Uncle Silas by J. Sheridan Le Fanu (ebook voice reader TXT) 📕

With a great sigh I took Uncle Silas’s letter, and went downstairs to the drawing-room. From the lobby window, where I loitered for a few moments, I looked out upon the well-known forest-trees. The sun was down. It was already twilight, and the white vapours of coming night were already filming their thinned and yellow foliage. Everything looked melancholy. How little did those who envied the young inheritrex of a princely fortune suspect the load that lay at her heart, or, bating the fear of death, how gladly at that moment she would have parted with her life!

Lady Knollys had not yet returned, and it was darkening rapidly; a mass of black clouds stood piled in the west, through the chasms of which was still reflected a pale metallic lustre.

The drawing-room was already very dark; but some streaks of this cold light fell upon a black figure, which would otherwise have been unseen, leaning beside the curtains against the window frame.

It advanced abruptly, with creaking shoes; it was Doctor Bryerly.

I was startled and surprised, not knowing how he had got there. I stood staring at him in the dusk rather awkwardly, I am afraid.

“How do you do, Miss Ruthyn?” said he, extending his hand, long, hard, and brown as a mummy’s, and stooping a little so as to approach more nearly, for it was not easy to see in the imperfect light. “You’re surprised, I dare say, to see me here so soon again?”

“I did not know you had arrived. I am glad to see you, Doctor Bryerly. Nothing unpleasant, I hope, has happened?”

“No, nothing unpleasant, Miss. The will has been lodged, and we shall have probate in due course; but there has been something on my mind, and I’m come to ask you two or three questions which you had better answer very considerately. Is Miss Knollys still here?”

“Yes, but she is not returned from her walk.”

“I am glad she is here. I think she takes a sound view, and women understand one another better. As for me, it is plainly my duty to put it before you as it strikes me, and to offer all I can do in accomplishing, should you wish it, a different arrangement. You don’t know your uncle, you said the other day?”

“No, I’ve never seen him.”

“You understand your late father’s intention in making you his ward?”

“I suppose he wished to show his high opinion of my uncle’s fitness for such a trust.”

“That’s quite true; but the nature of the trust in this instance is extraordinary.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Why, if you die before you come to the age of twenty-one, the entire of the property will go to him⁠—do you see?⁠—and he has the custody of your person in the meantime; you are to live in his house, under his care and authority. You see now, I think, how it is; and I did not like it when your father read the will to me, and I said so. Do you?”

I hesitated to speak, not sure that I quite comprehended him.

“And the more I think of it, the less I like it, Miss,” said Doctor Bryerly, in a calm, stern tone.

“Merciful Heaven! Doctor Bryerly, you can’t suppose that I should not be as safe in my uncle’s house as in the Lord Chancellor’s?” I ejaculated, looking full in his face.

“But don’t you see, Miss, it is not a fair position to put your uncle in,” replied he, after a little hesitation.

“But suppose he does not think so. You know, if he does, he may decline it.”

“Well that’s true⁠—but he won’t. Here is his letter”⁠—and he produced it⁠—“announcing officially that he means to accept the office; but I think he ought to be told it is not delicate, under all circumstances. You know, Miss, that your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, was talked about unpleasantly once.”

“You mean”⁠—I began.

“I mean about the death of Mr. Charke, at Bartram-Haugh.”

“Yes, I have heard that,” I said; he was speaking with a shocking aplomb.

“We assume, of course, unjustly; but there are many who think quite differently.”

“And possibly, Doctor Bryerly, it was for that very reason that my dear papa made him my guardian.”

“There can be no doubt of that, Miss; it was to purge him of that scandal.”

“And when he has acquitted himself honourably of that trust, don’t you think such a proof of confidence so honourably fulfilled must go far to silence his traducers?”

“Why, if all goes well, it may do a little; but a great deal less than you fancy. But take it that you happen to die, Miss, during your minority. We are all mortal, and there are three years and some months to go; how will it be then? Don’t you see? Just fancy how people will talk.”

“I think you know that my uncle is a religious man?” said I.

“Well, Miss, what of that?” he asked again.

“He is⁠—he has suffered intensely,” I continued. “He has long retired from the world; he is very religious. Ask our curate, Mr. Fairfield, if you doubt it.”

“But I am not disputing it, Miss; I’m only supposing what may happen⁠—an accident, we’ll call it smallpox, diphtheria, that’s going very much. Three years and three months, you know, is a long time. You proceed to Bartram-Haugh, thinking you have much goods laid up for many years; but your Creator, you know, may say, ‘Thou fool, this day is thy soul required of thee.’ You go⁠—and what pray is thought of your uncle, Mr. Silas Ruthyn, who walks in for the entire inheritance, and who has long been abused like a pickpocket, or worse, in his own county, I’m told?”

“You are a religious man, Doctor Bryerly, according to your lights?” I said.

The Swedenborgian smiled.

“Well, knowing that he is so too, and having yourself experienced the power of religion, do not you think him deserving of every confidence? Don’t you think it well that he should have this opportunity of exhibiting both his own character and the reliance which my dear papa reposed on it, and