On the afternoon of the same day the young lawyer dropped in quietly,
with a smile on his lace, to Norlaw.
Huntley was busy in the out-buildings of the farm. He was taking an
inventory of all their stock and belongings, and making such an estimate
as he could, which was a very correct one on the whole, of the value of
this primitive property. Every thing about the house was going on very
much as usual. The Mistress was seated at the end window of the
dining-room, in a position which not only commanded the kitchen door and
all its comings and goings, but was likewise a good post of observation
for the farm-yard in which Huntley was. The stillness and heat of summer
brooded over the old castle walls, and even over the farm-yard, where
the very poultry drowsed in their afternoon siesta. The apples were
growing ruddy on the Norlaw trees, and the slope of the hill brightened
in russet gold towards the harvest. An Irish “shearer,” with his sickle
over his shoulder, waited at a humble distance, till the young master
was ready to hear his application for work; the weather was unusually
favorable and the season early. In another week or ten days everybody
prophesied the harvest would begin.
Huntley Livingstone, however, was not thinking of the harvest. His mind
was busy with thoughts of the wild bush far away, the savage young
colonies then but little advanced in their progress, and the long years
of solitary labor which lay before him. He was not by any means in high
spirits. Melmar had faded out of his fancy like a dream. He thought he
perceived just what degree of probability there was in that vision of
fortune, and turning his back upon it, he set his face towards the
sober, homely, real future which must begin by the serious and solitary
toil of so many years.
So that Huntley was by no means delighted to be interrupted in the midst
of his task by the salutation of the young lawyer. He turned round
immediately and put down his memorandum-book, but not with much
cordiality. Cassilis was smiling--he always smiled; on the whole, this
rather aggravated Huntley.
“I’ve got something for you,” said the lawyer, holding up the same
pocket-book into which he had put Norlaw’s memoranda. He spoke with real
glee and triumph. Independent altogether of the interests of the family,
he felt he had made quite a professional success, and enjoyed it
accordingly.
“What?” said Huntley--he was half unwilling to perceive that this was
some advantage gained over the enemy. He had made up his mind in a
different direction, and did not want to be moved back again by any new
shift of fortune. But when the pocket-book was opened and its contents
disclosed--when Huntley saw before him, safe and certain, those old
yellow bonds and obligations signed with his father’s name, the young
man was startled--and the first idea of his unfriendliness was, that
they had been purchased by some concession.
“You have given up our interests in the more important matter!” cried
Huntley; “I warn you I will not adopt any such bargain; better ruin now
than any sacrifice either of right or of honor.”
“For what do you take me, Mr. Livingstone?” said the other, coldly; but
as he was too good-natured and much too triumphant to keep malice, he
continued, after a moment, in his usual tone:--“Don’t be foolish; take
these affairs and burn them--they’re better out of harm’s way; and go
in, gather the family together, and hold a council of war. Now I’ve seen
the man and understand the question, I’m ready to fight it out. We can
but take our chance. _You_ have every thing in your favor--he nothing
but blood and possession. You are not ruined, Livingstone, you have
enough to begin with--I am inclined to change my advice; if I were you,
I should wait no longer, but put it to the touch. The chances are ten to
one in your favor.”
“This is quite different from your former opinion,” said Huntley, in
amazement.
“Not opinion, say advice,” said Cassilis, who was now somewhat excited;
“I believed, begging your pardon, Livingstone, that you were likely to
need for your own immediate uses every penny you could scrape together;
I thought your father had seriously injured your cause by taking no
steps in the matter, and that the other side might think themselves
justified in saying that he knew this will either to be unfairly got or
invalid. But my visit to Melmar has dispelled these doubts. I think the
course is quite clear if you choose to try.”
This sudden suggestion took away Huntley’s breath; the color mounted in
his cheek in spite of himself--it was impossible to think of such a
prospect unmoved--for Melmar, with its moderate rank and easy fortune,
was very much more agreeable to think of than the bush and all its
peradventures of hardship and solitude. He listened with only a
half-attention while Cassilis explained to him how Mr. Huntley had been
induced to relinquish these valuable scraps of paper. The whole sum
represented by them was not very considerable, but it made all the
difference between bare, absolute stripped poverty, and the enough which
would satisfy everybody’s demands, and leave a little over for
themselves. There were still heavy mortgages upon the little property of
Norlaw, but when Huntley took his father’s canceled bonds in his hand,
he knew there was no longer cause to apprehend a forced and ruinous sale
of all their stock and crop and little possessions. He heard the lawyer
speak of Melmar’s fears, his proposal about the will--his gradual and
growing apprehensions; but all that appeared visible to Huntley was the
fact of their changed circumstances, and the new position in which the
family stood. His companion perceived after a while that the young man
was absorbed in his own thoughts, and paid no attention to what he said,
and Cassilis wisely left him, once more bidding him hold a council of
war. When he was alone, Huntley put aside his memorandum-book, drew his
cap over his eyes, and set off on a rapid walk to the top of the hill.
He scarcely drew breath till he had reached the summit of that fertile
slope from whence he could just see in the distance the gray towers of
Melrose and the silvery gleam of Tweed shining in the hazy golden
sunshine beyond the purple Eildons. The broad country shone before him
in all its tints of color and glow of summer light, wide, great, and
silent as the life upon whose brink he stood--and at his feet lay
Norlaw, with its humble homestead and its ruined castle, where sat this
lad’s mother, who was a widow. He stood there perfectly silent, full of
thought, turning over half unconsciously in his mind the words of his
adviser.
“He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all.”
Somehow these lines floated in upon Huntley’s mind as he stood gazing
upon the summer landscape. To win Melmar with all its wealth and
influence, or to lose what remained of Norlaw, with all the associations
and hereditary bonds that belonged to that home of his race--should he
put it to the touch? A conflict, not less stormy that it was entirely
unexpressed, rose within the young, ambitious, eager mind, gazing over
those fields and hills. A certain personification and individuality came
to the struggling powers within him. On either side stood a woman, one a
pale, unknown shadow, hovering upon the chances of his triumph, ready to
take the prize, when it was won, out of his hands--the other his own
well-beloved, home-dwelling mother, whose comfort and certain habitation
it was in Huntley’s power at once to secure. Should he put it to the
touch? should he risk all that he might win all?--and the tempters that
assailed Huntley suddenly vailed over to his eyes all that sunny home
landscape, and spread before him the savage solitudes of the far
country, the flocks and the herds which should be his sole
companions--the hut in the strange woods; oh beautiful home valleys,
glorious hills, dear gleams of water-springs! oh, love hiding sweet
among the trees, whispering ere it comes!--oh tender friends and bonds
of youth!--shall he put it to the touch? The council of war held its
debate among the dust and din of battle, though the summer sunshine
shone all the time in an undisturbed and peaceful glory upon the slope
of Norlaw.