A Dark Night's Work Read Online Free PDF Page A

diminish
his secret irritation. The worst of all, perhaps, was, that Mr. Dunster
was really invaluable in many ways; "a perfect treasure," as Mr. Wilkins
used to term him in speaking of him after dinner; but, for all that, he
came to hate his "perfect treasure," as he gradually felt that Dunster
had become so indispensable to the business that his chief could not do
without him.
    The clients re-echoed Mr. Wilkins's words, and spoke of Mr. Dunster as
invaluable to his master; a thorough treasure, the very saving of the
business. They had not been better attended to, not even in old Mr.
Wilkins's days; such a clear head, such a knowledge of law, such a
steady, upright fellow, always at his post. The grating voice, the
drawling accent, the bottle-green coat, were nothing to them; far less
noticed, in fact, than Wilkins's expensive habits, the money he paid for
his wine and horses, and the nonsense of claiming kin with the Welsh
Wilkinses, and setting up his brougham to drive about —shire lanes, and
be knocked to pieces over the rough round paving-stones thereof.
    All these remarks did not come near Ellinor to trouble her life. To her,
her dear father was the first of human beings; so sweet, so good, so
kind, so charming in conversation, so full of accomplishment and
information! To her healthy, happy mind every one turned their bright
side. She loved Miss Monro—all the servants—especially Dixon, the
coachman. He had been her father's playfellow as a boy, and, with all
his respect and admiration for his master, the freedom of intercourse
that had been established between them then had never been quite lost.
Dixon was a fine, stalwart old fellow, and was as harmonious in his ways
with his master as Mr. Dunster was discordant; accordingly he was a great
favourite, and could say many a thing which might have been taken as
impertinent from another servant.
    He was Ellinor's great confidant about many of her little plans and
projects; things that she dared not speak of to Mr. Corbet, who, after
her father and Dixon, was her next best friend. This intimacy with Dixon
displeased Mr. Corbet. He once or twice insinuated that he did not think
it was well to talk so familiarly as Ellinor did with a servant—one out
of a completely different class—such as Dixon. Ellinor did not easily
take hints; every one had spoken plain out to her hitherto; so Mr. Corbet
had to say his meaning plain out at last. Then, for the first time, he
saw her angry; but she was too young, too childish, to have words at will
to express her feelings; she only could say broken beginnings of
sentences, such as "What a shame! Good, dear Dixon, who is as loyal and
true and kind as any nobleman. I like him far better than you, Mr.
Corbet, and I shall talk to him." And then she burst into tears and ran
away, and would not come to wish Mr. Corbet good-bye, though she knew she
should not see him again for a long time, as he was returning the next
day to his father's house, from whence he would go to Cambridge.
    He was annoyed at this result of the good advice he had thought himself
bound to give to a motherless girl, who had no one to instruct her in the
proprieties in which his own sisters were brought up; he left Hamley both
sorry and displeased. As for Ellinor, when she found out the next day
that he really was gone—gone without even coming to Ford Bank again to
see if she were not penitent for her angry words—gone without saying or
hearing a word of good-bye—she shut herself up in her room, and cried
more bitterly than ever, because anger against herself was mixed with her
regret for his loss. Luckily, her father was dining out, or he would
have inquired what was the matter with his darling; and she would have
had to try to explain what could not be explained. As it was, she sat
with her back to the light during the schoolroom tea, and afterwards,
when Miss Monro had settled down to her study of the Spanish language,
Ellinor stole out into the garden,