The stream was deeper than I thought
When first I ventured here,
I stood upon its sloping edge
Without a rising fear.--H. BONAR
It was a comfort to find that the brothers parted on good terms. The
elder was beholden to the younger for the acquiescence that removed the
odium of tyranny from the expulsion, and when the one great disturbance
had silenced the ephemeral dissensions that had kept both minds in a
constant state of irritation, Henry wanted, by kindness and
consideration, to prove to himself and the world that Leonard's real
interests were his sole object; and Leonard rejoiced in being at peace,
so long as his pride and resolution were not sacrificed. He went off
as though his employment had been the unanimous choice of the family,
carrying with him his dog, his rifle, his fishing-rod, his fossils, and
all his other possessions, but with the understanding that his Sundays
were to be passed at home, by way of safeguard to his religion and
morals, bespeaking the care and consideration of his senior, as Henry
assured himself and Mrs. Pugh, and tried to persuade his sister and Dr.
May.
But Dr. May was more implacable than all the rest. He called Henry's
action the deed of Joseph's brethren, and viewed the matter as the
responsible head of a family; he had a more vivid contemporaneous
knowledge of the Axworthy antecedents, and he had been a witness to
Henry's original indignant repudiation of such a destiny for his
brother. He was in the mood of a man whose charity had endured long,
and refused to condemn, but whose condemnation, when forced from him,
was therefore doubly strong. The displeasure of a loving charitable
man is indeed a grave misfortune.
Never had he known a more selfish and unprincipled measure,
deliberately flying in the face of his parents' known wishes before
they had been a year in their graves, exposing his brother to ruinous
temptation with his eyes open. The lad was destroyed body and soul, as
much as if he had been set down in Satan's own clutches; and if they
did not mind what they were about, he would drag Aubrey after him! As
sure as his name was Dick May, he would sooner have cut his hand off
than have sent the boys to Coombe together, could he have guessed that
this was to be the result.
Such discourses did not tend to make Ethel comfortable. If she had
been silly enough to indulge in a dream of her influence availing to
strengthen Leonard against temptation, she must still have refrained
from exerting it through her wonted medium, since it was her father's
express desire that Aubrey, for his own sake, should be detached from
his friend as much as possible.
Aubrey was the greatest present difficulty. Long before their illness
the boys had been the resource of each other's leisure, and Coombe had
made their intimacy a friendship of the warmest nature. Aubrey was at
an age peculiarly dependent on equal companionship, and in the absence
of his brothers, the loss of his daily intercourse with Leonard took
away all the zest of life. Even the volunteer practice lost its charm
without the rival with whom he chiefly contended, yet whose success
against others was hotter to him than his own; his other occupations
all wanted partnership, and for the first time in his life he showed
weariness and contempt of his sisters' society and pursuits. He rushed
off on Sunday evenings for a walk with Leonard; and though Dr. May did
not interfere, the daughters saw that the abstinence was an effort of
prudence, and were proportionately disturbed when one day at dinner, in
his father's absence, Aubrey, who had been overlooking his
fishing-flies with some reviving interest, refused all his sisters'
proposals for the afternoon, and when they represented that it was not
a good fishing-day, owned that it was not, but that he was going over
to consult Leonard Ward about some gray hackles.
'But you mustn't, Aubrey,' cried Gertrude, aghast.
Aubrey made her a low mocking bow.
'I am sure papa would be very much vexed,' added she, conclusively.
'I believe it was luckless Hal that the mill-wheel tore in your nursery
rhymes, eh, Daisy,' said Aubrey.
'Nursery rhymes, indeed!' returned the offended young lady; 'you know
it is a very wicked place, and papa would be very angry at your going
there.' She looked at Ethel, extremely shocked at her not having
interfered, and disregarding all signs to keep silence.
'Axworthy--worthy of the axe,' said Aubrey, well pleased to retort a
little teasing by the way; 'young Axworthy baiting the trap, and old
Axworthy sitting up in his den to grind the unwary limb from limb!'
'Ethel, why don't you tell him not?' exclaimed Gertrude.
'Because he knows papa's wishes as well as I do,' said Ethel; 'and it
is to them that he must attend, not to you or me.'
Aubrey muttered something about his father having said nothing to him;
and Ethel succeeded in preventing Daisy from resenting this answer.
