A FRESH PAGE
William Menire got up early on Monday morning and helped to tidy up the
shop before breakfast. He was not sorry that the working week had begun
again. Work left him very little time for brooding and introspection. He
had been twice to church the previous day, but he could not remember a
word of the sermons. His own thoughts had drowned the voice of the
preacher.
"I hope I shall have a busy week," he said to himself, as he helped his
apprentice to take down the shutters. "The less I think the happier I
shall be."
During breakfast the postman called. There was only one delivery per
day, and during Sunday there was no delivery at all.
William glanced at the letters, but did not open any of them. One, in a
blue envelope, was from Mr. Jewell, the solicitor. The postmark bore
Saturday's date.
"His news is two days late," William reflected. "We really ought to have
two deliveries in a place like this."
Then he helped himself to some more bacon. His mother was not so well,
and had her breakfast in bed.
No one called him from the shop, so he was allowed to finish his
breakfast in peace. Then he turned his attention to his correspondence.
The blue envelope was left to the last.
"I wonder if Jewell knows the name of the purchaser?" he reflected, as
he inserted a small paper-knife and cut open the envelope. He unfolded
the letter slowly, then gave a sudden exclamation.
"Dear Sir,--I am advised by post this morning that your offer for
Hillside Farm has been accepted, and----"
But he did not stop to read any further. Rushing into the passage, he
seized his hat, and without a word to anyone, hurried away in the
direction of St. Ivel as fast as his legs could carry him.
Ralph was standing in the middle of the room measuring with his eye the
capacity of an open portmanteau, when William, breathless and excited,
burst in upon him. Ruth was seated at the table, the portmanteau by her
side.
[Illustration: "WILLIAM, BREATHLESS AND EXCITED, BURST IN UPON HIM."]
"I say, Ralph, we've got it," William cried excitedly, without noticing
Ruth.
"Got what?" Ralph said, turning suddenly round.
"Got the farm," was the reply. "We jumped to conclusions too soon on
Saturday. Jewell says our offer has been accepted."
"Accepted!"
"Ay. Here is the letter, if you like to read it. Shut up your
portmanteau, and take it out of sight. You are not going abroad yet
awhile."
Ruth, who had risen to her feet on William's sudden appearance, now ran
out of the room to hide her tears.
Ralph seized the lawyer's letter and read it slowly and carefully from
beginning to end. Then he dropped into a chair and read it a second
time. William stood and watched him, with a bright, eager smile lighting
up his face.
"It seems all right," Ralph said at length.
"Ay, it's right enough, but I wish we had known earlier."
"It would have saved us a good many anxious and painful hours."
"Never mind. All's well that ends well."
"Oh, we haven't got to the end yet," Ralph said, with a laugh. "If that
lode turns out a frost, we shall wish that somebody else had got the
place."
"Never!" William said, almost vehemently.
"No?"
"I shall never regret we've got it, or rather that you have, though
there isn't an ounce of tin in the whole place."
"Why not?"
"I don't know. One cannot give a reason for everything. But I have a
feeling that this opens up a fresh page in the life of both of us."
"That's true enough, but everything depends on the kind of page it will
be."
"I'm not worried about that. The thing that interests me is, the powers
that be are not going to shunt us as they hoped. Lord St. Goram meant to
drive me out of the parish, but I'm not going----"
"Nor I," Ralph interposed, with a laugh; and he shut up the portmanteau,
and pushed it against the wall.
"We shall have to keep dark, however, till the deeds are signed,"
William said. "We must give Sir John no excuse for going back on his
bargain. I'd wager my Sunday coat, if I were a betting man, that he
hasn't the remotest idea we are the purchasers."
"Won't he look blue when he discovers? You know how he hates me."
"Ay, he has made no secret of that. It is rumoured, however, that he is
going to live out of the country, and so he may not get to know for some
time. However, we must walk warily till the thing is finally and
absolutely settled. Also"--and William lowered his voice to a
whisper--"you'd better say nothing yet to your sister."
"Oh, but she knows," Ralph replied.
William looked blank.
"I told her on Saturday what we had been trying to do. I thought she
might as well know when the thing, as we thought, had come to an end.
Besides, she heard what you said when you came in."
"I forgot all about her for the moment," William said absently.
"Perhaps, after all, it is as well she knows. I hope, however, she will
not feel in any way obligated to me."
