[324]CHAPTER XV

[324]CHAPTER XVBythe time that arrangements were fully completed, Lord Hexham and the Banneret family had become quite intimate, and in a sense confidential. He had dined with them at the Cecil, where Australian friends were asked to meet him in a quiet way. He was a sociable personage, and the more he saw of his successors at Hexham Hall the more he liked them. Between cultured men of the world there is a certain freemasonry, which deprives social intercourse of allgêneand awkwardness, no matter to what country they belong.With Mrs. Banneret and her girls his Lordship was much impressed, feeling, as he told her truly, as if he had known them for years. He saw how she sympathised with him; the hard necessity for the eviction—so to speak—of this noble family, after their long and close connection with their ancient home, appealed to her tender heart. Underneath his affectedly frivolous treatment of the subject she divined, with a woman’s intuitive perception, that there was, could not but be, a sore feeling—rising at times to remorse—at the thought[325]that, by his own neglect and indolent mental drift, he had forfeited the heritage of his race. To the family change of circumstances she never referred, but he was aware that it was in her thoughts. In her calm, undemonstrative way she conveyed the idea of regret in the abstract, as inseparable from such an exodus. And in his heart he honoured her for the unspoken sympathy.When the Earl departed for the United Service Club in London, he wrote, thanking Mrs. Banneret and her husband for their hospitable kindness, and, for which he was even more grateful, their delicate consideration for a ruined man—conscious only too keenly of his own shortcomings and inefficient stewardship.The merry month of May passed with credit, having provided, for once in a way, appropriate weather, including a decent average of sunshine. The midsummer month arrived in all the glory of that delicious time, of roses and lilies, with all vernal triumphs. And now, in the second week of June—flushed June—came to pass a wondrous equine exhibition, the carnival of coach and harness perfection, unapproachable for form and fashion in any other land under the sun—the meeting of the Four-in-Hand Club! What an ecstasy of excitement and admiration possessed these young people when, at the Magazine in Hyde Park, twenty coaches, utterly perfect in their appointments, lined up.First in order was Colonel Sir Alfred Somerset’s team of chestnuts—not the famous one of three piebalds and a skewbald, so well known, so[326]much admired, in days gone by. Next, the regimental team of the Coldstream Guards—the grey team of last year, driven by Sir Pleydell Bouverie; Mr. Hope Morley’s bays, a miracle of matching and stepping together; Colonel Frank Shuttleworth’s black browns; Lord Newlands’ favourite team of dark browns. Then comes another, at which the girls exclaimed, as original and striking—Captain Valentine’s two chestnuts, a roan and a bay; Sir Henry Ewart’s fine chestnuts, with Mr. Albert Brassey’s well-known bays. Mr. Banneret recognised the tall figure of Lord Loch, driving the Grenadier Guards’ bay team.The horses, of course, commended themselves to the Australian family by their size, power, action, and perfect matching, except, of course, in the cases of intentional chequers of colour. Their lofty crests, their high action, the wonderful finish of harness, coach, livery, servants, and appointments generally, they admitted to transcend anything within their experience. Then the perfect ‘form’ of the drivers, gloved, hatted, ‘frockered,’ and generally turned outà merveille, unapproachable, unequalled in Christendom, or elsewhere.‘They can’t help carrying themselves well,’ said Eric, ‘with bearing-reins; their heads braced up to the same angle—driven on the bar, too. Not much chance of their pulling unreasonably or getting away with the driver—full of corn and rest as they undoubtedly are. It’s a lovely sight for people who understand horses.’‘All the same,’ contended paterfamilias, ‘they[327]are rather heavy for any work except this show business, and would be none the worse for a blood-cross. With stages of twenty or twenty-five miles and back, our Australian teams would be easily in the lead; none the worse for it either, on the following day. But these horses are not expected to do real work.’‘Oh, it’s idle to depreciate these turn-outs,’ said Hermione. ‘Nothing in the world can be finer! How I should like to be on the box-seat of that coach with the lovely chestnuts—Captain Quintin Dick’s, aren’t they? And going on to Hurlingham afterwards? We must have a look at the polo there, some fine day. Do we know any one there in that behalf? as I heard a lawyer say in father’s Court, one day.’‘Yes, we do!’ stated Vanda, with some eagerness. ‘Of course there’s Captain Neil Haig; he was A.D.C. to the Governor in West Australia. He played in Melbourne, don’t you remember, against the crack Western Club. Four Englishmen against four Australians. It was a drawn game—he’s a wonderful hitter.’It was agreed,nem. con., that a party should be made up for Hurlingham the next time there was a match on. Following which arrangement the conversation became general, until, shortly after one o’clock, Mr. Lovegrove gave the word, and the procession, headed by the President, Lord Ancaster, moved off; some of the coaches going on to Hurlingham, as arranged in the programme.‘There can’t be anything finer under the sun, for form and finish,’ declared Reggie, ‘but the[328]American coaching in Australia for cross-country work, over bad roads, for speed and punctuality has greatly the advantage. Their coaches and teams, of course, do not compare in the matter of appearance, and are not expected to. But the passengers are better accommodated, and the American cross-handed style of holding the reins gives better, greater power over the team. Think, for instance, of having to handle six or seven horses at night—three in the lead, with a heavily loaded coach and indifferent roads. The lamps too, placed on high, are more numerous, thus throwing the light farther out ahead. The service is more efficient and satisfactory than the English fashion, which prevailed in Australia until quite recently.’‘Everything in its own place,’ said Mrs. Banneret. ‘The pioneer work in Britain was finished centuries ago. In our Greater Britain it has only lately begun. Our young men have rough work and different results to look to. Let us hope that they may learn in time to combine use and ornament.’‘That’s where these English fellows beat us, I must say,’ interposed Eric. ‘Looking at them there, sitting up as if they were only intended to drive accurately, to advertise their teams and their tailors, one might think that they couldn’t do anything else—never had done. There could be no greater mistake. Theyhavedone all sorts of things—great things, many of them—but you’d never know it from themselves. The Englishman doesn’t talk. You must hear his exploits[329]from some one else. You never will from himself.’‘I’m afraid people don’t think that way about us,’ said Vanda dolefully. ‘In fact, they say just the opposite sometimes—when they quote Anthony Trollope, who frequently mentioned the word “blow,” which is Australian for “boast.” That will be rectified by and by. We are a baby nation, so far, but will calm down to the regular, steady, solid Anglo-Saxon march. We’re only excitable—being in the midst of “war’s alarms” at present—likely enough to be dragged in, too, if these Russian cruisers keep on raiding our commerce.’‘Oh, Vanda! you don’t say so?’ said Hermione, who was not disposed to throw down the gauntlet to Russia just yet, though much in sympathy with Japan. ‘Think what a dreadful thing war is!’‘It’s a much more dreadful thing,’ said her sister, ‘not to fight to the death for home and hearth. Think of dear old Australia being overrun by the Yellow Peril, or even our kind friends, the Russians and Germans.’‘But surely there can be no danger of the Chinese making war upon us? Consider how unwarlike a people they are! and how thousands of them would fly before disciplined troops.’‘I am not so sure of that,’ said Mr. Banneret. ‘General Gordon was of opinion that, if well led by European officers, in whom they had confidence, they were equal to any troops in the world. As for the danger of the irruption of the Goths and Vandals, the late Sir Henry Parkes, a veteran[330]statesman, was of opinion during the latter years of his life that Australia’s greatest danger in the future would be from the proximity of such nations as China and Japan, immensely superior in numbers, and becoming gradually possessed of all the scientific arms of precision. He probably had in his mind China and Japan, the inhabitants of which countries, our legislators, led by the labour party, have laid themselves out to insult and degrade.’‘Seems unfair, doesn’t it?’ said Reggie. ‘In our policy of “Government by the poor,” they scarcely grasped the idea of a combined Japanese and Chinese force,—with a score of ironclads, landing an army corps in North Queensland, and marching south!’‘But what would England’s Navy be doing all the time?’ demanded Vanda.‘England’s Navy,’ replied Reggie, ‘might have something else to do at that particular time—more especially if Russia, Germany, and perhaps France, chose to consider it a befitting time to teach these proud islanders that the “sea, and all that in them is,” was not their inalienable birthright. Besides, it’s a long way to come, and our noble army of town-bred artisans, back-block shearers, swagmen, and shepherds would make no great stand against their countless hordes. The coast all looted, with banks and treasuries rifled, as also private property of all kinds; the city population helpless in the hands of the ruthless spoilers. Think of it! It would then be a case of “Oh, weep for fair Australia!” as an Australian poet sang a year or two since.’[331]‘What a ghastly picture—a kind of Verestchagin nightmare! It’s enough to freeze the blood in one’s veins. And what power could come to our aid? Oh, I know! Blood is thicker than water. When it came to the actual spectacle of a British Commonwealth submerged beneath a flood of barbarism, America would come to our aid. The “Stars and Stripes” would “chip in,” as they say. The Dominion of Canada, more loyal than Britain itself——’‘New Zealand too—that makes a respectable number of Allied Forces,’ said her father, smiling at the girl’s eagerness.‘But the mere conception of such a calamity,’ he continued, ‘makes one’s flesh creep. When one reckons up the toil and thought which the subduing of the wilderness has cost, the labour and the treasure expended in building up these fair cities—these grand provinces, this population of British blood and nurture, not inferior to any people in the world; to believe that the fruit of heroic colonisation, for which noble lives have been spent, noble blood shed, should have been all for nought—for worse than nothing—for ruin and desolation—the degradation of a nation, as in the old-world chronicles, about which we read, and take no heed; then, and then indeed, might one come to doubt the purpose of the Most High, the Divine plan of Providence, the beneficent scheme of the Universe.’.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .The business of the installation of the new family was not completed without a fair allowance of work and labour, even excitement.