Chapter Forty.

Chapter Forty.A New Suggestion.“Once rememberYou devoted soul and mindTo the welfare of your brethrenAnd the service of your kind,Now what sorrow can you comfort?”Soon after the scenes recorded in the last chapter, Alvar received a letter from Mrs Lester, in which she thanked him, in a dignified and cordial manner, for his proposal that the home at Oakby should go on as usual, but said she did not consider that her residence there would be for the happiness of any one. During her son’s married life she had lived in a house at Ashrigg, which was part of the Lester property, and was called The Rigg. This was now again vacant, and she proposed to take it, making it a home for Nettie, and for any of her grandsons who chose so to consider it. The great sorrow of her dear son’s death would be more endurable to her, she said, anywhere but at Oakby. The neighbourhood of the Hubbards would provide friends for herself and society for Nettie, who would be very lonely at Oakby in her brothers’ constant absences. Alvar was sincerely sorry. He was accustomed to the idea of a family home being open to all, and did not, in any way, regard himself as trammelled by his grandmother’s presence there, while Cheriton was utterly taken by surprise, and hated the additional change and uprooting. He did not think the step unwise, especially as regarded Nettie, but he marvelled at his grandmother’s energy in devising and resolving on it. He had expected a great outcry from Nettie, but she proved not to be unprepared, and said briefly, “that she liked it better than staying at homenow.”“But you will not desert me?” said Alvar. “Shall I drive you too away from your home?”“No,” said Cherry. “No, I’ll come home for the holidays, and the boys, too, if you will have them; though I suppose granny will want to see us all sometimes.”“I wish that I could take you home now,” said Alvar. “I think you are tired with London—you see too many people.”Cheriton coloured a little at the allusion, but he disclaimed any wish to leave London then, shrinking indeed from breaking through the externals of his profession. It ended by Alvar going down to meet his grandmother at Oakby, and to make arrangements for the change, during which he proved himself so kind, courteous, and helpful to her, that he quite won her heart; and Nettie, on her return, was astonished at hearing Alvar’s judgment deferred to, and “my grandson” quoted as an authority, on several occasions.Jack, after a few days in London, joined a reading party for the first weeks of the vacation; and Bob, on his return from the gentleman who was combining for him the study of farming and of polite literature, joined Nettie in London, and took her down to Ashrigg; so that the early part of August found only Cheriton and Alvar at Oakby.Cherry liked this well enough, for though the house could not but seem forlorn and empty to him, daily life was always pleasant with Alvar, and he would have gladly helped him through all the arrears of business that came to hand. These were considerable, for Mr Lester’s subordinates had not been trained to go alone, and none of them had been allowed universal superintendence. Cheriton thought that Alvar required such assistance, and that he ought to have an agent with more authority; but oddly enough he did not take to the proposal, and in the meantime he made mistakes, kept decisions waiting, failed to recognise the relative importance of different matters, and, still worse, of different people.One afternoon, towards the end of August, Cheriton went over to Elderthwaite. What with business at home, expeditions to Ashrigg, and a great many calls on his attention from more immediate neighbours, he had not seen very much of the parson, and as he neared the rectory he beheld an unwonted sight in the field adjoining, namely, some thirty or forty children drinking tea, under the superintendence of Virginia and one of the Miss Ellesmeres.“Hallo, Cherry,” said the parson, advancing to meet him; “where have you been? Seems to me we must have a grand—what d’ye call it?—rural collation before we can get a sight of you.”“As you never invited me to the rural collation, I was not aware of its existence,” said Cherry laughing, as Virginia approached him.“Oh, Cherry, stay and start some games,” she said. “You know they are so ignorant, they never even saw a school-feast before.”“Then, Virginia, I wonder at you for spoiling the last traces of such refreshing simplicity. Introducing juvenile dissipation! Well, it doesn’t seem as if the natural child wanted much training to appreciate plum-cake!”“No; but if you could make the boys run for halfpence—”“You think they won’t know a halfpenny when they see one.”“Do have some tea!” said Lucy Ellesmere, running up to him. “Perhaps you are tired, and Virginia has given thembeautifultea, and really they’re very nice children,considering.”So Cherry stayed, and advanced the education of the Elderthwaite youth by teaching them to bob for cherries, and other arts of polite society, ending by showing them how to give three cheers for the parson, and three times three for Miss Seyton; and while Virginia was dismissing her flock with final hunches of gingerbread, the parson called him into the house.“Poor lassie!” he said; “she is fond of the children, and thinks a great deal of doing them good; but it’s little good she can do in the face of what’s coming.”“How do you mean?” said Cheriton. “Is anything specially amiss?”“Come in and have a pipe. A glass of wine won’t come amiss after so much tea and gingerbread.”They went into the dining-room, and the parson poked up the fire into a blaze, for even August afternoons were not too warm at Elderthwaite for a fire to be pleasant, and as he subsided into his arm-chair, he said gravely,—“Eh, Cherry, we Seytons have been a bad lot—a bad lot—and the end of it’ll be we shall be kicked out of the country.”“Oh, I hope not!” said Cherry, quite sincerely. “What is the matter?”“Well, look round about you. Is there a wall that’s mended, or a plantation preserved as it ought to be? Look at the timber—what is there left of it? and what’s felled lies rotting on the ground for want of carting. There’s acres of my brother’s hay never was led till the rain came and spoiled it. Look at the cottages. Queenie gets the windows mended, but she can’t make the roofs water-tight. Look at those woods down by the stream, why, there’s not a head of game in them, and once they were the best preserves in the country!”“Things are bad, certainly,” said Cherry.“And yet, Cherry, we’ve loved the place, and never have sold an acre of it, spite of mortgages and everything. Well, my brother’s not long for this world. He has been failing and failing before his time, and though he has led a decent life enough, things have gone more to the bad with years of doing nothing, than with all the scandals of my father’s time.”“Is Mr Seyton ill?” said Cheriton.“Not ill altogether; but mark my words, he’ll not last long. Well, at last, he was so hard up that he wrote to Roland—and I know, Cheriton, it was the bitterest pill he ever swallowed—and asked his consent to selling Uplands Farm. What does Roland do but write back and say, with all his heart; so soon as it came into his hands he should sell every acre, house and lands, advowson of living and all, and pay his debts. He hated the place, he said, and would never live there. Sell it to the highest bidder. There were plenty of fortunes made in trade, says he, that would give anything for land and position. So there, the old place’ll go into the hands of some purse-proud stranger. But not the church—he shan’t go restoring and improving that with his money. I’m only fifty-nine, and a good life yet, and I’ll stick in the church till I’m put into the churchyard!”Cherry smiled, it was impossible to help it; but the parson’s story made him very sad. He knew well enough that it was a righteous retribution, that Roland’s ownership would be a miserable thing for every soul in Elderthwaite, and that the most purse-proud of strangers would do something to mend matters; and yet his heart ached at the downfall, and his quick imagination pictured vividly how completely the poor old parson would put himself in the wrong, and what a disastrous state of things would be sure to ensue.“I’d try and not leave so much ‘restoration’ for any stranger to do,” he said.“Eh, what’s the good?” said the parson. “She had better let it alone for the ‘new folks.’”“Nay,” said Cherry, “you cannot tell if the ‘new folks,’ as you call them, will be inclined for anything of the sort, and all these changes may not take place for years. It doesn’t quite pay to do nothing because life is rather more uncertain to oneself than to other people.”Cheriton spoke half to himself, and the parson went on with his own train of thought.“Ay, I’ll stick to the old place, though I thought it a heavy clog round my neck once; and if you knew all the ins and outs of that transaction, you’d say, maybe, I ought to be kicked out of it now.”“No, I should not,” said Cherry, who knew, perhaps, more of the Elderthwaite traditions than the parson imagined. “Things are as they are, and not as they might have been, and perhaps you could do more than any one else to mend matters.”The parson looked into the fire, with an odd, half humble, half comical expression, and Cherry said abruptly,—“Do you think Mr Seyton would sell Uplands to me?”“To you? What the dickens do you want with it?”“Why—I don’t think it would be a bad speculation, and I should like, I think, to have it.”“What? Does your brother make Oakby too hot to hold you?”“No, indeed. He is all that is kind to me,” said Cherry indignantly. “Every one misconstrues him. But I should like to have a bit of land hereabouts, all the same.”“Well, you had better ask my brother yourself. He may think himself lucky, for I don’t know who would buy a bit of land like that wedged in between the two places. Ah, here’s Queenie to say good-night. Well, my lassie, are you pleased with your sport?”“Yes, uncle; and the children were very good.”Cheriton walked a little way with Virginia, beyond the turning where they parted from Lucy Ellesmere. He found that she was unaware of the facts which the parson had told him, and though somewhat uneasy about her father, very much disposed to dwell on the good accounts of Dick and Harry, and on the general awakening in the place that seemed to demand improvements. Oakby offered a ready-made pattern, and other farmers had been roused by Mr Clements to wish for changes, while some, of course, were ready to oppose them.“They begin to wish Uncle James would have a curate, Cherry,” she said; “but I don’t think he ever will find one that he could get on with. No one who did not know all the ins and outs of the place could get on either with him or with the people.”“It would be difficult,” said Cheriton thoughtfully; “yet I do believe that a great deal might be done for parson as well as people.”“Ah, Cherry,” said Virginia, with a smile, “if you hadn’t got another vocation, Uncle James would letyoudo anything you liked. I wishyouwere a clergyman, and could come and be curate of Elderthwaite; for you are the only person who could fit into all the corners.”Virginia spoke in jest, as of an impossible vision, but Cheriton answered her with unexpected seriousness.“It would be hard on Elderthwaite to put up with a failure, and an offering would not be worth much which one had waited to make till one had nothing left worth giving; I’m afraid, too, my angles are less accommodating than you suppose—ask Alvar.” Cherry finished his sentence thoughtlessly, and was recalled by Virginia’s blush; but she said as they parted, “That is a safe reference for you.”Cheriton laughed; but as he walked homeward he turned and looked back on the tumble-down, picturesque village at his feet. Loud, rough sounds of a noisy quarrel in the little street came to his ears, and some boys passed him manifestly the worse for drink, though they pulled themselves up and tried to avoid his notice. It was not quite a new idea which Virginia had put into shape; but as the steep hill forced him to slacken his steps, he could not see that the strength which had proved insufficient for a more selfish object was likely to be worth consecrating to the service of his neighbours.

“Once rememberYou devoted soul and mindTo the welfare of your brethrenAnd the service of your kind,Now what sorrow can you comfort?”

“Once rememberYou devoted soul and mindTo the welfare of your brethrenAnd the service of your kind,Now what sorrow can you comfort?”

