'Sir Roger,' said the biographer in his concluding passage, 'was possessed of an iron frame; but even iron will yield to the repeated blows of the hammer. In the latter years of his life he was known to overtask himself; and at length the body gave way, though the mind remained firm to the last. The subject of this memoir was only fifty-nine when he was taken from us.'
And thus Sir Roger's life was written, while the tears were yet falling on his pillow at Boxall Hill. It was a pity that a proof-sheet could not have been sent to him. No man was vainer of his reputation, and it would have greatly gratified him to know that posterity was about to speak of him in such terms--to speak of him with a voice that would be audible for twenty-four hours.
Sir Roger made no further attempt to give counsel to his son. It was too evidently useless. The old dying lion felt that the lion's power had already passed from him, and that he was helpless in the hands of the young cub who was so soon to inherit the wealth of the forest. But Dr Thorne was more kind to him. He had something yet to say as to his worldly hopes and worldly cares; and his old friend did not turn a deaf ear to him.
It was during the night that Sir Roger was most anxious to talk, and most capable of talking. He would lie through the day in a state half-comatose; but towards evening would rouse himself, and by midnight he would be full of fitful energy. One night, as he lay wakeful and full of thought, he thus poured forth his whole heart to Dr Thorne.
'Thorne,' said he, 'I told you about my will, you know.'
'Yes,' said the other; 'and I have blamed myself greatly that I have not again urged you to alter it. Your illness came too suddenly, Scatcherd; and then I was averse to speak of it.'
'Why should I alter it? It is a good will; as good as I can make. Not but that I have altered it since I spoke to you. I did it that day after you left me.'
'Have you definitely named your heir in default of Louis?'
'No--that is--yes--I had done that before; I have said Mary's eldest child: I have not altered that.'
'But, Scatcherd, you must alter it.'
'Must! well then, I won't; but I'll tell you what I have done. I have added a postscript--a codicil they call it--saying that you, and you only, know who is her eldest child. Winterbones and Jack Martin have witnessed that.'
Dr Thorne was going to explain how very injudicious such an arrangement appeared to be; but Sir Roger would not listen to him. It was not about that that he wished to speak to him. To him it was a matter of but minor interest who might inherit his money if his son should die early; his care was solely for his son's welfare. At twenty-five the heir might make his own will--might bequeath all this wealth according to his own fancy. Sir Roger would not bring himself to believe that his son could follow him to the grave in so short a time.
'Never mind that, doctor, now; but about Louis; you will be his guardian, you know.'
'Not his guardian. He is more than of age.'
'Ah! but doctor, you will be his guardian. The property will not be his till he be twenty-five. You will not desert him?'
'I will not desert him; but I doubt whether I can do much for him--what can I do, Scatcherd?'
'Use the power that a strong man has over a weak one. Use the power that my will will give you. Do for him as you would for a son of your own if you saw him going in bad courses. Do as a friend should do for a friend that is dead and gone. I would do so for you, doctor, if our places were changed.'
'What can I do, that I will do,' said Thorne, solemnly, taking as he spoke the contractor's own in his own with a tight grasp.
'I know you will; I know you will. Oh! doctor, may you never feel as I do now! May you on your death-bed have no dread as I have, as to the fate of those you will leave behind you!'
Doctor Thorne felt that he could not say much in answer to this. The future fate of Louis Scatcherd was, he could not but own to himself, greatly to be dreaded. What good, what happiness, could be presaged for such a one as he was? What comfort could he offer to the father?
And then he was called on to compare, as it were, the prospects of this unfortunate with those of his own darling; to contrast all that was murky, foul, and disheartening, with all that was perfect--for to him she was all but perfect; to liken Louis Scatcherd to the angel who brightened his own hearthstone. How could he answer to such an appeal?
He said nothing; but merely tightened his grasp of the other's hand, to signify that he would do, as best he could, all that was asked of him.
Sir Roger looked up sadly into the doctor's face, as though expecting some word of consolation. There was no comfort, no consolation.
'For three or four years, he must greatly depend on you,' continued Sir Roger.
'I will do what I can,' said the doctor. 'What I can do I will do. But he is not a child, Scatcherd: at his age he must stand or fall mainly by his own conduct. The best thing for him will be to marry.'
'Exactly; that's just it, Thorne: I was coming to that. If he would marry, I think he would do well yet, for all that has come and gone. If he married, of course you would let him have the command of his own income.'
'I will be governed entirely by your wishes: under any circumstances his income will, as I understand, be quite sufficient for him, married or single.'
'Ah!--but, Thorne, I should like to think he should shine with the best of them. For what I have made the money for if not for that? Now if he marries--decently, that is--some woman you know that can assist him in the world, let him have what he wants. It is not to save the money that I have put it into your hands.'
'No, Scatcherd; not to save the money, but to save him. I think that while you are yet with him you should advise him to marry.'
'He does not care a straw for what I advise, not one straw. Why should he? How can I tell him to be sober when I have been a beast all my life? How can I advise him? That's where it is! It is that that now kills me. Advise! Why, when I speak to him he treats me like a child.'
'He fears that you are too weak, you know: he thinks that you should not be allowed to talk.'
