Jeffray, much impressed by Mr. Lancelot’s brotherly ardor, trudged down
across the park that evening and took the road to Rodenham village. The
Shrovetide cock-throwing was at an end, and beer had succeeded to
brutality. Villagers were shouting and singing in front of the inn,
where a fuddled old fiddler with a wooden leg sat perched on a barrel,
scraping away at his violin. The red, hairy faces, with their animal
laughter and their vociferous mouths, made the master of Rodenham
shudder. A number of lads and wenches were racing and scrimmaging on the
green, tumbling one another upon the grass, their coarse laughter
sounding through the village. Jeffray pushed through the crowd towards
the inn, holding his head high and turning his flushed face neither to
the right nor the left. He found Wilson in the private parlor dining on
steak and potatoes, with a pot of porter at his elbow. The painter
sprang up and gripped Jeffray’s hand as the lad blurted out the result
of his conference with Mr. Lot. Wilson’s rough face brightened. He wiped
his great mouth, and looked at Richard with affection.
“Ah, sir,” he said, “I am glad to hear the sky is clearing. There is a
weight, Richard, a great weight off my mind. I was not afraid, sir, of
Mr. Hardacre’s sword, but I was afraid of injuring your happiness.”
Jeffray sat down and talked to Wilson, while the painter, after blunt
apologies, went on with his dinner. Richard was for having Wilson back
at Rodenham, but the honest fellow would consent to no such diplomatic
error.
“No, no, Richard,” he said, after a pull at the pot, “I am best away,
sir, at such a crisis, though I thank you heartily for your kindness. I
shall tramp on to Lewes and see more of these glorious fellows—the
downs. I have money in my purse, and, egad, what irony, I won some of it
from your august aunt at cards. I believe she let me win it, sir, to
keep me in a good temper, and the cash will pay for the portrait I
painted. I shall come back by this road, Richard, and if I slink in for
a meal at Rodenham you must not be amazed.”
“Come when you will, Dick,” said Jeffray, “the priory will be open to
you when this quarrel is at end. Jilian has a kind heart; she will not
grudge me a friend.”
Wilson shook his head and smiled shrewdly.
“I have no desire to make experiments, sir,” he said; “and if I turn in
to see you, it will only be for a short day. If you have a priest’s
hiding-hole at Rodenham, you might put it at my service for a night.
Take my advice, Richard, and don’t fling my name in Miss Hardacre’s
face. There are some things women like to leave in the lumber-room. Lud,
what an infernal din those boors are making!”
Jeffray said farewell to the painter with no little regret, for he was
one of the few men he had met to whom he could confide his poetical
enthusiasm. There was a goodly world of beauty behind Richard Wilson’s
ugly face. Jeffray walked back to Rodenham with a grave sense of
responsibility increasing upon him. The Lady Letitia had sent word that
she would come down to sup with her nephew, and Richard dreaded not a
little the ordeal that loomed across the night. No doubt his aunt had
heard of Mr. Hardacre’s visit. Jeffray had need of some of the courage
of a Perseus to face this acrimonious and awe-inspiring dame.
The Lady Letitia’s attitude and expression may be imagined when Jeffray,
looking pale but very composed, informed her that it would be necessary
for her to leave Rodenham in her coach. The old lady expressed the most
haughty astonishment, scanned her nephew as though he were an impudent
urchin of ten, and began to insist that Wilson, the painter fellow, was
a most unprincipled liar. Had he not occasioned all the disturbance at
Hardacre by deceiving the dear old lady as to the nature of his past
association with Miss Jilian? Was Richard Jeffray going to bundle his
father’s sister out of his house as though she were no better than some
unfortunate slut? Angels and martyrs, the Lady Letitia had no intention
of stomaching such arbitrary treatment. She had pride, sir, and if her
presence caused her nephew any inconvenience, she could take her
departure without orders.
Richard held his tongue and kept his temper throughout the dowager’s
explosive harangue, sitting with pale face and compressed mouth, and
drumming on the table with his fingers.
