The Pillars of the House; Or, Under Wode, Under Rode, Vol. 2 (of 2)

  CHAPTER XLV.

  THE MYRTLE SPRAY.

  'He smiled, "Shall I complain if joy go by With summer days and winter follow it? If He who gave the gladness I have known, Shall take it from me, shall I make my moan? Nay, for it all is His, the joy, the pain, The weeping and the mirth, the buoyant breath Of happy toil; the mist on weary brain; The turmoil of our life, the hush of death: And neither life nor death--things near nor far, Shall sever us from Him whose own we are."' _Autumn._

  The Vale Leston waggonette was waiting at the Ewmouth Station to meetthe express on an August afternoon, and in it sat Geraldine, her heartin her eager eyes.

  Felix was coming out of the station with--oh! what a robust, brown,bronzed Ferdinand, and between them, a little fragile, shrinkingfigure, dragging his feet with a certain stiffness and effort. Thatwas all she saw till he was lifted in Fernan's arms to her kiss, andpassively endured it.

  'Will you come by me, Travis?' asked Felix, ascending to the drivingseat.

  'Will you stay with your aunt, Gerald?'

  'Oh, come! don't leave me!' in a plaintive voice, were the first wordsCherry heard from her nephew.

  'I believe I had better. He feels the jar less,' said Ferdinand,seating himself within, and lifting the child on his knee. 'Geraldine,I say,'--bending forward and indicating Felix--'is he all right?'

  'O yes! quite! he only feels the strain a little now and then,' sheasseverated.

  'I did not know him till he spoke,' said Ferdinand. 'He is grown somuch stouter and so pale.'

  'We are all getting middle aged, you know,' faintly laughed Cherry.

  'Not you, Geraldine, I never saw you looking so well.'

  'That's the place. It has done us all good--only strains are endlessworries, and he can't take as much exercise as usual. He has thought somuch of your coming too--he will be much better now it is over. LittleGerald! little Gerald, our dear little boy!' said she, trying to takethe small thin hand that lay on the little black knee, and to lookbeneath the broad grass hat.

  'Take off your hat, my man,' said Ferdinand; 'let your aunt see yourface.'

  The child obeyed, and sat leaning against his friend, holding his hatin both hands, and gazing full at Geraldine, out of a pair of eyes,which, after what she had heard, rather disappointed her by not beingof the family blue, but soft liquid brown; but the skin was delicatelyfair, and the features of the true Underwood cast, strangely startlingher by recalling Theodore, not the mindless Tedo of daily life, butsuch as he had lain in the Oratory only with those great mournfuleyes and a soul intensely looking out of them. The hair too was verylight, of the same silkworm fineness as Theodore's, and falling inthe selfsame masses of glossy waves. Ferdinand parted these asidecaressingly, and showed a curved red scar that made her shudder and ask'Is it well?'

  'Quite. It did not go deep, and even the other is entirely healed now,'said Ferdinand, 'though its effects are more lasting. However, he foundhis legs on board ship.'

  'Are you tired, my dear?' she asked, feeling as if another moment ofthe gaze of the big sad eyes would make her cry.

  'I'm used up,' he said, piteously, but though the phrase was Yankee,the weary tone was English, and gentlemanlike.

  'Poor dear little man! We shall be at home presently, and then youshall rest, and have tea.'

  A smile broke out on the little face--a smile approving him truly asEdgar's son, as, glancing up through those long black eye-lashes, heasked, 'Are you Cherie?'--(not Cherry, but Edgar's own exclusive titlefor her).

  'Cherie! To be sure I am, my own dear, dear little boy,' and the tearsstarted while she smiled.

  'Then will you tell me the rest of the stories?'

  'What stories?'

  'The story about the poor man that had the burthen and went the longjourney, between the lions and up the hill Difficulty. When Daddycouldn't remember, he says you know it all.'

  She withstood the impulse to call out to Felix, knowing that a turn tolook back always hurt him, and only said, 'Yes, my dear, I'll tell youall my stories. What a traveller you are! how did you like the sea?'

  'All but the womanfolk,' said the boy gravely.

  'Oh! Gerald!'

  'You're not womanfolk,' he answered.

  'Eh! what then?' she asked, endeavouring to look into the brown eyes,but their black fringes were down now, and he nestled to his protector,into whose ear he whispered what was repeated to her in a sort of aside:

  'She's just Daddy's Cherie, the darling.'

