"I DON'T QUITE REMEMBER."
The summons had come from one of the younger girls, for they had reached
a point on the road to Scaling Harbour at which there was a question of
two ways thither.
"Shall we take the sea-road?" said Eira, "or the higher one?"
Frances hesitated and glanced at Horace.
"Which do you think gives the best view, the most picturesque to
newcomers?" she asked.
"The sea-road, I should say," he replied, "decidedly so. Shall we lead
the way?" he went on, addressing Betty as he hastened forward to where
she, Eira, and Miss Charlemont were standing; and in a moment or two,
Frances, who by this time had attached herself to Madeleine and the two
other men, heard by the sound of their merry voices that Horace's
spirits were at their highest.
"How considerate he is!" she thought to herself, "so careful not to
involve me in any kind of notice. I wish I could--I do hope--" but then
she put it all resolutely aside for the moment; the time had not yet
come for a good thorough "thinking out" of it all, and in spite of
Madeleine's evident readiness to leave her undisturbed should she wish
it, she joined with seeming interest in the talk going on around her,
thereby winning still more golden opinions from her friend as to her
unselfishness and self-control. For the little manoeuvres by which her
brother had cleverly secured the coveted _tete-a-tete_ had been by no
means unperceived by his sister.
A few minutes' quick walking now brought the party on to what was called
the sea-road; another quarter of an hour and the queer little village
lay close before them. Unanimously they came to a halt.
"It is indeed picturesque," said Gertrude, whose taste lay in the
direction of sketching.
"If only it were summer--not too cold for sitting still!"
"Wait till we have gone a little farther," said Horace. "It isn't only
the place, the people themselves will tempt you still more."
And when they found themselves in the one straggling street, where the
reddish sandstone cottages looked much as they might have done at any
time since the famous Armada days, when--so ran the legend--the strange
little colony had first been founded, Miss Charlemont fully agreed with
him. Here and there swarthy-faced men were seated at their cottage
doors, occupied in the never-failing resource of a fisherman's
"off-hours"--mending their nets. A few women looking out, or here and
there gossiping with each other, had a strangely un-English air, not
only as to their, in most cases, black hair and eyes, but in the very
colour and tone of their carelessly adjusted garments, in which a vivid
blue and almost orange-scarlet, however stained and faded, still
predominated. The very children, from the tumbling-about babies to the
bare-legged, brown-skinned urchins of both sexes, who, considering the
cold especially, seemed to take life uncommonly easily, all shared the
same distinct and peculiar characteristics.
The strangers were much struck.
"Curious," said Mr Charlemont meditatively, "how the Southern strain is
still so predominant. It reminds me of--" but his daughter interrupted
him.
"It's worth coming any distance to see," she said enthusiastically.
"Even the very smell of the place isn't like an English village! Do you
often come here?" she went on, turning to the _Morion_ sisters.
"_I_ don't," Betty replied. "I like our own poor people far better.
But Frances and Eira--and Madeleine too--have taken to rushing off here
this winter, as often as they can get; once or twice a week sometimes."
"What for?" asked Miss Charlemont. "Sketching? I don't mean out of
doors, of course, but the people themselves?" and as, at that moment, a
woman passing along the road--a young and handsome woman--looked up with
a smile and a half-graceful, half-bashful gesture of greeting, she
added, glancing at her, "Is she a model of yours?"
Frances and Eira smiled.
"Oh no," said the latter, "we are not half as accomplished as you think
us. It is for something quite different that we come. And but for
Madeleine we should never have been able to do it at all."
Eira and Gertrude were now walking together; Horace and Betty behind
them. Madeleine, who was just in front, caught Eira's words, and looked
back with a smile of deprecation.
"Don't praise me so undeservedly," she said. "I assure you, Gertrude,
it is all their doing. I have only helped in the smallest way. I don't
see how I could possibly have done less."
"Tell me about it," said Gertrude to her companion; and Eira, by no
means unwillingly, gave her a rapid little sketch of their "plan" for
helping and instructing the poor, neglected fisher-folk of this outlying
little village.
