Towards the evening of the following day, Randal Leslie walked slowly
from a village in the main road (about two miles from Rood Hall), at
which he had got out of the coach. He passed through meads and
cornfields, and by the skirts of woods which had formerly belonged to his
ancestors, but had been long since alienated. He was alone amidst the
haunts of his boyhood, the scenes in which he had first invoked the grand
Spirit of Knowledge, to bid the Celestial Still One minister to the
commands of an earthly and turbulent ambi tion. He paused often in his
path, especially when the undulations of the ground gave a glimpse of the
gray church tower, or the gloomy firs that rose above the desolate wastes
of Rood.
"Here," thought Randal, with a softening eye,--"here, how often,
comparing the fertility of the lands passed away from the inheritance of
my fathers, with the forlorn wilds that are left to their mouldering
Hall,--here how often have I said to myself, 'I will rebuild the fortunes
of my House.' And straightway Toil lost its aspect of drudge, and grew
kingly, and books became as living armies to serve my thought. Again--
again O thou haughty Past, brace and strengthen me in the battle with the
Future." His pale lips writhed as he soliloquized, for his conscience
spoke to him while he thus addressed his will, and its voice was heard
more audibly in the quiet of the rural landscape, than amidst the turmoil
and din of that armed and sleepless camp which we call a city.
Doubtless, though Ambition have objects more vast and beneficent than the
restoration of a name, that in itself is high and chivalrous, and appeals
to a strong interest in the human heart. But all emotions and all ends
of a nobler character had seemed to filter themselves free from every
golden grain in passing through the mechanism of Randal's intellect, and
came forth at last into egotism clear and unalloyed. Nevertheless, it is
a strange truth that, to a man of cultivated mind, however perverted and
vicious, there are vouchsafed gleams of brighter sentiments, irregular
perceptions of moral beauty, denied to the brutal unreasoning wickedness
of uneducated villany,--which perhaps ultimately serve as his punishment,
according to the old thought of the satirist, that there is no greater
curse than to perceive virtue yet adopt vice. And as the solitary
schemer walked slowly on, and his childhood--innocent at least indeed--
came distinct before him through the halo of bygone dreams,--dreams far
purer than those from which he now rose each morning to the active world
of Man,--a profound melancholy crept over him, and suddenly he exclaimed
aloud, "Then I aspired to be renowned and great; now, how is it that, so
advanced in my career, all that seemed lofty in the end has vanished from
me, and the only means that I contemplate are those which my childhood
would have called poor and vile? Ah, is it that I then read but books,
and now my knowledge has passed onward, and men contaminate more than
books? But," he continued, in a lower voice, as if arguing with himself,
"if power is only so to be won,--and of what use is knowledge if it be
not power--does not success in life justify all things? And who prizes
the wise man if he fails?" He continued his way, but still the soft
tranquillity around rebuked him, and still his reason was dissatisfied,
as well as his conscience. There are times when Nature, like a bath of
youth, seems to restore to the jaded soul its freshness,--times from
which some men have emerged, as if reborn. The crises of life are very
silent. Suddenly the scene opened on Randal Leslie's eyes,--the bare
desert common, the dilapidated church, the old house, partially seen in
the dank dreary hollow, into which it seemed to Randal to have sunken
deeper and lowlier than when he saw it last. And on the common were some
young men playing at hockey. That old-fashioned game, now very uncommon
in England, except at schools, was still preserved in the primitive
vicinity of Rood by the young yeomen and farmers. Randal stood by the
stile and looked on, for among the players he recognized his brother
Oliver. Presently the ball was struck towards Oliver, and the group
instantly gathered round that young gentleman, and snatched him from
Randal's eye; but the elder brother heard a displeasing din, a derisive
laughter. Oliver had shrunk from the danger of the thick clubbed sticks
that plied around him, and received some stroke across the legs, for his
voice rose whining, and was drowned by shouts of, "Go to your mammy.
That's Noll Leslie all over. Butter shins!"
Randal's sallow face became scarlet. "The jest of boors--a Leslie!" he
muttered, and ground his teeth. He sprang over the stile, and walked
erect and haughtily across the ground. The players cried out
indignantly. Randal raised his hat, and they recognized him, and stopped
the game. For him at least a certain respect was felt. Oliver turned
round quickly, and ran up to him. Randal caught his arm firmly, and
without saying a word to the rest, drew him away towards the house.
Oliver cast a regretful, lingering look behind him, rubbed his shins, and
then stole a timid glance towards Randal's severe and moody countenance.
"You are not angry that I was playing at hockey with our neighbours,"
said he, deprecatingly, observing that Randal would not break the
silence.