[332]There necessarily remained much to do before the final arrangements were complete. An additional morning-room for the girls was to be chosen, in which to write and make society arrangements, to receive their friends, to hold informal afternoon teas, and to perform any kind of needlework, and literary pastime, quietly and reposefully.Of course furniture for some of the principal reception-rooms had to be purchased and arranged. Grave councils were held before this scheme could be carried out. But at length everything was completed, and the collective taste of the family fully satisfied.Then the first step, an important one in county neighbourhoods at home or abroad, was taken—the Bannerets went to churchen famille. The Vicar, the Rev. and Honourable Cyril Courtenay, had called, as soon after their arrival as was consistent with etiquette, in advance of his lady parishioners. This proceeding he justified on the ground of his wish to make himself acquainted with the religious tendencies of the new Squire and the rest of the family, with whom, by virtue of his position, he would be brought into closer than ordinary contact.He was agreeably surprised to find at the first interview with the new potentate and his wife that harmonious relations were likely to exist. Mr. Banneret, as an Anglican churchman, was quite prepared to join cordially with Mr. Courtenay in promoting the welfare of the parish; promising at once liberal donations to the funds of[333]the charitable societies, nursing clubs, and all such benevolent arrangements for the welfare of the poor. Mrs. Banneret had acted in similar positions before, and was quite willing to take a leading part in Dorcas societies, and other institutions for the benefit of widows, and labourers’ families, such as are always in a state of chronic or accidental distress in the most happily situated parishes.The Vicar, speaking for the laymen of his diocese, was thankful, he might say, most grateful to Providence, that had so ‘shaped our ends,’ in a manner so unforeseen, while so beneficial to the church and to the needs of this long-neglected parish. Mrs. Courtenay, he needed not to say, would be only too happy to work in concert with Mrs. Banneret in all parish and church matters. She would pay her respects on an early date to the new Lady of the Manor. So the Vicar took his departure, leaving the Hall, as he told his wife, in a much more cheerful state of mind than had formerly been his experience after interviews with the ruling powers of Hexham.Rarely, indeed, had he been able to extract subscriptions for urgent needs of the church, however strongly he might paint the discreditable state of the venerable edifice and the poverty of the village poor. Lord Hexham was uniformly polite—he could not be otherwise to the Vicar, a contemporary of his own at Cambridge, and a personal friend. But his logic was unanswerable: he had no money to spare—hadn’t had for years—never should have again, as far as he could[334]make out. Lady Hexham was refined and courteous, but the parable was unaltered. She could hardly pay for the girls’ frocks, for the boys’ uniforms; next year they might not have bread to eat. Rents were falling; certainly the agent received them, and disposed of them mysteriously to a bank, she heard. Only a fraction seemed to come their way. Once upon a time the tenants paid cheerfully; even admitted—wonderful to relate—that they had sold their crops well, had had a good year. But even so, when butter, beef and mutton, cheese and fruit, came in from the colonies and America in overwhelming quantities, what was the use of a good season if the prices went down to depths unheard of—and stayed there? As for the agent, it was needless to think of askinghimto reduce a rent on cottage or holding, however small.‘It’s asking me to rob his Lordship of his dues, simply, or else the mortgagee, which comes to the same thing. I’m powerless—otherwise should have been happy—mosthappy to contribute. As a private individual you are welcome to my guinea annually, as usual.’With civil speeches and scant coin the Rev. Cyril had perforce to be content. He recognised the justice of the argument. The family would have subscribed reasonably, if not liberally, to all the customary calls upon the Lord of the Manor, if the head of the house could have afforded it. But he could not afford it, and there was an end of the matter. The parish, the tenantry, and the neighbours—a few staunch friends of the family[335]perhaps excepted—would be not sorry to exchange an impecunious proprietor, too poor and hampered by debts and mortgages to do anything for sport or charity, unable to entertain, or in almost any way to keep up an appearance befitting the descendants of Raoul de ——, who had ‘come over with the Conqueror,’ and havingmore majorummarried the heiress of ——, had entered into possession of the Hexham lands and feudal privileges, together with as much of the adjacent common land as a rapacious Norman baron, high in favour with an unscrupulous sovereign, could by force or fraud manage to appropriate. The descendants of such a man should have been able to not only freely disburse the customary manorial dues, but to keep up all state and dignity befitting the position. As he could not, the villagers concluded that it was the next best thing to welcome the new family, who, though they had come from a wild sort of country—as they’d heard tell on—called Horstrailier—seemed a decentish sort, and, anyhow, were well off, and did the thing respectable. So the village church bells were rung, and the new family was greeted by a crowd of some fifty odd souls, comprising a large proportion of women and children, who hurrahed, and made formal demonstrations of welcome, as the carriage and a string of railway cabs, with servants and luggage, passed through the Tudor gateway, and drew up inside the more ornately modern portico of the baronial hall.The girls at once rushed up to their rooms, where, as their own maid and some other house[336]servants had been sent down the day before, they were able to appreciate the view and make ready for lunch. This meal they professed themselves ready to enjoy with a true country appetite—as the morning had been more or less exciting, even in a sense fatiguing. It was fortunately a fine day, so that the beauty of the grass, the foliage, the surrounding landscape, impressed them strongly.‘Oh, what an Eden of a place!’ said Hermione. ‘How happy we shall be! How thankful we ought to consider ourselves in having come into such a delightful home, and, what is of more consequence, having the means to keep it up.’‘Oh, yes!’ assented Vanda, ‘we ought to have a good time, but I’m not sure that we shall be really happier than we were in dear old Sydney, when we first went to live in Charlotte Bay Place. What a glorious view there was of the Heads and the harbour! What boating picnics we used to have! I should like to go back there some day. Here we shall have to live a quiet English country life, being good to the poor, and so on, like the girls in Jane Austen’s books. There’ll be no adventure about it. I suppose the Vicar will want us to teach in his Sunday school.’‘You needn’t teach there if you don’t wish. Mother won’t compel you, I’m sure,’ replied Hermione. ‘I think I shall rather like it after all the racketing and gaiety we’ve had in London. I feel as if a reposeful life here would be a pleasing change. My conscience has been troubling me lately, for taking all the good things of life and making no return. It seems so selfish and ungrateful.’[337]‘Oh, well,’ said Vanda, ‘perhaps one would feel more contented if one had a few good works to put on the credit side of the account. I know I’ve been rather dissipated lately. This quiet country life may do us good, in more ways than one. Oh, mother’ (as Mrs. Banneret came in to see if the young people were ready, and to notify that the great bell for luncheon was about to clang), ‘Hermione and I have just resolved to be good. We are going to visit the poor, and teach in the Sunday school, and do our duty, just like the Jane Austen girls.’‘I am very pleased to hear it, my dears; only I don’t wish you to take such a resolution in any but a serious sense, and an earnest resolve to do your duty and set an example, as far as in you lies, to the people among whom our lot for some years, if not always, will be cast. You have had all the rational amusement, and quite a full allowance of what the world calls pleasure, to last you for some time. I quite agree with you that it will be a good opportunity to begin in some respects a different and, with God’s grace, a higher life.’On the Sunday morning following this important conversation, the Banneret family made their appearance in the roomy enclosure which had been for many generations consecrated to the use of the Lord of the Manor, his family, and apparently as many of his relations and dependants as he chose thus to honour. The church was fairly well filled, as it happened, much to the gratification of the Vicar, who was not displeased to note the presence of neighbouring magnates,[338]with their wives, who from time to time directed an intermittent gaze towards the new occupants of the Hall pew. Arnold Banneret with his wife and daughters made a good appearance therein. Indeed it had been for some years unoccupied, during the absence of the family abroad: such being the traditional custom. Mrs. Banneret and her daughters were well but quietly dressed—her wish to that effect having been gently but firmly expressed. ‘We have recently come from town,’ she said; ‘it is reported, no doubt, that we are very rich. In this quiet place nothing could be more vulgar than any display of fashion bordering upon finery.’ This settled the matter. The dresses were studiously plain; so much so, that the rustics of the congregation were secretly disappointed in not seeing unusual splendour, doubting in consequence whether the new-comers were so rich as they had been led to believe.As the service proceeded, the thought came into the mind of this Australian squire of the many differing localities and positions in which he, with his wife and children, had worshipped before they came to this lordly abode. Not infrequently had he been the officiating lay minister, reading the Burial Service over the dead miner, victim of some sudden landslip or premature explosion; reciting the words of the litany, now sounding in his ears, in a half-finished wooden building, roofed with eucalyptus bark or corrugated iron; driving miles through snow for the purpose, or in mid-summer crossing the brick-red plain, amid dust and simoom-like[339]blasts. Through all these incongruous scenes, and from these and a hundred other various parts played by him in the great drama of life, he had emerged safe and unharmed. Not only unharmed, but placed in this position of honour and dignity—by no merit of his own, but by the operation of, apparently, the primary forces of Nature. Riches, too, had been added for the further advantage and enjoyment of those whom he loved more—yes, far more, than his own life. Ought he not then, out of the fulness of a heart welling over with gratitude, to echo the solemn prayer of the concluding litany?At the conclusion of the service, the mail-phaetons, dog-carts, carriages, and other vehicles showed that some at least of the parishioners had a distance to come, which necessitated driving. The party from the Hall were scarcely a half-mile from the church, so that there was no need for taking out the carriage. The family, as a whole, were good pedestrians—‘The short walk was quite a pleasure,’ as Vanda told every one, ‘and it would have been absurd to take out the horses.’When Lord Hexham returned to his family at Bruges, after a concluding week in London, in which to show himself to his clubs, and have a little social companionship with old friends and comrades, he took with him a letter from Mrs. Banneret, of so sympathetic and unaffectedly kind a nature, that Lady Hexham nearly relented. She would have been indeed more than human if she had not felt the least little bit of envy and jealousy of these people from a far country, who[340]had entered into their labours, so to speak, for no other reason than the chance possession of more money than they knew what to do with. Hard, no doubt, did it seem to her, that while she and her girls had to stint and save, scarcely able to afford themselves decent frocks, the daughters of thesenouveaux richesshould have their Paris gowns noticed in every fashion paper, and described as ‘confections,’ and so on, of the latest style. They were also seen at Ascot, royal Ascot, these new dwellers in their ancestral halls, their property in which, owing to the extravagance of one generation and the apathetic indifference of the next, had gradually declined, and was now lost to the family for ever.However, his Lordship’s persistent advocacy of their claims to consideration gradually weakened her prejudices, finally inducing her to reply to Mrs. Banneret’s letter in manner approaching to the spirit in which it was written.‘You know, my dear,’ he had said, in one of the discussions about ways and means which had followed his return to the peaceful home-life at Bruges, ‘it really was an immense relief our getting hold of such a lot of hard cash for poor old Hexham. It puts us and our credit in such a different position from what it has been for years.’‘I daresay it has, but I don’t want any more credit, if you please—we have had more than was good for us all along. What sort of people are they? I suppose the girls are good-looking?[341]That’s whatyoumean by crediting them with all the virtues.’‘They certainly are; but it’s very unfair of you to talk in that jealous way. If you saw Mrs. Banneret, not to mention her husband and the sons.’‘Oh, there are sons, then?’‘Yes, very fine young fellows; one of them rowed three in the Cambridge eight this year—which beat your favourite Oxford crew, my lady. They’re handsome too.’‘Well, I can’t be jealous ofthem, can I?’‘No, nor of any girl or woman alive, as you well know—say you know it, dear, won’t you? You’re only trying to draw me?’‘I suppose I must forgive you, as usual, though you’ve stayed away an unconscionable time, and spent more money in London than you ought to have done—now haven’t you?’‘I had to complete arrangements—and—er—er—there were business details. Hang it! if a man can’t have a little amusement when he gets a cheque for a couple of hundred thousand, after being mewed up in a place like this for years, when is he to have it? And the old clubs were so pleasant, and the fellows so glad to see me again, y’know!’‘Oh yes, I know! And ready to play bridge and billiards, no doubt. So you think I’d like to pay Mrs. What’s-her-name a visit, and see the old place again? Perhaps it would be rather a lark.’‘Don’t be reckless, dear! That’s not your line, butifyou could manage it, some day, when[342]the girls are at their pensions, I guarantee that you’d enjoy it. It would please them awfully—andme, if that counts.’‘Well, perhaps I’ll see about it—but don’t be sure just yet.’

