THE MYRTLE SPRAY.
'He smiled, "Shall I complain if joy go by
With summer days and winter follow it?
If He who gave the gladness I have known,
Shall take it from me, shall I make my moan?
Nay, for it all is His, the joy, the pain,
The weeping and the mirth, the buoyant breath
Of happy toil; the mist on weary brain;
The turmoil of our life, the hush of death:
And neither life nor death--things near nor far,
Shall sever us from Him whose own we are."'
_Autumn._
The Vale Leston waggonette was waiting at the Ewmouth Station to meet
the express on an August afternoon, and in it sat Geraldine, her heart
in her eager eyes.
Felix was coming out of the station with--oh! what a robust, brown,
bronzed Ferdinand, and between them, a little fragile, shrinking
figure, dragging his feet with a certain stiffness and effort. That
was all she saw till he was lifted in Fernan's arms to her kiss, and
passively endured it.
'Will you come by me, Travis?' asked Felix, ascending to the driving
seat.
'Will you stay with your aunt, Gerald?'
'Oh, come! don't leave me!' in a plaintive voice, were the first words
Cherry heard from her nephew.
'I believe I had better. He feels the jar less,' said Ferdinand,
seating himself within, and lifting the child on his knee. 'Geraldine,
I say,'--bending forward and indicating Felix--'is he all right?'
'O yes! quite! he only feels the strain a little now and then,' she
asseverated.
'I did not know him till he spoke,' said Ferdinand. 'He is grown so
much stouter and so pale.'
'We are all getting middle aged, you know,' faintly laughed Cherry.
'Not you, Geraldine, I never saw you looking so well.'
'That's the place. It has done us all good--only strains are endless
worries, and he can't take as much exercise as usual. He has thought so
much of your coming too--he will be much better now it is over. Little
Gerald! little Gerald, our dear little boy!' said she, trying to take
the small thin hand that lay on the little black knee, and to look
beneath the broad grass hat.
'Take off your hat, my man,' said Ferdinand; 'let your aunt see your
face.'
The child obeyed, and sat leaning against his friend, holding his hat
in both hands, and gazing full at Geraldine, out of a pair of eyes,
which, after what she had heard, rather disappointed her by not being
of the family blue, but soft liquid brown; but the skin was delicately
fair, and the features of the true Underwood cast, strangely startling
her by recalling Theodore, not the mindless Tedo of daily life, but
such as he had lain in the Oratory only with those great mournful
eyes and a soul intensely looking out of them. The hair too was very
light, of the same silkworm fineness as Theodore's, and falling in
the selfsame masses of glossy waves. Ferdinand parted these aside
caressingly, and showed a curved red scar that made her shudder and ask
'Is it well?'
'Quite. It did not go deep, and even the other is entirely healed now,'
said Ferdinand, 'though its effects are more lasting. However, he found
his legs on board ship.'
'Are you tired, my dear?' she asked, feeling as if another moment of
the gaze of the big sad eyes would make her cry.
'I'm used up,' he said, piteously, but though the phrase was Yankee,
the weary tone was English, and gentlemanlike.
'Poor dear little man! We shall be at home presently, and then you
shall rest, and have tea.'
A smile broke out on the little face--a smile approving him truly as
Edgar's son, as, glancing up through those long black eye-lashes, he
asked, 'Are you Chérie?'--(not Cherry, but Edgar's own exclusive title
for her).
'Chérie! To be sure I am, my own dear, dear little boy,' and the tears
started while she smiled.
'Then will you tell me the rest of the stories?'
'What stories?'
'The story about the poor man that had the burthen and went the long
journey, between the lions and up the hill Difficulty. When Daddy
couldn't remember, he says you know it all.'
She withstood the impulse to call out to Felix, knowing that a turn to
look back always hurt him, and only said, 'Yes, my dear, I'll tell you
all my stories. What a traveller you are! how did you like the sea?'
'All but the womanfolk,' said the boy gravely.
'Oh! Gerald!'
'You're not womanfolk,' he answered.
'Eh! what then?' she asked, endeavouring to look into the brown eyes,
but their black fringes were down now, and he nestled to his protector,
into whose ear he whispered what was repeated to her in a sort of aside:
'She's just Daddy's Chérie, the darling.'
How well she knew them for Edgar's words! She longed to have him in
her arms, but she saw by the manner in which Fernan held him that the
strong support was needed to break the vibration of the carriage. 'Did
you carry him so all across America?' she asked.
