendency to alarm and disconcert
Mr. Carruthers of Poynings. But he was
not in the least likely to leave any manifest duty
undone, and he had devoted himself, with all the
intelligence he possessed (which was not much),
and all the heart (which was a great deal more
than he, or anybody else, suspected), to the care,
attention, and "humouring" which the patient
required. From the first, Mrs. Carruthers had
been able to recognise this without trying to
account for it, and she unconsciously adopted
the best possible method of dealing with a
disposition like that of her husband. She evinced
the most absolute dependence on him, an almost
fretful eagerness for his presence, an entire
forgetfulness of the former supposed immutable
law which had decreed that the convenience
and the pleasure of Mr. Carruthers of Poynings
were to take precedence, as a matter of course,
of all other sublunary things. Indeed, it was
merely in a technical sense that, as regarded the
little world of Poynings, these had been
considered sublunary. Its population concerned
themselves infinitely less with the "principalities
and powers" than with the accuracy of the
temperature of Mr. Carruthers's shaving-water,
and the punctuality with which Mr. Carruthers's
breakfast, lunch, and dinner were served. It
had never occurred to his loving and dutiful
wife that any alteration in this principle of life
at Poynings could possibly be effected, and thus
the more superficial faults of the character of a
genuinely worthy man had been strengthened
by the irresponsibility of his position until they
bade fair to overpower its genuine worth. But
all this has changed now, changed in a fashion
against which there was no appeal. Mr. Carruthers
was no longer the first. His hours, his
habits, his occupations, had to give way to the
exigencies of a misfortune which struck him on
the most sensitive point, and which invested him
with a responsibility not to be trifled with or
shared. It was characteristic of him that he
became excessively proud of his care of his wife.
The pomposity and importance with which he
had been wont to "transact his public business"
was now transferred to his superintendence
of his patient; and the surveillance and
fussiness which had made life rather a burdensome
possession to the household and retainers
of Poynings impressed themselves upon the
physicians and attendants promoted to the
honour of serving Mrs. Carruthers. As they
were, in the nature of things, only temporary
inflictions, and were, besides, accompanied by
remarkably liberal remuneration, the sufferers
supported them uncomplainingly.

It was also characteristic of Mr. Carruthers
that, having made up his mind to receive George
Dallas well, he had received him very well, and
speedily became convinced that the young man's
reformation was genuine, and would be lasting.
Also, he had not the least suspicion how largely
he was influenced in this direction by Mark
Felton's estimate of the young man—an estimate
not due to ignorance either, for George
had hidden nothing in his past career from his
uncle, except his acquaintance with Clare Carruthers,
and the strange coincidence which
connected him with the mysterious murder of the
17th of April. Mr. Carruthers, like all men who
are both weak and obstinate, was largely
influenced by the opinions of others, provided they
were not forced upon him or too plainly
suggested to him, but that he was currently
supposed to partake or even to originate them.
He had not said much to his wife about her son;
he had not referred to the past at all.