Gertrude listened with interest, the greater perhaps for the impression
made upon her by the uncommon aspect of her surroundings.
"So you see," Eira concluded, with her usual frankness, "we couldn't
possibly have managed it without Madeleine's help, though Mrs Ramsay's
money did come in for the first start. Madeleine has given us, I know,
all she possibly could, out of her own money."
"But she has plenty," said Gertrude, though with no wish to decry one
for whom her admiration was unbounded.
"Of course I know she is rich," said Eira in a lower voice; "but then
she does and helps such heaps of things already. It isn't as if this
were her home. I don't know," she went on reflectively, "if she will be
able to continue things here when she leaves. It doesn't do to look
forward--we had never hoped to manage half we have already got done this
winter."
"But doesn't the village belong to Mr Morion, Mr Ryder Morion I mean?"
asked Gertrude, a practical little person in her way.
"_Only_ part of it," was the reply; "and he has never,"--she stopped
abruptly. "Oh, Gertrude," she exclaimed--for the two young things had
already arrived at the Christian-name stage of intimacy--"oh, Gertrude,
speak of--" and again she stopped, for at that moment down a steep,
rocky path, leading on to the main street from some cottages perched
above, appeared two figures, those of the part-proprietor of the village
and of Mr Darnley, the Craig Bay curate-in-charge, the eager aspirant
to the same post at Scaling Harbour.
He was talking eagerly, with some explanatory gesticulation, to his
companion as they came along. Mr Morion, on the contrary, looked
cooler, almost colder, than his wont. It was he who first caught sight
of the little procession of visitors. A shade, though but a slight one,
of annoyance crossed his face: he had heard something of the projected
expedition, but had hoped and intended to get his own business there
completed in time to leave before coming across any of the others. But
his investigations, even under Mr Darnley's experienced guidance, had
taken longer than he anticipated; taken longer and impressed him more
deeply and more painfully than he had been in any way prepared for. But
he was not the man to show this; on the contrary, he hastened forward
with more than usual alacrity to meet the party.
"So there you are," he said, in a pleasant but somewhat nonchalant
manner. "I have had the start of you, however; indeed, I scarcely
expected to see you down here."
"But you will wait, now we have met, and walk back with us, won't you?"
said Madeleine. "You don't know the treat that is in store for us all,"
she went on, turning with her hearty smile to Frances and the others.
"Tea and buns! half-past three, at Mrs Silver's! I sent down about it
this morning."
"What a good idea!" "How nice!" were the exclamations that greeted this
announcement. For the walk in the keen air and the very early luncheon
had naturally an invigorating effect on everybody's appetite.
"I am specially glad to hear of it," said Mr Darnley, "on Mr Morion's
account. I'm afraid I have used you very badly," he went on, turning to
the person in question. "We have been at it since ten this morning, and
you have had no luncheon at all. Though," with a touch of admiration
and pleasure that he was too young and enthusiastic to suppress, "I must
say it wasn't all my fault, you have gone into things so very
thoroughly!"
A look of real annoyance flashed into Mr Morion's eyes at these words,
to be, however, as instantaneously expelled, for he caught sight of the
flush of gratification on his companion's eager, still boyish face, and
he had not the heart to snub him. One person only, of those about him,
saw and understood this little by-play, and that was Frances. And often
in days to come she was glad that she had done so. For the memory of it
helped to obviate, or at least modify, misconstruction of a character
none too easy to interpret.
"And how about your own luncheon, my good fellow?" were the words
genially substituted for the cold rejoinder which had been on the
speaker's lips. "You deserve at least three buns and two cups of tea.--
Yes, Madeleine," he went on, "yours was a capital thought, and if some
one will lead the way to Mrs Silver's we shall all gladly follow."
"It is distinguished," said Madeleine, "by being the cleanest cottage in
the place, you will be glad to hear. Indeed," catching sight of a
slightly apprehensive look on Betty's face, "it is more than that, it is
really _clean_."
