THE STRANGER.
Bruce had scarcely quitted the breakfast-room before it was entered by
Vibert.
"Quick, Emmie, a cup of your delicious hot coffee! I've been out these
two hours, and have come in with a hunter's appetite!" exclaimed the
youth, who was looking even handsomer than usual, with his clear
complexion brightened by the invigorating effects of the fresh morning
air. Vibert applied himself with energy to the work of cutting slices
from the cold ham which had been placed on the side-board.
Emmie poured out the warm beverage for her brother, who turned round to
bid her add plenty of cream. "Cream is the one country luxury to balance
against country cookery," he laughingly observed. "If that
virago-looking Hannah continue to reign in the kitchen, I shall be
driven to live upon cream, or be famished!"
Vibert did not appear likely to be famished as he sat at the well-spread
table, doing ample justice to his slices of ham. Emmie had finished her
own breakfast, but remained to keep her brother company.
"Since you were such an early riser to-day," she observed, "why were you
absent from prayers?"
"Because I can't stand hearing the prayers read by Bruce!" exclaimed
Vibert with some indignation. "It's a mockery for him to call his own
brother a selfish idiot, to treat him as if he were a slave or a dog,
and then to kneel down and pray like a saint, asking for meekness and
mercy, and all kinds of graces which he never had, and never wishes to
have. If that be not downright hypocrisy, I know not what is deserving
of the name."
"Bruce is the very last person in the world who would play the
hypocrite," cried Emmie. "As for the harsh name which he gave you, I
believe that in his heart he is sorry for what he said in a moment of
ill-humour."
"Then why does he not own frankly that he is sorry?" cried Vibert. "If
Bruce would but confess that he regrets his hasty words, I'd hold out my
hand at once and say, 'Let by-gones be by-gones, old boy; I'm not the
fellow to harbour a grudge.' But Bruce would not own a fault were it to
save his life or mine. Pride--that pride that repels advice, resents
reproof, and refuses to acknowledge an error (how well the captain
described it!)--that is Bruce's pet sin, and he'll carry it with him to
his grave."
"God forbid!" faintly murmured Emmie.
"Bruce and I are to begin daily studies at S---- next Monday," continued
Vibert, who was making good progress with his breakfast whilst he kept
up the conversation. "I know that papa imagines that the way to keep me
safe and out of mischief, is to yoke me to one whom he considers the
impersonification of sense and sobriety. He'd couple a greyhound with a
surly mastiff; but the greyhound, at least, will strain hard against the
connecting strap. If Bruce start early, I will start late; if he walk
fast, I will walk slowly; I'll keep as wide apart from him as the tether
will let me get;--in plain words, I'll have as little to do with Bruce
as I possibly can."
"Vibert, dear Vibert, it so grieves me that you should feel thus towards
him," cried Emmie. "Bruce is not without his faults, but he is a
noble-minded, unselfish--"
"Unselfish! I deny it!" exclaimed Vibert, while he kept the morsel which
he was just about to convey to his lips suspended on his fork.
"Unselfish indeed! when he has taken advantage of being sent on in front
to make arrangements to secure the very best room in the house for
himself!"
"He never did," cried Emmie eagerly. "The west room was prepared for me,
but I could not endure it, and, as a matter of kindness, Bruce exchanged
our respective apartments."
"Why could you not endure that capital room?" asked Vibert in surprise.
Emmie, who had been wishing, praying that she might be enabled to act
the part of a faithful counsellor and friend to her younger brother,
felt painfully that she had to step down from her position of vantage,
as she owned, with a blush, that she had not liked to sleep next door to
the bricked-up room.
Vibert burst out laughing. "So the chivalrous Bruce took the dangerous
post!" he exclaimed. "Would I not just like to give him a fright!"
"Don't, oh! don't play any foolish practical joke!" exclaimed Emmie.
"I'm afraid that it would not answer," said Vibert, still laughing.
"Bruce is a hard-headed chap, who sifts everything to the bottom. He'd
be as likely as not to cleave a ghost's skull with a poker, and I've no
fancy to try whether he hits as hard with his hand as he yesterday did
with his tongue. But let's talk no more about Bruce. As soon as I've
finished my breakfast, you and I shall go into the grounds and have a
ramble together. You've not yet seen the outside of our mansion, for
when we arrived here last night you had not enough light to distinguish
Aladdin's palace from a Hottentot kraal."