“You will pardon me, madam,” he said, very politely, “but for the
present peace of the neighborhood I conceive it expedient for you to
leave Rodenham—for a time.”
The old lady’s red nose admonished her nephew. She twitched her
eyebrows, flapped and fluttered with her fan, looking outraged both as
to pride and affection.
“Certainly, my dear nephew,” she said, with an ironical twist of the
mouth. “I am a little older than Miss Jilian Hardacre. We are both of us
out of temper, sweet Jill and your old aunt, and when two cats will
quarrel under one’s bedroom one of ’em must be silenced. Precisely so,
my dear Richard; I will cumber your hospitality no longer.”
Jeffray, flushed and uncomfortable, and suffering the usual feelings of
discourtesy and ingratitude that assail a young man on such occasions,
clung to the conviction none the less, that the feud would not end
without the Lady Letitia’s departure.
“I am sorry, madam,” he said, “that I am compelled to speak to you like
this, but I shall be unable to quit myself as a man of honor to the
Hardacres so long as you remain at Rodenham.”
Aunt Letitia’s eyes glittered as though it would please her to repeat a
certain episode of her nephew’s youth when she had tanned him royally
with a slipper.
“Do not apologize, sir,” she said; “perhaps you will have the goodness
to tell me whether I am to be ejected to-morrow, or will you grant me a
week’s respite to prepare for exile?”
“I pray you, consider your own convenience,” returned Jeffray, blushing.
“I must send Parsons to The Wells to engage decent rooms for me. My
bankers must be negotiated with. This is so sudden, sir, that you have
caught me unprepared.”
Jeffray suggested that he would be happy to oblige his aunt in any way
that she might desire. Aunt Letitia frowned and played with her fan. The
dowager’s treasure-chest was nearly empty, and it would be a month or
more before she could count upon the paying of her dividends. Could her
nephew oblige her with a loan of a hundred guineas at an interest of
five per cent.? Aunt Letitia appeared in no wise distressed by having to
confide such delicate matters to her nephew. In fact, she built a
grievance out of her inconveniences, and spoke with sarcastic
significance of being “taken by so sudden a surprise.” Richard, eager to
salve the old lady’s feelings, offered her a loan of two hundred
guineas, repudiating the very thought of usury with scorn. Aunt Letitia
clutched at the concession, and the interview ended with some symptoms
of amiability, the dowager actually kissing her nephew before she
hobbled off to bed.
Richard was in the saddle early next morning and away for Hardacre with
the spring sun streaming down upon the greens and purples of Pevensel.
The bright zest of the day was in his blood, generous and blithe as the
spirit of youth itself. He was eager to crave Jilian’s forgiveness, and
to quit himself as his manhood prompted in the matter of saluting the
Hardacre honor. Richard rode in the belief that he had shamed his
kinswoman, and that he had bruised her kind heart by his aunt’s
duplicity.
With the thickets of Pevensel towering on every hand, Jeffray’s thoughts
sped back from Hardacre to the glowing face of Bess of the Woods.
Richard, despite his sensitive obedience to the promptings of honor,
could not think of the girl without a flush of feeling sweeping across
his mind. Her face brought both mystery and gladness, deep witchery and
a prophecy of pain. What was this tall, black-haired, lissome wench to
him that she should make his heart beat louder as over the tragic
breathing of some song? Richard, riding through Pevensel, strove to
laugh such romantic memories away. Because the girl had a fine body and
a passionate face, should he suffer his thoughts to dally with her in
the deeps of her own mysterious woods? Yet despite his strainings after
sanity he found himself wondering how she fared in the forest, whether
Black Dan still pestered her, and whether she carried one of his pistols
in her bosom?
In due course Jeffray came to Hardacre Chase where the oaks, gray and
purple, with brown bracken beneath, strode down in giant companies upon
the road. Mr. Lancelot, who had remained at home that morning in
expectation of Jeffray’s coming, met his cousin as he rode up to the
gate house. There was a cheering smile upon Mr. Hardacre’s face, for the
inimitable Lot had no doubt at all of his sister’s willingness to
forgive Richard Jeffray. Sir Peter, who happened to be standing in the
oriel-window of the main gallery, had seen the young Squire of Rodenham
ride up. The baronet and his son had discussed the problem that very
morning.
