SOUR GRAPES.
'Hast thou forgot the day
When my father found thee first in places far away?
Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wast owned by none.'
_Wordsworth's 'Pet Lamb.'_
The London surgeon met Tom May and Page, and gave every hope of little
Gerald's ultimate recovery, though for the present there was not much
to be done except watching him, and encouraging such exertion as did
not excite or fatigue. Cherry was so anxious about the examination, its
result and the directions she received, that she never perceived that
the doctor spent a much longer time in the study with her brothers than
was needed on the little boy's account.
This, her preoccupation and bliss of ignorance, was a relief to both
Felix and Clement. They believed there would be ample preparation, and
not only were willing to defer paining her, but would have missed her
cheerfulness, and wished to spare her the protracted suspense that
might undermine her health and power of meeting a crisis that might be
deferred for weeks, months, nay years, or possibly might never come at
all; for there was a chance that treatment might disperse the evil. The
suffering did not increase, and was not constant, but only brought on
by sudden movements or in certain attitudes, and any token of it was
always laid to the credit of the strain. No one could fail to perceive
that Felix was more inert, more grave, and, if possible, more gentle,
but the acknowledged injury, as well as the loss of his two brothers,
might account both for this and his disinclination to the ordinary
summer gaieties. No one indeed, wished for them, now that Angela
professed to have broken with the world, and Geraldine's whole mind was
absorbed in the anxious tendance of the little nephew, who preferred
her to all others, and was continually needing to be soothed or amused,
with a precocious intellect stimulated by all he had undergone, and
at the same time with spirits and nerves too much shattered to bear
the least strain on mind or body. Edgar's child she must have loved,
but this little tender, fitful, dependent creature, used to be the
half-comprehending recipient of his sad memories and confidences, was
inexpressibly dear to her.
There was hardly any visiting that summer, except the calls of a few
friends, and in September Felix decided on asking the two Lambs to
the Priory. He had business affairs to arrange with his partner, and
thought it would be unforgiving to mortify the wife by excluding her
from the invitation, so he braved Cherry's absolute indignation. Poor
Cherry! had she known all, she would not have exploded as she had
hardly done since her girlish contentions with Alda. 'It is really weak
to give that woman her wish, and at such a time.'
'I am sorry for the infliction on you, Cherry.'
'You know very well that is not what I care for. It is the insult to
dear Edgar's memory to have her here pranking herself off.'
'I cannot quite see it in that light.'
'No, you always had some infatuation about her: you sacrificed Lance to
her when you let her into the house at Bexley, and now you are letting
her fulfil her aim of coming gossiping here.'
'One can only try to do what one feels to be right, Cherry. I am very
sorry, but I cannot be guilty of a marked slight.'
'The more marked the better, I should say.'
'Hush, Geraldine,' sternly interposed Clement; 'you forget yourself.'
She was greatly startled, for she had thought him entirely on her side.
'I understand her,' said Felix, as usual unable to bear reproof to his
sister. 'No one can be more fully aware than myself of poor Mrs. Lamb's
undeserts, but Cherry will one day perceive that this is the very
reason I do not choose to treat her with mortifying neglect. If it be a
foolish fancy of mine, my dear, please bear with it.'
She was entirely disarmed, burst into tears, undertook to do whatever
he wished, and apologised for her crossness, but in private with
Clement, she could not help expressing her wonder and annoyance.
'You had better say no more about it,' he answered, 'or you will be
sorry.'
'I shall say no more, but it is impossible that you should not think
this a great pity and mistake.'
'No, I don't.'
'I know I was wrong in flying out in my old way,' said Cherry, humbly.
'Perhaps there was more female spite in it than I know, and I am
thankful to you for catching me up. Of course this is Felix's house;
he invites whom he pleases, and I shall make them welcome; but still I
think this is a very unnecessary attention, and if you had seen as much
of her as we have, I think you would have enforced my opinion.'
He smiled a little sadly, and let it pass, and Cherry inferred that
even a cassock could not guard the male sex from weak toleration of
a pretty woman. Yet her loyalty was so strong that, when Wilmet's
surprise and aversion were expressed with equal plainness, she
maintained her brother's right to practise romantic generosity in his
own house, especially since his prudence had abstained as long as any
speculations could be thereby encouraged.
The visit was to last from Saturday to Monday, and in due time Mrs.
Lamb made her appearance, pretty, youthful, and charmingly dressed,
with her husband looking so proud of her as almost to overpower his
bashfulness.
They were a great contrast, he so honestly simple and affectionate,
adoring every word she uttered, however alien to his nature, and she
with the claws full grown that poor Edgar had detected in the kitten.
Indeed she was not unlike a handsome sleek cat or managing wife, an
excellent and tender mother, dainty and demure, but not by any means
indisposed to give a sharp scratch with her velvet paw.
When she exclaimed with playful surprise, 'Oh! what a queer old place.
So different from what I expected!' or, 'Looking into the churchyard!
It would give me the horrors in a week! Such a melancholy noise from
the river!' Cherry might conclude that the grapes were sour, but the
admirable Lamb was solaced by his wife's sweet preference for her
humble home. Such scratches as would have been patent to that good
man were reserved for his absence, as when she bewailed the low tastes
of such a promising young man as Lance--Cherry made some effort to
discover what she could possibly mean, and found that the low tastes
signified his preference for Mrs. Froggatt's company, and his assiduity
at the Shakespeare Club and Penny Readings.
Of course she commiserated Wilmet for her children's red
hair--predicted that Gerald would be a cripple for life, and lamented
Angela's being 'sadly gone off.' Angela did in fact avoid the lady as
much as possible, and on the Sunday afternoon went off to what she had
in her unconverted days been wont to term the Hepburn Methody Meeting,
i.e., a Bible class with exposition and prayer held by the good ladies
in their own dining-room, an institution dating from the darkest ages
of the parish.
Their green-shuttered house looked out upon a space shaped like a
triangle, grassy, and formed by the divergence of the Blackstone lane,
the nearest approach to a village-green possessed by Vale Leston.
Angela was lingering after the dismissal of the class, discussing Will
Harewood's sermon, which by-the-by, the clever Miss Isabella much
preferred to the Vicar's, probably because Will, a far larger-minded
and more intellectual man, was a great deal the most metaphysical, and
had more points of contact with her, when the sound of a bawling voice,
interspersed with the singing of a hymn, became audible through the
open window, and a procession consisting of a pale-faced young man,
one old one, three able-bodied women, and four little girls came from
the Ewmouth road, and having arrived at the triangle, the young man
mounted a log of timber and began to preach. Sounds ensued which made
the invalid Miss Hepburn exclaim: 'Oh! there are those people again!
There will be an uproar! Oh! my dear, shut the window, and come into
the other room!'
'What for?' demanded Angela, who was trying to hear.
