"Gentlemen," said Mr. Hervey, "this is no time for private quarrels;
and, Captain, here is a fellow with a note for you. It is my Lady
Capel's footman, and he says he comes in urgent speed."
Hyde glanced at the message. "It is a last command, Mr. Harvey; and I
must beg you to say what is proper for my honour to Lord Paget. Lady
Capel is at the death-point, and to her requests I am first bounden."
It was raining hard when he left the club, a most dreary night in the
city. The coach rattled through the muddy streets, and brought, as it
went along, many a bored, heavy countenance to the steaming windows, to
watch and to wonder at its pace. Lady Capel had been death-stricken
while at whist, and she had not been removed from the parlour in which
she had been playing her last game. She was stretched upon a sofa in the
midst of the deserted tables, yet covered with scattered cards and
half-emptied tea-cups. Only Lady Suffolk and a physician were with her;
though the corridor was full of terrified, curious servants, gloating
not unkindly over such a bit of sensation in their prosaic lives.
At this hour it was evident that, above everything in the world, the old
lady had loved the wild extravagant grandson, whose debts she had paid
over and over, and whom she had for years alternately petted and
scolded.
"O Dick," she whispered, "I've got to die! We all have. I've had a good
time, Dick."
"Shall I go for cousin Harold? I can bring him in an hour."
"No, no. I want no priests; no better than we are, Dick. Harold is a
proud sinner; Lord, what a proud sinner he is!" Then, with a glint of
her usual temper, "He'd snub the twelve apostles if he met them without
mitres. No priests, Dick. It is you I want. I have left you eight
thousand pounds--all I could save, Dick. Everything goes back to William
now; but the eight thousand pounds is yours. Arabella is witness to it.
Dick, Dick, you will think of me sometimes?"
And Hyde kissed her fondly. Ugly, heartless, sinful, she might be to
others; but to him she had been a double mother. "I'll never forget
you," he answered; "never, grandmother."
"I know what the town will say: 'Well, well, old Lady Capel has gone to
her deserts at last.' Don't mind them, Dick. Let them talk. They will
have to go too; it's the old round--meat and mirth, and then to
bed--a--long--sleep."