Lady Tintern was pleased to leave Paddington by a much earlier
train than could have been expected. She hired a fly, and a pair of
broken-kneed horses, at Brawnton, and once more took her relations
at Hewelscourt by surprise. On this occasion, however, she was not
fortunate enough to find her invalid niece at play in the stable-yard,
though she detected her at luncheon, and warmly congratulated her upon
her robust appearance and her excellent appetite.
Her journey had, no doubt, been undertaken with the very intentions
Sarah had described; but another motive also prompted her, which Sarah
had not divined.
Much as she desired to marry her grand-niece to Lord Avonwick, she
was not blind to the young man's personal disadvantages, which were
undeniable; and which Peter had rudely summed up in a word by alluding
to his rival as an ass. He was distinguished among the admirers of
Miss Sarah's red and white beauty by his brainlessness no less than by
his eligibility.
Nevertheless, Lady Tintern had favoured his suit. She knew him to be a
good fellow, although he was a simpleton, and she was very sure that
he loved Sarah sincerely.
"Whoever the girl marries, she will rule him with a rod of iron. She
had better marry a fool and be done with it. So why not an eligible
and titled and good-natured fool?" the old lady had written to Mrs.
Hewel, who was very far from understanding such reasoning, and wept
resentfully over the letter.
Why should Lady Tintern snatch her only daughter away from her in
order to marry her to a fool? Mrs. Hewel was of opinion that a
sensible young man like Peter would be a better match. She supposed
nobody would call Sir Peter Crewys of Barracombe a fool; and as for
his being young, he was only a few months younger than Lord Avonwick,
and Sarah would have just as pretty a title, even if her husband were
only a baronet instead of a baron. Thus she argued to herself, and
wrote the gist of her argument to her aunt. Why was Sarah to go
hunting the highways and byways for titled fools, when there was Peter
at her very door,--a young man she had known all her life, and one of
the oldest families in Devon, and seven thousand acres of land only
next week, when he would come of age, and could marry whomever he
liked? Though, of course, Sarah must not go against her aunt, who
had promised to do so much for her, and given her so many beautiful
things, whether young girls ought to wear jewellery or not.
This was the distracted letter which was bringing Lady Tintern to
Hewelscourt. She had been annoyed with Sarah for refusing Lord
Avonwick, and thought it would do the rebellious young lady no harm to
return for a time to the bosom of her family, and thus miss Newmarket,
which Sarah particularly desired to attend, since no society function
interested her half so much as racing.
The old lady had not in the least objected to Sarah's friendship for
young Sir Peter Crewys. Sarah, as John had truly said, was a star with
many satellites; and among those satellites Peter did not shine with
any remarkable brilliancy, being so obviously an awkward country-bred
lad, not at home in the surroundings to which her friendship had
introduced him, and rather inclined to be surly and quarrelsome than
pleasant or agreeable.
Lady Tintern had not taken such a boy's attentions to her grand-niece
seriously; but if Sarah were taking them seriously, she thought she
had better inquire into the matter at once. Therefore the energetic
old woman not only arrived unexpectedly at Hewelscourt in the middle
of luncheon, but routed her niece off her sofa early in the afternoon,
and proposed that she should immediately cross the river and call upon
Peter's mother.
"I have never seen the place except from these windows; perhaps I am
underrating it," said Lady Tintern. "I've never met Lady Mary Crewys,
though I know all the Setouns that ever were born. Never mind who
ought to call on me first! What do I care for such nonsense? The boy
is a cub and a bear--_that_ I know--since he stayed in my house for a
fortnight, and never spoke to me if he could possibly help it. He is a
nobody! Sir Peter Fiddlesticks! Who ever heard of him or his family, I
should like to know, outside this ridiculous place? His name is spelt
wrong! Of course I have heard of Crewys, K.C. Everybody has heard of
him. That has nothing to do with it. Yes, I know the young man did
well in South Africa. All our young men did well in South Africa.
Pray, is Sarah to marry them all? If _that_ is what she is after, the
sooner I take it in hand the better. Lunching by herself on the moors
indeed! No; I am not at all afraid of the ferry, Emily. If you are, I
will go alone, or take your good man."