"Thank goodness," Betty murmured to herself, at which Horace, who was
beside her, could not repress a smile.
"You don't share your sister's enthusiasm for--no, I won't say
`slumming,' it is such a hateful word, and has been so abused," he said.
"Slumming?" repeated Betty, "I don't quite know what you mean." And she
looked up in his face naively.
The questioning in her eyes made her look even more childlike than
usual. For a moment Horace seemed to have forgotten what they had been
saying; then he pulled himself together, as it were.
"I am very glad you don't," he said, "and of course anything your sister
does would be on quite different lines from that kind of sensational
philanthropy. I only meant that you have a natural shrinking from--
well, dirty cottages and people, and that sort of thing! I am sure I
sympathise with you in it. Any one so sensitive--"
But, rather to his surprise, Betty's expression had grown somewhat
shamefaced.
"Oh," she said quickly, "it's just selfishness, I'm afraid. I often
think I am rather the spoilt one at home; Frances and Eira are so good,
and never think about themselves. I dare say disagreeable things are
quite as disagreeable _to them_ as to me. But they always save me from
them in every way. I believe it began by my not being as strong as they
when I was quite a little girl. And even mamma petted me much more than
the others."
"I don't wonder at it," said Horace; "there are some people made to be
petted, and the world would be a worse place than it is without them."
"But," said Betty, again scarcely seeming to notice his words, and with
a funny little air of dignity, "I am really not so babyish as you might
think! With such an elder sister as Frances, how could I be? I do help
a little, even in what they do here. I write out a good deal. We have
made large sheets of directions in printed letters of what to do in
accidents and so on, copied from our books, of course, and the others
say I can print better than they can. So that is _something_," with a
touch of satisfaction.
"Yes, indeed," said her companion, "a pretty big something, I should
say. It must be tiresome work. I hope," he went on, with a little
hesitation, "that now Ryder has seen things for himself more thoroughly
than before--indeed, I doubt if he ever walked through this village
before to-day--I hope that he will give some substantial help."
"I hope so too," said Betty dryly. "Oh," she went on, with a little
gasp, "it _would_ be nice to be rich!"
Horace's face fell a little.
"Do you feel that?" he said quickly. "Don't you think that people are
often quite as happy, or happier, who are not very rich, especially if
they are without great responsibilities? Of course few things would be
worse than to be a large proprietor with lots of people you should look
after, and no means for doing it."
"Yes," Betty agreed, "it reminds me of what mamma has often told us
about grandpapa's and Uncle Avone's difficulties in Ireland. But with
your Mr Morion it is quite different, of course--isn't he _very_ rich?"
"I should say so," said Horace.
"I don't think I should wish to be very rich like that," said Betty
simply. "There would be such a lot of trouble about it, and I should
not be clever enough to manage things well--even a woman's part of
things. Now Frances, for instance," she went on thoughtlessly, "would
be perfection in such a position."
"I can well imagine it," said Horace cordially; but, instantly realising
that she had said one of the things she had better have left unsaid,
Betty looked up at him with one of those sudden changes of expression
peculiar to her, and by no means always easy to interpret.
"Oh, but don't misunderstand about her," she said. "She's not a bit
ambitious or fond of being important, or--or anything like that. She
would be quite happy in a far simpler kind of life. Indeed, I don't
know _any_ sort of life she couldn't fit herself into, though Eira and I
can't help feeling that she is thrown away here, in this little
out-of-the-way corner."
"But yet what would you do without her?" said Horace. "Could you--can
you imagine for yourself--we'll say--the ever being happy away from
her?"
"Oh yes," said Betty, eager to remove any false impression she might
have given. "She often says it would be better for me to have to depend
a little more on myself."
"I can scarcely picture your ever being very independent," said Horace.
"I should not like to do so. But--you may not always have her to take
care of you, and yet not be left quite to your own devices!"
He glanced down at her as he spoke, with some scrutiny in his smile.
