"Does the road wind uphill all the way?
Yes, to the very end."
"So, papa, here we are, off at last! I can hardly believe it, and
nothing left behind! Isn't it delightful? Such lovely weather and so
many people! I wish we were going to India right away! I wonder how
many of those people are good sailors."
"A very small proportion, my dear, in all probability."
"How I do like to look at people and imagine histories for them! And
you cannot start for India without a sort of story; can you? As for you
and me, _we're_ just going to enjoy ourselves!"
The speaker looked capable of enjoying herself and all around her. She
was a girl of eighteen or nineteen, dressed in a tightly-fitting dark
blue dress with a little black felt hat, very becoming to her small,
slender shape, and dark glowing complexion. She had pretty features and
very white teeth, which showed a little in her frequent smiles; dark
hazel eyes, bright, clear, and penetrating; and curly wavy hair, as
black as an English girl's can be. She had quick, decided movements, a
clear, firm voice, and the sweetest laugh possible.
Among all the anxious, hurried, fidgety people on the deck she looked
perfectly happy and at her ease--not careless, for a variety of small
packages were neatly piled up beside her, but entirely content; for was
not the desire of her heart in process of fulfilment? Ever since
Elizabeth Stanforth, always appropriately called Gipsy, had been a
little girl, she had delighted in sharing her father's expeditions when
the great London artist sought new ideas, new models, or a cessation
from ideas and models, in the enjoyment of natural beauty. These
expeditions had not hitherto been long or frequent, for Gipsy was the
eldest of seven, and holiday trips away from the old house at Kensington
were generally made in company with her mother and the children, with
occasional divergences of Mr Stanforth's. Gipsy, too, was but newly
released from the thraldom of lessons and classes, though a week once at
the Lakes, and another in Cornwall, had shown Mr Stanforth that she
possessed various requisites for a good traveller--a great capacity for
enjoyment and a great incapacity for being bored, good health, a good
appetite, and a good temper.
Therefore, when a long-cherished wish of Mr Stanforth's own was put in
practice, and he set out for a three months' tour in search of the
picturesque in Southern Spain, he took Gipsy with him, and this warm,
sunshiny September morning found them on the deck of a P and O steamer,
just about to leave Southampton on its way to Gibraltar.
They had arrived on board early, and were now watching the approach of
their fellow-passengers, the farewells and last words passing between
them and their friends: Gipsy simply delighted with the novelty of the
scene, and her father watching it with a peculiarly acute and kindly
gaze of accurate observation.
Mr Stanforth, with his slender figure and dark beard, looked young
enough to be sometimes mistaken for his daughter's elder brother; she
resembled him in colouring and feature, but keen and sweet as her bright
eyes were, they had not looked out long enough on life to have acquired
the thoughtful sympathetic expression that gave to her father's face an
unusual charm--a look that seemed to tell of an insight that reached
beyond the artist's observation of form and colour, or even of obvious
character, and penetrated the very thoughts of the heart, not merely to
note but to understand them. Perhaps this was why Mr Stanforth's
portraits were thought such good likenesses, and why his original
designs never wanted for character and expression.
He was not thinking purposely of anything but his holiday and his
daughter, but the blue sky and bright sunshine of this unusually
summer-like September helped his sense of enjoyment, and every face as
it passed before him interested or amused him from the bright,
fresh-faced schoolgirl just "finished," and looking forward through a
few parting tears to incalculable possibilities in her unknown life, to
the climate-worn official who had been bored during his leave at home,
yet was far from regarding India as a paradise. Brides blushing and
smiling, mothers with eyes and hearts sad for the children left at home,
young lads with the world before them--the deck offered specimens of all
these. Some were surrounded by groups of friends, but most of the
sadder partings had been got over elsewhere, and the passengers were
coming on board with a sense of relief, and minds chiefly full of their
luggage and their state-rooms, their places at the table, and their
chairs for the deck.
As Mr Stanforth's eye travelled over the various groups he observed two
young men sitting close together on one of the benches at a little
distance. The one nearest to him sat with his face turned away towards
his companion, a tall, powerful lad, with fair hair, and features of an
unusually fine and regular type, now pale and half sullen with a pain
evidently almost beyond endurance. The other's hand lay on his knee,
and he seemed to be speaking, for the boy nodded and murmured a word or
two occasionally. "That's a bad parting," thought the artist; "I wonder
which is the traveller."
