Volume One—Chapter Six.A Second Meeting.Maximilian Bray, Esq., clerk in her Majesty’s Treasury, Whitehall, sat in his dressing-room soured and angry. He had been hard at work trying to restore the mischief done by the rain; but in spite of “Bandoline” and “Brilliantine,” he could not get hair, moustache, or whiskers to take their customary curl: they would look limp and dejected. Then that superfine coat was completely saturated with water, as was also his hat, neither of which would, he knew, ever again display the pristine gloss. And, besides, he had been unseated before “that coarse boor, Charley Vining,” and the fellow had had the impertinence to grin. But, there, what could you expect from such a country clown? Altogether, Maximilian Bray, Esq., was cross—not to say savage—and more than once he had caught himself biting his nails—another cause for annoyance, since he was very careful with those almond-shaped nails, and had to pare, file, and burnish them afterwards to remove the inequality.The above causes for a disordered temper have been recorded; but they were far from all. It is said that it never rains but it pours, and as that was the case out of doors, so it was in. But it would be wearisome to record the breaking of boot-loops, the tearing out of shirt-buttons, and the crowning horror of a spot of iron-mould right in the front of the principal plait. Suffice it that Maximilian Bray felt as if he could have quarrelled with the whole world; and as he sat chilled with his wetting, he had hard work to keep from gnawing his finger-nails again and again.He might have gone down into the drawing-room, warm with the sun, while his northern-aspected window lent no genial softness; but no: there was something on his mind; and though he was dressed, he lingered still.He knew that the luncheon bell would ring directly; in fact, he had referred several times to his watch. But still he hung back, as if shrinking from some unpleasant task, till, nerving himself, he rose and went to the looking-glass, examining himself from top to toe, grinning to see if his teeth were perfectly white, dipping a corner of the towel in water to remove the faintest suspicion of a little cherry tooth-paste from the corner of his mouth, biting his lips to make them red, trying once more to give his lank moustache the customary curl, but trying in vain—in short, going through the varied acts of a man who gives the whole of his mind to his dress; and then, evidently thoroughly dissatisfied, he strode across the room, flung open the door, and began to descend the stairs.The builder of the Elms, not being confined for space, had made on the first floor a long passage, upon which several of the bedrooms opened; and this passage, being made the receptacle for the cheap pictures purchased at sales by Mr Onesimus Bray, was known in the house as the “long gallery.”Descending a short flight of stairs, Maximilian Bray was traversing this gallery, when the encounter which in his heart of hearts he had been dreading ever since he came down the night before was forced upon him; for, turning into the passage from the other end, the companion of Laura Bray’s morning walk came hurriedly along, slackening her pace, though, as she perceived that there was a stranger in advance; but as their eyes met, a sudden start of surprise robbed the poor girl for a few moments of her self-control; the blood flushed to her temples, and for an instant she stopped short.But Maximilian Bray was equal to the occasion. He had fought off the encounter as long as he could; but now that the time had come, he had determined upon brazening it out.“Ha ha!” he laughed playfully. “Know me again, then? Quite frightened you, didn’t I? Shouldn’t have been so cross last time, when I only wanted to see you safe on your journey. Didn’t know who I was, eh? But, bai Jove! glad to see you again—am indeed!”There was no reply for an instant to these greetings. But as the flush faded, to leave the lace of her to whom they were addressed pale and stern, Maximilian Bray’s smile grew more and more forced. The words were too shallow of meaning not to be rightly interpreted; and overcoming the surprise that had for a few moments fettered her, the fair girl turned upon Bray a keen piercing look, as moving forward she slightly bent, and said coldly in her old words:“I think, sir, you have made some mistake.”“Mistake? No! Stop a minute. No mistake, bai Jove—no! You remember me, of course, when I startled you at the station. Only my fun, you know, only that young donkey must interfere. Glad to see you again—am, indeed, bai Jove! We shall be capital friends, I know.”As he spoke, he stepped before his companion, arresting her progress, and holding out his hand.Driven thus to bay, the young girl once more turned and faced her pursuer with a look so firm and piercing, that he grew discomposed, and the words he uttered were unconnected and stammering.“Sorry, you know, bai Jove! Mistook my meaning. Glad to see you again—am, bai Jove! Eh? What say?”“I was not aware that Mr Maximilian Bray and the gentleman”—she laid a hardly perceptible emphasis on the word “gentleman”—“whom I encountered at that country station were the same. Allow me to remind you, sir, that you made a mistake then in addressing a stranger. You make another error in addressing me again; for bear in mind we are strangers yet. Excuse me for saying so, but I think it would be better to forget the past.”“Ya-as, just so—bai Jove! yes. It was nothing, you know, only—”Maximilian Bray stopped short, for the simple reason that he was alone; for, turning hastily, his companion had retraced her steps, leaving the exquisite son of the house—the pride of his mother, the confidant of his sister, and the pest of the servants—looking quite “like a fool, you know, bai Jove!”They were his own words, though meant for no other ears but his own, being a little too truthful. Then he stood thinking and gnawing one nail for a few moments before continuing his way down to the dining-room.“So we are to be as if we met for the first time, are we?” he muttered; and then his countenance lighted up into an inane smile as he thought to himself, “Well, I’ve got it over. And, after all, it’s something like being taken into her confidence, for haven’t we between us what looks uncommonly like a secret?”
Maximilian Bray, Esq., clerk in her Majesty’s Treasury, Whitehall, sat in his dressing-room soured and angry. He had been hard at work trying to restore the mischief done by the rain; but in spite of “Bandoline” and “Brilliantine,” he could not get hair, moustache, or whiskers to take their customary curl: they would look limp and dejected. Then that superfine coat was completely saturated with water, as was also his hat, neither of which would, he knew, ever again display the pristine gloss. And, besides, he had been unseated before “that coarse boor, Charley Vining,” and the fellow had had the impertinence to grin. But, there, what could you expect from such a country clown? Altogether, Maximilian Bray, Esq., was cross—not to say savage—and more than once he had caught himself biting his nails—another cause for annoyance, since he was very careful with those almond-shaped nails, and had to pare, file, and burnish them afterwards to remove the inequality.
The above causes for a disordered temper have been recorded; but they were far from all. It is said that it never rains but it pours, and as that was the case out of doors, so it was in. But it would be wearisome to record the breaking of boot-loops, the tearing out of shirt-buttons, and the crowning horror of a spot of iron-mould right in the front of the principal plait. Suffice it that Maximilian Bray felt as if he could have quarrelled with the whole world; and as he sat chilled with his wetting, he had hard work to keep from gnawing his finger-nails again and again.
He might have gone down into the drawing-room, warm with the sun, while his northern-aspected window lent no genial softness; but no: there was something on his mind; and though he was dressed, he lingered still.
He knew that the luncheon bell would ring directly; in fact, he had referred several times to his watch. But still he hung back, as if shrinking from some unpleasant task, till, nerving himself, he rose and went to the looking-glass, examining himself from top to toe, grinning to see if his teeth were perfectly white, dipping a corner of the towel in water to remove the faintest suspicion of a little cherry tooth-paste from the corner of his mouth, biting his lips to make them red, trying once more to give his lank moustache the customary curl, but trying in vain—in short, going through the varied acts of a man who gives the whole of his mind to his dress; and then, evidently thoroughly dissatisfied, he strode across the room, flung open the door, and began to descend the stairs.
The builder of the Elms, not being confined for space, had made on the first floor a long passage, upon which several of the bedrooms opened; and this passage, being made the receptacle for the cheap pictures purchased at sales by Mr Onesimus Bray, was known in the house as the “long gallery.”
Descending a short flight of stairs, Maximilian Bray was traversing this gallery, when the encounter which in his heart of hearts he had been dreading ever since he came down the night before was forced upon him; for, turning into the passage from the other end, the companion of Laura Bray’s morning walk came hurriedly along, slackening her pace, though, as she perceived that there was a stranger in advance; but as their eyes met, a sudden start of surprise robbed the poor girl for a few moments of her self-control; the blood flushed to her temples, and for an instant she stopped short.
But Maximilian Bray was equal to the occasion. He had fought off the encounter as long as he could; but now that the time had come, he had determined upon brazening it out.
“Ha ha!” he laughed playfully. “Know me again, then? Quite frightened you, didn’t I? Shouldn’t have been so cross last time, when I only wanted to see you safe on your journey. Didn’t know who I was, eh? But, bai Jove! glad to see you again—am indeed!”
There was no reply for an instant to these greetings. But as the flush faded, to leave the lace of her to whom they were addressed pale and stern, Maximilian Bray’s smile grew more and more forced. The words were too shallow of meaning not to be rightly interpreted; and overcoming the surprise that had for a few moments fettered her, the fair girl turned upon Bray a keen piercing look, as moving forward she slightly bent, and said coldly in her old words:
“I think, sir, you have made some mistake.”
“Mistake? No! Stop a minute. No mistake, bai Jove—no! You remember me, of course, when I startled you at the station. Only my fun, you know, only that young donkey must interfere. Glad to see you again—am, indeed, bai Jove! We shall be capital friends, I know.”
As he spoke, he stepped before his companion, arresting her progress, and holding out his hand.
Driven thus to bay, the young girl once more turned and faced her pursuer with a look so firm and piercing, that he grew discomposed, and the words he uttered were unconnected and stammering.
“Sorry, you know, bai Jove! Mistook my meaning. Glad to see you again—am, bai Jove! Eh? What say?”
“I was not aware that Mr Maximilian Bray and the gentleman”—she laid a hardly perceptible emphasis on the word “gentleman”—“whom I encountered at that country station were the same. Allow me to remind you, sir, that you made a mistake then in addressing a stranger. You make another error in addressing me again; for bear in mind we are strangers yet. Excuse me for saying so, but I think it would be better to forget the past.”
“Ya-as, just so—bai Jove! yes. It was nothing, you know, only—”
Maximilian Bray stopped short, for the simple reason that he was alone; for, turning hastily, his companion had retraced her steps, leaving the exquisite son of the house—the pride of his mother, the confidant of his sister, and the pest of the servants—looking quite “like a fool, you know, bai Jove!”
They were his own words, though meant for no other ears but his own, being a little too truthful. Then he stood thinking and gnawing one nail for a few moments before continuing his way down to the dining-room.
“So we are to be as if we met for the first time, are we?” he muttered; and then his countenance lighted up into an inane smile as he thought to himself, “Well, I’ve got it over. And, after all, it’s something like being taken into her confidence, for haven’t we between us what looks uncommonly like a secret?”
