Chennery, you shock me dreadfully,” said Mr. Phippen. “Especially when you say about weakness after illness. Why, I have had long weaknesses – I have got them now. And I see spots, black spots, dancing black bilious spots. I feel this story in every nerve of my body; I do, indeed!”
“You will hardly know that Leonard is blind,” said Miss Louisa. “Except that his eyes look quieter than other people's.”
“Poor young Frankland!” said the vicar, warmly. “That good, tender, noble creature is a consolation to him in his affliction. Rosamond Treverton is the girl to do it.”
“She has made a sacrifice,” said Mr. Phippen; “but I like her for that. I made a sacrifice, too. Did she cry much, Chennery, when you were marrying her?”
“Cry!” exclaimed the vicar, contemptuously. “Rosamond Treverton is a fine, buxom, warm-hearted, quick-tempered girl. She might marry anybody she pleased. But she married him! They were engaged long before this cruel affliction befell young Frankland – their fathers, on both sides, were neighbors. Well, when the blindness came, Leonard offered to release Rosamond from her engagement. And she wrote to him a letter. Phippen, I blubbered like a baby over it when they showed it to me. I wanted to marry them immediately. But old Frankland was a fidgety, punctilious man, and he insisted on a six months' probation. He died soon, and the marriage was put off again. But no delays altered Rosamond – six years, instead of six months, did not change her. We'll drink her health after dinner, Miss Sturch – we'll drink both their healths, Phippen!”
“But, my dear Chennery,” said Mr. Phippen, mournfully, “when you were talking of the fathers of these two interesting young people, you mentioned they were neighbors here, at Long Beckley. I thought Captain Treverton was the eldest of the two brothers, and that he always lived, when he was on shore, at the family place in Cornwall?”
“So he did,” returned the vicar, “in his wife's lifetime. But since her death, which happened – let me see-”
The vicar stopped for an instant to calculate, and looked at Miss Sturch.
“Fifteen years ago, Sir,” said Miss Sturch, with her smile.
“Of course,” continued Doctor Chennery. “Well, since Mrs. Treverton died, fifteen years ago, Captain Treverton has never been near Porthgenna Tower. And at the first opportunity he sold the place – sold it, mine, fisheries, and all – for forty thousand pounds.”
“You don't say so![12]” exclaimed Mr. Phippen. “Did he find the air unhealthy? Who bought the place?”
“Leonard Frankland's father,” said the vicar. “It is rather a long story, that sale of Porthgenna Tower, with some curious circumstances involved in it. Suppose we take a turn in the garden, Phippen? I'll tell you all about it later. Miss Sturch, I shall be on the lawn somewhere. Come, Phippen!”
“My dear fellow, I will say yes. Just lend me an umbrella, and allow me to carry my camp-stool in my hand,” said Mr. Phippen. “I am too weak to encounter the sun. And I can't go far. The moment I feel fatigued, Miss Sturch, I open my camp-stool, and sit down anywhere. I am ready, Chennery, my good friend, for the garden and the story about the sale of Porthgenna Tower. You said it was a curious story, did you not?”
“I said about some curious circumstances connected with it,” replied the vicar. “And when you hear about them, I think you will say so too. Come along! You will find your camp-stool, and a choice of all the umbrellas in the house, in the hall.”
With those words, Doctor Chennery led the way out of the breakfast-parlor.
Chapter V
“How charming! How pastoral! How exquisitely soothing!” said Mr. Phippen at the back of the vicarage-house, under the shadow of the umbrella. “Three years have passed, Chennery, since I last stood on this lawn. There is the window of your old study, where I had my attack of heart-burn[13] last time – in the strawberry season; don't you remember? Ah! And there is the school-room! Shall I ever forget dear Miss Sturch? She was coming to me out of that room – an angel with soda and ginger – so comforting, so sweetly anxious, so unaffectedly grieved that there was no medicine in the house! I enjoy these pleasant recollections, Chennery. Can you walk on the other side, my dear fellow? I like the smell, but the smoke is a little too much for me. Thank you. And now about the story? What was the name of the old place – I am so interested in it – it began with a P, surely?”
“Porthgenna Tower,” said the vicar.
“Exactly,” rejoined Mr. Phippen. “And what made Captain Treverton sell Porthgenna Tower?”
“I believe the reason was that he did not endure the place after the death of his wife,” answered Doctor Chennery. “So the Captain found a purchaser.”
“Why not his brother?” asked Mr. Phippen. “Why not our eccentric friend, Andrew Treverton?”
“Don't call him my friend,” said the vicar. “A mean, groveling, cynical, selfish old wretch! I know Andrew Treverton's history as well as you do. I know that he was treated with the basest ingratitude by a college friend, who took all, and swindled him at last in the grossest manner. I know all about that. But one instance of ingratitude does not justify him. The old brute says that the greatest benefactor to our generation will be a second Herod. Can he be the friend of any human being?”
“My friend!” said Mr. Phippen. He caught the vicar by the arm, and mysteriously lowered his voice. “My dear and reverend friend! I admire your honest indignation against the utterer of that misanthropical sentiment; but – I confide this to you, Chennery, in the strictest secrecy – there are moments when my digestion is in such a state that I have actually agreed with that person, Andrew Treverton! I wake up with my tongue like a cinder. I crawl to the glass and look at it – and I say to myself, 'Let there be an end of the human race rather than a continuance of this!'”
“Pooh!” cried the vicar and laughed. “Take a glass of cool beer next time your tongue is in that state. But let us go back to Porthgenna Tower. So Captain decided to sell the place. He could offer it to his brother, of course. Andrew was rich enough to buy it. But… It is a shocking thing to say, but the worst quarrel I ever heard of is the quarrel between those two brothers.”
“Pardon me, my dear friend,” said Mr. Phippen. He opened his camp-stool. “May I sit down? I am a little excited about this part of the story, and I dare not fatigue myself.”
“You know,” pursued the vicar, “that Captain Treverton married an actress – rather a violent temper, I believe; but a person of spotless character. According to my view of it, a very good wife for him to marry. However, the Captain's friends, of course, made the usual senseless outcry, and the Captain's brother, as the only near relation, wanted to break off the marriage. He failed in that, and left his brother's house. But he said one infamous thing about the bride, which, Phippen, I am ashamed to repeat. Whatever the words were, they were unluckily carried to Mrs. Treverton's ears. No woman forgives that. An interview followed between the two brothers – and it led, as you may easily imagine, to very unhappy results. They parted in the most deplorable manner. So they separated. Twice afterward the Captain made overtures of reconciliation. The first time when his daughter Rosamond was born; the second time when Mrs. Treverton died. On each occasion the elder brother wrote to him. No answer was received from Andrew; and the estrangement between the two brothers has continued to the present time. Well, the house, the estate, the mine, and the fisheries of Porthgenna were all for sale a few months after Mrs. Treverton's death. But the ruinous state of the house, the bad cultivation of the land, legal difficulties
You don't say so! – Не может быть!
attack of heart-burn – приступ изжоги