"Look, papa," said Gipsy, "there's a model for you! Isn't that an
uncommon face?" She pointed out to him a tall, dark young man, with a
peculiar oval face of olive tinting, who stood close to them making
inquiries of some officials. "There's a distinguished foreigner for
you," she said.
"Yes, a foreigner of course; a very fine fellow."
Something restrained the kindly-natured artist from drawing his
daughter's attention to the parting moments that were evidently so
painful; but the "distinguished foreigner," as the last minutes
approached, drew near to the pair and touched the lad on the shoulder.
He started up; the other rose also and turned round, showing a face like
enough in type to suggest the closest kinship, but white, thin, telling
a tale of sickness as well as of present suffering. They grasped each
other's hands. Mr Stanforth involuntarily turned his eyes away, and in
a moment the lad pushed through the crowd, evidently unseeing and
unheeding, passed close by them and knocked over all Gipsy's bags,
shawls, and bundles, pushed on, never knowing what he had done, and
turning, gave one last look at his brother, who met it with a beaming,
resolute smile, and a wave of the hand.
The olive-faced foreigner who had followed, saw the accident, and made a
gesture of apology, then bid the boy farewell with clasped hands and
some rapidly-uttered sentences, watching him over the side, and, coming
back to the Stanforths, hastily replaced the fallen articles.
"Pardon," he said, "my brother could not see."
"Don't mention it; no harm done," said Mr Stanforth kindly, as the
young man moved away, other groups came up and separated them, and he
was seen no more till dinner-time, when he appeared, but without his
companion.
In the intervals of making acquaintance with her fellow-passengers and
of beginning the letter which was to tell her mother of _every_ event of
their tour, Gipsy Stanforth speculated as to how the "distinguished
foreigner" came to call such an unmistakable Englishman his brother.
The three days that the Lesters had spent in London had been trying and
fatiguing. Judge Cheriton and his wife had come up from the country to
their town house on purpose to receive them, but the very kindness and
interest which had prompted them to inquire into all the causes of
Cheriton's illness, and to question the prudence of some of the home
measures had fretted both Cheriton and Jack, the latter being a little
disposed to resent any interference. But the right of the Cheritons to
a share in their nephews' affairs had always been admitted, and Mr
Lester, little as he felt himself able to bear the further strain, would
hardly have let them go to London without him, but for his
brother-in-law's assurance that they should not start till every
arrangement had been made. The judge was surprised at the confidence
reposed in Alvar, and though he had too much sense to try to shake it,
had caused Mr Lester to insist that they should be accompanied by a
servant experienced in travelling and in illness, instead of the Oakby
lad at first chosen--an arrangement which Cheriton secretly much
disliked, though he acquiesced in it as sparing his father anxiety.
Judge Cheriton also undertook to give Mr Lester a full report of the
physician's opinion, which was not, on the whole, discouraging. He said
that though the illness had left manifest traces, and that he considered
Cheriton in a critical state, there was nothing to prevent entire
recovery, of which the winter abroad offered the best chance; and if he
wished to go to Southern Spain, Spain it might be, as rest and change
were as much needed as climate. There was no use in thinking of any
profession or occupation till the next summer. Some overstrain had
resulted in a complete break-down, and the cough was part of the
mischief. Fatigue, cold, and anxiety were all equally to be avoided,
but as there was no predisposition to any form of chest disease in the
family, they might look forward hopefully.
This verdict entirely consoled Alvar, who, indeed, had never looked much
beyond the present, and brightened the anxious hearts at Oakby,
especially when accompanied by a note from Cherry himself, which he had
made Jack read to "see if it was cheerful enough."
