LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume I, Issue 76, 28 August 1874, Page 3

LITERATURE.

MR ARKLEY'S WILL. IN FOUR CHAPTERS. Chapter I. [From " Chambers' Journal."] ' There is that old pain again, about which P>romley shakes his head so much. Why does he shako his head ? He is an idiot! Everybody has some ailment or other, and I am not exempt. 1 have had that pain since I was a child. My heart may not be exactly Mercy on me, that was a spasm! A few more like that, and' Old Mr Arkley sat by himself, with his feet on the fender, and a cup of tea by his side. It was an evening in winter, and the pattering rain aud howling wind sounded dismally enough. Perhaps they gave an extra gloom to Mr Ai'kley's thoughts, for he resumed : 'There is just this consideration: of course I must die some day, and Bromley, should he outlive me (which is hardly likely, for the smell of his own physic aud the pangs of remorse must kill him before long, I should think), will look vastly wise. and say he saw that death was inevitable ; and that sage remark will be accepted, doubtless, in testimony of his skill. However, there is one thing I may a* well do, and why not at once ? I ought to make a will. I'm not chicken-hearted in such a matter. Where's some paper?' He soon practically answered his own question, and had writing materials before him. Then he leaned back. Only a person of very phlegmatic temperament can make a will without emotion. It is your last communication. There is nothing beyond it. When they have put you in your grave, you come back to speak to them (the mourners) jiwt for a few minutes, ere they separate in all directions, and gather again no more on your account. You can hear no comments, and can give no explanations. Well may a man making a will pause often and reflect. Mr Arkley began his will with much ease ; but when he had written a few lines, he hesitated, rubbed his forehead, laid down his pen, and rising from his chair, paced the room. ' What a thousand pities,' he muttered, 'that George should thwart me in that one miserable particular ! I should not have Ihe slightest doubt except on that score. As for Frederick Teesdale, I know the difference between him and George Arkley, though others do not. Both my nephews, as the world thinks, have " expectations " from me ; but none of my money goes to Master Fred, if I can help it. The other youth should have all—every penny ; but That's his knock at the door. Well, he shall come in. I'll tell him my occupation. He must, he shall give way.' ' Well, uncle,' said cheerily a man about eight-and-twenty, entering the room. 'You didn't expect me such a night, did you ? But I met Dr Bromley this afternoon, and' ' Bother Bromley, George ; or murder him with his own lancet! I'm very glad to see you, for I was thinking of you very much as you knocked. Sit down in that easy-chair ; make yourself comfortable ; and before I order supper (you've had tea, of course), just let me tell you the particular matter in my mind at this moment.' George Arkley did as he was bid, except in respect of making himself comfortable. He seemed not to like his uncle's exordium, and he fidgeted exceedingly. Sometimes you get a notion of disagreeable things at hand in a most mysterious way. ' I said this moment, George. " Bother Bromley," and yet I have been half-uncon-sciously paying heed to him. You see that paper ; what do you think it is? ' ' Not the slightest, idea, uncle.' 'lt's a sketch of my will. Now listen, George. When I said to myself only a quarter of an hour ago, " I'll make my will," I thought two minutes would suffice for the work ; and for all but the few last lines, those two minutes really did suffice. Now, my boy,' continued the old gentleman, affectionately laying his hand on his nephew's shoulder, ' I want to finish my occupation. Just a word from you (the right word, George, mind you), and the little matter belonging to me (not more than five-and-twenty thousand altogether, I am afraid) is left, a few legacies deducted, to—whom, George ?' ' Uncle, I cannot, of course, mistake your meaning—you mean to me. duly appreciate your extreme kindness aud liberality, although, if you'll forgive me, I would remind you that one as nearly related to you as myself claims consideration at your hands.' ' George, I shall do what I like with my own. But stay ; I want that 'right word' from you. Say it out now, and gladden my old heart again. It may soon cease to beat, you know, George.' •My dear uncle,' said George Arkley, his voice trembling, ' I have a dread we are coming to a topic which has more than ouce caused both of us much pain, because it is just the one only subject on which we seem hopelessly disagreed.' ' Surely, my boy,' not ' hopelessly.' You are not so fascinated with this girl as to be blind to her many defects aud drawbacks. You are not prepared to say definitely, ' I will,' in the face of the promptings of your own <rood sense and my most earnest entreaties, both joining in the cry ' Do not.' George, reflect; I entreat you to reflect. This girl Emmeline is a notorious flirt. She cares no more for you than for a dozen other men. She will take you, if she can get nobody better, and she will unceremoniously discard and laugh at you if she can.' George hung his head. Wasn't this true ? He had a sore misgiving that it was. And yet —and yet —bow could he give her up ? ' You don't know what distress you're causing me, uncle,' he moaued. 'Pshaw!' exclaimed the old gentleman. 'You're not a child, George. Men of nearly thirty seldom die of broken heart. Seriously, now, give me the plcasantest moment I have known for years, by saying you will break off this entanglement or engagement.' George plucked up courage. He was not exactly a warrior in respect of moral tirmni'ss :'he had not sustained aud triumphed under many sharp tests, but he was equal, to this occasion. ' It really cannot be, uncle.' Mr Arkley's manner changed. 'Then there is another thing which cannot be, nephew. Listen !, Aud he read in a trembling voice what he had written. It was brief and simple. As he said, there wen; a few legacies, and then all the residue, personal aud real, was bequeathed to—there was only the name to be filled in.

