Brune arrived at Redware Hall while
it was still afternoon, and he found no difficulty
in obtaining an interview with its mistress. She
was sitting at a table in a large bay-window, painting
the view from it. For in those days ladies were
not familiar with high art and all its nomenclature
and accessories; Lady Redware had never thought of
an easel, or a blouse, or indeed of any of the trappings
now considered necessary to the making of pictures.
She was prettily dressed in silk; and a square of
bristol-board, a box of Newman’s water-colours,
and a few camel’s-hair pencils were neatly arranged
before her.
She rose when Brune entered, and met
him with a suave courtesy; and the unsophisticated
young man took it for a genuine pleasure. He felt
sorry to trouble such a nice-looking gentlewoman, and
he said so with a sincerity that made her suddenly
serious. “Have you brought me bad news,
Mr. Anneys?” she asked.
“I am afraid you will be put
about a bit. Sir Ulfar Fenwick met my sister
this morning; and they were seen by ill-natured eyes,
and I came, quiet-like, to let you know that he must
leave the dales to-night.”
“Cannot Sir Ulfar meet his own wife?”
“Lady Redware, that is not the
question. Put it, ’Cannot Sir Ulfar meet
your sister?’ and I will answer you quick enough,
’Not while there are two honest men in Allerdale
to prevent him.’”
“You cannot frighten Sir Ulfar
from Allerdale. To threaten him is to make him
stay.”
“Dalesmen are not ones to threaten.
I tell you that the vicar’s maid saw Sir Ulfar
and my sister together; and when William Anneys hears
of it, Sir Ulfar will get such a notice to leave these
parts as will give him no choice. I came to warn
him away before he could not help himself. I
say freely, I did so to please Aspatria, and out of
no good-will going his way.”
“But if he will not leave Allerdale?”
“But if William Anneys, and
the sixty gentlemen who will ride with William Anneys,
say he must go? What then?”
“Of course Sir Ulfar cannot fight a mob.”
“Not one of that mob of gentlemen
would fight him; but they all carry stout riding-whips.”
And Brune looked at the lady with a sombre intentness
which made further speech unnecessary. She had
been alarmed from the first; she now made no further
attempt to disguise her terror.
“What must I do, Mr. Anneys?”
she asked. “What must I do?”
“Send your brother away from
Cumberland to-night. I say he must leave to-night.
To-morrow morning may be too late to prevent a great
humiliation. Aspatria begged me to come to you.
I do not say I wanted to come.”
At this moment the door opened, and
Sarah Sandys entered. Brune turned, and saw her;
and his heart stood still. She came slowly forward,
her garment of pale-green and white just touching her
sandalled feet. She had a rush basket full of
violets in her hands; there were primroses in her
breast and belt, and her face was like a pink rose.
High on her head her fair hair was lifted, and, being
fastened with a large turquoise comb, it gave the idea
of sunshine and blue sky.
Brune stood looking at her, as a mortal
might look at the divine Cytherea made manifest.
His handsome, open face, full of candid admiration,
had almost an august character. He bowed to her,
as men bow when they bend their heart and give its
homage and delight. Sarah was much impressed
by the young man’s beauty, and she felt his swift
adoration of her own charms. She made Lady Redware
introduce her to Brune, and she completed her conquest
of the youth as she stood a moment holding his hand
and smiling with captivating grace into his eyes.
Then Lady Redware explained Brune’s
mission, and Sarah grasped the situation without any
disguises. “It simply means flight, Elizabeth,”
she said. “What could Ulfar do with fifty
or sixty angry Cumberland squires? He would have
to go. In fact, I know they have a method of
persuasion no mortal man can resist.”
Brune saw that his errand was accomplished.
Lady Redware thanked him for his consideration, and
Sarah rang for the tea-service, and made him a cup,
and gave it to him with her own lovely hands.
Brune saw their exquisite form, their translucent
glow, the sparkling of diamonds and emeralds upon
them. The tea was as if brewed in Paradise; it
tasted of all things delightful; it was a veritable
cup of enchantments.
Then Brune rode away, and the two
women watched him over the hill. He sat his great
black hunter like a cavalry officer; and the creature
devoured the distance with strides that made their
hearts leap to the sense of its power and life.
“He is the very handsomest man I ever saw!”
said Sarah.
“What is to be done about Ulfar?
Sarah, you must manage this business. He will
not listen to me.”
“Ulfar has five senses.
Ulfar is very fond of himself. He will leave
Redware, of course. How handsome Brune Anneys
is!”