'Nearly. Even Pulleman's cars shook him, and he could bear it less then
than now. The voyage did him a world of good, and every one was kind to
him, but he's as bad a misogynist as ever Lance's Miles. There were but
five women at Fiddler's Ranch, and only one white, and they called them
all aunts. You'll have to drop that distinction! And may I keep him in
my room till he has had time to get used to the strange house?'
'And the strange beings,' said Cherry. 'It will be a great blow to
Sibby, who had begun to cheer up at thought of him; but as she never
had Theodore at night, she may bear it better.'
'Ah! that loss must have been much felt, though no one could wish it
otherwise.'
'No one has felt it so much as he,' said Cherry, glancing up to her
brother. 'He had really the mother's love for the weakest. I wonder if
he will see the likeness I do! I feel as if Tedo were come back, with
what was lacking.'
'And Stella?'
'Oh! Stella--' she suppressed with difficulty, 'has another interest,'
and changed to--'Stella has turned into a woman, and is the most
helpful person about the house.'
'Whom shall I find at home?'
'The regular domestic establishment, including Bernard, but Lance comes
on Saturday, and Robin--she has not been at home since September, but
the De la Poers have all settled down at the baths at Töplitz, and his
Lordship is coming back on business, and escorts her to London, where
Lance meets her. You'll find Will Harewood too--good fellow, I know he
thought Clement overtasked, so he has taken no pupils this year, except
that he is coaching Bernard for Keble College, and says he is come
to learn parish work, and you would never believe what an excellent
clergyman old Bill makes.'
Here they reached that spot where ten years previously the charms of
Vale Leston had first broken on Felix, and this time he could not help
looking back to call out 'Look, Fernan! Hold Gerald up to see the
place.'
Ferdinand lifted the boy to look over the empty side of the driving
seat, exclaiming himself 'How lovely! There's nothing like an English
village!'
'It's a ranch and not a city,' said the boy.
'It is home, Gerald, your home,' said Felix, trying to get a view of
his face, which expressed more wonder than admiration.
He looked puzzled as they drove over the bridge, and when they came
among the grass and trees of the park where John Harewood's fine
short-horns were grazing, he asked 'Where's the store?'
'He has only heard of Bexley!' cried Cherry. 'Not here, my dear; uncle
Lance takes care of that.'
'And the paper?' asked Gerald, much to her amusement, but just then
they drew up at the door, where all the rest were assembled to meet
them, including Wilmet and her boys, who were both dancing about,
shouting at the top of their voices for a drive round to the stables.
It was too much for the new-comer, he clung to Fernan with a scream,
burying his face in his breast, and trembling all over, and Fernan,
saying he was always frightened at any sudden outcry, asked leave to
lay him at once on his bed, and let him sleep before there were any
more introductions.
Felix showed the spare room, and after an interval Ferdinand rejoined
them, saying the little fellow was asleep. Cherry asked if she should
sit by him.
'No, thank you, he does not mind being alone, and as long as he sees my
portmanteau he will know it is all right. It is numbers and noise that
frighten him, I sometimes think he has never got the Indian war-whoop
out of his ears. They talked of his bravery at the ranch, but that is
all gone now.'
'From helplessness, very possibly,' said Felix.
'That is fast improving, but his nerves have had a shock that does not
pass off. Besides, I find the poor little fellow somehow fancied he
should meet his father here. I had no notion till now that he supposed
he was going back to Fiddler's Ranch and the old life when he heard of
_home_.'
'It must have been all like a long horrible dream,' said Cherry.
'I don't understand it,' said Ferdinand; 'he was scarcely sensible when
I took him away, and he called me Daddy till his mind grew clearer. He
seems always watching for some one. I did explain it all, and then I
thought he understood, and he knows what death means, but somehow he
does not realize it with regard to his father.'
'Very likely,' said Wilmet, 'his impression varies according to whether
he is well, or tired and feverish.'
'I never thought of that!' said Fernan, 'I believe it is so--for when
he is pretty well, he is the smartest little thing I ever saw, always
asking questions, and reading! I believe he read every book on board!
And he was very funny there, ready to talk to any one, provided it was
not woman.'
'Has he any religious feeling?' asked Clement.
'Yes. He said his little prayers--poor Edgar had taught him that--and,
and I thought you would like me to tell him what I could.'
'No one has so much right,' said Felix. 'Fernan, I have been
remembering the time when I was angry with Mr. Audley for taking you
into our house--as I thought to corrupt Lance.'