“Good luck to ye, Richard,” said Mr. Lot, with confidential solemnity.
“I have had a terrible tussle with Sir Peter. Egad, cousin, I had to
sweat to persuade the governor to let you see Jill. I’ll take your
horse. You know the room, Richard?”
Richard, who had dismounted, pressed Mr. Lancelot’s hand.
“I shall not forget your kindness, Lot,” he said.
“Bosh, sir, I always side with a man of spirit. Go up to her, cousin,
and do your best. I’ll see you’re not interfered with.”
Richard, blushing, turned away and entered the house. As for Mr. Lot, he
thrust his hands deep into his breeches-pockets, looked after his cousin
whimsically, and laughed.
What a sweet picture of sanctity met Mr. Richard’s eyes as he opened the
door of Miss Hardacre’s parlor bashfully after his knock had been softly
acknowledged! Miss Jilian was seated in the window-seat, dressed in a
silky green gown that rippled like water as she rose to meet her cousin.
There was much lace upon her bosom and a knot of red ribbon over her
heart.
“Cousin Jilian.”
Miss Hardacre let her eyes rest only for a moment on Richard’s face.
Jeffray was blushing very handsomely.
“Jilian, I have come to ask you to forgive me.”
He went close to his cousin, and stood looking at her with humbled ardor
on his face. Miss Hardacre appeared much distressed. Surely his sweet
cousin’s eyes were somewhat red and swollen. And were those wrinkles
under the lids?
“Jilian, will you forgive me?”
“Oh, Richard!”
“Aunt Letitia made fools of both of us, Jilian. I have told her to leave
my house.”
Miss Hardacre hung her head and pressed her hands together.
“You know everything, Richard.”
“Poor Wilson told me everything, and it was nothing, Jilian.”
“I am a shamed and miserable woman.”
“Shamed, Jilian? Let me hear any man breathe a word against you.”
Miss Hardacre suffered her eyes to quaver up for a moment to Richard’s
face. The lad could see tears ready to well up into those pellucid wells
of light.
“What can I say to you, Richard?” she said. “Oh, I am very miserable.”
How could an honorable and generous youth refrain from going down on one
knee, pressing the lady’s hand to his lips, and gazing up with
enthusiastic homage into her face? The hot words were betwixt Richard’s
lips in a moment, and Miss Hardacre was hiding her blushes behind her
hand.
And then, for the climax, Richard’s lips pressed to Miss Jilian’s, and
Sir Peter, who had been listening shrewdly on the landing, standing with
admirable dumfoundedness before the innocently opened door. Of course
Miss Jilian gave a shy scream, and Richard, red as the lips he had
kissed, turned to play the hero before the parental demigod.
“Sir Peter Hardacre,” he said, with bashful dignity, “I have come to
apologize to your daughter, sir, for the distress I innocently brought
upon her the other night. I offer you my apologies, sir, also; I have
always honored you, and you have been very kind to me.”
The lad drew himself up creditably, squared his shoulders, and looked
the baronet straight in the face.
“Egad, sir,” quoth Sir Peter, glaring at his daughter and preparing to
seem parental, “you appear quick at consoling the ladies. The Hardacre
honor, sir—”
Mr. Richard became aware suddenly of a warm hand stealing into his. Miss
Jilian gave him a look out of her gray eyes and a whispered word that
carried a command. She went down on her knees before her father.
“What! Bless my soul, what’s this, eh? Stars and garters, Jill, what am
I to understand from this?”
“Cousin Richard has asked me to be his wife,” said Miss Hardacre, with a
divine simper.
“What!”
“With your consent, Sir Peter,” added Cousin Richard, half grimly.
And Sir Peter, noble and forgiving soul, put his pride in his pocket,
beamed, and blessed them!