Volume One—Chapter Seven.A Dawning Sense.They were rather famous for their flower-shows at Lexville, not merely for the capital displays of Nature’s choicest beauties, educated by cunning floriculturists to the nearest point to perfection, but also for their wet days. When the exhibition was first instituted, people said that the marquee was soaked and the ladies’ dresses spoiled, simply because the show was held upon a Friday. “Just,” they said, “as if anybody but a committee would have chosen a Friday for an outdoor fête!”But, if anything, the day was a little worse upon the next occasion, when Thursday had been selected, the same fate attending the luckless managers upon a Monday, a Tuesday, and a Wednesday. But now at last it seemed as if the fair goddess Flora herself had enlisted the sympathies of that individual known to mortals as “the clerk of the weather,” and, in consequence, the day was all that could be desired. In fact, the weather was so fine, that the bandsmen of the Grenadier Guards, instead of coming down in their old and tarnished uniforms—declared, as a rule, to be good enough for Lexville—mustered in full force, gorgeous in their brightest scarlet and gold. The committee-men had shaken hands in the secretary’s tent a dozen times over as many glasses of sherry, and forgotten to eat their biscuits in their hurry to order the cords of Edgington’s great tent to be tightened, so potent were the rays of the sun; while within the canvas palace, in a golden hazy shade, the floral beauties from many a hot house and conservatory were receiving the last touches by way of arrangement.Lexville was in a profound state of excitement that day, and Miss l’Aiguille, the dressmaker, declared that she had been nearly torn to pieces by her customers.“As for Miss Bray,” she said, “not another dress would she make for her—no, not if she became bankrupt to-morrow—that she wouldn’t! Six tryings-on, indeed, and then not satisfied!”However, Miss l’Aiguille’s troubles were so far over that, like the rest of Lexville, she had partaken of an early dinner, or lunch, and prepared herself to visit the great fête.Lexville flower-show was always held in the grounds of one of the county magistrates, the Rev. Henry Lingon, concerning whose kindness the reporter for the little newspaper generally went into raptures in print, and received orders for half-a-dozen extra copies the next bench-day. And now fast and furiously the carriages began to set down—the wealth and fashion of the neighbourhood making a point of being the earlier arrivals, so as to miss the crowd of commoner beings who would afterwards flock together.“Ah, Vining! You’re here, then, mai dear fellow! Why didn’t you come to lunch?” exclaimed Maximilian Bray, sauntering up to the young man, who, rather flushed and energetic, was talking to a knot of flower-button-holed committee-men.“How do, Max?” exclaimed Charley, hastily taking the extended hand, and giving it a good shake. Then, turning to the committee-men: “Much rather not—would, really, you know—don’t feel myself adapted. Well, there,” he exclaimed at last, in answer to several eager protestations, “I’ll do it, if you can get no one else!—Want me to give away the prizes,” he said, turning to Max Bray, who was gazing ruefully at his right glove, in whose back a slight crack was visible, caused, no doubt, by the hearty but rough grasp it had just received.“To be sure—of course!” drawled Bray. “You’re the very man, bai Jove! But won’t you come towards the gate? I expect our people here directly.”Nothing loth, Vining strolled with his companion down one of the pleasant floral avenues, but seeing no flowers, hearing no band; for his gaze, he hardly knew why, was directed towards the approach; and though Maximilian Bray kept up a drawling series of remarks, they fell upon inattentive ears.“Do you expect them soon?” said Charley at last, somewhat impatiently, for he was growing tired of his companion’s chatter.“Ya-as, directly,” said Bray, smiling. “But, mai dear fellow, why didn’t you come over and then escort them?”Charley did not answer; for just then he caught sight of Laura, radiant of lace and dress, sweeping along beside Mrs Bray, who seemed to cut a way through the crowd at the farther part of the great marquee.“Here they are,” said Bray, drawing Charley along; “so now you can be out of your misery.”“What do you mean?” said Charley sharply.“Bai Jove! how you take a fellow up! Nothing at all—nothing at all!”Charley frowned slightly, and then suffered himself to be led up to the Elms party, Mrs Bray smiling upon him sweetly, and Laura favouring him with a look that was meant to bring him to her side.But Laura’s look had not the desired effect; for Charley stayed talking to Mrs Bray, after just passing the customary compliments to the younger lady.A frown—no slight one—appeared on Laura’s brow; but in a few seconds it was gone, and, walking back a few paces, she stayed by her younger sisters, with whom Charley could see the young lady of the previous day’s encounter.And now he would have followed Laura in the hope of obtaining an introduction, but he was arrested by a stout committee-man.“Would he kindly step that way for a moment?”With an exclamation of impatience, the young man followed, to find that his opinion was wanted as to the suitability of the site chosen for the distribution of the prizes.“But surely you can obtain some one else?” exclaimed Charley.“Impossible, my dear sir,” was the reply.So, after two or three unavailing attempts to obtain a substitute, Charley gave in; for the owner of the grounds, upon being asked, declared that a better choice could not have been made; the principal doctor shook his head; while Mr Onesimus Bray literally turned and fled upon hearing Charley’s request. So, with a feeling of something like despair, the elected prize-giver began to cudgel his brains for the verbiage of a speech, telling himself that he should certainly break down and expose himself to the laughter of the assemblage; for the grandees from miles round had made their way to Lexville to patronise the flower-show; and at last, quite in despair, Charley walked hurriedly down one of the alleys of the garden, passing closely by the Bray party, and making Laura colour with annoyance at what she called his neglect.But Charley Vining’s perturbed spirit was not soothed by the anticipated solitude of the shady alley; for, before he had gone twenty yards, he saw Max Bray side by side with the lady who had occupied a goodly share of his thoughts since the encounter of the previous day.Their backs were towards him, but it was quite evident that Mr Maximilian Bray was exerting himself to be as agreeable as possible to his companion, though with what success it was impossible to say. At all events, Charley Vining turned sharply round upon his heel, with a strange feeling of annoyance entirely new pervading his spirit.“How absurd!” he muttered to himself. “What an ass I was to come to a set-out of this kind! No fellow could be more out of place!”Turning out of the alley, he made his way, with rapid, business-like steps, on to the lawn, where the rapidly-increasing company were now gathering in knots, and listening to one of Godfrey’s finest selections. To an unbiased observer, the thought might have suggested itself that there was as bright a flower-show, and as beautiful a mingling of hues, out there upon the closely-shaven turf, as within the tent; but Charley Vining was just then no impartial spectator; and, though more than one pair of eyes grew brighter as he approached, he saw nothing but two figures slowly issuing from the other end of the alley, where the guelder roses were showering down their vernal snows.“I should uncommonly like to wing that Max Bray’s neck!” said Charley to himself, as he threw his stalwart form into a wicker garden-chair, which creaked and expostulated dismally beneath the weight it was called upon to bear; and then, indulging in rather a favourite habit, he lolled there, muttering and talking to himself—cross-examining and answering questions respecting his uneasiness.But the more he thought, the more uneasy he grew, and twice over he shifted his seat to avoid an attack from some conversational friend whom he saw approaching.“There, this sort of thing won’t do!” he exclaimed at last. “I’m afraid I’m going on the pointed-out road rather too fast. Suppose I take a dose of the Bray family by way of antidote.”So, leaving his seat, he strode towards where he could see Laura’s white parasol; but his intent was baffled by a couple of committee-men, who literally took him into custody—their purpose being to give him divers and sundry explanations respecting the distribution of the prizes.
They were rather famous for their flower-shows at Lexville, not merely for the capital displays of Nature’s choicest beauties, educated by cunning floriculturists to the nearest point to perfection, but also for their wet days. When the exhibition was first instituted, people said that the marquee was soaked and the ladies’ dresses spoiled, simply because the show was held upon a Friday. “Just,” they said, “as if anybody but a committee would have chosen a Friday for an outdoor fête!”
But, if anything, the day was a little worse upon the next occasion, when Thursday had been selected, the same fate attending the luckless managers upon a Monday, a Tuesday, and a Wednesday. But now at last it seemed as if the fair goddess Flora herself had enlisted the sympathies of that individual known to mortals as “the clerk of the weather,” and, in consequence, the day was all that could be desired. In fact, the weather was so fine, that the bandsmen of the Grenadier Guards, instead of coming down in their old and tarnished uniforms—declared, as a rule, to be good enough for Lexville—mustered in full force, gorgeous in their brightest scarlet and gold. The committee-men had shaken hands in the secretary’s tent a dozen times over as many glasses of sherry, and forgotten to eat their biscuits in their hurry to order the cords of Edgington’s great tent to be tightened, so potent were the rays of the sun; while within the canvas palace, in a golden hazy shade, the floral beauties from many a hot house and conservatory were receiving the last touches by way of arrangement.
Lexville was in a profound state of excitement that day, and Miss l’Aiguille, the dressmaker, declared that she had been nearly torn to pieces by her customers.
“As for Miss Bray,” she said, “not another dress would she make for her—no, not if she became bankrupt to-morrow—that she wouldn’t! Six tryings-on, indeed, and then not satisfied!”
However, Miss l’Aiguille’s troubles were so far over that, like the rest of Lexville, she had partaken of an early dinner, or lunch, and prepared herself to visit the great fête.
Lexville flower-show was always held in the grounds of one of the county magistrates, the Rev. Henry Lingon, concerning whose kindness the reporter for the little newspaper generally went into raptures in print, and received orders for half-a-dozen extra copies the next bench-day. And now fast and furiously the carriages began to set down—the wealth and fashion of the neighbourhood making a point of being the earlier arrivals, so as to miss the crowd of commoner beings who would afterwards flock together.
“Ah, Vining! You’re here, then, mai dear fellow! Why didn’t you come to lunch?” exclaimed Maximilian Bray, sauntering up to the young man, who, rather flushed and energetic, was talking to a knot of flower-button-holed committee-men.
“How do, Max?” exclaimed Charley, hastily taking the extended hand, and giving it a good shake. Then, turning to the committee-men: “Much rather not—would, really, you know—don’t feel myself adapted. Well, there,” he exclaimed at last, in answer to several eager protestations, “I’ll do it, if you can get no one else!—Want me to give away the prizes,” he said, turning to Max Bray, who was gazing ruefully at his right glove, in whose back a slight crack was visible, caused, no doubt, by the hearty but rough grasp it had just received.
“To be sure—of course!” drawled Bray. “You’re the very man, bai Jove! But won’t you come towards the gate? I expect our people here directly.”
Nothing loth, Vining strolled with his companion down one of the pleasant floral avenues, but seeing no flowers, hearing no band; for his gaze, he hardly knew why, was directed towards the approach; and though Maximilian Bray kept up a drawling series of remarks, they fell upon inattentive ears.
“Do you expect them soon?” said Charley at last, somewhat impatiently, for he was growing tired of his companion’s chatter.
“Ya-as, directly,” said Bray, smiling. “But, mai dear fellow, why didn’t you come over and then escort them?”
Charley did not answer; for just then he caught sight of Laura, radiant of lace and dress, sweeping along beside Mrs Bray, who seemed to cut a way through the crowd at the farther part of the great marquee.
“Here they are,” said Bray, drawing Charley along; “so now you can be out of your misery.”
“What do you mean?” said Charley sharply.
“Bai Jove! how you take a fellow up! Nothing at all—nothing at all!”
Charley frowned slightly, and then suffered himself to be led up to the Elms party, Mrs Bray smiling upon him sweetly, and Laura favouring him with a look that was meant to bring him to her side.
But Laura’s look had not the desired effect; for Charley stayed talking to Mrs Bray, after just passing the customary compliments to the younger lady.
A frown—no slight one—appeared on Laura’s brow; but in a few seconds it was gone, and, walking back a few paces, she stayed by her younger sisters, with whom Charley could see the young lady of the previous day’s encounter.
And now he would have followed Laura in the hope of obtaining an introduction, but he was arrested by a stout committee-man.
“Would he kindly step that way for a moment?”
With an exclamation of impatience, the young man followed, to find that his opinion was wanted as to the suitability of the site chosen for the distribution of the prizes.
“But surely you can obtain some one else?” exclaimed Charley.
“Impossible, my dear sir,” was the reply.
So, after two or three unavailing attempts to obtain a substitute, Charley gave in; for the owner of the grounds, upon being asked, declared that a better choice could not have been made; the principal doctor shook his head; while Mr Onesimus Bray literally turned and fled upon hearing Charley’s request. So, with a feeling of something like despair, the elected prize-giver began to cudgel his brains for the verbiage of a speech, telling himself that he should certainly break down and expose himself to the laughter of the assemblage; for the grandees from miles round had made their way to Lexville to patronise the flower-show; and at last, quite in despair, Charley walked hurriedly down one of the alleys of the garden, passing closely by the Bray party, and making Laura colour with annoyance at what she called his neglect.