'Well, I did my best, or worst, to corrupt Fulbert,' he said smiling;
'and if you and Lance had not been what you were, you would have seen
me in much truer colours. I had no training like what Edgar gave his
boy. You will find him a wonderfully good little fellow, marvellously
shielded from evil.'
'You think he may safely play with our boys?' asked Wilmet.
Fernan smiled sadly. 'Play, poor little fellow, he is a long way from
their play as yet! But he is a far safer companion for them than I was
for your brothers. He has hardly ever spoken to a child of his own age;
I believe there was one black baby and one half-caste papoose in the
Ranch, but childhood was not otherwise represented, and he was afraid
of the few we had in the steamer.'
'He must have been a most incessant charge,' said Felix.
'But I don't think I ever enjoyed anything so much,' said Fernan. 'I
wish you didn't want him!'
'You see how little Cherry could spare him,' said Felix. 'But you will
make us a long visit, till he is quite at home.'
'I thank you; I _couldn't_ go till he has grown happy with
you--happier, I hope, than he has been with me, poor little man; but as
soon as I can, I shall run up to London, and there's a matter I must go
to Spain about before I return far West.'
'At any rate this is your home in England, Fernan. You know we can't
thank you, but you are more than ever one of ourselves.' And Felix held
out his hand for a tremulous grasp of Ferdinand's.
Gerald did seem in great need of his friend when he awoke. He recoiled
in dismay at the stairs. 'Oh! those dreadful things are here too!'
For he had never seen a staircase till he was carried down that of
the hotel at Sacramento, and his limbs had so far been affected by
the spinal damage that he could only as yet move with difficulty on a
level surface, and needed to be carried down with his eyes shut, that
he might not see the giddy height. He consented to sit by Chérie at
the evening meal, and was not ungracious to the other members of the
family, comporting himself discreetly, gazing out of those enormous
eyes at the novel scene, and fraternising with Scamp, who adopted him
at once as an Underwood.
He had made up his mind as to his eldest uncle, and when they rose,
crept up to him and, putting his frail little lizard's hand into his,
said tentatively, 'Blunderbore!' and as Felix started, hardly knowing
whether to laugh or cry, he added, 'I want to see the Pursuivant,'
uttering all the syllables with great clearness and deliberation.
Much delighted, Felix took him into his study, when he examined the
last roll of proof with profound sagacity, and said eagerly, 'I can fix
off a sheet for you,' accepting his uncle much more as editor than as
squire.
The introduction to Sibby was tolerably successful, he detected that
she talked like 'Kerry Micksey,' his chief playmate at the Ranch, and
she was the only person he accepted as an aunt. Felix was too glad to
be dubbed Blunderbore again to object to the familiarity; they taught
him to term Clement the Vicar, and the others went by their unadorned
names. It was remarkable that Bernard, though growing up into a fine
manly beauty much resembling Edgar's, did not seem to recall any
association; but on the Saturday afternoon, when Cherry was sitting
with him under the cedar-tree, a low sweet whistle made him start,
scramble to his feet, and as Lance came forward, he threw himself upon
him with an ecstatic shout of 'Daddy, daddy.' And as Lance stooped down
and gathered him into his arms tenderly, saying 'Poor little chap,'
no doubt the tone and gesture kept up the delusion, for he clung in a
rapture that it seemed cruel to disturb. 'What shall I do, Cherry?'
said Lance, much distressed. 'Oh! my poor little fellow, if I could but
change myself!'
By that time doubt had wakened, the arms were unwound from his neck,
and Gerald, after a moment's contemplation, gave a sad low cry,
struggled down, and hid his face on Cherry's lap, then lay passively
against her while she fondled him with her hand, taking no notice in
word, except by distinctly letting him hear his uncle's name. 'Lance!
how came you so early, and where's Robina? Felix is gone to Ewmouth,
thinking to meet you by the express.'
'We got off from town earlier than we expected; and walked from Church
Ewe, and meeting Bill in the village, of course I stepped out and left
them to their bliss.'
