"All's right with the world."
It was a bright morning just before Whitsuntide in the ensuing year,
when the bluebells were still adorning the Elderthwaite plantations, and
the ivy on the church was fresh with young green shoots. Once more
Parson Seyton sat on the churchyard wall watching his nettles, which
now, however, were falling beneath the scythe, while a space had
previously been carefully cleared and trimmed round a handsome
cross-marked stone of grey granite, which showed the spot where Mr
Seyton had rested, now for nearly three months. Suddenly a step came up
the lane and through the gate, and the parson sprang up joyfully as
Cheriton Lester came towards him.
"Well, my boy--well? So here you are, back at last. And how are you?"
"Oh, I am very well--quite well now," said Cheriton.
And indeed, though the figure was still very slight, the hand he held
eagerly out still over-white and thin, the colour too bright and
variable for perfect health and strength, he looked full of life and
spirits, overjoyed, as he said, to find himself at home again.
"Oh, yes, Alvar is here, of course, and we started together; but we met
Virginia in the lane, and then--I thought I would come and find you.
How lovely it all looks!"
"Ah, more to your taste than Mentone?"
Cherry laughed. "My taste was always a prejudiced one," he said; "but
Mr Stanforth and I were very jolly at Mentone, especially when Jack
joined us. How did Alvar get on up here by himself at Christmas?"
"He got on very well _here_--if by here you mean Elderthwaite. As for
Oakby, he attended all the dinners and suppers and meetings and
institutions like a hero. But I suspect he and his tenants still look
on one another from a respectful distance."
"All, they won't be able to resist him next week, he'll look so
picturesque in his yeomanry uniform. We shall have a grand meeting."
"The volunteers keep the ground, I understand?" said the parson.
"Yes, myself included. There doesn't seem to be much for them to do,
and they wished me to come very much. Then, you know, we have had a
grand explanation about Jack's affairs, and granny and Nettie have got
Gipsy with them; so Sir John found out that the pictures wanted Mr
Stanforth, and he is coming down. Then Jack couldn't resist, and
managed to get a couple of days' leave. So the only thing to wish for
is fine weather. But I am not forgetting," continued Cherry, in a
different tone, "that _here_ you have all had a good deal of trouble."
"Well," said the parson, "it was a great break up and turn out; and I'm
bound to own your brother was a great help in getting through it.
Julia, she is gone off to Bath, and writes as if she liked it; and I was
very glad that Virginia should stay here with me for the present. Mr
Wilson has taken the place for his son, and it is being put in order.
But all in the old style, you know, Cherry," said the parson, with a
wink, "no vulgar modernisms."
"Fred Wilson's a very nice fellow," said Cherry.
He had sat down on the wall by the parson, and now, after a pause, began
abruptly,--
"I saw Dr A--again as we came through London. He says that I am much
better; indeed, there is nothing absolutely the matter with me. I
haven't got disease of the lungs, though of course there is a tendency
to it, and I shall always be liable to bad attacks of cold. He says I
should be better for some definite occupation, partly out of doors. He
does not think London would suit me, but this sort of bracing air might
do better than a softer one, as I was born here, except perhaps for a
month or two in the winter. I _may_ get much stronger, he thinks, or--
But it was a very good account to get, wasn't it?"
"Yes, my lad, I'm glad to hear it--as far as it goes," said the parson,
looking intently at him. Cheriton looked away with deepening colour,
and said, rather formally,--
"I thought that I ought to tell you all this, sir, because I have never
yet felt justified in referring to what I asked Virginia to tell you
last year. But my wishes remain the same, and if you think with such
doubtful health I could be of any service to you or to the place--I--I
should like to try it."
"Why, if you have your health, you might do better than be my curate,"
said the parson.
"But I won't exemplify a certain proverb! In short," said Cherry,
looking up and speaking in a more natural manner, "if you'll have me,
parson, I'll come."
"And suppose I say I won't have you?"
"Then I should have to ask the bishop to find me another curacy," said
Cheriton. "I have quite made up my mind; even if I could follow the
career I once looked forward to, which is impossible, I should not wish
it. I've had some trouble, only _one_ thing has made it bearable. I
should, like to help others to find that out. But I want to help my old
neighbours most. I made up my mind with this place chiefly in my
thoughts. I care for it, for many reasons. But nothing now would
induce me to change my intention of taking orders if I have the health
to carry it out."
