"Wild March wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing?"
It was on a wild March morning, when sudden gleams of radiant sunlight
contended with heavy storm-clouds, that Mr Lester of Oakby was buried.
There was no rain, but the violent wind carried the sound of the knell
in fitful gusts over the mourning village, through the well-cared-for
fields and plantations of Oakby, away to Ashrigg and Elderthwaite,
bringing all the countryside in a great concourse to the funeral. For
it was a real mourning, a real loss. Long years ago, Fanny Lester, with
her bright smile, and clear, upward-looking eyes, had said to her
husband, "We have a piece of work in the world given to us, Gerald; let
us try and do it." And under her strong influence the dutiful and
honourable traditions of conduct to which Gerald Lester was born,
widened and were drawn higher; the various offices he held were
exercised with conscientious effort for the benefit of his neighbours;
and his tenantry, mind, soul and body, were the better for his life
among them. They could trust him, and if he sometimes made mistakes
from which the wise Fanny might have saved him, her death had
consecrated for him every simple duty that she had pointed out. Now,
while "the old Squire" still meant his father, while he was still in the
strength of his manhood, he was gone; and at the head of his grave there
stood, not the son they knew, with his father's fair face and his
mother's fair soul, but the dark, stately stranger, who--among all those
north-country gentlemen, farmers, and labourers who crowded round, those
"neighbours" all so well known to each other--looked so strangely out of
place.
So thought another stranger who, when he had travelled northwards, had
little thought to find himself present at such a scene.
The Stanforths had long since returned to London, and Gipsy found
herself once more in the midst of as pleasant a home-circle as ever a
girl grew up in, while her attention was claimed by numerous interests,
social, intellectual, and domestic. Her mother shook her head over the
story of Jack's proposal; but she said very little about the matter,
secretly hoping that Gipsy would cease to think of it on returning to
another atmosphere. All the advances, she said to her husband, must now
come from the other side, and she could not but regard the future as
doubtful, and was slightly incredulous of the charms of the travelling
companions whom she had not herself seen. But Jack, while he was at
Oxford, wrote to Mr Stanforth, about once a fortnight, rather formal
and sententious epistles, which did not contain one word about Gipsy,
but which in their regularity and simplicity impressed her mother
favourably. One long, pleasant letter arrived from Cheriton during his
last weeks at Seville, and of this Gipsy enjoyed the perusal. She did
not show any symptoms of low spirits, and being a girl of some
resolution of character, held her tongue and bided her time. Perhaps a
bright and fairly certain expectation was all she as yet wanted or was
ready for. She was young in feeling, even for her eighteen years, and
in truth they were "beginning at the beginning."
Still she wished ardently that her father should accede to a request
from Sir John Hubbard, that he should come down to Ashrigg Hall, and
paint a companion picture of his wife to the one that he had taken of
himself long ago. Lady Hubbard was infirm and could not come to London,
or Sir John would not have made such a demand on Mr Stanforth's time,
now, of course, even more fully occupied than it had been ten years
before.
Mr Stanforth hesitated; he did not like the notion of any possible
meeting with Mr Lester, while Jack's views remained a secret from him;
but Sir John had shown him a good deal of kindness, and he felt curious
to hear something of his young friends in their own neighbourhood. So
the first week in March found him at Ashrigg, in the midst of a large
family party, for the eldest son and his wife were staying there, and
there were several daughters at home.
"We had hoped to give a few of our friends the pleasure of meeting you,
Mr Stanforth," said Sir John, after dinner, when the wine was on the
table, "but our neighbourhood has sustained a great loss in the death of
a valued friend of ours, Mr Lester, of Oakby."
"Mr Lester of Oakby! You don't say so! Surely that is very sudden,"
said Mr Stanforth, infinitely shocked. "I saw a great deal of his sons
in the south of Spain," he added in explanation.
"Indeed! They are at home now, poor fellows. They were just too late.