She herself hoped to catch him in private, but he easily contrived to
baffle this attempt, and was soon marching out of Stoneborough in a
state of rampant independence, manhood, and resolute friendship, which
nevertheless chose the way where he was least likely to encounter a
little brown brougham.
Otherwise he might have reckoned three and a half miles of ploughed
field, soppy lane, and water meadow, as more than equivalent to five
miles of good turnpike road.
Be that as it might, he was extremely glad when, after forcing his way
through a sticky clayey path through a hazel copse, his eye fell on a
wide reach of meadow land, the railroad making a hard line across it at
one end, and in the midst, about half a mile off, the river meandering
like a blue ribbon lying loosely across the green flat, the handsome
buildings of the Vintry Mill lying in its embrace.
Aubrey knew the outward aspect of the place, for the foreman at the
mill was a frequent patient of his father's, and he had often waited in
the old gig at the cottage door at no great distance; but he looked
with more critical eyes at the home of his friend.
It was a place with much capacity, built, like the Grange, by the monks
of the convent, which had been the germ of the cathedral, and showing
the grand old monastic style in the solidity of its stone barns and
storehouses, all arranged around a court, whereof the dwelling-house
occupied one side, the lawn behind it with fine old trees, and sloping
down to the water, which was full of bright ripples after its agitation
around the great mill-wheel. The house was of more recent date, having
been built by a wealthy yeoman of Queen Anne's time, and had long
ranges of square-headed sash windows, surmounted by a pediment, carved
with emblems of Ceres and Bacchus, and a very tall front door, also
with a pediment, and with stone stops leading up to it. Of the same
era appeared to be the great gateway, and the turret above it,
containing a clock, the hands of which pointed to 3.40.
Aubrey had rather it had been four, at which time the office closed. He
looked round the court, which seemed very dean and rather
empty--stables, barns, buildings, and dwelling-house not showing much
sign of life, excepting the ceaseless hum and clack of the mill, and
the dash of the water which propelled it. The windows nearest to him
were so large and low, that he could look in and see that the first two
or three belonged to living rooms, and the next two showed him business
fittings, and a back that he took to be Leonard's; but he paused in
doubt how to present himself, and whether this were a welcome moment,
and he was very glad to see in a doorway of the upper story of the mill
buildings, the honest floury face of his father's old patient--the
foreman.
Greeting him in the open cordial way common to all Dr. May's children,
Aubrey was at once recognized, and the old man came down a step-ladder
in the interior to welcome him, and answer his question where he should
find Mr. Ward.
'He is in the office, sir, there, to the left hand as you go in at the
front door, but--' and he looked up at the clock, 'maybe, you would not
mind waiting a bit till it strikes four. I don't know whether master
might be best pleased at young gentlemen coming to see him in office
hours.'
'Thank you,' said Aubrey. 'I did not mean to be too soon, Hardy, but I
did not know how long the walk would be.'
Perhaps it would have been more true had he said that he had wanted to
elude his sisters, but he was glad to accept a seat on a bundle of
sacks tremulous with the motion of the mill, and to enter into a
conversation with the old foreman, one of those good old peasants whose
integrity and skill render them privileged persons, worth their weight
in gold long after their bodily strength has given way.
'Well, Hardy, do you mean to make a thorough good miller of Mr. Ward?'
'Bless you, Master May, he'll never stay here long enough.'
'Why not?'
'No, nor his friends didn't ought to let him stay!' added Hardy.
'Why?' said Aubrey. 'Do you think so badly of your own trade, Hardy?'
But he could not get an answer from the oracle on this head. Hardy
continued, 'He's a nice young gentleman, but he'll never put up with
it.'
'Put up with what?' asked Aubrey, anxiously; but at that instant a
carter appeared at the door with a question for Master Hardy, and
Aubrey was left to his own devices, and the hum and clatter of the
mill, till the clock had struck four; and beginning to think that Hardy
had forgotten him, he was about to set out and reconnoitre, when to his
great joy Leonard himself came hurrying up, and heartily shook him by
the hand.
'Hardy told me you were here,' he said. 'Well done, old fellow, I
didn't think they would have let you come and see me.'
'The girls did make a great row about it,' said Aubrey, triumphantly,
'but I was not going to stand any nonsense.'