"The colonel is out shooting, as you know, and won't be back till
tea-time," said Mrs. Hewel, becoming more and more flurried under this
torrent of lively scolding.
"The colonel! Why don't you say Tom? Colonel indeed!" said Lady
Tintern. "Very well, I shall go alone."
But this Mrs. Hewel would by no means allow. She reluctantly abandoned
the effort to dissuade her aunt, put on her visiting things with as
much speed as was possible to her, and finally accompanied her across
the river to pay the proposed visit to Barracombe House.
Lady Mary received her visitors in the banqueting hall, an apartment
which excited Lady Tintern's warmest approval. The old lady dated the
oak carving in the hall, and in the yet more ancient library; named
the artists of the various pictures; criticized the ceilings, and
praised the windows.
Mrs. Hewel feared her outspokenness would offend Lady Mary, but she
could perceive only pleasure and amusement in the face of her hostess,
between whom and the worldly old woman there sprang up a friendliness
that was almost instantaneous.
"And you are like a Cosway miniature yourself, my dear," said Lady
Tintern, peering out of her dark eyes at Lady Mary's delicate white
face. "Eh--the bright colouring must be a little faded--all the
Setouns have pretty complexions--and carmine is a perishable tint, as
we all know."
"Sarah has a brilliant complexion," struck in Mrs. Hewel, zealously
endeavouring to distract her aunt from the personalities in which she
preferred to indulge.
"Sarah looks like a milkmaid, my love," said the old lady, who did
not choose to be interrupted, "And when she can hunt as much as she
wishes, and live the outdoor life she prefers, she will get the
complexion of a boatwoman." She turned to Lady Mary with a gracious
nod. "But _you_ may live out of doors with impunity. Time seems to
leave something better than colouring to a few Heaven-blessed women,
who manage to escape wrinkles, and hardening, and crossness. I
am often cross, and so are younger folk than I; and your boy
Peter--though how he comes to be your boy I don't know--is very often
cross too."
"You have been very kind to Peter," said Lady Mary, laughing. "I am
sorry you found him cross."
"No; I was not kind to him. I am not particularly fond of cross
people," said the old lady. "It is Sarah who has been kind," and she
looked sharply again at Lady Mary.
"I am getting on in years, and very infirm," said Lady Tintern, "and I
must ask you to excuse me if I lean upon a stick; but I should like to
take a turn about the garden with you. I hear you have a remarkable
view from your terrace."
Lady Mary offered her arm with pretty solicitude, and guided her aged
but perfectly active visitor through the drawing-room--where she
stopped to comment favourably upon the water colours--to the terrace,
where John was sitting in the shade of the ilex-tree, absorbed in the
London papers.
Lady Mary introduced him as Peter's guardian and cousin.
"How do you do, Mr. Crewys? Your name is very familiar to me," said
the old lady. "Though to tell you the truth, Sir Peter looks so much
older than his age that I forgot he had a guardian at all."
"He will only have one for a few days longer," said John, smiling. "My
authority will expire very shortly."
"But you are, at any rate, the very man I wanted to see," said Lady
Tintern, who seldom wasted time in preliminaries. "I would always
rather talk business with a man than with a woman; so if Mr. Crewys
will lend me his arm to supplement my stick, I will take a turn with
him instead of with you, my dear, if you have no objection."
"Did you ever hear anything like her?" said poor Mrs. Hewel, turning
to Lady Mary as soon as her aunt was out of hearing. "What Mr. Crewys
must think of her, I cannot guess. She always says she had to exercise
so much reticence as an ambassadress, that she has given her tongue a
holiday ever since. But there is only one possible subject _they_ can
have to talk about. And how can we be sure her interference won't
spoil everything? She is quite capable of asking what Peter's
intentions are. She is the most indiscreet person in the world," said
Sarah's mother, wringing her hands.
"I think _Peter_ has made his intentions pretty obvious," said Lady
Mary. She smiled, but her eyes were anxious.