But Charley Vining’s perturbed spirit was not soothed by the anticipated solitude of the shady alley; for, before he had gone twenty yards, he saw Max Bray side by side with the lady who had occupied a goodly share of his thoughts since the encounter of the previous day.
Their backs were towards him, but it was quite evident that Mr Maximilian Bray was exerting himself to be as agreeable as possible to his companion, though with what success it was impossible to say. At all events, Charley Vining turned sharply round upon his heel, with a strange feeling of annoyance entirely new pervading his spirit.
“How absurd!” he muttered to himself. “What an ass I was to come to a set-out of this kind! No fellow could be more out of place!”
Turning out of the alley, he made his way, with rapid, business-like steps, on to the lawn, where the rapidly-increasing company were now gathering in knots, and listening to one of Godfrey’s finest selections. To an unbiased observer, the thought might have suggested itself that there was as bright a flower-show, and as beautiful a mingling of hues, out there upon the closely-shaven turf, as within the tent; but Charley Vining was just then no impartial spectator; and, though more than one pair of eyes grew brighter as he approached, he saw nothing but two figures slowly issuing from the other end of the alley, where the guelder roses were showering down their vernal snows.
“I should uncommonly like to wing that Max Bray’s neck!” said Charley to himself, as he threw his stalwart form into a wicker garden-chair, which creaked and expostulated dismally beneath the weight it was called upon to bear; and then, indulging in rather a favourite habit, he lolled there, muttering and talking to himself—cross-examining and answering questions respecting his uneasiness.
But the more he thought, the more uneasy he grew, and twice over he shifted his seat to avoid an attack from some conversational friend whom he saw approaching.
“There, this sort of thing won’t do!” he exclaimed at last. “I’m afraid I’m going on the pointed-out road rather too fast. Suppose I take a dose of the Bray family by way of antidote.”
So, leaving his seat, he strode towards where he could see Laura’s white parasol; but his intent was baffled by a couple of committee-men, who literally took him into custody—their purpose being to give him divers and sundry explanations respecting the distribution of the prizes.
Volume One—Chapter Eight.Shooting an Arrow.To have seen the company assembled in the Reverend Henry Lingon’s grounds upon that bright afternoon, it might have been imagined that for the time being no marring shadow could possibly cross any breast; for, gaze where you would, the eye rested upon bright pleased faces wreathed in smiles, groups, whose aspect was of the happiest, setting off everywhere the Watteau-like landscape. But for all that, there were faces there wearing but a mask, and to more than one present that fête was fraught withennuiand disappointment. Toilettes arranged with the greatest care had, in other than the instance hinted at, been without effect; while again, where, in all simplicity, effect had not been sought, attentions had been paid distasteful even to annoyance. The Lexville flower-show had assembled together enough to form a little world of hopes and fears; and, fête-day though it had been, there were aching hearts that night, and tearful eyes moistening more than one pillow—the pillows of those who were young and hopeful still, in spite of their pain, though they were beginning to learn how much bitterness there is amidst the dregs of every cup—dregs to be drained by all in turn, earlier or later, in their little span.But now the band was silenced for a while, and the company began to cluster around a temporary platform erected for the occasion, where the hero of the day was to distribute to the expectant gardeners the rewards of their care and patience.Not that there is much to be called heroic in giving a few premiums for the best roses, or pansies, or stove-plants; but if the distributor be young, handsome, disengaged, heir to a baronetcy, and rich, in many eyes he becomes a hero indeed—a hero of romance; and bitter as were the feelings of Charley Vining, who declared to himself that his speech was blundering, that he had lookedgaucheand red-faced, and that any schoolboy could have done better, there were plenty of hearty plaudits for him, and more than one bright young face became suffused with the rapid beating of its owner’s heart, as for a moment she thought that a glance was directed expressly at her.Poor deluded little thing, though! It was all a mistake; for Charley Vining went through his business like an automaton, seeing nothing but a simple, half-mourning muslin dress, and a pale, sweet face in a lavender bonnet, which had appeared to him to have been haunted the whole day long by what he had once indignantly called “a tailor’s dummy”—to wit, the exquisite and elaborately-attired form of Maximilian Bray.But at length the distribution was at an end, and gardener, amateur, and cottager had been dismissed. Hot, weary, and glad to get away, Charley had hurried from the group of friends and acquaintances by whom he had been surrounded, when at a short distance off he espied Laura Bray, and his heart smote him for his neglect of the daughter of a family with whom he had always been very intimate.“Too bad, ’pon my word!” said Charley hypocritically, for at the same moment other thoughts had flashed across his mind. However, he drew down that mental blind which people find so convenient wherewith to shadow the window of their hearts, and strode across the lawn towards Laura, who was apparently listening to the conversation of a gentleman of a more fleshy texture than is general with young men of three- or four-and-twenty.“At last!” muttered Laura Bray, as Charley came smiling up to where she stood; and now beneath that smile the feeling of anger and annoyance at what she had looked upon as his neglect melted away. True, he owed her no allegiance; but she had set herself upon receiving his incense, and the afternoon having passed with hardly a word, a feeling of disappointment of the most bitter nature had troubled her: the music had seemed dirge-like, the brilliant flowers as if strewn with ashes. At times she was for leaving; but no, she could not do that. She had darted angry and reproachful glances at him again and again, but without effect, and then looked at him with eyes subdued and tearful, still in vain: he had seemed almost to avoid her, and such pains too as she had taken to make herself worthy of his regard! How she had bitten her lips till the blood had nearly started from beneath the bruised skin! Rage and disappointment had between them shared her breast. Then in a fit of anger she had commenced quite a flirtation with Hugh Lingon, the son of the owner of the grounds, a fat young gentleman from Cambridge, an ardent croquetist, but rather famed in his set for the number of times he had been “ploughed for smalls.” Hugh Lingon had been delighted, smiling so much that the great creases in his fat face almost closed his eyes. He even went so far as to squeeze Laura’s hand, and to tell her that the cup ought to have been presented to her as the fairest flower there; but Charley Vining had not seemed to mind the attentions in the least—he had not even appeared troubled; and at last poor Hugh Lingon was snubbed while uttering some platitude, and sent about his business by the imperious beauty, to make room for Charley Vining, whose pleasant smile chased away all Laura’s care.Of course she must make allowances for him. He had been busy and bothered about the prize-giving, so how could he attend to her? He was different from other men: so frank and straightforward and bold. She had always felt that he must love her; and after what Sir Philip Vining had hinted to papa, and papa had told mamma, and mamma had pinched her arm and told her in a whisper, what was there to prevent her being Lady Vining and the mistress of Blandfield Court?“At last!” said Laura, and this time quite aloud, as Charley came up; when, taking his arm, she bestowed upon him a most reproachful glance. “I declare I thought your friends were to be quite neglected!”“Neglected? O, I don’t know,” said Charley; and then there was a pause.“Why, you grow quitedistrait,” said Laura pettishly. “Why, what can you see to take your attention there?”She followed his gaze, which was directed towards a seat across the lawn, whereon were her companion of the day before, one of the “children,” and Max Bray leaning in an attitude over the back.“Shall we be moving?” said Charley abstractedly.“O yes, please do!” said Laura. “I’m dying for want of an ice, or a cup of tea. I’ve been pestered for the last half-hour by that horrible fat boy!”“Fat boy!” said Charley wonderingly.“Yes; you know whom I mean—Hugh Lingon. So glad to have you come and set me free!”Charley Vining did not say anything; but he led his companion towards the refreshment-tent, carefully avoiding the open lawn, and taking her, nowise unwilling, round by the shady walks where there were but few people, her steps growing slower, and her hand more heavy in its pressure. And still Charley Vining was quiet and thoughtful; but he led his companion to the refreshment-tent, handed the demanded ice, and then sauntered with her towards the lawn, still gay with fashionably-dressed groups.“Had we not better get in the shade?” said Laura languidly. “The afternoon sun is quite oppressive.”“Let’s cross over to Max,” said Charley. “That seems a pleasant shady seat.”Laura did not speak, but she looked sidewise in his preoccupied countenance, and, evidently piqued at what she considered his indifference, allowed herself to be led across the lawn.“By the way, Miss Bray,” said Charley suddenly, “you never introduced me to your lady friend.”“Lady friend!” said Laura, as if surprised.“Yes, the fair girl that friend Max there seems so taken with. Is it hisfiancée?” Laura Bray’s eyes glittered as she bent forward and looked intently in her companion’s face; then a tightness seemed to come over the muscles of her countenance, giving her a hard bitter look, as a flash of suspicion crossed her mind. The next moment she smiled; but it was not a pleasant smile, though it displayed two rows of the most brilliantly-white teeth. But, apparently determined upon her course, she increased the pace at which they were walking till they stood in front of the seat where, with a troubled look in her eyes, sat, listening perforce to the doubtless agreeable conversation of Mr Maximilian Bray, the lady of the railway station, and the companion of Laura in the brougham.It was with a look almost of malice that, stopping short, Laura fixed her eyes upon Charley Vining, to catch the play of his countenance as, without altering the direction of her glance, she said aloud:“Miss Bedford, this gentleman has requested to be introduced to you—Mr Charles Vining.” Then, with mock courtesy, and still devouring each twitch and movement, she continued: “Mr Charles Vining—Miss Bedford,our new governess!”
To have seen the company assembled in the Reverend Henry Lingon’s grounds upon that bright afternoon, it might have been imagined that for the time being no marring shadow could possibly cross any breast; for, gaze where you would, the eye rested upon bright pleased faces wreathed in smiles, groups, whose aspect was of the happiest, setting off everywhere the Watteau-like landscape. But for all that, there were faces there wearing but a mask, and to more than one present that fête was fraught withennuiand disappointment. Toilettes arranged with the greatest care had, in other than the instance hinted at, been without effect; while again, where, in all simplicity, effect had not been sought, attentions had been paid distasteful even to annoyance. The Lexville flower-show had assembled together enough to form a little world of hopes and fears; and, fête-day though it had been, there were aching hearts that night, and tearful eyes moistening more than one pillow—the pillows of those who were young and hopeful still, in spite of their pain, though they were beginning to learn how much bitterness there is amidst the dregs of every cup—dregs to be drained by all in turn, earlier or later, in their little span.
But now the band was silenced for a while, and the company began to cluster around a temporary platform erected for the occasion, where the hero of the day was to distribute to the expectant gardeners the rewards of their care and patience.
Not that there is much to be called heroic in giving a few premiums for the best roses, or pansies, or stove-plants; but if the distributor be young, handsome, disengaged, heir to a baronetcy, and rich, in many eyes he becomes a hero indeed—a hero of romance; and bitter as were the feelings of Charley Vining, who declared to himself that his speech was blundering, that he had lookedgaucheand red-faced, and that any schoolboy could have done better, there were plenty of hearty plaudits for him, and more than one bright young face became suffused with the rapid beating of its owner’s heart, as for a moment she thought that a glance was directed expressly at her.
Poor deluded little thing, though! It was all a mistake; for Charley Vining went through his business like an automaton, seeing nothing but a simple, half-mourning muslin dress, and a pale, sweet face in a lavender bonnet, which had appeared to him to have been haunted the whole day long by what he had once indignantly called “a tailor’s dummy”—to wit, the exquisite and elaborately-attired form of Maximilian Bray.
But at length the distribution was at an end, and gardener, amateur, and cottager had been dismissed. Hot, weary, and glad to get away, Charley had hurried from the group of friends and acquaintances by whom he had been surrounded, when at a short distance off he espied Laura Bray, and his heart smote him for his neglect of the daughter of a family with whom he had always been very intimate.