Soon after the scenes recorded in the last chapter, Alvar received a letter from Mrs Lester, in which she thanked him, in a dignified and cordial manner, for his proposal that the home at Oakby should go on as usual, but said she did not consider that her residence there would be for the happiness of any one. During her son’s married life she had lived in a house at Ashrigg, which was part of the Lester property, and was called The Rigg. This was now again vacant, and she proposed to take it, making it a home for Nettie, and for any of her grandsons who chose so to consider it. The great sorrow of her dear son’s death would be more endurable to her, she said, anywhere but at Oakby. The neighbourhood of the Hubbards would provide friends for herself and society for Nettie, who would be very lonely at Oakby in her brothers’ constant absences. Alvar was sincerely sorry. He was accustomed to the idea of a family home being open to all, and did not, in any way, regard himself as trammelled by his grandmother’s presence there, while Cheriton was utterly taken by surprise, and hated the additional change and uprooting. He did not think the step unwise, especially as regarded Nettie, but he marvelled at his grandmother’s energy in devising and resolving on it. He had expected a great outcry from Nettie, but she proved not to be unprepared, and said briefly, “that she liked it better than staying at homenow.”

“But you will not desert me?” said Alvar. “Shall I drive you too away from your home?”

“No,” said Cherry. “No, I’ll come home for the holidays, and the boys, too, if you will have them; though I suppose granny will want to see us all sometimes.”

“I wish that I could take you home now,” said Alvar. “I think you are tired with London—you see too many people.”

Cheriton coloured a little at the allusion, but he disclaimed any wish to leave London then, shrinking indeed from breaking through the externals of his profession. It ended by Alvar going down to meet his grandmother at Oakby, and to make arrangements for the change, during which he proved himself so kind, courteous, and helpful to her, that he quite won her heart; and Nettie, on her return, was astonished at hearing Alvar’s judgment deferred to, and “my grandson” quoted as an authority, on several occasions.

Jack, after a few days in London, joined a reading party for the first weeks of the vacation; and Bob, on his return from the gentleman who was combining for him the study of farming and of polite literature, joined Nettie in London, and took her down to Ashrigg; so that the early part of August found only Cheriton and Alvar at Oakby.

Cherry liked this well enough, for though the house could not but seem forlorn and empty to him, daily life was always pleasant with Alvar, and he would have gladly helped him through all the arrears of business that came to hand. These were considerable, for Mr Lester’s subordinates had not been trained to go alone, and none of them had been allowed universal superintendence. Cheriton thought that Alvar required such assistance, and that he ought to have an agent with more authority; but oddly enough he did not take to the proposal, and in the meantime he made mistakes, kept decisions waiting, failed to recognise the relative importance of different matters, and, still worse, of different people.

One afternoon, towards the end of August, Cheriton went over to Elderthwaite. What with business at home, expeditions to Ashrigg, and a great many calls on his attention from more immediate neighbours, he had not seen very much of the parson, and as he neared the rectory he beheld an unwonted sight in the field adjoining, namely, some thirty or forty children drinking tea, under the superintendence of Virginia and one of the Miss Ellesmeres.

“Hallo, Cherry,” said the parson, advancing to meet him; “where have you been? Seems to me we must have a grand—what d’ye call it?—rural collation before we can get a sight of you.”

“As you never invited me to the rural collation, I was not aware of its existence,” said Cherry laughing, as Virginia approached him.

“Oh, Cherry, stay and start some games,” she said. “You know they are so ignorant, they never even saw a school-feast before.”

“Then, Virginia, I wonder at you for spoiling the last traces of such refreshing simplicity. Introducing juvenile dissipation! Well, it doesn’t seem as if the natural child wanted much training to appreciate plum-cake!”

“No; but if you could make the boys run for halfpence—”

“You think they won’t know a halfpenny when they see one.”

“Do have some tea!” said Lucy Ellesmere, running up to him. “Perhaps you are tired, and Virginia has given thembeautifultea, and really they’re very nice children,considering.”

So Cherry stayed, and advanced the education of the Elderthwaite youth by teaching them to bob for cherries, and other arts of polite society, ending by showing them how to give three cheers for the parson, and three times three for Miss Seyton; and while Virginia was dismissing her flock with final hunches of gingerbread, the parson called him into the house.

“Poor lassie!” he said; “she is fond of the children, and thinks a great deal of doing them good; but it’s little good she can do in the face of what’s coming.”

“How do you mean?” said Cheriton. “Is anything specially amiss?”

“Come in and have a pipe. A glass of wine won’t come amiss after so much tea and gingerbread.”

They went into the dining-room, and the parson poked up the fire into a blaze, for even August afternoons were not too warm at Elderthwaite for a fire to be pleasant, and as he subsided into his arm-chair, he said gravely,—

“Eh, Cherry, we Seytons have been a bad lot—a bad lot—and the end of it’ll be we shall be kicked out of the country.”

“Oh, I hope not!” said Cherry, quite sincerely. “What is the matter?”

“Well, look round about you. Is there a wall that’s mended, or a plantation preserved as it ought to be? Look at the timber—what is there left of it? and what’s felled lies rotting on the ground for want of carting. There’s acres of my brother’s hay never was led till the rain came and spoiled it. Look at the cottages. Queenie gets the windows mended, but she can’t make the roofs water-tight. Look at those woods down by the stream, why, there’s not a head of game in them, and once they were the best preserves in the country!”

“Things are bad, certainly,” said Cherry.

“And yet, Cherry, we’ve loved the place, and never have sold an acre of it, spite of mortgages and everything. Well, my brother’s not long for this world. He has been failing and failing before his time, and though he has led a decent life enough, things have gone more to the bad with years of doing nothing, than with all the scandals of my father’s time.”

“Is Mr Seyton ill?” said Cheriton.

“Not ill altogether; but mark my words, he’ll not last long. Well, at last, he was so hard up that he wrote to Roland—and I know, Cheriton, it was the bitterest pill he ever swallowed—and asked his consent to selling Uplands Farm. What does Roland do but write back and say, with all his heart; so soon as it came into his hands he should sell every acre, house and lands, advowson of living and all, and pay his debts. He hated the place, he said, and would never live there. Sell it to the highest bidder. There were plenty of fortunes made in trade, says he, that would give anything for land and position. So there, the old place’ll go into the hands of some purse-proud stranger. But not the church—he shan’t go restoring and improving that with his money. I’m only fifty-nine, and a good life yet, and I’ll stick in the church till I’m put into the churchyard!”

Cherry smiled, it was impossible to help it; but the parson’s story made him very sad. He knew well enough that it was a righteous retribution, that Roland’s ownership would be a miserable thing for every soul in Elderthwaite, and that the most purse-proud of strangers would do something to mend matters; and yet his heart ached at the downfall, and his quick imagination pictured vividly how completely the poor old parson would put himself in the wrong, and what a disastrous state of things would be sure to ensue.

“I’d try and not leave so much ‘restoration’ for any stranger to do,” he said.

“Eh, what’s the good?” said the parson. “She had better let it alone for the ‘new folks.’”

“Nay,” said Cherry, “you cannot tell if the ‘new folks,’ as you call them, will be inclined for anything of the sort, and all these changes may not take place for years. It doesn’t quite pay to do nothing because life is rather more uncertain to oneself than to other people.”

Cheriton spoke half to himself, and the parson went on with his own train of thought.

“Ay, I’ll stick to the old place, though I thought it a heavy clog round my neck once; and if you knew all the ins and outs of that transaction, you’d say, maybe, I ought to be kicked out of it now.”

“No, I should not,” said Cherry, who knew, perhaps, more of the Elderthwaite traditions than the parson imagined. “Things are as they are, and not as they might have been, and perhaps you could do more than any one else to mend matters.”

The parson looked into the fire, with an odd, half humble, half comical expression, and Cherry said abruptly,—

“Do you think Mr Seyton would sell Uplands to me?”

“To you? What the dickens do you want with it?”

“Why—I don’t think it would be a bad speculation, and I should like, I think, to have it.”

“What? Does your brother make Oakby too hot to hold you?”

“No, indeed. He is all that is kind to me,” said Cherry indignantly. “Every one misconstrues him. But I should like to have a bit of land hereabouts, all the same.”

“Well, you had better ask my brother yourself. He may think himself lucky, for I don’t know who would buy a bit of land like that wedged in between the two places. Ah, here’s Queenie to say good-night. Well, my lassie, are you pleased with your sport?”

“Yes, uncle; and the children were very good.”

Cheriton walked a little way with Virginia, beyond the turning where they parted from Lucy Ellesmere. He found that she was unaware of the facts which the parson had told him, and though somewhat uneasy about her father, very much disposed to dwell on the good accounts of Dick and Harry, and on the general awakening in the place that seemed to demand improvements. Oakby offered a ready-made pattern, and other farmers had been roused by Mr Clements to wish for changes, while some, of course, were ready to oppose them.

“They begin to wish Uncle James would have a curate, Cherry,” she said; “but I don’t think he ever will find one that he could get on with. No one who did not know all the ins and outs of the place could get on either with him or with the people.”

“It would be difficult,” said Cheriton thoughtfully; “yet I do believe that a great deal might be done for parson as well as people.”

“Ah, Cherry,” said Virginia, with a smile, “if you hadn’t got another vocation, Uncle James would letyoudo anything you liked. I wishyouwere a clergyman, and could come and be curate of Elderthwaite; for you are the only person who could fit into all the corners.”

Virginia spoke in jest, as of an impossible vision, but Cheriton answered her with unexpected seriousness.

“It would be hard on Elderthwaite to put up with a failure, and an offering would not be worth much which one had waited to make till one had nothing left worth giving; I’m afraid, too, my angles are less accommodating than you suppose—ask Alvar.” Cherry finished his sentence thoughtlessly, and was recalled by Virginia’s blush; but she said as they parted, “That is a safe reference for you.”

Cheriton laughed; but as he walked homeward he turned and looked back on the tumble-down, picturesque village at his feet. Loud, rough sounds of a noisy quarrel in the little street came to his ears, and some boys passed him manifestly the worse for drink, though they pulled themselves up and tried to avoid his notice. It was not quite a new idea which Virginia had put into shape; but as the steep hill forced him to slacken his steps, he could not see that the strength which had proved insufficient for a more selfish object was likely to be worth consecrating to the service of his neighbours.