  How well she knew them for Edgar's words! She longed to have him inher arms, but she saw by the manner in which Fernan held him that thestrong support was needed to break the vibration of the carriage. 'Didyou carry him so all across America?' she asked.

  'Nearly. Even Pulleman's cars shook him, and he could bear it less thenthan now. The voyage did him a world of good, and every one was kind tohim, but he's as bad a misogynist as ever Lance's Miles. There were butfive women at Fiddler's Ranch, and only one white, and they called themall aunts. You'll have to drop that distinction! And may I keep him inmy room till he has had time to get used to the strange house?'

  'And the strange beings,' said Cherry. 'It will be a great blow toSibby, who had begun to cheer up at thought of him; but as she neverhad Theodore at night, she may bear it better.'

  'Ah! that loss must have been much felt, though no one could wish itotherwise.'

  'No one has felt it so much as he,' said Cherry, glancing up to herbrother. 'He had really the mother's love for the weakest. I wonder ifhe will see the likeness I do! I feel as if Tedo were come back, withwhat was lacking.'

  'And Stella?'

  'Oh! Stella--' she suppressed with difficulty, 'has another interest,'and changed to--'Stella has turned into a woman, and is the mosthelpful person about the house.'

  'Whom shall I find at home?'

  'The regular domestic establishment, including Bernard, but Lance comeson Saturday, and Robin--she has not been at home since September, butthe De la Poers have all settled down at the baths at Toeplitz, and hisLordship is coming back on business, and escorts her to London, whereLance meets her. You'll find Will Harewood too--good fellow, I know hethought Clement overtasked, so he has taken no pupils this year, exceptthat he is coaching Bernard for Keble College, and says he is cometo learn parish work, and you would never believe what an excellentclergyman old Bill makes.'

  Here they reached that spot where ten years previously the charms ofVale Leston had first broken on Felix, and this time he could not helplooking back to call out 'Look, Fernan! Hold Gerald up to see theplace.'

  Ferdinand lifted the boy to look over the empty side of the drivingseat, exclaiming himself 'How lovely! There's nothing like an Englishvillage!'

  'It's a ranch and not a city,' said the boy.

  'It is home, Gerald, your home,' said Felix, trying to get a view ofhis face, which expressed more wonder than admiration.

  He looked puzzled as they drove over the bridge, and when they cameamong the grass and trees of the park where John Harewood's fineshort-horns were grazing, he asked 'Where's the store?'

  'He has only heard of Bexley!' cried Cherry. 'Not here, my dear; uncleLance takes care of that.'

  'And the paper?' asked Gerald, much to her amusement, but just thenthey drew up at the door, where all the rest were assembled to meetthem, including Wilmet and her boys, who were both dancing about,shouting at the top of their voices for a drive round to the stables.It was too much for the new-comer, he clung to Fernan with a scream,burying his face in his breast, and trembling all over, and Fernan,saying he was always frightened at any sudden outcry, asked leave tolay him at once on his bed, and let him sleep before there were anymore introductions.

  Felix showed the spare room, and after an interval Ferdinand rejoinedthem, saying the little fellow was asleep. Cherry asked if she shouldsit by him.

  'No, thank you, he does not mind being alone, and as long as
he sees myportmanteau he will know it is all right. It is numbers and noise thatfrighten him, I sometimes think he has never got the Indian war-whoopout of his ears. They talked of his bravery at the ranch, but that isall gone now.'

  'From helplessness, very possibly,' said Felix.

  'That is fast improving, but his nerves have had a shock that does notpass off. Besides, I find the poor little fellow somehow fancied heshould meet his father here. I had no notion till now that he supposedhe was going back to Fiddler's Ranch and the old life when he heard of_home_.'

  'It must have been all like a long horrible dream,' said Cherry.

  'I don't understand it,' said Ferdinand; 'he was scarcely sensible whenI took him away, and he called me Daddy till his mind grew clearer. Heseems always watching for some one. I did explain it all, and then Ithought he understood, and he knows what death means, but somehow hedoes not realize it with regard to his father.'

  'Very likely,' said Wilmet, 'his impression varies according to whetherhe is well, or tired and feverish.'

  'I never thought of that!' said Fernan, 'I believe it is so--for whenhe is pretty well, he is the smartest little thing I ever saw, alwaysasking questions, and reading! I believe he read every book on board!And he was very funny there, ready to talk to any one, provided it wasnot woman.'

  'Has he any religious feeling?' asked Clement.

  'Yes. He said his little prayers--poor Edgar had taught him that--and,and I thought you would like me to tell him what I could.'