'My dear, you can't think how dreadful it was. Such a noise, and that
terrible Timins set his big dog at the preacher, and the poor old
Squire said it served him right, and would not commit him.'
'Such a thing might be stopped in a moment,' cried Angela. 'Couldn't
you, Miss Isabel?'
'My dear, I did not feel free when it was the message of the Gospel.'
'I didn't mean the preacher, but the persecutors. You could stop them
directly.'
'Go out there! A lady, my dear Angela!' cried Miss Bridget
'One does not stick at trifles in such cases!' cried Angela.
'Trifles!' was echoed round her.
At that moment a coarse derisive laugh made Miss Hepburn scream and
Miss Martha fly to shut the window, while Angela caught up her bonnet
saying, 'I'll soon put an end to it.'
'My dearest Angela, you are not going out; your brother would not like
it.'
'Lydia never asked what her brother liked by the river-side,' said
Angela, hastily fastening her head gear.
'Oh! don't let her go. Isa--Bridget--they'll hurt her. My dear! Stop
her,' entreated the sick sister.
'Miss Underwood going out to a Ranter!' cried Miss Bridget.
'Your brothers will never forgive us,' sobbed Miss Martha. And Miss
Isabella laid hands on her. 'It is not proper, Angela, I cannot suffer
it.'
'I cannot suffer violence to be done to one who is preaching that Name
for petty scruples of worldly propriety.'
'They'll throw stones--She'll be hurt,' sobbed Miss Hepburn.
'You know better, dear Miss Hepburn,' said Angela, turning with a smile.
In another moment she was gone, out into the road.
There was a hush at once. The boys all turned round, and the nearest,
a lively mischievous fellow, accosted her with a touch of his hat, and
evident sense of high desert. 'Us aint a bin listening to that there
chap, ma'am. Us be going to send he off faster than he came. Us don't
want none of his sort.'
'How do you know that, George?' responded Angela, to his great
amazement. 'How do you know he has not the very message you have been
wanting so long.'
The boy opened the roundest eyes. If any opinion was strongly
established, it was the ill savour of ranters in the nostrils of the
gentry.
'Squire'd be against it, ma'am,' said an older man, 'and Mr. Eddard!
Us knows our dooty better than to hearken to such like trash.'
'For shame, Brand,' returned the young lady. 'How dare you speak so of
a man who comes in that Name. Now! Here I mean you to stand and listen.
Who can tell what good he may do us?'
'Miss Angela' was the universal favorite with the village youth, having
fascinated them from the first; and if they had of late remarked any
change in her, it was set down to 'taking on' about her brothers,
and her defence was undisputed quite as much from attachment as from
sheer amazement. The preacher had, on the apparition of the tall lady
in black with the lightly waving crape streamers and mantle, expected
a rescue from insult and violence, but a warning to depart; and his
amazement was great when she took a position in advance of the rabble
rout, and signed to him to go on.
He was a man above the average of his class, and his discourse was
considerably affecting Angela, when down the lane from Blackstone
Gulley came Robina, Stella, Bernard, and Will Harewood, showing Mr. and
Mrs. Lamb the beauties of the country.
'Holloa, what's the row? A fellow jawing away somewhere!' quoth Bernard.
'I thought you had no dissenters here, Robina,' said Mrs. Lamb.
'No more we have,' stoutly affirmed Robina, in spite of the strange
voices on the blast.
'What's that?'
'An obliging mission from our neighbour.'
'Soon to be refuted by our boys,' added Bernard, 'most likely a cricket
ball is flying at his bumptious head by this time! Hollo there!'
For he turned the corner and stood in blank amaze.
Alice tittered.
Robina and Stella were prepared for anything from Angela.
Even Will only perpetrated a long whistle, and the observation 'This is
coming it strong.'
Bernard's measures were more decisive. After the first shock he marched
forward with the peremptory admonition, 'Come, my man, be off with you,
we allow none of this here.'
The young man stood his ground. 'By what authority Sir?'
'I'll soon show you--I say--You here, little Pryde, run down and tell
the policeman to step up.'
'Stay Bernard,' exclaimed Will, 'this is nothing the police can
interfere with.'
'Don't tell me that, canting and ranting here on our ground,' cried
Bernard, with a fine development of the insolence of the lord of the
soil. 'Pity you're a parson, Bill (and Lamb a sheep),' he added under
his breath, 'or we'd have a jolly good shindy. All you're good for is
to walk off the ladies. Here, Angel, you mad party, go with him, I say,
the joke has lasted long enough.'
'I shall not move, Bernard, I am here to protect this good man from
insult.'
'I tell you 'tis the very way to make me insult the impudent scoundrel
to see you standing there among the rabble, making a spectacle of
yourself.'
'Neither you nor any one else will touch him while I am here,' said
Angela, heroically moving nearer the preacher, and further from her
brother. 'He is giving us the message that is too much obscured, and I
will not have him silenced. I only wish you would listen! Go on, if you
please.'
But the unwonted style of this interruption had disconcerted the ardent
missionary more than unlimited rotten eggs could have done. The young
lady's presence, though embarrassing, had been stimulating; but when
three gentlemen, including a clergyman, were added to the audience, all
his confidence in his mission could not bring back his eloquence, and,
addressing himself to Angela, his only attentive hearer, he said, 'The
tenor of our discourse has been interrupted; thank you, Miss, we will
resume on a more favourable occasion.'
'When I'll bring down the garden engine,' muttered Bernard, clutching
in vain at his sister as she stepped forward to shake hands with the
preacher and say, 'We are greatly obliged to you, and I am sorry you
should have been so interfered with.'
William, premising that he was not the parish priest, turned to
walk with the amateur in his own profession, as much because he was
curious about this phase of life as to see him courteously off the
ground--while Bernard was scolding and deriding Angela on what he
deemed her most monstrous aberration of all, and Angela marching on,
impervious alike to displeasure and ridicule. Mrs. Lamb was trying to
condole with Robina, and Robina was coolly stating that Angela was
quite justified in using her influence to prevent the man from being
assaulted.
The fame of Mr. Froggatt's state-dinner party and of another on behalf
of Mr. Bruce had reached Mrs. Lamb, and, on the strength of it, she
had freshly trimmed her wedding dress, and was greatly aggrieved to
find her labour lost; disregarding her husband's representations of the
recent bereavements and Mr. Underwood's state of health, and insisting
on attributing the slight by turns to Geraldine's spite, and to the
meanness that hindered the family from enjoying their fortune when they
had got it.
Though Geraldine had withheld this indulgence, aware that a long late
dinner would be a great fatigue to Felix, she believed in dilution, and
had arranged to gratify her guest so far as to take this opportunity of
inviting one or two Ewmouth families who hardly ever had a day in the
country except what they spent at Vale Leston, and whom it would have
been almost unkind to deprive of their summer treat.