Chapter Forty One.A New Ambition.“Like a young courtier of the king’s—like the king’s young courtier.”In the first week of September Jack came home, and Bob also came over from Ashrigg to assist in demolishing the partridges. The empty, lonely house affected the spirits of the two lads in a way neither of them had foreseen; the unoccupied drawing-room, the absence of Nettie’s rapid footsteps, the freedom from their grandmother’s strictures on dress and deportment—all seemed strange and unnatural; and when they were not absolutely out shooting, they hung about disconsolately, and grumbled to Cheriton over every little alteration. Jack, indeed, recovered himself after a day or two, but he looked solemn, and intensified Cherry’s sense that things were amiss, strongly disapproving of his principle of non-interference. He contrived, too, whether innocently or not, to ask questions that exposed Alvar’s ignorance of the names and qualities of places and people, and betrayed delays in giving orders, misconceptions of requirements, and many a lapse from order and method. Moreover, the way in which some of the excellent old dependents showed their loyalty to the oldregime, was by doing nothing without orders. Consequently, a hedge remained unmended till the cows got through into a plantation, and ate the tops off the young trees,—“Mr Lester had given no order on the subject;” and a young horse was thrown down and broke his knees through Mr Lester desiring the wrong person to exercise him. Then, of two candidates for a situation, Alvar often managed to choose the wrong one, and with the sort of irritability that seemed to be growing on him, would not put up with suggestions.“What?” said Jack; “one of those poaching, thieving Greens taken on as stable-boy! And Jos, too—the worst of the lot! Why, he has been in prison twice. A nice companion for all the other lads about the place! I saw little Sykes after him this morning. I should have thought you would have stoppedthat, Cherry, at least!”“I did not know of it, Jack, till too late,” said Cherry quietly.“Well,” said Jack, driving his hands into his pockets and frowning fiercely, “I don’t think it’s right to let such things pass without a protest. Something will happen that cannot be undone. I don’t approve of systems by which people’s welfare is thrown into the hands of a few; but if they are—if you are those few, it’s—it’s more criminal than many things of which the law takes cognisance, to neglect their interest. It’s destroying the last relics of reality, and bringing the whole social edifice to destruction.”“What I think,” said Bob, “is that if a man’s a gentleman, and has been accustomed to see things in a proper point of view, he acts accordingly.”“A gentleman! A man’s only claim to be a gentleman is that he recognises the whole brotherhood of humanity and his duties as a human being.”“Come, I don’t know,” said Bob, not quite sure where these expressions were leading him.“His duty to his neighbour,” said Cheriton.“You worry yourself fifty times too much about it all,” said Jack, with vehement inconsistency.“Well, perhaps I do,” said Cheriton, glad to turn the conversation. “Come, tell me how you got on in Wales, I have never heard a word of it.”Jack looked at him for a moment, and with something of an effort began to talk about his reading party; but presently he warmed with the topic, and Cherry brightened into animation at the sound of familiar names and former interests; they began to laugh over old jokes, and quarrel over old subjects of disputation; and they were talking fast and eagerly against each other, with a sort of chorus from Bob, when, looking up, Cherry suddenly saw Alvar standing before them with a letter in his hand.He was extremely pale, but his eyes blazed with such intensity of wrath, he came up to them with a gesture expressive of such passion, that they all started up; while he burst out,—“I have to tell you that I am scorned, injured, insulted. My grandfather has died—”“Your grandfather, Don Guzman? Alvar, I am sorry,” exclaimed Cheriton; but Alvar interrupted him,—“Sorrow insults me! I learn that he has made his will, that he leaves all to Manoel, thatI—I, his grandson—am not fit to be his heir, ‘since I am a foreigner and a heretic, and unfit to be the owner of Spanish property.’”“That seems very unjust,” said Cheriton, as Alvar paused for a moment.“Unjust!” cried Alvar. “I am the victim of injustice. Here and there—it is the same thing. I have been silent—yes, yes—but I will not bear it. I will be what I please, myself—there, here, everywhere!”“Nay, Alvar,” said Cherry gently; “hereat least, you have met with no injustice.”“And why?” cried Alvar, with the sudden abandonment of passion which now and then broke through his composure. “Youare doubtless too honourable to plot and scheme; but your thoughts and your wishes, are they not the same—the same as this most false and unnatural traitor, who has stolen from me my inheritance and my grandfather’s love? What do you wish, my brothers—wish in your hearts—would happen to the intruder, the stranger, who takes your lands from you? Would you not see me dead at your feet?”“We never wished you were dead,” said Bob indignantly, as Alvar walked about the room, threw out his hands with vehement gestures, stamped his foot, and gave way to a violence of expression that would have seemed ludicrous to his brothers but for the fury of passion, which evidently grew with every moment, as if the injury of years was finding vent. All the strong temper of his father seemed roused and expressed with a rush of vindictive passion, his southern blood and training depriving him at once of self-consciousness and self-control.“What matter what you wish? Am I not condemned to a life which I abhor, to a place that is hateful to me, despised by one whose feet I would kiss, disliked by you all, insulted by those who should be my slaves? What is this country to me, or I to it? I care not for your laws, your magistrates, your people—who hate me, who would shoot me if they dared. And this—this—has lost me the place where I was as good as others. I lose my home for this—for you who stand together and wonder at me. I curse that villain who has robbed me; I curse the fate that has made me doubly an outlaw; most of all, I curse my father, whose neglect—”“Silence!” said Cheriton; “you do not speak such words in our presence.”The flood of Alvar’s words, half Spanish, half English, had fairly silenced the three brothers with amazement. Now he faced round furiously on Cheriton,—“I will speak—”“You willnot,” said Cheriton, grasping his hand, and looking full in his face. “You forget yourself, Alvar. Don’t say what we could never forget or forgive.”But Alvar flung him off with a violence and scorn that roused the two lads to fury, and made Cheriton’s own blood tingle as Jack sprang forward,—“I won’t have that,” he said, in a tone as low as Alvar’s was high, but to the full as threatening.“I’ll give you a licking if you touch my brother,” shouted Bob, with a rough, schoolboy enforcement of the threat.“Hush!” said Cheriton; “for God’s sake, stop—all of you! We are not boys now, to threaten each other. Stop, while there is time. Stand back, I say, Jack, and be silent!”The whole thing had passed in half a minute; Alvar’s own furious gesture had sobered him, and he threw himself into a seat; while Cheriton’s steady voice and look controlled the two lads, and gave Jack time to recollect himself.There was a moment’s silence. Then Alvar stood up, bowed haughtily, like a duellist after the encounter, and walked out of the room. Jack, after a minute, broke into an odd, harsh laugh, and, pushing open the window, leant out of it.“One wants air. That was a critical moment,” he said.“I’ll not stand that sort of thing; I’ll go back to Ashrigg; I’ll not come here again,” said Bob. “What did you stop us for, Cherry, when we were going to show him a piece of our minds?”“I did not think anybody’s mind was fit to be exhibited,” said Cheriton. “Don’t begin to quarrel with me too, Bob; and do not go away to-day on any account.”“Well!” said Bob; “if you like such a hollow peace—but I’ll not shoot his partridges, nor ride his horses; I’ll go for a walk, and I shan’t come in to dinner!”Bob flung out of the room, banging the door behind him.At first the other two hardly spoke a word to each other. Cherry sat down a little apart, and mechanically took up a newspaper. Jack sat in the window, and as his heat subsided, thought over the scene that had passed. He felt that it was more than a foolish outburst of violent temper; it had been a revelation to themselves and to each other of a state of feeling that it seemed to him impossible any longer to ignore. He knew that Cheriton’s presence of mind had saved them from words and actions that might have parted them for ever; but what was the use of pretending to get on with Alvar after such a deadly breach? Better leave him to do the best he could in his own way, and go theirs. And Jack’s thoughts turned to his own way in the future that he hoped for, success and congenial labour, and sweet love to brighten it. After all, a man’s early home was not everything to him. And then he looked towards Cheriton, who had dropped his newspaper, and sat looking dreamily before him, with a sad look of disappointment on his face.“What are you going to do, Cherry?” said Jack.“Do? Nothing. What can I do?” said Cherry. Then he added, “We must not make too much of what passed to-day; let us all try and forget it. Alvar has been ill-treated, and we are none of us so gentle as not to know what a little additional Spanish fire might make of us.”“To be rough with you!” said Jack.“Oh, that was accidental. It is the terrible resentment. There, I did not mean to speak of it. Let us get out into the air, and shake it off.”“It is too wet and cold for you,” said Jack, looking out.Cheriton flushed at the little check with an impatience that showed how hardly the scene had borne on him.“Nonsense; don’t be fanciful,” he said. “It won’t hurt me—what if it did?”Jack followed him in silence, and as they walked Cherry talked resolutely of other matters, though with long pauses of silence between.In the meantime Alvar endured an agony of self-disgust. He could not forgive himself for his loss of dignity, nor his brothers for having witnessed it. Cheriton had conquered him, and the thought rankled so as to obscure even the love he bore him; while all the bitter and vindictive feelings, never recognised as sinful, took possession of him, and held undisputed sway. He was enough of an Englishman to reject his first impulse of rushing back to Seville and calling out his cousin and fighting him. After all, the bitterness was here; and at dinner-time he appeared silent and sullen in manner. Cheriton looked ill and tired, and could hardly eat; but Alvar offered no remark on it, and the younger boys (for Bob did come back) were shy and embarrassed. Alvar answered when Cheriton addressed him with a sort of stiff politeness, and by the next morning had resumed a more ordinary demeanour; but when Bob again suggested going back to Ashrigg, Cheriton and Jack agreed that he had better do so, only charging him not to let Nettie or their grandmother guess at any quarrel.“And, Cherry,” Jack said, “suppose we come somewhere together for a little while? A little sea air would do you good—and you could help me with my reading. No one could think it strange, and I am sure you want rest and quiet.”“No, Jack,” said Cherry. “It is very good of you, my boy, but—I’ll try a little longer. Alvar and I could not come together again if I went away now, and I’ll not give up hoping that after all things may right themselves. Think of all he has been to me. But you must do as you think best yourself.”“I shall not leave you here without me,” said Jack; “but I don’t see the use of staying.”“Well—I shall stay,” said Cherry.Alvar never alluded again to his letter from Spain; and the others were afraid to start the subject. He was very polite to them, and together they formed engagements, went over to Ashrigg, and led their lives in the usual manner; but there was no real approach, and Cheriton missed Alvar’s caressing tenderness, and the tact that had always been exercised on his behalf.He did not, with all this worry, find as much strength to face the coming winter as he had hoped for, and while he thought that going back to London would put an end to the present discomfort, he believed that he would do no good there; and would not a parting from Alvar now be a real separation?Alvar, meanwhile, took a fit of attending to business. He spent much time about the place, insisted on being consulted on all subjects, and still more on being instantly obeyed; King Log had vanished, and a very peremptory king Stork appeared in his place. The gentle, courteous, indifferent Alvar seemed possessed with a captious and resentful spirit that brooked no opposition. No one had ever dared to disobey Mr Lester’s orders; but then they had been given with a due regard to possibility, and often after consultation with those by whom they were to be obeyed.Alvar now proved himself to be equally determined; but he was often ignorant of what was reasonable and of what was not, and though the sturdy north-countrymen had given in against their inclination to their superior, they thought it very hard to be driven against their judgment when they were right and “t’ strange squire” was wrong, or at least innovating. Now Alvar did know something about horses, and his views of stable management differed somewhat from those prevailing at Oakby, and being based on the experience of a different climate and different conditions, were not always applicable there, and could only of course be carried, as it were, at the sword’s point.Full of this new and intense desire to feel himself master, and to prove himself so, Alvar not unnaturally concentrated his efforts on the one subject where he had something to say. Hecouldnot lay down the law about turnips and wheat; but he did think that he knew best how to treat the injuries the young horse had received by his own mistaken order.Perhaps he did; but so did not think old Bill Fisher, who had been about the stables ever since he was twelve, and who, though past much active work, still considered himself an authority from which there was no appeal.Alvar visited the horse, and desired a certain remedy to be applied to a sprained shoulder, taking some trouble to explain how it was to be made.Old Bill listened in an evil silence, and instead of saying that so far as he knew one of the ingredients was unattainable at Oakby, or giving his master an alternative, said nothing at all in reply to Alvar’s imperious—“Remember, this must be done at once;” but happening soon after to encounter Cheriton, requested him to visit the horse, and desired his opinion of the proper treatment.Cheriton, ignorant of what had passed, naturally quoted the approved remedy at Oakby, adding,—“Why, Bill, I should have thought you would have known that for yourself.”“Ay, no one ever heard tell of no other,” muttered the old man, proceeding to apply it with some grumbling about strangers, which Cheriton afterwards bitterly rued having turned a deaf ear to.The next morning Alvar went to see if his plans had been carried out, and discovering how his orders had been disregarded, turned round, and said sternly,—“How have you dared to disobey me?”“Eh, sir,” said Bill, rather appalled at his master’s face, “this stuffs cured our horses these fifty year.”“You have disobeyed me,” said Alvar, “and I will not suffer it. I dismiss you from my service—you may go. I will not forgive you.”Old Bill lifted up his bent figure, and stared at his master in utter amaze.“I served your honour’s grandfather—me and mine,” he said.“You cannot obey me. What are your wages? I will pay them—you may go.” Neither the old man himself, nor the helpers who had begun to gather round, belonged to a race of violent words, or indeed of violent deeds; but there was more hate in the faces that were turned on Alvar than would have winged many an Irish bullet. All were silent, till a little brother of Cherry’s friends, the Flemings, called out, saucily enough,—“’Twas Mr Cherry’s orders.”As if stung beyond endurance, Alvar turned, caught the boy by the shoulder, and raising his cane, struck him once, twice, several times, with a violence of which he himself was hardly conscious.This was the scene that met Cheriton’s startled eyes as he came up to the stable to inquire for the sick horse.He uttered a loud exclamation of astonishment and dismay, and put his hand on Alvar’s shoulder.Alvar, with a final blow, threw the lad away from him, and faced round on Cheriton, drew himself up, and folded his arms, as he said, regardless of the spectators,—“I will not have it that you interfere with me, to alter my orders, or to stop me in what I do. You shall not do it.”“I have never interfered with you!” cried Cheriton fiercely. “Assuredly I never will. I—I—” He checked himself with a strong effort, and said, very low, “We are forgetting ourselves by disputing here. If you have anything to say to me, it can be said at a better moment.”Then, without trusting himself with a word or look, he walked slowly away.Alvar said emphatically,—“Remember, I have said what I desire,” and turned off in another direction; while those left behind held such an “indignation meeting” as Oakby had never seen.

