can't expect to go on as we have been doing. What was the Vicar's text
the other Sunday?--`As an eagle stirreth up her nest'--I liked that
sermon! It has been very happy and jolly, but it is time we stirred out
of the old nest, and began to work for ourselves, and prepare for nests
of our own. I am past twenty-one, my father need not be afraid to trust
me, for I can look after myself, and though the life will be very
different out there, I'll try to do nothing that I should be ashamed to
tell you, Norah, when I come home!"
Norah turned round with a flush, and an eager, outstretched hand, but
only to behold Mr Rex marching along on the edge of the very
flowerbeds, with a head in the air, and a "touch me if you dare"
expression, at the sight of which his companion gave a dismal little
smile.
That was Rex all over! In spite of his masterful ways, he was intensely
shy where his deeper feelings were concerned. To say an affectionate
word seemed to require as painful an effort as to drag out a tooth, and
if by chance he was betrayed into such an indiscretion, he protected
himself against its consequences by putting on his most "prickly" airs,
and freezing the astonished hearer by his frigid tones. Norah
understood that having shown her a glimpse of his heart in the last
remark, he was now overcome with remorse, and that she must be wise and
take no notice of the indiscretion.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
MORE CHANGES.
For the next ten minutes conversation was of the most desultory
character; then the sound of wheels was heard in the distance, and Rex
became eager and excited once more.
"There's my father! Go and meet him, Norah. Get hold of him before
Hilary comes with her everlasting chatter. He wants to speak to you.
Bring him along here, and I'll go into the house!"
Norah sped off obediently, and met the Squire as the cart turned in at
the gate. He pulled up at once, handed the reins to the man, and jumped
down to join her. His ruddy face looked drawn and anxious, and the
first glance at the girl showed that she was, like himself, in a woe-
begone state of mind.
"Oh, you know all about it! That boy of mine has been talking to you, I
can see!" he said, as they shook hands, and turned along the winding
path. "Well, well, this is a fine ending to all my hopes. The lad's as
obstinate as a mule--I am sure I don't know where he got his
disposition; if he once takes a thing in his head there's no moving him.
Now he wants to go and bury himself in the wilds of India! I've talked
until I am tired, and I can't make him see what mad folly it is. After
an expensive college education--"
"Yes, but, Squire, I don't think that's a fair argument! Rex didn't
want to go to college; he went against his own wishes because you were
set on it. He said it would be waste of money."
"Tut, tut! nonsense! Waste of money, indeed! I don't grudge a few
hundreds spent on my only son's education, I hope. Things would have
come to a pretty pass if that were the case," cried the Squire, turning
off at a tangent, as usual, the moment he found his position attacked by
the enemy. "I thought the boy would have come to his senses long before
the three years were over. I have told him--" And he launched off into
a lengthy account of the interview of the night before, repeating his
own arguments and his son's replies, while Norah listened with downcast
eyes. "There!" he cried in conclusion, "that is the matter in a
nutshell, and everyone must see that I am perfectly reasonable and
within my rights. Now, my dear, you talk to him; he thinks a great deal
of your opinion. Just tell him plainly that if he persists in his
folly, he is ruining his life, and behaving in a very wrong, undutiful
manner to his mother and to me. Talk to him plainly; don't spare your
words!"
"I can't do that, Squire. I'm sorry, but I don't agree with you. Rex
has given in to your wishes for three whole years, though, from his
point of view, it was waste of time. He has worked hard and not
grumbled, so that he has kept every word of his promise. Now he asks
you to fulfil yours. I am sure you must feel sad and disappointed, but
I don't think you ought to be angry with Rex, or call him undutiful."
"Eh--eh, what's this? Are you going to side against me? This is a
pretty state of affairs. I thought I could count upon your help, and
the boy would have listened to what you said. Well, well, I don't know
what is coming over the young folk nowadays! Do you mean to say that
you _approve_ of Rex going abroad?"
"Yes, I do! It is better to be a good planter than a bad lawyer," said
Norah steadily; and the Squire pursed up his lips in silence.
