"Betray mean terror of ridicule,--thou shalt find fools enough to mock
thee:--
"But answer thou their laughter with contempt, and the scoffers shall
lick thy feet."
Martin Farquhar Tupper.
(_In Edith's handwriting_.)
SELWICK HALL, MARCH THE II.
Never, methinks, saw I any so changed as our _Milly_ by the illness and
death of poor _Blanche_. From being the merriest of all us, methinks
she is become well-nigh the saddest. I count it shall pass in time, but
she is not like _Milisent_ at this present. All we, indeed, have much
felt the same: but none like her. I never did reckon her so much to
love _Blanche_.
I have marvelled divers times of late, what did bring _Robin Lewthwaite_
here so oft; and I did somewhat in mine own mind, rhyme his name with
_Milisent's_, for all (as I find on looking) my damsel hath set down
never a time he came. The which, as methinks, is somewhat significant.
So I was little astonied this afternoon to be asked of _Robin_, as we
two were in the garden, if I reckoned _Milisent_ had any care touching
him.
"Thou wist, _Edith_," saith he, "I did alway love her: but when yon
rogue came in the way betwixt that did end all by the beguilement of our
poor _Blanche_, I well-nigh gave up all hope, for methought she were
fair enchanted by him."
"I think she so were, for a time, _Robin_," said I, "until she saw
verily what manner of man he were: and that it were not truly he that
she had loved, but the man she had accounted him."
"Well," saith _Robin_, "I would like to be the man she accounted him.
Thinkest there is any chance?"
"Thou wist I can but guess," I made answer, "for _Milisent_ is very
close of that matter, though she be right open on other: but I see no
reason, _Robin_, wherefore thou shouldst not win her favour, and I do
ensure thee I wish thee well therein."
"_Edith_, thou art an angel!" crieth he out: and squeezed mine hand till
I wished him the other side the Border.
"Nay!" said I, a-laughing: "what then is _Milly_?"
"Oh, aught thou wilt," saith he, also laughing, "that is sweet, and
fair, and delightsome. Dost know, _Edith_, our _Nym_ goeth about to be
a soldier? He shall leave us this next month."
"A soldier!" cried I: for in very deed _Nym_ and a soldier were two
matters that ran not together to my thoughts. Howbeit, I was not sorry
to hear that _Nym_ should leave this vicinage, and thereby cease
tormenting of our _Helen_. The way he gazeth on her all the sermon-time
in church should make me fit to poison him, were I she, and desired not
(as I know she doth not) that he should be a-running after me. But,
_Nym_ a soldier! I could as soon have looked to see _Moses_ play the
virginals. Why, he is feared of his own shadow, very nigh: and is
worser for ghosts than even _Austin Park_. I do trust, if we need any
defence here in _Derwentdale_, either the Queen's Majesty shall not send
_Nym_ to guard us, or else that his men shall have stouter hearts than
he. An hare were as good as _Nym Lewthwaite_.
Sithence I writ what goeth afore, have we all been rare gladded by
_Walter's_ coming, which was just when the dusk had fallen. He looketh
right well of his face, and is grown higher, and right well-favoured:
but, eh me, so fine! I felt well-nigh inclined to lout [courtesy] me
low unto this magnifical gentleman, rather than take him by the hand and
kiss him. _Ned_ saith--
"The Queen's Highness' barge ahoy!--all lined and padded o' velvet!--and
in the midst the estate [the royal canopy] of cloth of gold! Off with
your caps, my hearties!"
_Walter_ laughed, and took it very well. Saith Aunt _Joyce_, when he
come to her--
"_Wat_, how much art thou worth by the yard?"
"Ten thousand pound, _Aunt_," saith he, boldly, and laughing.
"Ha!" saith she, somewhat dry. "I trust 'tis safe withinside, for I see
it not without."
SELWICK HALL, MARCH YE IV.
Yesterday, being _Sunday_, was nought said touching _Wat_ and his ways:
only all to church, of course, at matins and evensong, but this day no
sermons. This morrow, after breakfast, as we arose from the table,
saith _Father_:--
"_Walter_, my lad, thou and I must have some talk."
"An' it like you, Sir," saith _Wat_.
"Wouldst thou choose it rather without other ears?"
"Not any way, I thank you, Sir."
"Then," quoth _Father_, drawing of a chair afore the fire, "we may tarry
as we be."
_Walter_ sat him down in the chimney-corner; _Mother_, with her sewing,
on the other side the fire; Aunt _Joyce_ in the place she best loveth,
in the window. Cousin _Bess_ and _Mynheer_ were gone on their
occasions. _Ned_ and we three maids were in divers parts of the
chamber; _Ned_ carving of a wooden boat for _Anstace_ her little lad,
and we at our sewing.
"Wilt tell me, _Wat_," saith _Father_, "what years thou hast?"
"Why, Sir," quoth he, "I reckon you know that something better than I;
but I have alway been given to wit that the year of my birth was
Mdlvii." [1557.]
