the ash flickered in the wind, and the flakes of moonlight ran over the
grass like lambs, and the shadows like black dogs. I was not near
enough to make sure. Unless we can swear to Rover, we must be content
to lose.'
'Mr. Langford will not dispute about a lamb or two,' said Oliver,
rubbing his ear.
'Then he will be different in this to what he is in everything else,'
said Kate.
'He won't be hard on us,' said her father. Honor was accustomed to see
him take his troubles easily, but he was unwontedly, perplexingly
indifferent now, and the loss was grave and might be graver.
'I will watch with you to-night, Honor,' said Kate. 'And what is more,
I will swear to Rover, if I see the end of his tail. Then we can charge
the lambs at a pound a-piece to old Langford.'
'As for that,' said the father, with a side-glance at his eldest
daughter, 'Mr. Langford--don't call him old Langford any more, Kate,
it's not respectful--Mr. Langford won't press for the horse. It lies
with you whether we have him for nothing or have to return him.'
He spoke looking at Honor, but he had addressed Kate just before. The
latter did not heed his words. Honor had been crossing the room with a
bowl in her hands. She stood still and looked at him. A question as to
his meaning rose to her lips, but she did not allow it to pass over
them. She saw that a knowing smile lurked at her father's
mouth-corners, and that he was rubbing his hands nervously. The subject
was not one to be prosecuted in the presence of her brothers and
sisters. She considered a moment, then went into the back kitchen with
the bowl. She would make her father explain himself when they were
together alone.
Dark and shapeless thoughts passed through her mind, like the shadows of
the ash foliage in the moonlight. She was full of undefined
apprehension of coming trouble. But Honor had no time to give way to
her fears. There was no leisure for an explanation. The dead lambs had
to be skinned and their meat disposed of.
Honor was busily engaged the whole morning. She was forced to
concentrate her mind on her task, but unable to escape the apprehension
which clouded her. It did not escape her that her father's manner
changed, as soon as the children were despatched to school and Kate had
gone forth. He became perceptibly nervous. He was shy of being in the
room with Honor, and started when she spoke to him. He pretended to look
for means of fastening up the flock for the night, but he went about it
listlessly. His playful humour had evaporated; he seemed to expect to
be taken to task for his words, and to dread the explanation. His
troubled face cleared when he saw Hillary Nanspian appear at the top of
the hedge that divided the Chimsworthy property from the carrier's
paddock. The young man swung himself up by a bough, and stood on the
hedge parting some hazel-bushes.
'What is this I hear? The lamb-killer been to you last night?'
'Yes, Larry, and I am trying to find how we may pen the sheep in out of
reach. I've only the linhay, and that is full.'
'Are you going to sit up?'
'No, Larry, I am not a shot, and like a beetle at night.'
'I'll do it. Where are Kate and Honor? I promised them I would do it,
and I keep my word. Little Joe tells me Honor thinks the dog was Rover.
What a game if I shoot Uncle Taverner's dog! I hope I may have that
luck. Expect me. I will bring my gun to-night.'
*CHAPTER XV.*
*A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.*
Honor's kitchen work was done. She came to her father after Larry
Nanspian had departed, and said, 'Now, father, I want to know your
meaning, when you said that it lay with me whether you should keep the
horse or not?'
Then she seated herself near the door, with a gown of little Pattie's
she was turning.
'It was so to speak rigmarole,' answered Oliver colouring, and
pretending to plait a lash for his whip.
She shook her head. 'You did not speak the words without purpose.'
'We lead a hard life,' said Oliver evasively. 'That you can't deny and
keep an honest tongue.'
'I do not attempt to deny it,' she said, threading a needle at the light
that streamed in through the open door. The carrier looked at her
appealingly. Behind her, seen through the door, was a bank of bushes
and pink foxgloves, 'flopadocks' is the local name. He looked at the
sunlit picture with dreamy eyes.
'I shouldn't wonder,' he said, 'if there was a hundred flowers on that
there tallest flopadock.'
'I should not either,' said Honor without looking off her work. Then
ensued another pause.
Presently the carrier sighed and said, 'It be main difficult to make
both ends meet. The children are growing up. Their appetites increase.
Their clothes get more expensive. The carrying business don't prosper as
it ought. Kate, I reckon, will have to go into service, we can't keep
her at home; but I don't like the notion--she a Luxmore of Coombe Park.'