Lance looked well, and spoke as if he had attained to steady if
not high spirits. In fact, though asking anxiously after Felix, he
was plainly gratified by the entire trust and satisfaction shown
in himself as a substitute; some of his articles in the Pursuivant
had been a success in the circle that cared for them, and one on an
important subject had actually been copied into a London paper, a
distinction that had not so often befallen even Felix as not to make
it exhilarating. What made far more difference to him, Mr. Bevan had
finally resigned, and the new rector had a bright young wife, who had
been a school friend of Robina's, and both had accepted Lance on terms
of equality, so that he had more access to society than had ever been
his lot before, and found himself treated as an important ally in all
matters for the benefit of the parish. His life was evidently far
more cheerful than in the previous year, and he had done what he had
declared he should do--'got over' his fit of depression, i.e. resigned
himself, and therefore recovered a certain power of enjoyment as well
as interest in his work. Cherry reproached him with never having come
home since Whitsuntide.
'No possibility of getting away,' he said.
'Not with Mutton as a _pièce de resistance._'
'Mutton's Madame requires recruiting at Dearport and the frequent
solace of her cosset.'
'O Lance! what a boy you are for being put upon.'
'Don't row me, Cherry, I get enough of that from Mrs. Frog. By-the-by,
she's going to let Marshlands for a year to the squire while he is
enlarging his house, and we are to have Prothero's rooms. The dear
old Croak says she'll not have me catching my death on that nasty
velocipede another winter.'
'Ah! if you had but brought her back to our old quarters! You should
never have allowed the Giant to let Madame in! But tell me, Lance,' she
added in a different tone, 'has she shown any feeling?'
'Lamb was in a state of mind about telling her, and wanted me to do it,
which I declined, so he fetched Miss Pearson, and came down quite proud
to tell me she had had hysterics. What a sheep it is, to be sure! He
adores whatever she does! And then her spirits and health required the
parade at Dearport.'
'You don't believe in it?'
'I only know that whenever I had to go to Dearport I always saw her
best bonnets bobbing about among the ladies, or met her on the parade
with Gussy and Killy looking like princes. I called to see Sister
Constance one day, I thought she would like to hear about you all.
And, Cherry, did you know that Angel had sent back her medal as an
associate, and without a word?'
'Just what I should have expected.'
'They did not like to write about it till they knew more. Now I believe
the chaplain has.'
'She has said nothing about it. In fact, she is much more with the
Hepburns than at home, and they have really done her some good. She was
quite meek when we fell in with all the Walshes' guests the other day.
I wonder whether she will thaw to Robina! Ah! here they come!'
William and Robina were walking arm-in-arm, deeply content to be
together, but grave and subdued.
'How still it all sounds!' was Robina's exclamation, and though the
others smiled, it was with a sigh at the thought of the low humming
that they all missed.
The hush over the house struck her more than anything. When last
she had been at home the whole place seemed vocal with unrestrained
life and mirth, all the brothers and some of the sisters went about
whistling or singing, every one was always shouting to every one,
Stella's doves cooing, the clock chiming, Theodore a continual
musical-box, but now, though chimes and doves had not ceased, the soft
undercurrent was gone, and so was the gay ring of mirth.
'It is as if there were something quelled,' she said, pausing for the
word, when she went out for a turn with Will in the light of the broad
harvest moon, rising red over the woods.
'So we are,' said he. 'There is something about the place that reminds
me of going into the garden when everything is lying broken and weighed
down by a storm, the sunshine making diamonds of the drops, but
rain-drops still.'
'Angel is so different,' said Robin, 'and Felix's looks appal me: and
yet Cherry seems easy about him.'
'So would you be if you had seen him two months ago,' said Will. 'I
don't think any one is really anxious about him but Clement.'
'Oh! if it is only Clement, I don't care.'
'Working under Clement gives a very different notion of him,' said
Will; 'you can't think how much I find I have to learn now I come to
the real practical thing, among simple folk. It humbles me as much as
it refreshes me, after the forcing-house at Oxford. I say, Robin, how
long is this to go on?
'How long?' echoed Robina sadly.
'Nay, listen: Clement is going to set up a curate in the new house, as
is to be, and £200 a year. I am sure of pupils.'
'Please don't ask me, Will. It is so very hard, and my better sense
won't let me.'
'Then put away that better sense, as you call it, I don't.'
'I can't put away the recollection of my father dying of toil and
privation. I should feel it killing you to consent.'
He felt rather than saw she was crying as she leant against him, but he
tried to laugh and say, 'I am a tougher subject, Bobbie; we've neither
of us been tenderly reared. Besides, here it would be different.'
'Yes, because we should prey on our families. No, Willie, I made a
solemn resolution never to drag you down, and I will keep it.'
'You're far too wise for me,' he began, displeased.