  'No one has so much right,' said Felix. 'Fernan, I have beenremembering the time when I was angry with Mr. Audley for taking youinto our house--as I thought to corrupt Lance.'

  'Well, I did my best, or worst, to corrupt Fulbert,' he said smiling;'and if you and Lance had not been what you were, you would have seenme in much truer colours. I had no training like what Edgar gave hisboy. You will find him a wonderfully good little fellow, marvellouslyshielded from evil.'

  'You think he may safely play with our boys?' asked Wilmet.

  Fernan smiled sadly. 'Play, poor little fellow, he is a long way fromtheir play as yet! But he is a far safer companion for them than I wasfor your brothers. He has hardly ever spoken to a child of his own age;I believe there was one black baby and one half-caste papoose in theRanch, but childhood was not otherwise represented, and he was afraidof the few we had in the steamer.'

  'He must have been a most incessant charge,' said Felix.

  'But I don't think I ever enjoyed anything so much,' said Fernan. 'Iwish you didn't want him!'

  'You see how little Cherry could spare him,' said Felix. 'But you willmake us a long visit, till he is quite at home.'

  'I thank you; I _couldn't_ go till he has grown happy withyou--happier, I hope, than he has been with me, poor little man; but assoon as I can, I shall run up to London, and there's a matter I must goto Spain about before I return far West.'

  'At any rate this is your home in England, Fernan. You know we can'tthank you, but you are more than ever one of ourselves.' And Felix heldout his hand for a tremulous grasp of Ferdinand's.

  Gerald did seem in great need of his friend when he awoke. He recoiledin dismay at the stairs. 'Oh! those dreadful things are here too!'

  For he had never seen a staircase till he was carried down that ofthe hotel at Sacramento, and his limbs had so far been affected bythe spinal damage that he could only as yet move with difficulty on alevel surface, and needed to be carried down with his eyes shut, thathe might not see the giddy height. He consented to sit by Cherie atthe evening meal, and was not ungracious to the other members of thefamily, comporting himself discreetly, gazing out of those enormouseyes at the novel scene, and fraternising with Scamp, who adopted himat once as an Underwood.

  He had made up his mind as to his eldest uncle, and when they rose,crept up to him and, putting his frail little lizard's hand into his,said tentatively, 'Blunderbore!' and as Felix started, hardly knowingwhether to laugh or cry, he added, 'I want to see the Pursuivant,'uttering all the syllables with great clearness and deliberation.

  Much delighted, Felix took him into his study, when he examined thelast roll of proof with profound sagacity, and said eagerly, 'I can fixoff a sheet for you,' accepting his uncle much more as editor than assquire.

  The introduction to Sibby was tolerably successful, he detected thatshe talked like 'Kerry Micksey,' his chief playmate at the Ranch, andshe was the only person he accepted as an aunt. Felix was too glad tobe dubbed Blunderbore again to object to the familiarity; they taughthim to term Clement the Vicar, and the others went by their unadornednames. It was remarkable that Bernard, though growing up into a finemanly beauty much resembling Edgar's, did not seem to recall anyassociation; but on the Saturday afternoon, when Cherry was sittingwith him under the cedar-tree, a low sweet whistle made him start,scramble to his feet, and as Lance came forward, he threw himself uponhim with an ecstatic shout of 'Daddy, daddy.' And as Lance stooped downand gathered him into his arms tenderly, saying 'Poor little chap,'no doubt the tone and gesture kept up the delusion, for he clung in arapture that it seemed cruel to disturb. 'What shall I do, Cherry?'said Lance, much distressed. 'Oh! my poor little fellow, if I could butchange myself!'

  By that time doubt had wakened, the arms were unwound from his neck,and Gerald, after a moment's contemplation, gave a sad low cry,struggled down, and hid his face on Cherry's lap, then lay passivelyagainst her while she fondled him with her hand, taking no notice inword, except by distinctly letting him hear his uncle's name. 'Lance!how came you so early, and where's Robina? Felix is gone to Ewmouth,thinking to meet you by the express.'

  'We got off from town earlier than we expected; and walked from ChurchEwe, and meeting Bill in the village, of course I stepped out and leftthem to their bliss.'