So on Monday afternoon there was a gathering on the lawn large
enough to be a formidable spectacle to at least one pair of eyes in
the Kittiwake's gig as she came up the river, and to evoke a strong
expletive from a mouth whose fringes were grizzled enough for it to
have learnt to be less impulsive.
'Can't be helped, skipper. Come on,' laughed the joyous youth at the
prow in the ease of summer attire. 'What, hasn't your domestication
proceeded further? One would think you were the one newly caught from
the bush.'
'I shall set you ashore and come back at dark when the bear fight is
over.'
'Not a bit of it! See here she comes, the little darling Star, bless
her,' as over the wire netting, that guarded the croquet balls from the
river, sprang the little figure attracted by the well-known boat.
'Oh! I'm so sorry,' was her apologetic cry to the captain, then
stopping short, the bright colour flew to her cheeks.
'Well you may, to have such a mob to receive what I've brought you,
my pretty. Yes, yes, no mistake about him,' as Charlie bounded to her
side; 'but what's this? who's this big fellow in the yellow beard? Did
you ever see anybody like him? He looks as much astounded as you.'
'You didn't say it was Stella!' ejaculated the tall, powerful personage
designated. 'She was just toddling when I went out.'
'You're Fulbert then!' she said, looking up as she was folded in a big
brotherly embrace.
'Yes, to be sure, you pretty little thing. I declare you are a beauty
after all! And who's this?'
'I can't expect to be remembered,' said the white-whiskered sunburnt
clergyman in a broad shady hat and green shade over his eyes.
'But I think I remember your voice,' said Stella, 'Oh how glad my
brother will be!'
'And Lance, is he here?' cried Fulbert, eagerly.
'No, but every one else is at home.'
'At home! I believe so,' grumbled Captain Audley. 'I thought myself
secure from launchings out this year.'
'It is only the Colmans and Strachans and Parkers, just to amuse Mrs.
Lamb. I did not warn you, for I thought you were yachting to-day.'
'I was on board, going to sail this morning, when I got a telegram from
Charlie, and just as I expected him to turn up, who should drop in but
these two, fresh from Liverpool. Charles, this one, I mean, not _ours_,
thought it best not to startle my mother, and came here first, so I
brought them over as soon as they had eaten a mouthful, and now I'll
take a cruise up the river till it is all quiet.'
'O no, please don't be so unkind,' pleaded Stella. 'I'll take you to my
brother in his study without coming across anybody. He went in as soon
as we began to play at croquet. Here, through the laburnum path.'
She led him by the hand in a passive condition, highly amusing to his
son and brother, and Fulbert followed in a state of bewilderment.
'What an exquisite place!' exclaimed the elder Charles, catching sight
of the cloister through the trees. 'What a treat to see old walls! It
is like Oxford.'
'Pretty?' said Fulbert, 'I can't think how any one can stand being
cramped up by all these walks and enclosures!' and indeed his great
robust swinging step seemed to spurn them. 'All well?' he asked.
'Doesn't he know?' said Stella, pausing and touching her crape.
'Yes, yes, my dear,' said Captain Audley, 'they understand all that.'
'But Fulbert is more than half lost,' said the uncle, 'and for my own
part I can't realise this as your home.'
'I shall be glad to get to Bexley,' sighed Fulbert. 'However the elder
ones can't be so altered! I should know old Fee anywhere!'
They had reached the house, and Stella left them in the hall, saying
she would find Felix. Fulbert would have followed her, but was detained
by the captain, with the words, 'She knows best. I told you he had
never been quite the thing since.'
Fulbert stood still gazing in amaze at the lofty dark oak hall and
broad staircase so utterly unlike the narrow entry that had been
home to him, but the study door opened and forth came a figure with
outstretched hands, bright face, and glad welcome. 'Ful! Dear old boy,
come at last!' and the boyish handclasp of departure was an eager kiss
of greeting between the men. 'Mr. Audley! My great wish! Do the others
know? Have you seen Cherry?'
'I'll send her in,' quoth the captain, and rushing off in his
excitement and hatred of scenes, he marched into the thick of the fray,
where Cherry, amid mammas and Hepburns under the cedar, was astonished
by a voice in her ear, 'Your brother and mine are in the study, go to
them. I'll take the teapot.'
'Your brother?'
'Charles. Eyes brought him home--Fulbert with him. Good morning; you'll
excuse Miss Underwood: her brother from Australia.'
Cherry could only gasp something about pardon, relinquish her teapot
to the valiant skipper, snatch up Lord Gerald and hurry off at her
swiftest pace, finding, under the appropriate shade of the orange-tree
at the conservatory door, Charlie and Stella. 'Oh! it was not you he
meant,' was her inhospitable greeting.
'No, no. The Charles worth having _is_ here, and Fulbert. We are gone
to look up the rest.'
This did not look much like it, but Cherry stumped on, and came in
sight of the three in the hall, still silent in the first wonder, Felix
with one hand on the table, gazing at the new comers in silent extasy,
while they looked as if scarcely able to speak under the shock of his
appearance--those wasted enlarged features, that transparent pallor
with the grey shades round mouth, eyes and temples, the figure that
lost elastic slenderness without gaining strength, and the hair thinned
though still shining. Cherry was used to it, but she saw how it had
startled them, and that all three were like men in a dream, which she
broke by her cry of--'Fulbert, Fulbert! Mr. Audley! Oh! Felix, is not
this joy?'
Fulbert started round, relieved at his first real recognition, and his
big arms were round her, his great beard sweeping her cheeks. 'Cherry!
you at last! Little Cherry! But you've not got a proper crutch.'
'So much the better,' said Mr. Audley, amused at the complaint, 'she is
a stronger little body than when you left her.'
'And where did you drop from?' Felix was the first to ask.
All was quickly explained, Fulbert keeping hold of his sister all the
time. Mr. Audley's eyes had suddenly failed him, and the doctor had
urged his going home at once if he hoped to save them. Fulbert, who
had long been meditating a run home, resolved to see him safe through
the voyage, and thus they had set forth suddenly, preceding their own
letters. The inflammation of the eyes had subsided, and they were
somewhat better. 'Though,' said the owner, 'I hope it is their fault
that you look so altered, Felix.'
'He will soon get back his looks,' said Cherry. 'He is ever so much
better. You heard.'
'Yes,' said Fulbert, 'Captain Audley told us. Poor little Theodore. The
only wonder is that he lived so long--Who comes there?'
'You know me, Fulbert.'
'Wilmet? Yes, only grown grander than ever. But bless me! I thought
they told me. No--Lance isn't here, and couldn't have got like that.
Who is it, I say?'
'Have you forgotten little Bear?'
'Great Bear, rather,' said Mr. Audley. 'You've made good use of your
time, Bernard!'