"My dear fellow, what are you talking about?" Ralph said, with a smile.
"Why, we owe nearly everything to you."
"No, no. I couldn't have done less, and so far I have received far more
than I gave. But I must be getting back, or things will have got tied
into a knot," and putting on his hat, he hurried away.
Ruth came back into the room as soon as William had disappeared. Her
eyes were still red and her lashes wet with tears, but there was a
bright, happy smile on her lips.
"Oh, Ralph," she said, "isn't it almost too good to be true?"
"It may not be so good as it looks," he said, in a tone of banter.
"Oh, it must be, Ralph; for, of course, we shall go back again to
Hillside to live."
"But we can't live on nothing, you know, and the whole thing may turn
out a frost."
"But you are quite sure it won't, or you and William Menire would not be
so elated at getting it."
"Are we elated?"
"You are. You can hardly contain yourself at this moment. You would like
to get on the top of the house and shout."
"Which would be a very unwise thing to do. We must not breathe a word to
anyone till the thing is absolutely settled."
"And what will you do then?"
"Begin prospecting. If I can get as much out of the place as father sunk
in it I shall be quite content."
During the next few weeks William Menire and the Penlogans saw a good
deal of each other. Nearly every evening after his shutters had been put
up William stole away to St. Ivel. He and Ralph had so many plans to
discuss and so many schemes to mature. Ruth was allowed to listen to all
the debates, and frequently she was asked to give advice.
It was in some respects a very trying time for William. The more he saw
of Ruth the more he admired her. She seemed to grow bonnier every day.
The sound of her voice stirred his heart like music, her smile was like
summer sunshine. Moreover, she treated him with increasing courtesy, and
even tenderness, so much so that it became a positive pain to him to
hide his affection. And yet he wanted to be perfectly loyal to his
Cousin Sam. Sam had proposed to her, Sam was waiting for an answer, if
he had not already received it, and it would be a very uncousinly act to
put the smallest obstacle in the way.
Not that William supposed for a moment that he could ever be a rival to
Sam in any true sense of the word. On the other hand, he knew that Ruth
was of so generous and grateful a nature that she might be tempted to
accept him out of pure gratitude if he were bold enough and base enough
to propose to her.
So William held himself in check with a firm hand and made no sign, but
what the effort cost him no one knew. To sit in the same room with her
evening after evening, to watch the play of her features and see the
light sparkle in her soft brown eyes, and yet never by word or look
betray the passion that was consuming him, was an experience not given
to many men.
He was too loyal to his ideals ever to dream of marriage for any cause
less than love. Possession was not everything, nor even the greatest
thing. If he could have persuaded himself that there was even the
remotest possibility of Ruth loving him, he would have gone on his knees
to her every day in the week, and would have gladly waited any time she
might name.
But he had persuaded himself of the very opposite. He was a dozen years
her senior. While she was in the very morning of her youth, he was
rapidly nearing youth's eventide. That she could ever care for him,
except in a friendly or sisterly fashion, seemed an utter impossibility.
The thought never occurred to him but he attempted to strangle it at
once.
So the days wore away, and lengthened into weeks, and then the news
leaked out in St. Goram that William and Ralph had gone into partnership
and had purchased Hillside Farm. For several days little else was talked
about. What could it mean? What object could they have in view? For
agricultural purposes the place was scarcely worth buying; besides,
William Menire knew absolutely nothing about farming, while most people
knew that Ralph's tastes did not lie in that direction.
A few people blamed Ralph for "fooling William out of his money," for
they rightly surmised that it was chiefly William's money that had
purchased the estate. Others whispered maliciously that William had
befriended Ralph simply that he might win favour with Ruth; but the
majority of people said that William was much too 'cute a business man
to be influenced by anybody, whether man or woman, and that if he had
invested his money in Hillside Farm he had very good reasons for doing
it. The only sensible attitude, therefore, was to wait and see what time
would bring forth.
One of the first things Ralph did as soon as the deeds were signed was
to send for Jim Brewer. He had heard that the young miner was out of
work, and in sore need. He had heard also that Jim had never forgiven
himself for not confessing at the outset that it was he who shot the
squire by mistake.