  Lance looked well, and spoke as if he had attained to steady ifnot high spirits. In fact, though asking anxiously after Felix, hewas plainly gratified by the entire trust and satisfaction shownin himself as a substitute; some of his articles in the Pursuivanthad been a success in the circle that cared for them, and one on animportant subject had actually been copied into a London paper, adistinction that had not so often befallen even Felix as not to makeit exhilarating. What made far more difference to him, Mr. Bevan hadfinally resigned, and the new rector had a bright young wife, who hadbeen a school friend of Robina's, and both had accepted Lance on termsof equality, so that he had more access to society than had ever beenhis lot before, and found himself treated as an important ally in allmatters for the benefit of the parish. His life was evidently farmore cheerful than in the previous year, and he had done what he haddeclared he should do--'got over' his fit of depression, i.e. resignedhimself, and therefore recovered a certain power of enjoyment as wellas interest in his work. Cherry reproached him with never having comehome since Whitsuntide.

  'No possibility of getting away,' he said.

  'Not with Mutton as a _piece de resistance._'

  'Mutton's Madame requires recruiting at Dearport and the frequentsolace of her cosset.'

  'O Lance! what a boy you are for being put upon.'

  'Don't row me, Cherry, I get enough of that from Mrs. Frog. By-the-by,she's going to let Marshlands for a year to the squire while he isenlarging his house, and we are to have Prothero's rooms. The dearold Croak says she'll not have me catching my death on that nastyvelocipede another winter.'

  'Ah! if you had but brought her back to our old quarters! You shouldnever have allowed the Giant to let Madame in! But tell me, Lance,' sheadded in a different tone, 'has she shown any feeling?'

  'Lamb was in a state of mind about telling her, and wanted me to do it,which I declined, so he fetched Miss Pearson, and came down quite proudto tell me she had had hysterics. What a sheep it is, to be sure! Headores whatever she does! And then her spirits and health required theparade at Dearport.'

  'You don't believe in it?'

  'I only know that whenever I had to go to Dearport I always saw herbest bonnets bobbing about
among the ladies, or met her on the paradewith Gussy and Killy looking like princes. I called to see SisterConstance one day, I thought she would like to hear about you all.And, Cherry, did you know that Angel had sent back her medal as anassociate, and without a word?'

  'Just what I should have expected.'

  'They did not like to write about it till they knew more. Now I believethe chaplain has.'

  'She has said nothing about it. In fact, she is much more with theHepburns than at home, and they have really done her some good. She wasquite meek when we fell in with all the Walshes' guests the other day.I wonder whether she will thaw to Robina! Ah! here they come!'

  William and Robina were walking arm-in-arm, deeply content to betogether, but grave and subdued.

  'How still it all sounds!' was Robina's exclamation, and though theothers smiled, it was with a sigh at the thought of the low hummingthat they all missed.

  The hush over the house struck her more than anything. When lastshe had been at home the whole place seemed vocal with unrestrainedlife and mirth, all the brothers and some of the sisters went aboutwhistling or singing, every one was always shouting to every one,Stella's doves cooing, the clock chiming, Theodore a continualmusical-box, but now, though chimes and doves had not ceased, the softundercurrent was gone, and so was the gay ring of mirth.

  'It is as if there were something quelled,' she said, pausing for theword, when she went out for a turn with Will in the light of the broadharvest moon, rising red over the woods.

  'So we are,' said he. 'There is something about the place that remindsme of going into the garden when everything is lying broken and weigheddown by a storm, the sunshine making diamonds of the drops, butrain-drops still.'

  'Angel is so different,' said Robin, 'and Felix's looks appal me: andyet Cherry seems easy about him.'

  'So would you be if you had seen him two months ago,' said Will. 'Idon't think any one is really anxious about him but Clement.'

  'Oh! if it is only Clement, I don't care.'

  'Working under Clement gives a very different notion of him,' saidWill; 'you can't think how much I find I have to learn now I come tothe real practical thing, among simple folk. It humbles me as much asit refreshes me, after the forcing-house at Oxford. I say, Robin, howlong is this to go on?

  'How long?' echoed Robina sadly.

  'Nay, listen: Clement is going to set up a curate in the new house, asis to be, and L200 a year. I am sure of pupils.'

  'Please don't ask me, Will. It is so very hard, and my better sensewon't let me.'

  'Then put away that better sense, as you call it, I don't.'

  'I can't put away the recollection of my father dying of toil andprivation. I should feel it killing you to consent.'

  He felt rather than saw she was crying as she leant against him, but hetried to laugh and say, 'I am a tougher subject, Bobbie; we've neitherof us been tenderly reared. Besides, here it would be different.'

  'Yes, because we should prey on our families. No, Willie, I made asolemn resolution never to drag you down, and I will keep it.'