“Will you coax him to leave to-night?”
“Ulfar? Yes, I will; for
it is the proper thing for him to do. It would
be a shame to bring his quarrels to your house.-What
a splendid rider! Look, Elizabeth, he is just
topping the hill! I do believe he turned his
head! Is he not handsome? Apollo! Antinoues!
Pshaw! Brune Anneys is a great deal more human,
and a great deal more godlike, than either.”
“Do not be silly, Sarah.
And do occupy yourself a little with Ulfar now.”
“When the hour comes, I will.
Ulfar is evidently occupying himself at present in
watching his wife. There is a decorous naughtiness
and a stimulating sense of danger about seeing Aspatria,
that must be a thorough enjoyment to Ulfar.”
“Men are always in fusses.
Ulfar has kept my heart palpitating ever since he
could walk alone.”
Sarah sighed. “It is very
difficult,” she said, “to decide whether
very old men or very young men can be the greater trial.
The suffering both can cause is immense! Poor
Sandys was sixty-six, and Ulfar is thirty-six, and-”
She shook her head, and sighed again.
“How hateful country-people
are!” exclaimed Elizabeth. “They must
talk, no matter what tragedy they cause with their
scandalous words.”
“Are they worse than our own
set, either in town or country? You know what
the Countess of Denbigh considered pleasant conversation?-telling
things that ought not to be told.”
“The Countess is a wretch! she
would tell the most sacred of secrets.”
“I tell secrets also. I
do not consider it wrong. What business has any
one to throw the onus of keeping their secret
on my shoulders? Why should they expect from
me more prudence than they themselves have shown?”
“That is true. But in these
valleys they speak so uncomfortably direct; nothing
but the strongest, straightest, most definite words
will be used.”
“That is a pity. People
ought to send scandal through society in a respectable
hunt-the-slipper form of circulation. But that
is a kind of decency to be cultivated. However,
I shall tell Ulfar, in the plainest words I can find,
that there will be about sixty Cumberland squires
here to-morrow, to ride with him out of the county,
and that they are looking forward to the fun of it
just as much as if it was a fox-hunt. Ulfar has
imagination. He will be able to conceive such
a ride,-the flying man, and the roaring,
laughing, whip-cracking squires after him! He
will remember how Tom Appleton the wrestler, who did
something foul, was escorted across the county line
last summer. And Ulfar hates a scene. Can
you fancy him making himself the centre of such an
affair?”
So they talked while Brune galloped
homeward in a very happy mood. He felt as those
ancients may have felt when they met the Immortals
and saluted them. The thought of the beautiful
Mrs. Sandys filled his imagination; but he talked
comfortably to Aspatria, and assured her that there
was now no fear of a meeting between her husband and
Will. “Only,” he said, “tell
Will yourself to-night, and he will never doubt you.”
Unfortunately, Will did not return
that night from the Frosthams’; for in the morning
the two men were to go together to Dalton very early.
Will heard nothing there, but Mrs. Frostham was waiting
at her garden gate to tell him when he returned.
He had left Squire Frostham with his son-in-law, and
was alone. Mrs. Frostham made a great deal of
the information, and broke it to Will with much consideration.
Will heard her sullenly. He was getting a few
words ready for Aspatria, as Mrs. Frostham told her
tale, but they were for her alone. To Mrs. Frostham
he adopted a tone she thought very ungrateful.
For when the whole affair, real and
consequential, had been told, he answered: “What
is there to make a wonder of? Cannot a woman talk
and walk a bit with her own husband? Maybe he
had something very particular to say to her.
I think it is a shame to bother a little lass about
a thing like that.”
And he folded himself so close that
Mrs. Frostham could neither question nor sympathize
with him longer. “Good-evening to you,”
he said coldly; and then, while visible, he took care
to ride as if quite at his ease. But the moment
the road turned from Frostham he whipped his horse
to its full speed, and entered the farmyard with it
in a foam of hurry, and himself in a foam of passion.
Aspatria met him with the confession
on her lips. He gave her no time. He assailed
her with affronting and injurious epithets. He
pushed her hands and face from him. He vowed
her tears were a mockery, and her intention of confessing
a lie. He met all her efforts at explanation,
and all her attempts to pacify him, at sword-point.
She bore it patiently for a while;
and then Will Anneys saw an Aspatria he had never
dreamed of. She seemed to grow taller; she did
really grow taller; her face flamed, her eyes flashed,
and, in a voice authoritative and irresistible, she
commanded him to desist.