“Like a young courtier of the king’s—like the king’s young courtier.”

“Like a young courtier of the king’s—like the king’s young courtier.”

In the first week of September Jack came home, and Bob also came over from Ashrigg to assist in demolishing the partridges. The empty, lonely house affected the spirits of the two lads in a way neither of them had foreseen; the unoccupied drawing-room, the absence of Nettie’s rapid footsteps, the freedom from their grandmother’s strictures on dress and deportment—all seemed strange and unnatural; and when they were not absolutely out shooting, they hung about disconsolately, and grumbled to Cheriton over every little alteration. Jack, indeed, recovered himself after a day or two, but he looked solemn, and intensified Cherry’s sense that things were amiss, strongly disapproving of his principle of non-interference. He contrived, too, whether innocently or not, to ask questions that exposed Alvar’s ignorance of the names and qualities of places and people, and betrayed delays in giving orders, misconceptions of requirements, and many a lapse from order and method. Moreover, the way in which some of the excellent old dependents showed their loyalty to the oldregime, was by doing nothing without orders. Consequently, a hedge remained unmended till the cows got through into a plantation, and ate the tops off the young trees,—“Mr Lester had given no order on the subject;” and a young horse was thrown down and broke his knees through Mr Lester desiring the wrong person to exercise him. Then, of two candidates for a situation, Alvar often managed to choose the wrong one, and with the sort of irritability that seemed to be growing on him, would not put up with suggestions.

“What?” said Jack; “one of those poaching, thieving Greens taken on as stable-boy! And Jos, too—the worst of the lot! Why, he has been in prison twice. A nice companion for all the other lads about the place! I saw little Sykes after him this morning. I should have thought you would have stoppedthat, Cherry, at least!”

“I did not know of it, Jack, till too late,” said Cherry quietly.

“Well,” said Jack, driving his hands into his pockets and frowning fiercely, “I don’t think it’s right to let such things pass without a protest. Something will happen that cannot be undone. I don’t approve of systems by which people’s welfare is thrown into the hands of a few; but if they are—if you are those few, it’s—it’s more criminal than many things of which the law takes cognisance, to neglect their interest. It’s destroying the last relics of reality, and bringing the whole social edifice to destruction.”

“What I think,” said Bob, “is that if a man’s a gentleman, and has been accustomed to see things in a proper point of view, he acts accordingly.”

“A gentleman! A man’s only claim to be a gentleman is that he recognises the whole brotherhood of humanity and his duties as a human being.”

“Come, I don’t know,” said Bob, not quite sure where these expressions were leading him.

“His duty to his neighbour,” said Cheriton.

“You worry yourself fifty times too much about it all,” said Jack, with vehement inconsistency.

“Well, perhaps I do,” said Cheriton, glad to turn the conversation. “Come, tell me how you got on in Wales, I have never heard a word of it.”

Jack looked at him for a moment, and with something of an effort began to talk about his reading party; but presently he warmed with the topic, and Cherry brightened into animation at the sound of familiar names and former interests; they began to laugh over old jokes, and quarrel over old subjects of disputation; and they were talking fast and eagerly against each other, with a sort of chorus from Bob, when, looking up, Cherry suddenly saw Alvar standing before them with a letter in his hand.

He was extremely pale, but his eyes blazed with such intensity of wrath, he came up to them with a gesture expressive of such passion, that they all started up; while he burst out,—

“I have to tell you that I am scorned, injured, insulted. My grandfather has died—”

“Your grandfather, Don Guzman? Alvar, I am sorry,” exclaimed Cheriton; but Alvar interrupted him,—

“Sorrow insults me! I learn that he has made his will, that he leaves all to Manoel, thatI—I, his grandson—am not fit to be his heir, ‘since I am a foreigner and a heretic, and unfit to be the owner of Spanish property.’”

“That seems very unjust,” said Cheriton, as Alvar paused for a moment.

“Unjust!” cried Alvar. “I am the victim of injustice. Here and there—it is the same thing. I have been silent—yes, yes—but I will not bear it. I will be what I please, myself—there, here, everywhere!”

“Nay, Alvar,” said Cherry gently; “hereat least, you have met with no injustice.”

“And why?” cried Alvar, with the sudden abandonment of passion which now and then broke through his composure. “Youare doubtless too honourable to plot and scheme; but your thoughts and your wishes, are they not the same—the same as this most false and unnatural traitor, who has stolen from me my inheritance and my grandfather’s love? What do you wish, my brothers—wish in your hearts—would happen to the intruder, the stranger, who takes your lands from you? Would you not see me dead at your feet?”

“We never wished you were dead,” said Bob indignantly, as Alvar walked about the room, threw out his hands with vehement gestures, stamped his foot, and gave way to a violence of expression that would have seemed ludicrous to his brothers but for the fury of passion, which evidently grew with every moment, as if the injury of years was finding vent. All the strong temper of his father seemed roused and expressed with a rush of vindictive passion, his southern blood and training depriving him at once of self-consciousness and self-control.

“What matter what you wish? Am I not condemned to a life which I abhor, to a place that is hateful to me, despised by one whose feet I would kiss, disliked by you all, insulted by those who should be my slaves? What is this country to me, or I to it? I care not for your laws, your magistrates, your people—who hate me, who would shoot me if they dared. And this—this—has lost me the place where I was as good as others. I lose my home for this—for you who stand together and wonder at me. I curse that villain who has robbed me; I curse the fate that has made me doubly an outlaw; most of all, I curse my father, whose neglect—”

“Silence!” said Cheriton; “you do not speak such words in our presence.”

The flood of Alvar’s words, half Spanish, half English, had fairly silenced the three brothers with amazement. Now he faced round furiously on Cheriton,—

“I will speak—”

“You willnot,” said Cheriton, grasping his hand, and looking full in his face. “You forget yourself, Alvar. Don’t say what we could never forget or forgive.”

But Alvar flung him off with a violence and scorn that roused the two lads to fury, and made Cheriton’s own blood tingle as Jack sprang forward,—

“I won’t have that,” he said, in a tone as low as Alvar’s was high, but to the full as threatening.

“I’ll give you a licking if you touch my brother,” shouted Bob, with a rough, schoolboy enforcement of the threat.

“Hush!” said Cheriton; “for God’s sake, stop—all of you! We are not boys now, to threaten each other. Stop, while there is time. Stand back, I say, Jack, and be silent!”

The whole thing had passed in half a minute; Alvar’s own furious gesture had sobered him, and he threw himself into a seat; while Cheriton’s steady voice and look controlled the two lads, and gave Jack time to recollect himself.

There was a moment’s silence. Then Alvar stood up, bowed haughtily, like a duellist after the encounter, and walked out of the room. Jack, after a minute, broke into an odd, harsh laugh, and, pushing open the window, leant out of it.

“One wants air. That was a critical moment,” he said.

“I’ll not stand that sort of thing; I’ll go back to Ashrigg; I’ll not come here again,” said Bob. “What did you stop us for, Cherry, when we were going to show him a piece of our minds?”

“I did not think anybody’s mind was fit to be exhibited,” said Cheriton. “Don’t begin to quarrel with me too, Bob; and do not go away to-day on any account.”

“Well!” said Bob; “if you like such a hollow peace—but I’ll not shoot his partridges, nor ride his horses; I’ll go for a walk, and I shan’t come in to dinner!”

Bob flung out of the room, banging the door behind him.

At first the other two hardly spoke a word to each other. Cherry sat down a little apart, and mechanically took up a newspaper. Jack sat in the window, and as his heat subsided, thought over the scene that had passed. He felt that it was more than a foolish outburst of violent temper; it had been a revelation to themselves and to each other of a state of feeling that it seemed to him impossible any longer to ignore. He knew that Cheriton’s presence of mind had saved them from words and actions that might have parted them for ever; but what was the use of pretending to get on with Alvar after such a deadly breach? Better leave him to do the best he could in his own way, and go theirs. And Jack’s thoughts turned to his own way in the future that he hoped for, success and congenial labour, and sweet love to brighten it. After all, a man’s early home was not everything to him. And then he looked towards Cheriton, who had dropped his newspaper, and sat looking dreamily before him, with a sad look of disappointment on his face.

“What are you going to do, Cherry?” said Jack.

“Do? Nothing. What can I do?” said Cherry. Then he added, “We must not make too much of what passed to-day; let us all try and forget it. Alvar has been ill-treated, and we are none of us so gentle as not to know what a little additional Spanish fire might make of us.”

