The day after a hard run, like the day after a battle, is often spent in
endeavors to repair the disasters of the struggle. So was it here. The
young men passed the morning in the stables, or going back and forward
with bandages and liniments. There was a tendon to be cared for, a sore
back to be attended to. Benbo, too, would n't feed; the groom said he
had got a surfeit; which malady, in stable parlance, applies to excess
of work, as well as excess of diet.
Augustus Bramleigh was, as becomes an eldest son, grandly imperious and
dictatorial, and looked at his poor discomfited beast, as he stood with
hanging head and heaving flanks, as though to say it was a disgraceful
thing for an animal that had the honor to carry him to look so craven
and disheartened. Temple, with the instincts of his craft and calling,
cared little for the past, and took but small interest in the horse that
was not likely to be soon of use to him; while Jack, with all a sailor's
energy, worked away manfully, and assisted the grooms in every way
he could. It was at the end of a very active morning, that Jack was
returning to the house, when he saw L'Estrange's pony-chaise at the
door, with black Nora in the shafts, as fresh and hearty to all seeming
as though she had not carried her heavy owner through one of the
stiffest runs of the season only the day before.
“Is your master here, Bill?” asked Jack of the small urchin, who barely
reached the bar of the bit.
“No, sir; it's Miss Julia has druv over. Master 's fishing this
morning.”
Now Julia L'Estrange was a very pretty girl, and with a captivation of
manner which to the young sailor was irresistible. She had been brought
up in France, and imbibed that peculiar quiet coquetry which, in its
quaint demureness, suggests just enough doubt of its sincerity to be
provocative. She was dark enough to be a Spaniard from the south of
Spain, and her long black eyelashes were darker even than her eyes.
In her walk and her gesture there was that also which reminded one of
Spain: the same blended litheness and dignity; and there was a firmness
in her tread which took nothing from its elasticity.
When Jack heard that she was in the house, instead of hurrying in to
meet her he sat moodily down on the steps of the door and lighted his
cigar. “What's the use?” muttered he, and the same depressing sentence
recurred to him again and again. They are very dark moments in life in
which we have to confess to ourselves that, fight how we may, fate must
beat us; that the very utmost we can do is to maintain a fierce struggle
with destiny, but that in the end we must succumb. The more frequently
poor Jack saw her, the more hopelessly he felt his lot. What was
he--what could he ever be--to aspire to such a girl as Julia? Was not
the very presumption a thing to laugh at? He thought of how his elder
brother would entertain such a notion; the cold solemnity with which he
would ridicule his pretensions; and then Temple would treat him to some
profound reflections on the misery of poor marriages; while Marion would
chime in with some cutting reproaches on the selfishness with which, to
gratify a caprice,--she would call it a caprice,--he ignored the just
pretensions of his family, and the imperative necessity that pressed
them to secure their position in the world by great alliances. This was
Marion's code: it took three generations to make a family; the first
must be wealthy; the second, by the united force of money and ability,
secure a certain station of power and social influence; the third must
fortify these by marriages,--marriages of distinction, after which mere
time would do the rest.
She had hoped much from her father's second marriage, and was
grievously disappointed on finding how her step-mother's family affected
displeasure at the match as a reason for a coldness towards them; while
Lady Augusta herself as openly showed that she had stooped to the union
merely to secure herself against the accidents of life and raise her
above the misery of living on a very small income.
Jack was thinking moodily over all these things as he sat there, and
with such depression of spirit that he half resolved, instead of staying
out his full leave, to return to his ship at Portsmouth, and so forget
shore life and all its fascinations. He heard the sound of a piano, and
shortly after the rich, delicious tones of Julia's voice. It was that
mellow quality of sound that musicians call mezzo soprano, whose gift it
is to steal softly over the senses and steep them in a sweet rapture
of peaceful delight. As the strains floated out, he felt as though the
measure of incantation was running over for him, and he arose with a
bound, and hurried off into the wood. “I 'll start to-morrow. I 'll not
let this folly master me,” muttered he. “A fellow who can't stand up
against his own fancies is not worth his salt. I 'll go on board again
and think of my duty,” and he tried to assure himself that of all living
men a sailor had least excuse for such weaknesses as these.