“You are my worst enemy,”
she said. “You are as deaf as the village
gossips. You will not listen to the truth.
Your abuse, heard by every servant in the house, certifies
all that malice dares to think. And in wounding
my honour you are a parricide to our mother’s
good name! I am ashamed of you, Will!”
From head to foot she reflected the
indignation in her heart, as she stood erect with
her hands clasped and the palms dropped downward, no
sign of tears, no quiver of fear or doubt, no retreat,
and no submission, in her face or attitude.
“Why, whatever is the matter with you, Aspatria?”
At this moment Brune entered, and
she went to him, and put her hand through his arm,
and said: “Brune, speak for me! Will
has insulted mother and father, through me, in such
a way that I can never forgive him!”
“You ought to be ashamed of
yourself, Will Anneys!” And Brune put his sister
gently behind him, and then marched squarely up to
his brother’s face. “You are as passionate
as a brute beast, Will, and that, too, with a poor
little lass that has her own troubles, and has borne
them like-like a good woman always does.”
“I do not want to hear you speak, Brune.”
“Ay, but I will speak, and you
shall hear me. I tell you, Aspatria is in no
kind to blame. The man came on her sudden, out
of the plantation. She did not take his hand,
she did not listen to him. She sent him about
his business as quick as might be.”
“Lottie Patterson saw her,” said Will,
dourly.
“Because Aspatria called Lottie
Patterson to her; and if Lottie Patterson says she
saw anything more or worse than ought to be, I will
pretty soon call upon Seth Patterson to make his sister’s
words good. Cush! I will that! And
what is more, Will Anneys, if you do not know how
to take care of your sister’s good name, I will
teach you,-you mouse of a man! You
go and side with that Frostham set against Aspatria!
Chaff on the Frosthams! It is a bad neighbourhood
where a girl like Aspatria cannot say a word or two
on the king’s highway at broad noonday, without
having a sisserara about it.”
“I did not side with the Frosthams against Aspatria.”
“I’ll be bound you did!”
“Let me alone, Brune! Go your ways out
of here, both of you!”
“To be sure, we will both go.
Come, Aspatria. When you are tired of ballooning,
William Anneys, and can come down to common justice,
maybe then I will talk to you,-not till.”
Now, good honest anger is one of the
sinews of the soul; and he that wants it when there
is occasion has but a maimed mind. The hot words,
the passionate atmosphere, the rebellion of Aspatria,
the decision of Brune, had the same effect upon Will’s
senseless anger as a thunder-storm has upon the hot,
heavy, summer air. Will raged his bad temper
away, and was cool and clear-minded after it.
At the same hour the same kind of
mental thunder-storm was prevailing over all common-sense
at Redware Hall. Ulfar, after a long and vain
watch for another opportunity to speak to Aspatria,
returned there in a temper compounded of anger, jealousy,
disappointment, and unsatisfied affection. He
heard Lady Redware’s story of his own danger
and of Brune’s consideration with scornful indifference.
Brune’s consideration he laughed at. He
knew very well, he answered, that Brune Anneys hated
him, and would take the greatest delight in such a
hubbub as he pretended was in project.
“But he came to please Aspatria,”
continued Lady Redware. “He said he came
only to please Aspatria.”
“So Aspatria wishes me to leave
Allerdale? I will not go.”
“Sarah, he will not go,”
cried Lady Redware, as her friend entered the room.
“He says he will not go.”
“That is because you have appealed
to Ulfar’s feelings instead of to his judgment.
When Ulfar considers how savagely primitive these
dalesmen are in their passions, he will understand
that discretion is the nobler part of valour.
In Russia he thought it a very prudent thing to get
out of the way when a pack of wolves were in the neighbourhood.”
“The law will protect me in
this house. Human beings have to mind the law.”
“There are times when human
beings are a law unto themselves. How would you
like to see a crowd of angry men shouting around this
house for you? Think of your sister,-and
of me, if I am worth so much consideration.”
“I am not to be frightened, Sarah.”
“Will you consider, then, that
as far as Keswick and Kendal on one side, and as far
as Dalton and Whitehaven on the other side, every
local newspaper will have, or will make, its own version
of the affair? The Earl of Lonsdale, with a large
party, is now at Whitehaven Castle. What a sauce
piquante it will be to his dinners! How the
men will howl over it, and how the women will snicker
and smile!”
“Sarah! you can think of the hatefullest things.”
“And Lonsdale will go up to
London purposely to have the delight of telling it
at the clubs.”
“Sarah!”