“Too bad, ’pon my word!” said Charley hypocritically, for at the same moment other thoughts had flashed across his mind. However, he drew down that mental blind which people find so convenient wherewith to shadow the window of their hearts, and strode across the lawn towards Laura, who was apparently listening to the conversation of a gentleman of a more fleshy texture than is general with young men of three- or four-and-twenty.
“At last!” muttered Laura Bray, as Charley came smiling up to where she stood; and now beneath that smile the feeling of anger and annoyance at what she had looked upon as his neglect melted away. True, he owed her no allegiance; but she had set herself upon receiving his incense, and the afternoon having passed with hardly a word, a feeling of disappointment of the most bitter nature had troubled her: the music had seemed dirge-like, the brilliant flowers as if strewn with ashes. At times she was for leaving; but no, she could not do that. She had darted angry and reproachful glances at him again and again, but without effect, and then looked at him with eyes subdued and tearful, still in vain: he had seemed almost to avoid her, and such pains too as she had taken to make herself worthy of his regard! How she had bitten her lips till the blood had nearly started from beneath the bruised skin! Rage and disappointment had between them shared her breast. Then in a fit of anger she had commenced quite a flirtation with Hugh Lingon, the son of the owner of the grounds, a fat young gentleman from Cambridge, an ardent croquetist, but rather famed in his set for the number of times he had been “ploughed for smalls.” Hugh Lingon had been delighted, smiling so much that the great creases in his fat face almost closed his eyes. He even went so far as to squeeze Laura’s hand, and to tell her that the cup ought to have been presented to her as the fairest flower there; but Charley Vining had not seemed to mind the attentions in the least—he had not even appeared troubled; and at last poor Hugh Lingon was snubbed while uttering some platitude, and sent about his business by the imperious beauty, to make room for Charley Vining, whose pleasant smile chased away all Laura’s care.
Of course she must make allowances for him. He had been busy and bothered about the prize-giving, so how could he attend to her? He was different from other men: so frank and straightforward and bold. She had always felt that he must love her; and after what Sir Philip Vining had hinted to papa, and papa had told mamma, and mamma had pinched her arm and told her in a whisper, what was there to prevent her being Lady Vining and the mistress of Blandfield Court?
“At last!” said Laura, and this time quite aloud, as Charley came up; when, taking his arm, she bestowed upon him a most reproachful glance. “I declare I thought your friends were to be quite neglected!”
“Neglected? O, I don’t know,” said Charley; and then there was a pause.
“Why, you grow quitedistrait,” said Laura pettishly. “Why, what can you see to take your attention there?”
She followed his gaze, which was directed towards a seat across the lawn, whereon were her companion of the day before, one of the “children,” and Max Bray leaning in an attitude over the back.
“Shall we be moving?” said Charley abstractedly.
“O yes, please do!” said Laura. “I’m dying for want of an ice, or a cup of tea. I’ve been pestered for the last half-hour by that horrible fat boy!”
“Fat boy!” said Charley wonderingly.
“Yes; you know whom I mean—Hugh Lingon. So glad to have you come and set me free!”
Charley Vining did not say anything; but he led his companion towards the refreshment-tent, carefully avoiding the open lawn, and taking her, nowise unwilling, round by the shady walks where there were but few people, her steps growing slower, and her hand more heavy in its pressure. And still Charley Vining was quiet and thoughtful; but he led his companion to the refreshment-tent, handed the demanded ice, and then sauntered with her towards the lawn, still gay with fashionably-dressed groups.
“Had we not better get in the shade?” said Laura languidly. “The afternoon sun is quite oppressive.”
“Let’s cross over to Max,” said Charley. “That seems a pleasant shady seat.”
Laura did not speak, but she looked sidewise in his preoccupied countenance, and, evidently piqued at what she considered his indifference, allowed herself to be led across the lawn.
“By the way, Miss Bray,” said Charley suddenly, “you never introduced me to your lady friend.”
“Lady friend!” said Laura, as if surprised.
“Yes, the fair girl that friend Max there seems so taken with. Is it hisfiancée?” Laura Bray’s eyes glittered as she bent forward and looked intently in her companion’s face; then a tightness seemed to come over the muscles of her countenance, giving her a hard bitter look, as a flash of suspicion crossed her mind. The next moment she smiled; but it was not a pleasant smile, though it displayed two rows of the most brilliantly-white teeth. But, apparently determined upon her course, she increased the pace at which they were walking till they stood in front of the seat where, with a troubled look in her eyes, sat, listening perforce to the doubtless agreeable conversation of Mr Maximilian Bray, the lady of the railway station, and the companion of Laura in the brougham.
It was with a look almost of malice that, stopping short, Laura fixed her eyes upon Charley Vining, to catch the play of his countenance as, without altering the direction of her glance, she said aloud:
“Miss Bedford, this gentleman has requested to be introduced to you—Mr Charles Vining.” Then, with mock courtesy, and still devouring each twitch and movement, she continued: “Mr Charles Vining—Miss Bedford,our new governess!”
Volume One—Chapter Nine.An Unexpected Protector.Mr Onesimus Bray led rather an uncomfortable life at home, and more than once he had confided his troubles to the sympathising ear of Sir Philip Vining. Laura was given to snubbing him; Max made no scruple about displaying the contempt in which he held his parent; while as to Mrs Bray, the wife of his bosom, the principal cause of his suffering from her was the way in which she sat upon him.Now it must not be supposed that Mrs Bray literally and forcibly did perform any such act of cruelty; for this was only Mr Bray’s metaphorical way of speaking in alluding to the way in which he was kept down and debarred from having a voice in his own establishment, the consequence being that he sought for solace and recreation elsewhere.Mr Onesimus Bray was far from being a poor man; so that if he felt inclined to indulge in any particular hobby, his banker never said him “Nay,” while if Mrs Bray’s somewhat penurious alarms could be laid by the promise of profit, she would raise not the slightest opposition to her husband’s projects. At the present time, Mr Bray’s especial hobby was a model farm, in which no small sum of money had been sunk—of course, with a view to profit; but so far the returns had beennil. The old farmers of the neighbourhood used to wink and nod their heads together, and cackle like so many of their own geese at what they called Mr Bray’s “fads”—namely, at his light agricultural carts and wagons; despising, too, his cows and short-legged pigs; but, all the same, losing no chance of obtaining a portion of his stock when occasion served.Moved by a strong desire to possess the finest Southdown sheep in the county, Mr Bray had purchased a score of the best to be had for money, among which was a snowy-wooled patriarchal ram, as noble-looking a specimen of its kind as ever graced a Roman triumphal procession ere bedewing with its heart’s blood the sacrificial altar. Gentle, quiet, and inoffensive, the animal might have been played with by a child before it arrived at Mr Bray’s model farmstead; but having been there confined for a few days in a brick-walled pig-sty, the unfortunate quadruped attracted the notice of the young gentleman whose duty it was to clean knives, boots, and shoes at the Elms, and wait table at dinner, clothed in a jacket glorious with an abundant crop of buttons gracefully arranged in the outline of a balloon over his padded chest. It occurred to this young gentleman one afternoon when alone, that a little playful teasing of the ram might afford him some safe sport; so fetching a large new thrum mop from the kitchen, he held it over the side of the pig-sty, shaking it fiercely and threateningly at the ram, till the poor beast answered the challenge of the—to him—strange enemy by backing as far as possible, and then running with all his might at the suddenly-withdrawn mop, when his head would come with stunning violence against the bricks, making the wall quiver again.The pleasant pastime used to be carried on very frequently, till most probably, not from soreness—rams’ heads being slightly thick, and able to suffer even brick walls—but from disappointment at not being able to smite its adversary, the ram became changed into a decidedly vicious beast, and, as such, he was turned out into one of Mr Bray’s pleasant meadows.Now, as it fell upon a day, perfectly innocent of there being any vicious animal in the neighbourhood, Ella Bedford had passed through this very meadow during a walk with her three pupils. The morning was bright and sunshiny, and the sight of a fine snowy-wooled sheep cropping the bright green herbage was not one likely to create alarm. Had it been a cow, or even a calf, it might have been different, and the stiles and footpaths avoided for some other route; for the female eye is a strong magnifier of the bovine race, and we have known ladies refuse to pass through a field containing half-a-dozen calves, which had been magnified, one and all, into bulls of the largest and fiercest character.There was something delightful to Ella in the sweet repose of the country around. The grass was just springing into its brightest green, gilded here and there with the burnished buttercups, while in every hedge-side “oxlips and the nodding violet” were blooming; the oaks, too, were beginning to wear their livery of green and gold. The birds sang sweetly as they jerked themselves from spray to spray, while that Sims Reeves of the feathered race—the lark—balanced himself far up in the blue ether, and poured out strain after strain of liquid melody. There was that wondrous elasticity in the air, that power which sets the heart throbbing, and the mind dreaming of something bright, ethereal, ungrasped, but now nearer than ever to the one who drinks in the sweet intoxicating breath of spring.There was a brightness in Ella’s eye, and a slight flush in her cheek, as she walked on with her pupils, smiling at each merry conceit, and feeling young herself, in spite of the age of sorrow that had been hers. For a while she forgot the strange home and the cool treatment she was receiving; the unpleasant attentions, too, of the hopeful son of the house; the meeting in the gallery. The wearisome compliments at the flower-show were set aside; for—perhaps influenced by the bright morning—Ella’s cheek grew still more flushed, and in spite of herself she dwelt upon the scene where she pictured two beings addressed by a frank bold horseman; and as his earnest gaze seemed directed once more at her, Ella’s heart increased its pulsations, but only to be succeeded by a dull sense of aching misery, as another picture floated before her vision, to the exclusion of the sunny landscape and the glorious spring verdure. The sweet liquid trill of the birds, too, grew dull on her ear; for she seemed once more to see the same earnest gaze fixed upon her face, and then to watch the start of surprise—was it disappointment?—as again Laura Bray’s words rang on her ears:“Miss Bedford, our new governess!”It was time to cease dreaming, she thought.Walks must come to an end sooner or later; and a reference to her watch showing Ella Bedford that they would only reach the Elms in time for lunch, they began to retrace their steps, when, to the young girl’s horror, she saw that they had been followed by no less a personage than Mr Maximilian Bray, whose first act upon reaching them was to take his place by Ella’s side, and send his sisters on in advance.But that was not achieved without difficulty, Miss Nelly turning round sharply and declining to go.“I shan’t go, Max! You only want to talk sugar to Miss Bedford; and ma says you’re ever so much too attentive—so there now!”Ella’s face became like scarlet, and she increased her pace; but a whisper from Max sent Nelly scampering off after her two sisters—now some distance in advance—when he turned to the governess.“Glad I caught up to you, Miss Bedford—I am, bai Jove! You see, I wanted to have a few words with you.”“Mr Maximilian Bray will, perhaps, excuse my hurrying on,” said Ella coldly. “It is nearly lunch-time, and I am obliged to teach punctuality to my pupils.”“Bai Jove! ya-as, of course!” said Max. “But I never get a word with you at home, and I wanted to set myself right with you about that station matter.”“If Mr Bray would be kind enough to forget it, I should be glad,” said Ella quickly.“Bai Jove! ya-as; but, you see, I can’t. You see, it was all a joke so as to introduce myself like, being much struck, you know. Bai Jove, Miss Bedford! I can’t tell you how much struck I was with your personal appearance—can’t indeed!”Ella’s lip curled with scorn as she slightly bent her head and hurried on.“Don’t walk quite so fast, my dear—Miss Bedford,” he added after a pause, as he saw the start she gave. “We shall be time enough for lunch, I daresay. Pleasant day, ain’t it?”Ella bent her head again in answer, but still kept on forcing the pace; for the children were two fields ahead, and racing on as quickly as possible.