“To be rough with you!” said Jack.

“Oh, that was accidental. It is the terrible resentment. There, I did not mean to speak of it. Let us get out into the air, and shake it off.”

“It is too wet and cold for you,” said Jack, looking out.

Cheriton flushed at the little check with an impatience that showed how hardly the scene had borne on him.

“Nonsense; don’t be fanciful,” he said. “It won’t hurt me—what if it did?”

Jack followed him in silence, and as they walked Cherry talked resolutely of other matters, though with long pauses of silence between.

In the meantime Alvar endured an agony of self-disgust. He could not forgive himself for his loss of dignity, nor his brothers for having witnessed it. Cheriton had conquered him, and the thought rankled so as to obscure even the love he bore him; while all the bitter and vindictive feelings, never recognised as sinful, took possession of him, and held undisputed sway. He was enough of an Englishman to reject his first impulse of rushing back to Seville and calling out his cousin and fighting him. After all, the bitterness was here; and at dinner-time he appeared silent and sullen in manner. Cheriton looked ill and tired, and could hardly eat; but Alvar offered no remark on it, and the younger boys (for Bob did come back) were shy and embarrassed. Alvar answered when Cheriton addressed him with a sort of stiff politeness, and by the next morning had resumed a more ordinary demeanour; but when Bob again suggested going back to Ashrigg, Cheriton and Jack agreed that he had better do so, only charging him not to let Nettie or their grandmother guess at any quarrel.

“And, Cherry,” Jack said, “suppose we come somewhere together for a little while? A little sea air would do you good—and you could help me with my reading. No one could think it strange, and I am sure you want rest and quiet.”

“No, Jack,” said Cherry. “It is very good of you, my boy, but—I’ll try a little longer. Alvar and I could not come together again if I went away now, and I’ll not give up hoping that after all things may right themselves. Think of all he has been to me. But you must do as you think best yourself.”

“I shall not leave you here without me,” said Jack; “but I don’t see the use of staying.”

“Well—I shall stay,” said Cherry.

Alvar never alluded again to his letter from Spain; and the others were afraid to start the subject. He was very polite to them, and together they formed engagements, went over to Ashrigg, and led their lives in the usual manner; but there was no real approach, and Cheriton missed Alvar’s caressing tenderness, and the tact that had always been exercised on his behalf.

He did not, with all this worry, find as much strength to face the coming winter as he had hoped for, and while he thought that going back to London would put an end to the present discomfort, he believed that he would do no good there; and would not a parting from Alvar now be a real separation?

Alvar, meanwhile, took a fit of attending to business. He spent much time about the place, insisted on being consulted on all subjects, and still more on being instantly obeyed; King Log had vanished, and a very peremptory king Stork appeared in his place. The gentle, courteous, indifferent Alvar seemed possessed with a captious and resentful spirit that brooked no opposition. No one had ever dared to disobey Mr Lester’s orders; but then they had been given with a due regard to possibility, and often after consultation with those by whom they were to be obeyed.

Alvar now proved himself to be equally determined; but he was often ignorant of what was reasonable and of what was not, and though the sturdy north-countrymen had given in against their inclination to their superior, they thought it very hard to be driven against their judgment when they were right and “t’ strange squire” was wrong, or at least innovating. Now Alvar did know something about horses, and his views of stable management differed somewhat from those prevailing at Oakby, and being based on the experience of a different climate and different conditions, were not always applicable there, and could only of course be carried, as it were, at the sword’s point.

Full of this new and intense desire to feel himself master, and to prove himself so, Alvar not unnaturally concentrated his efforts on the one subject where he had something to say. Hecouldnot lay down the law about turnips and wheat; but he did think that he knew best how to treat the injuries the young horse had received by his own mistaken order.

Perhaps he did; but so did not think old Bill Fisher, who had been about the stables ever since he was twelve, and who, though past much active work, still considered himself an authority from which there was no appeal.

Alvar visited the horse, and desired a certain remedy to be applied to a sprained shoulder, taking some trouble to explain how it was to be made.

Old Bill listened in an evil silence, and instead of saying that so far as he knew one of the ingredients was unattainable at Oakby, or giving his master an alternative, said nothing at all in reply to Alvar’s imperious—“Remember, this must be done at once;” but happening soon after to encounter Cheriton, requested him to visit the horse, and desired his opinion of the proper treatment.

Cheriton, ignorant of what had passed, naturally quoted the approved remedy at Oakby, adding,—

“Why, Bill, I should have thought you would have known that for yourself.”

“Ay, no one ever heard tell of no other,” muttered the old man, proceeding to apply it with some grumbling about strangers, which Cheriton afterwards bitterly rued having turned a deaf ear to.

The next morning Alvar went to see if his plans had been carried out, and discovering how his orders had been disregarded, turned round, and said sternly,—

“How have you dared to disobey me?”

“Eh, sir,” said Bill, rather appalled at his master’s face, “this stuffs cured our horses these fifty year.”

“You have disobeyed me,” said Alvar, “and I will not suffer it. I dismiss you from my service—you may go. I will not forgive you.”

Old Bill lifted up his bent figure, and stared at his master in utter amaze.

“I served your honour’s grandfather—me and mine,” he said.

“You cannot obey me. What are your wages? I will pay them—you may go.” Neither the old man himself, nor the helpers who had begun to gather round, belonged to a race of violent words, or indeed of violent deeds; but there was more hate in the faces that were turned on Alvar than would have winged many an Irish bullet. All were silent, till a little brother of Cherry’s friends, the Flemings, called out, saucily enough,—“’Twas Mr Cherry’s orders.”

As if stung beyond endurance, Alvar turned, caught the boy by the shoulder, and raising his cane, struck him once, twice, several times, with a violence of which he himself was hardly conscious.

This was the scene that met Cheriton’s startled eyes as he came up to the stable to inquire for the sick horse.

He uttered a loud exclamation of astonishment and dismay, and put his hand on Alvar’s shoulder.

Alvar, with a final blow, threw the lad away from him, and faced round on Cheriton, drew himself up, and folded his arms, as he said, regardless of the spectators,—

“I will not have it that you interfere with me, to alter my orders, or to stop me in what I do. You shall not do it.”

“I have never interfered with you!” cried Cheriton fiercely. “Assuredly I never will. I—I—” He checked himself with a strong effort, and said, very low, “We are forgetting ourselves by disputing here. If you have anything to say to me, it can be said at a better moment.”

Then, without trusting himself with a word or look, he walked slowly away.

Alvar said emphatically,—

“Remember, I have said what I desire,” and turned off in another direction; while those left behind held such an “indignation meeting” as Oakby had never seen.