Leonard looked a little doubtful; then said, 'Well, will you see the
place, or come and sit in my room? There is the parlour, but we shall
not be so quiet there.'
Aubrey decided for Leonard's room, and was taken through the front door
into a vestibule paved with white stone, with black lozenges at the
intersections. 'There,' said Leonard, 'the office is here, you see,
and my uncle's rooms beyond, all on the ground floor, he is too infirm
to go up-stairs. This way is the dining-room, and Sam has got a
sitting-room beyond, then there are the servants' rooms. It is a great
place, and horridly empty.'
Aubrey thought so, as his footsteps echoed up the handsome but ill-kept
stone staircase, with its fanciful balusters half choked with dust, and
followed Leonard along a corridor, with deep windows overlooking the
garden and river, and great panelled doors opposite, neither looking as
if they were often either cleaned or opened, and the passage smelling
very fusty.
'Pah!' said Aubrey; 'it puts me in mind of the wings of houses in books
that get shut up because somebody has been murdered! Are you sure it
is not haunted, Leonard?'
'Only by the rats,' he answered, laughing; 'they make such an
intolerable row, that poor little Mab is frightened out of her wits,
and I don't know whether they would not eat her up if she did not creep
up close to me. I'm tired of going at them with the poker, and would
poison every man Jack of them if it were not for the fear of her
getting the dose by mistake.'
'Is that what Hardy says you will never put up with?' asked Aubrey; but
instead of answering, Leonard turned to one of the great windows,
saying,
'There now, would not this be a charming place if it were properly
kept?' and Aubrey looked out at the great cedar, spreading out its
straight limbs and flakes of dark foliage over the sloping lawn, one
branch so near the window as to invite adventurous exits, and a little
boat lying moored in the dancing water below.
'Perfect!' said Aubrey. 'What fish there must lie in the mill tail!'
'Ay, I mean to have a try at them some of these days, I should like you
to come and help, but perhaps--Ha, little Mab, do you wonder what I'm
after so long? Here's a friend for you: as the little dog danced
delighted round him, and paid Aubrey her affectionate respects. Her
delicate drawing-room beauty did not match with the spacious but
neglected-looking room whence she issued. It had three great
uncurtained windows looking into the court, with deep window-seats,
olive-coloured painted walls, the worse for damp and wear, a small
amount of old-fashioned solid furniture, and all Leonard's individual
goods, chiefly disposed of in a cupboard in the wall, but Averil's
beautiful water-coloured drawings hung over the chimney. To Aubrey's
petted home-bred notions it was very bare and dreary, and he could not
help exclaiming, 'Well, they don't lodge you sumptuously!'
'I don't fancy many clerks in her Majesty's dominions have so big and
airy an apartment to boast of,' said Leonard. 'Let's see these flies
of yours.'
Their mysteries occupied the boys for some space; but Aubrey returned
to the charge. 'What is it that Hardy says you'll never put up with,
Leonard?'
'What did the old fellow say?' asked Leonard, laughing; and as Aubrey
repeated the conversation, ending with the oracular prediction, he
laughed again, but said proudly, 'He'll see himself wrong then. I'll
put up with whatever I've undertaken.'
'But what does he mean?'
'Serving one's apprenticeship, I suppose,' said Leonard; 'they all
think me a fine gentleman, and above the work, I know, though I've
never stuck at anything yet. If I take to the business, I suppose it
is capable of being raised up to me--it need not pull me down to it,
eh?'
'There need be no down in the case,' said Aubrey. 'My father always
says there is no down except in meanness and wrong. But,' as if that
mention brought a recollection to his mind, 'what o'clock is it? I
must not stay much longer.'
'I'll walk a bit of the way home with you,' said Leonard, 'but I must
be back by five for dinner. I go to rifle practice two days in the
week, and I don't like to miss the others, for Sam's often out, and the
poor old man does not like being left alone at meals.'
The two boys were at the room door, when Aubrey heard a step, felt the
fustiness enlivened by the odour of a cigar, and saw a figure at the
top of the stairs.
'I say, Ward,' observed Mr. Sam, in a rude domineering voice,
'Spelman's account must be all looked over to-night; he says that there
is a blunder. D'ye hear?'