"The which, sith thou wert born in _July_, makes thee now of two and
twenty years," _Father_ makes answer.
"I believe so much, Sir," saith _Walter_, that looked somewhat diverted
at this beginning.
"And thy wage at this time, from my Lord of _Oxenford_, is sixteen pound
by the year?" [Note 1.]
"It is so, Sir," quoth _Wat_.
"And what reckonest thy costs to be?"
"In good sooth, Sir, I have not reckoned," saith he.
"Go to--make a guess."
_Wat_ did seem diseased thereat, and fiddled with his chain. At the
last (_Father_ keeping silence) he saith, looking up, with a flush of
his brow--
"To speak truth, Sir, I dare not."
"Right, my lad," saith _Father_. "Speak the truth, and let come of it
what will. But, in very deed, we must come to it, _Wat_. This matter
is like those wounds that 'tis no good to heal ere they be probed. Nor
knew I ever a chirurgeon to use the probe without hurting of his
patient. Howbeit, _Wat_, I will not hurt thee more than is need. Tell
me, dost thou think that all thy costs, of whatsoever kind, should go
into two hundred pound by the year?"
The red flush on _Wat's_ brow grew deeper.
"I am afeared not, Sir," he made answer, of a low voice.
"Should they go into three?" _Wat_ hesitated, but seemed more diseased
[uncomfortable] than ever.
"Should four overlap them?"
_Wat_ brake forth.
"_Father_, I would you would scold me--I cannot stand it! I should feel
an hard whipping by far less than your terrible gentleness. I know I
have been a downright fool, and I have known it all the time: but what
is a man to do? The fellows laugh at you if you do not as all the rest.
Then they come to one every day, with, `Here, _Louvaine_, lend me a
sovereign,'--and `Look you, _Louvaine_, pay this bill for me,'--and they
should reckon you the shabbiest companion ever lived, if you did it not,
or if, having done it, you should ask them for it again."
"_Wat_!" saith Aunt _Joyce_ from the window.
"What so, _Aunt_?" quoth he.
"Stand up a minute, and let me look at thee," saith she.
_Walter_ did so, but with a look as though he marvelled what Aunt
_Joyce_ would be at.
"I would judge from thy face," quoth she, "if thou art the right lad
come, or they have changed thee in _London_ town. Our _Walter_ used to
have his father's eyes and his mother's mouth. Well, I suppose thou
art: but I should scantly have guessed it from thy talk."
"_Walter_," softly saith _Mother_, "thy father should never have so
dealt when he were of thy years."
"Lack-a-daisy! I would have thought the world was turning round," quoth
Aunt _Joyce_, "had I ever heard such a speech of _Aubrey_ at any years
whatsoever."
_Father_ listed this with some diversion, as methought from the set of
his lips.
"Well, I am not as good as _Father_," saith _Wat_.
"Amen!" quoth Aunt _Joyce_.
"But, _Aunt_, you are hard on a man. See you not, all the fellows think
you a coward if you dare not spend freely and act boldly? Ay, and a
miser belike."
"Is it worser to be thought a coward than to be one?" saith _Father_.
"Who be `all the fellows'?" saith Aunt _Joyce_. "My Lord of _Burleigh_
and my Lord _Hunsdon_ and Sir _Francis Walsingham_, I'll warrant you."
"Now, _Aunt_!" saith _Walter_. "Not grave old men like they! My Lord
of _Oxenford_, that is best-dressed man of all the Court, and spendeth
an hundred pound by the year in gloves and perfumes only--"
"Eh, _Wat_!" cries _Helen_: and _Mother_,--"_Walter_, my dear boy!"
"'Tis truth, I do ensure you," saith he: "and Sir _Walter Raleigh_, one
of the first wits in all _Europe_: and young _Blount_, that is high in
the Queen's Majesty's favour: and my young Lord of _Essex_, unto whom
she showeth good countenance. 'Tis not possible to lower one's self in
the eyes of such men as these--and assuredly I should were I less
free-handed."
"My word, _Wat_, but thou hast fallen amongst an ill pack of hounds!"
saith Aunt _Joyce_.
"Then it is possible, or at least more possible, to lower thyself in our
eyes, _Wat_?" saith _Father_.
"_Father_, you make me to feel 'shamed of myself!" crieth _Wat_. "Yet,
think you, so should they when I were among them, if I should hold back
from these very deeds."
"Then is there no difference, my son," asks _Father_, still as gentle as
ever, "betwixt being 'shamed for doing the right, and for doing the
wrong?"
"But--pardon me, Sir--you are not in it!" saith _Walter_. "Do but
think, what it should feel to be counted singular, and as a speckled
bird, unlike all around."
"Well!" saith Aunt _Joyce_, fervently, "I am five and fifty years of age
this morrow; and have in my time done many a foolish deed: but I do
thank Heaven that I was never so left to mine own folly as to feel any
ambition to make one of a row of buttons!"