Diana Tempest | Page 9

the best
intentions of a pure self-interest, trampled heavily.

'Pass me over--cut me out,' he said, with a vague inappreciation of
points of law. 'I'll sign anything you please; but let the little chap have
it--let Archie have it--Di's son.'
There was a silence that might be felt. Approaching Death seemed to
make a stride in those few breathless seconds; but it seemed also as if a
determined will were holding him momentarily at arm's length. Mr.
Tempest turned his fading face towards his brother. His eyes were
unflinching, but his voice was almost inaudible.
'Leave me,' 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,