'Very well.'
'Who have you got there?'
'It is Aubrey May.'
'Oh! good morning to you,' making a kind of salutation; 'have you been
looking at the water? We've got some fine fish there, if you like to
throw a line any day.--Well, that account must be done to-night, and if
you can't find the error, you'll only have to do it over again.'
Leonard's colour had risen a good deal, but he said nothing, and his
cousin ran down-stairs and drove off in his dog-cart.
'Is it much of a business?' said Aubrey, feeling extremely indignant.
'Look here,' said Leonard, leading the way down-stairs and into the
office, where he pointed to two huge account books. 'Every page in
that one must I turn over this blessed night; and if he had only told
me three hours ago, I could have done the chief of it, instead of
kicking my heels all the afternoon.'
'Has he any right to order you about, out of office hours, and without
a civil word either? Why do you stand it?'
'Because I can stand anything better than being returned on Henry's
hands,' said Leonard, 'and he has spite enough for that. The thing
must be done, and if he won't do it, I must, that's all. Come along.'
As they went out the unwieldy figure of the elder Mr. Axworthy was
seen, leaning out of his open window, smoking a clay pipe. He spoke in
a much more friendly tone, as he said, 'Going out, eh? Mind the
dinner-time.'
'Yes, sir,' said Leonard, coming nearer, 'I'm not going far.'
'Who have you got there?' was again asked.
'One of the young Mays, sir. I was going to walk part of the way back.'
Aubrey thought the grunt not very civil; and as the boys and Mab passed
under the gateway, Leonard continued, 'There's not much love lost
between him and your father; he hates the very name.'
'I should expect he would,' said Aubrey, as if his hatred were an
honour.
'I fancy there's some old grievance,' said Leonard, 'where he was wrong
of course. Not that that need hinder your coming over, Aubrey; I've a
right to my own friends, but--'
'And so have I to mine,' said Aubrey eagerly.
'But you see,' added Leonard, 'I wouldn't have you do it--if--if it
vexes your sister. I can see you every Sunday, you know, and we can
have some fun together on Saturdays when the evenings get longer.'
Aubrey's face fell; he had a strong inclination for Leonard's company,
and likewise for the trout in the mill tail, and he did not like his
independence to be unappreciated.
'You see,' said Leonard, laying his hand kindly on his shoulder, 'it is
very jolly of you, but I know they would hate it in the High Street if
you were often here, and it is not worth that. Besides, Aubrey, to
tell the plain truth, Sam's not fit company for any decent fellow.'
'I can't think how he came to ask me to fish.'
'Just to show he is master, because he knew the poor old man would not
like it! It is one reason he is so savage with me, because his uncle
took me without his consent.'
'But, Leonard, it must be worse than the living at home ever was.'
Leonard laughed. 'It's different being jawed in the way of business
and at one's own home. I'd go through a good deal more than I do here
in the week to have home what it is now on Sunday. Why, Henry really
seems glad to see me, and we have not had the shadow of a row since I
came over here. Don't you tell Ave all this, mind, and you may just as
well not talk about it at home, you know, or they will think I'm going
to cry off.'
Aubrey was going to ask what he looked to; but Leonard saw, or thought
he saw, a weasel in the hedge, and the consequent charge and pursuit
finished the dialogue, the boys parted, and Aubrey walked home, his
satisfaction in his expedition oozing away at every step, though his
resolve to assert his liberty grew in proportion.
Of course it had not been possible to conceal from Dr. May where Aubrey
was gone, and his annoyance had burst out vehemently, the whole round
of objurgations against the Wards, the Vintry Mill, and his own folly
in fostering the friendship, were gone through, and Ethel had come in
for more than she could easily bear, for not having prevented the
escapade. Gertrude had hardly ever seen her father so angry, and sat
quaking for her brother; and Ethel meekly avoided answering again, with
the happy trustfulness of experienced love.
At last, as the tea was nearly over, Aubrey walked in, quite ready for
self-defence. Nobody spoke for a little while, except to supply him
with food; but presently Dr. May said, not at all in the tone in which
he had talked of his son's journey, 'You might as well have told me of
your intentions, Aubrey.'
'I didn't think they mattered to anybody,' said Aubrey; 'we generally
go our own way in the afternoon.'