"And you are sure you don't mind, dear Lady Mary? For who can depend
on Lady Tintern, after all? She is supposed to be going to do so much
for Sarah, but if she takes it into her head to oppose the marriage, I
can do nothing with her. I never could."
"I am very far from minding," said Lady Mary. "But it is Sarah on whom
everything depends. What does she say, I wonder? What does she want?"
"It's no use asking _me_ what Sarah wants," said Mrs. Hewel,
plaintively. "Time after time I have told her father what would come
of it all if he spoilt her so outrageously. He is ready enough to find
fault with the boys, poor fellows, who never do anything wrong; but he
always thinks Sarah perfection, and nothing else."
"Sarah is very fortunate, for Peter has the same opinion of her."
"Fortunate! Lady Mary, if I were to tell you the chances that girl has
had--not but what I had far rather she married Peter--though she might
have done that all the same if she had never left home in her life."
"I am not so sure of that," said Peter's mother.
Lady Tintern's turn took her no further than the fountain garden,
where she sank down upon a bench, and graciously requested her escort
to occupy the vacant space by her side.
"I started at an unearthly hour this morning, and I am not so young as
I was," she said; "but I am particularly desirous of a good night's
rest, and I never can sleep with anything on my mind. So I came over
here to talk business. By-the-by, I should have come over here long
ago, if any one had had the sense to give me a hint that I had only to
cross a muddy stream, in a flat-bottomed boat, in order to see a face
like _that_--" She nodded towards the terrace.
John's colour rose slightly. He put the nod and the smile, and the
sharp glance of the dark eyes together, and perceived that Lady
Tintern had drawn certain conclusions.
"There is some expression in her face," said the old lady, musingly,
"which makes me think of Marie Stuart's farewell to France. I don't
know why. I have odd fancies. I believe the Queen of Scots had hazel
eyes, whereas this pretty Lady Mary has the bluest eyes I ever
saw--quite remarkable eyes."
"Those blue eyes," said John, smiling, "have never looked beyond this
range of hills since Lady Mary's childhood."
The old lady nodded again. "Eh--a State prisoner. Yes, yes. She has
that kind of look." Then she turned to John, with mingled slyness and
humour, "On va changer tout cela?"
"As you have divined," he answered, laughing in spite of himself.
"Though how you have divined it passes my poor powers of
comprehension."
Lady Tintern was pleased. She liked tributes to her intelligence as
other women enjoy recognition of their good looks.
"It is very easy, to an observer," she said. "She is frightened at
her own happiness. Yes, yes. And that cub of a boy would not make it
easier. By-the-by, I came to talk of the boy. You are his guardian?"
"For a week."
"What does it signify for how long? Five minutes will settle my views.
Thank Heaven I did not come later, or I should have had to talk to
him, instead of to a man of sense. You must have seen what is going
on. What do you think of it?"
"The arrangement suits me so admirably," said John, smiling, "that I
am hardly to be relied upon for an impartial opinion."
"Will you tell me his circumstances?"
John explained them in a few words, and with admirable terseness and
lucidity; and she nodded comprehensively all the while.
"That's capital. He can't make ducks and drakes of it. All tied up
on the children. I hope they will have a dozen. It would serve Sarah
right. Now for my side. Whatever sum the trustees decide to settle
upon Sir Peter's wife, I will put down double that sum as Sarah's
dowry. Our solicitors can fight the rest out between them. The
property is much better than I had been given any reason to suspect. I
have no more to say. They can be married in a month. That is settled.
I never linger over business. We may shake hands on it." They did so
with great cordiality. "It is not that I am overjoyed at the match,"
she explained, with great frankness. "I think Sarah is a fool to marry
a boy. But I have observed she is a fool who always knows her own
mind. The fancies of some girls of that age are not worth attending
to."
"Miss Sarah is a young lady of character," said John, gravely.
"Ay, she will settle him," said Lady Tintern. Her small, grim face
relaxed into a witchlike smile.
"The lad is a good lad. No one has ever said a word against him, and
he is as steady as old Time. I believe Miss Sarah's choice, if he is
her choice, will be justified," said John.