He and Jack clung to each other closely during those last few days, and
till they parted, Cheriton never ceased to be the one to uphold and to
cheer; but when Jack was out of sight, he broke down utterly, and while
Alvar was beginning to make acquaintance with the Stanforths, Cheriton
lay fighting hard with all the suffering which he had so long held at
bay. He was not passive, though Alvar thought him so, as he lay still
and silent, unwilling to speak or be spoken to. He was struggling
actively, strenuously, with all the force of a strong will against a
passionate and rebellious nature. He was sufficiently experienced in
self-control, and unselfish enough to have succeeded in behaving well
and courageously under his various troubles. But Cherry's notions of
self-conquest aimed higher and went deeper. He would be master of his
own inmost soul, as well as of his outward actions. His eyes were pure
enough to see as in a vision what was implied in saying honestly, "Thy
Will be done," and clear enough to know that he could not say it; while,
on the other hand, there was scarcely any form of wrath and bitterness
to which memory did not tempt him. Why must he suffer in so many ways?
Perhaps the moments of softer yearning for the lost love of his boyhood,
sad as they were, were the least painful part of his suffering. The
loss of health and strength, and of the power of substituting some other
aim in life for those earlier and sweeter hopes, came as a separate, but
to so active a person, an exceeding trial, while he was separated from
all the lesser interests which had the power of custom over him, a power
in his case unusually strong; yet in these he felt lay the hope of
salvation, at least from those intermittent waves of utter despondency
which made all alike worthless and blank. Cheriton had all his life
tried to choose the better part, to follow his own higher nature, and
seek what was lovely and of good report, had all his life looked upward.
Had he not done so, these present temptations would have attacked him
on a far lower level, or, set apart as he was just now from all outward
action, he would more probably not have recognised that he had a battle
to fight at all. But to Cheriton it was given to see the issues of the
battle that has been fought by all true saints, and perhaps by some
sinners; and his chief mistake now was that he was young enough to think
that, like the typical dragon fights of the old world, it could be won
by one great struggle. This was his inner life, of which no one knew
anything, save perhaps Jack, who was like-minded enough to guess
something of it.
Alvar only saw that he was weak and weary, and suffering from a great
reaction of mind and body. He was a very judicious companion, however,
and after a day or two of repose succeeded in coaxing Cherry on to the
deck; where the fresh air sent him to sleep on the cushions that Alvar
had arranged for him, more quietly than for some time past.
When he opened his eyes, and began to look about him, it was with a
refreshing sense of life and circumstances apart from himself and his
perplexities. The blue sky, the dancing waves, the groups of people
moving about, the unfamiliar sights and sounds amused him. He looked
round for his brother, and presently discovered him sitting at a little
distance, smoking his unfailing cigarette, and looking both comfortable
and picturesque in the soft felt hat, which, though not especially
unlike other people's, always had on him the effect of a costume. He
was talking to a young lady, with an air of considerable animation and
intimacy. She was knitting a gay-striped sock, the bright pins
twinkling with the rapid movement of her fingers, and she laughed often,
a particularly gay, musical laugh.
Alvar glanced round, and seeing that Cherry was awake, sprang up and
came over to him.
"Ah, you have had quite a long sleep," he said.
"Have I? I feel all the better for it. This is very comfortable. And
pray who is the young lady with the knitting-needles?"
"Why, that is Miss Stanforth. Did I not tell you how kind they have
been? You see, Jack nearly knocked her down, and so we made
acquaintance; and just now I was teaching her some Spanish."
"Did Jack create a favourable impression by that mode of introduction?"
"Why, yes," said Alvar, delighted at hearing the shadow of a joke from
Cherry; "for I explained how it was that he was in trouble, and they
were interested at hearing of you. Now you must have some breakfast,
and then perhaps you would like to see them."
"Oh, no," said Cherry, "I don't feel up to talking; but I am glad you
have some one to amuse you."
However, Cherry began to be amused himself by watching his brother. He
felt the relief of having nothing to do and no one to think of, and as
he lay looking on, was surprised at perceiving how sociable the stiff,
reserved Alvar appeared to be, how many little politenesses he
performed, and how gay and light-hearted he looked. Evidently Mr and
Miss Stanforth were the most attractive party, though Alvar seemed on
speaking terms with every one; and at last Cherry, seeing that he wished
it, begged that Mr Stanforth would come and speak to him, and their new
acquaintance, having the tact to see that he was shy in his character of
invalid, came and sat down beside him, and talked cheerfully on
indifferent topics.