'Oh!' said Dr. May. 'Interference with the liberty of the subject?'
Aubrey coloured, and felt he had not quite spoken truth. 'I could not
give him up, father,' he said, less defiantly.
'No, certainly not; but I had rather you only saw him at home. It will
be more for our peace of mind.'
'Well, father,' said Aubrey, 'I am not going there any more. He told
me not himself:' and then with laughing eyes he added, 'He said you
would not like it, Ethel.'
'Poor boy!' said Ethel, greatly touched.
'Very right of him,' said Dr. May, well pleased. 'He is a fine lad,
and full of proper feeling. What sort of a berth has the old rogue
given him, Aubrey?'
Much relieved that matters had taken this course, Aubrey tried to tell
only as much as his friend would approve, but the medium was not easily
found, and pretty nearly the whole came out. Dr. May was really
delighted to hear how Sam treated him.
'If that fellow takes the oppressive line, there may be some hope,' he
said. 'His friendship is the worse danger than his enmity.'
When the sisters had bidden good night, the Doctor detained Aubrey to
say very kindly, 'My boy, I do not like to hear of your running counter
to your sister.
'I'm not going there again,' said Aubrey, willing to escape.
'Wait a minute, Aubrey,' said Dr. May; 'I want to tell you that I feel
for you in this matter more than my way of talking may have made it
seem to you. I have a great regard for your friend Leonard, and think
he has been scandalously used, and I don't want to lessen your
attachment to him. Far be it from me to think lightly of a friendship,
especially of one formed at your age. Your very name, my boy, shows
that I am not likely to do that!'
Aubrey smiled frankly, his offended self-assertion entirely melted.
'I know it is very hard on you, but you can understand that the very
reasons that made me so averse to Leonard's taking this situation,
would make me anxious to keep you away from his relations there, not
necessarily from him. As long as he is what he is now, I would not
lift a finger to keep you from him. Have I ever done so, Aubrey?'
'No, papa.'
'Nor will I, as long as he is what I see him now. After this, Aubrey,
is it too much to ask of you to keep out of the way of the persons with
whom he is thrown?'
'I will do so, papa. He wishes it himself.' Then with an effort, he
added, 'I am sorry I went to-day; I ought not, but--' and he looked a
little foolish.
'You did not like taking orders from the girls? No wonder, Aubrey; I
have been very thankful to you for bearing it as you have done. It is
the worst of home education that these spirits of manliness generally
have no vent but mischief. But you are old enough now to be thankful
for such a friend and adviser as Ethel, and I don't imagine that she
orders you.'
'No,' said Aubrey, smiling and mumbling; 'but Daisy--'
'Oh, I can quite understand the aggravation of Daisy happening to be
right; but you must really be man enough to mind your own conscience,
even if Daisy is imprudent enough to enforce it.'
'It was not only that,' said Aubrey, 'but I could not have Ward
thinking I turned up my nose at his having got into business.'
'No, Aubrey, he need never fancy it is the business that I object to,
but the men. Make that clear to him, and ask him to this house as much
as you please. The more "thorough" he is in his business, the more I
shall respect him.'
Aubrey smiled, and thanked his father with a cleared brow, wondering at
himself for having gone without consulting him.
'Good night, my boy. May this friendship of yours be a lifelong stay
and blessing to you both, even though it may cost you some pain and
self-command, as all good things must, Aubrey.'
That evening Ethel had been writing to Cambridge. Tom had passed his
examination with great credit, and taken an excellent degree, after
which he projected a tour in Germany, for which he had for some time
been economizing, as a well-earned holiday before commencing his course
of hospitals and lectures. Tom was no great correspondent, and had
drilled his sisters into putting nothing but the essential into their
letters, instead, as he said, of concealing it in flummery. This is a
specimen of the way Tom liked to be written to.
'Stoneborough, Feb. 20th.
'My Dear Tom,
'Dr. Spencer says nothing answers so well as a knapsack. Get one at
----. The price is L. s. d. Order extra fittings as required,
including a knife and fork. Letters from N. Z. of the 1st of November,
all well. I wish Aubrey was going with you; he misses Leonard Ward so
sorely, as to be tempted to follow him to the Vintry Mill. I suspect
your words are coming true, and the days of petticoat government
ending. However, even if he would not be in your way, he could not
afford to lose six months' study before going into residence.