He had not much sympathy with the family ambitions. He thought that as
they had wealth enough to live well and handsomely, a good station in
the world, and not any one detracting element from their good luck,
either as regarded character or health, it was downright ingratitude to
go in search of disappointments and defeats. It was, to his thinking,
like a ship with plenty of sea-room rushing madly on to her ruin amongst
the breakers. “I think Nelly is of my own mind,” said he, “but who can
say how long she will continue to be so? these stupid notions of being
great folk will get hold of her at last. The high-minded Marion and
that great genius Temple are certain to prevail in the end, and I
shall always be a splendid example to point at and show the melancholy
consequences of degenerate tastes and ignoble ambitions.”
The sharp trot of a horse on the gravel road beside him startled him in
his musings, and the pony-carriage whisked rapidly by; Augustus driving
and Julia at his side. She was laughing. Her merry laugh rang out above
the brisk jingle of horse and harness, and to the poor sailor it sounded
like the knell of all his hopes. “What a confounded fool I was not
to remember I had an elder brother,” said he, bitterly. That he added
something inaudible about the perfidious nature of girls is possibly
true, but not being in evidence, it is not necessary to record it.
Let us turn from the disconsolate youth to what is certes a prettier
picture--the croquet lawn behind the house, where the two sisters, with
the accomplished Temple, were engaged at a game.
“I hope, girls,” said he, in one of his very finest drawls, “the
future head of house and hopes is not going to make a precious fool of
himself.”
“You mean with the curate's sister,” said Marion, with a saucy toss of
her head. “I scarcely think he could be so absurd.”
“I can't see the absurdity,” broke in Ellen. “I think a duke might make
her a duchess, and no great condescension in the act.”
“Quite true, Nelly,” said Temple; “that's exactly what a duke might do;
but Mr. Bramleigh cannot. When you are at the top of the ladder, there's
nothing left for you but to come down again; but the man at the bottom
has to try to go up.”
“But why must there be a ladder at all, Temple?” asked she, eagerly.
“Is n't that speech Nelly all over?” cried Marion, haughtily.
“I hope it is,” said Ellen, “if it serves to convey what I faithfully
believe,--that we are great fools in not enjoying a very pleasant lot
in life instead of addressing ourselves to ambitions far and away beyond
us.”
“And which be they?” asked Temple, crossing his arms over his mallet,
and standing like a soldier on guard.
“To be high and titled, or if not titled, to be accepted among that
class, and treated as their equals in rank and condition.”
“And why not, Nelly? What is this wonderful ten thousand that we all
worship? Whence is it recruited, and how? These double wall-flowers are
not of Nature's making; they all come of culture, of fine mould, careful
watering, and good gardening. They were single-petaled once on a time,
like ourselves. Mind, it is no radical says this, girls,--_moi qui vous
parle_ am no revolutionist, no leveller! I like these grand conditions,
because they give existence its best stimulus, its noblest aspirations.
The higher one goes in life,--as on a mountain,--the more pure the air
and the wider the view.”
“And do you mean to tell me that Augustus would consult his happiness
better in marrying some fine lady, like our grand step-mamma for
instance, than a charming girl like Julia?” said Ellen.
“If Augustus' notions of happiness were to be measured by mine, I
should say yes, unquestionably yes. Love is a very fleeting sentiment.
The cost of the article, too, suggests most uncomfortable reflections.
All the more as the memory comes when the acquisition itself is
beginning to lose value. My former chief at Munich--the cleverest man of
the world I ever met--used to say, as an investment, a pretty wife was
a mistake. 'If,' said he, 'you laid out your money on a picture,
your venture might turn out a bargain; if you bought a colt, your
two-year-old might win a Derby; but your beauty of to-day will be barely
good-looking in five years, and will be a positive fright in fifteen.'”