"No," replied the elder brother; "but in associating with his inferiors,
a gentleman still knows how to maintain his dignity. There is no harm in
playing with inferiors, but it is necessary to a gentleman to play so
that he is not the laughing-stock of clowns."
Oliver hung his head, and made no answer. They came into the slovenly
precincts of the court, and the pigs stared at them from the palings, as
their progenitors had stared, years before, at Frank Hazeldean.
Mr. Leslie, senior, in a shabby straw-hat, was engaged in feeding the
chickens before the threshold, and he performed even that occupation with
a maundering lack-a-daisical slothfulness, dropping down the grains
almost one by one from his inert dreamy fingers.
Randal's sister, her hair still and forever hanging about her ears, was
seated on a rush-bottom chair, reading a tattered novel; and from the
parlour window was heard the querulous voice of Mrs. Leslie, in high
fidget and complaint.
Somehow or other, as the young heir to all this helpless poverty stood in
the courtyard, with his sharp, refined, intelligent features, and his
strange elegance of dress and aspect, one better comprehended how, left
solely to the egotism of his knowledge and his ambition, in such a
family, and without any of the sweet nameless lessons of Home, he had
grown up into such close and secret solitude of soul,--how the mind had
taken so little nutriment from the heart, and how that affection and
respect which the warm circle of the heart usually calls forth had passed
with him to the graves of dead fathers, growing, as it were, bloodless
and ghoul-like amidst the charnels on which they fed.
"Ha, Randal, boy," said Mr. Leslie, looking up lazily, "how d' ye do?
Who could have expected you? My dear, my dear," he cried, in a broken
voice, and as if in helpless dismay, "here's Randal, and he'll be wanting
dinner, or supper, or something." But, in the mean while, Randal's
sister Juliet had sprung up and thrown her arms round her brother's neck,
and he had drawn her aside caressingly, for Randal's strongest human
affection was for this sister.
"You are growing very pretty, Juliet," said he, smoothing back her hair;
"why do yourself such injustice,--why not pay more attention to your
appearance, as I have so often begged you to do?"
"I did not expect you, dear Randal; you always come so suddenly, and
catch us /en dish-a-bill/."
"Dish-a-bill!" echoed Randal, with a groan. "Dishabille! you ought never
to be so caught!"
"No one else does so catch us,--nobody else ever comes. Heigho!" and the
young lady sighed very heartily. "Patience, patience; my day is coming,
and then yours, my sister," replied Randal, with genuine pity, as he
gazed upon what a little care could have trained into so fair a flower,
and what now looked so like a weed.
Here Mrs. Leslie, in a state of intense excitement--having rushed through
the parlour, leaving a fragment of her gown between the yawning brass of
the never-mended Brummagem work-table--tore across the hall, whirled out
of the door, scattering the chickens to the right and left, and clutched
hold of Randal in her motherly embrace. "La, how you do shake my
nerves," she cried, after giving him a most hasty and uncomfortable kiss.
"And you are hungry too, and nothing in the house but cold mutton!
Jenny, Jenny, I say, Jenny! Juliet, have you seen Jenny? Where's Jenny?
Out with the odd man, I'll be bound."
"I am not hungry, Mother," said Randal; "I wish for nothing but tea."
Juliet, scrambling up her hair, darted into the house to prepare the tea,
and also to "tidy herself." She dearly loved her fine brother, but she
was greatly in awe of him.
Randal seated himself on the broken pales. "Take care they don't come
down," said Mr. Leslie, with some anxiety.
"Oh, Sir, I am very light; nothing comes down with me." The pigs stared
up, and grunted in amaze at the stranger. "Mother," said the young man,
detaining Mrs. Leslie, who wanted to set off in chase of Jenny, "Mother,
you should not let Oliver associate with those village boors. It is time
to think of a profession for him."
"Oh, he eats us out of house and home--such an appetite! But as to a
profession, what is he fit for? He will never be a scholar."
Randal nodded a moody assent; for, indeed, Oliver had been sent to
Cambridge, and supported there out of Randal's income from his official
pay; and Oliver had been plucked for his Little Go.
"There is the army," said the elder brother,--" a gentleman's calling.
How handsome Juliet ought to be--but--I left money for masters--and she
pronounces French like a chambermaid."
"Yet she is fond of her book too. She's always reading, and good for
nothing else."
"Reading! those trashy novels!"
"So like you,--you always come to scold, and make things unpleasant,"
said Mrs. Leslie, peevishly. "You are grown too fine for us, and I am
sure we suffer affronts enough from others, not to want a little respect
from our own children."
"I did not mean to affront you," said Randal, sadly. "Pardon me. But
who else has done so?"