'Oh! here's _the_ long lad,' said Felix. 'You'll not mistake him.'
'Aye! I should know Tina,' said Fulbert. 'He always did look the
parson. Who's missing now--Robina?'
'Robin is here! Oh Ful, Ful, you're very big, but your face is just
like the old times when you used to clamber up the timbers in the yard!'
'That's right, Bob! Now I begin to believe I'm come home. You're as
jolly as ever.'
Just then a shout of 'Mother!' and a vigorous patter of boots ended
in the bouncing in of two red curly mops of hair, whose owners were
pursuing a squabble of 'I will' and 'I won't,' and pulling at the
opposite ends of a string as they charged against Wilmet, in loud
appeal and protest. 'Softly, softly, Kester, Eddy, look at your uncle!'
was the motherly unperturbed rebuke, a hand on each shoulder, 'There's
your uncle Fulbert. Oh Kester, right hands.'
'Never mind,' said Fulbert, not more eager for the greeting than the
two nephews, who began again, 'Mother, make Eddy'--'Mother, Kester
won't'--and reeled out of the room still twisted up in the string,
Wilmet after them. 'Like a pair of puppies in leash,' said Felix.
'How many are there?'
'These two, and a little girl.'
Then came a sound, not without sweetness, though still a
whine--'Chérie! I want Chérie, O Chérie, they've got my lasso,' and
tottering and shuffling in came the little black figure with the white
face and clung to her. Both travellers started. 'I thought they said
Theodore--No, he'd be bigger,' exclaimed Fulbert.
'It is Gerald, poor Edgar's boy,' said Felix. 'Here, Gerald, here is
another brother of your father--and here's a dear old friend.'
The delicate hand held out by Gerald was as unlike as possible to the
brown puggy paws of his cousins, but he entreated still 'Don't let them
have my lasso, Chérie. It's grass, and Fernan gave it me!'
'I'll come, Gerald dear, I'll get them some whipcord--I must go back to
the people; I hope they'll soon be merciful and go--Oh! the heart's
joy of having seen those two!--Yes, dear boy, I'm coming, I'll take
care they don't take it away.'
'Cherry and her master!' said Bernard.
'Blissful bondage,' said Felix. 'Have you seen them all yet, Fulbert?
No--where's Angel?'
'Little Pryde has chopped his finger with a reap-hook, and she's gone
off with Miss Bridget to see about it,' returned Clement. 'Suppose we
walk and meet them, Ful--Felix will have his talk with Mr. Audley.'
And Robina and Bernard departed to the game, while Felix led his friend
into the study, saying in exultation, 'Our Cherry looks a heartier
woman than ever we expected, does she not?'
'Wonderfully improved. I only wish I could say the same of you! Is this
the effect of the accident?' as Felix, having placed an arm-chair for
Mr. Audley, subsided into his manifestly invalid resting place.
'I believe so. But how about your eyes?'
'That is what I cannot tell. They have mended since I have given up
reading or writing, but I durst not accept the Bishopric till I knew
whether they would be serviceable.'
'Albertstown?'
'Yes, I've been offered it. Any way, I should have had to come home;
and it was very good in Fulbert to come and take care of me.'
'An unspeakable delight and gift to have you both!' said Felix, 'Most
thankworthy!' he added almost to himself, 'how good in you to have come
to us!'
'More pleasure than goodness. My mother hates surprises and shocks,
so I had the day to spare, and I longed to see your domains. What a
delicious place! Not even Cherry's sketches made me understand the
charm.'
'We have so much to show you! You will think me absurd about it, but I
own I never see anything comparable to it.'
'I shan't think you absurd! Imagine what this room, with its air of age
and quaintness of carving, is to a man who has seen nothing venerable
these thirteen years.'
'And our church. But that you must not see without our Vicar.'
'I hope to give thanks for our return there. Robert said he would give
us all the evening here. How much good you have done him. I think his
adoration of little Stella is quite equal to Charlie's.'
Felix smiled faintly. 'Ah! you seem to have come to help us anent that
affair! I am very glad to be able to put it into your hands.'
'I'm afraid they are not very influential.'
'At least they belong to a head that can be trusted,' said Felix,
smiling. 'I'm not sure the poor lad ought to be here to-day.'
'I fancy he gathered hopes from Lady Liddesdale which he thinks justify
him,' said the uncle. 'Should you consent if he got a secretaryship at
the Embassy?'
'I should feel as if one of my greatest cares was relieved! I have
tried to do right in the matter, but it is a hard one. I should be
thankful indeed to see my little one cleared from this perplexity,
and I begin to trust I shall. Everything seems to be so remarkably
smoothing itself, as it were winding itself up.'
'Felix, I don't understand your tone. I can't see you distinctly, but I
am sure more is amiss with you than Robert told me.'
'I was on the verge of bleeding to death after the accident,' said
Felix, 'and I fancy the treatment I am going through keeps me low.'
'Treatment, what for?'
In a few technical words he repeated what he had told Gertrude.
'You speak with certainty!' exclaimed his friend.
'No, it is too much out of reach. They are trying to disperse it,
and if that cannot be done, there would be a fight of strength of
constitution. It seems to me hardly to get better or worse since the
mere muscular strain passed off, only paining me on provocation, and
telling chiefly in weakness and lassitude. It is curious how everything
in my life seems drawing to a point, so that somehow I feel as if I
were permitted to bind up my sheaves. Here is poor Edgar's fate certain
so as to enable me to make arrangements about the property, and his
child to be Cherry's object, making me far happier about her. And here
you are; I have longed to pray for your being here to help us both when
the crisis comes. You will?'
'I will! I will. So far as I dare to promise!'
'Remember. She knows nothing of this, only Clement. I could not get
along without him. Poor Clem! Do you remember how we used to laugh at
him? You will marvel at the strength and wisdom that have grown up
in him. I rejoice to have come to such dependence on the brother I
understood and perhaps liked least, and it is the same with Cherry. She
has learnt to lean on him.'
'More than on Lance?'
'Lance, our lark and our sunshine! Dear Lance, I think he may have
a home of his own, but his affairs are not yet susceptible of
discussion,' said Felix, smiling. 'Altogether, I have been strangely
blessed in these brothers and sisters of mine. The love and affection
I have had from them, the willing loyalty that has been the spirit of
them all, strike me as wonderful.'
'Wonderful, because those who do most are generally the worst requited.'
'And now, the dear little fellow is taken whom I could least have borne
to leave,' added Felix. 'The missing him was very sore to me at first,
but I am glad now. All were good to him, but it was effort to all but
Stella and myself, and even with Stella it could not have gone on.
There are only two for whom I have real anxieties, and there is good
stuff in both.'
'Alda?'
'I was not thinking of her. She never seemed my charge like the rest.
