"Now, sir, have the goodness to tell me what you mean to do."
Harry Vine looked at his father, thrust his hands low down into his
pockets, leaned back against the mantelpiece, and was silent.
Vine senior leaned over a shallow glass jar, with a thin splinter of
wood in his hand, upon which he had just impaled a small fragment of
raw, minced periwinkle, and this he thrust down to where a gorgeous
sea-anemone sat spread open upon a piece of rock--chipped from out of
one of the caverns on the coast.
The anemone's tentacles bristled all around, giving the creature the
aspect of a great flower; and down among these the scrap of food was
thrust till it touched them, when the tentacles began to curve over, and
draw the scrap of shell-fish down toward the large central mouth, in
which it soon began to disappear.
Vine senior looked up.
"I have done everything I could for you in the way of education. I
have, I am sure, been a most kind and indulgent father. You have had a
liberal supply of money, and by the exercise of my own and the personal
interest of friends, I have obtained for you posts among our people, any
one of which was the beginning of prosperity and position, such as a
youth should have been proud to win."
"But they were so unsuitable, father. All connected with trade."
"Shame, Harry! As if there was anything undignified in trade. No
matter whether it be trade or profession by which a man honestly earns
his subsistence, it is an honourable career. And yet five times over
you have been thrown back on my hands in disgrace."
"Well, I can't help it, father; I've done my best."
"Your best!" cried Vine senior, taking up a glass rod, and stirring the
water in another glass jar. "It is not true."
"But it's so absurd. You're a rich man."
"If I were ten times as well off, I would not have you waste your life
in idleness. You are not twenty-four, and I am determined that you
shall take some post. I have seen too much of what follows when a
restless, idle young man sits down to wait for his father's money.
There, I am busy now. Go and think over what I have said. You must and
shall do something. It is now a month since I received that letter.
What is Mr Pradelle doing down here again?"
"Come for a change, as any other gentleman would."
"Gentleman?"
"Well, he has a little income of his own, I suppose. If I've been
unlucky that's no reason why I should throw over my friends."
The father looked at the son in a perplexed way, and then fed another
sea-anemone, Harry looking on contemptuously.
"Well, sir, you have heard what I said. Go and think it over."
"Yes, father."
The young man left the business-like study, and encountered his sister
in the hall.
"Well, Harry?"
"Well, Lou."
"What does papa say?"
"The old story. I'm to go back to drudgery. I think I shall enlist."
"For shame! and you professing to care as you do for Madelaine."
"So I do. I worship her."
"Then prove it by exerting yourself in the way papa wishes. I wonder
you have not more spirit."
"And I wonder you have not more decency towards my friends."
Louise coloured slightly.
"Here you profess to believe in my going into trade and drudging behind
a counter."
"I did not know that a counter had ever been in question, Harry," said
his sister sarcastically.
"Well, a clerk's desk; it's all the same. I believe you would like to
see me selling tea and sugar."
"I don't think I should mind."
"No; that's it. I'm to be disgraced while you are so much of the fine
lady that you look down on, and quite insult, my friend Pradelle."
"Aunt Margaret wishes to speak to you, dear," said Louise gravely. "I
promised to tell you as soon as you left the study."
"Then hang it all! why didn't you tell me? Couldn't resist a chance for
a lecture. There's only one body here who understands me, and that's
aunt. Why even Madelaine's turning against me now, and I believe it is
all your doing."
"I have done nothing but what is for your good, Harry."
"Then you own to it! You have been talking to Maddy?"
"She came and confided in me, and I believe I spoke the truth."
"Yes, I knew it!" cried Harry warmly. "Then look here, my lady, I'm not
blind. I've petted you and been the best of brothers, but if you turn
against me I shall turn against you."
"Harry dear!"
"Ah, that startles you, does it! Then I shall tell the truth, and I'll
back up Aunt Margaret through thick and thin."
"What do you mean?"
"What Aunt Margaret says. That long Scotch copper-miner is no match for
you."
"Harry!"
"And I shall tell him this, if he comes hanging about here where he sees
he is not wanted, and stands in the way of a gentleman of good French
Huguenot descent, I'll horsewhip him. There!"
He turned on his heel, and bounded up the old staircase three steps at a
time.
"Oh!" ejaculated Louise, as she stood till she heard a sharp tap at her
aunt's door and her brother enter, and close it after him. "Mr
Pradelle, too, of all people in the world!"
"Ah, my darling," cried Aunt Margaret, looking up from the tambour-frame
and smoothing out the folds of her antique flowered peignoir. "Bring
that stool, and come and sit down."
Harry bent down and kissed her rather sulkily. Then in a
half-contemptuous way he fetched the said stool, embroidered by the lady
herself, and placed it at her feet.
"Sit down, my dear."