Bythe time that arrangements were fully completed, Lord Hexham and the Banneret family had become quite intimate, and in a sense confidential. He had dined with them at the Cecil, where Australian friends were asked to meet him in a quiet way. He was a sociable personage, and the more he saw of his successors at Hexham Hall the more he liked them. Between cultured men of the world there is a certain freemasonry, which deprives social intercourse of allgêneand awkwardness, no matter to what country they belong.

With Mrs. Banneret and her girls his Lordship was much impressed, feeling, as he told her truly, as if he had known them for years. He saw how she sympathised with him; the hard necessity for the eviction—so to speak—of this noble family, after their long and close connection with their ancient home, appealed to her tender heart. Underneath his affectedly frivolous treatment of the subject she divined, with a woman’s intuitive perception, that there was, could not but be, a sore feeling—rising at times to remorse—at the thought[325]that, by his own neglect and indolent mental drift, he had forfeited the heritage of his race. To the family change of circumstances she never referred, but he was aware that it was in her thoughts. In her calm, undemonstrative way she conveyed the idea of regret in the abstract, as inseparable from such an exodus. And in his heart he honoured her for the unspoken sympathy.

When the Earl departed for the United Service Club in London, he wrote, thanking Mrs. Banneret and her husband for their hospitable kindness, and, for which he was even more grateful, their delicate consideration for a ruined man—conscious only too keenly of his own shortcomings and inefficient stewardship.

The merry month of May passed with credit, having provided, for once in a way, appropriate weather, including a decent average of sunshine. The midsummer month arrived in all the glory of that delicious time, of roses and lilies, with all vernal triumphs. And now, in the second week of June—flushed June—came to pass a wondrous equine exhibition, the carnival of coach and harness perfection, unapproachable for form and fashion in any other land under the sun—the meeting of the Four-in-Hand Club! What an ecstasy of excitement and admiration possessed these young people when, at the Magazine in Hyde Park, twenty coaches, utterly perfect in their appointments, lined up.

First in order was Colonel Sir Alfred Somerset’s team of chestnuts—not the famous one of three piebalds and a skewbald, so well known, so[326]much admired, in days gone by. Next, the regimental team of the Coldstream Guards—the grey team of last year, driven by Sir Pleydell Bouverie; Mr. Hope Morley’s bays, a miracle of matching and stepping together; Colonel Frank Shuttleworth’s black browns; Lord Newlands’ favourite team of dark browns. Then comes another, at which the girls exclaimed, as original and striking—Captain Valentine’s two chestnuts, a roan and a bay; Sir Henry Ewart’s fine chestnuts, with Mr. Albert Brassey’s well-known bays. Mr. Banneret recognised the tall figure of Lord Loch, driving the Grenadier Guards’ bay team.

The horses, of course, commended themselves to the Australian family by their size, power, action, and perfect matching, except, of course, in the cases of intentional chequers of colour. Their lofty crests, their high action, the wonderful finish of harness, coach, livery, servants, and appointments generally, they admitted to transcend anything within their experience. Then the perfect ‘form’ of the drivers, gloved, hatted, ‘frockered,’ and generally turned outà merveille, unapproachable, unequalled in Christendom, or elsewhere.

‘They can’t help carrying themselves well,’ said Eric, ‘with bearing-reins; their heads braced up to the same angle—driven on the bar, too. Not much chance of their pulling unreasonably or getting away with the driver—full of corn and rest as they undoubtedly are. It’s a lovely sight for people who understand horses.’

‘All the same,’ contended paterfamilias, ‘they[327]are rather heavy for any work except this show business, and would be none the worse for a blood-cross. With stages of twenty or twenty-five miles and back, our Australian teams would be easily in the lead; none the worse for it either, on the following day. But these horses are not expected to do real work.’

‘Oh, it’s idle to depreciate these turn-outs,’ said Hermione. ‘Nothing in the world can be finer! How I should like to be on the box-seat of that coach with the lovely chestnuts—Captain Quintin Dick’s, aren’t they? And going on to Hurlingham afterwards? We must have a look at the polo there, some fine day. Do we know any one there in that behalf? as I heard a lawyer say in father’s Court, one day.’

‘Yes, we do!’ stated Vanda, with some eagerness. ‘Of course there’s Captain Neil Haig; he was A.D.C. to the Governor in West Australia. He played in Melbourne, don’t you remember, against the crack Western Club. Four Englishmen against four Australians. It was a drawn game—he’s a wonderful hitter.’

It was agreed,nem. con., that a party should be made up for Hurlingham the next time there was a match on. Following which arrangement the conversation became general, until, shortly after one o’clock, Mr. Lovegrove gave the word, and the procession, headed by the President, Lord Ancaster, moved off; some of the coaches going on to Hurlingham, as arranged in the programme.

‘There can’t be anything finer under the sun, for form and finish,’ declared Reggie, ‘but the[328]American coaching in Australia for cross-country work, over bad roads, for speed and punctuality has greatly the advantage. Their coaches and teams, of course, do not compare in the matter of appearance, and are not expected to. But the passengers are better accommodated, and the American cross-handed style of holding the reins gives better, greater power over the team. Think, for instance, of having to handle six or seven horses at night—three in the lead, with a heavily loaded coach and indifferent roads. The lamps too, placed on high, are more numerous, thus throwing the light farther out ahead. The service is more efficient and satisfactory than the English fashion, which prevailed in Australia until quite recently.’

‘Everything in its own place,’ said Mrs. Banneret. ‘The pioneer work in Britain was finished centuries ago. In our Greater Britain it has only lately begun. Our young men have rough work and different results to look to. Let us hope that they may learn in time to combine use and ornament.’

‘That’s where these English fellows beat us, I must say,’ interposed Eric. ‘Looking at them there, sitting up as if they were only intended to drive accurately, to advertise their teams and their tailors, one might think that they couldn’t do anything else—never had done. There could be no greater mistake. Theyhavedone all sorts of things—great things, many of them—but you’d never know it from themselves. The Englishman doesn’t talk. You must hear his exploits[329]from some one else. You never will from himself.’

‘I’m afraid people don’t think that way about us,’ said Vanda dolefully. ‘In fact, they say just the opposite sometimes—when they quote Anthony Trollope, who frequently mentioned the word “blow,” which is Australian for “boast.” That will be rectified by and by. We are a baby nation, so far, but will calm down to the regular, steady, solid Anglo-Saxon march. We’re only excitable—being in the midst of “war’s alarms” at present—likely enough to be dragged in, too, if these Russian cruisers keep on raiding our commerce.’

‘Oh, Vanda! you don’t say so?’ said Hermione, who was not disposed to throw down the gauntlet to Russia just yet, though much in sympathy with Japan. ‘Think what a dreadful thing war is!’

‘It’s a much more dreadful thing,’ said her sister, ‘not to fight to the death for home and hearth. Think of dear old Australia being overrun by the Yellow Peril, or even our kind friends, the Russians and Germans.’

‘But surely there can be no danger of the Chinese making war upon us? Consider how unwarlike a people they are! and how thousands of them would fly before disciplined troops.’

‘I am not so sure of that,’ said Mr. Banneret. ‘General Gordon was of opinion that, if well led by European officers, in whom they had confidence, they were equal to any troops in the world. As for the danger of the irruption of the Goths and Vandals, the late Sir Henry Parkes, a veteran[330]statesman, was of opinion during the latter years of his life that Australia’s greatest danger in the future would be from the proximity of such nations as China and Japan, immensely superior in numbers, and becoming gradually possessed of all the scientific arms of precision. He probably had in his mind China and Japan, the inhabitants of which countries, our legislators, led by the labour party, have laid themselves out to insult and degrade.’

‘Seems unfair, doesn’t it?’ said Reggie. ‘In our policy of “Government by the poor,” they scarcely grasped the idea of a combined Japanese and Chinese force,—with a score of ironclads, landing an army corps in North Queensland, and marching south!’

‘But what would England’s Navy be doing all the time?’ demanded Vanda.

‘England’s Navy,’ replied Reggie, ‘might have something else to do at that particular time—more especially if Russia, Germany, and perhaps France, chose to consider it a befitting time to teach these proud islanders that the “sea, and all that in them is,” was not their inalienable birthright. Besides, it’s a long way to come, and our noble army of town-bred artisans, back-block shearers, swagmen, and shepherds would make no great stand against their countless hordes. The coast all looted, with banks and treasuries rifled, as also private property of all kinds; the city population helpless in the hands of the ruthless spoilers. Think of it! It would then be a case of “Oh, weep for fair Australia!” as an Australian poet sang a year or two since.’

[331]‘What a ghastly picture—a kind of Verestchagin nightmare! It’s enough to freeze the blood in one’s veins. And what power could come to our aid? Oh, I know! Blood is thicker than water. When it came to the actual spectacle of a British Commonwealth submerged beneath a flood of barbarism, America would come to our aid. The “Stars and Stripes” would “chip in,” as they say. The Dominion of Canada, more loyal than Britain itself——’

‘New Zealand too—that makes a respectable number of Allied Forces,’ said her father, smiling at the girl’s eagerness.

‘But the mere conception of such a calamity,’ he continued, ‘makes one’s flesh creep. When one reckons up the toil and thought which the subduing of the wilderness has cost, the labour and the treasure expended in building up these fair cities—these grand provinces, this population of British blood and nurture, not inferior to any people in the world; to believe that the fruit of heroic colonisation, for which noble lives have been spent, noble blood shed, should have been all for nought—for worse than nothing—for ruin and desolation—the degradation of a nation, as in the old-world chronicles, about which we read, and take no heed; then, and then indeed, might one come to doubt the purpose of the Most High, the Divine plan of Providence, the beneficent scheme of the Universe.’

.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

The business of the installation of the new family was not completed without a fair allowance of work and labour, even excitement.

[332]There necessarily remained much to do before the final arrangements were complete. An additional morning-room for the girls was to be chosen, in which to write and make society arrangements, to receive their friends, to hold informal afternoon teas, and to perform any kind of needlework, and literary pastime, quietly and reposefully.

Of course furniture for some of the principal reception-rooms had to be purchased and arranged. Grave councils were held before this scheme could be carried out. But at length everything was completed, and the collective taste of the family fully satisfied.

Then the first step, an important one in county neighbourhoods at home or abroad, was taken—the Bannerets went to churchen famille. The Vicar, the Rev. and Honourable Cyril Courtenay, had called, as soon after their arrival as was consistent with etiquette, in advance of his lady parishioners. This proceeding he justified on the ground of his wish to make himself acquainted with the religious tendencies of the new Squire and the rest of the family, with whom, by virtue of his position, he would be brought into closer than ordinary contact.

He was agreeably surprised to find at the first interview with the new potentate and his wife that harmonious relations were likely to exist. Mr. Banneret, as an Anglican churchman, was quite prepared to join cordially with Mr. Courtenay in promoting the welfare of the parish; promising at once liberal donations to the funds of[333]the charitable societies, nursing clubs, and all such benevolent arrangements for the welfare of the poor. Mrs. Banneret had acted in similar positions before, and was quite willing to take a leading part in Dorcas societies, and other institutions for the benefit of widows, and labourers’ families, such as are always in a state of chronic or accidental distress in the most happily situated parishes.