'Your affectionate sister,
'Etheldred May.'
Tom wrote that he should spend a night in London and come home. When
he came, the family exclaimed that his microscope, whose handsome case
he carried in his hand, was much grown. 'And improved too, I hope'
said Tom, proceeding to show off various new acquisitions and exchanges
in the way of eye-pieces, lenses, and other appliances of the most
expensive order, till his father exclaimed,
'Really, Tom, I wish I had the secret of your purse.'
'The fact is,' said Tom, 'that I thought more would be gained by
staying at home, so I turned my travels into a binocular tube,' &C.
Aubrey and Gertrude shouted that Tom certainly did love the microscope
better than any earthly thing; and he coolly accepted the inference.
Somewhat later, he announced that he had decided that he should be
better able to profit by the London lectures and hospitals, if he first
studied for half a year at the one at Stoneborough, under the direction
of his father and Dr. Spencer.
Dr. May was extremely gratified, and really esteemed this one of the
greatest compliments his science had ever received; Dr. Spencer could
not help observing, 'I did not think it was in him to do such a wise
thing. I never can fathom the rogue. I hope he was not bitten during
his benevolent exertions last winter.'
Meantime, Tom had observed that he had time to see that Aubrey was
decently prepared for Cambridge, and further promoted the boy to be his
out-of-door companion, removing all the tedium and perplexity of the
last few weeks, though apparently merely indulging his own
inclinations. Ethel recognized the fruit of her letter, and could well
forgive the extra care in housekeeping required for Tom's critical
tastes, nay, the cool expulsion of herself and Gertrude from her twenty
years' home, the schoolroom, and her final severance from Aubrey's
studies, though at the cost of a pang that reminded her of her
girlhood's sorrow at letting Norman shoot ahead of her. She gave no
hint; she knew that implicit reserve was the condition of his strange
silent confidence in her, and that it would be utterly forfeited unless
she allowed his fraternal sacrifice to pass for mere long-headed
prudence.
Aubrey's Saturday and Sunday meetings with his friend were not yielded,
even to Tom, who endeavoured to interfere with them, and would fain
have cut the connection with the entire family, treating Miss Ward with
the most distant and supercilious bows on the unpleasantly numerous
occasions of meeting her in the street, and contriving to be markedly
scornful in his punctilious civility to Henry Ward when they met at the
hospital. His very look appeared a sarcasm, to the fancy of the Wards;
and he had a fashion of kindly inquiring after Leonard, that seemed to
both a deliberate reproach and insult.
Disputes had become less frequent at Bankside since Leonard's
departure, and few occasions of actual dissension arose; but the spirit
of party was not extinguished, and the brother and sister had adopted
lines that perhaps clashed less because they diverged more.
Averil had, in reply to the constant exhortations to economize,
resolved to decline all invitations, and this kept her constantly at
home, or with her harmonium, whereas Henry made such constant
engagements, that their dining together was the exception, not the
rule. After conscientiously teaching her sisters in the morning, she
devoted the rest of her day to their walk, and to usefulness in the
parish. She liked her tasks, and would have been very happy in them,
but for the constant anxiety that hung over her lest her home should
soon cease to be her home.
Henry's devotion to Mrs. Pugh could no longer be mistaken. The
conviction of his intentions grew upon his sister, first from a mere
absurd notion, banished from her mind with derision, then from a
misgiving angrily silenced, to a fixed expectation, confirmed by the
evident opinion of all around her, and calling for decision and
self-command on her own part.
Perhaps her feelings were unnecessarily strong, and in some degree
unjust to Mrs. Pugh; but she had the misfortune to be naturally proud
and sensitive, as well as by breeding too refined in tone for most of
those who surrounded her. She had taken a personal dislike to Mrs.
Pugh from the first; she regarded pretension as insincerity, and
officiousness as deliberate insult, and she took the recoil of her
taste for the judgment of principle. To see such a woman ruling in her
mother's, her own, home would be bad enough; but to be ruled by her,
and resign to her the management of the children, would be intolerable
beyond measure. Too unhappy to speak of her anticipations even to
Leonard or to Mary May, she merely endeavoured to throw them off from
day to day, till one evening, when the days had grown so long that she
could linger in the twilight in the garden before her singing practice,
she was joined by Henry, with the long apprehended 'I want to speak to
you, Ave.'
