"Hallo, Scotchman!"
"Hallo, Eng--I mean, French--What am I to call you Mr Luke Vine?"
"Englishman, of course."
Uncle Luke was seated, in a very shabby-looking grey aged Norfolk jacket
made long, a garment which suited his tastes, from its being an easy
comfortable article of attire. He had on an old Panama hat, a good deal
stained, and a thick stick armed with a strong iron point useful for
walking among the rocks; and upon this staff he rested as he sat outside
his cottage door watching the sea and pondering as to the probability of
a shoal of fish being off the point.
His home with its tiny scrap of rough walled-in garden, which grew
nothing but sea holly and tamarisk, was desolate looking in the extreme,
but the view therefrom of the half-natural pier sheltering the vessels
in the harbour of the twin town, with its busy wharves and warehouses
and residences, rising in terrace above terrace, and of the blue,
ever-changing sea, was glorious.
He had had his breakfast and taken his seat out in the sunshine, when he
became aware of the fact that Duncan Leslie was coming down from the
mine buildings above, and he hailed him with a snarl and the above
words.
"Glorious morning."
"Humph! Yes," said the old man, looking up at the handsome young
mine-owner with his face all in lines, "but what's that got to do with
you?"
"Everything. Do you suppose I don't like fine weather?"
"I thought you didn't care for anything but money grubbing."
"Then you were mistaken, because I do."
"Nonsense! You think of nothing but copper, spoiling the face of nature
with the broken rubbish your men dig out of the bowels of the earth,
poisoning the air with the fumes of those abominable furnaces. Look at
that!"
The old man raised his stick and made a vicious dig with it in the
direction of the mine.
"Look at what?"
"That shaft. Looks like some huge worm that your men disturbed down
below, and sent it crawling along the hill slope till it could rear its
abominable head in the air and look which way to go to be at rest."
"What an idea! It isn't pretty looking. I must say."
"Pretty looking! No. Why do you have it then?"
"It was there when I bought the mine, and it answers its purpose."
"Bah! What purpose? To make money?"
"Yes; to make money. Very useful thing, Mr Leslie."
"Rubbish! You're as bad as Van Heldre with his ships and his smelting
works. Money! Money! Money! Always money, morning, noon and night.
One constant hunt for the accursed stuff. Look at me!"
"I was looking at you, old fellow; and studying you."
"Humph! Waste of time, unless you follow my example."
"Then it will be waste of time, sir, for I certainly shall not follow
your example."
"Why not, boy? Look at me. I have no troubles. I pay no rent. My
wants are few. I am nearly independent of trades-people and tax men.
I've no slatternly wife to worry me, no young children to be always
tumbling down the rocks or catching the measles. I'm free of all these
troubles and I'm a happy man."
"Well, then, your appearance belies you, sir, for you do not look it,"
said Leslie, laughing.
"Never you mind my appearance," said Uncle Luke sharply. "I am happy;
at least, I should be, if you'd do away with that great smoky chimney
and stop those rattling stamps."
"Then I'm afraid that I cannot oblige you, neighbour."
"Humph! Neighbour!"
"I fancy that an unbiassed person would blame you and not me."
"Of course he would."
"He'd say if a man chooses to turn himself into a sort of modern
Diogenes--"
"Diogenes be hanged, sir! All a myth. I don't believe there ever was
such a body. And look here, Leslie, I imitate no man--no myth. I
prefer to live this way for my own satisfaction, and I shall."
"And welcome for me, old fellow; only don't scold me for living my way."
"Not going to. Here, stop! I want to talk to you. How's copper?"
"Up a good deal, but you don't want to know."
"Of course I don't. But look here. What do you think of my nephew?"
"Tall, good-looking young fellow."
"Humph! What's the good of that? You know all about him, of course?"
"I should prefer not to sit in judgment on the gentleman in question."
"So I suppose. Nice boy, though, isn't he?"
Leslie was silent.
"I say he's a nice boy; isn't he?" cried the old man, raising his voice.
"I heard what you said. He is your nephew."
"Worse luck! How is he getting on at Van Heldre's?"
"I have not the least idea, sir."
"More have I. They won't tell me. How about that friend of his? What
do you think of him?"
"Really, Mr Vine," said Leslie laughing, "I do not set up as a judge of
young men's character. It is nothing to me."
"Yes, it is. Do you suppose I'm blind? Do you suppose I can't tell
which way the wind blows? If I were young, do you know what I should
do?"
"Do away with the chimney shaft and the stamps," said Leslie, laughing.
"No; I should just get hold of that fellow some night, and walk him to
where the coach starts."
Leslie's face looked warm.
"And then I should say, `Jump up, and when you get to the station, book
for London; and if ever you show your face in Hakemouth again I'll break
your neck.'"
"You must excuse me, Mr Luke; I'm busy this morning," said Leslie; and
he walked on and began to descend the steep path.
"Touched him on the tender place," said Uncle Luke, with a chuckle.
"Humph! wonder whether Louie will come and see me to-day."
Duncan Leslie went on down the zig-zag cliff path leading from the Wheal
Germains copper mine to the town. It was a picturesque way, with a
fresh view at every turn west and east; and an advanced member of the
town board had proposed and carried the suggestion of placing rough
granite seats here and there in the best parts for resting those who
climbed, and for giving others attractive places for sunning themselves
and looking out to sea.
The plan was a great success, and these seats were largely patronised by
the fishermen in the case of those nearest the shore, where they could
follow out their favourite pastime to the full, and also by the
towns-people, especially by the invalids and those young folk who had
arrived at the billing and cooing stage of life, when there are only two
people in the world--themselves.
About half way down Leslie passed an invalid, who had taken possession
of a seat, and was gazing right away south, and dreaming of lands where
the sun always shone--wondering whether the bright maiden Health could
be found there.
