THE BARRISTER'S FEE
Six months later, on a fine evening which came as the fitting close of a
perfect May afternoon, Brereton got out of a London express at Norcaster
and entered the little train which made its way by a branch line to the
very heart of the hills. He had never been back to these northern
regions since the tragedies of which he had been an unwilling witness,
and when the little train came to a point in its winding career amongst
the fell-sides and valleys from whence Highmarket could be seen, with
the tree-crowned Shawl above it, he resolutely turned his face and
looked in the opposite direction. He had no wish to see the town again;
he would have been glad to cut that chapter out of his book of memories.
Nevertheless, being so near to it, he could not avoid the recollections
which came crowding on him because of his knowledge that Highmarket's
old gables and red roofs were there, within a mile or two, had he cared
to look at them in the glint of the westering sun. No--he would never
willingly set foot in that town again!--there was nobody there now that
he had any desire to see. Bent, when the worst was over, and the strange
and sordid story had come to its end, had sold his business, quietly
married Lettie and taken her away for a long residence abroad, before
returning to settle down in London. Brereton had seen them for an hour
or two as they passed through London on their way to Paris and Italy,
and had been more than ever struck by young Mrs. Bent's philosophical
acceptance of facts. Her father, in Lettie's opinion, had always been a
deeply-wronged and much injured man, and it was his fate to have
suffered by his life-long connexion with that very wicked person,
Mallalieu: he had unfortunately paid the penalty at last--and there was
no more to be said about it. It might be well, thought Brereton, that
Bent's wife should be so calm and equable of temperament, for Bent, on
his return to England, meant to go in for politics, and Lettie would
doubtless make an ideal help-meet for a public man. She would face
situations with a cool head and a well-balanced judgment--and so, in
that respect, all was well. All the same, Brereton had a strong notion
that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Bent would ever revisit Highmarket.
As for himself, his thoughts went beyond Highmarket--to the place
amongst the hills which he had never seen. After Harborough's due
acquittal Brereton, having discharged his task, had gone back to London.
But ever since then he had kept up a regular correspondence with Avice,
and he knew all the details of the new life which had opened up for her
and her father with the coming of Mr. Wraythwaite of Wraye. Her letters
were full of vivid descriptions of Wraye itself, and of the steward's
house in which she and Harborough--now appointed steward and agent to
his foster-brother's estate--had taken up their residence. She had a
gift of description, and Brereton had gained a good notion of Wraye from
her letters--an ancient and romantic place, set amongst the wild hills
of the Border, lonely amidst the moors, and commanding wide views of
river and sea. It was evidently the sort of place in which a lover of
open spaces, such as he knew Avice to be, could live an ideal life. But
Brereton had travelled down from London on purpose to ask her to leave
it.
He had come at last on a sudden impulse, unknown to any one, and
therefore unexpected. Leaving his bag at the little station in the
valley at which he left the train just as the sun was setting behind
the surrounding hills, he walked quickly up a winding road between
groves of fir and pine towards the great grey house which he knew must
be the place into which the man from Australia had so recently come
under romantic circumstances. At the top of a low hill he paused and
looked about him, recognizing the scenes from the descriptions which
Avice had given him in her letters. There was Wraye itself--a big,
old-world place, set amongst trees at the top of a long park-like
expanse of falling ground; hills at the back, the sea in the far
distance. The ruins of an ancient tower stood near the house; still
nearer to Brereton, in an old-fashioned flower garden, formed by
cutting out a plateau on the hillside, stood a smaller house which he
knew--also from previous description--to be the steward's. He looked
long at this before he went nearer to it, hoping to catch the flutter
of a gown amongst the rose-trees already bright with bloom. And at
last, passing through the rose-trees he went to the stone porch and
knocked--and was half-afraid lest Avice herself should open the door
to him. Instead, came a strapping, redcheeked North-country lass who
stared at this evident traveller from far-off parts before she found
her tongue. No--Miss Avice wasn't in, she was down the garden, at the
far end.
Brereton hastened down the garden; turned a corner; they met
unexpectedly. Equally unexpected, too, was the manner of their meeting.
For these two had been in love with each other from an early stage of
their acquaintance, and it seemed only natural now that when at last
they touched hands, hand should stay in hand. And when two young people
hold each other's hands, especially on a Springtide evening, and under
the most romantic circumstances and surroundings, lips are apt to say
more than tongues--which is as much as to say that without further
preface these two expressed all they had to say in their first kiss.
Nevertheless, Brereton found his tongue at last. For when he had taken a
long and searching look at the girl and had found in her eyes what he
sought, he turned and looked at wood, hill, sky, and sea.
"This is all as you described it" he said, with his arm round her, "and
yet the first real thing I have to say to you now that I am here is--to
ask you to leave it!"
She smiled at that and again put her hand in his.
"But--we shall come back to it now and then--together!" she said.
THE END
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TARZAN THE UNTAMED
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JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN
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A PRINCESS OF MARS
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THE ROSARY
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THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
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Transcriber’s Notes:
• Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
• Perceived typographical errors have been corrected:
Page 213:
Before: had the slyest eyes of any man he had even seen
After: had the slyest eyes of any man he had ever seen