Harry lowered himself into a very uncomfortable position, while Aunt
Margaret placed one arm about his neck, struck a graceful pose, and
began to smooth over the young man's already too smooth hair.
"I want to have another very serious talk with you, my boy," she said.
"Ah, yes," she continued, raising his chin and looking down in his
disgusted face: "how every lineament shows your descent!"
"I say, aunt, I've just brushed my hair."
"Yes, dear, but you should not hide your forehead. It is the brow of
the Des Vignes."
"Oh, all right, auntie, have it your own way. But, I say, have you got
any money?"
"Alas! no, my boy."
"I don't mean now. I mean haven't you really got any to leave me in
your will?"
There was a far-off look in Aunt Margaret's eyes as she slowly shook her
head.
"You will leave me what you have, aunt?"
"If I had hundreds of thousands, you should have all, Henri; but, alas,
I have none. I had property once."
"What became of it?"
"Well, my dear, it is a long story and a sad one. I could not tell it
to you even in brief, but you are a man now, and must know the meaning
of the word love."
"Oh, yes, I know what that means; but I say, don't fidget my hair about
so."
"I could not tell you all, Henri. It was thirty years ago. He was a
French gentleman of noble descent. His estates had been confiscated,
and I was only too glad to place my little fortune at his disposal to
recover them."
"And did he?"
"No, my dear. Those were terrible times. He lost all; and with true
nobility, he wrote to me that he loved me too well to drag me down to
poverty--to share his lot as an exile. I have never seen him since.
But I would have shared his lot."
"Humph! Lost it? Then if I had money and tried for our family estates,
I might lose it too."
"No, no, my boy; you would be certain to win. Did you do what I told
you?"
"Yes, aunt; but I can't use them down here."
"Let me look, my dear; and I do not see why not. You must be bold; and
proud of your descent."
"But they'd laugh."
"Let them," said Aunt Margaret grandly. "By and by they will bow down.
Let me see."
The young man took a card-case from his pocket, on which was stamped in
gold a French count's coronet.
"Ah! yes; that is right," said the old lady, snatching the case with
trembling fingers, opening it, and taking out a card on which was also
printed a coronet. "_Comte Henri des Vignes_," she read, in an excited
manner, and with tears in her eyes. "My darling boy!"
"Cost a precious lot, aunt; made a regular hole in your diamond ring."
"Did you sell it?"
"No; Vic Pradelle pawned it for me."
"Ah! he is a friend of whom you may be proud, Henri."
"Not a bad sort of fellow, aunt. He got precious little on the ring,
though, and I spent it nearly all."
"Never mind the ring, my boy, and I'm very glad you have the cards. Now
for a little serious talk about the future."
"Wish to goodness there was no future," said Harry glumly.
"Would you like to talk about the past, then?" said the old lady
playfully.
"Wish there was no past neither," grumbled Harry.
"Then we will talk about the present, my dear, and about--let me whisper
to you--love!"
She placed her thin lips close to her nephew's ear, and then held him at
arm's length and smiled upon him proudly.
"Love! Too expensive a luxury for me, auntie. I say, you are ruffling
my hair so."
"Too expensive, Henri? No, my darling boy; follow my advice, and the
richest and fairest of the daughters of France shall sue for your hand."
"I say, auntie," he said laughingly, "aren't you laying on the colour
rather thick?"
"Not a bit, my darling; and that's why I want to talk to you about your
sister's friend."
"What, Maddy?" he said eagerly; "then you approve of it."
"Approve! Pah! you are jesting, my dear. I approve of your making an
alliance with a fat Dutch fraulein!"
"Oh, come, aunt!" said Harry, looking nettled; "Madelaine is not Dutch,
nor yet fat."
"I know better, my boy. Dutch! Dutch! Dutch! Look at her father and
her mother! No, my boy, you could not make an alliance with a girl like
that. She might do for a kitchen-maid."
"Auntie!"
"Silly boy!"
"And she'll be rich some day."
"If she were heiress to millions she could not marry you. As some
writer says, eagles do not mate with plump Dutch ducklings. No, Henri,
my boy, you must wait." Harry frowned.
"That is a boyish piece of nonsense, unworthy the Comte des Vignes, my
dear boy. But tell me--you have been with your father--what does he say
now?"
"The old story. I must go to work."
"Poor George!" sighed Aunt Margaret: "always so sordid in his ideas in
early life: now that he is wealthy so utterly wanting in aspirations!
Always dallying over some miserable shrimp. He has no more ambition
than one of those silly fish over which he sits and dreams. Oh, Henri,
my boy, when I look back at what our family has been--right back into
the distant ages of French history--valorous knights and noble ladies;
and later on, how they graced the court at banquet and at ball, I weep
the salt tears of misery to see my brother sink so low."