'We are not Luxmores of Coombe Park, but Luxmores out of it,' said
Honor.
'Coombe Park should be ours by right, and it rests with you whether we
get our rights.'
'How so? This is the second hint you have given that much depends on
me. What have I to do with the recovery of Coombe Park? How does the
debt for the horse rest with me?'
'It is a hard matter to be kept out of our rights,' said Oliver. 'A
beautiful property, a fine house and a fishpond--only a hundred pounds
wanted to search the registers to get it.'
'No hundred pounds will come to us,' said Honor. 'The clouds drop
thunderbolts, not nuggets. So as well make up our minds to be where we
are.'
'No, I can't do that,' said the carrier, plaiting vigorously. 'You
haven't got a bit of green silk, have you, to finish the lash with?'
'Whether from wishing or from working, no hundred pounds will come,'
continued the girl.
'And see what a rain of troubles has come on us,' said the carrier.
'First comes your poor mother's death, then the horse, now the lambs,
and on top of all poor Charles.'
'More the reason why we should put aside all thought of a hundred
pounds.'
'Providence never deserts the deserving,' said Luxmore. 'I'm sure I've
done my duty in that state o' life in which I am. It is darkest before
dawn.'
'I see no daylight breaking.'
'Larry Nanspian makes great count of Kate,' mused Luxmore, and then
abruptly, 'confound it! I've plaited the lash wrong, and must unravel
it again.'
'What will come of Larry's liking for Kate? Will that bring us a
hundred pounds and Coombe Park?' asked Honor bluntly.
'I can't quite say that. But I reckon it would be a rare thing to have
her settled at Chimsworthy.'
'No,' said Honor, 'not unless Larry alters. Chimsworthy grows weeds.
The old man is more given to boasting than to work. Larry cares more to
be flattered than to mind the plough.'
'I won't have a Luxmore of mine marry out of her station. We must hold
up our heads.'
'Of course we must,' said Honor. 'What am I doing all day, thinking of
all night, but how we may keep our heads upright?'
'What a mercy it would be not to be always fretting over ha'pence! If
you and Kate were well married, what a satisfaction it would be to me
and what a comfort all round.'
'Do not reckon on me,' said Honor; 'I shall not marry, I have the
children to care for. You do not want to drive me out of the house, do
y', father?'
'No, certainly not. But I should like to see you and Kate well married,
Kate to Larry Nanspian and Chimsworthy, and you--well, you equally well
placed. Then you might combine to help me to my own. Consider this,
Honor! If we had Coombe Park, all our troubles would clear like clouds
before a setting sun. Charles would no longer be a trouble to us. He
shows his gentle blood by dislike for work. If he were not forced to
labour he would make a proper gentleman. Why then, Honor, what a
satisfaction to you to have been the saving, the making of your
brother!'
'_Then_ won't stand on the feet of _If_,' said Honor.
'It depends on you.'
'How on me?' she rested her hands on her lap, and looked steadily at her
father. He unravelled his lash with nervous hands. Honor saw that they
shook. Then without turning his eyes from his plaiting, he said
timidly, 'I only thought how well it would be for us if you were at
Langford.'
'How can I be at Langford? Mrs. Veale is the housekeeper, and I do not
wish for her place.'
'Oh no, not her place--not her place by any means,' said her father.
'What other place then?' she was resolved to force him to speak out,
though she guessed his meaning.
He did not answer her immediately. He looked at the 'flopadocks'
through the front door, then he looked to see if there was a way of
escape open by the back.
'I--I thought--that is to say--I hoped--you might fancy to become Mrs.
Langford.'
Honor rose proudly from her seat, and placed her needlework in the
chair. She stood in the doorway, with the illumined hedge behind her.
If Oliver had looked at her face he could not have seen it; he would
have seen only the dark head set on a long and upright neck, with a haze
of golden brown about it. But he did not look up; he drew a long breath.
The worst was over. He had spoken, and Honor knew all.
In the morning the carrier had flattered himself it would be easy to
tell Honor, but when he prepared to come to the point he found it
difficult. He knew that the proposal would offend his daughter, that it
would not appear to her in the light in which he saw it. He was afraid
of her, as an inferior nature fears one that is greater, purer than
itself. Now he felt like a schoolboy who has been caught cribbing, and
expects the cane.
