The Three Brothers, Chapters XLIX-L [pp. 152-156]

154 APPLETONS' JO URNAL OF POPULAR [AUGUST 6,
"'My dear, if he needs comfort, I am sure I have no objection,"
said Mrs. Westbury, with a smile; and just then Mary's maid came
into the room, and the conversation came to an end. It was this
dreadful practical turn, which was in the old Renton blood, which
bewildered the less energetic members of the family. But it was
wonderful to see how Ben and Aunt Lydia got on at dinner. He told
her more about his w ork, and what he had been doing, in half-an-hour,
than the others had extracted from him in twenty-four. And the
Renton spirit sparkled in Mrs. Westbury's eyes as she listened.
"Even if you had not made a penny, Ben," she said, in her energetic
way, "I should be so much more pleased that you had been making
some use of your talents than just hanging on in the old way at home."
"But I have made a penny," Ben said, with a kindred glance-he
was pleased with the thought, which gave Mary a momentary disgust
-"though it has cost more than it is worth in the making," he
added, in a lower tone. And then his cousin forgave, and was sorry
for poor Ben. It was dangerous work for Mary, especially as there
was still the excitement of the return expedition across the river, to
convey Mrs. Westbury home, to look forward to. But, fortunately,
there was no one visible about The Willows when that moment came
-nothing but serene moonlight, white and peaceable, unbroken by
any shadow or voice but their own, was on the gleaming river. And
the Rev. Laurence Westbury, standing on the bank in his clerical coat
-who had been at school when Ben left Renton-to take his mother
home, and bid the new-comer welcome; and then the silent progress
back down the stream in the moonlight. It surprised Mary afterward
to think how little Ben and she had said to each other, and yet what
perfectly good company he had been. And thus they went on, those
curious, rapid days.
CHAPTER L.-ALL HOME.
L,wRIE arrived on the Friday, coming in, in his usual unexpected
way, through the window, when they were all in the drawing-room
after dinner. The brothers had met in town, where Ben had paused
for a day on his way to Renton, so that their greeting was not mingled with any of those remarks on changed appearance and unexpected signs of age which are general after a long absence. But,
when they stood thus together for the first time for seven years, the
difference between old things and new became more perceptible to
the bystanders. The surroundings were so completely the same as of
old that any variation from the past became more clear to them. The
same lamps, shaded for their mother's sake; the same brilliant spot
of light upon the tea-table, where the china and silver glittered; Mrs.
Renton lying on the same.sofa, in the same attitude, covered with the
same Indian shawl; the same soft odor of mignonette and heliotrope,
and earth and dew, stealing in at the great open window; even the
same moths, or reproductions of the same, making wild circles about
the lamp.
"And Mary, I think, is the very same," Laurie said, looking at her
with true brotherly kindness.
But "the boys" were not the same. Of the two it was Laurie
who looked the eldest. He was just thirty, but the hair was getting
thin on the top of his head, and his face was more worn than it had
any right to be. Ben had broadened, almost imperceptibly, but still
enough to indicate to the bystander that the first slim outline of youth
was over. But Laurie, though he had not expanded, had aged even
in the lines of his face; and then he had grown a little careless, like
the society into which he had cast himself. He was dusty with his
walk, and his velvet morning-coat looked strange and wild beside
Ben's correct evening costume. Lazy Laurence still; but with all the
difference between sanguine youth and meditative manhood. Mary,
however, was the only one of the party who was troubled by the
mystery of Laurie's subdued tone. Mrs. Renton was not given to
speculation, and Ben was occupied by his own affairs, to the exclusion
of all inquiry into those of others. Both mother and brother took it
for granted that Laurie was just as it was natural he should be. Only
Mary-sisterly, womanly, anxious always to know how it was-watched
him with a sympathetic eye.
"Well, here we are at home once more, old fellow," said Laurie,
throwing himself into an easy-chair near the window, when the moth er had been safely conveyed up-stairs.
