Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: SHE SHRANK LOWER AND LOWER, TILL HER BOWED HEAD RESTED
ON HER KNEES.]
The
Pride o' the Morning
BY
AGNES GIBERNE
AUTHOR OF "SUN, MOON AND STARS," "THE MIGHTY DEEP,"
"STORIES OF THE ABBEY PRECINCTS,"
"ROY: A TALE IN THE DAYS OF SIR JOHN MOORE," ETC.
"And so the shadows fall apart,
And so the west winds play:
And all the windows of my heart
I open to the day."
WHITTIER.
London
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO., LTD.
OLD BAILEY
CONTENTS
[Illustration]
CHAPTER
I. COLIN'S RETURN
II. MIDNIGHT MOVEMENTS
III. MRS. WYVERNE'S GRAND-DAUGHTERS
IV. THINGS PAST AND PRESENT
V. THE MIDFELL ATMOSPHERE
VI. A BURNISHED STREAM
VII. A STERN CHASE
VIII. MR. DUGDALE'S OUTSPOKENNESS
IX. A MOORLAND DEATH-TRAP
X. DIREFUL REALISATIONS
XI. CASTLE HILL PERPLEXITIES
XII. COLIN AND HIS WORK
XIII. THE OLD VILLAGE CHURCH
XIV. SCULPTOR AND SITTER
XV. AN INADVERTENT DISCOVERY
XVI. LEVEL PLAINS
XVII. DUTY VERSUS DESIRE
XVIII. A PAST EPISODE
XIX. A VANISHED PORTRAIT
XX. REVERSION TO A RUT
XXI. THE THINGS THAT ARE
XXII. THINGS THAT SHOULD BE
XXIII. COLIN'S CONQUESTS
XXIV. A FAMILIAR HANDWRITING
XXV. GILES OR SOMEBODY
XXVI. AN UNQUIET MIND
XXVII. RENEWED FIGHTING
XXVIII. NEW DEVELOPMENTS
XXIX. THE LOST HEIRLOOM
XXX. MRS. KEITH AND HER CORRESPONDENT
XXXI. GILES AND HIS HOPES
XXXII. A POSSIBLE COMPLICATION
XXXIII. COMING TO THE POINT
XXXIV. A FLARE-UP AND ITS SEQUELÆ
XXXV. THE OTHER MAN
XXXVI. THE COIL IN ITS BEGINNING
XXXVII. READJUSTMENTS
THE PRIDE O' THE MORNING
CHAPTER I
COLIN'S RETURN
A BEAM of sunshine from the far west came in at the oriel window
of Castle Hill library. As its name might imply, Castle Hill stood
somewhat high, at least for English Midlands. The house, an old one,
often added to in the course of centuries, was two hundred feet above
the village of Castlemere.
It had, therefore, benefits of breeze and light; and this lengthy
irregular room, with its four windows, its carved black oak, its
hangings of dull green and old gold, enjoyed the latest kisses of the
monarch of day. The hour for those kisses was not yet come. Wavelets
of ether, shimmering billions to each beat of the venerable clock,
speeding across ninety-three millions of miles, still landed on wall
and carpet.
Mrs. Keith's mind was occupied with other matters than scientific
causes for everyday phenomena, as she paced the room with impatient
steps, glancing in turn through each front window, in quest of the
expected dog-cart.
She was a handsome woman, tall, with dark eyes of unusual size. The
rich brown hair, which held many silver threads, was well-dressed,
and she carried herself with a touch of conscious stateliness, which
failed to hide her present restless mood. A fixed red spot on either
cheek made the rest of her pale face paler; her lips worked; and she
continuously clenched and unclenched her right hand.
Giles Randolph had risen when she rose, and he now stood in the oriel
window, reading; a man of large build, six feet in height and robust
in make. The face had strong outlines, with a straight solid nose, a
good mouth under the heavy brown moustache, sombre blue eyes dragged
downward at their outer corners, and a complexion of deep red-brown.
In the features was something not easy to decipher. There was fibre of
character, and a will to crush difficulty; yet that dim inscription
seemed to speak of something in the past that had mastered him, and had
given a bias to his life.
"Half-past six! He ought to be here. I can't think why he is not," Mrs.
Keith was saying. "The train was due half-an-hour ago."
She took another turn.
"He must have missed it. How vexatious! When does the next come in? I
do wish you would look it out for me."
Giles put down his book and walked to a side-table, where some fumbling
ended in the remark—"I don't see Bradshaw."
"It's there, I know—on the top shelf of that bookcase."
He took down the volume, remarking in his deep voice, which contrasted
with her somewhat querulous tones—"This train is often late."
"O don't be sensible, pray! I'm not in the mood for it."
Possibly her companion was at a loss how to be the reverse. He turned
over the pages, and remarked, "In case Colin should have missed—"
"Yes, yes; I understand all that. The time of the train is what I
want." Then came an apology. "I really don't mean to be cross, Giles.
Somehow, I can't help it."
He looked at her kindly. "Of course—I understand. One knows what this
must be to you—your own boy coming home!"
"Yes. That is—he may be different."
"No fear. Colin will be Colin still. Ah! Here is the page."
She had moved again and now stood behind him. A breeze of feeling swept
over her face; something of protestation, for which nothing present
seemed to account. Tears filled her eyes and were with difficulty
blinked away; but she spoke in a tone of forced gaiety.
"You have no business to talk like that. To speak as if Colin were more
to me than yourself. You know that you both are my boys—always have
been and always will be."