“Odd, wasn’t it, Miss Bedford, that we should have met as we did, and both coming to the same place? Why don’t you take my arm? There’s nobody looking—this time,” he added.The hot blood again flushed up in Ella’s cheek as she darted an indignant glance at her persecutor; but there was something in Max Bray’s composition which must have prevented him from reading aright the signs and tokens of annoyance in others; and, besides, he was so lost in admiration of his own graces and position, that when, as he termed it, hestoopedto pay attentions to an inferior, every change of countenance was taken to mean modest confusion or delight.“There, don’t hurry so!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Bai Jove, what a fierce little thing you are! Now, look here: we’re quite alone, and I want to talk to you. There, you needn’t look round: the children are half-way home, and we shall be quite unobserved. Bai Jove! why, what a prudish little creature you are!”Ella gave a quick glance round, but only to find that it was just as Max had said. There was a sheep feeding in the field, whose hedges were of the highest; and for aught she could see to the contrary, there was no assistance within a mile, while Max Bray had caught her hand in his, and was barring the route.Regularly driven to bay, Ella turned upon him with flaming face, trying at the same moment to snatch away her hand, which, however, he held the tighter, crushing her fingers painfully, though she never winced.“Mr Bray,” she exclaimed, “do you wish me to appeal to your father for protection?”“Of course not!” he drawled. “But there now—bai Jove! what is the use of your putting on all those fine airs and coy ways? Do you think I’m blind, or don’t understand what they mean? Come now, just listen to what I say.”Before Ella could avoid his grasp, he had thrown one arm round her waist, when he started back as if stung, for a loud mocking laugh came from the stile.“Ha, ha, ha! I thought so! I knew you wanted to talk sugar to Miss Bedford.”At the same moment Max and Ella had seen the merry delighted countenance of Nelly, who had crept silently back, but now darted away like a deer.A cold chill shot through Ella Bedford’s breast, and it was with the greatest difficulty that she could force back the angry tears as she saw that her future was completely marred at the Elms—how that she was, as it were, at the mercy of the young girl placed in her charge, unless she forestalled any tattling by complaining herself of the treatment to which she had been subjected.“There, you needn’t mind her!” exclaimed Max, who partly read her thoughts. “I can keep her saucy little tongue quiet. You need not be afraid.”“Afraid!” exclaimed Ella indignantly, as she turned upon the speaker with flashing eyes, and vainly endeavoured to free the hand Max had again secured.“Handsomer every moment, bai Jove!” exclaimed Max. “You’ve no idea how a little colour becomes you! Now, I just want to say a few—”“Are you aware, sir, that this is a cruel outrage?—one of which no gentleman would be guilty.”“Outrage? Nonsense! What stuff you do talk, my dear! I should have thought that, after what I said to you at the flower-show, you would have been a little more gentle, and not gone flaming out at a poor fellow like this. You see, I love you to distraction, Miss Bedford—I do indeed. Bai Jove, I couldn’t have thought that it was possible for any one to have made such an impression upon me. Case of love at first sight—bai Jove, it was! And here you are so cruel—so hard—so—’Pon my soul I hardly know what to call it—I don’t, bai Jove!”“Mr Bray,” said Ella passionately, “every word that you address to me in this way is an insult. As the instructor of your sisters, your duty should be to protect, not outrage my feelings at every encounter.”She struggled to release her hand, but vainly. Each moment his grasp grew firmer, and, like some dove in the claws of a hawk, she panted to escape. She felt that it would be cowardly to call for help; besides, it would be only making a scene in the event of assistance being near enough to respond to her appeal; and she had no wish to figure as an injured heroine or damsel in distress. Her breast heaved, and an angry flush suffused her cheeks, while, in spite of every effort, the great hot tears of annoyance and misery would force themselves to her eyes. She knew it not—though she saw the exquisite’s gaze fixed more and more intently upon her—she knew not how excitement was heightening the soft beauty of her face, brightening her eyes, suffusing her countenance with a warm glow, and lending animation where sorrow had left all tinged with a sad air of gloom—an aspect that had settled down again after the brightness given by the early part of her walk.“There now, don’t be foolish, and hurt the poor little white hand! You can’t get away, my little birdie; for I’ve caught you fast. And don’t get making those bright eyes all dull and red with tears. I don’t like crying—I don’t indeed, bai Jove! Now let’s walk gently along together. There—that’s the way. And now we can talk, and you can listen to what I have to say.”In spite of her resistance, he drew the young girl’s hand through his arm, and held it thus firmly. But to walk on, Ella absolutely refused; and stopping short, she tried to appeal to his feelings.“Mr Bray,” she said, “as a gentleman, I ask you to consider my position. You have already done me irreparable injury in the eyes of your sister; and now by this persecution you would force me to leave my situation, perhaps with ignominy. I appeal to your feelings—to your honour—to cease this unmanly pursuit.”“Ah, that’s better!” he said mockingly. “But I’m afraid, my dear, you have a strong tinge of the romantic in your ideas. I see, you read too many novels; but you’ll come round in time to my way of thinking, only don’t try on so much of this silly prudishness, my dear. It don’t do, you know, because I can see through it. There, now, don’t struggle; only I’m not going to let you go without something to remember this meeting by. Now don’t be silly! It’s no robbery—only an exchange. I want that little ring to hang at my watch-chain, and you can wear this one for my sake. There!” he exclaimed triumphantly, as he succeeded in drawing a single gem pearl ring from her finger and placing one he drew from his pocket in its place, Ella the while alternately pale and red with suppressed anger, for she had vainly looked around for help; and now forcing back her tears, and scorning to display any farther weakness, she took off the ring and dashed it upon the path.“What a silly little thing it is!” laughed Bray, who considered that he was honouring her with his attentions, however rough they might be. “But it’s of no use: you don’t go till that ring is on your darling little finger—you don’t, bai Jove!”Was there to be no help? A minute before, she would have refused assistance; for she did not believe that any one professing to be a gentleman would so utterly have turned a deaf ear to her protestations and appeals. From some low drink-maddened ruffian she might have fled in horror, shrieking, perhaps, for help; but here, with the son of her employers, Ella had believed that her indignant rejection of the insulting addresses would have been sufficient to set her at liberty. She was, then, half stunned as to her mental faculties on finding that her words were mocked at, her appeals disregarded, and even her indignant looks treated as feints and coyness. But then, poor girl, she did not know Maximilian Bray, and that his gross nature was not one that could grasp the character of a good and pure-hearted woman. It was something he could not understand. He measured other natures by his own, and acted accordingly. Once only the thoughts of Ella Bedford flew towards Charles Vining, as if, in spite of herself, they sought in him her natural protector, but only for an instant; and now, seriously alarmed, she gazed earnestly round for aid. She would have even gladly welcomed the mocking face of Nelly, and have called her to her side. But no, Nelly had hurried away, content and laughing at what she had seen: and now from the indignant flush, Ella’s face began to pale into a look of genuine alarm. But help was at hand.Still holding tightly by her hand, Max Bray stooped to recover the ring, when, suddenly as a flash of light, a white rushing form seemed to dart through the air, catching Max Bray, as he bent down, right upon the crown of his hat, crushing it over his eyes, and tumbling him over and over, as a fierce “Ba-a-a-a!” rung upon his astonished ears.Set free by this unexpected preserver, Ella, panting and alarmed, fled for the stile and climbed it, when, looking back, she saw that she was safe, while Max Bray rose, struggling to free himself from his crushed-down hat; but only for his father’s prize Southdown to dart at and roll him over again: when, once more rising to his feet, he ran, frightened and blindfold, as hard as he could across the field in the opposite direction.Ella saw no more. It did not fall to her lot to see Max Bray make a blind bound—a leap in the dark—from his unseen pursuer, and land in the midst of a dense blackthorn hedge, out of which he struggled, torn of flesh and coat, to free himself from the extinguishing hat, and gaze through the hedge-gap at his assailant, who stood upon the other side shaking his head, and bucking and running forward “ba-a-a-ing” furiously.For a few moments Max Bray was speechless with rage and astonishment. To think that he, Maximilian Bray, should have been bowled over, battered, and made to flee ignominiously by a sheep! It was positively awful.“You—you—you beast! you—you woolly brute!” he stuttered at last. “I’ll—I’ll—bai Jove, I’ll shoot you as sure as you’re there!—I will, bai Jove!”But now the worst of the affair flashed upon him, making torn clothes, thorns in the flesh, and battered hat seem as nothing, though these were in his estimation no trifles; but this was the second time within the past few days that he had been wounded in his self-esteem.“And now there’s that confounded coy jade run home laughing at me—I’m sure she has!” he muttered. “Not that there was anything to laugh at; but never mind: ‘Every dog—’ My turn will come! But to be upset like this! And—what? you won’t let me come through!”There was no doubt about it. The Southdown was keeping guard at the stile, and Max Bray, after trying to repair damages, was glad to make his way back to the Elms by a circuitous route, and then to creep in by the side-door unseen, vowing vengeance the while against those who had brought him to that pass.“But I’ll make an end of the sheep!” he exclaimed—“I will, bai Jove!”
Mr Onesimus Bray led rather an uncomfortable life at home, and more than once he had confided his troubles to the sympathising ear of Sir Philip Vining. Laura was given to snubbing him; Max made no scruple about displaying the contempt in which he held his parent; while as to Mrs Bray, the wife of his bosom, the principal cause of his suffering from her was the way in which she sat upon him.
Now it must not be supposed that Mrs Bray literally and forcibly did perform any such act of cruelty; for this was only Mr Bray’s metaphorical way of speaking in alluding to the way in which he was kept down and debarred from having a voice in his own establishment, the consequence being that he sought for solace and recreation elsewhere.
Mr Onesimus Bray was far from being a poor man; so that if he felt inclined to indulge in any particular hobby, his banker never said him “Nay,” while if Mrs Bray’s somewhat penurious alarms could be laid by the promise of profit, she would raise not the slightest opposition to her husband’s projects. At the present time, Mr Bray’s especial hobby was a model farm, in which no small sum of money had been sunk—of course, with a view to profit; but so far the returns had beennil. The old farmers of the neighbourhood used to wink and nod their heads together, and cackle like so many of their own geese at what they called Mr Bray’s “fads”—namely, at his light agricultural carts and wagons; despising, too, his cows and short-legged pigs; but, all the same, losing no chance of obtaining a portion of his stock when occasion served.
Moved by a strong desire to possess the finest Southdown sheep in the county, Mr Bray had purchased a score of the best to be had for money, among which was a snowy-wooled patriarchal ram, as noble-looking a specimen of its kind as ever graced a Roman triumphal procession ere bedewing with its heart’s blood the sacrificial altar. Gentle, quiet, and inoffensive, the animal might have been played with by a child before it arrived at Mr Bray’s model farmstead; but having been there confined for a few days in a brick-walled pig-sty, the unfortunate quadruped attracted the notice of the young gentleman whose duty it was to clean knives, boots, and shoes at the Elms, and wait table at dinner, clothed in a jacket glorious with an abundant crop of buttons gracefully arranged in the outline of a balloon over his padded chest. It occurred to this young gentleman one afternoon when alone, that a little playful teasing of the ram might afford him some safe sport; so fetching a large new thrum mop from the kitchen, he held it over the side of the pig-sty, shaking it fiercely and threateningly at the ram, till the poor beast answered the challenge of the—to him—strange enemy by backing as far as possible, and then running with all his might at the suddenly-withdrawn mop, when his head would come with stunning violence against the bricks, making the wall quiver again.
