“Ah! folly! for it lies so far away,
’Twere all as one to fix our Hopes in Heaven
As on this vision of a golden year.”
TENNYSON.
And now to explain the last chapter.
The hard winter passed by; a mild spring and early summer promised a
good harvest, and the bad times were beginning to be spoken of as a
thing of the past, not of the present. The exertions of the richer
inhabitants of Holywell and its neighbourhood had not been fruitless.
There had been suffering undoubtedly, but sympathy had given to the
sufferers the power of patience, and help had borne many an industrious
family healthily and harmlessly through the time of trial.
When the necessity for his presence was at an end, and things were
returning to their usual train, Lionel Vane took to his old habit of
making excursions. At first he disappeared now and then for a week.
Then he went for three weeks to London; and finally, in the latter end
of April, he went abroad for a month. Whether restlessness had grown
a habit, or whether something caused his restlessness, could not be
known. He usually departed without notice, or with only a mention of
his departure and a farewell to Ida.
Lord Ashford and Sir William were disappointed. Violet was less
surprised. She saw his mind was active, but also saw that in spite of
some restlessness he had perseverance in any object that he undertook.
She admired many of his qualities, and, making allowances, did not
think it very wonderful that a young man whose mind _was_ active should
like change, and should hope to enlarge the sphere for his abilities
before he settled down.
Ida made no remarks, and expressed neither surprise nor regrets. Her
position was difficult, but she endured it with singular modesty and
grace; never by look or sign reminding him of her claims upon him, nor
by over-consciousness giving to his simple attentions undue meaning.
She considered herself betrothed to him until he released her, and her
betrothment being of the heart as well as the promise, she found no
difficulty in submitting to his variable conduct and many caprices.
Violet wondered at her patience, and though not much surprised that
Lionel was dilatory in claiming what he knew to be his own, she was
often provoked with him for the delay.
At the end of May, after his short tour abroad, Lionel returned, and it
seemed with the intention of making a stay, for he began to talk to Ida
of the feast he intended to give.
“Now that the hard times are over, you know, Ida, we should rejoice a
little; and then there has never been any notice taken of the great
event of my coming of age, and then....”
He paused in his rapid speech, moved a few steps, and stooped to pick
up a daisy; for it was on the grass in the garden at Boscombe that the
conversation took place. Ida was working under a tree.
She trembled and turned pale. Something peculiar in his manner made her
think that the topic, unmentioned by his lips for five years, was about
thus abruptly to be brought forward.
In a moment, however, having picked the daisy and examined it, he threw
it away, and said gaily as he returned to her--
“I suppose there is no great need to think of reasons for a feast. The
poor souls will accept it without good reasons, I daresay. I shall want
your help, Ida. There must be a feast for the school and games, and
then I should like a regular system of prizes to be established. They
have never had prizes at Holywell, I think.”
“Only the few Violet gives to the singers.”
“I know. It was _that_ made me think of them. You must consider what
I shall give. Whether bibles and prayer-books, or garments, or some
useful thing.”
“I suppose I had better consult with Violet.”
“Yes. And then the almshouse people, I want to give them some bit of
furniture. You should see the Dutch cottages, Ida. I wish the cottages
here could be made Dutch. And then there must be a feast for old
people; above sixty shall we say, or seventy? You must think about that
too. And that will be all that we can do this time, for I am not rich.”
“No, Lionel, I should think not indeed, after all you have done.”
“Ah! but I hope my father will help. I want you to tell him my plans,
and ask him if he will give some assistance.”
“I will if you wish it,” she said reluctantly.
“I do wish it.”
“I will, then.”
And she did.
Lord Ashford was pleased, pleased at any request of Lionel’s sent
through Ida, and pleased in the thought that this feast was the sign of
some impending event.
“Whatever you and Lionel like, my precious, is agreeable to me,” was
his reply.
“It is Lionel,” she said with emphasis, “not me.”
“Ah! well,” pinching her cheek, “you young ones are rum ones. Tell
Master Lionel I will give all the help an empty purse can afford.”
Ida laughed.
“He must be careful, my precious, that is all I mean. He knows as well
as I do that we are not weighed down with gold and silver.”
Ida faithfully delivered her message, and it was given in her father’s
hearing. He immediately said, that as many of his tenants’ children
went to Holywell school, and as one almswoman was from Boscombe, he
thought he might be allowed to contribute; and after some hesitation
and an evident reluctance, Lionel consented.
The day was fixed for the twenty-second of June, which was Lionel’s
birthday, and he began to make his preparations.
Whatever gifts he had not, Lionel certainly had the gift of interesting
others in anything he undertook to do; and of swaying others to his
will when he chose. Violet had not expected to bear any part in the
proposed rejoicings, and when she first saw that he expected her help,
she did not intend it should be given. “He and Ida were quite enough to
manage the concern,” as she observed to her mother. But notwithstanding
expectations and intentions, she was forced into the affair; and once
forced to be interested, she found her advice and guidance so needful
that she was, as usual, lured on, and ended by helping with all her
might.