The girl's words had appealed to his pet theory, and done more to
silence objections than any amount of arguing. The Squire was always
lecturing other people on the necessity of doing the humblest work as
well as it was possible for it to be done, and had been known on
occasions to stand still in the middle of a country lane, brandishing
his stick while he treated a gang of stone-breakers to a dissertation on
the dignity of labour. The thought that his son might perform his
duties in an unsatisfactory manner was even more distasteful than the
prospect of separation.
"Well, well," he sighed irritably, "no one need envy a man for having
children! They are nothing but trouble and anxiety from beginning to
end. It's better to be without them at all."
"You don't mean what you say. You know quite well you would not give up
your son and daughter for all the money in the world. You love Edna all
the more because she needs so much care, and you are just as proud of
Rex as you can be. Of course he is self-willed and determined, but if
you could change him into a weak, undecided creature like the vicar's
son, you would be very sorry to do it!"
"You seem to know a great deal about my sentiments, young lady," said
the Squire, trying hard to look ferocious. Then his shoulders heaved,
and he drew a long, weary sigh. "Well, my last hope has gone if you
range yourself against me. The boy must go and bury himself at the ends
of the earth. Goodness knows when he will come back, and I am getting
old. Ten to one I may never see him again!"
"It will be your own fault if you don't. Westmoreland is sweet and
beautiful, but if I had no ties and plenty of money like you, I would
never be content to settle here for the rest of my life, while the
great, wide world lay beyond. If Rex goes to India, why should you not
all pack up some year and pay him a visit? You could sail down the
Mediterranean and see all the lovely places on the way--Gibraltar, and
Malta, and Naples, and Venice; stay a month or two in India, and come
home overland through Switzerland and France. Oh, how delightful it
would be! You would have so much to see and to talk about afterwards.
Edna would get fat and rosy, and you and Mrs Freer would be quite young
and skittish by the time you got home! If you went to see him between
each of his visits home, the time would seem quite short."
"I daresay! I daresay! A very likely prospect. I am too old to begin
gadding about the world at my time of life," said the Squire; but he
straightened his back even as he spoke, and stepped out as if wishing to
disprove the truth of his own words. Norah saw his eyes brighten, and
the deep lines down his cheeks relax into a smile, and knew that her
suggestion had met a kindly welcome, "Well, there's no saying! If all
the young people go away and leave us, we shall be bound to make a move
in self-defence. You are off to London for the winter. It seems a year
of changes--"
"Oh, it is, it is, and I am so miserable! Lettice--my own, dear
Lettice--is going to be married, and she will never come back to live
with us any more. I have been looking forward to London, just to be
with her, and now it is further off than ever. It will never come!"
Norah had fought hard for the self-possession which she had shown during
the whole of the interview; but now her lips trembled, and the tears
rushed into her eyes. The future seemed dreary indeed, with Rex abroad,
Lettice appropriated by Arthur Newcome, and Edna at the other end of
England. She had hard work not to cry outright, to the great distress
of the Squire, who was the kindliest of men, despite his red face and
stentorian voice.
"Ha, humph--humph! Sorry, I'm sure. Very sorry! Come, come, my dear,
cheer up! Things may turn out better than we expect. I didn't know you
had a trouble of your own, or I would not have intruded mine. Shall we
go up to the house? There, take my arm. What a great, big girl you
are, to be sure!"
Norah found time for a whispered conference with Rex before he took his
seat behind his father and Edna in the dog-cart.
"It's all right! I have spoken to him and he means to give in. Be as
kind and patient as possible, for he _does_ feel it, poor old man, and
he is very fond and proud of you!"
"Humph!" said Rex shortly. He knitted his brows and looked anxiously at
the girl's face. "You are awfully white! Don't cry any more, Norah,
for pity's sake. We are not worth it, either Lettice or I." Then he
was off, and Raymond turned to his sister with a long, lazy yawn.
"Well, and so Rex is bound for India! He has just been telling me about
it. Lucky beggar! When I take my degree I mean to ask father to let me
travel for a year or two before settling down to work."