“And the ‘Daily Whisper’
will get Lonsdale’s most delectable version,
and blow it with the four winds of heaven to the four
corners of the civilized world.”
“Sarah Sandys, I-”
“Worse still! that poor girl
whom you treated so abominably, must suffer the whole
thing over again. Her name will be put as the
head and front of your offending. All her sorrows
and heartbreak will be made a penny mouthful for country
bumpkins and scandalous gammers to ‘Oh!’
and ‘Ah!’ over. Ulfar, if you are
a man, you will not give her a moment’s terror
of such consequences. You may see that she fears
them, by her sending her brother to entreat your absence.”
“And I must be called coward and runaway!”
“Let them call you anything
they like, so that you spare her further shame and
sorrow.”
“Your talking in this fashion
to me, Sarah, is very like Satan correcting sin.
I loved Aspatria when I met you in Rome.”
“Of course! Adam always
has his Eve ready. ’Not my fault, good people!
Look at this woman! With her bright smiles and
her soft tongue she beguiled me; and so I fell!’
We can settle that question, you and I, again.
Now you must ring the bell, and order your horse-say,
at four o’clock to-morrow morning. You can
have nearly six hours’ sleep,-quite
enough for you.”
“You have not convinced me, Sarah.”
“Then you must ride now, and
be convinced afterward. For your sister’s
sake and for Aspatria’s sake, you will surely
go away.”
Lady Redware was crying, and she cried
a little harder to emphasize Sarah’s pleading.
Ulfar was in a hard strait. He looked angrily
at the handsome little woman urging him to do the
thing he hated to do, and then taking the kerchief
from his sister’s face, he kissed her, and promised
to leave Redware at dawn of day.
“But,” said he, “if
you send me away now, I tell you, our parting is likely
to be for many years, perhaps for life. I am going
beyond civilization, and so beyond scandal.”
“Do not flatter yourself so
extravagantly, Ulfar. There is scandal everywhere,
and always has been, even from the beginning.
I have no doubt those nameless little sisters of Cain
and Abel were talked about unpleasantly by their sisters
and brothers-in-law. In fact, wherever there
are women there are men glad to pull them down to their
own level.”
“Is it not very hard, then,
that I am not to be permitted to stay here and defend
the women I love?”
Sarah shook her head. “It
is beyond your power, Ulfar. If Porthos were
on earth again, or Amadis of Gaul, they might have
happy and useful careers in handling as they deserve
the maligners of good, quiet women. But the men
of this era!-which of them durst lift the
stone that the hand without sin is permitted to cast?”
So they talked the night away, drifting
gradually from the unpleasant initial subject to Ulfar’s
plan of travel and the far-off prospect of his return.
And in the gray, cold dawn he bade them farewell, and
they watched him until he vanished in the mists rolling
down the mountain. Then they kissed each other,-a
little, sad kiss of congratulation, wet with tears;
they had won their desire, but their victory had left
them weeping. Alas! it is the very condition of
success that every triumph must be baptized with somebody’s
tears.
This event, beginning in such a trifle
as an almost accidental visit of Aspatria to the vicar,
was the line sharply dividing very different lives.
Nothing in Seat-Ambar was ever quite the same after
it. William Anneys, indeed, quickly perceived
and acknowledged his fault, and the reconciliation
was kind and complete; but Aspatria had taken a step
forward, and crossed clearly that bound which divides
girlhood from womanhood. Unconsciously she assumed
a carriage that Will felt compelled to respect, and
a tone was in her voice he did not care to bluff and
contradict. He never again ordered her to remain
silent or to leave his presence. A portion of
his household authority had passed from him, both
as regarded Aspatria and Brune; and he felt himself
to be less master than he had formerly been.
Perhaps this was one reason of the
growing frequency of his visits to Frostham.
There he was made much of, deferred to, and all his
little fancies flattered and obeyed. Will knew
he was the most important person in the world to Alice
Frostham; and he knew, also, that he only shared Aspatria’s
heart with Ulfar Fenwick. Men like the whole heart,
and nothing less than the whole heart; hence Alice’s
influence grew steadily all through the summer days,
full to the brim of happy labour and reasonable love.
As early as the haymaking Will told Aspatria that
Alice was coming to Seat-Ambar as its mistress; and
when the harvest was gathered in, the wedding took
place. It was as noisily jocund an affair as
Aspatria’s had been silent and sorrowful; and
Alice Frostham, encircled by Will’s protecting
arm, was led across the threshold of her own new home,
to the sound of music and rejoicing.