Was it coming? Her heart beat so fast, that she could hardly hear his
kind commencement about her excellent endeavours, and the house's
unhappy want of a mistress, the children's advantage, and so on. She
knew it could only tend to one point, and longed to have it reached and
passed. Of course she would be prepared to hear who was the object of
his choice, and she could not but murmur 'Yes,' and 'Well.'
'And, Ave, you will, I hope, be gratified to hear that I am not
entirely rejected. The fact is, that I spoke too soon.' Averil could
have jumped for joy, and was glad it was too dusk for her face to be
seen. 'I do not believe that her late husband could have had any
strong hold on her affections; but she has not recovered the shock of
his loss, and entreated, as a favour granted to her sentiments of
respect for his memory, not to hear the subject mentioned for at least
another year. I am permitted to visit at the house as usual, and no
difference is to be made in the terms on which we stand. Now, Ave,
will you--may I ask of you, to do what you can to remove any impression
that she might not be welcome in the family?'
'I never meant--' faltered Averil, checked by sincerity.
'You have always been--so--so cold and backward in cultivating her
acquaintance, that I cannot wonder if she should think it disagreeable
to you; but, Ave, when you consider my happiness, and the immense
advantage to all of you, I am sure you will do what is in your power in
my behalf.' He spoke more affectionately and earnestly than he had
done for months; and Averil was touched, and felt that to hang back
would be unkind.
'I will try,' she said. 'I do hope it may turn out for your happiness,
Henry.'
'For all our happiness,' said Henry, walking down to the gate and along
the road with her, proving all the way that he was acting solely for
the good of the others, and that Averil and the children would find
their home infinitely happier.
A whole year--a year's reprieve--was the one thought in Averil's head,
that made her listen so graciously, and answer so amiably, that Henry
parted with her full of kind, warm feeling.
As the sage said, who was to be beheaded if he could not in a year
teach the king's ass to speak--what might not happen in a year; the
king might die, the ass might die, or he might die--any way there was
so much gained: and Averil, for the time, felt as light-hearted as if
Mrs. Pugh had vanished into empty air. To be sure, her own life had,
of late, been far from happy; but this extension of it was bailed with
suppressed ecstasy--almost as an answer to her prayers. Ah, Ave,
little did you know what you wished in hoping for anything to prevent
the marriage!
She did obey her brother so far as to call upon Mrs. Pugh, whom she
found in ordinary mourning, and capless--a sign that dismayed her; but,
on the other hand, the lady, though very good-natured and patronizing,
entertained her with the praises of King John, and showed her a copy of
Magna Charta in process of illumination. Also, during her call, Tom
May walked in with a little book on drops of water; and Averil found
the lady had become inspired with a microscopic furore, and was
thinking of setting up a lens, and preparing objects for herself, under
good tuition.
Though Averil was very desirous that Mrs. Pugh should refuse her
brother, yet this was the last service she wished the May family to
render her. She was sure Tom May must dislike and despise the widow as
much as she did; and since the whole town was unluckily aware of
Henry's intentions, any interference with them was base and malicious,
if in the way of mere amusement and flirtation. She was resolved to
see what the game was, but only did see that her presence greatly
disconcerted 'Mr. Thomas May.'
Henry was wretched and irritable in the velvet paws of the widow, who
encouraged him enough to give him hope, and then held him aloof, or was
equally amiable to some one else. Perhaps the real interpretation was,
that she loved attention. She was in all sincerity resolved to observe
a proper period of widowhood, and not determined whether, when, or how,
it should terminate: courtship amused her, and though attracted by
Henry and his good house, the evidences of temper and harshness had
made her unwilling to commit herself; besides that, she was afraid of
Averil, and she was more flattered by the civilities of a lioncel like
Harvey Anderson; or if she could be sure of what Mr. Thomas May's
intentions were, she would have preferred an embryo physician to a
full-grown surgeon--at any rate, it was right by her poor dear Mr. Pugh
to wait.
She need not have feared having Averil as an inmate. Averil talked it
over with Leonard, and determined that no power on earth should make
her live with Mrs. Pugh. If that were necessary to forward his suit,
she would make it plain that she was ready to depart.