"I didn't think he was a murderer or a drunkard," said Lady Tintern,
cheerfully. Her phraseology was often startling to strangers. "But he
is absolutely devoid of--what shall I say? Chivalry? Yes, that is
it. Few young men have much nowadays, I am told. But Sir Peter has
none--absolutely none."
"It will come."
"No, it will not come. It is a quality you are born with or without.
He was born without. Sarah knows all about it. It won't hurt her; she
has the methods of an ox. She goes direct to her point, and tramples
over everything that stands in her way. If he were less thick-skinned
she would be the death of him; but fortunately he has the hide of a
rhinoceros."
"I think you do them both a great deal less than justice," said John;
but he was unable to help laughing.
"Oh, you do, do you? I like to be disagreed with." Her voice shook
a little. "You must make allowances--for an old woman--who
is--disappointed," said Lady Tintern.
John said nothing, but his bright hazel eyes, looking down on the
small, bent figure, grew suddenly gentle and sympathetic.
"It is a pleasure to be able to congratulate somebody," she said,
returning his look. "I congratulate _you_--and Lady Mary."
"Thank you."
"Most of all, because there is nothing modern about her. She has
walked straight out of the Middle Ages, with the face of a saint and a
dreamer and a beautiful woman, all in one. I am an old witch, and I am
never deceived in a woman. Men, I am sorry to say, no longer take the
trouble to deceive me. Now our business is over, will you take me
back?"
She took the arm he offered, and tottered back to the terrace.
"Bring her to see me in London, and bring her as soon as you can,"
said. Lady Tintern. "She is the friend I have dreamed of, and never
met. When is it going to be?"
"At once," said John, calmly.
"You are the most sensible man I have seen for a long time," said Lady
Tintern.
* * * * *
Peter and Sarah hardly exchanged a word during their return journey
from the moors after the unlucky picnic; and at the door of Happy
Jack's cottage in Youlestone village she commanded her obedient swain
to deposit the luncheon basket, and bade him farewell.
The aged road-mender, to his intense surprise and chagrin, had one
morning found himself unable to rise from his bed. He lay there for a
week, indignant with Providence for thus wasting his time.
"There bain't nart the matter wi' I! Then why be I a-farced to lie
thic way?" he said faintly. "If zo be I wor bod, I cude understand,
but I bain't bod. There bain't no pain tu speak on no-wheres. It vair
beats my yunderstanding."
"Tis old age be the matter wi' yu, vather," said his mate, a young
fellow of sixty or so, who lodged with him.
"I bain't nigh so yold as zum," said Happy Jack, peevishly. "Tis a
nice way vor a man tu be tuke, wi'out a thing the matter wi' un, vor
the doctor tu lay yold on."
Dr. Blundell soothed him by giving his illness a name.
"It's Anno Domini, Jack."
"What be that? I niver yeard till on't befar," he said suspiciously.
"It's incurable, Jack," said the doctor, gravely.
Happy Jack was consoled. He rolled out the word with relish to his
next visitor.
"Him's vound it out at last. 'Tis the anny-dominy, and 'tis incurable.
You'm can't du nart vor I. I got tu go; and 'taint no wonder, wi' zuch
a complaint as I du lie here wi'. The doctor were vair beat at vust;
but him worried it out wi' hisself tu the last. Him's a turble gude
doctor, var arl he wuden't go tu the war."
Sarah visited him every day. He was so frail and withered a little
object that it seemed as though he could waste no further, and yet he
dwindled daily. But he suffered no pain, and his wits were bright to
the end.
This evening the faint whistle of his voice was fainter than ever, and
she had to bend very low to catch his gasping words. He lay propped up
on the pillows, with a red scarf tied round the withered scrag of his
throat, and his spotless bed freshly arrayed by his mate's mother, who
lived with them and "did for" both.
"They du zay as Master Peter be _carting_ of 'ee, Miss Zairy," he
whispered. "Be it tru?"
"Yes, Jack dear, it's true. Are you glad?"
"I be glad if yu thinks yu'll git 'un," wheezed poor Jack. "'Twude be
a turble gude job var 'ee tu git a yusband. But doan't 'ee make tu
shar on 'un, Miss Zairy. 'Un du zay as him be turble vond on yu, and
as yu du be playing vast and loose wi' he. That's the ways a young
maid du go on, and zo the young man du slip thru' 'un's vingers."
