DAYBREAK.
It is only your cubs bred last season, not yet many months emancipated
from the tender authority of the vixen, that hang to their homes, and
run circling round the covert when disturbed by the diligence of their
natural enemy, the hound. An old fox is a wild fox; and no sooner does
he recognise the mellow note of the huntsman's cheer, the crack of the
first whip's ponderous thong, than he is on foot and away, lively as a
lark, with a defiant whisk of his brush, that means seven or eight miles
as the crow flies, the exercise of all his speed during the chase, and
all his craft to beat you at the finish. If you would have that brush on
your chimney-piece, that sharp little nose on your kennel door, you must
be pretty quick after him, for he wastes not a moment in hesitation,
facing the open resolutely for his haven, crossing the fields like an
arrow, wriggling through the fences like an eel.
Sir Henry Hallaton had been too often hunted not to take alarm at the
first intelligence of real danger, therefore it was that he put the
Channel between himself and his creditors without delay, knowing well
from experience that a man never makes such good terms as when out of
his enemy's reach; and so, trusting in the chapter of accidents which
had often befriended him, smoked his cigar tranquilly in a pleasant
little French town, while his family, his servants, his tradesmen,
everybody connected with him, were paying, in distress, discomfort, and
anxiety, the penalties this self-indulgent gentleman had incurred for
his own gratification.
There could scarcely have been a greater contrast than the position of
father and daughter when the crash first came.
Sir Henry lived in cheerful apartments, dined at a tolerable
_table-d'hôte_, sipped a _petit vin de Bordeaux_ that always agreed with
him, smoked good cigars, and frequented a social circle, not very
distinguished, nor indeed very respectable, but in which, with his fatal
facility of getting into mischief, he found himself always amused.
When his letters were written and posted, he felt without a care in the
world for the rest of the day, and positively looked younger and fresher
in his exile than at any time during the last five years, though there
was an execution in the house at Blackgrove, and he had not a shilling
to his name.
Helen, on the contrary, found herself beset with every kind of annoyance
and difficulty, from the black looks of a principal creditor to the loud
reproaches of a discharged scullery-maid. Her father indeed wrote her
full and explicit directions what to do in the present crisis; but even
to a girl of her force of character, many of the details she had to
carry out were painful and embarrassing in the extreme. On her shoulders
fell the burden of settling with the servants, the land-steward, the
very gamekeepers and watchers on the estate. She advertised the stock
and farming implements; she sent the horses and carriages to
Tattersalls'; she negotiated the rescue of her sisters' pianoforte out
of the general smash. It had been arranged that those young ladies
should pay a visit to their aunt, and Helen packed up their things, and
started them, nothing loath, by the railway, and furnished them with
money for their journey. Her purse was nearly empty when she returned
from the station, and, sitting down to rest after her labours, in the
dreary waste of a dismantled home, she realised, for the first time, the
loneliness and misery of her position.
She had borne up bravely while there was necessity for action, while her
assumed cheerfulness and composure implied a tacit protest against the
abuse poured on her father; but in the solitude of the big drawing-room,
with the carpets up, and the furniture "put away," she fairly broke
down, leaning her head against the chimney-piece, and crying like a
child.
She never saw the Midcombe fly toiling up the avenue; she never heard it
grinding round to the door; she was thinking rather bitterly that her
young life's happiness had been sacrificed through no fault of hers;
that she had been misunderstood; ill-treated; that even her father, whom
she loved so dearly, had placed her in a position of humiliation and
distress; that everybody was against her, and she had not a friend in
the world, when a light step, the rustle of a dress, and a well-known
voice, caused her to start and look up. The next moment, with a little
faint cry, that showed how stout-hearted Helen had been tried, she was
in the embrace of Mrs. Lascelles, with her head on that lady's shoulder,
who did not refrain from shedding a few tears for company.
"My dear, you mustn't stay here another instant," exclaimed the latter.
"Where are your things? Where is your maid? I've kept the fly, and
you're to come back with me by the five o'clock train. Your father says
so. I've got his letter here. No. Where have I put it? Don't explain,
dear; I know everything. He told me all about it from the first, and I
should have been down sooner but for those abominable excursion trains.
Ring the bell. Send for all the servants there are left, and tell them
to get your boxes ready immediately! You're to pay me a nice long
visit, my precious! And, oh! Helen, I've got so much to tell you!"
The girl was already smiling through her tears. Even in the midst of
ruin it seemed no small consolation to have such a friend as this; and
there was a hearty brightness about Mrs. Lascelles, not to be damped by
the despondency of the most hopeless companion.
"How good of you to come!" she said. "How like you, and how unlike
anybody else! I've had a deal of trouble here, but it's all over at
last. I've managed everything for him the best way I could, and now I
must go to poor papa, and take care of him in that miserable little
French town."