The pleasant pastime used to be carried on very frequently, till most probably, not from soreness—rams’ heads being slightly thick, and able to suffer even brick walls—but from disappointment at not being able to smite its adversary, the ram became changed into a decidedly vicious beast, and, as such, he was turned out into one of Mr Bray’s pleasant meadows.
Now, as it fell upon a day, perfectly innocent of there being any vicious animal in the neighbourhood, Ella Bedford had passed through this very meadow during a walk with her three pupils. The morning was bright and sunshiny, and the sight of a fine snowy-wooled sheep cropping the bright green herbage was not one likely to create alarm. Had it been a cow, or even a calf, it might have been different, and the stiles and footpaths avoided for some other route; for the female eye is a strong magnifier of the bovine race, and we have known ladies refuse to pass through a field containing half-a-dozen calves, which had been magnified, one and all, into bulls of the largest and fiercest character.
There was something delightful to Ella in the sweet repose of the country around. The grass was just springing into its brightest green, gilded here and there with the burnished buttercups, while in every hedge-side “oxlips and the nodding violet” were blooming; the oaks, too, were beginning to wear their livery of green and gold. The birds sang sweetly as they jerked themselves from spray to spray, while that Sims Reeves of the feathered race—the lark—balanced himself far up in the blue ether, and poured out strain after strain of liquid melody. There was that wondrous elasticity in the air, that power which sets the heart throbbing, and the mind dreaming of something bright, ethereal, ungrasped, but now nearer than ever to the one who drinks in the sweet intoxicating breath of spring.
There was a brightness in Ella’s eye, and a slight flush in her cheek, as she walked on with her pupils, smiling at each merry conceit, and feeling young herself, in spite of the age of sorrow that had been hers. For a while she forgot the strange home and the cool treatment she was receiving; the unpleasant attentions, too, of the hopeful son of the house; the meeting in the gallery. The wearisome compliments at the flower-show were set aside; for—perhaps influenced by the bright morning—Ella’s cheek grew still more flushed, and in spite of herself she dwelt upon the scene where she pictured two beings addressed by a frank bold horseman; and as his earnest gaze seemed directed once more at her, Ella’s heart increased its pulsations, but only to be succeeded by a dull sense of aching misery, as another picture floated before her vision, to the exclusion of the sunny landscape and the glorious spring verdure. The sweet liquid trill of the birds, too, grew dull on her ear; for she seemed once more to see the same earnest gaze fixed upon her face, and then to watch the start of surprise—was it disappointment?—as again Laura Bray’s words rang on her ears:
“Miss Bedford, our new governess!”
It was time to cease dreaming, she thought.
Walks must come to an end sooner or later; and a reference to her watch showing Ella Bedford that they would only reach the Elms in time for lunch, they began to retrace their steps, when, to the young girl’s horror, she saw that they had been followed by no less a personage than Mr Maximilian Bray, whose first act upon reaching them was to take his place by Ella’s side, and send his sisters on in advance.
But that was not achieved without difficulty, Miss Nelly turning round sharply and declining to go.
“I shan’t go, Max! You only want to talk sugar to Miss Bedford; and ma says you’re ever so much too attentive—so there now!”
Ella’s face became like scarlet, and she increased her pace; but a whisper from Max sent Nelly scampering off after her two sisters—now some distance in advance—when he turned to the governess.
“Glad I caught up to you, Miss Bedford—I am, bai Jove! You see, I wanted to have a few words with you.”
“Mr Maximilian Bray will, perhaps, excuse my hurrying on,” said Ella coldly. “It is nearly lunch-time, and I am obliged to teach punctuality to my pupils.”
“Bai Jove! ya-as, of course!” said Max. “But I never get a word with you at home, and I wanted to set myself right with you about that station matter.”
“If Mr Bray would be kind enough to forget it, I should be glad,” said Ella quickly.
“Bai Jove! ya-as; but, you see, I can’t. You see, it was all a joke so as to introduce myself like, being much struck, you know. Bai Jove, Miss Bedford! I can’t tell you how much struck I was with your personal appearance—can’t indeed!”
Ella’s lip curled with scorn as she slightly bent her head and hurried on.
“Don’t walk quite so fast, my dear—Miss Bedford,” he added after a pause, as he saw the start she gave. “We shall be time enough for lunch, I daresay. Pleasant day, ain’t it?”
Ella bent her head again in answer, but still kept on forcing the pace; for the children were two fields ahead, and racing on as quickly as possible.
“Odd, wasn’t it, Miss Bedford, that we should have met as we did, and both coming to the same place? Why don’t you take my arm? There’s nobody looking—this time,” he added.
The hot blood again flushed up in Ella’s cheek as she darted an indignant glance at her persecutor; but there was something in Max Bray’s composition which must have prevented him from reading aright the signs and tokens of annoyance in others; and, besides, he was so lost in admiration of his own graces and position, that when, as he termed it, hestoopedto pay attentions to an inferior, every change of countenance was taken to mean modest confusion or delight.
“There, don’t hurry so!” he exclaimed, laughing. “Bai Jove, what a fierce little thing you are! Now, look here: we’re quite alone, and I want to talk to you. There, you needn’t look round: the children are half-way home, and we shall be quite unobserved. Bai Jove! why, what a prudish little creature you are!”
Ella gave a quick glance round, but only to find that it was just as Max had said. There was a sheep feeding in the field, whose hedges were of the highest; and for aught she could see to the contrary, there was no assistance within a mile, while Max Bray had caught her hand in his, and was barring the route.
Regularly driven to bay, Ella turned upon him with flaming face, trying at the same moment to snatch away her hand, which, however, he held the tighter, crushing her fingers painfully, though she never winced.
“Mr Bray,” she exclaimed, “do you wish me to appeal to your father for protection?”
“Of course not!” he drawled. “But there now—bai Jove! what is the use of your putting on all those fine airs and coy ways? Do you think I’m blind, or don’t understand what they mean? Come now, just listen to what I say.”
Before Ella could avoid his grasp, he had thrown one arm round her waist, when he started back as if stung, for a loud mocking laugh came from the stile.
“Ha, ha, ha! I thought so! I knew you wanted to talk sugar to Miss Bedford.”
At the same moment Max and Ella had seen the merry delighted countenance of Nelly, who had crept silently back, but now darted away like a deer.
A cold chill shot through Ella Bedford’s breast, and it was with the greatest difficulty that she could force back the angry tears as she saw that her future was completely marred at the Elms—how that she was, as it were, at the mercy of the young girl placed in her charge, unless she forestalled any tattling by complaining herself of the treatment to which she had been subjected.
“There, you needn’t mind her!” exclaimed Max, who partly read her thoughts. “I can keep her saucy little tongue quiet. You need not be afraid.”
“Afraid!” exclaimed Ella indignantly, as she turned upon the speaker with flashing eyes, and vainly endeavoured to free the hand Max had again secured.
“Handsomer every moment, bai Jove!” exclaimed Max. “You’ve no idea how a little colour becomes you! Now, I just want to say a few—”
“Are you aware, sir, that this is a cruel outrage?—one of which no gentleman would be guilty.”
“Outrage? Nonsense! What stuff you do talk, my dear! I should have thought that, after what I said to you at the flower-show, you would have been a little more gentle, and not gone flaming out at a poor fellow like this. You see, I love you to distraction, Miss Bedford—I do indeed. Bai Jove, I couldn’t have thought that it was possible for any one to have made such an impression upon me. Case of love at first sight—bai Jove, it was! And here you are so cruel—so hard—so—’Pon my soul I hardly know what to call it—I don’t, bai Jove!”
“Mr Bray,” said Ella passionately, “every word that you address to me in this way is an insult. As the instructor of your sisters, your duty should be to protect, not outrage my feelings at every encounter.”
She struggled to release her hand, but vainly. Each moment his grasp grew firmer, and, like some dove in the claws of a hawk, she panted to escape. She felt that it would be cowardly to call for help; besides, it would be only making a scene in the event of assistance being near enough to respond to her appeal; and she had no wish to figure as an injured heroine or damsel in distress. Her breast heaved, and an angry flush suffused her cheeks, while, in spite of every effort, the great hot tears of annoyance and misery would force themselves to her eyes. She knew it not—though she saw the exquisite’s gaze fixed more and more intently upon her—she knew not how excitement was heightening the soft beauty of her face, brightening her eyes, suffusing her countenance with a warm glow, and lending animation where sorrow had left all tinged with a sad air of gloom—an aspect that had settled down again after the brightness given by the early part of her walk.
“There now, don’t be foolish, and hurt the poor little white hand! You can’t get away, my little birdie; for I’ve caught you fast. And don’t get making those bright eyes all dull and red with tears. I don’t like crying—I don’t indeed, bai Jove! Now let’s walk gently along together. There—that’s the way. And now we can talk, and you can listen to what I have to say.”
In spite of her resistance, he drew the young girl’s hand through his arm, and held it thus firmly. But to walk on, Ella absolutely refused; and stopping short, she tried to appeal to his feelings.
“Mr Bray,” she said, “as a gentleman, I ask you to consider my position. You have already done me irreparable injury in the eyes of your sister; and now by this persecution you would force me to leave my situation, perhaps with ignominy. I appeal to your feelings—to your honour—to cease this unmanly pursuit.”
“Ah, that’s better!” he said mockingly. “But I’m afraid, my dear, you have a strong tinge of the romantic in your ideas. I see, you read too many novels; but you’ll come round in time to my way of thinking, only don’t try on so much of this silly prudishness, my dear. It don’t do, you know, because I can see through it. There, now, don’t struggle; only I’m not going to let you go without something to remember this meeting by. Now don’t be silly! It’s no robbery—only an exchange. I want that little ring to hang at my watch-chain, and you can wear this one for my sake. There!” he exclaimed triumphantly, as he succeeded in drawing a single gem pearl ring from her finger and placing one he drew from his pocket in its place, Ella the while alternately pale and red with suppressed anger, for she had vainly looked around for help; and now forcing back her tears, and scorning to display any farther weakness, she took off the ring and dashed it upon the path.
“What a silly little thing it is!” laughed Bray, who considered that he was honouring her with his attentions, however rough they might be. “But it’s of no use: you don’t go till that ring is on your darling little finger—you don’t, bai Jove!”
Was there to be no help? A minute before, she would have refused assistance; for she did not believe that any one professing to be a gentleman would so utterly have turned a deaf ear to her protestations and appeals. From some low drink-maddened ruffian she might have fled in horror, shrieking, perhaps, for help; but here, with the son of her employers, Ella had believed that her indignant rejection of the insulting addresses would have been sufficient to set her at liberty. She was, then, half stunned as to her mental faculties on finding that her words were mocked at, her appeals disregarded, and even her indignant looks treated as feints and coyness. But then, poor girl, she did not know Maximilian Bray, and that his gross nature was not one that could grasp the character of a good and pure-hearted woman. It was something he could not understand. He measured other natures by his own, and acted accordingly. Once only the thoughts of Ella Bedford flew towards Charles Vining, as if, in spite of herself, they sought in him her natural protector, but only for an instant; and now, seriously alarmed, she gazed earnestly round for aid. She would have even gladly welcomed the mocking face of Nelly, and have called her to her side. But no, Nelly had hurried away, content and laughing at what she had seen: and now from the indignant flush, Ella’s face began to pale into a look of genuine alarm. But help was at hand.
Still holding tightly by her hand, Max Bray stooped to recover the ring, when, suddenly as a flash of light, a white rushing form seemed to dart through the air, catching Max Bray, as he bent down, right upon the crown of his hat, crushing it over his eyes, and tumbling him over and over, as a fierce “Ba-a-a-a!” rung upon his astonished ears.
