"Once from high Heaven
Is a father given.
Once--and, oh, never again!"
After Jack returned home, with the understanding that the disclosure of
his holiday occupation should await his brother's return, and after the
Stanforths had also left Seville, Alvar and Cheriton spent several weeks
there without any adventures to disturb their tranquillity. Alvar was a
good deal with his grandfather, whose health was not at this time good,
but who had evinced great curiosity as to the details of their detention
on the mountains. He used also to go to the different clubs and meet
acquaintances, where they talked politics and scandal, and played at
cards, dominoes, and billiards. It was an aimless existence, and
Cheriton sometimes fancied that Alvar grew restless under it, and would
not be sorry to return to England. This, however, might have been owing
to Cheriton's own decided dislike to the young _Sevillanos_, who struck
him as almost justifying his grandmother's preconceived theory of
Alvar's probable behaviour.
"Ah, they do not suit you, that is not what you like," Alvar said
cheerfully; but he never said, "It is not _good_, this sort of life does
not make a nation great or virtuous."
Manoel was of another type, and perhaps a more respectable one; but they
saw very little of him. Cheriton liked the ladies, who were kind, and
possessed many domestic virtues; and at Don Guzman's country place there
was something exceedingly pleasant in the cheerfulness and gaiety of the
peasants. He would have liked to have found out something of the
working of the Church, of the views of the clergy, and how far they
differed, not only from those of an Anglican, but of an intelligent
Roman priest in more civilised countries, but on these subjects no one
would talk to him. He heard mutterings of hatred towards the priests in
some quarters, and a good deal of chatter about processions and
ceremonies from the young ladies, but nothing further. He did not want
for occupation. He could now read and speak Spanish easily; and
although the Cid, Ferdinand and Isabella, the Armada, and the
Inquisition had been about the only salient points in his mind
previously, he made a study of Spanish history, without much increase of
his admiration for the Spaniards. He was able, also, to do much more
sight-seeing than at first, and of the cathedral he never tired, and
never came to the end of its innumerable chapels, each with some great
picture, which Mr Stanforth had taught him how to see; never ceased to
find something new in the mystery and solemnity of its aisles with their
glory of coloured lights.
These quiet weeks formed a sort of resting-place, during which he was
able to think both of the past and of the future; he could dare now to
look away from the immediate present. Cheriton's eyes were very clear,
his moral sense very keen, and he saw that he had been under a delusion,
that Ruth and he were as the poles asunder, that her deliberate
deception, her want of any sense of honour, had marked a nature that
never could have satisfied his. Love in his case was no longer blind,
but it was none the less passionate, and, whatever else life might hold
for him, the memory of all his first, best hopes could never bring him
anything but pain. This pain had been as much as he could bear, but
others, he thought, had suffered as keenly, and had led lives that were
neither ignoble nor unhappy. Because one great love had gone out of his
life was nothing else worthy or dear? "Nothing" had been the answer of
his first anguish, but Cheriton's nature was too rich in love for such
an answer to stand. The help for which he had prayed had been sent to
him, and it came in the sense that home faces were still dear--_how_
dear his late alarm had taught him--home duties still paramount, that he
could be a good son and brother and friend still. And he thought with a
sort of surprise of the many pleasant and not unhappy hours he had
passed of late; how much, after all, he had "enjoyed himself." He
hardly knew that his quick intelligence was a gift to be thankful for,
or that his unselfish interest in others brought its own reward. On
another side of his nature, also, he resisted the aimlessness of his
lost hopes. The thought of Ruth had sweetened his success at Oxford,
but he would not be such a coward as to give up all his objects in life,
he would make a name for himself still, and show her that she had not
brought him to utter shipwreck. This motive was strong in Cheriton,
though it ran alongside with much higher ones.
