inclined. But then she abused everyone, even Petronella, who was her slave. As to Stephen, devoted as he was to her, she could not find words bad enough for him sometimes. He was a fool, a ninny, a milksop, he lived upon her charity, etc., etc. Yet there were times when the young man was all that was good in her eyes. Even Herrick came in for his share of praise at odd moments.
"Gran' Dio!" Petronella would say to Herrick after some tussel, "was there ever such a diavola as the Padrona?"
"The old Italian woman had taken a great fancy to Dr. Jim. He was good to her mistress whom she idolized, he was kind to Petronella herself, and could speak her language. He had once made a tour of Europe for three years with a young dipsomaniac and had contrived to pick up three or four tongues, which he spoke remarkably correctly. Spanish, French, German, Italian, Dr. Jim knew them all and could both read and write them with wonderful accuracy. In the eyes of Petronella he was a marvellous man, and she often talked to him on subjects which she would not discuss with anyone else.
"Do not be angry with the padrona Signor Dottore," she said sometimes, "it is the blood of the Michelotto family. Eh, the Michelotti were wicked!"
"Like Colonel Carr? Eh, Petronella?"
"Signor Dottore, the Colonel was an angel of light to the wicked Michelotti. The padrona is the last of them, and it is not wonder she is angry. Per Bacco," added Petronella who could swear on occasions, "see this casa--a fitting casa for the last of the grand signori."
"But it is all right now Petronella. As soon as your signora can be removed we shall take her to The Pines.
"That is a fine casa if you like!" Petronella spat, and shook her white elf-locks. "It will bring no luck. Eh Signor, but that man had the evil eye. Once I went with the padrona to see him. He overlooked me although I made horns, and I hurt my foot. If my padrona goes to that casa she will die."
Herrick shrugged his shoulders, and did not argue. There was no means of persuading Petronella out of the spite she had taken to The Pines. It was now the property of Stephen Marsh. The senior partner of Frith and Frith had come down personally with the will. This left Stephen the house, on condition that he pulled down the tower. Furthermore the personal property of the late Colonel, amounting to eight thousand a year well invested, was given to the young man on a still more curious condition.
"You are to have a special vault constructed in Saxham churchyard," said Mr. Frith, "it is to be built of stone and lined with sheet iron. The body of our late client is to be put in there, and you alone are to hold the key of the door. Once a month you are to enter the vault and see that the body is safe. If you do this for a year then the property becomes yours absolutely. If you miss going once, the money goes to--Frisco."
"To Frisco--the Colonel's servant!" said Stephen in surprise, "and by that name Mr. Frith?"
"Yes! It is legal enough. But the man evidently murdered his master, and has gone away to avoid consequences, I do not think you will be troubled by him. Also Mr. Marsh--or rather Mr. Carr since you have to take the name--you can avert all chance of this man getting the money by visiting the vault monthly for a year."
Here was another mystery. Why the money should have been left to Frisco no one could guess. Stephen often talked it over with Herrick, but could come to no conclusion. However he set to work to carry out the terms of the will. A body of workmen were employed to take down the tower; and Mr. Corn was seen about the construction of a new vault. Evidently the Colonel did not consider that his remains would be safe in the ancestral burial-place. In spite of all secrecy, the countryside came to know of this strange provision of Carr's will, and it was said that he wanted to make sure that his body would not be carried off by the devil to whom he had sold himself. In fact the general opinion was, that some night the remains would be carried off like those of the old woman of Berkley. The villagers grew confused over the matter, and did not distinguish between the body and soul.
While Mrs. Marsh was slowly getting better, and Stephen was attending to the carrying-out of the will, Dr. Jim remained at Saxham, or rather for the sake of his patient he lived at Beorminster, paying occasional visits to the village. Robin had long since returned to London, and had left in much anger at Jim's refusal to accompany him.
"You have found a new friend," he said angrily, "and I must go to the wall. I do call it unfair Jim."
"My dear Robin, I cannot be your shadow. You are quite well able to look after yourself now. I took you for this walking tour, to do you good. Now you are in excellent health. I must remain here until Mrs. Marsh is quite well. Remember if I go she has no doctor to attend her."
"I can't do without you," persisted Robin. "You have such an influence over me that I am lost if you are away."
"You must take up your life on your own shoulders," replied Herrick impatiently; "it is no use relying on other people. But if you feel that I am so indispensable to you, why not stay here? You have money, no ties, and can do your work here better than in London."
"I want to go back to town. If I stay here I shall not see much of you. Marsh is your friend now."
"I like Marsh. He is a good fellow, and I can make something of him. I suppose Robin you think I am after his money; but you know me better than that. The three hundred a year I have is enough for me. I was never a man for luxury."
"I never thought or hinted such a thing," said Joyce with a blush. "Well, if you like to stay here Jim, I'll return to London, and we can meet when you return. I suppose you'll be back some time,--that is if Miss Endicotte will let you go."
"Nonsense," replied Dr. Jim, "she has no thought of me. I like her very much but in my present state of poverty I could not ask her to be my wife."
Joyce said nothing more, but the next week took his leave. He was much missed in Saxham where his bright talk and merry face had made him a general favourite. The Biff's especially were sorry. Bess had foregathered with Joyce on the common ground of literature, and she lamented when he departed.
"Why can't you stay here?" she said in her blunt way, "you can work better in the country."
"No, Miss Bess. I am like Charles Lamb; London is my home. I cannot get enough of the divine fire in this tame locality."
"There is nothing tame about it," cried Bess fired with indignation.
Joyce laughed. "Not to you perhaps; but I prefer London myself. However, I hope you will let me come down and see you at times. And we can correspond. And if you have any manuscripts you think well of, send them to me. I will see what I can do with them."
This arrangement was made, and Robin, taking a friendly leave of Jim went back to his West Kensington fiat. He wrote frequently at first, but after a time his letters became rarer. Herrick was sorry, but on the whole somewhat relieved to be rid of such a burden. For Robin was one of those people who are delightful to meet and terrible to live with. Had he been ill or in trouble the conscientious Jim would have stayed with him. But since he had been particularly well after that attack of nerves when the body was discovered, there was no necessity for Herrick to martyrise himself further.
And besides Jim had fallen seriously in love with Ida Endicotte. When Mrs. Marsh was fairly on the road to recovery, Stephen had taken Jim over to Saxham and introduced him to the Biffs. They lived in a tumbledown house of considerable size, down a deep and leafy lane. At one time the Endicottes had been great folks, but the late Mr. Endicotte who had married the daughter of an Earl, had squandered the revenues of the family. His wife Lady Arabella had died of sheer worry, and Mr. Endicotte had found himself alone with five children and an impoverished estate.
For a time he did his best to keep things together, but ultimately died--as it was said--of a broken heart. It seemed probable that the five children would go on the parish. "What a fall for the haughty Endicotte."
It was at this juncture that Lord Gartham stepped in. He was an Irish peer, and poor himself, but he could not see his sister's children entirely penniless. Ida the eldest was twenty-four when her father died; Bess, had reached the age of twenty-three; and Sidney the youngest, was sixteen. The five Endicottes were all handsome, and