"No," she replied, in a matter-of-fact tone, "of course there would
still be Eira, though she says she would _make_ me be the elder sister."
Mr Littlewood turned away half abruptly. "Here we are," he remarked,
"this must be Mrs Silver's abode!"
He was right. The young woman who was to act as their hostess, or, as
she would have expressed it, "to serve tea to the gentlefolk," was on
the lookout for them. She was a pleasing-looking person, though of a
slightly different type from the people about, with fairer hair and
skin, which rather curiously contrasted with her dark eyes. For her
mother had been an "inlander," to use the term of the fisher-people for
any one not purely of themselves. Her husband did not appear. He had
been out for two days, she informed her visitors, on some remark being
made about the weather and the fishing prospects, but she expected him
home that evening.
"Isn't it dreadfully dull for you when he is away?" asked Gertrude
Charlemont, "and don't you get terribly frightened if you hear the wind
at night?"
The young woman shook her head with a little smile.
"We get used to it, miss," she replied. And Mr Morion, whom the girl's
questions had struck as scarcely judicious, came to Mrs Silver's
assistance.
"Dwellers by the sea learn to have brave hearts," he said; "and then
there is always the pleasure of a safe home-coming to look forward to."
"It will be an out-of-the-way pleasant one to-night, if all's well,
thanks to you, sir," the young woman replied; and turning to Frances,
she added, "It's the pigsty I'm thinking of, miss. I'm that pleased
about it. We've been wishing for one so long. It'll be company for me
when Joe's away!"
It was impossible not to laugh at this, impossible for Mr Morion not to
join, though he had been more than half-inclined to be vexed at the
matter being mentioned.
"There must be something Irish about these good people as well as
Spanish," he said, in a lower voice, as Mrs Silver, to his relief,
turned her attention to the tea-table.
"Scarcely so," said Frances in reply. "In Ireland the absence of a sty
would certainly not be any difficulty in the way of keeping pigs!"
"No," Horace agreed, "they would be in and out all over the place.
Genuine company if you like!"
This provoked another laugh, for when people are inclined to be happy it
takes very little to give things a merry turn. And tea at Mrs Silver's
proved a great success. There was not much time to spare after it was
over, if they were to get home by a reasonable hour. A little detour by
the shore, sufficient to give them some idea of the picturesqueness of
the rugged coast, was all that could be attempted, and Gertrude
Charlemont declared that by hook or by crook she must come back to the
neighbourhood in the long-day season, for sketching purposes.
"Oh, I wish you would," said Betty eagerly.--"Craig Bay is quite a nice
place to stay at, isn't it, Mr Littlewood?" she went on, as, happening
to glance round, she caught sight of him at her side, "and we should so
enjoy having friends there!"
"I should say you could get very comfortable quarters there," he agreed
heartily; "and I hear there is excellent fishing--river fishing--a
little way inland. I mean to find out about it, and come down here
again, later on, perhaps, before my leave is up. You won't think me too
much of a bad penny if I do, I hope, Miss Betty?"
Betty raised her eyes to his with a half-inquiry in them, which he did
not understand.
"Of course not," she said, the little flush in her cheeks which came
with the words rendering her very charming at that moment. "Of course
not; we should be only too pleased to think that you like the place,
though it is so dull and out-of-the-way. Your all being here this
winter will have quite spoilt us, I'm afraid," with a little sigh. "It
has been--it is--so--delightful."
"You delight me by saying so," was the quick answer, heard by no one but
Betty herself, for somehow or other by this time she found that he and
she had drifted a little apart from the others.
"If only I were Eira," thought Betty, "what a good opportunity I could
make of this for finding out a little more! but I get so shy and silly
immediately," and when she spoke again it was with a little effort.
"It is very pretty about here in the summer," she said. "Up at
Craig-Morion--I mean down here the seasons don't make so much difference
in the look of things. I'm glad," she continued, "that we don't live
nearer the sea; it frightens me."