'You see, Honor,' said he in an apologetic tone, 'Taverner Langford is a
rich man, and of very good family. It would be no disgrace to him to
marry you, and you cannot reckon to look higher. I don't know but that
his family and ours date back to Adam. He has kept his acres, and we
have lost ours. However, with your help, I hope we may recover Coombe
Park and our proper position. What a fine thing, Honor, to be able to
restore a fallen family, and to be the means of saving a brother!
Taverner Langford is proud, and would like to see his wife's relations
among the landed gentry. He would help us with a hundred pounds.
Indeed, he has almost promised the money. As to the horse, we need not
concern ourselves about that, and the lambs need trouble you no more.
There is a special blessing pronounced on the peace-makers, Honor, and
that would be yours if you married Taverner, and Kate took Hillary, for
then Langford must make up his quarrel with the Nanspians.'
Honor reseated herself, and put her work back on her lap. Oliver had
not the courage to look at her face, or he would have seen that she was
with difficulty controlling the strong emotion that nigh choked her. He
sat with averted eyes, and maundered on upon the advantages of the
connection.
'So,' exclaimed Honor at length, 'Taverner Langford has asked for me to
be his wife! But, father, he asked before he knew of that affair
yesterday. That alters the look. He will back out when he hears of
Charles's conduct.'
'Not at all. I saw him yesterday evening, and he laughed at the story.
He took it as a practical joke played on the circus folk--and what harm?
Everyone likes his jokes, and the Revel is the time for playing them.'
'He has not dismissed Charles?'
'Certainly not.'
'I would have done so, had he been my servant.'
Then she leaned her head on her hand and gazed before her, full of
gloomy thought. Her father watched her, when he saw she was not looking
at him.
'The advantage for Charles would be so great,' he said.
'Yes,' she exclaimed, with a tone of impatience. 'But there are some
sacrifices it is not fair to expect of a sister.'
'Consider that, instead of being a servant in the house, Charles would
regard himself as at home at Langford. He is not a bad fellow, his
blood is against his doing menial work. When he mounts to his proper
place you will see he will be a credit to us all. You don't take razors
to cut cabbages. I, also, will no longer be forced to earn my
livelihood by carrying. If your mind be healthy, Honor, you will see
how unbecoming it is for a Luxmore to be a common carrier. Lord bless
me! When I am at Coombe Park, you at Langford, and Kate at Chimsworthy,
what a power we shall be in the place. Why, I may even become a feoffee
of Coryndon's Charity! Langford is rich. He has a good estate. He has
spent nothing on himself for many years. There must be a lot of money
laid by somewhere. He cannot have saved less than three hundred pounds a
year, and I should not stare to hear he had put by five. Say this has
been going on for twenty years. That amounts to ten thousand pounds at
the lowest reckoning. Ten thousand pounds! Think of that, Honor. Then
remember that old Hillary Nanspian is in debt to Taverner Langford, and
pressed to raise the money, as the debt has been called up. You must
persuade Taverner to let the money lie where it is, and so you will
bring peace to Chimsworthy.'
Honor shook her head.
'It cannot be, father,' she said, in a low tone.
'I feared you would raise difficulties,' he said, in an altered,
disappointed voice. 'Of course he is too old for you. That is what you
girls think most about.'
She shook her head.
'Perhaps you have fancied someone else,' he went on; 'well, we can't
have plum cake every day. It is true enough that Taverner Langford is
not a yellow gosling; but then he has ten thousand pounds, and they say
that a young man's slave is an old man's darling. He won't live for
ever, and then you know----'
Honor's cheeks flushed; she raised her head, passed her hand over her
brow, and looking at her father with dim eyes, said, 'That is not
it--no, that is not it.' Then with an access of energy, 'I will tell
you the real truth. I cannot marry whom I do not love, and I cannot
love whom I do not respect. Mr. Langford is a hard man. He has been
hard on his kinsman, Mr. Nanspian, and though the old man had a stroke,
Mr. Langford never went near him, never sent to ask how he was, and
remained his enemy. About what? I've heard tell about a little red
spider. Mr. Langford may be rich, but he loves his money more than his
flesh and blood, and such an one I cannot respect.'
The carrier forced a laugh. 'Is not this pot falling foul of kettle?'
he asked. 'Who is hard if you are not? Have you shown gentleness to
Charles, who is your very brother? Whereas Nanspian is but a
brother-in-law.'
