of the flesh, although it still had its relations and its rights”— and saying this, as he held the solitary candle aloft in the doorway, he nodded towards the coffin, whose large black form was faintly traceable against the shadows beyond —“you will rejoice; and being clothed upon with your house from on high, you will not be found naked. On the other hand, he that loveth corruption shall have enough thereof. Think upon these things. Good-night.”
And the Swedenborgian Doctor stepped into the room, taking the candle with him, and closed the door upon the shadowy still-life there, and on his own sharp and swarthy visage, leaving Mrs. Rusk in a sort of panic in the dark alone, to find her way to her room the best way she could.
Early in the morning Mrs. Rusk came to my room to tell me that Doctor Bryerly was in the parlour, and begged to know whether I had not a message for him. I was already dressed, so, though it was dreadful seeing a stranger in my then mood, taking the key of the cabinet in my hand, I followed Mrs. Rusk downstairs.
Opening the parlour door, she stepped in, and with a little courtesy said —
“Please, sir, the young mistress — Miss Ruthyn.”
Draped in black and very pale, tall and slight, “the young mistress” was; and as I entered I heard a newspaper rustle, and the sound of steps approaching to meet me.
Face to face we met, near the door; and, without speaking, I made him a deep courtesy.
He took my hand, without the least indication on my part, in his hard lean grasp, and shook it kindly, but familiarly, peering with a sort of curiosity into my face as he continued to hold it. His ill-fitting, glossy black cloth, ungainly presence, and sharp, dark, vulpine features had in them, as I said before, the vulgarity of a Glasgow artisan in his Sabbath suit. I made an instantaneous motion to withdraw my hand, but he held it firmly.
Though there was a grim sort of familiarity, there was also decision, shrewdness, and, above all, kindness, in his dark face — a gleam on the whole of the masterly and the honest — that along with a certain paleness, betraying, I thought, restrained emotion, indicated sympathy and invited confidence.
“I hope, Miss, you are pretty well?” He pronounced “pretty” as it is spelt. “I have come in consequence of a solemn promise exacted more than a year since by your deceased father, the late Mr. Austin Ruthyn of Knowl, for whom I cherished a warm esteem, being knit besides with him in spiritual bonds. It has been a shock to you, Miss?”
“It has, indeed, sir.”
“I’ve a doctor’s degree, I have — Doctor of Medicine, Miss. Like St. Luke, preacher and doctor. I was in business once, but this is better. As one footing fails, the Lord provides another. The stream of life is black and angry; how so many of us get across without drowning, I often wonder. The best way is not to look too far before — just from one stepping-stone to another; and though you may wet your feet, He won’t let you drown — He has not allowed me.”
And Doctor Bryerly held up his head, and wagged it resolutely.
“You are born to this world’s wealth; it its way a great blessing, though a great trial, Miss, and a great trust; but don’t suppose you are destined to exemption from trouble on that account, any more than poor Emmanuel Bryerly. As the sparks fly upwards, Miss Ruthyn! Your cushioned carriage may overturn on the highroad, as I may stumble and fall upon the footpath. There are other troubles than debt and privation. Who can tell how long health may last, or when an accident may happen the brain; what mortifications may await you in your own high sphere; what unknown enemies may rise up in your path; or what slanders may asperse your name — ha, ha! It is a wonderful equilibrium — a marvellous dispensation — ha, ha!” and he laughed with a shake of his head, I thought a little sarcastically, as if he was not sorry my money could not avail to buy immunity from the general curse.
“But what money can’t do, prayer can — bear that in mind, Miss Ruthyn. We can all pray; and though thorns and snares, and stones of fire lie strewn in our way, we need not fear them. He will give His angels charge over us, and in their hands they will bear us up, for He hears and sees everywhere, and His angels are innumerable.”
He was now speaking gently and solemnly, and paused. But another vein of thought he had unconsciously opened in my mind, and I said —
“And had my dear papa no other medical adviser?”
He looked at me sharply, and flushed a little under his dark tint. His medical skill was, perhaps, the point on which his human vanity vaunted itself, and I dare say there was something very disparaging in my tone.
“And if he had no other, he might have done worse. I’ve had many critical cases in my hands, Miss Ruthyn. I can’t charge myself with any miscarriage through ignorance. My diagnosis in Mr. Ruthyn’s case has been verified by the result. But I was not alone; Sir Clayton Barrow saw him, and took my view; a note will reach him in London. But this, excuse me, is not to the present purpose. The late Mr. Ruthyn told me I was to receive a key from you, which would open a cabinet where he had placed his will — ha! thanks — in his study. And, I think, as there may be directions about the funeral, it had better be read forthwith. Is there any gentleman — a relative or man of business — near here, whom you would wish sent for?”
“No, none, thank you; I have confidence in you, sir.”
I think I spoke and looked frankly, for he smiled very kindly, though with closed lips.
“And you may be sure, Miss Ruthyn, your confidence shall not be disappointed.” Here was a long pause. “But you are very young, and you must have some one by in your interest, who has some experience in business. Let me see. Is not the Rector, Dr. Clay, at hand? In the town? — very good; and Mr. Danvers, who manages the estate, he must come. And get Grimston — you see I know all the names — Grimston, the attorney; for though he was not employed about this will, he has been Mr. Ruthyn’s solicitor a great many years: we must have Grimston; for, as I suppose you know, though it is a short will, it is a very strange one. I expostulated, but you know he was very decided when he took a view. He read it to you, eh?”
“No, sir.”
“Oh, but he told you so much as relates to you and your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, of Bartram–Haugh?”
“No, indeed, sir.”
“Ha! I wish he had.”
And with these words Doctor Bryerly’s countenance darkened.
“Mr. Silas Ruthyn is a religious man?”
“Oh, very!” said I.
“You’ve seen a good deal of him?”
“No. I never saw him,” I answered.
“H’m? Odder and odder! But he’s a good man, isn’t he?”
“Very good, indeed, sir — a very religious man.”
Doctor Bryerly was watching my countenance as I spoke with a sharp and anxious eye; and then he looked down and read the pattern of the carpet like bad news, for a while, and looking again in my face, askance, he said —
“He was very near joining us — on the point. He got into correspondence with Henry Voerst, one of our best men. They call us Swedenborgians, you know; but I dare say that won’t go much further, now. I suppose, Miss Ruthyn, one o’clock would be a good hour, and I am sure, under the