One picture in the cathedral exercised a great fascination over
Cheriton's mind. It hangs in the Capella del Consuelo, over a side
altar, dedicated to the _Angel de la Guarda_, and is one of the many
masterpieces of Murillo to be found in Seville. It represents a tall,
strong angel with wide-spread wings, and grave, benevolent face, leading
by the hand a child--a subject which has been of course repeated in
every form of commonplace prettiness. But in this picture the figure of
the angel conveys a sense of heavenly might and unearthly guardianship
which no imitation or repetition could give. It is called the "Guardian
Angel;" but Cheriton had been told by one of the priests that the name
given to it by the painter himself was "The Soul and the Church," which
for some reason or other had been changed by the monks of the Capuchin
Convent, to whom the picture had originally belonged. It was a thought
and a carrying out of the thought which, seen among such surroundings,
was full of suggestion, how and why that Divine Guidance seemed here in
great measure to have gone astray, how the great angel's finger had not
always pointed upward, and yet how utterly helpless and rudderless the
nation was when it cast off the Guide of its fathers. Then his thoughts
turned to his own life and to the Hand that held it, to the Guidance
that was sometimes so hard to recognise, so difficult to yield to, and
yet how the sense of a love and a wisdom above his own, speaking to him,
whether in the events of his own life, the better impulses of his own
heart, or in the visible forms of religion, was the one light in the
darkness.
"O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone."
As he murmured the words half aloud a hand touched his shoulder. He
looked up and saw Alvar standing beside him.
"_Mi querido_, I have been looking for you. Will you come home? I want
you," he said.
"There is something the matter," said Cheriton quickly, as he looked at
him. "What is it?"
"Ah, I _must_ tell you!" said Alvar reluctantly. "It is bad news,
indeed. Sit down again--here--I have received this." He took a
telegraph paper out of his pocket and put it into Cherry's hand.
"Mrs Lester to Alvar Lester.
"Your father has met with a dangerous accident. He wishes to see you.
Come home at once. He desires Cheriton to run no risk."
Cheriton looked up blankly for a moment, then started to his feet,
crushing up the paper in his hand.
"Quick," he said, "we must go at once. When? By Madrid is the shortest
way."
"Yes--I--" said Alvar; "but see what he says."
"I _must_ go," said Cheriton. "Don't waste any words about it. I
_know_ he wants me. I'll be careful enough, only make haste."
But he paused, and dropping on his knees on the altar step, covered his
face with his hands, rose, and silently led the way out of the
cathedral.
Alvar, with his usual tact, perceived at once that it would be
impossible to persuade him to stay behind, and did not fret him by the
attempt, though this hasty journey and the return to Oakby in the first
sharp winds of March were more on his own mind than the thought of what
news might meet them at the journey's end.
It was still early in the day, and they were able to start within a few
hours, only taking a few of their things with them, amid a confusion of
tears, sympathy, and regret; Don Guzman evidently parting from Alvar
with reluctance, and bestowing a tremendous embrace on Cheriton in
return for his thanks for the kindness that had been shown to him.
Manoel, on the other hand, was evidently relieved at their early
departure.
Some days later, on a wild, blustering morning in the first week of
March, Jack Lester stood on the step of the front door of Oakby. The
trees were still bare, and scarcely a primrose peeped through the dead
leaves beneath them; pale rays of sun were struggling with the quick
driven clouds, the noisy caw of the rooks mingled with the rustle of the
leafless branches. Jack was pale and heavy-eyed. He looked across the
wide, wild landscape as if its very familiarity were strange to him,
then started, as up the park from a side entrance came a carnage and
pair as fast as it could be driven, and in another minute pulled up at
the door.
"Oh, Cherry, we have never dared to wish for you!" cried Jack, as
Cheriton sprang out and caught both his hands. "Come in--come in! Oh,
if you had _but_ come last night!"
"Not too late--not too late altogether?" Jack shook his head, his voice
choked, but they knew too well what he would tell them, and the two
brothers stood just within the door, holding by each other, Jack sobbing
with relief from the strain of responsibility and loneliness, and
Cheriton dazed and silent, unable to utter a word.
The servants began to gather round them. "Oh, Mr Cheriton, it's some
comfort to see you back, sir!" said the butler; and--"Thank heaven, sir,
you're come to help your poor grandmother!" cried the old housekeeper;
while Nettie, flying downstairs, threw herself into Cheriton's arms, as
if they were a refuge from the agony of new and most forlorn sorrow,
while he held her fast with long speechless kisses.