'Oh, Leonard, if my uncle were but a nice sort of person, how pleasant
it would be for me and the children to live there, and keep his house;
and I could make him so comfortable, and nurse him!'
'Never, Ave!' cried Leonard; 'don't let the thing be talked of.'
'Oh no, I know it would not do with Samuel there; but should we be too
young for your old scheme of having a cottage together near?'
'I did not know what the Axworthys were like,' returned Leonard.
'But need we see them much?'
'I'll tell you what, Ave, I've heard them both--yes, the old man the
worst of the two--say things about women that made my blood boil.'
Leonard was quite red as he spoke. 'My father never let my mother see
any of the concern, and now I know why. I'll never let you do so.'
'Then there is only one other thing to be done,' said Averil; 'and that
is for me to go back to school as a parlour boarder, and take the
children with me. It would be very good for them, and dear Mrs. Wood
would be very glad to have me.'
'Yes,' said Leonard, 'that is the only right thing, Ave; and the Mays
will say so, too. Have you talked it over with them!'
'No. I hate talking of this thing.'
'Well, you had better get their advice. It is the best thing going!'
said Leonard, with a sigh that sounded as if he wished he had taken it.
But it was not to Averil that he said so. To her he spoke brightly of
serving the time for which he was bound to his uncle; then of making a
fresh engagement, that would open a home to her; or, better still,
suppose Sam did not wish to go on with the business, he might take it,
and make the mill the lovely place it might be. It was to Aubrey May
that the boy's real feelings came out, as, on the Sunday evening, they
slowly wandered along the bank of the river. Aubrey had seen a
specimen of his life at the mill, and had been kept up to the knowledge
of its events, and he well knew that Leonard was heartily sick of it.
That the occupation was uncongenial and tedious in the extreme to a boy
of good ability and superior education--nay, that the drudgery was made
unnecessarily oppressive, was not the point he complained of, though it
was more trying than he had expected, that was the bed that he had
made, and that he must lie upon. It was the suspicion of frauds and
tricks of the trade, and, still worse, the company that he lived in.
Sam Axworthy hated and tyrannized over him too much to make dissipation
alluring; and he was only disgusted by the foul language, coarse
manners, and the remains of intemperance worked on in violent temper.
The old man, though helpless and past active vice, was even more coarse
in mind and conversation than his nephew; and yet his feebleness, and
Sam's almost savage treatment of him, enlisted Leonard's pity on his
side. In general, the old man was kind to Leonard, but would abuse him
roundly when the evidences of his better principles and training, or
his allegiance to Dr. May, came forward, and Leonard, though greatly
compassionating him, could not always bear his reproaches with
patience, and was held back from more attention to him than common
humanity required, by an unlucky suggestion that he was currying favour
in the hope of supplanting Sam.
'Old Hardy is the only honest man in the place, I do believe,' said
Leonard. 'I'll tell you what, Aubrey, I have made up my mind, there is
one thing I will not do. If ever they want to make me a party to any
of their cheatings, I'll be off. That window and the cedar-tree stand
very handy. I've been out there to bathe in the early summer mornings,
plenty of times already, so never you be surprised if some fine day you
hear--non est inventus.'
'And where would you go?'
'Get up to London, and see if my quarter's salary would take me out in
the steerage to some diggings or other. What would your brother say to
me if I turned up at the Grange--New Zealand?'
'Say! Mention Ethel, and see what he would not say.'
And the two boys proceeded to arrange the details of the evasion in
such vivid colouring, that they had nearly forgotten all present
troubles, above all when Leonard proceeded to declare that New Zealand
was too tame and too settled for him, he should certainly find
something to do in the Feejee Isles, where the high spirit of the
natives, their painted visages, and marvellous head-dresses, as
depicted in Captain Erskine's voyage, had greatly fired his fancy, and
they even settled how the gold fields should rebuild the Market Cross.
'And when I'm gone, Aubrey, mind you see to Mab,' he said, laughing.
'Oh! I thought Mab was to act Whittington's cat.'
'I'm afraid they would eat her up; besides, there's the voyage. No,
you must keep her till I come home, even if she is to end like Argus.
Would you die of joy at seeing me, eh, little black neb?'