'I have not been hard with Charles. I must protect the children from
him. He is my brother, and I love him. But I love the others also. I
will do all I can for him, but I will not have the others spoiled for
his amusement.'
'We don't all see ourselves as others see us,' said Oliver sulkily.
Honor was stung by his injustice, but she made no reply. She took up
her sewing again, but she could not see to make stitches. She laid her
work again on her lap, and mused, looking out of the door at the
fox-gloves, and the honeysuckle and wild rose in the hedge. The scent
of the honeysuckle was wafted into the room.
'Why should Mr. Langford want me as his wife?' she asked dreamily;
'surely Mrs. Veale will suit him better. She is near his age, and
accustomed to his ways. Besides,' she paused, then resumed, 'there have
been queer tales about him and her.'
'Pshaw, Honor! a pack of lies.'
'I have no doubt of that,' she said; 'still--I cannot see why he wants
me.'
'Honor, my child,' said her father slowly and with his face turned from
her; 'he and Nanspian of Chimsworthy don't hit it off together, and the
property is so left that if he hasn't children it will pass to his
sister's son, young Larry. The old man can't bear to think of that, and
on their reckoning on his dead shoes, and he'd draw a trump from his
pack against those Nanspians.'
Honor flamed crimson and her eyes flashed. 'And so--so this is it! I am
to help to widen the split! I am to stand between Larry and his rights!
Father, dear father, how can you urge me? How can you hope this? No,
never, never will I consent. Let him look elsewhere. There are plenty
of maidens in Bratton less nice than me. No, never, never will I have
him.'
Oliver Luxmore stood up, troubled and ashamed.
'You put everything upside down,' he said; 'I thought you would be a
peace-maker.'
'You yourself tell me that I am chosen out of spite to make the strife
hotter. Now you have told me the why, the matter is made worse. Such
an offer is an outrage. Never, father, no, never, never,' she stamped,
so strong, so intense was her disgust. 'I will hear no more. I grieve
that you have spoken, father. I grieve more that you have thought such
a thing possible. I grieve most of all that you have wished it.'
'Turn the offer over in your mind, Honor,' he said sauntering to the
door, from which she had withdrawn. She was leaning against the wall
between the door and the window, with her hands over her face. 'Milk
runs through the fingers when first you dip 'em, but by turning and
turning you turn out butter. So, I dare be bound, the whole thing will
look different if you turn it over.'
'I will put it away from me, out of my thought,' she said hotly. She
was hurt and angry.
'If you refuse him we shall have to buy a horse.'
'Well, we must buy. I will work the flesh from my fingers till I earn
it, and get out of obligation. But I never, never, never will consent
to be Taverner Langford's wife, not for your sake, father, nor for that
of Charles.'
'Well,' said the carrier; 'some folks don't know what is good for 'em.
I reckon there's a hundred bells on that there flopadock. I'll go and
count 'em.'
*CHAPTER XVI.*
*KEEPING WATCH.*
In the evening Hillary the younger arrived, according to promise, with
his gun. Oliver Luxmore feebly protested against troubling him. 'It is
very good of you, Larry, but I don't think I ought to accept it.'
'It is pleasure, not trouble,' answered Larry.
'If the dog does not come to-night, I will keep guard on the morrow,'
said the carrier. 'I may not be able to shoot the dog, but I can scare
him away with a bang.'
'I hope to kill him,' said Hillary. 'Have you not heard that a guinea
is offered for his carcase? Several farmers have clubbed and offered
the reward.'
'Have your lambs suffered, Larry?'
'Ours are all right; driven under cover.'
The young man supped with the Luxmores. He was full of mirth. Kate did
not spare her tongue; she attacked and he retaliated, but all
good-humouredly. 'They make a pair, do they not?' whispered Oliver to
his eldest daughter. 'Better spar before marriage and kiss after, than
kiss first and squabble later.'
'Larry,' said Honor, 'I will keep the fire up with a mote (tree-stump).
You may be cold during the night, and like to run in and warm yourself.'
'Ay, Honor,' said her father. 'Have a cider posset on the hob to
furnish inner comfort.'
'Let no one sit up for me; I shall want nothing,' answered Hillary,
'unless one of you girls will give me an hour of your company to break
the back of the watch.'