  'You're far too wise for me,' he began, displeased.

  'Don't be foolish, and break my heart over it! Oh! Willie, if you getangry, I can't bear it now, it is all so sad.'

  The mute caress answered, but each was a little relieved to say 'Hark,'as the silence was broken by the sharp wail of Edgar's violin, whichLance was handling to ascertain in what condition it had arrived.

  'Is your voice all right, Lancey?' asked Felix, as he spoke of thechoral meetings.

  'Just what I want to know. I've not sung to any one I could trust totell me the sound of it. Miss Grey likes it well enough, but then shenever heard it before, and I don't know whether the best high noteshave not thickened.'

  'What will you try? said Clement 'I'm not sure that "Chloe's disdain"did not show you off as well as any.'

  'Then Angel--where is she?'

  'Angel anathematises light and profane songs on the eve of thehonourable sabbath,' said Bernard; 'I wish she was here to have herears pulled.'

  'No, it is not so much that,' said Cherry, 'as that she cannot bearsecular music since that unlucky song. But here's Stella, the universalstop-gap, to be Chloe.'

  It was a fine old seventeenth-century dialogue song, a sort ofheir-loom in the family--the lady's part full of the pert coy disdainthat passed for maidenliness, the swain's of a pathetic steadfastconstancy, and there was a variety in the expression that had alwaysgiven scope for the peculiar beauties of Lance's voice. But as he sangit now, it was not only as a musical exercise or 'crack song,' themanly melancholy stirred the depths of a sad but resolute heart thatcould hardly have otherwise poured itself out. So two of the hearersunderstood it, and Cherry, clasping Felix's hand, found the pressurereturned.

  It was only Clement who, as the last sweet quiver died away, wasdisengaged enough to say, 'You seem to me to have gained instead oflost.'

  He muttered something about a German air left upstairs, and ran away.

  'I'm afraid it is Philomel against the thorn,' murmured Felix in hissister's ear.

  And Clement, in an undertone, uttered the two words 'whosoever hath,'and Stella, of course mentally supplying the continuation, perceivedthat he was thinking how the voice treated as a means of praisingdivine glory had survived in its purity and freshness under the samedanger that had been fatal to the gift that had been the temptationand ruin of its owner--a thought better suited to Clement's stern sadnature than to his little sister; and instead of answering, she beganto play Mozart's requiem.

  It was long before Lance returned. 'It was that poor little Gerald,' hesaid. 'I wish I had thought of it--when he heard the violin, he thoughthis Daddy was really come at last. I nearly tumbled over the littlewhite bundle in the gallery. Poor morsel, I suppose he was almostasleep, for when I picked him up, feeling like just nothing at allwithout his clothes, he firmly believed I was Edgar masquerading; andthe more I coaxed him in the dark, the more he implored me, "Oh! Daddy,don't go on, be Daddy, I know you, I do! 'Tisn't play," till he almostbroke one's heart--I thought I should have to call Fernan.'

  'And how did you manage him, poor darling?'

  'It was curious. One of those shouts that they give in the harvest whenthey clear the last sheaf in a field came in, and made him shudder inhorror. "The Indians," he said, and then, after I had told him whatit was, I said, "Yes, you heard the Indians once, didn't you?" and heanswered, "Oh! yes, Daddy told me, 'Never mind, my brave boy, it can'tlast long. Shut your eyes, and say your prayers!' and he held metight, tight."'

  'Then that is the last recollection he has of his father! A noble one!'said Felix, with a sound of thankfulness.

  'So I told him,' pursued Lance, 'that Daddy was right, and it hadn'tlasted long. I just told him the real story, and how his father gavehim to Mr. Travis to bring to us. I told him how poor Edgar used toteach me to play on his fiddle, and I think he really was relieved tolose the confusion about identity, and he knew me at last for the Lancewho used to sing "Jim Crow." I told him all I could, and looked at themarks on his poor little back and breast. How did he live, Fernan?'

  'I can hardly tell; I suppose life is very strong in a healthy child,and that torpor of benumbed nerves saved him much pain.'

  'I fancy poor Edgar had told him a good many stories about us, forhe asked me all manner of odd questions about home, and I am to takehim there when he is well. Meantime I had to sing him to sleep--"likethat," he said, poor little fellow; and he started Sibby's old croonthat used to be Baby's name for her.'

  'The child has adopted you, Lance,' said Felix, when he saw Geraldriding down to breakfast in the new uncle's arms, with an arm round hisneck and his head on his shoulder. 'Should you not like him to be yourgodfather, Gerald?'

