There was the momentary sound of a pushed-back chair, a stamping of feet, and then Mr. Sharpe's voice rose high with the blacksmith's old querulous aggrieved utterance "So it's that finikin', conceited Bradley agin--that's giv' me away!Ef that man's all-fired belief in his being the Angel Gabriel and Dan'l Webster rolled inter one don't beat anythin'!I suppose that high-flyin' jay-bird kalkilated to put you and me and my gal and yer boy inter harness for his four hoss chariot and he sittin' kam on the box drivin' us!Why don't he tend to his own business, and look arter his own concerns--instead o' leaving Jinny Bradley and Loo Macy dependent on Kings and Queens and titled folks gen'rally, and he, Jim Bradley, philanderin' with another man's wife--while that thar man is hard at work tryin' to make a honest livin' fer his wife, buckin' agin faro an' the tiger gen'rally at Monaco!Eh?And that man a-inter-meddlin' with me!Ef,"continued the voice, dropped to a tone of hopeless moral conviction, "ef there's a man I mor'aly despise--it's that finikin'
Jim Bradley."
"You quite misunderstand me, my dear sir," said Sir Robert's hurried voice; "he told me you had pledged him to secrecy, and he only revealed it to explain why you wished to see me."
There was a grunt of half-placated wrath from Sharpe, and then the voice resumed, but more deliberately, "Well, to come back to business: you've got a boy, Francis, and I've got a darter,Araminty.They've sorter taken a shine to each other and they want to get married.Mind yer--wait a moment!--it wasn't allus so.No,sir; when my gal Araminty first seed your boy in Californy she was poor, and she didn't kalkilate to get inter anybody's family unbeknownst or on sufferance.Then she got rich and you got poor;and then--hold on a minit!--she allows, does my girl, that there ain't any nearer chance o' their making a match than they were afore, for she isn't goin' to hev it said that she married your son fur the chance of some day becomin' Lady Mainwaring."
"One moment, Mr. Sharpe," said the voice of the Baronet, gravely:
"I am both flattered and pained by what I believe to be the kindly object of your visit.Indeed, I may say I have gathered a suspicion of what might be the sequel of this most unhappy acquaintance of my son and your daughter; but I cannot believe that he has kept you in ignorance of his unfortunate prospects and his still more unfortunate state of health."
"When I told ye to hold on a minit," continued the blacksmith's voice, with a touch of querulousness in its accent, "that was jist wot I was comin' to.I knowed part of it from my own pocket, she knowed the rest of it from his lip and the doctors she interviewed.
And then she says to me--sez my girl Minty--Pop,' she sez, 'he's got nothing to live for now but his title, and that he never may live to get, so that I think ye kin jist go, Pop, and fairly and squarely, as a honest man, ask his father to let me hev him.'
Them's my darter's own words, Sir Robert, and when I tell yer that she's got a million o' dollars to back them, ye'll know she means business, every time."
"Did Francis know that you were coming here?"
"Bless ye, no! he don't know that she would have him.Ef it kem to that, he ain't even asked her!She wouldn't let him until she was sure of YOU."
"Then you mean to say there is no engagement?"
"In course not.I reckoned to do the square thing first with ye."
The halting step of the Baronet crossing the room was heard distinctly.He had stopped beside Sharpe."My dear Mr. Sharpe,"he said, in a troubled voice, "I cannot permit this sacrifice.It is too--too great!"
"Then," said Sharpe' s voice querulously, "I'm afraid we must do without your permission.I didn't reckon to find a sort o' British Jim Bradley in you.If YOU can't permit my darter to sacrifice herself by marryin' your son, I can't permit her to sacrifice her love and him by NOT marryin' him.So I reckon this yer interview is over."
"I am afraid we are both old fools, Mr. Sharpe; but--we will talk this over with Lady Mainwaring.Come--"There was evidently a slight struggle near the chair over some inanimate object.But the next moment the Baronet's voice rose, persuasively, "Really, I must insist upon relieving you of your bag and umbrella."
"Well, if you'll let me telegraph 'yes' to Minty, I don't care if yer do."
When the room was quiet again, Lady Canterbridge and James Bradley silently slipped from the curtain, and, without a word, separated at the door.
There was a merry Christmas at Oldenhurst and at Nice.But whether Minty's loving sacrifice was accepted or not, or whether she ever reigned as Lady Mainwaring, or lived an untitled widow, I cannot say.But as Oldenhurst still exists in all its pride and power, it is presumed that the peril that threatened its fortunes was averted, and that if another heroine was not found worthy of a frame in its picture-gallery, at least it had been sustained as of old by devotion and renunciation.