"Poor papa, indeed!" echoed the other. "I've no patience with him! But,
however, it's no use talking about that to _you_. Only, my dear, don't
distress yourself unnecessarily about poor papa. He'll do very well, and
there's no occasion for you to go abroad at all. We shall have him back
in a week. Friends have turned up in the most unaccountable manner. How
shall I ever tell you all about it? In the first place, Helen dear, I'm
going to be married!"
"_You!_" exclaimed Helen, in accents of undisguised astonishment; adding
after a moment's pause, as good manners required, "I'm sure I wish you
joy!"
"Thank ye, dear," was the off-hand answer; "and who d'ye think is the
adversary, the what-d'ye-call-it--the happy man?"
Two little separate spasms of jealousy shot through Helen
simultaneously. It couldn't be Frank Vanguard, surely! And if it could,
what did that matter to her? Perhaps it was Sir Henry. Helen had long
learned to consider papa as her own property, and I am not sure but that
this pang was sharper than the other.
"Anybody I know?" she asked, trembling in her secret heart for the
reply.
"You know him quite well," answered Mrs. Lascelles, laughing. "Indeed
he's a great admirer of yours, and at one time--no, I won't tell
stories, I never was jealous of you and Mr. Goldthred, although you're
much younger and prettier than me."
Helen certainly gave a sigh of relief, while Mrs. Lascelles glanced, not
without satisfaction, at her own radiant face and figure in the glass.
"I'm sure I don't know how it all came about," she said, still laughing.
"But, however, there it is! It's a great fact, and upon my word I'm very
glad of it. Now you know he's got plenty of money, Helen (though I
didn't marry him for that, I've enough of my own), and, like the good
fellow he is, he has promised to help your father through his
difficulties. There's no sort of reason why you shouldn't all live here
as formerly, but in the mean time it won't hurt those girls to go to
their aunt for a bit (I hope she will keep them in order), and you are
to come to No. 40 with me."
This was, indeed, good news. Helen could hardly believe her ears, and
the young lady who now tripped lightly about the house, getting her
things together, and busying herself to afford her visitor the
indispensable cup of tea, was extremely unlike the forlorn damsel who
had been paying off servants and poring over accounts the whole of that
dreary, disheartening day.
But more comfort was yet in store for Helen, as if Fate, having punished
her enough, had now relented in her favour. The tea was drunk, the fly
was packed, and the ladies were driven to Midcombe Station, in the
interchange of no more interesting communications than were compatible
with the bustle of departure and the jingling of their vehicle; but no
sooner were they established in a first-class carriage, with the door
locked, than Mrs. Lascelles, turning to her companion, asked, as though
she were carrying on the thread of some previous conversation:
"And who do you think, Helen--who _do_ you think I found in the station
meaning to come down to you at Blackgrove? He was actually taking his
ticket. But I wouldn't hear of it, of course, and ordered him at once to
do nothing of the kind."
"Mr. Goldthred, I suppose," guessed Helen.
"Not a bad shot!" answered the other. "Yes, he wanted to come, too; and
begged and prayed very hard yesterday. Of course I forbid him. I'm not
particular, but still, my dear, _les convenances_! No, Goldthred knew he
mustn't last night. It was Frank Vanguard I found fussing about on the
platform this morning."
Hurt, wounded as she had been, in spite of all her pride, all her
injuries, the tears rose in Helen's eyes, while she thought of her false
lover hurrying down to take his share of her distress. Perhaps he was
_not_ false after all. Perhaps time would exonerate him, demonstrating,
in some romantic and mysterious manner, that the unaccountable neglect
she had so resented was not really his fault. She had been making
excuses for him to her own heart ever since they parted. She was longing
to forgive him fully and freely now.
But, unlike her companion, Miss Hallaton kept her feelings a long way
below the surface, so it was a very calm, proud face she turned to Mrs.
Lascelles, while in a perfectly unmoved tone she observed:
"Captain Vanguard is a great friend of papa's, and I am sure he would be
very sorry to hear of our misfortunes."
"He _looked_ it!" answered the other meaningly. "Poor fellow, he was as
white as a sheet, and his face seemed almost haggard for so young a man!
It can't be entirely smoking and late hours, for that plague of mine
smokes and sits up like other people, yet he's got plenty of colour, and
his eyes are as clear as yours or mine. I must say I like a man to look
_fresh_. There's something wrong about Frank. He's sadly altered of
late, and I can't quite make him out."
Miss Hallaton was looking steadfastly through the window, while she
replied:
"I haven't remarked it. To be sure I've not seen him lately. He used to
have very good spirits as far as I recollect."
"He's not been the same man since Jin disappeared," said Mrs. Lascelles,
with malice prepense, no doubt, but possibly "cruel only to be kind."
"Yet I'm by no means clear he had anything to do with that most
mysterious business. He never could have shammed ignorance so naturally
when we all consulted together, though I must say he seemed the least
anxious of the party. I used sometimes to fancy he liked her, and
sometimes I fancied it was somebody else. I think so still. What do
_you_ say, Helen?"