The home was quickly divided, though
without unkind intent. Will and Alice had their
own talk, their own hopes and plans, and Aspatria and
Brune generally felt that their entrance interfered
with some discussion. So Aspatria and Brune began
to sit a great deal in Aspatria’s room, and
by and by to discuss, in a confidential way, what
they were to do with their future. Brune had no
definite idea. Aspatria’s intents were
clear and certain. But she knew that she must
wait until the spring brought her majority and her
freedom.
One frosty day, near Christmas, as
Brune was returning from Dalton, he heard himself
called in a loud, cheerful voice. He was passing
Seat-Ketel, and he soon saw Harry Ketel coming quickly
toward him. Harry wore a splendid scarlet uniform;
and the white snow beneath his feet, and the dark
green pines between which he walked, made it all the
more splendid by their contrast. Brune had not
seen Harry for five years; but they had been companions
through their boyhood, and their memories were stored
with the pleasant hours they had spent together.
Brune passed that night, and many
subsequent ones, with his old friend; and when Harry
went back to his regiment he took with him a certainty
that Brune would soon follow. In fact, Harry had
found his old companion in that mood which is ready
to accept the first opening as the gift of fate.
Brune found there was a commission to be bought in
the Household Foot-Guards, and he was well able to
pay for it. Indeed, Brune was by no means a poor
man; his father had left him seven thousand pounds,
and his share of the farm’s proceeds had been
constantly added to it.
Aspatria was delighted. She might
now go to London in Brune’s care. They
discussed the matter constantly, and began to make
the preparations necessary for the change. But
affairs were not then arranged by steam and electricity,
and the letters relating to the purchase and transfer
of Brune’s commission occupied some months in
their transit to and fro; although Brune did not rely
upon the postman’s idea of the practicability
of the roads.
Aspatria’s correspondence was
also uncertain and unsatisfactory for some time.
She had at first no guide to a school but the advertisements
in the London papers which Harry sent to his friend.
But one night Brune, without any special intention,
named the matter to Mrs. Ketel; and that lady was
able to direct Aspatria to an excellent school in
Richmond, near London. And as she was much more
favourably situated for a quick settlement of the affair,
she undertook the necessary correspondence.
Will was not ignorant of these movements,
but Alice induced him to be passive in them.
“No one can then blame us, Will, whatever happens.”
And as Will and Alice were extremely sensitive to public
opinion, this was a good consideration. Besides
Alice, not unnaturally, wished to have the Seat to
herself; so that Aspatria’s and Brune’s
wishes fitted admirably into her own desires, and
it gave her a kind of selfish pleasure to forward
them.
The ninth of March was Aspatria’s
twenty-first birthday; and it was to her a very important
anniversary, for she received as its gift her freedom
and her fortune. There was no hitch or trouble
in its transfer from Will to herself. Honour
and integrity were in the life-blood of William Anneys,
honesty and justice the very breath of his nostrils.
Aspatria’s fortune had been guarded with a super-sensitive
care; and when years gave her its management, Will
surrendered it cheerfully to her control.
Fortunately, the school selected by
Mrs. Ketel satisfied Will thoroughly; and Brune’s
commission in the Foot-Guards was in honourable accord
with the highest traditions and spirit of the dales.
For the gigantic and physically handsome men of these
mountain valleys have been for centuries considered
the finest material for those regiments whose duty
it is to guard the persons and the homes of royalty.
Brune had only followed in the steps of a great number
of his ancestors.
In the beginning of April, Aspatria
left Seat-Ambar for London,-left forever
all the pettiness of her house life, chairs and tables,
sewing and meals, and the useless daily labour that
has to be continually done over again. And at
the last Will was very tender with her, and even Alice
did her best to make the parting days full of hope
and kindness. As for the journey, there was no
anxiety; Brune was to travel with his sister, and
see her safely within her new home.
Yet neither of them left the old home
without some tears. Would they ever see again
those great, steadfast hills, that purify those who
walk upon them; ever dwell again within the dear old
house, that had not been builded, but had grown with
the family it had sheltered, through a thousand years?
They hardly spoke to each other, as they drove through
the sweet valleys, where the sunshine laid a gold on
the green, and the warm south-wind gently rocked the
daisies, and the lark’s song was like a silvery
water-fall up in the sky.
But they were young; and, oh, the
rich significance of the word “young”
when the heart is young as well as the body, when the
thoughts are not doubts, and when the eyes look not
backward, but only forward, into a bright future!