I had this note from Jack--that's the second son--no, the third--this
afternoon."
"I know Jack, too," said Mr Stanforth, as he took the note. It was a
very brief one, merely announcing his father's death, and adding,--
"My brothers returned from Spain this morning. We hope that the journey
has done Cheriton no harm."
"Ah, poor Cheriton!" said Mr Stanforth. "I fear he must have run a
great risk. It will be a terrible blow to him. We formed something
more than a travelling acquaintance."
"Poor Mr Lester was here only a fortnight ago, speaking with delight of
Cheriton's entire recovery," said Lady Hubbard.
"Yes, he was much better," said Mr Stanforth, a little doubtfully, "and
full of enjoyment. But this will be indeed a startling change."
"Yes," said Sir John; "one does not know how to think of Alvar in his
father's shoes. It was a sadly mismanaged business altogether."
"There is a great deal to like in Alvar Lester," said Mr Stanforth;
"but of course the circumstances are very peculiar."
"Yes. You see while the elder brother, Robert, was alive, no one
thought much of Gerald, and when this Spanish marriage came out, it was
a great shock. And he was too ready to listen to all the excuses about
the boy's health. If he had come home and been sent to school in
England he might have grown up like the rest, and black eyes instead of
blue ones would have been all the difference."
"I have always thought his long absence inexplicable."
"Well, Lester hated the thought of his boyish marriage, and these other
boys came, and Cherry was his darling. His wife did make an effort
once, and Alvar was brought to France when he was about seven years old;
but they said he was ill, and took him back again. Then when old Mrs
Lester came into power she opposed his coming, and things slipped on. I
don't think he was expected to live at first, and, poor fellow! no one
wished that he should."
"The second Mrs Lester must have been a very remarkable person," said
Mr Stanforth.
"She was," said Lady Hubbard warmly. "She was a person to raise the
tone of a whole neighbourhood. She made another man of her husband, and
he worshipped her. She was no beauty, and very small, but with the
brightest of smiles, and eyes that seemed to look straight up into
heaven. No one could forget Fanny Lester. She influenced every one."
There was much more talk, and many side lights were cast on Mr
Stanforth's mind when he heard of Alvar's broken engagement to Virginia
Seyton, and of her pretty cousin Ruth's recent marriage to Captain
Lester, "though at one time every one thought that there was something
between her and Cheriton." He could not but think most of how his own
daughter's future might be affected by this sudden freeing of her young
lover from parental control; but he was full of sympathy for them all,
and the note that he wrote to Cheriton was answered by a request that he
would accompany Sir John Hubbard to the funeral: "They could never
forget all his kindness in another time of trouble."
It was a striking group of mourners. Alvar stood in the midst,
dignified and impassive, and by his side a tall, girlish figure, with
bright hair gleaming through her crape veil, the three other brothers
together, looking chiefly as if they were trying to preserve an unmoved
demeanour; Rupert's face behind them, like enough to suggest kindred,
and Judge Cheriton's keen cultivated face; Mr Seyton, pale, worn, and
white-haired, and his brother's tanned, weather-beaten countenance,
ruddy and solemn, above his clerical dress. Many a fine, powerful form
and handsome outline showed among the men, whose fathers had served Mr
Lester's; and behind, crowds of women, children, and old people filled
the churchyard and the lanes beyond.
As the service proceeded the heavy clouds parted, and a sudden gleam of
sunlight fell, lighting up the violet pall and the white wreaths laid on
it, the surplices of the choristers, and the bent heads of the mourners.
Cheriton looked up at last away from the open grave, through the break
in the clouds, but with a face strangely white and sad in the momentary
sunlight. Jack, as they turned away, caught sight of Mr Stanforth, and
the sudden involuntary look of pleasure that lightened the poor boy's
miserable face was touching to see. When all was over, and, in common
with most of those from a distance, Mr Stanforth had accompanied Sir
John Hubbard up to the house, Jack sought him out, hardly having a word
to say; but evidently finding satisfaction in his presence.