The brother and sister soon sauntered out on the terrace on the east
side of the house, which was bathed in glowing sunshine. The air was so
mild that Emmie had merely thrown a light blue scarf over her head and
shoulders as a protection from the breeze; winter wraps would have been
oppressive, and she enjoyed the luxury of being able to go out without
donning bonnet or gloves. The terrace overlooked the lawn and the
garden: the latter had once been fine, and had still a prim grace of its
own.
"I rather like this old family mansion," cried Vibert, glancing up at
the building, which had been constructed of dark red brick, with
handsome facings of stone. "There is something stately about it, as if
it had seen better days, and remembered them still. Myst Court looks
something like William and Mary's part of Hampton Court Palace."
"Oh, a mere miniature of that grand old building," said Emmie.
"I can just fancy the kind of people who walked on this terrace when
first it was laid out," continued Vibert. "There were gentlemen in huge,
full-bottomed wigs, long coats, embroidered waistcoats and ruffles of
old point-lace, with rapiers hanging at their sides. There were ladies
like those whom Sir Godfrey Kneller painted, stiff and stately, each
smelling a rose which she held in her hand; ladies in hoops, who looked
as if they could never dance anything more lively than a _minuet de la
cour_. We seem too modern, Emmie, to match our mansion. Let's return to
the olden times, forget that Queen Anne is dead, and fancy her yet with
the sharp-tongued Duchess Sarah playing the game of romantic friendship.
Let's imagine ourselves as we would have appeared some hundred and fifty
years ago. I'm a young Tory gallant (of course, I'm a Jacobite at heart,
and drink to 'the king over the water'); Bruce is a decided Whig,--I'm
not sure that he is not a Dutchman, and has come over from Holland in
the train of the Prince of Orange."
Emmie laughed at Vibert's playful fancies, and wondered how her handsome
young brother would have looked in a full-bottomed wig.
"Whig and Tory must unite," she observed, "to get that garden into
order. The walks are overrun with shepherd's purse and chickweed, and
the beds seem to grow little but nettles."
"But these beds were clearly laid out at the time when Dutch taste
prevailed," said Vibert; "it reminds one of the poet's description,--
'Grove nods at grove, each alley has its brother,
One half the garden just reflects the other.'"
"Rather a mournful reflection now," observed Emmie with a smile.
"But easily changed to a bright one!" cried Vibert; "we'll set plenty of
hands to work, and get everything right before spring. These old
straggling bushes must come up; we'll have new plants from a
nursery-garden, and fill those beds with geraniums, fuchsias, and
calceolaria. An orangery, as at Hampton Court, shall be at one end of
the house; and we must fix on a site for a conservatory, in which some
huge vine shall spread out its branches, heavy with delicious bunches of
grapes."
"My dear boy, you speak as if papa had the purse of Fortunatus," said
Emmie. "You know that he will have all kinds of expense in getting the
property into tolerable order,--draining, and that sort of thing. The
garden must wait for new plants, and we for conservatory and orangery,
till more important matters are settled. Think of the cottages out of
repair--"
"Hang the cottages!" cried Vibert. "Leave them alone, and they'll tumble
down of their own accord. Why should we trouble ourselves about them?"
"We must care for the tenants that live in them," observed Emmie.
"They've never done anything for us, why should we do anything for
them?" said Vibert. "I don't believe that half of them ever think of
paying their rents. If I were master here," continued Vibert, "I'd make
a law that no dirty, ragged creature should come within a mile of the
house. If these folk are miserable, I'm sorry for it; but that's no
reason why I should be miserable too. Charity begins at home, and the
first thing to be done at Myst Court is to put house and garden into
tip-top order,--buy new carpets and a good billiard-table, set up a
fountain yonder on the lawn (we'll consider about statues and vases),
and then invite Alice and a merry party of young people down to the
place. We'd drive out ghosts to the sound of fiddle and dancing, and
depend upon it, you dear little coward, we should never again hear a
word about Myst Court being haunted."
