And gentle hands the breakfast-rite begin,
Then the bright kettle sings its matin song.
Then fragrant clouds of Mocha and Souchong
Blend as they rise.
ROGERS.
“WHO is that out there, leading the horse?” asked Agnes, with some
anxiety.
The snowy linen and bright silver and china of the breakfast-table
sparkle in the sunshine. At a corner, Violet and Katie sit before a
covered tray, hastily taking their porridge; for the breakfast is much
later than usual this morning, and the children are in great haste,
lest they should be too late for school. Rose is working at the corner
window--the new window, where the white rose bush nods up to her, and
lays a snowy fragrant present of buds upon the window-ledge; but Martha
stands silently, as she stood last morning, to watch Harry go away, and
again pulls with unconscious fingers the jasmine flowers.
“Who is that?” repeated Agnes.
It is only a groom leading up and down, on the broad gravel walk at
the other side of the lawn, a fine horse, stately and impatient,
which scorns its limited space, and paws the gravel disdainfully, and
arches its proud neck to the infinite admiration of the Dragon and
John, who stand by the holly hedge as spectators. Katie and Violet,
attracted by the repetition of Agnes’s question, rush from the window
to the door to ascertain; and after a brief conversation with Dragon,
Violet returns, breathless, with the information, that it is a new
riding-horse, sent out this morning from Stirling, where Harry bought
it yesterday; but that Dragon says it is too wild a horse for any but a
bold rider, and that it is sure to throw Mr. Hairy.
“Tell Dragon he’s an old fool, and that he had better think what he
says,” said Harry himself, who suddenly made his appearance as Violet
spoke; “and you, Lettie, mind your own business, and don’t be so
officious in reporting what everybody tells you. Why don’t you get
these children off to school, Agnes? Yes, it’s my horse. I hope no one
has any objection.”
Poor Harry! in this morning light, his own conscience has weighty
objections, and upbraids him with folly and extravagance. But Harry
feels miserable, and is not well--angry with himself, and defiant of
all around him--and he feels himself bound in honour to defend his
horse.
But no one attacks it; poor little Agnes is only anxious and
deprecatory, eager to smile away his impatience, and cheer the
depression which she very well knows is sure to follow; while Martha
still stands at the open window, without ever turning her head, and
vacantly draws the long, pliant branch of jasmine through her fingers,
and says not a word.
“They are just going away,” said Agnes, hastily tying on the bonnet
which Lettie had brought in her hand; “they have just breakfasted, you
see, Harry. We are rather late this morning; and Mr. Charteris is not
down stairs yet.”
Harry left the room immediately, and went out. The arrival of this
horse did him good--dispersing the clouds of his depression, and its
consequent ill-humour--and before he returned to the breakfast-room,
Harry had consoled his conscience by a resolution to begin immediately
his agricultural labours, and to spend no more of Miss Jean’s money,
except lawfully, on the object for which he borrowed it.
When he re-entered the room Cuthbert was there, and Harry had to smooth
his brow and welcome his guest. Agnes still half trembling, and growing
talkative in her anxiety to restore ease to the conversation, found
herself, to her great delight and astonishment, seconded by Martha,
as they took their places round the table. And the still composure of
Martha’s manner did more for this end, than the tremulous eagerness
of the little wife. They regained the every-day tone, the every-day
level of quietness and repose; and Agnes began to flatter herself
that nothing unusual had happened last night after all, and Harry to
think that his conscience blamed him unjustly; only the sickness in
Martha’s heart lay still, uneased, and undisturbed. She was done with
struggling--now she had only to wait for what it pleased God to reveal.