Ralph had never seen the young fellow since he came out of prison, and
had never desired to see him. He had no love for cowards, and was keenly
resentful of the part Brewer had played. Time, however, had softened his
feelings. The memory of those dark and bitter months was slowly fading
from his mind. Moreover, poor Brewer had suffered enough already for the
wrong he had done. He had been boycotted and shunned by almost all who
knew him.
Ralph heard by accident one day of the straits to which Brewer had been
driven, and his resentment was changed as if by magic into pity. It was
easy to blame, easy to fling the word "coward" into the teeth of a
weaker brother; but if he had been placed in Jim Brewer's circumstances,
would he have acted a nobler part? It was Brewer's care for his mother
and the children that led him to hide the truth. Moreover, if he had
been wholly a coward, he would never have confessed at all.
Ralph told Ruth what he intended to do, and her eyes filled in a moment.
"Oh, Ralph," she said, "it is the very thing of all others I should like
you to do."
"For what reason, Ruth?"
"For every reason that is great and noble and worthy."
"He played a cowardly part."
"And he has paid the penalty, Ralph. Your duty now is to be magnanimous.
Besides----" Then she hesitated.
"Besides what?" he asked.
"I have heard you rail at what you call the justice of the strong. You
are strong now, you will be stronger in time, and so you must see to it
that you don't fall into the same snare."
"Wise little woman," he said affectionately, and then the subject
dropped.
It was dark when Jim Brewer paid his visit. He came dejectedly and
shamefacedly, much wondering what was in the wind.
Ralph opened the door for him, and took him into his little office.
"I understand you are out of work?" he said, pointing him to a seat.
Jim nodded.
"You understand prospecting, I believe?"
"Yes."
"Well, I can give you a job if you are prepared to take it, and you can
begin work to-morrow if you like."
Brewer looked up with dim and wondering eyes, while Ralph further
explained, and then he burst into tears.
"I don't deserve it," he sobbed at length. "I did you a mean and
cowardly trick, and I've loathed myself for it ever since."
"Oh, well, never mind that now. It is all over and past, and we'd better
try and forget it."
"I shall never forget it," Jim said chokingly, "but if you can forgive
me, I shall be--oh, so happy!"
"Oh, well, then, I do forgive you, if that is any comfort to you."
Jim hid his face in his hands and burst into fresh weeping.
"Forgive my giving way like this," he said at length. "I ain't quite as
strong as I might be. I had influenza a month agone, and it's shook me a
goodish bit."
"Why, bless me, you look hungry!" Ralph said, eyeing him closely.
"Do I? I'm very sorry, but the influenza pulls one down terrible."
"But are you hungry?" Ralph questioned.
Jim smiled feebly.
"Oh, I've been hungrier than this," he said; "but I'll be glad to begin
work to-morrow morning."
"I'm not sure you're fit. But come into the next room--we are just going
to have supper."
Jim hesitated and drew back, but Ralph insisted upon it; and yet, when a
plate of meat was placed before him, he couldn't eat.
"Excuse me," he said, his eyes filling, "but the little ones ain't had
nothing to-day, and they can't bear it as well as me. If you wouldn't
mind me taking it home instead?"
Ruth sprang to her feet in a moment.
"I'll let you have plenty for the little ones," she said, with trembling
lips. "Now eat your supper, and enjoy it if you can." And she ran off
into the pantry and quickly returned with a small basket full of food,
which she placed by his side.
"That ain't for me?" he questioned.
"For you to take home to your mother and the children."
He laid down his knife and fork and rose to his feet.
"I'd like to go home at once, if you don't mind?" he said brokenly.
"But you haven't half finished your supper."
"I'd like to eat it with the little ones and mother, if you wouldn't
mind?"
"By all means, if you would rather," Ruth said, smiling through unshed
tears.
"I should feel happier," he said; and he emptied his plate into the
basket.
Ralph went and opened the door for him, and watched him as he hurried
away into the darkness.
He came back after a few minutes, and sat down; but neither he nor Ruth
spoke again for some time. It was Ralph who at length broke the silence.
"He may be a long way from being a hero," he said, "but he has a lot of
goodness in him. I shall never think hardly of him any more."
Ruth did not reply for a long time, then she said, "I am glad Brewer is
to begin prospecting for you."
"Yes?" he questioned.
"I can't explain myself," she answered, "but it seems a right kind of
beginning, and I think God's blessing will be upon it."
"We will hope so, at any rate. Yes, we will hope so."
And then silence fell again.