The Vicar, speaking for the laymen of his diocese, was thankful, he might say, most grateful to Providence, that had so ‘shaped our ends,’ in a manner so unforeseen, while so beneficial to the church and to the needs of this long-neglected parish. Mrs. Courtenay, he needed not to say, would be only too happy to work in concert with Mrs. Banneret in all parish and church matters. She would pay her respects on an early date to the new Lady of the Manor. So the Vicar took his departure, leaving the Hall, as he told his wife, in a much more cheerful state of mind than had formerly been his experience after interviews with the ruling powers of Hexham.

Rarely, indeed, had he been able to extract subscriptions for urgent needs of the church, however strongly he might paint the discreditable state of the venerable edifice and the poverty of the village poor. Lord Hexham was uniformly polite—he could not be otherwise to the Vicar, a contemporary of his own at Cambridge, and a personal friend. But his logic was unanswerable: he had no money to spare—hadn’t had for years—never should have again, as far as he could[334]make out. Lady Hexham was refined and courteous, but the parable was unaltered. She could hardly pay for the girls’ frocks, for the boys’ uniforms; next year they might not have bread to eat. Rents were falling; certainly the agent received them, and disposed of them mysteriously to a bank, she heard. Only a fraction seemed to come their way. Once upon a time the tenants paid cheerfully; even admitted—wonderful to relate—that they had sold their crops well, had had a good year. But even so, when butter, beef and mutton, cheese and fruit, came in from the colonies and America in overwhelming quantities, what was the use of a good season if the prices went down to depths unheard of—and stayed there? As for the agent, it was needless to think of askinghimto reduce a rent on cottage or holding, however small.

‘It’s asking me to rob his Lordship of his dues, simply, or else the mortgagee, which comes to the same thing. I’m powerless—otherwise should have been happy—mosthappy to contribute. As a private individual you are welcome to my guinea annually, as usual.’

With civil speeches and scant coin the Rev. Cyril had perforce to be content. He recognised the justice of the argument. The family would have subscribed reasonably, if not liberally, to all the customary calls upon the Lord of the Manor, if the head of the house could have afforded it. But he could not afford it, and there was an end of the matter. The parish, the tenantry, and the neighbours—a few staunch friends of the family[335]perhaps excepted—would be not sorry to exchange an impecunious proprietor, too poor and hampered by debts and mortgages to do anything for sport or charity, unable to entertain, or in almost any way to keep up an appearance befitting the descendants of Raoul de ——, who had ‘come over with the Conqueror,’ and havingmore majorummarried the heiress of ——, had entered into possession of the Hexham lands and feudal privileges, together with as much of the adjacent common land as a rapacious Norman baron, high in favour with an unscrupulous sovereign, could by force or fraud manage to appropriate. The descendants of such a man should have been able to not only freely disburse the customary manorial dues, but to keep up all state and dignity befitting the position. As he could not, the villagers concluded that it was the next best thing to welcome the new family, who, though they had come from a wild sort of country—as they’d heard tell on—called Horstrailier—seemed a decentish sort, and, anyhow, were well off, and did the thing respectable. So the village church bells were rung, and the new family was greeted by a crowd of some fifty odd souls, comprising a large proportion of women and children, who hurrahed, and made formal demonstrations of welcome, as the carriage and a string of railway cabs, with servants and luggage, passed through the Tudor gateway, and drew up inside the more ornately modern portico of the baronial hall.

The girls at once rushed up to their rooms, where, as their own maid and some other house[336]servants had been sent down the day before, they were able to appreciate the view and make ready for lunch. This meal they professed themselves ready to enjoy with a true country appetite—as the morning had been more or less exciting, even in a sense fatiguing. It was fortunately a fine day, so that the beauty of the grass, the foliage, the surrounding landscape, impressed them strongly.

‘Oh, what an Eden of a place!’ said Hermione. ‘How happy we shall be! How thankful we ought to consider ourselves in having come into such a delightful home, and, what is of more consequence, having the means to keep it up.’

‘Oh, yes!’ assented Vanda, ‘we ought to have a good time, but I’m not sure that we shall be really happier than we were in dear old Sydney, when we first went to live in Charlotte Bay Place. What a glorious view there was of the Heads and the harbour! What boating picnics we used to have! I should like to go back there some day. Here we shall have to live a quiet English country life, being good to the poor, and so on, like the girls in Jane Austen’s books. There’ll be no adventure about it. I suppose the Vicar will want us to teach in his Sunday school.’

‘You needn’t teach there if you don’t wish. Mother won’t compel you, I’m sure,’ replied Hermione. ‘I think I shall rather like it after all the racketing and gaiety we’ve had in London. I feel as if a reposeful life here would be a pleasing change. My conscience has been troubling me lately, for taking all the good things of life and making no return. It seems so selfish and ungrateful.’

[337]‘Oh, well,’ said Vanda, ‘perhaps one would feel more contented if one had a few good works to put on the credit side of the account. I know I’ve been rather dissipated lately. This quiet country life may do us good, in more ways than one. Oh, mother’ (as Mrs. Banneret came in to see if the young people were ready, and to notify that the great bell for luncheon was about to clang), ‘Hermione and I have just resolved to be good. We are going to visit the poor, and teach in the Sunday school, and do our duty, just like the Jane Austen girls.’

‘I am very pleased to hear it, my dears; only I don’t wish you to take such a resolution in any but a serious sense, and an earnest resolve to do your duty and set an example, as far as in you lies, to the people among whom our lot for some years, if not always, will be cast. You have had all the rational amusement, and quite a full allowance of what the world calls pleasure, to last you for some time. I quite agree with you that it will be a good opportunity to begin in some respects a different and, with God’s grace, a higher life.’

On the Sunday morning following this important conversation, the Banneret family made their appearance in the roomy enclosure which had been for many generations consecrated to the use of the Lord of the Manor, his family, and apparently as many of his relations and dependants as he chose thus to honour. The church was fairly well filled, as it happened, much to the gratification of the Vicar, who was not displeased to note the presence of neighbouring magnates,[338]with their wives, who from time to time directed an intermittent gaze towards the new occupants of the Hall pew. Arnold Banneret with his wife and daughters made a good appearance therein. Indeed it had been for some years unoccupied, during the absence of the family abroad: such being the traditional custom. Mrs. Banneret and her daughters were well but quietly dressed—her wish to that effect having been gently but firmly expressed. ‘We have recently come from town,’ she said; ‘it is reported, no doubt, that we are very rich. In this quiet place nothing could be more vulgar than any display of fashion bordering upon finery.’ This settled the matter. The dresses were studiously plain; so much so, that the rustics of the congregation were secretly disappointed in not seeing unusual splendour, doubting in consequence whether the new-comers were so rich as they had been led to believe.

As the service proceeded, the thought came into the mind of this Australian squire of the many differing localities and positions in which he, with his wife and children, had worshipped before they came to this lordly abode. Not infrequently had he been the officiating lay minister, reading the Burial Service over the dead miner, victim of some sudden landslip or premature explosion; reciting the words of the litany, now sounding in his ears, in a half-finished wooden building, roofed with eucalyptus bark or corrugated iron; driving miles through snow for the purpose, or in mid-summer crossing the brick-red plain, amid dust and simoom-like[339]blasts. Through all these incongruous scenes, and from these and a hundred other various parts played by him in the great drama of life, he had emerged safe and unharmed. Not only unharmed, but placed in this position of honour and dignity—by no merit of his own, but by the operation of, apparently, the primary forces of Nature. Riches, too, had been added for the further advantage and enjoyment of those whom he loved more—yes, far more, than his own life. Ought he not then, out of the fulness of a heart welling over with gratitude, to echo the solemn prayer of the concluding litany?

At the conclusion of the service, the mail-phaetons, dog-carts, carriages, and other vehicles showed that some at least of the parishioners had a distance to come, which necessitated driving. The party from the Hall were scarcely a half-mile from the church, so that there was no need for taking out the carriage. The family, as a whole, were good pedestrians—‘The short walk was quite a pleasure,’ as Vanda told every one, ‘and it would have been absurd to take out the horses.’

When Lord Hexham returned to his family at Bruges, after a concluding week in London, in which to show himself to his clubs, and have a little social companionship with old friends and comrades, he took with him a letter from Mrs. Banneret, of so sympathetic and unaffectedly kind a nature, that Lady Hexham nearly relented. She would have been indeed more than human if she had not felt the least little bit of envy and jealousy of these people from a far country, who[340]had entered into their labours, so to speak, for no other reason than the chance possession of more money than they knew what to do with. Hard, no doubt, did it seem to her, that while she and her girls had to stint and save, scarcely able to afford themselves decent frocks, the daughters of thesenouveaux richesshould have their Paris gowns noticed in every fashion paper, and described as ‘confections,’ and so on, of the latest style. They were also seen at Ascot, royal Ascot, these new dwellers in their ancestral halls, their property in which, owing to the extravagance of one generation and the apathetic indifference of the next, had gradually declined, and was now lost to the family for ever.

However, his Lordship’s persistent advocacy of their claims to consideration gradually weakened her prejudices, finally inducing her to reply to Mrs. Banneret’s letter in manner approaching to the spirit in which it was written.

‘You know, my dear,’ he had said, in one of the discussions about ways and means which had followed his return to the peaceful home-life at Bruges, ‘it really was an immense relief our getting hold of such a lot of hard cash for poor old Hexham. It puts us and our credit in such a different position from what it has been for years.’

‘I daresay it has, but I don’t want any more credit, if you please—we have had more than was good for us all along. What sort of people are they? I suppose the girls are good-looking?[341]That’s whatyoumean by crediting them with all the virtues.’

‘They certainly are; but it’s very unfair of you to talk in that jealous way. If you saw Mrs. Banneret, not to mention her husband and the sons.’

‘Oh, there are sons, then?’

‘Yes, very fine young fellows; one of them rowed three in the Cambridge eight this year—which beat your favourite Oxford crew, my lady. They’re handsome too.’

‘Well, I can’t be jealous ofthem, can I?’

‘No, nor of any girl or woman alive, as you well know—say you know it, dear, won’t you? You’re only trying to draw me?’

‘I suppose I must forgive you, as usual, though you’ve stayed away an unconscionable time, and spent more money in London than you ought to have done—now haven’t you?’

‘I had to complete arrangements—and—er—er—there were business details. Hang it! if a man can’t have a little amusement when he gets a cheque for a couple of hundred thousand, after being mewed up in a place like this for years, when is he to have it? And the old clubs were so pleasant, and the fellows so glad to see me again, y’know!’

‘Oh yes, I know! And ready to play bridge and billiards, no doubt. So you think I’d like to pay Mrs. What’s-her-name a visit, and see the old place again? Perhaps it would be rather a lark.’

‘Don’t be reckless, dear! That’s not your line, butifyou could manage it, some day, when[342]the girls are at their pensions, I guarantee that you’d enjoy it. It would please them awfully—andme, if that counts.’

‘Well, perhaps I’ll see about it—but don’t be sure just yet.’