"Yes, a home that always looks the same," said Ben. "I am not
so sure as I used to be of the good of that. It makes one feel doubly
the change in one's self."
"These are his Yankee notions," said Laurie. "I suppose he has
given up primogeniture, anrd Church and State, and every thing. But
Mary is an orthodox person who will set us all right."
" As if women might not think about primogeniture and all the
rest as well as you others!" said Mary. "We are the only people
who take any time to think nowadays. Ben has done nothing but
make railways and money, and he likes it; he is a real Renton," she
cried, pleased to let him know her mind on that subject.
"And very right, too," said Laurie. "If there were not Rentons
to be had somewhere, how should the world get on?"
"But I don't care for the world," said Mary; "and I would much
rather you were not fond of money, like everybody else, you boys."
"I am very fond of money, but I never can get any," said Laurie.
"I say to myself, if I should happen to come into reputation next
century, what a collection of Rentons there will be for somebody to
make a fortune of-Ben's heirs most probably; or that little Mary of
Frank's, who is a darling. Now that I think of it, as she is a painter's descendant, it is she who shall be my heir."
"I think much the best thing would be for you to have Renton,
Laurie, and heirs of your own."
"Thanks," said Laurie; "my brothers are very kind. Frank took
the trouble to write me a long letter ever so many years ago, adjuring
me by all I held dear to marry a certain Nelly Rich."
"It was very impertinent of him," cried Mary, "and very conceited. Nelly Rich would no more have looked at you-"
"Showed her sense," said Laurie, quietly. "I am only telling you
what actions have been set on foot for my benefit. But I never saw
Nelly Rich except once, so I am not conceited; and as for Renton, no
such iniquity could ever be, as that it should go past you, Ben."
" You speak strongly," said the elder brother.
"That is one result of time, you know. One can see now, without irreverence, how wrong my poor father was. Of course we would
have been wretches had we been capable of any thing but obedience
at the time," said Laurie; "but, looking back, one can see more
clearly. He was wrong-I don't bear him any malice, poor, dear old
father! but he did us as much harm almost as was possible. And if
Renton is left out of the natural succession, I shall say it is iniquity,
and oppose it with all my power."
"It would be iniquity," Ben said, gravely. And then there was a
pause. The three sat, going back into their individual memories,
unaware what devious paths the others were treading. But for that,
Laurie might never have fallen into the temptation which had stolen
what energy hlie had out of him, and strengthened all his dreamy, un practical ways. But for that, Ben might have given the Renton force
and strength of work to his country, and served her-as is the citizen's
first duty-instead of making American railroads, which another man
might have been found to do. As for Mary, the paths in which she
went wandering were not her own. It did not occur to her to think
of the seven years, which for her had been simple loss. Had she
been living at home, no doubt, long before this she would have mar ried some one, and been like Alice, the mother of children. But such
were not Mary's reflections. She was thinking if this had not happened,
Ben would have married Millicent seven years ago, and that, on the
whole, every thing was for the best.
They had but one other day to themselves; but during that day
the house felt, with a bewildered sense of confusion and uncertainty,
that old times had come back. Mr. Ben and Mr. Laurie had gone
back to their old rooms; and their steps and voices, the peremptory
orders of the eldest, the " chaff" of Mr. Laurie, "who was a gentle man as you never could understand whether he was in earnest or in
joke "-turned the heads of the old servants. They, like their mis tress, were upset by the new r6#irne; the dulness of the house had
been a trouble to them when her reign of utter seclusion commenced;
but if it was dull, there was little to do, and the house had habitu ated itself to the monotonous round. And now they felt it a hard ship when the noise and the work recommenced, and dinner ran the
risk of having to wait ten minutes, and breakfast wxras on the table
from half-past eight to C;alf-past ten. "All along o' thatlazy Laurie,
as they calls him, and a very good name, too," said the affronted
cook. Mary had much ado to keep them in working order. "There
may be further changes after a while," she said to the o0l( butler,
who had carried them all in his arms, and knew about every thing,
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