Between six and seven the travellers arrived. To my indescribable
surprise, they were escorted, not by Mr. Godfrey (as I had anticipated),
but by the lawyer, Mr. Bruff.
"How do you do, Miss Clack?" he said. "I mean to stay this time."
That reference to the occasion on which I had obliged him to postpone
his business to mine, when we were both visiting in Montagu Square,
satisfied me that the old worldling had come to Brighton with some
object of his own in view. I had prepared quite a little Paradise for my
beloved Rachel--and here was the Serpent already!
"Godfrey was very much vexed, Drusilla, not to be able to come with us,"
said my Aunt Ablewhite. "There was something in the way which kept him
in town. Mr. Bruff volunteered to take his place, and make a holiday
of it till Monday morning. By-the-by, Mr. Bruff, I'm ordered to take
exercise, and I don't like it. That," added Aunt Ablewhite, pointing out
of window to an invalid going by in a chair on wheels, drawn by a man,
"is my idea of exercise. If it's air you want, you get it in your chair.
And if it's fatigue you want, I am sure it's fatigue enough to look at
the man."
Rachel stood silent, at a window by herself, with her eyes fixed on the
sea.
"Tired, love?" I inquired.
"No. Only a little out of spirits," she answered. "I have often seen the
sea, on our Yorkshire coast, with that light on it. And I was thinking,
Drusilla, of the days that can never come again."
Mr. Bruff remained to dinner, and stayed through the evening. The more
I saw of him, the more certain I felt that he had some private end to
serve in coming to Brighton. I watched him carefully. He maintained the
same appearance of ease, and talked the same godless gossip, hour after
hour, until it was time to take leave. As he shook hands with Rachel,
I caught his hard and cunning eyes resting on her for a moment with a
peculiar interest and attention. She was plainly concerned in the object
that he had in view. He said nothing out of the common to her or to
anyone on leaving. He invited himself to luncheon the next day, and then
he went away to his hotel.
It was impossible the next morning to get my Aunt Ablewhite out of her
dressing-gown in time for church. Her invalid daughter (suffering from
nothing, in my opinion, but incurable laziness, inherited from her
mother) announced that she meant to remain in bed for the day. Rachel
and I went alone together to church. A magnificent sermon was preached
by my gifted friend on the heathen indifference of the world to the
sinfulness of little sins. For more than an hour his eloquence (assisted
by his glorious voice) thundered through the sacred edifice. I said to
Rachel, when we came out, "Has it found its way to your heart, dear?"
And she answered, "No; it has only made my head ache." This might have
been discouraging to some people; but, once embarked on a career of
manifest usefulness, nothing discourages Me.