'Don't be foolish, and break my heart over it! Oh! Willie, if you get
angry, I can't bear it now, it is all so sad.'
The mute caress answered, but each was a little relieved to say 'Hark,'
as the silence was broken by the sharp wail of Edgar's violin, which
Lance was handling to ascertain in what condition it had arrived.
'Is your voice all right, Lancey?' asked Felix, as he spoke of the
choral meetings.
'Just what I want to know. I've not sung to any one I could trust to
tell me the sound of it. Miss Grey likes it well enough, but then she
never heard it before, and I don't know whether the best high notes
have not thickened.'
'What will you try? said Clement 'I'm not sure that "Chloe's disdain"
did not show you off as well as any.'
'Then Angel--where is she?'
'Angel anathematises light and profane songs on the eve of the
honourable sabbath,' said Bernard; 'I wish she was here to have her
ears pulled.'
'No, it is not so much that,' said Cherry, 'as that she cannot bear
secular music since that unlucky song. But here's Stella, the universal
stop-gap, to be Chloe.'
It was a fine old seventeenth-century dialogue song, a sort of
heir-loom in the family--the lady's part full of the pert coy disdain
that passed for maidenliness, the swain's of a pathetic steadfast
constancy, and there was a variety in the expression that had always
given scope for the peculiar beauties of Lance's voice. But as he sang
it now, it was not only as a musical exercise or 'crack song,' the
manly melancholy stirred the depths of a sad but resolute heart that
could hardly have otherwise poured itself out. So two of the hearers
understood it, and Cherry, clasping Felix's hand, found the pressure
returned.
It was only Clement who, as the last sweet quiver died away, was
disengaged enough to say, 'You seem to me to have gained instead of
lost.'
He muttered something about a German air left upstairs, and ran away.
'I'm afraid it is Philomel against the thorn,' murmured Felix in his
sister's ear.
And Clement, in an undertone, uttered the two words 'whosoever hath,'
and Stella, of course mentally supplying the continuation, perceived
that he was thinking how the voice treated as a means of praising
divine glory had survived in its purity and freshness under the same
danger that had been fatal to the gift that had been the temptation
and ruin of its owner--a thought better suited to Clement's stern sad
nature than to his little sister; and instead of answering, she began
to play Mozart's requiem.
It was long before Lance returned. 'It was that poor little Gerald,' he
said. 'I wish I had thought of it--when he heard the violin, he thought
his Daddy was really come at last. I nearly tumbled over the little
white bundle in the gallery. Poor morsel, I suppose he was almost
asleep, for when I picked him up, feeling like just nothing at all
without his clothes, he firmly believed I was Edgar masquerading; and
the more I coaxed him in the dark, the more he implored me, "Oh! Daddy,
don't go on, be Daddy, I know you, I do! 'Tisn't play," till he almost
broke one's heart--I thought I should have to call Fernan.'
'And how did you manage him, poor darling?'
'It was curious. One of those shouts that they give in the harvest when
they clear the last sheaf in a field came in, and made him shudder in
horror. "The Indians," he said, and then, after I had told him what
it was, I said, "Yes, you heard the Indians once, didn't you?" and he
answered, "Oh! yes, Daddy told me, 'Never mind, my brave boy, it can't
last long. Shut your eyes, and say your prayers!' and he held me
tight, tight."'
'Then that is the last recollection he has of his father! A noble one!'
said Felix, with a sound of thankfulness.
'So I told him,' pursued Lance, 'that Daddy was right, and it hadn't
lasted long. I just told him the real story, and how his father gave
him to Mr. Travis to bring to us. I told him how poor Edgar used to
teach me to play on his fiddle, and I think he really was relieved to
lose the confusion about identity, and he knew me at last for the Lance
who used to sing "Jim Crow." I told him all I could, and looked at the
marks on his poor little back and breast. How did he live, Fernan?'
'I can hardly tell; I suppose life is very strong in a healthy child,
and that torpor of benumbed nerves saved him much pain.'
'I fancy poor Edgar had told him a good many stories about us, for
he asked me all manner of odd questions about home, and I am to take
him there when he is well. Meantime I had to sing him to sleep--"like
that," he said, poor little fellow; and he started Sibby's old croon
that used to be Baby's name for her.'
'The child has adopted you, Lance,' said Felix, when he saw Gerald
riding down to breakfast in the new uncle's arms, with an arm round his
neck and his head on his shoulder. 'Should you not like him to be your
godfather, Gerald?'
