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"Do you remember the picture, full-length, that had no frame the lady in the white-satin saque she was beautiful, funeste," he added, talking more to himself; and then more distinctly to Mrs. Julaper again "in the white-satin saque; and with the little mob cap and blue ribbons to it, and a bouquet in her fingers; that was that you know who she was?"
Julaper, a little paler than usual, opened her door, and stood with the handle in her hand, making a little curtsey, enframed in the door-case; and Sir Bale, being in a fume, when he saw her, ceased whacking the panels of the corridor, and stamped on the floor, crying, "Upon my soul, ma'am, I'm glad to see you! Perhaps you can tell me where Feltram is?" "He is in my room, Sir Bale.
The Doctor stood at the foot of the bed to inspect, breathing forth a vapour of very fine old port, his hands in his pockets, speaking with a lazy thickness, and looking so comfortable and facetious, that Mrs. Julaper would have liked to turn him out of the room. But the Doctor was not unkind, only extremely comfortable.
So leave all in the keeping of God; and, above all, never lift hand when ye can't strike." "Lift my hand! O, Mrs. Julaper, you couldn't think that; you little know me; I did not mean that; I never dreamed of hurting Sir Bale. Good heavens! Mrs. Julaper, you couldn't think that! It all comes of my poor impatient temper, and complaining as I do, and my misery; but O, Mrs.
Ye like three lumps o' sugar, I think, and look cheerful, ye must! a good deal o' cream?" "You're so kind, Mrs. Julaper, you're so cheery. I feel quite comfortable after awhile when I'm with you; I feel quite happy," and he began to cry.
To go with this indictment ringing in his ears, would amount to a confession and flight. Mrs. Julaper consoled him with might and main. She was a sympathetic and trusting spirit, and knew poor Philip Feltram, in her simplicity, better than the shrewdest profligate on earth could have known him. She cried with him in his misery.
Julaper there knows how welcome he was to stay the night; but he would not; he had made up his mind, it seems, without telling any person. Had he told you, Mrs. Julaper?" "No, sir," sobbed Mrs. Julaper from the centre of a pocket-handkerchief in which her face was buried. "Not a human being: an angry whim of his own. Poor Feltram! and here's the result," said the Baronet.
Good-natured Mrs. Julaper, the old housekeeper at Mardykes Hall, was kind to Feltram, as to all others who lay in her way and were in affliction. She was one of those good women whom Nature provides to receive the burden of other people's secrets, as the reeds did long ago, only that no chance wind could steal them away, and send them singing into strange ears.
"That was your great-grandmother, my dear," said Mrs. Julaper, lowering her eyes. "It was a dreadful pity it was spoiled. The boys in the pantry had it for a year there on the table for a tray, to wash the glasses on and the like. It was a shame; that was the prettiest picture in the house, with the gentlest, rosiest face." "It ain't so gentle or rosy now, I can tell you," said Philip.
"Now that's very wrong of you, Master Philip; you should think of all the blessings you have, and not be makin' mountains o' molehills; and those little bits o' temper Sir Bale shows, why, no one minds 'em that is, to take 'em to heart like you do, don't ye see?" "I daresay; I suppose, Mrs. Julaper, you are right. I'm unreasonable often, I know," said gentle Philip Feltram.
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