No, Angela and Bernard, but so much has righted itself that I have
the more faith. I believe Bear may be all the better for losing his
dependence on me. He wants to be forced into manhood.'
'Felix, I wonder whether you are right in thus giving yourself up. It
makes me doubt if I ought to have left you alone to the charge. It must
have gone very hard with you.'
'Not at all. I have had my full share of happiness. A most happy,
peaceful family, and latterly in this delightful place! my first,
dearest home, the spot I must always have loved best! and Cherry!
Truly, too, both here and at Bexley, I have had that blessing of
Joseph, whatever I have done, the Lord hath made it to prosper. You
left me Mr. Froggatt's assistant, I think, and each step since has been
no small enjoyment in itself.'
'Yet you are content that all this should end! Your father was, but
his had been a sadder, more laborious, unsuccessful life, and I own
I marvel at you, so fresh in this position, with life before you--You
are--?'
'Thirty-four this last July.'
'That is early youth to most men.'
'No doubt something is due to the perpetual weariness and "do
nothingness" that belong to the complaint, and make me feel getting
done with it all. Soon I shall free myself of being rector here,
the endowment of East Ewmouth is settled, the building begins in
the spring. A long minority will right the estate, and work off its
burthens, and I have had unexpected opportunities of putting things in
train; but if I go on, the task of making both ends meet must continue
hard. I suppose recovery would bring back zest and vigour, but as I
am now, it is like a lame horse at grass, shrinking from a return to
the load, the mire and the ruts, and the assurances of rest acquire a
sweetness they never had before. If I had only done my part fully, and
could say to my father, 'Behold me and the children thou hast given
me!' but when I count my hundred thousand errors, and remember what
makes up for them, it seems little if the last passage should be a hard
one, as I suppose it will. Oh!' breaking off short, 'I should not have
run on like this. It must be the worst thing for your eyes.'
'This is an odd way of helping you,' said Mr Audley, struggling for
composure. 'I ought to be thankful to see you like this, but I am
selfishly disappointed. I had reckoned on seeing you in the prime of
your usefulness and honors, and happiness.'
'Here's plenty of happiness,' returned Felix, with his brightest smile;
'and I've not yet given up the uses nor the honors of Squire Underwood.
In fact, I hear the carriages coming, and must go and see the people
off. Will that serve for honors? it would have seemed like them twelve
years ago.'
Uneasy about the eyes that had been swimming in perilous tears, he
continued, changing his tone from the thoughtful to the lively: 'It is
our only entertainment this year, of course, but I was forced to have
Lamb here on business, and we thought it would please his wife.'
'Is she?'
'Yes, Alice Knevett. Prettier than ever,' he answered. 'Will you come
out, or shall I leave you for these few minutes?'
The longing to watch him prompted Mr. Audley to follow him, though with
little mind to face any one, and in a few moments it hardly seemed
credible that the man who had been speaking of carrying the sentence
of death within himself was the same who was so cheerfully and easily
going through the friendly courtesies of a host--pausing with a face
full of quiet humour to point out Captain Audley acting beneficent
rover, though it was his first time of touching a mallet since he had
been a guardsman, and croquet a novelty of high life.
Here too came the introduction to Major Harewood, never seen before,
and the Reverend William, last seen as Lance's shock-headed friend,
a terror to Wilmet and Cherry, and frightening the babies with his
mesmerism.
It was still light enough for the grand tour, and Felix, though leaning
and resting at every pause, would not be denied the going through the
whole, showing it off with a kind of affectionate exultation rather
increased than diminished since the day of taking possession. The
character of the place had altered a good deal since that day when he
had first seen it. It must be owned that some of the perfect trimness
of turf and shrubbery had gone, and that some stable windows were
broken, and their yard grass-grown, and the Vicarage Sunday school
had an aspect which thirteen colonial years could not prevent the
baronet's son from feeling at first sight a little disreputable. The
half-finished Rectory of the future, where the Curate for whom Clement
was advertising was to live, was on the glebe land on the other side of
the church. Altogether, the house and grounds might be in less dainty
order; but there was a look of life about every window, and the lawn
was glowing with the bright tints of geraniums and verbenas, while
dog, cat, kittens, and doves, to say nothing of the human creatures,
imparted an air of gladness and animation, and the Virginian creeper on
the cloister hung like a magnificent purple curtain over the scene. The
dreary deserted aspect of church and churchyard which had at first so
disheartened Clement was entirely gone, and the last September lights
and shades showed themselves on tower and pinnacle, and gleamed on
stained glass as somehow sunshine _does_ seem to fall on what is loved
and prized, as if inanimate things responded to affection.
In the part of the cloister wall that lay within the churchyard
precincts were two or three memorials of Underwoods who did not lie
buried there, and to these Felix had added a brass cross with an
inscription bearing the names of Edward Underwood and Mary Wilmet his
wife. Mr. Audley looked at these earnestly, marvelling all the more at
his friend's resolute content in his exclusion from this lovely spot,
and from thence he was led to the little grave, now marked with a white
marble cross, bearing on the foot the word 'Ephphatha.' What better
could have been wished for that little helpless being? Fulbert was of
course more interested in the willow tree. He swung himself over the
bank and calculated the height with wonder, demanding of Felix how
the feat had been possible to him. 'I can't tell,' answered he, 'I
have wondered since. It was very foolish of me not to have done like
Charlie. He was the hero.'
'Ah! Charlie is a regular fish, at home in the water or out,' said his
father, well pleased.
And they looked at the 'fish,' who was standing a little way off,
with Stella beside him, with down-cast eyes. He had made two attempts
already to pour out his plans on Felix, who had cruelly answered that
he could listen to nothing till the examination was over, and consent
gained, and ruthlessly cut him off from all private interviews, not
choosing to give anything that could be construed into the most tacit
encouragement--but not able to find it in his heart to interfere with
the present enjoyment, though it was not in the bond.
As to the church, now brought to all the glory that reverent hands,
careful taste, and well-judged expenditure could give it, the contrast
was not small from the dreary bepewed building, and all its native
beauties were unobscured or renovated. Very happy were Clement and
Cherry in pointing them out one by one, and telling the story of the
fragments whose forms had guided the restoration, and Felix sat by on
a bench, enjoying the evening mystery of soft darkness as it fell on
the archings and vaultings, and putting in his word now and then in the
pleasant history of the four years' work.
'Yes, Felix, I do congratulate you! Nay, more! I shall give thanks for
what I have seen to-day,' said Mr. Audley in a low voice, as they went
to robe for even-song.
And Felix added, 'Thank you. But pray for me, too.'