Chapter Forty Two.No Use.“Learn that each duty makes its claimUpon one soul, not each on all;How if God speaks thy brother’s name,Dare thou make answer to the call?”Cheriton had encountered greater sorrows, he had met with more startling disappointments, but never, perhaps, had he endured such a complication of feeling as when he turned away and left Alvar in the stable yard. Perhaps he had never been so angry, for Alvar’s accusation was peculiarly galling, peculiarly hard to forgive, and impossible to forget. And then there was the bitter sense of utter failure—failure of influence, of tact, of affection, and, in so far as he identified himself with the place and the people, there was yet a deeper sense of injury. Every old prejudice, every old distaste, surged up in his mind, and yet he loved Alvar well enough to sharpen the sting. He walked on faster and faster, till want of breath stopped him, and brought on one of the fits of coughing to which overhaste or agitation always rendered him liable. He just managed to get back to the house and into the library, where Jack started up, as he threw himself into a chair.“Cherry, whatisthe matter?”Cherry could not speak for a moment; and Jack, much frightened, exclaimed,—“Whathaveyou been doing? Let me call Alvar.”Cheriton caught his arm as he turned away; and, after a few moments, as he began to get his breath,—“Don’t be frightened. I walked too fast up hill.”“How could you be so foolish?”“Jack, I suppose I must tell you; indeed, I want to find out the rights of it; andIcan ask no questions,” he added, with a sudden hurry in his accent.“What do you mean? What has happened?”The instinct of not irritating Jack enabled Cheriton to control his own indignation, and he said very quietly,—“When I went up to the stable I found Alvar giving little Chris Fleming a tremendous licking. He was very much vexed with me for—I suppose for trying to interpose; but there were so many people about that we could not discuss it there. I wish you would go and ask old Bill what Chris had been doing, then come and tell me. Don’t say anything to Alvar about it.”Jack was keen enough to see that this was not quite an adequate account of the matter. He saw that Cheriton was deeply moved in some way; but he was so unfit for discussion just then, that Jack thought the best course was to hurry off on his errand.He came back in about half-an-hour, looking very serious—too much so to be ready to improve the occasion.“Alvar has given old Bill warning—do you know that?”“No. What was that for?” cried Cheriton, starting up.“He would not speak a word to me, and Chris had gone off to his brother’s; but John Symonds told me what had passed.” Here Jack repeated the story of the ointment, old Bill’s disobedience, and Chris’s declaration that it had been done by Cheriton’s orders.Cheriton’s face cleared a little.“Ah, I understand now. No wonder Alvar was vexed! I can explain that easily. But old Bill, itwasvery unjustifiable; but if Alvar will not overlook it I do believe it will kill him.”“I don’t see what he would have to live on,” said Jack. “You know that bad son spent his savings. But Alvar will let him off if you ask him, I daresay.”“I think you had better do so,” said Cheriton quietly.At this moment Alvar came into the room, and Cheriton addressed him at once.“Alvar, when old Bill asked me about the ointment, I did not know that you had been giving any orders about it. I am very sorry for the mistake.”“It is not of consequence,” said Alvar. “Do not trouble yourself about it.”The words were kind, but the tone was less so; and there was something in Alvar’s manner which made it difficult even for Jack to say,—“I’m afraid old Bill Fisher was provoking. He should have told you that he could not get the stuff; but he is such an old servant, and so faithful. I hope you won’t dismiss him for it. He seems to belong to us altogether.”“I shall not change,” said Alvar.“But it’s an extremely harsh measure, and will make every one about the place detest you,” said Jack, still considering himself to be speaking with praiseworthy moderation.“I will judge myself of the measure.” Then Cherry conquered his pride, and said pleadingly,—“I wish it very much.”“I am sorry to grieve you,” said Alvar, more gently; “but I have determined.”“Well,” said Jack, losing patience, “we spoke as much for your sake as for Bill’s. Every one will consider it harsh dealing and a great shame. You’ll make them hate you.”“I will make them fear me,” said Alvar.“Claptrap and nonsense!” said Jack; but Cheriton interposed,—“Hush, Jack, we have no right to say any more. What must be must.”To do Alvar justice, he was not aware how deeply he was grieving Cheriton; he felt himself to be asserting his rights, and in the worst corner of his heart knew that any relenting would be ascribed to his brother’s influence.It was a very miserable day. After some hours of astonished sulking, the poor old groom put his pride in his pocket, and came humbly “to beg t’ squire’s pardon,” and to entreat Cheriton to intercede for him, recapitulating his years of long service, and his recollections of the old squire’s boyhood, till he nearly broke Cherry’s heart; and induced him to promise to make another attempt at interceding—a promise which was not given without quite as severe a rebuke as Alvar had ever inflicted, for disrespect to his master’s orders.He was closely followed by the eldest of the Fleming brothers, in great indignation.Nowhere but at Oakby, as the young man took care to observe, would Chris have been allowed to take such a situation, in spite of his love of horses, and troublesomeness at home.“Chris was impertinent to Mr Lester,” said Cheriton, hardly knowing what line to take.Young Fleming was very sorry; in that case he was better at home, and he hoped it would not be inconvenient if he took him away at once.“I suppose it might be best,” said Cheriton, thoroughly sympathising with the grievance, and thankful to Fleming for not obliging him to hear or say much about it.“Then, sir, maybe you will tell the squire that such is our wish.”“No; I think you had better write him a note about it.”The two young men looked at each other, and though Cheriton turned his eyes quickly away, he knew well enough that Fleming understood the whole matter.“As you please, sir,” he said; “I wouldn’t wish foryouto be annoyed, Mr Cherry, andsoI’ll keep out of the squire’s way. But Westmoreland men are not black slaves, which no doubt the squire is accustomed to, and accounts for his conduct. It’s plain, sir, to any one that can read the newspapers, that there’s no liberty in foreign parts, where they’re all slaves and papists. Education, sir, teaches us that. And folks do remark that the squire doesn’t keep his church as others do; and Ihaveheard that he means to establish a Popish chapel like the one at Ravenscroft.”“Then you have heard the greatest piece of nonsense that ever was invented. Education might cure you of such notions,” said Cherry. “You must do as you think best for Chris. I am very sorry.”The last words were involuntary, and Cherry hurried away before he was betrayed into any further discussion.Some hours later, as it was growing dusk, he was lying on the window-seat in the library, thinking of how he could plead old Fisher’s cause without giving offence, and coming slowly to the conclusion that his presence there was doing far more harm than good, that he was risking peace with Alvar, and had better give up the straggle, when Alvar himself came into the room, and came up to him.“Are you not well?” he said, rather constrainedly.“Only very tired.”“What have you been doing?” said Alvar, sitting down on the end of the broad-cushioned seat, and looking at him.The words certainly gave an opening; but Cheriton, famous all his life for the most audacious coaxing, could not summon a smile or a joke.“I have been tired all day,” he said, to gain time for reflection.“See,” said Alvar suddenly, “you are unhappy about this old man, whom I have dismissed.”“Yes. I don’t defend him, far from it; but he is old and crochety, and I think you were harsh with him,” said Cherry resolutely.“But it is I who should decide what to do with him,” said Alvar.“Of course. Don’t imagine I dispute it,” said Cheriton, thinking this assertion rather foolish.“You tell me that I should be master; you have told me so often. Well, then, I can be harsh to my servants if I please.”“If you please, remembering that you and they serve the same Master above.”Alvar paused for a moment, then said,—“I do not please, at present. I have grieved you, as when I hurt Buffer. I will not be ruled by any one, but the old man shall live in his cottage, and have his wages; but he shall not come into the stables nor near my horses. Does that please you, my brother?”Cherry had his doubts as to how old Bill might regard or fulfil the conditions, and certainly forbidding a servant to do any work was rather an odd way of punishing him; but he answered gratefully,—“Yes, thank you, you have taken a great weight off my mind.”“You cough,” said Alvar, after a few moments; “the weather is getting too cold for you.”“I thought,” said Cherry, forcing himself to take advantage of the excuse, “that I would go to the sea for a little while before the winter.”“Yes; where shall we go?” said Alvar, in a tone of interest. “Look,” he continued, with wonderful candour; “here we vex each other because we do not think the same. We are angry with each other; but we will come away, and I will take care of you. Then you shall go to London, and I shall come back, and you will see, I will yet be the squire. Where shall we go,mi caro?”It was almost a dismissal, and so Cheriton felt it to be; but after all it was his own decision, and the return of Alvar’s old kindness was very comfortable to him.“I had hardly thought about that,” he said.“Well,” returned Alvar, “we can talk about it. Now, it is cold here in the window; come nearer to the fire and rest till dinner-time.”As Cheriton sat up and looked out at the stormy sunset, he saw little Chris Fleming coming up the path that led round to the back door.“Ah,” said Alvar cheerfully, following his eyes, “I do not wish to punish that boy any more. He has had enough, that little rascal.”Evidently, Alvar’s conscience was quite at ease, and he did not suppose that he had in any way compromised himself. He began to perceive that Alvar had his own ideas as to what would make him really master of Oakby.Just after dinner a note was brought to Alvar.“If you please, sir, this note was found in the passage, just inside the back door.”Alvar took the letter, lit one of the candles on the chimney-piece, and proceeded to read it.“Moor End Farm,September 29th.“Honoured Sir,—After the events of this morning, I consider it for the best that my brother Christopher should leave your service at once. I have no objection to forfeit any wages due to him, as I do not feel able to give the usual month’s notice after what has passed.“I remain, honoured sir,—“Your obedient servant,—“Edward Fleming.”Alvar coloured deeply as he read. “What is this?” he exclaimed. “May I not punish even a little boy, who insults me? Look!” and he threw the letter to his brother.“It is very awkward,” said Cheriton.“I think it is insolent,” said Alvar.“I think there is a great effort to avoid any want of respect in the letter.”“To take the boy away because he was punished!”“Well, Alvar, if you or I were in Ned Fleming’s place, we shouldn’t have liked it.”“Did you know that this letter was coming?”“Yes, I did.”“It is perhaps as you have advised Fleming?”“No. I gave him no advice; but I knew he would not let the boy stay here.”“Do you then approve?” said Alvar, in a curious sort of voice.“From their point of view—yes. You are right in saying that you must make yourself felt as the master; but there is no good in enforcing your authority in a way that is not customary, to say the least of it. In England we can’t lay hands on other people; and theymighthave summoned you for an assault, you know.”“What! before a judge?”“Before a magistrate.”“I?” exclaimed Alvar, in a tone of such amazement that Cheriton nearly laughed. “Who would listen to that little boy against me, who am a gentleman and his master?”“The little boy is your equal in the eyes of the law, and might meet with more attention just because youarehis master. Not that I mean to say it would not be regarded as very annoying to convict you,” said Cheriton, thinking of the feelings of Sir John Hubbard on such an emergency.“I will myself be a magistrate,” said Alvar.“That you never will,” said Cherry, losing patience, “while these stories get about, for no one would trust you.”“Can I not be a magistrate if I choose?”“Not unless the Lord Lieutenant gives you a commission, of course.”“I think there is power for every one but me!” said Alvar. “I may not punish that little—what is your word?—vulgar, common boy. I do not like so much law. Gentlemen should do as they wish. You talk so much about my being landlord and squire. What is the use of it if I may not do as I will? Well, I will send away Fleming from his farm—that is mine at least.”“I am afraid he has a twenty-one years lease in it,” said Cheriton, rather wickedly, and Alvar, fancying himself laughed at, suddenly put the letter in his pocket and turned away, as the gong sounded for dinner. He disappeared afterwards when they went back to the library, and Cheriton had the forbearance to abstain from giving Jack the benefit of Alvar’s peculiar views on the British constitution, though they could not fail to speak of the events of the morning, and Jack said,—“Well, at least he has heard reason about old Bill, and that was of most consequence; but I should think you would be glad to be back in London, and out of the way of it all.”“I am not quite sure about London, Jack,” said Cheriton, after a moment.“What, don’t you feel well enough?”“I don’t think I shall ever be good for much there; and besides—I think I should like to talk to you a little, Jack, if you’ll listen.”“Well?”“You know how I always looked forward to settling in London, and how Uncle Cheriton wished it, and meant to help me on. In fact I never thought of anything else.”“Yes, I know,” said Jack, briefly.“There was a time when I desired that sort of success intensely, and when things were very much changed for me, I thought it would still—be satisfactory.”“Yes?”“But of course, as you know, I soon perceived that the hard continuous work, necessary for anything like success, was quite out of the question for me—I feel sure that it always will be; and, moreover, I never felt well in London. I was much better here when I first came back.”Poor Jack looked as if the disappointment were much fresher and harder to him than to the speaker himself.“You must know,” Cheriton continued, “that a doctor once told me at Oxford that the damp soft air there was very bad for a native of such a place as this, and I see now that the last few months there began the mischief; and London has something the same effect on me. That seems to settle the question.”“I suppose so,” said Jack, so disconsolately, that Cherry half smiled, as he resumed,—“Otherwise the pleasant idle life there might have its charms. Though, after all, Jack, I shouldn’t like it as things are now. When I expected to be a London man, I expected, as you know—a good deal else. And afterwards even, while all home ties here were safe and sound, one would not get selfish and aimless. But now I couldn’t be happy, I think, without a home-world that really belonged to me.”“And so home is being spoilt for you too?” said Jack.“I see,” returned Cheriton, “that it won’t do. If Alvar is left to himself here, he will fight his way now, I think, to some means of managing proper to himself.”“Or improper,” said Jack.“Well, to be honest, I am afraid he will make a great many mistakes, and do a great deal of mischief. But if I were here—I mean if this place were still to be home to me so that I still felt—as I should feel—a personal concern in all the old interests, Alvar would quarrel with me. I might prevent individual evils; but in the long run I should do harm. He thought at first that I should guide him. Perhaps I thought so too; but it is a false and impossible relation, and it must be put a stop to.”“But, Cherry, I think father looked to you to keep things straight.”“Yes,” said Cherry, “but not to make them more crooked, by such disputes as we have had lately.”Cheriton spoke resolutely, though with a quiver of the lip, and Jack could guess well enough at the pain the resolve was costing him. “Alvar is quite changed to you!” he said, savagely.“Yes, because he himself is changing. He is different in many ways, and conscious of all sorts of difficulties.”“But what do you mean to do?”“Oh, nothing desperate, nothing till the winter is over. Probably I shall go to the sea with Alvar, as he suggests. Then if I am pretty well, I shall go and see granny. I have a notion that I should be better here in the cold weather than in London. I want to try.”“Had you all this in your mind when you settled to buy Uplands?” said Jack suddenly. “Yes—in part I had.”“But, you are not thinking of livingthere! What are you driving at, Cherry, I can’t understand you?”“Well, Jack,” said Cherry, slowly and with rising colour, “I will tell you, but I wanted to show you the process. And you must remember that it is only an idea known to no one, and very probably may prove impossible, perhaps undesirable.”“Tell me,” said Jack, more gently. Any scheme for the future was a relief from listening to the laying aside of hopes which he knew had been so much a part of Cheriton’s being.“Well,” said Cherry again, “I’m afraid my motives are rather poor ones. You see, after Oakby there’s no place for me like Elderthwaite. I want the feeling, as I say, of a place and neighbours of my own. I suppose I am used to playing first fiddle, and to looking after other people’s concerns. Granny always said I was a gossip. Then I’m narrow-minded, perhaps I have had too much taken out of me to think of starting fresh. And you know the old parson will always put up with me, and so will Elderthwaite people. And I want an object in life—if you knew how dreary it is to be without one! If they had a strange curate he would set them all by the ears, and the parson would make a fool of himself! So if Mr Ellesmere thinks the bishop would consent, and approves, and if I am fit for anything, I thought that I would try.”Jack was silent for some moments. He understood Cheriton well enough to “follow the process,” but it affected him strongly, and at last he said, gravely,—“I am afraid all the vexation here has put this into your head.”“Partly,” said Cherry, simply, “this actual thing. I can’t say anything of other motives of course, Jack. I know that it looks like, that in fact itisturning to this—which ought to be the offering of all one’s best—when other careers have failed me. And I know that those who sympathise the least will be the most inclined to say so. But it is not quite so. Ihavealways wished to be of use, of service, here especially. I thought I saw how. I have the same wish still, and this seems to offer me a way. It is but a gathering up of the fragments, but I trust He will accept.”Jack’s view rather was that the plan was not good enough for his brother, than that his brother was not good enough for it.“You were always good enough for anything, if that is what you mean,” he said. “But I do understand, Cherry, about wanting an object; only—only it’s such an odd one.”“I tell you,” said Cherry, brightly, for the disclosure was a great relief to him, “that that’s the very point. I don’t think I get on amiss with any one, even with theSevillanos, but down at the bottom of my heart, Jack, I’m not far removed—we none of us are—from ‘There’s a stranger, ’eave ’alf a brick at him,’ and when I think of any direct dealing with people, anything like clerical work, why, except to my own kith and kin, I should have nothing to say. The self-denial of missionaries seems to me incredible. I could not do as Bob means to do, I think, if health and strength were to be the reward of it. It’s a very unworthy weakness, I know, but I can’t help it.”“You would get on very well anywhere,” said Jack; “that is all nonsense. I don’t believe Elderthwaite would agree with you, and you could overwork yourself just as well there as anywhere else.”“Well, as to the place agreeing with me, that remains to be proved. It’s a very small church, and a small place; and I hope I might be able to do the little they are fit for—at present. But I know it may prove to be out of the question.”Jack was silent. He could not bear to vex Cherry by opposing a scheme which seemed to offer him some pleasure in the midst of his annoyances, and if his brother had proposed to take orders with more ordinary expectations, it would have been quite in accordance with the Oakby code of what was fitting. But there was something in the consecration of what Cheriton evidently viewed as a probably short life and failing powers to an object so unselfish, and yet, as it seemed to Jack, so commonplace, it was so like Cherry, and yet showed such a conquest of himself—there was such humility in the acknowledgment that he was only just fit for the sort of imperfect work that offered itself, and yet such a complete sense that no one else could manage that particular bit of work so well—it was, as Jack said, “so odd,” that it thrilled him through and through, and he was glad that Alvar’s entrance saved him from a reply.

