Glynne Day was seated in her favourite place--a bright, cheerful-looking
room connected with her bedchamber on the first floor at Brackley, and
turned by her into a pleasant nest; for the French windows opened into a
tiny conservatory over a broad bay window of the dining-room, where were
displayed the choicest floral gems that Jones, the head gardener, could
raise, all being duly tended by her own hands.
The gardener shook his head, and said that "the plahnts wiltered" for
want of light, and wanted to cut away the greater part of the
tendril-like stems of the huge wistaria, which twisted itself into
cables, and formed loops and sprays all over the top glass; but Glynne
looked at him in horror, and forbade him to cut a stem. Consequently,
in the spring-time, great lavender racemes of the lovely flowers
clustered about the broad window at which the mistress of the Hall loved
to sit and sketch "bits" of the beautiful landscape around, and make
study after study of the precipitous pine-crowned hill a mile away,
behind whose dark trees the sun would set, and give her opportunities to
paint in gorgeous hues the tints of the western sky.
Here Lucy Alleyne would be brought after their walks, to sit and read,
while Glynne filled in sketches she had made; and many a pleasant hour
was passed by the two girls, while the soft breezes of the sunny country
waved the long wistaria strands.
"It's no use for me to speak, Mr Morris," said the gardener one day.
"It 'most breaks my heart, for all about there, and under the little
glass house is the untidiest bit about my garden. I told Sir John about
it, and he said, `Why don't you cut it then, booby?' and when I told him
why, and ast him to speak to Miss Glynne, he said, `Be off, and leave it
alone.'"
"And of course you did," said Morris, the butler.
"Sack's the word if I hadn't, sir. But you mark my words: one of these
days--I mean nights--them London burglars 'll give us a visit, and they
won't want no ladder to get up to the first-floor windows. A baby could
climb up them great glycene ropes and get in at that window; and then
away goes my young lady's jewels."
"Well, they won't get my plate," said Morris with a chuckle. "I've two
loaded pistols in my pantry for anyone who comes, so let 'em look out;
and if I shout for help, the major's got his loaded too."
Glynne Day was seated one afternoon in her conservatory, bending over
her last water-colour sketch by the open window, when a loud,
reverberating bang echoed along the corridor, making the windows rattle
outside her room. Starting up, knowing from old experience that it was
only an earthquake, one of the social kind which affected Brackley from
time to time, she hurried into her little study, and out into the
passage, to go to the end, and tap sharply at the door facing her.
"Come in," was shouted in the same tones as he who uttered the order had
cried "wheel into line!" and Glynne entered to find the major with his
hair looking knotted, his moustache bristling, and his eyes rolling in
their sockets.
"What is the matter, uncle?"
"Matter?" cried the major, who was purple with rage. "Matter? He's
your father, Glynne, and he's my brother, but if--if I could only feel
that it wasn't wicked to cut him down with the sword I used at
Chillianwallah, I'd be thankful."
"Now, uncle, dear, you don't feel anything of the kind," said Glynne,
leaning upon the old gentleman's arm.
"I do feel it, and I mean it this time. Now, girl, look here! Why am I
such an old idiot--"
"Oh, uncle!"
"--As to stop here, and let that bullying, farm-labouring, overbearing
bumpkin--I beg your pardon, my dear, but he is--father of yours, ride
rough-shod over me?"
"But, uncle, dear--"
"But, niece, dear, he does; and how I can be such an idiot as to stop
here, I don't know. If I were his dependent, it couldn't be worse."
"But, uncle, dear, I'm afraid you do show a little temper sometimes."
"Temper! I show temper! Nothing of the kind," cried the old fellow,
angrily, and his grey curls seemed to stand out wildly from his head.
"Only decision--just so much decision as a military man should show--
nothing more. Temper, indeed!"
"But you are hasty, dear, and papa so soon gets warm."
"Warm? Red hot. White hot. He has a temper that would irritate a
saint, and heaven knows I am no saint."
"It does seem such a pity for you and papa to quarrel."
"Pity? It's abominable, my child, when we might live together as
peaceably as pigeons. But he shall have it his own way now. I've done.
I'll have no more of it I'm not a child."
"What are you going to do, uncle?"
"Do? Pack up and go, this very day. Then he may come to my chambers
and beg till all's blue, but he'll never persuade me to come out here
again."
"Oh, uncle! It will be so dull if you go away."
"No, no, not it, my dear. You've got your captain; and there'll be
peace in the house then till he finds someone else to bully. Why, I
might be one of his farm labourers; that I might. But there's an end of
it now."
"But, uncle!" cried Glynne, looking perplexed and troubled, "come back
with me into the library. I'm sure, if papa was in the wrong, he'll be
sorry."
"If he was in the wrong! He _was_ in the wrong. Me go to him? Not I.
My mind's made up. I'll not have my old age embittered by his
abominable temper. Don't stop me, girl. I'm going, and nothing shall
stay me now."
"How tiresome it is!" said Glynne, softly, as her broad, white forehead
grew full of wrinkles. "Dear uncle; he must not go. I must do
something," and then, with a smile dawning upon her perplexed face, she
descended the stairs, and went softly to the library door, opened it
gently, and found Sir John tramping up and down the Turkey carpet, like
some wild beast in its cage.
"Who's that? How dare you enter without--Oh, it's you, Glynne."
"Yes, papa. Uncle has gone upstairs and banged his door."
"I'm glad of it; I'm very glad of it," cried Sir John, "and I hope it's
for the last time."
"What has been the matter, papa?" said Glynne, laying her hands upon his
shoulders. "Sit down, dear, and tell me."