  'No, Gerald, that can only belong to Mr. Travis, and your uncle Felix.'

  'Travis, of course,' said Felix; 'but for me, it would be too like aparent, and--' he paused, but went on: 'You ought to have that tie--youwho brought out t
hat final saying from his father. Never let him forgetit. It is so perfectly the spirit in which to meet the unavoidable.'

  He certainly had a power of transmuting into comfort all he heardof this beloved brother. It had been decided that the boy should beadmitted into the church on this, his first Sunday. Ferdinand wasanxious that it should be, like his own baptism, his first sight of theinterior of a church, and had been preparing him for it all the wayhome, so that he knew a good deal more than had yet been made to adhereto his cousin Kester, and his replies had a flavour of St. Matthew'sthat delighted Clement. It did not seem right that the thing shouldbe done in a corner, and in the first strangeness numbers would makeless difference than after he had learnt to know the faces round him;so they resolved to face the full congregation at once, large as itwas apt to be in the afternoon; for there had of late arisen among theyoung men of Ewmouth a fashion of walking out to church at Vale Leston,attracted partly by the choir and partly by the preaching.

  It was too long for Gerald's feeble limbs to be kept standing, andthough he was tall for his age, Ferdinand Travis took him in his armswhere the questions and replies startled the unprepared. 'Who baptizedthis child?' when the answer, 'I did,' came from the jet-black beardof the great American merchant, more like a Spanish grandee than ever;and 'With what matter was this child baptized?' was responded to'With water'--there was a thought of the blood that had oozed forthand mingled with the 'lucid flood,' and Clement's voice trembled withemotion as he certified that all was _well_ done, and as he signed thecross, it was where, in anticipation, Ferdinand had marked the rood,and as Geraldine's eye traced the little coronal that the cruel knifehad scored, her whole heart went into the thought.

  'Thus outwardly and visibly We seal thee for His own; And may the brow that bears the cross Hereafter bear the crown.'

  Strange was the entry in the parish register regarding the child whomhis uncle treated as heir of his house and name, but at whom every onelooked with compassionate misgiving, so weird were his great pensivedark eyes, so thin his cheeks, so feeble his movements, so complete thecontrast to his sturdy cousin Christopher, the one all mind and theother all body.

  Felix wished for London advice for him, and, as there was to be aclerical meeting on Tuesday at Richard May's, proposed to drive withClement as far as Stoneborough to ask the two physicians what theywould recommend. Lancelot only discovered this intention just as hewas stepping into the boat in which Bernard was going to take himto Ewmouth to meet the train--probably he fancied his face quiteimpassive, but it was far too transparent for him, and there was acurious gust of expression passing over it when Felix asked whether hehad any commands for Stoneborough. 'N-not--at least, my--my--rememberme to them. That's all! good-bye.'

  Then he expended his energies on the oars, and snubbed Bernard intosilent smoking, meanwhile he was calculating the increase of means thathad accrued to Felix, and would surely render marriage possible.

  Felix found his call happily timed, for Dr. May received him with,'That's right. Just as the last patient has made his exit. Nay--not thelast. I fear your side does not seem to have mended.'

  'Not much, thank you.'

  'So I see, but wait a bit. You are Tom's concern, and I shall get intodisgrace if I go into it without him. You can stay?'

  'Yes, I ventured to think you would house me while Clement is sittingin council.'

  'That is well. I need not go out till after dinner. Gertrude is athome, but Ethel is gone to Cocksmoor to see after feeding the divines.Don't you find that an uncommon excitement to the clergywomen? Well,have you got the poor little boy?'

  'Yes, a sweet little fellow, but in an anxious state. The spine seemsaffected still, and I want to know to whom you would advise me to showhim--I must get some one while Travis is with us to tell what theAmerican surgeons said.'

  'That's another matter for Tom. He knows the present leading men betterthan I do. I'll send up word to him to look in when he gets back fromthe hospital.'

  'There is a third matter,' said Felix, with a blushing smile, when themessage had been despatched, 'not so professional.'

  'Eh?' said the doctor with arrested attention.

  'It is this,' said Felix in the deliberate manner of one who had longconned his part. 'Should you regard it as intolerable presumption in mybrother Lancelot to raise his eyes to your daughter Gertrude?'

  'Your brother!!!'