The night before the day Lionel called at the cottage to ask her to
come early.
“I would not trouble you, but that we really do need help; and your
help _is_ help.”
Violet never gave herself importance by refusing and then consenting.
When she saw he really wished it she said at once she would go.
“Thank you. You are always good-natured. When I say yours is real help
I was thinking of Miss White. She is such a dolt. Of course she must
help, and I have been to talk to her, but she is so silly and so
helpless. I never can cease to thank you for having spoken the truth
about her.”
“Poor thing!” Violet said gravely. “She is not in her proper place;
that I fear is the history.”
Amy was not higher in Violet’s good books than she had been for the
last two years. It was a painful subject.
“I did not mean to worry you by abusing her,” he said quickly and
earnestly. “Well, thank you, and good night.”
Violet, always fulfilling her promises, always alert and punctual,
knocked at half-past twelve at her father’s door, to ask him to
accompany her, as had been arranged.
He was reading, and he grumbled a little. It was too early; and there
was no need to be so very exact; and the sun was so hot; and the road
was so dusty. As Violet, however, persisted in reminding him that she
had promised, he rose to obey her.
“But these rural feasts are rather tedious, darling, except to those
actively employed; and active employment is unfortunately not to my
taste in this weather. You must be a good girl and let me off pretty
soon.”
“No, indeed, papa,” she said playfully. “Considering that it is Lord
Ashford’s park and Mr. Vane’s feast, I _must_ have my _chaperon_.” For
since the episode with Sir William Hamilton, Violet, to make atonement
for her concealment, had been very discreet in her ways.
“Well, well,” he said grumbling, “if I might take my book I should not
mind; but since it must be so, let us go.” They walked on, and he began
again. “The only thing that will reconcile me to this feast will be if
Lionel Vane makes it the occasion for his proposal. I shall then say it
is good for something.”
“You are still bent on that marriage, papa,” Violet observed. In her
heart she had the same hope.
“I only expect it because Pope tells me it is to be. As far as my eyes
can judge, they see no symptoms of it. But perhaps that is likely to be
the case with cousins. Pope says it is so. If I were asked what I saw,
I should say he was as much, and more, in love with you, darling, than
with Miss Hamilton.”
Violet laughed disdainfully; it provoked her father to say--
“And no bad taste, darling, if he was.”
“Don’t talk so, papa,” she said severely. “I don’t like it.”
“Well, then, let us talk of something else. What a deal of dust, to be
sure!” And he laughed his merry laugh.
Violet remembered Albert’s warning, and felt piqued. Lionel should make
haste and marry Ida; that she determined on the spot: she would not be
exposed to such observations.
Mr. Osborne was right. Violet was more exact than others, and they
were the first to appear. Lionel came next, and was very hearty in
his thanks; and as there was a good deal to be done, he proposed an
immediate beginning. Violet could do nothing with half a heart, and she
set to work eagerly. Mr. Osborne looked on for a time, and then retired
into a tent, begging Violet not to overheat herself.
Amy White and the mistress of the new institution were present and gave
their assistance; but it was Violet who, with Lionel’s help, did the
hard work; who moved the tables out of the fierce sun into the shade,
and carried the crockery from the tents. Amy was prettily dressed,
and being pretty and looking well, was afraid of rapid movements and
cumbersome handfuls. Violet, always neat, and never disordered by her
exertions, worked away, and looked as fresh as a rose while she worked.
Lionel helped with all his might; looking to Violet for advice, yet
endeavouring to guess her wishes that he might spare her the bodily
exercise. He watched her incessantly; now with eager, open looks and
grateful words; now with furtive glances no less grateful, no less
eager; and all the while there was a shadow on his countenance--a cloud
which no eagerness in his business, and no bodily exertions dispersed.
The next to appear were Sir William Hamilton and Ida. She had been
fretting under their delay; but Sir William, though so public a scene
was very distasteful to him, thought it necessary to accompany his
daughter, and had walked with his usual stately and leisurely pace.
“Who is that?” he asked, as they joined the groups who were busily
occupied.
“That, papa?” said Ida in surprise. “Why, it is Miss White, the
schoolmistress. Have you never seen her before?”
“I never remarked her to my knowledge. She is a very pretty young
woman.”
“Yes,” Ida said hesitatingly. “She is quite a lady you know, poor
thing.”
“Yes, I remember. She looks like a lady.”
“Oh! Violet,” Ida said regretfully, as she left her father with Mr.
Osborne. “How late I am! and how have you got on?”
“But there is plenty to do, Ida,” said Lionel. “I wish you would help
Miss White to cut the cakes;” adding, in a low voice, “She _will_ cut
thin ladies’ bits, and the poor children will be imposed upon.”
He accompanied her to a tent and stood with her for some time, giving
instructions for the proper cut. He then returned to the table which
Violet was setting out and assisted her.