"No, no, my dear, don't bother me. I don't want to sit down, Glynne."
"Yes, yes, dear, and tell me all about it."
Fighting against it all the while, the choleric baronet allowed himself
to be pressed down into one of the easy-chairs, Glynne drawing a
footstool to his side, sitting at his feet, and clasping and resting her
hands upon his knees.
"Well, there, now; are you satisfied?" he said, half laughing, half
angry.
"No, papa. I want to know why you and uncle quarrelled."
"Oh, the old reason," said Sir John, colouring. "He will be as
obstinate as a mule, and the more you try to reason with him, the more
he turns to you his hind legs and kicks."
"Did you try to reason with Uncle James, papa?"
"Did I try to reason with him? Why, of course I did, but you might as
well try to reason with a stone trough."
"What was it about?" said Glynne, quietly.
"What was it about? Oh, about the--about the--bless my soul, what did
it begin about? Some, some, some--dear me, how absurd, Glynne. He
upset me so that it has completely gone out of my head. What do you
mean? What do you mean by shaking your head like that? Confound it
all, Glynne, are you going to turn against me?"
"Oh, papa, papa, how sad it is," said Glynne, gently. "You have upset
poor uncle like this all about some trifle of so little consequence that
you have even forgotten what it was."
"I beg your pardon, madam," cried Sir John, trying to rise, but Glynne
laid her hand upon his chest and kept him back. "It was no trifle, and
it is no joke for your Uncle James to launch out in his confounded
haughty, military way, and try to take the reins from my hands. I'm
master here. I remember now; it was about Rob."
"Indeed, papa!" said Glynne, with a sad tone in her voice.
"Yes, finding fault about his training. I don't want him to go about
like some confounded foot-racing fellow, but he's my son-in-law elect,
and he shall do as he pleases. What next, I wonder? Your uncle will be
wanting to manage my farm."
Glynne remained very thoughtful and silent for a few minutes, during
which time her father continued to fume, and utter expressions of
annoyance, till Glynne said suddenly as she looked up in his face,--
"You were wrong, papa, dear. You should not quarrel with Uncle James."
"Wrong? Wrong? Why, the girl's mad," cried Sir John. "Do you approve
of his taking your future husband to task over his amusements?"
"I don't know," said Glynne slowly, as she turned her great,
frank-looking eyes upon her father. "I don't know, papa, dear. I don't
think I do; but Uncle James is so good and wise, and I know he loves me
very much."
"Of course he does; so does everybody else," cried the baronet,
excitedly. "I should like to see the man who did not. But I will not
have his interference here, and I'm very glad--very glad indeed--that he
is going."
"Uncle James meant it for the best, I'm sure, papa," said Glynne,
thoughtfully, "and it was wrong of you to quarrel with him."
"I tell you I did not quarrel with him, Glynne; he quarrelled with me,"
roared Sir John.
"And you ought to go and apologise to him."
"I'd go and hang myself sooner. I'd sooner go and commit suicide in my
new patent thrashing-machine."
"Nonsense, papa, dear," said Glynne quietly. "You ought to go and
apologise. If you don't, Uncle James will leave us."
"Let him."
"And then you will be very much put out and grieved."
"And a good job too. I mean a good job if he'd leave, for then we
should have peace in the place."
"Now, papa!"
"I tell you I'd be very glad of it; a confounded peppery old Nero,
talking to me as if I were a private under him. Bully me, indeed! I
won't stand it. There!"
"Papa, dear, go upstairs and apologise to Uncle James."
"I won't, Glynne. There's an end of it now. Just because he can't have
everything his own way. He has never forgiven me for being the eldest
son and taking the baronetcy. Was it my fault that I was born first?"
"Now, papa, dear, that's talking at random; I don't believe Uncle James
ever envied you for having the title."
"Then he shouldn't act as if he did. Confound him!"
"Then you'll go up and speak to him. Come, dear, don't let's have this
cloud over the house!"
"Cloud? I'll make it a regular tempest," cried Sir John, furiously.
"I'll go upstairs and see that he does go, and at once. See if I ferret
him out of his nasty, dark, stuffy, dismal chambers again. Brought him
down here, and made a healthy, hearty man of him, and this is my
reward."
"Is that you talking, papa?" said Glynne, rising with him, for he made a
rush now out of his seat, and she smiled in his face as she put her arms
round his neck and kissed him.
"Bah! Get out! Pst! Puss!" cried Sir John, and swinging round, he
strode out of the library, and banged the door as if he had caught his
brother's habit.
Glynne stood looking after him, smiling as she listened to his steps on
the polished oak floor of the hall, and then seemed quite satisfied as
she detected the fact that he had gone upstairs. Then it was that a
dreamy, strange look came into her eyes, and she stood there, with one
hand resting upon the table, thinking--thinking--thinking of the cause
of the quarrel, of the words her uncle had spoken regarding Rolph; and
it seemed to her that there was a mist before her, stretching out
farther and farther, and hiding the future.
For the major was always so gentle and kind to her. He never spoke to
her about Rolph as he had spoken to her father; but she had noticed that
he was a little cold and sarcastic sometimes towards her lover.
Was there trouble coming? Did she love Robert as dearly as she should?
She wanted answers to these questions, and the responses were hidden in
the mist ahead. Then, as she gazed, it seemed to her that her future
was like the vast space into which she had looked from her window by
night; and though for a time it was brightened with dazzling, hopeful
points, these again became clouded over, and all was misty and dull once
more.
Volume 1, Chapter XII.