[343]CHAPTER XVIAmongthe entertainments proper to the season, which the family about this time witnessed, was the polo match in the Champion Cup Tournament between the ‘Magpies’ and the ‘Handley Cross’ teams.The former team was composed of Captain Hobson, Major Vaughan, Mr. Thynne, and Major Lee; the latter played Mr. Rich, Major Anselm, Captain Neil Haig, and Colonel Renton; Colonel St. Quintin, timekeeper, and Mr. John Watson and Major Kirke, umpires.The girls were wildly interested, having seen Captain Neil Haig (who put in the first big hit) play in Melbourne.On that occasion, four Englishmen played the best team in Australia, composed of the three brothers Camperdown and Mr. Wellesley. It came off on the Moonee Valley ground; it was a notable society function—Her Excellency Lady Brassey, the wife of the Governor of the day, presenting the prizes on the ground.It was stubbornly contested, but ended in a draw; Colonel St. Quintin, who happened to be in Australia at the time, acted as umpire.[344]So much interested in the game were they, so lost in admiration of the beauty and high quality of the ponies, that, hearing there were to be two club games played at Hurlingham on the following Wednesday, they arranged to attend. To their surprise and delight Lord Roberts and Lady Aileen arrived to witness the play.Lord Harrington’s team consisted of the Duke of Westminster, Captain Neil Haig, his Lordship himself, and Mr. de Kooep. A close finish, with a draw, was the result. The day was lovely, the play admirable, but one feature of the meeting particularly interested the Australian contingent. Vanda, whose eyes seemed to be everywhere, exclaimed suddenly: ‘Why, there’s our West Australian friend Gerald Branksome; and, just fancy! it must be his wife with him. We heard he was to be married this month, in London, to the daughter of a high official in Albany, or Perth, or somewhere. How pretty she is—so well dressed too! What fun meeting them here! Don’t you see them, Hermie? What a swell Gerald looks—tall hat—frocker—most accurate!’The pair of spectators thus favourably reviewed were seen to be in conversation with Captain Haig, after which, the recent bridegroom retired into the recesses of the dressing pavilion, whence he shortly emerged in full polo costume, a few minutes before the Victoria Cross Race was started. A tall, well-built, fair-haired young man, he slipped into the saddle on a club pony, led out for him, with the ease of a practised performer, after[345]carefully altering the stirrup leathers. The game included dismounting, and lifting to the saddle a dummy, presumably a wounded comrade, and afterwards clearing the hurdles on the course—a feat requiring more than average strength, activity, and horsemanship. This feat was performed at least once, during the late Boer War, by a member of a New South Wales contingent. He deliberately returned under fire for the purpose—the feat taking place during a very hot encounter with the Boers, who had ambushed a scouting party. The leaden hail was so close and deadly that the clothes of the rescuer and his comrade were riddled. Neither was seriously injured, but the poor ‘Waler’ who gamely carried his riders out of danger received his death wound. The Australian—for such he was—was accorded the rare and precious, almost unique, decoration of the ‘Queen’s Scarf.’There were no bullets flying during the more peaceful contest which the club’s courtesy provided for the guest from a far country, none the less was there need of a strong arm and exceptional horsemanship. He was apparently no novice, inasmuch as, after dismounting and remounting with enviable activity, he finally won on the post, to the great joy and pride of his wife, and those friends who hailed from the gold-strewn lands under the Southern Cross. The President congratulated him in the handsomest manner, requesting his Australian address, in order that the prize for the race, which would be forwarded, might reach him safely.[346]So the Hurlingham expedition closed in a manner equally pleasing to the champion of Australian horsemanship and his compatriots. They went home together and heard all about the wedding, ‘in the merry month of May,’ and the honeymoon cottage on the river, where the nightingale sang to sympathetic listeners, and recalled Heine’s delicious poem. Nothing would satisfy the Bannerets but a ‘sacred promise,’ as Vanda called it, that they should stay for a week at Hexham when they returned from Paris, for which city of delights they were leaving on the morrow.After such feats of horsemanship the youthful division became clamorous for half a dozen hunters, as the stable quad. (Eric said) was disgracefully empty. What wereonepair of carriage horses, another of ponies for their mother’s phaeton, the governor’s park hack, and one or two others? The hackney was a darling for beauty and manners, though the pater persisted in saying that in pace, elasticity, endurance—in fact, as an all-round horse—he was not a patch upon the famous Gaucho, or Graysteel, which he rode in his youth in Australia. He admitted that Count D’Orsay walked fast, cantered easily, trotted fairly, and, like his namesake and Private Willis, was very generally admired. No fault could be found with his manners and appearance. But where would he be at the end of a seventy-mile ride, which old Graysteel had several times performed, offgrass, with ease to himself and comfort to his rider. Besides, he didnotbelieve in hackney blood. They were very sweet to look at—perfect[347]almost in shape, carriage, and other requisites for ornamental equitation.But there was a ‘want’ somewhere: he doubted if they could jump; he questioned if they could stay; and, it was a hard thing to state, but after you got away from the slow paces he was afraid they were evenrough—one ‘perfect’ animal that he tried certainly was so. In a slow, rocking-horse sort of canter he was tolerable, but after that he lifted you almost out of the saddle at every stride.‘Come, I say, sir!’ said Reggie; ‘you mustn’t begin crabbing the horses of your ancestral home, and all that, before you’ve been a year in England—sounds provincial, doesn’t it? It takes time, as you have often said, to pick up a first-class hackney anywhere. Give the old country time, and you’ll get hold of a covert hack or two that will put these old favourites out of your head.’‘That there are plenty of good goers to be had here I never denied,’ he said, with a musing expression, ‘but when I think of Hope, The Gaucho, and Graysteel, none of them can dothat. You boys were too young to recollect the horses I rode and drove when your mother and I were living on our western cattle station, or visiting the sheep-run in Riverina.’‘Oh, tell us about them—now do!’ coaxed Vanda, seating herself promptly on the floor, and leaning against her indulgent parent’s knee. ‘Mother rode, and drove, then—didn’t she?’‘Yes, indeed! she was a bold horsewoman, a good whip too. Absolutely fearless—so much so[348]that I often anticipated her coming to grief. However, she never did. So she must have been clever or lucky, above the average.’‘Now then, sir, about the horses? How were they bred, and what could they do?’‘Well, they were chiefly compounded of English thorough-bred and high-caste blood, middle-sized, but fast, hardy, tireless, and sure-footed to a marvellous degree. The two best all-round hacks I ever owned were Hope and The Gaucho. The latter, the show horse of the stud, was the offspring of a South American mare, imported from Valparaiso in early colonial days. Your respected father was a trifle more active then, and used to break in his own colts.’‘Is that why all Walers buck-jump, as people say?’ suggested Eric.‘Perfect nonsense!’ returned the senior, slightly ‘drawn.’ ‘Of the dozen and a half colts which I broke to saddle—single and double harness, and to carry a lady—hardly one but was as well mannered as any horse in the Row, besides having various accomplishments which English horses could never dream of.’‘What sort were they?’‘Travelling over rough, stony country by night as well as day, besides those of the Australian camp horse or “cutter out.” These include coolness and courage, when ridden through a drove of a thousand excited cattle, keeping close up to a sharp-horned savage, shoulder against shoulder, or following up, the rider’s stockwhip making hair and hide fly; racing neck and neck[349]for one minute, and perhaps the next stopping dead and wheeling within his own tracks, to block a sudden break back to the herd,—this violent exercise kept up from sunrise to sunset, with perhaps a trifle of a dozen miles extra before the station yards are reached. The “cutting out” work, or separation of fat or strange animals from the general herd, collected on camp, is not very unlike polo—except that a second horse is rarely used either by squatter or stockrider.’‘How long did the “breaking” and “making” business take?’ demanded Eric.‘Truth to tell, it was short work, and rather rough. As two-year-olds the colts were roped, and handled unceremoniously, after the bush fashion of the day.’‘Wild as the wild deer, and untamed;By spur and saddle undefiled,’quoted Reggie. ‘You must have had an exciting time, sir.’‘By no means; full as they were of pluck, they were hereditarily free from vice. Before the end of the first week I rode one colt thirty miles, alone and unattended. He was perfectly quiet, and jumped logs like an old horse; the other was much the same—free and temperate.’‘But your groom helped you, and the stabling counts for something?’‘There was no groom, neither any stable. They were kept in the yard, with the surcingle and mouthing-bit on by day, and paddocked by night—grass and waterà discrétion.’[350]‘And what was the outcome of this cow-boy treatment?’‘They turned out accomplished hackneys. Quiet in saddle and harness, and carried a lady—as per advertisement.’‘Oh, how nice!’ said Vanda; ‘what colour?’‘Bright bay, with black points. Graysteel excepted.’‘What about paces?’‘Fast and good, remarkable trotters, but if touched on the curb would lead off on the right foot at an easy canter. Hope walked fast, but The Gaucho could never be got to do so, though I tried him for hours and days patiently. His dam, the Chileno mare, an animal of great courage and endurance, had the same failing. But like his half-brother, Hope, he could jump his own height, was absolutely incapable of falling, and had been ridden eighty miles between “sun and sun” more than once. He, too, was quiet and staunch in harness.’‘Think they’d do in the Market Harborough country?’ queried Reggie doubtfully.‘Of course; brooks and trappy enclosures would be a novelty, but they were clever, and would soon come to know their way about. Rails they preferred, the stiffer the better. Walls, being straightforward obstacles, they rather liked. And with twelve stone up I shouldn’t fear their being in the first flight. Hope won a steeplechase, over stiff post and rail country, against a strong field, and another half-brother, Maythorn, a son of The Premier, imported—sold to a[351]hard-riding friend. Morton Gray, of Gray Court, gave a lead to the Master of the Melbourne Hounds, the well-known George Wharton, over the Bootles gap, a stiff four-railer, with a “cap” on top, bringing up the height to nearly five feet, and finished a long day’s run without “putting a toe” on rail or wall. He was a fine hackney also; and, as a camp horse, a great performer. These horses were reared in the Western district of Victoria, then, as now, admitted to be, for soil, climate, and pasturage, unequalled in Australia. And now I think we have “talked horse” enough for the present.’.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .The important question of buying a few hunters had been decided. Now was the time to buy, before the hunting season set in. Mr. Banneret very properly considered that the best animals were the cheapest in the end; and there was no occasion to economise, the safety of his children being the principal consideration. A sale of hunters taking place at Tattersall’s in a few days, he secured a few really good ones to begin with. First and foremost, The Marchioness, a wonderful brown mare, for 350 guineas—rather extravagant, paterfamilias could not help thinking, but the recollection of his last bank-balance hardened his heart. She would set Hermione off, who had fine hands and seat; and as she was a front ranker with the Quorn, with faultless manners, and declared perfectly sound by two eminent vets., the cheque was handed over. Vanda was provided with the Admiral, at £180—an extremely safe,[352]strong, experienced hunter, that ‘you couldn’t throw down.’ ‘Just the thing for a young lady as was doing her first season,’ the stud groom said; ‘only wanted lettin’ alone, and trustin’ to his discretion, like.’ He under-rated Vanda’s abilities, however, as succeeding seasons were to demonstrate. The boys got one apiece; paterfamilias a couple—one of which Mrs. Banneret could ride on occasion, when she went to see a throw off. Their united values totted up to a sum which caused Mr. Banneret to give a low whistle, accustomed as he had become to his personal liability for fabulous amounts lately. ‘I wonder what I should have thought of such a purchase in old times?’ passed through his mind. ‘However, everything is comparative; when I gave a cheque for ten thousand for the first payment in the Bundawarra station, I thought it was an investment that required careful management and some good luck to carry through. But I little thought I should ever draw one for two hundred thousand odds, which the Hexham estate comes to—what the upkeep of it will cost is for the future to proclaim. However, I see the last accounts from West Australia show the month’s “clean up” to be a hundred and seventy thousand fine ounces, worth best part of a million sterling, with the reef growing wider and richer as it goes down. However, it seems nothing like so good as some of these Rand mines in South Africa. We live and learn. Let us hope these young people of ours will estimate their pecuniary position at its proper value. Their early education has certainly tended to that end.[353]The stud seems growing fast; however, there is plenty of room. They say the stables were commenced on this grand scale by the present Earl’s grandfather, and were left unfinished for forty years. He had a lucky win on the turf, and made haste to utilise it by completing the main building, where the clock-tower stands. Had he only known! But of how many men—even nations—may not that be said! Some day, perhaps, a classic-quoting critic may fire offde te fabula narraturat some member of the Banneret family, now so high above the arrows of fate!’.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .Summer in England! What an idyllic season it was. Now these young people from a far country began to realise the immense, the incalculable superiority of a land with a thousand years of history behind it! Think of it—dwell on it—try to grasp the immeasurable distinction of belonging to such a kingdom, if not born within its sea-bordered, sheltered bounds! Consider the inviolate sea! Behold the land where no foe has set unconquered foot since great Alfred drove Dane and Norseman far from her cliffs and beaches. The land where nobles and commoners, alike resentful of tyranny, refused to wait till constitutional resistance ripened into rebellion, but stood strong, patient, though menacing, till an overawed tyrant signed the great Charter of Runnymede, which for all time gave pledge and assurance of that justice never more to be delayed or bartered to the commons of England; not alone to them, but to the states, possessions, nations[354]planted by her hand, and, except by their own act and deed, secure of that priceless heritage for all time.How they enjoyed, how they admired and appreciated, all the feelings so characteristic of home life of which they had read and heard about since earliest childhood. The corn, the hayfields, with harvesters, gleaners, and nut-brown maids—wondering at the abundance of female labour, so unusual in the colonies, where women are too scarce and valuable to do field or dairy work for employers outside of the family circle. ‘Oh, the greenery of England! words cannot describe it!’ as an Australian lady exclaimed during her first summer in the ancestral home. ‘The delicious shadowy woodland, where, if the season be propitious, there comes not any wind or rain, where the green turf is a velvet carpet, flower-bespangled like an oriental purdah. Where the wood-rose and eglantine, daffodil and primrose, violet and woodbine, grace each cottage home!’.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .The greater number of the amusements and occupations proper to the summer time had been availed of and thoroughly enjoyed, when word came from Bruges that Lady Hexham had decided to accept Mrs. Banneret’s kind invitation to spend a fortnight with her at Hexham Hall. It would fit in with her arrangements (she said) inasmuch as she was coming over with her daughter, who was to stay on a visit to a relative for the remainder of the season, as their doctor believed a change would be beneficial. She would like to see her old home[355]again, and Lord Hexham would remain in charge of the family while she was absent.The missive was answered promptly, to the effect that Mrs. Banneret would be charmed to receive the Countess, and trusted that she would make Hexham her home as long as it suited her to remain in England, and would by no means confine her visit to the term mentioned. Great was the excitement which prevailed in the village of Hexham (the news having leaked out through some of the retainers still in service at the Hall) when the carriage and waggonette drove up to the station, and Lady Hexham, with her daughter and maid, descended. They were met and warmly welcomed by Mrs. Banneret and Hermione, but before they could reach the carriage there was a perfect rush to intercept them, headed by superannuated retainers still resident in the village, who begged, some indeed with tears, to be permitted to pay ‘their respects,’ as they expressed it, to their former mistress and her daughter. It was touching to witness the deep feeling of these survivals of a long-past feudal era. They were not permitted to kneel, but it was seen how much in accordance with their feelings this act of homage would have been.‘Oh, milady! oh, milady!’ exclaimed the aged ex-gardener and his wife, in chorus with an infirm stable-helper, a keeper with one arm, and a deaf laundress. ‘What a mercy that ever we should ha’ lived to see your Ladyship and Miss Corisande. The Lord above be thanked for it, and bless His holy name!’[356]Lady Hexham had been a proud woman, and bore herself so even yet, through all the years of her comparative poverty; but the tears filled her eyes as she saw the servitors of their former state and grandeur make lowly obeisance before her.‘Well, Benson? How d’ye do, Markham? Glad to see you all looking so well—and Peggy, and Mrs. Turton, too. I must come and see you in a day or two—I was afraid I should find some of you in the poorhouse.’‘Yes, milady,’ said an ancient dame, whose gnarled weather-worn features betokened the octogenarian, ‘and so we should ha’ been, only for Madam here, and Muster Banneret; they wouldn’t let none on us go as ’ad bin old servants at the Hall. They found us work about the place—same as we’d bin used to.’‘Perhaps you wouldn’t object, Lady Hexham, to their coming up to-morrow,’ interposed her hostess, ‘when they can have some bread and cheese and beer. You will then be able to hear about their affairs at your leisure. Come up to the Hall, Benson, at twelve o’clock, and bring any of the old servants with you. Tell them Lady Hexham would like to see them.’Lady Hexham bowed without speaking—the words would not come; the sharp contrast between the new and the old regime had so powerfully affected her that she was unable to say what she intended.The drive, short though it might be, was still impressive, and doubtless awakened older memories as they passed underneath the shadowy oaks, and[357]marked the sun-rays glittering through the leaves of the great chestnuts of the avenue. For the rest, everything was as trim and well ordered as hands could make it. That perfect neatness of gravel and grass, flower-bed and foliage, which, in England, speaks of the abundant cheapness of skilled labour in that particular department, was combined with the most tasteful arrangement of lawn and grove and woodland, in broad effects of light and shade.‘Banneret had ridden over to a neighbouring estate, but would join them at dinner,’ his wife said.Meanwhile Miss Corisande was received by Hermione and Vanda, by whom she was carried off to her room, and duly placed in charge of a personal attendant.‘We hope you will make yourself at home, in every sense of the word,’ said Hermione. ‘We feel like base usurpers. But I daresay we shall get over the feeling by degrees; you must try and do the same. In your case it will take rather longer, I fear.’‘Don’t alarm yourself about that,’ replied the Honourable Corisande, who did not seem inclined to dwell upon the sentimental side of the affair. ‘I was too young to care much when we left the old Hall for good; indeed, I side with Dad, and vote it a jolly good thing that he’d been able to work off the encumbered estate so well. We look upon your father as our benefactor, I can tell you.’‘That’s very sweet of you, I’m sure,’ said Vanda. ‘I know we shall be great friends directly.[358]Are you fond of riding? We’ve got a few decent horses together, and hope to have more.’‘Passionately; but, of course, I haven’t had much practice. There are none to speak of in Bruges. The English inhabitants are decayed gentlefolk like ourselves, and the horses belong to the canal boats mostly. It’s not half a bad old place, though—music and languages cheap, so it suits us down to the ground. We were very young then, whereas now’—and here the speaker cast a half-admiring, half-regretful glance around—‘we should enjoy a change now and then.’‘In that case, perhaps you’d like a canter to-morrow after lunch? Hermione will lend you her horse, which is quite “well-mannered,” as English people say. Mine is rather “touchy,” which is Australian for nervous. Hermione’s habit will fit you, I think.’This arrangement was carried out successfully. The girls went off, with a groom behind, ‘accoutred proper,’ ready to open gates or perform any service required. Hermione’s palfrey went smoothly and pleasantly, conducting himself to the entire satisfaction of the Honourable Corisande, who said she had no idea she could ride so well. The fact being, that she had plenty of nerve, and got on very well, having had an early experience of ponies—which indeed, from their sudden stoppages and occasional liability to kick, are by no means to be despised as a preparatory riding-school. So all was peace and joy when the girls returned. Lady Hexham had paid a visit to an old friend, to whom she had taken the opportunity to express[359]her opinion of Mrs. Banneret and her daughters—entirely favourable, at the same time hinting that she had not expected quite such refined taste or good manners.‘You know, my dear Kate, we are not accustomed to associate such qualities with wealthy colonists; and those fools of novelists persist in describing every one who makes money or a career out of England as either a vulgarian or a German Jew. We ought to know better, certainly, as every one’s younger sons or brothers have been going to Australia and New Zealand for generations. Why they should necessarily turn into clowns or roughs is hard to imagine, if we only took the trouble to think. But that’s the last thing English people do. We take everything for granted. I am enchanted with our successors, and quite endorse what Hexham says of them.’‘And what did he say?’‘Simply, that the family resembled English gentlefolk, all over the world. That, short of giving the old place back to us, there was nothing they wouldn’t do. So it’s our fault if they are not our very good friends henceforth.’So the neighbours parted, Lady Hexham well pleased to have renewed an old friendship under such reassuring conditions. And when, after returning to the Hall, the master of the house met them at dinner, theentente cordialebecame so advanced that the Bannerets might have been taken for the long-lost relations, returned from foreign parts, laden with the gold and jewels whichused toreward those who dared the dangers of[360]the sea, the hazards of fever and war, in some far eastern kingdom, where grew the pagoda tree.The evening, following a fatiguing day, was spent restfully—a little music, with more interchange of girlish experiences. For the guests an early retirement, although Corisande did not leave Vanda’s room for a ‘good hour,’ as the maid alleged, after she had been dismissed.However, the three girls were up early, and, after a stroll through the shrubberies, quite ready for breakfast.Though Lady Hexham had only intended to stay for a week, and was, in a general way, unused to changing her plans, she consented to remain for a fortnight, at the urgent request of the Banneret girls, who declared that they would be desolated if Corisande was torn from them before their garden party came off. This exceptional entertainment—which, indeed, had been decided upon long before the visit of the Hexhams came into view—was to be on a scale of grandeur such as had not been known in the county since the days of the grandfather of the present Earl, whose extravagant tastes and lavish expenditure had caused the financial ruin of the family. Gradually Lady Hexham seemed to weaken in her opposition to the idea, and lastly decided, after the receipt of a letter from her husband, that she really could not be so ungracious as to refuse an invitation so kindly made, so warmly pressed. Lastly, the great outwork having given way, the last entrenchment yielded. Lord Hexham stated his intention of bringing over his youngest daughter, who[361]had been included in the earlier invitation, and sending her by rail from London. For himself—no! He was sincerely grateful for the great kindness shown to his wife and daughters, but he would prefer to pay a visit later in the season. And from this resolve he could not be moved.

