HORNS AND HOOFS
It was the Reverend Stephen Lorimer's custom to have all letters that
arrived by the morning post placed beside his breakfast plate to be
sorted by him at the end of family prayers,--a custom which Gracie freely
criticized in the sanctuary of the schoolroom, and which her mother in
earlier days had gently and quite ineffectually tried to stop. It was
always a somewhat lengthy proceeding as it entailed a careful scrutiny of
each envelope, especially in the case of letters not addressed to the
Reverend Stephen. He was well acquainted with the handwriting of all his
wife's correspondents, and was generally ready with some shrewd guess as
to their motives for writing. They were usually submitted to him for
perusal as soon as she had read them herself, a habit formed by Mrs.
Lorimer when she discovered that he looked upon her correspondence as his
own property and deeply resented any inclination on her part to keep it
to herself.
Avery's arrival had brought an additional interest to the morning budget.
Her letters were invariably examined with bland curiosity and handed on
to her with comments appropriate to their appearance. Occasionally
envelopes with an Australian postmark reached her, and these always
excited especial notice. The brief spell of Avery's married life had been
spent in a corner of New South Wales. In the early part of their
acquaintance, Mr. Lorimer had sought to draw her out on the subject of
her experiences during this period, but he had found her reticent. And so
whenever a letter came addressed in the strong, masculine hand of her
Australian correspondent, some urbane remark was invariably made, while
his small daughter Gracie swelled with indignation at the further
end of the table.
"Two epistles for Mrs. Denys!" he announced, as he turned over the
morning's mail at the breakfast-table two days after Christmas. "Ah, I
thought our Australian friend would be calling attention to himself ere
the festive season had quite departed. He writes from Adelaide on this
occasion. That indicates a move if I mistake not. His usual
_pied-a-terre_ has been Brisbane hitherto, has it not?"
His little dark eyes interrogated Avery for a moment before they vanished
inwards with disconcerting completeness.
Avery stiffened instinctively. She was well aware that Mr. Lorimer did
not like her, but the fact held no disturbing element. To her mind the
dislike of the man was preferable to his favour and after all she saw but
little of him.
She went on therefore with her occupation of cutting bread and butter for
the children with no sign of annoyance save that slight, scarcely
perceptible stiffening of the neck which only Gracie saw.
"I hope you are kind to your faithful correspondent," smiled Mr. Lorimer,
still holding the letter between his finger and thumb. "He evidently
regards your friendship as a pearl of price, and doubtless he is
well-advised to do so."
Here he opened his eyes again, and sent a barbed glance at Avery's
unresponsive face.
"Friendship is a beautiful thing, is it not?" he said.
"It is," said Avery, deftly cutting her fifth slice.
The Reverend Stephen proceeded with clerical fervour to embellish his
subject, for no especial reason save the pleasure of listening to his own
eloquence--a pleasure which never palled. "It partakes of that divine
quality of charity so sadly lacking in many of us, and sheds golden beams
of sunshine in the humblest earthly home. It has been aptly called the
true earnest of eternity."
"Really!" said Avery.
"An exquisite thought, is it not?" said the Vicar. "Grace, my child, for
the one-and-twentieth time I must beg of you not to swing your legs when
sitting at table."
"I wasn't," said Gracie.
Her father's brows were elevated in surprise. His eyes as a consequence
were opened rather wider than usual, revealing an unmistakably
malignant gleam.
"That is not the way in which a Christian child should receive
admonition," he said. "If you were not swinging your legs, you were
fidgeting in a fashion which you very well know to be unmannerly. Do not
let me have to complain of your behaviour again!"
Gracie's cheeks were crimson, her violet eyes blazing with resentment;
and Avery, dreading an outburst, laid a gentle restraining hand upon her
shoulder for an instant.
The action was well-meant, but its results were unfortunate. Gracie
impulsively seized and kissed the hand with enthusiasm. "All right, Avery
dear," she said with pointed docility.
Mr. Lorimer's brows rose a little higher, but being momentarily at a loss
for a suitable comment he contented himself with a return to Avery's
correspondence.
"The other letter," he said, "bears the well-known crest of the Evesham
family. Ah, Mrs. Denys!" he shook his head at her. "Now, what does
that portend?"
"What is the crest?" asked Avery, briskly cutting another slice.
"The devil," said Gracie.
"My dear!" remonstrated Mrs. Lorimer, with a nervous glance towards
her husband.
The Reverend Stephen was smiling, but in a fashion she did not quite
like. He addressed Avery.