"Oh, dear, dear!" sighed Norah to herself, "what a stirring up of the
poor old nest! There will be no eagles left if this sort of thing goes
on much longer. And we were so happy! Why, oh, why did I ever wish for
a change?"
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
LETTICE AT HOME.
Lettice's annual summer visit was postponed this year until the middle
of August, for Arthur Newcome had gained his point, as Mr Bertrand had
prophesied, and the wedding was arranged to take place at the end of
September. Mr Bertrand had done his best to gain more time, but it was
difficult to fight against a man who was so quiet, so composed, and so
immovably determined as Arthur Newcome. He listened to what was said
with the utmost politeness, and replied to all argument with the
statement that he was twenty-eight, that he was in a good position, and
saw no reason for waiting indefinitely. After this performance had been
enacted four or five times, Mr Bertrand's patience gave way, and he
declared that he was powerless to stand out any longer, and that perhaps
it was a good thing to get the wedding over, since if he had much to do
with Arthur Newcome, he should certainly collapse, and fall into a
nervous decline.
"His very presence oppresses me. It is all I can do not to yawn in his
face when he is telling those long-winded yarns. Poor little Lettice!
I wonder what sort of conversation he treats her to when they are alone.
I thought she looked very tired yesterday at dinner. Get her all the
pretty things she wants for this _trousseau_, Helen. I must do what I
can for the poor child, for I fear she has a dull time before her."
Miss Carr sighed, and shook her head. As time went on she was more and
more distressed about her ward's engagement, for now that his time of
suspense was over, Arthur Newcome had lost his temporary gleam of
brightness and had settled down into the old solemn ways which made him
so different from other young men of his age. The previous night was
not the only occasion on which Lettice had seemed weary and dispirited
after a _tete-a-tete_ with her lover, but she showed plenty of interest
in the selection of her _trousseau_ and in the equipment of the handsome
house which Mr Newcome was preparing for his bride.
By the middle of August dressmakers and upholsterers had received the
necessary instructions, and could be left to complete their work, while
the tired little bride-elect went north to recoup her energies. How
glad she was to escape from London only Lettice herself knew; while at
Cloudsdale, the whole house was turned upside down in excitement at the
prospect of her arrival. Lettice, as an engaged young lady, a bride on
the eve of her marriage, had assumed a position of vast importance in
her sisters' eyes, and the questions as to how she would look, how she
would bear herself, formed the subject of many lengthy discussions.
The hour came at last. Lettice was once more among them. She came
rushing in, in the old impetuous way, kissing everyone in turns, and
exclaiming in delight at being once more at home. There had never been
any unpleasantness connected with Lettice's home-comings. Though she
had lived in the lap of luxury for the last three years, she was utterly
unspoiled by its influence, and so far from being dissatisfied with her
own home, seemed to take an affectionate delight in finding it unchanged
in every particular. Her sisters followed her from room to room,
listening with smiles to her ecstatic exclamations.
"Oh, how nice it looks--the dear old place! What a sweet, sweet smell
of mignonette! Oh, look at the old red table-cloth, and the ink-stain
in the corner, where I upset the bottle. Oh, how lovely to see it all
again! And the dear old sofa where we used to camp out all together--I
have never found such a comfy sofa anywhere else. Tea! How pretty the
urn looks! I love that cheerful, hissing sound! And what cream! You
never see cream like that in London."
She was all smiles and dimples, and though decidedly thinner, the flush
upon her cheeks made her look so bright and well that she was a picture
of a radiant young bride. Hilary and Norah watched her with fascinated
eyes as she flitted about the room, or lay back in the chintz-covered
chair. What a vision of elegance she was! The blue serge coat and
skirt was exactly like those which the village dressmaker had made for
their own wear--exactly like, and yet how different! The sailor hat was
of a shape unknown in northern regions; each little detail of her attire
was perfect in its unobtrusive beauty, and with every movement of the
hand came the flash of precious stones. If she had been a whit less
like herself Norah would have been awed by the presence of this elegant
young lady; but it was the old Lettice who flung her arms round her neck
the moment they were left alone together in their own room; the old
Lettice who kissed, and hugged, and caressed with a hundred loving
words.