'No, Gerald, that can only belong to Mr. Travis, and your uncle Felix.'
'Travis, of course,' said Felix; 'but for me, it would be too like a
parent, and--' he paused, but went on: 'You ought to have that tie--you
who brought out that final saying from his father. Never let him forget
it. It is so perfectly the spirit in which to meet the unavoidable.'
He certainly had a power of transmuting into comfort all he heard
of this beloved brother. It had been decided that the boy should be
admitted into the church on this, his first Sunday. Ferdinand was
anxious that it should be, like his own baptism, his first sight of the
interior of a church, and had been preparing him for it all the way
home, so that he knew a good deal more than had yet been made to adhere
to his cousin Kester, and his replies had a flavour of St. Matthew's
that delighted Clement. It did not seem right that the thing should
be done in a corner, and in the first strangeness numbers would make
less difference than after he had learnt to know the faces round him;
so they resolved to face the full congregation at once, large as it
was apt to be in the afternoon; for there had of late arisen among the
young men of Ewmouth a fashion of walking out to church at Vale Leston,
attracted partly by the choir and partly by the preaching.
It was too long for Gerald's feeble limbs to be kept standing, and
though he was tall for his age, Ferdinand Travis took him in his arms
where the questions and replies startled the unprepared. 'Who baptized
this child?' when the answer, 'I did,' came from the jet-black beard
of the great American merchant, more like a Spanish grandee than ever;
and 'With what matter was this child baptized?' was responded to
'With water'--there was a thought of the blood that had oozed forth
and mingled with the 'lucid flood,' and Clement's voice trembled with
emotion as he certified that all was _well_ done, and as he signed the
cross, it was where, in anticipation, Ferdinand had marked the rood,
and as Geraldine's eye traced the little coronal that the cruel knife
had scored, her whole heart went into the thought.
'Thus outwardly and visibly
We seal thee for His own;
And may the brow that bears the cross
Hereafter bear the crown.'
Strange was the entry in the parish register regarding the child whom
his uncle treated as heir of his house and name, but at whom every one
looked with compassionate misgiving, so weird were his great pensive
dark eyes, so thin his cheeks, so feeble his movements, so complete the
contrast to his sturdy cousin Christopher, the one all mind and the
other all body.
Felix wished for London advice for him, and, as there was to be a
clerical meeting on Tuesday at Richard May's, proposed to drive with
Clement as far as Stoneborough to ask the two physicians what they
would recommend. Lancelot only discovered this intention just as he
was stepping into the boat in which Bernard was going to take him
to Ewmouth to meet the train--probably he fancied his face quite
impassive, but it was far too transparent for him, and there was a
curious gust of expression passing over it when Felix asked whether he
had any commands for Stoneborough. 'N-not--at least, my--my--remember
me to them. That's all! good-bye.'
Then he expended his energies on the oars, and snubbed Bernard into
silent smoking, meanwhile he was calculating the increase of means that
had accrued to Felix, and would surely render marriage possible.
Felix found his call happily timed, for Dr. May received him with,
'That's right. Just as the last patient has made his exit. Nay--not the
last. I fear your side does not seem to have mended.'
'Not much, thank you.'
'So I see, but wait a bit. You are Tom's concern, and I shall get into
disgrace if I go into it without him. You can stay?'
'Yes, I ventured to think you would house me while Clement is sitting
in council.'
'That is well. I need not go out till after dinner. Gertrude is at
home, but Ethel is gone to Cocksmoor to see after feeding the divines.
Don't you find that an uncommon excitement to the clergywomen? Well,
have you got the poor little boy?'
'Yes, a sweet little fellow, but in an anxious state. The spine seems
affected still, and I want to know to whom you would advise me to show
him--I must get some one while Travis is with us to tell what the
American surgeons said.'
'That's another matter for Tom. He knows the present leading men better
than I do. I'll send up word to him to look in when he gets back from
the hospital.'
'There is a third matter,' said Felix, with a blushing smile, when the
message had been despatched, 'not so professional.'
'Eh?' said the doctor with arrested attention.
'It is this,' said Felix in the deliberate manner of one who had long
conned his part. 'Should you regard it as intolerable presumption in my
brother Lancelot to raise his eyes to your daughter Gertrude?'
'Your brother!!!'