"Oh, we have nothing picturesque at home, but still I should like to
show you Oakby," Cheriton had said, as they walked together in the
beautiful streets of Seville; but the long table in the old oak
dining-room, covered with family plate, the sombre, faded richness of
colouring that told of years of settled dignified life, were not
altogether commonplace, any more than the pair of brothers who occupied
the two ends of the table. It was not till there was a general move
that Cheriton came up and put his hand into his friend's.
"We all like to think that you have been here," he said. "You will come
again while you are at Ashrigg?"
"I will, indeed. And you,--these cold winds do not hurt you?"
"No, I think not. My uncle wishes Sir John Hubbard to hear some of our
arrangements; you will not mind waiting for a little."
He spoke very quietly, but as if there were a great weight upon him,
while his attention was claimed by some parting guest.
"Well, Cheriton, good-bye; this is a sorrowful day for many. You must
try and teach your poor brother to fill your father's place. We are all
ready to welcome him among us, and we hope he will take an interest in
everything here."
"You are very land, Mr Sutton," said Cheriton, rather as if he thought
the kindness too outspoken.
Then a much older face and voice took a turn.
"Good-bye, my lad. Your grandfather and I were friends always, and I
little thought to see this day. Keep things going, Cherry, for the old
name's sake."
"I shall be in London soon," said Cherry ungraciously, for the echoes of
his own forebodings were very hard to bear. Then Rupert came up with a
warm hand-shake.
"Good-bye, my dear fellow. I hope we shall see you in London. Don't
catch another bad cold. I hope you'll all get along together."
"I dare say we shall. But thank you, it was very good of you to come
just now."
"Just off your wedding trip, as I understand?" said the old gentleman.
"Yes; we came back from Paris a few days ago, and I must get back to
town to-night," said Rupert, as Cheriton moved away to join his uncle
for a sort of explanation of the state of affairs to the younger ones,
and for the reading of the will, though, its chief provisions were well
known to him.
Alvar, as his father had done before him, inherited the estate free from
debt or mortgage, with such an income as sounded to his Spanish notions
magnificent; but which those better versed in English expenditure knew
would find ample employment in all the calls of such a place as Oakby.
It was quite sufficient for the position, but no more. The estate, of
course, still remained chargeable with old Mrs Lester's jointure. Mr
Lester had enjoyed the interest of his wife's fortune during her life,
the bulk of which had come to her from an aunt, and was secured to her
daughter; her three sons succeeding to five thousand pounds apiece, and
for this money Judge Cheriton, and a certain General Fleming, a relation
of the Cheritons, were joint trustees. So the will, made almost as soon
as Mr Lester inherited the property, had stood, and indeed most of its
provisions had been made by his father. Since his illness, however, a
codicil had been added, stating that Mr Lester had intended to leave
the small amount of ready money at his disposal equally among his three
younger sons, but that now he decided to leave the whole to Cheriton,
"whose health might involve him in more expenses, and prevent him from
using the same exertions as his brothers." He also joined his two elder
sons, with their uncle, Judge Cheriton, in the personal guardianship of
John, Robert, and Annette. There were a few gifts and legacies to
servants and dependants, and that was all.
"Nothing," remarked Judge Cheriton, after a pause, "could be more proper
than this decision with regard to Cheriton, though we hope its necessity
has passed away; but under the very peculiar circumstances every one has
felt that it would have been well if a somewhat larger proportion of his
mother's fortune could have come to him."
"Of course," said Jack, "it is all right."
"But my father might have trusted him to me," said Alvar.
"Such things should always be in black and white," said the judge.
"Your father has shown marked confidence both in you and in Cheriton by
giving you a share in the charge of the younger ones, and this desire
will, of course, naturally affect our arrangements for them. Annette's
home at least must be fixed by her grandmother's."
"But my grandmother will stay here," said Alvar, in a tone of surprise.