It was well he had an appreciative admirer for his dear Vale Leston in
Mr. Audley, for Fulbert, untrained in antiquities, and with colonial
'_nil admirari_' ways, did not enter into the charms of grey walls,
nor understand ecstasies over the proportions of arches, while even
in the house, he agreed with Mrs. Lamb that oak wainscot was dismally
dark, and that the furniture was worn and old-fashioned. He could not
feel at home. 'It was all very fine perhaps,' he said, 'but it didn't
seem natural,' and he eagerly accepted the Lambs' invitation to return
with them to Bexley. 'I can't help it,' he apologized, 'I'll soon come
back, but I shall not know I'm at home till I've seen Lance and the old
house. It's all different here, and you are all grown such swells, and
the little ones are so big, and Blunderbore looks as if he had been
lost for a month in the bush, and I sha'n't get my bearings till I've
been down to the old place, and seen Lance and the fellows there.'
So almost as suddenly as they had come, the Australian visitors
vanished, leaving behind them only the security that they were within
reach. Captain Audley went with his son and brother, and quiet was
left to prevail at Vale Leston. The first break was a message brought
in the forenoon to the study, where Felix saw to letters and attended
to business more slowly and with more pauses and effort, but not less
effectively than heretofore. 'Miss Hepburn would be glad to speak to
you, sir.'
'Which Miss Hepburn, Amelia?'
'Miss Isabella, sir.'
'She has found _this_ out, and is going to exhort me as she tried to do
to Lance,' thought Felix, as he desired that she should be admitted,
and with some masculine perverseness, not only rose to greet her, but
placed himself in a common upright chair to listen to her. He found
himself mistaken, she had not come to speak to him on his own account.
'You are aware, Mr. Underwood, that from one cause and another, we have
had some influence with dear Angela, more I fear than has been quite
palatable.'
'In some ways you have done her a great deal of good,' said Felix,
wondering what was coming.
'Nay, not pot-sherds like ourselves, but the way we have been
privileged to point to her, dear child, but I am glad you think so. I
fancied that you were all in opposition.'
'I think,' said Felix, 'that the poor child had got into a state of
unreality and self-deceit, and that after the shock of last spring
your kindness helped her to the true foundations which she had somehow
missed.'
It must have been a temptation to Miss Isabella to enlarge on the
danger of concealing that true Foundation, but she had a point and
purpose, and besides, the Squire looked as little in need of being
taught where to find that Verity as any one she had ever met in a
biography, so she went on, 'It was, I am thankful to believe, true
conversion, and the dear child is indeed a sincere Christian, but young
people are so enthusiastic.'
'She is excitable, and sure to go to the utmost length in whatever she
does,' said Felix, beginning to expect to hear of the ranting.
He was right. Miss Isabella wished him to be aware that she and her
sisters had done their utmost to withhold Angela from rushing out. He
replied that he was not afraid it would occur again. William Harewood
had talked to the man, and thought him disconcerted, and likely to
carry his ministrations where there was more neglect. However, Miss
Hepburn explained that this was an offshoot of a great revival which
the Plymouth brethren were organizing at Ewmouth. One of their great
lights, a merchant captain who had given up everything for religion,
was about to preach, and Angela had set her heart on hearing him. His
tracts had been widely diffused among the Miss Hepburn's friends, and
the warfare about disseminating them in the village was still recent.
Angela, who had once made holocausts of as many as she could capture,
was now their ardent admirer, and had insisted on making part of the
audience of their author. Now the Miss Hepburns would as soon, no
sooner, have gone to the opera as to a dissenting chapel, and there
had been a vehement argument, resulting in their pupil declaring her
intention of going with a farmer's widow who liberally hovered between
Vale Leston Church one half of the day and Ewmouth chapel the other.
It was shocking to Clan Hepburn to think of forsaking the
Establishment, and even more so to imagine an Underwood, a lady, a
clergyman's daughter and sister, at a revivalist tea-meeting in a
dissenting chapel, and in full council they had decided that it would
be unjustifiable not to warn the head of the family, and absolutely
conniving at the monstrous proceeding.
'Thank you sincerely,' said Felix: 'it shall be put a stop to.'
'I sincerely hope that may be possible,' said the lady, 'but where the
dear child thinks her conscience is at stake, she is far too regardless
of remonstrance.'
Felix smiled, having found this the case whether her conscience were at
stake or not.
The encounter must be fought out, not on Miss Isabella's grounds but
on his own. He knew it must have come some day. He had not spoken a
serious word to her since she had rejected his consolation two days
after the accident, and knowing that she was under other guidance, he
had not interfered, feeling less equal than ever to a war of words with
the perverse and perplexing girl.
How near the conflict was he did not know till at dinner, when on
Bernard's asking her to pull up the river with him, Angela replied that
she was going to drink tea with Mrs. Lake.
This was one of the gracious acts performed from time to time, but
it sounded enough like a subterfuge to make Felix feel grieved and
indignant, but he held his peace, and so did Clement, while Robina
exclaimed, 'Almost my last evening, Angel!' And Cherry laughingly
accused her of devotion to Mrs. Lake's elderberry-wine. Colouring deep
crimson, Angela burst forth in a combative tone, 'Well, I suppose I may
go where I like.'
'O, yes, my dear,' said Bernard, 'to meet that nice young man, who was
holding forth on Sunday. Only, when it is a fixed affair let me know,
and I'll have a suit of tar and feathers in readiness.'
Angela's neck was burning by this time, and she crumbled her bread
savagely.
'Is the party in his house?' whispered Will to Robina.
But no one took up Bernard's remark, all feeling that the matter
could not be made game of, and when they rose, Felix said, 'Angela, I
want you in the study.' She could not choose but obey, and before she
was fairly in the room, or the door closed, made another outburst,
'Brother, I have no intention of deceiving you; I only did not choose
to have it out before Bernard and all in the middle of dinner.'
Felix, in his slow careful manner, deposited himself in the Squire's
chair, and said, 'Sit down, Angela.'
'No, thank you, I have not time. I only came that you may see I am not
deceiving you. I am going with Mrs. Lake to hear Captain Gudgeon,' she
replied, with a glow in her cheeks and a gesture as of noble defiance,
somewhat disturbed by his extreme gentleness.
'You had better sit down, my dear,' he said.
This actually put an end to her war-dance. She seated herself, but
tried to resume her challenge by saying, 'I shall be at home long
before ten.'
'Certainly,' said Felix, quietly, 'you will.'
'You understand that I really mean it?'
'No doubt you do at this moment, but I forbid you to do any such thing.'
'I acknowledge no commands superior to conscience,' she said. 'I have
made my appointment.'
'That I will arrange for you.'
'You can't.'
'The pony-carriage is coming round at three, and I shall go and explain
to Mrs. Lake that you remain at home by my desire.'
Mrs. Lake's farm was at the end of a lane all stones and ruts, and it
was well known in the family that nothing hurt Felix so much as a jolt.
'No! no! You can't think of it,' cried Angela.
'I shall walk over the worst places,' he said.