"And where are you bound for," he asked presently, "when you reach
Gibraltar?"
"For Seville," said Cheriton; "Don Guzman de la Rosa, my brother's
grandfather, lives there at this time of the year. He has a country
place, too, I believe, for the summer. But Alvar thinks the journey
would be too much for me yet. I hope not; he must want to be with his
friends."
"My daughter and I," said Mr Stanforth, "have some friends at
Gibraltar, and they have recommended us to join them at a place on the
coast, San Jose, I think they called it. Afterwards our dream has been
to spend some weeks at Seville. Can you tell us anything of ways and
means there, for we are trusting entirely to fate and a guide-book?"
"I'm afraid," said Cherry, smiling, "that I am trusting with equally
implicit faith in Alvar. I haven't asked many questions. Alvar, can
you tell Mr Stanforth what he must do, and how he must manage in
Seville?"
"All I know is at his service," said Alvar, sitting down at Cherry's
feet; "but he will, I hope, visit my grandfather, who will be honoured
by his coming. My aunt, too, and my cousins would be proud to show Miss
Stanforth Seville."
"Oh, papa," exclaimed Gipsy impetuously, catching these words as she
approached, "to know some Spaniards. Then we should really see the
country." She broke off, blushing; and Alvar, springing up, offered her
a seat, and introduced her to his brother, while Mr Stanforth said,--
"Thank you, we could not refuse such a kind offer; but I want to make
Seville my head-quarters, and make excursions from thence. What sort of
inns have you? Are they pleasant for ladies?"
"Papa, you know we settled that I was not going to be a lady."
"Did we, my dear? I was not a party to that arrangement. You are not
_quite_ a gipsy yet, you know."
"There are inns," said Alvar, "but the best plan is to take a flat in
what we call a `_Casa de pupillos_,' a _pension_, I suppose. I know
one. Dona Catalina, who keeps it, is an excellent lady, most devout,
and she once received an English family, so she knows better how you
like to eat and drink."
"I don't mean to eat and drink anything that is not Spanish," said
Gipsy, laughing.
"Indeed," said Alvar, "you will not often find anything that is English.
I sometimes fear that my brother will not like that."
"You have a lively remembrance of being asked to eat oat-cake and
porridge, and drink what we call sherry," said Cheriton.
"But I will not expect that you shall like things that are strange to
you, _querido_," said Alvar, a speech that revealed a little of the
family history to Mr Stanforth's sharp eyes; while Gipsy said
earnestly,--
"Oh, the strangeness is what I expect to enjoy."
A good deal more information of different kinds followed, and Cherry
wondered at this own ignorance of Alvar's former surroundings.
"Why, I did not know that your cousins lived with you," he said.
"I did not speak much of Seville to _you_," said Alvar, with ever so
slight an emphasis, the first reminder he had ever given that there had
been one to whom he could talk freely.
"We were all too much occupied with teaching you about Westmoreland, and
lately I think I have been too stupid to care. But you must give me
some Spanish lessons soon."
"Have you been long in England?" said Mr Stanforth to Alvar.
"I came at Christmas. Ah, how cold it was! The boys and Nettie laughed
at me because I did not like it. They ran out into the snow without
their hats that I might feel ashamed of sitting by the fire," said Alvar
quaintly.
"Ah, we were a set of terrible young Philistines!" said Cheriton. "Do
you remember the snow man and the wrestling?"
"I wish you could wrestle with me now, my brother," said Alvar
affectionately.
"That must be the effect of Spanish sunshine, instead of Westmoreland
snow; and in the meantime we must not tire you with talking," said Mr
Stanforth, perceiving that Cherry hardly liked the allusion. "Come,
Gipsy, isn't it time for one of the innumerable meals we have on board
ship?"
"Oh, papa, I am sure you are always ready for them," said Gipsy,
following him.
Mr Stanforth, on discovering more clearly the whereabouts of Oakby,
recollected having visited Ashrigg some years ago, when engaged on a
portrait of some member of Sir John Hubbard's family. He perceived with
some amusement that Alvar attached no ideas to his name or to his
profession; and Cherry had scarcely realised either, so that when the
next morning Mr Stanforth came up to speak to him, with a sketch-book
in his hand, he said, quite simply,--
"I see you have been drawing; may I look?"