Amongthe entertainments proper to the season, which the family about this time witnessed, was the polo match in the Champion Cup Tournament between the ‘Magpies’ and the ‘Handley Cross’ teams.

The former team was composed of Captain Hobson, Major Vaughan, Mr. Thynne, and Major Lee; the latter played Mr. Rich, Major Anselm, Captain Neil Haig, and Colonel Renton; Colonel St. Quintin, timekeeper, and Mr. John Watson and Major Kirke, umpires.

The girls were wildly interested, having seen Captain Neil Haig (who put in the first big hit) play in Melbourne.

On that occasion, four Englishmen played the best team in Australia, composed of the three brothers Camperdown and Mr. Wellesley. It came off on the Moonee Valley ground; it was a notable society function—Her Excellency Lady Brassey, the wife of the Governor of the day, presenting the prizes on the ground.

It was stubbornly contested, but ended in a draw; Colonel St. Quintin, who happened to be in Australia at the time, acted as umpire.

[344]So much interested in the game were they, so lost in admiration of the beauty and high quality of the ponies, that, hearing there were to be two club games played at Hurlingham on the following Wednesday, they arranged to attend. To their surprise and delight Lord Roberts and Lady Aileen arrived to witness the play.

Lord Harrington’s team consisted of the Duke of Westminster, Captain Neil Haig, his Lordship himself, and Mr. de Kooep. A close finish, with a draw, was the result. The day was lovely, the play admirable, but one feature of the meeting particularly interested the Australian contingent. Vanda, whose eyes seemed to be everywhere, exclaimed suddenly: ‘Why, there’s our West Australian friend Gerald Branksome; and, just fancy! it must be his wife with him. We heard he was to be married this month, in London, to the daughter of a high official in Albany, or Perth, or somewhere. How pretty she is—so well dressed too! What fun meeting them here! Don’t you see them, Hermie? What a swell Gerald looks—tall hat—frocker—most accurate!’

The pair of spectators thus favourably reviewed were seen to be in conversation with Captain Haig, after which, the recent bridegroom retired into the recesses of the dressing pavilion, whence he shortly emerged in full polo costume, a few minutes before the Victoria Cross Race was started. A tall, well-built, fair-haired young man, he slipped into the saddle on a club pony, led out for him, with the ease of a practised performer, after[345]carefully altering the stirrup leathers. The game included dismounting, and lifting to the saddle a dummy, presumably a wounded comrade, and afterwards clearing the hurdles on the course—a feat requiring more than average strength, activity, and horsemanship. This feat was performed at least once, during the late Boer War, by a member of a New South Wales contingent. He deliberately returned under fire for the purpose—the feat taking place during a very hot encounter with the Boers, who had ambushed a scouting party. The leaden hail was so close and deadly that the clothes of the rescuer and his comrade were riddled. Neither was seriously injured, but the poor ‘Waler’ who gamely carried his riders out of danger received his death wound. The Australian—for such he was—was accorded the rare and precious, almost unique, decoration of the ‘Queen’s Scarf.’

There were no bullets flying during the more peaceful contest which the club’s courtesy provided for the guest from a far country, none the less was there need of a strong arm and exceptional horsemanship. He was apparently no novice, inasmuch as, after dismounting and remounting with enviable activity, he finally won on the post, to the great joy and pride of his wife, and those friends who hailed from the gold-strewn lands under the Southern Cross. The President congratulated him in the handsomest manner, requesting his Australian address, in order that the prize for the race, which would be forwarded, might reach him safely.

[346]So the Hurlingham expedition closed in a manner equally pleasing to the champion of Australian horsemanship and his compatriots. They went home together and heard all about the wedding, ‘in the merry month of May,’ and the honeymoon cottage on the river, where the nightingale sang to sympathetic listeners, and recalled Heine’s delicious poem. Nothing would satisfy the Bannerets but a ‘sacred promise,’ as Vanda called it, that they should stay for a week at Hexham when they returned from Paris, for which city of delights they were leaving on the morrow.

After such feats of horsemanship the youthful division became clamorous for half a dozen hunters, as the stable quad. (Eric said) was disgracefully empty. What wereonepair of carriage horses, another of ponies for their mother’s phaeton, the governor’s park hack, and one or two others? The hackney was a darling for beauty and manners, though the pater persisted in saying that in pace, elasticity, endurance—in fact, as an all-round horse—he was not a patch upon the famous Gaucho, or Graysteel, which he rode in his youth in Australia. He admitted that Count D’Orsay walked fast, cantered easily, trotted fairly, and, like his namesake and Private Willis, was very generally admired. No fault could be found with his manners and appearance. But where would he be at the end of a seventy-mile ride, which old Graysteel had several times performed, offgrass, with ease to himself and comfort to his rider. Besides, he didnotbelieve in hackney blood. They were very sweet to look at—perfect[347]almost in shape, carriage, and other requisites for ornamental equitation.

But there was a ‘want’ somewhere: he doubted if they could jump; he questioned if they could stay; and, it was a hard thing to state, but after you got away from the slow paces he was afraid they were evenrough—one ‘perfect’ animal that he tried certainly was so. In a slow, rocking-horse sort of canter he was tolerable, but after that he lifted you almost out of the saddle at every stride.

‘Come, I say, sir!’ said Reggie; ‘you mustn’t begin crabbing the horses of your ancestral home, and all that, before you’ve been a year in England—sounds provincial, doesn’t it? It takes time, as you have often said, to pick up a first-class hackney anywhere. Give the old country time, and you’ll get hold of a covert hack or two that will put these old favourites out of your head.’

‘That there are plenty of good goers to be had here I never denied,’ he said, with a musing expression, ‘but when I think of Hope, The Gaucho, and Graysteel, none of them can dothat. You boys were too young to recollect the horses I rode and drove when your mother and I were living on our western cattle station, or visiting the sheep-run in Riverina.’

‘Oh, tell us about them—now do!’ coaxed Vanda, seating herself promptly on the floor, and leaning against her indulgent parent’s knee. ‘Mother rode, and drove, then—didn’t she?’

‘Yes, indeed! she was a bold horsewoman, a good whip too. Absolutely fearless—so much so[348]that I often anticipated her coming to grief. However, she never did. So she must have been clever or lucky, above the average.’

‘Now then, sir, about the horses? How were they bred, and what could they do?’

‘Well, they were chiefly compounded of English thorough-bred and high-caste blood, middle-sized, but fast, hardy, tireless, and sure-footed to a marvellous degree. The two best all-round hacks I ever owned were Hope and The Gaucho. The latter, the show horse of the stud, was the offspring of a South American mare, imported from Valparaiso in early colonial days. Your respected father was a trifle more active then, and used to break in his own colts.’

‘Is that why all Walers buck-jump, as people say?’ suggested Eric.

‘Perfect nonsense!’ returned the senior, slightly ‘drawn.’ ‘Of the dozen and a half colts which I broke to saddle—single and double harness, and to carry a lady—hardly one but was as well mannered as any horse in the Row, besides having various accomplishments which English horses could never dream of.’

‘What sort were they?’

‘Travelling over rough, stony country by night as well as day, besides those of the Australian camp horse or “cutter out.” These include coolness and courage, when ridden through a drove of a thousand excited cattle, keeping close up to a sharp-horned savage, shoulder against shoulder, or following up, the rider’s stockwhip making hair and hide fly; racing neck and neck[349]for one minute, and perhaps the next stopping dead and wheeling within his own tracks, to block a sudden break back to the herd,—this violent exercise kept up from sunrise to sunset, with perhaps a trifle of a dozen miles extra before the station yards are reached. The “cutting out” work, or separation of fat or strange animals from the general herd, collected on camp, is not very unlike polo—except that a second horse is rarely used either by squatter or stockrider.’

‘How long did the “breaking” and “making” business take?’ demanded Eric.

‘Truth to tell, it was short work, and rather rough. As two-year-olds the colts were roped, and handled unceremoniously, after the bush fashion of the day.’

‘Wild as the wild deer, and untamed;By spur and saddle undefiled,’

‘Wild as the wild deer, and untamed;By spur and saddle undefiled,’

‘Wild as the wild deer, and untamed;By spur and saddle undefiled,’

‘Wild as the wild deer, and untamed;

By spur and saddle undefiled,’

quoted Reggie. ‘You must have had an exciting time, sir.’

‘By no means; full as they were of pluck, they were hereditarily free from vice. Before the end of the first week I rode one colt thirty miles, alone and unattended. He was perfectly quiet, and jumped logs like an old horse; the other was much the same—free and temperate.’

‘But your groom helped you, and the stabling counts for something?’

‘There was no groom, neither any stable. They were kept in the yard, with the surcingle and mouthing-bit on by day, and paddocked by night—grass and waterà discrétion.’

[350]‘And what was the outcome of this cow-boy treatment?’

‘They turned out accomplished hackneys. Quiet in saddle and harness, and carried a lady—as per advertisement.’

‘Oh, how nice!’ said Vanda; ‘what colour?’

‘Bright bay, with black points. Graysteel excepted.’

‘What about paces?’

‘Fast and good, remarkable trotters, but if touched on the curb would lead off on the right foot at an easy canter. Hope walked fast, but The Gaucho could never be got to do so, though I tried him for hours and days patiently. His dam, the Chileno mare, an animal of great courage and endurance, had the same failing. But like his half-brother, Hope, he could jump his own height, was absolutely incapable of falling, and had been ridden eighty miles between “sun and sun” more than once. He, too, was quiet and staunch in harness.’

‘Think they’d do in the Market Harborough country?’ queried Reggie doubtfully.

‘Of course; brooks and trappy enclosures would be a novelty, but they were clever, and would soon come to know their way about. Rails they preferred, the stiffer the better. Walls, being straightforward obstacles, they rather liked. And with twelve stone up I shouldn’t fear their being in the first flight. Hope won a steeplechase, over stiff post and rail country, against a strong field, and another half-brother, Maythorn, a son of The Premier, imported—sold to a[351]hard-riding friend. Morton Gray, of Gray Court, gave a lead to the Master of the Melbourne Hounds, the well-known George Wharton, over the Bootles gap, a stiff four-railer, with a “cap” on top, bringing up the height to nearly five feet, and finished a long day’s run without “putting a toe” on rail or wall. He was a fine hackney also; and, as a camp horse, a great performer. These horses were reared in the Western district of Victoria, then, as now, admitted to be, for soil, climate, and pasturage, unequalled in Australia. And now I think we have “talked horse” enough for the present.’