"Yes, Jack," said Sarah, with unwonted meekness.
She looked round the little unceiled room, open on one side to the
wooden staircase which led to the kitchen below; at the earth-stained
corduroys hanging on a peg; at the brown mug which held Happy Jack's
last meal, and all he cared to take--a thin gruel.
"'Twude be a grand marriage vor the likes o' yu, Miss Zairy, vor the
Crewys du be the yoldest vambly in all Devonsheer, as I've yeard tell;
and yure volk bain't never comed year at arl befar yure grandvather's
time. Eh, what a tale there were tu tell when old Sir Timothy married
Mary Ann! 'Twas a vine scandal vor the volk, zo 'twere; but I wuden't
niver give in tu leaving Youlestone. But doan't 'ee play the vule wi'
Master Peter, Miss Zairy. Take 'un while yu can git 'un, will 'ee? And
be glad tu git 'un. Yu listen tu I, vor I be a turble witty man, and I
be giving of yu gude advice, Miss Zairy."
"I am listening, Jack, and you know I always take your advice."
"Ah! if 'twerent' for the anny-dominy, I'd be tu yure wedding," sighed
Happy Jack, "zame as I were tu Mary Ann's. Zo I wude."
She took his knotted hand, discoloured with the labour of eighty
years, and bade him farewell.
"Thee be a lucky maid," said Happy Jack, closing his eyes.
* * * * *
The tears were yet glistening on Sarah's long lashes, when she met the
doctor on his way to the cottage she had just quitted.
She was in no mood for talking, and would have passed him with a hasty
greeting, but the melancholy and fatigue of his bearing struck her
quick perceptions.
She stopped short, and held out her hand impulsively.
"Dr. Blunderbuss," said Sarah, "did you _very_ much want Peter to find
out that--that he could live without his mother?"
"Has anything happened?" said the doctor; his thin face lighted up
instantly with eager interest and anxiety.
"Only _that_" said Sarah. "You trusted me, so I'm trusting you.
Peter's found out everything. And--and he isn't going to let her
sacrifice her happiness to him, after all. I'll answer for that. So
perhaps, now, you won't say you're sorry you told me?"
"For God's sake, don't jest with me, my child!" said the doctor,
putting a trembling hand on her arm. "Is anything--settled?"
"Do I ever jest when people are in earnest? And how can I tell you if
it's settled?" said Sarah, in a tone between laughing and weeping.
"I--I'm going there to-night. I oughtn't to have said anything about
it, only I knew how much you wanted her to be happy. And--she's going
to be--that's all."
The doctor was silent for a. moment, and Sarah looked away from him,
though she was conscious that he was gazing fixedly at her face. But
she did not know that he saw neither her blushing cheeks, nor the
groups of tall fern on the red earth-bank beyond her, nor the
whitewashed cob walls of Happy Jack's cottage. His dreaming eyes saw
only Lady Mary in her white gown, weeping and agitated, stumbling over
the threshold of a darkened room into the arms of John Crewys.
"You said you wished it," said Sarah.
She stole a hasty glance at him, half frightened by his silence and
his pallor, remembering suddenly how little the fulfilment of his
wishes could have to do with his personal happiness.
The doctor recovered himself. "I wish it with all my heart," he said.
He tried to smile. "Some day, if you will, you shall tell me how you
managed it. But perhaps--not just now."
"Can't you guess?" she said, opening her eyes in a wonder stronger
than discretion.
How was it possible, she thought, that such a clever man should be so
dull?
The doctor shook his head. "You were always too quick for me, little
Sarah," he said. "I am only glad, however it happened, that--she--is
to be happy at last." He had no thoughts to spare for Sarah, or any
other. As she lingered he said absently, "Is that all?"
She looked at him, and was inspired to leave the remorseful and
sympathetic words that rushed to her lips unsaid.
"That is all," said Sarah, gently, "for the present."
Then she left him alone, and took her way down to the ferry.