'And that's the whole! Felix, pray don't!'
'I must, unless you will submit otherwise.'
'That's taking an unfair advantage,' she said, with tears of anger in
her eyes. 'You know it is leaving me no choice.'
'Thank you. That is very kind. You had better take that pen and paper
and write to Mrs. Lake.'
'You know your power,' she said, petulantly. 'If you were well, I would
try it to the uttermost!'
With a fraction of a smile he said, 'We will talk it over when your
note is written, but it is hard to let poor Mrs. Lake butter her
muffins all the afternoon in vain.'
This view of preparations for a tea-party made Angela smile a little
also, and that did her good. She sat down at the table, and hastily
wrote--
DEAR MRS. LAKE,
I am sorry to say I am prevented from joining you to-night.
Yours, with great regret,
A.M. UNDERWOOD.
She showed the billet to Felix, who made no objection, but rang, and
gave orders for its despatch.
'Thank you, Angel,' he said. 'I do not scruple to avail myself of your
consideration for my side, because, as long as my authority over you
lasts, I am resolved to prevent you by any means in my power from doing
wrong.'
'You know I have ceased to think with you on that point,' said Angela,
not without hopes of extorting permission after all.
'I know you have, but you are young enough to be prevented from
committing an open act of schism before you have grown wiser.'
'You speak as if I wanted to become an out-and-out dissenter, when I
only wish to hear a man whose writings have done so much for my soul,
which was starving--yes, starving before.'
'Perhaps sleeping would be the fitter word.'
'Sleeping or starving, it comes to the same. Forms, routine, and
ordinances assumed to be everything, and did me no good--how could
they? And in the awakening! Oh, brother, would that I could make you
understand the joy--the ecstasy of looking straight up to my Saviour,
and the incomparableness of what brightens and quickens that gaze. Then
you could never try to keep me back for mere forms and distinctions!'
'Nay,' said Felix, gravely but fervently, 'it is because I _do_--I
hope--love and look up to my most blessed Lord and Master, that I can
permit nothing that rends and breaks the Unity of His Body, which He
gave us to guard and cherish here.'
'Unity is not external--it is only in the spiritual Church of the
faithful, in their hearts. It is I who want to keep it.'
'By going to those who have parted asunder from us?'
'I never said I was going over--only to hold out a hand of
fellowship--to hear and learn.'
'I'm afraid your hand of fellowship is hardly strong enough to unite
the two bodies, Angela. Don't you think it might end in your being led
captive, like certain silly women we have heard of--ever learning and
never coming to a knowledge of the truth. That is what I want to save
my sister from.'
'Then it is Wilmet's old "what it may lead to!"'
'Exactly, her old wisdom. See, Angela, I cannot tell how long I may
have any authority; at any rate you will be of age in a few weeks,
and then I do not know what you may do, for there is something very
dangerous in your passion for excitement. I have thought a great deal
about you, my poor Angel, for yours is the disposition that has always
made me the most anxious of all, especially since the shock that has
cast you loose from your old bearings; but all I can do, while I am
still responsible for you, is to restrain you as far as possible, both
because I think going among schismatics wrong in itself, and because I
hope the delay may give you time to be steadied, and to perceive that
the Divine appointments of the Church are not darkenings, but lamps of
faith.'
'I think you are in earnest, Felix,' said Angela. 'Miss Isa says you
and Lance _are_ true Christians in spite of it all! Tell me honestly
now. Your objection is not because it is unladylike, not fit for Squire
Underwood's sister.'
He laughed, 'Really that never occurred to me.'
'Then I don't mind. I say, did Miss Isa put you up to this? Yes? I
can't understand. It was she who first opened my eyes to the light, and
taught me what true Christianity is, showing me the hollowness of all
I had lived in, and bringing me from darkness to light. It was she who
gave me Captain Gudgeon's books. They are beautiful. Will you look at
them?'
'Very well.'
'She does not think, like you, of what you call schism, only of its
not being proper for ladies. She says we can read at home, as if that
were like living words, and that we ought not to mix with "that kind of
people," as she calls them. I can't understand such worldly nonsense in
a person like her.'
'Many people let the world get a curious grip of their conscience,'
said Felix. 'Perhaps we who have lived so long beneath the line don't
estimate the strength of scruple, but in this case it may be well that
even inferior motives should prevent the breaking their Communion with
the Church.'
'You think that outward Communion preferable to an enlightened spirit.
There we differ.'
'No, Angela. The soul must have life and enlightenment, or else it is
like one asleep in the midst of a feast, under a lamp, but there is no
sure way of keeping up that life and light except by the means and in
the union our Blessed Lord appointed.'
'Then comes the question, how do you know that these means, precisely
in your own way, are what He meant?'
'By unbroken historical evidence of the Church universal--by the Saints
that have been formed through them. Nay, shall I say it, Angela, by
personal experience ever since I can remember. I can no more doubt of
the grace, comfort, and strength imparted through them than I do of the
refreshment of food or of air.'
'Tell me, if you don't mind, a little more precisely what you mean.'
'I mean so far this, that a perplexing question, when taken there,
is apt afterwards to clear itself. One sees the way to what seemed
impossible, and I am also sure that one's first impulses in unexpected
trials become much safer and more trustworthy under the influence one
then imbibes. How should they not?'
'That's not the heart, it's all outward,' said Angela, impatiently.
'Nay, is not the outward action connected with the abundance of the
heart? As to the rest, my dear Angel, I don't think anything that I can
say will express the blessing except "O _taste_ and see how gracious
the Lord is!" What would life or death be worth without it?' And his
face spoke more than his words.
'Well,' said Angela. 'No good came to me till I banished those things
away, and knew my load of sin, and Who has taken it. I can't bear
anything between Him and me.'
'Nor I,' said Felix. 'Angela, my dear, are you sure your discovery is
not exactly what our old way was meant to teach you?'
She hung her head. He had enough experience of her to know that
pressing her was useless, so he leant back giving way to his fatigue,
and she sat on playing with a paper-knife, till at last she said,
'Brother, do you remember my scalding you?'
'Certainly.'
'When I would not let you pardon me, and you didn't want to.'
'Rather oddly put, but I remember.'
'Well!' coming and kneeling by him, 'I terribly crave for pardon now.'
'My poor Angel,' as he tenderly kissed her brow, and as she rested it
on the arm of his chair, stroked her fair hair. Presently there came up
a sort of choked whisper, 'for isn't it worse than we thought?'
'May be so, Angel, but you know that came of my own stupid choice of a
landing-place, so that is my private affair.'
Her instinct had gathered more than she had been told, and her eager
wilful chase of excitement and defiance of Clement had been the vain
resource of a sadly foreboding, half-broken heart, dwelling vehemently
on the whole mass of past sins, as if putting them in one vague heap
dulled the unbearably acute sense of the one act of vain flightiness
that had produced such consequences, and now, though she guessed enough
to be unwilling to agitate him, the comfort of the avowal and of his
caress was infinite.