He spoke soothingly. "At all events, if there has been any difference
it has lain the other way—more indulgence for me, more strictness for
him."
"O surely not!" That which he meant to comfort her proved
exciting. "Don't say it, Giles! So hard as I have tried to make no
difference—even in my love!"
"You have made none, beyond what was inevitable. Colin has the right
to your greater love, and he is infinitely more lovable. Venetian
glass can't be handled like granite. Come, you are not going to worry
yourself! Things are all right."
"I hope so. I shouldn't like to think—" She left the sentence
unfinished, and began anew—"I often wonder—'can' one hold oneself even?
I know what you mean by 'greater strictness' and 'Venetian glass.' Just
because he is my own, I have tried to be more severe with him, and his
sweetness has made it impossible. He is so lovable, as you say."
"Of course your own boy is and must be more to you than all the world
beside."
"Yes—true," she murmured.
"I should be the last ever to wish Colin to come second." Giles spoke
pointedly; for Mrs. Keith's endeavours to give her ward his full rights
had often resulted in giving her son less than his rights. "But here is
the dog-cart."
Mrs. Keith's attempts at self-analysing were brushed aside. Colin was
through the front door before they could leave the library, moving with
an absence of hurry, yet forestalling them. He kissed his mother, shook
hands with Giles, patted the old hound who followed him with sniffs
and whines, exchanged some chaff with the stout butler which set that
excellent retainer grinning with delight, and finally took possession
of an armchair, asking and answering questions in a soft deliberate
undertone, which was the precise antithesis of his mother's variable
voice.
He and Giles were made after different models. A stranger might easily
have set down the latter as a man of four-and-thirty, while few guessed
Colin to have passed his twenty-third year. Yet less than six weeks had
divided the birth of the one from the birth of the other; and each now
had passed his twenty-eighth birthday.
Colin was the shorter, though he gained in apparent height from
his slightness. His fair pale complexion and chiselled delicacy of
feature contrasted with the powerful outlines of Giles, while the
finely-developed forehead spoke of intellect. The blue eyes were
singular, not unlike those of Giles in colour, observant, yet dreamy.
He had suffered severely in health from an accident in boyhood. A
heavy blow on the head had resulted in disabling headaches, which for
years prevented study. His high spirit had made him less of an invalid
than might have been the case; still, education had been a negligible
quantity, so far as any regular "curriculum" was concerned. He had read
much by fits and starts, picking up any amount of general information,
but steady work had been impossible. Foreign travel at last had been
recommended, and much was expected from the three years of absence, now
ended.
Glad to be back! Yes, certainly. Though he had enjoyed himself no
end—thanks to Giles!—with a glance at the latter.
Then, presently—"Giles, I've been thinking—it is cool of me to talk of
this as 'home.' As if I had a shadow of right!"
"You have every right."
"Not a particle. Now I am stronger, I don't mean to be dependent."
"Nonsense!" came emphatically.
And Mrs. Keith stood up.
"Going to dress for dinner," she murmured; and Colin showed surprise,
since the hour was early. He did not protest, but when she had
disappeared, his glance went to Giles.
"Nervous!" came in reply.
"What about?"
"I haven't a notion."
Colin dropped the subject, and reverted to what he had been saying.
"That's all very well, you know; but I happen to have a trifle of
self-respect. Call it pride, if you like."
"Between you and me pride is impossible."
"The future Mrs. Randolph—"
"Will feel as I feel, or she won't exist. What is mine is yours. And
not a man in the Empire is less likely to marry."
"Bosh! Anyhow, I mean to work."
"You shall do what you can, without suffering for it. But for pleasure,
not necessity."
"It's a moral necessity that I should be independent."
"And deprive me of the one thing—" A word of protest cut into the
utterance. "Yes, I know! I promised not to say it again. No need; for
you understand. I wish you also to understand that never while I live
will Castle Hill cease to be your home."
"So be it! Meanwhile, I intend to work."
"At what?"
"Modelling, of course. Will the mater be exercised?" His words dropped
slowly.
"I don't see why she should."
"She hates to see me fingering clay. I never can conceive why. It is
the one thing I can do."
"Better for you, at any rate, than head-work."
"My dear fellow! Do you suppose sculpture is not head-work?"
"Better than books, I should have said. We must fit up a studio."
Colin murmured a "Thanks." He added, "I've done a lot of modelling
lately—in Paris first, of course."
"Ah, that was what kept you so long."
"I went through a regular course. This winter I've had a fine time
in Italy, studying the great masters. Plaster casts want a lot of
practice. I've not made much way with them yet."
"Don't try for the present. Modelling in clay will give scope for
your powers, and a practised moulder will do the casting better. For
a wonder, I know just the man in Market Oakley—a young fellow with
talent. I shall like to encourage him."
"I dare say! But the cost—"
"Will be my concern, till you can stand alone. When you are receiving
hundreds for a bust, you shall pay for your own casting."
"Ah—when!! But I mean to stand alone."
"What are a few pounds between you and me?"
"Well, perhaps for a time!" reluctantly. "I had no end of encouragement
abroad. Some of my attempts won great praise."
"Delighted to hear it," Giles said cordially. "What do you think of
the old schoolroom for your studio? It is out of the way, and has no
room over. You will want skylight windows, I fancy, and a tap of water,
and a modelling-stool, and instruments. There's a small inner room,
which will be useful. We will have it put in order at once. You must be
properly equipped at the outset."
"Giles, you 'are' a good fellow!" murmured Colin.