Set free by this unexpected preserver, Ella, panting and alarmed, fled for the stile and climbed it, when, looking back, she saw that she was safe, while Max Bray rose, struggling to free himself from his crushed-down hat; but only for his father’s prize Southdown to dart at and roll him over again: when, once more rising to his feet, he ran, frightened and blindfold, as hard as he could across the field in the opposite direction.
Ella saw no more. It did not fall to her lot to see Max Bray make a blind bound—a leap in the dark—from his unseen pursuer, and land in the midst of a dense blackthorn hedge, out of which he struggled, torn of flesh and coat, to free himself from the extinguishing hat, and gaze through the hedge-gap at his assailant, who stood upon the other side shaking his head, and bucking and running forward “ba-a-a-ing” furiously.
For a few moments Max Bray was speechless with rage and astonishment. To think that he, Maximilian Bray, should have been bowled over, battered, and made to flee ignominiously by a sheep! It was positively awful.
“You—you—you beast! you—you woolly brute!” he stuttered at last. “I’ll—I’ll—bai Jove, I’ll shoot you as sure as you’re there!—I will, bai Jove!”
But now the worst of the affair flashed upon him, making torn clothes, thorns in the flesh, and battered hat seem as nothing, though these were in his estimation no trifles; but this was the second time within the past few days that he had been wounded in his self-esteem.
“And now there’s that confounded coy jade run home laughing at me—I’m sure she has!” he muttered. “Not that there was anything to laugh at; but never mind: ‘Every dog—’ My turn will come! But to be upset like this! And—what? you won’t let me come through!”
There was no doubt about it. The Southdown was keeping guard at the stile, and Max Bray, after trying to repair damages, was glad to make his way back to the Elms by a circuitous route, and then to creep in by the side-door unseen, vowing vengeance the while against those who had brought him to that pass.
“But I’ll make an end of the sheep!” he exclaimed—“I will, bai Jove!”
Volume One—Chapter Ten.Ella’s Comforter.Most persons possessed of feeling will readily agree that scarcely anything could be more unpleasant than for a gentleman, bent upon making himself attractive to a lady, to meet with such a misfortune as to be taken, while in a stooping position, for a defiant beast, and to have to encounter the full force of a woolly avalanche, or so much live mutton discharged, as from a catapult, right upon the crown of his head. Max Bray was extremely sore afterwards—sore in person and temper: but the most extraordinary part of the affair is, that his head never ached from the fierce blow. It would perhaps be invidious to offer remarks about thickness, or to make comparisons; but certainly for two or three days after, when he encountered Ella Bedford, Max Bray did wear, in spite of his effrontery, a decidedly sheepish air. But not for a longer period. At the end of that time a great deal of the soreness had worn off, and he was nearly himself again.But with Ella Bedford the case was different. She was hourly awakening to the fact that hers was to be no pleasant sojourn at the Elms; and with tearful eyes she thought of the happy old days at home before sickness fell upon the little country vicarage, and then death removed the simple, good-hearted village clergyman from his flock, to be followed all too soon by his mourning wife.“I have nothing to leave you, my child—nothing!” were almost the father’s last words. “Always poor and in delicate health, I could only keep out of debt. But your mother, help her—be kind to her,” he whispered.Ella Bedford’s help and kindness were only called for during a few months; and then it fell to her lot to seek for some situation where the accomplishments, for the most part taught by her father, might be the means of providing her with a home and some small pittance.By means of advertising, she had succeeded in obtaining the post of governess at the Elms, and it was while on her way to fill that post that she had encountered the hopeful scion of the house of Bray. It was, then, with a feeling almost of horror that she met him again at the Elms, and her first thought was that she must flee directly—leave the house at once; her next that she ought to relate her adventure to some one. But who would sympathise with her, and rightly view it all? She shrank from harsh loud-voiced Mrs Bray; and, almost from the first meeting, Laura had seemed to take a dislike to her—one which she made no scruple of displaying—while, as a rule, she tried all she could to how the immeasurable distance she considered that there existed between her and the dependent.On the day of the sheep encounter, agitated, wounded, and with great difficulty keeping back her tears, Ella hurried on; and had Max Bray’s position been one of danger, it is very doubtful whether any assistance would have been rendered him through Ella, so thoroughly was she taken up with her own position. She felt that she must be questioned respecting her charges reaching home alone; they would certainly talk about her staying behind with their brother, and the culminating point would be reached when Miss Nelly declared what she had seen.Well might the poor girl’s heart beat as she hastened on; for it seemed as if, through the persecution of a fop, her prospects in life were to be blighted at the outset. But there’s a silver lining to every cloud, it is said; and before Ella had gone half a mile, to her great joy she saw Nelly seated with her sisters by a bank, gathering wild flowers, and then tossing them away.Fortune favoured her too when they reached the Elms: luncheon—the children’s dinner—had been put back for half an hour because Mr Maximilian had not returned.“Mr Maximilian” did not show himself at all at table that day, and, glad of the respite, Ella sought her bedroom directly after, to think over the past, and try and decide what ought to be her course under the circumstances. What would she not have given for the loving counsel of some gentle, true-hearted woman! But she felt that she was quite alone—alone in the vast weary world; and as such thoughts sprang up came the recollection of the happy bygone, sweeping all before it; and at last, unable to bear up any longer, she sank upon her knees by the bedside, weeping and sobbing as if her poor torn heart would break.She struggled hard to keep the tears back, but in vain now—they would come, and with them fierce hysterical sobs, such as had never burst before from her breast. Then would come a cessation, as she asked herself whether she ought not to acquaint Mrs Bray with her son’s behaviour?—or would it be making too much of the affair? Then she reviewed her own conduct, and tried to find in it some flaw—some want of reserve which had brought upon her the insults to which she had been subjected. But, as might be expected, the search was vain, and once more she bowed down her head and sobbed bitterly for the happy past, the painful present, and the dreary future.It was in the midst of her passionate outbursts that she suddenly felt some one kneel beside her, and through her tears she saw, with wonder, the friendly and weeping face of Nelly, who had crept unperceived into the room.“O, Miss Bedford! Dear, dear Miss Bedford, please don’t—don’t!” sobbed the girl, as, throwing her long thin arms round Ella, she drew her face to her own hard bony breast, soothing, kissing, and fondling her tenderly, as might a mother. “Please—please don’t cry so, or you’ll break my heart; for, though you don’t think it, I do love you so—so much! You’re so gentle, and kind, and wise, and beautiful, that—that—that—O, and you’re crying more than ever!”Poor Nelly burst out almost into a howl of grief as she spoke; but, like her words, it was genuine, and as she pressed her rough sympathies upon her weeping governess, Ella’s sobs grew less laboured, and she clung convulsively to the slight form at her side.“There—there—there!” half sobbed Nelly. “Try not to cry, dear; do please try, dear Miss Bedford; for indeed, indeed it does hurt me so! You made me to love you, and I can’t bear to see you like this!”So energetic, indeed, was Nelly’s grief, that, as she spoke, she kicked out behind, overturning a bedroom chair; but it passed unnoticed.“They say I’m a child; but I’m not, you know!” she said half passionately. “I’m sixteen nearly, and I can see as well as other people. Yes, and feel too! I’m not a child; and if Laury raps my knuckles again, I’ll bite her, see if I don’t! But I know what you’re crying about, Miss Bedford, and I saw you wanted to cry all dinner-time, only you couldn’t; it’s about Max; and you thought I should tell that he put his arm round your waist. But I shan’t—no, not never to a single soul, if they put me in the rack! He’s a donkey, Max is, and a disagreeable, stupid, cox-comby, stubborn, bubble-headed donkey, that he is! I saw him kiss Miss Twentyman, who used to be our governess, and she slapped his face—and serve him right too, a donkey, to want to kiss anybody—such stupid silly nonsense! It’s quite right enough for girls and women to kiss; but for a man—pah! I don’t believe Max was ever meant to be anything but a girl, though; and I told him so once, and he boxed my ears, and I threw the butter-plate at him, and the butter stuck in his whiskers, and it was such fun I forgot to cry, though he did hurt me ever so. But I’m not a child, Miss Bedford, and I do love you ever so much, and I’ll never say a single word about you and Max; and if he ever bothers you again, you say to him, ‘How’s Miss Brown?’ and he’ll colour up, and be as cross as can be. I often say it to make him cross. He used to go to see her, and she wouldn’t have him because she said he was such a muff, and she married Major Tompkins instead. But it does make him cross—and serve him right too, a nasty donkey! Why, if he’d held my hand like he did yours to-day, I’d have pinched him, and nipped him, and bitten him, that I would! He sha’n’t never send me away any more, though; I shall always stop with you, and take care of you, if you’ll love me very much; and I will work so hard—so jolly hard—with my studies, Miss Bedford, I will indeed; for I’m so behindhand, and it was all through Miss Twentyman being such a cross old frump! But you needn’t be afraid of me, dear; for I’m not a child, am I?”As Nelly Bray had talked on, fondling her to whom she clung the while, Ella’s sobs had grown less frequent, and at last, as she listened to the gaunt overgrown girl’s well-meaning, half-childish, half-womanly words, she smiled upon her through her tears; for her heart felt lighter, and there was relief, too, in the knowledge that Nelly was indeed enough of a true-hearted woman to read Max Bray’s conduct in the right light, and to act accordingly.“You darling dear sweet love of a governess!” cried Nelly rapturously, as she saw the smile; and clinging to her neck, she showered down more kisses than were, perhaps, quite pleasant to the recipient. “You will trust me, won’t you?”“I will indeed, dear,” said Ella softly.“And you won’t fidget?”“No,” said Ella.“And now—that’s right; wipe your eyes and sit down—and now you must talk to me, and take care of me. But you are not cross because I came up without leave?”“Indeed, no,” said Ella sadly. “I thought I was without a friend, and you came just at that time.”“No, no, you mustn’t say that,” said Nelly, “because I am not old and sensible enough to be your friend. But it hurt me to see you in such trouble, and I was obliged to come; and now you won’t be miserable any more; and you mustn’t take any notice if Laury is disagreeable—a nasty thing! flirting all day long with my—with Mr Hugh Lingon,” she said, colouring. “But there, I’m not ashamed: Hugh Lingon is my lover, and has been ever since he was fourteen and I was six—when he used to give me sweets, and I loved him, and used to say he was so nice and fat to pinch! And Laury was flirting with him all that afternoon at the show, when Max would hang about—a great stupid!—when I wanted to explain things; for you know she was flirting with Hugh because that dear old Charley Vining wouldn’t take any notice of her. He is such a dear nice fellow! But I do not lovehim, you know, only like him; and he likes me ever so much. He told me so one day, and gave me half-a-crown to spend in sweets—wasn’t it kind of him? He’ll often carry a basket of strawberries or grapes over for me and the girls, or fill his pockets with apples and pears for us; when, as for old Max, he’d faint at the very sight of a basket, let alone carry it! You will like Charley. Heisnice! Laury loves him awful—talks about him in her sleep! But I do not think he cares for her,—and no wonder! But I say, Miss Bedford, how nice and soft your hand is! and, I say, what a little one! Why, mine’s twice as big!”Ella smiled, and went on smoothing the girl’s rough hair, but hardly heeding what she said—only catching a word here and there.“I shouldn’t never love Charley Vining,” said Nelly, whose grammar was exceedingly loose, “but I should always like him; and if I don’t marry Hugh Lingon, I mean to be an old maid, and wear stiff caps and pinners, and then—You’re beginning to cry again, and it’s too bad, after all this comforting up!”“No, indeed, my child,” said Ella, rousing herself. “I was only thinking that when things are at the blackest some little ray of hope will peep out to light our paths.”“I say,” said Nelly, “is that poetry?”“No,” said Ella, smiling sadly.“Ah, I thought it was,” said Nelly. “But then I’m so ignorant and stupid! Mamma says I’m fit for nothing, and I suppose she’s right! But there, I’m making you tired with my talking, and I won’t say another word; only don’t you fidget about Max—only snub him well; and I wouldn’t tell pa or ma, because it might make mischief.”Hanging as it were in the balance, Ella allowed the advice of the child-woman at her side to have effect, and determined to say nothing—to make no complaints, trusting to her own firmness to keep her persecutor in his place until his visit was at an end. It was, perhaps, a weak resolve; but who is there that always takes the better of two roads? It was, however, her decision—her choice of way—one which led through a cloud of sorrow, misery, and despair so dense, that in after time poor Ella often asked herself was there to be no turning, no byway that should lend once again, if but for a few hours, into the joyous sunshine of life?
