CHOWTON FARM FOR SALE.
John Morton had returned to town soon after his walk into
Dillsborough and had there learned from different sources that
both Arabella Trefoil and Lord Rufford had gone or were going to
Mistletoe. He had seen Lord Augustus who, though he could tell him
nothing else about his daughter, had not been slow to inform him
that she was going to the house of her noble uncle. When Morton had
spoken to him very seriously about the engagement he declared that he
knew nothing about it,--except that he had given his consent if the
settlements were all right. Lady Augustus managed all that. Morton
had then said that under those circumstances he feared he must regard
the honour which he had hoped to enjoy as being beyond his reach.
Lord Augustus had shrugged his shoulders and had gone back to his
whist, this interview having taken place in the strangers' room of
his club. That Lord Rufford was also going to Mistletoe he heard
from young Glossop at the Foreign Office. It was quite possible that
Glossop had been instructed to make this known to Morton by his
sister Lady Penwether. Then Morton declared that the thing was
over and that he would trouble himself no more about it. But this
resolution did not make him at all contented, and in his misery he
went again down to his solitude at Bragton.
And now when he might fairly consider himself to be free, and when he
should surely have congratulated himself on a most lucky escape from
the great danger into which he had fallen, his love and admiration
for the girl returned to him in a most wonderful manner. He thought
of her beauty and her grace, and the manner in which she would sit
at the head of his table when the time should come for him to be
promoted to some great capital. To him she had fascinations which
the reader, who perhaps knows her better than he ever did, will not
share. He could forgive the coldness of her conduct to himself--he
himself not being by nature demonstrative or impassioned,--if only
she were not more kind to any rival. It was the fact that she should
be visiting at the same house with Lord Rufford after what he had
seen at Rufford Hall which had angered him. But now in his solitude
he thought that he might have been wrong at Rufford Hall. If it were
the case that the girl feared that her marriage might be prevented by
the operations of lawyers and family friends, of course she would be
right not to throw herself into his arms,--even metaphorically. He
was a cold, just man who, when he had loved, could not easily get rid
of his love, and now he would ask himself whether he was not hard
upon the girl. It was natural that she should be at Mistletoe; but
then why should Lord Rufford be there with her?
His prospects at Patagonia did not console him much. No doubt it
was a handsome mission for a man of his age and there were sundry
Patagonian questions of importance at the present moment which would
give him a certain weight. Patagonia was repudiating a loan, and it
was hoped that he might induce a better feeling in the Patagonian
Parliament. There was the Patagonian railway for joining the Straits
to the Cape the details of which he was now studying with great
diligence. And then there was the vital question of boundary between
Patagonia and the Argentine Republic by settling which, should he be
happy enough to succeed in doing so, he would prevent the horrors of
warfare. He endeavoured to fix his mind with satisfaction on these
great objects as he pored over the reports and papers which had been
heaped upon him since he had accepted the mission. But there was
present to him always a feeling that the men at the Foreign Office
had been glad to get any respectable diplomate to go to Patagonia,
and that his brethren in the profession had marvelled at his
acceptance of such a mission. One never likes to be thanked over much
for doing anything. It creates a feeling that one has given more
than was expedient. He knew that he must now go to Patagonia, but he
repented the alacrity with which he had acceded to the proposition.
Whether he did marry Arabella Trefoil or whether he did not, there
was no adequate reason for such a banishment. And yet he could not
now escape it!
It was on a Monday morning that Larry Twentyman had found himself
unable to go hunting. On the Tuesday he gave his workmen about the
farm such a routing as they had not received for many a month. There
had not been a dungheap or a cowshed which he had not visited, nor a
fence about the place with which he had not found fault. He was at it
all day, trying thus to console himself, but in vain; and when his
mother in the evening said some word of her misery in regard to the
turkeys he had told her that as far as he was concerned Goarly might
poison every fox in the county. Then the poor woman knew that matters
were going badly with her son. On the Wednesday, when the hounds met
within two miles of Chowton, he again stayed at home; but in the
afternoon he rode into Dillsborough and contrived to see the attorney
without being seen by any of the ladies of the family. The interview
did not seem to do him any good. On the Thursday morning he walked
across to Bragton and with a firm voice asked to see the Squire.
Morton who was deep in the boundary question put aside his papers and
welcomed his neighbour.
Now it must be explained that when, in former years, his son's debts
had accumulated on old Mr. Reginald Morton, so that he had been
obliged to part with some portion of his unentailed property, he had
sold that which lay in the parish of St. John's, Dillsborough. The
lands in Bragton and Mallingham he could not sell;--but Chowton
Farm which was in St. John's had been bought by Larry Twentyman's
grandfather. For a time there had been some bitterness of feeling;
but the Twentymans had been well-to-do respectable people, most
anxious to be good neighbours, and had gradually made themselves
liked by the owner of Bragton. The present Squire had of course known
nothing of Chowton as a part of the Morton property, and had no
more desire for it than for any of Lord Rufford's acres which were
contiguous to his own. He shook hands cordially with his neighbour,
as though this visit were the most natural thing in the world, and
asked some questions about Goarly and the hunt.
"I believe that'll all come square, Mr. Morton. I'm not interesting
myself much about it now." Larry was not dressed like himself. He had
on a dark brown coat, and dark pantaloons and a chimney-pot hat. He
was conspicuous generally for light-coloured close-fitting garments
and for a billycock hat. He was very unlike his usual self on the
present occasion.