"You have never been a voyage, I suppose?" said her companion. "You
would soon get used to it, I dare say. Now-a-days, with the splendid
boats there are, many people go backwards and forwards from India for
the mere pleasure of the thing, you know."
"Thank you," said Betty, laughingly. "I've no ambition of the kind!
Dull as it is here, I should rather stay safe on dry land. _Frances_
longs to travel, and I wish she had more chance of it! She is so
clever, you know, she would find--"
"But you yourself," persisted Horace, "you don't intend surely to spend
all your life in this little nest of a place? The Eyrie, as Madeleine
calls it."
"Oh, I don't know," said Betty. "If I must, I must! Don't make me
discontented. I am afraid I am rather so already," with a touch of
penitence.
"And why shouldn't you be?" he responded eagerly. "Think how young you
are, and how--" here he checked himself--"how much there is to see in
the world," he added, rather lamely.
"But, you see," said Betty, "I should scarcely be fit for it!--for
making my way in society, or anything of that kind. I get frightened
and stupid about nothing at all."
She felt that he was looking at her with kindly sympathy, and,
impressionable as she was, it encouraged her. Almost before she knew
what she was about, she found herself giving him her innocent
confidences to an extent which she had rarely, if ever, done to any one,
certainly not to any man. And the way home seemed marvellously short
that winter afternoon.
Long, it must be owned, it was not found by any of the little party.
Gertrude and Eira were enjoying themselves under the escort of Horace's
friend, young French, who could make himself very entertaining; Mr
Charlemont and Mr Darnley, on each side of Madeleine, were interesting
her by a discussion on one of her pet hobbies in a philanthropic
direction; and Frances, bringing up the rear with Mr Morion, found
herself more nearly on common ground with him--thanks in part, no doubt,
to the unexpected side-light Horace had thrown on his character--than a
few hours previously she could have believed possible. And it was
pleasant to her to feel that the young man's influence bid fair to
dissipate the prejudices she had half-unconsciously harboured. Once or
twice even she glanced round with a half-formed wish that Horace should
notice how well she and her far-off cousin were getting on. But he was
some way ahead with Betty.
"I can tell him about it afterwards," she thought, with a curious little
thrill at the realisation of the confidence already existing between
them. Though even without this new prepossession in his favour, Ryder
Morion would probably have won his way towards her esteem and liking by
the quiet, unassuming manner in which he told her of his increasing
interest in, and sense of responsibility for, the till now almost _terra
incognita_ of his northern possessions. It would have been affectation
for him to avoid the subject after what the curate-in-charge had said,
and the meeting himself on the very spot where help was most needed.
And despite her own preoccupation of mind, Frances was too well trained
in habitual unselfishness not to feel warmly delighted, almost indeed
breathlessly so, at the projects as to which he consulted her, and the
means which he proposed to lay at the disposal of herself and Mr
Darnley.
Altogether the expedition seemed to have been eminently successful, and
no one felt this more heartily than Eira, whose spirits were always
ready to rise, and not easily depressed, save perhaps by chilblains, or
the apprehension of them!
"Betty," she said, when they were dressing rather hurriedly for dinner,
"isn't it all going on too beautifully?"
Betty was seated on the end of her bed looking somewhat fagged.
"Yes," she agreed, "we have had a very nice day; but I must be quick!"
starting up as she spoke.
"I thought it so considerate of him," continued Eira, "to walk home with
_you_, not to make Frances, you see, too conspicuous, as it were. Was
he talking of her all the way?"
"No--no, not all the way, I don't think," said Betty, in the intervals
of coiling up her long black hair. "I--I don't quite remember."
"How tiresome you are!" said Eira; "you can't have forgotten so quickly.
I thought you'd have such a lot to tell me, and that you'd be in such
high spirits."
"I never feel in high spirits when I'm tired," said Betty, "though no
doubt it isn't right.--I don't know," she added to herself, "why I don't
feel as happy about it as Eira does. He couldn't have been nicer, but
can it be that he's only friendly about us _all_?"