"Oh, Norah, I _have_ wanted you! I longed for you so, but father would
not let me write. It was a horrid, horrid time, and I was wretchedly
lonely. Dear, darling Norie! I am so glad to be back."
"And, oh, Lettice, I am so glad to have you! I have a hundred questions
to ask. Let me look at your ring. It is a beauty, far nicer than the
ordinary row of diamonds. And are you awfully happy? I was very much
surprised, you know; but if you are happy, it doesn't matter what anyone
else thinks!"
"N-no!" said Lettice slowly. "Yes, of course I am happy. It hasn't
been as nice as I expected, for Miss Carr has behaved so queerly, and
father was not pleased. But--oh yes, I am quite happy. Madge is
delighted about it, and Arthur does everything I like. He is very
kind!"
"You funny old Lettice! Kind! of course he is kind!" cried Norah
laughing, and kissing the soft, fair cheek. The flush of excitement had
faded by this time, and the girl's face looked pale and wan, while the
blue shadows beneath her eyes gave a pathetic expression to the sweet
face. "Lettice," cried Norah anxiously, "how ill you look! You were
excited before, and I didn't notice it, but you are as white as a ghost,
and so thin! Aren't you well, dear? Have you a head-ache? Can I do
anything: for you?"
"Oh, no, no!" Lettice stretched out her arms over her head with a long,
weary sigh. "I shall be quite well now that I am at home, and with you,
Norah. I have been tired to death in London lately. You have no idea
how tiring it is to be engaged. I have stood such hours and hours at
the dressmaker's being tried on, and Arthur and I were always going to
the house. The workmen are so stupid; they have no idea of colourings.
The drawing-room was painted three times over before Arthur was
satisfied. I was so tired that I would have left it as it was, but he
is so obs--, he likes to have things done exactly in his own way, and
worries on and on until he gets it. I thought it would be fun
furnishing a house, but it gets a little tiresome when people are so
very, very particular. We will have a nice lazy time, won't we, Norah?
Arthur is not coming up for three weeks, so we shall be alone and have
no one to bother us."
"Ye-es!" stammered Norah confusedly.
This novel way of regarding the presence of a lover was so amazing that
it took away her breath, and before she recovered, Miss Briggs entered
the room, and there was no more chance of private conversation for the
present.
Nothing could have been sweeter or more amiable than Lettice's demeanour
during the first week at home. She seemed to revel in the simple
country life, and to cling to every member of the household with
pathetic affection. She went into the kitchen and sat on the fender
stool, talking to the cook and inquiring for "your aunt at Preston,"
"the little niece Pollie," "your nephew at sea," with a kindly
remembrance which drew tears from the old soul's eyes. She made dresses
for Geraldine's dolls, trimmed Miss Briggs' caps, and hovered about her
father and sisters on the watch for an opportunity to serve them.
Everyone was charmed to have her at home once more, and fussed over her
in a manner which should have satisfied the most exacting of mortals;
but sweet and loving as she was, Lettice did not look satisfied. The
grey eyes seemed to grow larger and larger until her face appeared all
eyes, and her cheeks showed a faint hollow where the dimples used to
play. One miserable night, too, Norah woke to find Lettice sobbing with
her head buried in the pillow, and heard a pitiful repetition of the
words, "What shall I do? What shall I do?" But when she inquired what
was wrong, Lettice declared that a tooth was aching, and sat up in the
bed and rubbed her gums obediently with a lotion brought from the
medicine cupboard. Norah blamed herself for doubting her sisters word,
but she could not help noticing that the toothache yielded very rapidly
to the remedy, and the incident left a painful impression on her mind.
Norah was not the only member of the household who was anxious about
Lettice's happiness. Mr Bertrand had a serious conversation on the
subject with his eldest daughter one morning when Lettice's pallor and
subdued voice had been more marked than usual.