.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

The important question of buying a few hunters had been decided. Now was the time to buy, before the hunting season set in. Mr. Banneret very properly considered that the best animals were the cheapest in the end; and there was no occasion to economise, the safety of his children being the principal consideration. A sale of hunters taking place at Tattersall’s in a few days, he secured a few really good ones to begin with. First and foremost, The Marchioness, a wonderful brown mare, for 350 guineas—rather extravagant, paterfamilias could not help thinking, but the recollection of his last bank-balance hardened his heart. She would set Hermione off, who had fine hands and seat; and as she was a front ranker with the Quorn, with faultless manners, and declared perfectly sound by two eminent vets., the cheque was handed over. Vanda was provided with the Admiral, at £180—an extremely safe,[352]strong, experienced hunter, that ‘you couldn’t throw down.’ ‘Just the thing for a young lady as was doing her first season,’ the stud groom said; ‘only wanted lettin’ alone, and trustin’ to his discretion, like.’ He under-rated Vanda’s abilities, however, as succeeding seasons were to demonstrate. The boys got one apiece; paterfamilias a couple—one of which Mrs. Banneret could ride on occasion, when she went to see a throw off. Their united values totted up to a sum which caused Mr. Banneret to give a low whistle, accustomed as he had become to his personal liability for fabulous amounts lately. ‘I wonder what I should have thought of such a purchase in old times?’ passed through his mind. ‘However, everything is comparative; when I gave a cheque for ten thousand for the first payment in the Bundawarra station, I thought it was an investment that required careful management and some good luck to carry through. But I little thought I should ever draw one for two hundred thousand odds, which the Hexham estate comes to—what the upkeep of it will cost is for the future to proclaim. However, I see the last accounts from West Australia show the month’s “clean up” to be a hundred and seventy thousand fine ounces, worth best part of a million sterling, with the reef growing wider and richer as it goes down. However, it seems nothing like so good as some of these Rand mines in South Africa. We live and learn. Let us hope these young people of ours will estimate their pecuniary position at its proper value. Their early education has certainly tended to that end.[353]The stud seems growing fast; however, there is plenty of room. They say the stables were commenced on this grand scale by the present Earl’s grandfather, and were left unfinished for forty years. He had a lucky win on the turf, and made haste to utilise it by completing the main building, where the clock-tower stands. Had he only known! But of how many men—even nations—may not that be said! Some day, perhaps, a classic-quoting critic may fire offde te fabula narraturat some member of the Banneret family, now so high above the arrows of fate!’

.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

Summer in England! What an idyllic season it was. Now these young people from a far country began to realise the immense, the incalculable superiority of a land with a thousand years of history behind it! Think of it—dwell on it—try to grasp the immeasurable distinction of belonging to such a kingdom, if not born within its sea-bordered, sheltered bounds! Consider the inviolate sea! Behold the land where no foe has set unconquered foot since great Alfred drove Dane and Norseman far from her cliffs and beaches. The land where nobles and commoners, alike resentful of tyranny, refused to wait till constitutional resistance ripened into rebellion, but stood strong, patient, though menacing, till an overawed tyrant signed the great Charter of Runnymede, which for all time gave pledge and assurance of that justice never more to be delayed or bartered to the commons of England; not alone to them, but to the states, possessions, nations[354]planted by her hand, and, except by their own act and deed, secure of that priceless heritage for all time.

How they enjoyed, how they admired and appreciated, all the feelings so characteristic of home life of which they had read and heard about since earliest childhood. The corn, the hayfields, with harvesters, gleaners, and nut-brown maids—wondering at the abundance of female labour, so unusual in the colonies, where women are too scarce and valuable to do field or dairy work for employers outside of the family circle. ‘Oh, the greenery of England! words cannot describe it!’ as an Australian lady exclaimed during her first summer in the ancestral home. ‘The delicious shadowy woodland, where, if the season be propitious, there comes not any wind or rain, where the green turf is a velvet carpet, flower-bespangled like an oriental purdah. Where the wood-rose and eglantine, daffodil and primrose, violet and woodbine, grace each cottage home!’

.       .       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

The greater number of the amusements and occupations proper to the summer time had been availed of and thoroughly enjoyed, when word came from Bruges that Lady Hexham had decided to accept Mrs. Banneret’s kind invitation to spend a fortnight with her at Hexham Hall. It would fit in with her arrangements (she said) inasmuch as she was coming over with her daughter, who was to stay on a visit to a relative for the remainder of the season, as their doctor believed a change would be beneficial. She would like to see her old home[355]again, and Lord Hexham would remain in charge of the family while she was absent.

The missive was answered promptly, to the effect that Mrs. Banneret would be charmed to receive the Countess, and trusted that she would make Hexham her home as long as it suited her to remain in England, and would by no means confine her visit to the term mentioned. Great was the excitement which prevailed in the village of Hexham (the news having leaked out through some of the retainers still in service at the Hall) when the carriage and waggonette drove up to the station, and Lady Hexham, with her daughter and maid, descended. They were met and warmly welcomed by Mrs. Banneret and Hermione, but before they could reach the carriage there was a perfect rush to intercept them, headed by superannuated retainers still resident in the village, who begged, some indeed with tears, to be permitted to pay ‘their respects,’ as they expressed it, to their former mistress and her daughter. It was touching to witness the deep feeling of these survivals of a long-past feudal era. They were not permitted to kneel, but it was seen how much in accordance with their feelings this act of homage would have been.

‘Oh, milady! oh, milady!’ exclaimed the aged ex-gardener and his wife, in chorus with an infirm stable-helper, a keeper with one arm, and a deaf laundress. ‘What a mercy that ever we should ha’ lived to see your Ladyship and Miss Corisande. The Lord above be thanked for it, and bless His holy name!’

[356]Lady Hexham had been a proud woman, and bore herself so even yet, through all the years of her comparative poverty; but the tears filled her eyes as she saw the servitors of their former state and grandeur make lowly obeisance before her.

‘Well, Benson? How d’ye do, Markham? Glad to see you all looking so well—and Peggy, and Mrs. Turton, too. I must come and see you in a day or two—I was afraid I should find some of you in the poorhouse.’

‘Yes, milady,’ said an ancient dame, whose gnarled weather-worn features betokened the octogenarian, ‘and so we should ha’ been, only for Madam here, and Muster Banneret; they wouldn’t let none on us go as ’ad bin old servants at the Hall. They found us work about the place—same as we’d bin used to.’

‘Perhaps you wouldn’t object, Lady Hexham, to their coming up to-morrow,’ interposed her hostess, ‘when they can have some bread and cheese and beer. You will then be able to hear about their affairs at your leisure. Come up to the Hall, Benson, at twelve o’clock, and bring any of the old servants with you. Tell them Lady Hexham would like to see them.’

Lady Hexham bowed without speaking—the words would not come; the sharp contrast between the new and the old regime had so powerfully affected her that she was unable to say what she intended.

The drive, short though it might be, was still impressive, and doubtless awakened older memories as they passed underneath the shadowy oaks, and[357]marked the sun-rays glittering through the leaves of the great chestnuts of the avenue. For the rest, everything was as trim and well ordered as hands could make it. That perfect neatness of gravel and grass, flower-bed and foliage, which, in England, speaks of the abundant cheapness of skilled labour in that particular department, was combined with the most tasteful arrangement of lawn and grove and woodland, in broad effects of light and shade.

‘Banneret had ridden over to a neighbouring estate, but would join them at dinner,’ his wife said.

Meanwhile Miss Corisande was received by Hermione and Vanda, by whom she was carried off to her room, and duly placed in charge of a personal attendant.

‘We hope you will make yourself at home, in every sense of the word,’ said Hermione. ‘We feel like base usurpers. But I daresay we shall get over the feeling by degrees; you must try and do the same. In your case it will take rather longer, I fear.’

‘Don’t alarm yourself about that,’ replied the Honourable Corisande, who did not seem inclined to dwell upon the sentimental side of the affair. ‘I was too young to care much when we left the old Hall for good; indeed, I side with Dad, and vote it a jolly good thing that he’d been able to work off the encumbered estate so well. We look upon your father as our benefactor, I can tell you.’

‘That’s very sweet of you, I’m sure,’ said Vanda. ‘I know we shall be great friends directly.[358]Are you fond of riding? We’ve got a few decent horses together, and hope to have more.’

‘Passionately; but, of course, I haven’t had much practice. There are none to speak of in Bruges. The English inhabitants are decayed gentlefolk like ourselves, and the horses belong to the canal boats mostly. It’s not half a bad old place, though—music and languages cheap, so it suits us down to the ground. We were very young then, whereas now’—and here the speaker cast a half-admiring, half-regretful glance around—‘we should enjoy a change now and then.’

‘In that case, perhaps you’d like a canter to-morrow after lunch? Hermione will lend you her horse, which is quite “well-mannered,” as English people say. Mine is rather “touchy,” which is Australian for nervous. Hermione’s habit will fit you, I think.’

This arrangement was carried out successfully. The girls went off, with a groom behind, ‘accoutred proper,’ ready to open gates or perform any service required. Hermione’s palfrey went smoothly and pleasantly, conducting himself to the entire satisfaction of the Honourable Corisande, who said she had no idea she could ride so well. The fact being, that she had plenty of nerve, and got on very well, having had an early experience of ponies—which indeed, from their sudden stoppages and occasional liability to kick, are by no means to be despised as a preparatory riding-school. So all was peace and joy when the girls returned. Lady Hexham had paid a visit to an old friend, to whom she had taken the opportunity to express[359]her opinion of Mrs. Banneret and her daughters—entirely favourable, at the same time hinting that she had not expected quite such refined taste or good manners.

‘You know, my dear Kate, we are not accustomed to associate such qualities with wealthy colonists; and those fools of novelists persist in describing every one who makes money or a career out of England as either a vulgarian or a German Jew. We ought to know better, certainly, as every one’s younger sons or brothers have been going to Australia and New Zealand for generations. Why they should necessarily turn into clowns or roughs is hard to imagine, if we only took the trouble to think. But that’s the last thing English people do. We take everything for granted. I am enchanted with our successors, and quite endorse what Hexham says of them.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘Simply, that the family resembled English gentlefolk, all over the world. That, short of giving the old place back to us, there was nothing they wouldn’t do. So it’s our fault if they are not our very good friends henceforth.’

So the neighbours parted, Lady Hexham well pleased to have renewed an old friendship under such reassuring conditions. And when, after returning to the Hall, the master of the house met them at dinner, theentente cordialebecame so advanced that the Bannerets might have been taken for the long-lost relations, returned from foreign parts, laden with the gold and jewels whichused toreward those who dared the dangers of[360]the sea, the hazards of fever and war, in some far eastern kingdom, where grew the pagoda tree.

The evening, following a fatiguing day, was spent restfully—a little music, with more interchange of girlish experiences. For the guests an early retirement, although Corisande did not leave Vanda’s room for a ‘good hour,’ as the maid alleged, after she had been dismissed.

However, the three girls were up early, and, after a stroll through the shrubberies, quite ready for breakfast.

Though Lady Hexham had only intended to stay for a week, and was, in a general way, unused to changing her plans, she consented to remain for a fortnight, at the urgent request of the Banneret girls, who declared that they would be desolated if Corisande was torn from them before their garden party came off. This exceptional entertainment—which, indeed, had been decided upon long before the visit of the Hexhams came into view—was to be on a scale of grandeur such as had not been known in the county since the days of the grandfather of the present Earl, whose extravagant tastes and lavish expenditure had caused the financial ruin of the family. Gradually Lady Hexham seemed to weaken in her opposition to the idea, and lastly decided, after the receipt of a letter from her husband, that she really could not be so ungracious as to refuse an invitation so kindly made, so warmly pressed. Lastly, the great outwork having given way, the last entrenchment yielded. Lord Hexham stated his intention of bringing over his youngest daughter, who[361]had been included in the earlier invitation, and sending her by rail from London. For himself—no! He was sincerely grateful for the great kindness shown to his wife and daughters, but he would prefer to pay a visit later in the season. And from this resolve he could not be moved.

Back to IndexNext