Charteris was to stay a week, and numerous excursions were discussed
at the breakfast-table. It was a relief to them all, to have these
things to speak about; but Cuthbert exerted himself to-day to gain
the confidence of Harry, and did in some degree gain it. They spoke
together of the projected improvements; and though Harry said with a
little braggadocio that it was “an old rich aunt” who had given him the
necessary capital, he was tolerably frank about his intentions, and
very glad to receive introductions to some agricultural authorities
whom Cuthbert knew. They walked together over the farm which the tenant
was to leave at Martinmas, and together commented on the lean and
scanty crops, which sparely covered the half-cultured soil. It was a
fresh, showery day, enlivened by a light breeze, which brought down
the chiller breath of the hills over the green lowland country; and as
this wind waved about his hair, and blew the sparkling rain against
his cheeks, Harry struggled under the uneasy burden on his heart, and
tried to throw it off, and let it vex him no more. “Forgetting the
things that are behind,” he muttered to himself, as they paused on a
little eminence, and saw the sun touch into brilliant light a thousand
rain-drops among the waving corn, and on the roadside trees--for still
a heavy consciousness gnawed at his heart, and compelled him to try
some bargain with it for rest--and Harry gladly turned to look away
from the past, into the broad life which lay before him, as bright as
this sunny strath, though, like it, dewed with tears; and in the future
his sanguine eyes again saw nothing but hope.
“Forgetting the things that are behind!” Alas, poor Harry! for it was
only too easy to forget.
But there followed a few days of cheerful activity, the very first of
which dissipated into thin air the last remnant of Harry’s remorseful
consciousness--for Cuthbert and he rode together to call on some of
the agricultural authorities before mentioned, and take counsel with
them--not always sweet--concerning all the processes of the warfare
which should subjugate this stubborn soil; and Harry advertised in
the local newspapers for a manager to take charge of his farming
operations, and heard of one before his advertisement was printed, so
suitable, as it seemed, in every respect, that Harry, fearing he might
not wait till Martinmas, engaged him out of hand in July, that no one
else might seize on such a treasure.
Not only so--but Harry, whose pride had been greatly hurt by Dragon’s
implied opinion that he was a timid rider, subdued his horse, at no
small cost to his own nerves, and rode a dozen miles to a cattle-show,
partly in self-assertion, partly to acquire some knowledge of “the
beasts,” which his agricultural instructors discoursed of so learnedly;
but Harry was not the man to study beasts, and his long ride exhausted
him, though it was a triumph. He had settled matters, however, with his
conscience which now, rather applauded than condemned--and Harry was
content.
Poor Harry! but when Cuthbert’s week was out, he said those words with
eyes that glistened, and a yearning heart; for Harry was born to be
loved, and amid all his faults, and all the unconscious selfishness of
his indulgences, he never lost this natural portion.
And Cuthbert, leaving behind him a bright, cheerful, hopeful household,
as ready to be exhilarated as depressed, had said nothing to Rose--for
he himself had little yet to share with any one, and he was afraid
to risk his affectionate interest with the family as friend and
counsellor, even for the chance of attaining the nearer and still
more affectionate connexion for which he hoped. And Cuthbert, in his
tenderness of protection and succour, exaggerated the difference
between his age and hers; he only thought himself likely to succeed at
all, by the gentle and gradual process of wooing, which might accustom
and attach her to him before she was aware. So he went away quietly,
leaving, it is true, many tokens which spoke to Rose a strange, unusual
language, showing her how much space she occupied in the heart and
thoughts of this man, who, of all men she had ever seen, held the
highest place. And Rose trembled and smiled with indefinite delight
as words and looks came to her remembrance--looks and words which
Cuthbert had feared would alarm and startle her, but which even his
self-command could not restrain. There is a charm in this guessed and
implied affection which perhaps no certainty has; and Rose, whose
thoughts had not yet taken shape or form, whose shy, womanly heart
shrank even from believing itself beloved, and who would have denied
the belief strenuously, had she asked herself the question in so many
words--Rose suffered a bright mist of reverie to float about her, and
was thrilled now and then with apprehensions and revelations, starting
out half-distinct for a moment, and anon disappearing into the sunny
maze. It was an idle mood, and sent her straying along the river-side,
and seated her for hours together under the oak, with vague smiles and
blushes flitting over her face, and many a dream in her heart; but yet
her needle flew swiftly too under this mist, and she could be very well
content with silence, for the long indefinite musings of her romance
were sweet to Rose.