"I can't stand seeing the child going about like this. She looks the
ghost of what she was five or six months back, and seems to have no
spirit left. I shall have to speak to her. It is most painful and
awkward on the very eve of the marriage, but if she is not happy--"
"Perhaps it is only that she is tired, and feels the prospect of leaving
home," said Hilary; and at that very moment the door was burst open and
in rushed Lettice herself, cheeks flushed, hair loose, eyes dancing with
merriment. She and Raymond had just played a trick upon unsuspecting
Miss Briggs with magnificent success. She was breathless with delight,
could hardly speak for bursts of laughter, and danced up and down the
room, looking so gay and blithe and like the Lettice of old, that her
father wont off to his study with a heartfelt sigh of relief. Hilary
was right. The child was happy enough. If she were a little quieter
than usual it was only natural and fitting under the circumstances. He
dismissed the subject from his mind, and settled contentedly to work.
One thing was certain: Arthur Newcome was a most attentive lover.
Lettice contented herself with scribbling two or three short notes a
week, but every afternoon the postman brought a bulky envelope addressed
to her in the small neat handwriting which was getting familiar to every
member of the household. Norah had an insatiable passion for receiving
letters, and was inclined to envy her sister this part of her
engagement.
"It must be so lovely to get long epistles everyday. Lettice, I don't
want to see them, of course, but what sort of letters does he write?
What does he talk about? Is it all affection, or does he tell you
interesting pieces of news?"
Lettice gave the sheets a flick with her white fingers.
"You can read it if you like. There is nothing private. I must say he
does not write exciting letters. He has been in Canterbury, and this
one is a sort of guide-book about the crypt. As if I wanted to hear
about crypts! I must say I did not think when I was engaged that I
should have letters all about tombs and stupid old monuments! Arthur is
so serious. I suppose he thinks he will `improve my mind,' but if I am
to be improved I would rather read a book at once and not be lectured in
my love letters."
She had never spoken so openly before, and Norah dared not let the
opportunity pass.
"Oh, Lettice, dear! aren't you happy? aren't you satisfied?" she cried
earnestly. "I have been afraid sometimes that you were not so fond of
Arthur as you should be. Do, do speak out, dear, if it is so, and put
an end to things while there is time!"
"An end! What do you mean? I am to be married in less than a month--
how could I put an end to it? Don't be foolish, Norah. Besides, I do
care for Arthur. I wish sometimes that he were a little younger and
less proper, but that is only because he is too clever and learned for a
stupid little thing like me. Don't talk like that again; it makes me
miserable. Wouldn't you like to have a house of your own and be able to
do whatever you liked? My little boudoir is so sweet, all blue and
white, and we will have such cosy times in it, you and I, and Edna must
come up and stay with me too. Oh, it will be lovely! I am sure it
will. I shall be quite happy. I am glad father insisted upon having
the wedding up here; it will be so much quieter than in a fashionable
London church with all the rabble at the doors. Dreadful to be stared
at by hundreds of people who don't know or care anything about you, and
only look at you as part of a show. Here all the people are interested
and care a little bit for `Miss Lettice.' If only Rex were to be here!
It seems hard that he should leave home just a fortnight before my
wedding."
Norah sighed and relapsed into silence, for it was all settled about
Rex's departure by this time. The Squire had given way, Mrs Freer and
Edna had wept themselves dry, and were now busily occupied in preparing
what Rex insisted upon describing as his "_trousseau_."
"I have one hundred and fifty `pieces' in my _trousseau_; how many have
you in yours?" he asked Lettice one day; and the girls were much
impressed at the extensiveness of his preparations, until it was
discovered that he counted each sock separately, and took a suit of
clothes as representing three of the aforesaid "pieces." Having once
given way, the Squire behaved in the most generous manner, and at his
suggestion, Rex was to travel overland to Brindisi, spending a month in
various places of interest on the Continent. In order to do this and
catch the appointed boat, it was necessary to leave Westmoreland at the
end of August. Ten days more, and then good-bye to Rex, good-bye to the
happy old day which could never come back again! Four days more, three
days, two days, one day--the last afternoon arrived, and with a sinking
heart Norah went to meet Rex in the drawing-room for the last time for
long years to come.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
GOOD BYE!