An odd sort of struggle was evident in the old parson's weather-beaten
face.
"They'd work him to death in some fine church at a watering-place, with
music and sermons, and all sorts of services," he muttered to himself.
"Yes; I don't think that that would suit me as well as Elderthwaite."
"Then, my lad," said the parson, with some dignity, "I will have you.
And, Cherry, I--I _understand_ you. I know that you have stood by me,
ever since you dusted out the old church for the bishop."
"That's just what I want to do now!" said Cherry. "Thank you; you have
made me very happy. There are Alvar and Queenie," and with a hearty
squeeze of the hand he started up and went to meet them. The parson
remained behind, and as Cheriton moved away from him he lifted his rusty
old felt hat for a moment, and said emphatically,--
"I'm an old sinner!"
The morning of the Yeomanry Review dawned fair and bright, and brought
crowds together to the wide stretch of moorland above Ashrigg, where the
review was to take place. Whitsuntide was a time to make holiday, and
half Oakby and Elderthwaite was there to see. The only drawback was
that Virginia's mourning was still too deep to admit of her sharing in
so large a county gathering, for which she cared the less, as Alvar, in
his blue and silver, mounted on the best horse in the Oakby stables, and
looking as splendid as a knight of romance, rode round by the vicarage
to show himself to her.
But Parson Seyton was present in a new black coat and a very conspicuous
white tie, mounted, he assured Cheriton, to do credit to his future
curate.
Cheriton himself appeared in the grey and green to which he had once
been enthusiastically devoted, and which was now worn for the last time
before he began his preparation for the autumn ordination. In the
meantime he could stay at Oakby, while Uplands was being made habitable,
and could begin to feel his way among the Elderthwaite people, while
Virginia was still there to help him, for she and Alvar meant to be
married quietly in the summer.
But the happiest of all happy creatures on that bright morning, was
perhaps Gipsy Stanforth, as she sat with Nettie and Sir John and Lady
Hubbard, while Jack was on horseback near at hand. The two young ladies
excited much interest, for it was Miss Lester's first appearance on
leaving school, and people had begun to say that she was a great beauty,
as she sat perfectly dressed and perfectly behaved, her handsome face
with its pure colouring and fine outline as impassive "as if," thought
Dick Seyton, "she had never seen a hay-loft in her life."
Gipsy, on the other hand, could not help sparkling and beaming at every
pleasant sight and sound. This was Jack's world, and it was such a
splendid one, and every one was so kind to her; for Nettie, though she
secretly thought Gipsy rather too clever, knew how to behave to her
brother's betrothed. Gipsy could not keep her tongue still in her happy
exultation, and very amusing were her remarks and comments, till, if
people came up to the carriage to look at Miss Lester, they frequently
remained to talk to Miss Stanforth.
Her father was in another carriage with the rest of the Hubbard party,
enjoying the brilliant scene perhaps more than any one present, since no
quaint incident, and no picturesque combination escaped his keen and
kindly notice.
"Nettie looks like coming out sheep-farming in Australia in that swell
get-up, doesn't she?" said Bob to Jack, as they had drawn off to a
little distance together.
"She doesn't look like it," said Jack; "but if she set her mind to that
or to anything else, she would do it."
"Oh," said Bob, "it's all nonsense. I sha'n't marry out there. I
shouldn't like a colonial girl; but I shall come home in a few years'
time, and look about me. Nettie will be married before then, I hope, in
a proper way. I hope you'll all be very careful about her
acquaintances."
"Well, we'll try," said Jack, smiling. "She will have Virginia to go
about with."
"Yes, I like Virginia. She'll do Alvar good," said Bob,
condescendingly. "And I like Gipsy too, Jack; she's very jolly."
"Thank you," said Jack, "she is."
"I suppose you'll be a master in a school somewhere when I get back, and
Cherry will be a parson. Well, he'll make a very good one."
"Yes," said Jack, shortly. He did not like discussions as to Cherry's
future; it hung, in his eyes, by too slender a thread.
"Good heavens!" cried Bob, suddenly, "look there!"