“Learn that each duty makes its claimUpon one soul, not each on all;How if God speaks thy brother’s name,Dare thou make answer to the call?”

“Learn that each duty makes its claimUpon one soul, not each on all;How if God speaks thy brother’s name,Dare thou make answer to the call?”

Cheriton had encountered greater sorrows, he had met with more startling disappointments, but never, perhaps, had he endured such a complication of feeling as when he turned away and left Alvar in the stable yard. Perhaps he had never been so angry, for Alvar’s accusation was peculiarly galling, peculiarly hard to forgive, and impossible to forget. And then there was the bitter sense of utter failure—failure of influence, of tact, of affection, and, in so far as he identified himself with the place and the people, there was yet a deeper sense of injury. Every old prejudice, every old distaste, surged up in his mind, and yet he loved Alvar well enough to sharpen the sting. He walked on faster and faster, till want of breath stopped him, and brought on one of the fits of coughing to which overhaste or agitation always rendered him liable. He just managed to get back to the house and into the library, where Jack started up, as he threw himself into a chair.

“Cherry, whatisthe matter?”

Cherry could not speak for a moment; and Jack, much frightened, exclaimed,—

“Whathaveyou been doing? Let me call Alvar.”

Cheriton caught his arm as he turned away; and, after a few moments, as he began to get his breath,—

“Don’t be frightened. I walked too fast up hill.”

“How could you be so foolish?”

“Jack, I suppose I must tell you; indeed, I want to find out the rights of it; andIcan ask no questions,” he added, with a sudden hurry in his accent.

“What do you mean? What has happened?”

The instinct of not irritating Jack enabled Cheriton to control his own indignation, and he said very quietly,—

“When I went up to the stable I found Alvar giving little Chris Fleming a tremendous licking. He was very much vexed with me for—I suppose for trying to interpose; but there were so many people about that we could not discuss it there. I wish you would go and ask old Bill what Chris had been doing, then come and tell me. Don’t say anything to Alvar about it.”

Jack was keen enough to see that this was not quite an adequate account of the matter. He saw that Cheriton was deeply moved in some way; but he was so unfit for discussion just then, that Jack thought the best course was to hurry off on his errand.

He came back in about half-an-hour, looking very serious—too much so to be ready to improve the occasion.

“Alvar has given old Bill warning—do you know that?”

“No. What was that for?” cried Cheriton, starting up.

“He would not speak a word to me, and Chris had gone off to his brother’s; but John Symonds told me what had passed.” Here Jack repeated the story of the ointment, old Bill’s disobedience, and Chris’s declaration that it had been done by Cheriton’s orders.

Cheriton’s face cleared a little.

“Ah, I understand now. No wonder Alvar was vexed! I can explain that easily. But old Bill, itwasvery unjustifiable; but if Alvar will not overlook it I do believe it will kill him.”

“I don’t see what he would have to live on,” said Jack. “You know that bad son spent his savings. But Alvar will let him off if you ask him, I daresay.”

“I think you had better do so,” said Cheriton quietly.

At this moment Alvar came into the room, and Cheriton addressed him at once.

“Alvar, when old Bill asked me about the ointment, I did not know that you had been giving any orders about it. I am very sorry for the mistake.”

“It is not of consequence,” said Alvar. “Do not trouble yourself about it.”

The words were kind, but the tone was less so; and there was something in Alvar’s manner which made it difficult even for Jack to say,—“I’m afraid old Bill Fisher was provoking. He should have told you that he could not get the stuff; but he is such an old servant, and so faithful. I hope you won’t dismiss him for it. He seems to belong to us altogether.”

“I shall not change,” said Alvar.

“But it’s an extremely harsh measure, and will make every one about the place detest you,” said Jack, still considering himself to be speaking with praiseworthy moderation.

“I will judge myself of the measure.” Then Cherry conquered his pride, and said pleadingly,—

“I wish it very much.”

“I am sorry to grieve you,” said Alvar, more gently; “but I have determined.”

“Well,” said Jack, losing patience, “we spoke as much for your sake as for Bill’s. Every one will consider it harsh dealing and a great shame. You’ll make them hate you.”

“I will make them fear me,” said Alvar.

“Claptrap and nonsense!” said Jack; but Cheriton interposed,—

“Hush, Jack, we have no right to say any more. What must be must.”

To do Alvar justice, he was not aware how deeply he was grieving Cheriton; he felt himself to be asserting his rights, and in the worst corner of his heart knew that any relenting would be ascribed to his brother’s influence.

It was a very miserable day. After some hours of astonished sulking, the poor old groom put his pride in his pocket, and came humbly “to beg t’ squire’s pardon,” and to entreat Cheriton to intercede for him, recapitulating his years of long service, and his recollections of the old squire’s boyhood, till he nearly broke Cherry’s heart; and induced him to promise to make another attempt at interceding—a promise which was not given without quite as severe a rebuke as Alvar had ever inflicted, for disrespect to his master’s orders.

He was closely followed by the eldest of the Fleming brothers, in great indignation.

Nowhere but at Oakby, as the young man took care to observe, would Chris have been allowed to take such a situation, in spite of his love of horses, and troublesomeness at home.

“Chris was impertinent to Mr Lester,” said Cheriton, hardly knowing what line to take.

Young Fleming was very sorry; in that case he was better at home, and he hoped it would not be inconvenient if he took him away at once.

“I suppose it might be best,” said Cheriton, thoroughly sympathising with the grievance, and thankful to Fleming for not obliging him to hear or say much about it.

“Then, sir, maybe you will tell the squire that such is our wish.”

“No; I think you had better write him a note about it.”

The two young men looked at each other, and though Cheriton turned his eyes quickly away, he knew well enough that Fleming understood the whole matter.

“As you please, sir,” he said; “I wouldn’t wish foryouto be annoyed, Mr Cherry, andsoI’ll keep out of the squire’s way. But Westmoreland men are not black slaves, which no doubt the squire is accustomed to, and accounts for his conduct. It’s plain, sir, to any one that can read the newspapers, that there’s no liberty in foreign parts, where they’re all slaves and papists. Education, sir, teaches us that. And folks do remark that the squire doesn’t keep his church as others do; and Ihaveheard that he means to establish a Popish chapel like the one at Ravenscroft.”

“Then you have heard the greatest piece of nonsense that ever was invented. Education might cure you of such notions,” said Cherry. “You must do as you think best for Chris. I am very sorry.”

The last words were involuntary, and Cherry hurried away before he was betrayed into any further discussion.

Some hours later, as it was growing dusk, he was lying on the window-seat in the library, thinking of how he could plead old Fisher’s cause without giving offence, and coming slowly to the conclusion that his presence there was doing far more harm than good, that he was risking peace with Alvar, and had better give up the straggle, when Alvar himself came into the room, and came up to him.

“Are you not well?” he said, rather constrainedly.

“Only very tired.”

“What have you been doing?” said Alvar, sitting down on the end of the broad-cushioned seat, and looking at him.

The words certainly gave an opening; but Cheriton, famous all his life for the most audacious coaxing, could not summon a smile or a joke.

“I have been tired all day,” he said, to gain time for reflection.

“See,” said Alvar suddenly, “you are unhappy about this old man, whom I have dismissed.”

“Yes. I don’t defend him, far from it; but he is old and crochety, and I think you were harsh with him,” said Cherry resolutely.

“But it is I who should decide what to do with him,” said Alvar.

“Of course. Don’t imagine I dispute it,” said Cheriton, thinking this assertion rather foolish.

“You tell me that I should be master; you have told me so often. Well, then, I can be harsh to my servants if I please.”

“If you please, remembering that you and they serve the same Master above.”

Alvar paused for a moment, then said,—

“I do not please, at present. I have grieved you, as when I hurt Buffer. I will not be ruled by any one, but the old man shall live in his cottage, and have his wages; but he shall not come into the stables nor near my horses. Does that please you, my brother?”

Cherry had his doubts as to how old Bill might regard or fulfil the conditions, and certainly forbidding a servant to do any work was rather an odd way of punishing him; but he answered gratefully,—

“Yes, thank you, you have taken a great weight off my mind.”