Alvar stood still. In that instinctive mutual clinging in the first
shock of their common grief he had no share, and for the moment he stood
as much a stranger among them as when, more than a year before, he had
come into the midst of their Christmas merry-making, and had silenced
their laughter by his unwelcome presence.
Jack was the first to awaken to a sense of present necessity.
"You have been travelling all night," he said. "Come and sit down--you
must be tired out."
"We had some breakfast at Hazelby, while we waited for the carriage,"
said Alvar; and Cherry, as Nettie released her hold, unfastened his
wraps, and moved over to the hall fire, sitting down in the great chair,
as they began to exchange question and answer.
"What happened--how was it?"
"Didn't you get my telegram?" said Jack.
"No; only granny's. Where is she?"
"Asleep, I hope. The meet was at Ashrigg, and old Rob fell in taking
the brook, just by Fletcher's farm. And so--so he was thrown, and it
was an injury to the spine; but he was quite conscious, and sent that
telegram to Alvar. After that he didn't often know us--till--till last
night. And it was over before eleven. We did not think you could
possibly get here till to-night, and we had no news of you, so I
telegraphed again as soon as I got home; but I suppose you missed the
message."
"We wrote and telegraphed from Madrid," said Alvar; "it is quite
possible that there should be delay there; and in Paris and London we
had hardly a moment to catch the trains. Cherry has been too anxious to
feel the fatigue, but he _must_ rest now."
"There must be a great many things to attend to," said Cheriton,
standing up, and passing his hand over his eyes as if he were rousing
himself out of an unnatural dream.
"Not yet," said Jack, "it is so early. Mr Ellesmere will come back
by-and-by."
Cherry looked round. He noticed that a pair of antlers had been removed
from one of the panels, and an impulse came to him to ask why, and then
the oddest sense of the incongruity of the remark. He rather knew than
felt the truth of the blow that had fallen on them, and all the
different aspects of this great change, even to remote particulars,
passed over his mind, as over the mind of a drowning man, but as
thoughts, not as realities. Suddenly there was a bark and a scutter,
and Buffer, in an ecstasy of incongruous joy, rushed into the hall,
jumped upon him, yelping, licking, dancing, and writhing with rapture.
He was followed by Rolla, who came slowly in, and laid his great tawny
head on his master's knee, looking sorrowfully up in his face as much as
to say that _he_ knew well enough that this was like no other
home-coming.
Cheriton started up and pushed them all aside. He walked away to the
window and stared out at the park, into the library and looked round it,
evidently hardly knowing what he was about. Alvar, who had been
standing pale and silent, roused himself too, and followed him, putting
his arm over his shoulder.
"Come," he said; "come upstairs. Jack, where is there a fire?"
Cheriton yielded instinctively to Alvar's hand and voice, and Jack led
them upstairs, saying that granny had insisted on their rooms being kept
ready for them. Nettie withheld Buffer from following them, and
crouched down on the rug by the hall fire till Jack returned to her.
"They have both gone to bed for a little while," he said; "even Alvar is
tired out. Nettie, you had better go to granny, as soon as she is
awake, and tell her that they are here, and that Cherry is pretty well."
"I suppose Cherry will tell us what to do," said Nettie, as she stood
up.
Discipline and absence from home had improved Nettie; she was less
childish and more considerate, remembering to tell Jack that he had had
no breakfast, and to order some to be ready when the travellers should
want it.
Bob, who had been sent for a day or two before, now joined them. He had
grown as tall as Jack, but grief and awe gave him a heavy, sullen look,
and indeed they said very little to each other. Jack wrote a few
necessary letters, and sent them off by one of the grooms, and
telegraphed to Judge Cheriton, who was coming that same evening, the
news of what he would find. But their father had been so completely
manager and master, that Jack felt as if giving an order himself were
unjustifiable, and as soon as he dared, he went to see if Cherry were
able to talk to him.
"Come, Jack," said Cherry, as the boy came up to him; "come now, and
tell me everything."