Lower still Leslie was going on thoughtfully, pondering on Uncle Luke's
hints, when the blood suddenly flushed into his cheeks, his heart began
to beat rapidly, and he increased his pace. For there unmistakably were
two ladies going down the zig-zag, and there were no two others in
Hakemouth could be mistaken for them.
He hurried on to overtake them. Then he checked himself.
"Where had they been?"
His sinking heart suggested that they had been on their way to visit
Uncle Luke, but that they had caught sight of him, and in consequence
returned.
His brow grew gloomy, and he walked slowly on, when the blood flushed to
his cheeks again, as if he had been surprised in some guilty act, for a
sharp voice said--
"No, Mr Leslie; you would not be able to overtake them now."
He stopped short, and turned to the warm sheltered nook among the rocks
where Aunt Margaret was seated; her grey lavender dress was carefully
spread about her, her white hair turned back beneath a black velvet
satin-lined hood, and a lace fichu pinned across her breast.
"You here, Miss Vine?" said Leslie, hiding his annoyance.
"Yes; and I thought I would save you a thankless effort. I know these
paths so well, and they are very deceptive as to distance. You could
not overtake the girls unless you ran."
"I was not going to try and overtake them, Miss Vine," said Leslie
coldly.
"Indeed! I beg your pardon; I thought you were. But would you mind,
Mr Leslie--it is a very trifling request, but I set store by these
little relics of our early history--Miss _Marguerite_ Vine, if you would
be so kind?"
Leslie bowed. "Certainly, Miss Marguerite," he said quietly.
"Thank you," she said, detaining him. "It is very good of you. Of
course you are surprised to see me up here?"
"Oh, no," said Leslie quietly. "It is a delightful place to sit and
rest and read."
"Ye-es; but I cannot say that I care much for the rough walking of this
part of the world, and my brother seems somehow to have taken quite a
dislike to the idea of having a carriage?"
"Yes?"
"So I am obliged to walk when I do come out. There are certain duties
one is forced to attend to. For instance, there is my poor brother up
yonder. I feel bound to see him from time to time. You see him
frequently, of course?"
"Every day, necessarily. We are so near."
"Poor fellow! Yes. Very eccentric and peculiar; but you need be under
no apprehension, Mr Leslie. He is quite harmless, I am sure."
"Oh, quite harmless, Miss Marguerite. Merely original."
"It is very good of you to call it originality; but as friends, Mr
Leslie, there is no harm in our alluding to his poor brain. Softening,
a medical man told me."
"Hardening, I should say," thought Leslie.
"Very peculiar! very peculiar! Father and uncle both so different to my
dear nephew. So you were going to overtake the girls?"
"No, Miss Marguerite; I had no such idea."
"Indeed! They walked with me as far as here; and then I said, `My
dears, it is impossible for me to go up to Uncle Luke to-day, so I will
sit down and rest, and go back alone.' I believe the air will refresh
me."
"I am sure it will. It is so fresh and sweet up here."
"Ye-es," said Aunt Marguerite. "Have you seen my nephew to-day? No?
Poor boy! He is in very bad spirits. Ah! Mr Leslie, I shall be very
glad to see him once more as a des Vignes should be. With him placed in
the position that should be his, and that engagement carried out
regarding my darling Louise's future, I could leave this world of sorrow
without a sigh."
Leslie winced, but it was not perceptible to Aunt Marguerite, who,
feeling dissatisfied with the result of her shot, fired again.
"Of course it would involve losing my darling: but at my time of life,
Mr Leslie, one has learned that it is one's duty always to study
self-sacrifice. The des Vignes were always a self-sacrificing family.
When it was not for some one or other of their kindred it was for their
king, and then for their faith. You know our old French motto, Mr
Leslie?"
"I? No. I beg pardon."
"Really? I should have thought you could not fail to see that. It is
almost the only trace of our former greatness that my misguided
brother--"
"Were you alluding to Mr Luke Vine?"
"No, no, no, no! To my brother, George des Vignes. Surely, Mr Leslie,
you must have noted our arms upon the dining-room windows."
"Oh, yes, of course, of course: and the motto, _Roy et Foy_."
"Exactly," said Aunt Marguerite, smiling, "I thought it must have caught
your eye."
Something else was catching Duncan Leslie's eye just then--the last
flutter of the scarf Louise wore before it disappeared round the foot of
the cliff.
"I shall bear it, I daresay, and with fortitude, Mr Leslie, for it will
be a grand position that she will take. The de Lignys are a family
almost as old as our own; and fate might arrange for me to visit them
and make a long stay. She's a sweet girl, is she not, Mr Leslie?"
"Miss Vine? Yes: you must be very proud of her," said the young man,
without moving a muscle.
"We are; we are indeed, Mr Leslie; but I am afraid I am detaining you."
"I will not call it detaining me, Miss Marguerite," said Leslie,
mockingly assuming a courtly manner in accord with that of his
tormentor. "The Scotch had so much intercourse with the French years
ago that they gave us a little polish, and I hope we have some trace of
the old politeness left."
He smiled and bowed before passing on, and Aunt Marguerite watched him
till he disappeared down the zig-zag path, her own smile remaining so
fixed that it seemed to be frozen on her lip, the more so that it was a
cold, cruel-looking smile, verging on the malignant as she said
softly--"That will be something for you to think about, Mr Duncan
Leslie; and you shall find I am not a woman to be despised."
"It is curious," said the object of her thoughts, as he walked slowly
down the cliff path. "Surely there was never a family before whose
various members were so different in their ways. De Ligny, de Ligny?
Who is de Ligny? Well," he added with a sigh, "I ought to thank Heaven
that the name is not Pradelle."