  'Yes, sir. Lancelot. I could release him from the retail business andmake over the Pursuivant to him. He would have rather more than L500 ayear, and if--'

  'Lance!' again exclaimed the doctor. 'So it is Lance! I beg yourpardon, I had been hoping it was yourself.'

  'You will hardly hope that long, sir.'

  'What do you mean? That hurt? What has been----'

  'That will wait. Do not let me lose this opportunity,' said Felix,rather breathlessly. 'It is not only my health. For all essentials,whatever you are kind enough to think of me, Lance is _that_ and agreat deal more, and he is deeply smitten, poor fellow, and needsaffection and happiness so much,' he continued, a little hurt at thesmile that played on the doctor's features, and broadened into a laugh.

  'Well, I've no right to complain after setting the lad on.'

  'You, sir?'

  'Ay. When he was brooding and moping in the winter, fancying no girlwould look at him, I told him, by way of shaking him up, that I shouldbe ashamed of one who stuck at his occupation. It is like giving aboy a gun, and wondering when he brings down your tame jackdaw. Oneought to have experience by the time it comes to one's youngest, butI suppose I should never get it if I were the father of the fiftyDanaides.'

  'May I gather that you would not think the disadvantagesinsurmountable? I know it does not sound well, but Lance is in a betterposition than mine was. He is a good deal thought of in the town; isintimate at the Rectory; and if he lived in the country, and droppedthe retail, I can answer for it that there would be plenty of societysuch as your daughter would care to have. If I foresaw mortification,it would not be right to expose her to it.'

  'Somehow my girls care rather too little than too much about society,'said the doctor. 'I shall be the sufferer. How I shall catch it fromTom and the rest!'

  'Thank you, sir.'

  'Not so fast. Stay a bit. How far has it gone? The boy has not spokento her?'

  'Not in so many words. He does not dare, and I could not venture toencourage him till I knew what you thought. Indeed he has been chainedto Bexley ever since I have been laid up.'

  'He is a thoroughly nice fellow,' allowed the doctor; 'he let out agood deal of his inner self to me last winter. If worth were to haveit----'

  'He would stand first,' said Felix eagerly. 'To tell you what he hasbeen to all of us these----'

  'Hush, here comes our professor. He was fuming like quicklime atDaisy's escapade the morning after your accident. A wholesomepreparation.'

  About an hour later the dinner bell brought down Gertrude and hernephew Dickie. She started, and a thrill of colour passed over herface as she met Mr. Underwood at the table, and, laughing rathernervously, begged him to excuse deficiencies, as Ethel, the cook, theparlour-maid, and all the best knives and forks were gone to Cocksmoor.

  It struck her that her father was grave and silent, but her heartwas, as usual, full of Vale Leston and Cherry, and she catechisedhim next on all the ins and outs with which her visit had made herfamiliar, he replying in detail with his natural quiet humour, thoughwhenever Lance's name came up, he could not help colouring a little.He delighted and excited Dickie with Bernard's cricketing feats, andthe doctor waked into interest from his abstraction. He had to goout directly after, taking with him Dickie, who now held the holidayprivilege of being his charioteer.

  'You had better take a rest after your drive,' said the doctor toFelix. 'Nobody will disturb you in the drawing-room.'

  Felix willingly reclined in the great easy chair, only begging Gertrudenot to think it necessary to leave him, and as she wished no
thingbetter than to stay, she took her work and sat down. At first all wasstill; he had put his head back, with closed eyes, in the relaxationof complete lassitude, but his countenance did not give the impressionof sleep. It was weary and exhausted, though placid, and graduallyan expression of reflection came over it, deepening into anxiety andperplexity, until after about twenty minutes he opened his eyes, andlooked at her with a pleasant smile.

  'I hope you are rested,' she said.

  'A good deal, thank you;' then, after a pause, 'Did I tell you thatLance has quite recovered his voice?'

  'I am glad; I have never heard him.'

  'You must, then. Cherry shall manage it next time he comes home. Hehas been kept much too close this summer, but we must make a differentarrangement.'

  'Not your changing places!' cried Gertrude, 'you don't look fit!'

  'I am afraid not,' he answered with weary acquiescence. 'Your fatherand brother have been overhauling me, and I believe my effective daysare over for some time.'

  'Oh!' she started, and said in an imploring tone, 'Cherry said thesprain was almost gone.'

  'The sprain is,' said Felix, 'but there's something beyond. It may goon for some time, but the result is very doubtful.'

  She rested her chin on her hand, her eyes dilated by the shock.