Most persons possessed of feeling will readily agree that scarcely anything could be more unpleasant than for a gentleman, bent upon making himself attractive to a lady, to meet with such a misfortune as to be taken, while in a stooping position, for a defiant beast, and to have to encounter the full force of a woolly avalanche, or so much live mutton discharged, as from a catapult, right upon the crown of his head. Max Bray was extremely sore afterwards—sore in person and temper: but the most extraordinary part of the affair is, that his head never ached from the fierce blow. It would perhaps be invidious to offer remarks about thickness, or to make comparisons; but certainly for two or three days after, when he encountered Ella Bedford, Max Bray did wear, in spite of his effrontery, a decidedly sheepish air. But not for a longer period. At the end of that time a great deal of the soreness had worn off, and he was nearly himself again.
But with Ella Bedford the case was different. She was hourly awakening to the fact that hers was to be no pleasant sojourn at the Elms; and with tearful eyes she thought of the happy old days at home before sickness fell upon the little country vicarage, and then death removed the simple, good-hearted village clergyman from his flock, to be followed all too soon by his mourning wife.
“I have nothing to leave you, my child—nothing!” were almost the father’s last words. “Always poor and in delicate health, I could only keep out of debt. But your mother, help her—be kind to her,” he whispered.
Ella Bedford’s help and kindness were only called for during a few months; and then it fell to her lot to seek for some situation where the accomplishments, for the most part taught by her father, might be the means of providing her with a home and some small pittance.
By means of advertising, she had succeeded in obtaining the post of governess at the Elms, and it was while on her way to fill that post that she had encountered the hopeful scion of the house of Bray. It was, then, with a feeling almost of horror that she met him again at the Elms, and her first thought was that she must flee directly—leave the house at once; her next that she ought to relate her adventure to some one. But who would sympathise with her, and rightly view it all? She shrank from harsh loud-voiced Mrs Bray; and, almost from the first meeting, Laura had seemed to take a dislike to her—one which she made no scruple of displaying—while, as a rule, she tried all she could to how the immeasurable distance she considered that there existed between her and the dependent.
On the day of the sheep encounter, agitated, wounded, and with great difficulty keeping back her tears, Ella hurried on; and had Max Bray’s position been one of danger, it is very doubtful whether any assistance would have been rendered him through Ella, so thoroughly was she taken up with her own position. She felt that she must be questioned respecting her charges reaching home alone; they would certainly talk about her staying behind with their brother, and the culminating point would be reached when Miss Nelly declared what she had seen.
Well might the poor girl’s heart beat as she hastened on; for it seemed as if, through the persecution of a fop, her prospects in life were to be blighted at the outset. But there’s a silver lining to every cloud, it is said; and before Ella had gone half a mile, to her great joy she saw Nelly seated with her sisters by a bank, gathering wild flowers, and then tossing them away.
Fortune favoured her too when they reached the Elms: luncheon—the children’s dinner—had been put back for half an hour because Mr Maximilian had not returned.
“Mr Maximilian” did not show himself at all at table that day, and, glad of the respite, Ella sought her bedroom directly after, to think over the past, and try and decide what ought to be her course under the circumstances. What would she not have given for the loving counsel of some gentle, true-hearted woman! But she felt that she was quite alone—alone in the vast weary world; and as such thoughts sprang up came the recollection of the happy bygone, sweeping all before it; and at last, unable to bear up any longer, she sank upon her knees by the bedside, weeping and sobbing as if her poor torn heart would break.
She struggled hard to keep the tears back, but in vain now—they would come, and with them fierce hysterical sobs, such as had never burst before from her breast. Then would come a cessation, as she asked herself whether she ought not to acquaint Mrs Bray with her son’s behaviour?—or would it be making too much of the affair? Then she reviewed her own conduct, and tried to find in it some flaw—some want of reserve which had brought upon her the insults to which she had been subjected. But, as might be expected, the search was vain, and once more she bowed down her head and sobbed bitterly for the happy past, the painful present, and the dreary future.
It was in the midst of her passionate outbursts that she suddenly felt some one kneel beside her, and through her tears she saw, with wonder, the friendly and weeping face of Nelly, who had crept unperceived into the room.
“O, Miss Bedford! Dear, dear Miss Bedford, please don’t—don’t!” sobbed the girl, as, throwing her long thin arms round Ella, she drew her face to her own hard bony breast, soothing, kissing, and fondling her tenderly, as might a mother. “Please—please don’t cry so, or you’ll break my heart; for, though you don’t think it, I do love you so—so much! You’re so gentle, and kind, and wise, and beautiful, that—that—that—O, and you’re crying more than ever!”
Poor Nelly burst out almost into a howl of grief as she spoke; but, like her words, it was genuine, and as she pressed her rough sympathies upon her weeping governess, Ella’s sobs grew less laboured, and she clung convulsively to the slight form at her side.
“There—there—there!” half sobbed Nelly. “Try not to cry, dear; do please try, dear Miss Bedford; for indeed, indeed it does hurt me so! You made me to love you, and I can’t bear to see you like this!”
So energetic, indeed, was Nelly’s grief, that, as she spoke, she kicked out behind, overturning a bedroom chair; but it passed unnoticed.
“They say I’m a child; but I’m not, you know!” she said half passionately. “I’m sixteen nearly, and I can see as well as other people. Yes, and feel too! I’m not a child; and if Laury raps my knuckles again, I’ll bite her, see if I don’t! But I know what you’re crying about, Miss Bedford, and I saw you wanted to cry all dinner-time, only you couldn’t; it’s about Max; and you thought I should tell that he put his arm round your waist. But I shan’t—no, not never to a single soul, if they put me in the rack! He’s a donkey, Max is, and a disagreeable, stupid, cox-comby, stubborn, bubble-headed donkey, that he is! I saw him kiss Miss Twentyman, who used to be our governess, and she slapped his face—and serve him right too, a donkey, to want to kiss anybody—such stupid silly nonsense! It’s quite right enough for girls and women to kiss; but for a man—pah! I don’t believe Max was ever meant to be anything but a girl, though; and I told him so once, and he boxed my ears, and I threw the butter-plate at him, and the butter stuck in his whiskers, and it was such fun I forgot to cry, though he did hurt me ever so. But I’m not a child, Miss Bedford, and I do love you ever so much, and I’ll never say a single word about you and Max; and if he ever bothers you again, you say to him, ‘How’s Miss Brown?’ and he’ll colour up, and be as cross as can be. I often say it to make him cross. He used to go to see her, and she wouldn’t have him because she said he was such a muff, and she married Major Tompkins instead. But it does make him cross—and serve him right too, a nasty donkey! Why, if he’d held my hand like he did yours to-day, I’d have pinched him, and nipped him, and bitten him, that I would! He sha’n’t never send me away any more, though; I shall always stop with you, and take care of you, if you’ll love me very much; and I will work so hard—so jolly hard—with my studies, Miss Bedford, I will indeed; for I’m so behindhand, and it was all through Miss Twentyman being such a cross old frump! But you needn’t be afraid of me, dear; for I’m not a child, am I?”
As Nelly Bray had talked on, fondling her to whom she clung the while, Ella’s sobs had grown less frequent, and at last, as she listened to the gaunt overgrown girl’s well-meaning, half-childish, half-womanly words, she smiled upon her through her tears; for her heart felt lighter, and there was relief, too, in the knowledge that Nelly was indeed enough of a true-hearted woman to read Max Bray’s conduct in the right light, and to act accordingly.
“You darling dear sweet love of a governess!” cried Nelly rapturously, as she saw the smile; and clinging to her neck, she showered down more kisses than were, perhaps, quite pleasant to the recipient. “You will trust me, won’t you?”
“I will indeed, dear,” said Ella softly.
“And you won’t fidget?”
“No,” said Ella.
“And now—that’s right; wipe your eyes and sit down—and now you must talk to me, and take care of me. But you are not cross because I came up without leave?”
“Indeed, no,” said Ella sadly. “I thought I was without a friend, and you came just at that time.”
“No, no, you mustn’t say that,” said Nelly, “because I am not old and sensible enough to be your friend. But it hurt me to see you in such trouble, and I was obliged to come; and now you won’t be miserable any more; and you mustn’t take any notice if Laury is disagreeable—a nasty thing! flirting all day long with my—with Mr Hugh Lingon,” she said, colouring. “But there, I’m not ashamed: Hugh Lingon is my lover, and has been ever since he was fourteen and I was six—when he used to give me sweets, and I loved him, and used to say he was so nice and fat to pinch! And Laury was flirting with him all that afternoon at the show, when Max would hang about—a great stupid!—when I wanted to explain things; for you know she was flirting with Hugh because that dear old Charley Vining wouldn’t take any notice of her. He is such a dear nice fellow! But I do not lovehim, you know, only like him; and he likes me ever so much. He told me so one day, and gave me half-a-crown to spend in sweets—wasn’t it kind of him? He’ll often carry a basket of strawberries or grapes over for me and the girls, or fill his pockets with apples and pears for us; when, as for old Max, he’d faint at the very sight of a basket, let alone carry it! You will like Charley. Heisnice! Laury loves him awful—talks about him in her sleep! But I do not think he cares for her,—and no wonder! But I say, Miss Bedford, how nice and soft your hand is! and, I say, what a little one! Why, mine’s twice as big!”
Ella smiled, and went on smoothing the girl’s rough hair, but hardly heeding what she said—only catching a word here and there.
“I shouldn’t never love Charley Vining,” said Nelly, whose grammar was exceedingly loose, “but I should always like him; and if I don’t marry Hugh Lingon, I mean to be an old maid, and wear stiff caps and pinners, and then—You’re beginning to cry again, and it’s too bad, after all this comforting up!”
“No, indeed, my child,” said Ella, rousing herself. “I was only thinking that when things are at the blackest some little ray of hope will peep out to light our paths.”
“I say,” said Nelly, “is that poetry?”
“No,” said Ella, smiling sadly.
“Ah, I thought it was,” said Nelly. “But then I’m so ignorant and stupid! Mamma says I’m fit for nothing, and I suppose she’s right! But there, I’m making you tired with my talking, and I won’t say another word; only don’t you fidget about Max—only snub him well; and I wouldn’t tell pa or ma, because it might make mischief.”
Hanging as it were in the balance, Ella allowed the advice of the child-woman at her side to have effect, and determined to say nothing—to make no complaints, trusting to her own firmness to keep her persecutor in his place until his visit was at an end. It was, perhaps, a weak resolve; but who is there that always takes the better of two roads? It was, however, her decision—her choice of way—one which led through a cloud of sorrow, misery, and despair so dense, that in after time poor Ella often asked herself was there to be no turning, no byway that should lend once again, if but for a few hours, into the joyous sunshine of life?