He partly perceived how it was, and waited a little before saying, 'I
look to you as my great help if this comes to anything. You are the
family nurse.'
'Oh!' she came still closer, and presently said, 'please tell me just
what it is; it can't be worse than guessing.'
He told her.
'I thought so,' she said, and still knelt with her head against his
chair for a long, long time, till the door was opened and Clement came
in, not seeing her, as she sat on the ground on the further side.
'The pony-carriage is come round; but here's a pretty business. It is
all over the parish that Angela is going with Mrs. Lake to Gudgeon's
conventicle. Halloa!'
'How can you come and upset Felix?' was Angela's cry as she sprang to
her feet.
'Gently, Angel,' said Felix, laughing; 'don't be so like Tabby guarding
her kitten from Scamp: Clem is tolerably aware by this time of what
does me harm. She has been very good to me, Clem; she has given it up
to please me.'
'Because I should have been a brute if I had not,' said Angela. 'Mind,
Clement, I'm not convinced! I should like to have fought it out,
but----' her dignity quite gave way, 'I don't care. I can't vex him,
there--I nev-er, never will!' And she dashed away, struggling with sobs.
'A dangerous undertaking, if it were likely to last longer,' said
Felix; 'but even while it does, the restraint may be wholesome.'
'Then you have stopped this?'
'Miss Isabella warned me. One good thing is that the good ladies'
opposition was on motives that rather sap her faith in them.'
'Does she know about you?'
'She had nearly found out already. Nature designed her for a nursing
sister. I rather hope she may yet turn that way, but the load of a sore
heart is very heavy on her, poor child.'
'If she is getting into confidence with you, I have hope,' said
Clement, sighing as if his heart were sore enough as he looked at his
brother.
'If I can only be allowed to tide her through this searching time of
trouble and put her into better hands,' said Felix, 'I should be glad
indeed; otherwise I should fear her becoming one of the ladies who
drift through every variety of exciting religion.'
From that time he submitted to be watched and waited on by Angela, with
an exclusive vehemence that was almost fierce. She attended to his very
eye, and for the present so entirely centered her fervent nature upon
the 'not vexing him,' that he had to think twice before expressing the
most casual and careless wish, lest she should turn everything upside
down to gratify him.
To only one other person did Felix speak of his own state, namely,
Bernard, who, as Will Harewood foretold, egregiously failed in
obtaining admission to Keble College, and took his rejection with the
utmost coolness, seeming to think he had made a great concession to
family prejudice, and that now something must be found to enable him
to pass through the university with the same gentleman-like ease as
through Harrow.
Not in the least crestfallen, he stood warming his back at the study
fire, and mentioning one or two colleges whose requirements he thought
not unreasonable. That Felix should haggle about expense, and have
delusions that the university was meant for work, he could endure as
the innocuous thunder with which governors must be allowed to solace
themselves, while youth listened good humouredly to the growl.
The thunder, however, took an unwonted form in the quiet reply. 'Either
you must get a scholarship, or you cannot go to Oxford. You had better
study harder than you have ever done, or else turn your mind to some
other maintenance. Hitherto, you have depended on me, but Gerald's
guardians will not have the same power.'
'Gerald's guardians!' he exclaimed, as the import flashed on him.
'You're all right, except the old sprain!'
'I am afraid not, Bear. There is serious damage, and though I do not
wish to distress any one, especially Cherry, it is right you should be
prepared to get on without me, as you know I have absolutely nothing to
leave you.'
'I say, is this fancy, or have you had the doctor?'
'Four.'
'Four doctors! That's enough to account for anybody thinking anything
the matter with him. Cheer up, Squire,' and he assumed a superior air
of wisdom and encouragement that made Felix look amused enough to
persuade the boy of the effect of his words--'don't be croaked out of
spirits. Sprains are nasty things, and go on no one knows how long; but
I'll bet anything you like that nothing else is the matter with you but
the doctors, and poking over that desk. It's a splendid day, I thought
of going up the river. Will you come?'
To which Felix consented, and Bernard, when repairing to Geraldine to
propose her joining the party, said, 'It will be good for the Squire. I
say, what makes him so down in the mouth?'
'Of course, he is disappointed about you.'
'Pish! I didn't mean that, but about himself and the sprain.'
'I don't wonder, dear Felix!' said Cherry. 'It is very wearing to feel
it at every movement, and it is depressing to be so set aside from
active life. I only wonder at his patience.'
So Bernard continued to repose in his consoling fiction of low spirits,
but he was so far amenable as to think himself 'grinding frightfully
hard' with a tutor at Ewmouth, and dislike of the said grist impelled
him to propose going out to Carrigaboola; but after a day's shooting
with him, Fulbert declined the proposal in no measured terms, when
he had seen Master Bernard's daintiness of equipment, disgust at
difficulties, dependence on luncheon, and distaste at loading himself
with anything that could be carried by another.
And Cherry? How did the quickest witted of all avoid the shadow of the
cloud visible to so many?
Partly there was the resistance of a sensitive mind, after hosts of
imaginary panics, to a real fear--partly her brother was on his guard
against distressing her, and often commanded his countenance, when if
alone with Clement, it would have betrayed the pang, and besides, her
charm of manner often beguiled his weariness; but above all, her want
of perception was due to her absorption in little Gerald.
The child needed careful attention, varying from day to day under
a succession of petty ailments, only to be dealt with by assiduous
tenderness. To train his vivid intelligence, to amuse and occupy him,
to guard him from the aggressions of his cousins, and to soothe him
under pain or nervous restlessness was quite one person's work, and
engrossed Cherry, whom the little fellow preferred with exclusiveness
that increased to petulance whenever he was suffering. She was seldom
to be seen without him, and was always occupied with him, and her
unselfish brother was content that she should thus be weaned from him,
and wind her affections round another object. Yes, even though she
could no longer be entirely reckoned for Pursuivant work that _must_ be
done, and now more than ever no one could do like her; though Gerald's
call would break off her writing for him, and either she came not, or
he enjoyed only her divided attention in his walks and drives.
'It was better so,' he said, when Clement was vexed and indignant. And
truly he was anxious enough about the frail little child to have none
of the jealousy of invalid number one towards invalid number two.
Marilda's eager, almost peremptory claim had little chance. Cherry was
almost furious at the tone in which the warm-hearted heiress wrote
demanding the boy, as if his father had been her brother and not
theirs, and nobody could care for him save herself. If Felix had not
had more coolness, there might almost have been a breach. As it was,
his grateful but decided reply that Edgar had entrusted his son to
his brothers and sisters in a manner that would not justify them in
resigning the charge, so offended her that a marked silence followed.