“Your accomplished friend was an odious beast!” said Nelly. “What was
his name, Temple?”
“Lord Culduff, one of the first diplomatists in Europe.”
“Culduff? How strange! Papa's agent, Mr. Harding, mentioned the name at
breakfast. He said there was a nobleman come over from Germany to see
his estates in the north of Down, where they had some hopes of having
discovered coal.”
“Is it possible Lord Culduff could be in our neighborhood? The governor
must ask him here at once,” said Temple, with an animation of manner
most unusual with him. “There must be no time lost about this. Finish
your game without me, girls, for this matter is imminent;” and so
saying, he resigned his mallet and hastened away to the house.
“I never saw Temple so eager about anything before,” said Nelly. “It's
quite charming to see how the mere mention of a grand name can call
forth all his energy.”
“Temple knows the world very well; and he knows how the whole game of
life is conducted by a very few players, and that every one who desires
to push his way must secure the intimacy, if he can, or at least the
acquaintance, of these.” And Marion delivered this speech with a most
oracular and pretentious tone.
“Yes,” said Nelly, with a droll sparkle in her eye; “he declared that
profound statement last evening in the very same words. Who shall say
it is not an immense advantage to have a brother so full of sage maxims,
while his sisters are seen to catch up his words of wisdom, and actually
believe them to be their own?”
“Temple may not be a Talleyrand; but he is certainly as brilliant as
the charming curate,” said Marion, tartly.
“Oh, poor George!” cried Nelly; and her cheek flushed, while she tried
to seem indifferent. “Nobody ever called him a genius. When one says he
is very good-looking and very good-humored, _tout est dit!_”
“He is very much out of place as a parson.”
“Granted. I suspect he thinks so himself.”
“Men usually feel that they cannot take orders without some stronger
impulse than a mere desire to gain a livelihood.”
“I have never talked to him on the matter; but perhaps he had no great
choice of a career.”
“He might have gone into the army, I suppose? He'd have found scores of
creatures there with about his own measure of intelligence.”
“I fancied you liked George, Marion,” said the other. And there was
something half tender, half reproachful, in her tone.
“I liked him so far, that it was a boon to find anything so like a
gentleman in this wild savagery; but if you mean that I would have
endured him in town, or would have noticed him in society, you are
strangely mistaken.”
“Poor George!” and there was something comic in her glance as she sighed
these words out.
“There; you have won,” said Marion, throwing down her mallet. “I must
go and hear what Temple is going to do. It would be a great blessing to
see a man of the world and a man of mark in this dreary spot, and I hope
papa will not lose the present opportunity to secure him.”
“Are you alone, Nelly?” said her eldest brother, some time after, as he
came up, and found her sitting, lost in thought, under a tree.
“Yes. Marion got tired and went in, and Temple went to ask papa
about inviting some high and mighty personage who chances to be in our
neighborhood.”
“Who is he?”
“Lord Culduff, he called him.”
“Oh! a tremendous swell; an ambassador somewhere. What brings him down
here?”
“I forget. Yes! it was something about a mine; he has found tin, or
copper, or coal, I don't remember which, on some property of his here.
By the way, Augustus, do you really think George L'Estrange a fool?”
“Think him a fool?”
“I mean,” said she, blushing deeply, “Marion holds his intelligence so
cheaply that she is quite shocked at his presuming to be in orders.”
“Well, I don't think him exactly what Temple calls an _esprit fort_,
but he is a very nice fellow, very companionable, and a thorough
gentleman in all respects.”
“How well you have said it, dear Augustus,” said she, with a face
beaming with delight. “Where are you off to? Where are you going?”
“I am going to see the yearlings, in the paddock below the river.”
“May I go with you, Gussy?” said she, drawing her arm within his. “I do
like a brisk walk with you; and you always go like one with a purpose.”