Jack leaned against the foot of the bed, and in the half-darkened room
told all the details of the last few days. There had not been much
suffering, nor long intervals of consciousness, so far as they knew.
Cherry could have done no good till last night. Granny had done all the
nursing. "I never thought," said Jack, "she loved any one so much."
Mr Ellesmere had been everything to them, and had written letters and
told them what to do. "But last night father came more to himself, and
sent for Mr Ellesmere, and presently he fetched me, and father took
hold of my hand, and said to me quite clearly, `Remember, your eldest
brother will stand in my place; let there be no divisions among you.'
And then--then he told me to try and keep Bob straight, and that I had
been a good lad. But oh, Cherry, if he had but known about Gipsy! But
I couldn't say one word then. And then Mr Ellesmere said, `Shall Jack
say anything to Cherry for you?' And he smiled, and said, `My love and
blessing, for he has been the light of my eyes.' And then he sent for
Bob and Nettie, and sent messages to old Wilson and some of the
servants. And he said that he had tried to do his duty in life by his
children and neighbours, but that he had often failed, especially in one
respect, and also he had not ruled his temper as a Christian man should;
and he asked every one to forgive him, and specially the vicar, if he
had overstepped the bounds his position gave him; Mr Ellesmere said
something of `thanks for years of kindness.' And then--we had the
communion. And after a bit he said very low, `If my boy should live, I
know he will keep things together.' Then I think he murmured something
about--about your coming--and the cold weather--and--and--you were not
to fret--it was only waiting a little longer. And then quite quite loud
he said, `Fear God, and keep His commandments,' and then just whispered,
`Fanny.' That was the last word; but he lived till eleven. And poor
granny, she broke down into dreadful crying, and said, `The light of
_my_ eyes--the light of _my_ eyes is darkened.' Nettie was very good
with her; but at last we all got to bed--and--oh, Cherry, it isn't quite
so bad now we have you!" and Jack pressed up to his side.
Cheriton had listened to all this long, faltering tale leaning on his
elbow, his wide-open eyes fixed on his brother, without interrupting him
by a word. Jack cried, and he put his arm round his neck, and said,
"Poor boy!" but no tears came to him.
"I never thought--" said Jack, whose natural reserve was dispelled by
stress of feeling, "I never thought what a good man he was, and how much
he cared."
"Yes, he loved goodness," said Cherry, with a heavy sigh.
It was true. With some prejudices and many weaknesses, Gerald Lester
had set his duty first; he had lived such a life that those around him
were the better for his existence, he had left a place empty and a work
to be done. Who would fill the place--how would the work be done?
Through all the crush of personal grief, his two sons could not but ask
themselves this question; but they could not bring themselves to speak
of it to each other; and after a few minutes Cheriton said, "I think I
will get up now. We must talk things over together; and I want to see
granny."
"If you have rested."
"Oh, yes, as much as is possible. I am quite well, indeed. Go down, my
boy. I will come directly."
Jack went with a lightened heart. If Cherry were well and able to take
the lead among them, everything could be borne. When Cheriton came into
the library he found that Alvar had already appeared, and was eating
some breakfast, for it was still only twelve o'clock, while Mr
Ellesmere was standing by the fire. The vicar greeted him kindly and
quietly, and Alvar poured out some coffee for him; and then Mr
Ellesmere began to explain some of the arrangements he had been obliged
to make, and that he had sent to their father's solicitor, Mr Malcolm,
to come in the afternoon. Cheriton thanked him, and asked a few
questions; but Alvar did not seem to take the conversation to himself,
till the butler, having taken away the breakfast things, paused, and
after looking first at Cheriton, turned to Alvar, and said rather
awkwardly,--"Do you expect the judge by the five o'clock train, sir, and
shall the carriage be sent to Hazelby to meet him?"
There was a moment's silence, the three younger brothers coloured to
their very hair roots, and Cheriton made a half step away from Alvar's
side. The sudden pang that shot through him by its very sharpness
brought its own remedy. He put his hand on Alvar's arm as if to call
his attention.
"The train comes in at five--we had better send, hadn't we?" he said.
"Oh, yes!" said Alvar.