"Why should she change? It will be all the same. And the boys too, and
my sister, and Cheriton--of course--we must be together."
He spoke warmly, and crossing over to Cheriton, took his hand as he
spoke.
"This is your home, my brother, always."
"You are _very_ good to us, Alvar, thank you," said Cheriton, hardly
able to speak.
"Most kind," said the judge; "whatever may be decided on, your offer is
suggested by a most proper feeling, of which I hope all are sensible."
"Alvar is very kind," said Jack shyly.
"Would you not expect that Cheriton should be `kind' to you? Then why
not I, as well?" said Alvar.
"Such an arrangement," said the judge, "would not be _binding_ on
Cheriton even in your place. I am rejoiced to see so good an
understanding between you. Alvar has a great deal of business before
him, and it would be a pity to make any changes at present. But as for
you, Cheriton, is it wise to remain here so early in the year?"
"No," said Alvar; "I think we should go to the south for a little."
"I think the calls upon your time--" began the judge, but Cheriton
interposed.
"I don't think I am any the worse for the weather," he said, "and I
should not like to go away now. We shall all have a great deal to do."
Sir John Hubbard spoke a few friendly words and offered any assistance
or advice to Alvar in his power, and then took his leave, as did Mr
Malcolm. Alvar and Jack, with the judge, accompanied them into the
hall; and no sooner had the door of the study closed than Nettie, who
had been a silent spectator of the scene, suddenly burst out,--"I don't
care! I will say it! It may be very kind of Alvar, but it is horrible,
_horrible_ to think _he_ is master and may do what he pleases with us.
I hate to stay here if _he_ is to give us leave."
"I told you, Nettie," said Bob, with masculine prudence, "that no one
ought to _say_ those things."
"Nor feel them, I hope," said Cherry. "Nettie, my dear child, you must
not make it worse for us all. We feel our great loss; but you know the
future will not be easy for Alvar himself."
"I know," sobbed Nettie, with increasing vehemence, "that he will not be
like--like papa. I can't _bear_ to think that the dear place all
belongs to _him_, and the things, and the animals even, and the horses.
_He_ doesn't love them, nor the place, and ice do!"
"Be silent, Nettie," said Cheriton, with unusual sternness; "I will
never listen to one word like this. There is nothing wrong about it.
Think of all that Alvar has done for me, and then say if such words are
justifiable."
The severity of the tone silenced Nettie--it was meant to silence poor
Cheriton's own heart. He was stern to his sister because he felt
severely towards himself; but Nettie thought him unjust, and only moved
by partiality for Alvar. He saw complications far beyond her childish
jealousy, and yet he shared it. And above all was the anguish of a
personal loss, a heavy grief that filled up all the intervals of
perplexing anticipations and business cares.
The twins went away together, and Cherry sat down in his father's chair
and leaned his head back against the cushion of it. It was all over,
all the love that had had so many last thoughts for him, and, alas! no
last words. They had indeed parted for ever in this life; but how
differently from what he had expected last year. Over! and the future
looked difficult and dark. "_He_ does not love them, and we do." It
was too true. Cherry was tired out with the long, hasty journey, the
succeeding strain of occupation, and with the sorrow that weighed him
down--a sorrow that only now seemed to come upon him in all its
strength. He was not conscious of the passing of time till a hand was
laid on his shoulder, and Alvar's voice said softly, "I have been
looking for you, _Cherito mio_."
"Oh, I am very tired," said Cherry.
How strange it was to rouse himself from thoughts in which Alvar's image
brought such a sense of trouble and perplexity, to feel the accustomed
comfort of his presence! How strange to shrink so painfully from the
thought of his foreign brother's rule in his father's place, and yet to
feel the fretting weariness soothed insensibly by the care on which he
had learned to depend. He could not think this crooked matter straight,
he could not even feel compunction for his own fears. He was tired and
wretched, and Alvar knew just what was restful and comforting to him.