"The Evesham crest, Mrs. Denys, is a gentleman with horns and hoofs and
under him the one expressive word, _'Cave.'_ Excellent advice, is it not?
I think we should do well to follow it." He turned the envelope over, and
studied the address. "What a curious style of writing the young man has,
unrestrained to a degree! This looks as if it had been written in a
desperate mood. Mrs. Denys, Mrs. Denys, what have you been doing?"
He began to laugh, but stopped abruptly as Julian, who was seated near
him, with a sudden, clumsy movement, upset a stream of cocoa across the
breakfast-table. This created an instant diversion. Mr. Lorimer turned
upon him vindictively, and soundly smacked his head, Mrs. Lorimer covered
her face and wept, and Avery, with Gracie close behind, hurried to remedy
the disaster.
Ranald came to help her in his quiet, gentlemanly way, dabbing up the
thick brown stream with his table-napkin. Pat slipped round to his
mother and hugged her hard. And Olive, the only unmoved member of the
party, looked on with contemptuous eyes the while she continued her
breakfast. Jeanie still breakfasted upstairs in the schoolroom, and so
missed the _fracas_.
"The place is a pig-sty!" declared Mr. Lorimer, roused out of all
complacence and casting dainty phraseology to the winds. "And you,
sir,"--he addressed his second son,--"wholly unfit for civilized
society. Go upstairs, and--if you have any appetite left after this
disgusting exhibition--satisfy it in the nursery!"
Julian, crimson but wholly unashamed, flung up his head defiantly and
walked to the door.
"Stop!" commanded Mr. Lorimer, ere he reached it.
Julian stopped.
His father looked him up and down with gradually returning composure.
"You will not go to the nursery," he said. "You will go to the study and
there suffer the penalty for insolence."
"Stephen!" broke from Mrs. Lorimer in anguished protest.
"A beastly shame!" cried Gracie vehemently, flinging discretion to the
winds; she adored her brother Julian. "He never spoke a single word!"
"Go, Julian!" said Mr. Lorimer.
Julian went, banging the door vigorously behind him.
Then, amid an awful silence, the Vicar turned his scrutiny upon his
small daughter.
Gracie stood up under it with all the courage at her disposal, but she
was white to the lips before that dreadful gaze passed from her to Avery.
"Mrs. Denys," said Mr. Lorimer, in tones of icy courtesy, "will you
oblige me by taking that child upstairs, undressing her, and putting her
to bed? She will remain there until I come."
Avery, her task accomplished, turned and faced him. She was as white as
Gracie, but there was a steadfast light in her eyes that showed her
wholly unafraid.
"Mr. Lorimer," she said, "with your permission I will deal with
Gracie. She has done wrong, I know. By-and-bye, she will be sorry and
tell you so."
Mr. Lorimer smiled sarcastically. "An apology, my dear Mrs. Denys, does
not condone the offence. It is wholly against my principles to spare the
rod when it is so richly merited, and I shall not do so on this occasion.
Will you kindly do as I have requested?"
It was final, and Avery knew it. Mrs. Lorimer knew it also, and burst
into hysterical crying.
Avery turned swiftly. "Go upstairs, dear!" she said to Gracie, and Gracie
went like an arrow.
Mrs. Lorimer started to her feet. "Stephen! Stephen!" she cried
imploringly.
But her husband turned a deaf ear. With a contemptuous gesture he tossed
Avery's letters upon the table and stalked from the room.
Mrs. Lorimer uttered a wild cry of despair, and fell back fainting in
her chair.
For the next quarter of an hour Avery was fully occupied in restoring
her, again assisted by Ronald. When she came to herself, it was only to
shed anguished tears on Avery's shoulder and repeat over and over again
that she could not bear it, she could not bear it.
Avery was of the same opinion, but she did not say so. She strove
instead with the utmost tenderness to persuade her to drink some tea.
But even when she had succeeded in this, Mrs. Lorimer continued to be so
exhausted and upset that at last, growing uneasy, Avery despatched
Ronald for the doctor.
She sent Olive for the children's nurse and took counsel with her as to
getting her mistress back to bed. But Nurse instantly discouraged this
suggestion.
"For the Lord's sake, ma'am, don't take her upstairs!" she said. "The
master's up there with Miss Gracie, and he's whipping the poor lamb
something cruel. He made me undress her first."
"Oh, I cannot have that!" exclaimed Avery. "Stay here a minute, Nurse,
while I go up!"
She rushed upstairs in furious anger to the room in which the three
little girls slept. The door was locked, but the sounds within were
unmistakable. Gracie was plainly receiving severe punishment from her
irate parent. Her agonized crying tore Avery's heart.