'Your zeal is oozing out at your elbows,' said Kate. 'Honor or I, or
even little Joe, could manage to drive away the dog.'
'But not shoot it,' retorted Hillary. 'Lock your door and leave me
without. I shall be content if I earn the guinea.'
'I will remain below,' said Honor quietly. 'We must not let all the
burden rest on you. And if you are kind enough, Larry, to look after our
lambs, we are bound to look after you.'
'If one of you remains astir, let it be Honor,' said the young man.
'Kate and I would quarrel, and the uproar would keep the dog away.'
'I do not offer to sit up to-night,' said the carrier, 'as my turn comes
on the morrow, and I have had heavy work to-day that has tired me.'
Then he rose, held out his hand to Larry, kissed his daughters, and went
upstairs to his room. Kate followed him speedily. Larry took up his
gun and went out, and walked round the field. Then he came to the
kitchen and said, 'All is quiet, not a sign to be seen of the enemy. I
hope he will not disappoint me. You must have your red cloak again.'
'My red cloak?' repeated Honor.
'Ay, your red cloak that you parted with to the woman at the circus. I
heard about it. If I shoot the dog, half the prize money goes to you.'
'Not so, Larry. It is, or will be, all your own.'
'But you first saw the dog, you share the watch, you keep up the fire,
and brew me a posset. How was it with David's soldiers? What was his
decision? They that tarried with the stuff should share with those that
went to war. You have Scripture against you, Honor, and will have to
take ten-and-six.'
'Don't reckon and divide before the dog is shot.'
'If he comes this way he shall sup off lead, never doubt. Then you
shall have your red cloak again.'
Honor sighed. 'No, Larry, I shall never see it more. The fair is over,
the circus gone, whither I know no more than what has become of
yesterday.'
'Charles behaved very badly. Of course I did not mention it before, but
we are alone together now, and I may say it.'
'He did not act rightly--he meant it as a joke.'
'I can't forgive him for robbing you of your pretty red cloak. Here,
Honor, take it. I have it.'
Then he pulled out a closely folded bundle and extended it to her. The
girl was surprised and pleased. This was considerate and kind of Larry.
She had noticed him carrying this bundle, but had given no thought as to
what it was. Her eyes filled.
'Oh Larry! God bless you for your kindness.'
'I was tempted to hang it round my neck till I gave it back, I should
have looked quite military in it.'
'It was my mother's cloak,' she answered quickly. 'You might have worn
it and it would have done you good. My mother will bless you out of
paradise for your consideration. Oh my dear, dear mother! she was so
wise, and thoughtful, and good.' Honor spread the cloak over the young
man's head. 'There,' she said, 'take that as if she had touched you.
You have lost your mother.'
'Yes, but I do not remember her.'
'Oh! it is a bad thing for you to be without your mother, Larry.' She
paused, then held out her hand to him, and her honest eyes met his
slowing with gratitude, swimming with feeling.
'All right,' he said. 'No thanks. We are neighbours and good friends.
If I help you to-day you will stand by me to-morrow. That is so, is it
not, dear Honor?'
He threw his gun over his shoulder and went out into the meadow. He was
glad to escape the pressure of her hand; the look of her eyes had made
his heart beat with unwonted emotion. She had never given him such a
look before. She was not as cold as he supposed. He was aware that he
had acted well in the matter of the cloak. He had gone to the
manageress of the circus directly he heard what had taken place, and had
made an offer for the garment. The woman, seeing his eagerness to
secure it, refused to surrender it under a sum more than its value. He
had bought it with the sacrifice of the rest of his pocket-money. That
was one reason why he hoped to kill the dog. He would replenish his
empty purse. In this matter he had acted as his heart dictated, but he
was quite aware that he had done a fine thing. Honor paid him his due,
and that raised Honor in his estimation. 'She has heart,' he said,
'though she don't often show it. A girl must have heart to do as she
did for that worthless brother.'
Whilst Larry stood without waiting for the dog, Honor was within,
sitting by the fire, a prey to distressing thoughts. She was not
thinking of Larry or of Charles; she was thinking of what had passed
between her and her father.
She occupied a low stool on the hearth, rested her head in her lap,
folded her hands round her knees. The red glow of the smouldering fire
made her head like copper, and gave to her faded red stockings a
brilliancy they lacked by day.