But Helen changed the subject, skilfully diverting her companion's
thoughts to her approaching marriage, a topic of so engrossing a nature,
that it lasted all the way to London, and was not half exhausted when
interrupted by the _fiancée's_ characteristic exclamation, as their
train glided smoothly alongside the platform:
"What a goose he is! I knew he'd come to meet us! How pleased he'll be
to see I've brought you. Helen, he's a dear fellow. He's as good as
gold!"
He was as good as gold. Subject to the touchstone of happiness,
Goldthred's character came out like a picture lit by gas. The tints were
brighter, the lines more firmly marked, there appeared more depth, more
meaning, more force and character in his whole composition, and Mrs.
Lascelles, who had begun by pitying as much as she loved him, found the
pity changed to respect, and the love grown stronger than ever. She was
proud of him now, while he, exulting in the distinction, strove all the
more to continue worthy of her good opinion.
Surely on earth there is no incentive to virtue so powerful as the
entire affection of that one being who represents our ideal of some
purer and higher sphere. The idol is mere clay, no doubt, but the divine
spark exists at least in the worshipper; and it may be that the stubborn
human heart, now in a dream of joy, now in an agony of suffering, is
thus trained and taught to look up from the limited and imperfect
creature, to the boundless attributes of the Creator.
After her late excitement and distress, Helen had much need of rest,
both for body and mind. At No. 40 she found herself in a secure and
peaceful haven, where even during the flood-tide of a London season, she
might have
"Listened to the roar
Of the breakers on the bar outside that never reach the shore,"
but where in the hot dull autumn, when everybody was out of town, she
could remain perfectly tranquil and undisturbed, with Mrs. Lascelles to
humour her like a child, and Goldthred always ready to anticipate her
lightest wish.
It did not take many days, before the firmness had returned to her step,
the light to her eyes, and she was once more the "belle Helen," as Mrs.
Lascelles loved to call her, with a vague notion the title was extremely
classical and correct.
But it was quite contrary to the principles of the elder lady that any
one who possessed health and beauty should be "mewed up," as she was
pleased to express herself, while the weather tempted everybody out of
doors. Sitting at luncheon, with Miss Hallaton on one side, and the
faithful Goldthred on the other, she exclaimed, with the glee of an idle
child who has found a new plaything, looking very bright and handsome
the while:
"Happy thought! Let us drive down to-morrow to Oatlands! Weep at the
dogs' graves, peep at the grotto, sit by the river, dine, and come back
by moonlight. Who says _done_? It's almost the next thing to a
water-party."
"Done!" exclaimed both her companions at the same moment, one with
careless acquiescence, the other with intense admiration.
"Carried!" said the hostess, clapping her hands. "We three in the open
carriage--_must_ have a fourth. Who is it to be?"
But _one_ was out of town, another couldn't get away early enough in the
afternoon; _this_ person wouldn't come without the certainty of meeting
_that_. Of two charming sisters both must be asked or neither. In short,
the fourth seat in the carriage was wanted for half-a-dozen people, and
the prospective little dinner out of town soon assumed the dimensions of
a pic-nic.
Thus it fell out that Mrs. Lascelles had to write several notes after
luncheon, and "dear Helen" sat down to help her, while Goldthred,
lounging about and failing sadly in his efforts to make the bullfinch
pipe, volunteered to post these missives on his way to the club when
they were finished.
Pocketing them all in a lump, and expressing his intention of returning
at tea-time, Mr. Goldthred took his departure to walk down the street,
with the jaunty step and lightsome air of a happy lover.
At the nearest pillar-post, he stopped to fulfil his promise, and being
(though in love) a man of business, looked carefully at their addresses
before dropping the letters one by one into the slide.
The very top-most was Helen's production, and he started violently, the
moment its superscription caught his eye. Hastily examining two more in
the same handwriting, he replaced the whole in his pocket, hailed a
Hansom and drove straight home, where he ran to his writing-table,
unlocked a drawer and pulled out a certain little note that he had
received one night at his club awhile ago, that had puzzled him
exceedingly at the time, and that was, perhaps, the only secret he kept
from Mrs. Lascelles, because he had found himself unable to explain it
till to-day.
Yes, there could be no doubt, it was the same handwriting, he felt
convinced, fully as ever was Malvolio. The unknown correspondent who
wrote--"If you are really in earnest, come to-morrow; there is somebody
to be consulted besides me," was Miss Hallaton! "There's something very
queer about this," pondered Goldthred. "The girl's met with some foul
play somewhere or another. It's all right now. I'll have it out with her
to-night before I sleep--then I can tell my beautiful queen, and she
will decide what ought to be done."
And Mr. Goldthred in his pre-occupation, forgetting to post the letters
he had examined so carefully, brought them all back to No. 40 in his
pocket, so that the expedition to Oatlands fell through after all.