'Yes, sir. Lancelot. I could release him from the retail business and
make over the Pursuivant to him. He would have rather more than £500 a
year, and if--'
'Lance!' again exclaimed the doctor. 'So it is Lance! I beg your
pardon, I had been hoping it was yourself.'
'You will hardly hope that long, sir.'
'What do you mean? That hurt? What has been----'
'That will wait. Do not let me lose this opportunity,' said Felix,
rather breathlessly. 'It is not only my health. For all essentials,
whatever you are kind enough to think of me, Lance is _that_ and a
great deal more, and he is deeply smitten, poor fellow, and needs
affection and happiness so much,' he continued, a little hurt at the
smile that played on the doctor's features, and broadened into a laugh.
'Well, I've no right to complain after setting the lad on.'
'You, sir?'
'Ay. When he was brooding and moping in the winter, fancying no girl
would look at him, I told him, by way of shaking him up, that I should
be ashamed of one who stuck at his occupation. It is like giving a
boy a gun, and wondering when he brings down your tame jackdaw. One
ought to have experience by the time it comes to one's youngest, but
I suppose I should never get it if I were the father of the fifty
Danaides.'
'May I gather that you would not think the disadvantages
insurmountable? I know it does not sound well, but Lance is in a better
position than mine was. He is a good deal thought of in the town; is
intimate at the Rectory; and if he lived in the country, and dropped
the retail, I can answer for it that there would be plenty of society
such as your daughter would care to have. If I foresaw mortification,
it would not be right to expose her to it.'
'Somehow my girls care rather too little than too much about society,'
said the doctor. 'I shall be the sufferer. How I shall catch it from
Tom and the rest!'
'Thank you, sir.'
'Not so fast. Stay a bit. How far has it gone? The boy has not spoken
to her?'
'Not in so many words. He does not dare, and I could not venture to
encourage him till I knew what you thought. Indeed he has been chained
to Bexley ever since I have been laid up.'
'He is a thoroughly nice fellow,' allowed the doctor; 'he let out a
good deal of his inner self to me last winter. If worth were to have
it----'
'He would stand first,' said Felix eagerly. 'To tell you what he has
been to all of us these----'
'Hush, here comes our professor. He was fuming like quicklime at
Daisy's escapade the morning after your accident. A wholesome
preparation.'
About an hour later the dinner bell brought down Gertrude and her
nephew Dickie. She started, and a thrill of colour passed over her
face as she met Mr. Underwood at the table, and, laughing rather
nervously, begged him to excuse deficiencies, as Ethel, the cook, the
parlour-maid, and all the best knives and forks were gone to Cocksmoor.
It struck her that her father was grave and silent, but her heart
was, as usual, full of Vale Leston and Cherry, and she catechised
him next on all the ins and outs with which her visit had made her
familiar, he replying in detail with his natural quiet humour, though
whenever Lance's name came up, he could not help colouring a little.
He delighted and excited Dickie with Bernard's cricketing feats, and
the doctor waked into interest from his abstraction. He had to go
out directly after, taking with him Dickie, who now held the holiday
privilege of being his charioteer.
'You had better take a rest after your drive,' said the doctor to
Felix. 'Nobody will disturb you in the drawing-room.'
Felix willingly reclined in the great easy chair, only begging Gertrude
not to think it necessary to leave him, and as she wished nothing
better than to stay, she took her work and sat down. At first all was
still; he had put his head back, with closed eyes, in the relaxation
of complete lassitude, but his countenance did not give the impression
of sleep. It was weary and exhausted, though placid, and gradually
an expression of reflection came over it, deepening into anxiety and
perplexity, until after about twenty minutes he opened his eyes, and
looked at her with a pleasant smile.
'I hope you are rested,' she said.
'A good deal, thank you;' then, after a pause, 'Did I tell you that
Lance has quite recovered his voice?'
'I am glad; I have never heard him.'
'You must, then. Cherry shall manage it next time he comes home. He
has been kept much too close this summer, but we must make a different
arrangement.'
'Not your changing places!' cried Gertrude, 'you don't look fit!'
'I am afraid not,' he answered with weary acquiescence. 'Your father
and brother have been overhauling me, and I believe my effective days
are over for some time.'
'Oh!' she started, and said in an imploring tone, 'Cherry said the
sprain was almost gone.'
'The sprain is,' said Felix, 'but there's something beyond. It may go
on for some time, but the result is very doubtful.'
She rested her chin on her hand, her eyes dilated by the shock.
