Diana Tempest | Page 9

he said. 'John succeeds!'
The blood rushed to Colonel Tempest's head, and then seemed to ebb away from his heart. A sudden horror took him of some subtle change that was going forward in the room, and, seeing all was lost, he hastily left it.
The two boys had fraternized meanwhile. Each, it appeared, was collecting coins, and Archie gave a glowing account of the cabinet his father had given him to put them in. John kept his in an old sock, which he solemnly produced, and the time was happily passed in licking the most important coins, to give them a momentary brightness, and in comparing notes upon them. John was sorry when Colonel Tempest came hurriedly down the gallery and carried Archie off before he had time to say good-bye, or to offer him his best coin, which he had hot in his hand with a view to presentation.
Before he had time to gather up his collection, the old doctor came to him, and told him, very gravely and kindly, that his father wished to se him.
John nodded, and put down the sock at once He was a person of few words, and, though he longed to ask a question now, he asked it with his eyes only. John's deep-set eyes were very dark and melancholy. Could it be that his mother's remorse had left its trace in the young unconscious eyes of her child? Their beauty somewhat redeemed the square ugliness of the rest of his face.
The doctor patted him on the head, and led him gently to Mr. Tempest's door.
'Go in and speak to him,' he said. 'Do not be afraid. I shall be in the next room all the time.'
'I am not afraid,' said John, drawing himself up, and he went quietly across the great oak-panelled room and stood at the bedside.
There was a look of tension in Mr. Tempest's face and hands, as if he were holding on tightly to something which, did he once let go, he would never be able to regain.
'John,' he said, in an acute whisper.
'Yes, father.'
The child's face was pale and his eyes looked awed, but they met Mr. Tempest's bravely.
'Try and listen to what I am going to say, and remember it. You are a very little boy now, but you will hold a great position some day--when you are a man. You will be the head of the family. Tempest is one of the oldest names in England. Remember what I say'--the whisper seemed to break and ravel down under the intense strain put on it to a single quivering strand--'remember--you will understand it when you are older. It is a great trust put into your hands. When you grow into a man, much will be expected of you. Never disgrace your name; it stands high. Keep it up - keep it up.' The whisper seemed to die away altogether but an iron will forced it momentarily back to the gray toiling lips. 'You are the head of the family; do your duty by it. You will have no one much to help you. I shall not --be there. You must learn to be an upright, honourable gentleman by yourself. Do you understand?'
'Yes, father.'
'And you will--remember?'
'Yes, father.' If the lip quivered, the answer came nevertheless.
'That is all; you can go.'
The child hesitated.
'Good-night,' he said gravely, advancing a step nearer. The sun was still streaming across the room, but it seemed to him, as he looked at the familiar, unfamiliar face, that it was night already.
'Don't kiss me,' said the dying man. 'Good night.'
And the child went.
Mr. Tempest sighed heavily, and relaxed his hold on the consciousness that was ready to slip away from him, and wander feebly out he knew whither. Hours and voices came and went. His own voice had gone down into silence before him. It was still broad daylight, but the casement was slowly growing 'a glimmering square,' and he observed it.
Presently it flickered--glimmered--and went out.
Chapter 3
'As the foolish moth returning
To its Moloch, and its burning,
Wheeling nigh, and ever nigher,
Falls at last into the fire,
Flame in flame;
So the soul that doth begin
Making orbits round a sin,
Ends the same.'
It was a sultry night in June, rather more than a year after Mr. Tempest's death. An action had been brought by Colonel Tempest directly after his brother's death, when the will was proved in which Mr. Tempest bequeathed everything in his power to bequeath to his 'son John.' The action failed; no one except Colonel Tempest had ever been sanguine that it would succeed. Colonel Tempest was unable to support an assertion of which few did not recognise the probable truth. The long-delayed blow fell at last. A verdict was given in favour of the little schoolboy.
'I'm sorry for you, I am indeed,' said Mr. Swayne, composedly watching