Mr Arkley resumed his pen. ' George, once again reflect.' ' I can make no other answer, uncle.' Mr Arkley supplied the blank—' the County Hospital.' He turned to his uephew. ' T am sorry, but I think you had better not remain with me this evening. This has shaken me.' He held out his hand, which George Arkley took and pressed. The next minute the uncle was alone. Do you ever wake up in the middle of the night, reader, when, in dreadful array, there seem to come before you all things in your past and present life which can reproach you and make you unhappy and uncomfortable? Most people are now and then thus assailed, and on the night of which we speak Mr Arkley had a fit of this kind. He quailed and gasped under it; he felt as though his last moment drew near, and yet it could not be faced. With him, as with most of us, there were many reasons why, alas ! but with him there was an especial reason : he had done a very arbitrary, unkind act only a few hours ago. Thank Heaven, it could be undone ; that error, at all events, was not irretrievable. He rose, lighted his lamp, tremblingly drew forth the draft-will which he had placed in a drawer in his bedroom, and in another minute a great black line was dashed through ' County Hospital,' and ' George Arkley ' substituted. Chapter 11. Another evening, a week on, Mr Arkley again sat in his dining-room. He had been busy fair-copying the draft-will. He disliked sending it to his lawyer with the double erasure : so, in a formal, almost schoolboy hand, he had copied it ou foolscap paper, with a great margin, and was looking placidly at his work. 'lt shall stand.' he said to himself ; ' but George shall know nothing about it till I am dead. It'll move him a little, I think, then to find how much I loved him, that not all his obstinacy could occasion more than passing irritation, far less make me utterly turn from him.—What ! Frederick—you here ? Why, I did not know you were in the house ! ' A tall young man, rather good-looking, but with much of conceit in his air, and plenty of the dandy in his dress, was extending his hand. 'Didn't you, uncle? Well, I don't make much noise in the world, I know. I heard you -"-ere ill. Are you better ? ' ' That was a week ago,' answered the old gentleman rather testily. 'I am very well now.' ' Hard at work so late, uncle ?' resumed the nephew, looking with apparent carelessness, but really with sharp curiosity, at the papers on the table. ' I am almost as fond of work as you are of play,' was the somewhat ungracious reply of Mr Arkley, as he hastily folded up the documents, and placed them aside. How Mr Frederick Teesdale longed to seize them ! Not that he had much hope of benefit from their contents ; he had caught the nature of the writing, however, and he was eager to be satisfied. His uncle clearly did not want him to remain, but he was not going just now. Without invitation, he took a chair, and forced his uncle into conversation upon all sorts of topics until Mr Arkley was quite exhausted. Supper was ordered, and partaken of by both uncle and nephew. In spite of himself, Mr Arkley grew more genial. Frederick Teesdale was not without skill in conversation, and he plied his relative with all he could think of which was likely to amuse and exhilarate him. Mr Arkley displayed the partial success of his efforts in freely discussing several matters of interest to him, and in joining more readily than prudence warranted in a bottle of old port, a great treat to him, but strictly interdicted by the terrible Bromley. Was that twelve o'clock striking ? Dear me, the time had passed quickly. Here was the evening gone, and his letters for the post had not been despatched ! Mr Arkley rose hastily ; his hand was on the bell-handle, when he staggered and fell. Ido not wish to be uncharitable, but I [believe young Teesdale muttered something like : ' Just what I expected.' Certainly, he showed no surprise, but caught his uncle ere he quite reached the ground, and placed him quickly in a chair. What did he do then ? Pull the bell, summon assistance, send for a doctor ? O dear, no 1 Sagacious men take things quietly. This wan an occasion to be improved. Mr Arkley was in a fit, and quite insensible ; Teedsdale made sure of that. Then turning to the still unsealed letters, he selected one in a large envelope, addressed ' Tompkins and Sharpe,' and drew forth its contents. They were, first, a brief note stating that he (Mr Arkley) enclosed a draft of his will for engrossment and return to him for his signature, as soon as possible ; and secondly, the will itself. At this latter 'document, Frederick Teesdale stared in rueful amazement. This was far worse than he expected. Not a farthing! —all, save a hundred or two, to his detested cousin 1 Yes, there was no getting over the fact, and Teesdale looked at the poor old gentleman in the chair, and felt half inclined to complete the work the lit had begun. There were very cogent reasons why this will should not be made, if it were possible to prevent it. How about those dreadful debts ? How about Emmeline Waveley, whom that idiot, George Arkley, was in love with, but who loved him (Master Frederick) with all the sincerity (such as it was) she could muster? She had no fancy for love in a cottage, unless it were a very pretty and luxurious one—that he well knew. Some steps must be taken, and at once ; but what ? Should he destroy the draft and the letter? If his uncle died intestate, what would be the result? Teesdale was no lawyer, and he did not know. And then his uncle (who, doubtless, would rally from his present seizure, as he had rallied before) would probably recollect his evening's work, and make inquiry about it, which would be awkward. Still, something must be done. The estimable young man looked fixedly at his uncle, aud then at the draft. He hastily formed his conclusion, His relative might indeed rally to an extent, but he would be a wreck, a shadow. He might remember something about the will, and even ask after it. aud have it read over to him, and, with effort, attach his signature ; but it was extremely improbable he would be able to take it in his own hands, and deliberately pursue it. Now, if events should take this course, be (Teesdale) saw his way clearly enough. He knew the office arrangements of Tompkius aud Sharpe (as will subsequently appear), and they would fit in admirably with the design he at once formed. The will must be altered, but to the smallest possible extent as regarded the words, though very importantly as regarded the substance, lie again scrutinised the draft. To be continued.