Then Mrs. Leslie went into a minute and most irritating catalogue of all
the mortifications and insults she had received; the grievances of a
petty provincial family, with much pretension and small power,--of all
people, indeed, without the disposition to please--without the ability to
serve--who exaggerate every offence, and are thankful for no kindness.
Farmer Jones had insolently refused to send his wagon twenty miles for
coals. Mr. Giles, the butcher, requesting the payment of his bill, had
stated that the custom at Rood was too small for him to allow credit.
Squire Thornhill, who was the present owner of the fairest slice of the
old Leslie domains, had taken the liberty to ask permission to shoot over
Mr. Leslie's land, since Mr. Leslie did not preserve. Lady Spratt (new
people from the city, who hired a neighbouring country-seat) had taken a
discharged servant of Mrs. Leslie's without applying for the character.
The Lord-Lieutenant had given a ball, and had not invited the Leslies.
Mr. Leslie's tenants had voted against their landlord's wish at the
recent election. More than all, Squire Hazeldean and his Harry had
called at Rood, and though Mrs. Leslie had screamed out to Jenny, "Not at
home," she had been seen at the window, and the squire had actually
forced his way in, and caught the whole family "in a state not fit to be
seen." That was a trifle, but the squire had presumed to instruct Mr.
Leslie how to manage his property, and Mrs. Hazeldean had actually told
Juliet to hold up her head, and tie up her hair, "as if we were her
cottagers!" said Mrs. Leslie, with the pride of a Montfydget.
All these, and various other annoyances, though Randal was too sensible
not to perceive their insignificance, still galled and mortified the
listening heir of Rood. They showed, at least, even to the well-meant
officiousness of the Hazeldeans, the small account in which the fallen
family was held. As he sat still on the moss-grown pales, gloomy and
taciturn, his mother standing beside him, with her cap awry, Mr. Leslie
shamblingly sauntered up, and said in a pensive, dolorous whine,
"I wish we had a good sum of money, Randal, boy!"
To do Mr. Leslie justice, he seldom gave vent to any wish that savoured
of avarice. His mind must be singularly aroused, to wander out of its
normal limits of sluggish, dull content.
So Randal looked at him in surprise, and said, "Do you, Sir?---why?"
"The manors of Rood and Dulmansberry, and all the lands therein, which my
great-grandfather sold away, are to be sold again when Squire Thornhill's
eldest son comes of age, to cut off the entail. Sir John Spratt talks of
buying them. I should like to have them back again! 'T is a shame to
see the Leslie estates hawked about, and bought by Spratts and people.
I wish I had a great, great sum of ready money." The poor gentleman
extended his helpless fingers as he spoke, and fell into a dejected
revery.
Randal sprang from the paling, a movement which frightened the
contemplative pigs, and set them off squalling and scampering. "When
does young Thornhill come of age?"
"He was nineteen last August. I know it, because the day he was born I
picked up my fossil of the sea-horse, just by Dulmansberry church, when
the joy-bells were ringing. My fossil sea-horse! It will be an
heirloom, Randal--"
"Two years--nearly two years--yet--ah, ah!" said Randal; and his sister
now appearing, to announce that tea was ready, he threw his arm round her
neck and kissed her. Juliet had arranged her hair and trimmed up her
dress. She looked very pretty, and she had now the air of a
gentlewoman,--something of Randal's own refinement in her slender
proportions and well-shaped head.
"Be patient, patient still, my dear sister," whispered Randal, "and keep
your heart whole for two years longer." The young man was gay and good-
humoured over his simple meal, while his family grouped round him. When
it was over, Mr. Leslie lighted his pipe, and called for his brandy-and-
water. Mrs. Leslie began to question about London and Court, and the new
king and the new queen, and Mr. Audley Egerton, and hoped Mr. Egerton
would leave Randal all his money, and that Randal would marry a rich
woman, and that the king would make him a prime minister one of these
days; and then she should like to see if Farmer Jones would refuse to
send his wagon for coals! And every now and then, as the word "riches"
or "money" caught Mr. Leslie's ears, he shook his head, drew his pipe
from his mouth, "A Spratt should not have what belonged to my great-
great-grandfather. If I had a good sum of ready money! the old family
estates!" Oliver and Juliet sat silent, and on their good behaviour; and
Randal, indulging his own reveries, dreamily heard the words "money,"
"Spratt," "great-great-grandfather," "rich wife," "family estates;" and
they sounded to him vague and afar off, like whispers from the world of
romance and legend,--weird prophecies of things to be.
Such was the hearth which warmed the viper that nestled and gnawed at the
heart of Randal, poisoning all the aspirations that youth should have
rendered pure, ambition lofty, and knowledge beneficent and divine.