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Updated: June 16, 2025
On hearing of the responsibility entrusted to her, Madame Dor's intellectual nature burst suddenly into a new stage of development. She waited till Obenreizer's eye was off her and then she looked at Vendale, and dimly winked. The time passed the happy evenings with Marguerite came and went.
"My good George Vendale," returned the wine-merchant, giving his hand with an appealing look, rather as if he wanted help to get over some obstacle, than as if he gave it in welcome or salutation: "my good George Vendale, so much is the matter, that I shall never be myself again. It is impossible that I can ever be myself again. For, in fact, I am not myself."
The figure of a man then entered, with its face turned towards the bed, and stood quiet just within the door. Until it said, in a low half-whisper, at the same time taking one stop forward: "Vendale!" "What now?" he answered, springing from his seat; "who is it?" It was Obenreizer, and he uttered a cry of surprise as Vendale came upon him from that unexpected direction.
After looking over results, as presented by his accountant, and checking additions and subtractions, as rendered by the clerks, Vendale turned his attention to the stock-taking department next, and sent a message to the cellars, desiring to see the report.
"Blessings on you as broad as your back, Harthover," says she she didn't call him Sir John, but only Harthover, for that is the fashion in the North country "and welcome into Vendale; but you're no hunting the fox this time of the year?" "I am hunting, and strange game too," said he. "Blessings on your heart, and what makes you look so sad the morn?"
"You have been in a heavy sleep," he said. "The fatigue of constant travelling and the cold!" "I am broad awake now," cried Vendale, springing up, but with an unsteady footing. "Haven't you slept at all?" "I may have dozed, but I seem to have been patiently looking at the fire. Whether or no, we must wash, and breakfast, and turn out. Past four, Vendale; past four!"
With the last days of the old year came an unexpected chance of spending an evening with Marguerite, which Vendale resolved should be a chance of speaking privately to her as well. A cordial note from Obenreizer invited him, on New Year's Day, to a little family dinner in Soho Square. "We shall be only four," the note said. "We shall be only two," Vendale determined, "before the evening is out!"
On this stipulation Obenreizer politely but positively insisted. The one concession he made was to give Vendale his choice of who the third person should be. Confiding in past experience, his choice fell unhesitatingly upon the excellent woman who mended Obenreizer's stockings.
"Oh, dear, if I was but a little chap in Vendale again, to see the clear beck, and the apple-orchard, and the yew-hedge, how different I would go on! But it's too late now. So you go along, you kind little chap, and don't stand to look at a man crying, that's old enough to be your father, and never feared the face of man, nor of worse neither. But I'm beat now, and beat I must be.
"I have wished to sleep this long time, but I can't do it." "I neither, after the bad dream. My fire has gone the way of your candle. May I come and sit by yours? Two o'clock! It will so soon be four, that it is not worth the trouble to go to bed again." "I shall not take the trouble to go to bed at all, now," said Vendale; "sit here and keep me company, and welcome."
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