WHEN, some time after, Kenelm quitted the room and joined Mrs. Bowles
below, he said cheerily, “All right; Tom and I are sworn friends. We are
going together to Luscombe the day after to-morrow,--Sunday; just write
a line to his uncle to prepare him for Tom’s visit, and send thither
his clothes, as we shall walk, and steal forth unobserved betimes in
the morning. Now go up and talk to him; he wants a mother’s soothing and
petting. He is a noble fellow at heart, and we shall be all proud of him
some day or other.”
As he walked towards the farmhouse, Kenelm encountered Mr. Lethbridge,
who said, “I have come from Mr. Saunderson’s, where I went in search of
you. There is an unexpected hitch in the negotiation for Mrs. Bawtrey’s
shop. After seeing you this morning I fell in with Mr. Travers’s
bailiff, and he tells me that her lease does not give her the power
to sublet without the Squire’s consent; and that as the premises were
originally let on very low terms to a favoured and responsible tenant,
Mr. Travers cannot be expected to sanction the transfer of the lease
to a poor basket-marker: in fact, though he will accept Mrs. Bawtrey’s
resignation, it must be in favour of an applicant whom he desires to
oblige. On hearing this, I rode over to the Park and saw Mr. Travers
himself. But he was obdurate to my pleadings. All I could get him to say
was, ‘Let the stranger who interests himself in the matter come and talk
to me. I should like to see the man who thrashed that brute Tom Bowles:
if he got the better of him perhaps he may get the better of me. Bring
him with you to my harvest-supper to-morrow evening.’ Now, will you
come?”
“Nay,” said Kenelm, reluctantly; “but if he only asks me in order to
gratify a very vulgar curiosity, I don’t think I have much chance of
serving Will Somers. What do you say?”
“The Squire is a good man of business, and, though no one can call him
unjust or grasping, still he is very little touched by sentiment; and
we must own that a sickly cripple like poor Will is not a very eligible
tenant. If, therefore, it depended only on your chance with the Squire,
I should not be very sanguine. But we have an ally in his daughter. She
is very fond of Jessie Wiles, and she has shown great kindness to Will.
In fact, a sweeter, more benevolent, sympathizing nature than that of
Cecilia Travers does not exist. She has great influence with her father,
and through her you may win him.”
“I particularly dislike having anything to do with women,” said Kenelm,
churlishly. “Parsons are accustomed to get round them. Surely, my dear
sir, you are more fit for that work than I am.”
“Permit me humbly to doubt that proposition; one does n’t get very
quickly round the women when one carries the weight of years on one’s
back. But whenever you want the aid of a parson to bring your own wooing
to a happy conclusion, I shall be happy, in my special capacity of
parson, to perform the ceremony required.”
“_Dii meliora_!” said Kenelm, gravely. “Some ills are too serious to be
approached even in joke. As for Miss Travers, the moment you call her
benevolent you inspire me with horror. I know too well what a benevolent
girl is,--officious, restless, fidgety, with a snub nose, and her pocket
full of tracts. I will not go to the harvest-supper.”
“Hist!” said the Parson, softly. They were now passing the cottage of
Mrs. Somers; and while Kenelm was haranguing against benevolent girls,
Mr. Lethbridge had paused before it, and was furtively looking in at the
window. “Hist! and come here,--gently.”
Kenelm obeyed, and looked in through the window. Will was seated; Jessie
Wiles had nestled herself at his feet, and was holding his hand in both
hers, looking up into his face. Her profile alone was seen, but its
expression was unutterably soft and tender. His face, bent downwards
towards her, wore a mournful expression; nay, the tears were rolling
silently down his cheeks. Kenelm listened and heard her say, “Don’t talk
so, Will, you break my heart; it is I who am not worthy of you.”
“Parson,” said Kenelm, as they walked on, “I must go to that confounded
harvest-supper. I begin to think there is something true in the
venerable platitude about love in a cottage. And Will Somers must be
married in haste, in order to repent at leisure.”
“I don’t see why a man should repent having married a good girl whom he
loves.”
“You don’t? Answer me candidly. Did you ever meet a man who repented
having married?”
“Of course I have; very often.”
“Well, think again, and answer as candidly. Did you ever meet a man who
repented not having married?”
The Parson mused, and was silent.
“Sir,” said Kenelm, “your reticence proves your honesty, and I respect
it.” So saying, he bounded off, and left the Parson crying out wildly,
“But--but--”