'So, you see,' he proceeded, 'I am anxious to lose no time in getting
matters into order, both as regards Vale Leston and Bexley.'
'Oh!' she burst out with a cry; 'don't, don't, don't go on like
that--just as if it were somebody else.'
The sound of misery convinced him that he was acting for the best in
killing at once any embryo aspiration directed towards himself; more
especially as he felt her more capable than any one he had met since
Alice Knevett of stirring what he was resolved never to allow to be
stirred. Never would he have risked this _tête-à-tête_ but for his
recent interview with the two physicians; and her sorrow touched and
warmed the inmost recesses of his heart. He leant forward, saying,
'There is so little actual suffering that perhaps I feel as if it were
somebody else. I have been expecting this, and there have been a weight
and weariness about me which make the thought of rest not unwelcome.'
'Oh, no, no! You are quite young. Papa and Tom couldn't have said it
was so bad. There can't be no hope.'
'No, there is just a chance of things taking a different turn.'
'Oh! they will! I know they will! Please don't give yourself up. That's
the worst thing for any one.'
'I don't do that;' and as she came and stood by him he looked up in her
face, saying, 'there is so much kindness in the world that one would
gladly not leave it, if only not to grieve one's friends.'
'I wish,' with a half-angry sob, 'you wouldn't talk in that horrid
resigned way.'
'This will not do, indeed, my dear.' Her weeping made the word slip out
as in reasoning with one of his sisters, but it brought her colour,
and the tint was reflected in his own as he said, 'I beg your pardon.'
'Oh! please, I do like it so.'
He found himself on perilous ground, for he was exceedingly drawn
towards the girl, whose warmth gave him a greater sense of sweetness
than ever had Alice's most gracious moments; and it was with strong
effort that he preserved a sort of fatherly tone.
'Sit down again; there is a great deal I should like to tell you, if
you have patience to listen.'
Patience! She would fain have listened for ever. He told her the more
slowly, in order to give time to rally, the history of the family
struggles, dwelling at each turn on Lance's manful part in them, and
resolute sacrifice of taste and ambition, and coming down to his own
inheritance at Vale Leston, with all that it had involved. The fact
was that it was needful to let her perceive that he had never had it
in his power to marry, and never intended it; that the only mode in
which he could both do his duty by his brothers and sisters, and make
restitution of the church property, was by continuing his business,
being economical, and raising up no fresh claims on the estate.
Probably she did not at the moment take in the idea of this affecting
any relations with her, for she exclaimed, with that hot petulance
which in her was never unbecoming, 'I see, it's too late; you've spent
everything on everybody else, and lived for everyone but yourself.'
'I wish I had.'
'I don't think it fair!' she passionately exclaimed. 'Why should
everything come on you?'
'Perhaps, when one's forefathers have done a great wrong--ignorantly,
may be--it must come on some one. I have been struck by seeing how
seldom the lay rectory has gone in the direct line, and I am glad to
prevent it from being bound about that poor child's unconscious neck.'
'I was wrong,' she whispered under her breath, in a sudden change of
mood, as the simple-heartedness of his manner impressed her. 'You are
as devoted as any of those old people.'
'Not I,' he answered. 'I have had a particularly prosaic, prosperous,
comfortable life of it;' and then, thinking the scene had lasted long
enough, he said, 'I should like to call on Mrs. Thomas May. Is it
permissible to go through the garden?'
'How can you?' she exclaimed.
'Thank you, I am quite rested' (he might have said, as much as he ever
was).
'I meant, how can you go and make trumpery trivial calls.'
'It did not answer in the year one thousand to sow no corn, in
expectation of the end of the world,' he answered. 'Spiritually, as
little as materially.'
He tried for his dry gentle manner, but was too much moved by her grief
to make it natural.
'I'll come with you,' said Gertrude, leaping up.
He took his hat, and she a parasol, and they crossed the garden in
silence till, almost at Tom's door, she exclaimed, with a choking gasp:
'Oh dear! oh dear! if there were anything I could do for you!'
'Thank you,' he answered affectionately, with a smiling trembling lip.
'One wish is very strong with me. Things may not be prepared for its
fulfilment while I am here--but when it comes before you--you will
remember what you say, and I think it will be granted.'
She turned, half petulantly, and plucked off the myrtle leaves.
'Are you going to give me a piece of that?' he said, smiling.
She broke off a spray in full flower.
'Thank you,' as he put it in his buttonhole. 'Perhaps some day you will
see this again. Then remember.'