Sir John Hubbard had left his carriage, and his young horses, which had
been already excited by the numbers and the noise; frightened by some
sudden chance movement among the crowd, no one could tell what--the bark
of a dog, the sudden crossing of an old woman with a tray of
ginger-beer--shied so violently that the coachman, who was holding the
reins loosely, was thrown off the box, the horses dashed forward down
the hillside, towards an abrupt descent and break in the ground, at the
bottom of which ran a little stony brook.
Jack and Bob were far behind, and even as they spurred forward they felt
it would be all in vain; while Nettie, springing on to the front seat,
tried to climb up and reach the reins; but they swung far beyond her
reach. She looked on and saw all the danger, saw the rough descent
ahead, heard the cries of horror on all sides, saw too, one of the
yeomanry officers gallop at headlong speed towards them, dash in between
them and the bank, and seize the reins. A violent jolt and jerk, as the
horses were thrown back on their haunches, and she recognised Alvar, as
he was flung off his own horse and down the bank by the shock and the
struggle, as other hands forced the carriage back from its deadly peril,
and Jack, dashing up, his face white as marble, dismounted and caught
the trembling Gipsy in his arms.
Nettie heeded none of them; she sprang out and down the bank, and in a
moment was kneeling by Alvar's side, who lay senseless. She had lifted
his head and unfastened his collar, before her brothers were beside her.
"No, no; I'll do it," she cried, pushing Jack's hand aside.
"Hush, Nettie, nonsense; let us lift him up. Get some water."
There were a few moments of exceeding terror, how few they never could
believe, as they carried Alvar to smooth ground, and tried to revive
him, before he opened his eyes, looked round, and after a minute or two,
said faintly,--
"What has happened? Ah--I remember," trying to sit up. "Are they
safe?"
"Yes--yes--but you? Oh, Alvar, are you killed?" cried Nettie.
"No, no," said Alvar, "my arm is hurt a little. I think it is
sprained--it is nothing. Do not let Cherry be frightened."
"I never thought of him!" said Jack. "Oh, he won't know anything of
it--he is not here. You are sure your arm is not broken?"
"No. Ah, there he is! Help me up, Jack! Cherry, it is nothing."
Cheriton, who had been considerately summoned with the news of a
dreadful accident, but they hoped Mr Lester was not killed, was
speechless with mingled terror and relief. He knelt down by Alvar's
side, and took his hand, hardly caring to ask a question as to how the
accident had come about; but now Sir John Hubbard's voice broke in,--
"I never saw such a splendid thing in my life, never--the greatest
gallantry and presence of mind! A moment later and they would have been
over! My dear fellow, I owe you more than I can say--Lady Hubbard, and
your own sister, and Jack's pretty little Gipsy--my horses starting off
in that way. I can never thank you--never. I couldn't have believed
it. And I thought it was all over with you!"
"I am not seriously hurt, sir," said Alvar, sitting up, "and there was
nothing else to be done; it is not worth your thanks."
"Is not it?" cried Mr Stanforth, unable to restrain himself. "More
thanks than can be spoken."
"I'll accept them all for him," said Cheriton, looking up, his face full
of triumph; while Nettie, hitherto steady, broke down, to her own
disgust, into sobs.
"I'm not frightened--no!" she said, as Gipsy tried to soothe her. "But
I thought he wasn't worth anything--and _he is_!"
"Come," said Sir John, "we must not have any more heroics, and the hero
must go home and rest--to Ashrigg, I mean. And you too, Cherry, go and
look after him; here's your grandmother's carriage, while I see if my
horses are fit to be trusted with the ladies."
Alvar was still dizzy and shaken, though he said that the hurt to his
arm was a trifle, and now stood up and inquired after his horse, which
had been caught by a bystander, and was unhurt. Sir John's coachman had
also escaped with some severe bruises; and there was a general move.
Jack, seeing Gipsy with her father, followed his brothers, anxious about
them both, and overflowing with gratitude towards Alvar for his
darling's safety.
