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The Caxtons: A Family Picture, a novel by Edward Bulwer-Lytton |
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Part 10 - Chapter 2 |
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_ PART X CHAPTER II When I got back, just in time for dinner, Roland had not returned, nor did he return till late in the evening. All our eyes were directed towards him, as we rose with one accord to give him welcome; but his face was like a mask,--it was locked and rigid and unreadable. Shutting the door carefully after him, he came to the hearth, stood on it, upright and calm, for a few moments, and then asked,-- "Has Blanche gone to bed?" "Yes," said my mother, "but not to sleep, I am sure; she made me promise to tell her when you came back." Roland's brow relaxed. "To-morrow, sister," said he, slowly, "will you see that she has the proper mourning made for her? My son is dead." "Dead!" we cried with one voice, and surrounded him with one impulse. "Dead! impossible,--you could not say it so calmly. Dead,--how do you know? You may be deceived. Who told you? why do you think so?" "I have seen his remains," said my uncle, with the same gloomy calm. "We will all mourn for him. Pisistratus, you are heir to my name now, as to your father's. Good-night; excuse me, all--all you dear and kind ones; I am worn out." Roland lighted his candle and went away, leaving us thunderstruck; but he came back again, looked round, took up his book, open in the favorite passage, nodded again, and again vanished. We looked at each other as if we had seen a ghost. Then my father rose and went out of the room, and remained in Roland's till the night was well-nigh gone! We sat up, my mother and I, till he returned. His benign face looked profoundly sad. "How is it, sir? Can you tell us more?" My father shook his head. "Roland prays that you may preserve the same forbearance you have shown hitherto, and never mention his son's name to him. Peace be to the living, as to the dead! Kitty, this changes our plans; we must all go to Cumberland,--we cannot leave Roland thus!" "Poor, poor Roland!" said my mother, through her tears. "And to think that father and son were not reconciled! But Roland forgives him now,--oh, yes, now!" "It is not Roland we can censure," said my father, almost fiercely; "it is--But enough; we must hurry out of town as soon as we can: Roland will recover in the native air of his old ruins." We went up to bed mournfully. "And so," thought I, "ends one grand object of my life! I had hoped to have brought those two together. But, alas, what peacemaker like the grave!" _ |
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