"Ah! well, it's of no use, aunt. I must go and turn somebody's
grindstone again."
"No, Henri, it shall not be," cried the old lady, with flashing eyes.
"We must think; we must plot and plan."
"If you please, ma'am, I've brought your lunch," said a voice; and Liza,
the maid, who bore a strong resemblance to the fish-woman who had
accosted Uncle Luke at the mouth of the harbour, set down a
delicately-cooked cutlet and bit of fish, all spread on a snowy napkin,
with the accompaniments of plate, glass, and a decanter of sherry.
"Ah! yes, my lunch," said Aunt Margaret, with a sigh. "Go, and think
over what I have said, my dear, and we will talk again another time."
"All right, auntie," said the young man, rising slowly; "but it seems to
me as if the best thing I could do would be to jump into the sea."
"No, no, Henri," said Aunt Margaret, taking up a silver spoon and
shaking it slowly at her nephew, "a Des Vignes was ready with his sword
in defence of his honour, and to advance his master's cause; but he
never dreamed of taking his own life. That, my dear, would be the act
of one of the low-born _canaille_. Remember who you are, and wait. I
am working for you, and you shall triumph yet. Consult your friend."
"Sometimes I think it's all gammon," said Harry, as he went slowly
down-stairs, and out into the garden, "and sometimes it seems as if it
would be very jolly. I dare say the old woman is right, and--"
"What are you talking about--muttering aside like the wicked man on the
stage?"
"Hullo, Vic! You there?"
"Yes, clear boy. I'm here for want of somewhere better."
"Consult your friend!" Aunt Margaret's last words.
"Been having a cigar?"
"I've been hanging about here this last hour. How is it she hasn't been
for a walk?"
"Louie? Don't know. Here, let's go down under the cliff, and have a
talk over a pipe."
"The latter, if you like; never mind the former. Yes, I will; for I
want a few words of a sort."
"What about?" said Harry, as they strolled away.
"Everything. Look here, old fellow; we've been the best of chums ever
since you shared my desk."
"Yes, and you shared my allowance."
"Well chums always do. Then I came down with you, and it was all as
jolly as could be, and I was making way fast, in spite of that
confounded red-headed porridge-eating fellow. Then came that upset, and
I went away. Then you wrote to me in answer to my letter about having a
good thing on, and said `Come down.'"
"And you came," said Harry thoughtfully, "and the good thing turned out
a bad thing, as every one does that I join in."
"Well, that was an accident; speculators must have some crust as well as
crumb."
"But I get all crust."
"No, I seem to be getting all crust now from your people. Your aunt's
right enough, but your father casts his cold shoulder and stale bread at
me whenever we meet; and as for a certain lady, she regularly cut me
yesterday."
"Well, I can't help that, Vic. You know what I said when you told me
you were on that. I said that I couldn't do anything, and that I
wouldn't do anything if I could; but that I wouldn't stand in your way
if you liked to try."
"Yes, I know what you said," grumbled Pradelle, as they strolled down to
the shore, went round the rocks, and then strolled on over and amongst
the shingle and sand, till--a suitable spot presenting itself, about
half a mile from the town--they sat down on the soft sand, tilted their
hats over their eyes, leaned their backs against a huge stone, and then
lit up and began to smoke.
"You see it's like this," said Pradelle; "I know I'm not much of a
catch, but I like her, and that ought to make up for a great deal."
"Yes."
"She don't know her own mind, that's about it," continued Pradelle; "and
a word from you might do a deal."
"Got any money, Vic?"
"Now there's a mean sort of a question to ask a friend! Have I got any
money? As if a man must be made of money before he may look at his old
chum's sister."
"I wasn't thinking about her, but of something else," said Harry
hastily.
"Ah, well, I wasn't; but look there!"
"What at?" said Harry, whose eyes were shut, and his thoughts far away.
"Them. They're going for a walk. Why. Hal, old chap, they saw us come
down here."
Harry started into wakefulness, and realised the fact that his sister
and Madelaine Van Heldre were passing before them, but down by the
water's edge.
"Let's follow them," said Pradelle eagerly.
"Wait a moment."
Harry waited to think, and scraps of his aunt's remarks floated through
his brain respecting the fair daughters of France, who would fall at the
feet of the young count.
Harry cogitated. The daughters of France were no doubt very lovely, but
they were imaginative: and though Madelaine Van Heldre might, as his
aunt said, not be of the pure Huguenot blood, still that fact did not
seem to matter to him. For that was not imagination before him, but the
bright, natural, clever girl whom he had known from childhood, his old
playfellow, who had always seemed to supply a something wanting in his
mental organisation, the girl who had led him and influenced his career.
"Bother Aunt Marguerite!" he said to himself, and then aloud, "Come
along!"
Volume 1, Chapter VI.