She threw herself at the door and battered at it with her fists. "Mr.
Lorimer!" she called. "Mr. Lorimer, let me in!"
There was no response. Possibly she was not even heard, for the dreadful
crying continued and, mingled with it, the swish of the slender little
riding-switch which in the earlier, less harassed days of his married
life the Reverend Stephen had kept for the horse he rode, and which now
he kept for his children.
They were terrible moments for Avery that she spent outside that locked
door, listening impotently to a child's piteous cries for mercy from one
who knew it not. But they came to an end at last. Gracie's distress sank
into anguished sobs, and Avery knew that the punishment was over. Mr.
Lorimer had satisfied both his sense of duty and his malice.
She heard him speak in cold, cutting tones. "I have punished you more
severely than I had ever expected to find necessary, and I hope that the
lesson will be sufficient. But I warn you, Grace, most solemnly that I
shall watch your behaviour very closely for the future, and if I detect
in you the smallest indication of the insolence and defiance for which I
have inflicted this punishment upon you to-day I shall repeat the
punishment fourfold. No! Not another word!" as Gracie made some
inarticulate utterance. "Or you will compel me to repeat it to-night!"
And with that, he walked quietly to the door and unlocked it.
Avery had ceased to beat upon it; she met him white and stiff in
the doorway.
"I have just sent for the doctor," she said. "Mrs. Lorimer has been
taken ill."
She passed him at once with the words, not looking at him, for she could
not trust herself. Straight to Gracie, huddled on the floor in her
night-dress, she went, and lifted the child bodily to her bed.
Gracie clung to her, sobbing passionately. Mr. Lorimer lingered in
the doorway.
"Will you go, please?" said Avery, tight-lipped and rigid, the child
clasped to her throbbing heart.
It was a definite command, spoken in a tone that almost compelled
compliance, and Mr. Lorimer lingered no more.
Then for one long minute Avery sat and rocked the poor little tortured
body in her arms.
At length, through Gracie's sobs, she spoke. "Gracie darling, I'm going
to ask you to do something big for me."
"Yes?" sobbed Gracie, clinging tightly round her neck.
"Leave off crying!" Avery said. "Please leave off crying, darling, and be
your own brave self!"
"I can't," cried Gracie.
"But do try, darling!" Avery urged her softly. "Because, you see, I can't
leave you like this, and your poor little mother wants me so badly. She
is ill, Gracie, and I ought to go to her, but I can't while you are
crying so."
Thus adjured, Gracie made gallant efforts to check herself. But her
spirit was temporarily quite broken. She stood passively with the tears
running down her face while Avery hastily dressed her again and set her
rumpled hair to rights. Then again for a few seconds they held each other
very tightly.
"Bless you, my own brave darling!" Avery whispered.
To which Gracie made tearful reply: "Whatever should we do without you,
dear--dear Avery?"
"And you won't cry any more?" pleaded Avery, who was nearer to tears
herself than she dared have owned.
"No," said Gracie valiantly.
She began to dry her eyes with vigour--a hopeful sign; and after pressing
upon Avery another damp kiss was even able to muster a smile.
"Now you can do something to help me," said Avery. "Give yourself five
minutes--here's my watch to go by!" She slipped it off her own wrist and
on to Gracie's. "Then run up to the nursery and see after the children
while Nurse is downstairs! And drink a cup of milk, dearie! Mind you do,
for you've had nothing yet."
"I shall love to wear your watch," murmured Gracie, beginning to be
comforted.
"I know you'll take care of it," Avery said, with a loving hand on the
child's hair. "Now you'll be all right, will you? I can leave you without
worrying?"
Gracie gave her face a final polish, and nodded. Spent and sore though she
was, her spirit was beginning to revive. "Is Mother really ill?" she
asked, as Avery turned to go.
"I don't know, dear. I'm rather anxious about her," said Avery.
"It's all Father's fault," said Gracie.
Avery was silent. She could not contradict the statement.
As she reached the door, Gracie spoke again, but more to herself than to
Avery. "I hope--when he dies--he'll go to hell and stay there for ever
and ever and ever!"
"Oh, Gracie!" Avery stopped, genuinely shocked. "How wrong!" she said.
Gracie nodded several times. "Yes, I know it's wrong, but I don't care.
And I hope he'll die to-morrow."
"Hush! Hush!" Avery said.
Whereat Gracie broke into a propitiatory smile. "The things I wish for
never happen," she said.
And Avery departed, wondering if this statement deserved to be treated in
the light of an amendment.