"Ah, Vibert, we must remember our uncle's warnings," said Emmie, gently
laying her hand on her brother's arm.
"_Beware of selfishness!_--eh? well, I'll think about that when I see
you _conquer mistrust_. But to be gay is my nature, as it is yours to be
timid, and Bruce's to be proud. One cannot alter nature."
"Can it not be improved?" asked Emmie. "Look at your garden,--it has
been left for years to nature, so bears but a crop of weeds."
"Oh, if you are going to moralize, I'll be off!" cried Vibert. "I have
not tried my new gun yet, and I expect capital sport. I warrant you that
I will bring home a brace of pheasants to mend our fare!"
Mr. Trevor came down to Wiltshire by an early train, and was gladly
welcomed at Myst Court. His presence greatly added to the harmony of the
family circle; for his sons seldom exchanged bitter words when their
father's eye was upon them. Emmie's spirits rose. When the family were
gathered together at the luncheon-table, the young lady playfully
rallied Vibert on his "capital sport," for she had seen him return with
an empty bag from his shooting.
Vibert laughed good-humouredly at his own want of success. "I thought
that pheasants and partridges would be plentiful as blackberries in the
brushwood," said he; "but I lighted on no bird more aristocratic than a
crow. I think that there must be poachers abroad, or perhaps four-footed
poachers, in the shape of those starved, disreputable-looking cats which
come prowling about the place."
"I suppose some of those left by my aunt as a legacy to her maid,"
observed Mr. Trevor.
"The legatee does not value the keepsakes," said Vibert, "to judge by
the looks of the cats that crossed my path to-day, sneaking back to
their old quarters as if in search for scraps."
"Does Mrs. Jessel live far from here?" inquired Emmie.
"About a mile from Myst Court by the road, but not half that distance by
the path through the wood," answered Bruce. "The house left to her by
Mrs. Myers is a two-storied, shallow building, standing very near the
high-road, and looking like a Cockney villa that had somehow strayed
into the country, and could not find its way back."
"So the cats have the good taste to prefer the antique beauties of Myst
Court embowered in woods," said Vibert; "and their new mistress has no
objection to their living here at free quarters. I fired at one of the
miserable creatures, out of pure benevolence, but unhappily missed my
mark."
"Your shooting is on a par with your driving," remarked Bruce
satirically; "but Emmie's pony came off worse than the cat."
"That was not my fault!" exclaimed Vibert. "I managed the pony famously,
in the dark too, and over a road expressly contrived to break the
springs of a carriage. I was turning a sharp corner with consummate
skill, when Emmie took it into her head to scream and catch hold of my
arm. Of course, chaise and all went into the ditch, and how long they
might have stayed there I know not, had not those two men come to our
help."
"Do you know who they were?" asked Mr. Trevor, who had already heard
something of the yesterday's adventure from Emmie.
"The one is called Harper, a strange, weird-looking old man, with long
grizzled hair, and croaking voice," replied Vibert. "I don't care if I
never set eyes on him again,--but he lives just outside our gate. The
other was a very different sort of person, evidently quite a gentleman."
"Did you think so?" said Emmie, in a tone suggestive of a doubt on the
subject.
"Why, he is a colonel," cried Vibert; "you heard him say so himself,--a
colonel belonging to the American army."
"It is easy enough for a man to call himself an American colonel," said
Bruce.
"I don't think it fair to disbelieve a gentleman's account of himself
until one has cause to doubt his truthfulness," remarked Vibert.
"Certainly," he added, glancing at Emmie, "Colonel Standish did tell us
rather wonderful stories. You remember that one of the murdered Red
Indian's ghost keeping watch over buried treasure?"
"It was a horrible story," said Emmie.
"And so graphically told!" exclaimed Vibert. "I'll let you hear the
tale, papa; but I shall tell it to great disadvantage. A ghost story
must lose all its thrilling effect when heard at a luncheon-table. Fancy
being interrupted at the crisis by a request for 'a little more
mutton!'"
After the tale had been told, and the meal concluded, Vibert went out
again with his gun, to seek better success in the woods which surrounded
Myst Court. The youth was wont to enter eagerly into any new kind of
amusement, but three days were usually sufficient to make him tired of
any pursuit.