  'So, you see,' he proceeded, 'I am anxious to lose no time in gettingmatters into order, both as regards Vale Leston and Bexley.'

  'Oh!' she burst out with a cry; 'don't, don't, don't go on likethat--just as if it were somebody else.'

  The sound of misery convinced him that he was acting for the best inkilling at once any embryo aspiration directed towards himself; moreespecially as he felt her more capable than any one he had met sinceAlice Knevett of stirring what he was resolved never to allow to bestirred. Never would he have risked this _tete-a-tete_ but for hisrecent interview with the two physicians; and her sorrow touched andwarmed the inmost recesses of his heart. He leant forward, saying,'There is so little actual suffering that perhaps I feel as if it weresomebody else. I have been expecting this, and there have been a weightand weariness about me which make the thought of rest not unwelcome.'

  'Oh, no, no! You are quite young. Papa and Tom couldn't have said itwas so bad. There can't be no hope.'

  'No, there is just a chance of things taking a different turn.'

  'Oh! they will! I know they will! Please don't give yourself up. That'sthe worst thing for any one.'

  'I don't do that;' and as she came and stood by him he looked up in herface, saying, 'there is so much kindness in the world that one wouldgladly not leave it, if only not to grieve one's friends.'

  'I wish,' with a half-angry sob, 'you wouldn't talk in that horridresigned way.'

  'This will not do, indeed, my dear.' Her weeping made the word slip outas in reasoning with one of his sisters, but it brought her colour,and the tint was reflected in his own as he said, 'I beg your pardon.'

  'Oh! please, I do like it so.'

  He found himself on perilous ground, for he was exceedingly drawntowards the girl, whose warmth gave him a greater sense of sweetnessthan ever had Alice's most gracious moments; and it was with strongeffort that he preserved a sort of fatherly tone.

  'Sit down again; there is a great deal I should like to tell you, ifyou have patience to listen.'

  Patience! She would fain have listened for ever. He told her the moreslowly, in order to give time to rally, the history of the familystruggles, dwelling at each turn on Lance's manful part in them, andresolute sacrifice of taste and ambition, and coming down to his owninheritance at Vale Leston, with all that it had involved. The factwas that it was needful to let her perceive that he had never had itin his power to marry, and never intended it; that the only mode inwhich he could both do his duty by his brothers and sisters, and makerestitution of the church property, was by continuing his business,being economical, and raising up no fresh claims on the estate.

  Probably she did not at the moment take in the idea of this affectingany relations with her, for she exclaimed, with that hot petulancewhich in her was never unbecoming, 'I see, it's too late; you've spenteverything on everybody else, and lived for everyone but yourself.'

  'I wish I had.'

  'I don't think it fair!' she passionately exclaimed. 'Why shouldeverything come on you?'

  'Perhaps, when one's forefathers have done a great wrong--ignorantly,may be--it must come on some one. I have been struck by seeing howseldom the lay rectory has gone in the direct line, and I am glad toprevent it from being bound about that poor child's unconscious neck.'

  'I was wrong,' she whispered under her breath, in a sudden change ofmood, as the simple-heartedness of his manner impressed her. 'You areas devoted as any of those old people.'

  'Not I,' he answered. 'I have had a particularly prosaic, prosperous,comfortable life of it;' and then, thinking the scene had lasted longenough, he said, 'I should like to call on Mrs. Thomas May. Is itpermissible to go through the garden?'

  'How can you?' she exclaimed.

  'Thank you, I am quite rested' (he might have said, as much as he everwas).

  'I meant, how can you go and make trumpery trivial calls.'

  'It did not answer in the year one thousand to sow no corn, inexpectation of the end of the world,' he answered. 'Spiritually, aslittle as materially.'

  He tried for his dry gentle manner, but was too much moved by her griefto make it natural.

  'I'll come with you,' said Gertrude, leaping up.

  He took his hat, and she a parasol, and they crossed the garden insilence till, almost at Tom's door, she exclaimed, with a choking gasp:

  'Oh dear! oh dear! if there were anything I could do for you!'

  'Thank you,' he answered affectionately, with a smiling trembling lip.'One wish is very strong with me. Things may not be prepared for itsfulfilment while I am here--but when it comes before you--you willremember what you say, and I think it will be granted.'

  She turned, half petulantly, and plucked off the myrtle leaves.

  'Are you going to give me a piece of that?' he said, smiling.

  She broke off a spray in full flower.

  'Thank you,' as he put it in his buttonhole. 'Perhaps some day you willsee this again. Then remember.'