But as they turned to drive away they were obliged to cross the ground,
and there rose from all sides such a thundering shout as threatened a
repetition of the former danger; yeomanry, volunteers, and spectators,
all joining in such an outburst of enthusiasm as had never echoed over
Ashrigg Moors before. Their driver pulled up in the centre of the field
with the obvious information,--
"They're cheering, sir; it's for you." Alvar stood up, with his hand on
Jack's shoulder, and bowed with a grace and self-possession from which
his pale face and hastily extemporised sling did not detract, and which
his brothers--agitated, and ashamed of their agitation, were far from
rivalling, as Jack desired the driver to "get on quick," and Cheriton
bent down his head, quivering in every nerve under the wonderful
influence of that unanimous shout.
Some hours later, as Alvar lay on a sofa at Ashrigg, resting in
preparation for the public dinner at Hazelby, for which every one had
declared he _must_ be well enough, the doctor included, he looked at
Cherry, who sat near him, and said, with a smile,--"_Cherito mio_, I
think they would all have grieved for me--the twins and all--if I had
been killed. They would have been sorry for me--now."
"Don't--don't talk of it. Of course they would," said Cherry, with a
shudder.
"Ah! I fear you will dream of it, as you used of the mountain at Ronda.
It will hurt you more than it has hurt me."
"No," said Cherry; "but if we had lost you! We can hardly believe yet
that we have you safe."
"But," said Alvar, with unusual persistency, "then _you_ would have been
the squire, after all. Ah! I am cruel to hurt you; but, Cheriton,
_once_ they would not have grieved."
Cheriton could not command an answer, and Alvar quitted the subject; but
the unmistakable affection showed to him at last by his brothers and
sister healed the old wounds as nothing else would have done.
No one would own that the fright and agitation demanded a quiet evening,
and the ladies all repaired to Hazelby, to sit in the gallery at the
Town-hall to hear the speeches, Mrs Lester, who had happily not been
present in the morning, accompanying them; and Jack, going to fetch
Virginia, and after overwhelming her with the story of the alarm,
assuring her that she _must_ come and hear Alvar's health drunk. Sir
John Hubbard intended it should be done.
And so, when the usual toasts were over, old Sir John rose, and, full of
compunction for past prejudices, and of gratitude for what Alvar had
done for him, said that this was really the first public occasion they
had had of welcoming Mr Lester among them; spoke of his father's
merits, of the difficulty a stranger might have in accommodating himself
to their north-country fashions; touched lightly and gracefully on the
reason of Alvar's recent absence, and their pleasure in welcoming back
again "one long known and loved," and how much was owing to the elder
brother's care; hinted how Alvar had won "one of the best of their
county prizes;" and then, out of the fulness of his heart, thanked him
for his heroic behaviour in saving the life of Lady Hubbard, and himself
from an irreparable loss, and, moreover, a frightful sense of
responsibility.
Then Alvar's health was drunk with all the honours, and it was long
before the enthusiasm subsided sufficiently to allow him to reply.
He stood up, in his unusual height and dignity, and said, slowly and
simply, "I thank you _much_, gentlemen. Sir John Hubbard need not thank
me for rescuing my sister, and the betrothed of my brother. I was at
hand, and of the danger I did not think." ("No, no; of course not,"
cried a voice.) "I have been a stranger, but I have no other country but
England now, and it is my wish to be your friend and your neighbour, as
my father was. I will endeavour to fill his place to my tenants; but I
am ignorant, and have little skill. I think it is not perhaps permitted
to me to name the one who will most help me in future, one of whom I am
all unworthy. But there is another, who has always given me love, whom
I love most dearly, as I think you do also. My brother Cheriton has
taught me how to be an English squire."
And among all those who cheered Alvar's speech, the voice that was
raised the loudest was Edward Fleming's.
The next morning Cheriton went alone along the path from Oakby to
Elderthwaite. His great wish was granted; his father's place would be
worthily filled. Alvar would never be a nobody in the county again,
would never seem again out of place as their head. All old sores were
healing, all were turning out well--how much better than he could ever
have hoped!
Even for hopeless Elderthwaite things looked hopeful; and Cheriton's
quick and kindly thoughts turned to his share in the work of mending
them. "If I may," he thought, "but if not, I think I shall never fear
for any one or any place again."
Too much, perhaps, for the impetuous spirit to promise for itself; but
come what might, those who loved Cheriton Lester had little cause to
fear for the real welfare of one who loved them so well and looked
upward so steadily.