Mr. Trevor, Emmie, and Bruce went into the drawing-room together, to
talk over future plans. They had scarcely seated themselves by the
table, on which Bruce had placed some papers of estimates, when the
old-fashioned knocker on the front door gave a loud announcement that a
visitor had come to the house.
"Who can have found us out already?" said Mr. Trevor. "We are scarcely
prepared yet to receive calls from strangers."
Joe flung open the drawing-room door, and announced Colonel Standish.
Emmie's glimpses of the stranger on the preceding evening had been by
such uncertain light, and she had been so unfitted by nervous fear to
exercise her powers of observation, that she would scarcely have
recognized her new acquaintance had not his name been announced. Colonel
Standish was a tall and rather good-looking man, apparently about thirty
years of age, with large bushy black whiskers, connected with each other
by a well-trimmed beard, which, like a dark ruff, surrounded the chin.
He was dressed in the height of modern fashion, with no small amount of
jewellery displayed in brilliant studs, coins and other ornaments
dangling from a handsome gold chain, and rings sparkling on more than
one finger of his large gloveless hand. The colonel had a martial step,
and an air of assurance which might be mistaken for that of ease. He
advanced at once towards Miss Trevor, shook hands with her, and in a
tone of gallantry inquired whether she had perfectly recovered from the
effects of her late adventure. Emmie only replied by an inclination of
her head, and at once introduced Colonel Standish to her father and
brother. The stranger shook them both by the hand, with a familiar
heartiness to which neither of the English gentlemen felt inclined to
respond. Mr. Trevor, however, with grave courtesy, expressed his
obligations to the colonel for the help which he had afforded on the
preceding night.
"I am only too happy to rush to the rescue whenever so fair a lady is in
peril," cried the colonel, turning and bowing to Emmie. "As for your
son,--I don't think that it was this son--"
"Certainly not," interrupted Bruce.
"I must congratulate his father on the uncommon spirit and pluck shown
by the young gentleman whom I met last night, under circumstances
calculated to try the mettle of the boldest."
Emmie and Bruce exchanged glances; the faintest approach to a smile rose
on the lips of each on hearing such exaggerated praise.
"As for this fair lady, she played the heroine," continued the colonel,
again turning gallantly towards Emmie, whose smile was exchanged for a
blush.
"Who is this vulgar flatterer?" thought Mr. Trevor and Bruce. Emmie took
an early opportunity of gliding out of the room, to which she did not
return till the colonel's visit was ended.
Standish was sufficiently a man of the world to see that he had
overacted his part, and had not made a favourable impression. Mr. Trevor
and his son became more and more coldly civil. The visitor took the
chief share of the conversation, gave his anecdotes, and cracked his
jokes. The Englishmen thought his jokes coarse, and his anecdotes of
questionable authenticity. Conversation slackened, and in about half an
hour the colonel rose to take his departure.
"I put up at the White Hart at S----," said he, as he threw down on the
table a card for Vibert. "I find the accommodation fair, very fair, but
my stay in the town is uncertain. I hope that we shall soon meet again,"
and the colonel shook the hand of Mr. Trevor, but a good deal less
cordially than he had done on his first introduction to the father of
Emmie.
"We do not echo his hope," observed Bruce, as soon as the visitor had
tramped out of the house.
"Who can this low-bred talkative fellow be?" said Mr. Trevor. "It is not
difficult for an impostor to pass himself off as a colonel, when those
who would have proofs of his being so must seek for them at the other
side of the Atlantic Ocean."
"I doubt this man's being American at all," observed Bruce. "I did not
detect in his speech the peculiar Yankee accent, though it was
interlarded with Yankee phrases."
"I shall not encourage this colonel's coming about the house," said Mr.
Trevor, walking up to the window. "Why, there's Vibert accompanying him
down the drive!"
"And they look hand and glove," added Bruce. "How they are laughing and
talking together!"
"Vibert is young and unsuspicious," observed Mr. Trevor, as he turned
from the window; "his generous, frank disposition lays him peculiarly
open to deception. We must make some inquiries at S---- regarding this
Colonel Standish. Your tutor, Mr. Blair, may know something of the man,
and the character which he bears."
"I will not forget to gain what information I can," said Bruce Trevor.