He had grown a little pale, and he turned his large black eyes on
Cheriton with a look half-proud, half-appealing, and so sad as to drown
all Cheriton's momentary shrinking in self-reproach.
"Alvar," said Mr Ellesmere, "if you will come with me, I have a message
for you from your father."
He led the way into Mr Lester's study, and Alvar followed him to the
room, of which his last vivid recollection was of the painful dispute
after the breach of his engagement. He stood by the fire in silence,
and the vicar said,--
"Alvar, your father desired me to tell you that, of all the actions of
his life he most regretted the neglect which for so many years he showed
you. He bid me say that on his death-bed he desired his son's
forgiveness."
"My father made me every amends in his power," said Alvar, in a low
voice.
"He commended your grandmother and your sister to your protection and
kindness; your brothers also, and thought thankfully of all that you and
Cherry have become to each other."
Alvar was much agitated, for some moments he was unable to speak, then
he said vehemently,--
"This is my inheritance, as it was my father's; but to my brothers I
seem an interloper. This is the wrong my father did to me, he made me a
stranger in my own place."
"It was a wrong of which he deeply repented."
"It does not become me to speak of it," said Alvar proudly.
"You must not exaggerate," said Mr Ellesmere. "It would be hard for
Cheriton to see any one in his father's place; but you have won from
him, at any rate, a brother's love."
"I am his dear friend," said Alvar; "but it is different with Jack."
"Don't draw these fine distinctions. _Be_ a worthy successor to your
father; live here among your people, as he did, in the fear of God, and
doing your duty as an English gentleman, and be, as you have ever been,
patient and kind to your brothers. Doubtless it seems a hard task to
you, but I earnestly believe that by God's blessing you may be all to
them that even Cheriton might be in your place. Nay, the very
differences between you may be,--nay have been--the means of good."
"You are very kind to me, sir, and I thank you," said Alvar courteously;
but Mr Ellesmere felt as if his words had fallen a little flat. He
felt sorry for Alvar, but he could not look forward to the future
without uneasiness. He saw that the wrong was neither forgotten nor
forgiven, and that there was in the young Spaniard's nature a background
of immovable pride that promised ill for accommodating himself to
unfamiliar duties, and a want of moral insight that would be slow in
recognising them.
It seemed rather inconsistent when Alvar said meekly, "Cheriton will
tell me in all things what I should do," and led the way back to the
library.
Here they found the others gathered in a group by the fire; Nettie
sitting on a stool at Cheriton's feet, Jack leaning over the back of his
chair, and Bob close at hand. How much alike they looked, with their
similar colouring and outline, and faces set in the same sorrowful
stillness and softened by the same feelings! Alvar paused and looked at
them for a moment, but Cheriton, seeing him, rose and came forward.
"We have been waiting for you, Alvar," he said. "I have been to see
grandmamma, but I did not stay--she could not bear it; but now--will you
come upstairs with us?" He gave a look of invitation to Mr Ellesmere
also, and he followed them silently into the chamber of death.
There lay their father, all the irritable marks of human frailty
smoothed away, and the grand outline and long beard giving him a
likeness to some kingly monument. The twins held by each other, their
grief almost overpowered by shrinking awe. Jack frowned and set his
mouth hard, and wrung Cherry's hand in his stress of feeling till he
almost crushed it, while Cheriton stood quite still and calm by Alvar's
side.
"Let us pray," said Mr Ellesmere; and as they all knelt down he
repeated the Lord's Prayer, and such other words as came to him.
When they rose up again Cheriton bent down and kissed his father's brow,
and one by one the younger ones followed his example. Only Alvar stood
still, till Cheriton turned to him, and taking his hand, with a look
that Mr Ellesmere never forgot, drew him forward.
Alvar obeyed him, but as his lips touched his father's face the thought
suddenly struck Cheriton that it must have been for the first time--that
never, even in babyhood, had a caress passed between the father and son;
and then, in contrast, he thought of himself, and the grief, hitherto
unrealised, broke forth at last. He hid his face in his hands, and
hurried out of the room into his own, away from them all.
Part IV.