"I thought you were just the man who did interest himself about those
things."
"Well; yes; once it was so, Mr. Morton. What I've got to say now, Mr.
Morton, is this. Chowton Farm is in the market! But I wouldn't say a
word to any one about it till you had had the offer."
"You going to sell Chowton!"
"Yes, Mr. Morton, I am."
"From all I have heard of you I wouldn't have believed it if anybody
else had told me."
"It's a fact, Mr. Morton. There are three hundred and twenty acres. I
put the rental at 30_s._ an acre. You know what you get, Mr. Morton,
for the land that lies next to it. And I think twenty-eight years'
purchase isn't more than it's worth. Those are my ideas as to price,
Mr. Morton. There isn't a halfpenny owing on it--not in the way of
mortgage."
"I dare say it's worth that."
"Up at auction I might get a turn more, Mr. Morton;--but those are my
ideas at present."
John Morton, who was a man of business, went to work at once with his
pencil and in two minutes had made out a total. "I don't know that
I could put my hand on £14,000 even if I were minded to make the
purchase."
"That needn't stand in the way, sir. Any part you please could lie
on mortgage at 4½ per cent." Larry in the midst of his distress had
certain clear ideas about business.
"This is a very serious proposition, Mr. Twentyman."
"Yes, indeed, sir."
"Have you any other views in life?"
"I can't say as I have any fixed. I shan't be idle, Mr. Morton. I
never was idle. I was thinking perhaps of New Zealand."
"A very fine colony for a young man, no doubt. But, seeing how well
you are established here--."
"I can't stay here, Mr. Morton. I've made up my mind about that.
There are things which a man can't bear,--not and live quiet. As for
hunting, I don't care about it any more than--nothing."
"I am sorry that anything should have made you so unhappy."
"Well;--I am unhappy. That's about the truth of it. And I always
shall be unhappy here. There's nothing else for it but going away."
"If it's anything sudden, Mr. Twentyman, allow me to say that you
ought not to sell your property without grave consideration."
"I have considered it,--very grave, Mr. Morton."
"Ah,--but I mean long consideration. Take a year to think of it.
You can't buy such a place back in a year. I don't know you well
enough to be justified in inquiring into the circumstances of your
trouble;--but unless it be something which makes it altogether
inexpedient, or almost impossible that you should remain in the
neighbourhood, you should not sell Chowton."
"I'll tell you, Mr. Morton," said Larry almost weeping. Poor Larry
whether in his triumph or his sorrow had no gift of reticence and now
told his neighbour the whole story of his love. He was certain it had
become quite hopeless. He was sure that she would never have written
him a letter if there had been any smallest chance left. According to
his ideas a girl might say "no" half-a-dozen times and yet not mean
much; but when she had committed herself to a letter she could not go
back from it.
"Is there anybody else?" asked Morton.
"Not as I know. I never saw anything like--like lightness with her,
with any man. They said something about the curate but I don't
believe a word of it."
"And the family approve of it?"
"Every one of them,--father and stepmother and sisters and all. My
own mother too! There ain't a ha'porth against it. I don't want any
one to give me sixpence in money. And she should live just like a
lady. I can keep a servant for her to cook and do every mortal thing.
But it ain't nothing of all that, Mr. Morton."
"What is it then?"
The poor man paused before he made his answer; but when he did, he
made it plain enough. "I ain't good enough for her! Nor more I ain't,
Mr. Morton. She was brought up in this house, Mr. Morton, by your own
grand-aunt."
"So I have heard, Mr. Twentyman."
"And there's more of Bragton than there is of Dillsborough about
her;--that's just where it is. I know what I am and I know what she
is, and I ain't good enough for her. It should be somebody that can
talk books to her. I can tell her how to plant a field of wheat or
how to run a foal;--but I can't sit and read poetry, nor yet be read
to. There's plenty of 'em would sell themselves because the land's
all there, and the house, and the things in it. What makes me mad is
that I should love her all the better because she won't. My belief
is, Mr. Morton, they're as poor as Job. That makes no difference
to me because I don't want it;--but it makes no difference to her
neither! She's right, Mr. Morton. I'm not good enough, and so I'll
just cut it as far as Dillsborough is concerned. You'll think of what
I said of taking the land?"
Mr. Morton said much more to him, walking with him to the gate of
Chowton Farm. He assured him that the young lady might yet be won.
He had only, Morton said, to plead his case to her as well as he
had pleaded up at Bragton and he thought that she would be won. "I
couldn't speak out free to her,--not if it was to save the whole
place," said the unfortunate lover. But Morton still continued his
advice. As to leaving Chowton because a young lady refused him, that
would be unmanly--"There isn't a bit of a man left about me," said
Larry weeping. Morton nevertheless went on. Time would cure these
wounds; but no time would give him back Chowton should he once
part with it. If he must leave the place for a time let him put a
caretaker on the farm, even though by doing so the loss might be
great. He should do anything rather than surrender his house. As
to buying the land himself, Morton would not talk about it in the
present circumstances. Then they parted at Chowton gate with many
expressions of friendship on each side.
John Morton, as he returned home, could not help thinking that the
young farmer's condition was after all better than his own. There was
an honesty about both the persons concerned of which at any rate they
might be proud. There was real love,--and though that love was not at
present happy it was of a nature to inspire perfect respect. But in
his own case he was sure of nothing.