“You cough,” said Alvar, after a few moments; “the weather is getting too cold for you.”

“I thought,” said Cherry, forcing himself to take advantage of the excuse, “that I would go to the sea for a little while before the winter.”

“Yes; where shall we go?” said Alvar, in a tone of interest. “Look,” he continued, with wonderful candour; “here we vex each other because we do not think the same. We are angry with each other; but we will come away, and I will take care of you. Then you shall go to London, and I shall come back, and you will see, I will yet be the squire. Where shall we go,mi caro?”

It was almost a dismissal, and so Cheriton felt it to be; but after all it was his own decision, and the return of Alvar’s old kindness was very comfortable to him.

“I had hardly thought about that,” he said.

“Well,” returned Alvar, “we can talk about it. Now, it is cold here in the window; come nearer to the fire and rest till dinner-time.”

As Cheriton sat up and looked out at the stormy sunset, he saw little Chris Fleming coming up the path that led round to the back door.

“Ah,” said Alvar cheerfully, following his eyes, “I do not wish to punish that boy any more. He has had enough, that little rascal.”

Evidently, Alvar’s conscience was quite at ease, and he did not suppose that he had in any way compromised himself. He began to perceive that Alvar had his own ideas as to what would make him really master of Oakby.

Just after dinner a note was brought to Alvar.

“If you please, sir, this note was found in the passage, just inside the back door.”

Alvar took the letter, lit one of the candles on the chimney-piece, and proceeded to read it.

“Moor End Farm,September 29th.“Honoured Sir,—After the events of this morning, I consider it for the best that my brother Christopher should leave your service at once. I have no objection to forfeit any wages due to him, as I do not feel able to give the usual month’s notice after what has passed.“I remain, honoured sir,—“Your obedient servant,—“Edward Fleming.”

“Moor End Farm,September 29th.“Honoured Sir,—After the events of this morning, I consider it for the best that my brother Christopher should leave your service at once. I have no objection to forfeit any wages due to him, as I do not feel able to give the usual month’s notice after what has passed.“I remain, honoured sir,—“Your obedient servant,—“Edward Fleming.”

Alvar coloured deeply as he read. “What is this?” he exclaimed. “May I not punish even a little boy, who insults me? Look!” and he threw the letter to his brother.

“It is very awkward,” said Cheriton.

“I think it is insolent,” said Alvar.

“I think there is a great effort to avoid any want of respect in the letter.”

“To take the boy away because he was punished!”

“Well, Alvar, if you or I were in Ned Fleming’s place, we shouldn’t have liked it.”

“Did you know that this letter was coming?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It is perhaps as you have advised Fleming?”

“No. I gave him no advice; but I knew he would not let the boy stay here.”

“Do you then approve?” said Alvar, in a curious sort of voice.

“From their point of view—yes. You are right in saying that you must make yourself felt as the master; but there is no good in enforcing your authority in a way that is not customary, to say the least of it. In England we can’t lay hands on other people; and theymighthave summoned you for an assault, you know.”

“What! before a judge?”

“Before a magistrate.”

“I?” exclaimed Alvar, in a tone of such amazement that Cheriton nearly laughed. “Who would listen to that little boy against me, who am a gentleman and his master?”

“The little boy is your equal in the eyes of the law, and might meet with more attention just because youarehis master. Not that I mean to say it would not be regarded as very annoying to convict you,” said Cheriton, thinking of the feelings of Sir John Hubbard on such an emergency.

“I will myself be a magistrate,” said Alvar.

“That you never will,” said Cherry, losing patience, “while these stories get about, for no one would trust you.”

“Can I not be a magistrate if I choose?”

“Not unless the Lord Lieutenant gives you a commission, of course.”

“I think there is power for every one but me!” said Alvar. “I may not punish that little—what is your word?—vulgar, common boy. I do not like so much law. Gentlemen should do as they wish. You talk so much about my being landlord and squire. What is the use of it if I may not do as I will? Well, I will send away Fleming from his farm—that is mine at least.”

“I am afraid he has a twenty-one years lease in it,” said Cheriton, rather wickedly, and Alvar, fancying himself laughed at, suddenly put the letter in his pocket and turned away, as the gong sounded for dinner. He disappeared afterwards when they went back to the library, and Cheriton had the forbearance to abstain from giving Jack the benefit of Alvar’s peculiar views on the British constitution, though they could not fail to speak of the events of the morning, and Jack said,—

“Well, at least he has heard reason about old Bill, and that was of most consequence; but I should think you would be glad to be back in London, and out of the way of it all.”

“I am not quite sure about London, Jack,” said Cheriton, after a moment.

“What, don’t you feel well enough?”

“I don’t think I shall ever be good for much there; and besides—I think I should like to talk to you a little, Jack, if you’ll listen.”

“Well?”

“You know how I always looked forward to settling in London, and how Uncle Cheriton wished it, and meant to help me on. In fact I never thought of anything else.”

“Yes, I know,” said Jack, briefly.

“There was a time when I desired that sort of success intensely, and when things were very much changed for me, I thought it would still—be satisfactory.”

“Yes?”

“But of course, as you know, I soon perceived that the hard continuous work, necessary for anything like success, was quite out of the question for me—I feel sure that it always will be; and, moreover, I never felt well in London. I was much better here when I first came back.”

Poor Jack looked as if the disappointment were much fresher and harder to him than to the speaker himself.

“You must know,” Cheriton continued, “that a doctor once told me at Oxford that the damp soft air there was very bad for a native of such a place as this, and I see now that the last few months there began the mischief; and London has something the same effect on me. That seems to settle the question.”

“I suppose so,” said Jack, so disconsolately, that Cherry half smiled, as he resumed,—

“Otherwise the pleasant idle life there might have its charms. Though, after all, Jack, I shouldn’t like it as things are now. When I expected to be a London man, I expected, as you know—a good deal else. And afterwards even, while all home ties here were safe and sound, one would not get selfish and aimless. But now I couldn’t be happy, I think, without a home-world that really belonged to me.”

“And so home is being spoilt for you too?” said Jack.

“I see,” returned Cheriton, “that it won’t do. If Alvar is left to himself here, he will fight his way now, I think, to some means of managing proper to himself.”

“Or improper,” said Jack.

“Well, to be honest, I am afraid he will make a great many mistakes, and do a great deal of mischief. But if I were here—I mean if this place were still to be home to me so that I still felt—as I should feel—a personal concern in all the old interests, Alvar would quarrel with me. I might prevent individual evils; but in the long run I should do harm. He thought at first that I should guide him. Perhaps I thought so too; but it is a false and impossible relation, and it must be put a stop to.”

“But, Cherry, I think father looked to you to keep things straight.”

“Yes,” said Cherry, “but not to make them more crooked, by such disputes as we have had lately.”

Cheriton spoke resolutely, though with a quiver of the lip, and Jack could guess well enough at the pain the resolve was costing him. “Alvar is quite changed to you!” he said, savagely.

“Yes, because he himself is changing. He is different in many ways, and conscious of all sorts of difficulties.”

“But what do you mean to do?”

“Oh, nothing desperate, nothing till the winter is over. Probably I shall go to the sea with Alvar, as he suggests. Then if I am pretty well, I shall go and see granny. I have a notion that I should be better here in the cold weather than in London. I want to try.”

“Had you all this in your mind when you settled to buy Uplands?” said Jack suddenly. “Yes—in part I had.”

“But, you are not thinking of livingthere! What are you driving at, Cherry, I can’t understand you?”

“Well, Jack,” said Cherry, slowly and with rising colour, “I will tell you, but I wanted to show you the process. And you must remember that it is only an idea known to no one, and very probably may prove impossible, perhaps undesirable.”

“Tell me,” said Jack, more gently. Any scheme for the future was a relief from listening to the laying aside of hopes which he knew had been so much a part of Cheriton’s being.

“Well,” said Cherry again, “I’m afraid my motives are rather poor ones. You see, after Oakby there’s no place for me like Elderthwaite. I want the feeling, as I say, of a place and neighbours of my own. I suppose I am used to playing first fiddle, and to looking after other people’s concerns. Granny always said I was a gossip. Then I’m narrow-minded, perhaps I have had too much taken out of me to think of starting fresh. And you know the old parson will always put up with me, and so will Elderthwaite people. And I want an object in life—if you knew how dreary it is to be without one! If they had a strange curate he would set them all by the ears, and the parson would make a fool of himself! So if Mr Ellesmere thinks the bishop would consent, and approves, and if I am fit for anything, I thought that I would try.”

Jack was silent for some moments. He understood Cheriton well enough to “follow the process,” but it affected him strongly, and at last he said, gravely,—

“I am afraid all the vexation here has put this into your head.”

“Partly,” said Cherry, simply, “this actual thing. I can’t say anything of other motives of course, Jack. I know that it looks like, that in fact itisturning to this—which ought to be the offering of all one’s best—when other careers have failed me. And I know that those who sympathise the least will be the most inclined to say so. But it is not quite so. Ihavealways wished to be of use, of service, here especially. I thought I saw how. I have the same wish still, and this seems to offer me a way. It is but a gathering up of the fragments, but I trust He will accept.”

Jack’s view rather was that the plan was not good enough for his brother, than that his brother was not good enough for it.

“You were always good enough for anything, if that is what you mean,” he said. “But I do understand, Cherry, about wanting an object; only—only it’s such an odd one.”

“I tell you,” said Cherry, brightly, for the disclosure was a great relief to him, “that that’s the very point. I don’t think I get on amiss with any one, even with theSevillanos, but down at the bottom of my heart, Jack, I’m not far removed—we none of us are—from ‘There’s a stranger, ’eave ’alf a brick at him,’ and when I think of any direct dealing with people, anything like clerical work, why, except to my own kith and kin, I should have nothing to say. The self-denial of missionaries seems to me incredible. I could not do as Bob means to do, I think, if health and strength were to be the reward of it. It’s a very unworthy weakness, I know, but I can’t help it.”

“You would get on very well anywhere,” said Jack; “that is all nonsense. I don’t believe Elderthwaite would agree with you, and you could overwork yourself just as well there as anywhere else.”

“Well, as to the place agreeing with me, that remains to be proved. It’s a very small church, and a small place; and I hope I might be able to do the little they are fit for—at present. But I know it may prove to be out of the question.”

Jack was silent. He could not bear to vex Cherry by opposing a scheme which seemed to offer him some pleasure in the midst of his annoyances, and if his brother had proposed to take orders with more ordinary expectations, it would have been quite in accordance with the Oakby code of what was fitting. But there was something in the consecration of what Cheriton evidently viewed as a probably short life and failing powers to an object so unselfish, and yet, as it seemed to Jack, so commonplace, it was so like Cherry, and yet showed such a conquest of himself—there was such humility in the acknowledgment that he was only just fit for the sort of imperfect work that offered itself, and yet such a complete sense that no one else could manage that particular bit of work so well—it was, as Jack said, “so odd,” that it thrilled him through and through, and he was glad that Alvar’s entrance saved him from a reply.

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