"If you will not think I have taken a great liberty," said Mr
Stanforth, giving him the book.
Cheriton laughed and exclaimed at one or two exquisitely outlined
likenesses of their fellow-passengers, hitting off their peculiarities
with a touch, then admired a little bit of blue sky and dancing wave,
with a pair of sea-gulls hanging white and soft in the midst, while
under were written the lines,--
"As though life's only call and care
Were graceful motion."
"How lovely!" he said; "how wonderfully well you do it! Ah, that is
Alvar--yes, you have caught that grave, graceful look exactly. Alvar is
just like a walking picture; he can't be awkward."
"I am afraid I have not been so successful with Alvar's brother; but the
contrast was irresistible," said Mr Stanforth, as Cherry turned another
page, and saw a sketch of himself lying on the deck, and Alvar, leaning
over him, and pointing out something in the distance.
"That is just Alvar's look."
"You are a much more difficult subject than your brother," said Mr
Stanforth.
"I? I don't think I'm fit to sit for my picture. We tried in London to
get a photograph taken; but it made me look worse than I am, so we did
not send it home."
"You must let me try again. As an artist I may be forgiven for
rejoicing in the chance of studying such a likeness beneath such a
contrast as there is between you two. See, your faces are in the same
mould; it is the colour, and still more the character, that differs."
"I think that may be true of more than our faces," said Cherry
thoughtfully; "but I see what you mean, at least when I think of Jack,
and we were alike when I was well. I will show you."
Here Cheriton caught sight of the name on the first page of the book,
"Raymond Stanforth," looked at the drawings, and then at his new
friend's face with a rush of comprehension.
"How stupid I have been!" he exclaimed, colouring. "I beg your pardon.
Of course I ought to have guessed who it was at once. Pray don't think
I am so ignorant as not to know your pictures. And I have been
presuming to praise your sketches."
Mr Stanforth laughed kindly.
"You must not leave off doing so now we have found each other out.
Don't imagine that appreciation is not always pleasant."
"You have a great many admirers at Oxford," said Cheriton, a little
stiffly and shyly. "Some of the fellows prided themselves immensely on
their appreciation of all sorts of modern art; but I'm afraid I don't
know very much about it."
"You employed your time, your brother tells me, to better purpose?"
"I don't know. I thought so then. And it seemed more worth while to
get a ride or pull on the river. I don't see what a fellow wants in his
room but an armchair and a place for his books, and a good fire. One
had better be out of doors when one isn't working. I don't care to have
my rooms like a lady's drawing-room. But of course," he added
apologetically, "I always like to go to the Academy and see the
pictures."
Mr Stanforth looked very much amused, but he was interested too. It is
not uncommon in youth that considerable powers of mind may be exercised
so entirely in one line, as to leave many fields of intelligence
completely blank, and there were many points on which Cheriton simply
accepted the code of his home, which, put into plain language, was, that
study was study, and recreation out-of-door exercise of different kinds,
intellectual amusements being regarded with suspicion. But there was
much more than the boyish "Philistinism" of this last speech written on
the face of the speaker, and Mr Stanforth felt inclined to draw it out.
"What did you say you were going to show me?" he said.
"I wanted you to see the rest of us!" said Cherry. "Where is Alvar? He
would get my photograph case."
Alvar was near at hand, talking to Gipsy Stanforth and to some other
ladies, and he soon brought Cheriton a little leather case which
contained a long row of handsome Lesters, and ended with the favourite
dogs and horses, and a view of the front door at Oakby, with Nettie
holding Buffer on the back of one of the stone wolves.
"There is a ready-made picture," said Mr Stanforth.
"My brother loves that little animal," said Alvar smiling, "he would
like his picture better than that of any of us."
"I am sure some of our dogs are worth painting," said Cherry, "but Alvar
does not appreciate Buffer's style."
And so, brightened by the fresh companionship and new scenes, the days
slipped by, till Cheriton wished their sameness could continue for ever.